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Scott is a terrible person.
Scott is not a terrible person for leaving Stiles in the woods to go and stare at Allison's stupid face - well he is, but Stiles kind of gets that, because he gets to kiss her stupid face too, and he can imagine how that would be distracting. No, he's a terrible person because he's pulled the curtains open and stolen one of Stiles's pillows, and he's grinning like a moron, and Stiles - Stiles is pretty sure he's dead and his body just hasn't realised it yet.
"Oh my God, my head is broken," he says, and then regrets it because his voice is so loud.
He's never leaving his bed - he's possibly leaving his bed to throw up, but that's it. Thinking about throwing up makes something disturbing rattle to the front of his brain. Stiles lets it sit there for a minute in the hope that it'll go away. It doesn't.
"There's a slim possibility I may have thrown up on Derek last night," Stiles mumbles.
"What?" Scott stops trying to punish him with sunlight and soft furnishings, and sits on the edge of the bed, hard enough to make it jiggle sickeningly.
"Ugh," Stiles says warningly, because really - he's definitely throwing up if he does that again. "Dude, don't even pretend to be worried for my welfare, You abandoned me in the woods, with booze, it's like every after school special. I'm pretty sure the one about leaving your friend in the woods all drunk and defenceless ends particularly badly."
"You said you weren't going to drink any more." Scott's eyebrows scrunch together in a way that's trying to be guilty and accusing at the same time. "You said you were going to go straight home." Scott tugs at the pillow Stiles has half-dragged over his face. "If I'd known Derek would be there I would have stayed."
"If he hadn't been there I'm pretty sure I would have passed out in the woods and had my insides chewed out by wild animals. Derek is like a menacing but mostly upright wild animal who didn't eat my insides out. Who chose not to eat my insides out because of all the times I saved his life." Stiles gives up on trying to talk into the pillow and squirms his way free. "I'm assuming he brought me home, because I don't remember getting here, and I'm still wearing all my clothes. Which is why my body feels sweaty and awful and currently hates me. So, yeah, I may have thrown up on Derek. I may also have treated him to my thoughts on the horror movie genre. He may at one point have carried me. I vaguely remember hanging upside down staring at his ass."
Scott winces. Stiles doesn't think that fully conveys the horror of the half-remembered things in his brain.
"Everything after that is a complete blank." A worrying blank that he kind of wants to scratch at, because he just knows there's something awful underneath. "I literally remember nothing after that. I probably did something awful - what am I saying of course I did something awful - you may have to help me fake my own death."
"I'm sorry I bailed on you." Scott's face looks so earnest that Stiles is quickly losing the urge to punch him. It's so unfair.
"You should be - oh god, stop making me talk, or I'll be sick on you."
Scott does stop making him talk. Though there are still clearly words he wants to form into sentences. He sits against the headboard next to him, and exudes an air of guilt and repentance, until Stiles kicks him off the bed and demands he go and fetch him a glass of orange juice and some aspirin.
When Stiles checks his phone an hour later, there's a text on it, which just says 'Meet me at the diner in town at 6.' It's not signed but it has that special sort of brevity he likes to think he's becoming familiar with.
It worries him a little - more than a little - but it's a public place, Stiles is fairly sure Derek won't do anything horrible to him in front of witnesses.
****
The diner in town is actually very nice. Though it looks like the sort of place that wouldn't serve werewolves, if it knew about them. It's half full, and brightly lit and so very public that the idea of meeting Derek here briefly makes Stiles panic - though he's not entirely sure why. There's nothing trying to kill them at the moment. Derek isn't currently wanted for arrest, or even as a person of interest, and it's not like he screams 'werewolf' on sight - well, ok, he does but only if you already know that werewolves exist. There's no reason for Stiles to be hovering nervously in the doorway, or worrying about how they're going to get out of here if anything savage and terrible happens.
Derek's already there, looking horribly out of place, and a little uncomfortable where he's tucked into one of the red leather seats.
Stiles figures he can get the apologies over with straight away. He's already talking when he slides in opposite him.
"Look, I know I got very drunk last night, and if at any point I threw up on you I would like to apologise, and possibly offer to buy you new shoes. I don't remember a lot about what happened, but I know that I definitely owe you an apology for something I said, or did, and maybe a thank you, since I'm pretty sure you got me home after my memory becomes a giant chasm of un-helpfulness. And, really, I appreciate what I'm assuming is the reason you chose somewhere public. So I'd be reassured that you weren't going to murder me, which I'm very grateful for. Because I like to think we've passed the whole terrible bodily harm part of our friendship - not that we're friends, unless you want us to be. We could be friends - and now you're glaring like you're offended that I think we're not friends. Dude, we're friends."
Stiles is saved from his own terrifying verbal landslide when a waitress places two milkshakes on the table, sliding one over to Stiles and one to Derek, and Derek gets a smile with his milkshake that - honestly, she might as well just pour herself into his lap while she's at it.
Derek's not looking at her though. He's staring at Stiles over his own tall, white glass, like he's waiting for something. Stiles stares at the milkshake that's been placed in front of him. The straw is tilted at a jaunty angle. This is all very strange.
"Er...thanks?" Stiles makes it sound like a question, which is probably rude. When someone buys you a milkshake you probably shouldn't immediately jump to suspicious and worried conclusions. But it's Derek. He feels like suspicious and worried conclusions have been serving him really well so far. Derek's still staring at him, it's not a scary look but it is sort of intense, and Stiles thinks he's supposed to be doing something. He drags the glass closer, listens to it grate its way across the table, and shoves the straw in his mouth.
It's a really good milkshake. It's thick and rich and Stiles thinks there are actual bananas in it, rather than just flavouring and ice cream. And it's kind of weird that Derek even knows he likes banana milkshakes. But, hey, there are creepier things Derek has found out about through his own nefarious, lurky means.
Derek isn't actually drinking his own though, and Stiles can't help the way the straw slips from his mouth, leaving it half open, and sticky-wet.
"Oh my god, did you do something to it?"
Derek's eyebrows curve down in offence.
"No."
"No, I mean of course you didn't that would be - that would be -" Stiles shoves the straw back in his mouth, bends it sideways and tries to look like he's too busy drinking it to form any more words. But there's only so long you can pretend you're drinking a milkshake for. He lets the straw slip free again. "Hey, you weren't drinking yours. You can't blame me for being suspicious."
Stiles watches Derek scowl and open his mouth round his own straw, cheeks hollowing out, and it's kind of amazing how Derek can make drinking a milkshake look sexy and oddly threatening at the same time. If he could teach people how to do that he'd probably make millions. It's pretty damn distracting so Stiles forces himself to stop watching it.
"You didn't say why you wanted me here, not like you ever do because you're - kind of rude. I haven't found out anything new lately, but if there's something going on that Scott should know about I can be all over that. I told you I was willing to help, all you have to do is ask. You don't have to threaten me or slam me into things, and I understand that's a new thing for you, reining in your need to bruise people in terrible ways."
"I don't need to hurt people," Derek says quietly, he sounds genuinely upset by the suggestion.
"You're a work in progress," Stiles tells him. Because he totally is.
Derek glares, it's sharp but it doesn't stay long, Stiles can actually see him forcing his face into a more neutral expression. And then Derek's staring at his milkshake like he blames it for everything.
"Is this reconnaissance?" Stiles drops his voice and chances a stealthy look around. "Is there supernatural evil afoot here or something?"
Derek looks up from where he's been stabbing his milkshake in a confused sort of way.
"What?"
"This." Stiles gestures to the whole place, and its stylish, clean plastic and metal décor and cheerful customers. It's really not their usual sort of scene, but it would only make sense to try and blend in if they have to be here. "Are we here for some sort of - are we on a stake-out?" Because, yeah, that's kind of exciting. It's kind of exciting to be taken on a stake-out with Derek. The ones with Scott tend to suck.
"We're not here on a stake-out, and I wouldn't have asked you here if it was - would you stop looking around, you're not subtle, you look like an idiot."
Stiles can feel his mouth twisting into something offended. Derek sighs and leans his hands on the table, he looks like he's trying to be reassuring. It's not working, it's not working at all. Derek's face clearly doesn't like it.
"Nothing's going to happen, would you just relax."
Oh - and now Stiles is expecting the worse. Derek's being almost-nice to him, which means something horrible is probably going to happen. He'll be lucky if he gets to finish his milkshake.
"Ok, now I'm officially unnerved. This is very ordinary and non-threatening and I'm not used to that happening when you're around, no offence. Usually at least one person is either horribly dying, or in danger of dying in the future, or cursed, or being haunted by evil dead werewolves - or you want me to look something up, or something. Did you want me to look something up?"
Derek's fingers straighten out on the table.
"No, I don't want you to look anything up, and stop panicking, there's nothing happening. Just drink your milkshake."
Stiles doesn't though, he plays with the straw some more and frowns in thought. Because if this isn't a condolence milkshake for an impending awful thing, then it's something else, right?
"Scott told you I liked milkshakes, right? You're, what, socialising with all of us then? Taking us out in a friendly way where no one is in mortal peril so you can assess our strengths and weaknesses, and we can get used to not freaking out and expecting to be attacked every time you show up?" Stiles can kind of understand that. Derek only ever shows up when something horrible's happening and it's not like a social life will hurt him. Is Stiles some sort of test run at interacting with normal people and having a social life? He should probably be annoyed but he's actually weirdly flattered. He's flattered that Derek chose him to practice being normal on. Like he doesn't care if Stiles laughs at him and corrects him if he does something stupid. That seems kind of...huge.
"No," Derek says simply, and then doesn't seem willing to offer anything else. Derek is so much work, seriously.
Stiles pulls his straw out and licks it clean, and Derek gives him a look like maybe he's weird for doing that in public. It's kind of obvious from the way Derek's still poking at his that he hasn't had a milkshake in a while - Stiles is guessing probably not since his feet didn't touch the floor in here. Which is both hilarious and kind of sad at the same time. Because maybe Derek came here with his parents, and Stiles still doesn't quite get it but he figures he can go ten minutes without poking at it, and maybe making this whole thing even more strange and awkward than it already is.
"So, you got the vanilla," Stiles says, because he can't think of anything else. "Is it good?"
Derek slides his glass across the table and - Stiles is presented with the end of the straw that's been in Derek's mouth and that's - he probably shouldn't be as focused on that as he is. But it's been in Derek's mouth, and it would be really freakin' awkward to not try it now Derek's offered it over. Stiles leans over and wraps his own lips around it, and tries to look like he's having an opinion on what it tastes like. Because this is clearly an alternate universe where they can just sit around drinking milkshakes in a way that people who weren't raised by wolves would probably consider kind of flirty.
The straw slips out of his mouth, and he has to stop himself from chasing it with his tongue, which he would absolutely do if it was his own drink.
"Yeah, it's good," he says, in what is an embarrassingly rough tone of voice. He watches Derek pull it back like he doesn't care that Stiles had his mouth all over it too. Which he thinks maybe he's obsessing over a little too much. But the incredibly awkward crush he has on Derek is really hard to ignore when he does shit like that.
Stiles's own straw is kind of bent, and a little bit chewed, and there's no way he's going to offer, because that will end in rejection and awkwardness. Or worse, Derek's mouth all over his drink as well - and holy shit, he's officially a twelve year old girl and he needs to stop.
Derek looks kind of put out, and Stiles isn't even sure what to do with that.
"This place isn't really you - umm, no offense - it's sort of cheerful and bright and full of people and not sinister and threatening at all." Stiles is aware of how that sounds but Derek doesn't seem to be taking it badly. "So if we're not looking for something and we're not like - what are we doing here?"
"The milkshakes were supposed to be good," Derek says slowly. "I was told they were good." That isn't really an answer to anything.
"They are," Stiles agrees cautiously, because it's true. They're really good.
Derek's silent again, but there's a tension to his face, hands restless on the table, like he's trying to think of something to say. It looks like it hurts. Derek is actually attempting to make unnecessary words with the intention of being involved in a conversation. Stiles isn't sure whether to keep staring like it's a wildlife documentary, or help the guy out. But if Derek wants to have a conversation, then they'll have a conversation.
Stiles tentatively asks questions, until he finds something Derek has an opinion on, and gradually nudges that opinion into a conversation, at least until Derek realises that one word answers don't count. Then Stiles does it again, until Derek is actually talking. It's awkward, stilted and sometimes Stiles gets the feeling he's veering Derek way too close to stuff he doesn't want to remember, or talk about. But it's - it's not a disaster.
Derek finishes his milkshake - there's an awful lot of stabbing involved, which proves Derek is a novice in the ways of milkshakes. But now not so much in the ways of conversation.
"I have to meet Scott at seven thirty," Stiles says when he checks the time. "This was - " he has no idea what this was. He honestly doesn't. "It was good," he decides on, because that's the truth at least.
Derek pays and that's still kind of surprising, because, yes, sometimes Stiles forgets that Derek is a real person with ID and money and stuff and he wasn't literally raised by wolves in the forest.
Then they're both outside, and it's dark, and kind of cold and Stiles is standing there with his hands pushed into his pockets and everything is still a little weird, and Derek's staring at him in a way that's less creepy and threatening than usual. Stiles isn't sure if he's allowed to tell anyone about this. Or if he's supposed to pretend it didn't happen.
"So, thanks for the milkshake, and I guess I'll see you, at some point, in the future?" Stiles has no idea what he's saying, because clearly he will, probably in the woods. He may be running from something at the time.
Derek nods, and then gives him the oddest look, like Stiles has done something strange and unexpected and Derek doesn't know what to do with it. Stiles isn't sure whether that's a good thing or not.
Then Derek's gone, and Stiles is frowning at the Jeep because he still has no idea what that was. He has no idea why Derek would take him to a diner and buy him milkshake and talk about nothing at all, and deny that it was some sort of weird, social experiement, and not even attempt to ferret information about Scott out of him. It makes no sense at all. It makes no sense unless -
Oh my God
...
..
.
Stiles is not absolutely certain - but he thinks he just went on a date with Derek Hale.