Someone told me they would have loved to see the blossoming relationship between Derek and Stiles after the incident in A Price. Well… here it is. There's continuity between this and Choking On An Apology, a LaReyes fic of mine. Enjoy.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"I'm going to go hang out with Scott and some friends." Stiles called to his father as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
"Hold on a second." The Sheriff replied, getting up from his chair and abandoning his paperwork. He met Stiles in the hallway and leaned against the wall. "Where are you going and who will you be with?"
"I'm going with Scott and his drug dealer to drive recklessly around a canyon." Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes at his dad's concern.
His dad crossed his arms and huffed. "Stiles."
"I'm just going to hang out with Scott and Boyd at one of our friend's houses." Stiles eluded.
The Sheriff was not impressed or convinced. He raised his eyebrow. "Are you going to hang out with them at the Hale house?"
Stiles sighed and nodded. It was weird hearing his dad call it the "Hale house." It was really only the townspeople who called it that. Considering only one Hale lived there now, the title was a bit outdated. Everyone who lived or went there anymore called it the Pack house. Because that's what it was.
"Fine." His dad allowed. Stiles started for the door once again before the Sheriff stopped him. "Don't stay out too late."
"I won't." Stiles threw over his shoulder as he jogged down the path to his car. He got in the Jeep and drove the now familiar route to the Pack house. He loved driving this way. Not just because he was happy to hang out with the Pack, but the woods were beautiful to drive through. He loved rolling down the window and breathing in the fresh smell of the forest.
Not that he would ever tell anyone.
He pulled into the clearing and parked by the myriad of other vehicles there. Derek's black Camaro, Mrs. McCall's car (borrowed by her son), Boyd's silver and red motorcycle, and Jackson's Porsche were lined up outside the old house.
Which was looking good, by the way. Derek had insisted the Pack help out with renovations for their training. It was strength building, he maintained. No one really believed that was the reason, but no one complained because they knew why he wanted help.
Who would want to rebuild the house your entire family died in all by yourself?
Stiles had helped too, despite the reassurances that he didn't need to. He had decided early on that the squishy humans shouldn't be moving entire pieces of furniture or ripping up floorboards. So together, he, Allison, and Lydia worked on the more doable tasks like painting, drilling, and supervising. Or rather, he and Allison did while Lydia planned and dominated as usual.
Stiles had tried to convince her to put some secret passage ways and sliding bookshelves into the blueprints, but she shook her head and told him, smiling sadistically the whole time, to ask Derek first. Manipulative woman. Stiles knew right away that she wasn't doing it because she wanted to follow rules; she was pushing Stiles at Derek. Like everyone else.
The entire Pack had been bothering them about their relationship for a while. And by a while, Stiles meant ever since their relationship changed. That night when Derek had held him through a panic attack had changed them. Noticeably. And everyone else was incredibly annoying about it.
There was no discrete groping or secretive make-out sessions—and Stiles did not want that, he did not—the change was something nobody else understood. Or tried to understand. They always complained about Stiles smelling like Derek, or vice versa, but that was for no reason other than the nightmares.
Derek still had nightmares and Stiles still had panic attacks. It was easier for Derek now that the house no longer resembled the burned out shell it once did and his new Pack was sleeping there with him. And it was easier for Stiles now that he had Derek. Whenever Derek was plagued with a nightmare or haunting memories, he would run to Stiles's house and they would talk or just sit together. And Derek could hear Stiles's panic attacks from miles away, and would find him wherever he was.
They had become a real team. Two broken and fucked up people working together to remain sane. It was kind of poetic.
Stiles's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his window. He jumped slightly and turned to face the bronze hair and bright smile that was Isaac Lahey.
"Hey, you okay?" He asked, peering at Stiles with a strange look on his face.
"Yeah," Stiles's brow furrowed. "Why?"
Isaac laughed softly, "Well… you've been sitting out here with the engine running for about five minutes. I don't think you even moved."
"Oh. Right. I was just thinking."
"Hey, it's your business. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Great. I'm going to hang out with Erica. I'll see you around."
Stiles cut the engine as he watched Isaac take off into the trees. He was a good kid. Stiles was glad Isaac and Erica were together. They made each other happy, that was plain.
Walking up the stairs into the Pack house was always a strange experience for Stiles. He expected it would be so for a while. He still wasn't used to coming to this house with it nice and clean, at a time when no one was in danger. Granted, it was a nice change of pace.
Derek met him downstairs with a panicked expression. "Stiles? What's wrong?"
"Uhh, nothing?" Stiles queried. Apparently Derek wasn't used to the change either. "Unless there's something I don't know about, yet. I just came over to hang out."
"Oh." Was all he said. They stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. Neither one of them had quite worked out their relationship standing, so neither was sure how to act around the other.
Stiles cleared his throat. "Uhm, so, is Scott here?"
Derek rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He said as he let Stiles in. "He's downstairs with Allison. They seem to be having a serious conversation." He made air quotes around "serious."
Stiles nodded with understanding. Allison and Scott had been "broken up" for close to a month now. After two weeks of not talking to each other, they had started to make conversation. They seemed to be rebuilding their relationship little by little. Scott was thrilled, of course, but Derek was uneasy about how often she was over. He had forgiven her (kind of) but he had a hard time getting over the fact that she was Kate's niece.
"She's trying." Sties said quietly.
Derek sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand. "I know. It's just… old habits and what not." Stiles nodded sympathetically. "She even… kind of smells like her."
Stiles mulled that over. Interesting, seeing as they weren't that closely related. He made a mental note to look up scent patterns in families and decided to ask Scott what kind of perfume Allison wears.
"Who else is here?" Stiles queried.
"Boyd left a while ago to go geocaching or something. Didn't take his bike. I expect Jackson and Lydia are making out somewhere in the woods."
"Yeah right. Lydia's a classy bitch. She wouldn't go for a groping in the trees. She probably took Jackson somewhere else. Her car isn't around, in any case."
There was a slightly awkward pause as Derek tried to figure out how to respond to that."
"Uh, have you eaten? I was just making lunch." Stiles followed Derek into the kitchen. He had laid out a sandwich buffet line, the whole counter was covered in cheese and meats and condiments and bread. At the very end, there were a few bags of chips.
"Damn, it's like Subway in here." Stiles commented.
Derek rolled his eyes. "I like to know my options."
"That shouldn't be hard." Stiles put his keys down and sat down in a chair. Every once in a while, he would filch a few chips from Derek's plate. He took it as a good sign that Derek hadn't glared yet.
They were soon in a conversation about zombies and which movies were the best. Stiles was a sucker for all zombie movies, not caring about the origin, simply enjoying the plot and the blood and guts. Derek insisted that zombies would never have super powers or speed, but they would be really hard to kill.
"That's the problem with so many of these modern zombie things. A zombie is an animated corpse, nothing more. They can't move too fast because they don't have the motor control. Besides, they'd fall apart."
"Okay, so: you're in a zombie apocalypse. What weapons do you keep on you?"
"Machete, shotgun, two handguns. Simple, effective, and easy to carry around. You?"
"Machete, obviously, it's a classic. Some kind of good gun, a Winchester rifle or something, and a chainsaw, if I can find one."
"A chainsaw, really?" Derek groaned. He moved to put his plate in the sink. "Do you know how inefficient that would be?"
"What's wrong with chainsaws?"
"They're loud, they're heavy, they need a constant fuel resource, they require strength to be wielded, and they're awkward enough that you are just as likely to cut your own arm off as the head of the zombie you're trying to kill."
Stiles gaped at him. That was kind of… hot.
No, no it wasn't. Where did that come from? Shut up, Stiles.
"You need some serious education. Follow me."
Stiles nearly toppled his chair over in his haste to follow Derek. He bounded after him, curious as to what he was going to show him.
Derek led him into a room that was furnished with dusky wood and forest green colors. As his eyes traced over the dark color scheme, he realized that he must be in Derek's room.
Holy shit, he's in Derek's room.
Derek was scanning one of several shelves in his room, and Stiles simply stared at the huge bookshelves that lined three of his walls. If brains could get erections, he would have one right now, because god damn! There were more books in here than he has seen anywhere but in a library. He read the titles of a few near him. Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Hobbit, To Kill A Mockingiord, Gone with the Wind, Great Gatsby, Skin (short stories by Roald Dahl), and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He even had the Lord of The Rings Trilogy and the Harry Potter series
"I think I just had a nerd-gasm." Stiles said weakly.
Derek snorted and pulled a book from one of his shelves. "Here, educate yourself." He tossed it at Stiles.
Stiles settled on Derek's bed and read the cover: The Zombie Survival Guide; Complete Protection from the Living Dead, by Max Brooks. He flipped through the first few pages, mesmerized with the detail and information. His mouth slackened.
"I think that's your look of the day." Derek teased. He plucked another book from the shelf and sat next to Stiles. "Read this one too. It was just published a while ago, it's fantastic. T. Michael Martin really knows what he's doing."
Stiles took the book from Derek and read the title. The End Games. The cover art sent a tingle down his spine. Way creepy and way awesome.
Derek started talking about his favorite zombie books and about how books are so much better than movies because there's a lot more detail and a lot more explanation. But sometimes, they have better mysteries too. Words just convey it so much better because you get to make up how everything looks. You give it your own casting.
Stiles was just overwhelmed by Derek's talking. He was talking so much, which never happened, but he seemed so passionate that Stiles leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Which ended all conversation.
Shit, why did I do that? Derek just looked so delectable. No, shut up brain, I don't need thoughts like that. Why haven't I moved my face? We're still touching faces…. Fuck, now what! Now you pull away. Okay, I can do that.
Stiles pulled back sheepishly, the burn of embarrassment spreading across his face and down to his toes. He could feel the brush staining his pale skin red.
He looked at Derek, who looked stunned. Not angry, thank everything that exists ever. Actually, he wasn't showing any expression at all. After a few minutes, Stiles began to worry.
Awh crap, I broke him.
Not sure what to do, he waved his hand in front of Derek's face and called his name. "Derek. Derek, are you having a seizure? There are kinds where the person just stares or something. I remember it from health class." Silence. Nothing. Nada. "You're starting to freak me out here… I think I may have killed you."
Derek thawed a little bit, his eyes going in to focus, only to stare at Stiles. Who was blatantly uncomfortable. Only one word passed Derek's lips.
"…what?"
He looked so utterly confused that Stiles just thought he'd leave him to it. Honestly, he was fucking distracted and freaked out as well. He got up and left the room quietly, glad that no one else was in the house, except for the Scott and Allison, who would not be paying attention. Stiles made his way down stairs, thinking about kissing and his sexuality and why.
He sat on the couch for about half an hour, having an existential crisis that he didn't care to admit to having. He mulled over many aspects of what even before he settled on I don't even fucking know.
He went to the kitchen to grab his keys and Boyd walked in.
"Hey, man." Boyd called. Stiles instantly latched onto the conversation with him in order to escape his own mind. They struck up an obscure topic and Stiles went with it, willing to talk about just about anything. He'd take dirty socks if it meant he would stop thinking about what he had done.
He just hoped Derek wouldn't come down the stairs and make good on his many threats of evisceration and throat ripping.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX
A/N: To be continued! Please let me know what you think and what you think should happen. I love you all, mwah!