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It was easy enough, Stiles supposed, to blame everything on Derek and claim he hated the man.
It was easy enough to blame Derek for the fact that they were trapped out in the rain, having had to take shelter in the Hale house since Derek, like the stubborn fluffy asshole he was, refused to head back to the loft until their ‘shift’ was over for the night.
‘Shift’, like this crap was their job or something. Stiles had adamantly protested when Derek made the mandatory decision that there would be a roving calendar of shifts. At this point, they had all accepted the fact that there was always something threatening Beacon Hills. And honestly, Stiles swore, if they could just get one breath of peace, he’d be pretty sure the world was about to end or something.
He’d looked toward Scott first, when Derek said they could pick their partners. And he’d been more than a little peeved to see that Isaac— the scarf-obsessed douche— was already paired up with his best friend. One day, he was honestly going to strangle the beta with his own choice of ‘fashion’. One day, he swore.
When Derek wasn’t looking.
The pairings continued to go off and Stiles really shouldn’t have been surprised when he glanced across the room to realize Derek was the only one left. Derek, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and a plain frown on his face as he grunted with a shrug.
It was easy enough, Stiles supposed, to blame everything on Derek and claim he hated the man. That he hated the universe and every cosmic decision that had paired him up with the man. But honestly, that’d probably be a lie.
And Stiles was so not ready to face that realization yet.
So, tonight he and Derek were on the lookout for the current monster of the week— a particularly evasive wendigo that could be a threat, or could just be testing out the Hale pack’s claim to Beacon Hills. Derek had managed to track it to the preserve when, because Stiles swore they were the most unlucky pair ever, it started to rain.
The last time Stiles had stepped foot in the Hale house, he’d made a decision to never do it again. Which meant tonight, following Derek with his hoodie already starting to stick to his skin, Stiles realized he was a liar. And an idiot.
And really freaking cold.
“You know,” he said, one hundred percent aware of the fact that he was being petty and Derek couldn’t control the weather, “I really feel like this is all your fault.”
Derek shot him a look over his shoulders, face almost unreadable in the darkness. There was a hint of red in his eyes, though. “The rain is my fault?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Stiles.”
Stiles frowned at his back, then almost tripped over his own feet, climbing the rotting stairs that led into the Hale house. And he was ninety percent sure that the entire structure was a hazard, thank you very much. If the skeleton of a house collapsing on him was how Stiles Stilinski died, then dammit, he didn’t even deserve a gravestone.
He made sure Derek knew that. The man just grunted.
“Watch your feet.”
“Thank you for that solid advice, Sourwolf. I’ve almost fallen on my face three times now, but with this new information, I’m sure the future will be much brighter.”
For a brief second, Stiles almost thought he heard the man chuckle. Softly, quickly, and to be honest, Stiles couldn’t hear much over the sound of rain hitting what was left of the Hale house's shoddy roof, so many he was probably just imagining things. It was well after midnight, too, and Stiles had not gotten enough sleep lately, so he wouldn't be surprised if his mind was messing with him.
He never really got enough sleep, though. So he wasn’t too sure that could be a factor.
“Over here,” Derek said, leading them to the most protected corner. Stiles tried to bury himself deeper into his wet sweatshirt, shivering, and the man glanced over his shoulder at that. Something unreadable flashed through his eyes and Derek set his jaw before turning back away.
Stiles glanced around the rest of the house as he moved beside Derek, a strange heat radiating off the man. The stairs that went upward didn’t look like they’d hold a grasshopper and down the far hall, he noticed something shoved against the wall. A mattress, he realized.
Stiles glanced over at Derek with a small pang, noticing the man had crouched down. Slowly, he did the same.
“So this is where you camped out for a while before, huh?”
Derek startled and looked over at him, then followed Stiles’s gaze down the hall. His posture tightened a little and he didn’t say a word, just shifted to get more comfortable.
Stiles swallowed. “It’s uh, nice.”
Derek gave him a flat sideways look. Stiles attempted a small grin.
“Good open floor plan. The giant gaping hole in the middle of the stairs is a nice touch too.”
The man muttered something under his breath, shaking his head, but Stiles could’ve sworn he saw the smallest of smiles in the corner of his lips. Figuring that things really couldn’t get worse— and Stiles didn’t see their situation changing anytime soon— he quickly barreled on. Because of all the things that could go wrong, how much worse could this night get?
“I’m just saying, Sourwolf, you’ve clearly got quite the eye. I mean, look at the loft! Very large, very Batman-Batcave vibes. And Batman’s my favorite superhero, you know.”
“Stiles—”
“Though I have to say, one of these days I’m expecting you to settle down in someplace that doesn’t also pair well with a serial killer documentary. You know, there’s this house that’s been on the market for ages in my neighborhood. I’ve heard it’s because the old man that lives across the street is a bit of a grouch, but maybe you guys would be buddies? You know, you could get together on Sundays and complain about annoying kids and how they’re always trespassing on your lawns.”
Derek turned his head and stared at him with an incredulous expression. Stiles cut off his ramble instantly, blinked, and then went over his words again, wondering how exactly his brain had managed to get turned off, yet his mouth had continued to string words together.
His face turned hot and he flushed, glancing down at his hands.
“I mean… Oh my god, was all of that stupid? Yeah, holy shit, most of that sentence was stupid. Uh, I think the lack of sleep these past few days is getting to me, dude. Guess that’s what doctors recommend six to eight hours a night.”
“Stiles, I don’t—”
“Plan on ever becoming best friends with the old man across the street? Of course not!” Stiles did his best to pull another grin. “Listen, Sourwolf, I fully support you and your Batcave experiences. They’re very nice.”
The man just stared at him in silence. Then he blinked, shaking his head, and Stiles was sure that this time, there was a whisper of a laugh on his words. “You’re an idiot, Stiles.”
“That is true.”
“So, you don’t like the loft?”
“Oh, no,” Stiles said, his grin turning a little more genuine. “I love the loft. It’s very nice. Especially when Peter’s not around.”
“I suppose that’s fair.”
Stiles huffed, glancing down at his hands again. A couple of hours ago, he’d been dreading the night to come. But now, despite the rain still coming down outside of their little sheltered corner, he supposed it wasn’t turning out so bad. And maybe he didn’t really hate Derek Hale.
Not always.
Stiles shivered again, trying to pull the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. But the material was too wet. Next to him, Derek tensed once more, then sighed heavily. And Stiles didn't even have a chance to react before the man was shifting and stripped off his leather jacket. He went shock-still, then, when Derek pulled it over his shoulders and surveyed him for a moment, before grunting in contentment and pulling back again.
Stiles didn’t know what to do for a long second— he was pretty sure he forgot to breathe. He’d always known that werewolves ran hot but the jacket was like stepping into a heated room. The second his brain stopped short-circuiting, he was pretty sure he was supposed to take it right back off and shove it back over. Right? But instead, Derek’s name just rose hesitantly on his tongue and he studied the man.
“Uh, Dere—”
“Shut up.”
Stiles did, snapping his jaw shut and slowly sticking his hands into the jacket’s pockets. Derek seemed to relax again after noticing that.
The next few moments of silence stretched into an hour. Stiles figured the quiet should be driving him crazy, especially because he was pressed up against Derek literal Hale, stuck in the rain out in the middle of nowhere. But his brain surprised him by not going into panic mode. Instead, Stiles listened to the sound of the man’s breaths and focused on the little area across from them where part of the wall had collapsed and he could see into the trees.
There was no movement. And Stiles figured that honestly, nothing was out there.
Not tonight.
He didn’t actually mean to fall asleep. But one moment, his attention was on the warmth radiating from Derek beside him, and the next, he was blinking blearily at the faintest hint of light. His butt hurt— so did his back— and he groaned as he woke up fully, attempting to shift a little only to realize that there was a heavy weight pressed up against him. One that kept him more than a little pinned to the awkward position that he’d fallen asleep in.
Stiles blinked and glanced sideways— and nearly had a heart attack.
If someone had told him two years ago that one day, the man who had slammed him up against his bedroom door and threatened to rip his throat out would one day fall asleep on his shoulder, Stiles would laugh. He’d laugh, call them insane, and probably spend the next three years thinking about how ridiculous that sounded. But how intriguing at the same time. Right? Because imagine Derek Hale, the resident big bad wolf, being a softie.
It shouldn’t be possible. And would probably send baby-bi Stiles into cardiac arrest.
Current-Stiles didn’t have a heart attack. But he also forgot what breathing was for a second and just stared, taking in Derek’s calm face and slowly realizing how gentle the man looked without wearing his signature frown.
Derek’s chest rose and fell softly with his breaths. He kind of looked… adorable?
Stiles blinked, then shook his head. “Holy shit, I’m losing my mind.”
At that moment, Derek woke up.
Stiles’s first panicked reaction was to fake sleep, but he immediately realized that Derek could hear his heartbeats and that was just plain stupid. So instead, he managed a small grin and watched the man slowly come to terms with reality, a couple of awkward seconds passing before Derek yanked away like he’d been burned. The man's eyes darted around the rest of the empty Hale house.
“What time is it?”
“Uh, I don’t know, big guy,” Stiles said, laughing a little. “I’m guessing around six.”
Derek’s eyes snapped back to him. “How long was I asleep?”
“Er, probably as long as I was?”
“Stiles.”
“Woah, hey,” Stiles said, raising his hands. “I’m in this along with you, dude. We both passed out last night. Pretty lucky nothing decided to come lurking, right?”
Derek’s face instantly drained of blood. He shoved himself up to his feet and muttered something under his breath that Stiles didn’t catch, but it sounded pretty panicked. And that, well, that was the opposite of what Stiles had meant to do. He slowly pushed himself up too, watching the werewolf carefully.
“Hey, Sourwolf, man, it’s okay.”
“I fell asleep.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“No, Stiles,” Derek said, turning toward him, a hint of red in his eyes. Stiles immediately cut off, his heart skipping a beat, and watched as Derek shook his head, looking taken aback as he blinked it away. The man looked around the shell of the Hale house again, before starting toward the door. “The shift is over, let’s go.”
Stiles stared after him for a long second. His head spun and he felt a little guilty, unsure what to do for a moment. But then, sighing, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of Derek’s leather jacket— that realization not even sinking in— and started after the man.
Clearly, Derek Hale was not a morning person.
-
The ride to Stiles’s house had been a silent one. Stiles ended up remembering about halfway through it that he was still wearing Derek’s jacket and he’d gone completely rigid at that realization, barely daring to breathe until Derek pulled up in his driveway.
His dad was on a long shift, thank god, so he wasn’t home when Stiles arrived. Derek didn’t move from the front seat as Stiles climbed out, so he moved around the car and knocked on the window, leather jacket in hand.
But the man had just looked at him, face unreadable. Then, he’d put his car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway, leaving Stiles standing there with the werewolf’s leather jacket in hand, feeling a bit like an idiot.
That had been three days ago.
The way Stiles figured it, Derek had decided that he’d somehow failed in his Alphaness that night. A because he was Derek will-literally-angst-at-any-given-moment Hale, he’d decided that the world was ending and Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d ever see the man’s furry face again.
Not of Derek’s own volition, anyway. So, when the weekend came around, Stiles figured it had been a good enough amount of time for the man to brood, and he drove over to the loft with the leather jacket.
The thing was making him anxious. Stiles totally hadn’t worn it again but he’d wanted to, which… no.
Just no.
The front door was unlocked when he arrived, but the loft itself seemed empty. Stiles paused at the entrance, looking around and feeling like an idiot for a long second, but then the light in the kitchen flipped off and Derek came padding out, a cup of coffee held in one hand.
From the look on his face, he’d caught Stiles’s scent long before he’d opened the door. Stiles didn’t know why he suddenly felt nervous but he just swallowed and carefully moved forward.
“I brought this,” he said, lifting the jacket, “back.”
Derek looked at it for a long moment, then grunted and moved over to the couch. Stiles bit down hard on his tongue.
“Are we not good anymore, Sourwolf?”
Derek looked back at him and the man actually had the audacity to look a little surprised. And Stiles couldn’t help a small twinge of irritation at that. Because he’d been in a state of utter confusion and nerves since Derek had dropped him off three days ago, okay?
He could never seem to understand the man.
“Okay, first of all,” he said, stalking forward and throwing the jacket onto the couch at Derek’s side. “Words are extremely useful, big guy. Second of all, if you’re still beating yourself up about that night, I don’t care. I don’t care that you took a little werewolf nap! In fact, I think you look adorable when you sleep, so take some time to think about that, alright?”
Derek straightened. And Stiles instantly regretted every word of that last sentence.
“Oh my god. This never happened.”
He started to turn around, but there was a hand wrapped around his wrist in a second. Biting down on his lower lip, Stiles forced himself to turn back around and meet the man's eyes.
Derek studied him for a moment, face turning startlingly soft. Then he sighed. “It could’ve put you in danger.”
“It could’ve— dude, Derek, we’re constantly in danger. All of us.”
Something strange flickered through the man’s eyes. Derek studied Stiles for a long moment then glanced down. And Stiles felt helpless for words because he was pretty sure Derek wasn’t going to answer that, but then the man’s voice rumbled through the air again. “It could’ve put you in danger.”
They were the same words, the same sentence, but for some reason the way it left Derek’s mouth this time made Stiles’s heart skip a beat. He figured Derek must have heard it because the man’s eyes locked back on his own.
“I never want to put you in danger, Stiles.”
“I, uh— I don’t...” Stiles trailed off, feeling both like an idiot and a little shaky at the same time. Which was strange. It was all so strange, wasn’t it? That suddenly, he could feel his heart slamming against his chest and every second seemed to stretch on a little too long. “Okay.”
Okay.
Yeah, he was so dumb.
But Derek’s lips just twitched at the word and then there was that small smile again. That one that always hid in the corner of the man’s lips, never fully coming out but damn if Stiles wasn’t determined to see it in full one day. And that was a thought he’d never admit out loud.
“Okay,” Derek said, the smile masked again. He turned away and Stiles blinked, slowly coming back to himself, only to lock up again when he realized Derek had picked the leather jacket off the couch. The man raised a brow, giving him a quick look, then moved closer and pulled it around Stiles’s shoulders.
It wasn’t quite as warm as Stiles remembered but it smelled like the werewolf and he almost instantly relaxed, catching a sort of pleased look flick across Derek’s face.
“Oh,” Stiles said, words failing him for a second time. “This is nice.”
God, he was such an idiot.
But Derek just looked unfairly amused.
And what was it that Stiles always said? It was easy enough, he supposed, to blame everything on Derek. It was easy enough to claim he hated the man. Except, Stiles did not hate Derek Hale. He didn't think he'd ever really hated the man.
“So,” Derek said, drawing his attention back. He gestured toward the kitchen. “I’m going to go make another cup of coffee.”
Stiles blinked. Derek raised an eyebrow.
“Okay?”
Stiles nodded mutely. The man smirked then— actually smirked— and Stiles had no idea what to do with himself.
“Then, maybe I can drive you back home and we see if that old man living across from the house in your neighborhood is really as grouchy as they say.”
Wait— Stiles stared. The words took their time processing. And the moment they did, a sudden grin pulled at his lips. “Seriously?”
“Well, I’ve been told the Batcave is getting a little old.”
And Jesus, Stiles did not hate Derek Hale. He absolutely did not hate Derek Hale. He did feel, however, that he could blame Derek for a lot of things. Not the rain, perhaps. Not the wendigo that was currently running loose through Beacon Hills. But he could blame Derek Hale for a lot of things.
Like how fast his heart was beating. How stupid he must look from grinning so hard. And how damn good Derek’s jacket felt around his shoulders.
He could blame Derek Hale for those things.
But dammit if Stiles wasn’t falling head over heels for the grumpiest werewolf to ever grace Beacon Hills with his adorable sleeping face.