Chapter Text
The pounding on his door was being echoed in his head, and Derek immediately decided he didn’t appreciate it at all. It took effort, pushing himself up from his bed; a testament to just how bad his injuries from last night really were.
His shirt was wrung around his torso, and he pulled it straight, ignoring the protesting stiffness from all the dried blood. His muscles were sore, but everything seemed intact, just a small twinge here and there as he stretched what he could on his way to the door.
“DERrrr…” What started off as an enthusiastic greeting died off as his two visitors caught sight of the state he was in.
Stiles’ shock he could care less about thanks to the numerous times the boy had seem him to death’s door and back. Scott’s mother, however…
Gaze dropping self-consciously to the floor, Derek ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to maybe fix whatever mess it was in, wincing as what felt like a fingernail dislodged itself and bounced down to the welcome mat.
“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly, when both pairs of eyes tried to examine what had fallen a little too closely.
He watched as Mrs. McCall visibly pulled herself together and bravely looked him straight in the eye.
“Yes, Derek, you can. My son, Scott, has gone missing. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he could be?”
Rather than answer, Derek turned his attention to Stiles, whose shoulders had slumped at Mrs. McCall’s words.
“I told you he isn’t missing, he’s right here.”
For the first time, Derek noticed that Stiles was holding something.
“That is not my son,” Mrs. McCall stated after letting out a firm sigh that suggested whatever patience she had as a single mother of a teenage werewolf was growing thin. “That is a stuffed dog you’ve dressed to look like him.”
Stiles’ mouth fell open in outrage. “No!” he argued. “Don’t listen to her, Scott. Derek, tell her!”
Derek blinked, confused. “Tell her what?”
Stiles waved the toy in front of his face. “You know! About how this really is Scott because, haha! Funny story! You all managed to piss a bunch of witches off last night and now I’m stuck with a stuffed dog in a sweater for a best friend which is awesome! I mean, I don’t get teased enough at school, so this! This should do the trick. Because you better believe I’m going to carry him everywhere and annoy the shit out of you until we find a cure that will turn him back.” Stiles’ eyes swept up and down Derek’s body. “Please tell me you left at least one or two of them alive for questioning?”
Derek shrugged. “They were tasty.”
The twin looks of horror and disgust made it that much harder not to smile.
Mrs, McCall leaned to the side. “Do werewolves really eat people?” she asked Stiles, her eyes still warily locked onto Derek.
“Uh…” Stiles blinked himself out of his stupor. “No! Psh! No! He’s just — he’s just messing with us because he thinks he’s funny.”
Derek quirked an eyebrow at Stiles’ glare.
“Uh-huh,” Mrs. McCall deadpanned. “Funny like you telling me Scott was turned into a toy to buy time for whatever is really going on?”
“Mrs. McCall, I swear I’m telling the truth! And Derek’s here to back me up on this, right Derek??”
Looking down at the stuffed dog, Derek could honestly say he had no memory of this happening. But at Stiles’ insistent faces, he found himself saying, “That is the sweater he was wearing last night.”
Derek actually had no idea if Scott had been wearing his gray and white striped hoodie. He had been a little preoccupied at the time with fending off a four-man attack so the pack could escape to safety.
He then made the mistake of glancing over at Mrs. McCall to gauge her reaction. But instead of seeing panic or tears or even worry, her unamused expression had fallen into one so eerily reminiscent of Peter that Derek found himself feeling completely thrown. Had they been hanging out?
“HA! See??” Stiles crowed. “Now if you’ll excuse us, me and Derek here have some investigating to do to figure out how to get Scott back to the land of flesh and blood.” He pushed Derek back into his apartment, quickly turning around and blocking the doorway to prevent Mrs. McCall from following them in. “I promise to keep you updated and have Scott call you once he, you know, has vocal chords again.” All eyes went back down to the stuffed toy. “Bark!” Stiles supplied before slamming the door shut and leaning against it in relief.
“They turned Scott into a toy?” Derek asked, thoroughly confused over how much had actually transpired that he had missed last night.
Stiles snorted. “No. Scott’s fine. He ran off with Isaac — wherever that is.” Derek gracefully ignored the bitterness that colored Stiles’ tone. “But it turns out he told his mom he’d be with me all weekend, despite the fact that last night was the first time I’ve seen him since Thursday.”
“And rather than tell her the truth, you decided to tell her that her son has been turned into a toy?” Derek asked dubiously.
“It explains why he hasn’t checked in with her for several days,” Stiles explained, straightening up and turning to peer through the peephole to see if Mrs. McCall had left yet.
“Right. Why do you own a dog that has Scott’s sweater?”
“For this exaaaact reason,” Stiles drew out, still squinting out into the short hall.
“You do realize that will only work once, right?”
Glancing away from the peephole, Stiles did a double-take in Derek’s direction. “You don’t know that. How could you know that? For all you know, Beacon Hills could be full of witches just waiting to turn unsuspecting werewolves into adorable teddy dogs.”
Shaking his head, Derek turned around and peeled off his shirt, intent on pretending Stiles wasn’t here as he went to take a shower before going back to bed.
“Oh, hey! The next time this happens, you can totally say this is how you lost your great-aunt Gertrude or something!”
“Try not to raid my fridge this time,” he shot back, throwing his shirt in the general direction of his washer and dryer.
Joke would be on Stiles if he tried anyways. Derek hadn’t been grocery shopping in nearly two weeks.
THE END.