Chapter 2: Subtract Adderall, ADD Alcohol
Stiles' Adderall might have worn off. Stiles also might have been a little bit completely wasted. Who's great idea was this again? Stiles was pretty positive it wasn't his great idea. If Scott was around, which inconveniently he was very much not around, he probably would have preemptively stopped this from happening. Stiles wondered why Scott wasn't around but was pretty sure he had a good reason to find him. Then Lydia Martin's gorgeous strawberry blond hair swished by and out the back door like some kind of beacon. Haha, beacon, like Beacon Hills. He followed her outside before he lost track of his crush of six years, four months and twenty-three days.
"Lydia! Your hair is like a bright light. You know? The ones that helps stuff find places. It's so awesome," Stiles rambled in a profound way hoping that she would appreciate his poetic endeavors. She never had before, but he could try, right? He couldn't shake that there was some reason he shouldn't be doing this though. but for the life of him he didn't understand why. He looked off into space considering this and also wondered how often bright direction-giving lights got into the eyes of travelers resulting in accidents. Shortly after pondering this great mystery, he was slapped.
"Are you even listening to me at all?" the hand said to him before Lydia's face came into focus. Stiles wondered if he could focus. He felt his other cheek get slapped. Apparently not. "Stiles." Lydia stressed the syllables more this time.
"My love! Thank god you're here. These hands keep appearing out of freakin' nowhere and slapping me and then just vanish! We need to devise a strategy to find them and plot out my revenge." Stiles knew Lydia could help him devise a brilliant plan. She was perfect that way.
"You're drunk, Stiles," she said with very little room for argument, even though he was pretty damned sure he was Stiles Stilinski and not whoever this Drunk Stiles person was that decided to steal his awesome and stylish nickname. He'd been wrong before though and Lydia was never wrong, so he must be Drunk Stiles.
"Stiles?" a deep voice questioned from space. That or Lydia had recently become a wonderful ventriloquist, which was totally possible, and could do a wonderful impression of Derek's voice. Derek? Why did that sound so freakin' familiar and important right now. Lydia would know, she knows lots of things and stuff, Stiles reasoned.
He then felt the world spin around at least seven hundred times. Or maybe he was just turned half a time to face the person behind him. The second seemed much more likely but Stiles was pretty sure it was seven hundred. After the dizziness wore off a slight bit Derek showed up. Maybe Derek would save him from further dizzy monsters.
When had Derek shown up anyway? He was just talking to Lydia, enjoying her talents as a ventriloquist and all the sudden, boom! Derek. Wait, Derek. He shouldn't have been trying to flirt with Lydia, because, Derek. That's what he was trying to remember earlier! He and Derek were fake boyfriend and he was not supposed to be flirting with Lydia because he should be fake flirting with Derek! He was about to enlighten Derek about this wonderful epiphany but when his mouth opened, only word vomit came out. Scratch that, actual vomit came out. Onto Derek. Shit.
"I'm taking you home. Now." Derek practically growled out, not looking quite as amused as Stiles felt a fake boyfriend should look. He was, however, steering Stiles along some street with a very large and very warm arm over his shoulders. That felt fairly fake-boyfriend-like to him. Stiles was not a fan of mixed signals. Or being cold. He wondered when it got so cold out. He felt something wrap around his shoulders and looked towards Derek who's jacket had mysteriously vanished.
"Where did jacket?" Stiles wondered out loud, quite glad he was now forming proper word vomit instead of actual vomit. He saw both of the jacket-less Derek's roll their eyes simultaneously. Shit! Derek had a twin with freaky twin superpowers too and never told him? What an asshole. They were fake boyfriends! This is the kind of thing someone should share with their fake boyfriend. Stiles felt indignant.
"You're wearing it, idiot." Derek said slowly but had a bit of an amused grin on his face which seemed out of place while he was insulting Stiles. Stiles felt it was important to solve this anomaly but promptly blacked out.
It was out to get him. The giant circular beacon was slowly torturing him. Stiles groaned and turned over in his bed flopping his pillow over his face to shield himself from the unfriendly light blazing his eyeballs out via his window. Fuck the sun. He recalls having thought beacons were awesome for some reason. He was deadly and unequivocally wrong. Stiles could come to terms with this; he'd be wrong before about stupider things.
Stiles sighed in relief when his shield-pillow best friend did it's valiant duty in protecting his sensitive retinas when suddenly his ears were exploding to terrible screams of horror and injustice. He blindly reached towards his dresser where the vile screams were loudest and ripped the source of the noise from the socket in the wall tossing it across the room. The screams turned into laughs, mocking him from across the room.
Apparently, pulling your cell phone-turned-alarm off of its charger did not silence it, because batteries. Fuck batteries. No, wait, batteries often helped him play video games and aided and abetted his laziness in changing the channel and such. He liked batteries. Fuck alarms. Yes, alarms were vile.
Not being able to bear the shrill beeps any longer, Stiles slowly removed his shield from his face, allowing his beacon arch-nemesis, the sun, to continue its tyrannical assault on his poor innocent eyes. His eyes had never done anything to the sun, he'd swear it!
After what seemed like days of torture, he finally managed to capture and silence his phone before flopping back onto his bed with only a moderate headache left to keep him company. Stiles needed better company.
"You awake, son?" A loud monstrous giant bellowed, breaking his one moment of peace.
"Why are you so loud, Dad! And fuck the sun. He's a vicious tyrant." Stiles said muffled by his one true friend, Mr. Pillow.
"Language, Stiles." The voice boomed in reprimand. Stiles felt justified in his assessment against the sun and would not take back his words. "Just because you have a hangover does not mean that you can lie in bed all day. Besides, breakfast is almost ready. I made waffles." The voice continued sounding somehow much more angelic now.
"Waffles?" Stiles questioned daring to peek out from under the pillow at his favorite person in the world who was armed with a wooden spoon. The beautiful and kind man did not respond but with a solid roll of his eyes skyward before leaving Stiles alone with his headache once more. Stiles would have called his dad rude for the eye roll, but waffles.
About an hour later after warm gooey waffles with strawberry topping, a much needed shower with an even more needed teeth brushing, and a solid dose of ibuprofen, Stiles returned to his room with much less animosity towards the sun and his phone. Speaking of his phone, he had about 20 texts and 3 missed called. Which reminded him that he remembered nothing about getting home or pretty much anything after that wonderful kiss with Derek.
Wait. Stiles made out with Derek. No, Derek made out with Stiles. Stiles mostly just stood there and let it happen. Well, stood is a strong word. It was more like leaned. Similar to standing but with some aid. He's pretty glad he had that aid of the wall to lean on since he's pretty sure the kiss would've knocked him off his feet quite literally.
Stiles' face heated up warmly quite embarrassed. If that was the last thing he remembered doing, he was even more afraid of what did he did not remember doing. Oh god, he couldn't imagine it getting any less embarrassing if he was already that far gone. Hell, he was relatively grateful he at least got to remember his first kiss (and quite a banging one at that, though he'd never tell Derek for fear of ego-inflation).
Even though his phone was currently silent, he could hear it mocking him for the second time that day. Stiles didn't think he had ever been more afraid of reading his text messages. He swallowed his fear down, feeling a lump in his throat as he clicked his message icon and prayed.
The majority of the messages were luckily from Scott asking where he was, if he was safe and generally hoping Stiles was not dead in a ditch somewhere. Stiles was suddenly grateful he was currently in a ditch-free zone. It seemed a very likely place Stiles might go in the dark at night with his tripping and his drunkness combining forces.
The last three texts were from Derek, all at different times.
2:24 AM: I just dropped u off in ur bed. U showed me where ya kept an extra key outside since ya left ur jacket at the twins. I would've grabbed it but u were pretty gone, dude.
10:30 AM: Hey man, let me know when you get up if u r still alive. ;]. If not I guess I could at least keep Kate off my back by saying I'm mourning the death of my boyfriend or something. Might not hold her off for too long though, so I hope u r alive still.
11:45 AM: Before I forget, we should probably hang out later today to iron some things out about how we're goin to do this boyfriend thing. Especially with our friends and all. I'm busy til about 8 but after I could come by your place maybe? Let me kno.
Stiles read through all the texts somewhere between three and a thousand times. Derek had taken him home. Derek had been in his fucking bedroom. Shit, now all Stiles could think about was Derek fucking in his bedroom. Him and his gorgeous eyes and warm arms and Disney prince charm. Stiles was always more of fan of the Disney villains and kick-ass female heroines than the cliché Disney princes, but it worked for Derek. The jackass. Fuck now all he could think about was jacking off to Derek's ass.
After running into the bathroom, slamming the door and rubbing one out, Stiles contemplated the rest of the texts with renewed clarity. Derek had apparently saved Stiles from his alter-ego, Drunk Stiles, in quite a rush as evidenced by the fact that they left his jacket behind. Which could only mean that he was doing something completely embarrassing requiring his immediate extrication from the party. Fuck.
Stiles decided on ignoring that for now, since the second text seemed fairly friendly and Derek even joked in it, even if it was a joke about Stiles and being dead. Stiles decided he was alright with this as he was not much a humor bigot. He took all types of humor including the darker ones. Humor was good; it meant he couldn't have fucked up too bad, right? If he had, Derek would also not have been asking to hang out later and continued being his fake boyfriend. Or would he? Maybe he was just really fucking desperate. He had to be pretty desperate if he was asking Stiles-maybe Derek was just too drunk himself to notice. It made more sense, anyways.
Either way, Derek asked to meet up with Stiles. Sure, it was under the pretense of faking a relationship Stiles wanted nothing more than to be a honest-to-god one but he could only deal with one life-altering issue at a time.
First on the agenda: tell Scott about being alive and ask if he could let Stiles in on anything more about his stupid crazy night. Stiles made quick work of this typing out a sufficient text and sending it being extremely careful not to mention the whole Derek/fake boyfriend incident before discussing it with Derek first. He debated briefly about telling Scott, his bestest bud, but recalled how freakin' gigantic Scott's mouth was and quickly aborted that plan altogether.
Stiles then took a solid ten minutes to revise a text to Derek in an attempt not to come across nearly as scatterbrained and rambly as his brain actually was.
1:14 PM: Hey Derek, I am alive, I think. I mean I guess I could be a ghost but then it might be hard to hit the touchscreen to get this text to you so yah. Also, any time after 8 would be fine since my Dad has the night shift. Thanks for bringing me home, btw. I don't remember it, but appreciate it nonetheless. Text me when you're on your way if you come.
He clicked the send button instantly realizing the ghost thing probably made him sound pretty scatterbrained. Oh well, he tried. Exhausted from the struggle to contain his ramble in text form, Stiles ignored his Dads' earlier words about not sleeping in all day and did the opposite. Sue him, he liked afternoon naps, ok? Especially with Mr. Pillow.