Internet Killed The Video Star
By Cortexikid
A/N: Hey there :D So, I'm a vet fanfic writer but this is my first foray into the Teen Wolf fandom. Of course, it had to laced with some underlined Sterek (it has become my drug of choice lately) so yeah, hope you guys like it :)
Disclaimer: Neither sourwolf nor hyper teen belong to me.
Time-Line: Based post-season 2.
"What the hell is this?"
Stiles Stilinski turned on the spot and was met by none other than Derek Hale, wearing what he affectionately called the 'sourwolf-sulky-face' pointed firmly in his direction. It was becoming somewhat of a theme between them. Stiles does something he thinks is inherently thoughtful (but is in reality usually irritating) and Derek retaliates with growling, sourwolf-sulky-face and/or the shoving of an undeserving teenager into a nearby wall or otherwise convenient fixture.
"Well Derek, this is what the cool kids call a Mac Book Pro. Or Mac. Macintosh..." Stiles trailed off with a pensive tap to his chin and shrugged before turning back to the grubby desk and ignoring the irate lycanthrope behind him.
"You're not a cool kid," Derek gritted his teeth, "and why the hell is it in here?"
"Okay one, no need to be rude. And two, it's for your new office," the teenager grinned, gesturing wildly to his surroundings, to the desk that had seen better days, the large bookshelf that was missing several shelves and the newly appropriated laptop that was purchased second-hand from a friend of a friend.
"I told you I didn't need an office," Derek reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time, "and I don't need a laptop. We have all the information we need, right here," he finished, pointing to the pathetic excuse of a bookshelf.
Stiles glanced to the books before snorting, his fingers tapping rapidly across the keyboard as he spoke, not bothering to turn and look at the brooding man.
"Dude...I know you were living a 16th century lifestyle with no running water or electricity when you were in the uh..." he trailed off, apparently searching for the right word to best describe the Hale household, before clicking his fingers, "charming Hale abode and all but, here in the 21st century we have this amazing thing called the internet. Comes in handy sometimes, especially when those," he lifted a hand off the laptop to point to the offending pieces of bound paper, "are being about as helpful as Scott in chem class."
Derek rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Stiles' particular brand of comparison. He was right though, not that he'd ever admit that out loud. They had been pretty unsuccessful in their research into how they could possibly deal with the impending doom the Alpha-pack were more than likely to bring and they were running out of time. Erica and Boyd had been gone for weeks now...they all feared the worst.
Derek felt the familiar pang in his chest as he thought about it.
"They're here, aren't they?" Stiles asked, his voice a hell of a lot quieter than usual as he continued to type, his large, hazel gaze glimmering against the harsh light of the screen and the otherwise engulfing darkness that surrounded them in Derek's large, open-spaced loft.
Derek nodded, before realizing that the boy couldn't see him. "Yes," he murmured, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders, staring at the back of Stiles' head, noticing how his usually buzz-cut hair had grown longer over the last few months.
"So, we've a merry band of Super Alpha Ninja Werewolves roaming Beacon Hills as we speak? Awesome..."
"As you speak," Derek corrected, "I haven't got a word in edgewise in over an hour."
"Oh like you've tried Mr. Tall, Dark and Threatening," the teen muttered before smacking his hands down onto the keys in frustration, spinning around in the chair and heaving a sigh.
"The internet may have killed the video star, but it's doing jack in our plan to rid this town of fanged, homicidal, puppies of the night. Present company excluded, of course."
Derek glared at him but Stiles was immune by now and just dismissed him with a wave.
This was apparently the wrong thing to do.
The alpha leapt forward like a spring, grabbing a fistful of Stiles' Werewolf? There, Wolf T-shirt (hey, it was funny at the time, even Peter thought so) and slamming him up against the desk so his ass was pressing on the Mac's keyboard, spelling nonsensical words into Google as his fingers curled around the table, holding on tightly.
"This can't be fixed with some clicks of a mouse and smartass comments, Stiles," Derek growled, his cerulean eyes flashing but not turning crimson, not yet.
Stiles' heart hammered in his chest as he stared into the older guy's orbs, seeing for the first time, not only the anger there but the anxiety, the frustration and dare he think it, the fear.
"Boyd and Erica—" Derek broke off, his hand tightening around the shirt, "it's been over two months and you've been doing this...whatever this is for nearly as long and have come up with nothing! Scott and Isaac are training; sure, but they're just not good enough, not for what we're going to be up against. And Peter—" he broke off again with an angry shake of his head.
The room was engulfed in silence as the two males stood close together, the elder hunched over the younger; they both tilted at an angle, both of Derek's hands now glued to Stiles' shirt, their faces inches apart, nothing passing between them but an understanding interlocking of eyes and laboured breaths. It was intoxicating, the closeness, the quietness of the moment, so rare in moments usually so charged with energy and chaos and running-for-their-lives.
They both welcomed it, in their own ways. While Stiles may not like being so casually thrown around like a rag doll (he swears it doesn't do funny things to him like spark a deep heat in the pit of his stomach, or make his heart do the rumba, it really doesn't) he knows that Derek needs this. Needs their very own brand of normalcy in a world that thrives on the abnormal, on the downright freaky.
So he allows it (like he could prevent it, even if he wanted to) and has come to actually like the more-than-occasional threat of bodily harm and the manhandling (he tries not to think what that says about him as a person) from Derek Sourwolf Hale.
"I think," Stiles began after a long moment, "that's the longest I've ever heard you talk."
The spell was broken. Derek unclasped his hands from around the ridiculous T-shirt and steps back, his body tense again, like a spring wound too tight.
Stiles wished he could see him relax a little but inwardly snorted at that passing thought. Derek has never, not in the entire time the teen has known him, ever been relaxed in any way. Now he especially wasn't, not with everything going on, but Stiles still tried to be nice by helping find this fine apartment that was now the new Hale residence and add an office where they could do their research as well as making sure there were the essentials like electricity and running water in the place, unlike it's predecessor. But, even that didn't bring as much as twitch to Derek's lips, never mind a smile. Not that Stiles was looking at his mouth or anything. Of course not.
He was just about to open his mouth to continue what was likely to be a long spiel about how Derek needed to learn how to use his words when the wolf beat him to it, a confused but slightly amused smirk spreading across his face as he stared at something over Stiles' shoulder.
"Uh, Stiles? Any particular reason why a website called 'guylove-bigbears' just popped up on your browser?"
The teen's jaw dropped as he spun around rapidly, a flush rising on his cheeks as he saw the multitude of half-naked, well-built men dancing vivaciously with larger, hairy men on the screen. Silently, he cursed his ass for navigating his browser history so embarrassingly.
Quickly, he slammed the lid shut and half-turned to the wolf but avoided eye contact. He knew what he was going to say was actually the truth (not in his wildest dreams could he ever make this up) but also knew that it sounded like the most fabricated piece of crap since Scott tried to convince Mr. Harris that Uranus-ium was actually a chemical element.
"Uh well, I was researching wolves and read somewhere that bears share a lot of attributes with uh—with their mating patterns and without thinking I typed 'bears' 'mating' and 'arousal' and huh...what d'ya know, a whole other type of bears came up..." he trailed off, wincing as he realized how that sounded, "trust me, there are definitely some things that can't be un-googled."
A short chuckle escaped from Derek.
Stiles glanced up in shock. He didn't care that it was at his expense; Derek was amused, something other than sulky or an emotionless robot so he took that as a win.
"Whatever floats your boat, Stiles," he shook his head before his face began to morph back into the mask of impassiveness that Stiles knew and lov—liked.
"Ha, ha, you're hilarious. Seriously," Stiles rolled his eyes before clearing his throat.
"Hey, why—why don't we go and check up on Scott and Isaac, huh? They should be at the hideout by now. You can get back to housetraining them or whatever the hell it is you guys do..."
A loud growl erupted from Scott McHale as he tackled Isaac Lahey, their strength equally matched; sweat dripping from their brows and draping their shoulders and chests in a fine glistening sheen as Derek Hale watched on, his ever-judgemental eye tracking their progress and technique.
"No, step back, Scott—you need more space to gain momentum, no—Isaac—stop, just...stop!" he hissed, holding up his hands to push them both back off each other.
"I thought they were good...not Freddy vs. Jason good but—"
"If I want your opinion, Stiles, I'll tell you it," Derek growled over his shoulder at the human boy who sat on the grubby green couch in the abandoned warehouse, laptop perched on his knees as he absentmindedly watched his friends spar.
"Well, look who got outta the wrong side of the litter today," Stiles grumbled under his breath, utterly ignoring the alpha's glare.
That shit was gettin' old.
"Mom and Dad fighting again?" Peter Hale asked Scott as he entered the room in his usual flourish.
Scott merely ignored him and turned to listen to Derek who was now pacing back and forth, irritation rolling off him in waves.
"This...this isn't working. We gotta find somewhere less—"
"Crack den-y?" Stiles suggested helpfully.
Derek shot around, throwing his arms up in frustration.
"We need more space. Somewhere sturdier if we're really going to push ourselves to the limit of our capabilities and this place is just too...unstable," glancing around the warehouse that was full with heavy machinery, rusted and dusty from lack of use.
"This coming from the guy that thought an abandoned railway depot was a suitable place to train a bunch of supernatural teenagers? Really?" Stiles couldn't help but point out as he stood up from the couch, barely smothering the cough as a puff of dust wafted around him.
"Yeah well, training a bunch of supernatural teenagers anywhere isn't a walk in the park, Stiles," Derek growled, his jaw tightening as he stepped toward him.
"Could be worse," Stiles shrugged, forcing himself not to take a step back, "you could be in charge of a bunch of sparkly teenagers. That shit messes with your eyes. I can only imagine the headaches."
"I don't need to imagine," Derek shook his head, an eyebrow arched in Stiles' direction.
"Really?" Stiles gaped, not realizing he was the source of the alpha's migraine, "you met sparkly vampires?!"
Peter snorted as Derek rolled his eyes.
"Vampires aren't real, Stiles."
"Really?" the teen frowned, "that sucks."
Derek stared at him as Scott and Isaac tried and failed to hide their grins.
"No pun intended," the human wiggled his eyebrows before watching as his Scott approached Derek.
"You'd had no luck in...locating Erica and Boyd?" he asked, already knowing the answer before the alpha had a chance to shake his head.
"I've gone to the very edge of the town through the woods; I've tracked their scent until it disappears and...nothing. It's like they've just...vanished..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.
"You could always find two more wayward youths to recruit, that high school is a microcosm for damaged, easily-manipulated tyrants," Peter smirked, levelling Scott and Isaac with a smirk.
Before anyone could argue, Peter took a step towards Stiles who stared at him wearily, forcing his feet to glue to the floor.
"Or we could recruit from within...what do you say, Stilinski? You ready for the bite yet? I'm sure Derek here would be more than willing to get a little taste of you..." he trailed off, winking at the boy before the alpha stepped in between them, pushing him away from Stiles.
"Oh, did I touch a nerve, dear nephew?" he asked pseudo-innocently, unable to keep the shit-eating grin off his face.
Derek merely glared at him, squeezing his arm dangerously tight.
"No, no more recruiting," Scott held up his hand to try and diffuse the situation. "I'm sure we can find them. I'm sure they're fine."
"How disgustingly optimistic of you Mr. McCall," Peter rolled his eyes as Derek let go of his arm.
"Okay," he changed tact, turning to the boys, "so no more recruiting from the school. We could just always scout the hospitals, follow some people of interest home—"
"How very serial killer-ish of you, Mr. Hale," Stiles interrupted, mimicking his tone from before.
Peter laughed at that, his light eyes blazing.
"You really are amusing Stiles, I'll give you that. Disgracefully weak and utterly useless but hey, at least you're funny," Peter's eyebrows raised.
Before anyone could respond, a low rumbling could be heard in the vicinity of Derek. He was growling. His eyes blazingly crimson as he reefed Peter towards him roughly.
"Stiles is one of us, Peter," he hissed, low in his throat, his nose an inch from his uncle's, his eyes boring into him, "he is part of the pack and you will treat him with respect. You got that?"
Stiles gaped at the scene before him, catching the eye of his friends (who looked just as surprised as he felt) before turning his attention back to the family feud that was unfolding that very moment.
"Whoa, guess I have touched a nerve. Okay, Derek. The kid's off limits...I get it," Peter held up his hands in surrender as his nephew released his grip on him, shoving him away.
"Good," the alpha nodded before storming off.
There was a tense silence as they all watched him go, Stiles' stare more intense than anybody's, his heart skipping a beat as he realized that Derek just defended him. It took him a further two seconds to realize that that made him feel a little like a damsel in distress. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that...
Before he could dwell on it further, his laptop pinged loudly, alerting him that it was finished searching.
With quickened steps, he made his way back over to the couch and picked up the laptop, his hazel eyes scanning the screen quickly, a small, pleased grin spreading across his face.
Scott and Isaac meanwhile noticed his expression and crossed the room.
"What is it? Is everything o—"
"Calm down pups, no need to chew up sneakers or pee on the rug—good ol' 'utterly useless' Stiles has got everything under control," the teen interrupted Scott, practically bouncing with excitement, he finally catching the break they all needed.
With a quirk of his eyebrow he turned the laptop to show the precise way that they could help deal with the alpha-pack and try and locate Erica and Boyd.
"Yet again, the internet made books its bitch!"
A/N: So yeah, there you have it. I really hope I did everything and everyone justice. I may write another Teen Wolf fic soon, I do love Sterek UST. :D
Please review and let me know if I did okay for my first TW fic. Oh and this is also posted over on AO3 under the same user-name :)
~Cortexikid x