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This was supposed to be easy.
The pack defeated the witch who cast a sleeping spell over Beacon Hill's children. Someone watched "Hocus Pocus" one too many times, and she was using their energy to prolong her youth, complete with candy made from a potion brewed with dead man's toes.
Which, ew.
The pattern went back decades, across the country and through ten different towns. By the time the police found the bodies of those children, the witch was long gone.
Melissa reports that the most recent victims in the hospital still won't wake, so they make a plan of action. Find anything still binding the children to the witch's spell, destroy said things, and save the day.
Of course, Derek has to go and fuck it up.
One minute, Derek is standing behind the square, wooden table acting as the witch's altar, complete with animal bones and a bowl Scott assures Stiles is full of rabbit’s blood. He's shoving various items into a canvas tote bag to take out back and burn; the fact that Derek is the sort of person to keep reusable grocery bags in his trunk is endearing, though Stiles would never, on pain of death, admit this aloud.
The next minute, there's a pile of clothes on the ground beside the large, clear quartz Derek had been holding. Wriggling its way out of Derek's leather jacket is a large, black tomcat, fluffy fur sticking up in all directions.
There's shocked silence. Until:
"I am never letting you live this down," Cora says, cackling.
--
They take the stone out back, breaking it into tiny pieces, burning the rest and salting the ashes.
Derek doesn't change back. He bites Allison's finger, darts between Isaac's legs, and slips out from under Kira's arm. He ends up curled in a ball underneath the bookcase in the corner, scratching at anyone who comes near.
When Stiles finally stops laughing, he crouches down, shoving his head under the bookcase. "Hey, Sour Cat."
Derek hisses.
"Aw, come on, don't be like that." Stiles gets all the way down on his stomach, while the pack snickers behind him, and Scott hovers at his shoulder. "If this were me, you would be laughing, too."
Derek growls, but it's more a quiet rumble of agreement. He slinks out from under the bookcase, wriggling a little when his back half gets stuck. Stiles scoops him up and cradles him in his arms.
"Come on. We'll take you to Deaton, and he'll have you back to your big, grumpy self in no time.
--
Deaton can't break the curse.
"Without knowing the intention of the spell, I can't offer any sort of counter-curse," he says, in that Deaton-like way that's supposed to be apologetic but comes across as patronizing. "I could end up killing him by mistake."
Derek’s fur bristles; Stiles scratches his fingers behind his ears.
Scott sends Allison and Isaac back to the house to finish up. He tells them to wear their thickest gloves, not touch anything with their bare hands, and call when they're done.
He and Cora play rock, paper, scissors to decide who’ll take Derek home for the night, but Derek makes the decision for them when he perches on Stiles' shoulders and refuses to move.
"Jesus Christ, you weigh a ton," Stiles groans. "Have you always been this heavy?" He yelps when Derek digs his claws in, and when Scott snorts, he glares.
Scott gets the call from Melissa the next morning. All of the children have woken up, sitting in bed and showing zero symptoms of being trapped in a magical slumber.
But Derek doesn’t change back.
Despite his human tendency to shy away from affection, Derek-the-cat accepts head scratches without compunction, crawls all over his pack with no respect for personal space. He lays out across their laps like he belongs there, purring like a freight train the moment someone’s nails scratch behind his ears.
For some unknown reason, Derek-the-cat remains attached to Stiles. No matter how many times Cora locks him in the loft, he finds a way to escape, yowling at Stiles’ door at all hours of the night until someone lets him in. He takes an equal liking to Stiles' father - though explaining to both him and Scott's mom that yes, this is actually Derek is a comedy routine in and of itself as Derek rubs himself all over Stiles' calves, rolls around all over his dirty clothes, and kneads at the material on the floor until he's satisfied with his nest.
“You shed all over my clothes, and you’re paying for my laundry, dude,” Stiles says; Derek lies down with his head on his paws. Melissa sneaks a picture before ushering Stiles' poor, confused father from the room.
"I think he likes you," Scott says, charmed. Stiles bites back the urge to pinch his cheeks. Scott leans down from his spot on Stiles' bed to pet Derek's head and gets a claw to the wrist for his trouble.
"Well, good to know you're as grumpy as ever," Stiles says, scritching under Derek's chin. "Whoosa grumpy cat, yes you are."
Derek’s too busy purring to do anything else but glare.
--
Derek has all the confidence and haughtiness of a cat and is equally as dramatic. He jumps down from the top of the stairs when Stiles shows up at the loft the day of the full moon, lands on all four paws, and looks mighty proud of himself.
Stiles holds a hand to his heart.
"You're going to give me a heart attack," he says, and Derek rolls his eyes, sits down, and starts licking his paw. He stops and stares, disgusted.
“Taste good?” Cora asks, grinning while she raids the cabinets. Derek shakes out his fur and winds around her legs. He demands food with a yowl that probably scares the birds a mile away.
That night, Derek shoves off of his spot on Stiles' lap, body contorting as he whimpers and howls. He claws at anyone who gets too close.
The sound cuts off with one last whine, and Derek slumps to the ground, panting. When he raises his eyes, they glow bright blue, fangs lengthened so they hang down over the bottom half of his jaw. His feet click against the floor with the weight of his lengthened claws. He even grows furry little sideburns.
"Pay up, bitches," Cora says, holding out her hand, while the rest of the pack groans and digs money out of their pockets. Derek huffs, tail swishing even when he sits down.
Kira stares down at Derek and spits out, like she can't help herself, "Are you a werecat?"
Isaac snickers. Derek leaps up and claws a hole in his scarf.
Watching Derek run with the pack that night is a better comedy routine than explaining to his dad that Derek got himself turned into a cat by a wicked witch. He chases mice and owls and the occasional chipmunk, bringing one to Stiles where he sits with Kira and laying it at his feet. Derek sits back on his haunches, blood in his teeth as he licks his paw, looking mighty pleased with himself.
“Uh. Thanks.” Stiles makes a face. Kira covers her mouth, barely holding back laughter. Derek walks across the tree they're leaning against and sits on Stiles' head, kneading and licking his hair.
After, they head back to the loft, and the pack spreads out across Derek’s floor in a sleepy, happy pile. Derek butts at Stiles' hand with his head until he rolls onto his back.
“Grumpy Cat,” Stiles mutters. Derek curls up against his chest and stays there, shaking with the force of his purrs.
--
Stiles wakes the next morning with Derek lying on top of his chest, arms and legs wrapped around his torso.
He’s also naked. So very, very naked.
Derek blinks awake, rubbing his face against Stiles’ chest, freezing when his stubble gets caught on Stiles’ shirt. He lifts his head, eyes wide.
"Uh," Stiles says, flushing, "So this is awkward."
The rest of the pack falls over themselves with laughter. Derek shoves at Stiles’ face before jumping to his feet, wrapping a blanket around his hips with a suspicious flush across his cheeks.
They ask Deaton what could have broken the curse. He says it could have been the full moon, or the spell may have just run its course. They'll never know for sure.
“Dude,” Stiles says to Scott, making a face. “You need to find a new mentor.”
Derek snorts in agreement.
Stiles' grin takes on a manic edge. He stops by the pet store on the way home, waiting until Cora tells him Derek isn't home to place a litterbox in his bathroom.
Stiles is an asshole, this is not news.
He leaves several cans of cat food on the counter, hiding stuffed mice in various places around the loft. Derek wakes him up in the middle of the night by dropping one on his head.
"What the hell--" Stiles splutters, limbs flailing and getting caught in the covers. Derek smirks. Stiles tosses the mouse at his dumb face.
"You suck," he mutters, rolling over and intending to go back to sleep, but Derek is still standing over the bed, staring at him like a creeper.
He squints an eye open. "Something you need, Sour Wolf?"
Derek makes a face. He sighs and slips out of his jacket and shoes before curling up with Stiles under the covers.
Stiles stills, heart pounding. This is a highly unexpected turn of events. “Um - Derek -”
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek snaps, aggressively cuddling Stiles to his chest, “And go to sleep.”
Stiles considers responding for 2.5 seconds. He shrugs and shuts his eyes.
He does, however, drop a hand to Derek's hair, grinning when Derek presses his head into the touch and purrs.