Snowmen, Witches and Werewolves, Oh My!
Summary: A coven of witches comes to Beacon Hills but when the peace talks go badly, Stiles is cursed. Derek must overcome his biggest fear to save him, before it's too late.
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a crack! fic, but somehow, half way through turned into this. I'm still not entirely sure what happened, I can only apologise. This is unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are mine.
How was this his life?
He was seventeen years old, the human element of a wolf pack and was failing physics. But even he knew that this was fucking impossible. It didn't even register on the spectrum of possible things to worry about, in Stiles' book.
Then again a little over a year ago werewolves had seemed fucking impossible too and hadn't finding out he was wrong about that been a kick in the balls?
Still, since then he had come to realise that there were a lot of supernatural shit out there. But this?
This was bullshit.
Witches he could accept; magic? Sure, the two went hand-in-hand with each other. Curses? He guessed that stood to reason.
But seriously, what the actual fuck had he done piss one off?
Nothing, that's what. Derek better fix the shit out of this clusterfuck immediately, if not sooner.
Right now all the bastard was doing was standing there staring at him, dumbstruck.
And seriously? He didn't need this shit. He had homework to finish.
''Stiles?'' Derek finally croaked, looking every shade of confused.
Glaring at him, Stiles nodded. Derek continued to stare for a few more moments before he pulled himself together and glared right on back at him.
''What the fuck did you do?'' He growled.
Stiles felt his anger level shoot up into the stratosphere, ''What did I do?! What the fuck did you do, Derek? You said the meeting went well!''
Derek crossed his arms over his chest, ''It did,'' He grunted. ''Are you sure you didn't do something?''
Stiles felt fully justified in throwing his abandoned shoe at him.
He was cold; no, fuck that he was freezing. Another impossible thing Stiles now believed in. How the fuck could something made of ice cold water feel fucking cold?
This witch had a lot to answer for and thankfully this time, having a big furry werewolf on his side was a big help.
Derek growled pressed his claws deeper into the skin of her neck, ''Undo it now!''
The Wicked Witch of Beacon Hills just laughed and twitched her head in some semblance of a shake. ''There is nothing I can do, Moonwalker. The spell must run its course.'' She replied.
Eyes flashing red, Derek leaned in closer, his nose inches away from her face, ''And if I rip your throat out?'' He threatened softly.
She choked out a laugh, ''Still nothing.''
Stiles sighed, ''Derek, she's right. Deaton said the same thing a few weeks ago in his lesson.''
Derek released her throat abruptly and stepped back, ''There has to be a way!''
Stiles shook his head, ''Not before I melt.''
Derek just stalked out without a backward glance.
The sun was rising, turning the sky a mixture of orange and pink, when they finally reached Derek's apartment. Sure, the Sheriff knew about everything now, but that didn't mean Stiles wanted to walk into his house and give his father a heart attack.
It's not everyday you only son gets turned into a fucking snowman.
Derek hadn't said a word on the drive back, but Stiles had caught his stealing glances at him from the corner of his eye. With each look, Derek's grip on the steering wheels tightened, his knuckles turning white and the leather creaking ominously.
Stiles tried to think of something to say but for the first time in his life nothing came to him. So the silence stretched on and became so awkward, even the trees seemed interesting after a while.
As the coven circled, Stiles felt water start to roll down his back, his front...everywhere. He was running out of time and there was nothing he could do about it. He was so very, very screwed.
It was weird but in that moment, Stiles felt the fear drain out of him as he accepted that there was no getting out of it this time.
He closed his eyes as the flames grew closer and tried to conjure up a memory of the pack; something safe. The first thing that came to mind was the last pack meeting he went too, the month before. Allison had come up with the idea that the whole pack should train, and the humans should be taught how to handle weapons as well as hand to hand combat.
Stiles had immediately latched on to the idea and bugged Derek about it until the grump gave in. A week later found them all gathered in the woods, firing bullets and arrow-heads into trees.
Or in Stiles' case, the ground.
Although it took awhile before he actually hit the target, Derek had shown nothing but patience, and had glared at him only once, when Stiles had joked that maybe it would be easier to just have The Bite.
Even with all the deadly weapons on show, Stiles had never really felt safer. It felt pretty good knowing that if they were attacked any time soon, Stiles could actually help protect the wolves this time around. And himself.
But now, here he was, at the centre of a coven of crazy-ass witches and there wasn't a gun in sight. Also, what good was a melting snowman in a fist fight? Absolutely none. Fuck.
He took a deep breath of burning air and screwed his eyes tight shut, his body braced for the shock and pain of whatever came next.
A beat passed, then howls sounded from the trees and a spine chilling growl came from the biggest of the wolves. The witches laughed as they flicked their hands and sent the pack flying backwards. Stiles watched as Derek jumped back to his feet and charged towards the coven, his eyes glowing a searing red in the fire light.
Stiles wasn't sure exactly what Derek had planned until it was too late to tell him to stop. Derek was already flying through the air and knocking Stiles out of the way of the nearest torch.
A loud yelp cut through the chaos, and Stiles' gut dropped when he saw the burn on Derek's flank.
''Shit, fuck! Derek, tell me what to do!'' He flailed, shuffling over to the black wolf. Derek huffed and just looked at him; the wound was already healing.
Stiles sat back, ''Right, sorry.''
If he didn't know Derek was capable of impossible things, he never would have believed it possible that a wolf could roll it's eyes. Again, Derek proved him wrong. In just a couple of minutes the marred skin was healed and once again, flawless.
Shaking his head to clear the fog that was starting to cloud his thoughts, Stiles glanced around him to see that the rest of the witches were either laying on the ground, or running in the opposite direction. The fight was over and by the looks of it, the only injury was now healed and the rest of the pack were looking to Derek for further instructions.
Derek was too busy looking at Stiles, to give any orders, so Stiles waved his hand and tried to assure them that he was in fact alive and and well; instead the fog got thicker and his body didn't seem to want to listen to him. The last thing Stiles saw before he blackout, was Derek's concerned face hovering over him.
Stiles kind of missed the glare.
When Stiles finally woke, he was lying in a bundle of blankets on Derek's bed. At first he was confused, but soon enough it all came flooding back and Stiles jumped up until he could see his body. His body.
''Thank fuck for that...'' He muttered to himself, relief turning his knees to jelly.
''Derek's words exactly,'' Scott said from the doorway.
Stiles looked up at him, ''Huh?''
But Scott just shook his head and smiled, ''Glad to see you're awake and, you know, you again.''
Well he couldn't argue with that, ''Me too, buddy. Me too.''
Stiles didn't see Derek for two weeks after that. Whenever Stiles tried to contact him, the bastard was busy or out, on the few occasions Stiles had tried to loft. But Stiles was a persistent little shit when he wanted to be and he came up with Plan: Talk To Derek. Okay, so the name need work, but the point was, Stiles was ready.
So, at 3am two weeks after the whole snowman débâcle, Stiles snuck out of his house and drove over to the loft. As expected, Derek answered the door looking pissed and sleep ruffled.
Stiles stifled a laugh when he saw Derek's hair; it was flat on one side and stuck up in random places on the other.
''What?'' Derek grunted, crossing his arms.
''Thank you.'' Stiles said.
Frowning deeply, Derek shook his head, ''You came all the way over here to say 'Thank you'?''
Stiles nodded, ''Yeah, pretty much.''
Still shaking his head, Derek reached out and dragged Stiles through the door. ''It's three o'clock in the morning, and you thought it was a good idea to just turn up at someone's door to say 'Thank you'?''
Shrugging, Stiles nodded again, ''Well you have been avoiding me for the past two weeks, how else was I suppose to talk to you?''
Something flickered across Derek's face then, but Stiles couldn't quite make it out. As it was, he uncrossed his arms and looked away.
''Derek?'' He said, quietly.
''What?'' Derek grunted again.
Taking a step forward into Derek's personal space, Stiles waited for him to look at him before continuing, ''I mean it...thank you.''
Finally Derek's face softened, his shoulders slumped and he sighed, ''You should never have been in that position in the first place, Stiles. I didn't do anything but make it worse-''
Stiles shocked the both of them by shoving Derek hard enough to knock him back a step. ''Holy shit, you're an idiot!''
At the bewildered look on Derek's face, Stiles shook his head, ''You save my life! Accept the thanks, so we can move on!''
''Stiles-''
But Stiles was having none of it; all the frustration and confusion and yeah, he'll admit it hurt, that had built up over the last two weeks flooded out. He shoved Derek again, ''You literally walked through fire for me, Derek!'' Stiles shouted.
Almost immediately, he felt guilty as Derek paled. Trying hard not to let Derek draw too far into his shell, Stiles swallowed the rest of his tirade and raised his hands in surrender. ''I'm sorry...''
A beat passed then, with a growl, Derek surged forward and crushed Stiles to his chest. The air left his lungs with a whoosh, but Stiles held on. Worry bubbled up inside, but he pushed it down; Derek needed more cuddles in his life.
''You nearly died,'' He whispered, roughly.
Stiles sighed against Derek's bare chest, ''Nearly, doesn't count.''
Tightening his arms, Derek huffed out a small laugh. ''Only you, Stiles, could say that and mean it.'' He said, pulling away.
Stiles shrugged and dropped his arms to his sides, ''I should probably get going...''
Derek hesitated, and seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but suddenly he stopped and nodded. Disappointment dragged his mood down even further, but Stiles plastered on a fake smile and moved towards the door.
''See you at the next meeting?'' He turned and asked.
Again, Derek just nodded.
''Bye.'' Stiles mumbled, opening the door slightly. From behind him, he barely heard Derek say, 'Fuck it', before he was being pushed against the door and kissed within an inch of his life.
His brain shut down for a full minute, then flared to life and got with the picture. Unfortunately, people had this tendency to breathe every once in a while, and when the need became to much, Derek broke the kiss.
''Well...'' Stiles croaked, breathlessly.
Derek buried his face in Stiles' neck and chuckled, ''Shut up, Stiles...''
After a kiss like that, shutting up was not going to be a problem. Even for Stiles.
-END-