A/N: This was my entry to the Teen Wolf fanfic contest. Pretty much some fluff about how things could go after the alpha pack business is dealt with. Has temporary amnesiac!Stiles. I tried to keep things canon compliant. Reviews will be tied to a chair and molestedImeanloved! :)

It's the smell that gives away where Stiles is. It's the same smell that clung to his clothes after countless hours at his mother's bedside. When he blinks his eyes open things are a little disorienting.

As luck would have it Melissa McCall comes into the room to check on him moments after he wakes. But she doesn't notice him immediately. She's busy flipping through some pages on a clipboard, eyebrows scrunched together.

Stiles can't help the snickering in his mind when Ms. McCall starts after seeing that Stiles eyes are open. "Oh god, Stiles, you're awake," she says, relieved, as she clutches her chest over where her heart is.

Stiles blinks tiredly at her, then settles more comfortably into the bed, now that he knows someone knows he's awake. Before he realizes, his eyes are drooping shut as he falls asleep.

"So, how did Scott say this happened?" Stiles asks as he awkwardly clambers out of his dad's patrol car. His dad is on the curb and wraps an arm around his waist to heft him out the rest of the way. Stiles figures he's fared pretty well, with a broken arm and twisted ankle, if whatever happened left him comatose for four whole days.

"He said you were in the woods, which you're never going within fifty meters of again, and you fell from a cliff. You're lucky it wasn't a longer fall." Sheriff Stilinski supplies as he slams the car door shut and maneuvers Stiles body towards the house.

"And I don't remember any of it," Stiles sighs. He really wishes he knew why they'd been in the woods and exactly what happened. But Scott's at school and Stiles was busy being checked out of the hospital by his dad. He hopes Scott drops by later in the day, since Ms. McCall probably filled him in on Stiles being awake.

In the meantime, Stiles desperately wants a shower and a change of clothes. He feels like he's got some sort of hospital grime all over him, it's unpleasant. They've made it into the house and both Stilinski's are looking up the staircase, which seems to be mocking them. Stiles especially.

"Who's the bastard that invented stairs?" he asks his father. Sheriff Stilinski rolls his eyes.
"C'mon," he says, tugging Stiles along with him as they begin their long trek upwards.

No one ever warned Stiles how difficult and humiliating taking a shower with a broken arm and twisted ankle can be. Especially when your father has to help. Now Stiles' dad is rattling around downstairs, after much reassurance from Stiles that he is capable of dressing himself.

Stiles tucks the pile of dirty clothes, the ones he wore on his way home from the hospital, under his good arm. He should stick them in a hamper where their odor can't offend the rest of the world. But he figures his bedroom floor is the next best thing since getting downstairs won't be an easy feat.

When Stiles closes his bedroom and turns there's a very imposing guy, wearing a leather jacket, standing by his window. Stiles lets out what's, in retrospect, an extremely masculine shriek and flings his dirty clothes towards said guy. He catches Stiles clothing and scowls down at the pile before dropping it on the floor.

Stiles grapples the doorknob while struggling to turn quickly despite the sharp pain that shoots up his leg.
"Stiles," he hears the guy say behind him, he sounds annoyed. Stiles doubles his efforts because there's a random dude in a leather jacket lurking in his bedroom, who knows his name. Stiles must still be in a coma, and everything that's happening is just in his head.

He's just got his door open when he hears Scott shout, "Thanks Mr. Stilinski!" Then he hears Scott stomping up the steps. It's great because Stiles needs backup to deal with this intruder. Except when Scott sees Stiles standing in the doorway he takes it as an invitation to barge right in. Stiles doesn't get a chance to make any words.

"Hey Derek," he hears Scott greet the guy. Stiles is dumbfounded when he turns around to face them.

"You know him?" he asks Scott, gesturing towards the guy who's now busy scowling at Stiles.

"Yeah, it's just Derek," Scott says matter-of-factly. As if they've known Derek for a while and popping up in Stiles' bedroom is a habit of his. "Close the door. Your dad might come up."

Stiles does as he's told and leans his back against the door so he can ease some of the weight off his foot. He looks with uncertainty between Scott and Derek.
"So," he begins, "Derek's in my bedroom because?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing," Derek says, then he glances briefly at Scott, and Stiles thinks he can see Derek steeling himself before he continues, "and to thank you, for helping, with the Alphas."

Stiles stands there silently for a moment before he says the only word that comes to mind, "What?"

"Don't rub it in," Scott smirks at Stiles. But Derek's brows are furrowed and his nostrils flare as he subtly sniffs the air.

"The Alpha pack," Derek tells Stiles, "don't you remember?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stiles asks, looking between Scott and Derek uncertainly. He smiles uneasily because he's not sure if this is in his head, although the pain would suggest otherwise. "Hey wait a minute," he says, looking more closely at Derek, "are you Derek as in Derek Hale?"

"Yeah," Derek says, he's got a look on his face, like he doesn't like what's going on.

"Stiles, you don't remember him?" Scott asks, now Scott looks really worried too.

"No, should I? I mean, the doctor said I had some kind of amnesia," Stiles explains.

"Oh," Scott says, astonished. And Derek still just looks like he doesn't like what's going on.

"I have to go," he says abruptly, "Scott, fill him in on the details." Scott and Derek share a meaningful look. Derek glances at Stiles before slipping out his bedroom window.

Stiles is a little upset with himself when he finds out everything he's forgotten about werewolves. Especially since, according to Scott, Stiles has had some pretty badass moments. Stiles is even more upset when he finds out that Lydia Martin has started acknowledging him as a human being, but he can't remember when it started.

"Stiles, stop," Lydia says dryly, after the fifth time Stiles starts gaping at her. Stiles snaps his mouth shut and looks at Jackson who's got his arm around Lydia's shoulder. Except Jackson doesn't care that Stiles is ogling his girlfriend, he's busy looking at Derek, the Alpha, who has emerged from a broken down subway car.

Stiles really wants to know where it's from, because Beacon Hills doesn't have a thriving public transportation system.

"You brought him?" Derek asks, nodding his head towards Stiles and looking questioningly at Scott.

"I wanted to come," Stiles says, perfectly capable of speaking for himself.

Derek gives him a hard look before he turns away from them and starts walking. They follow him to an open space where there's already a small group of people sitting around murmuring to each other. They rise to their feet when Derek walks into view, followed closely by Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Jackson.

Stiles is a little surprised when Scott breaks away from their group to join the others. He can't help but instinctively bristle when Scott briefly clasps hands with one of the guys, for a handshake, like they've done it a million times. It's times like these he wishes he remembered some things more clearly.

"Hey," the same guy greets Stiles.

"Hi," he says, standing awkwardly by himself because Lydia and Jackson have wandered off to the side.

"Are you," he pauses, "still mad at me?" he asks Stiles uncertainly.

"Um, no" Stiles says, and it comes out as more of a question because once again Stiles doesn't know what's being talked about.

"He has amnesia," Scott explains. Stiles wishes Scott would get back to his side. Stiles doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Do you remember them, Boyd, Erica and Isaac?" Derek asks Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head, "Not really."

"They're my pack," Derek says.

"Like Scott and Jackson?"

Derek shakes his head, "No, Scott and Jackson aren't my pack," the way he says it tells Stiles there's a story there. One he'd probably been around for but can't remember.

"Then who's-" Stiles starts asking.

"Mine," Scott cuts him short, smiling, "you guys are my pack."

"I'm in your pack?" Stiles asks Scott, who nods, "Cool," Stiles smiles at him.

"Alright, let's start," Derek interrupts, cutting their bro-ment short.

Stiles figures he should probably find a seat because his ankle is starting to smart, so he starts limping towards a reasonably high stack of crates. "Here, let me," Derek suddenly says from right next to Stiles as he loops an arm around his waist. Stiles can't help the little "oh" that slips out of his mouth, he especially can't help that his heartbeat picks up.

"Uh, thanks," Stiles says, slinging an arm around Derek's shoulder and clutching his shirt. Despite how menacing Derek looks, he's gentle as he leads Stiles to his seat and eases him down. Their gazes lock for a brief moment and Stiles gets a niggling feeling he can't identify in his chest, but Derek's already off instructing the others.

"You look better with long hair," Lydia says, striding up to the crates and taking a seat next to Stiles.

"You think?" Stiles runs a hand through it, looking up at the fringe of hair he can see if he strains his eyes a little. They sit in a comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the wolves spar, until Stiles starts getting fidgety, because he's having a comfortable silence with Lydia Martin.

"What's wrong with you?" Lydia asks, she sounds bored.

"I really really like you," Stiles blurts out.

Lydia looks at him expectantly, "And?"

"You knew?"

"Me and just about all of Beacon Hills," she says, the duh is implied.

They watch in silence again before Stiles speaks, "So, hypothetically speaking, if you weren't dating Jackson- "

"No," Lydia says, "I still wouldn't date you."

Stiles doesn't know what to feel. Being told no to his face by Lydia herself is different than kind of knowing but hoping for the best anyway.
"Stiles," she continues, "you are a great guy, but you're not my kind of guy. And I really thought several years of brushing you off would get that message across. Seriously Stiles. Besides, aren't you and- ", she stops mid-sentence.

"What?" Stiles looks at her, brows raised.

"Never mind," she shakes her head.

"No, c'mon tell me," he goads her.

"I said never mind."

Derek has been kicking everyone's butt in training, which makes sense since he was born a wolf and has a life's worth of experience. Scott seems to be the second best at sparring though, Stiles can't help feeling proud.

Lydia is the one to break the silence the next time. "I wish I was a werewolf," she says wistfully. Stiles turns to look at her so she knows he's listening. "I asked Derek for the bite, but he can't give it to me. Apparently I'm immune."

"Maybe being a werewolf isn't all it's cracked up to be?" Stiles says.

"It just sucks, to be the only little human in a group of hunters and werewolves. Especially since you jerks kept me in the dark about it for so long," she gives Stiles a reproachful look.

"Hey, I probably know less than you now anyways," Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

"You should ask Derek for the bite, he'd probably say yes to you."

"You think?" Stiles asks, "I guess it would be cool."

"Cool? Stiles, think of all the things you could do if you were a werewolf, cool is a subordinate adjective."

Stiles huffs a laugh, "Yeah, maybe I'll ask Derek to bite me after training."

Stiles and Lydia start when Scott lets out a loud whoop. It's a victory whoop, Stiles figures, since Scott's got Derek pinned underneath him on the ground. Derek is staring at Stiles.

It's been a little over four weeks and Stiles remembers most of what he'd forgotten due to injury. The cast on his arm has been removed and overall things are going back to normal. Except for Derek, who seems keen on spending every Friday with Stiles.

When Stiles finally remembers how he got injured he thinks Derek keeps visiting out of guilt. Stiles wouldn't have been hurt if he hadn't been helping Derek fight the Alpha pack. But even after reassuring Derek multiple times that all is well, Derek insists on slipping into his bedroom Friday evenings.

The sheriff is pulling extra shifts because of the whole week he took off when Stiles returned home. Stiles tries to bury that monumental mountain of guilt deep in his subconscious. But sometimes it rears its ugly head in the form of cleaning his bedroom or doing the laundry without being told.

No dad in the house means Derek can spend time there without worry. And frankly Stiles isn't complaining since his Friday nights are more often than not free. Especially since Scott became best buds with Isaac and is still trying to patch things up with Allison. They're on again, according to Scott.

Stiles doesn't mind that Scott has other people in his life. Derek's pack is great, for the most part. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree though. But it still sometimes annoys Stiles that he doesn't get to spend as much one-on-one time with Scott. Stiles does his best to fill the little Scott shaped voids in his life with Derek.

It's not too hard since Derek is much more pleasant to be around these days. "So, is this gonna' be a regular thing now, Friday Nights with Derek?" Stiles grins at the werewolf leaning against his window and peering outside.

"You have other plans?" Derek asks, turning to raise a brow at Stiles.

"No, but don't you sourwolf?"

"Shut up," Derek says, striding over to Stiles' bed and sitting down.

"So what's it gonna' be today- ," one of the video-game cases falls out of Stiles' hand and under his desk, "crap," he says, kneeling down to retrieve it. As he's standing up he bangs his head against the desk and drops the case again.

"Ow," he hisses, his hand going up to soothe the pain. Derek is by Stiles' side before he can say cream-cheese, his hand covering Stiles' own.

"Damn it, when are you gonna' stop being so clumsy?" Derek complains, leading Stiles towards his bed.

"I'm not clumsy!" Stiles argues. Then Stiles pauses because he remembers something, or he feels like he remembers something, but there's no way what he's remembering actually happened.

Because Stiles remembers feeling Derek's strong hands gripping his shirt. He remembers the feeling of Derek's hair between his fingers. And he remembers a short, frantic kiss, because there was no time for romance, but there was no room for regrets either. Just before their final battle with the Alphas.

"Oh my god," Stiles says as he sits on his bed, his voice sounds a little breathless, "we kissed," he looks up wide-eyed at Derek for affirmation.

Derek pauses, and Stiles briefly sees the surprise on Derek's face before he controls it. Derek slowly pulls his hand back from where it's buried in Stiles hair, "Yeah, we did."

Derek looks away, but Stiles doesn't want Derek to look away. Stiles wants to know why they've been hanging out every Friday. Why Stiles has been seeing more of Derek in general. Why Derek didn't tell him that they kissed.

It's not that the kiss was unexpected. Stiles isn't blind, he knows Derek's good looking. But even more than that, they've had a quiet understanding between each other for a while. Stiles gets where Derek is coming from, and Derek gets where Stiles is coming from. And when they're together, things just click, stuff gets done, and they work so naturally.

It's definitely not that the kiss was unexpected. It's that Derek has been keeping it from him. Derek still hangs out with him, has been friendlier with him since he got out of the hospital. So it can't be that his feelings aren't returned.

"And you— why didn't you tell me?" Stiles demands to know, rising from the bed again.

"That kiss, it was spur of the moment. None of us knew if we were going to survive. I wanted to give you a choice, not an ultimatum," Derek looks at him again. It's that serious-earnest look that only Stiles seems to get from Derek, who's subtly inched his way closer to the window for an easy out.

Stiles scoffs, "Are you kidding me?" he asks, stomping up to Derek and grabbing his sleeve, "I was terrified that you'd punch me in the face if I ever tried something. But you've wanted me back this whole time?"

"What?" Derek asks, looking like he's genuinely surprised.

"Derek, you're really lucky you're good looking. Because if you think this, us," Stiles says, gesturing between the two of them, "hasn't been a long time coming, you've got some serious mental deficiencies."

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but Stiles doesn't want to hear it. So he pulls Derek closer and kisses him like he means it.