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“Oh my God, are you shitting me right now.”
This was not promising. Derek ground his teeth and Stiles watched in fascination as the muscles and tendons in his jaw worked, popping and hollowing out. One of these days Derek was going to crack a molar and Stiles was like 87% sure mystical healing abilities didn’t extend to pearly whites. He was also pretty sure werewolves didn’t have dental insurance and do you know how much crowns cost these days?
“-ot what I asked.”
Shit, dude was still talking wasn’t he. Didn’t he know that Stiles’ exclamation of outrage was meant to be a conversation stopper? “Sure but just consider the ramifications of what you’re suggesting. I mean there’s logistics and travel and research and dry cleaning and catering and-“
“What?”
“-think of the children, Derek, how could you not think of the children. We have a responsibility here! We have moral and ethical almost-not-even-made-up obligations. Things that need to be said, notes to be written, calendars to be synced, heads to be patted, hands to be shook and legs that need to be greased…wait, no, that’s not right.”
Derek looks lost. “What children?”
“Your puppies, Derek, how could you forget your own bitten progeny? Does Isaac know this is how little you think of him? No wonder he’s spending so much time with Scott, he obviously isn’t getting proper parental guidance at home. Is it hands that need to be greased and legs that need to be shaken?”
“Stiles.”
Ladies and werewolves, we have achieved a pinch to the nose bridge and it looks like The Eyebrows may be threatening action. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at Derek’s manpain (which is looking kinda like constipation at this point). “Metaphorically of course. I don’t mean literally. Unless we’re engaging in some kind of Monty Python secret ritual hand/footshake. Or was it Red Dwarf? Did you see that episode? I think it was Red Dwarf, right? On that planet with the giant wookies and the neutered emotion sucker and Kryton had to-“
“Stiles.”
Ooooh, lookit, an eye twitch! At least part of his plan worked. Well. Worked in that Stiles didn’t exactly know what they were even talking about anymore. He was still pretty sure at least two of his objections were valid. Maybe not the catering or the hand greasing though. Or the dry cleaning. Probably. Well, unless they got covered in blood and guts and brains and goo again. Which, let’s be real here, happens more than it really should. Stiles doesn’t even want to know what the nice old lady who runs the dry cleaners in town even thinks about the state of some of the clothes he’s had to take in over the years.
And wow, can entire faces really twitch? Because he’s pretty sure Derek’s just did. Yeah, paying attention would probably be a thing that is good at this juncture of the proceedings. “See, this is what I’m having trouble with. Wrapping my head around the words you’re stringing into…almost…sentences,” Stiles huffs in frustration. “Words, Derek, use them at length, not just to get the bare minimum of not-quite-information out. Make love to them, don’t use them for a quickie in the copy room and hustle out the door while zipping your pants back up before their knees are capable of keeping them upright. Words deserve better than that. Now, this thing? The thing you’re telling me? It doesn’t make sense. On just about every level. So could you, y’know, start from the beginning? Or somewhere other than now or within the past ten minutes?”
Derek inhaled sharply and wow, even his flaring nostrils were kind of judge-y. Rude. Stiles tried to pay attention, he really did. But when Derek starts talking, Stiles sorta starts to just lose himself in the guy’s voice. Like he said: not promising. Fuck.