Title: Ain't No Chicken
Rating: T
Characters: Derek/Stiles... the rest of the pack
PART ONE
"That's great, but it'd be way more interesting if we raised the stakes," Stiles cut in, causing the group to all pause in their discussion.
Erica cocked her head to the side, her interest immediately piqued. Scott looked apprehensive, which made sense considering previous experiences. Jackson looked irritated, but it was sort of his standard facial expression when around Stiles.
"You losers don't have near the kind of cash flow to make this remotely 'more interesting'; especially you, Stiles," he snapped.
"I didn't say anything about money," countered Stiles with a roll of his eyes. "I'm thinking the loser has to do something."
"Like what?" asked Boyd from across the coffee table where he was sprawled in Derek's large, leather sofa chair.
Stiles scrunched his face in thought. Everyone was quiet for a few seconds, waiting for his idea. It wasn't until Jackson let out an annoyed huff that Stiles' eyes popped open and a devilish grin played across his face.
"Whoever loses has to... kiss Derek!" he announced, brightly.
"What!?" exclaimed Scott in horror while Jackson started to say "just because you're gay for..."
Stiles didn't pay either any attention, though, because at the same time, Erika had said "been there, done that, not that great," with a shrug and a disinterested expression.
"What?" squawked Stiles in surprise,"this is definitely news to me."
Scott and Jackson looked surprised, too, but Boyd and Isaac both just grimaced.
"You threw yourself at him and attacked his face," said Isaac, looking almost ill from the memory.
"And then he threw you on the floor," reminded Boyd looking annoyed.
Erika shrugged.
"I told you guys," said Jackson, shaking his head. "He's fucking gay!"
Stiles raised an eyebrow at Jackson, trying to keep his features schooled into annoyance instead of giving away any sort of curiosity. The guy was a total douche, but his best friend was gay; maybe he had developed gaydar purely from exposure. Actually, it was more likely that Danny would become a douche from exposure to Jackson. Really, it was amazing he had lasted this long.
"You sure talk about being gay a lot, Jackson," said Stiles, instead. "Are you trying to tell us something?"
"Shut up, Bilinski!" snapped Jackson.
"So, the winner gets out of paying for pizza for the next two months," said Boyd, obviously wanting to move the conversation back onto topic. "The loser has to kiss Derek."
"On the mouth," piped up Erika, smirking.
"And you can't give him any explanation for it," finished Boyd.
"Stiles," said Erika, insinuating that the last bit was directed at him.
"What?" exclaimed Stiles, putting a hand on his chest and giving her a look of affront. "It was me who even suggested this!"
"Gay," said Jackson, shaking his head.
"Can I say something?" asked Scott, his voice cracking a little.
"Derek will literally kill-" started Isaac.
"Who will I kill?" cut in Derek, gruffly, causing everyone to startle and slowly turn his direction.
"Ooooh, heeeey there, Derek, ol' buddy," stammered Stiles, leaning defensively into Scott, as if Scott could save him. "Five supernatural dudes in the room and not a one heard or smelled him come home," he muttered under his breath before giving Derek a guilty smile. "I was just telling Erica and Boyd not to exchange bodily fluids on your furniture or you'd..."
"...literally kill them," finished Derek, looking from Stiles to Isaac with his trademarked unimpressed expression.
"We were actually talking about Stiles' secret crush on you," cut in Jackson, looking smug.
"Well, I know that's a lie," said Derek, "Stiles can't keep secrets."
Erika cackled.
"Hey!" exclaimed Stiles, flailing his arms dramatically. "I can so!"
Boyd shook his head, giving everyone a look of disdain before looking over at Derek. "We've just decided to make a competition out of who can guess what the lunch lady is going to serve for lunch every day for the week."
Derek crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his eyebrow judgingly.
"Don't give us that look, Derek," said Erica. "It has been way too quiet lately and we're bored."
"Not that we miss having supernatural monsters coming after us or anything," added Scott, almost as if he feared their complaints of being bored alone could conjure up new creatures to fight. Actually, it could be a possibility.
"I do," said Erica with a cocky grin.
Stiles rolled his eyes.
"It's time for training," said Derek after a few beats of awkward silence. "Good bye, Scott and Stiles."
Stiles stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, but got up and followed Scott to the front door. They still weren't considered pack in Derek's eyes, as much as they'd worked together in the past year. They were allies, for sure, but Derek still made attempts at keeping them at arm's length.
"I can not believe this!" exclaimed Stiles in frustration.
Isaac just smiled at him, his stupid gorgeous face still looking angelic even when he was so freaking smug. Stiles wanted to kick him in the shin. Jackson was laughing so hard that no sounds were actually coming out of his mouth while tears were streaming down his face. Stiles wanted to kick him too, but maybe someplace more tender.
"I can't be-ugh! This is so unfair," groaned Stiles, covering his head with his hands while Scott patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I had a system!"
"I know," said Scott, continuing to pat him. "You totally did."
"Then they had to go and change it up!" exclaimed Stiles surging up and throwing his balled fists out dramatically, completely ignoring Scott. "Today was spaghetti and ceasar salad day! I made a graph! I made a fucking graph, you guys! They have never deviated from their pattern before!"
"That's really too bad," said Erica, grinning. "You know what this means, though, don't you, Stiles?"
"What's going on?" asked Allison, walking up to the cafeteria table they were all seated at, a tray in hand with that damn mushroom soup sitting atop.
"Stiles has to kiss Derek," said Scott.
"What?" she asked, brow wrinkling.
"He lost a bet," explained Boyd, not even hiding his own glee at the situation.
Jackson was still shaking with laughter. Isaac was grinning while he enjoyed his victory soup. Stiles dropped his head to the table and groaned. Allison set her tray down next to Scott's and then put a hand on Stiles' shoulder.
"Do you want me to go get you some lunch?" she asked sounding all motherly and sweet.
"No," groaned Stiles against the table, "I will not eat that traitorous poison!"
"So, when are you going to do it?" asked Erica. "There should be some sort of time limit on this."
Stiles moved so his chin was resting on the table instead of his forehead and glared at everyone within range.
"I think it should be before midnight tonight," said Boyd, nodding thoughtfully.
"I'm going to die," complained Stiles. "Can't you at least give me forty-eight hours to get my effects in order? Write a will?"
"No way man," said Jackson, finally recovering from his fit, "you made your bed, now you fucking lay in it."
Stiles groaned again, glancing over at Isaac. The kid had the audacity to take a big spoonful of his soup and make an exaggerated 'mmmm' sound. Stiles scowled at him.
Stiles was silent on the drive to Derek's that afternoon, focusing his eyes on the road and grinding his teeth as he weighed his options. There was no way they would let him out of this, but perhaps if he headed south for the border... no, they could track his scent. He was fucked.
"Stiles," spoke Scott once they had turned down the long, gravel road leading to Derek's house. He had been fidgety the entire drive, obviously feeling awkward over Stiles' unusual silence. "Stiles," he repeated, "you don't have to do this. I mean, I kind of thought it was some sort of plan when you first came up with it, but you smell like fear and-"
"You thought what?" asked Stiles, turning sharply in his seat to stare wide-eyed at Scott.
"Well, because you have a crush on Derek," said Scott, shrugging. "I thought you wanted the excuse to make a move or something."
"I do not have a crush on Derek," exclaimed Stiles in protest, the jeep veering sharply to the left from his hands' jerking motions.
Scott braced himself in his seat with a hand on the ceiling of the jeep. Stiles rolled his eyes at his friend because, really, supernatural healing powers, what did he care if they crashed? Not that they would, Stiles loved his jeep and had a lot of experience driving while distressed, thank you very much.
"Then why does your heart rate pick up every time his name is even mentioned?" Scott asked gently, as if worried Stiles might fall apart or fly off the handle. It only served to upset Stiles further, honestly.
"Maybe because I have a healthy amount of fear for the creeper?" asked Stiles through grit teeth.
"It definitely isn't..." Scott trailed off when Stiles shot him a look that was two parts angry and one part pleading. "Yeah, okay," he said instead, "you're right. So, what are you going to do? Are you really going to kiss him because, Stiles, he'll-"
"Rip my throat out with his teeth," finished Stiles with a roll of his eyes.
"I was going to say 'be mad', but yeah, maybe," said Scott with a grimace and a nod.
"Awesome," groaned Stiles.
Erica was sitting on the doorstep of Derek's house with her arms crossed over her knees and a bright grin on her face when Stiles pulled up. Stiles made a face at her through the windshield and pulled the key from the ignition. Jackson and Lydia pulled up in his porsche a few moments later.
Scott gave Stiles a worried half-smile over the hood of the jeep as they walked around it toward the new house. It was a lot smaller than the original Hale house, but rested on the same foundation. Stiles always had to stop himself from thinking about how hard it had to be for Derek to even go into the basement knowing it was the same concrete walls that had held his family hostage. He shivered and shook his head to try to rid himself of the sudden melancholy.
"Derek and Isaac are picking up the pizza," said Boyd, poking his head out the front door before letting it swing wide. "Everyone needs to chip in a few bucks to cover it, except Isaac."
Stiles grumbled under his breath. Jackson caught his eye and grinned at him with a creepy smile that rivaled The Joker's in its malice. Stiles grit his teeth. He should have taken his chances on fleeing to Mexico.
Everyone settled into the large living room, Boyd taking his favorite spot in Derek's big, leather chair. Erica turned on the large television and started up a multiplayer video game for them to play while they waited.
Originally, they had gathered Friday nights for pack meetings when they had to work out the whole 'what to do next' in the more dire situations involving the alpha pack and various other threats. Now, though, they mostly just sat around and watched movies while stuffing themselves with pizza. It was nice to have a group of friends, even if it was an unusual grouping established by unreal circumstances.
They played a motorbike racing game. Scott was hilarious to watch because he leaned the direction he wanted to go while he button smashed. Stiles came in dead last every time that evening, though he was normally not too bad at the game.
"Calm down, Stiles," growled Jackson a little while later. "You're going to make Derek suspicious before you even get to the lip-locking."
"Your pulse is racing," confirmed Boyd, not taking his eyes off the game where he was currently kicking Scott's ass.
"Not fair that you guys can smell and hear my whole current emotional and physical state," grumbled Stiles, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment even as he worked to keep his expression somewhere between neutral and annoyed. "All I can do to judge what's going on is rely on my piddly human senses."
"My piddly human senses tell me you're upset about something," cut in Lydia with a self-satisfied smirk that looked way too attractive on her bright lips to be fair. "You are pale as a ghost and you look a few unhappy thoughts away from a full-fledged panic attack."
Stiles groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
"You don't know?" he asked, his voice a little muffled from his hands. "I thought Jackson would have told you by now."
"Is it going to affect me?" she asked, Stiles assumed she was asking Jackson who she was cuddled against on the loveseat.
"Nope," answered Jackson.
"Then, I don't care," she said dismissively.
"It is going to be hilarious, though," said Erica.
Everyone perked, then, when the sound of Derek's Camaro caught their attentions. Stiles groaned again.
"Do it right away," whispered Scott, "so you can get it over with."
"I think I'll enjoy my last meal first, thank you," replied Stiles before letting out a nervous sigh and straightening.
The front door opened and Isaac came in with a pile of white pizza boxes in his arms. A large grin burst across his face when his eyes landed on Stiles.
"Not a single one of you is subtle," grit out Stiles just as Derek stepped into the house, another mountain of pizza boxes in his arms.
Everyone got up and followed the delicious smell of pizza into the kitchen. Stiles went at a slower pace. Erica brushed past him, patting his arm as she went in what was probably supposed to be a sympathetic or supportive gesture, but she had already made her enjoyment of the situation very well known.
"You should do it before pizza," she said, "then, if you die, I can have your share."
"Ha, ha, ha!" called Stiles after her with not an ounce of amusement.
Everyone was seated around the long, solid wood table a few minutes later when Stiles decided to just get it over with.
"Like ripping off a band-aid," he muttered to himself. It caught Boyd's attention who was sitting to his left. Stiles could tell because the guy's lips twitched and he sat a little straighter as if in anticipation for what was sure to be entertaining for him. Stiles wanted to hate him for it, but knew if the tables were turned, he'd probably be a lot more obnoxious in his own delight.
Derek walked in and set a plate down in front of Stiles a few moments later and it was the perfect opportunity.
"The Works, no green peppers," announced Derek.
Stiles jerkily stood up in a weird crouch-thing because the chair didn't slide back with his movement and his knees had hit the leg of the table. With a shaky hand, he reached out and caught Derek by the collar of his shirt.
"Thanks, man," he croaked before quickly leaning in and crashing his lips against Derek's.
It was a really bad kiss. Really bad. Stiles wasn't a particular kiss connoisseur or anything, but this was epically bad. It could possibly be the worst kiss to ever exist. The Kiss of Death was probably more enjoyable than this kiss. Huh, that kiss also involved a superhuman being and friends betraying friends. Not that Stiles was comparing Derek to Jesus, that would be sacrilegious; he was just pointing out that there were, in fact, similarities.
It wasn't even really a kiss, though. No, it was more of an off-centre smashing of puckered lips against not-so-puckered lips, than a kiss. Stiles was so going to die.
Derek's hands rose to grasp Stiles biceps and, for a crazy second, Stiles thought the man was going to kiss him back. Instead, Derek used his hold on Stiles to direct him firmly back down into his seat. Then, he peeled Stiles' hand from his shirt where it was still clenched around the fabric in a white-knuckled grip, before straightening and walking away.
Once Derek had left the dining room, Stiles managed to finally inhale a breath. He looked around the table to see everyone was staring at him with wide eyes.
"Well, that was ridiculous," snapped Lydia after a few pregnant moments.
Stiles exhaled and kind of just crumpled into his seat with a soft groan.
Derek returned a moments later with three more plates balanced in his hands. He set them down in front of Erica, Boyd and Scott before taking a seat between Jackson and Isaac's empty chair. Isaac came into the room seconds later with drinks, took one look around the room before letting out a long, frustrated whine.
"I missed it, didn't I!?" he exclaimed in disappointment.
"Just eat your pizza," commanded Derek.
A few people snickered, but Stiles was busy staring intently at the two slices of pizza on his plate.
Derek didn't say anything about the kiss the whole evening. Stiles was relieved. He was definitely on board the pretend-it-never-happened train if that was what Derek wanted. Stiles had gone home late that evening with a belly ache from the amount of pizza and soda he had ingested, and a grin on his face from the good times spent laughing over the latest ridiculous comedies Boyd had downloaded for them to watch.
The whole kiss incident was the furthest thing from Stiles' mind the next morning. Which was probably why he had absolutely no suspicions of Derek when the bouquet showed up for him at work. He was on the phone with Mrs. Harris when it happened, trying to tell her that her prescription was ready and she should come pick it up at the pharmacy before it closed at three. He had to repeat himself three times and enunciate so loudly that a few of the shoppers near the pharmacist desk were side-eyeing him.
"Stilinski?" asked the man carrying the large bouquet in a big, glass vase.
Stiles covered the mouthpiece of the phone and eyed the guy warily. "Yeah?"
"These are for you," he said, setting them down on the desk and gently pulling the plastic bag away from the bright blooms. "Can you sign here to confirm delivery?"
"Uh," breathed out Stiles in surprise as he quickly juggled the phone to his shoulder so he could grab the pen from the man's hand. Distantly, he could hear Mrs. Harris speaking about her two cats from the other end of the line. He grimaced and made a grabby hand for the clipboard so the guy would hold it within his reach.
"Who are they from?" he asked after messily scrawling his name at the bottom of the page. The man tore the page from the clipboard and handed the white copy to Stiles.
"Says on the receipt," he said before giving Stiles a fake smile. "Have a nice day."
"Yeah, uh, you too," said Stiles looking from the guy's retreating back to the flowers sitting in front of him.
"Does someone have an admirer?" asked a lady about the same age as Scott's mom with a knowing smile.
"Surprising, isn't it," replied Stiles with a deprecating grin.
The woman just smiled benignly before setting her purchase down on the counter. Stiles held up a finger to signal he'd be one moment and turned his attention back to the phone. He shoved the receipt from the flower place in his trouser pocket, not having the chance to look it over.
"... but you know my Casper, he likes his liver cut up and-"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harris, but I have to go," said Stiles, "I have a customer waiting on me."
"Alright, dear," she said, "thank you for calling, and say 'hello' to your mother for me."
Stiles grimaced, wondering who the old woman thought she was talking to. He made a mental note to call her again in an hour if she didn't show up to get her medication.
"Have a nice day," he said before hanging up and turning to the lady who was busy admiring his bouquet anyway.
It wasn't until he was finished work for the day and awkwardly carrying his glass vase of flowers out to his jeep that Stiles remembered the receipt in his pocket. He carefully placed the vase in the cupholder in his center console -it barely fit and stood very tall and teetering. Stiles tossed his bag into the back and pulled the receipt out of his pocket before getting into the driver's seat.
He scanned it over to find the billing information. The cost of the flowers wasn't on the receipt probably because it was a gift, but the person who it was billed to was there at the bottom with their name, address and phone number. Derek Hale.
"What the hell?" exclaimed Stiles in surprise.
It took a few blocks of mindless driving for Stiles to finally decide that the flowers were Derek's way of getting even for the kiss. It took a few more blocks for Stiles to tell himself that he shouldn't keep the flowers, even if they were the only flowers he'd ever received outside of condolence bouquets after his mom had died. They looked expensive. He kind of wanted to keep them, if he was honest with himself.
There was no way he could keep them, though. Well, he could probably get away with keeping them if he turned the joke around on Derek. He could make a big deal about them, proudly displaying them and talking about how Derek loved the kiss so much he bought Stiles flowers.
He didn't really want to do that, though. Honestly, he didn't think he could keep a straight face over it considering his heart was already skipping a few of its' beats just imagining Derek going through the trouble to pick out flowers for him. Yeah, so maybe Scott had been right about the crush thing. Whatever. And how come Stiles was being such a girl about getting flowers? No... wait... how come only girls were allowed to swoon over receiving flowers? Rude.
He could mentally dialogue himself in circles for hours if he let himself, so, instead, when Stiles passed the Beacon Hills hospital, he made a decision. They were nice flowers. Stiles wasn't going to waste them. He pulled into the hospital parking lot.
"Happy Pseudo Mother's Day," he brightly in greeting as he approached the nurse station Melissa McCall was sitting at.
He placed the flower arrangement in its expensive-looking, glass vase down on the desk in front of her, barely stopping himself from calling out a dramatic 'ta-da!' as he did so.
Melissa McCall looked up at him from her papers with a confused smile before looking at the flowers in front of her.
"Wow," she finally said after something of a pause, "there are really nice. I want to say 'thank you', but I'm a little scared of what they might be for."
"What do you mean 'what they might be for'?" asked Stiles. "They are for Pseudo Moteher's Day!"
"Mother's Day isn't for another month, Stiles," she said, raising her eyebrow.
"Yes, but this is Pseudo Mother's Day," explained Stiles. "It is a special day to celebrate all the super-special pseudo mothers out there."
"So, this isn't an apology gift?" she asked, reaching to touch the petals of a white flower, finally giving the flowers a real look.
"Do you really think I'd stoop so low as to try to butter you up with gifts before bring you bad news?" asked Stiles, giving her an exaggeratedly scandalized look. "Mrs. McCall! I thought you thought more of me!" He paused and squinted for a second before grinning slyly. "Actually, I've never really thought of trying that. Would it work?"
Melissa scoffed softly, shaking her head.
"I don't know," she said, giving him a wry grin. "I still haven't received my Sorry-I-Got-Your-Son-Bit-By-A-Werewolf bouquet of flowers."
"These could be that," said Stiles, gesturing at the flowers between them.
"Nope," said Melissa, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied look on her face. "These are my Pseudo Mother's Day flowers. You still owe me the other ones."
Stiles threw his hands out at the same time as he jutted his chin forward and frowned dramatically.
"You try to do something nice for a person..." he sighed, shaking his head and giving Melissa his most disappointed frown ever.
She simply grinned cheekily at him from her seat before standing up and motioning him closer.
"C'mere," she said, reaching for him and giving his forehead a big, motherly kiss. "Thank you, Sweety."
Stiles grinned brightly at her when she released him.
"See you later!" he called before heading back to the hospital's front sliding doors.
As he went, he heard a few other ladies coo over the flowers. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself when he heard Melissa thank them and say that her 'pseudo son gave them to her.
Stiles had been pretty proud of himself for keeping his mouth shut about the flowers. He hadn't given Derek any satisfaction of letting him know he had received them. He figured he had won and was feeling a bit cocky about it, which, of course, meant he was destined to crash and burn.
It was just a few days later when Derek threw him another curve ball. Erica and Derek often watched the lacrosse game since the rest of their pack were playing in it. After the game, they usually hung out on the bleachers until the guys were ready. That day, though, Derek approached the guys right after the game. It didn't really surprise Stiles, though, considering it was one of their few wins of the season and everyone was congratulating them.
When Derek was done patting his cubs on the shoulders, though, he approached Stiles. He didn't just approach Stiles, though, nope. He pulled him in for a quick kiss on the mouth and gave him a flirty smile as he congratulated him, too. Stiles had been so thrown by the whole thing that he could barely squeak out a lame 'thank you' before fleeing to the boys' locker room. Derek was such a bastard.
That Friday, when they were all gathered back at Derek's house, Stiles was surprised to have Derek sit down next to him on the couch instead of taking his usual seat apart from everyone. Maybe, considering the flowers and the kiss, he shouldn't have actually been that surprised. Still, though, Stiles couldn't help but hold his breath when Derek sat so close that their thighs were pressed together from hip to knee. It only got worse when, halfway through the movie, Derek put his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulled him close. Stiles didn't get to enjoy the rest of the movie, too busy feeling the surreptitious looks the pack members would randomly throw his way, and wondering at the repercussions of just leaning into Derek's side. It was fucking torture of the best/worst kind.
"Scott," said Stiles into his cell phone on Sunday, "I'm freaking out."
"Why?"
Stiles spun around in his computer chair before stopping himself to glare at the milkshake and order of curly fries Derek had dropped off for him with a coy smile.
"At first, I thought he was just screwing with me because of that whole kiss thing," said Stiles, wondering if it was admitting defeat if he ate the fries. "Now, though, I'm just... confused, man."
"What do you mean?" asked Scott.
Stiles let out a frustrated sigh.
"He's being all sweet and nice and shit," said Stiles, rubbing a hand over his short hair and down his face. "It is seriously scaring me at this point."
"So..." said Scott through an exhale. He sounded a little confused. "Are you worried he might be serious?"
"Maybe? I don't know!" said Stiles, throwing up a hand and leaning heavily back in his chair.
"Dude, you've got to calm down," chided Scott.
"Calm down? Would you be calm if... OH FUCK!"
"What?"
"Is there any kind of special courting process or anything for wolves?" asked Stiles, suddenly feeling panic rise in his throat. "Did I trigger some sort of mate thing with Derek by kissing him? Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh-"
"Stiles, don't be ridiculous," said Scott, cutting Stiles off of his freak out.
"So, do you think he's still messing with me?" asked Stiles, not sure which answer he was hoping for. it would be so nice if derek were actually genuine, but, at the same time, if this was how he worked, it was a little bit creepy.
"I think he might be," said Scott sounding sorry. Stiles wondered if he sounded overly hopeful in his question to make Scott sound regretful.
"Well, if he's messing with me," said Stiles, trying to push through, "then two can play at that game!"
"What?"
"He doesn't know that I know he's messing with me," said Stiles thoughtfully, before saying "don't tell him!"
"Why would I tell him?" asked Scott, almost affronted. "I don't talk to him."
"Oh man, Derek Hale, prepare to reap what you sow, buddy," said Stiles, a grin growing across his face.