Work Text:
The first warning sign should have been Derek volunteering.
Stiles knew this now.
In hindsight, the moment Derek Hale willingly sat down at a laptop and declared, "Teach me computer stuff," should have sent every survival instinct Stiles possessed screaming into the void. Instead, like an idiot, he'd been excited. A boyfriend willing to learn. A beautiful six-foot-something werewolf who wanted to participate in modern society.
What could possibly go wrong?
"Okay," Stiles said, setting the laptop on the coffee table. "Today we're learning internet safety."
Derek sat beside him on the couch, looking entirely too confident for someone who still typed with two fingers. "I know internet safety."
"Derek, last week you tried to Google something by typing it into a Word document."
"That was one time."
"It was three times."
Derek frowned.
Stiles pointed. "See? That's the browser."
"I know."
"Good."
"You're being patronizing."
"You once asked me where the internet was stored."
"It was a reasonable question."
"It wasn't."
Derek crossed his arms. "It absolutely was."
Stiles sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.
For the first twenty minutes, things actually went surprisingly well.
Derek learned how to open new tabs. He learned the difference between advertisements and actual search results. He learned that just because a website was flashing didn't mean it was important.
"I didn’t think that would work" Stiles was feeling cautiously optimistic. Maybe this would work. Maybe Derek was finally — a woman giggle echoed through the room.
Stiles froze. Slowly, he turned his head. Derek was staring at the screen.
"What did you click?"
"Nothing."
"You clicked something."
"I clicked a thing."
"Derek."
"It looked legitimate."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "What thing?"
Derek pointed. On the screen was an advertisement. Bright pink and flashing.
The words practically assaulted the retina.
BEAUTIFUL LOCAL WOMEN WANT TO MEET YOU!!!
Stiles stared, then he slowly looked at Derek. "Derek."
"What?"
"Why did you click it?"
Derek looked genuinely confused. "Why wouldn't I?"
Stiles made a strangled noise. "Because it's obviously fake!"
"I didn't think that."
"It literally says beautiful local women want to meet you!"
"Yes."
"That's the scam."
Derek blinked. "What?"
"Derek."
"It seemed reasonable."
"How?"
The werewolf shrugged. "Beautiful women exist."
Stiles dropped his face into his hands. "Oh my God."
"Also, Derek."
"What?"
"You're taken."
Derek looked offended. "I know."
"Then why did you click it?"
"Not for me."
Stiles paused. "What?"
"I was thinking for Argent."
There was a moment of complete silence.
"Derek, you clicked a suspicious internet ad because you thought it would help Chris Argent get a date?"
"Yes."
Stiles stared. The confidence. The certainty. The complete lack of shame: It was honestly impressive.
"Derek, that's not how dating works."
"How do you know?"
"Because that's not how anything works!"
"It said local."
"It lies!"
"Why would it lie?"
"Because it's a scam!"
Derek frowned at the screen. The ad vanished. For exactly two seconds.
Then the first pop-up appeared.
A window exploded onto the screen. Then another. And another and another. Half-dressed women. Questionable websites. Bright flashing banners. Moaning videos attempting to autoplay. An aggressive amount of skin.
"Oh no." Stiles' soul left his body. "Derek."
"What?"
"What did you do?"
"I clicked the woman."
"WHICH WOMAN?"
"The blonde one."
"There were twelve blonde ones!"
Another pop-up appeared. Then three more. Then six. The laptop fan suddenly sounded like it was preparing for takeoff.
"Oh my God."
"I think it's loading."
"DEREK."
The pop-ups multiplied. Every time Stiles closed one, two more appeared. The screen became a battlefield.
One particularly enthusiastic window announced that someone named Tiffany was only three miles away.
Another informed them they had won a cruise.
A third insisted singles in Beacon Hills desperately wanted to meet Derek.
Stiles rubbed his face. "Nobody wants to meet Derek this badly."
"You did."
Stiles glared. Derek smiled. The absolute bastard.
"Not helping."
The loft door opened. Chris Argent walked in carrying coffee. He stopped seeing the laptop. A woman in a bikini immediately appeared across the screen.
Chris slowly turned. "...Should I come back later?"
"YES." "No." Both answers happened simultaneously.
Chris sighed. "I don't want to know."
"You really don't."
Derek pointed at him. "This is technically your fault."
Chris blinked. "What?"
"You needed a girlfriend."
"I never said that."
"The ad suggested options."
Chris looked at Stiles. Stiles looked at Chris. Neither spoke for a solid ten seconds.
Finally Chris muttered: "I'm going home."
"Good plan."
Unfortunately, things got worse because Derek decided he could help. "Maybe if I click—"
"DON'T TOUCH IT."
Derek immediately removed his hand. Stiles took over completely. Keyboard shortcuts. Task manager. Browser settings. Virus scans. A desperate amount of swearing.
Derek watched from the couch. "What are you doing?"
"Fixing your mistake."
"It doesn't seem fixed."
"I KNOW."
Another pop-up appeared. Stiles growled.
Derek grinned. "That's cute."
"I'm going to murder you."
"That's my line."
An hour later, Stiles was sprawled across the floor surrounded by empty energy drink cans.
The laptop remained alive, unfortunately.
"So."
"So?"
"How bad is it?"
Stiles stared at the ceiling. "I've seen crime scenes that were easier to clean up."
"Oh."
"Derek."
"Yes?"
"I need you to be honest with me."
"I am."
"Did you click anything else?"
Derek hesitated. Stiles sat up. "Der-bear."
"It depends."
"ON WHAT?"
"What qualifies as anything else?"
The silence that followed was genuinely threatening. "Derek Hale."
"There was another advertisement."
Stiles closed his eyes. "What did it say?"
Derek thought. "'Doctors Hate Him.'"
Stiles screamed into a pillow.
Two more hours passed. Somehow, miraculously, Stiles finally won.
The malware was gone, the browser was clean and all the pop-ups had vanished.
Stiles leaned back on the couch, exhausted. "There."
Derek looked impressed. "You fixed it."
"Yes."
"Good job."
Stiles laughed hysterically. "Good job?"
"Yes."
"Derek, I spent three hours removing enough malware to sink a small country."
"But you succeeded."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Unfortunately, Derek was right, which was annoying.
The werewolf shifted closer. A familiar warm weight pressed against Stiles' side.
"You know," Derek said, "I learned things."
"Oh?"
"Advertisements lie."
"Correct."
"Beautiful local women do not want to meet me."
"Also correct."
"I should not click random internet things."
"Very correct."
Derek nodded seriously. "Okay."
Stiles relaxed. Maybe the lesson had finally stuck. Maybe —
"So if a handsome local man wants to meet me—"
"DEREK!"
"What?"
"NO."
Derek actually looked disappointed. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Derek."
"Yes?"
"You're lucky you're pretty."
A slow grin appeared. "I know."
"But sometimes you're so dumb."
The grin widened. "You still love me."
Stiles groaned. Derek leaned over and kissed his cheek. A simple, affectionate gesture that somehow made it impossible to stay annoyed.
The jerk. The gorgeous, lovable, technologically disastrous jerk.
"You know," Derek said.
"What?"
"I still think it could have worked for Argent."
Stiles immediately grabbed a pillow and hit him with it. Derek laughed. For a man who could take down hunters, alphas, and supernatural monsters without blinking, Derek Hale remained completely defenseless against one thing.
Technology common sense.
And unfortunately for him, Stiles planned to keep teaching it.
Even if it killed them both.