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1
Isaac has been hovering outside the bathroom with a change of clothes for at least twenty minutes now, staking his claim as next in line. It had been a long night and an even longer week and everyone just wanted to get clean and get sleep.
He can hear Erica and Boyd grumbling in the living room about which one of them has dibs on the shower after him and he's so distracted by it that he doesn't even notice his alpha until Derek is right next to him, glaring at the bathroom door.
He stares at Derek—still dirty with some foliage in his hair—with wide eyes. "I thought you were in the shower."
Derek doesn't bother answering, choosing instead to bang on the door. "Stiles! Get your skinny ass out of my shower already!"
"I have mud in places where no mud should be, Derek!" Stiles calls back. "I'm not getting out for at least another hour!"
Derek growls and stalks away before returning with what looks like a grocery rewards card. He jimmies it into the bathroom door until the lock pops and then heads in, leaving his beta standing dumbfounded in the hallway.
Isaac hears the water shut off and a surprised yelp and then Stiles is being unceremoniously shoved out of the bathroom in only a towel. He gives the middle finger to the door, as if Derek can still see him, before turning around. His eyes trail down to the clothes in Isaac's hands.
"Tough luck, dude."
Brain still whirring to catch up, Isaac frowns. "What?"
"You were waiting to get in next, right? I guess alphas aren't subject to the no cutsies rule." He pats Isaac on the arm before sauntering into Derek's room, closing the door behind him with his heel.
When Derek emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, Isaac slips in quickly, trying not to cough on all the steam. He waits for the telltale bickering of Derek kicking Stiles out of his room, but hears only an annoyed huff, some shuffling, and then silence.
2
It's a cloudy Saturday afternoon and Erica is enjoying the peace, curled up on the swinging chair in the corner with a book. The only other people in the apartment are Derek and Stiles, the latter of whom being uncharacteristically quiet now that she's thinking about it.
She glances up from her book and finds the two of them engaged in some sort of battle of facial expressions. A soft feeling swells in her chest as she surreptitiously watches them, fascinated by the display.
Stiles cocks his head like a challenge and Derek responds with a face of utter judgement. Stiles purses his lips and looks to the side and Derek raises an eyebrow. Stiles levels him with hard stare. Derek lets out a small huff and crosses his arms.
On it goes until Stiles finally throws his hands up with a smile and hurries to the entertainment stand to grab two Wii controllers. "You're so going down," he says, passing one to Derek, who's just turned the TV on.
"We'll see about that," Derek answers easily, changing the input until the Wii homescreen pops up and Stiles can start up a round of Mario Kart.
Erica watches them in bewilderment, wondering where, in all their faces and gestures, they had communicated the proposal to play this specific game.
Derek loses, in the end, but that might be because of Stiles' wildly erratic movements right beside him. At one point, he had nearly elbowed the controller out of Derek's hands.
He grins in victory as triumphant music plays and Derek looks profoundly put upon, in an indulgent sort of way. Erica shakes her head and sets her book aside. "I want in on the next round. I'm so going to kick your ass."
Stiles laughs and nudges Derek's side. "Pro tip: try not swerving into my banana peels this time."
"Shut up, Stiles."
3
Boyd pads silently out of his bedroom to get himself a glass of water, the quiet music playing in his room trailing after him. The soft sound of a voice pulls him up short and he glances over the banister into the living room below.
It's somewhere around two in the morning and all the lights are off, but he doesn't need light to see anyway. Derek is sitting on the end of the couch, leaning against the arm, while Stiles is sprawled over the rest of it, toes inching underneath his leg.
"Get your feet off of me."
Stiles sniffs and grabs the throw blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around himself. "They're cold."
"I don't care," Derek says, but makes no effort to move them.
Stiles harumphs and stays firmly planted where he is.
"Why are you here, Stiles?"
"Dad's working an overnight shift tonight," Stiles says, though it's mostly muffled by the blanket, and Boyd doesn't understand how that's an answer to the question.
Derek must though, because he sighs and turns to Stiles, even though Stiles can't see him. "Nightmares?"
Boyd just catches the nod of Stiles' head as he turns and walks back to his room, not wanting to intrude on the scene any further. The glass of water he'd gotten up for could wait.
4
Allison will be the first to admit she's still not completely warmed up to Derek Hale. She feels sympathetic to what he's gone through, and shame at her name and blood for Kate's part in it, but that doesn't make her like him. She doesn't necessarily dislike him these days, but what's between them is tepid at best. He is obstinate and defensive and churlish and aggressive and basically the opposite of everything that had drawn her to Scott and Isaac. She can't even remember a time she's seen Derek smile before and she's not sure whether she should be concerned or just sad.
And despite not spending very much time around the guy, she had assumed she knew his character pretty well.
She thinks, as she's standing in the produce section of the market, that maybe she ought to stop assuming things.
Derek Hale has just brought his cart to a stop a short distance from her, Stiles clinging happily to the side of it like an overgrown kid. He seems completely unfazed by Stiles' behavior, even though the sight has grabbed the attention of a few shoppers. "What's the difference between spinach and baby spinach?"
"Do I look like Popeye to you?" Stiles asks, stepping off of the cart to snag a few peanuts from the bin behind them. He breaks open the shell and pops the peanuts in his mouth under Derek's reproachful look.
"If you want nuts, scoop them into a bag and eat them once they're paid for."
"I don't want a whole bag, I just want a few. I doubt the store is gonna miss them."
"That's stealing, Stiles."
Stiles rolls his eyes. "You can put a nickel in the change bowl at the register to make up for my three peanut thievery."
Derek sighs and shakes his head, sticking a bag of spinach and baby spinach into the cart.
"Oh, we gotta restock on mint chocolate chip ice cream before Erica realizes I ate the last of it." Stiles grabs Derek's jacket and attempts to pull him toward the frozen aisle, but he doesn't budge, casually examining the varieties of refrigerated, healthy snack boxes. Stiles huffs and tries for the cart instead, but he can't pull it from Derek's single handed grasp.
"You must think you're so cool, flexing your big, bad, wolfy muscles in the middle of the grocery store."
Derek smirks and pushes the cart a few steps forward to begin his close examination of the lettuce section.
"Oh, my god, you're not even getting any of this. There is literally no reason for you to be staring down anything that hard unless you're planning on taking it to bed." When Derek's only response is to pick up a head of lettuce, look at it for a long moment, and then set it back down, Stiles throws his head back and groans. "Why do you live to torture me?"
"Because you make it so easy," Derek answers, actually letting out an honest to god chuckle, eyes crinkled in amusement. He finally turns the cart around and Allison watches as they disappear into another aisle, completely thrown by Derek's entire demeanor. It is hands down the warmest she's ever seen him. She understands a bit better Isaac's affection for him and allows herself a small smile. Maybe she could grow to like him after all.
5
"I think that omega gave me whiplash last night," Stiles groans from the floor, hands rubbing at his neck.
Jackson tries to ignore him, feels like half of his life anymore is aimed at trying to ignore him, but he keeps making pathetic sounds until Jackson finally snaps.
"Oh, my god, can you shut up already?"
Stiles sends an angry glare his way. "Not all of us have superhuman healing abilities, okay? Some of us still get pulled muscles and sprained joints and other boring, average injuries."
"Well, go be injured somewhere else," he snipes, sending a message to Danny about hitting the movies and hoping his friend replies before he's forced to strangle his pack member. Ugh. No matter how many times he thinks it, he'll never get used to being pack with Stiles Stilinski.
Derek walks in the door before Stiles can reply and raises his eyebrows at them. "What are you two arguing about now?"
"He won't shut up about his neck pain. I can't even hear myself think."
"That's because there's nothing to hear," Stiles says and Jackson just manages not to growl at him.
Derek crosses the room and slings his jacket of the back of the armchair before sitting and motioning toward the spot at his feet. "Come here."
Stiles shuffles over immediately and lets his chin drop to his chest. "Are you gonna do that wolfy pain suck thingy?"
Rolling his eyes, Derek sets his hands on the junction of Stiles' shoulders and neck and presses his thumbs firmly into the skin. He pokes around some, asking about where it hurts, and then starts rubbing Stiles' neck.
Jackson briefly wonders if he's stepped into another dimension when Stiles' starts making little moans of appreciation and Derek can't keep the spike of arousal from his scent. He pulls up Lydia in his messages.
Jackson: i regret not leaving with you guys
Lydia: you should
Lydia: but why
Jackson: derek is giving stiles a neck massage like a foot away from me
Jackson: i didn't ask to bear witness to their foreplay
Lydia: you should go before it turns into a rub and tug
He's already pulling on his shoes when the text comes in, determined to track down Danny and drag him to the movies if need be.
Jackson: way ahead of you
6
Noah watches his son curiously, customary mug of Christmas hot chocolate in his hands. Stiles sits down, stands up, takes a few steps, looks at his phone, and then returns to his seat. His fingers play mindlessly with the edge of his shockingly ugly sweater—"It's ironic, dad."—and he glances at the door every few seconds.
"You're fidgeting."
Stiles head snaps up and he gives a watery attempt at his usual smile. "I'm just contemplating how Derek might maim me once he actually gets here."
Noah's eyebrows draw together and he leans against the bottom of the stair banister. "And why would he do that?"
"Oh, well, you know, I may have implied I just needed him to come over to help me with a supernatural thing?"
Sometimes (most times), Stiles' brand of thinking is so far outside Noah's grasp that he couldn't even begin to make sense of it. "Why? "
"I figured if I told him we were trying to celebrate his birthday, he'd bail and, I don't know, run off into the woods or something."
Noah sighs and casts his eyes heavenward, drawing on his reserve of paternal strength. "Don't you think he'd be more bothered by a surprise celebration?"
Stiles makes an agitated whining noise and widens his eyes. "It's not like I was swimming in options. If I told him, he would've insisted on brooding alone instead of coming over."
"Your funeral, kid." Noah takes a sip of his hot chocolate to hide his smirk when Stiles begins a spiel about how he's going to get emancipated and go live with the McCalls. "Stiles, you're nineteen; you don't have to get emancipated to go live with them."
"So you do want me to move out! I knew it. This is just great. It's Christmas day and my dad's trying to send me away. I'll have you know, the McCalls would love to have me. I can call—"
A knock breaks off his rant and he scrambles to the door to fling it open. Derek stands in the doorway, holding two small gifts, looking reluctantly fond. "Did I miss the cake?" he asks dryly, leaving Stiles sputtering.
"Are you going to make him stand on the steps all day?" Noah prods and his son finally moves out of the way so Derek can come inside. "Happy Birthday, Derek."
Derek shakes his hand, a small smile on his lips. "Merry Christmas, Sheriff."
"You mean you knew?" Stiles asks, mouth catching up to his thoughts.
"You're not nearly as subtle as you think you are."
"Oh, well, excuse me for not being versed in birthday espionage." Stiles finally seems to spot the presents in Derek's hands and crowds his side to stare at them. "Are these for us? You got us gifts?"
"It's Christmas," Derek says simply and Stiles puts a hand to his chest, looking genuinely touched.
"Well, you can stick them under the tree. No present opening until after the annual Stilinski Gingerbread House Decorating Contest. Still working on the name." Stiles practically pulls Derek into the kitchen after the gifts are dropped at the tree, talking a mile a minute. "I bought three pre-assembled ones this year so you are legally required to participate. Oh, and the McCalls usually show up around two after they have their mother-son thing at their house. Mother-son-Isaac thing now. She's basically adopted him at this point, don't be surprised if he decides to move in with her. I might be joining them soon too." He shoots an accusing glare over his shoulder and Noah smiles and rolls his eyes.
Derek, for his part, seems mildly overwhelmed, but Stiles has that effect on people. He glances up as Stiles begins setting up the table for the decorating contest and Noah's heart pinches at the gentle look on his face. If he's any good at reading people, and he likes to think he is, there may very well be a permanent place for Derek in their future holiday activities.
7
The bell jingles above the door to the animal clinic and Scott leaves the back room to greet Stiles and Derek. They've been arguing since they pulled into the parking lot and don't bother responding to Scott's hello.
"Your bed is broken, Derek."
"And whose fault is that?" Derek asks, voice just north of a growl.
Stiles crosses his arms. "You're the one who threw me on it."
"You're the one who asked."
"Not that hard! I was expecting you to be more gentle! You just enjoy manhandling me."
"Would you have preferred the floor?" Derek snipes, mimicking Stiles' stance.
Scott stares at them in abject horror and considers sticking his fingers in his ears like a three year old. It's great that they feel like they can be open about being in a relationship in front of him, but he does not need to know about what they get up to in the bedroom.
"I don't need a new bed, Stiles."
"Yes, you do. A sturdy one. Stop fighting me on this."
Derek does growl now. "It's not even your bed."
Stiles throws up his hands and finally turns to Scott. "Can you believe this guy?"
Scott makes a vaguely pained sound that Stiles seems to take for agreement.
"Do you guys have any powdered wolfsbane?" Derek asks, putting an end to the conversation. Scott has never been more thankful toward him than this very moment.
"Yeah, I think so. I'll go check."
"This isn't over," Stiles whispers threateningly.
Derek sighs. "It never is with you."
&
"Do you think Derek's ever seen 13 Going on 30?" Stiles asks, waiting outside the dressing room as Lydia tries on her fiftieth dress of the day. According to her, he has no fashion sense whatsoever, but everyone else had been too busy to accompany her.
"How should I know?" she answers, opening the door to her stall with her back to him so he can finish zipping her up. "You're the one who's dating him."
His hands freeze before they reach her. "What? Me? I'm dating Derek? Me as in Stiles Stilinski? I know your back is turned and all, Lyds, but I would hope you'd recognize the sound of my voice by now."
"You hardly have to hide it from me, Stiles. Or anyone, since everyone knows anyway. Now, zip."
He forces his fingers to move and pulls the zipper the rest of the way up. She throws her hair back over her shoulder and examines herself in the mirror, turning to each side to check her angles. She must catch a glimpse of the existential crisis he's going through behind her though, because she turns around and gives him a hard stare.
"You really aren't together?"
"No," Stiles says, attempting to examine his and Derek's relationship in his mind's eye to figure out why anyone, let alone everyone, would think that. He's getting nothing.
"You've got to be kidding me." She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. "I swear, men are useless."
Stiles frowns, not really having an argument for the statement.
"Here's what you are going to do: you are going to get in your jeep, drive to Derek's, ask him on a date, and then kiss him within an inch of his life so there's no room for misunderstandings."
"I can't— I can't do that, what the hell? Are you out of your mind? Are you trying to get me killed?"
"He's not going to kill you, Stiles."
"You're right. He'll probably let me down gently and that's even worse."
"Oh, my god, just talk to him. You two are so stupidly in love and I'm offended that neither of you are doing anything about it." She makes a shooing gesture at him. "Now go."
He takes a few abortive steps before he finally manages to get walking, following her instructions on autopilot. He only gets so far as her second demand before he starts panicking. He's standing in the middle of Derek's apartment and he's panicking and holy shit, why did he think he could do this?
It could ruin their friendship. They had actually managed to forge a solid friendship over the past two years and he was going to ruin it all with his feelings. It was different with Lydia, because he had nothing to lose by asking her out. But Derek is Stiles' friend now and he's going to fuck it all up because he knows he won't be able to stop himself from bringing it up now, not with this thread of hope that Lydia had dangled in front of him. And then Derek would let him down easy and nothing would be the same after that. Their dynamic would change and it would be awkward and awful and Stiles really can't deal with that because Derek has become his safe space. Somewhere between late night talks and teasing, he'd come to associate Derek with safety. Fuck, fuck, fuck—
"Stiles. Hey, breathe. It's okay. Look at me. You're okay."
He takes a shuddering breath and nods, becoming aware of Derek's hands on his shoulders. "Yeah, I'm—"
"Whatever it is, it'll be okay. Breathe. Focus on your senses. What do you smell?"
He hangs his head and tries to steady himself. "You," he says finally.
"Alright, and where are we?"
"Your apartment," Stiles answers. The feeling of embarrassment that always follows a panic attack begins to creep up on him. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Do you want to sit down?”
He shakes his head and looks up. Derek hasn’t moved, is still gently gripping his shoulders, bowed slightly so their eyes at the same level. Stiles, a hopeless romantic at heart, completely understands the concept of drowning in someone’s eyes.
You two are so stupidly in love, Lydia says in his mind and he wonders why facing down werepeople and kanimas and crazy, murderous druids seems easier than saying what he wants to say right now.
“Everyone thinks we’re dating,” is what he finally settles on.
Derek blinks at him once, twice, thrice. “What?”
“Dating. Going steady. An item. Courting. Seeing each other. Romantically ent—”
“I know what dating is,” he interrupts, hands dropping from Stiles as he straightens.
“Well, would that be…” Stiles clears his throat, adrenaline and anxiety making his fingers shake just slightly. “Would that be such an awful assumption?”
Derek frowns. “What exactly are you getting at here?”
For a split second, he wants to take it all back. He wants to make a joke, play it off as anything but what it really is. But there’s something that looks like a spark of cautious hope in Derek’s expression.
“Lydia suggested, demanded actually, that I ask you on a date. So, uh, I guess that? That’s what I’m getting at. Would you, Derek Hale, like to date me, Stiles Stilinski?”
Derek looks at him for a beat too long, long enough that Stiles thinks he’s trying to find the best way to say no. Then he leans in, slowly, as if he’s giving Stiles time to back out of it, and presses their lips together. Stiles shuts his eyes and makes a sound of appreciation when Derek’s hand cups his jaw and the kiss deepens.
Stiles keeps his eyes closed when they separate, feels a little weak in the knees when Derek presses their foreheads together. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says quietly, and feels Derek’s breath of laughter on his face.
“That was a yes,” Derek confirms.
“Oh, good.” He reaches blindly for Derek’s waist and holds onto him tightly. “I might need you to tell me again.”
Derek’s thumb brushes over his bottom lip lightly. “I can do that.”