Title: Orlando Bloom is a douchebag
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s), Character(s): Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Erica Reyes, Sheriff Stilinski, Original Character
Summary: Round brown eyes settle on him. “Stiles texts you?”
“Not the point, Scott.”
“Dude, you're worried about nothing. He said something nice happened. Maybe he got laid. A lot.” Isaac offers.
Stiles is dating. Something's very wrong with that scenario. And no, Derek's not jealous. Well... he is. It's just not what's wrong.
Title inspired by the name of Supernatural 4x12.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just playing. I'll give them back. Maybe. If and when I'm done.
No use worrying, buddy. Something nice happened and I wanted to keep it mine for a few days. I'll be at Dawn's coffee shop at 3 this afternoon if you guys want. There's someone I'd like you all to meet. - Stiles.
“See. You guys went nuts for nothing.” Isaac hands back Scott's cell phone.
Derek stares at the two of them. “Since when does Stiles spell his texts correctly? It usually takes me speaking them out loud to understand his shorthand.”
Round brown eyes settle on him. “Stiles texts you?”
“Not the point, Scott.”
“Dude, you're worried about nothing. He said something nice happened. Maybe he got laid. A lot.” Isaac offers.
Derek raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “For three days straight? Missing classes?” It's not that Stiles skipping a few classes is inconceivable, but his Tuesday morning mythological lit one? Yes. Last winter, he'd made Derek drive him even though he was crippled with a devastating flu.
“It's college.” Isaac volleys back. “No one cares.”
“You, sir.” Derek frowns at his beta. “You better ace your mid terms or I'll start escorting you to your classes.”
“Ouch.” Scott chuckles, patting Isaac's arm.
Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes – that would be Stiles' cue, normally, dammit! – because Scott is not fairing much better. But Scott has a mom and Derek is now the only family Isaac has left. As much as he doesn't want to overstep on Melissa's turf with Scott, he wants to give Isaac the impression that he's cared for specifically and especially. For once, in his life. And from now on. “Seriously? This text doesn't seem off to you?” He tells Scott instead of remarking on his GPA. “Does your best friend usually sign his messages to you? Because he doesn't for me. He knows I got his number saved.”
Isaac smirks. “Is it still under Bilinski?”
“No, I changed that. Thank you, Isaac.” Derek glares, then deflates. “It just all seems so out of character to me. Something good happens to him and he shuts up about it?! He spends hours telling us about the first snowflake of the year – when we were right there with him when it fell – but he'd manage to keep something like apparently meeting someone a secret?”
“Maybe his hands were occupied.” Scott mimics making out with a face that makes Isaac cringe, then looks at Derek. “No texting.”
“Are you sure you're not jealous?” Isaac asks, more teasing than serious.
Derek is positive, actually. He is jealous. Not that they know. He can't really believe himself how he's managed to keep up the charade, but either they're completely oblivious – which makes him pity his pack's senses and intuition – or they pretend to be for his sake – unlikely, he thinks.
Before he has to come up with a doge, Scott talks again. “Look, he says he'll be at Dawn's. We show up, we'll see. I'm sure he's okay. And if he's been dodging classes for a hookup, then you can be stern and lecture him like a good alpha, okay?”
Derek grits his teeth. Something's off, he can feel it. But Scott is right, if Stiles is actually there when they show up at the Café, at least he'll be reassured that their pack member is okay.
Lydia joins them for the meeting – No way I'm missing this! – and they get to Dawn's as a group. Stiles is already at a table outside, at the far back of the terrace, and he's not alone. A guy that looks a little older than him, with a large tattoo snaking out from his tshirt collar and up the side of his neck, is sitting close to him, whispering something close to Stiles' ear. They are almost cheek to cheek and Stiles' eyes are downcast and focused on listening.
When the guy pulls away, Stiles' eyes scan the place and spot them. Derek tenses. “This is wrong.”
Scott glares at him. “Why? Cause he's with a guy?!” he hisses.
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Or because it's not you?” she accuses. Out of all of them, she's the only one that busted him. Pretty quickly, too.
He gapes at her, then at the two boys. “You can't hear that? Take a whiff, then, guys. Stiles is freaking out.”
“He's about to introduce us to his boyfriend. He's nervous.” Isaac assumes.
“He wants this to be accepted.” Lydia says.
“Which it will.” Scott says, looking pointedly at Derek.
Derek hesitates between rolling his eyes or bashing Scott's head against the wall. Instead, he takes a deep breath and stomps to the table. “Hey.” he forces out. Stiles always tells him he manages to make his greetings and compliments seem hostile. He tries hard not to. If he's just being jealous and paranoiac, the last thing he wants is for Stiles to know.
“Hi guys!” Stiles says, jittery. “Hi, this, um... this is Jeremy. We met in econ and... kind of, hit it off at a party the other nigh-...”
“You look tired.” Derek remarks.
Stiles looks at him with wide eyes. Jeremy looks at Stiles. The others glare at the alpha. Stiles gives a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well.... Young love, crazy kids, you know. It's... magic.”
Jeremy beams at him, and Stiles blushes at Lydia's 'aww...'. Derek twitches in his seat when Stiles eyes snap back up to hold his for a second.
He spends the rest of the meeting staring at the table, or at Stiles' hands when they're not touching Jeremy's, trying to decipher that look. He can't wait for this to be over. He was right.
Something here is terribly wrong here, and it's not Stiles getting a boyfriend.
“Jeremy seems nice.” Lydia declares once they've left. “Stiles was so nervous. It's adorable.”
“Scott, go check on the sheriff.” Derek says, eyes still trained on where Jeremy's car spend off.
Derek doesn't have time for this. “Fine.” He snaps. “Isaac, will you please go check on Mr Stilinski?” he says, trying not to sound too harsh, and digging into his jacket pocket.
“Okay.” Isaac takes Derek's offered car keys. “Can you say why?”
“Because Stiles gets laid?!”
Derek glares at Scott. “Can you just trust me, just this once?!” he finds himself barking, a pang of something going through him as he realizes he's quoting Stiles.
“Stiles' dad was supposed to be on a fishing trip this week. The guys at the station think he is. His fishing buddies think he ditched them for work.” Isaac says, hanging up, looking worriedly at Derek. “How did you know?”
Scott wrings his hands. Lydia stares at him.
“Because... Stiles and I...” Derek frowns, the bitter taste of guilt and regret making his throat tighten. He swallows. “We've been working on something on our own. It's made him...” he looks down, and sighs. “I've put him in danger.”
“But... how is him meeting someone danger?” Scott asks.
Lydia raises her hand. “Depends on the someone. Believe me. I can still taste dead Peter.”
Isaac comes closer to Derek. “What have you been working on?”
“Stiles' been... doing things to protect the pack. To mark our territory. Make it safe.” he keeps it vague. He has neither time or will to explain. It's his thing, as the alpha, to care for and protect the pack. Stiles knows because he had to. Because he's Stiles, and somehow, he's indispensable in everything they do. Because he's waltzed into Derek's life and decided that his role was pack protector, and never let Derek's glares and reasonings about his safety make him back down. “He's been training.”
“Training.... for what?”
“Stiles is a shaman.” Lydia says before Derek can dismiss it. He stares at her, surprised. She gestures to her face. “Immune. Not brain dead.”
“Uhh...” Scott and Isaac exchange a blank look. “Are you sure?” they ask the alpha.
“Well... At least it's nice to know I can keep things from some of you, if I want to. I think.”
Lydia gives them no choice about her coming along. If they're rescuing Stiles, she will be with them, period. “Besides, who knows what that thing is. Maybe it can have a hold on you guys too, like it has on Stiles. I could come in handy.”
“Can you use that?” Derek hands her a small crossbow. “I don't want to put you at risk, too.”
“Please. My boyfriend's a werewolf.” She makes a quick show of working the mechanism. “My best friend's an Argent. I took the hints. I learned.”
When they track down Stiles' cell phone and barge into the abandoned house, their senses are assaulted by the smell of blood. Even Lydia identifies it right away. For the wolves, for Derek, it's a more complicated web of blood, Stiles' dad, pain and Stiles' fear. Stiles is here, right now, and he's terrified.
They hear an inhuman shriek upstairs. Derek points to a hallway to their left. “Lydia, Scott. That way. The Sheriff’s in there. Get him to safety.”
“Now!” Derek takes off for the stairs, Isaac on his heels. He wants to be the one saving Stiles. Because he's the alpha. Because he's the one that's put him in danger. Because Stiles' saved his life more times than he cares to count. Probably more than he even knows. He needs to be the one that saves him because he can't not be.
They find him chained in the corner of a room bared of any furniture, slumped against the peeling wallpaper, legs folded under him at an awkward angle on a threadbare mattress. He looks weak and feverish, the skin of his face is pale and clammy. The thing that gets Derek the most is Stiles' one socked foot. A scene where Stiles struggles and is overpowered, losing a shoe in the battle, plays in Derek's mind and makes his blood boil. Derek hates the idea with every fiber of his being. Jeremy, standing in between them, doesn't look human anymore. His ears are pointy and his eyes are green. Not like they were earlier, they look like his eyesockets contain glass orbs filled with dirty pool water. Dull, green, muddy. And angry.
“Elf.” Derek snarls, claws and fangs flashing out.
“Werewolf. I knew I smelled a whole pack on the kid.” Hence the charade, Derek puts together. Of course. And they could have missed it all because elves can chose to smell however they want.
“...sseriously?” Stiles mutters from where he's trying to sit up. “... so much cooler in Lord of...” he trails off, wincing and grunting in pain.
“Stop it!!” Isaac snarls. He doesn't know what Derek knows about this creatures, but he can see that Stiles is being sucked dry of something, and that Jeremy, just by looking at him just now, has weakened him even more.
“Come on, please?” Jeremy – if that's even his name – teases, looking around for a way to get out. The snake tattooed on his neck looks alive. “He tastes so good. All that energy. And he's lasted so much longer.”
Derek growls. He knows regular humans can' take more than one or two feedings. The worst thing about elves is that they don't need to drain anything to live. They just love to suck humans dry because it gets them high and powerful. Humans are their cocaine. “Leave him alone. Now. And we may spare your life.”
“Tempting.” he smirks and cocks his head. “But I'm no fool. I don't need your hearing to know you're lying.”
“I'mna... kill you myself.” Stiles pants, and Derek holds in a smile. His human is a fighter. So typical Stiles to mouth off in a moment like this. Sure, there is no way the elf is getting out alive, but it's a question of whether he'd have time to kill Stiles before he goes down or not. But Stiles' retort, however weak and unbelievable it sounds, reminds him of things that give him hope.
All of them, but especially he and Stiles together, have been in situations in which reason said they were dead. But it never happened. And it won't today.
“I love it when they have some fight in them.” Jeremy smirks. “You Derek, then? He said you'd come and kick my ass.” He snorts. “I'd pay to see that.”
“Oh, but you will see it.” Derek growls lowly, relieved ever second long the elf doesn't look at Stiles. “And believe me, you won't like it.”
The elf gives an angry shriek, it's nearly painful to ear, and truly unpleasant. Derek didn't think it would work, but, he's focused on him now. Too focused. Derek snarls back at him, making a show of flashing fangs and red eyes, crouching lower as if he's preparing to jump. Instead, Isaac tackles Jeremy from the side.
Elves are pretty strong, and the blow exchanged match each other. As Derek bounds over to Stiles, to get him away as quickly as he can – both to make him safe and take away Jeremy's energy source –, he can hear Isaac cry out in pain a couple of times. But he doesn't call out, so Derek doesn't stop to help him. Jeremy lets out a loud shout when Isaac stabs his clawed hand inside his stomach.
Derek rips the chains off the wall easily and kneels next to Stiles, an eye on his beta. His hand flies to Stiles' neck to check his pulse. Steady, but very weak. Then, just as Derek is about to gather him in his arm to carry him off, Stiles arches off the wall and screams. Derek stares at him in horror, clueless as to what to do, until he hears Isaac calling his name. The werewolf is being choked by Jeremy, whose wound is disappearing quickly.
Elves don't heal like werewolves do. They get better at human speed. Right now, Derek gets, Jeremy is siphoning Stiles' magic or life force or whatever, channeling it to close his wounds and have enough strength to strangle Isaac.
It feels utterly wrong to let go of Stiles' body, especially when it stops writhing and falls flat on the mattress like someone went and cut off all the marionette’s strings. But Derek tears himself away in a blind rage. He has to stop the elf. It's killing both his beta and Stiles. There isn't time to pull one away. He jumps. Jeremy's foot, which now resembles a bird of prey's, catches him mid flight. Stiles' juice is giving him reflexes. Derek hisses as the talons slice deep in his cheek, relieved that they missed his eye. It doesn't break his stride, though, and he manages to get a firm grip on Jeremy's ankle. He yanks, trying to dislodge the elf, but it merely drags Isaac along. His beta is still clawing at the hand chocking him, every time he opens a gash on the forearm, it heals, draining Stiles' a more. Derek roars, letting go of Jeremy's leg in favor of throwing himself on top of them both. He can't hear anything but Isaac choking as he grabs, and pulls. He lets out a cry of effort and refuses to let go when the elf lashes out at him again, until he falls backwards with Jeremy's inhuman head in his hands.
Isaac sucks in a hissing inhale, and when he manages to wrestle the elf's body off him, Derek sees that his neck is one large bruise. “... okay?!” The alpha pants, when Isaac doesn't make an effort to move.
“M'fine.” He coughs, taking long gulps of air, and gestures towards Stiles.
Derek is already moving, struck with horror at the way Stiles' body is arranged. He must have seized when he was drained, and his position looks like a frozen scene of exorcism. One of his shoulders is clearly dislocated. But it doesn't matter. Because Stiles' heart has stopped beating.
Derek is dimly aware of the way his hands shake as he lays the boy more correctly and tilts his head back. Isaac comes to his side, and his expression tells Derek he doesn't have to explain how bad this is. “Do you know how to?” Derek asks him.
Isaac looks like he's about to cry. “No.”
Derek spares a second to look at Stiles' face. They were taught how to administer CPR at school. He remembers what he's supposed to do, but not how to do it right. He knows it's absurd to think that if he does something wrong he could kill Stiles more. Because there is no 'more'. He knows that, from experience. But he clings to the fact that Stiles is young, and was breathing seconds ago, and the elf is dead so he won't be drained anymore. And if there's still a spark of life left, he knows that if anyone can hold on to it, it's the one fantastically stubborn kid he's looking at.
“I know how.” Lydia says from the doorway. For course she does. In an instant she's by their side, her face wet with tears.
Derek moves away to give her his spot. “The sheriff?”
“Scott says coma. He took Stiles' Jeep to take him to the Hospital.” As soon as she's reached Stiles and knelled properly, she starts working.
Isaac rubs over his mouth with an unsteady hand. Derek closes his eyes and prays. He prays to karma. To life. To everything magic. To nature. Don't take it out on Stiles. Let him come back to us. Let him save us. Please. He can hear Isaac whispering the counts with Lydia, and he feels powerless, useless. He wants to break something.
He usually does when he loses his temper. Breaking something unimportant brings him temporary relief, enough to clear his head and rethink things.
Stiles always glares at him because it makes him jump every time. Because things he and Stiles think of as useless are different and Stiles always ends up picking up pieces of something he likes off the floor.
He wants to run. Howl. He wants to grabs Stiles and shake him awake and crush him in his arms. He wants to cry. To scream.
Instead, he's frozen in his spot, not even sure if he's breathing anymore.
His eyes snap open when he hears the first faint attempt at a heartbeat on Stiles' part. “Yes. Yes, buddy. That's it,” he whispers, and Isaac is staring at Stiles too, because he heard the same thing.
“What?” Lydia asks, frantic and voice broken.
“Keep at it. He's coming back.”
They hover close, anxious, and Derek grab Lydia's hands away from Stiles' chest as soon as her next compression becomes useless. “He's doing it.” Lydia feels the pulse at Stiles' neck. They all seem to want a point of contact with Stiles, Derek's hand settles on a knee. “It's all on him now. He's steady.” Thank you, Stiles. Thank you for always fighting.
“Should we drive him? Or should we call an ambulance?” Lydia says, wiping her eyes in her sleeve. Derek sees Isaac do the same behind her.
“We'll drive him. By the time they find this place, we'll already have him checked in.”
Stiles twitches, and they tense. But his eyes flutter open and they all breathe a sigh of relief. “Hey...” Lydia squeezes his hand. “How you feeling?”
“... like you're gonna break my hand.” Stiles whispers, trying for a crooked smile. She giggles and mutters an apology. Isaac smiles.
Stiles' eyes seek out Derek's. “You knew. You remembered.”
“A code.” Derek repeats, looking unimpressed and bored. He doesn't even look up from his laptop.
“Yeah, like... I saw that episode. Was it Batman? I don't remember. The girl said 'It was magic.' in the interview. Magic was a code word and the guy knew she was in trouble. He knew she needed to be saved.”
“You want to used 'magic' as a code word.”
“Or, I dunno. You can go Funkytown like the Winchesters. That'd suit you.”
Derek swivels his chair and sets his stare on Stiles. “You think a code word made up by hunters would suit me.”
“I didn't mean it like that! I meant... They're badass. They save the world. They fight for justice. So do we.”
“We never saved the world.”
“We saved the town. Isn't that enough?”
“Fine. Fine, Jeez. I'm being quiet.”
“I didn't know... you could do that.” Isaac gasps, and Stiles releases his wrist.
Derek catches Stiles' hand before he can slip away and presses it back against him. “Take more. I can handle it.”
Isaac looks slightly dizzy. Stiles' eyes are watching him for clues that he's lying, but he isn't. It may be because he's the alpha, or because he's born, but he would gladly give more energy to Stiles. He feels some more seep out of him, and when Stiles let go, he looks healthier. “Yeah, I don't... It's new. I worked it out when Jeremy-...” he frowns, looks like he dismisses the thought, then his gaze snaps to Derek's. “My dad. He was here. Is he okay?”
“Hospital.” Lydia says. “Scott texted me when the doctors took him in. There is no news yet.”
“I need to-...”
Derek's hand on his shin stops him just as he winces from the pain in his shoulder. “Stiles, what happened?”
“He took me. I guess he followed me around. He knew I wasn't just a regular human.”
“Who is, these days.” Lydia says, smiling at him. It's a good thing he wasn't, because he'd be dead now.
Stiles grins back a little. “He took me. But when he did, he... I don't know. He smelled you guys on me. Knew that you'd come looking. So he took my dad as leverage. To get me to trick you.”
Lydia shakes her head, then pushes up. Wordlessly, Derek hands her his car keys. There is no way he's letting go of Stiles – only partly because he's taking away his pain. She seems to get that.
“I'm sorry.” Isaac whispers. “I didn't believe Derek when he said something was up. I believed your text and I would hav-...”
“Dude.” Stiles grimaces in pain, but he doesn't stop until he's patted the beta's shoulder. “I'm fine. No big. It's just... random chance that Derek actually listened to me while I babbled one day.”
“Can you move?” Derek asks, hearing the Camaro's engine start in the distance.
“Yeah. Let me...” Stiles pushes off and tries to stand on his own, swatting away Isaac's hand. “I'm fine. I can- Ow, fuck!” He falls back against Derek's side with a whimper of pain.
“Stop being an idiot.” The alpha wraps his hand back around Stiles' wrist. On top of bringing him relief from the pain of his shoulder, which he's begged them to replace as soon as he managed to speak – which Derek would have, if they weren't about to go to a hospital where professionals could do it –, the contact with the 'relieving' power of a werewolf seems to have given Stiles back his energy quickly enough.
He's hoping Stiles is healing whatever magic was lost faster when he's connected to him. His heartbeat is steady now, and his cheeks have colors again. His eyes aren't feverish and unfocused like before.
Derek knows he can't get the credit for that. Stiles is doing this. Whether the human knows it or not, he's taking everything Derek is giving. And if he has to feel light headed because of it, well, no one has to know. Lydia will be driving, anyway, so he won't be behind the wheel. No way he's letting go of Stiles before he has to.
“God, I was so hoping you'd come.” Stiles whispers, and Isaac looks down in shame. The Camaro is getting closer.
Derek presses his cheek to Stiles' ruffled hair. “I was hoping we weren't too late. Are you okay?”
“My Orlando Bloom crush is definitely done for,” he huffs, and this time he accepts Derek's support when he tries to get up. “Other than that, I'll live. Shit.”
“What?!” Isaac looks startled when Stiles cries out.
“Nothing, I-... fuck. I can't walk. My foot's cut.” He makes a face. “I'm gonna have to hop it.”
In the end, Derek doesn't ask. When Lydia honks the horn of the Camaro, he carries Stiles down the stairs. Stiles, who, clearly, is feeling better. “Bridal style? Are you serious right now?! Derek, put me down!”
“Shut up or I will poke you in the shoulder.” Derek tries not to let his smirk show as he talks over Isaac's relief filled snicker.
“Who's sour now?”
“He's gonna be fine, Derek.” Stiles whispers excitedly. “They said he could wake up any moment. I just-...” Derek frowns as Stiles ducks his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he looks back up, blinking away unwanted tears. “You saved my dad,” he says in a voice he forgets to hush and that wavers. He grips Derek's forearm. “I can't thank you enough.”
It does something to Derek, to have those whiskey eyes look at him with such violent emotion. “I understand you're happy about that, but-... that thing. It was after you, Stiles.” Derek reminds him. “You should value your life more.”
Stiles blinks at him, then closes his mouth, tearing his eyes away. “I know, I guess, but...” He shrugs. “If I die, I'm not here to mourn me. My dad, he's... he's everything I have anymore.” Derek ducks his head, feeling the hollow of loss, gaping hole that will never close in his own chest. Family. He's lucky he's not alone anymore. It hurts that Stiles doesn't feel that way. “You know, besides...”
“Besides...?” Derek echoes.
“Besides my pack.”
Derek looks up. “Your pack?” Stiles' never said that. He's always called it 'the pack'. Derek assumed Stiles considered that you had to be a wolf to be pack.
Stiles' mouth stretches into a crooked smile that gives him a single dimple Derek would like to nuzzle. “Yessir, Mr alpha. My pack. I'm one of yours.” He pokes the werewolf's bicep. “You should know that.” Derek's mind gets stuck on how he said 'yours' and not 'you'.
He swallows, touched, and smiles. “It's nice to hear, though,” he says as if he's known all along.
Stiles sighs, looking down, and realizes he's gripping Derek's hand. He loosens his hold to pull back, but Derek closes his fingers around him. “Thank you, again. For remembering my silly antics.” he says quietly.
Derek isn't sure if it's Stiles or today that brings out this mushy side of him, but he's almost lost pack members today. Thought he was going to watch Stiles die. Thought he was going to watch Stiles mourn another parent. His emotions are raw and unedited.
Maybe that's why he doesn't over-think things too much. Maybe that's why his mind doesn't object that this isn't the time, or the place, when Stiles eyes flick to the hand he's still holding and then back to Derek's eyes. Then his lips. When Stiles makes an aborted move forward, Derek swallows, licks his lips and goes for it.
“As cute as-...” The Sheriff’s voice dies in a cough, and Stiles bounds away from the bench so fast Derek thinks he's been launched off it, shoulder and foot magically healed. But he sees him wince and bring up a hand to his sling seconds later, shifting his weight.
The Sheriff is still struggling to stop hacking and Derek hurries to the bedside and helps him sit up. Stiles hands him the glass of water he just filled. They're lucky the man was breathing on his own when they brought him in or awakening with tubes down his throat would have been far from traumatic. “Hey, Dad.” Stiles says, looking conflicted between happy and guilty.
His father takes them both in, eyes lingering on his son's wrapped shoulder. He groans. “So... What happened this time?”
“Oh, the usual.” Stiles chuckles nervously. “Got kidnapped for a week, drained dry for my modjo. Then you got taken as collateral. Earlier, he cavalry came in, lead by my knight in shiny leather...” he waves his healthy hand in Derek's direction. “Saved our bacon. You know the drill...”
“Man, our lives are dull.” Mr Stilinski sighs with humor.
Stiles bows his head. “I'm sorry, Dad. You got hurt because of me.”
“It was my faul-...” Derek tries to defend.
“It's called ties.” The sheriff cuts them both with an annoyed expression. “Relatives. Friends. People you share bonds with.” He says. “Sometimes, that bond can put you in danger, or make you hurt when you miss them, but it can also bring you support and companionship and happiness.” He touches his finger to his son's nose, grinning a Stiles wrinkles it but doesn't move away, a familiar childhood gesture. “Ties, son. And you,” he turns to Derek. “... was about time you formed some new ones. I was getting worried 'bout you.”
“Ah-... You were?” Damn, Derek is assaulted with feels today. “I'm... I'm good, sir. I have a pack.” Stiles glances his way. “I'm golden.”
The Sheriff smiles, and brings his hand to his head when he grimaces in pain.
“You got hit on the head pretty hard. Knocked you out.” Derek explains. “We think you spent...” he glances at the clock. “around seventeen-...”
“-sixteen-” Stiles pippes up.
“-hours in a coma.”
Mr Stilinski's eyebrows rise for a moment, then he sighs. “Jesus. I'm getting to old for this sh-...”
“Somebody should probably tell Scott's mom you're awake.”
“Do a magic trick.”
Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott.
“It doesn't work like that, you idiot.” Jackson says from where he's serving as Lydia's personal cushion.
“I'm sure if I tried, I could pull a rabbit out of your ass.” Stiles muses.
Derek snorts, and Stiles grins, leaning closer. The alpha hides his smirk by bumping his nose against Stiles' shoulder.
“So... when did this happen?” Erica wriggles a finger between the two, encompassing the utter lack of space between their bodies.
Derek huffs quietly, his hand sliding back and forth on Stiles' knee absently. Their eyes meet. “When did it happen?” Derek asks.
Stiles' lips curl a little, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah... when was it?” Images of moments that could legitimately be chosen as starting points float through Derek's mind.
“Okay, fine. Cryptic much.” Erica pouts. “How, then?”
“Well, it wasn't magic.” Derek says instantly.
Stiles laughs, threading their fingers together and squeezing. “No. Definitely not magic.”