Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’re sitting in the parking lot with bags of burgers and curly fries in their laps when Stiles says, “So tell me about the drunk raccoons,”  because he’s been dying to know. 

Derek takes a bite of his burger before starting, “It was a couple of days before my dad’s birthday and Laura found this family of raccoons caught out in the rain. She decided to do them a favour by letting them hang out in the cellar until the weather cleared up and then completely forgot about them until my dad’s birthday. It turns out my mom bought my dad a really expensive bottle of wine as a birthday gift and was hiding it in the cellar.”

“No…”

“Yes. And when she went to go get it, she found a bunch of drunk raccoons and an empty bottle of fine wine,” Derek concludes.

“How’d the raccoons even manage to open the bottle?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “It’s one of the many mysteries of the world.”

“To be fair though, we all make mistakes when we’re little,” he offers, as condolence for Laura.

This causes Derek to arch a brow. “Little? That happened like, two months ago.”

Chapter Text

Their first ‘official’ date doesn’t go as planned. Of course it doesn’t go as planned, because Stiles’ life rarely goes as planned. Derek managed to get the Camaro and they were supposed to grab something to eat and watch a movie together, but instead, they end up sitting in an old treehouse in the middle of the preserve with nothing but a large pizza, an energy drink, a carton of chocolate milk, a blanket, a flashlight, and Stiles’ backpack.

Derek wolfs down a slice of pizza with a scowl. “Unbelievable. The entire police department. The entire police department. Don’t they have criminals to be chasing down and a town to be keeping safe or something?”

“C’mon, they can’t help it if they’re naturally inquisitive people. I warned you, didn’t I?” Stiles says, reaching for a slice.

“Not about the entire Beacon Hills Police Department.”

He scoffs, “Positivity just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”

With a glare, Derek frowns. “Stiles. We got pulled over four times within an hour and were told to ‘play it safe’ all four times. And one of those times, we were still in the parking lot.”

“Hey, it’s not like I asked for this! Trust me, I’ll be having words with my dad after this. And like you’re one to talk! We got stalked around town by your sisters and Erica, and when we got to your place, it was your uncle was sitting at the window with popcorn, just waiting like a creeper!”

“Your friend, Scott, was camped out at the diner,” Derek retorts, “not unlike a ‘creeper’.”

(Thank you again, best friend Scott.)

“He could’ve been there on a date with Allison,” he says, fulfilling his obligation to defend Scott’s honour—even when he doesn’t deserve it.

Derek arches a brow.

“It probably wasn’t his intention,” Stiles lies. (He got a text from Scott earlier saying ‘Sorry, bro. Your dad asked me to’ but with worse grammar and spelling.)

“Really. I find that hard to believe considering the way you suggested we break into his house and hang out there instead,” Derek points out.

“That was a joke—sort of!” he protests. “You know, just in case of emergencies! I didn’t know you’d have a nice pad out here in the woods! Where are we anyway?”

“This is my old fort.”

Stiles can’t help grinning at that. “Oh my god, you had a treehouse fort as a kid? That’s strangely adorable. I can’t even imagine it.”

Derek shrugs. “I built it with my dad. I used to hide from Laura and Uncle Peter up here.”

“Sounds like you had a traumatic childhood,” he offers, sipping on his chocolate milk. “You know, tonight wasn’t a complete bust.”

Arching a brow, Derek scoffs, “Really.”

“You really need to work on your inflection, dude.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’,” is Derek’s immediate response.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not a complete bust because a) it’s not raining, b) we have food and a blanket, and c) I’m pretty sure my laptop has enough batteries left for a movie. See? It all worked out in the end!”

He half expects a sarcastic response but is pleasantly surprised when Derek reaches over and wraps the blanket around the both of them. “Fine. What movies do you have on there?”

—

They end up watching The Evil Dead, which turned out to be a terrible idea. It begins with him mocking the whole 80s tone of the movie and the guy’s unibrown, but by the time the movie’s over, Stiles is curled up against Derek’s side and hogging the blanket.

“You,” Derek turns his head and looks at him in all seriousness, “are an idiot.”

Stiles is pretty sure Scott and Allison don’t insult each other nearly as much as he and Derek do.

“Yeah, I admit, it was probably a bad idea to watch a horror movie that’s set in the woods while being in the woods myself,” Stiles concedes. Then he asks, “Can we just stay here for the night?” because he’s pretty sure if they leave the safety of the treehouse, they’ll either get possessed or sexually assaulted by evil trees—both of which are equally unappealing.

“No, we can’t,” Derek replies as the voice of reason, “because your dad will flip out and I don’t need the entire police force coming after me for real. If you become possessed, I promise I’ll dismember you with the nearest sharp object.”

“Wow, that’s so sweet of you,” Stiles deadpans.

“I try,” Derek deadpans back. “Grab your things. I promise I won’t let you die on your way to the car.”

Reluctantly, Stiles does as he’s told and they end up back on the ground minutes later. “People in the 80s were insane,” Stiles mutters, hugging the blanket close to his chest.

“You’re insane,” Derek replies, holding a hand out for him. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Stiles stands there, stupefied for a moment but then breaks into a grin and takes the offered hand. “Like I was saying: not a complete bust at all.”

Chapter Text

“So I’m meeting the Hales today,” Stiles tells Scott over lunch. It’s partly to keep Scott updated, and partly for himself because his brain still doesn’t believe it.

“Uhh Heaughs!?” Scott exclaims in surprise, spraying bits of food everywhere.

How very unattractive.

Wiping the food off while making a face, he nods. “Yes, the Hales. They invited me to dinner. Don’t choke on your lunch now.” After a moment, he asks, “It can’t be that bad, right? I mean, you’ve met Allison’s parents and all that. They didn’t threaten to maim you or anything, did they?”

Scott arches a brow pointedly at him.

He quickly nods to himself. “Right, her dad caught you guys making out. And then the whole condom thing, right. Not exactly the same situation as me, I guess. Must’ve been super awkward for you two.”

Allison’s face reddens by several shades and she keeps her eyes trained on her lunch though there’s a small smile on her lips.

Scott punches him in the arm, horrified. “Dude!”

“Ow! What!?”

—

“They’re enthusiastic,” Derek warns him as they roll down the endless trail that is the Hale’s driveway.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s fine. I already know most of them, how much worse could it get? Besides, have you met my dad?”

“Yes,” Derek mutters, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. “On multiple occasions. In fact, he pulled me over just to say hello the other day. Laura was very amused. I think he’s trying to get a message across.”

Covering his face with his hands, Stiles sighs, “Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him.” Knowing his dad, it was probably his subtle way of showing off his badge and firearm.

When the jeep comes to a halt, Derek glances over at him as he turns off the engine and opens the car door. “Wait.”

He blinks. “What? Why? Do I look weird?”

Instead of answering, Derek asks, “You don’t have anything breakable in your backpack, right?”

Stiles narrows his eyes suspiciously. “No. Why?”

Derek shrugs and answers vaguely with a “Things tend to get broken in my house.”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” Stiles sighs and pushes himself out of the car. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

As he makes his way towards the door, he can see Peter standing in the living room, smiling, and just as creepy as ever. Derek has his hand on the doorknob now, and he turns to Stiles and says, “You might want to bend your knees,” before opening the door.

Stiles looks over in panic. “Why? Am I bracing for impact? Why am I—Jesus Christ!”

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but getting tackled to the ground by a pack of dogs and getting slobbered on by aggressive love was not it. Flailing his arms for help, he lets out a cry of relief when someone grabs his arm and pulls him back to his feet.

Derek looks amused (unfairly and attractively so). “I told you they were enthusiastic.”

Wiping the dog kisses off his face, he lets out an indignant squawk, “I thought you meant your parents! Not your army of dogs! You—how—holy crap, dude. How many dogs do you have?”

“Just nine for now,” Derek replies, kneeling down to get his slobbery welcome-homes. Stiles’ heart might be melting just a little at the sight of Derek being surrounded by wagging tails and giving dogs belly rubs. “We get them from the shelter.”

“Nine?” Stiles gapes. “You guys have nine dogs. That’s very…impressive. Very impressive. I applaud you, good sir. I am very impressed at the impressive number of dogs you guys impressively have.”

“Derek, is that you?” a voice calls from inside. “Are you just going to let our guest stand on the porch all day?”

Stiles gulps.

—

It could be worse, he tells himself, wiping his hands on his pants anxiously. Of course, with only Scott’s horror story to use as reference, he’s pretty sure anything would’ve been a pleasant surprise.

Derek’s mom isn’t as tall as Laura, but she has an air about her that commands respect. Stiles supposes it comes with the job of being on the town council. His dad’s equally intimidating, but in a subtler way.

It’s really not that bad, but Stiles is still on the verge of rambling out of nervousness.

That’s when the rest of the RAPILA crash through the door with a loud “Hi Mrs. and Mr. Hale! Where’s Stiles?” And just like that, the tension’s gone (he suspects Derek had something to do with this).

He owes them.

So much.

—

“Show time,” Peter announces after dinner. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

Everyone else moves into the living room and makes themselves comfortable. Sitting next to Derek, Stiles looks around, still having trouble grasping the idea that this is actually a thing. “You guys actually sit here and creep on your own family.”

Derek shrugs.

“Pass the popcorn,” he tells Peter, grabbing a handful when the bowl’s tilted towards him. He pushes the weirdness out of his mind and enjoys himself, because Stiles is nothing if not adaptable. “Unsalted? Why unsalted?”

Peter arches a brow at him. “We have nine dogs. Have you ever had to deal with nine sick dogs?” he asks, tossing a piece of popcorn to the closest one. “Oh, she’s back.”

Stiles looks out the window to see the Camaro rolling towards the house. Inside, Laura’s behind the wheel and in the passenger seat, another attractive woman. That’s not what he had expected. He lets out a low whistle. “Go Laura.”

Derek makes a disgusted noise. “Don’t encourage her. That’s my sister.”

He rolls his eyes and shoves a couple of pieces of popcorn into Derek’s mouth. “You’re the one who invited me, so suck it up, Der-Bear.”

Peter laughs and from the car, Laura flips them the bird.

Chapter Text

They’re walking down a trail in the preserve with the Hales’ army of (unleashed but fully vaccinated) dogs, all freakin' nine of them, when Derek suddenly turns and gives him a peck on the lips.

Stiles feels his jaw drop in disbelief.

It’s just a light kiss, but it’s their first.

“Derek?”

“I just felt like it,” Derek mutters with a shrug, walking ahead, his ears turning red.

“You know,” he says when he finally regains control over his voice, “I’m perfectly fine with that. More than fine. In fact, that needs to happen more often. This lip-on-lip action? This needs to happen, like, all day, every day. I hope you weren’t expecting it to be a one-time thing because that’s not happening.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says without an ounce of resolve.

“Make me,” he challenges.

Derek turns around, lips curling up ever so slightly. “That can be arranged.” He brings his fingers up to his lips and lets out a whistle.

Suddenly, Stiles finds himself on the ground with dogs littering his face with kisses.

“Is that enough ‘lip-on-lip action’ for you?” Derek asks.

“Oh my god,” he groans, sitting up. “I hate you. So much. The literal worst. You just wait. I’ll get you back for this.”

Derek outright smirks this time. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

“You should get Derek to write you a poem for Christmas. Der-Bear’s a great poet,” Laura tells him out of nowhere one day.

“Really now,” Stiles asks, skeptical. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to be hunched over a desk and writing flowery words down with a quill going all ‘Shall I compare thee to a cry of dismay?’”

“Oh you’d be surprised. He might not be quite at Shakespeare’s level yet, but he’s excellent at poetry,” she says with a serious nod. “And even if I’m lying to your face right now, wouldn’t it be great to see Derek write a poem?”

It’s not exactly logic he can argue with.

“I’ll even take a picture of Der-Bear writing and send it to you,” Laura promises.

“Alright, bought, sold. Totally. I’ll do it,” he immediately agrees, because who can say no to such an offer?

Laura grins and they shake on it.

 --

“Write me a poem,” Stiles says.

Derek makes a face (Stiles will forever begrudge how good he manages to look good while doing it). “What.”

“Write me a poem. We’ve only got a couple weeks till Christmas. I want a poem,” he repeats.

“Why.” 

“Intonation, dude. (“Don’t call me dude.”) And what do you mean why? Why what? Why now? Why a poem?” He gives an offhanded shrug. “I heard you were a good poet.”

“And you should know better than to believe Laura or Erica. You know, most people are happy with store-bought gifts,” Derek tries, with an emphasis on ‘most people’.

Stiles arches a brow. “I’m not most people, now am I?”

“No, you’re definitely not,” Derek agrees reluctantly. “No one else has the whole Beacon Hills police department acting as personal bodyguards for them.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t even deny it, so I won’t. But back to the topic at hand: I want a poem,” he insists. 

Running a hand through his hair, Derek heaves a sigh. “What kind of poem?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be a sonnet or an epic or anything. I’m not really expecting ‘Sing, goddess, the anger of John Stilinski’s son Stiles and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Beacon Hills Cyclones…”

“I’m not rewriting the Iliad for you.”

“You’ve read Homer?” Stiles asks, impressed.

“Had to for English.”

“Either way, I just want a poem—one written by you. And none of that roses and violets crap.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek shakes his head in defeat. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

 --

On the last day of school before winter vacation, Derek (moodily shoves) hands him a note on the way to class. Before Stiles can react, Derek has already disappeared down the hall. Shrugging, he unfolds the piece of paper and finds,

What the hell is a Stiles?
Fuck if I know.

Scott frowns, looking over his shoulder. “It doesn’t even rhyme.”

He tsks. “Dude, not all poems rhyme. I think you’re missing the most important part here, which is that Derek Hale wrote me a poem for Christmas.”

“But it doesn’t rhyme. What kind of poem doesn’t rhyme?” Scott complains again, like his brain’s stuck on that one thing.

Knowing Scott, it probably is.

Holding the piece of paper in his hands, he grins. “I think I’m gonna frame it and hang it on my wall.”

“But your dad will see it,” Scott reasons, “—and it doesn’t rhyme.”

Stiles sighs, “Remind me why I keep you around again?”

Scott grins. “Because I’m cute?”

After a moment of consideration, he nods. “Yeah, that sounds about right. C’mon, let’s get to class before Harris gives us detention on the last day.”

He ends up getting detention anyway because Laura sends him a photo during class. It’s one of Derek sprawled on the living room floor; he’s in glasses and staring thoughtfully at the piece of paper in his hands, all while ignoring all the dogs draped over him. Stiles takes one look at the photo, and, really, there’s just no possible way for him to continue paying attention in class after seeing that.

Chapter Text

It’s the night of New Year’s Eve and they’re all supposed to be at Lydia’s party where there’s food and possibly spiked punch.

The keywords here: supposed to.

“What.”

Derek has never sounded so unimpressed before and that’s probably not a good sign.

“Could you maybe sound a little less homicidal and ask me that again?” Stiles suggests.

“No. What do you mean you’re stuck in a tree, Stiles,” Derek asks.

“How many different ways can you possibly interpret that? I am currently unable to remove myself from a woody plant that usually consists of roots, a trunk and many branches that sprout outwards, and I believe I am in need of assistance—more specifically, yours,” Stiles says into his phone. “So would you mind coming by and helping me out? It’s cold.”

 After a beat, Derek sighs, “I’ll take Cora’s car. Where are you?”

“Oh thank god. You’re a lifesaver. I promise I’ll worship you and the air you breathe for the remainder of this year. I’m outside Scott’s house. I’ll text you the address. My phone’s almost out of batteries,” he says.

“This isn’t over. When I get there, I expect to get answers,” Derek says.

Stiles nods. “And answers you will get. You’ll get so many answers you won’t know what to do with all of them. Oh, and you think you could bring me something to eat? I’m starving. Like, a large pizza starving. The pizza places normally have a few extras made for tonight just in case, you know?”

He can practically hear Derek furrowing his eyebrows on the other line. “Can’t you just wait until we get back to the party like a normal person?”

“No. I’ll waste away and die before we get back, and chances are, all the pizza will be gone by then. How is the party, by the way?” Stiles asks.

Derek lets out a scoff. “Crowded. Loud. Annoying.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you should go into sales? ‘cause I bet you’d be great at it.”

“Shut up, Stiles. Just text me the address,” Derek barks.

“And so charming too,” he says with a laugh. “I seriously owe you one, Der-Bear.”

“That’s on the assumption that I don’t kill you when I get there.”

“Remember how I mentioned that you sometimes kind of resemble a violent criminal? This is one of those times,” Stiles says.

“It’s a good thing everyone’s at the party then. It’ll be easier for me to dispose of your body,” Derek replies.

Before he can respond, Derek hangs up.

“I’m going out with a possible homicidal maniac. Great. Guess that’s one more thing off my bucket list,” Stiles mutters to himself. “I really hope he brings pizza.”

--

When Derek shows up with pizza and a judgmental eyebrow arch, Stiles grins. “You are the actual best, Derek. I could just kiss you right now if I wasn’t stuck. Where’d you park?”

“Down the street,” Derek says. “How’d you even get stuck up there? And why are you here in the first place?”

Evidently, being around Stiles has forced Derek to improve his intonation when asking questions. It’s an accomplishment he’s quite proud of—he’s even thinking about writing it down in his resume.

“I wasn’t appropriately dressed to climb up a tree and may have overestimated my climbing abilities,” Stiles admits. “Scott asked me to get something for him and I was like, ‘Sure, best friend Scott, why not?’ So I came by and it turns out nobody was home so I was just gonna get in my usual way.”

“And by that, you mean breaking and entering,” Derek says, unimpressed.

“Yes, but not really because I have permission and I’m not gonna break anything—basically, I’m entering his house in an alternative way. Seriously, dude, I know my way around this house! It is literally my second home. But yeah, my coat got snagged onto something and I can’t pull myself free without falling. So you wanna pass the pizza up here and give me a hand?” Then, because he can’t help it, he adds, “Bet you’re real glad you didn’t have an umbrella way back in the fall, hmm? All this could’ve been avoided.”

Derek shrugs. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually real.”

Stiles grins, extremely pleased that Derek didn’t agree with his earlier statement. “What else could I be?”

“A bad hallucination,” Derek replies, climbing up the tree using only one arm.

It’s very impressive.

Handing the pizza over, Derek manages to free him without either of them falling to their deaths, which is always a plus in Stiles’ book. Then, when the two of them are standing on the branch, Stiles hands back the pizza and starts making his way over to the roof (because unlike Derek, who is clearly a part-time acrobat for Cirque du Soleil, he needs both hands to balance).

“You haven’t formally met Scott yet, have you? Well, now you know where he lives.” He checks the window and finds it unlocked. “Awesome, let’s go grab Scott’s stuff and head back to Lydia’s.”

It still makes him giddy to know that he got Derek Hale to go to Lydia’s New Year party with him. Even Lydia’s impressed by it. He can tell.

(And the fact that Jackson’s very intimidated by Derek is just a bonus.)

So the two of them sneak into the McCall household, with Derek grumbling the entire time about how he’s spending the last day of the year breaking into a person’s house with a pizza in his arms.

Stiles opens the window with a scoff. “You secretly love this. I bet this is the most exciting New Year’s Eve you’ve ever had.”

“With a family like mine? This is nothing. I grew up around Laura and Uncle Peter, remember?” Derek mutters, climbing into Scott’s bedroom after him. “One time, we snuck into the pool and filled it with sand because they wanted to have a beach party in the middle of winter.”

“Oh my god, that was you guys? Dude, that was like, the first headline of the year. You’re kinda my hero now,” Stiles tells him seriously. “You know, we’d make awesome burglars. Just saying—”

Just then, the front door opens and the two of them exchange horrified glances and run into Scott’s closet and knocking things over in the process.

“Yeah. So awesome,” Derek scoffs.

Stiles shushes him with a glare.

“Scott? Is that you?” Melissa calls out from downstairs. Footsteps make their way up the stairs and stops at the entrance of the room. “You left your window opened. Of course you did. Because we wouldn’t want to make it any harder for people to break into this house, now would we? It’s a good thing the only person interested in getting into our house is Stiles. Guess that’s what I get for feeding him.”

Derek shoots him a pointed look in the dimly lit closet.

There’s a sigh as she goes to close the window, picking up fallen items on the way. She pauses on her way out the door. “Why do I smell pizza? Ugh, please don’t tell me there’s leftover pizza under a pile of clothes somewhere. Teenagers,” she mutters, shutting the door on her way out.

After a couple minutes, they hear the front door opening and shutting again and the car starting outside. Stiles releases the breath he’s been holding and tries to push the door open because Scott’s closet stores not only clothes, but also a strange assortment of smells (now including pizza).

When the door doesn’t budge, Stiles frowns and tries again. Nothing. “The door won’t open.”

“What.”

He takes the pizza from Derek’s hands and watches him try. “Whoa, dude, let’s not rip the door off its hinges. Scott’s mom must’ve put something in front. Ah, crap, my phone’s out of batteries. What time is it?”

“It’s almost eleven,” Derek tells him.

“Pass it here. I’ll call Scott and get him to come let us out. He owes me for this anyway,” he says.

Punching in the number, he hits dial and the house phone immediately starts ringing.

Stiles frowns and tries again only to get the house phone again.

“That’s useful. Now all we have to do is wait for your friend to get home,” Derek deadpans.

“I swear I know his number,” Stiles insists. “I just can’t seem to dial it without the muscle memory from my childhood getting in the way.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Give it back. I’ll try calling Cora.”

With a sigh of defeat, he hands the phone back.

After a long moment of silence. Derek grumbles, “No one’s picking up.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll have to play the waiting game till someone picks up. …aren’t you glad I asked you to bring pizza?”

And that’s how they end up spending New Year’s in Scott’s closet, eating pizza and sleeping through the countdown because closets make surprisingly great places for naps. When they wake up again, after sleepy kisses and muttered “Happy New Year’s”, they try calling Derek’s contacts again. In the end, it’s Laura who picks up her phone first and breaks into the McCall house to rescue them (apparently breaking and entering is a life skill, not unlike riding a bike).

“I cut my New Year’s date short to break and enter into my baby brother’s boyfriend’s best friend’s house. How memorable. Hey, Der-Bear, doesn’t that remind you of grade seven when Uncle Peter convinced us that mom hid all the Easter eggs in other people’s houses?” Laura says, crawling in through the window.

“I wish it didn’t,” Derek says from the closet.

Stiles turns to stare at Derek in disbelief. Or, at least he tries. It’s hard to turn around completely when he’s sitting between Derek’s legs and using his chest as a backrest. “The Easter break-ins were you guys!? Oh my god, and I thought I was a menace.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Stiles. You are. But no one can compare to us.” The closet door opens, revealing Laura twirling a baseball bat in her hands. “You guys got outsmarted by a bat. Real smooth, Der-Bear.”

“A baseball bat!? Oh my god, do either of them even play baseball?” Stiles complains, getting up and glaring at the bat. “Guess it’s too late to bring Scott his things.”

Stretching out his limbs, Derek asks, “What were you supposed to pick up anyway?”

Stiles holds up Scott’s spare inhaler and a box of condoms. “Let’s just say he was planning on having a very happy New Year’s.”

Derek makes a face. “I officially know way too much about your friend.”

“And you haven’t even met-met him yet,” Stiles says with a laugh.

Laura grins. “That aside, want to learn how to make condom balloon animals?”

Stiles perks up and Derek raises a brow.

They end up leaving their balloon animals in compromising positions on Scott’s desk because as far as Stiles’ is concerned, there’s no better way to start the New Year.

(Happy New Year, best friend Scott.)

Chapter Text

“Dude, stop that. It’s weird,” Scott tells him one day in the cafeteria.

Stiles pauses and looks up from his food in confusion. “Stop what? What’s weird? What am I doing that’s weird? Elaborate, please.”

“You’re starting to eat like Derek and them and it’s really weird. Stop it,” Scott complains.

He furrows his brows and sits up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Scott. And since when did you start noticing Derek’s eating habits?”

Scott huffs, “Since just now! I look over at you and see you picking at your food, and then I look over and see Derek and them doing the same thing. Dude, it’s just, like, weird, okay? Even me and Allison don’t do that!”

“No, you two just finish each other’s sentences and text each other everything.” He looks over at where the RAPILA are seated to see them picking at their food as well. For a moment, he wonders whether he should tell Scott the truth or not, but in the end, the best friend card wins out (it always does and he should get an award for being such an awesome friend). “Remember how I told you about Derek owning a billion dogs?”

“Yeah, what about it?” Scott asks.

“It’s not a weird eating habit. We’re just picking out dog fur.” Then feeling a little malicious after the criticism, he adds, “By the way, I think it’s about time you and Derek formally met.”

Scott promptly chokes on his lunch.

Allison pats him on the back and asks, “You still haven’t met him, Scott? It’s been over a month.”

“I’ve been meaning to—sort of. I mean, we see him around all the time and there’s nothing for me to say to him,” Scott protests. “We know of each other! Isn’t that good enough?”

Stiles grins, unsympathetic. “Nope. I’m gonna set up a little something this weekend, okay? You’re not allowed to say ‘no’ or ‘but’.”

Scott opens his mouth and closes it again, brows furrowing.

“That’s what I thought,” Stiles says, victorious.

--

“So I figured it was about time you and Scott were formally introduced to one another.”

Derek immediately looks over. “Why.”

“What do you mean why? He’s my bro. This was bound to happen eventually. C’mon, help me decide on a venue,” Stiles says.

“A venue,” Derek repeats. “What is this, a fight?”

Stiles lets out a snort. “Don’t be silly. Scott’s asthmatic. He’d never win. I’m just trying to figure out what the fastest way to make you guys friends is. I mean, how hard can it be, right?”

“We spent New Year’s eating pizza in his closet,” Derek points out. “I know way too much about him already.”

“Yeah, well, that could be a potential icebreaker, right? Like, ‘Hi, you have a nice closet and your condoms make great balloon animals’ or something,” he suggests, making unrelated gestures with his hands. “Let’s do it at your place.”

Derek frowns. “My place? Why my place?”

“You’ll see. I’ve got a plan.”

Stiles is pretty sure he has Laura and years of desensitization to thank for Derek’s lack of protest and sigh of resignation.

(Thank you, Derek's awesome big sister Laura.)

--

From the window upstairs, he can see Scott’s car rolling towards the house and runs back over to Derek’s room with a grin. He knows for a fact that that his friend will text him before getting out of the car. But by then, it’ll be too late.

His phone buzzes.

I’m here. Wow this place is huge.

Derek arches a brow. “I take it your friend’s here.”

“Yep,” he says, not replying to the text. “Just wait for it.”

His phone buzzes again.

OMFG STILES WHAT IS THIS

And again.

THERES A GUY AT THE WINDOW WITH POPCORN

And again.

M I AT THE RITE PLACE?? HES JUS SITTIN THERE N WATCHIN ME

Derek arches a brow. “Is he not going to knock on the door?”

Instead of answering, Stiles says, “His texting skills really take a dive when he gets scared.”

STILES HELP

Pocketing his phone, Stiles gestures for Derek to follow him. “C’mon, time to make a new friend. Go rescue Scott from his car and he’ll be eternally grateful to you.”

“What.”

“Just do it,” he says, ushering Derek down the stairs and towards the front door. With a skeptical look, Derek makes his way outside while Stiles heads to the living room. “Alright, show’s over.”

“Your friend seems to be giving himself an asthma attack in there,” Peter notes, sounding amused.

“Yeah, he’ll do that if you leave him alone for too long,” Stiles says.

“Well, that was a fun little break,” Peter says, getting up and taking his bowl of popcorn with him. “Guess it’s time to get back to work. See you later, Stiles.”

Stiles still doesn’t know what Peter does, and whenever Peter ‘goes back to work’, he becomes impossible to find. Strange doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Outside, he can hear Scott exclaiming something in relief and heads to the front door. He sees Scott with his inhaler and Derek trying to explain who Peter is to him.

“Is he your dead uncle? Like, a ghost?” Scott asks.

Derek rolls his eyes. “No, he just likes to sit there and watch people.”

“But he’s disappeared,” Scott argues.

“He probably had something to do,” Derek says. “Stiles, what was the point in this?”

Stiles shrugs. “Call it an icebreaker.”

Arching a brow, Derek repeats, “An icebreaker.”

“Yep,” he confirms. “Derek, Scott. Scott, Derek. Look, we’re all friends now!”

“Dude, your house is creepy,” Scott mutters. His phone buzzes and he glances down. “Allison thinks so too.”

Grinning, Stiles tells Derek, “Nothing creates instant friendships better than rescuing someone from a traumatizing event.”

Chapter Text

There are times when Stiles still can’t believe he’s going out with Derek, alpha male of the RAPILA. This is one of those instances.

They’re just hanging out at his house and playing video games. His dad’s at work because Derek’s (scared) still not willing to go through with the big confrontation yet. It’s so amazingly normal that Stiles is starting to wonder if it’s all just a dream. And then that’s when Laura decides to grace them with her presence. There’s a loud honk from outside, which is how the two of them end up standing at the door with confused looks on their faces.

“Get in losers, we’re going shopping,” Laura calls from the Camaro.

Stiles shoots Derek a look. It’s his best ‘am I dreaming?’ look.

Derek shrugs and says, “We rewatched Mean Girls yesterday,” as way of explanation. “You should hear some of the things Uncle Peter’s been saying.”

“I really want to take a guess at what he said, but I don’t want to traumatize myself with the image,” he mutters, making his way to the car. “Hey Laura. What’s up?”

She smiles. “Hey you two. Sorry for crashing your quality bonding time—”

“No, you’re not,” Derek grumbles. “You’re never sorry for anything except that time you—”

“—but I had this sudden, insane craving for breakfast foods,” Laura says, raising her voice and cutting her brother off. “You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?” 

“Like bacon and stuff? Nope, can’t risk my dad finding it,” he explains.

“Looks like we really are going shopping then. Hop in. We’re going on a bacon run,” she tells them.

He looks at Derek again.

Derek shrugs again. “Anytime anyone tries cooking at our house on a weekend, they end up having to cook for at least six mouths.” Then under his breath, he mumbles, “And you wanted her to be a werewolf. The last thing I need is Laura getting cravings twice a month.”

Stiles lets out a laugh and gets into the car. “Fine, I guess we can cook at my place then.”

“You’re the best,” Laura coos. 

That’s how they end up making a full breakfast at three in the afternoon. He does his best to Febreze the place to hide the scent of bacon in the kitchen, but it’s no use. 

When the Sheriff gets home, his immediate reaction is “Why do I smell bacon and other delicious, forbidden food?”

Stiles sighs. Not wanting to torment his dad with the smell, he concedes, “Laura wanted bacon, so me and Derek went with her to get some, and then we had brunch here. I saved you some, but you’re only allowed to have one slice of bacon.”

“Just one? That’s like eating one curly fry,” John complains. “There should be a law against only having one slice of bacon.”

“It’s one slice or nothing at all,” Stiles says with finality.

John sighs and holds his hands up in defeat. “Fine. One’s better than nothing, I guess.” Then he looks over at Laura and Derek who’re currently sitting in front of the TV and killing each other on the screen. “You two are family now and need to come over more often if it means I get to have more bacon.”

Derek gawks while Laura grins and salutes. “Will do, Sheriff.”

“Right. Now, it’s bacon time. Oh how I’ve missed you,” John sing-songs to himself as he makes his way back to the kitchen with a smile on his lips.

This time, it’s Derek’s turn to look over at him. “Your father’s approval is surprisingly cheap.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s bacon.”

“Better stock up on quality bacon if you ever plan on proposing, bro,” Laura tells him with a laugh.

Derek’s ears turn red. “Why are we even related?”

“Oh my god, Derek, you can’t just ask people why they’re related,” Stiles says, unable to help himself.

Laura immediately grins. “God, Derek, you’re so stupid!”

The two of them exchange high-fives while Derek buries his face in his hands and sighs.

Chapter Text

“We’re dead,” Isaac groans.

“So dead,” Erica agrees.

“Why am I even here? I didn’t do anything,” Stiles complains.

Isaac looks over and says, “You were there and you’re the one who helped us escape, so now you’re an accomplice.”

“So I’m getting punished for doing something nice for you guys?” he asks, incredulous.

Erica shrugs. “Looks like it. Sucks to be you.”

(Thank you, RAPILA member, Erica.)

The three of them are huddling in Derek’s old treehouse in the woods after Isaac accidentally spilt his drink onto Peter’s favourite chair after Erica accidentally bumped into him. Stiles had been sitting in the kitchen at the time, waiting for Derek to shower after a run with his pack of dogs when the whole incident occurred.

Once they realized that there would be no hiding the stain on Peter’s chair, the two had turned to him with panic stricken faces and he came up with the brilliant idea to go hide in Derek’s treehouse, which is where they are now.

“It can’t be that bad, right?” Stiles tries to reason. “I mean, what’s the worst Peter can do?”

The two don’t even bother gracing him with a reply.

(Rude.)

 “Well, at least it’ll take him a while to find us out here,” he mutters, “hopefully.”

“Hey,” a voice calls from outside.

The three of them let out shouts of surprise and poke their heads out the entrance to see Derek and Cora standing there. Stiles waves. “Hello.”

“You three are so screwed,” Cora says, looking far too amused to even remotely pass off as sympathetic.

“Yes, we’re very well aware of that, thank you,” Erica retorts. “Hurry up and get up here before Peter comes out looking for us and sees you.”

And that’s how he ends up hiding in a treehouse with the RAPILA (minus Boyd)—yet another thing he can add to his list of ‘things he never expected to do’.

“What were you thinking?” Cora chides.

Isaac huffs and adjusts his scarf. “I wasn’t. There was no thought process involved. I didn’t intentionally accidentally spill my drink after Erica ran into me. Seriously, the house is huge, did you have to walk so close to me?”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Don’t try to push the blame onto me. Besides, I’m the one trying to save our bacon right now. I’ve got Boyd stalling till we come up with a plan.”

“Did you remember to tell Laura that you’re hiding for your life?” Derek asks.

“She’s not naturally sympathetic. You have to remind her most of the time,” Cora adds.

There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat outside. They exchange wary glances and stick their heads out the entrance to see Peter standing there with his arms crossed and eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Ah crap…” Erica mutters.

“Ah crap is right. Next time you’re hiding from me, you should probably refrain from texting your location to people in the house,” Peter says, managing to sound both amused and pissed off beyond words.

“We have nothing to do with this,” Derek and Cora say just as Stiles and Erica blurt out, “It was Isaac’s fault!”

(Evidently, they all have better self-preservation instincts than poor Isaac.)

Isaac turns around with an indignant expression on his face. “I hate you all. I thought we were friends!”

Cora shakes her head. “You should’ve known better, Isaac. It’s every person for themselves when it comes to facing Uncle Peter’s wrath.”

--

After the gang all climb down from the treehouse (with Isaac looking particularly dejected), he asks Derek, “If it’d been me, would you’ve stuck your neck out for me?”

Derek doesn’t even hesitate when he answers, “Nope. The thought wouldn’t even cross my mind.”

If they weren’t holding hands just then, he would’ve thrown his in the air in exasperation. “Wow, A+ for honesty right there.”

“Are you saying you would’ve?” Derek asks, arching a brow.

Stiles lets out a laugh. “No way! Dude, have you met your uncle?”

“Yes, I live with him. Once, he made Laura sing ‘Hail Peter Hale, Lord and Ruler of the Little Hales’ whenever he entered the room.”

“Wait, is that why she randomly burst into song last week?” Stiles asks. “I thought the lyrics were kinda weird.”

Derek shrugs. “Uncle Peter wrote it himself. And it wasn’t just at the house, she had to sing it when we went out for dinner too. It’s probably on Youtube by now.”

Chapter Text

“He doesn’t do very much,” little Laura complains, peering over the playpen to study the strange, pudgy figure lying inside. “I just don’t get it, Uncle Peter. Mom said she was getting me a baby brother, so he’s mine, right? But she didn’t let me name him and he’s not doing anything. Maybe he’s broken. I still think we should’ve gotten another dog.”

“I feel like you’re overestimating him,” teenage Peter says from the other side of the playpen, “and maybe mistaking him for a pet.” Then out of boredom, he asks, “What were you thinking about naming him?”

“Princess Pretty Pink.”

Peter lets out a snort. “Is that why you’ve been making him wear pink tiaras? I don’t think Derek here would like being called Princess Pretty Pink very much.”

“Why? Mom and dad said I’m good at naming things,” she retorts. “That’s why I got to name Mrs. Paws and Mr. Waggy-Tail and Sir Barksalot.”

“Yeah, but Derek’s not a dog. And you know how you have to listen to me and bring me popcorn when I’m watching TV?”

Laura nods.

“Well, one day, Derek will have to do anything you tell him to. And if you give him a name like ‘Princess Pretty Pink’, he might not respond very well to it.” He walks over and puts an arm around Laura’s shoulders. “Just imagine it: one day, instead of having to get popcorn for me in the middle of a movie, you can get Derek to go and get us both popcorn.”

Her eyes light up at the idea. “You mean I’ll get my own peon?”

Peter really hopes she hasn’t been using that word at school, but he wouldn’t put it past her. “That’s right. So pick a better name or he’ll rebel against you someday.”

She takes a moment to think. “What about Der-Bear? Is that okay?”

“That’s better than Princess Pretty Pink, I guess,” Peter says with a shrug.

Laura grins. “I’m going to start training him right now!”

Figuring he’s done his part, Peter nods approvingly. “You do that. I’ve got homework to do. Bring me a snack when you’re done here, would you?”

“Okay,” she says obediently. “That’ll be your job soon, Der-Bear,” she tells the baby. “My very own peon.”

Waking from his nap, Derek looks up and smiles at her.

--

“And that’s how the name ‘Der-Bear’ came to be,” Laura concludes.

Stiles blinks. “Wow. Just…wow. That wasn’t what I was expecting. Like, at all.”

“After that, I trained him so well that he followed me everywhere around the house. He could sit, stay, lie down and nap on cue,” she boasts. “I think at one point, I was trying to teach him how to play fetch but mom stopped me.”

“I can’t decide if that makes you a great trainer or a terrible human being—or both,” Stiles says. Then, looking around, he asks, “Where’d Derek go anyway?”

“Uncle Peter wanted popcorn,” Laura tells him with a grin. “What can I say? Der-Bear’s very well trained.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Failinski.”

Without meaning to, Stiles lifts his head and looks around the cafeteria only to find Matt Daehler. Super. He gives a tight nod. “Ah, Matt. Always a pleasure to see your face. What can I do for you today?”

Derek might look like a violent criminal at times, but Matt looks like one part creepy stalker and one part mass murderer—and not even a smart, sociopathic one. More like an angry, rampaging killer. One with a large, dumb henchman (kind of like Jackson) to do all the dirty work because he looks like the type to throw a tantrum after getting a little blood on his shirt.

Just look at his face.

The dude’s clearly evil.

“Heard you’ve been hanging around Hale a lot recently. What, are you guys going out or something now?” Matt all but sneers.

Chances are, he tried something on Allison earlier and it blew up in his face, much to the surprise of no one, and now he’s taking it out on Stiles. Though, to be fair, it could also be Matt’s way of getting back at him for completely dismissing his rather serious concussion as nothing last week.

Matt’s definitely the type to hold grudges.

Scott looks at him with concern while Lydia merely arches a brow coolly. No one else notices—or, like Jackson, they just couldn’t care less.

(Allison would’ve shared Scott’s look of concern, but she’s not there right now, which is probably why Matt decided to pick a fight now of all times.)

Under normal circumstances, Stiles would’ve proudly proclaimed ‘Why yes, that is indeed what is happening’, but he’s not about to indulge Matt. “I can neither affirm nor deny anything.”

Matt lets out a huff of incredulous laughter. “How does something like that even happen? The loud benchwarmer and Derek Hale.”

Apparently there’s no proper adjective to describe Derek.

At this point, Danny and Jackson have turned to watch because they’re probably curious as to how something like that did happen.

“Not sure myself, bud. I guess miracles do happen, hmm? Bet you wish you could say the same,” Stiles says with an offhanded wave, wanting to be left in peace.

It isn’t until the words have left his mouth that he realizes what he just said. And evidently, it wasn’t the brightest thing to say as Matt’s face turns an interesting shade of murderous. Stiles is pretty sure he just made Matt’s hit-list, which, no doubt, exists. All the same, Stiles isn’t about to apologize.

The guy’s being a dick.

Before he can (find and hide behind Allison) flee to the safety, Stiles notices a presence behind him and freezes. Glancing over, he sees everyone (actually everyone this time) looking behind him in shock. He really hopes it isn’t the hypothetical big, violent lackey he thought up for Matt.

“Stiles.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and turns around. “Hey Derek. What’s up?”

“We need a tie-breaker,” Derek mutters.

Stiles furrows his brows and looks over at where the RAPILA are sitting and watching them. “But there are five of you—”

“I really don’t care enough about sandwich spreads to vote,” Derek interjects. And then he arches an eyebrow in a way that clearly says, ‘Stop poking holes in my lie and come with me if you want to get yourself out of this mess you somehow managed to get yourself into.’

“Oh. Well, I can totally believe that. But, dude, sandwich spreads are important business,” Stiles says, quickly getting out of his seat. “Hate to cut our conversation short but duty calls,” he tells Matt. “I’ll see you in class, Scott.”

“Yeah, see you later, bro,” Scott calls back.

As he leaves Allison returns to the table and he can hear her ask, “What’d I miss?”

Walking back towards the RAPILA table, Stiles heaves a sigh of relief. “You’re a life saver, dude. How’d you know I was in trouble? Have we finally developed a telepathic bond?”

Derek holds up his phone. “Scott and Lydia texted me.”

“Aww, Scotty—wait, what? Lydia? Like, Lydia Martin? Really? Let me see,” Stiles says. He and Lydia (who is still a goddess and the best thing that’s happened to the planet) may be friends—now that he’s not trying to woo her anymore—but this scenario Derek’s proposing still doesn’t seem entirely plausible.

Stiles unlocks the screen to see the most recent message from Scott:

Dudeee come help! Matt’s trying to pick a fight with Stiles!

Then the next one from a number not from Derek’s (limited) contacts:

Your boyfriend’s getting himself into trouble again. Come get him. You owe me one. -Lydia

He stares at the screen in disbelief. “Wow, this is real.”

“What I want to know is how she got my number,” Derek mutters with a frown.

“Goddesses work in mysterious ways,” he says with a shrug.

Derek arches a brow pointedly at him.

Stiles grins and gives Derek a light, teasing nudge with his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Lydia’s absolutely perfect and a goddess in every way, but I find that I’m really more into the violent criminal, potential werewolf type these days.”

He nearly trips over his own feet when Derek chuffs and smiles.

Chapter Text

It’s a brilliant plan.

It’s such a brilliant plan the whole world should take note. Sure, it might not be very original or elaborate or well thought out or even particularly amazing, but it’s brilliant nonetheless.

Stiles is lounging on the couch in an empty Hale house because a little earlier, Laura had let him in, told him that Derek should be back soon, and then dashed off somewhere. Sure, Peter might be in the house somewhere, but he’s also impossible to locate, so Stiles might as well be in an empty house.

(For all he knows, Peter could be sitting in some secret location right now and just watching him. Creepy, but not impossible—or even implausible for that matter.)

His brilliant plan hits him when he hears the door open and dozens of happy paws going through the front door. And then he hears Derek call out, “Stiles?”

He can hear the dogs leading Derek to the living room where he currently is and quickly goes through with his plan: feigning sleep and then surprising the pants off Derek. Figuratively. Though he wouldn’t complain if it somehow happened literally.

Stiles is almost disappointed when he hears a soft “Oh” followed by the pack of dogs being led back out of the room.

Luckily, his disappointment’s quickly alleviated when he hears light footsteps approach him. Before he can do anything, he feels something being draped over him.

It’s a blanket.

And not to be too creepy or anything, but it smells wonderfully of Derek.

A hand runs lightly through his hair and lingers for a moment before the same footsteps retreat again.

Waiting for a moment to make sure that he’s been left alone with his foiled (but still brilliant) plan, Stiles bites his lower lip and pulls the blanket over his head to hide the blush spreading on his face.

A keeper.

This one’s definitely a keeper.

Chapter Text

“Bro, you look really sick. Maybe you should go home,” Scott tells him, first thing in the morning.

“What? I’m fine, dude,” Stiles replies. “Fit as Derek Hale. Have you ever seen him shirtless? His abs are amazing.”

Scott makes a face. “Ew. I really didn’t need to know that. But if you’re sure…”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “Want me to do a cartwheel to prove it?—except it wouldn’t prove anything since I can’t really do cartwheels, but that’s not the point. The statement still stands.”

--

He may have overestimated his immune system.

Somehow, he manages to make it through his first class. He doesn’t remember anything from it, but he got through it. Boyd and Erica practically drag him out of the classroom afterwards where they pass by Jackson, who takes one look at him and frowns. “Wow, Stilinski, you look even worse than usual. I didn’t think that was possible. Go home before you puke on someone.”

Stiles does a double take, which doesn’t help his dizzy spell at all, and then his shoulders sag in defeat. “Okay. Fine. I give. If Jackson is expressing his backhanded concern, then maybe I should go home.”

“Oh, so you’ll listen to Jackson but not us?” Erica asks.

“Yes, because if Jackson’s speaking up, I must look like I’m actually about to die,” Stiles reasons. “He doesn’t care enough to fuss over me over little things and I may have accidentally conditioned him to say something whenever I look nauseous when I threw up on him that one time in fifth grade.”

“That’s good to know,” Boyd grumbles.

“What’s going on?” comes a voice from down the hall.

Stiles blinks. “Derek?”

Erica grins and flashes him her phone. “We lit the Bat-Signal—or, the reverse Bat-Signal, which pretty much means ‘Batman needs help’.”

“Unless my eyesight’s going, that just says ‘SITACH’,” Stiles slurs, squinting at the phone, his head feeling increasingly heavier with each passing minute.

“‘Stiles in trouble again. Come help.’ You’re welcome. He’s sick and all yours, Derek,” Erica says, passing him over to Derek

“Aww, you guys made an acronym for me? That’s so sweet, though the ‘again’ was uncalled for—”

He gets cut off when Derek presses a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. C’mon, I’m taking you home.”

“See you later, Batman,” Erica calls out, heading off to her next class.

“Home? But what about your classes?” Stiles asks.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re in no condition to drive anywhere,” Derek tells him. “Now give me your keys.”

Like so often when Derek puts on an authoritative front, Stiles feels a shiver go down his back—though, admittedly, that could’ve also been the fever.

--

Stiles falls asleep in the car and is vaguely aware of Derek carrying him out of the car. This is mainly because he remembers hearing the jeep’s door being slammed shut and mumbling a complaint about being nicer to his car.

The next thing he knows, a familiar smell comes wafting into his room. He opens his eyes and sits up, his head feeling heavy and stuffy, and his throat dry. All in all, he feels like death. Checking his clock, he’s only been out for half an hour. “Dad?” he croaks out, his voice raspy.

“Not quite,” Derek replies, stepping through the door with a glass of water and a bowl of soup.

Stiles gratefully accepts the water and the pills Derek hands him. He takes a large gulp of water before looking up again. “Is that chicken noodle soup? Oh my god, you made me chicken noodle soup.”

Derek shrugs and hands him the bowl. “I opened a can and heated the contents.”

He takes the bowl and looks down, eyes widening. “You added Goldfish! My mom used to add Goldfish to my soup. How’d you know?”

“I called your dad and he told me. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal,” Stiles insists. “You skipped class to bring me home and you went and made me chicken noodle soup and you even added Goldfish. You’re like, the actual best. If I wasn’t sick, I’d kiss you.”

Derek leans in but then pauses. “If you cough or sneeze in my face, I will kill you.”

Stiles nods. “Duly noted.”

“Good,” Derek mutters, giving him a light kiss on the lips. “Now eat the soup and get some sleep.”

And he does.

Because who is he to say no to an aggressively thoughtful and caring Derek Hale?

Chapter Text

Derek is sleeping.

Derek Hale is asleep in front of him.

Derek Hale is asleep in his own room, which he had just entered, and now Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It doesn’t help that his brain can’t seem to get past the whole thought of ‘Oh my god, I am standing here and watching Derek Hale sleep.’ Then realizing how creepy that sounded even in his own head, he set about trying to keep himself busy and the creepiness to a minimal.

Cora and Isaac have taken the dogs out—all nine of them, so he can’t exactly play with them or attempt to teach them new tricks (he doesn’t understand how the Hales make it look so easy). Laura’s out (with the Camaro), and Mr. and Mrs. Hale are…Stiles isn’t sure where they are, but they’re not home. And as for Peter, he could be in the woods writing an opera for woodland creatures to sing for all Stiles knows.

Without the dogs as a distraction, he sets about tidying up Derek’s room because neatening things up can be therapeutic and relaxing at times. Unfortunately, Derek’s room is pretty Spartan and leaves very little to straighten, so Stiles decides to snoop around instead.

He’s looking through Derek’s surprisingly large (and organized) collection of books when he hears Derek mutter, “Stiles, what are you doing?”

That raspy voice, thick with sleep, sends a tingle down his spine.

Stiles immediately turns around with a start, and, not knowing what to do with his hands, he shoves them into his pockets and rocks on his heels. “Not much. I was gonna clean your room for you or something but you have a really clean room already, so I was just looking at your impressive bookcase here.”

Derek grumbles, “C’mere.”

He complies. “Why? What’s up? You need anything, big guy?”

“Yeah.” A hand shoots up and grabs him and pulls him down onto the bed. Stiles goes down with an ungraceful squawk. In his barely conscious state, Derek merely grunts and drapes an arm around him. “Sleep.”

Stiles lies there, listening to his heart pound. He is lying in Derek Hale’s bed, and he’s half-lying on top of a sleeping Derek Hale.

(Wow, not creepy-sounding at all.)

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“But I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking too loudly—and no, there’s no telepathic link. Just close your eyes and sleep.”

Feeling warmth radiate from Derek along with the steady rise and fall of his chest, Stiles closes his eyes and wills himself to relax. “Fine, but don’t complain to me if you wake up with me drooling on you.”

“S’fine.”

--

It’s the feeling of someone’s piercing gaze that wakes him. Eyes fluttering open, he instinctively closes his mouth and swallows whatever saliva failed to escape his mouth. Derek’s arm is still around him and Stiles wants nothing more than to go back to sleep but then he notices them.

All of them.

He gives a start, waking Derek up with the movement. The older boy’s flutter open. He lifts his head and spots Laura, Peter, Cora, Isaac, and all nine dogs watching them. “You guys are the worst,” he complains, taking the words right out of Stiles’ mouth.

Laura grins and puts her phone away. “You two were so cute. I wanted pictures.”

Stiles rolls off of Derek and frowns. “Did you guys really have nothing better to do than to stand around and watch us sleep?” Then he spots Peter. “Oh my god, did you actually drag your chair all the way up here to watch?”

“Technically, no,” Peter says with a shrug. “I had Isaac bring it up, and he’ll also be the one bringing it back down later.”

Isaac makes an unhappy sound at that.

Peter grins. “Popcorn?”

Chapter Text

Dude, what are you gonna get Stiles for his birthday?

“It’s your birthday soon,” Derek asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

Stiles looks up from his burger and curly fries. “Yeah, it’s like, in a week. Whoa, how’d you know?”

He didn’t.

“What do you normally do on your birthday?” he asks instead.

“Not much,” Stiles says with a shrug. “Breakfast and lunch with dad if he’s got the day off, Scott if not, visit mom, dinner with dad and Scott and his mom.”

“No parties?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, no piñatas either. Not exactly Lydia Martin, you know?”

--

That night, Derek frowns when he looks over his list again. It’s awfully short for something as big as a surprise party. So far, all he has on his list are:

•          Piñata
•          Cake

Realizing that he has no idea how to plan surprise parties, he turns to the dogs lying next to his chair and tells them, “This is a minor emergency.”

--

“This is a minor emergency meeting,” Derek declares when everyone (minus Stiles, who’s paying his dad a visit at the station) manages to find a seat in the treehouse. It feels weird and a little wrong being in the presence of Stiles’ friends without Stiles around.

“Wait. Hold up,” Erica cuts in. “Is this your kind of minor emergency or a normal person’s kind of minor emergency?”

“I wasn’t aware there were different classifications for minor emergencies,” he replies drily. “What’s the difference?”

Erica pauses for a moment, trying to come up with examples. “Well, you’d call three fractured ribs and a broken arm a minor emergency, and a normal person would call running out of milk a minor emergency. I feel like it’s probably your kind of minor emergency since you brought along all of us and these three,” Erica continues, nodding at Allison, Lydia and Scott.

“What would you classify a surprise birthday party for Stiles,” Derek asks.

“His birthday’s coming up?” Isaac asks.

Scott nods. “It’s next week. He’s never had a surprise party before, this is going to be awesome! I can get his dad to help out when I go to Stiles’ later!”

“What’s the problem then? It sounds pretty under control,” Erica asks.

“That wasn’t the problem, the surprise party part is the problem,” Derek grumbles. It feels like defeat, having to admit to this particular weakness.

Allison smiles, not unkindly. “You’ve never planned a surprise party before?”

“Laura and Uncle Peter are the party planners,” Cora explains. “Mom and dad are there to make sure they don’t go overboard, and me and Derek normally just do as we’re told.”

“Why don’t you get them to help?” Lydia asks, checking her painted nails for chips.

“Oh my god, please don’t. Peter can’t know about this,” Isaac pleas.

Scott perks up. “Your creepy uncle?”

Cora looks over. “You know Uncle Peter?”

“Yeah, I thought he was a ghost when I first saw him but Derek said he wasn’t,” Scott tells her.

“I don’t want Peter there,” Isaac whines.

Derek arches a brow. “Nobody wants him there.”

Isaac frowns. “Yeah, but if he finds out, he’ll make me haul his chair all the way to Stiles’ house so he can sit by the window and be creepy. His chair is heavy!”

 What a disturbing thought.

“That’s not happening,” Derek tells him. “For so many reasons. Laura said she’d help, but she’s got a pretty full schedule this week.”

Surprisingly, it’s Boyd that speaks up, “I’ve organized a few surprise parties for my sister. I can help.”

Boyd is officially his favourite person in the treehouse.

“Is there anything special we should get for this?” Boyd asks.

“A piñata,” Derek says.

Everyone turns to shoot him questioning looks.

He ignores them.

Scott perks up. “Can we give this a cool name? Like, Operation, I don’t know, something.”

Derek shrugs. “We’ll think of something.”

They don’t.

--

On the day of Operation Something, he sets off in the morning to Stiles’ house to be the ‘distraction’, which basically means buy Stiles whatever he wants for lunch while everyone else goes to set things up. 

Towards the end of their meal, he gets a text from Boyd.

Something.

(They’d also failed to come up with a code word.)

“Who was it?” Stiles asks.

Derek looks up and lies, “Uncle Peter wants to wish you a happy birthday, and he’d recommend the apple crumble for the next time you eat here.”

When in doubt, bring Peter into the conversation.

It works.

Stiles doesn’t even question it. “Kinda creepy, but tell him thanks, I guess.”

(Thank you, Uncle Peter.)

--

When they pull up at Stiles’ house, it’s quiet.

“Huh, maybe dad’s taking a nap,” Stiles mutters, unlocking his front door.

The two of them step inside and suddenly, they’re getting attacked with streamers and balloons. “Surprise!”

“Holy baby belugas!” Stiles yelps and leaps into his arms.

Derek lets out a grunt at the sudden weight in his arms. He’s pretty sure that that’s not how people normally react.

Scott takes a step forward from his hiding place, clutching his sides from laughing too hard. “Bro, your face. That was priceless! We totally nailed Operation Something!”

Stiles looks up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

He shrugs. “Happy birthday.”

From Derek’s arms, Stiles looks around again at everyone there, a grin breaking out on his face. “Aww, you guys shouldn’t ha—oh my god, is that an actual piñata!? Holy crap! You guys are awesome! Somebody hand me a bat! Best birthday ever!”

Chapter Text

Stiles is fuming.

“Bro, what’s wrong?” Scott asks. “Did something happen between you and Derek?”

“Me and Derek aren’t talking.”

Scott’s eyes widen. “You guys are fighting for real? What happened?”

He shrugs and slams his locker shut. Just thinking about it makes him angry. “We reached an impasse. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Like the best friend he is, Scott nods and says earnestly, “Okay. But remember that I’m on your side no matter what, alright?”

Stiles’ frown softens. “Aww, you always know what to say when I’m down.”

--

“What’s wrong with him?” Lydia asks, arching a brow.

He’s too busy glaring at Derek to answer, so Scott does it for him instead. “Him and Derek are fighting.”

Allison frowns, concern gleaming in her eyes. “Really? What happened?”

Scott shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

From the RAPILA table, Derek lifts his head and returns the glare.

“Wow, it looks serious,” Lydia notes offhandedly before returning her attention back to Jackson.

“Yeah, because he’s seriously wrong,” he barks, turning back to his lunch.

Allison and Scott exchange worried looks.

--

The next day, Derek doesn’t wait for him after practice and Stiles doesn’t care.

He doesn't.

Instead, he goes straight home where his dad looks up from the couch. “I thought you were going over to Derek’s today.”

“There was a change of plans. We’re having a fight,” Stiles says.

John arches a brow. “Oh? What happened?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know nothing’s going to get solved if you two don’t talk it over,” his father points out.

Stiles sighs. “I know, but not today.”

Nodding understandingly, John pats the seat next to him. “Why don’t you come watch the game with your old man instead, then?”

He smiles and takes a seat on the couch. “Hey dad?”

“Hmm?”

“What’d you and mom do when you guys got into a fight?” Stiles asks.

John snorts. “Please. We were perfect. We never fought.”

Stiles laughs. “Oh my god, you’re such a liar.”

Taking a moment to think, John wraps an arm around his son’s shoulders and says, “I guess we’d cool down first. Then we’d would do something—just a little gesture—to remind us why we were together in the first place. Of course, after that, we’d talk it over, maybe come to a compromise, and make up.”

“What if there’s no comprise to be reached?” Stiles asks. “I mean, hypothetically.”

“Son, not everything can be comprised. Sometimes you’ll just have to accept that person for the way they are. Your mother and I accepted that our taste in music will never match, and we compromised on 1% milk,” John muses, thinking fondly of his late wife. “So are you going to tell me what you and Derek were fighting about?”

 He shakes his head. “It was stupid. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Guess I won’t have to pull him over and threaten him with my gun then,” John drawls.

“I feel like we need to have a serious discussion about you abusing your powers,” Stiles says.

“Only if we get to discuss adding bacon back into my diet,” his father retorts.

Stiles snorts. “In your dreams.”

The two turn their attention back to the game.

“Hey dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

--

It’s raining, it’s pouring, and this time, Scott’s walking next to him.

Stepping outside, Stiles is surprised to find Derek standing by the pick-up zone, hunched over to shield himself from the rain. “Whoa, déjà vu,” he mutters. Then, turning to Scott, he says, “Give me a sec. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Scott smiles and gives him a nod of encouragement.

(Thank you, best friend Scott.)

Stiles walks over and holds his umbrella over Derek’s head.

Derek Hale, the ridiculously good looking senior Stiles has gotten to know all too well.

Derek Hale, the guy who (broods) sits at the far corner of the cafeteria with the RAPILA.

Derek Hale, the guy who he may or may not have been dating for the last few months.

Derek Hale, who’s staring at him with soft eyes and a (still stupidly attractive) rueful look on his face.

“Hey,” Stiles says.

“Hey,” Derek replies.

“It’s raining,” he mumbles, for lack of better things to say.

Derek chuffs. “Yes, it is.”

There’s a pause between them before Stiles, rubbing the back of neck, says, “I’m sorry. This fight…it was stupid. It’s all stupid—not the topic of the fight, but the act of fighting itself, I mean.”

His words causes Derek to lower his head. “Yeah. Look, I’m sorry too.”

Stiles smiles. “You’re forgiven. So, we’re good?”

“We’re good,” Derek affirms.

“Good,” he says. “I missed you these last few days.”

“Me too.”

From the side, Scott covers his eyes while they kiss and make up.

“I mean,” Stiles starts, “it’s not like it really matters that you like The Dark Knight Rises more than The Dark Knight since we always end up watching all three anyway.”

“That’s what you two were fighting about!?” Scott exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Shut up, Scott,” Stiles retorts. “I was there when you and Allison got into a fight in the grocery store because you wanted to buy juice boxes but she wanted to get a Tetra Pak!”

“I would’ve gone with the Tetra Pak,” Derek mutters with a shrug.

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles agrees. “More juice for your buck.”

Scott makes an affronted expression. “But juice boxes are so much better! Oh my god, you two suck!”

Chapter Text

“Sometimes, I forget they’re going out,” Scott says.

Allison looks up from her textbook and blinks. “Who?”

(They’re taking a break from ‘studying’ to actually study.)

“Stiles and Derek.”

“But they are, aren’t they?” she asks. “Derek’s the one who got everyone together for Stiles’ birthday.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, but still! They don’t really act like it, you know? Maybe it’s just because we only ever see them together at school—or, not together. Like, they don’t have to be like Lydia and Jackson and have sex in the music room, but they don’t even sit together at lunch, and Derek never replies to texts. I’ve only seen them kiss once. I mean, if it was us, I wouldn’t be able to stand not talking to you for a whole day.”

Allison smiles and slots their fingers together. “Everyone’s different, Scott. Maybe they’re just more discreet about their affection. Derek doesn’t really look like the type to be public about that sort of thing. But I bet if you were to see them outside of school, they’d act differently.”

The two of them pause and exchange meaningful looks.

--

It becomes immediately obvious to Scott that Allison’s a lot better at being stealthy than him (though he’s still way better at tailing people in a car). When he shoots her a questioning look, she shrugs and says, “I go hunting with my dad.”

Allison’s dad’s the most terrifying man to have ever terrified him.

They’re at the mall, (stalking) following Stiles and Derek around, because it sounded like a really good idea at the time. Watching the two step into a small clothing store, Scott and Allison decide to ‘browse’ the racks at the store on the opposite side.

Scott watches a Stiles pulls out an orange and blue shirt and holds it up to Derek, laughing. In return, Derek gives him the surliest look possible and says something, which only serves to make Stiles wrap his arms around Derek, laughing even harder than before.

“I wish I knew what they were saying,” he mutters.

“Derek said something about already having one because Laura gave it to him as a Christmas present,” Allison supplies.

He gapes at her. “You can lip read?”

Allison shrugs. “My dad taught me.”

“Just what do you guys hunt?”

She smiles innocently and doesn’t answer.

At this point, Derek’s leading them back out towards the food court. Scott can’t help but notice the way Derek’s hand lingers on the small of Stiles’ back even after they’ve exited the store. At the food court, the two end up splitting a large bowl of frozen yogurt.

Stiles makes wild gestures with his hands and ends up feeding Derek his spoonful of froyo. But what Scott notices instead, is the way their legs a slotted together, their knees lined up for maximum contact. Putting his Stiles-observation skills to work, he can see that Stiles looks…well, he looks happy.

“Apparently Derek’s never tried mochi or gummy bears with froyo before,” Allison explains, while they watch from afar with a plate of nachos between them.

Scott makes a face. “But it’s delicious!”

“That’s what Stiles said. Derek thinks it’s ‘okay’. And now they’re talking about folklore and werewolves,” Allison says. “I never took Derek for a history buff.”

“I remember Stiles saying something about Derek being really smart, but I kinda thought it was just Stiles being Stiles. When he likes someone, he becomes blind to everything. Like, he thought Lydia was smarter than Einstein,” Scott says.

“So you were worried that this might be one-sided?”

“Not exactly. I know Derek likes him. But Stiles is like a brother to me, and he loves harder than anyone I know. I guess I just wanted to make sure Derek was treating him right,” he admits. “Am I being too nosy?”

“No, I think it’s sweet that you’re worried about him.” Allison smiles. “Stiles is an excellent judge of character though.”

Scott turns to her. “You mean Lydia’s actually a genius?”

“Let’s just say she got bored with Classical Latin and decided to take up Archaic Latin, and now she’s fluent in both.”

“Wow. I’m still struggling with my Spanish conjugations,” he mutters.

“You know, while they were eating, Derek never took his eyes off of Stiles—not even once,” Allison points out.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something when he hears, “Hey, Scott! Allison!”

The two of them turn to see Stiles and Derek standing there.

“Stiles! Derek!” he stammers. “What’re you guys doing here?”

Stiles grins and makes his usual animated gestures. “Teen Wolf’s playing at the theatre and we got tickets. It starts in like, ten minutes. You two wanna come?”

“Sorry, Stiles, but Scott’s got that bio test tomorrow. Maybe next time,” Allison answers with a smile.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Good luck with studying, bro. Call me if you need help, okay?” Stiles says, shooting him a worried look.

“Yeah, totally,” he replies. “Thanks.”

“Stiles, we’re gonna be late,” Derek says, glancing at his watch.

“Ah, crap, guess we better go,” Stiles mutters. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Watching them leave, Allison taps him on the arm and points at the pair.

Scott hones in on their entwined fingers and turns back to Allison, who’s smiling at him. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Chapter Text

Can’t make it tonight. In the hospital atm.

Derek gapes and throws himself off his bed. Followed by a couple of his dogs, nearly tripping down the stairs on his way to the kitchen. “Laura, I’m taking the car! Major emergency!”

Laura frowns at him with concern. “Whoa, slow down there, bro. You’re in no condition to be driving. C’mon. Where do you need to go? I’ll take you.”

--

When they arrive at the hospital, they’re met by a woman with curly brown hair and a clipboard in her hands. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for a Stilinski? Stiles?” he asks.

Melissa furrows her brows for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Oh! You must be Derek! I’m Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom. It’s nice to finally meet you. Stiles is this way.”

Derek blinks, wondering how it went from an emergency situation to a ‘meeting Stiles’ second-mother’ one. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he says uncertainly, glancing back at Laura with a baffled look. “Is he okay?”

Scott’s mother smiles. “He’ll be fine. His dad’s on his way here. Some guy rear-ended him at an intersection. Luckily, he wasn’t going too fast.” She stops in front of a room. “He’s just in there. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

Entering the room, Stiles looks over and blinks. “What’re you guys doing here? I thought it was supposed to be pack’s night out.”

“You nearly gave Der-Bear a heart attack with that text,” Laura says.

Stiles pulls out his phone. “Why? I could’ve sworn I texted you—oh, look, I didn’t press send. There we go.”

Derek’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out and reads,

Just a minor emergency. No biggie.

“How’s this a minor emergency?” Derek asks.

“I have a small cut on my head and maybe a minor concussion. That’s it,” Stiles says.

“You were in a car accident,” Derek hisses.

“Yes, I’m aware of that. I was there,” Stiles drawls. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Remember last time you dislocated your arm because we were playing tackle football and I freaked out and Isaac almost called an ambulance? That didn’t even count as a minor emergency, according to you.”

He furrows his brows. “Because it wasn’t one.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “What about that time you gave yourself second degree burns after one of the dogs tripped you?”

“That was a minor emergency.”

“Then how’s this not a minor emergency?” Stiles argues. “It’s like, the minutest of emergencies.”

Derek crosses his arms.

“Dude, if it’d been you, you would’ve just brushed it off as a minor inconvenience,” Stiles says. “You’d be like, ‘Oh look, the car behind me hit me and gave me a bump on the head. Aw shucks, now I have to drop my car off at the auto repair shop before I go adopt more dogs and take them all for a run in the woods’, but with fewer words.”

Derek turns to Laura for support, but instead, she just shakes her head. “I hate to say it, bro, but you have double standards like nobody’s business. But,” she says, shooting him a pointed look along with the patented Hale eyebrow arch, “to be fair, we were really worried, Stiles. Derek declared it a major emergency when he found out you were in the hospital.”

“Oh, wow, really? Well, now you know how I feel whenever you brush things off as minor emergencies,” Stiles says. He looks up at Derek, who merely continues staring at him, for a moment before lowering his gaze. “But all the same, I didn’t mean to worry you. Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. We’re just glad you’re okay.” Laura smiles and gives him a kiss on the head. “I’ll go wait outside.”

“Thanks for coming,” Stiles calls after her.

After Laura leaves, Derek mutters, “If it bothers you that much, next time, I won’t brush things off as nothing.”

“And I promise I’ll call you next time so you can properly assess the level of emergency for yourself, okay?” Stiles offers with a grin.

Derek scoffs. “Any emergency involving you is always going to be a major one.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sweet or insulting, but thanks.”

They smile at each other for a moment before Derek turns for the door. “I’m going to leave before your dad comes running in here.”

Stiles laughs. “I had Melissa make the call so he shouldn’t be too worried. I only texted you and Scott—”

Just then, Scott comes running into the room with Allison right behind him. “Stiles! Bro! I got your text and got here as fast as I could! Are you okay?”

“What? But I…” Stiles checks his phone. “Oh my god, I forgot to press send again? Maybe I am concussed.”

Derek shakes his head and leaves the room, letting Stiles deal with the panicking couple.

Chapter Text

“Hey Stiles, you’re going out with Derek,” Scott starts.

Stiles arches a brow. “Why, yes, I am, Scott. What’s up?”

They’re sitting and waiting for Harris to start the class. “I was just wondering why he never replies to texts,” Scott says. “Like, whenever I’m looking for you and you don’t answer, I text him. And he never replies! Does he hate me?”

He blinks at the sudden outburst. “Whoa, calm down, dude. Derek doesn’t hate you. There’s a reason he doesn’t text, but he doesn’t hate you. Promise.”

Just then, his phone buzzes. Stiles fishes it out and stares at it for a long moment.

Youths, Der-Bear groped fancy panda bunnies. Thrust peasants crave pink dominatrix?

Kangaroos?

Kangaroos?

Stiles holds his phone up for Scott to see. “Long story short: Laura and Peter got to his phone, and this is why he doesn’t text.”

Scott furrows his brows. “What does that even say?”

“I’m guessing someone found Derek’s phone. He lost it the other day,” Stiles explains. “Hold up, let me text this person back…‘You picked up the phone?’”

Aardvarks.

Sprinkles. Der-Bear bamboozled aardvarks.

KANGAROOS

“‘Best not to try texting with that phone. I’ll get the owner to call you around noon and arrange something. Is that okay?’” Stiles reads out loud to himself.

Aardvarks.

--

At lunch time, Stiles heads over to the RAPILA table and grins. “So, it seems like someone found your phone and is struggling with it.”

Derek arches a brow. “Did they try texting you?”

“Yeah, and it was hilarious. Here, I told them you’d call them around noon.”

“Thanks,” Derek sighs, taking the cell phone. “…hello? Yes, that’d be me. Yeah, sorry about that. I have a terrible older sister…”

Meanwhile, Stiles turns back to the rest of the RAPILA and arches a brow at Isaac. “I’ve been meaning to tell you: nice scarf.”

Isaac glares at the pink and purple polka dotted scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Uncle Peter,” Cora says as an explanation.

“Dude, what’s with you and getting on Peter’s bad side?” Stiles asks.

“I think this might actually be his good side—assuming there’s such a thing,” Isaac mutters. “He said that if I wear this ugly thing for a week, he’ll stop making me do physical labour.”

“I can probably come by after school. Thanks. Right. Bye,” Derek finishes and hangs up. “I got the address.”

Stiles nods. “Cool, we can swing by before heading back to your place. By the way, how’d he know to text me instead of ‘Laura the Great’ or ‘Master Peter’? What’d Laura autocorrect my name to?”

Derek doesn’t answer and Cora starts laughing.

He frowns. “That’s never a good sign. What is it? Cuddle-bug? Huggy-Bear? ‘cause that sounds like Laura.”

Cora shakes her head. “Even better. Try Khaleesi.”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to come up with a response. In the end, he settles for, “I guess that means whoever picked up your phone watches Game of Thrones, huh?” Then he adds, “So, should I change your contact name to Khal?”

He’s immensely pleased with himself when Derek chokes on his lunch at that comment.

--

“Are you sure this is the right house?” he asks, pulling the jeep to a halt.

Derek arches a brow. “Yes. Why.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Oh, nothing—other than the fact that we’re at Allison’s house.”

“I guess someone there found my phone then,” Derek reasons.

“You don’t get it. Last time Allison’s dad found Scott sneaking around his house, he set up all these traps and stuff. The whole place is booby-trapped.”

Derek rolls his eyes and gets out of the car. “Then we should probably stay off the grass,” he deadpans.

He lets out a slow, sarcastic laugh and follows Derek out of the car but lags behind—just in case.

Making his way up to the door, Derek rings the bell and waits while Stiles decides to duck to the side, out of sight. Chris Argent appears at the door, looking as intimidating as ever. “So you’re Derek, the owner of the ridiculous phone?”

“Yeah. Thanks for finding it,” Derek says. “And sorry about the autocorrect.”

Chris shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I have a younger sister who’d do the same thing. Give me a sec, I’ll go get it.”

The moment the man disappears, Stiles steps out from behind the tree only to have something wrap around his leg, yanking him up off the ground. “Whoa!”

Derek whips around in surprise. “I thought I said to stay off the lawn.”

“Yeah, I’m regretting not listening to you now,” Stiles tells him. “Hey, my sun and stars, how about getting me down?”

Before Derek can reply, Chris returns to the door. “Here you go—aren’t you Allison’s friend? The sheriff’s kid?”

Stiles waves sheepishly. He can feel the blood rushing to his head as he dangles from the tree. “Hi, Mr. Argent.”

Chris looks from Stiles to Derek and back. He hands the phone over and walks over to the tree. “Hang on, kid. I’ll get you down. You might want to catch him, Derek.”

He lets out yelp when gravity suddenly starts working again. Luckily, Derek catches him and mutters quietly, “I got you, jalan atthirari anni.”

Stiles can feel his face flush at the words.

(At least he can blame it on being upside down.)

“Oh my god, you are the biggest dork,” he says, hiding his face in the crook of Derek’s neck.

Derek chuffs and rolls his eyes.

(Though his ears are burning hot.)

“I’m just gonna head back inside now,” Chris announces, feeling very much like a third wheel. “You kids stay safe.”

Stiles gapes. “Did he just run away?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“We just scared Mr. Argent off—oh my god, I can’t wait to tell Scott!”

Chapter Text

“Who are all these people?” Stiles asks, looking around at all the unfamiliar faces running around the house.

“They’re the Hales. Anyone who’s even remotely related is here,” Cora explains while waiting for Isaac to return with her drink (though chances are, he got swept up in the sea of Hales and won’t be seen again until the end of the night). They’re watching from the top of the staircase, not particularly keen on the idea of going downstairs and mingling.

“That is a ridiculous number of Hales,” he tells her. “Do you actually know all of them?”

Cora snorts. “I don’t think that’s possible. Mom might know them all, but I definitely don’t.” She points at a random wandering Hale and says, “I think that one might be a cousin.”

He arches a brow. “Might be?”

“Shut up, they’re hard to keep track of.”

Suddenly, from their vantage point, they manage to spot Derek following one of the dogs down the hall and exchange glances with one another. Their curiosity getting the better of them, they decide to slip downstairs.

The two of them watch as Derek enter a room where all nine dogs sitting around something and waiting for him. The dogs turn to Derek expectantly, their tails thumping excitedly.

“What are you guys doing?” Derek asks, making his way towards whatever the dogs are surrounding. He looks down and arches a brow. “Oh.”

Stiles and Cora watch from the doorway as Derek picks up a baby from the crib and holds it out for the dogs to smell. The Circle of Life starts playing in his head and he leans over and whispers to Cora, “Is this some kind of Hale induction? Like, is this a rite of passage? Do all Hales have to be acknowledged by dogs? Are you guys all gonna go out and howl at the moon later?”

She doesn’t dignify him with an answer.

“Stop judging me with your Hale-brows.”

“What.”

For some reason, when Cora says that, she actually sounds threatening.

He immediately shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing. Not a thing. Who said anything? Not me. Hey, look, a baby.”

Cora rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to her brother.

The baby, understandably terrified at the sight of a pack of dogs surrounding it, starts crying. Derek’s eyebrows go up in surprise and the dogs all cock their heads. He gestures for the dogs to lie down before taking a seat with the child.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Derek reassures the baby lightly, bouncing the child in his arms. “They’re not gonna hurt you.”

It takes a minute for the baby to stop crying. Derek motions for one of the smaller dogs to approach. The dog happily sits in front of the two and watches as Derek turns the baby around to face it. “Here, look,” he reaches out and scratches the dog behind the ears, “she’s a good girl. She’s not gonna do anything to you. See? She just wants a little attention.”

Eyes wide with learning, the baby hesitantly reaches out and mimics his actions, laughing when the dog licks her hand. Derek motions for another dog to approach, and one by one, he introduces the baby to the dogs. Within minutes, the child’s crawling around, chasing the dogs, all under the watchful eye of (their alpha) Derek.

Absolutely delighted, Stiles can practically feel his insides turning into goo from the sweetness.

“What's this,” Cora asks from beside him, her intonation sounding as non-existent as Derek’s. “What’s this look on your face?”

Stiles snaps out of his trance and blinks. “What look?”

“The kind of look that makes me want to punch you.”

“Oh my god, you’re so Derek’s sister,” he mutters. “I can’t help it if I find your brother extremely attractive right now, okay?”

Cora makes a face and punches him in the arm.

“Now, Cora, it’s not nice to punch your brother’s boyfriend,” a voice says from behind them.

They turn around to find Peter standing there with a plate of canapés.

“Holy crap, why are you always so creepy?” Furrowing his brows, Stiles asks, “Do you have food on your person at all times just to up the creepiness?”

“No, I have food with me because these devil on horsebacks are delicious. I think one of the great-aunts made it,” Peter replies.

Cora blinks. “We have great-aunts?”

Their chattering draws Derek’s attention and causes him to look over. “What’re you guys doing there?”

Peter grins. “Just admiring your child-handling skills. Whose baby is that anyway?”

Derek shakes his head, turning back to the dogs and the baby. “No idea.”

“Oh well, finders keepers, I guess,” Peter says with a shrug.

Stiles gapes. “Why are you making it sound like a thing? Has this happened before? Baby finding and keeping? Seriously, that’s not an actual thing, is it? Derek? Cora?”

No one answers him.

“Oh my god, what even are you Hales?”

Chapter Text

It’s been a while since that incident with Matt, but every now and then, Stiles still thinks about it.

“How does something like that even happen?”

Stiles glances over at the RAPILA table and stares at the perfection that is Derek Hale’s face (even while he’s wolfing down—is that a fruit salad? What?) and wonders, ‘Yeah, how does something like that happen?’

“Hey, Scott, do you think it’s weird that me and Derek are dating?” he asks.

“Like, in a bad way?” Scott asks back. “Nope.”

“We think you two are great together,” Allison adds with a smile.

“Aww, thanks, you guys,” he says, unconvinced.

“Ever since you two started going out, Derek seems more, I don’t know, approachable,” Scott observes.

That was part of the problem.

With Derek’s approachability on the rise, that means more people will start talking to him. And with more people talking to Derek, that means he’ll will open his eyes to the world, and the first thing he’ll probably see are all the better, tastier metaphorical fishes in the metaphorical sea.

Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself.

(But still, why wouldn’t Derek go for one of those crazy, colourful tropical fish when he’s clearly just one of those weird little goldfish with balloons for eyes that can’t even swim properly? He’s not overthinking things, is he? Nope. Definitely not.)

Drumming his fingers against the table, the more he thinks about it, the antsier he gets. He wishes he could internalize his anxiety. Seriously, why couldn’t he be a sulky sulker? Or perhaps a lurking lurker? It would’ve saved him a lot of energy in the long run.

Scott and Allison shoot him worried looks.

Does he look panicked? Judging by their looks, he’d say yes, he probably does.

“Excuse me for a sec. Fresh air. Breathe,” Stiles squeaks, sliding out of his seat.

He slips outside and tries to talk himself down from a panic attack.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Stiles jumps about a feet in the air and turns around to see a girl standing there, looking concerned. He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives a jerky nod. “Who? Me? Yeah, I’m great. How are you?”

She blinks. “I’m fine. I was actually hoping to talk to you about something.”

“Oh? What about?” he asks, fingers tapping against his thighs.

The girl’s fidgeting and it’s distracting. She’s pretty, not Lydia pretty, but still pretty. Fish-wise, she’d probably be that little octopus from Finding Nemo—cute.

(Derek would be Gill. Obviously. Wait, are Moorish Idols and bubble-eyed guppies even compatible? Do bubble-eyed guppies live in salt water?)

So caught up in his thoughts about fish, he doesn’t notice that the girl’s talking. And apparently, so caught up in whatever she’s talking about, the girl doesn’t notice that he’s thinking about fish.

Suddenly, something fuzzy hits him on the arm and lands on the ground with a soft thud, stealing both of their attention.

“Ow! What the—is that a peach? Did someone actually just chuck a peach at me?” Stiles asks, bending down to pick it up.

“Huh,” the girl says. “Anyway, I better head back before the bell rings. Thanks for listening.”

He blinks, looking up. “Wha? Oh! Yeah! It was…it was a good talk! Great talk! See you around!”

After the girl disappears back into the school, Stiles rubs his arm and furrows his brows at the peach. “Are these even in season right now?”

--

He’s leaving the locker room after practice when Cora suddenly appears (a family talent) and shoves a large paper bag into his arms. “Here.”

Stiles fumbles for a moment at the sudden weight. “What? What’s this?”

“Peaches,” she answers with that look of ‘why are you making me state the obvious?’

“Yes, I’m aware of that. Thank you,” he bites back sarcastically. “But why? And how? They’re not even in season right now.”

Cora huffs and crosses her arms. “Laura found a place. We had to drive for hours just to get there, so we ended up getting a trunkful of them. Literally. Derek was supposed to give them to you this morning.”

He pauses. Then everything clicks in his mind. “Oh.”

She frowns, confused. “Oh, what?”

Breaking into a grin, Stiles quickly scurries down the hall. “Oh, nothing. I gotta go. There’s a stupid fruit-chucking fish I need to go find. Thanks for the peaches!”

After a long moment of silence, Cora furrows her brows. “…what?”

--

Once outside, Stiles takes one of the peaches and lobs it at Derek who merely catches it with an unimpressed look. “It’s not nice to chuck fruits at people, you know?” Stiles calls out.

Derek arches a brow and looks at the peach in his hand.

“Unless, of course, someone else started it,” he quickly adds.

When he doesn’t get an answer, Stiles laughs and nudges Derek in the side with an elbow. “Don’t worry, you’re the only metaphorical fish for me, you scowl-y Moorish Idol, you.”

“Whatever you say, Nemo,” Derek mumbles with an eye-roll.

“Ne—aww, you think I’m Nemo?” Without another word, Derek takes the bag of peaches and carries it towards the jeep. “Hey, don’t run away! I can see your ears turning red! Derek!”

Chapter Text

“Next question, please,” Stiles mutters, trying to focus on the TV screen.

Scott immediately pouts. “But, dude, I told you all about my first time!”

He scoffs. “Yeah, you gave me all the dirty details I didn’t ask you for. I asked for the basics and you gave me the premium package—boom! Plasma grenade!”

“Come on, you know avoiding the question’s only making me more curious, Stiles. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve heard all about it by now,” Scott points out. “You guys have done it, haven’t you?”

Stiles pauses the game and gapes. “Yes. I’m hurt you’d even think otherwise, Scott.”

“Then was it really that bad? I mean, it was just at Derek’s house, right?”

“I wish,” Stiles sighs. “Don’t give me that look! We tried! Like, we were in his room and making out, and it was all going great, but then…”

--

“Derek. More kisses.”

“Do you smell popcorn?”

Stiles freezes and props himself up on Derek’s chest. “Do you think it’s Peter or Laura?”

“Would it matter?”

“Uhh, yes. If it’s Peter, he might be watching already.”

They pause and exchange looks for a moment.

And then they hear Laura’s voice.

“Uncle Peter, get back down here! Those two are trying to get it on, for god’s sake!”

“I know! Just let me catch this little—” The door swings open revealing one of the Hales’ larger dogs and Peter half draped over it, hands still groping for something to hold onto. The dog wags its tail happily and is about to step inside when Peter finally manages to find its collar and pulls it back, closing the door behind him, saying, “Oh, don’t mind us. Please, carry on with whatever you two were doing.”

Derek groans and drapes an arm over his eyes in mortification. “Why am I related to them?”

--

“It was kinda hard to continue after that. Mostly because I couldn’t stop laughing. But after I stopped, we did try again.”

“But?”

“But then…”

--

“Why do I hear whining?” Stiles asks.

“Because there’s whining coming from outside the door,” Derek answers. Then, with a sigh, he pushes himself out of bed and goes to open the door only to have his pack of dogs run inside with their ears perked and tails wagging.

And then there’s Laura standing by the door with one of the small dogs tucked under her arm.

“I tried, bro. I swear. I tried so hard to keep them all downstairs,” she says. “This is why I normally wait until you take them out to—”

“Stop. That’s too much information, Laura. I don’t wanna know,” Derek cuts her off.

--

“After that, we gave up and ended up rewatching Sherlock,” Stiles finishes, unpausing the game.

Scott blinks. “Wow. So where’d you guys end up…you know?”

“His treehouse.”

“Oh.” After a beat, Scott pauses the game and lowers his controller with a look of shocked disgust on his face. “Aww, bro, why’d you—we planned your birthday party in there!”

Stiles grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Well, that just makes the place extra special, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, we did it on the blanket.”

“Oh my god, Stiles, I sat on that blanket!”

Chapter Text

There’s purring.

There’s a lot of purring.

“What is happening,” Derek asks.

“I don’t know. I’m so sorry, this has never happened before,” the girl at the shelter tells them as they walk through the room lined with caged cats.

Stiles nods and pets the stray cat in his arms. “Yeah, that’s not very hard to imagine.”

The orchestra of purrs continue. All the cats are rubbing themselves against their cages, purring, their eyes blinking slowly and affectionately.

Turning to Derek, he arches a brow. “Do you have catnip on you or something?”

“No. Why would I? I don’t own a cat,” Derek points out.

“I know that,” Stiles mutters. He looks at the cats again. “Geez, I thought I was good with them, but you’re really something else. Are you sure you’re not secretly their overlord or something?”

Derek frowns. “No. Now, let’s hurry up and get this over with.”

“Before you feel the urge to adopt everything in sight? Just admit it, you’re a big softie—oh my god. Derek. Derek, Derek, Derek.”

“What.”

Stiles points at one the cages. “It’s you.”

“What.” Furrowing his brows, Derek walks over and looks at the cage only to see the grumpiest looking cat in the world. “No.”

“I didn’t even ask you yet!” Stiles complains.

“I am not taking a picture with it.”

“C’mon! Don’t be such a sour wolf.”

“No,” Derek says as Stiles hands the cat over to the girl.

“No,” he says as Stiles opens the angry-looking cat’s cage and picks it up.

“No,” he says as the cat’s placed in his arms and the two of them glare at Stiles’ phone as it snaps a picture.

“Oh my god, you two are perfect together,” Stiles exclaims.

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’ll take the cat and leave you here instead then.”

The cat starts purring.

“I can’t believe it! He’s purring,” the girl gasps. “I’ve never heard him purr before.”

Stiles grins. “Looks like he approves of your scowliness, Derek. You guys are truly two of a kind.”

“Get him off me,” he growls.

“I know you’re secretly pleased.”

Derek glares at him. “That’s not the point. Cora’s allergic to cat fur. I’m blaming you if her allergies act up.”

Stiles shrugs. “We both know she’ll forgive me once she sees the pictures.”

Unable to deny it, he pulls his lips taut and settles for his most annoyed glare.

“Alright, alright, no need to get your whiskers in a knot. Why don’t you put the cat back into his cage?” Stiles suggests.

“I can’t,” Derek says after a moment.

Furrowing his brows, Stiles asks, “What do you mean you can’t? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten attached to the angry little guy.”

“No. I mean I actually can’t. He’s got his claws in my shirt,” he snaps, demonstrating by tugging at the purring cat.

--

“And here’s us trying to get the cat off Derek,” Stiles explains, scrolling through the pictures on his phone. “And here’s some of the other cats getting loose and flinging themselves onto Derek.”

Laura looks absolutely delighted. “You have to send these to me, Stiles. C’mon, before Der-Bear finishes changing.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I bet they’d make awesome Christmas cards.”

“Laura, you’re truly a Hale after my own heart, but—”

“I’ll send you one when they get printed, and I’ll even throw in a picture of baby Der-Bear in a dress,” Laura offers.

Stiles does a double-take. “Oh my god. Really? You’ve got yourself a deal.”

They shake on it.

Chapter Text

“Hey, I need you to come in with me,” Cora says as she gets out of the car.

Stiles narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Why? I thought you were just going in to drop something off for Isaac. And why me? Why not Derek?”

She arches her brow in that patented Hale way that tells him she’s equal parts unimpressed and done with the world. “Just shut up and come with me.”

He turns to Derek. “Any help would be, you know, helpful.”

Derek merely shrugs in response.

“Thanks for nothing. I’ll remember this…with my memory.”

“Such eloquent words today,” Derek teases.

“Oh, ha ha—”

“Stiles, come on!” Cora calls.

He shoots Derek his most menacing glare as he steps out of the car and follows Cora inside.

--

“So what do you need me for?” he asks.

“I need you to distract Deaton for a little bit while I talk to Isaac,” she explains.

Stiles frowns. “Why? Just go in and talk to him like a normal person! Why do you Hales have to be so secretive all the time? Like, how even am I supposed to distract Deaton? The only thing I know about the guy is that he’s a vet and Scott works here part-time. Isn’t he a family friend? Shouldn’t you get Derek to do this?”

Cora rolls her eyes. “It’s not that hard. Just go in and start a conversation with him and give me a few minutes.”

He makes a face. “Why? Are you planning on having office sex? Or, I guess, animal hospital sex? Because that would be unhygienic and gross.”

“No. Of course not,” she replies. “I’m allergic to cat fur.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to know that that’s the only thing stopping you two from going at it like animals—which would be fitting because we’re at the vet’s—”

“Go.”

Stiles throws his hands up in the air in defeat. “Alright, alright, I’ll go and let you two have your secret tea party or whatever.” He walks down the hall to Deaton’s office and knocks on the door. “Hey there, doc.”

Deaton looks up from his papers and smiles. “Ah, Stiles. What can I do for you today? Scott has the day off.”

“Yeah, I know.” His mind goes blank and he wishes he had thought this through better. “So, uhh, what are you reading there?”

Looking confused, Deaton holds the papers up for him to see.

Stiles furrows his brows. “That’s not English.”

“No, it’s Japanese,” the vet explains.

“You can read Japanese?” Stiles asks.

“My Japanese isn’t great.”

 He nods slowly, unconvinced. “What about Latin?”

Deaton shrugs. “I understand the basics.”

“Classical or archaic?”

“Both.”

“What about Greek?”

“Modern or ancient?”

Stiles gapes. “Russian?”

“I still have troubles reading scientific journals related to chemistry,” Deaton says, sounding almost put out.

“You must be terribly ashamed of yourself,” he mutters dryly. “But seriously, what even…you’re a vet.”

Deaton smiles. “I’m a vet who enjoys dabbling in languages, I suppose.”

“Dabbling. That’s one way to put it.” Then for lack of better things to say, he signs ‘how are you?’

Only to have Deaton sign back ‘fine, thank you,’ or, that’s what he assumes the man signed, because he doesn’t actually know sign language.

“Really? Even sign language?”

“I have a working knowledge.”

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. “Somehow, I feel like you and Peter would get along grandly with your extensive knowledge of everything in the universe.”

Deaton chuckles. “I’m afraid Peter’s a little too secretive for us to truly get along.”

He opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Oh, Peter’s too secretive. Right.” Figuring his time was up, he makes his way over to the door. “By the way, have you ever considered taking up Klingon? Or maybe Elvish? I bet you’d love Elvish. Anyway, I better go now. Good talk.”

And then he bolts off before Deaton can demonstrate his ‘working knowledge’ any further.

--

He doesn’t bother finding Cora in fear of what compromising position he might find the two in. Sending her a text, he returns to the car and turns to Derek. “That’s not a vet in there. That is a wizard. Or possibly a sentient universal translator that’s taken the form of a person.”

Instead of laughing it off or making that unimpressed face of his, Derek merely sighs. “Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him. Who do you think taught us Spanish?”

“Wait, you speak Spanish? And if you answer with ‘I have a working knowledge’ I swear to god, I will do…I don’t know, something. And it will be unpleasant.”

Derek scoffs. “Que elocuente.”

Chapter Text

Stiles wakes up screaming which sends Derek and the dogs jumping almost a meter away.

“What month is it? What year is it? Show me your teeth—no wait, show me your face! I need to check for sideburns!” he demands, throwing himself at Derek.

Batting his hands away, Derek furrows his brows. “What the hell are you talking about? You fell asleep half way through the episode. It’s only been like, 30 minutes. You haven’t leapt through time or anything.”

He checks his phone and sees that the date hasn’t changed at all. “Huh. It felt a lot longer. How many layers do you have you go through before you hit limbo again? I think I got pretty close.”

“Pretty sure it was four,” Derek says.

Stiles huffs. “I was so close.”

“I’m pretty sure they mentioned in the movie somewhere that limbo’s a place you’re supposed to stay out of,” Derek points out. “What were you screaming about anyway?”

“Oh my god, yeah, so I had the weirdest and most horrifying dream ever!” he exclaims. “It was so crazy I don’t even know where to start. Let’s see…me and Scott were running through the woods one night looking for a dead body and Scott gets bitten by Peter—who, by the way, is a werewolf. All you guys were werewolves, except you didn’t get hairy. You got anti-body hair, cool eyes, sharp teeth and claws, wrinkles and sideburns, but I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Derek’s already massaging his temple—his silent way of saying, ‘I regret everything’.

Ignoring him, Stiles continues, “The next day, we go back to the woods cause Scott dropped his inhaler and we run into you. You were even grumpier than you are now and super angsty, not that anyone could blame you. I mean, you got seduced by Allison’s hot aunt, Kate, when you were younger and then she burned down your house with your family inside.”

“What.”

“Yeah, not the happiest of dreams. Have you met Kate? She’s hot, but she totally gives off the aura of a potential psychopath. Right, so we end up finding Laura’s body and I accuse you of murder and get you arrested. Scott turns into a werewolf and gets really good a lacrosse…”

--

“…and then I saw you see me in a dream right before you got shot by Kate and then I woke up screaming.”

Derek’s staring at him like he grew a second head. “I’m glad none of that is real. Wait, how much time passed in your dream?”

“I don’t know, a couple of months? It was a very compact dream. The whole timeline in that dream world was very convoluted and there was a huge issues with continuity, but hey, I guess the whole werewolf and abs and constant threat of death thing was a pretty good distraction from all that stuff.”

“Exactly how many people died in the span of your dream?”

Using his fingers to count, he asks, “Does leaving for Europe count as a death?”

“No. South America doesn’t count either.” Derek shakes his head and mumbles to himself, “Why didn’t I just go to South America with Cora? I wasn’t even an alpha anymore.”

“What about previously thought dead but really not? What about background people? And what about bad guys?” Stiles asks.

“Never mind. I was just surprised your dream dad never got fired, especially after just about everyone got killed at the hospital. Why are people still living there?”

Stiles frowns. “Hey, I’ll have you know that it was all beyond his control. And I’d also like to add that you slept with Allison’s aunt and my English teacher, and the whole time I was like, ‘Dude, what about me?’”

Derek makes a face. “You had sex with a were-coyote on some couch in the basement of a mental institution.”

“That’s true,” Stiles says, “but I was also possessed by an evil mummy.”

“Yeah, well, my family was dead. And according to you, I got chained up and tortured a lot.”

“There’s no denying that one. It was like soft-core torture porn,” he agrees. “Dream us really need a vacation.”

“No. Everyone in dream Beacon Hills needs to go see a therapist and maybe get grief counselling.”

“It’s either that or call the Winchesters,” Stiles suggests. “Oh, hey, there was Spanish towards the end of my dream. Pretty sure there’ll be trips down to Mexico in their near future.”

“Where I’ll be chained up and tortured some more?” Derek asks drily.

Stiles shrugs. “The likelihood’s pretty high.”

Shaking his head, Derek mutters, “You have the weirdest dreams.”

Chapter Text

“Never piss Cora off,” Derek says one day while they’re waiting for the popcorn to pop.

“That sounded like a challenge,” Stiles says, eyes lighting up.

“It wasn’t. It was a warning. Other than my mom, Cora’s the scariest.”

“Why? What happened to you?”

Derek gets a distant look on his face. “I broke her favourite toy once when she was five.”

It’s clear then that an epic tale is about to be told.

Stiles scoots a little closer. “And then?”

“And then she taught herself how to pick locks and snuck into the bathroom every time I showered just to flush the toilet. It went on for months.”

It takes a minute to stop laughing and then he reasons, “Yeah, but that’s because you live in the same house as her. I’d totally be safe.”

“That sounded like a challenge,” Cora calls from the living room.

“Oh, it was totally a challenge,” he shouts back.

“You’re on, Stilinski.”

“Why are you doing exactly what I told you not to,” Derek asks.

“Intonation, Der-Bear,” Stiles reminds him. “And she’s not angry. This is just a little bet between the two of us. How about we see how many times you can get me in three days? Loser has to pay for the winner’s Netflix account next month.”

 “Fine, but you have to shower at least once a day,” Cora says, “and showering at school or a public place doesn’t count.”

“Done. Hey, am I allowed to shower with someone else?” he asks.

“Ew. No.”

He nudges Derek. “Too bad, hmm?”

Derek shoots him an unimpressed look. “It wasn’t happening anyway. You can suffer second degree burns on your own.”

--

Day 1:

“But what if the Sheriff gets mad?” Isaac asks.

She looks over and reassures him, “Don’t worry, he won’t be. If you’re uncomfortable with it, you just stay in the car, okay? I’ll get Stiles to talk to his dad. Be right back.”

Getting out of the car, Cora walks up to the Stilinskis’ house and rings the doorbell. John answers the door with a surprised look on his face. “Hello.”

“Hi, Mr. Stilinski,” she says. “Is Stiles home?”

“Yeah, he’s just in the shower right now. He should be out in a minute though.”

Cora shakes her head. “Don’t worry. This will only take a moment.”

She strolls past him and marches up the stairs. A moment later, there’s a flush and Stiles can be heard screaming. Cora saunters back down and smiles. “It’s a bet. Stiles can tell you all about it. Bye.”

--

Day 2:

After getting caught off-guard first thing in the morning, Stiles decides to take a second shower as close to midnight as possible.

“How do you know when he’s gonna shower?” Isaac asks.

“I just do,” she says, getting her toolkit out (bought by one Uncle Peter when he realized how much joy and amusement it would bring him). “It’s a gift. One I rarely get to put to good use.”

“Are you sure we’re not gonna get in trouble for this?”

Cora nods begins picking the front door. “Yes, Stiles promised his dad was okay with this. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you to come. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Isaac nods. “Not necessarily okay with how good at lock picking you are, but otherwise, I’m fine. Just making sure.”

There’s a click and she turns the knob. “Alright, but let me know if you’re ever not feeling 100%, okay? Be right back.”

From upstairs, there’s suddenly a scream, “How do you always know!?”

--

Day 3:

“You’re sure no one followed us right? She didn’t see?” Stiles asks from underneath a blanket in the backseat of Scott’s mom’s car.

“No one’s around, bro,” Scott reassures him.

After school, he drove his Jeep home and set up timers for his lights and then got picked up by Scott to go to his house for the night.

“I’m gonna take a shower once I get to your place,” he says. “That way, by the time she realizes her mistake, it’ll be too late.”

“Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Nope. She said no public places. Your house is hardly a public place.”

--

They arrive at Scott’s house and Stiles somersaults his way inside and races up to the bathroom. “Hey, dude, you mind sitting in front of the bathroom door just in case? Let nothing pass.”

Like the best friend he is, Scott happily agrees, “Yeah, no problem, bro.”

(Thank you, best friend Scott. For real this time.)

While he’s in the shower, there’s a knock at the door and Isaac’s voice comes through, “Scott? Are you home? Sorry, I just need something real quick.”

Scott hesitates.

“It’s to do with Allison.”

That sends him racing down the stairs to the door.

Then he hears it.

A flush and a scream.

“That’s three for three, Stilinski!”

“Great leaping giraffes! How!?”

Cora comes sauntering down the stairs with a triumphant look on her face. She takes Isaac by the hand and grins. “Excellent work, my trusty assistant. I think we’re done here. Let’s go celebrate our free Netflix next month. We should got take a nice warm shower. Together.”

Scott makes a face. “Dude. Ew.”

--

“Your sister’s a monster,” Stiles says the day after the bet.

“Just what do you think I’ve been warning you again for the last few days?” Derek mutters.

Stiles crosses his arms and frowns. “I still don’t get how she knew I was at Scott’s. I covered my tracks perfectly! How’d you survive months of this?”

Derek snorts. “I learned to make do with showering every other day. You should’ve seen her when Laura accidentally scratched one of her DVDs.”

“Was it one of her a limited edition boxsets?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised you still have two sisters.”

“We call it the ‘Great Christmas Miracle of ‘01’.” 

Chapter Text

“I hear there’s going to be a party,” Peter says. “With alcohol.”

Stiles pauses. “Yes? Why? Were you planning on going? Because I think that’d be really awkward and I might have to call my dad to have you arrested. But most of all, Lydia would be very displeased and nobody wants that.”

Peter scoffs and shakes his head. “No, stupid. I just thought I’d impart my wisdom on you youths.”

At this, Derek rolls his eyes and makes his ‘and here it comes’ face.

“Word to the wise, don’t go crazy on any one drink or it’ll traumatize you for life.”

He looks over at Derek, who explains, “Uncle Peter played the role of the drunk uncle at a wedding once and now he can’t stand the smell of red wine.”

With a distant look in his eyes, Peter sighs, “It still haunts me to this day.”

Derek makes an amused noise. “Yeah, because mom and Laura will never let you live it down.”

“…are there videos?”

--

About an hour into the party, Stiles comes to learn that Lydia Martin takes her parties very seriously and her spiked drinks are mixed to optimize the taste while hiding a ridiculously high amount of alcohol. Or rather, Derek learns it as he follows Stiles around the party.

“Hey, Catwoman, so I’ve been thinking about SITACH,” Stiles says to Erica over the music, his hands making unrelated gestures while he speaks.

Erica looks amused. Her face is flushed and well on her way to getting drunk. “Really? Why? Just let it go, Batman.”

“Shut up, Elsa. I refuse. I want that A gone.”

Boyd shakes his head. He could be wasted or perfectly sober. It’s surprisingly hard to tell with him. “We can’t do that or it’d crossover with Erica’s favourite show—Kim Possible.”

Stiles pauses and gives an exaggerated nod. “You make an excellent argument, Boyd. I accept your reasoning. Consider it done. Done-zo. Done-zy. Donadeedoo.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Erica asks, hiding her snickering.

“Way too much,” Derek cuts in. He’s only on his second cup, but he can feel it starting to affect him. “He’s already on his fourth cup and should probably take a break.”

Making an affronted face, Stiles gasps. “How dare you accuse me of…that. I’m perfectly fine and you’ll never stop me, you muggle! Catwoman, cover me!” he exclaims, suddenly racing off.

Erica watches as Derek takes off after him, bent over from laughing. “Oh, he’s making a run for the punchbowl…and now he’s dancing. Looks like Derek’s gonna have his hands full tonight.”

--

Two hours in finds Stiles running out of the house towards his jeep after realizing that it was blue and box-like. He tugs at the door handle to no avail. “I’ve been locked out of my box!”

Derek is endlessly grateful that Lydia confiscated everyone’s keys at the start of the night.

“Derek! Assistant! I can’t get into my box!” Stiles yells.

“Why am I the assistant?”

“You’re my Rose Tyler. Only less blonde, less happy—you are my dark, scowly Rose Tyler. And we have a whole new world to explore. You can sing Jasmine’s part and I mean that in a totally gender neutral way, much like your Game of Thrones references because I’m good like that. Okay, ready, Jasmine?”

“No. The only place you’re exploring is inside the house,” he mutters before Stiles can break into song, although that fourth cup is settling in very well. “I need another drink.”

Stiles perks up. “That’s a great idea! You and your ideas! I love’em! Y’know what we hafta do?”

“No.”

“Run!”

Cussing loudly, Derek runs after him as he yells the Doctor Who theme into the night.

“DOO WEE OOH!”

--

Three hours in finds them in the closet, making out, because all the rooms are taken.

--

Four hours in finds the two of them on the porch with Scott and Allison, mellowed out from their romp in the wardrobe.

“Dude…”

“Bro…”

“Dude…”

“Bro…”

“Dude, I know, right?”

“Oh my god, yeah, dude.”

Derek furrows his brows and looks over at Allison. “What.”

“Into-intonation, Der-Bear,” Stiles slurs.

Allison giggles and Scott high fives him. “Dude.”

--

Five hours in and Jackson stumbles across them and makes a face, one part drunken stupor and one part childhood trauma.

“You look like crap, Sti-Stilinski.” Then he frowns. “Your name’s stupid.”

Derek bristles and Stiles has to hold him back.

“His name’s stupid right, Lydia?” When he gets no response, Jackson begins looking around in confusion. “Huh? Where’d you go? Lydia!”

Stiles, swaying as he stands, blinks. “Time to call it a night, I guess.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Any more and I’ll probs end up throwin’ up. Don’t wanna be called Vomitski again and I’m pretty sure someone’s having sex in the bathroom right now.”

“Scott and Allison,” Derek says, nodding to himself.

“Ew. Really?”

“No. I don’t know.”

Stiles continues nodding to himself. “Good on’im. That’s my boy. Bro. Bro-boy. Hey, Derek, let’s go make out on the couch.”

Derek seems to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Okay.”

--

Six hours in find Stiles passed out on Derek passed out on the couch, because it’s hardly big enough for two teenage boys to fit on it at once.

--

The next day finds them hungover and hating every moment of it.

“Everything hurts and nothing is sacred. How much did we drink?” Stiles groans.

Arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the light, Derek mutters, “Don’t know. Too much.”

“I’m never doing this again until I’m legal.”

“Good idea.”

“And then I’m doing it all over again.”

Chapter Text

“What are we doing?” Stiles mutters, staring at the ceiling, squinting at the bright lights.

“We’re lying on ice because we’ve fallen and can’t get back up,” Derek answers with a sigh.

“My butt’s frozen,” Isaac complains.

“Mine’s just numb,” Scott mutters.

“At least you’re icing the bruises,” Allison offers.

“I can’t feel my fingers, can someone check to see if they’re all still there?” Erica asks.

“You brought that onto yourself,” Isaac says.

A little ways away, Boyd does a double axel.

--

Earlier that day, the group had decided to go ice skating afterhours. Cora would do the breaking in, and Boyd would be in charge of the Zamboni and general excursion since he worked part time at the ice rink anyway.

After handing out skates and helmets for everyone, Boyd went over the rules. “Mostly watch how you fall and where you fall and who’s around you when you fall. These blades are sharp and will cut you and other people. If your fingers at in the way, they will be sliced off.” He paused in thought. “Yeah, I think that’s about it.”

“Wow, that wasn’t terrifying at all. Thanks, Boyd,” Stiles muttered sarcastically as they lined up to get onto the ice. “Okay, Der-Bear. Teen Wolf on Ice, let’s see how it’s done.”

Derek did the eyebrow thing. “I’ve never skated before.”

The two of them stare long and hard at each other as they slowly drifted out towards the middle of the rink. “Well, that’s not good. I wasn’t aware that there were things you’ve never done before. I mean, I haven’t eith—whoa!” He got cut off when his skates went over a particularly smooth patch of ice and he started flailing and dancing to regain his balance.

In a last ditch effort to remain standing, he reached out and grabbed Derek’s jacket and sent them both onto the ice. “Thanks.” It wasn’t hard to hear the glare being conveyed in that single word.

“Keep your fists closed if you want to keep your fingers,” he said helpfully.

 From behind him, Erica and Isaac were in a similar situation. Cora and Allison were clinging to the ledge while Scott slowly slid away.

Meanwhile, Boyd gracefully skated a lap and came to a stop right next to Stiles’ head. “Do you need help?”

Stiles huffed and shook his head. “No. We’re fine. We’re just getting used to the feel of the ice. That’s how most pros get their start, right? Being one with the ice. How are you still standing, by the way?”

Boyd shrugged. “When we were little, my little sister wanted company while taking lessons so I went with her. It’s how I got my job.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet. Can you do a pirouette?” he asked.

“That’s ballet,” Derek pointed out.

He grinned. “I love that you know that.”

“So do you want me to help you?” Boyd asked again. “There are safety cones you can use to help you balance.”

“No, it’s okay. Go enjoy yourself, Happy Feet. We’ll figure this out—just don’t run over our fingers,” Stiles said, waving him off.

“Alright, I’ll stay on that side of the rink for safety reasons. Just shout if you need anything.”

They watched as Boyd skated away backwards, turning on a pivot.

Rolling onto his front, Derek took a deep breath and said, “That doesn’t look so hard.” He pushed himself up and shaky legs. “I lied.”

Stiles laughed. “Oh my god, you know what you remind me of? Bambi. You are the cutest thing. I’d take a picture, but I’m pretty sure I fell on my phone and broke it.”

“Thanks, Thumper,” Derek muttered. “Let’s see you do better.”

“Oh, I will. Just let me somehow roll over and I will skate circles around you, Bambi.”

Off to the side, Erica speed crawled after Isaac with a handful of shaved ice to shove down his back.

--

Another fifteen minutes of struggle led them to their current predicament where all of them are lying on the ice in varying positions, except for Cora, who refused to let go of the ledge.

“I’d still call this a successful outing,” Stiles says. “Sure, some of us might be concussed, but there’s no blood and we are successfully out and about.”

“What are you guys doing?” a voice comes from the entrance of the rink.

They look over and Stiles raises his arms to wave. “Lydia! You made it!”

“I had to drop Jackson off at the doctor’s first. What are you doing? Allison, are you okay?” she asks. Then she spots Boyd and blinks. “I wasn’t aware Boyd was such a talented skater.”

“His talent makes up for rest of us and our inability to fight gravity in a low-friction setting,” Stiles says.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “In other words, none of you know how to skate. Why did you think a skating outing would be a good idea?” She rests her hands on her hips in that ‘exasperated but about to do a good deed’ sort of way and sighs. “Alright. You guys need to crawl over to a ledge and get yourselves up. It’s about time you learned how to skate. Boyd, get over here, you’re helping me.”

“You’re awesome, Lydia,” Scott calls out.

“No one is leaving until everyone here can skate,” she clarifies.

“Ah, so it’s gonna be one of those days,” Stiles mutters. He looks over at Derek and shrugs. “Still a successful outing, I’d say.”

Chapter Text

“Dude, why are we here?” Scott asks, trying to keep his voice at a whisper.

Stiles arches a brow. “For paintballing? Because you were invited? Because those three decided to side with Cora instead? You’re gonna have to be more specific with your question, bud.”

Scott frowns. “But this is a Hale family thing.”

“That’s a good point. I got a call telling me to bring you guys here and that’s about it. Here, let me ask.” He turns around and nudges Derek. “Hey, so why are we here again? What’s all this about?”

Derek takes a moment from checking his gear to say, “Paintballing.”

He makes an indignant face. “Yes, I got that. Thanks. But why?”

“This is what we do to see who gets to assign chores for the next year. Me and Cora are still under 20, so we get three team mates. Laura and Uncle Peter get one.”

“But Uncle Peter never uses it,” Cora interjects. “We don’t know if it’s because he’s that confident or because he doesn’t have any friends.”

Everyone within earshot immediately gives him a look.

Stiles frowns, affronted. “Oh my god, I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

Not while Peter’s around, he mentally adds.

“And mom and dad are on the same team,” Derek continues. “They win every year somehow.”

“Ah, so you invited Allison because she hunts and Scott’s just here as an awkwardness buffer,” Stiles says, nodding his head in understanding. He laughs and ruffles his pouting friend’s hair. “It’s harsh, bro, but totally justified.”

“Hey, Uncle Peter,” Laura says, strolling across the room in her gear, “if I get you out this year, guess who’ll be singing ‘Queen Laura, Best of the Best, and So Much Better than Peter’?”

Peter scoffs. “That sounds like a terrible song, Laura. Good thing I won’t ever have to sing it.”

--

He ends up hiding behind a bush with Scott. “It’s like we’re still benchwarmers even though we’re on the field,” he mutters. “By the way, has Allison ever mentioned what she hunted? Because that’s people hunting, not animal hunting.”

In the opening in front of them, Allison ducks and rolls out of the way while shooting. She smirks when Isaac looks down at the paint splatters on his chest. “Better luck next time.”

Throwing his gun down, Isaac frowns and walks towards the side, passing the two of them. He pauses when he notices them before shaking his head. “How do you two losers even survive?”

“By having Allison on our team,” Scott replies before turning to Stiles for approval.

It’s not the kind of comeback he was thinking of but decides to roll with it. “Seems to be working pretty well considering she just got Erica out.”

“So do you two just plan on sitting here?” Isaac asks.

“Maybe? We’re just riding this out, bro,” Stiles says.

Rolling his eyes, Isaac leaves.

The two of them go back to watching only to see Cora and Derek in a face-off.

“Oh my god, we can totally get Cora from here,” Stiles says.

“But isn’t that unfair?” Scott asks.

“All’s fair in love and war, dude.”

“But she won’t know what hit her.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.”

“Fine, but you do it.”

“Me? Why me? You do it.”

“But it was your idea!”

“Yeah, but Cora will actually kill me!”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” a new voice suddenly says. The two of them turn to see Talia Hale standing there, smiling. “Hello, boys.”

--

“Dude. We got shot by Derek’s mom,” Scott says in an incredulous whisper.

“I know. I was there,” Stiles mutters, taking his gear off. “How did she even sneak up on us? I can’t believe they ambushed their own kids like that.” He turns to Allison. “Who got you out?”

“I got hit by a stray pellet from Laura and Peter’s showdown,” she says with a frown. “It was an amateur mistake.”

Stiles furrows his brows. “Amateur—Allison, are you and your family contract killers?”

Allison laughs and doesn’t answer.

Alarming.

They’re all sitting around and waiting when the door opens and Peter walks in, sulking and covered in paint. He’s followed by Talia, who smiles and pats him on the back. “Maybe next year, baby bro.”

Ah, so that’s where Laura gets it from.

“So that concludes this year’s Hale Chore Master Contest. Once again, we won,” Talia announces. “I hope you all had fun. This year’s MVP has to be Allison Argent for her amazing performance in the field. Chris has trained you well.”

Scott and Stiles exchange looks at that. Then they turn to look at Allison who merely smiles back.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming out,” Talia continues. “Dinner’s on us tonight.”

“Wait, before we go, I’ve got something to say,” Laura suddenly interrupts. She sends Peter a glare and mouths ‘I hate you’ before taking a deep breath and bursting into song. “All hail Peter Hale, lord and ruler of the little Hales…”

Chapter Text

They’re buying ingredients for ice cream floats when Stiles suddenly gives a start and starts tugging at Derek’s sleeve. “Oh my god, dude! Look! It’s Peter!” he whispers, or tries to. “What’s he doing here—outside—outside the house?”

Arching a brow and looking over, Derek shrugs. “Must be his day out or something. He’ll do that sometimes.”

“What do you think he’s buying?” Stiles asks.

Evidently, his attempt at whispering failed because Peter looks over, smiles and waves, and holds up a bag of popcorn kernel.

Stiles turns back to Derek with his mouth ajar. “He heard me!”

“Well, you weren’t exactly quiet.”

And when he turns back around, Peter’s already gone. “Dude, where’d he go?”

“Uncle Peter gets around,” Derek replies with a shrug.

--

Derek wasn’t joking when he said Peter got around.

On the way back to the Hale House, his phone goes off multiple times. Finally, he has enough of it and says, “Hey, Derek, mind reading those texts for me?”

“Sure.” He picks up Stiles’ phone and scrolls through the text messages. “First one’s from Scott.”

“Oh goody, read it exactly as it’s written,” Stiles says.

Rolling his eyes, Derek sighs and reads monotonically, “‘Bro.’ Exclamation mark. ‘Derek’s uncle’s at the mall.’ Three exclamation marks. Colon, capital O. Exclamation mark.”

Stiles looks over. “Dude, how’d Peter get to the mall so quickly?”

Derek shrugs. “Second one’s from Isaac. ‘Peter’s at the clinic having a chat with Deaton.’ Period. ‘What is happening.’ Third one’s from Erica. ‘Ran into Peter at the pizza place lol what even,’ with no punctuation whatsoever.”

Just as he finishes reading Erica’s text, Stiles’ phone goes off again a couple more times. “Who is it this time?”

“They’re all from Scott.” Derek furrows his brows. “In all caps, ‘Omg bro halp’—with an A. Still in all caps, ‘Dereks unclesat,’ in one word, ‘the movies.’ Still in all caps, ‘I think hes watchin me n,’ the letter, ‘not the screen.’ And still in all caps, ‘Stiles im scared.’ Exclamation mark. ‘Help he smiled,’ at sign, ‘me,’ spelt with five E’s.”

Stiles lets out a snort. “Dude, your uncle is so creepy.”

“What else is new.”

“Can you text Scott back for me? Say, ‘Bro,’ comma, ‘calm down before you give yourself a panic attack.’ Period. ‘Don’t make eye contact.’ Period. ‘Just try to enjoy the movie.’” He pauses for a second. “Actually, add a ‘lol’ to the end of that.”

Derek arches a brow. “You’re not laughing.”

“True, but it’s shorter than coming up with an acronym for ‘I’m actually internally laughing at your situation but in a sympathetic way because we’re bros and I wanted to add a little something at the end of my text so it seems less serious so you’re less likely to freak out even though you really shouldn’t make eye contact with Peter because I don’t think he’s human.’”

“…yeah, that’s kinda wordy. ‘Lol’ it is.”

--

When they arrive back at the Hale House, with practiced ease, Stiles dodges the dog stampede and makes his way inside. He was about to make a comment about how empty the house felt without Peter when he noticed that it didn’t.

Suddenly, the microwave dings and Peter steps out of the kitchen with his bowl of popcorn. “Oh, you two finally made it back? What took you so long?”

He gapes. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the movies right now?”

Peter shrugs. “The ending was a little disappointing.”

“The end—what? How? The movie started like, ten minutes ago. Dude, what even are you? Are you a time bender?” Stiles turns and calls out, “Derek, is your uncle a time bender?”

“I wish,” Derek answers. “Actually, no, I don’t wish that. He’d use his powers for evil.”

“I’m hurt,” Peter says with a hand over his heart.

Bringing all the dogs back inside, Derek shrugs. “The truth hurts. Like I said, Uncle Peter just gets around.”

Stiles glances down at his phone and reads,

OMG STILES HES GONEAGDAIPOJA

“That’s one way of putting it I guess.”

“Your friend seems to be giving himself an asthma attack again,” Peter says without looking over.

His head snaps up and he frowns. “What? How did you even—?”

“It’s a gift.” Peter smiles. “Popcorn?”

Chapter Text

As with most of his ideas, it seemed like an absolutely perfect plan—until it didn’t.

“This is absolutely perfect, guys. It’s like, foolproof this time,” Stiles reassures them.

Derek chuffs. “That’s what you said the last six times.”

He bobbles his head in a way that makes Scott clutch at his neck and wince. “Yeah, well, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try…try, try, try, try again, you know? And also, those last five times don’t count. I thought we agreed that those were nothing but bad dreams created from our collective imaginations.”

“I thought that was only the first three times,” Scott says.

“After the third time, I thought it’d be a given—no, you know what? Forget those times, we’re living in the now. We’re gonna rock this and it’s going to be an awesome seventh take of a first double date between bros,” Stiles declares.

“Just to clarify, I’m still the one dating Scott, though, right?” Allison teases.

Stiles grins. “Yep, he’s all yours. I wouldn’t fight you for him in a million years. Not with your hunting skills and those dimples.”

--

Their seventh first double date goes great—until it doesn’t.

They’re all sitting at the pizza parlour and arguing over whether certain toppings belong on pizza or not when something on the floor underneath their table catches Stiles’ attention. He subtly leans over to take a better look at it only to nearly fall out of his seat when he sees what it is.

A condom.

Derek reaches over and grabs him by the back of the shirt to pull him back up. “What are you doing?”

Stiles laughs a little too loudly all while digging through his pockets to see if that thing is his. “Nothing! Who’s doing anything? Not me. I am not doing anything, which, by most definitions, means I’m doing nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

The looks he gets from the other three is enough to convince him to never pursue acting as a career.

“So how about those mozzarella sticks on pizza? Are they an abomination or what?” he says, trying to steer them back on track.

(And away from the condom on the floor.)

Scott, dear, sweet, mostly predictable Scott, falls for it. “But I thought you liked mozzarella sticks on pizza.”

(Thank you, best friend Scott.)

“Really? Mozzarella sticks?” Allison asks, skeptical.

“It’s better than it sounds!”

With the conversation back in place and the other three distracted, Stiles slowly starts leaning forward in his seat. With any luck, he’ll be able to slide the stupid thing towards himself and grab it before anyone notices. Then they can all resume the most perfect first double date in the history of Beacon Hills.

Foot groping around, he feels around, praying that he won’t step on anything too gross.

When his shoe finally toes the plastic wrapping, he gives a mental whoop and tries to slide the condom back. But before he can do it, another shoe bumps into his.

And then another.

And then another.

Stiles quickly ducks down to see the other three’s legs all there in the middle, reaching for the fallen condom. He looks back up at them and the four of them all exchange equally horrified gazes at one another.

Clearing his throat, Stiles says, “Well, I think it’s safe to conclude that this is too awkward to recover from. Let’s just say this double date never happened. Again.”

The three immediately respond, “Agreed.”

 “Wait, so whose is it though?” Scott asks.

They all dig through their respective condom hiding places only to find their stash still there. Realization hitting them, everyone retracts their foot and scoots back in their seat.

“Maybe it’s best we don’t find out who it belongs to,” Allison says.

Derek nods in agreement.

Scott’s eyes widen. “Guys, what if it’s—”

Both Stiles and Allison reach over to cover his mouth. “No speculations, please!”

They exchange looks again and Stiles asks, “So, same time next week?”

Allison laughs. “Same time next week.”

Then, without waiting for the bill, the four of them book it out of there, leaving cash on the table and the mystery condom on the floor.

Chapter Text

“That is very serious,” Derek says, looking over his shoulder to his cell phone screen where he had just changed the wallpaper to one of the two of them.

Stiles nods. “Oh, it’s very serious.”

“Now people are definitely going to get the right idea about us.”

“I know, right? Next thing you know, we’ll be filing out our tax forms together—super no-nonsense serious.”

“It’s that serious?” Derek asks mock-gravely, arching a brow.

“Indeed. Have I scared you off for good with this seriousness?” he asks back, trying to keep his face straight.

Derek scoffs. “Are you turning this into a serious off?”

“Maybe I am. Why? Think you can one up me on this?” he challenges.

“I bet I can.” Turning the chair around so they come face-to-face, Derek grabs onto the arm rests and leans in. “This Saturday. You. Me. Dog shelter.”

It takes all his self-control not to laugh. “Why? Are you putting me up for adoption?”

“Would that I could, but no. Stop snickering, Stiles. This is serious,” Derek says, his lips involuntarily curving upwards.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Right. Serious. Dog shelter. Why?”

“To pick out a dog,” Derek says, his tone suggesting that nothing could’ve been more obvious.

His eyes widen. “Wow, that is serious. You’re letting me pick out a dog for your dog army?”

Derek’s eyebrows seem conflicted about what emotion they should be expressing, so they settle for confused but amused. “That’s not how I would’ve worded it, but yes, I am letting you pick out a dog for my dog army.”

“Der-Bear, that’s like ‘I love you’ serious.”

“Well, I do.”

He laughs and slaps the other on the arm. “Save it for the wedding—wait, what?”

“What do you mean ‘what’.”

“Intonation,” he automatically responds. Then he continues, “I mean I love you and now you have to say it back to me because you totally do, right?”

“I love you?” Derek repeats uncertainly.

(Out of all times for him to learn how to intone properly, of course it had to be now.)

Pinching himself, Stiles gapes. “Oh my god, this is real. This is very serious.”

Derek chortles. “Oh, very serious. Have I scared you off for good with my seriousness?”

There’s a pause between them.

Stiles can feel his face turning redder by the moment, and judging by Derek’s ears, he’s not faring much better. “I love you, Derek,” he says again, quietly, savoring the way it feels on his tongue.

“I love you too,” Derek replies softly.

They gaze into each other’s eyes for a long moment...then

“NO TAKE BACKSIES!” he suddenly shouts, leaping out of his chair and running out of the room.

From down the hall, he can hear Derek laughing.

With his hands on his face to hide his burning cheeks, unable to contain the big, dopey grin on his face, he leans back against the wall and laughs along.

Chapter Text

“Do you think Peter would use his powers for evil?” Stiles asks, only half paying attention to the television.

Derek’s eyebrow arches at that and asks, “What powers and what else would he use it for.”

“Intonation,” Stiles reminds him. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure he’s been dictating my choices as of late.”

“What.”

Flailing his arms wildly, he says, “Yeah! Remember that time at the movies? I was totally gonna get Twizzlers but then I smelt popcorn and went for Whoopers instead.”

Ever the voice of reason, Derek points out, “Stiles, we were at a movie theatre. There was literally popcorn everywhere.”

“Fine, what about that time I was ordering pizza? I was totally gonna order a Hawaiian but then bam! Popcorn! And I ended up ordering a pepperoni instead! You know who doesn’t like pineapple on pizza? Peter doesn’t like pineapple on pizza.”

“Coincidence,” Derek says, unconvinced.

“One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, and three’s a pattern,” Stiles retorts, “because remember that time we were in the woods walking the dogs and I was all like, ‘We should make out.’ And you were all, ‘No, Stiles, because I’m a total killjoy.’ And then I smelt popcorn and was all like, ‘Never mind, let’s not.’ Do you remember that?”

Derek frowns in thought. “Vaguely and not at all how you described it.”

Stiles huffs and throws himself back against the couch, slouching and crosses his arms. Only, his arms can only stay still for so long before he throws them back up. “Am I going crazy? Is that it? Agh, whatever! Wanna watch Star Trek? We can put on the latest movie.”

“Sure,” Derek answers with a shrug.

Getting up, he makes his way to the Blu-ray player when he suddenly stops and looks around. “Oh my god, am I actually going insane? Derek, I’m smelling popcorn again. Am I having a stroke? Wait, no, that’s burnt toast. Is it me? Do I smell like popcorn?” He sniffs at his clothes. “I don’t even—hang on, I’m gonna go change. I don’t even understand.”

Stiles runs out of the living room and with an excited bark, Ham Bone (the newest addition to his ‘dog army’) picks up his ball and chases after him because any sudden movement means play and no one can tell him otherwise.

Watching the two leave, Derek scowls and walks over to the pantry door where a couple of the dogs are sitting in wait. He opens it, revealing Peter sitting on a stool with a fan in his hand and a bowl of fresh popcorn in his lap. “This needs to stop—how long have you been sitting there?”

“Not that long, but probably longer than you’re guessing,” Peter answers vaguely.

“This needs to stop,” Derek says again.

Peter sulks and makes a face. “I don’t like what Abrams did to the franchise.”

“Well, you can just deal with it from in there.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek raises the remote and changes the channel only to have the title menu for the Princess Bride pop up just as Stiles returns in a fresh set of clothes and Ham Bone in tow. “Oh, hey! The Princess Bride! I love this movie! Let’s watch this instead!”

Derek turns back to Peter and narrows his eyes in accusation. “You planned this.”

Popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth, Peter grins. “Inconceivable.” 

Chapter Text