Chapter Text
Derek
This is going to be so easy, was Derek’s first thought.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Jackson was watching him with eyes practically sparkling with mirth, then back at the kid who was pulling books out of his locker, looking as if he was lost deep in thought.
Nerd-boy Stilinski, with his tennis-ball cropped hair, and that dopey wide mouth people wanted to staple shut the moment he started talking.
Easy prey, as his grams used to say when she caught the whiff of a crippled animal nearby and was about to go in for the kill.
Alright, let’s do this, he thought, as he adjusted his shirt, lips twitching when he heard Jackson sniggering behind him. Circle your calendar, loser. I’m going to make your day.
Stiles
Stiles Stilinski was indeed lost in thought. He was generally that way, lost in a hundred consecutive thoughts at one time, like a stick figure moving its rapid, never-still way through a flip book. He was thinking that he wanted to call his dad, just to hear his voice and say hi and think I love you all throughout the conversation, and then on the heels of that came the question of what he should have for dinner. Leftover lasagna from Sunday? Or pasta salad from that box pushed deep into the pantry that was soon about to expire? All he would have to do was dump in the seasoning packet and some olive oil. Sprinkle in some pepper for some extra heat. But what he was in the mood for was some good old fashioned grilled cheese. Which reminded him, he needed to do the laundry and go to the store and buy a bottle of detergent.
He turned around and was startled to find someone standing behind him, just an arm’s reach away. Close enough to touch, and if he took one step forward, close enough to kiss. And that someone was Derek Hale, who was looking at him. Stiles immediately flushed in embarrassment and tried to act nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just jumped a foot into the air like a Pogo stick.
“Sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. He would have scurried off like a spooked mouse, but the warm voice that spoke was superglue, melding his feet into place.
“No, wait. Wait. Don’t go.”
“Huh?” Stiles said, like some goober.
“Can we talk? Is this a bad time?”
It was so hard, lifting his head up to meet those eyes and keep it there. Nope, he couldn’t do it. Looking at that face was like looking into the sun. It burned, it stung, it blistered his retinas. Stiles’ eyes slid down a few inches and stopped somewhere between the second and third button of the grey Henley. But looking at that broad, muscular chest was also torturous, so he slid his eyes down a few more inches, which was where Derek's crotch was... so he slid his gaze even farther down and opted to stare at Derek's shoes.
“Yeah?” he mumbled. “What do you want?”
“Are you doing anything tonight?” Derek said.
Was he doing anything tonight? Scott had a date with the Amazing Allison (what else was new under the sun?) so Stiles was going to go home and play video games and then do his homework. Eat a slice of the leftover pie he had been thinking of since first period. Feed Herbert, his guinea pig.
“No, nothing.”
“So you’re free.”
“Free?” Stiles said with a frown. “Yeah, I guess. Wait. Free for what?”
Derek shifted on his feet and Stiles thought he looked almost shy. Shy? Derek Hale? The Derek Hale who wore a leather jacket as black as Stalin’s heart and once told a teacher to go fuck herself? But whatever it was, it was a good look on him. His face turned soft, almost boyish, almost golden, and Stiles felt his heart just…hitch.
Stop it. Stop it. Because Stiles knew Derek was two seconds away from asking (no, ordering) him to do his homework for him, or to help him cheat on Mr. Arturo’s exam next week or quietly follow him to the restroom so he could dunk Stiles’ head into the toilet and flush the water down…
Come on, Stilinski, don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Derek would say. Then again, maybe not, because it was highly possible Derek didn’t know his name.
“There’s a movie that looks good over at the theater.”
“Huh?” Stiles said. Why was Derek telling him this? “Okay.”
“I could pick you up at around seven. What do you say?”
“What? What do I say to what?” Stiles said. He realized how so very dopey he sounded. Huh? What? Wait? Huh? (why didn’t you drool as well while you’re at it, Stilinski?) but his brain had been replaced with spaghetti and marinara sauce. None of this was making sense. “Pick me up? To go with you to this movie at seven?”
“Actually, the movie starts at nine. We’ll go eat first.”
“Are you… are you asking me out? Like on a date?” Stiles said, gobsmacked. I need to get my ears checked. I need new ears.
A part of him thought that Derek would laugh right in his face at that, like that butt-faced bully on the Simpsons – haw haw – but Derek’s smile was a mix of bashful and ‘now he gets it’ playful.
“Yeah, I guess I am," Derek said.
And boy, if that didn’t make things even more confusing.
Derek Hale had spoken to him only once before today in the two years they had gone to school together. Stiles remembered it well, as if it had been yesterday. The hard clap of a hand on his shoulder and when he twisted his head up in surprise and a little bit of pain, Derek’s irritated, mean, all-twisted-up face glowering down at him, thick brows tight in displeasure.
Get the fuck out of my seat.
“You guess you are?” Stiles said. He gave his head a shake. There was no reason on earth for Derek to be asking him out. “No, seriously. What do you want?”
“I’m asking you out. I didn’t think I can make it any simpler than that,” Derek said, voice like honey poured over warm pancakes.
“Ha ha,” Stiles said flatly, because he hadn’t been born yesterday. He wasn’t stupid. Why didn’t people get that? “Funny. Is this some kind of joke?”
“What kind of person would ask someone out as a joke? Why would you even think that?”
“Because - ”
Stiles glanced around helplessly. The bell began to ring then, just as Stiles was about to explain exactly why he would think this was a joke, and really, did that even need explaining?
“I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all,” Derek said. And that was a first. Get to know him better? Stiles could honestly say that no one had ever said that to him before, ever.
“But you’re dating Jennifer Blake,” Stiles said in protest.
“We broke up a week ago. She wasn’t who I wanted.”
“She wasn’t?”
The noise of the hallway faded into the background and it was almost as if it were just the two of them left in the entire building, maybe the whole world.
“She wasn’t. Please say yes.” Derek leaned in, his eyes green and warm. His breath tickled Stiles’ ear. And Stiles didn’t know why he kept thinking in food similes, maybe he was hungry, but his heart melted like a pat of butter on hot toast. “What do you say?”
Derek
“What did he say? Did he say yes?” Jackson asked impatiently, keeping his voice low.
Derek ended up being a few minutes late to class. It majorly pissed him off, that Stilinski took so long to fucking answer that Derek had to endure Harris’ stink eye as he slunk in through the door and found an empty desk. But the anger quickly gave away to smugness.
He smirked in reply. He was almost offended that the question was being asked of him; the Stiles Stilinskis of the world did not reject the Derek Hales of the world.
“He said yes.” Jackson laughed into his hand and whispered, “This is awesome. Holy shit.”
Awesome, indeed. Derek felt invincible, drunk on the knowledge of having someone completely under his spell.
“Oh, man. Dude. This is going to be hilarious,” Jackson wheezed, riddled with laughter he was trying hard to contain.
Derek had already decided to go all out, pull out all the stops. The whole nine yards. Just go for it. He was going to make it good. Legendary. Something about nerd-boy bugged the crap out of him. Always had. So yeah, it was going to be epic.
Stiles
It was almost six.
Stiles stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection in immense dissatisfaction.
He glanced towards the bed, where he had tossed out all the acceptable shirts and pants he owned from his closet and drawers. So this was what his mom had meant when she used to say she didn’t have anything to wear. It had made absolutely no sense at the time, but now, he finally got it.
He had nothing to wear.
He didn’t have date clothes; there had never once been a need for them. And now, the dateless wonder for the past 16 years was going out on a date with the Derek Hale. This was enormous. Front page news. And he was scared shitless.
He wriggled out of the third pair of pants he had tried on and kicked them to the side. He didn’t even know why he was bothering to try on every single article of clothing he owned when he already knew he was going to end up wearing his favorite jeans and his favorite t-shirt.
He wished Scott was here with him. He would have been good moral support as Stiles’ sole cheerleader for the past ten years. But Scott was with Allison, queen of unicorns and rainbows – and Stiles wasn’t bitter, not really, he just missed having his best friend around, having someone to talk to – and Stiles was willing to bet his left eyeball that the two were making out right about now, tangled together like earphones inside a pocket. Kissing. Fondling. Hands up each other’s shirts. The works.
His mind screeched to a stop as a sudden thought clunked into his head. Kissing. Fondling. Would he get to do that stuff with Derek? Did Derek want to do that stuff with him?
“I can’t believe I said yes,” he muttered. Now that the enormity of the whole thing was hitting him full-force, the impulse was there, as it had been the moment he started getting ready, to call Derek and cancel. Lie and tell him that something had come up. He was angry with himself, that he had gotten himself into this mess.
He looked into the mirror, again with dissatisfaction. He wished, not for the first time that day, for the first time that month, or that year, that he was easier on the eyes, more likable, less of a loser, more… everything. Someone who would look good hanging from Derek’s arm. Someone who could keep Derek’s interest. He had the unhappy suspicion that even if he were to possess all the clothes in the world, none of them would make him look particularly… sexy.
The doorbell rang and his heart swooped like a paper airplane spiraling to the ground and his hands went clammy. He didn’t think he could do this. He stood there frozen, mind in a scrambled panic.
The bell rang again merrily. Ding-dong!
He wanted to duck and hide in his room until Derek went away, but then, like a remote-controlled robot, his feet began to move on their own, taking him along the hallway and down the staircase.
He opened the front door, and there he was. Derek Hale, replete in his trademark leather jacket and stubble. He looked magnificent, framed in the golden glow of the front porch light, and Stiles saw then – really saw – why he had been voted hottest guy in school three years running.
“Hi,” Derek said, his easy, smooth voice a sharp contrast to the snakes coiling in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. “You ready?”
Say no. Say you can’t do it. Say you have a stomachache. Tell him you need to stay close to a toilet all night.
“I am,” Stiles said, although it came out in a little squeak, and he stepped outside and locked the door behind him.
Derek
It was funny, because he could tell Stilinski had spent the last few hours leading up to his arrival getting all glammed up, and yet he looked exactly the same. He was no Cinderella, there was no makeover magic happening here, none of the Hollywood ‘dork turned into prom prince’ thing going on. Derek wouldn’t have to deliver him by midnight, because there was no spell to be broken.
Back in the driver’s seat, Derek turned on the ignition and pulled out of the driveway.
“How was your day?” Derek asked.
Stiles shrugged. “It went well.”
“You had chemistry today, right?” Derek said, just to show off the fact that he had been keeping an eye on Stilinski and knew a thing or two about his “crush”. Acting the part of the besotted idiot.
And just as he expected, Stiles looked timidly pleased and a little wondrous.
“How did you know that?” he asked, as if finding out someone’s schedule was rocket science.
“I know a lot of things about you,” Derek said. It was a smarmy line, one that tasted like a burp of castor oil as it left his mouth, but he guessed a small dollop of smarminess wouldn’t hurt.
Besides, it was fun being a little slimy. Slipping into a character that wasn’t him. He needed to watch it, because the last thing the pack needed was another Uncle Peter, but still… Derek was beginning to understand why Peter was the way he was: suave, smooth, a playboy and player, dropping cheesy pick-up lines that would never have worked for anyone else. Because they were wolves, in more ways than one. And playing with people’s hearts was fun. A power trip like none other.
But Stiles’ shy grin dimmed slightly at that. “Like what?” he said. “What do you know about me?”
He was nervous, and Derek knew why. Because most of the things people knew about Stilinski wasn’t all that flattering. He was Beacon Hill’s resident goofball, the loser, and guys like that always had one or two embarrassing stories stuck on them like gum on the bottom of a shoe.
Derek hadn’t ever bothered to figure out if the rumors were lies or not, but it was high school, and sometimes being funny was more important than being accurate. Derek knew that if anyone had asked him about Stiles Stilinski two days ago, he would have laughed and said, “Him? Do you know that he ate a dead worm in seventh grade, just because a pretty girl told him to?”
“Nothing bad,” Derek said, trying to sound warm and reassuring.
Stiles nodded quickly, almost as if relieved, almost as if he didn’t want to know what people were saying about him.
The next few minutes went by in silence. Derek was bored already and trying not to think of the other myriad of enjoyable ways he could be spending his time. Small things about Stilinski annoyed him and the list only kept getting longer as the minutes ticked by.
Derek couldn’t help but notice the way moles were scattered all over his face like someone had stabbed him repeatedly with a brown marker, or how goofy-looking he was, how weirdly his mouth moved each time he spoke.
Four hours later, they were back in front of Stilinski’s house. The burgers at Flip were good as always; it was the only place where the cook was irresponsible enough to send out the meat as rare as Derek asked for, practically uncooked. The movie was good, full of explosives and hot semi-naked girls running around, watermelon-huge tits bouncing all over the place. He’d bought a huge tub of popcorn. Derek didn’t get the point of movie theater popcorn – spongy and stale, over-priced and topped with neon-yellow chemicals that passed for butter – but he had gone out often enough times to know that it was just something boys did for girls at movie theaters; they bought them disgusting popcorn.
The date had gone well, he thought. If he said so himself.
Now they were sitting in Derek’s car, surrounded by the evening darkness. The street was postcard pretty, shrouded in darkness, with hazy circles of golden light haloing the lamps and the flowering bushes spilling out over the iron-wrought fences.
Derek turned to the other boy sitting beside him.
“Did you have fun?” Derek asked.
Stiles nodded, picking at his knuckles. He was uncharacteristically silent, and while Derek would have liked to simply think it was because he was nervous around Derek, something told him that wasn’t the case.
“Did you have fun?” Derek asked again, because he needed to hear the words to parse out whether they were true.
“Yeah, sure,” Stiles said, and while the answer came quickly enough and his voice was steady enough, Derek narrowed his eyes. The little fucker was lying. He couldn’t believe it. For the past twenty minutes, ever since the movie ended, he had been agonizing over whether to kiss him? don’t kiss him? how far should I push it? but he now realized that was pretty much moot. Despite his response, Stilinski hadn’t enjoyed the date.
“Would you like to go out again?” Derek asked carefully, gauging the other boy’s expression. Normally he wouldn’t have asked, just told the girl when and where, and voilà, she would be waiting for him at that exact time and location. But Stilinski was trickier.
“Sure,” Stiles said, still looking at his hands.
Another lie.
Annoyance burst through Derek in spades. And this time, there was that frisson of alarm as well, in addition to dismay, because pulling off this entire dare hinged on Stilinski not losing interest in him.
He opened his mouth, although he wasn’t sure what he was about to say, but Stilinski was turning away, reaching out for the door handle.
“Thanks for tonight.”
With that, Stiles slipped out and firmly shut the door. With that, he was fucking gone. Like a hologram that blinked out of existence right before his eyes.
Derek stared at the empty seat, dumbfounded. He could practically feel Jackson’s Porsche driving away from him. It felt like a huge middle finger.
Stiles
He stepped out of the bathroom, wearing only his sweatpants, a damp towel slung over his bare shoulders. His dad had returned home sometime during his shower, and Stiles could hear him downstairs, most likely enjoying a well-deserved craft beer and some quiet time to himself. The faint, familiar sounds of a football game drifted up to the second floor. One of the players must have fumbled the ball just then. His dad muttered lowly in displeasure and Stiles found himself smiling, fondness curling around him like a warm blanket.
“Night, dad!” he hollered down the staircase, and “You too, son!” was hollered in return.
Stiles went to his room and shut the door. It was late, he was exhausted, and all in all, glad that the day was over. He was more than ready for bed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at his toes like Ariel in the Little Mermaid, wiggling them about. He sighed like a leaky balloon. So, his first date. His very first date with Derek Hale…
There was a series of sharp raps from behind him. He whirled around, swallowing a shriek, and eyes grew wide when saw the dark shape outside the window. Shit. Shit. He was going to get murdered tonight. His dad was going to find his lifeless body tomorrow morning. He was…
Wait a second…
The fist pounded again, impatient and demanding. He tugged open the window, and before Stiles could so much as invite him in, Derek Hale was plunging inside.
“You – how the hell did you climb up here?” Stiles yelped. “Did you actually climb up here? You couldn’t have come to the front door like a normal person?”
“Your dad was home,” Derek pointed out.
“So? And you thought this was the next best idea? I know you have a cellphone. You could do a lot of cool things with it, like call other people who have cell phones. Leave text messages or voicemail. Or maybe you could have waited until the next day, again, like a normal person. That was what I would have done. Who climbs through someone’s window on the second floor?”
“God, you talk a lot,” Derek groused.
Stiles realized he had crossed both arms over his bare chest like a girl who actually had anything worth hiding. He quickly snatched up his ratty t-shirt that he used as a pajama top and pulled it over his head, wriggling his arms through the sleeves. When he pulled his shirt collar down, he saw that Derek was staring at him, and he wrestled down the weird urge to cover his nipples again.
“What are you doing here? What do you want?” Stiles said.
“What was wrong with the date?” Derek said.
Stiles raised his brows, taken aback by the unexpected question. “Huh?”
“What was wrong with the date?” Derek demanded. He sat down hard on the edge of Stiles’ bed, right on the spot Stiles’ had been sitting not two minutes ago, and there was the angry crunch of bed springs.
“What was wrong with the date? You climbed into my room to ask me that? You want a review of our date,” Stiles said incredulously.
“Yeah. Tell me. What did I do wrong?” Derek said.
“Nothing. When did I say you did anything wrong?”
“You didn’t have fun.”
“I had fun,” Stiles insisted.
“Stop lying to me.”
“How do you know I’m lying?”
“I just know,” Derek said. Stiles waited for more, but that was all Derek would say.
“I mean - ” Stiles sighed. It didn’t seem that Derek would leave without an answer. He sank down into his swivel chair. “What do you want me to say?”
Derek crossed his arms over his chest obstinately. “The truth. I want the truth.”
Stiles stared at Derek uncertainly, then sighed. “The truth? Okay. You’re…” He spread his arms out, “kind of a jerk.”
“A jerk. I’m a jerk,” Derek glared.
Stiles shrugged helplessly. “Yeah, kind of.”
It seemed as if Derek was struggling with the concept. “How so? Is it because I didn’t let you choose the movie?”
“I mean, yeah. You could have asked where and what I wanted to eat and what I wanted to see. That would have been considerate. But that wasn’t even the real issue, since, you know, some people apparently have a thing for that... that Neanderthal, caveman mentality.”
Derek gritted his teeth. “Go on.”
Stiles scratched his nose, then came to a decision. He wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, because there was the possibility that Derek would be strangling his scrawny neck by the time he was done, and his dad would find his lifeless body tomorrow morning… no wait, the day after that, because he didn’t really check on Stiles before he left for work at six, so his death would go undetected for at least 48 hours, and honestly, that was a very long period of time for a father and teenage son to go without seeing each other –
“Any day now,” Derek said.
“Fine! You asked for it. Here goes. You were rude to our waiter. You were rude to the ticket guy at the theater. Then you were rude to the guy who stepped on your foot in the theater when it was clearly an innocent mistake and you could have let it go. You were acting like he pulverized your toes. You were nice to the girl at the concession stand, but I’m kind of guessing that had more to do with the fact that she was hot and had big boobs and was flirting with you, and you eat that stuff up.”
Derek opened his mouth.
“And that isn’t all,” Stiles continued and Derek snapped his mouth shut. “You drive like a maniac, like traffic laws don’t apply to you, like there’s some magical force field around your car. I hate that. I hate it. Do you have any idea how much danger you’re putting yourself and other people in? Then you flipped off a woman for driving too slow. And she had two little kids with her, who saw you do that. You’re more than a jerk. You’re a douchebag.”
“A douchebag,” Derek repeated.
“Yes, a douchebag. I can’t believe I actually thought this might have been a prank of some sort. No one with half a brain would have put so little effort into a dare.”
At this, Derek scowled at him. Stiles scowled back.
Derek gave a hard shrug of his shoulders. “Fine, I’ll stop being a jerk.”
“That’s an excellent idea! Be nicer to people. You shouldn’t go around treating them the way you do, just because you’re hot and popular. It’s inexcusable.”
Derek opened his mouth to respond, but instead he abruptly went stock-still. Stiles was about to ask what was wrong, when he heard the faint creak, creak of the floorboards. His dad was upstairs, having finished his beer and game, and was heading to his room to get some sleep. Stiles also went rigid as a plank, eyes going saucer-wide.
"Goodnight, Stiles!" John said loudly, making every part of him go tense.
He struggled to remember how to use his voice. "Yeah, night, dad. We already did this, remember? Five minutes ago?" Stiles called back, hoping he sounded normal, and not like he had a Chippendales dancer in his room.
"Well, good night again! Don't let the bed bugs bite!" his dad said, making Stiles grimace at the corny nursery rhyme. He hoped his dad wouldn't barge in for some impromptu 'how are things at school, meet any nice girls recently?' conversation. He usually didn't, but Stiles had lived long enough to know that life generally operated under Murphy's Law, and the one time Derek fricking Hale was in his room, the horrible idea to talk to his son would be planted into his dad's brain and he would get the impulse to follow through. And then all hell would break loose.
Stiles hastily switched off the wall light, and the room went dark. Hopefully his dad would get the hint. "Yeah, sure thing. I'm in bed. Really tired, Dad, long day," he said, a bit frantically.
"Calm down," Derek hissed, tilting his head to the side. "He isn’t going to come in."
"How would you know?"
"I know," Derek said.
Right. Of course.
They both waited for a while, neither of them saying anything. Stiles stared at Derek's face absently, because it was the only thing he could make out as his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness. He wondered if this was par for the course for the other boy. Sneaking into girls' bedrooms and dodging parents for a steamy make-out session. Only Derek wasn't here to make-out with him. Derek would probably never want to talk to him again after tonight. He and Derek would go on with their separate lives, his chest clenching up in anguish and misery each time they passed by each other in the hallway, while he didn’t even register as a blip in Derek’s radar. He'd blown it.
There was the loud snick of a door closing, and Stiles released his breath, legs going wobbly.
“I’ll do better next time,” Derek said, resuming the conversation as if nothing had happened.
Stiles halted, wondering if he was hearing right. “Wait. What? What does that mean? We're going out again?”
“Yeah,” Derek said.
Stiles stared at him, mouth hanging open. Not that he had a problem with that necessarily, but... “You make it sound as if I don’t have a choice.”
“You don’t. You can’t just call me a douchebag and drop me without giving me a second chance.”
“I can’t?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know. I mean,” Stiles said, hastening to explain when Derek started to look thunderous again. “I really don’t know.”
Derek stalked over to his desk and snatched up a notebook. He flipped it open.
“Hey! That’s my math notebook! Don’t -”
Too late. With a loud rip, Derek tore a blank page out. He snatched up a pen from the desk and Stiles stared, confused, as Derek dragged the pen down the middle, creating two columns and scribbled angrily on the top.
When he was done, he slapped it on Stiles’ chest, making him wobble half a step backward. “Here. Fill in both columns, five things each.”
Stiles had to put it to his face and squint to read the words. Even then he could barely see what Derek had written.
“Things I want to do. Things I want to eat,” Stiles read aloud. He looked up at Derek indignantly. “You’re giving me homework?”
“Have it for me by Monday!” Derek hissed. He hooked a long leg outside the window and was gone.
“Douchebag,” Stiles muttered.
Derek
Derek heard the parting shot as he darted across the Stilinski’s back lawn, and that only added fuel to the fire. He was fuming.
He dashed recklessly through the backyards and gardens, darting between trees and bushes, too angry at the moment to care that humans might see him. Dogs started barking, snarling and snapping, going into a wild tizzy behind their fences, and he barked back at them to shut the fuck up.
He was sure of only one thing at that moment: he was going to come on top of this dare even it fucking killed him.
It wasn’t even about winning driving rights to the Porsche for a week, although that had been the impetus for accepting the dare. The bait dangling from the hook, so to speak. But seeing the dare through? No, it was more than that. He simply couldn’t tolerate the thought of Jackson fucking Whittemore laughing at him for failing. Sure, they were best friends, but beneath their friendship, there had always been a tense Godzilla vs. King Kong type rivalry between them since… since he could remember. They were frenemies… or whatever.
The gossip-girly term raised Derek’s hackles, but he supposed it was a good word as any in describing what they were. It had been a pride-grinding competition since day one. Seeing who could win more points in lacrosse and lead the team to victory. Seeing who could score with the best-looking chicks. Material things didn’t really count, because Derek had accepted that he would always be at a disadvantage in that regard, since Jackson’s dad was loaded and had no problem spending money on his son like there was no tomorrow.
Besides, Jackson didn’t have the pleasure of being a motherfucking werewolf, which was like the coolest, sexiest thing on the planet to be. The Porsche had been something so unattainable, so out of the realm of possibility, that it hadn’t even bothered Derek. Well, not that much. But the captain’s position going to Jackson… Derek had been stunned speechless. And coach Finstock taking him aside and telling him that Jackson deserved it, had won it fair and square, telling him to be a man and get over it… that had been a knife to the heart.
So for that reason alone, he had to see this stupid dare to the end, if only because Jackson was the one who came up with it and rubbing it in that jackass’ face was all Derek cared about. He wanted control over Jackson's most prized-possession, his "baby", even if it was just for a week. And yeah, the dare was ten kinds of stupid, like something out of a lame-ass chick flick Derek wouldn’t watch unless his life depended on it, but hey, Jackson wasn’t nothing if not a TV high school, rich-kid cliché.
Which brought him back to the matter at hand.
Seriously, a douchebag? Him? Derek had always associated that unappetizing word with guys like…well, Jackson. Guys in their pristine Lacoste shirts with upturned collars and their stupid loafers, guys who were born with silver spoons in their mouths, coasting through life doing whatever they wanted, their rich lawyer dads using money to mop up the mess they left behind. And Jackson made a lot of messes.
So yes, Derek had always thought that particular insult was exclusive for the Jackson Whittemores of the world. No one had ever accused him of being one before. It was a slap in the face, if Derek were being honest, and it stung. It stung horribly, all the more because loser Stilinski was the one who said it and fuck him for making this harder than it needed to be instead of just being grateful that Derek Hale was willing to give him the time of the day and -
Okay, okay, shut up. Shut the hell up and get your shit together. You can fix this, it’s not the end of the world.
He ran the rest of the way home, leaving the neighborhood dogs yapping in his wake.
Stiles
Mondays were horrible and Stiles hated them.
He shuffled into school, blearily rubbing his eyes. No one greeted him as he passed by through the hallway. He was used to it by now. In front of his locker, he dropped his backpack off his shoulders.
Stiles yawned, then yawned again, wishing he could get one more hour of sleep; he would have been happy to curl up in the corner of the school library if they’d let him.
He closed the locker door, and jumped, because there was Derek Hale, standing right next to him.
“Hand it over,” Derek said. He looked as sleepy as Stiles felt, his eyes hooded and lethargic as he leaned against the wall.
“My lunch money?” Stiles said hesitantly. “I don’t have any. I pack my own lunch.”
Derek’s nostrils flared. “No, the list,” he said.
“What? The list thing? I didn’t do it,” Stiles said, hefting his textbooks into the crook of his elbow. Derek jerked up straight, not looking as sleepy as before.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“I dunno. Because it’s stupid and there’s no purpose to doing it.”
For a moment, he wondered if Derek was going to punch him. He certainly looked like he wanted to, his eyes narrowing into slits and expression darkening.
“It doesn’t matter, okay?” Stiles said. “I’m not complaining about where we go. It’s the quality of the company you’re with that matters.”
Derek peered at him as if discontent by Stiles’ words. And yes, Stiles was not so subtly reminding him that Derek’s company did not quite cut the mustard. So there.
Derek rubbed the side of his face. “Give me your books. I’ll carry them for you.”
“They aren’t very heavy,” Stiles said.
“Give me your books,” Derek said, in a tone of voice that indicated he would snatch them away if Stiles didn’t hand them over immediately.
“All right. All right. Geez,” Stiles said. He eyed the biceps encased in the sleeves. “Gotta give those muscles something to do.”
They walked, shoulder to shoulder, both of them quiet. Even after a date together, and then unloading on Derek the way he had last night, Stiles was bashful around him. It seemed as if the entire school was staring at him, although that had to be his imagination.
But a few of them were staring, and a few of them were whispering, making his skin prickle with embarrassment even though he couldn't make out what they were saying. He could guess easily enough, though, based on how incredulous they looked. He supposed he couldn't blame them; it wasn't every day that Derek Hale would give someone like him the time of the day.
“Alright. This was where I go in. You can go now,” Stiles said, making shooing gestures when they were at his classroom.
Derek looked like he wanted to say something, but simply handed over his books and left.
At lunchtime, Stiles was sitting in the cafeteria eating his bagel when someone hurled themselves into the seat across from him, making the rickety plastic table quake. Scott, wild-eyed and out of breath. He flattened himself against the table, voice hushed.
“Dude!” he hissed. “Why is everyone saying you and Derek Hale went out on a date together?”
Stiles poked at his carrot sticks. “Because we did, I guess.”
“You guess? Did you or didn’t you?” Scott said.
“We did. He asked me out. Last Friday. And I said yes,” Stiles said, amazed at how nonchalant he managed to sound about it.
“Are you serious?” Scott said in astonishment.
“Yeah,” Stiles said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott said.
Stiles was about to say something sarcastic – that Scott’s interest was only piqued because he’d had his fill of Allison during the weekend and he was sated enough that the rest of the world around him was finally entering his vision – but he swallowed it down. Scott would get that woebegone look in his eyes, and he would be sorry and he would apologize, but he wouldn’t get it, not really, and it would only happen again.
“Just needed time to process it,” he said lamely. “You know. It’s Derek Hale.”
“Yeah, I mean. Yeah. Derek Hale,” Scott said. “Why did he ask you out?”
“Why did he ask me out?” Stiles repeated.
“Yeah. Why did he ask you out? Did he say he likes you or something?”
"He said he wanted to get to know me better.”
“Oh,” Scott said. “Huh.”
The "huh" said it all. Obviously, Scott thought there was more to it than that.
And although that had been the very first thought to pop into his mind, and it was still there, that niggling suspicion that maybe this was some elaborate gag designed to humiliate him, it hurt that Scott would be thinking along the same line.
Stiles didn’t bother to say that things far more implausible had happened, like Allison being attracted to Scott, because that was way below the belt. And it wasn’t true. Scott was a great guy. He just wasn’t being a great friend right now.
“I need to go,” Stiles said, pulling himself up from his seat and grabbing his bag, trying to ignore that feeling he got every time his low worth was confirmed.
"But I just got here," Scott said, bewildered. "And I have pizza rolls. You always eat my pizza rolls."
"I need to go do something," Stiles said.
"Do what?"
"Something. "
He left before Scott could say anything else, tossing his lunch bag into the trashcan.
Derek was waiting for him after the final bell. “Hey,” he said.
"Hey," Stiles said, a trifle wearily. It was still incredibly bizarre, being around Derek and having conversations with him, when 24 hours ago, they had been complete strangers. Or to be more precise, he had been a complete stranger to Derek. Students milled about around them, and he had to withdraw his elbows from getting in the way.
“You okay?” Derek asked.
“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?”
Derek looked at him for a moment before shrugging. “How does Rudy’s sound?” he said.
“Actually,” Stiles said slowly, unable to believe what he was about to say next. “I’d rather not.”
“Okay,” Derek said. “Have any other place in mind?”
“No, I mean. I didn’t want to go anywhere,” Stiles said. “To another restaurant, or a movie, or whatever. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you asking me out and taking all that stuff I said last night into consideration instead of ripping my head off. But this is all very new to me and it’d be nice if we could, maybe…take it slow.” He cleared his throat nervously, hating himself for doing this. He snuck a look at Derek, scared of what his reaction would be. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah,” Derek said. “Of course.”
“Really? You’d be okay with that?”
"Stiles," Derek said gently and his heart fluttered.
They were looking at each other now.
“I’m sorry about the crappy date and for acting that way last night. That's not who I am. And I'd just be grateful for the chance to make it up to you," Derek said. "So yeah, whatever you're comfortable with.”
He spoke so earnestly that Stiles was momentarily speechless.
"Okay?" Derek said, with a smile.
And despite himself, Stiles found himself smiling back. "Yeah, I'd like that."