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It was a longer drive back from the mountains than Stiles remembered. Why Derek had asked him to come along on this trip, he had no idea. The Hale burial ground was about two hours out of Beacon Hills. Derek had already been out there right after the whole Alpha incident to bury Peter. This trip was different: this was to visit Laura. Derek had moved her after the Scott-and-Stiles-getting-him-arrested thing had been sorted out. Stiles didn't know how he'd dealt with the spiral-revenge-wolfsbane bit, but somehow he didn't think Derek would appreciate questions about werewolf funerals right now.
Maybe it was because of Stiles's mother. Maybe Derek was looking for empathy, someone who would understand if he cried, which he did. The sight of Derek Hale crying had been alarming. Usually Derek Hale was making him cry. Or want to cry. He was proud to say he had never yet cried because of Derek Hale. But there'd been something in his voice when he'd asked Stiles along, and he couldn't say no. Even though he knew Scott would want to punch him in the face.
Scott had actually punched him in the face.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" he'd said. Stiles had shrugged. He couldn't explain why he was going along with this even to himself. He hadn't forgotten that Derek had killed Peter, taking Scott's chance to cure himself. He also hadn't forgotten Derek protecting him from Peter in the hospital. Or trying to. It was the thought that counted. Also the still-being-alive.
He glanced over at Derek in the passenger seat. He was asleep. They'd stopped at a fast food place off the highway about an hour before, just at the base of the mountain; Stiles had had a burger, Derek some chicken nuggets. It seemed kind of unmanly for someone as rugged and growly as Derek to be eating chicken nuggets, but Stiles hadn't wanted to say anything. A bit after they'd finished eating, Derek had gone to sleep.
Sleep was another new look on Derek, but not an alarming one. His whole face relaxed when he slept. He didn't look so growly. His mouth was hanging open a bit. It was kind of goofy-looking, actually.
"Takes one to know one," he muttered to himself. All right. Sarcastic comments to himself meant time for something to distract his mouth. He rummaged in the fast food bag, and his hand settled on a container of fries — box? carton? Whatever.
He pulled it out, glancing down. Mostly full. Derek hadn't wanted his fries, apparently. Stiles shrugged and popped one into his mouth. Delicious, but lacking a certain…something. Ketchup, he decided. He rummaged around in the bag some more and found a little container of ketchup. One of those things for dipping that barbecue sauce comes in, too. Maybe it was barbecue sauce; Stiles didn't much care, as long as it was delicious. With some awkward one-handed maneuvering and some tongue sticking-out (unrelated to the awkward one-handed maneuvering) he got it open and dipped a fry in. It was ketchup.
Before he knew it, he'd eaten the rest of the fries. He hoped vaguely that Derek hadn't wanted them. A few minutes later he'd forgotten it completely.
Ten minutes or so passed quietly. Stiles was starting to get bored again. Fortunately, Derek chose this moment to stir and wake up.
"Rrrrg," he said groggily, sitting upright in his seat.
"Hurg-rrg," Stiles responded. Derek didn't say anything; Stiles assumed he was glaring, but didn't bother to look away from the road. "You're awake."
"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Derek said.
"Derek does sarcasm, too! Trying something new?" Stiles said, daring an eye-flick towards him. He was indeed glaring. Somehow it didn't make him want to run away quite so much anymore. Stiles wasn't sure if it was Derek crying or Derek sleeping that had done it.
Derek just glared.
"I see how it is." Stiles liked banter. Banter was easy, even with Derek. Banter didn't leave room for thinking. He could banter better than any old married couple. He was a champion banterer. Or he would be if there were competitions. "If there were a competition for banter, do you think I would win?"
"Shut up, Stiles," Derek said. Then Stiles heard Derek rummaging in the fast food bag between the seats. "Where are my fries?"
"I don't know," Stiles said, a bald-faced lie if ever there was one. "Maybe they ran away because they knew you'd glare at them for being cold when you woke up."
"Stiles." Derek's voice dropped, took on that dangerous tone he seemed to save just for threatening Stiles. It would have been flattering if it hadn't made him want to wet his pants: a special voice just for him! For being angry at him, true, but that was beside the point. You couldn't spell infamous without famous. "I know you're lying. Did you eat my fries?"
"Who, me?" Stiles said. Why did he always try to lie when he knew Derek could hear it?
"Stiles. Did. You. Eat. My. Fries."
"…Yes?"
"Pull over." That was alarming.
"Not unless you promise not to kill me!"
"Pull over or I will rip your throat out with my teeth."
"Yes, sir, pulling over." Stiles changed lanes with his usual grace and poise, which was to say not very much, and pulled over to the side of the road.
"Stiles, look at me." Stiles did so, knowing he was going to be getting the glaring face.
To his surprise, Derek wasn't glaring. Instead, he just looked resigned.
"Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?"
"Of course I do!" Stiles protested. "But they were getting cold! And I was lonely! And they were lonely!"
"So you ate them." Derek was unimpressed at this logic.
"Well, they weren't doing you any good. Now they're keeping my stomach company." It was one of the feeblest excuses he'd ever given, and he'd given a lot of excuses, feeble and otherwise.
"You could have woken me up to ask."
"I didn't want to. You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping," Stiles said, flushing slightly as he realized how that sounded. Derek was unfazed.
"So now you're watching me sleep."
"You're the one who came to see me in the middle of the night," Stiles said, reasonably. "Besides, I wasn't watching you. Just checking you out every so often."
Derek blinked. Stiles's brain caught up with his mouth.
"Checking on you! Checking on you! I was not checking you out!"
"I didn't realize you felt that way about me," Derek said.
"I don't feel any way about you! No ways felt at all!"
Derek shrugged. "If that's how you feel about it." He rolled over again to lean on the window. "I'm going back to sleep. Next time there's a rest area with fast food, pull over and get me some fries or I swear when we get back I will disembowel you."
It was Stiles's turn to blink. Derek didn't say anything more. In a few moments his breathing regularized. That was an impressive ability to fall asleep. Stiles stared at him. Suddenly his eyes flicked open and flared momentarily red. "Drive!"
"Driving!" Stiles said hurriedly, fumbling at the wheel and finally managing to pull back onto the road. The sound of the car drowned out the sound of Derek's breathing, and Stiles found himself glancing over at him again. The sleeping face was back, goofy and mouth-open. The next glance brought Stiles's eyes to rest on Derek's chest, rising and falling regularly. It's a good chest, Stiles thought. Solid. You could rely on that chest. Even when its owner showed up in your room at three in the morning to terrify you out of your mind and then ask you if you'd come with him to visit his sister's grave that afternoon.
He turned abruptly back to the road. He totally was checking Derek out. Leave it to Derek Hale to make Stiles question everything he thought he knew about himself.
A sign! Distraction! Fast food! French fries for the hungry Alpha!
"Derek." No answer. "Derek!" Still nothing. Stiles glances over at the werewolf. Still fast asleep, chest still rising and falling peacefully, mouth still open.
"Derek! French fries!" Finally, bracing himself for the inevitable arm-getting-torn-off, he reached over and poked Derek in the arm. The werewolf stirred made a rumbling noise in his throat. Stiles poked him again. "Derek! Fast food! French fries!"
"You poked me," Derek said groggily.
"You told me to wake you up for more fries," Stiles protested. Derek was more or less awake now, and, as Stiles confirmed with another glance, glaring.
"I didn't tell you to wake me up, I told you to get me some."
"Well you should have been clearer!" Stiles said. "Anyway, it's too late now." They pulled into the parking lot and Stiles turned off the car. Neither of them moved.
"Get me my fries," Derek said.
"Aren't you going to come along?"
"No."
"What if I don't?" Stiles said. Why did he always do that?
"Then I claw out your eyes." Derek's threats were very inventive; never the same threat twice. He wondered idly how much time the werewolf spent thinking up new ones.
"And have to drive home yourself? I don't think—" Stiles broke off as Derek's eyes flashed red and he bared his teeth. "All right, medium fries, coming right up."
He ducked hurriedly out of the car and headed inside, almost tripping on absolutely nothing in the middle of the parking lot. Thoughts circled in his head as he ordered the fries and waited. Derek was attractive, he would happily admit that. The question was, did Stiles find him attractive? Or was it one of those things where he knew other people thought it, like with Allison. Like most people, actually. Now that he thought about it, only Lydia had ever really attracted his interest. And now Derek, apparently. He was so lost in thought he almost didn't hear the overworked cashier calling out his order number.
"Me! Here! Sorry!" He grabbed the fries and headed back out to the car, actually tripping over the curb but catching himself before he could faceplant in the parking lot. Derek was sitting just where Stiles had left him, his eyes glinting with light reflected from the parking lot overhead lights as he watched Stiles walk to the car and get in.
"Fries." He held out his hand. Stiles put the fries in it, or tried to. Instead he succeeded in spilling about half of them all over Derek and between the seats. "Stiles!"
"I'm sorry! Crap! I'm sorry!" He bent over to rummage around and gather up the dropped fries. Derek gathered up the ones that had spilled in his lap.
"You are a disaster," Derek said when Stiles had dropped all the spoiled french fries into the bag from dinner.
"I know," was all Stiles could find to say. Derek looked at him strangely.
"Are you actually at a loss for words?" he asked.
"I…guess so," Stiles said, and found he didn't have anything else to say.
"Must be a cold night in hell," Derek said. Something that might have been a smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth. Stiles's mouth went dry. He didn't know if he could deal with smiling Derek, especially not after sleeping Derek and crying Derek and two-sarcastic-comments-in-one-night. He started the car, and they drove on in silence. Stiles glanced at Derek a few times in the first few minutes back on the road, but always looked away just as quickly; the Alpha was staring at him. It was weird. Creepy. Normal Derek, then, but somehow it wasn't comforting. Finally it got to be too much.
"Stop staring at me!"
"I can't figure you out," Derek said. Stiles flicked his eyes over to him and saw that he hadn't looked away.
"Well, that makes two of us," Stiles said.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"A little night driving heart-to-heart with the local Alpha, who, by the way, has totally not been forgiven for taking my best friend's chance to be human again? Sounds fantastic."
"Then why did you come with me today?" Damn; Derek was too perceptive to fall for angry-Stiles.
"I…don't know." That was true, for once. Hoping to distract Derek, he reached to turn on the radio. Derek grabbed his wrist before he could reach the power button.
"We need to talk," he said. "I'm going to try to make amends. I don't know if Scott will ever be able to forgive me. But I want to try. I've…been alone too long."
"So this is about Scott," Stiles said. "You came to me because you knew I was terrified of you and you hoped I'd put in a good word for you with him."
"What? No!" Derek let go of his wrist. "Stiles, pull over."
"No."
"Stiles, pull over or I will cut off your head with my claws."
"I'll tell Scott you threatened to kill me twice."
"Stiles! Please!" There was an unfamiliar note of pleading in Derek's voice that gave Stiles pause.
"Fine. Five minutes."
Once they were on the side of the road again, silence fell. If there'd been a clock to tick, you could've heard it ticking.
"Stiles…" Derek began. Stiles said nothing. "Look at me?"
Stiles turned to look at him. Derek's eyes had gone a bit sad.
"Stiles, I didn't ask you to come with me because of Scott."
"Why, then?" Stiles demanded. Maybe if he knew why Derek wanted him to come he'd know why he had come.
"I asked you because I think of you as a friend. More than Scott. More than Jackson, that's for sure." He laughed, a little bitterly. "That's not something I ever thought I'd say. I like you, Stiles. You're a good guy."
Stiles didn't know how to feel. Flattered? Terrified? He settled for "cautiously flattered". "Thanks?"
"I mean it," Derek said. "I'd…like to get to know you better. Get pizza sometime. 'Hang out'. With you. Not Scott, Jackson, Lydia."
Stiles licked his lips. "Are…are you asking me on a date?"
"Are you saying no?" Derek's face was unreadable, but Stiles thought he caught a hint of something in his voice. His head was spinning, just a bit. He made some faces as he thought about an answer.
"I…don't think so?" he finally said. Those were not the words he'd expected to come out of his mouth.
"Good. I'll text you tomorrow and we'll figure something out."
"G-good," Stiles agreed, still not entirely sure what had just happened.
"We can get back on the road now," Derek said after a moment.
"Right, driving." Stiles reached to start the car again, but Derek stopped him.
"Maybe it'd be better if I drive for a while."
"Yeah," Stiles agreed dazedly, brain still going over the last few minutes. They got out and switched seats. Derek started the car as Stiles buckled himself in.
"I hope that wasn't too—" Derek began, but Stiles cut him off.
"Don't talk to me, my brain is about to melt."
The rest of the drive passed in silence. When they got back to Beacon Hills, Derek dropped him at the corner, and Stiles headed home to process and sleep. His dad wasn't home; still working, he assumed. He sent Scott a text, then went to brush his teeth.
Just got asked on date by Derek Hale. Said yes.
He made faces at himself in the mirror, toothbrush handle sticking out to the side. His phone buzzed, he fumbled to get it out of his pocket, his toothbrush fell out of his mouth. He bent over and groped around on the ground for it as he read Scott's answer.
wut
Always articulate, Scott.
What I said.
r u srs
Would I joke about this?
yes
This isn't a joke.
dude ur not gay
Stiles gave up on brushing his teeth.
A little bit, apparently.
dude wtf Good night.
dude!!
Stiles went to get into bed, then looked at his alarm clock. It was only 8. His phone buzzed again.
dude stiles its only 8
Talk to you tomorrow.
stiles!!!
He needed to reevaluate his life. Scott could wait. He settled down and stared at the ceiling for a bit, his thoughts racing. He fell asleep somewhere between wondering what kind of pizza Derek liked and trying to decide if Lydia or Danny would be better to ask what to get Derek for Valentine's Day. When Sheriff Stilinski got home at midnight, he looked in on his son, smiled at the sight of Stiles fast asleep, shook his head, and closed the door.