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“You know,” Stiles yawned, tugging lazily at the ropes the witches had bound him with. “You could’ve done this the easy way
“Oh, and what’s that?” the coven leader snorted. “Letting you and your dog slay us without a fight? No, thank you.”
“Or, y’know, not kill innocent people.” Stiles deadpanned, flexing his fingers and letting his magic search for faults in the binding. The witches thought this through, he’ll give them that.
“Those men weren’t innocent.” one of the other witches hissed. “They wronged us!”
“Being a douche isn’t a crime.” Stiles said. “I’d have a life sentence if it was.” The witches just glared at him, and Stiles sighed. “Look, when a guy normally acts like an ass, or cheats on you, or what-the-fuck-ever they did to you, you key their cars or slash their tires. Not implode their heads. That is murder, and murder is, if you were unaware, illegal. When normal people kill people, they go to jail. When people like you kill nine men by crushing their skulls with magic, those people are dubbed bat ass insane and a danger to society and have to be taken care of by people like me. You brought his on yourselves.”
“You can’t do anything.” the coven leader said calmly. “As long as you have those ropes on you, you’re as weak as a new born kitten. And, soon, your dog will come for you and we’ll slaughter him as you look on, and then do the same to you.”
Stiles snorted; he’d stopped being scared of the threats a while ago. They came with the job, and he was dating Derek “I’ll Rip Your Throat Out- With My Teeth” Hale, for god’s sake. They wouldn’t have lasted this long if Stiles hadn’t learned to disregard such thinks by now.
He felt a presence in the back of his mind and held back a grin. Took him long enough. As creepy as it was sometimes, the weird mate-bond he and Derek had sure did come in handy sometimes. “That’s all good in theory.” he hummed. “But, I think you’re missing something.”
“And that would be?”
“What happens when I’m not tied up.” Stiles flexed his wrist, forcefully thinking now as the ropes fell away. In an instant, the door splintered and broke down, and Derek burst through, fully shifted and eyes glowing red. The witches screamed and scattered as Stiles and Derek began to attack, working like a well-oiled machine, Derek slashing the women down and Stiles alternately defending them against the hastily aimed hexes that the witches threw their way and incinerating those that had fallen (Stiles liked to clean as they went; he called it being efficient, Derek called it “really fucking creepy.”)
When all that’s left are a few piles of smoldering ashes, Derek shifts back, glaring at Stiles. “Next time,” he snarled. “You don’t fucking go in without me.”
I think what you mean is ‘thank you for tracking down the witches, Stiles.’” Stiles harrumphed. “ ‘I totally owe you a blowjob, Stiles.’”
“You’re lucky I don’t rip your goddamn throat out-”
“- With your teeth, yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it.” Stiles muttered.
Derek’s eyes flash red and he slammed Stiles against the nearest wall. “No,” he growled. “You obviously don’t.” He and Stiles lock eyes for a few minutes, and he slumped. “You’re my mate.” he said quietly, and Stiles is reminded of the first time Derek said that- his voice is soft and broken and sadder than any person had the right to be. “If you died…”
“I’m not going to die.” Stiles said, even though they both knew that it was a lie. They weren’t immortal, and hunters never reached retirement; they had come to terms with this a long time ago. “At least, not any time soon.”
“You can’t promise that.” Derek sighed. “And you know it. Just, please, never do that again.”
“I won’t.” Stiles promised, and they both know that isn’t true either, but it’s nice to pretend, so they do.
“Okay.” Derek breathed, stepping back. Stiles smiled brilliantly at him, and grabbed his hand.
“Let’s get out of here, Sourwolf.” he said. “And, about that blowjob…”