No One On This Show Can Die
AN: This is just a one-shot about how Derek literally CAN'T die. He should've, like eight times so far in the show, and he just doesn't. Obviously the writers know that Derek is the reason behind half of their viewership but it's still kind of hilarious how they decide to fatally injure him but make it not fatal.
This was requested my Highness, JJ, and is dedicated with utmost love, affection, and fangirling, to her.
Derek Can't Die
Stiles had learned the hard way over the course of their very rocky relationship that assuming anything about Derek's physical status without actually checking it with your own eyes was destined to end badly.
Okay, so if he was saying this to you it would sound more like, "Derek can't die, man. It's scary. Like, more so than Derek usually is which is saying something..."
In the past three years, Scott had assumed Derek to be dead a grand total of five times. Stiles had learned better after the second and unless he had checked Derek's pulse with his own fingers and shouted in Derek's ear for at least half an hour, he went on the assumption that Derek was still alive and making Stiles's own life more complicated. Like he was right now, Stiles thought grumpily, only panicking half as much as he would have a few years ago.
It was also, Stiles mused, not okay to assume that Derek was in the peak of health unless you had checked that out too. Because Derek was the type of emo, self-flagellating bastard who just kept on going unless his death was actually imminent. Unless he was sure he was dying, Derek would just keep saying he was fine, until he wasn't. At which point he usually collapsed in a parking lot with various fluids leaking from his wounds (and that one time his eyes, nose, and mouth, but Stiles couldn't even really think about that without retching) in front of people who had no idea how the fuck to save his ungrateful ass. Stiles had experienced this enough times that he has almost ceased to worry about the alpha when it happens and instead focuses almost entirely on being annoyed with his recalcitrant behavior.
It was one of Stiles's most useful talents, his ability to focus on anything that was not actually the important thing. He didn't always get a chance to use it these days outside of life-threatening situations, but he got into a lot of those and hadn't once wet his pants, which he personally thought of as a success.
And, as should by now be obvious, that particular skill was getting quite a workout at that particular moment.
Stiles was focusing on Derek's weird health proclivities as opposed to the weird hunter with whom they were locked in a small room and who currently had a weird—but clearly effective if the smoking remains of the bookshelf were anything to go by—weapon pointed at Derek. The whole thing was weird.
"So, did you dig that thing out of the wreckage of a Star Trek prop room?" Stiles asked the man with all of his usual false bravado.
The man had crazy eyes and had already attempted to kill them in increasingly improbable ways about a dozen times. Everyone else was clearly wary of him; it was clear in the way they stood, the glowing eyes and occasionally barely-audible growls. Scott had Allison behind him, though she had her bow strung confidently. Boyd and Isaac were guarding Lydia, and Cora and Stiles stood slightly behind Derek.
Obviously, Stiles was going to make smart-ass comments because when faced with life-threatening situations that he can't actively dispel, that is what Stiles does.
"I mean, really, you have a phaser. Except like, with actual blowing-stuff-up capabilities. Which the props obviously didn't have on Star Trek," Stiles continued at lightning speed. "Hey, do you have any other sci-fi weaponry? Oh, tell me you have a light saber, dude, because that would be so epic. Maybe a whole locker of ridiculously advanced weapons—"
"Oh my god!" the hunter burst out. "Do you ever shut up?"
"No," said everyone else in the room simultaneously, including Stiles himself.
The hunter gestured at Derek with the gun. "You. Alpha. Order your little beta to shut his mouth or I shoot him next."
Derek raised his hands, shaking his head in a way that seemed to absolve him of all responsibility for Stiles. "No."
"Then I shoot him!"
"Look, if I could, I would. But I can't. There isn't a force I have encountered that can make him stop with the smart-ass comments. In situations like this, smart-ass comments are what Stiles does," Derek said dryly. Scott was nodding sagely. Stiles's levels of smart-assery were the pretty much only things they agreed on.
"What is your name anyway?" Stiles interrupted compulsively. "We've been in here for like an hour and we don't even know you or why you want to kill us all."
The hunter looked genuinely surprised. "I am Benjamin Agamemnon. I am a member of a very old and powerful hunter family. All of my family is now dead. Except for me. Half turned by werewolves in battle and then killed by their loved ones, the others killed by the turned they hadn't the strength to destroy. Eventually, I was the only one left."
"What a sad story," Allison whispered. Scott nodded in agreement, looking concerned for Allison. Of course, she could sympathize with someone who'd lost most of his family to the werewolf-hunter feud. Stiles gave her a wide-eyed-morphing-into-squinty-eyed look that communicated very clearly 'I understand your family was tragic and all but holy shit this guy is blowing shit up and he wants to blow US up don't look so sorry for him what the fuck.' And Allison shook herself, setting her jaw. Stiles gave her an exasperated 'thank you' expression.
Stiles was an expert in communicating, even wordlessly.
"And the killing us all even though WE weren't the ones who killed your family or anything and actually are pretty decent guys except for Derek who's just grumpy. What is that about?" Stiles was practically radiating irritation. This, in spite of the gun pointing straight at his mouth and the increasingly annoyed scowl on Derek's face.
Something told Stiles that Derek really wanted to protest being labeled as a grump but couldn't without blatantly lying. The thought almost made him want to chuckle.
Agamemnon's face screwed up. "Perhaps none of you yourselves did this. But the Agamemnons and the Hales…we go way back."
Stiles's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Derek, whose face was suddenly even more closed off than usual.
"Now that he mentions it," Cora said, brow furrowed. "I think Daddy did talk about the Agamemnons at some point."
"I remember that too," Derek agreed quietly. "They were coming after us. That was one of the nights we were on lockdown."
Cora nodded fervently. "They didn't look so good after."
Derek stared stonily at the hunter. "My family doesn't kill randomly. They protected the pack. Whatever your hunters did, it was the reason my family went for them."
"It doesn't matter!" Agamemnon roared, spit flying from his mouth. "Your mother was the one who bit my aunt and my brother, beginning the plague. She was the one who began the end! And to avenge the disgrace she brought to my family, I will destroy her bloodline!"
"Good luck with that," Peter snarked from a corner. Stiles jumped—he had forgotten Peter was even there. Can't you kill him again? He thought at Derek, who was ignoring his telepathy powers. "We Hales don't catch the dead very easily."
Agamemnon blinked in surprise. "Who the hell are you?"
Peter stepped forward smoothly. "Peter Hale. Formerly dead. Hi." He waved a hand negligently.
"Formerly…?" Agamemnon repeated dumbly.
"Dead, yes."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Don't worry if you don't get it, he never explained it to us either," Isaac remarked dryly. "Unfortunately, it is true."
"Derek killed him. I saw it," Scott confirmed.
Agamemnon seemed to be contemplating this for several minutes, his lips pursed in thought. Finally he seemed to come to a decision and leveled the weapon at Derek again. "Undead or not, I will destroy the Hales. Starting with the alpha: Derek Hale!"
Stiles stuck his head between Derek and the hunter, causing Derek to stiffen and lean forward, his claws shooting out. "If I could say just one more thing…" Stiles said with a wide grin.
"What?" Agamemnon growled, clicking off the safety.
Stiles swallowed a whimper and kept smiling. "You would save yourself time and effort and possibly death if you just don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't even try. To kill him," Stiles clarified, jerking a thumb at Derek. "It won't work." He took a few steps to the side, giving the hunter a clear shot at Derek. "Derek can't die, man. It's scary. Like, more so than Derek usually is which is saying something."
"I'm pretty sure I can die, Stiles," said Derek in his shut-up-or-I'll-rip-your-throat-out voice.
Stiles shook his head. "Yeah, no. It's been tried. It just doesn't work, bro. You know how many times Scott has thought you were dead since we met you? Like five. And every time, nope, there you were, really freaking bloody and injured, but still kicking and making our lives more difficult. You are like the opposite of Sean Bean, only in real life. He dies in all his movies even when he doesn't really need to. You never die even when you probably should."
Derek looked around as the hunter began pumping the action and the wide muzzle began to glow with energy. None of the pack was moving. In fact, they all looked supremely unconcerned. He raised his eyebrows at them. Isaac shrugged lazily.
"You aren't even going to move," Derek stated expressionlessly.
"What's really the point?" Isaac asked. "We'd just get ourselves mangled for no reason."
"No rea—" Derek started to repeat in disbelief and stopped himself abruptly. "So you are all okay with me getting shot at point-blank range with a weapon previously only seen in science fiction movies. A weapon that reduced a well-constructed bookshelf to smoking rubble."
He looked significantly at Scott, who would usually be negotiating with the enemy and with Derek, fighting to protect them all with his life. It was one of the qualities that Derek truly respected about Scott. Not that he would ever tell Scott that. Ever.
However, Scott only smiled in that slightly apologetic way and gave a little half shrug. "Isaac is right, dude. And Allison likes this shirt."
Allison grinned. "I do."
Derek's eyes rolled dramatically. "Well, since none of these people are going to lift a finger to stop you, I suggest you shoot now, before I make you regret ever coming to Beacon Hills."
The hunter sputtered at this very odd exchange. After he looked around to make sure no one was going to stop him, Agamemnon shrugged and pulled the trigger.
The blast was deafening, twice as powerful as the one that had destroyed the bookshelf. The room shook and Stiles was knocked off his feet. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling and smoke filled the space. Stiles coughed, squinting against the sparks and black smoke in his eyes. The smoke began to clear and Stiles saw Agamemnon slumped against the wall, dazed, the gun knocked from his hands.
And then a figure came striding through the smoke. Derek, Stiles thought.
He stepped out of the smoke completely. It was indeed Derek. His shirt had been completely burned away by the explosion and there were rapidly healing burns on his chest and face, but instead of hurt, he looked pissed off. He was wolfed out, his claws long, his fangs making his jaw readjust awkwardly.
A clawed hand flashed out and he hauled Agamemnon up by the front of his shirt.
Stiles gave a half-cough, half-laugh. "I told you. Derek is the reverse Sean Bean. He doesn't die," Stiles said sympathetically. "But you will."
Derek paused to let the man feel the full effects of his alpha-red eyes. And then he growled, full-force, in Agamemnon's face.
Agamemnon went pale. There was a spurt of blood and then his body fell limp and lifeless to the floor, claw marks rending his neck.
Stiles winced. "Oh, god," he moaned to himself, trying to keep his lunch down. "Always with the bloodletting. Why can't we ever sit down and talk out our differences over coffee and those little scones they make at that bakery on Fifth Avenue? Just once…"
Derek was standing over him, his eyebrows lifted. "Nice rescue there, Stiles."
Stiles waved a hand. "You know me. I got your back. It just happens to be a really tank-like, difficult-to-kill back, so I don't always have to have it. But I do. When I think you need it. Which you usually don't. I mean not ever," he amended at the arch look on the alpha's face. "Never ever."
Derek sighed and offered the babbling human a hand up. "Stiles. Shut up."
"Okay." He agreed, letting Derek pull him up quietly.
"It's a miracle," Derek breathed as they hunted for the others.
Stiles elbowed him. "Smart-ass."
Stiles couldn't help but laugh at the 'you-are-not-allowed-to-call-people-that' look on Derek's face. When he started coughing again, Derek pounded him absently on the back, examining his own now-unmarred chest. I suppose he has a point, he thought. Not that he'd ever admit it.
