Work Text:
Derek is hopeless when it comes to cars. After fifteen wasted minutes trying unsuccessfully to start the Camaro, he is finally resigned to his fate. Laura happens to be out of town this week, so she’s not around to make fun of his various failed (and probably stupid; he may have broken some bendy bit part or another under the hood) attempts to fix the car, but this also means that he is stranded in their little suburban house without any help, not even a ride to work this morning. He is going to have to resort to public transportation.
He is doomed.
(He’s never ridden on a bus, at least not in recent memory. He’s lived a sheltered, boring life, so sue him.)
(Also he hates crowds. And people in general.)
-
The driver of the bus Derek has barely managed to push his way onto definitely has crazy-eyes. He is also muttering something which sounds like a motivational speech under his breath. This is not reassuring for Derek’s first ever bus-riding adventure, at all.
It’s rather crowded on the bus, it being the morning rush and all. After some pushing and shoving and none-too-gentle maneuvering, Derek finds himself pressed between some guy in a red hoodie and a handrail. Great. Well, at least the handrail looks sturdy enough. It’s probably covered in unspeakably disgusting things though. Maybe he shouldn’t hold onto it after all.
Before Derek can make up his mind about the handrail, the bus doors slam shut and the bus jerks into motion with a violent shudder. Derek’s hip knocks painfully into the handrail as a result. He curses under his breath and tries to push himself upright with a hand on the railing, but the bus swerves suddenly to the right and then lurches forward, throwing Derek off balance again. He ends up barreling straight into the lanky guy next to him; his shoulder is shoved into the guy’s sternum, and he gets a sharp elbow in the gut in return. Derek grunts and had to strain his neck to avoid smashing his nose into Red Hoodie Guy’s neck.
He should have walked.
(The guy smells good, at least. Really good.)
“Oof!” Red Hoodie says upon impact. “Ouch. Oh wow, man, you’re like a ton of bricks. Oww. I’m gonna get a nice bruise out of this.” He looks down at Derek as he tries to help him right himself, and pauses with a hand on Derek’s chest and eyes fixed on Derek’s face. “Hello. Haven’t seen you around before. And dude what are you hiding under that boring black suit? Abs of adamantium?” He pats Derek on the chest with an easy grin, and then just leaves his palm on Derek’s person.
Derek is too busy trying to get some leverage against the guy’s (surprisingly broad) shoulders to do more than throw him and the offending hand a warning glare, which just made the guy’s grin widen, but after a beat, he does take his hand off with a placating gesture. Derek regains his footing for all of two seconds, during which he idly catalogues the texture of the red hoodie (soft, worn, warm), the guy’s height (nearly the same as him), build (lean but toned), and face (pretty eyes, cute nose, that mouth), before the bus twists into a seemingly physics-defying swivel and Derek finds himself plastered against the guy from head to toe in a full frontal body slam.
Even crawling the whole way to work would have been better than this indignity.
“Hello again.” Red Hoodie says good-naturedly, if a bit breathless from just having the wind knocked out of him by Derek’s full body weight.
Derek just grunts and squirms to push away, but the bus seems to be pivoting along the street weaving wild “S” shapes between other cars (how is that even possible in the morning traffic, Derek would like to know) and he can barely stay on his feet.
“Well, you are obviously new to Bob’s epic bus-driving skills. I think you should stop struggling, you’re only making it worse, man.” Red Hoodie looks utterly unfazed. This is downright humiliating.
Derek continues to scowl, but the potency of his Frowny Face of Doom (that’s all Laura) is probably halved by the flustered heat in his cheeks. He manages to find some semblance of equilibrium at last with his hands on Red Hoodie’s biceps (firm under the layers of clothing).
“Dude, aren’t you going to, like, say anything? Like, ever? Or do you just communicate in Eyebrows and Glares? And seeing as I am keeping you off your ass with my awesome, strapping body, the least you can do is to try to carry on an actual conversation to dispel all this awkwardness. Because I’m sorry, but I don’t really speak Eyebrows.”
“…Do you ever shut up?” Derek resists the urge to wrinkle his brow in disdain.
“Hark! He speaks! I’m Stiles, by the way.”
“…What kind of name is Stiles.”
“Nickname, of course! And that was an invitation for you to tell me your name, in case you haven’t figured it out. Or, I could call you Sourpuss like I have been in my head.”
“…Derek.” He bites out reluctantly, and throws in his most ferocious glare for good measure.
“Well hello, Derek of the Talking Eyebrows and Meaningful Pauses.”
“…”
“Yup. I stand corrected.”
They continue back and forth like this for the next fifteen minutes or so, griping at each other, almost managing a conversation between them mostly consisting of Stiles’s teasing and Derek’s indignant huffs and occasionally cutting comebacks, interspersed with Stiles rattling off amusing stories about his own experience on Bob’s Crazy Bus (Stiles’s words).
Derek keeps a vice grip on Stiles’s upper arm through all of the series of acrobatic moves the fanatical bus driver is trying to pull, and doesn’t think to let go even when they hit red lights. Stiles keeps a hand on him too, though he keeps fidgeting and moving his hand around (Derek’s not entirely certain, but he thinks Stiles may have been trying to feel up his ass at one point).
Stiles is very intelligent, Derek finds, and his conversation is rather fascinating if you can keep up with the way his rapid-fire thoughts change tracks every half a minute, which Derek can handle about sixty percent of the time. (The other forty percent is spent covertly staring at his mouth, or alternately, his hands.) They have built up a strange sort of rapport, and Derek is actually starting to enjoy himself, just a little, when Stiles suddenly starts backing away (when did they get so close?). Derek loosens his hold in surprise and Stiles smiles a bit apologetically as he steps toward the exit.
“Well, this is my stop! It was a pleasure being your personal handrail! I take this bus every morning, so maybe I’ll catch you another day? See ya, Derek.” With that, Stiles skips off the last step onto the pavement. He gives Derek a jaunty wave and a wink, and a shout of “Don’t forget to hold onto the handrail!”, then turns and disappears into the throngs of people rushing past.
Derek can only gape after him as the bus door slams shut again.
But… maybe buses aren’t as bad as he’d originally thought. Maybe.
-
(He quickly rethinks that last thought as the bus aggressively wobbles and jostles the rest of the way to his stop.)
(He ends up on his ass twice.)
-
(He takes the bus again the next day, anyway.)