Stiles arrived at the airport an hour before his flight was scheduled to take off. He checked his bags and sat down, taking out his phone. He'd had yet to tell Scott that he was coming home early, but Stiles didn't want Scott to think that he had to leave; Scott could still stay the full two weeks they had agreed on. Stiles just wasn't going to.

He kept thinking back to to Derek's offer. Part of him wanted to accept. Fuck that, he totally wanted to leave the airport and catch a taxi to the bar—pub; whatever it was called here—Derek was talking about. But he also kept thinking about Derek's assurance that Stiles wouldn't want to get involved with him, and yet still claiming that he wanted to see Stiles again.

Derek had officially claimed the title King of Mixed Signals.

Funny, because Stiles thought he had claimed that years ago.

Stiles began typing out the text to Scott, letting him know that, yes, he was coming back, but Scott could stay too. Stiles entertained the idea of him and Scott hanging out, maybe showing him around. Possibly finding someone to set him up with. Maybe they could become friends; Stiles hadn't had a guy friend that didn't want to date him in so long.

He paused halfway through the text, tapping his fingers on the back of his phone. He glanced up and looked around. Despite the holiday season, the airport seemed vaguely empty. Lonely. Stiles sighed. He exited out of the draft and pushed his phone into his pocket, standing up and making his way to the counter.

"Hi. I want to cancel my flight."

xXx

Stiles walked through the door of the bar, finding his way immediately to the counter. The place was loud and crowded, but not suffocatingly so. Stiles debated what to order before deciding on a vodka soda with more vodka than soda. He needed liquid courage because there was always the chance that Derek wouldn't actually show up. And that Stiles skipped his flight for nothing.

He tried to ignore the pang in his heart at the thought.

Skimming the crowd, Stiles sipped his drink through its straw. He dreaded thinking that he might have to walk around the bar to find Derek because it was so crowded. Sure, it wasn't a suffocating crowd, but that didn't mean Stiles could see every part of the room. He sighed and finished off his drink, ordering another one. About to take a sip, he was bumped into, almost spilling his vodka soda.

"Oops! Sorry, sweetie," a sugary sweet voice said. Stiles looked to where the voice had come from and was greeted by cleavage. He made a choking sound in the back of his throat and blinked before finding the face attached to the breasts. The woman grinned wickedly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Hi?" Stiles said, hating that he turned the word into a question.

The woman look him up and down, her grin widening. "You are absolutely adorable," she said. Stiles barely resisted the urge to take a step back.

"I'm waiting for someone," he said.

"Funny, so am I," the woman said.

"A guy."

"So am I."

"Okay, I'm gay."

The woman laughed and lightly slapped Stiles' cheek. "Oh, sweetie, I could tell. I have an excellent gaydar, all right? Now. My name's Erica."

"Stiles." Erica's grin turned downright predatory. "Is there something I can do for you?" Stiles asked.

Erica shook her head. "Most definitely not. Unless you wouldn't mind just staying here with me."

Stiles shrugged and sipped at his drink, fighting the urge to run the hell away from Erica. The way she looked at him made him feel like he was about to be eaten.

The woman was terrifying, frankly.

He took another sip before asking, "Why do you need me to stay here?"

Erica ordered a shot which she knocked back before answering. "Because it appears like neither of our dates are showing and I'd rather be with you than fair game here."

Stiles felt his heart drop. "What makes you think that my guy's not showing?"

"Well, one, you're no longer scanning the crowd for him and, two, you're not exactly objecting to me being here. Which could very well be interpreted wrong if your date was to show up—meaning you've subconsciously given up hope."

Stiles felt like an idiot. Of course Derek was going to suggest Stiles show up and then not show up himself. He probably regretted inviting Stiles and then backed out of his plans on the chance that Stiles skipped out on his flight—which he did. For Derek. Because Derek told him he wanted to see him again. Fuck, he was an idiot.

He felt Erica's eyes on him and he tried to school his expression into something less pitiful than it probably was. He finished of his second drink, and decided to switch to beer. Before he could take his first sip, though, Erica rolled her eyes. She grabbed his arm and began dragging him away from the bar.

"I couldn't do it. Your sad puppy face broke my resolve," she said. She pulled Stiles over to a table where he saw—

Derek.

Laughing.

Like, mouth open wide, eyes crinkled, laughing. His beer was halfway to his lips when he noticed the arrival of Erica. "Hey. Boyd and I made a bet that you got lost," he said, taking a sip before his eyes landed on Stiles. He choked and coughed, setting down his bottle and covering his mouth. Erica rolled her eyes before settling into the chair next to a dark skinned man who Stiles assumed must have been Boyd. The man wrapped an arm around Erica's shoulders and she laced her fingers through his.

"Derek, Derek, Derek," she said. "You'll never believe who I found just standing at the bar like an adorable little fawn."

"Erica," Derek said warningly.

"What?" She blinked at him innocently, her mouth turning up slightly at the corners.

Stiles cleared his throat, interrupting the silent conversation Derek and Erica began to have. Derek startled and looked a Stiles, a slightly guilty expression on his face. He gestured for Stiles to sit in the chair next to him, before glancing at Erica and Boyd. The latter raised an eyebrow.

Stiles sat down, and yet no one said a word. Stiles thought about saying something, but he had no idea what to say. Or how to start saying what he wanted to say. He tried not to look at Derek, but couldn't help glancing at the man. He sipped his beer and stared at his hands on the table, lightly drumming them. He finally opened his mouth, about to say something, when Erica said, "Dear fucking Lord. I'll do it then. Boyd, honey, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is my husband Boyd. Yes, I totally lied to you, but once you said your name and confirmed that you were whom I was looking for, well, I had to."

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked, looking up. He saw Derek in his peripheral giving Erica a death glare, but she smirked and leaned forward.

"What I mean, sweetie, is that you are all Derek here has talked about since he showed up." She lightly slapped Stiles' cheek again, settling back under Boyd's arm. She ignored the look Derek shot her, snuggling up to Boyd completely unconcerned.

Stiles heard Derek sigh—it was more of a huff, really—before he said, "She's exaggerating. A little bit."

"Not at all."

"Erica."

Stiles shot up, almost knocking his chair backward. "I need another drink. Anyone else need another drink? No? Cool," he rushed out, already walking back to the counter. He chugged the rest of his beer before ordering three shots of whiskey in one cup, knocking back the entire thing. He hissed, his throat burning. He then ordered another beer, taking a sip to try to help calm his nerves more before making his way back to Derek.

"So," he said, sitting down, "let's start with how do you all know each other?"

Erica looked downright gleeful, leaning forward again. "I was friends with his brother, Scott, first. We're the same age. Boyd was friends with Derek first. They're the same age. I started hanging out with Scott who was always hanging out with Derek who was always hanging out with Boyd." She shrugged. "It all just kind of fell into place naturally. Boyd and I also work with Scott now, while Derek has a boring teacher job."

Stiles felt his eyes widen as he looked over at Derek. "You're a teacher?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah. Secondary school history teacher."

Fuck, that's hot. Stiles shoved the thought away, trying his best not to imagine Derek in his school clothes, probably wearing his glasses and maybe even a sweater vest and—

He felt his face flame up and knew it was noticeable as soon as he heard Erica's maniacal laughter. He took another swig of his beer and cleared his throat, trying to calm his heart and ignore the complete and utter embarrassment he was feeling. "That's cool," he said. "Why history?"

Derek shrugged, taking a sip of his own beer. "I enjoy history. I like the past."

"You mean you like living in the past."

"Erica!"

Erica tilted her head and barred her teeth at Derek in a grin. "Please," she scoffed. "I've been calling your shit for years, Derek, I'm not about to stop now."

Derek rolled his eyes and finished off his beer. "Anyone need anything?" he asked. Getting a negative from the three at the table, he walked to the counter.

Erica immediately turned her attention to Stiles. "You need to get in his pants again."

Stiles sputtered out, "W-what?!"

She rolled her eyes then elbowed Boyd. "Come on, honey, now's the time to speak up. Say you agree with me."

Boyd looked at Stiles, expression neutral. "You need to get into his pants again," he repeated, deadpan. Stiles felt his face flame up again and Boyd smiled.

Erica let out a gleeful giggle before cooing, "You are absolutely wonderful."

Boyd shrugged. "There was a reason you married me." He kissed Erica's temple before settling back into his chair, staring at Stiles impassively.

"You two are creepy," Stiles commented, looking between Erica and Boyd.

This time Erica shrugged. "It's how we are. But now. Seriously, Stiles, you need to get into that man's pants again. The more often you get into his pants, the higher the chance you have of getting into his heart."

"That's fucked up."

"Maybe," she said. "But Derek's fucked up. And..." She paused, glancing in the direction Derek left. "Stiles, I'm not going to lie. I wasn't kidding earlier when I said you were all Derek was talking about before. I mean, he disguised it as the fact that you're living in his brother's house, but Derek never talks about one night stands."

"Why are you so—"

"I worry about Derek," Erica said, talking over him. "Fuck, Scott worries about him and he's almost in the same boat. Stiles, Derek is the most compassionate person I've ever met—oh, hush, honey—and I just don't want to have to worry about him anymore. Okay?"

Stiles nodded and swallowed, glancing down to the table. Erica perked up at Derek's reappearance, asking, "Now who's getting lost?"

Derek mock-scowled. "I didn't get lost. Some girl practically shoved her hand down my pants even after I declined."

"Did you decline like a gentleman? Or a like a serial killer as usual?" Erica asked.

"You know the answer to that."

Stiles gulped down the rest of his beer, desperate to be far, far away from the conversation. "I think I'm going to get another refill. So." He took off again, ordering the three shots of whiskey in one cup. He knocked it back.

He could finally feel the slightly thrum of alcohol in his veins, which was good because he didn't know how much longer he could stand being sober. He thought about ordering a refill of the whiskey, but decided against it, going with his beer instead. As he waited, he felt a hand at the small of his back and started, his heart beating double time.

"Stiles, hey, sorry," Derek said. "I didn't, uh, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Stiles said.

"Right."

"I was startled. There's a difference."

"Right."

Stiles sighed. "I can feel you judging; you seriously need to work on that."

Derek laughed quietly and Stiles became hyper aware of the fact that Derek had yet to actually remove his hand. It was comforting, weirdly enough. He felt warmth spread through him and tried his best not to draw attention to it on the off chance that that would make Derek remove his hand.

Instead, Stiles turned to face Derek, laying his hand on Derek's shoulder. "You know," he began, only to be interrupted.

"Do you know how weird it is that I had sex in my brother's bed?" Derek asked bluntly.

"I. Um."

A flush worked it's way across Derek's cheeks. "Sorry. It's just a thought I had."

Stiles nodded, lifting a finger to trace Derek's blush. Causing the man to blush deeper. "Stiles, what are you—"

"Shhh." He traced over Derek's nose and then around his lips. "I think the alcohol's finally catching up with me," he said, his tongue beginning to feel heavy.

Derek chuckled. "I can see that. Why don't we get you back to Scott's. Make you drink some water."

Stiles grinned, his finger tracing Derek's eyebrows now. "Suuuuuure."

Derek brought Stiles over to say goodbye to Erica and Boyd, the former winking at him. Stiles tried to wink back but he wasn't too sure how successful he was. Erica's shout of laughter and Boyd's smile didn't convey confidence.

They left them, Derek guiding Stiles outside. The air was brisk, not exactly freezing, but just cold enough that Stiles wished he had a warmer jacket.

And then Derek unzipped his jacket to wrap half of it around Stiles, also putting his arm around his shoulders. Stiles huddled into the heat, letting Derek guide him on the walk back to Scott's house.

Whew! This chapter is quite possibly my favorite so far. And it was original! No movie tie-in lines at all. Still not beta'd, so sorry about mistakes.

I was determined to finish this chapter today because I was just really upset earlier. And I needed to get my mind off it and be happy, so I made an update! Also, Erica and Boyd are my favorite, and if you don't think so then I'm very sorry. Berica feels! And it's my headcanon (for this fic-I have so many headcanons!) that Derek just can't make himself hate Erica in any way, shape or form. Though I suppose this might be because Derek&Erica bffs make me feel things.

So, my tumblr's adelaidebabe, as always. Feel free to pester me! (Unless it's about fandom wank, in which case, I don't wanna hear about it.) Thanks for reading, lovelies!