A requested ficlet. The original request was, "i was wondering if maybe ud consider writing a fic where dean, cas, and sam (and whoever else) r all teenagers and have a sleepover (hinting at destiel)." However, I've been reading Teen Wolf fanfic like nobody's business lately and felt an overwhelming urge to write some. Thus, the solution is: CROSSOVER! My first attempt at such a thing, hope you enjoy.
When the door to the Argents' house is flung open enthusiastically, with little regard as it bangs against the wall, Derek is unsurprised that Stiles' is the one opening it. Stiles has a ridiculous grin on his face, which brightens by several watts when he sees Derek. Derek tries not to let that get to him. Stiles is too young to even be thought about that way. It would be a unmitigated embarrassment to date a gawky little freshman, no matter his own feelings. Derek has never been one to break social codes like that. Sure, he isn't the friendliest of people, but he believes firmly in the system. And seniors must not date freshmen. It's bad enough that all of his friends are freshmen.
That doesn't stop Derek from purposefully brushing against Stiles' hand when he proffers the pizza he's brought, however. A little skin-to-skin contact never hurt anyone.
"Bless you," Stiles praises as he takes the offered delicacy. He does a one-handed worshipping bow, then reaches forward to close the door behind Derek, inadvertently (Derek thinks) pressing their bodies together. Derek only nods in response to his idolatry.
"Who's there, Stiles?" Derek hears Allison call from the living room.
"Just international German supermodel Heidi Klum, come to ravish me," Stiles yells back, wrapping his free hand around Derek's bicep to guide him to the living room.
The room is large, and, at the moment, full to bursting. A TV is running some ridiculous-looking movie with people in semi-accurate medieval garb and velvety cloaks, and across from it sit seven people. Scott seems to have been reduced to a pillow; Allison has her head, body stretched out on the couch, and Isaac is using his legs as a backrest from his place sitting cross-legged on the floor. Derek is constantly confused by those three; they all seem to be in love with one another, and yet they manage to be great friends.
Cora, who had refused to come with him to get pizza, is sitting on the other end of the couch, Allison's feet in her lap. Her attention is intently fixed on the television, resolutely unwavering when Derek enters the room. She's in her 'I've-just-started-high-school-and-must-pretend-no t-to-be-related-to-my-weird-older-brother' phase.
There are also three people there who Derek doesn't know: a boy about his age, with sandy hair and freckles and a dumb necklace, sitting in the armchair, a boy wearing a trench coat even though it's warm in the house, sitting on the arm of the first boy's chair, and a younger boy, whose hair needs a serious trim, and is probably around the same age as Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Stiles. He's sitting in front of the couch, paying measured attention to the movie.
"Hey Heidi!" Allison greets him, waving as he steps into her line of sight. "My, you're looking a little husky." Derek resists the urge to smack stiles upside the head for starting this ridiculous joke. Instead, he just glowers. Although, as Stiles often informs him, it doesn't differ enough from his normal expression to warrant notice.
"Heidi," Allison continues, "meet my cousins and their friend." She lifts herself onto her arms to point at the three boys in turn. "Dean Winchester,"―the sandy-haired one―"Castiel I-don't-know-his-last-name,"―trench coat boy―"and little Sammy Winchester."―the long-haired kid whose long locks Allison is now ruffling affectionately.
"Hardly," Sam says, snorting derisively. Allison rolls her eyes.
"Guys," she says, "meet Derek, Cora's―," she breaks off when Cora shoots her dagger eyes, but is saved from having to come up with a way to finish that sentence without admitting that Derek and Cora are related by Scott's loud, awkward, obvious exclamation of Derek's name and accompanying enthusiastic wave.
Derek nods to the boys in acknowledgement.
"Nice to meet you," Dean says, shooting him a winning smile before turning to engage Castiel in conversation. Castiel leans in closer than seems strictly platonic. Rather like the way Stiles tugs Derek over to join him on―and isn't that this most ridiculous name for a piece of furniture?―the loveseat. They're squished very close together, but Derek will not put his arm around Stiles to free up some room, no matter how much he may want to. Instead, he murmurs softly to Stiles, "What're we watching?"
"Red Riding Hood. Might watch that one with Michael Fox later."
When Derek raises his eyebrows to indicate confusion, Stiles clarifies, "Teen Wolf."
Derek almost laughs. "I'm sensing a theme."
Stiles just grins up at him.
Derek can't believe they've convinced him to do this. First of all, he's not a child. Second of all, it's not the nineties; they're not on goddam Dawson's Creek. And no way is he kissing the Winchesters or that Cas guy. It would be weird enough kissing someone he actually knows.
"I'm not playing spin the bottle," he huffs, crossing his arms, and if it sounds a little petulant, well, it's just because this is a childish game. That's as good an excuse as any.
"Yeah, we can totally tell by the way you're letting us borrow your phone to use the app," Isaac sasses, placing the same phone in the center of their circle.
Derek can't believe he's the only one objecting to this. Everyone else seems fine with it as Allison takes the first spin. "Isaac!" she exclaims happily, as the bottle stops, pointing in his direction. She turns to her right and gives him a long kiss. Scott squirms a little, and Derek thinks it's funny that he can't seem to decide whether he's upset that Allison's kissing Isaac or that Isaac's kissing Allison. Those three really have some problems to work on.
Isaac and Scott kiss next, just a short little peck, but Derek thinks it means more than it looks to. Scott spins and lands on Cora. It's pretty funny to watch them kiss; they have no chemistry whatsoever. Cora's following kiss, with Sam, is enthusiastic; they've spent the entire evening talking through the movie. Next, Sam kisses Dean. This kiss is ostensibly uncomfortable for the pair, and just on the cheek. Everyone laughs awkwardly throughout, and Sam and Dean fervently agree never to do that again.
Dean spins and gets Cas. After much hesitation, they eventually kiss, and what starts out as a sweet little peck quickly morphs into a passionate embrace. When Stiles, sitting on Dean's left, clears his throat, Dean jerks back guiltily, running a hand through his hair and smiling sheepishly. Cas just looks pleasantly dazed, and has to be reminded to spin twice.
Cas kisses Allison next, no fuss. Allison's next spin, however, lands on Stiles, who shifts uncomfortably under the now-hostile gazes of Isaac and Scott. Derek's insides squirm a little too, but he keeps them in check. Allison seems a little discomforted, but she reaches across the circle to give Stiles a little peck. When their lips meet, Derek gets an irrational urge to hurl Allison against the wall, even though really, he adores her (though he'd never admit it in so many words). It's something primal, instinctual, like Allison is an enemy or something. Derek wishes he was the one in her place.
Derek shakes his head, ridding himself of the odd feeling. The kiss is over now, anyway, and Allison has slid back into her spot, looking mortified, and taken Scott's hand, with a side glance at Isaac. Stiles blinks rapidly, and then chuckles and reaches for the phone to spin the virtual bottle. Derek contemplates it as it spins, thinking that it's so funny that a tiny thing can determine a demand for physical affection. And it doesn't even really mean anything.
Derek's gaze is fixed on the bottle, then, when it slows to a stop pointing at him. He looks up quickly at Stiles, whose split-second look of shock morphs into a wide grin as he scoots across the circle to Derek. Stiles is right in front of him now, barely two inches from his face, and he says, "Hi."
Derek, were he able
to function properly, would think that was a pretty lame thing to say before kissing someone, but right now his mind is a complete blank, void of any rational thought, just white with shock and surprise. Stiles gently places a hand on the back of his neck, and Derek notices his pupils dilate. Sign of attraction, he thinks, panicked. And then Stiles presses his lips against Derek's, soft and supple and lovely. And Derek, idiot that he is, just stands there like a statue, betraying nothing, and he is not surprised that when Stiles pulls back, he looks hurt and disappointed.
When Derek wakes up, his back hurts. He's sleeping on the floor between Cora and Scott, and Scott's elbow has been pressing into the small of his back since around one in the morning. The light in the room is dark grey, and Derek thinks it must be around three am. He's never been good at sleeping in other peoples' houses. However, despite the fact that Scott's bony elbow is still lodged in his lumbar region, Derek doesn't move. He can hear people talking.
It takes a few seconds for him to register the conversation, mind still hazy from sleep.
"...tell Sam?" a voice says, and it sounds like that Dean guy.
"We must tell him the truth," a voice responds, gravely. That's definitely Cas.
"Yeah, yeah, you're right," Dean agrees, and falls silent. After a moment, with an inscrutable tone―apprehension? hesitancy?―to his voice, he asks, "What is the truth, Cas?"
"The truth, Dean," Cas says, "is that you and I are bonded in a way neither of us have ever been before. Completely, profoundly."
"You know," Dean responds, a with wicked glee, "you could just say you love me, man."
After a pause, Cas says, so quietly that Derek has to strain to hear, "I love you, Dean."
Derek falls asleep to the sound of Dean's laughter.
He drifts back into consciousness a few hours later, when the pale light of dawn is filtering into the room. Scott has removed his elbow, thank god, and now has the same arm slung over Allison, fingers brushing against Isaac's on her other side. Derek chuckles. He really can't wait to see how that whole situation works out. He stretches, every muscle in his body pulling taught, and hears the satisfying pops and cracks.
Suddenly, he realizes that the light that's streaming into the room is coming from a window someone has pulled the curtain back from. That someone, he figures, is the figure now silhouetted in front of it, head resting on the heel of their―his―hand. There's no question who the figure is, but Derek still whispers, "Stiles?"
When Stiles doesn't respond, Derek gets up and slowly picks his way over to the window, almost stepping on Dean and Cas, sleeping with their hands twined. He sits down next to Stiles on the window seat.
"Stiles," he says again.
Stiles doesn't respond.
"Stiles," he repeats, pausing for a reaction before adding, "what's wrong?"
Derek flinches back when Stiles whips around, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"What's wrong?" Stiles asks angrily, wagging the finger in front of Derek's face. "What's wrong?" he repeats, more for dramatic effect than utilitarian clarification, Derek thinks. "What's wrong is that you're a dick, Derek. That's what's wrong."
Derek tries to respond, but only gets as far as, "Stiles, I―," before Stiles cuts him off.
"No!" Stiles says, "You don't talk! I talk!"
Derek nods mutely to show he understands, holding up his hands in surrender.
Stiles' angry glare softens a little, he thinks, as he starts to speak. "Derek, you are a dick. A sack-full of dicks. A platoon, a legion, an army of dicks."
Derek raises a quizzical eyebrow.
"You―," Stiles starts, stops. "You led me on," he finishes, staring down at his hands. "I had―have―a crazy thing for you, Derek. Like crazy, head-over-heels, moonstruck kind of love. I mean," he corrects, flustered, "you know, not love-love. Like-love. You know what I mean. Or, at least, I thought you did. I mean, you always acted like you sorta liked me? I mean, you didn't hate me when I was weird or called you Heidi Klum and you kept, like, touching me, even when it was just hitting me if I annoyed you. And I guess...well, I don't know, I guess I was wrong about that, but my crush was so obvious, Derek! And you just kept letting me thing you liked me, and I just―,"
Derek keeps his promise, and therefore is completely silent when he leans over to kiss Stiles, feeling the vibration of Stiles' next word against his mouth. It's sweet, a little peck at first, and then Stiles gets over his shock and opens his mouth for a deep, passionate kiss. One of his hands tangles in Derek's hair and the other grips the back of his thin shirt. Derek growls, surprising himself, and Stiles has to break away for a moment to laugh. He drops his head to Derek's shoulder and laughs and laughs and laughs, tremors shaking his body. Derek smiles.
"Moonstruck like-love, huh?" he asks, gazing through the window to where the moon itself is slowly fading out of the morning sky. "I think I can work with that."