Work Text:
Realizing he was attracted to Stiles and wanted to stare at his face for maybe the rest of his life was an unpleasant surprise for Derek, like unexpectedly stepping in something wet while wearing socks in the morning. It was sudden, shocking, disrupted everything he’d been doing at the moment, and somehow managed to ruin the rest of his day even after he changed his socks.
While the rest of the pack stuck relatively close to home, or at least the state, Stiles took off to the east coast with impressive speed and didn’t come back for the entire four years he was in school. The Sheriff flew out to visit as often as he could, Scott and Isaac took a long and winding roadtrip out there one summer, and Stiles still did research for them between his school assignments, but other than that he’d completely removed himself from the dark and chaotic years of high school and his possession, and according to Scott was doing a lot better because of it.
How much better, exactly, Derek hadn’t known until the proof jogged into sight in stupid gym shorts and a goddamn tuxedo t-shirt, flushed and sweaty and sort of breathily rapping along to whatever he was listening to. It was quiet and muttered enough that no one else would’ve been able to hear it, and he sounded like an idiot, but it caught Derek’s attention just like everything else about the asshole.
It was inconsiderate, is what it was.
There he’d been, talking a walk through the preserve and minding his own business, and then fucking Stiles had to sprint through the place and ruin his day with his being attractive.
Stiles wasn’t the pathetic and spastic runner that he had been in high school, that was for sure. No, that would be a blessing, but because the universe just wanted to continuously kick Derek in the balls for the rest of eternity, Stiles was all lean muscle, controlled pacing, and perfect goddamn posture through his broad shoulders that Derek had pointedly ignored for years.
Derek punched the nearest tree.
That bastard.
Stiles was wearing earbuds and hadn’t heard the initial crack of wood shattering on impact, but he certainly heard an entire fucking douglas fir crashing down through the other trees as well as the shriek of a very surprised coyote that jumped out of the brush. It gave Derek a glare he hadn’t known coyotes were capable of and streaked right across Stiles’ path, probably as revenge because of course.
And of course Stiles tried to dodge the coyote that ran just in front of his long stride, while still distracted by the massive tree that was somehow still falling, and his newfound beauty and grace disappeared in a flail of limbs and a faceplant.
Jesus, even that was fucking attractive.
Derek was jogging over before he really consciously made the decision to do so, which was beyond irritating when he thought about it.
“That was embarrassing…” Stiles groaned as Derek kneeled down and helped him roll over. There were dried leaves and pine needles stuck to the side of his face and dirt smeared into the sweat on his temple. This close, Derek could hear the tinny music from his earbuds, oooh bab-ay, it’s making me craz-ay…
Somehow it didn’t even faze him that Stiles would be listening to nineties one hit wonders while jogging.
“Derek!” He huffed out around a surprised smile, pulling out his headphones but not making any moves to lift his head up out of the dead leaves and small plants along the trail. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Even out of breath and with dirt on his face, his mouth pulled into that stupid self-satisfied smile he got whenever he thought he was clever.
“I was walking and heard the tree fall,” he lied horribly and thanked everything that Stiles couldn’t hear his heart, “and I came to check it out.”
Stiles stared up at him from the ground and his eyes practically glowed in the sunlight streaming into the forest. Fucking glowed, the bastard.
And then the fucker let out a breathy laugh, all glowing and flushed and still breathing hard from his run, and Derek’s stomach kicked around like a brick in a dryer.
“Never change, man.”
He reached out for a helping hand and Derek pulled him up easily as he straightened.
“Ah, fuck,” Stiles lurched over, grabbing tighter to Derek’s arm to ease himself back down to the ground, “not as okay as I thought.”
Derek sank back down with him, already checking him over for injuries in a habit from more chaotic years that he just couldn’t shake. Stiles batted his hands away from his neck.
“It’s just my ankle, calm down, worrywolf.”
Brick in a dryer.
“Hang on, let me see how bad it is,” Stiles grabbed his arm to stop him from drawing the pain, and tried to rotate his ankle around to check the damage and sucked in a hiss through clenched teeth. “—yeah, okay, do your thing, wow, that sucks.”
His fingers dug in deeper on Derek’s arm, and kept holding on even after it didn’t hurt anymore. Derek took that opportunity to quickly unlace his running shoe with his free hand and slip it off before the ankle started to swell and made it harder.
“I didn’t know you were back.” His pitiful attempt at genial small talk while he probed gently at Stiles’ ankle with his fingertips, rotating it through its range of motion. Through his other hand he could feel each pang and ache he stole away before Stiles even felt it, trying to measure where the most damage was.
“Just got in last night. Don’t tell Scott you saw me first, he’ll get that look.”
“He always has that look.”
“Point.” He sucked in another tense breath when Derek eased his hand away, letting Stiles’ system take the pain again.
“Think you can stand?”
Stiles nodded, clenching his teeth as he accepted the help back up and tried to keep his weight off his foot. He hopped awkwardly trying to balance and just ended up pulling a panicked face as he listed to the left. Knowing that he wouldn’t appreciate being carried back even though it would be easier and faster, Derek just rolled his eyes and pulled Stiles’ arm over his shoulder, looping his own arm around his waist and basically carrying him anyway.
“Thanks, big guy. My jeep’s back at the west entrance.” He waved his shoe towards the way he’d come then paused and seemed to be thinking the same thing as Derek. You kind of needed two feet to drive stick.
“I’ll drive you home.” Derek hitched Stiles' arm a little farther around his shoulders and started moving slowly, Stiles hobbling along beside him with his shoe and sock in his other hand.
“Good thing you were out being a creeper today,” Stiles huffed, a little out of breath from hopping awkwardly on one foot, “I didn’t bring my phone and my dad’s working tonight, no one would’ve known I was gone—I could’ve died out here.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t you bring your phone? You know what could be out here.”
“Yeah, and the most dangerous thing is helping me limp back to my car, dude, it’s fine.”
Was that a compliment? That sounded strangely like a compliment.
“Just bring your phone next time.” Derek growled halfheartedly, and Stiles just huffed out a laugh before focusing on the uneven trail in front of him.
The rest of the way back to the jeep was filled with Stiles perpetually trying to limp on his foot, claiming it was better and he could walk it off, and Derek yelling at him to not because it was already swelling and changing color, and that was the worst thing you could possibly do for it, I will carry you, Stiles, I swear to God.
Still a little miffed in a weirdly giddy sort of way, Derek pointedly ignored Stiles' protests and just picked him up, depositing him the passenger seat of the jeep and giving him a loaded eyebrow raise when he tried to complain further. He walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in, clinging to his dwindling annoyance instead of actually acknowledging the returning brick feeling in his stomach.
They drove in a comfortable-yet-tense-on-Derek’s-end silence until Stiles suddenly asked,
“Is that bark in your knuckles?”
Derek looked down at his hand resting over the wheel, and yes, that was in fact douglas fir bark embedded in his knuckles. Not breaking the skin, just indented there and clinging for some reason. Probably to ruin what little bit of his life he’d gotten back together.
“It’s dirt.” He brushed it off on his jeans and put his hand back, now clean. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road and absolutely did not look over to see that fucking stupid smile splitting across Stiles’ face.
“Derek,” he said slowly, drawing it out, the bastard, “did you punch down a tree?”
“No.”
“You totally punched down a tree!”
“I did not!”
“Who punches down a tree?”
“You were jogging!” He snapped, knowing how that completely failed to explain anything outside his own head and that he’d just completely fucked himself over by saying it out loud.
“That doesn’t usually make people uproot trees!” Stiles laughed. Derek had to save his dignity somehow, but instead what popped out was:
“I’m sure they would if they could!”
Fuck. Not exactly what he was going for.
“If I do lunges will you cause a mudslide?”
“Stiles.”
“An earthquake for squats?”
“Shut up.”
“Will sit ups cause a tsunami—ow!” Stiles was enjoying this way too much, laughing even as Derek half-intentionally hit a large pothole and jostled his ankle.
“You caught me off guard, that’s all.” He hoped that sounded like a legitimate and somewhat badass reflex to have when startled, and not like he was really pissed at how much he wanted to rub himself all over the guy in the passenger seat who was actually snickering.
Damn it.
Stiles patted the back of his hand on the gearshift fondly, then left his hand there as he turned to look back out the window at the trees rushing past, his heart rate bumping up with nerves until it became clear that Derek wasn't going to reject his touch. It was calm and comfortable, a Sunday drive through the preserve that ended abruptly in yelling once again when Stiles tried to get out and walk up to his door and immediately fell over onto the driveway.