
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10645275.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Slash, Gender_Dysphoria, Trans_Female_Character, Transitioning,
      Suicidal_Thoughts, Angst, Families_of_Choice, Implied/Referenced_Sexual
      Assault, Self-Hatred, Self-Harm, Trans_Derek
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-16 Chapters: 3/? Words: 2030
****** i'm not your hero (but that doesn't mean that i wasn't brave) ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Derek Hale hated himself long before the fire.
***** i am now lighting up the hall *****
Chapter Notes
     This is a story I have wanted to write for a long time. Thanks for
     checking it out and I appreciate any thoughts.
                    PART ONE: i am now lighting up the hall
Stiles Stilinski has finally appeared, all grown up. For the past few months
they've been in contact - email, texts - but many years have passed until they
managed to arrange a meet up. Derek can see their evidence impressed on Stiles'
skin in places - bags under his eyes, laughter lines cradle his mouth, worry
indents on his brow, a faint scar pale around his left eye. The taxes of time.
His suit fits nicely, shoes gleaming enough to suggest expense but not
pretension. His shiny ID badge declares him a proper adult member of the
government work force. He is all grown up, all grown into. Confidence and
capability draped over him like hard earned honors. The Washington DC sunlight
complements him and he seems at ease against a backdrop of columned buildings
that practically radiate prestige and history.
Yet, the emotions contorting Stiles’ face and flashing in his eyes - shock and
confusion a sharp mixture that Derek struggles to match to scent and heartbeat
- reels the two of them back to the Beacon Hills Preserve all those years ago.
A first meeting, a gawking teenager, a confrontation with the unknown and the
unfamiliar.
Derek watches the hand gripping Stiles’ coffee cup tighten. Those amber eyes
trace Derek’s face, the lines and curves of Derek’s body.
Derek refuses to flinch, expression schooled into a dazzling smile, icy with
teeth, that belies a slightly accelerated heartbeat. There have been too many
battles, internal and external, for this - this - to topple Derek’s confidence
and nerve. “Stiles.”
“Uh, Derek,” Stiles chokes out. So. Even a career in the federal bureau of
investigations, supernatural division, has yet to render Agent Stilinski
completely unflappable. “You. You’ve - changed.”
“I know,” Derek says, stance adjusting slightly, meeting Stiles’ gaze head on
with arms extended as if to say ‘ta-dah!’
“Huh.” Stiles swallows, continuing his survey of Derek’s form with an
expression that is assessing but not necessarily judgmental. A few seconds and
then Derek can see when something clicks inside Stiles, remembers from those
times observing the man reach a satisfying conclusion to a puzzle or mystery.
Understanding. Acceptance. A bit smug. “So,” Stiles says. And he’s smiling now,
bright and with a hint of mischief. “I see you finally managed the full shift
after all!”
Still such an asshole. “Fuck you,” Derek counters with an eye roll, feeling a
swell of relief and happiness from the assurance that - while some things
really do fucking change, others remain a comforting constant. Stiles Stilinski
is an annoying and unpredictably loyal piece of shit who continually manages to
say the most awkward things ...to Derek’s chagrin and reluctant delight. “I was
able to fully shift into a wolf when you were in high school.”
Stiles laughs softly, steps forward, and Derek can hear Stiles' heart beat
quicken, but his shoulders are relaxed, his smile and scent now positively
radiant. Like lemon cream. Nervous but sweet. “I know. That's not what I
meant.”
Derek meets him halfway, melts into the hug that Stiles enthusiastically
delivers and feels something melt in her chest when Stiles tightens his arms
around her and mutters into her hair, “You’re beautiful.”
“I know,” Derek says, closing her eyes, and believes it.
***
 
Thoughts? This series will chronicle what brought Stiles and Derek to this
moment, as well as where they go from here. Title adapated from Tegan and
Sara's "I'm Not Your Hero". https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSGbOmW4AjI
***** no future in my sight line *****
                                PART TWO: past
Derek could never be sure who knew and who suspected and who didn't and who
just didn't care.
Thinking back, trying to trace the jagged lines that led him to here - memories
flash in his mind like scenes from a shitty movie called the sexually confused
werewolf boy who wishes he was a she. Out of order in time and in importance.
Behind Beacon Hills High gym after practice, Kate Argent shoving a hand down
his pants and gripping his dick rough, quick, dry. Shutting his eyes as she
whispered against his ear "You like it, you like it," as Derek tipped his head
back as if in prayer, as his stomach churned and his nails itched and his dick
swelled. His thoughts echoed Kate's lewd chant, because maybe if he grit his
teeth and tried, over time, the words would be a prophecy, become a reality. "I
like it, I like it," he groaned. The words tasted sour.
 
Talia coming home from work early, pausing in the doorway of the toy room and
watching her children with a fond smile. "Having fun?"
Cora squealed, banging some blocks together as answer. Laura paused only
momentarily in her careful ministrations over Derek's face, smearing it with
waxy blush and lipstick as only a nine year old could. They both wore old
fringed beaded dresses that belonged to Grandma Hale in the flapper era that
had seen better days. They felt silky and cold against their skin, and they
couldn't imagine feeling more glamorous or grown up. "I'm playing Laura!" Derek
announced triumphantly. "We're LADIES."
It wasn't a crazy charade. They were close enough in height and age that they
had been mistakenly called 'the Hale twins' last summer, when Derek was allowed
to grow his hair to his shoulders. They were hairless, flat chested children,
happily oblivious to any real difference between them besides those silly
little things beneath their pants. And who cared about that anyway, when there
were parts of the woods to discover and lakes to swim in and cookies to eat?
"Stop moving, Derek!" Laura scolded. "You're gonna ruin it."
Talia laughed and turned away. "Sounds lovely. Dinner will be ready soon,
ladies."
"OKAY," came the careless chorus.
 
Four hours later, Derek sobbing and clawing at Laura's shins after she
confiscated a shirt and some toys she found in his room.
"They're mine," Laura insisted, tugging them out of reach and retreating to her
own room. Derek collapsed to the ground and cried louder, kicking at the air.
"But you said - you said-"
"It was just play," Laura said, sounding world weary and frustrated. Her eyes
flashed angrily when one of Derek's nails slashed at her wrist. "MOM! DAD!"
"Children," their dad growled. He was toweling dry Cora's hair. "Bed."
Talia appeared at his shoulder, eyes glowing red with Alpha intent. "Now."
Derek continued to cry but his mom's words compelled him to bed, whimpering and
hiccuping wetly into his Land Before Time pillowcase. Play like that stopped
not too long after.
 
New York City, a few months after the fire. Living there with werewolf senses
was hell. The bar he was in reeked of spilled stale beer and sweat. Greasy
fingers prodded his side, "You want to get out of here?" delivered wetly
against his neck.
Some times: Derek recoiled. "Not tonight," he would say shortly and more than a
little rude. Quick escape.
Most times: fucking so hard it hurt, faceless men, relishing the burn of
sensation other than anxiety and pain and hatred.

After: Derek would watch the bruises and cuts fade sadly.
 
Alone in the apartment he and Laura shared. She was hardly ever around and when
she was - Derek didn't know who avoided who, but it was a tense and fraught
situation whenever they spent more than twenty minutes together. But they were
all each other had and the scent of pack that permeated the place was a
necessary balm against the dreary loneliness of their world.
It was also nice that Derek had access to Laura's closet. He'd only had the
courage to swipe a few things that wouldn't be missed - a cheap slip night
dress from Target, a tube of L'Oreal lipstick that was mostly melted and almost
gone, a costume necklace with aquamarine colored stones. It soothed something
in him during those long hours alone, staring at himself in the closet mirror.
For some reason, buying his own stuff wasn't an option he entertained. His
wardrobe already only consisted of just a handful of t shirts and jeans.
On the really bad days, full moons especially, Derek would cuddle up to the
mirror and stare at himself in the slip with his wolf-shifted face, the
sprouted hair, the bulging teeth. Hypnotically gouge cuts into his thighs with
his claws. A joint of wolfsbane laced marijuana that he scored off some guy in
the Village in a dirty plate by his knee.
"You're a monster," he'd tell his reflection earnestly. "You're disgusting."
 
Act like people should be afraid of you, and they will be. At least, that's
what Derek tried to convince himself.
Long punishing hours pushing his body, chin lifts and sit ups and sprints,
watching his muscles grow with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity and
disappointment. Werewolf masculine biology - his body understood things his
brain couldn't accept.
He pushed himself harder. Gave up the war with his five o'clock shadow that,
ever since he turned sixteen, seemed to be drifting more towards a three
o'clock shadow.
Swallowed down the revulsion when people gazed at his physique appreciatively.
Scowled and pushed himself harder, further away.
"Now that's what a man should look like," he overheard a woman titter to her
friend as he was out buying groceries. A glare in their direction made them
giggle nervously.
 
A large shard of glass in his loft on Elmhurst in Beacon Hills served as a make
shift mirror. The moon shone through the large windows, allowing him to gaze at
his naked form clearly.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Large hands. Dark wiry hair. Muscle definition and
scarcely an ounce of soft fat to be found.
"You're hideous," he hissed to himself, then allowed himself to collapse into
his full wolf shift to sprint out into the dark night.
***
***** Chapter 3 *****
                                  PART THREE
“Are you weirded out?”
They’re eating frozen yogurt on a bench off the national mall. Stiles has
swapped out his thick frames for sunglasses, and Derek gets some joy out of
giving him shit for being a Man In Black impersonator.
Stiles frowns down at his yogurt as he considers the question. He seems to be
trying in vain to slice a gummy worm in half with the blunt spoon. “Honestly,”
he begins. He gives up on the gummy worm and just shoves a peanut butter cup
and some vanilla into his mouth. He still has the nasty habit of speaking with
a full mouth, Derek can see. “Honestly, I can’t say I’m not taken aback but -
weirded out?” He shakes his head. “Derek, in my thirty five years I’ve dated a
were coyote, a banshee, and almost ended up married to a half alien senator who
is now being investigated for tax fraud - don’t ask,” he adds severely at
Derek’s baffled expression. “Seriously, don’t ask. State secrets and all that.”
Stiles puts down his spoon and glances around them quickly before saying, under
his breath, “Seriously, dude, the type of freaks in this town - You have no
idea.”
Derek watches the news. She’s shocked and yet… not.
“I can accept it,” she says easily. Stiles runs a hand through his hair and
gives her a grateful look.
“It’s amazing I haven’t gone completely gray yet,” he mutters. “Or completely
insane. We thought Beacon Hills was bad - shit, dude.”
Derek nods. “Have you ever considered doing something… else?”
Stiles waves a hand in dismissal. “Oh, are you kidding? I’m still having a
blast. But yeah,” Stiles jabs his spoon with emphasis and some Nerd candy
flicks off onto Derek. “Shit’s crazy. InterGALACTIC crazy.”
“Hmm. Suddenly my own life doesn’t seem so exciting,” Derek says dryly.
“Yeah, so,” Stiles continues, gesticulating broadly. “My werewolf friend
showing up in a dress hardly breaks my top 5 list most shocking moments of this
week. Sorry.”
“Glad to hear it, I guess.”
“But don’t worry, buddy,” Stiles adds, throwing a comforting arm over her
shoulder. A sly grin on his face. “Your ass is still out of this world.”
“Stay in your lane, Stilinski,” Derek says airily. She tries to smother her own
grin with an extra big spoonful of her own yogurt. Stiles just smirks.
Derek doesn't dislodge his arm.


***
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