For my own edification and amusement, I decided to take a 100 prompt challenge. Will I make it? Who knows, but "writing more" is a New Year's Resolution for me, so I'm giving it a shot.

Three days earlier…

"She's gone?" Scott asked, looking around cautiously. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Stiles grinned, proudly displaying the dreamcatcher he'd fashioned himself. "Evil nightmare fairies check in, but they don't check out."

"What do we do with that thing?" Derek asked, gazing at the dreamcatcher suspiciously.

"We bury it. Once it's rotted away completely, she'll be free, and she'll know better than to come around here again."

Derek nodded. "Good. I'll get the shovel." He jogged towards where the he'd parked the car.

Stiles turned to face Scott. "Did you hear what she was saying before she vanished?"

"No, I couldn't make it out, but she was pointing at you and Derek."

Before Stiles could answer, he flung his hand to the side of his head and let out a muffled gasp. He looked at Scott in confusion, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground.

Scott reached out to Stiles, but couldn't catch him in time. As he knelt on the ground next to his friend, he heard something between a grunt and a moan. He turned and saw that Derek had dropped to his knees, both hands clutching his head. He looked back and forth, shifting his gaze between Derek and Stiles, unsure of what to do.

"Oh, man." He muttered.

Deaton smiled enigmatically as he looked at the human and the werewolf standing at opposite ends of the exam table. They alternated between glaring at him, and glaring at each other.

"Well, there's good news, and there's bad news," he began softly.

"What's the bad news?" Derek snarled.

"Well, based on what you've told me, I've come to the conclusion that you two are cursed. Specifically, you two share a proximity curse. Physical distance from one another causes pain, nausea," he gestured to Stiles, "blackouts. The greater the distance between you, the stronger the effects."

"And the good news?" Stiles asked, breathing deeply.

"There really isn't any. I was trying to be positive."

Derek's eyes flashed red, but it was Stiles who slammed his fist into the table hard enough to dent it.

"Deaton! How do we break it?" Stiles' words came out in a low growl.

Scott stood up from where he'd been leaning against the wall and rushed to Stiles' side, placing a gentle hand in the center of his friend's back. "Calm down," he whispered.

"Scott's right," Deaton said in a soothing tone, "You both need to stay calm. You get angry, which gets him angry, getting you angrier, which gets him even angrier," he pointed back and forth between them.

Scott's face fell. It was hopeless. "Deaton! They piss each other off when they're not joined at the brain!"

Deaton sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'd noticed. Scott, you need to feed the animals, I've got a lot of research to do, and you two… You two need to find some common ground, this may take quite some time."

"It's not my fault," Stiles mumbled, staring down at the floor.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, Derek drew breath to speak. He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I know it's not your fault. I'm just… upset at the situation," he sighed.

"I know. It's not fair. Why couldn't I have been cursed to be around someone I like? Like Lydia. No, Deaton, take your time. No rush to break that curse."

Derek looked askance at Stiles. "It's not a curse if you enjoy it."

"Yeah, I get that. But cheer up, it's not so bad. I mean, sure, I'm stuck with you, but you, at least you get to be stuck with me." Stiles grinned.

Derek breathed in sharply through his nose.

"Fine," Stiles muttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He tossed it gently to Derek. "There are about twenty-seven hundred of my favorite songs on there; you're bound to find something you like."

Deaton looked up from the old and dusty tome on his desk. He could hear, beneath the sounds of various animals, a familiar-sounding cadence. He got up, walked to the examination room, and poked his head inside.

A little shoeshine boy never gets low down,

But he's got the dirtiest job in town.

Bendin' low at the peoples' feet,

On the windy corner of the dirty street.

Stiles had his eyes closed and was bobbing his head in time to the music. Derek lay back in his chair, tapping his foot on the floor, grinning, actually grinning broadly. Deaton's eyes opened wide in surprise and he pulled his head out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him. He whistled the chorus as he sat down behind his desk and picked up the book once more.

Derek stopped his pacing and headed into the hallway. Stiles followed him nervously.

"Where are you going?"

Derek stopped in front of a door and gestured to it. "I have to use the bathroom," he explained, opening the door. Stiles started to follow him in. "No. Not at all," Derek muttered.

"But you'll get all…" Stiles made frantic hand motions on either side of his face, "head explode-y."

"I'll deal."

"But, I'll get all head explode-y," Stiles stammered.

"You'll deal." Stiles frowned, and Derek placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "It's only a couple of feet, everything will be okay."

"But-"

"No buts, Stiles. You are not coming into the bathroom with me. I'm pretty sure this is a one-seater anyway. Just… Stand close to the wall, you'll be fine."

"Derek…" Stiles whined. He was not a fan of pain.

"Stiles, look at it this way, if you do pass out, you get to make me feel guilty about it."

"You'd feel guilty about making me pass out?"

Derek shrugged. "Maybe?"

"Okay boys, I'm sorry. I haven't been able to find anything. Come back tomorrow, maybe I'll have figured it out by then."

"Deaton, you can't be serious," Stiles muttered. "Didn't you take the Hippocratic Oath; don't you have to keep me from harm? If I have to spend much more time with Derek, I will be harmed, I can feel it."

Deaton's shoulders slumped. "Stiles, I'm a veterinarian. Veterinarians don't take the Hippocratic Oath. I did, however, pledge to relieve animal suffering, so rest assured, I'll keep working on it. For now, just find a place where you can get some rest."

Stiles stuck his finger straight up and pointed it at Derek. "I am not sleeping in that ash palace."

"Damn it, Stiles! This show sucks!" Derek rolled his eyes and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

Stiles shook his head and tried to remain calm. "You suck!"

Derek growled deep in the back of his throat. "Not as bad as this."

Stiles sighed and nudged the laptop towards Derek with his knee. "Fine. Find something you like better."

Derek lifted the computer to his lap and typed for a few seconds. He placed the laptop back on the bed between them and crossed his arms. "There," he muttered as the theme music began.

"This?" Stiles squawked, "Really?"

"What? You don't like it?"

"No. Act… Actually, it's a personal favorite."

"Good. Shut up."

"Okay, Scott, why don't you tell us your idea?"

"Well, I was thinking about it like this: If there's a link between you guys, maybe we can break it if we stretch it far enough, fast enough. Like a rubber band. Deaton, you take Stiles in my mom's car, I'll take Derek in the Camaro, we take off in opposite directions, as fast as we can."

Derek scoffed. "Why do you get to drive the Camaro?"

"My idea," Scott beamed.

Derek turned to Deaton. "Could it work?"

Deaton looked up at the sky, visibly pondering the question. "It could. It's better than doing nothing."

Stiles smiled, "What's the worse that could happen?"

Deaton turned to face him. "You could be in almost unbearable physical pain and agony."

Derek walked towards the Camaro. Turning his head, he spoke over his shoulder, "Let's try it. I'll deal with physical pain and agony. You would not believe the things this kid says in his sleep."

Ten minutes later, Derek opened one bleary eye and tried to focus on the silhouettes peering down at him. "McCall…." He growled.

"Sorry," Scott replied sheepishly.

Stiles spoke up, he was laying down on the ground next to Derek. "That was a really bad idea. Really bad. Oh, God, I feel sick."

"I said I was sorry!"

Deaton spoke softly and soothingly. "Are you sure you guys don't remember anything she said to you?"

Derek tried to sit up, thought better of it, and lay back down on the rough concrete. "I could barely hear her, it was really loud. Something… Sunrise? Sunset? I don't know."

Stiles groaned, "She was doing a Broadway number?"

Derek jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow, and grunted as the reflection of Stiles' pain flashed in his head.

"Yeah," Stiles threatened weakly, "Keep it up, there's more where that came from."

Scott chuckled, but Deaton was already miles away.

"Wait, we've got to do what?" Stiles' jaw dropped.

"Go to the preserve, find an oak tree, sit under it facing the east, and wait there for the sun to rise."

"It took you all day to figure that out?" Stiles moaned.

"I didn't really have a lot to go on, Mr. Stilinski."

"And that'll break the curse?" Derek asked.

"It should. Unless she said 'sunset', then you'd have to try again, facing west. Tomorrow, we've already missed it for today."

"I'm pretty sure it was 'sunrise'," Derek muttered, "Great, Another night with the Great Sleepless Mouth."

"This one ought to do it."

"How do you know that's an oak tree, Stiles?"

Stiles bent down, picked up a small round object, and tossed it to Derek. "Acorns," he muttered.

Derek nodded, suitably impressed.

They sat on the ground with their backs against the wide trunk, waiting for the eventual brightening of the horizon.

Derek handed Stiles the phone. "I can't think of a word," he muttered.

Stiles grunted in surprised. "You're going to show me your letters, just like that? That's not very smart."

"Stiles, we're doing this to stay awake and keep from being bored, right? How boring is it going to be if we just sit here because I can't think of a word to play?"

"Fine, let me see," Stiles fiddled with the phone for a few minutes. "There," he announced finally, handing the phone over.

Derek glanced at the screen before submitting the move. "Double word score, sweet."

"That doesn't count!" Stiles complained.

"Fine, start over, you go first," Derek muttered, shaking his head.

"One. One Sun in the Solar System."

"Two. Two... Two halves of," Derek sighed, "Anything, really."

"Three. Three dead Beatles."

Derek glared at Stiles in confusion and disgust. "There are only two dead Beatles."

Stiles scoffed, "Don't tell me you believe that! Paul's been dead since-"

"I'm done with this game. Get out your phone, I think I'm ready for more Scrabble."

Stiles nudged Derek in the shoulder. "The sun's up," he said through his yawn, "I've never actually watched a sunrise before. It's kind of nice."

"Do you think it worked?" Derek asked.

"There's only one way to find out."

They stood and trepidatiously backed away from each other. Nothing happened. Grinning, Stiles turned and ran, Derek followed suit a moment later.

When Derek was a football field's length away from the oak tree, he heard Stiles' triumphant whoop of joy, and laughed with relief. They met back at the tree, smiling, panting, and slapping one another high-fives. Then, as if on cue, they straightened their faces and stepped away from each other.

"It worked," Derek grunted.

"Yep."

"Let's get out of here."

"Sounds like a plan."

They headed out of the woods.

"Want to grab some breakfast?" Stiles asked, patting his stomach.

"Stiles," Derek groaned, "I just spent most of the last three days listening to every sound you make, give me one good reason, just one reason, why I'd want to have breakfast with you?"

Stiles spread his arms wide, palms up. "I'm hungry?"

Derek paused. He pursed his lips, shrugged, and nodded. "Me too, let's go."