Hi, so I've very, very, very (like two days ago) recently started watching this show. It's all because YouTube hates me, suggested a Sterek fanvid, and I clicked on it to watch. Those two are freaking hilarious together. It's like the Dean and Cas friendship from the fourth and fifth season of SPN (though, Derek recognizes pop culture references and Cas doesn't t threaten Dean quite as much), and my curiosity was peaked enough to look up the show online. Then I watched all of season one. I am totally addicted now, and need to watch Season Two ASAP.
Anyway, I had this idea after the first episode I watched (Magical Bullet-I know, I watched out of order... sue me), and really wanted to write it. I'm not sure if I nailed the characters just yet, so please let me know, and I really hope you enjoy this.
I am merely a FanFiction writer... no profit for me. Thanks for reading, and drop me a comment if you can.
See ya in the next chapter!
Stiles hated the nights when the hunters, or Allison's lovely family, staked out Derek's house. The Beta tended to stay away from the remains of his family home, and usually bunked with him or Scott (but mostly him). Of course, since Scott told the cops Derek was behind the murders, the older man had to deal with frequent police stake outs, too. So, Stiles was finding the werewolf staying at his place more and more often as the days went by. He was so used to the dark haired grump staying with him that he even stashed some old blankets and a pillow in his closet just in case.
Tonight just so happened to be one of those nights that he loathed, and when Stiles came home from lacrosse practice he found his window open and a dark silhouette sitting in the corner. "You know, I'd threaten to lock the window, but I have a feeling you'd figure out how to open it anyway," he stated flicking his light on to reveal his leather clad nuisance. Stiles couldn't be sure, but Derek's scowl might have had a hint of amusement in it. Though, he wasn't quite sure how someone could be grumpy and amused at the same time, but apparently Derek could pull it off.
"So, would you like pizza tonight or should I slave away over a hot stove for you?" Stiles asked jokingly, but, like always, his joke was met with a scowl and nothing else. "I'll order pizza then. Extra garlic?"
"That's vampires," Derek replied softly, annoyed.
"Are you sure you aren't a vampire? You have the whole Jason Patric/Keifer Sutherland Lost Boys…" the scowl turned into a full blown glare. "I'm going to order the pizza now," Stiles said gesturing behind him and walked out of the room only to rush back into the room to retrieve his phone from his bag.
He returned a few moments later to find Derek in the exact same position, yet now he was reading a book. Stiles looked around, wondering where exactly the werewolf got the book and how he hadn't heard him move from his spot. The last he checked, that chair was extra squeaky.
"You're like a cat," Stiles muttered putting his phone in his pocket. "Maybe I should get you a bell or something." Green eyes met his briefly before returning to the book. "Where did you get that anyway? I thought I put away…" Stiles' eyes settled on his open backpack. "What the hell! Are you just randomly going to go through my stuff from now on? Is there no privacy in this world anymore?" He looked at Derek, who hadn't looked up from the book, and blew out a deep breath. "Is it any good? I haven't gotten around to starting it, yet."
Derek closed the book, tossed it at Stiles (who fumbled it, but managed to catch it), and said, "'I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others-young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life."' It took Stiles a moment to realize that Derek had just quoted the book.
"You've read this?" he asked waving The Great Gatsby in the air.
"A few times," the werewolf replied quietly.
"Do you wanna take the test for me?" Stiles questioned stashing the book back in his bag. "You'd be doing me a huge favor and we both know that..." Stiles trailed off, trying really hard to ignore the glare thrown at him. "We could go all, you know, Sponge Bob and Patrick. Except I wouldn't hide a walkie-talkie in my head and I doubt you'd try on my clothes," Stiles stated awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, seeking a new topic. "I ordered extra cheese and sausage, just so you know," he started, feeling his cell phone and remembering the phone call he had just made; food was as good a topic as any, "and I also ordered two because I've seen the way Scott eats and I'm not sure if it's the usual teenage stuff or the wolf metabolism at work…"
The room lapsed into a heavy silence. Stiles decided to start his homework, just until the pizza came, and grabbed his bag off his bed. Absentmindedly, he took Gatsby out of his bag and tossed it at Derek before carrying the rest to his desk and getting to work.
It was always like this when Derek stayed over. Full of awkward one-sided conversations and long, drawn out silences. It wasn't Stiles' fault he was a chatty person, he got it from his mother. Of course, it wasn't exactly Derek's fault he was withdrawn and quiet, relying on white noise to pass his time; that came with losing his entire family in a span of six years.
The truth was, they were just too very different people. Had this been a sitcom, they'd be the twenty-first century's Odd Couple, or, well, the supernatural version at least. Okay maybe not entirely the supernatural version; Stiles was still human and Derek was human… seventy-five percent of the time.
The doorbell rang, dragging Stiles back to reality, and he realized he had been absentmindedly doodling on his math homework and had only finished one problem (and, if he wasn't mistaken, the answer was wrong). He glanced over at Derek, only to find Gatsby abandoned, in the middle of the cushion.
He heard muffled voices coming from downstairs and soon the door closed. It explained both the doorbell (the pizza was most likely there), and Derek's absence (he got fed up waiting for Stiles to answer the door). Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about Derek Hale answering his door, but somewhere, deep down, he knew he had a problem with it. He'd come up with a rant while he ate, he was too hungry to think now.
Tossing his pencil onto his desk, Stiles got to his feet. He headed out of the room and down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, jumping the last three and landing in a crouch. He started towards the kitchen, stopping in the entryway to study Derek. He was leaning against the counter, his back to Stiles, staring at nothing, picking at a piece of pizza.
"You're supposed to eat it," Stiles said stepping into the kitchen, moving around the counter to stand in front of the werewolf. Derek merely scowled, his face clearly saying 'shut up, Stiles.' "Or not. Hey, you paid for it, so you can do whatever you want with it. Wear it as a hat, glue it to your face like…" he trailed off when Derek shoved his slice into Stiles' mouth.
Choking slightly, Stiles spit the piece out. It landed on the counter with an audible slap and he backed away from it, sputtering. "What the hell!" He shouted fixing Derek with a glare (though, he had a feeling it didn't look nearly as menacing as Derek's patented glares). "I could have died!"
"But you didn't," Derek retorted grabbing another slice. He then wandered into the living room, leaving Stiles fuming. The younger guy wrenched his phone from his pocket and texted Scott: Come get your wolf buddy.
A few seconds later, his phone buzzed and the answering text said: Can't, date with Allison.
Cancel.
Already did three times.
Please. He waited, but Scott didn't text him back. Scott? Still nothing. I hate you was the last thing Stiles typed before stashing his phone in his pocket. He threw away the pizza that nearly killed him, and grabbed two new slices before heading into the living room. Scott was the epitome of whipped, the poster child for obsessed, so far up Allison's butt that he couldn't tell where his eyes ended and hers began. He should just step aside, let Allison take his place, Scott didn't need him…
"What's this?" Stiles asked glancing up at the television. Some weird, History Channel documentary about old guys flashed across his screen. "I thought we discussed this; my house, my TV, nothing educational." He tried to grab the remote off the couch, but Derek swatted his hand, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Ow! Seriously? Why does everyone keep hitting me?" He tried to grab the remote again, receiving another swat for his efforts.
"Try it again, and I'll remove your head from your body," Derek threatened and Stiles left the remote alone. He settled in the easy chair kitty corner from the couch, munching on his pizza as he watched whatever the hell was on. The History Channel wasn't so bad. Sometimes they had interesting stuff, right?
This was not one of those times. He sat through an hour and a half documentary about the thirteen colonies. Nobody, not even Derek, could find this interesting, and Stiles knew the older man was only putting up with it because it was driving him crazy. Well, two could play at that game.
"Last week Scott invited me to hang out with him, Allison, and Lydia. I'm sure Jackson would have been there, too, had he not been out of town, and we started watching The Notebook." Stiles was pretty sure Derek rolled his eyes, but he couldn't be sure. "Have you even seen The Notebook, Derek?" Instead of answering, Derek grabbed the remote and turned the volume up a few notches.
"You see, it's about this guy named Noah and this girl named Allie. Now, I'm not going to lie, I fell asleep halfway through it, so I don't exactly know the ending, but I think that Allie girl ended up with that Noah dude. Of course, there was this old guy reading old Allie the story, and he might have been Noah, but he said his name was Duke, so maybe she married a third guy because there was also this second dude named Don or Han or something." Stiles snorted, the volume going up another notch. "Han Solo in The Notebook would have made the movie twelve times better. He could have been in a floating old folks' home with Leia, telling her stories of when they were young because she had no memory…" Stiles slapped his forehead, the TV practically blaring. "Of course, I forgot to tell you that. I think, and I could be wrong, again I fell asleep during it, but I think Allie had Alzheimer's or something. Just don't quote me…" the remote flew at him, nearly hitting his ear, and Derek got to his feet and stalked out of the room.
"But I was just getting to the best part," Stiles called after him, a smirk on his face. He grabbed the remote and turned the channel. He knew he'd pay for that later, but right now victory was just too sweet, and he couldn't help embracing it.
TW
Derek was a light sleeper; very light. Every time he stayed over at Stiles' house, he'd wake up five or six times a night and it took a while for him to go back to sleep afterwards. He was also annoying when he was trying to get back to sleep. Sometimes he'd toss and turn, a few times he paced back and forth, other times he'd clamber out the window and sit outside on the roof, and once he left to go watch TV, making sure to keep the volume down to avoid waking Stiles' father. Of course, no matter what he did, he always seemed to wake Stiles.
Tonight, he was pacing; a steady gait, back and forth. He was barely making any noise, but every time he'd pass Stiles, his shadow would creep across the wall and scare the crap out of the younger guy. He had to constantly remind himself it was just the dark haired grump, not an angry Alpha coming to rip his throat out.
After the fifth trek across the room, Stiles sat up and snapped, "Oh my God, go back to sleep already." Derek threw him a glare and continued his pacing. With a massive eye roll, Stiles plopped back down, his head hitting his pillow, and watched the werewolf for a moment. For a second, he reminded Stiles of himself, when he hadn't taken his Adderall. Though, Stiles was more of a 'thousand words a second, hopping from one activity to the next' kind of guy. He didn't do much pacing, nor was he that quiet, but it was the same difference. That's when an idea hit.
Stiles threw the covers off him, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed to get up. Derek stopped, watching him cautiously through narrowed eyes. "I'm going to get a drink. Do you want anything?" The werewolf shook his head mutely and continued his pacing.
Heading down the stairs, Stiles wondered how in the world he was going to pull this off. Werewolves had super senses and there was a good chance Derek would smell something fishy before he even bothered to take a drink. That is, if he accepted the drink at all because there was a good chance he'd just glare at Stiles, pour the offered drink over his computer, and continue pacing. But Stiles had to try something, he had to get up for school at seven and it was almost two now.
He busied himself with searching the fridge, looking for something that had a strong smell and could easily hide any additional scents. He could always mix it with alcohol, but he wanted Derek calmed down not dead (and it wasn't lost on him that a few days ago he was hoping Derek was dead), so that decision was out. He finally settled on a soda. One wasn't going to hurt him, and there was a good chance it'd mask any other smells, and the off chance Derek smelled something fishy, Stiles could claim it was a bad batch and just offer to dump it out.
He returned to his room a few moments later, carrying the soda, and said, "I brought you this," he held the soda up before placing it on his desk, "just in case you get thirsty."
Derek's pacing slowed as he eyed the drink, but his speed picked up shortly after. "Not thirsty," he stated quietly.
"I'm just being a good host," Stiles retorted getting back into bed. "Make sure you're quiet when my dad gets home. His shift ends at six." Stiles buried his head under his pillow, trying to block out Mr. Sourwolf, and actually managed to get back to sleep.
TW
It seemed like he was out all of thirty seconds before he felt someone plop down next to him and heard a familiar voice say, "Do you have anything to make a cake?"
"Wha?" Stiles sat up, bleary eyes meeting Derek's.
"Cake," the dark haired guy repeated slowly. "I think cake sounds really good right now. Do you have anything to make a cake?" He gave Stiles an expectant look, practically bouncing on the mattress.
"Cake?"
"Yeah, cake. You know, it's sorta like a sponge, you put frosting on it. It comes in chocolate or white. Sometimes it comes in other flavors, but I've never been a big fan of any of those other ones. And carrot cake? Seriously? Who mixes the deliciousness of cake with vegetables? And don't even get me started on that monstrosity known as fruit cake."
"What did you take?" Stiles asked after a long pause, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was still a little fuzzy, but a niggling part of him told him he already knew. He ignored that part for a moment, still watching Derek. He had never seen the older Beta like this. He was more of a 'quietly sit in the corner angsting, angrily shoving people into walls (namely Stiles), and telling people what to do' type of guy. He had never shown an ounce of excitement (or any emotion besides brooding, anger, and annoyance) in the few months Stiles had known him, and it was a little disconcerting to see it now.
"Nothing. I did drink that coke you gave me. It tasted kind of funny, you probably shouldn't buy the knock off brand anymore, and then I wanted some cake. Cake and macaroni, but you don't have any macaroni. You do have eggs, which is why I wanted to know if you had anything else to make cake?"
"The coke?" And then it hit Stiles like a bag of bricks. The Adderall must have been screwing with Derek. Maybe it worked differently for people who didn't take it or maybe it was just werewolves. He really should read those pamphlets his doctor gave him. "Are you okay?" he asked quickly, unable to staunch the worry in his gut. What happened if this didn't wear off? He could have accidentally broken an already broken man.
"Me?" Derek snorted. "Never better. Actually, this is the best I've felt since the fire." A wistful look crossed his face, but it was gone seconds later. "Is this what it feels like to move on? I should have done it years…" His eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face (and really creeping the hell out of Stiles). "Let's go see Scott. He'd love to hear all about me moving on."
"I thought you wanted cake," Stiles said quickly. He had to avoid unleashing this Derek onto Beacon Hills. With hunters and cops seeking him out, he'd be an easy target. There wasn't any doubt he could probably still protect himself, but there was also a chance he'd just want to chat and attempt to bond with them.
"Cake?" Derek's eyes narrowed, and for a second Stiles was reminded of the pre-Adderall Derek, but it was short lived when the older guy's eyes widened again, excitement crossing his face, and he asked, "Do you have anything to make a cake?"
"I'll see what I have," Stiles replied softly, crawling over Derek to get out of bed. "Stay here." He gestured around his room. "I'll be back." He backed out of his room, watching as Derek started laughing (again, he was really creeped out by the gesture). "What?" he asked freezing.
"Like Schwarzenegger. 'I'll be back,'" he said in a bad impression of Arnold. "You're like the, um…" Derek paused, his face scrunching up in thought. "…The Sterminator." He snorted, laughing harder, and Stiles rolled his eyes and continued out of the room.
Maybe this Derek wasn't so bad. He was a lot less uptight, more fun, easily approachable. Stiles knew he'd have to figure out a way to snap him out of it, unless it just sort of wore off, but did he have to do it right this second? This was an ample blackmail opportunity staring him in the face, and Stiles would be an idiot not to act on it while he had the chance; consequences be damned.
He scoured his kitchen, trying to remember what went in a cake. He lucked out when he found a box of Betty Crocker cake mix. It wouldn't be from scratch, but it'd have to do. He carried the box back upstairs and, as he opened the door, he said, "I couldn't remember what went in a cake, but I found…" he trailed off, his stomach sinking when he noticed the open window and empty room.
Derek was gone.