Murder or a Heart Attack

by grangerinvestigations

And the whole damn complicated situation could have been avoided if he'd only shut the window. Sterek oneshot.

A/N Title and summary come from the Old 97's song "Murder or a Heart Attack." Of course, I don't own Teen Wolf!

"Holy hell, Derek, warn a guy, won't you?" Stiles started as he came into his believed-empty bedroom and flipped on the light switch to reveal his fourth least favorite werewolf. "You know this is my bedroom, right, not Hotel for Dogs? You're going to give me a freaking heart attack one of these days. Or you're planning my murder; either way, dead at sixteen."

Derek raised his eyebrows from his spot on Stiles' bed. He was actually lounging, hands behind his head like he owned the place and Stiles narrowed his eyes, annoyed at his ease. "Your window was open. I thought that was a bat-signal from you."

"Funny. How long have you been lurking in the dark in here? You weren't actually sleeping, were you, because that is a step too far, buddy. What do you want?" He sat down at his desk, spinning his chair around to face Derek, resignation settling into his shoulders. Derek always wanted something.

"I need you to talk to Scott for me." He ignored the rest of the Stiles-speak.

"God, this again?" Stiles scoffed. "I'm not an owl, Derek. Can't you two just -"

"No."

"Fine. What do you need me to tell him?" It had been like this for weeks, ever since the Gramps of Doom Takedown. Stiled liked to refer to it that way in his head, to make the horror somehow less. It didn't always work, but he tried. Things were deceptively quiet right now - Stiles assumed it was just the calm before the inevitable supernatural shitstorm, but Derek and Scott were still at odds. You'd think he would realize that Stiles is always going to take Scott's side, but Derek seemed to think it was acceptable to show up in his bedroom all the time, passing along messages like a sixth grade mash note. Stiles knows Scott will never fully trust Derek, and he gets it, he really does, but the dude had saved both of their lives a fair number of times. Was it really worth keeping up the feud when they could just work together, tolerate each other for the greater good? Apparently not, if their increasingly huffy, passive-aggressive avoidance was any indicator.

"Tell him things are still quiet on the alpha pack front. If he's even interested." Derek was good at the whole emotionless droid thing, but he could never quite keep the petulance out of his voice when talking about Scott. Stiles assumed he was still smarting from the epic "you might be an alpha, but you're not mine" burn. It had been way harsh, Tai. That had been before his and Lydia's impressive entrance, but he had winced a little when Scott told him about it.

"Oh my God, dude, really?" Stiles rolled his eyes and let out his signature long-suffering-because of-Derek sigh. "That's your important message? You think Isaac isn't keeping his new werefriend abreast of all alpha pack related business? They're like, joined at the paws these days, and I'd wonder about it if I didn't see him pining pathetically for Allison all day every day at school. In fact, why do you even need me as a go-between?"

Derek stayed sprawled on Stiles' bed. "I don't mind Isaac being friends with Scott -"

"So glad you've given your permission."

"But," he continued, glaring a bit at the interruption, "you need to know these things, too, and I can't always count on Scott to keep you informed. I know he wants to keep you safe."

"You don't?" he couldn't resist asking.

"You're safer if you know what's happening," Derek pointed out. "Knowledge is power, Stiles." He smirked a little.

"So your message is for me, not Scott." Stiles cocked his head, trying to work out Derek's angle.

"It's for both of you," Derek said, as if Stiles was the stupidest person he'd ever met, and hey, at least their interactions were consistent.

"Alright," Stiles said slowly, "thank you for this scintillating information, Derek. Nothing is happening, got it." He stared at Derek for a long moment, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. Stiles rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do this evening."

"Got some hot World of Warcraft action? Maybe a chat date with LonelyUnicorn69?" Derek asked, and seriously, where was he getting the snark tonight? It was like he saved up all his repressed sarcasm and borderline human responses just for Stiles. Derek still liked to play the Big Bad Alpha for the masses, and although Stiles got his fair share of that, too, he was recently getting the Derek Hale version of normal, too, an almost teasing camaraderie. Stiles would think they were sort of friends, if, you know, Derek knew what those were. Weird.

"You've been hanging out with Uncle Fester too much," Stiles grumbled. "And I do not need to know what is happening with him, ever, unless it's his very real, very warranted second and hopefully final death. Seriously, dude, you are drinking the Peter Kool-Aid these days, and it is not going to end well for any of us." He held up his hand to ward off Derek's glare and protestations. "For your information, though, I have homework and I have to hide some vegetables in my dad's dinner, so chop chop, away with you."

Derek moved off the bed and bounded up into the windowsill in one smooth stretch. Stiles tried not to be impressed - Standard Werewolf Operating Procedure, after all - but he couldn't help feel a tiny twinge of envy. Even if he were a werewolf, he doubted he'd move like that.

"Until next time," he says, flipping a tiny salute at Derek's back. He expected no response, so he wasn't disappointed.

X X X X

"Derek, it's hardly even dark out," Stiles pointed out as Derek slid through his window some nights later. "Mrs. Hamilton is probably watching, thisclose to calling my dad." He held up his thumb and index finger to show Derek just how close Mrs. Hamilton's phone trigger finger was. "She probably thinks you're some kind of sex offender, and seriously, the window thing is creepy, dude. I get enough Bad Touch vibes from Uncle Fester, I don't need them from you, too."

"You wish," Derek said. "And again - your window is open. Besides, sex offender, really? Wouldn't she just think I'm some guy sneaking in while your dad is out?"

"You are old like hell, that screams sex offender. Besides, Mrs. Hamilton's known me since I was little. She would doubt my ability to pull that," Stiles said, waving his hands in Derek's direction, "without something suspect going on. If you're sneaking in my window, chances are you're some sort of weirdo with a teenage boy fetish. Maybe she's not so far off the mark; besides my window, isn't the boys' locker room your number one hangout?"

Derek sighed, already bored with the conversation. "Don't worry, your virtue is safe, Stiles. No one was looking anyway; I always check." He flopped down into his usual position on the bed, and was it strange that Derek had a usual position on his bed?

"What's the emergency this time?"

"Did Scott tell you Erica and Boyd are back?" Derek asked, keeping his voice flat.

"He - he did," Stiles said carefully, sitting up straighter and looking warily at Derek. "Isaac told him. He was pretty happy about it. They haven't been to school, although I guess you know that. Summer's not far away anyway, but - well, what's going on with them? They were gone over a month. Have they seen their parents? All Isaac said is that they're back. Are they back with you?"

"For now, I guess," Derek said. "They told their parents they ran away to elope, but decided to wait. Their parents are just glad they're back, they don't care why they left right now, although I'm sure they are relieved they're not married. They're okay... Maybe. It's just been a couple days. Right after we spoke last."

"Was it the alpha pack? Did they really have them?"

Derek nodded.

"God, that's awful. I know we suspected it, but still. Did they send a message or something?"

"No. Just told them they could go home." Derek was still using his robot voice.

"Are they really okay?" Stiles was almost afraid to ask.

"They seem alright. A bit quiet, maybe. It's hard to tell what happened."

Stiles furrowed his brows. "They don't have anything to say about their time in Alpha-ville? Were they free to leave at any time, or were they prisoners?"

"I don't know," Derek answered. "I would think they'd have come home earlier if they could, but I
don't know for sure. They seem happy to be back. Maybe. Like I said, they're not really talking about it."

"I don't think that's good, Derek. No message at all, no reasons for the 'tag, you're it' graffiti that was followed by radio silence? I hate to say it, but it sounds very Stockholm to me. I don't think Boyd and Erica would intentionally to do anything to hurt anyone - not now, anyway, unfortunate Lydia situation behind us - but you need to be careful."

"I'm aware of that, thank you, Stiles," Derek deadpanned. "So glad I have you to bounce ideas off."

"Hey, you came here, Chief," Stiles protested. "Just keep an eye on them. Are they up for visitors? Should I come see them? Our last interaction was fraught with drama, electricity and geriatric beatdowns." He kept his tone light, as always. It wasn't a memory he enjoyed overmuch.

"You can come," Derek said, "if you want. I don't know if they'll be back to school, and their parents aren't letting them out much. They've been to the house, of course, so you could come over. Peter's there, though."

"I'd prefer not to see him," Stiles understated. "If he's not there, maybe. I can't guarantee I won't be packing wolfsbane. We are not on good terms, and you can tell him I said that."

Derek looked thoughtful. "Maybe you shouldn't see them after all. If they are spying for the alpha pack - I don't want to think they are, but we have to be realistic - it's better not to get you involved. The alphas might not really know about you."

"I'm touched by your concern, Derek," Stiles said, and really, he was. "It might be sort of rude for me not to check in with them, though. They are my second and fourth favorite werewolves. It's not like Erica and Boyd don't already know I've been involved, so the alphas probably know everything and everybody, anyway. They probably have a corkboard with everyone's picture on it, like in my dad's office, and Brilliant Mastermind Stiles Stilinski is at the top."

Derek's eye roll was epic; Stiles was almost impressed they didn't pop out of his face. "More like a tiny snapshot with Avoid At All Costs written across it. In blood."

"Says the dude who has taken up permanent residence in my bedroom," Stiles returned. "I can stay away. I don't want to overwhelm them if they're having some sort of post-traumatic stress situation. Just let them know I asked about them, and I'll come if I can, and if you think it's okay."

"I'll let you know," Derek said. "In the meantime, be alert and don't talk to strangers." He smirked a little and moved to exit.

"No rules against older dudes creeping in my window?" Stiles couldn't resist calling to his retreating back.

"No, that's totally normal and allowed."

Stiles allowed himself a small chuckle that he was sure Derek heard.

X X X X

"My dad is going to start claiming you as a dependent," Stiles said, barely raising his eyebrows when he saw Derek laying on his bed again after he got back from lacrosse practice. "No comfy beds in your current hobo-den, huh?"

"I have a bed," Derek said, and there was such a touch of little-boy whine in his voice that Stiles couldn't help grinning.

"Of course you do! You probably clawed out the wood for the frame yourself. And you sleep under bunny pelts, right?." He plopped himself down in his chair, spinning around a few times before facing Derek and clapping his hands. He was a little wired already from a seriously top notch practice (he might be getting a shirt with Lacrosse Genius Stiles Stilinski embroidered on it for next season), and sparring with Derek would be a good way to kill some time. "So! What can I do for you this fine evening?"

Derek looks at him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"You're up to something," he said, eyebrows at maximum scowliness.

"What are you talking about, dude?" Stiles asked, exasperated. Way to kill the vibe, Derek.

"You don't seem put out that I'm here," Derek said, still brooding the brood. "You're acting like you expected me, and that means you're trying to distract me. You're up to something."

"Oh my god," Stiles puffed out. "You are paranoid times a million. I'm always expecting you; you plop your werewolf ass on my bed whether it puts me out or not, so why keep making a fuss about it? It wastes valuable time that you could be explaining whatever non-situation is currently twisting your tail, and then going on your merry way. Merry might be overstating it a bit, but you get the gist."

Derek scowled even harder (how was that possible?) and crossed his arms over his chest.

Stiles threw up his own hands in surrender. "Alright, what crawled up your ass tonight? I get home, you are on my bed, not the other way around. I don't scurry into your lair at all hours. You came here to tell me something, so tell! I'm not trying to trick you, or disarm you or anything else. What would I even be up to anyway? C'mon, Derek, talk to old Stiles here."

Derek seemed to relax a fraction, but he still looked way. "Sorry. It's been a long day."

"Life of a werewolf is trying, I get it. So what's up? Any news, or did you just miss me?" He batted his eyelashes at Derek, gratified when he got another massive eye roll in return. That was more like it.

"I don't think Boyd and Erica are spying for the alpha pack," Derek said. "I think they just kept them to show that they could. That I was too weak to get them back."

Stiles winced. "That's - you didn't even really know where they were, Derek. And they were leaving anyway, right? It's not like the alphas stole them from you."

"Exactly," Derek said. "They were leaving anyway. They didn't want to be in my pack anymore. They didn't want me to be their Alpha. That says something right there. They probably didn't even want to leave their new pack to come back here to me."

Stiles sighed in sympathy. Yes, Derek was a huge pain in the ass most of the time, but God, he had like the shittiest life ever. He looked so hurt and lost at the moment, as if he didn't have a single ally in the whole world. Considering his pack was down to Evil Not Dead Peter, PTSD Isaac and two betas who maybe hated him, he was probably right. Jackson was keeping his distance, and Scott had already made his position abundantly clear.

"They were scared, Derek. You can't blame them. Things were worse than you told them they would be."

"I told them it was going to be hard, I told them about the hunters and everything else," Derek said. "How was I supposed to know about the stupid kanima, or that Gerard was even crazier than Kate? Besides, we won in the end." Stiles knew this was a conversation they'd had many times.

"You also told them being a werewolf was awesome, and they didn't really get that side," Stiles pointed out.

"It is awesome," Derek argued, "and they did see that side. You know what they were like before the bite."

"I don't want to start a fight with you, dude," Stiles said. "It's just... Look, you could stand to be a little more understanding with them. First of all, we are kids. Rational thought is not always possible, and we get overwhelmed easily. Second, your teaching methods leave a lot to be desired." He threw up his hands, scooting his chair back when he saw Derek's eyes flash red. "Stop growling and flashing at me; I know you don't shift on accident so you're just doing it to be a scary dick, and that doesn't work with me anymore. Just listen for a minute." He stared Derek down until he finally relaxed back into his normal, everyday bitchface. "You've got to be patient. Let them know you want them back. Listen to them, ask their advice. Keep them away from Peter and actually teach them something. Don't just bark orders and get annoyed when no one knows what the hell you want. You did the same thing with Scott; you prefer threatening to teaching, and it doesn't work. You were born this way, and they weren't; you know how different that is for them. You can't just take this stuff for granted. End of lecture."

"You don't know everything," Derek said in the same whiny voice he used to proclaim he had a bed.

"No, I don't," Stiles said agreeably. "So if you don't want to take my advice, you don't have to, and you can crash and burn all you want. But in this case, as I once told Scott, I'm always right, and you should listen to whatever I have to say, and never disagree ever for the sake of your wolvlihood."

"Wolvlihood?" It was impossible to describe what Derek's face was doing with that word.

"Wolvlihood," Stiles nodded. "So there you have my two cents on the matter which is probably worth a lot more, but now I have to shower, and my dad's coming home soon, so you should vacate the premises."

"You do kind of stink," Derek said, rising from the bed and looking marginally more cheerful. "I wasn't going to mention it."

"Hey, this is well-earned lacrosse sweat, I'll have you know. It's a far cry better than your alpha-werewolf-leather musk."

"Musk." This face was even more impressive than the wolvlihood one, and Stiles couldn't help but laugh.

"Yep, and that's even without super werewolf senses, so that should give you an idea how much you reek at all times."

"Do not."

"Keep telling yourself that, dude," he said over his shoulder as he left to shower. "I believe you know the way out."

X X X X

It was two weeks later, and Derek hadn't come back to his bedroom. Stiles didn't miss him - that would be insane - but he was surprised, and maybe a touch concerned. Isaac hadn't said anything to Scott, and Boyd and Erica were still keeping a low profile. His second least favorite werewolf (and really, he would be number one on the list, for a myriad of reasons, but he couldn't really downgrade Peter) Jackson was also mum on any werewolf-related topics. You'd think he would want to talk about his newfound glory, but Lydia had him locked down pretty tight. Not that Stiles was jealous. Nosir.

Stiles was a curious guy. It was a fact; it wasn't like he could help it, and he started to get sort of itchy when he was left out of the loop for too long. There were too many uncertainties right now - creepy zombie werewolves, mysterious alpha packs, the still-missing Gramps of Doom, Scott and Isaac's new werewolf love affair - and, quiet or not, Stiles wanted to know what was going on, and he didn't realize he needed Derek's updates until he lost them.

Relief, rather than annoyance, flooded through him when he heard the familiar sound of werewolf sneaking.

"Dude, where have you been?" Stiles demanded as Derek dropped into the room. "I was getting ready to send out an APB, which would have led to awkward questions from my dad."

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. "Now who missed who?"

"Whom." Man, that never got old. He gave him his biggest shit-eating grin; in truth, Derek got that particular smile more than almost anyone else.

"Oh, great, a grammar dick," Derek said. "I'll remember that the next time you expect me to save you from something. 'Sorry, you said "where is that monster at?," can't help you.'" He settled down on the bed anyway, plumping up Stiles' pillow and stretching out his legs. As usual, he looked way too comfortable, but Stiles was used to it by now, used to their new dynamic.

"Yeah, yeah, I've probably saved you at least as many times, and I don't even have claws, so that is way more impressive! Seriously, though, where have you been?"

"Busy, Stiles, my world does not revolve around twitchy teenagers." Derek fixed him with a contemptuous look.

"Uh, it kind of does, dude," Stiles countered. "You're the one that formed the Werewolf Brat Pack, you can't expect too much maturity. What have you been busy with?"

"My 'Brat Pack,'" Derek replied, sarcastic quotes evident in his voice. "I've been working with Isaac, Erica and Boyd. Jackson has even poked his head in a few times, although I wouldn't exactly say he's part of the pack yet. It's been going well."

"Really?" Stiles was surprised and pleased. "Isaac hasn't said anything to Scott. That's great! Erica and Boyd are back in the fold?"

"They are," Derek confirmed. "It's been a little easier than I thought. We talked a lot, and it's much better. Peter's sort of staying out of it for now, and everyone is more comfortable. I wanted to thank you." This last part was spoken so quietly that Stiles cupped a hand around his ear and leaned in with an exaggerated look of shock on his face.

"What was that?" he demanded. "Thanks from Derek Hale? Bestill my heart! Quick, where's my diary?"

"I take it back." Default Derek Eye Roll.

"Too late, my furry friend!" Stiles crowed. "You took my advice, it worked, and now you are here to thank the god that is Stiles." He got out of his chair and raised his arms above his head as if he'd just scored the winning lacrosse goal, which he knew something about, thank you very much and somehow this victory was even sweeter. "Honestly, this is going in my diary with stars and stickers. I might even use gold ink to make it fancier."

"See, this is why no one likes you," Derek grumped. "You are way too smug and dramatic. A simple, 'you're welcome, Derek' would have been fine, because now I want to punch you."

"Oh, I'm dramatic?" Stiles asked incredulously. "This from the guy who'd rather leap down a flight of stairs than simply walk down them like us mere mortals. Let me have this little triumph, Derek. It's so rare you appreciate me."

"I - appreciate you," Derek said, slowly as if the words were being forced out of him. "You can be useful. You're loyal. Relatively level-headed in a crisis, even if you are a giant annoying spaz. You're not the worst person in the world to be around."

That was literally the nicest thing Derek had ever said to him, and Stiles found himself gaping open-mouthed at the werewolf for at least a minute before he found his voice again.

"Thank you, Derek," Stiles said in a subdued voice. "I like you, too."

"I didn't say-"

"You are now officially my second favorite werewolf, so enjoy the upgrade." He gave him a huge grin, a real one this time, glad to lighten things up a bit. "I really am glad everything is working out. Now, do you want Chinese food or pizza for dinner?"

"Please tell me you have something that's going to distract me from chemistry," Stiles groaned as Derek climbed through his window. "I'll take mortal peril over this shit any day of the week. It's so boring right now. Couldn't we at least be making those firebombs Lydia likes so much, or maybe some Walter White meth? Why did I think Chemistry was going to be like Potions? I could be brewing you up some Wolfsbane Potion or something useful. I mean, Mr. Harris is even worse than Snape, obviously, but the subject itself is just so -"

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek said as he plopped on the bed. "I'm tired; I can't listen to your babble right now."

"What'd you come here for, then?" Stiles huffed.

"Your window's open," Derek said, and really, what kind of an answer was that? Stiles' window was always open. It was apparently the only one he ever got, though. Derek's eyes were closing and his breathing slowed. Stiles stared at him incredulously.

"Oh my God, Derek, are you going to sleep? You just got here! Why are you sleeping in my bed?"

"I'm tired," Derek said again, more a mumble than anything, "and it's comfortable. Do your homework in peace."

After glaring for several more moments, Stiles did. The sound of Derek sleeping was oddly soothing; once he was past his annoyance Stiles found it strangely easier to focus on his homework while his wolfy non-friend was lying a few feet away. Once he finished (grudgingly admitting to himself that chemistry wasn't that bad, even if Harris was the devil; luckily this was the last bit of homework before they finished up for the year), he allowed himself to really look at Derek - stare, to be honest. He was rarely able to indulge when Derek was awake; he liked to keep Derek as the only creeper in their relationship, so he didn't like being caught gawking. He looked peaceful; Stiles had figured Derek's angst would carry over even into sleep, but it wasn't the case. He looked younger, softer, even sort of pretty.

And whoa, what the hell was that? Pretty? Derek Hale? It must be the Snuffaluffagus-length eyelashes, he decided, because it definitely wasn't the stubble or the perma-scowl. Stifling an hysterical giggle with his fist, Stiles glanced over at the clock - almost nine. His dad would be home soon.

"Derek," he whispered loudly. "Dude, wake up."

Derek groaned and rolled over onto his stomach.

"Seriously, you have to get up," Stiles said, risking a shake of the shoulder.

"Let me sleep."

"My dad'll be home soon," Stiles hissed. "You must vamoose."

"Keep him out of your room," Derek mumbled into the bed. "Just let me sleep a little longer."

His breathing slowed again and Stiles stared at him, slack-jawed. Really? Derek just fell back asleep and expected Stiles to barricade the door against his father? This was classic alpha-bullshit. Classic Derek bullshit, really.

"Ugh, the worst," he seethed. He threw an impotent glare at the sleeping figure and left; there was much less chance of his dad looking in if he wasn't actually inside his room. He went downstairs and heated up some dinner for his father, then plopped on the couch and queued up An American Werewolf in London; hopefully Derek would hear it through his sleep haze and be offended. Plus it was an awesome movie; although of course he was glad wolfing out wasn't painful, he couldn't help being slightly disappointed that his friends didn't have as impressive transformations as David did. They didn't have a real-life awesome moon-themed soundtrack, either. Amateurs.

It was after ten before his dad actually made it home; he was bone tired and managed little more than a grunt and a nod before he wolfed down his food and headed straight for his bed. Stiles waited until he heard dad-snores before venturing back to his room. Derek was still asleep.

"Unbelievable." His annoyance lessened a little when he thought about how tired Derek must have been to pass out in Stiles' bed of all places. He supposed the guy did have a lot on his plate. Not wanting to either wake Derek or God forbid crawl into bed beside him, Stiles curled up in a chair and watched him until he too fell asleep.

X X X X

"'I can see it coming from the edge of the room, creeping in the streetlight,'" Stiles sang along with the music he had turned on as soon as he heard Derek coming in.

"Have you been waiting around for hours, waiting to play that song?" Derek asked, shucking off his shoes and jacket and flopping down on the bed. "That is creepier than anything I have ever done. Also you can't sing, at all, and should never attempt it again."

Stiles grinned and turned off the music. "I can never out-creep a creeper, dude, and that was high comedy right there. I've got an entire Derek Hale Stalker mix. A few are obvious, I'll admit, like "I'll Be Watching You," but I've got a few lesser known gems on there. And okay, maybe "Hungry Like the Wolf" and "Creep" make an appearance, but I thought "Don't Come Around Here No More" was a good pick."

"This is how you choose to spend your down time." Derek, as usual, looked unimpressed.

"I don't get much of that, thank you very much," Stiles said. "Between werewolf bidness, school, lacrosse and father-son-fun-time, I don't get to spend nearly as much time on things I enjoy, like bothering you. Happily, summer break is almost upon us."

"I'd hate to see what you come up with if you were allowed to devote more effort to that pastime," Derek said, mock shivering. "I also don't know if I should be worried or flattered by the amount of time you spend thinking about me."

Stiles ignored that little implication, because he didn't like to dwell on his reasons too much either. He simply replied, "You should see the picture that comes up on my phone when you call."

"No thanks," Derek said, "but I'm sure you think it's really, really clever, which means it's actually stupid and sophomoric."

"I just finished my sophomore year, Derek, what do you expect?" Stiles asked, grinning again. "Soon you can say my humor's junioric, if you want."

"That is not a word."

"I used it, that makes it a word," Stiles countered. "Come on, don't you want to know how I've coded you all in my phone?"

"Not even a little bit." Derek put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

"Boyd is Tracey Morgan in his Werewolf Bar Mitzvah gear," Stiles said, ignoring Derek's uninterested pose. "Erica is the ET mom in The Howling, Scott gets I Was a Teenage Werewolf, obviously."

"Stiles."

"I made Jackson James Spader from Wolf, because he is a smarmy douche bag, and Isaac is the guy from An American Werewolf in Paris, which is vastly inferior to London, but oh well, because Isaac doesn't get to be Naughton. I did make Peter Jack from London, though. Killed by a werewolf, rotting corpse, one-liners, it does fit a bit too well. It's probably cooler than he deserves, really. I should change him back to Fester."

"Why is Peter calling you?" Derek asked suspiciously, sitting up on the bed and narrowing his eyes.

"Peter loves me," Stiles said, waving his hands dismissively. "He thinks he can win me over with witty text messages, but it's not happening. You've let him get too comfortable."

"I don't like him talking to you," Derek said, still looking annoyed.

"I don't really like him talking to me, either," Stiles said, "but if he's part of your pack, I have to deal with him whether I like it or not. I'm trying to be supportive here, Derek. As long as he keeps his fangs and his claws to himself, and specifically away from Lydia, I won't make waves. We all have to work together here."

"Hmph. I'm going to tell him to leave you alone."

"I actually don't have a problem with that," Stiles replied. "Anyway, Allison is Katniss, of course, and Lydia is just Lydia. You don't replace perfection with pictures of lesser beings." He's only half-joking. He was trying to get better about the whole "hopelessly devoted to you" thing he has for the Divine Ms. M, but it was going to take some more time, although it was getting easier. Who was he to get in the way of kanima-destroying love? He had to admit, she wasn't the first person on his mind anyway lately, although again, he really didn't like to examine that too closely.

"You should have made Erica the girl from Ginger Snaps," Derek said, seemingly drawn into the conversation against his will. Stiles smirked; Derek could never resist for too long.

"That's a good idea," Stiles mused. "She'll probably like that one better, I'm on it. You know, that's a pretty good movie. Tell me the truth, Derek: do you watch every werewolf movie that comes out?"

"Laura always did," Derek said. "She loved them, but she liked all horror movies."

Derek never talked about Laura; he never talked about any of his family. Stiles knew it was a big deal, that Derek was trusting him with this, but he also knew if he made it a big deal, Derek wouldn't open up anymore.

"She had great taste," he said lightly, and Derek's little smile let him know it was the right choice. "What's the fun of being a mythological creature of the night if you can't poke a little fun at yourself? I bet you're more of an action movie fan, though, right? You see yourself as John McClane when you're all bloody wifebeater-ed out."

"You've given that some thought as well," Derek said, raising one eyebrow and Stiles flushed a little. "Is that the picture you have for me?"

"Nope, and I'm not telling you now, you'll have to wither away from curiosity."

"I think I'll manage," Derek said. "What would your dad say if he looked through your phone?"

"My phone is heavily protected against prying eyes, thanks to Danny," Stiles said. "If he did manage to breach it, he'd probably just think I was a giant weirdo, which, hey. He wouldn't be wrong."

"Understatement of the year."

Stiles shrugged and smiled. "Well, you can't get enough of my company, so what does that make you?"

"Everyone already knows I'm unbalanced," Derek said dryly, making Stiles bark out a surprised laugh.

"That we do, my furry friend, that we do. So what's the plan, Derek? I've got enough leftover tacos to share, and I was planning on rewatching Dog Soldiers. Did you and Laura ever watch that one?"

"One of her favorites," Derek said, giving Stiles that small smile again. "It's been awhile, though. I could stand to watch it again."

"Perfect. I'd tell you to make yourself at home while I grab dinner, but you've got that down, don't you?"

Derek looked at him for a long time. "Yeah, I do."

X X X X

So. It wasn't weird that he and Derek were wiling away the summer with dinner and movies, right? Stiles spent most of his days at lacrosse practice, or with Scott and Isaac, or doing chores for his dad; typical summer vacation, really, although this was the first time he felt like he was improving at lacrosse, and it was certainly the first summer he had more than one friend. Every night his dad worked, though, Derek slid through his window, deposited himself on the bed and motioned for Stiles to pop in a movie. Sometimes he brought money for pizza or take-out; other times he scarfed whatever leftovers Stiles heated up for him. There was no talk of the Alphas or any other "werewolf bidness" while he was there. They bickered, ate, watched the movies and then Derek would leave. He occasionally fell asleep; more than once Stiles woke up on the bed next to him after they had dozed off in the middle of a movie. He stopped feeling strange about it; he simply drifted back off and Derek was always gone before his dad got home.

They also never talked about their time together when there were werewolf shenanigans. Whenever the pack got together (and Stiles always came; he figured honorary human was a thing) to discuss strategies, he and Derek acted like they always did - mildly annoyed with one another's presence. He did see Peter giving the two of them speculative glances from time to time, but he was used to ignoring Peter, so he didn't worry about it. Derek must have said something to his uncle; the texts had definitely lessened, although they didn't stop altogether. No one else seemed to take any notice. Scott and Derek had thawed towards each other in the past few weeks, and were making an effort to work together; if you took Peter out of the equation it was almost one big happy werewolf/human family.

Stiles didn't really know why they were keeping their extra time together a secret; it wasn't something they had decided out loud. He wasn't sure it was even secret-keeping worthy anyway; it wasn't like they were doing anything more than hanging out. He hung out with Scott all the time. Why was it different when it was Derek? When had he started feeling different about it? The irritation he used to feel when Derek bullied his way into his room had been replaced with anticipation. He was testier on nights he knew Derek wasn't coming, more inclined to fidget and sulk; when Derek was there it was like everything slowed down, like he could just sit and be calm for a while. When had the Grouchiest Werewolf turned into his own brand of Adderall?

"Hey." Derek hardly ever surprised him anymore. He watched as Derek climbed through the window, holding a large white bag in his hands.

"You brought dinner?" Stiles asked, making gimme hands at the bag. "You didn't have to do that."

"You said you were craving barbecue," Derek shrugged, handing over the bag. "Get us some tea to go with it, will you?"

Stiles nodded, peering in the bag. "Dude, you got pie, too? You are amazing."

"And look what else," Derek said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a movie with a flourish. He was grinning and Stiles thought he would never get tired of that particular expression on Derek's face. His stomach did a low swoop, and oh sweet Lord, that was his Lydia Martin swoop, the one exclusively felt when pretty strawberry blonde goddesses bestowed their smiles and favors. Shit.

Stiles knew his face had just gone fire-engine red, and he could see Derek frown a bit at the change in his heartbeat. He mentally shook himself and reached out for the movie.

"You are a diamond in the rough, Derek," he said, keeping his voice as light as possible. "Where'd you find this treasure?"

"I finally had our things from New York shipped here," Derek said. He seemed willing to ignore Stiles' weirdness - lots of practice, by this point. "Bloodz Vs. Wolvez- I couldn't let it languish in a storage unit."

Stiles laughed. "Perish the thought - I would hate to be deprived of that cinematic genius. I'll get us drinks, you start the movie." He ran downstairs, stopping once he got to the kitchen to get his breathing under control. His stomach was still flipping, and he could still feel his heart racing in his chest. This was ridiculous.

Calm down before you make a complete and utter ass of yourself. Derek is here to watch a movie, not have you hormone all over him. What the hell are you thinking anyway? This is Derek. Derek Hale, remember? This is not Lydia, or - or Danny, or some random attractive person, this is Derek. What do you think is going to happen here?

"Nothing," he muttered out loud. "Absolutely nothing. Good talk, Stiles, way to keep perspective."

He nodded, steeling his resolve and carried the drinks back upstairs.

"Why were you talking to yourself?" Derek asked, grabbing his tea and scooting over on the bed to make room for Stiles.

Stiles was a champion at ignoring problems until they went away, so he hopped up onto the bed next to Derek and took a big swig of his own tea. "I have to get intelligent conversation somewhere, dude."

Derek snorted. "Watch the movie, Stiles."

He did, managing to keep up his normal running commentary. If he kept track of every time he made Derek laugh, or how their thighs were pushed together, that was nobody's business but his, right?

X X X X

Okay, so maybe Derek could still startle him once in awhile.

"Shit! Derek! Jesus!" Stiles jumped back, literally shrinking against his bedroom door. He'd always thought it was a ridiculous exaggeration when people said their hearts were beating out of their chests, but well - there it was, on the floor.

"Eloquent," Derek said, with his usual raised eyebrows poker face. He was - but of course - sprawled out on Stiles' still unmade bed. Still unmade because it was eight o'clock in the damn morning, and what the hell was Derek doing here?

"I just got out of the shower, Derek, I could have been naked," Stiles said, extremely thankful he had taken a t-shirt and boxers into the bathroom with him.

Derek smirked. "I don't think my eyes would melt out of my head if I saw you naked, Stiles." He gave Stiles a cool, assessing stare, causing him, once again, to flush.

"Yeah, but I might ruin you for all others," he said, trying to sound unaffected; he filed away the fact that Derek didn't roll his eyes, but was still giving him that calculating look. "What are you doing here?"

"Your dad's home tonight, right? I figured we could hang out now. I brought breakfast." He smiled and gestured to a box of donuts sitting on Stiles' desk.

Stiles cocked his head, giving Derek his own curious look. This was new. Usually, unless there was an emergency, if Stiles' dad worked the day shift and was going to be home in the evening, it was simply a day he wouldn't see Derek. He'd never come over during the day before; they'd actually had dinner and watched Blood and Chocolate last night, and Stiles had already prepared himself for a Derek-free day.

"Can't stay away for even a day, huh, Derek?"

This time, Stiles swore it was Derek who blushed. Derek shrugged, getting that little-boy-lost look on his face that Stiles liked so much and saw so rarely. "What else am I going to do all day? I know you don't have lacrosse, but I - I can go if you want."

"No way, we are eating donuts and watching Ginger Snaps 3," Stiles said, grabbing the box and situating himself next to Derek on the bed. He opened the box and snagged a Boston creme. "Dude, you got a dozen donuts for the two of us?"

"We're going to eat every one of them, too," said Derek, smiling again.

"It's important to have goals, Derek," Stiles said, nudging him with his shoulder. "Alright, I bet I can go donut a donut with you."

"Is that the pastry version of mano a mano?"

"It is, my furry friend," Stiles conceded, shoving the donut in his mouth in two giant bites. "Your turn."

"Gross, I think you spit on me," Derek said, dramatically wiping off his face before grabbing his own donut.

Stiles swallowed and rolled his eyes. "I'm getting lessons on table manners from a werewolf? Dude, you probably still have rabbit stuck in your teeth from last night."

"That's impossible," Derek said around his own mouthful of chocolate and sprinkles. "I brush and floss after every mauling."

Stiles snorted and took another donut, powdered sugar this time. He devoured that one as well, licking his fingers thoroughly when he was finished. He looked over to see Derek staring at him, eyes slightly dazed. Without saying anything, Derek reached out and used his thumb to wipe more powder off of the corner of his mouth. Stiles stomach dropped again and his heart thudded in his chest. "Thanks," he managed.

"Uh huh." Derek sounded slightly hoarse, but before Stiles could react he simply picked up his next donut.

Stiles hopped off the bed. "You want something to drink? I think donuts need milk. I'll put the movie in, too. Hold on a sec." He kept his eyes away from Derek as he made himself busy, running downstairs to grab the whole carton of milk and two glasses. When he finally had the movie started he sat back on the bed, putting a little more space between them this time. He really didn't need Derek's crazy werewolf senses picking up what Stiles knew he was putting down. There was humiliation, and then there was humiliation.

"I'm on my fourth one," Derek informed him. "You better catch up."

"We're going to puke," Stiles said. "I've seen you throw up, too. It's not pretty."

"Unless our friendly neighborhood donut man laced them with wolfsbane, we're good. Or at least I am. If you throw up, I'm eating your share of the donuts."

"No way, these are mine," Stiles said, quickly grabbing his third. Coconut - score!

The box was empty ten minutes into the movie. Stiles groaned and leaned against Derek, figuring his agony would outweigh any other emotions Derek might sense. "Ugh, why do I let you talk me into these situations? This might be worse than the pool."

"Donuts are not your enemy," Derek smirked. "You didn't have to eat that many."

"You challenged me, Derek," Stiles said, still clutching his stomach. "I can't back down from a slight against my manhood."

"Pretty sure I didn't slight your manhood."

"That's because it's unslightable. Impressive, to be honest." Why in the hell was he speaking?

"Really?" Derek looked down at him. "Interesting."

Stiles pulled back, once again turning that scarlet shade Derek seemed to bring out in him. "Um."

Derek sighed. "Watch the movie, Stiles, before you give yourself a panic attack. Your stomach can handle six donuts. You'll survive."

At this point, that was doubtful.

X X X X

Stiles sensed rather than heard another presence in his room. He pulled himself slowly out of sleep and looked at the alarm clock - one o'clock in the morning. He rolled over and looked at his window - Derek was standing next to it, watching him. Stiles didn't jump, or startle - he had known it was Derek.

"What's up?" he croaked, leaning up on his elbow. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Derek said, soundly slightly strange, hesitant. "I couldn't sleep."

"Alright," Stiles said, sitting up more fully. His sheet fell around his waist and he tried not to feel self-conscious about the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. "My dad's not home. Do you want to watch a movie or something? Or talk?"

"No," Derek said, still sounding unsure of himself. "I kind of want to sleep."

Stiles furrowed his brows. Sleep? Sure, he and Derek fell asleep sometimes, and he had come over that one evening, but this - this was different. Coming over in the middle of the night specifically to sleep, when he knew Stiles himself would also be in bed? That was a huge step up, intimacy-wise.

"I just," Derek continued, "I sleep better here. I know it's weird, and I don't want to freak you out."

"You don't freak me out, Derek," he said softly.

"You make jokes about what a huge creep I am, and I suppose they're at least a little warranted."

Stiles grinned crookedly at him. "A little?"

"But even I can admit this is a bit much," Derek said. "You can say no, I won't be offended. I should just go, this is ridiculous." He didn't move, though, just looked at Stiles with pleading eyes.

Stiles scooted closer to the wall, patting the space beside him. "It's okay, Derek."

He watched as Derek kicked off his shoes. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed down his jeans as well, before crawling in next to him in his boxers and t-shirt. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Stiles said. "I mean that, really. I like when you're here."

"I feel better here," Derek said. They were facing each other in the bed, not touching but close.

"Good."

"Your window was open. Even in the middle of the night."

"I leave it open for you, Derek. I thought that was pretty clear."

"Stiles -"

"It's okay, Derek," he said again. "Go to sleep." He turned over so he was facing the wall and they laid in silence for several minutes. Stiles thought Derek had gone to sleep until Derek's arm snaked around his waist, settling on his stomach. His breath caught in his throat.

"Is this alright?" Derek whispered.

Stiles didn't trust himself to speak. He knew Derek could feel him nod, could hear his heart beating like crazy. Derek nuzzled into his neck, but didn't put his mouth on Stiles. He didn't pull Stiles against him, and Stiles didn't move back either, as much as he wanted to. He finally fell asleep with Derek rubbing small circles on his stomach; when he woke up, Derek was gone.

X X X X

"Hey."

Stiles wanted to stew a little, he wanted to deliberately keep his back to Derek and let him know just how pissed he was. After waking up in an empty bed, Stiles had worried that things might be a bit awkward or stilted, but what he hadn't expected was for Derek to avoid him completely. For an entire week. So Stiles didn't turn around, keeping his eyes on the email he was sending Scott.

"Hello, Derek." Frosty.

"I wanted to talk."

"So, talk." Eyes still straight ahead, no chance of getting sucked in by Derek's sad eyes and scorching hotness.

Derek snorted and Stiles could hear him sit on the bed behind him. He wanted to turn around at that, wanted to yell at Derek not to get so comfortable, but he used all his strength not to rise to the bait.

"I've been deliberately avoiding you," Derek said, apparently content to address the back of Stiles' head.

"No shit."

"I crossed a line, and I'm sorry. I won't come over anymore if you don't want me to."

Stiles huffed and turned around in his chair, too frustrated to keep up the pretense of not looking at Derek. "That's not what I want. I told you before, I like you being here. You're the one that hasn't shown up in a week, not me."

"Even after the other night?" Derek looked simultaneously worried and hopeful.

"Look, if you're worried you gave me the wrong idea, you sort of did. But I'll be fine. We can still be friends, can't we? I won't make it awkward; I'm used to rejection."

Derek snorted again, but he didn't look like he found anything funny. "That's the problem, Stiles. You got the right idea, not the wrong one."

Once again, he was sure his heartbeat must be deafening to Derek. "I - really?" He grinned, big and bright. "Why is that a problem?"

"Because you're sixteen," Derek said, as if it was obvious. "You're sixteen, your dad's the sheriff and I'm a werewolf. You can see the issues we have."

"The only issue is that you like me," Stiles said, still smiling. "Everything else is no big deal."

"Right," Derek scoffed. "Didn't you call me a sex offender with a fetish for teenage boys? That's not good."

"Nah, you just have a fetish for me, and who can blame you?"

Derek rubbed a hand down his face. "This isn't how I planned this."

"No, you thought you would be stoic and self-sacrificing, right?" Stiles guessed. "Not on my watch, buddy. I admit, you haven't always been my favorite person in the whole world, but you've been upgraded to favorite werewolf for a while now."

"Above Scott?'

"I don't want to make out with Scott, Derek." Better to make things as clear as possible, right?

"Good to know," Derek said drily.

"Okay," Stiles began, getting up from the chair. "I do know, realistically, that we have some things to work through, my dad being chief among them. For the time being, however, I would like to sit on the bed, watch some eps of Wolf Lake and go from there."

"Really? That crappy show?" Derek didn't seem to mind though, just patted the space next to him.

"We're going to worry about quality at this stage in the game?" Stiles sat down, scooting as close to Derek as possible without sitting in his lap. He gave Derek another huge grin and was rewarded with Derek's fond smile.

"Okay," Derek said, nodding. "We'll work it out." He paused, tilting his head like he had just remembered something important. "Let me borrow your phone. I'm going to text Isaac."

Stiles reached over his bedside table and grabbed his phone, quickly unlocking it and handing it to Derek. He watched as Derek scrolled through his contacts and - oh. "Wait, give me that."

Derek smiled at him again and held up the phone, displaying the picture he had clearly been looking for. It was Derek, of course; Stiles had managed to surreptitiously snap a picture when they were having one of their movie marathons. He was smiling at something on the screen, turned part-way toward Stiles with setting sunlight coming in through the window and lighting him up. He looked gorgeous.

"Oh, stop looking so smug," Stiles humphed, snatching the phone back. He leaned over and kissed Derek quickly, pulling back before Derek could kiss him back. "I said there was no use replacing perfection, didn't I? And just so you know, I changed Lydia's picture to Willow, okay, because she is a magical redhead, so you can -" Derek interrupted him with his own kiss, this one long, slow and very thorough.

"Do you also want to hear my new Derek Hale playlist?"