This is for gbernadon because this is totally inspired by something she told me about. As with much of the Sterek I write, this contains some very trope-y things. It's like I'm constantly playing fanfic bingo and I can't stop. I'm also incapable of avoiding schmoopy endings. For these things I apologize.
Work Text:
Stiles is tipsy. Okay, tipsy might be an understatement, but he's not drunk. He can't be drunk because he promised Scott that he wasn't and that he was fine to walk home alone and nothing would happen. So Stiles is determinedly not drunk. And he's definitely not lost. Nope, not even close.
Except that he's totally lost.
No matter that Stiles has spent all 17 years of his life in this town, somehow Kira's friend lives … somewhere. Somewhere on the opposite side of town that Stiles isn't entirely sure how to get home from. But he thinks he's walking in the right direction at the very least.
Stiles keeps making his way down the street, teetering a little and zoning out as he walks. After a while he stops, looking around to try to gauge where he is. He's surprised to see the faintest hint of light starting to creep into the horizon. It means he's been walking for longer than he thought—probably longer than it should have taken him to get home, really—and the alcohol buzz is just beginning to fade, leaving Stiles both loopy and completely exhausted. Stiles shakes his head to try to clear the fog that seems to be permeating his thoughts and then peers at the street signs, trying to find something familiar.
To his left there's a park with a playground, and as Stiles peers through the faint early morning light he sees a faded red slide and a broken chain on the third swing in. He recognizes it all at once as the park a few streets over from Scott's house—they used to play there as kids, and the swing has been broken nearly as long as Stiles can remember. (Okay, so there's a slight chance that Stiles is the reason it's broken. But that's really not the point.)
Now that he knows where he is, Stiles moves forward with renewed energy. He's just glancing around before crossing the street when he stops dead once again, staring at the street sign that caught his attention. Alpha Way. Stiles stares for a long moment, wandering over to stand directly beneath the sign as he cranes his neck to keep looking at it as he contemplates.
The sign is probably older than Stiles is—like most of the street signs around town, since there's rarely reason to change them—and it has one bent corner and hangs a little loose on its bolts. It looks sort of sad drooping there like that, Stiles thinks. So he does the only thing that seems logical to his alcohol and exhaustion addled brain: he jumps up, grabbing the top of the sign and hanging there momentarily until the weakened bolt holes give way with a metallic groan. Stiles falls on his ass, hitting the ground with a sobering smack. He stares at the sign and at the red gouge it left across both of his palms, and all he can think momentarily is that his dad is going to kill him if he finds out. Okay, when he finds out.
Stiles pushes the thought away; it's not like he can change that now, so he may as well follow through with his original plan. He heaves himself off the ground, street sign in hand, and starts off toward the park again.
It's way too early in the morning for anyone who hasn't been up all night to be awake, and yet when Stiles knocks on the door it's only a few moments before it opens. Derek looks like he just got up—his hair is mussed and his eyes are still hazy from sleep—but the loft smells like fresh coffee, so it wasn't Stiles's knocking that woke him.
"Hey, what are you doing up?" Stiles says by way of greeting.
Derek gives him an odd look. "You're the one pounding on my door at 5 am."
"But I mean," Stiles says, "you were awake before I got here. Do you wake up this early every morning?"
Derek shakes his head and yawns—Stiles still hasn't gotten over how adorable sleepy Derek is—and he steps aside to let Stiles into the loft. Stiles follows Derek over to the kitchen, plunking himself on a stool at the new island counter while Derek pours two mugs full of coffee and dumps a liberal amount of cream into the one he pushes across to Stiles.
Stiles takes a sip and groans at how good it is after a night of too much drinking and no sleep. "So I brought you something," he says after a few sips. His arm is beginning to ache from being twisted up to holding the sign behind his back, and it's probably only Derek's half-asleep state that has kept him from asking about the odd position of it for this long. Derek watches him across the counter but doesn't say anything. Stiles pulls the sign from behind his back, only getting it caught on his shirt briefly in the process, and drops it onto the counter with a clatter.
Derek blinks at the sign for a moment and then sighs like he's caught between amusement and exasperation. "Alpha Way. Shouldn't you be giving this to Scott?" Stiles shrugs. Maybe that would have been more logical—both because Scott is the alpha and because he'd probably see the value of a stolen street sign more than Derek does—but Stiles never really even considered it. The moment he saw the sign, he knew he wanted to give it to Derek. Derek lets his lack of response slide in favour of another question. "How did you even get this?"
"Erm," Stiles says, scratching the back of his head. "About that ..." he pauses, feeling slightly embarrassed now that he's sober and Derek doesn't seem as excited as drunk Stiles had somehow expected him to. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Don't tell my dad, okay?"
"A street sign with a werewolf-related word on it goes missing on a night you were out partying. I'm sure the sheriff will never solve that mystery," Derek deadpans.
Stiles huffs and crosses his arms. He's not really sure why he's so annoyed; it's not like he doesn't already know that his dad will figure it out, and he really shouldn't have expected Derek to be excited about the sign, but it kind of hurts that his boyfriend can't even be bothered to feign appreciation. "Y'know what, never mind," Stiles says, reaching for the sign, "I'll give it to Scott."
Derek catches Stiles's hand before he even touches the edge of the metal. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Stiles asks, glaring.
"Don't give it to Scott and don't be mad at me. Please."
"Why?" He wants Derek to actually explain and not just rely on Stiles's ability to understand him even at his most monosyllabic.
"Because you got it for me and that," Derek pauses, looking a little pained at having to vocalize something even adjacent to emotion, "that means a lot to me."
"Easy, big guy. Don't hurt yourself," Stiles teases. Derek glares for a moment, but then his expression softens and his hand squeezes a little more tightly around the one of Stiles's that he's still holding.
Derek let go of the hand as he makes his way around the end of the counter and spins the stool Stiles is sitting on so that they're facing each other. "Thanks," Derek says softly, and then he leans in and kisses Stiles.
When Stiles goes to Derek's the next day, the sign is hanging above the front door.