Chapter Text
They’re walking towards the exit that leads to the parking lot at a leisurely pace when Scott and Isaac’s heads snap up at the exact same moment.
Stiles’ stomach drops.
“What? What is it?”
There’s a hint of fear in his voice, but it’s not as if it’s unwarranted. Usually when Scott gets that look on his face it means that things are about to happen. Bad things. Things that Stiles would prefer being left out of.
Not that there’s much chance of that happening.
They don’t answer him. Stiles hovers nervously as they exchange a meaningful look, not even bothering to get irritated over it for once. Nonverbal communication is pretty commonplace nowadays, something that's been happening more and more often since Isaac moved into the McCalls’. Stiles is slowly accepting the fact that he’s not the only man in Scott’s life anymore.
The silence stretches between Scott and Isaac, and by default, Stiles, until Scott eventually nods, answering whatever question is being asked here, (but not aloud, no. It’s not like Stiles should or needs to know what’s happening or anything).
Isaac sighs in obvious distaste for Scott's decision, slumping for an instant before squaring his shoulders and quickly weaving his way through the halls.
“Derek’s here,” Scott finally says.
He starts to follow Isaac and Stiles watches him go, unsure whether he’s invited along or just supposed to stay put.
Scott turns back, eyebrow quirked in confusion. “You coming?”
Stiles nearly trips over his own feet in his enthusiasm to catch up.
-
They find Isaac outside, staring off into the distance with an odd expression. It’s almost like his face is trying to decide whether it’s irritated or amused.
Scott raises an eyebrow and Isaac lifts his chin to gesture at Derek, who is talking to—
“Dude, why is Derek talking to Ms. Blake?” Stiles asks, confused. “And why is he smiling? Derek doesn’t smile, does he? Guys? That’s not actually Derek, is it.”
It’s all coming together now. They’ve brought him along to help discover whoever, whatever, the impostor is.
“What is it? A shapeshifter? A robot?” Stiles jumps on his toes a little bit to get a better look, knowing he probably shouldn’t feel so giddy at the prospect of his self-proclaimed arch-nemesis being body snatched.
Isaac rolls his eyes but smiles, amusement briefly winning out. “Oh, that’s definitely Derek,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “I think they’re... flirting?”
“Ooh. Right,” Stiles says, nodding like he understands even though he really doesn’t.
He gets the concept of flirting; he just doesn’t really get the concept of Derek flirting. Well, there was that time with that lady cop, but that had been a means to an end, not for realsies.
They watch as Derek gives Ms. Blake a parting smile (which is still weird), and walks toward them, all traces of good humor fading as he draws closer. By the time he reaches them, his usual closed-off expression is in its rightful place and the world is back in balance.
There’s an awkward minute where Isaac is glaring at Derek and Scott is clenching his uneven jaw at Derek while Derek just stands there, all stiff and clearly out of his comfort zone, saying nothing. It’s kind of like a weird little Mexican standoff. Except without the guns.
Naturally, it’s up to Stiles to break the tension.
He goes with, “So, what’s the sitch?”
Derek gives him a strange look. “I wasn’t aware there was a ‘sitch,’ Kimmy.”
Stiles grins a little, delighted that Derek had caught the reference.
“Then why are you here?” Scott asks before Stiles has a chance to talk shit about Derek watching cartoons.
“Just…checking in,” Derek says uncomfortably. His eyes land on Isaac. “Making sure you’re okay.”
“If there’s no sitch—” Isaac catches himself and gives Stiles a look, like, goddammit, Stiles, look what you’ve started, “—situation, then we’re leaving.” He grabs Scott’s arm and hauls him towards Mrs. McCall’s little hoopty, leaving Stiles and Derek staring after them.
Again, Stiles is the one to speak first.
“So.” He nods at Derek. “‘Sup.”
Derek looks at him reluctantly, his expression saying something like, ‘why did they leave me here with you; I am extremely irritated that there are witnesses around because if there weren’t, I would most definitely strangle you.’
Stiles lets out a nervous laugh.
Fortunately, Ms. Blake chooses that moment to interrupt. “Hey, Stiles. I just finished reading your essay,” she says, smiling.
Stiles grins back. “Did you like it? Was it the best?”
Ms. Blake hums, considering. “Close second. Ms. Martin’s was just a bit more—”
Stiles groans. “Say no more. Really. I got it.” He has no hope of being first in anything as long as Lydia is breathing. If he didn’t like her so darn much, he’d consider offing her just to even out the playing field.
...Actually.
“Yours was by far the most entertaining,” Ms. Blake hurries to assure him. “It was very…interesting,” she says with a suppressed smile.
Derek snorts loudly.
Stiles ignores him and shrugs. “That’s what I was going for.”
“You did a good job,” Ms. Blake tells him, and Stiles beams, feeling simultaneously smug and embarrassed.
He’s not used to his teachers complimenting him. They usually just yell at him a lot and/or send him out into the hall where, in most cases, he has a special, little chair reserved just for him. Good times.
They chat for a minute about an upcoming test until someone else calls her attention. Ms. Blake offers a farewell, her smile briefly turning shy as she says her goodbyes to Derek.
Stiles looks between them, at Blake glancing over her shoulder and Derek obviously trying not to watch her as she walks away.
“So,” Stiles says again.
Derek raises his eyebrows.
Stiles rolls his eyes. Just because Derek’s weirdly expressive eyebrows can convey questions as well—maybe even better—than him actually using his words and saying, ‘What?’ can, doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t have to engage in conversation like a normal person, too.
“What’s that all about?” Stiles nods towards Ms. Blake’s retreating form.
“That? That’s nothing.” Derek ducks his head, a light flush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“Right,” Stiles says, ignoring the unfamiliar pang that goes through his gut. “Well, wrap it up, big guy,” he says brightly. “We don’t need any more of your were-spawn running around these parts.” Derek’s brows furrow at him, undoubtedly expressing his disapproval at Stiles’ word choice. “Were-children? Were-babies? Whelps? Cubs? Puppies?”
Derek glares at him and Stiles grins because this, this is normal. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. Catch ya later, Hale.” Stiles claps him on the chest and stumble-runs over to his baby before Derek can kill him.
—
Stiles stops by Lydia’s to bum some Calculus notes off of her and nearly collides with some douche-y looking guy leaving her room. Apparently he was too busy putting on his driving gloves to watch where he was going, so. That’s great.
Stiles pauses just outside, knocking lightly.
Lydia sounds utterly disinterested when she says, “Did you forget something,” not even making an attempt to open the door.
Stiles smirks. At least it didn’t look like Driving Gloves was shaping up to be the next Jackson or anything serious like that.
“Well?” Lydia asks, a touch of impatience creeping into her tone.
“Uhm... No,” Stiles says, “No, I did not.”
There’s a brief pause. “Who is it?”
“It’s Stiles.” Silence. “Uh, Stilinski? Stiles Stilinski from school. I took you to a dance once? Remember?” He laughs awkwardly. “What am I saying, of course you remember; you got bitten by a werewolf and nearly died.” He hears Lydia make an exasperated sound. “Probably wasn’t the best date you’ve ever had, but at least it was memorable, right.”
“It’s open, Stiles,” she sighs.
Lydia is straightening up in the mirror. She gives him a perfunctory smile and goes back to fixing her hair. Stiles shuts the door behind him and approaches with caution, glancing around the room as he goes. His eyes stop on a leather jacket thrown carelessly over one of the bed posts.
He picks it up and studies it, nose wrinkling at the wave of cologne that attacks his senses, strong enough to make his eyes water. He hastily puts it back.
“If you’re looking for casual, I could. Do that. Y’know. Casual,” he tells her. He leans against the bed frame, hands carelessly shoved in his pockets, practically exuding casualness.
Lydia raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him in the mirror. “We only just became friends, Stiles. Do you really want to ruin it for something as frivolous as sex?”
Stiles nods immediately, enthusiastically, because hell yeah, he does. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way about her as he used to, he’s not a complete idiot; he’s still attracted to her.
Lydia doesn’t look surprised. Maybe a little pleased and even more disappointed, but not surprised. “Well, I don’t.”
Stiles' gaze drops, and wow, his shoes are dirty. There’s a large smudge that looks suspiciously like blood that makes him think he should probably wash his shoes. Or burn them. Yeah, he should probably just cut his losses and burn them.
Lydia grabs him by the chin and gives him a stern look. “It’s not because I don’t like you, Stiles. Because I do,” she says firmly. “Any idiot with eyes can see that you’re a catch. We’re not having sex because I like you too much to ruin what we have by letting you think that it could ever be more than that.”
It sucks a little, a lot maybe, but not as much as it would have a year ago and he appreciates the honesty, even if it’s not necessarily what he’d hoped to hear.
He swallows past the lump in his throat and gives her a self-deprecating smile. “What is your definition of an eye? I have a feeling we’re thinking of two very different things. See, ‘cause I happen to know lots of people with what I have—up to this point—believed to be eyes, and not-a-one has seen what a catch I am.”
Lydia tries not to laugh. “You’ll find someone better, Stilinski.”
“Probably not better,” Stiles disagrees drily.
Lydia’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Probably not. But someone.”
—
Stiles gets bored easily. It’s a known fact. And left to his own devices, he can get into some pretty serious trouble. Which is why he tries to not be alone as much as possible.
He calls around, looking for something to do. Scott’s his first choice—naturally; that’s his best buddy, homie numero uno—but Scott has, for some reason, decided that he wants to be responsible all of the sudden, and is hitting the books with Isaac. Scott only gets about half of his invitation to join them out before Stiles ends the call in disgust. He wants no part of it. It’s the weekend and there’s no big test coming up; he’s not going to spend his free time studying, of all things.
He tries Lydia next. They’ve been hanging out a lot because if Scott is allowed to have a second best friend then Stiles is, too. He was sort of counting on her to be his savior, except she tells him that she’s hanging out with Allison and that he isn’t invited because they’re having ‘girl time’ (which is a dirty fucking lie because he can hear Boyd in the background) and promptly hangs up on him.
Stiles sighs down at his phone, questioning his life choices, or at the very least his taste in friends.
Somehow, and he’s not ruling out possession, he ends up at Derek’s door with some movies and takeout.
He doesn’t knock because it’s pointless, Derek would have heard him pulling up anyway.
Well, maybe it’s not so much that it’s pointless as it is that he’s a chicken shit and is considering just heading home and enjoying his movies and takeout all by his lonesome.
He’s nodding to himself that, yeah, he should definitely just go, but it’s too late because the door is swinging open and a blank-faced Derek is standing in front of him.
“Heeey, buddy, I was just in the neighborhood— and holyshit, you’re sweaty; what were you doing?”
Derek’s face shifts for a second, amusement curling his lip. It’s gone faster than Stiles can blink, but he knows he didn’t imagine it. His imagination is great and all, but not anywhere near good enough to imagine Derek 'Misery is probably my middle name' Hale smiling at him.
“What do you need, Stiles.” It’s not a question, really, but Stiles answers anyhow.
“Nothing, nothing. I just thought I’d pop in, check in on my favorite, broody werewolf, see how you were doing and all that.”
Derek regards him suspiciously, clearly not buying what Stiles is selling.
Stiles drops the act. “Okay, so obviously this is weird for both of us, but I’m bored as shit and I thought maybe since you don’t have a life and I, currently, just for today, don’t have a life—”
Derek exhales loudly through his nose. “I have a life, Stiles.”
Stiles let's out a high-pitched hum, “Well, that's debatable,” Derek crosses his arms. “But before you tell me to get lost so you can get back to your sad night of brooding alone in the dark; you should know that I brought entertainment.” Stiles holds up the movies proudly, waving them in Derek’s face.
Derek spares a disinterested glance in their general direction before focusing on the bag in Stiles’ hand.
Stiles holds it up and jiggles it, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, and sustenance.”
Derek’s nostrils flare subtly. “Is that from Mr. Lu’s?”
Stiles grins and shoulders his way into Derek’s house.
-
Ten minutes later, they’re sitting on the floor of Derek’s living room with their backs to his shitty couch and containers of food surrounding them, watching Thor.
Stiles watches Jane Foster take the name-tag off her ex-boyfriend’s shirt with a smile. “It’s funny because Donald Blake was Thor’s alter ego in the comics,” he tells Derek.
Derek grunts, stirring his lo mein with his chopsticks. “I know.”
“You do?” Stiles asks, voice colored with disbelief. “You read comic books? You?”
Derek bristles at the skepticism in his tone, and then shrugs, deflated. “Laura did.” He goes quiet for a minute, and Stiles is prepared to leave it at that, but then he speaks again. “She dragged me to the movies as often as possible and wouldn’t shut up about the comics. I know all about this shit thanks to her.” Derek’s tone is stuck between irritated and fond, but his expression is almost soft as he talks about his sister.
His sister who is dead and whose body Stiles and Scott dug up for basically shits and giggles. His sister whose death Derek was arrested for mostly because of Stiles.
“About that,” Stiles starts, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m—”
Derek cuts him off before he can launch into what is sure to be a long and heartfelt apology. “Don’t,” he says, tone short but not harsh, like he’s heading off a conversation he’s not ready to have. “Not like you knew any better.”
Stiles somehow knows Derek means that he understands Stiles can’t help being such a nosy shit and throwing himself into other people’s business, and that Laura’s untimely demise was Peter’s fault anyway. He still kinda feels responsible for putting Derek through all that unnecessary trouble and making him a person of interest and shit, but he feels better knowing Derek doesn’t actually hate him for it.
“Well, she sounds awesome anyway,” Stiles says.
Derek snorts. “Yeah, she certainly thought so.”
They finish off the food in almost comfortable silence. Once Thor ends, Derek puts on Willow, which has been scientifically proven to be one of the best movies in the history of ever.
“My mom loved this movie,” Stiles says. “Used to say I had a crush on Madmartigan,” he remembers with a laugh.
Derek’s lip twitches. “Did you?”
“Hell yeah, dude. He’s freaking sexy in that dress,” Stiles says, waggling his eyebrows. Derek snorts. “You disagree?”
“Nah, he pulls it off pretty well,” Derek says easily, and wow, okay, that’s the closest thing Stiles has ever gotten to a decent response from him.
Stiles laughs and digs through the near-empty takeout bag, fishing out two fortune cookies. He tosses one to Derek and tears the other open.
It’s time for you to explore new interests.
What the hell does that mean?
He looks at Derek, who is staring at his own fortune, ears bright pink. Stiles’ eyes narrow. “What does yours say?”
Derek hastily shoves his fortune into his pocket and gives Stiles an unconvincing shrug. “Nothing.”
Stiles slumps against the couch at his back and crosses his arms, his natural stubbornness bubbling toward the surface. “I’m gonna find out, just you watch.”
Derek smirks at him like he seriously doubts it, but Stiles is resolute. He will find out what that fortune said if it kills him. But hopefully it doesn’t come to that because Stiles is rather fond of living.
-
“I watched this with my mom when I was a kid,” Derek admits a while later. “My dad got mad and threw the tape out.”
“Why?” Stiles asks, baffled.
“Probably because I was five and I wouldn’t stop calling him a peck.”
Stiles laughs. “Bet he loved that.”
Derek’s mouth curves down like he’s suppressing a smile. “My mom thought it was funny,” he says. “She just went out and bought another one.”
“Your poor father,” Stiles says with a grin.
Derek snorts. “He got over it eventually.”
“They sound great,” Stiles says, tentative. “Your family.” He almost says he wished he could’ve met them, but manages to stop himself before he fucks up this quiet, strange peace between them.
Derek’s gaze meets his, less guarded than Stiles is used to. “Yeah. They were.”
They go back to watching the movie, the silence a bit heavier than it had been before. Stiles thinks about his own mother and wonders how Derek copes with losing so much.
-
Stiles stretches, checking the time on his phone. They’ve just finished the last movie and it’s well past midnight. He’s lucky that his dad’s working a double, otherwise he would’ve been blowing up his phone hours ago.
“Dude, I can’t believe you’d never seen Stargate before,” Stiles says judgmentally. “It’s amazing.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Derek says, voice intentionally flat.
Stiles smirks. He totally loved it.
“I’m just happy I watched it with you this time. I tried watching it with Lydia once and she started talking about theorems and wormholes and science.” Stiles shudders. “It was pretty bad. I had to get out of there. I mean, I’m smart, but I’m not, like, Lydia smart.” Derek snorts, and starts stacking the empty food containers.
“She terrifies me,” Stiles admits, grabbing the takeout bag and picking up the napkins and trash. He’s mostly afraid that she’ll take over the world while he’s sleeping and he’ll be forced to bring her coffee five times a day and, like, dress properly. She’s already tried to give him a makeover. Twice. In the last week.
“I can see that,” Derek says.
Stiles’ mouth falls open in surprise. “You can?”
Derek gives him a dry look. “She drugged and kidnapped me and then used me to bring my dead uncle back to life. It would be idiotic if I wasn’t a little…wary of her.”
“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says, laughing sheepishly. He’d nearly forgotten about the part that Lydia played in Peter’s resurrection. And eventual demise. Again. Because he had died multiple times.
Yeah.
He grasps at a less awkward topic, like something that doesn’t involve the death of Derek’s second to last remaining family member. “Have you seen, uhhh—” he draws it out, trying to think of a movie he likes, “—Due Date?”
“No.”
Stiles holds a hand over his heart as if Derek’s response had physically hurt him. “Oh. Mygod. How have you— What, are you living under a rock?” Derek cocks an eyebrow at him and Stiles backtracks. “Well, I mean obviously you’re not living under a rock, but you have to see it. It’s hilarious.” Derek gives him an unimpressed look and starts to get to his feet.
“Maybe I can bring it next time,” Stiles offers casually.
Derek freezes, halfway off the ground. “What makes you think there’s gonna be a next time?”
Good question.
“I’ll bring food?” he offers.
Derek stares at him for a long moment before saying, “No burgers unless you get them from the diner on 8th,” and Stiles grins because that’s definitely not a ‘no’.
Derek rolls his eyes and stands up, a slip of paper falling from his pocket, unnoticed. Stiles waits until he leaves to dump the trash—grumbling under his breath the entire way—to pick it up.
Unwind and enjoy a frisky romance.
He stares at the fortune for a moment in disbelief before cracking up. He starts choking almost immediately, because it’s Stiles, of course he can’t even laugh right, and Derek comes to investigate.
“What’s—?” Stiles waves the piece of paper at him, wheezing. “That was private,” Derek growls, ears flushing again.
“Finders keepers,” Stiles sing-songs. Derek looms over him and makes a grab for the paper, but Stiles holds it out of his reach. “No, you can’t have it! I’m keeping this for memories!”
Derek grabs his wrist and pries it from his hand with a fanged smile. He leans in and growls, “Mine,” low and threatening.
His grip is hot, and Stiles swears he can feel the warmth spreading from the hand on his wrist to his face. Stiles’ heart thumps unevenly in his chest. No, stop that, what are you doing? he thinks at it frantically. You only do that for—
Lydia.
It’s time for you to explore new interests.
Stiles looks into Derek’s beautiful, confused eyes (beautiful? what the hell) and swallows loudly.
Oh, dear God, no.