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“I don’t understand,” Derek said out of the blue in the middle of Psycho.
“What is it this time?” Stiles asked, thinking back to last time when he’d been forced to explain causality with a bagel and a blow torch. That was a lot of fun.
“Human obsession with... This,” he pointed a finger at the screen, an innocent enough shower scene. They watch as the girl gets knifed to death, water diluting the dark blood and then running down the plug hole. It reminded Stiles a bit too much of Lydia and the circumstances under which she went missing for him to properly enjoy the cinematography of it.
“‘This’ being horror films?” Stiles said through a yawn. Derek nodded. “I dunno, not everyone likes horror films. You saw how Isaac reacted when I suggested watching Jaws and, seriously, that’s hardly a horror film. I like them. Besides, it’s Halloween isn’t the whole idea that you scare yourself shitless?” He settled back into Derek’s chest and pulled the blanket more securely over them.
“Like our lives aren’t scary enough,” Derek answered, his hand drawing idle patterns on Stiles’ skin where his shirt had ridden up.
“It’s a different type of scary. Werewolf and vampire films never scared me,” he shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth, “They couldn’t exist, so it didn’t frighten me. Even when Scott got bitten it wasn’t scary. You guys are nothing like the movies make out.” He thought about Jacob Black. Yes, he’d done his research properly when Scott was turned, including sacrificed two entire days of his life to read those damn books. Not that it did them much good, Jacob was a sad excuse for a wolf/shape-shifter/did any one actually understand what he was in the end? “Stuff like this, though,” he gestured at the TV screen, “This is scary. It’s just mental illness and humans being bastards to each other. It’s plausible that someone would do this- people do do this. So it’s scary.”
“Why would you want reminding of that?” Derek murmured, before going still. Stiles turned his head to see Derek looking towards the hall with a hesitant expression.
“Is it trick-or-treaters?” Stiles gasped, clapping his hands and jumping off Derek’s lap. “I love trick-or-treaters,” he practically skipped through to the kitchen to grab the bowl of candy his dad left, talking all the way, “Man, I hope the costumes are good this year. We only had one really good one last year that dressed up as Frankenstein’s monster. I’m pretty sure his parents must be into Cosplay because, seriously, that costume was the best I’ve ever seen.” The doorbell rang and he wrenched it open to a high-pitched chorus of ‘trick or treat!’
“Hey, it’s Superman! How you doing, buddy? And a witch, very good, you know real witches don’t actually wear pointy hats?” He spoke from experience. “I prefer your version, though. And... Oh my God...” No way. No frigging way! “Derek, come look!” At the back was a slightly older kid, maybe 12 or 13, dressed in tattered jeans and a plaid shirt covered in fake blood. He also had plastic fangs and bushy sideburns. “It’s a werewolf!” Derek was by his side in a second, eyes glowing red and his fangs out... Yeah, perhaps shouting that there was a werewolf on his porch wasn’t the best idea.
The kids gasped in unison then erupted into shrill, excited noises.
“Your teeth look so real!”
“His sideburns are better than yours, Billy.”
“Where did you get the contacts?” Billy, the kid dressed as a wolf asked.
“Oh, well,” Stiles cut in, redirecting the kids’ attention to him and giving Derek a look that said shift-back-and-you’re-dead. “We got them online. Aren’t they awesome? The fangs came from the fancy dress store. Anyway,” he dropped his voice conspiratorially and the kids leaned in to listen. He pulled the bowl out with a flourish, “You want some candy?” With the children distracted, Derek slipped back into the living room. Stiles smirked when he walked back through to him, locking the front door because, yeah, the horror films had freaked him out quite a lot. Not that he had to worry, what with his personal guard dog at his beck and call.
“You literally cried wolf,” Derek accused as Stiles sat back down, snuggling into him to get warm again.
“Dude, they were trick-or-treaters, what were you expecting?”
“What was I expecting when you shouted for me and yelled there was a werewolf on your doorstep? Honestly, I was expecting more fur.” He snarked back, pressing his nose into Stiles’ hair and breathing deeply, reassuring his wolf that his mate was safe and unhurt, then turning his attention back to the TV screen to watch the fake blood spatter everywhere and wondering how this was ever considered good cinema.
“Thanks for running to my rescue,” Stiles said after a while, looking up at Derek with earnest eyes. For the first time, he was truly realising that Derek would come and save him if he needed it and it was... humbling. What did he do in a previous life to deserve Derek? He must’ve saved a bunch of orphans from a fire or something because there’s no other way he’d have earned this.
Derek kissed the side of his head and mumbles, almost reluctantly, “I’ll always run for you.”
And Stiles practically swoons.