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Werewolves didn’t have funerals.
Stiles darted a look out of the corner of his eye at Derek’s frozen, blank face and understood why. Maybe when you dealt with so many different types of shit exploding in your face at once, it hurt too much to dwell on someone’s death. Especially if you were responsible for them dying. Stiles was pretty sure that little fact was going to go to the top of the pack’s Shit-We-Don’t-Discuss-Ever list.
Mr. and Mrs. Boyd huddled together at one end of the grave, staring at the dirt-covered coffin. They looked diminished, lost. Devastated. Mr. Boyd in particular looked huddled in on himself, like the fact that his son was dead hadn’t quite connected. Stiles didn’t want to think of the fact that to them, Boyd had been missing for months. They get him back only to... this. Stiles swallowed and looked around, painfully uncomfortable with their heartbreak.
There were a couple kids from school that Stiles didn’t recognize, all looking like their grief was forced in that way that people did when they didn’t know the person who died very well, but went to the funeral because that was what one was supposed to do. Four of them stood straight and proud in their ROTC uniforms. A girl from Stiles’ chemistry class was crying softly.
At some signal from the pastor, people started to wander away from the gravesite. Stiles couldn’t help the tiny frown on his lips when Ms. Blake came over to Derek and touched his arm. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out why she’d been kidnapped to Derek’s loft by Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass, but that didn’t mean that she was a part of this. Still, Derek had let himself be comforted by Stiles, and Stiles knew what that meant in the whole pack hierarchy.
“Do you need anything?” Ms. Blake’s eyes travelled over Derek to where he was flanked by Stiles and Isaac, down to Lydia and Allison, and over to Scott. If she wondered why half her third period was standing around her boyfr-- well, whatever they were, she didn’t comment.
Derek shook his head slightly, the “No” as clear as if he had spoken it out loud. Isaac pressed infinitesimally closer, looking for comfort in the way that werewolves always seemed to do; constantly aware of their proximity to other members of their pack. Stiles wondered if Isaac knew that he did the same thing to Scott, ‘cuz he sort of found it incredibly hilarious. Not that he would tell either of them, really. It would be much more amusing to watch them figure it out for themselves.
Stiles had no interest in hearing the two of them talk or... whatever. Surprisingly it was Lydia who met his gaze, jerking her head to the left in a ‘come on’ gesture. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac left Derek alone and moved out of human earshot.
Stiles sighed and ran his hand over the top of his head. For a second, he missed the buzz cut. Now, with his hands tangled in product he managed to yank out half of the hair on his head. They all stood there a little awkwardly, waiting for someone else to speak.
Stiles could almost see Lydia getting physically exhausted by their collective bullshit.
“Okay. Here’s the thing. You. You. And you.” She pointed with a perfectly manicured nail at Stiles and the two werewolves. “You will be at Casa de Doom and Destruction to clean up in one hour. You will not be late.”
Stiles smirked a little to see both Scott and Isaac almost snap to attention.
“I will handle the food. Stiles, go get Derek.” Lydia walked off, already texting something on her phone.
Stiles turned to look back over his shoulder and was surprised to see that Ms. Blake had moved off, and Allison had taken her place, one hand on Derek’s forearm as she leaned into him, talking quickly. Derek stood just as rigidly from before, staring blankly at Boyd’s grave.
“It’s fine. She’s just not going to hang out with us later.” Scott forced a smile that fooled no one. Stiles wasn’t sorry that the two of them had broken up, but that didn’t just mean that all the shit she’d done was magically fixed. Summer had been one of the most boring stretches of time in the history of ever, but did either Scott or Allison take that time to actually talk? Nope! Was there any resolution of past grievances? Nooooope! It was frustrating as fuck. Around the end of June, Stiles had thrown up his hands and decided his new policy was to just let the two of them deal with ... whatever it was that they were to each other themselves.
Stiles sighed. “Right. Well, you two head over, and we’ll follow.”
Scott gave him a look that clearly said, ‘better you than me, dude’ and he and Isaac walked towards the parking lot.
Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to feel like his dad looked when Stiles was being particularly.... challenging. He was trying to be respectful of the newly dead, and the newly .... well. Whatever Derek was exactly, but it was a lot harder than he thought it would be to keep still. “Hey, Derek. You ready?”
Derek just nodded, flicking one glance towards the mourning couple before leaving, ignoring Stiles completely.
But he was used to that.
Stiles probably should have expected that Lydia was prone to excessive organization when left to her own devices, but given the weird vibes at the funeral, it still left him a little surprised. She met them at the door with clothes much more suited for cleaning, a pair of boots, and an expression that promised a painful death for anyone that crossed her.
The dynamic between Lydia and Derek had been rather ... strained... as of late, but when Stiles asked about it, Lydia would just smile a tiny, enigmatic smile and all questions would be ignored. Not too long after that, she began showing up at the pack-bonding meetups that Scott had insisted on. Derek’s reaction was strangely similar: a frown, a glare and a flash of red eyes before Stiles had even opened his mouth. It usually managed to make the one puny human in their little Scooby gang remember something else to go do pretty damn quick.
The most telling was that Derek just took the stuff Lydia was holding with a shrug.
“I really think that this would be a better use of my time if you hired the cleanup out, you know.”
Stiles jerked his gaze up to where Peter sat on the spiral staircase, stretching his legs out in front of him. Lydia’s eyebrows narrowed. Stiles was not ashamed for taking a step back.
His mama didn’t raise any morons.
“You were not invited. And neither are you.” Lydia smiled nastily at Cora. “We already have our tragic member of the Hale pack, thanks.”
Isaac made a strange sound towards which no one was stupid enough to draw attention. Either he was stifling a laugh or his internal organs had all simultaneously collapsed.
Derek didn’t even twitch. It was like he didn’t hear the snark. Stiles shifted a little, purposefully brushing their arms together as he stepped forward to gather his things. The two of them must have worked out their differences if Lydia could kick his own family out of Derek’s loft.
“C’mon. Let’s get changed. We have some squeegeeing to do, I guess.” Derek was still mute when Stiles not-so-gently pushed him to the bathroom. “Look. You know none of us are leaving until you’re back to being the grouchy asshat that we all know and love so not that I’m trying to shit on your grief here big guy, but there is no way that I’m undressing you.” Which isn’t to say that Stiles wouldn’t... one day. Maybe. Preferably on a day with not involving death and agonizing heartbreak. A guy could dream.
Stiles tossed the ancient jeans and t-shirt to Derek, amazed as always when Derek caught them with a lightning-fast movement of his reflexes. Stiles set the boots on the floor, took his own stuff, and turned around, stripping and getting dressed at the other end of the sink.
When they went back to the main area of the loft, Lydia was perched on the table, directing traffic. Between what looked like every shop vac in Beacon county, Scott, Isaac, and Stiles soon had the standing water cleaned up. Derek was on the outside of the glass, attacking the Alpha Pack symbol on his windows like his family honor was riding on it, scrubbing at the paint with enough nitromors that Stiles could smell it from where he worked, a grim expression of determination on his face. Lydia helped him without comment, handing him cloths through the open window and rinsing out the old ones as needed.
It was nice to work. In a weird way the burn of his muscles with the repetitive motion of cleaning up all the water kept Stiles’ mind fuzzy and blank. It was annoying that none of the werewolves even hinted at breaking out into a sweat, and since Lydia wouldn’t deign to manual labor when there were so many others much more suited for it, Stiles was the only one who was sweaty and gross. Isaac kept darting little nervous looks at Derek from under his eyelashes, and every time he did, Scott nudged the other wolf with his shoulder.
Once the loft was clean, it was hard to imagine what had gone down here. The wooden floors gleamed in the low-setting sun. The windows were probably cleaner than they had ever been. Lydia’s phone beeped and with a satisfied hum she turned to go to the door. She somehow managed to meet the delivery guy before he rang the doorbell, and Scott helped her carry the food inside, setting it onto the table with a little flourish.
Without thinking, Stiles fixed a plate for Derek, handing it absently to him as he sat down on the floor, crossing his legs criss-cross, applesauce style and balancing his pizza rather precariously on his knee so that he could open his soda without the whole lot ending up on the newly-gleaming hardwood floors. Isaac sat down by Derek, enough pizza piled on his plate for three people. Or one very hungry werewolf. Either way. Scott sat down by Stiles, and turned on the tv, flipping through the channels.
“Well, I’ll leave you, gentlemen, to your business.” Lydia’s smile was bright as she turned to leave. “Don’t worry. I have someone that will pick all this up tomorrow.” With a little wave, she left, already texting on her phone.
“Yeah, Allison wanted to study together.” Scott’s smile was, it had to be said, a trifle wolfish as he saluted them and left. He didn’t quite run to the door, but there was a definite spring in his step as he took off.
“You’d think that he could at least clean up after himself.” Stiles sighed, more than used to his best friend’s behavior. He stood up and got Scott’s trash, taking it into the kitchen. He turned back towards the living room and faltered a step, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach.
Stiles couldn’t help the feeling of awkwardness he felt at being alone with Derek and Isaac. It was almost painful, knowing that Erica and Boyd should be here, arguing over the remote, with Derek ignoring them with his nose buried in a book a few feet away. Instead, Derek sat sprawled on the sofa, eating the pizza with careful, precise bites, gaze turned down to the floor. Isaac sat on the other end of the couch, focused almost maniacally on the television screen, eyes suspiciously wet. Unless the programing for Top Gear had changed tremendously since the last time Stiles had watched it, Isaac was doing his best not to cry.
Stiles felt all at once like he was intruding. He was used to it, to pushing his way into pack business. But this? This was... not right. He walked back over to the decimated pizza cartons, picking up a few slices to put onto Isaac’s plate before putting the leftover slices into the last box and sticking it in the fridge. There. He’d done everything even remotely useful. His welcome was officially overstayed.
“Er.” Stiles cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I’ll just.. leave you guys to it then. I put the pizza in the fridge.” Stupid. The two werewolves had perfectly good hearing. They knew that already. Stiles wanted to claw off his own face from second-hand embarrassment. “I’ll yeah. Okay. Talk to you tomorrow?”
“You have somewhere to be?” Isaac’s voice was tight. He looked at Stiles like Stiles had just kicked a unicorn. It was total bullshit of course. He knew Isaac was manipulating him with the ‘woe is me’ puppy dog eyes look, but Stiles still folded like a house of cards.
Stiles scratched his eyebrow. “Not rea---”
Derek’s hand shot out, fingers enclosing around Stiles’ wrist almost before he could blink. Stiles couldn’t help the jump of his pulse or the way his breath caught in his chest. Derek looked up at him for the first time all day. They held each other’s gaze for a few heartbeats of silence. Isaac was tense beside them, before pushing himself back into the far corner of the couch.
Derek tugged a little on Stiles’ wrist, and he was so shocked that he actually let himself be pulled down to the middle of the couch. Derek was pretty much the textbook definition of a non-touchy feely person, and Stiles couldn’t control the way his heart beat crazily in his chest.
“Stay.”
Stiles couldn’t help the slow grin blooming on his face as he nodded, for once unable to find his words. The three of them sat together on the couch, watching the television without comment. Isaac turned into him, curling his toes under Stiles’ thigh. Slowly, so slowly that if Stiles hadn’t been hyper aware of the way Derek was pressed up against him, he wouldn’t have noticed how Derek relaxed into the line of Stiles’ body, inch by careful inch.
Derek didn’t thank him, but the way he nudged Stiles’ shoulder with his was thanks enough.
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