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Derek really hated pixies.
Nevermind the fact that they were pesky little assholes with wings that were prone to wreaking havoc on electrical systems for shits and giggles.
Nevermind the fact that they were notorious for interfering with werewolf rituals and traditions and hexing werewolf territories.
Never mind the fact that when he was four years old one had bitten off the tip of his ear while he’d been practicing his shift.
All that could be forgotten, could be overlooked. But why he really hated pixies was because they’d hurt Stiles .
The pack had been wandering through the preserve in search of the pixies’ grove, bearing gifts of ribbons in an array of colors to bribe them into leaving. Their affinity for ribbons was a helpful tidbit of information Stiles had found during one of his late night Wikipedia binges.
And while the pixies had fawned over the bright swaths of silk ribbon the pack had brought, they had still swarmed around Stiles like a school of bloodthirsty piranhas, viciously nipping and clawing at him because if there was one thing that pixies hated more than werewolves it was humans: a fact Derek had unfortunately forgotten and one that Peter had deemed unnecessary to mention.
Derek really hated Peter too.
Fortunately, he’d managed to scare the frenzied little shark-mouthed bastards away with a loud, furious snarl, chucking a pool of ribbon as far as he could in order to distract them for a bit.
Stiles had assured him that he was fine, insisting on staying to finish negotiations with the pixies, despite the fact that all his clothes were shredded and he was covered in various bites and scratches, the sharp coppery scent of his blood filling the air.
After giving the pixies the rest of the ribbons once they’d agreed to leave Hale territory and never return, Derek had quickly led Stiles to the Camaro, barely resisting the urge to carry him, leaving the betas to walk home through the woods.
He was sure he’d get an earful from Erica later but he had more important things to worry about, namely getting Stiles patched up.
Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes as Derek shuffled him into the Camaro and fussed over mopping up the blood on his cheek with some napkins from the glove box, bandaging as much as he could with the first aid kit he kept tucked under the passenger seat.
Stiles finally smacked his hands away and emphatically pointed at the steering wheel, fed up with Derek’s coddling. Derek relented and complied, turning the key in the ignition and driving out of the preserve towards town.
Stiles found himself growing extremely tired on the drive home, the smooth rumble of the engine and the soft leather of the passenger seat lulling him to sleep. He woke up in Derek’s arms as he was lifted from the passenger seat and carried to the front door, smiling softly up at Derek as he laid his head on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he mumbled, lifting a hand to run through Derek’s soft hair. Derek looked down at him, returning the soft smile with a bright grin as he unlocked the front door.
“Hey,” Derek echoed, carrying him inside and kicking the door shut behind him. He climbed the stairs to Stiles’ room, setting him down on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Stiles answered, stifling a yawn. He looked down at his shirt, finding it and his flannel completely unsalvageable, full of ragged holes and smudges of blood. He pouted and grumbled, “I really liked this shirt.”
Derek breathed a laugh and combed a hand through his hair. Stiles sent him a halfhearted glare and shrugged out of his ruined flannel, tossing it in the general direction of his trash can.
Derek kneeled down to help Stiles out of his torn t-shirt, pressing kisses over the bite marks on his chest and abdomen as he tugged it off his arms, rising to catch Stiles’ lips in chaste kiss once he was rid of the shirt. Stiles smiled into the kiss, looping his arms around Derek’s neck to tug him closer.
“You wanna take a shower?” Derek wondered aloud, pulling out of the kiss, running his thumb over a patch of dried blood on Stiles’ belly.
“Nah,” Stiles declined, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head. “I just wanna go to bed. Could you grab me a shirt?”
Derek slipped away from Stiles’ arms and went to the dresser, pulling a baggy white t-shirt out of one of the drawers, handing it to Stiles who quickly slipped it on as he kicked his sneakers off.
“Aww, man. Those little bastards ruined my jeans too,” Stiles whined, noticing the large rips in the denim as he stood to shimmy out of his pants. Derek handed him a pair of pajama pants and took the jeans from Stiles’ hand, examining them to see the extent of the damage. They were unsalvageable too.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he offered as he dropped them into the trash can.
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Stiles dismissed as he crawled across his bed to climb under the covers. “They were an old pair anyway.”
“Okay. Uh, I guess I’ll see you later,” Derek said awkwardly, starting for the door. “Goodnight.”
“Derek, wait,” Stiles blurted. Derek turned, eyebrows raised in silent question, his hand resting on the doorknob. Stiles very quietly whispered, “Stay the night. Please.”
“Are you sure?” Derek inquired, eyebrows furrowing even as he dropped his hand to his side. Stiles simply nodded, looking at Derek almost pleadingly.
Derek toed off his boots and shucked his leather jacket, laying it over the back of Stiles’ desk chair. He hurriedly undid his belt and dropped his hands before slipping into bed besides Stiles, immediately wrapping an arm around his waist.
Stiles shuffled closer to rest his cheek on Derek’s shoulder, sighing contentedly as he threw his arm around Derek’s chest, absently tracing his thumb over his bicep. “Mmm… That’s better.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea? What if your dad sees me in bed with you?” Derek asked, well aware of the Sheriff’s habit of checking Stiles’ room when he got off work, making sure his son was safe and asleep. Derek couldn’t imagine him being too pleased to find his son’s boyfriend in bed with him.
“My dad knows we’re dating, babe,” Stiles murmured as though that solved everything. After a moment he continued, “Besides, he likes you. He won’t shoot you or anything. I don’t think.”
Derek swallowed heavily. He lightly pinched Stiles’ side in reprimand.
“Hey!” Stiles yelped, jumping. He rubbed at his side with another pout. “Geez, dude, I was just kidding. My dad won’t care, I promise. He knows we’ve slept together before.”
“Oh god, he really is gonna shoot me,” Derek groaned.
“Not like that! ” Stiles hastily amended. “I just mean he knows we’ve slept in the same bed together! He’s not gonna shoot you, Derek.”
“Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” Derek conceded, rubbing the spot he’d pinched in apology. “Now get some sleep, okay?”
“Mmm. Wanna cuddle some more, first,” Stiles protested, tightening his grip on his boyfriend. “Love you, Der.”
Derek smiled and laid a kiss on the top of Stiles’ head, holding him tighter.
Yeah, he really hated pixies. But he really loved Stiles too.