Chapter Text
Situation: Derek Hale is picking up Stiles Stilinski at 5:30 for pizza.
Problem: Neither Derek Hale nor Stiles Stilinski knows what to wear.
Solution: Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski need to find some clothes.
This was actually something of a problem for Derek, what with not having a real, functioning house. He more or less just had his suitcase from when they'd been traveling. Plus a bookshelf up on the second floor of the house. For normal circumstances it was enough. He'd drive out to the laundromat a few towns away when he needed to do laundry. But everything he had was…well, not really appropriate for a date. Ripped or bloodstained, really. He looked down at the shirt he was wearing as he drove back to his house. Bloodstain and rip on the right side. Somehow no matter how many times he washed it, the blood never seemed to come out.
He laughed to himself bitterly. If he were in a book, English teachers everywhere would be telling their students that this blood was a metaphor for the rest of his life. "God, I sound like an angsty teenager."
He got back to the house and rummaged through the small pile of his stuff. Nothing suitable. Then he remembered something, and went to his suitcase, which he'd left in the corner of his room, assuming he wouldn't need it anymore. Inside it was a t-shirt, rolled up so as to take up less space. He picked it up and shook it open, then looked critically at it. It was tie-dye. He grimaced. It was awful. Under normal circumstances he would never wear it. He looked back at the bloodstained, ripped shirts. Maybe they wouldn't be so bad if he just kept his jacket on over them. He looked down at the shirt he was wearing again. This stain was definitely too big for polite company without the jacket, almost too big even with it. And the rip was too much.
He rifled through the pile of clothes again until he found a shirt with only one small stain on the left side and no rips. Probably this would be fine, but he looked back at the tie-dye shirt again. Maybe he'd bring the tie-dye along and just leave it in the car. There, problem solved: he'd have it if he needed it for some reason, but he didn't have to wear it.
...
Stiles carefully put off the panic he could feel rising up in him until he'd finished lunch. It was hard not to just leave the pasta sitting on the table and run around the house like a chicken with its head cut off, but he managed it somehow. Then he finished eating.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—"
"Dude, Stiles!" He stopped. It was Scott, standing in the hallway at the front of the house.
"Scott!"
"I was going to knock, then I heard you yelling. Stiles, what the fuck is going on? Derek broke into my room this morning to get your phone number, and both of you say you're going on a date, and just, what the fuck, dude?" Scott was looking more confused than angry. He could be pretty dumb when he tried.
"Derek's coming over at 5:30 to pick me up and then we're going to go have dinner." The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck him, and he laughed.
"I don't get it."
"That's 'cause you're an idiot, Scott. It's not that hard. Me" — he pointed to himself — "like Derek. Derek like me. We go on date. Maybe we date afterwards."
"But you're not gay," Scott protested, brain still clearly not catching on.
"Well, I didn't think so, either," Stiles said, "but apparently I was wrong? Or confused, or something. Anyway, I'm allowed to go on dates."
"My best friend is going on a date with the alpha who stopped me from becoming human again," Scott said, temper rising. "What if Derek goes crazy and hurts you? Or someone else?"
"Is this about me or Allison?" Stiles asked. "Besides, Derek's not crazy. Just lonely. And sad." And hot, he added in his head, surprising himself.
"And the alpha."
Stiles shrugged. "You're dating Allison. Isn't that just as dangerous?"
"At least her father hasn't threatened to rip my head off!"
"No, he only shot you in the arm with a crossbow."
"Fine. Be that way." Scott turned to leave.
"Wait, Scott," Stiles said, and Scott stopped and turned back. "Sorry for springing this on you. It just kind of happened." Scott didn't say anything. "What should I wear?"
Scott blinked. "What?"
"Date. Clothes. What should I wear?" Stiles resisted the urge to knock Scott on the head. Maybe it would get his brain working again.
"What kind of date is it?" Scott asked.
"I don't know! I've never been on a date! We're going to get pizza. What kind of date is that?"
"Not a date-date," Scott said. "Just wear what you're wearing now. You look fine."
Stiles looked at himself. Jeans, fine. Then he smiled at the shirt. It was the orange and blue striped one Danny had said "wasn't Derek's color". He'd washed it since then, obviously, but it was a little stretched. Derek was a lot bigger than he was. He wore it anyway. Maybe he'd put on one of his button-down shirts over it.
"Thanks, Scott."
"You're welcome," he said grudgingly, then slipped back out the door and left.
"And hopefully that's the end of Everyone Comes Into Stiles's House Unannounced Day," Stiles said to himself, then went back to some slightly lower-key panicking.
Situation: Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski have a date at 5:30.
Problem: It's 2:11.
Solution: Nothing to do but wait.