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Derek is avoiding him.
Stiles is not an idiot. He notices these things. And at first he's a little hurt and confused, because he thought they were getting along. He thought they were working their way up to being friends. More than friends, actually. He thought...
Well, it was probably a stupid thought, anyway.
But then one night as he's lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, overthinking it (because that's what he does, he overthinks things)... he gets it.
Stiles is good at puzzles, you see. If he has all the pieces, fitting the seemingly haphazard shapes together is easy. He thinks he has all the pieces now, and it's amazing how quickly they click together to form a picture.
He’s out of bed and in the car and in front of the Hale house before he even really knows what he’s doing. But now that he’s here? Yeah… yeah, okay. He needs to do this.
Stiles bangs on the front door until Derek wrenches it open, looking sleep rumpled and… okay, clearly not a morning person. Granted, not many people are at this hour. “Stiles. Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?” he growls.
Actually growls. Stiles has to bite back at least three…no, four… four dog jokes as he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks appropriately sheepish. “Uh. Two-ish?”
“S’two forty-five, Stiles. S’practically three o’ clock in the fucking morning. This better be important. Someone better be dying.”
Okay, wow. Well now Stiles knows how Derek got to be so good looking – he sure does value his beauty sleep. “Uh. No, no one’s dying.” Derek starts to shut the door, and Stiles takes a step forward, wedging himself in through the gap between it and the doorframe before it can close. “It’s still important!” he insists, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it, so Derek knows he’s serious about this. He’s not leaving until he says what he wants to say.
Derek seems to recognize this. He takes a few steps back and groans, rubbing his face with his hands. When he drops them, he has the appearance of a man resigned to his fate. “Fine. What is it?”
And. Okay. Shit. Maybe Stiles should have prepared a speech before he barreled on over here. But Stiles is not so good with the elaborate plans. He’s more of the jump first, follow his instincts, and hope for the best kind of guy. So he opens his mouth and starts talking. How bad can it be, right?
“I know about Kate.” …Pretty bad, actually. Derek immediately freezes, tense all over, and Stiles has to take a deep breath before pressing on – because there’s really no turning back now, is there? “I know that you were… I know you had a thing with her. I know she tricked you. And I know that’s why… that’s part of why you’re avoiding me and I wanted to tell you that it’s fucking stupid.” Oh, okay, so the tactful part of the evening (morning, whatever) has… completely gone. Stiles resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. “That came out wrong. But it’s also true.”
“Stiles-“
“No, let me finish.” Stiles wets his lips, takes a breath, and presses on. “You have trust issues coming out of your ass, man, and that’s… it’s friggin’ understandable, considering all the shit that’s happened to you. I get that. But I’m not Kate. I’m not trying to pull the wool over your eyes so I can hurt the people you care about. You and me? We care about the same people. We want to protect the same people. We’re on the same team.
“I also know that if my math’s correct, you were underage when Kate met you. And I’m underage now. But you are also not Kate. I know you’ve done a really great job of convincing yourself that you’re not a nice guy, but… well, it’s bullshit. I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Stiles is hasty to assure Derek, “you’re an asshole. But underneath that crusty, assholey outer shell is a nice guy trying to do the right thing in a lot of really shitty situations.”
Derek mouths the word ‘crusty’, and looks offended. Stiles is going to count that as a win, because at least it means he’s listening.
“All I’m saying is… I’m not Kate. You’re not Kate. Kate is dead. Don’t…” He waves a hand, gesturing wildly. “Don’t give her the satisfaction of being able to control you even from the grave. Don’t let her dictate whether or not you get to be happy, get to trust people. Don’t let her win. And I’m not expecting anything,” Stiles is quick to make clear. “There’s no pressure, man, you don’t have to… you don’t have to give me the time of day, if you don’t want. Although I guess you kind of already did.” It wouldn’t be a Stiles speech if it didn’t come with awkward humor and nervous, giddy laughter. “It’s two forty-five, Stiles, rawr, and all that. But you get what I mean. If you don’t want to… do anything, that’s fine. But don’t let it be because of her. That’s it. That’s the speech. I’m done now. You can…” he waves a hand up the stairs, as he opens the door again. “You can go back to your beauty sleep, Princess Aurora. I’ll see you later.”
He’s halfway to the jeep and trying not to freak out about this whole thing when the door opens again and Derek calls after him – “Stiles!”
Stiles pauses and turns, waiting.
Derek looks… Derek looks scared shitless. But he’s still there. And he’s still saying – “Dinner. Friday night?”
Stiles manages to compress his happy dance into a tiny, pleased smirk instead. “Pick me up at eight.”
Success.