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No one knows what it's like / To be the bad man / To be the sad man / Behind blue eyes
- Behind Blue Eyes, Limp Bizkit
1.
It started out as a joke.
Derek was standing beside him on the porch, arms crossed as he watched the other betas train, and Stiles glanced up, taking a long sip of his lemonade. “You know, you still act like the Alpha. Even without the eyes.”
Derek didn’t even look at him. “Sure, Stiles.”
“I’m being serious, dude. You still boss everyone around, oversee all the training sessions, and get all protective and growly when someone threatens your pack.”
“That’s because Scott is still a child,” Derek said. “I’m helping him stay on track.”
“So you’re like his Yoda,” Stiles said, grinning. “Scott’s Yoda you will be. Scott’s pack you will protect. Scott’s dumbass you will watch. Scott’s—”
“Stiles,” Derek said flatly. “Shut up.”
“Okay, dude geez,” Stiles said, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t go getting all growly on me now. Hah, all growly on me you are getting.”
Derek rolled his eyes. Grinning to himself, Stiles chased his straw around his glass and caught it between his teeth, taking a long drink and looking back out to watch the others spar again. Scott managed to flip Jackson onto his back and Stiles whooped, punching a fist into the air.
“Yeah! Go, Scotty!”
Derek gave him an unamused look. Stiles blinked up innocently.
“What? I’m cheering for the fan-favorite.”
“You’re going to make Jackson feel bad,” Derek said. “And he’s going to continue barely tolerating your existence.”
“Eh,” Stiles waved a hand through the air. “Who needs that jerkwad’s approval anyway? He totally tripped me in the parking lot on purpose the other week. I still have bruises!”
“You’re impossible,” Derek muttered, turning to watch the betas again. Scott was circling Isaac this time, and Stiles already knew who was going to come out on top. He grunted with a shrug.
“Whatever, I’m amazing. Jackson should appreciate me more. In fact, you all should.”
“Really?”
“Uh, yes really!” Stiles said, shooting Derek a dark look. “I am perfectly wonderful and charming. In fact, I could charm the pants off you right here, asshole.”
Derek raised a brow. The words took their time sinking in and Stiles felt his face turn red the moment they did, rolling his eyes and sticking his straw back into his mouth. He took a deep drink, swallowed, and shrugged.
“Whatever. You know what I meant.”
“Sure, Stiles,” Derek said with a smirk. “Because you’re so charming.”
“Are you doubting me, Sourwolf?”
Derek’s smug look was nothing other than challenging. Stiles made a noise of protest and set his lemonade aside, shoving himself up. He faced the werewolf and eyed him up and down, crossing his arms too. They were nearly the same height, even if Derek was built like two of Stiles. Which was unfairly hot, by the way. Stiles shook his head, trying to clear it.
“I am plenty charming,” he said flatly.
“Oh? Is that why I constantly want to punch you in the face?”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. He studied Derek’s face, taking in the amusement hidden behind his gaze, and then put on a teasing smirk, batting his eyelashes. Stiles chewed on his lower lip and shrugged, looking at Derek coyly. “Hey now, Blue-eyes, let’s not pretend otherwise. You totally love me.”
Derek’s reaction was instant.
The werewolf’s face turned an alarming shade of red and he choked. The color went all the way to the tips of his ears and Stiles stared in surprise as his eyes did flicker blue for a second. Derek looked away, his hands turning into fists by his sides.
“Don’t do that, Stiles.”
Stiles gawked. “Dude, are you blushing? Oh my god, did that actually work?”
“You looked like an idiot,” Derek growled. “I’m suffering from second-hand embarrassment.”
Stiles continued to stare, but Derek wouldn’t look at him now. Stiles realized there were little beads of blood on his palms where his claws were digging in. His eyes widened even more and Stiles turned abruptly away, grabbing for his cup with twitchy fingers.
Because Derek Hale, resident murderous werewolf, was blushing . He was a victim of Stiles’s terrible flirting and clearly embarrassed by that fact, because who would want to be the affections of Stiles’s flirting? None of them spoke again, but Stiles’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour now.
One part of that sentence had made Derek Hale blush, he realized. A singular pet name. Whether Derek liked it or not, the grumpy werewolf had a weakness for Stiles’s improvised nicknames.
Blue-eyes.
Stiles grinned to himself and filed that away for later.
2.
The second time might’ve been on purpose.
They were all converged at the local club, even though most the pack couldn’t legally drink. But they were in college now, dammit, and they deserved to have a good time with fake IDs. Not to mention the monster of the week had finally been taken care of and they were all exhausted and ready to wind down for a weekend of not being dead.
Stiles was sitting by himself.
Jackson and Lydia were somewhere making out, Scott and Kira were spinning each other across the dance floor, and Isaac had gone off to flirt with the blonde-haired cutie giving him the eyes, leaving Stiles alone with his rum-and-coke. He wasn’t lonely though, he wasn’t.
He was a little.
Stiles wrinkled his nose and took another drink, trying to decide between ordering a mound of nachos to eat away his feelings, or joining the others on the dance floor, when he spotted a hunched figure sitting at the bar. Stiles stared for a moment, sure he recognized that leather jacket, and then he realized it was Derek of all people, hiding in the club to keep an eye on his pack.
Stiles’s heart might’ve melted a little. He couldn’t even deny that fact.
Grinning to himself, Stiles stood and crossed the room, fingers dancing over the bar counter as he approached. Derek had his head down and two fingers wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle, but it was clear he wasn’t drinking it. Stiles swooped forward and dropped onto the stood at Derek’s side.
“Hey there, Blue-eyes, what’s a handsome thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Derek looked sharply up. His eyes rounded and his face turned a crimson shade of red, and Stiles could’ve sworn he saw fangs for a second. Which slightly startled him. Stiles had gotten used to the fact that his attempts at flirting would never result in anything from the werewolf years ago, but that didn’t stop him from trying. So he had a secret crush on Derek, who cared? Stiles was fine.
Derek stared at him in silence. Stiles grinned, reaching for his bottle, and brought it to his lips. “I’m joking, Derek, quit it with the eyes. The last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”
But that statement might’ve made things worse, because Derek’s face did an array of things, settling on what Stiles realized must be distaste. And his stomach sank for it. It never got any easier, no matter how many years passed.
“Stiles,” Derek said grumpily. “What are you doing.”
“Clubbing, big guy,” Stiles said with a grin. “At the club. What’s it look like?”
Derek scowled and reached out, yanking the bottle from Stiles’s grasp. Stiles squawked and made grabby hands for it again, but Derek slid the bottle in the other direction down the counter. Stiles frowned and sat back.
“Rude, dude, seriously.”
“Why aren’t you out there with the others?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged.
“Why aren’t you?”
Derek looked personally offended by the question. Stiles rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers against the counter to the beat of the music playing overhead.
“Dude, you’re so overprotective. You’re literally sitting in the shadows on a Friday night, spying on a bunch of teenagers, and angsting. You haven’t done that since we were in high school.”
The bartender across the counter gave them both a strange (and slightly concerned) look at that. Derek’s face turned red again and he growled lightly underneath his breath. Stiles grinned.
“I’m just saying. Go dance!”
“I don’t dance,” Derek said. Stiles gave him an exasperated look.
“Seriously?”
“Just go away, Stiles.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and stood. But instead of listening to the grumpy werewolf and leaving, Stiles grabbed his arm and pulled. Derek blinked in surprise, not moving, and Stiles grunted, straining even harder. His feet slipped on the rubber floor and his breaths came out in gasps, but Derek still didn’t move. He just watched Stiles, looking dumbfounded.
“Dammit, Derek,” Stiles gasped, pulling as hard as he could. “Come on!”
“What are you doing.”
“Getting you off your ass, Sourwolf, what’s it look like?”
“Like you’re being an idiot.”
Stiles groaned and stopped pulling, giving Derek a long, hard look. Derek gazed back, looking unimpressed, and Stiles suddenly smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “Okay, Blue-eyes, I guess I’ll go dance by my lonesome. But it won’t be as fun.”
Derek’s face did something weird, and Stiles swore he growled at the back of his throat. Sighing dramatically, Stiles started to turn away, but a hand caught him on the arm before he could make it three feet. Stiles grinned to himself and turned back around, arching a brow.
“So you’re coming, then?”
Derek looked torn. Stiles rolled his eyes and pried Derek’s hand off, but didn’t let go of it, holding on tight. Turning away once more, he tried to pull the lump of werewolf along again. This time, Derek went more willingly, even if it did take a little straining on Stiles’s side.
Still, it was a win.
Yeah, ‘Blue-eyes’ was totally his new secret weapon.
3.
The third time was less on purpose and more to save Derek’s furry ass. Or something like that.
An important thing to know about Stiles is that he thinks curly fries are always a good idea. So when Scott suggested they take a detour to the local 24/7 diner before going to the theatre, Stiles was more than onboard. Because curly fries and a movie? That was his kind of night.
It didn’t matter he was third-wheeling Scott and Kira’s date. They’d invited him, dammit.
Abby, the waitress on duty, knew Stiles a little too well. Betty’s Diner was Stiles’s favorite place to go when he was pulling an all-nighter or convinced Derek to take him out just because, and he got along quite well with all the workers. Abby knew his order by heart; a cheeseburger and curly fries, with extra curly fries. Stiles wasn’t even embarrassed.
Except this time when she came over, Abby looked nervous. She kept glancing over her shoulder and Stiles followed her gaze to see… Derek.
Derek with a blonde-haired woman, sitting side by side in a tiny booth. They were sharing a bowl of ice cream and the woman was laughing, pressed way too close to Derek’s side as she traced her fingers along the back of his neck.
Stiles’s heart plummeted. Abby saw him staring and looked guilty, offering a small smile.
“It’s strange to see you without your friend,” she said, pulling out her notebook. Both Scott and Kira looked confused and they followed Stiles’s gaze to see where Derek sat. Both looked surprised too.
“Dude,” Scott said. “Is Derek on a date?”
“I didn’t even know he left the house,” Kira said in wonder. Stiles glared down at the table, suddenly not feeling as excited as he was five minutes ago. Abby seemed to notice his expression because she cleared her throat.
“Burger and curly fries, Stiles?”
“Uh,” Stiles looked down at the menu, scanning it quickly. Which was stupid. Of course, he was going to get the same thing he always did. Except his eyes lingered on the entree Derek always got; the chicken and a side garden salad. He always made fun of the werewolf for that. Like Derek was watching his figure even though he was literally a giant brick of werewolf muscle and sexiness. “Can I get the number four instead?”
Abby looked surprised. So did Scott and Kira, but Stiles did his best to ignore them. Abby watched him for a long moment. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, smiling. “I should change up my order once in a while, you know? Keep everyone on their toes.”
Abby very politely didn’t point out that was Derek’s order, not a new or unsurprising one. She only nodded with and took down the order of the others too, before moving off. Stiles found himself looking back at where Derek sat.
The man looked… happy. Or something. He was smiling, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. The blonde woman kept tracing her fingers over his skin and pecking him on the lips and Derek’s face would take on a dazed expression every time. Stiles found himself glaring when she lifted a spoonful of ice cream to Derek’s lips and he accepted it.
Something clicked, then. Stiles straightened.
“Uh, Stiles?” Scott said, looking between him and Derek. “Is something wrong?”
“She just fed him.”
Scott looked both awkward and grossed out. “Good for Derek?”
“No,” Stiles repeated, staring at them. “She just fed him, Scott. She just fed Derek.”
“Yeah, and that’s disturbing. So what?”
“Nobody in their right mind feeds Derek,” Stiles said, slightly hysterically. But he didn’t care. Derek would rip out his own throat before letting someone feed him. Stiles knew the werewolf. He knew things like that. “Oh my god, something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.”
Scott started to make noises of protest, but Stiles was already shoving himself up. He stalked over to Derek’s table and towered over the two, crossing his arms.
“Derek.”
The blonde-haired woman looked up in surprise. Her face did something between confusion and irritation and she narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, can we help you?”
“Yes, actually,” Stiles said. “You can back the fuck off.”
“Stiles!” Scott said, stumbling toward the table. He looked horrified and gave the woman an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Derek is just his—”
“Boyfriend,” Stiles cut in. “Derek’s my boyfriend.”
The woman’s eyes flashed. Stiles could’ve sworn they glowed for a second and then she schooled her expression into something calmer, grabbing Derek’s hand possessively. Derek was starting to blink in confusion and she ran her hand up and down his arm. The werewolf’s gaze turned dazed again.
Kira stood beside Scott and suddenly looked troubled.
“Derek, sweetie,” the woman said. “Is this teenager your boyfriend?”
Derek looked at Stiles, who silently willed him to play along. Stiles wasn’t even sure why exactly. Something about this just didn’t feel right. “Stiles?”
“Yeah, big guy,” Stiles said. “It’s me, I’m here.”
“Do you know him, Der?” The woman asked. “Do you know this child?”
Her voice was far too seductive. It made Stiles’s skin itch and he glared, clenching his hands into fists. Derek blinked a few times, looking a little soberer for a moment, and then she kissed him on the cheek. Derek’s face softened. Stiles straightened.
“Succubus.”
The woman looked at him, smirking with sharp teeth. Both Scott and Kira made startled noise, but Stiles held his ground. The woman chuckled. “So you’re a smart one, boy. Congratulations. Now run along before I lose my patience.”
“Get your hands off Derek.”
“And why would I do that?” The succubus trailed her fingers along Derek’s jaw. “He's such a pretty wolf, so handsome and pliant. I haven’t come in contact with a soul so filled with longing and pain for a long time. I could go months without feeding after him.”
“Because he’s not yours,” Stiles said, snarling. The succubus looked at him coldly.
“Then whose is he?”
“Mine,” Stiles said, aware of both Scott and Kira staring in surprise. The succubus’s eyes glowed again and she hissed, scanning him up and down.
“Yours? What would a werewolf like him want with a scrawny teenager like you?”
“It’s what’s on the inside, bitch. I’m all rainbows and glitter.”
“Stiles,” Derek said again, looking confused. The succubus started to lean forward, but Stiles growled, making her pull back in surprise. He took Derek’s hand, squeezing it tight.
“Hey, big guy, it’s me. Snap out of it, now, okay? Look at me. You looking, Derek?”
Derek did, his brows drawing together as he stared. Stiles could feel the others watching but ignored them. Silently, he willed Derek to get his head out of his ass and play along. The last thing the idiot werewolf deserved was to be a succubus’s midnight snack.
“Come on, Blue-eyes, you know me. You don’t really want to go anywhere with this psychotic lady, now do you?”
“No,” Derek said slowly. “I want to go with Stiles.”
“Yeah, you do, big guy. We’re gonna go see a movie, don’t you want to come?”
“Derek,” the succubus said, threading her fingers through his. Derek looked down at them in confusion. “This boy doesn’t speak for you. You don’t actually want him, do you?”
“I want Stiles,” Derek said, clearer this time, and Stile’s heart both leaped and twisted. Because Derek’s eyes were sharpening and Stiles knew exactly why the words were being spoken. He’d wanted to hear something like that for so long, it couldn’t help but hurt. “I want Stiles.”
“That boy?” The succubus asked, looking at Stiles in distaste. He squawked in protest.
“Hey, rude!”
“Stiles,” Derek said, looking at him. His eyes were soft. “I want Stiles. Smart, sarcastic, courageous Stiles.”
Stiles’s chest hurt even more. He forced a smile, nodding, and the succubus looked disgusted. She started to move sideways, so Derek had to stumble out of the booth, and pushed herself up, looking between them with a snarl.
"I came here for passion and desire. Not love.”
Stiles pulled back, glaring. Derek was still blinking, looking like the trance wasn’t fully gone, but he was definitely more of himself now. Stiles could see his face going back to its usual tense stoic-ness. His heart sunk a little.
“Yeah,” Derek said, blearily. “Love.”
Scott stiffened and his expression did something strange. Stiles felt his face burn; because Scott knew about his unrequited crush. And hearing things like that was the last thing Stiles had wanted to experience tonight. The succubus rolled her eyes and sneered.
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,” she said. Stiles crossed his arms and scowled, and she turned away, stalking out of the diner. The moment the door closed, Derek swayed a little. Stiles snapped back to reality, rushing forward to catch the werewolf and sit him back down in the booth.
“Woah there, Sourwolf, let’s sit back down. I’m gonna order you a cup of coffee, okay?”
Derek nodded silently and Stiles waved at Abby. She came over looking worried, glancing between Derek and their little group, before looking back at him. “Is everything alright? Did something happen?”
“Can I get a cup of coffee?” Stiles asked. “Black, only two spoonfuls of sugar. And one of those muffins Derek likes?”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s gonna be fine,” Stiles said, putting on his best smile. “Should've listened to me and never trusted those old dating apps, though. Bad date.”
Abby put a hand over her mouth, looking both startled and sympathetic. She nodded and hurried off around the counter, leaving them alone. Scott hadn’t stopped staring at Derek. Stiles glanced between his two friends.
“You guys can go, I’ve got this.”
"What?" Scott’s brows shot up. “Dude, are you kidding? We can hang out here for a little longer, it’s no big deal.”
“Scotty, it is too a big deal,” Stiles said, smiling gently. “It’s date night and I was third-wheeling anyway. Go see a movie and have fun. I’ll make sure Derek gets home.”
Scott didn’t look fully convinced. But Kira, seeing Stiles’s gaze, nodded and tugged on Scott’s arm. The young Alpha shook his head and blinked, before giving Stiles an appreciative smile. “You’re the best, dude.”
“Of course I am. Now get out of here.”
Stiles watched them leave and then turned back to Derek. Abby came with the coffee and muffin, which she set on the table with a small smile. Stiles slid onto the seat across from Derek, pushing the coffee over. He watched the werewolf hesitantly
“How are you feeling, Derek?”
“Stiles,” Derek said slowly. The man wrapped his fingers around the coffee mug but didn’t take a drink. “What I said…”
“You played the part perfectly, big guy,” Stiles said, reaching out and patting his arm. “If fact, if you would’ve kept at it, I might’ve started to think you actually liked me.”
Derek didn’t say anything, gazing at the coffee and muffin like they were offending him. Stiles studied his face and tried not to think about how the succubus had looked so much like Kate Argent, or how Derek might’ve vanished off the face of the earth if they hadn’t come here tonight. Stiles didn’t know what he’d do without Derek. He didn’t ever want to find out. Slowly, Derek took a sip of his coffee and didn’t look back at him.
Stiles was just glad to be here.
4.
Time number four was just Stiles being an idiot.
Of course, that shouldn’t come as a surprise. It was pack movie night and he swung by the house early to make sure Derek ordered all the right pizzas and a couple cartons of wings, because was there even a such thing as too much food? Stiles didn’t think so.
They shuffled around the kitchen as Derek sliced up vegetables, always insistent that there had to be some kind of healthy snack provided even though no one ever ate them. Stiles was searching the cupboards for paper plates and utensils, which seemed to be in a different place every time. Derek glanced sideways, noticing his struggle.
“Top drawer, very back.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, moving over. “They weren’t there last time.”
“Isaac insisted on reorganizing the kitchen.”
“Yeah, well, he just made things more difficult to find,” Stiles said, grabbing the plates and dropping them onto the counter. They were almost out of plastic forks. “You know, the last thing he organized was the fridge and it took me half an hour to find the ketchup afterward.”
“That’s because no one ever cleans out the fridge and it’s cluttered with old food,” Derek said, shooting him an unamused look. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, well, it was annoying. What’d he do with the plastic cups?”
“Second cupboard to the left.”
“God,” Stiles groaned, going on his tippy toes to pull them out. “I should make a rule. Nobody messes with my kitchen.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. “Your kitchen?”
“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, shooting him a pointed look. “I mean, I’m the only one in the pack that cooks. Well, other than you, but I’m not sure grilling steaks counts as a cooking skill. Or chopping vegetables. Which no one is going to eat, by the way.”
“I’ll eat some,” Derek defended, and Stiles smirked.
“Of course, you will. You and your carrots and your bunny teeth are a trademark. But you’re going to be the only one, Sourwolf.”
Derek narrowed his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“But you adore me.”
“Huh,” Derek said, returning to his vegetables. “Sure.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, taking the cups, plates, and plasticware into the living room where all the chairs were already set up. He’d stacked all the Marvel movies by marathon order, but they always ended skipping around to everybody’s favorites anyway. Stiles’s efforts were never appreciated.
Stiles started to turn around, when he saw something red tucked into the corner of the nearby armchair. Moving over, he realized it was his favorite sweatshirt— the very same one that’d gone missing three months ago. Stiles stared at it for a long moment, then looked back at the kitchen. He could still hear Derek cutting vegetables. Stiles looked back at his sweatshirt.
“Hey, Sourpuss?” Stiles called, bringing it to his nose. It smelled like it hadn’t been washed in all three months. He pulled back, grimacing. “Has Peter the Creeper been around lately?”
“Why?”
Cause I think he’s been hoarding my clothes. “No reason.”
Stiles stuffed the sweatshirt back into place and started back into the kitchen. Clearly, someone was getting all up and comfortable with his clothes, and since that’d be the last thing Derek would ever want to do, the only option left was one residing Creeperwolf.
God, Peter was such a weirdo.
Derek finished chopping the vegetables, giving Stiles a curious glance as he entered. “Peter moved into the spare bedroom upstairs. At the end of the hall, so no one has to deal with him if they ever spend the night in their own rooms.”
“Oh, joy,” Stiles said sarcastically. “Because everyone missed his epic creepiness when he vanished off the face of the earth.”
Derek gave him a flat look. Stiles grinned.
“I'm just saying.”
The rest of the pack showed up within the next hour and as the movie night began, Stiles grinned to see the only person eating veggies was Derek. The pizzas vanished fairly fast and the wings didn’t stand a chance against a bunch of werewolves. But the veggies weren't a hit.
As the older man reached for another carrot, Stiles grinned wider and Derek looked over, catching his look. The man's lips turned down and he moved back again, crossing his arms poutily. Snorting, Stiles grabbed the entire plate of veggies and placed it on his lap. When Derek gave him a confused, slightly exasperated look, he shrugged.
“I’m eating healthily, Sourpuss. Carrot?”
Derek glared. Stiles grinned and offered one over, which Derek took despite his serial-killer expression. Stiles waited until it was half in his mouth and beamed.
“Good boy, Blue-eyes.”
Derek choked.
Stiles grinned as the carrot went flying through the air, Derek's face turning an alarming shade of red as he coughed. Grey-green eyes flashed. The man shoved himself up and stalked into the kitchen and Stiles watched him go, still grinning. He turned to see the rest of the pack staring in confusion and shrugged, leaning back to prop his feet up on the coffee table.
“Guys, I’m amazing.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. Stiles took a triumphant bite of a carrot, then grimaced.
God, he hated vegetables.
5.
The fifth time it happened, Stiles might have fallen into habit.
He didn’t avidly look for chances to use the nickname, but he always had it on the tip of his tongue. Especially when Derek’s eyes would flash blue; in a battle, when they were arguing, when Stiles did something stupid. Though Derek didn’t flash them as often as he used to when they were red, Stiles noticed. He thought that was a shame. Blue was just pretty.
The monster of the week this time was a witch, and things were going well until Derek was hit by a spell that sent him flying against the nearest tree. Jackson ended up ripping her throat out while Stiles raced to Derek’s side, and Scott helped him carry the older man to his jeep. Then Stiles proceeded to drive to Deaton's like hell.
Deaton said he’d be fine.
He said Derek would likely be unconscious for a few more hours, that he was expected to be dazed when waking up, and that he'd probably get a little more growly due to a headache that would follow, but he’d be fine. Derek would be fine.
Stiles didn’t even try to cover up how relieved he was at that statement.
They brought Derek back to the pack house and Stiles volunteered to keep watch, so the rest of the pack could all go home. Unsurprisingly, nobody argued. Which was how Stiles found himself sitting by the werewolf’s bed an hour later, reading one of his boring books while waiting. He was pretty sure he wasn’t being creepy. Deaton said constant surveillance was important; there was always a chance the spell could have other side effects. It was better safe than sorry.
That’s what Stiles told himself anyway, peering over the top of his book at the sleeping werewolf.
Derek looked calmer when he slept. His eyebrows were still a little grumpy, but the tension in his face ebbed away to something soft. He looked younger too, Stiles noticed. Less worn and more peaceful.
Stiles texted his dad saying he’d be spending the night at the pack house. He did this so often, his dad’s response was just a simple ‘okay, stay safe.’
Stiles settled in and tried to keep reading.
He didn’t know how many hours passed. Only at some point, the light coming through the window was dim and he was half asleep, head cradled in his hands. Stiles closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them again, the room was dark and glowing blue eyes watched him from the bed.
Stiles blinked sleepily and smiled. “Hey there, Blue-eyes. How’re you feeling?”
Derek continued to stare in silence. Stiles shifted into a better sitting position and reached over, clicking on the bedside light. Derek’s eyes faded back to normal then, and Stiles tried not to feel too disappointed by that. He tilted his head.
“Derek? You feeling alright, big guy?”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Um,” Stiles blinked. “What, big guy?”
“Blue-eyes.”
“Oh,” Stiles said, his face turning hot. He was well aware of Derek’s reactions whenever he used the nickname, but Derek had never called him out for it. Stiles wasn’t sure why. But in return, he’d never thought to stop using it. “I dunno. I just do.”
“Lie,” Derek said, eyes narrowing. “Your heart just skipped.”
“God, I hate it when you do that.”
“Is it amusing to you?” Derek asked, his voice suddenly hardening. “Is it a joke?”
“What?” Stiles sat straight up, staring at him. Derek was glaring now, situating himself upright on the bed and looking at Stiles coldly. The tips of his ears were red. “Derek, I swear I never meant it like that.”
“Then what do you mean?” Derek asked. “Why are you so fixated on them?”
Stiles floundered, his mouth opening and closing a few times. If Derek had been in wolf form, his ears would’ve been pressed back from the kicked-puppy expression he was sporting. The man stared at Stiles, then gazed away, looking miserable. Stiles swallowed.
“Blue’s just pretty.”
Derek’s head snapped back forward. “What?”
“I think they’re pretty,” Stiles said softly. “Your eyes when they’re blue. I mean, I think your eyes are pretty no matter what, but the blue’s just so different. Unique. Don’t get me wrong, the gold’s great too and the red was unfairly sexy in a ‘I’m going to murder you way’ but—”
“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. “You’re rambling.”
“Yeah, well, that’s your fault,” Stiles grumbled. “You and your stupid eyes.”
Derek swung his legs over the side of the bed, looking at Stiles like he’d just grown horns. Stiles fidgeted nervously, not meeting the werewolf’s gaze. Because sure, he’d never been secretive about his attraction toward Derek, but he’d never outright voiced his feelings either. He could live with Derek thinking he was turned-on by him— who wasn’t?— but unrequited love was another thing entirely.
“No one’s ever said that before,” Derek said softly. “That they were pretty.”
Stiles looked at him in shock. Derek swallowed.
“Kate liked to remind me what they meant and my family avoided mentioning them altogether. I always felt like I deserved that, but I’ve never really looked at myself with them changed.”
“Derek,” Stiles said. “I think they’re beautiful.”
“Do you even know what they mean?”
Stiles knew the story of Paige. He had for years. He also knew her death wasn’t Derek’s fault, even though the wolf still carried the weight of that night on his shoulders. “I know they mean you have a heart,” he said. “And you’d do anything to keep those you love from suffering, even if it leaves a lasting brand.”
Derek stared at him. His expression was so open and vulnerable, Stiles wanted to cup his face and soothe away all his sorrows. But he held himself back. Stiles didn’t have the right to do that after all, friend or not. How he felt or not.
Blue flickered in Derek’s eyes. Stiles smiled. “You’re a good guy, Blue-eyes.”
And he meant it.
+1.
Derek wasn’t exactly sure when he’d fallen in love with Stiles. But he knew it’d been years. At some point between the teenager holding him up in a pool for two hours and never leaving his side since, Derek had fallen head over heels. And he was still falling.
But Derek knew Stiles didn’t feel the same. Sure, the teen had random bursts of arousal when Derek was around, but Derek was used to that. Stiles was a hormonal teenager and had random bursts of arousal when looking at curly fries.
So Derek was handling it. His love for Stiles, that is. He did what he did best and hid it from the rest of the world, keeping the emotion burning deep in his chest.
But then Stiles said those two words. Those two little words that made Derek’s heart stutter and his breaths catch in his throat. Like he was falling for Stiles all over again.
Blue-eyes.
Derek hadn’t been able to smother his reaction the first time. And he hadn’t been able to cover them up the next four times either, when Stiles would spring the nickname at the most unexpected moments.
And then that night. That night.
Derek knew he was really in love then. And he was going to be in love forever.
He also realized Stiles might be in love with him too.
Derek sat on that realization for the next few days. He couldn’t look Stiles in the face without remembering his words ‘ You’re a good guy, Blue-eyes’, so Derek started to avoid the teenager. He realized this probably wasn’t approaching the situation right, but Derek had never been good at approaching uncomfortable situations right.
Because it was uncomfortable, wasn't it? Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale were not things that were supposed to work out. Derek wasn’t supposed to get what he wanted and he wasn’t supposed to ever taint something pure like Stiles. Something that had the chance to be so good.
Which was how Derek found himself in the bathroom later that day, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Back when he’d been a fifteen-year-old kid, Kate would watch his eyes change and smirk. She’d chastise him every time, reminding him there was a reason they were vibrant blue. He was a killer. He was a killer and he’d taken an innocent life, even if she didn’t know the whole story. Derek could never bring himself to tell her the whole story.
Only his mother and Laura would look him in the eyes and not flinch when they changed colors. Talia would hold him close like he was a child again and Laura would trace her fingers over the back of his neck, whispering the quiet words ‘oh, Der’.
Since Paige's death, Derek’s eyes had been accepted as different. Distinctive. Wrong.
But nobody had ever called them beautiful.
Then, for a while, Derek’s eyes were red. He didn’t know which was worse; the red or the blue. The color of an Alpha, something he was never supposed to be, or the color of a killer, something he’d been for far too long.
Now, Derek looked in the mirror and watched his eyes change. He forced himself not to look away or flinch or growl. He looked at himself and tried to see what Stiles saw. Derek tried to see what made his eyes 'beautiful'.
He couldn’t find it.
Suddenly, the door was opening and Stiles was stepping inside.
“Okay, Sourpuss, it’s been three days since that night and I know you’re emotionally constipated as hell but I—”
Stiles cut off suddenly, the door swinging shut at his back. Derek turned his still-glowing eyes toward the boy and Stiles froze, his heartbeat stuttering. The teen made an abortive move to stumble back but ended up just running into the door instead, cursing in pain and then going still again. Derek blinked at him.
“Stiles, seriously?”
“Uh. What?”
“Bathroom,” Derek said flatly, motioning around. Stiles flushed.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been waiting downstairs like a stalker for the past hour and I figured since you weren’t showering, you were probably doing something angsty, not taking an extra long werewolf dump. So I made a decision.”
“Doing something angsty?”
“Yeah, Grouchy-brows,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I’m here to save you from yourself.”
Derek stared at him. Sometimes he couldn't believe this was the kid he decided to fall in love with. This skinny, spastic, hyperactive teenager that somehow made Derek do things he never would have in the past. Like spend an hour in the bathroom staring at his reflection.
Sometimes, Derek didn’t understand it. But other times, he did. Other times like now.
His eyes flickered. Stiles straightened.
“Derek?” Stiles said, his voice questioning. The teenager stepped forward, eyes darting over Derek’s face, and his scent turned nervous. Stiles moved carefully, giving Derek an out, but Derek didn’t move. The teenager swallowed. “Hey there, Blue-eyes.”
“Stiles,” Derek said softly.
Stiles paused in front of him and reached out, pale hands hovering over Derek’s eyes before covering them completley. His heart skipped a beat as Derek let out a shuddering sigh and let his lashes flutter closed. Stiles traced his fingers over the curve of Derek’s eyebrows, then started down, outlining his jaw, and the veins of his neck. When Derek opened his eyes again, he knew they were glowing.
“Derek,” Stiles murmured. “If I did something stupid—”
Derek did first.
He leaned forward and kissed the boy, cautious lips brushing against his own. Stiles made a soft noise of surprise at the back of his throat and then kissed him back, pressing forward to make it deep and warm. Derek groaned slightly and Stiles shivered, the movement sending vibrations down Derek’s spine. His eyes fluttered closed again and Stiles’s tongue traced along his lower lip, teeth nipping cautiously before he was deepening the kiss again.
Stiles shuddered as Derek moved down his neck, lips ghosting over pale skin and fingers reaching up to trace the back of Stiles’s neck and then tangle through his hair. It was longer than usual and insanely soft, and Derek tightened his grip, tugging slightly as Stiles moaned.
“Der—”
“Stiles.”
“God, either we take this out of the bathroom or I’m—”
Derek shivered and drew back. Stiles's eyes were glazed over and he looked on the verge of just dropping, and Derek felt the same, like a haze had descended over him. He could still taste Stiles on his lips. Something spicy and warm.
Stiles blinked a few times. “So, uh…”
"Yeah?"
"Told you I could be charming," Stiles said. Derek rolled his eyes.
“Well, I wouldn’t consider my pants to be charmed off,” he said. “But the challenge is still on the table.”
Stiles gaze sharpened. He stared for a moment, then groaned, slumping forward. Derek caught him as all of the teenager’s weight dropped against his own. “Oh my god, Derek, you can’t say things like that.”
“So you concede, then?”
“I’m going to make you take that back,” Stiles said, turning his face into the crook of Derek’s neck. “I’m going to make you take that back so hard.”
“I think I’d like that,” Derek said honestly. Stiles groaned again.
“I hate you.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“No,” Stiles said, pulling back again. He tilted his head up to study Derek’s face. “I really don’t, Blue-eyes.”
Derek felt his heart stutter.
Because see, Derek wasn’t exactly sure when he’d fallen in love with Stiles. But he knew it’d been years. At some point between words ‘abomination’ and ‘Blue-eyes’ Derek had fallen head over heels in love with the idiot. And he was still falling.
Sometimes, Derek didn’t understand it. But other times, he did. Other times like now.
“Stiles,” Derek said carefully. “If I said something stupid—”
Stiles did first.
No one knows what its like / T o be mistreated / To be defeated / Behind blue eyes
But my dreams / They aren't as empty / (As they used to be)