Stiles and Scott couldn’t go to Lydia Martin’s Halloween party this year. Scott at least used to get pity invites, and he would drag Stiles along, but ever since their parents got married, they were both labeled the Sheriff’s kids, and not even Greenburg was dumb enough to invite the Sheriff’s kids to the kind of parties Lydia Martin threw.
And Stiles had to figure out something to do instead, right, because when he asked Scott, the only idea Scott had come up with was to help Dr. Deaton put cute little monster costumes on puppies. And then help the kids who were too young to trick or treat pet them. And, just, no.
So this whole mess? Was definitely not Stiles’ fault. He informed Scott of this as he stared at the blood oozing out of the bite mark on Scott’s side.
“I am not at fault,” he said, patting at the blood with the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Dude, is now really the time?” Scott wheezed.
“I just think it’s important that we acknowledge what happened here,” Stiles said, petting Scott’s knee comfortingly. “This was a tragic accident. Nothing could have been done to prevent it. We are all very sad at this turn of events, which was completely out of either of our hands.”
Scott rolled his eyes so hard that his head moved with them, briefly blocking out the light of the full moon behind the trees. “You were the one who wanted to go drink Dad’s whiskey in the Preserve,” Scott said.
“See, this is the kind of petty infighting I was hoping to prevent,” Stiles said.
“Stiles!” Scott - huh, growled. That was...different. “Can we just go to the hospital?”
“Dude, no, Mom’s on shift!” Stiles protested, accidentally pressing too hard against Scott’s bite mark. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back. “Okay, okay, better plan,” he said. “We go to Dr. Deaton’s. He’ll slap a bandage on it, maybe give you a rabies shot, and it’ll be fine. You know how Deaton hates telling anyone anything, he won’t rat us out.”
“Stiles, the vet’s office is closed,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.
“No, it isn’t. It’s open all night for that puppy thing, remember?”
“Oh, yeah!” Scott said, hoping to his feet with a wince and a hiss of pain. Stiles flinched in sympathy. “Alright, let’s go.”
Luckily, they had never quite made it to the alcohol portion of the evening. In hindsight, Stiles wasn’t sure how they would have gotten home if the night had gone as planned, since there was no world in which he was willing to risk getting caught driving drunk by his dad. He wisely refrained from pointing out this bright side to Scott, who was muttering curses every time Stiles drove over a bump in the road and would probably not appreciate that little nugget of optimism.
“See, he’s still there,” Stiles said cheerfully as they pulled into the vet’s office. Deaton was just starting to lock up, but when he looked up and saw the Jeep park next to his car, Stiles waved excitedly at him - leaning over Scott so that Deaton could see him better and ignoring Scott’s cries of “Stiles, get off me, I’m injured” - Deaton slumped with a visible sigh and unlocked the front door.
“What did you do this time?” Deaton asked as Stiles flailed his way out of the Jeep, Scott on his heels.
“Okay, so, we were in the Preserve, doing totally nothing wrong, you know, like you do, when suddenly - ”
“I got bitten,” Scott interrupted, elbowing Stiles in the side and shooting him a glare. Stiles rubbed his ribs and pouted. “It was this wolf thing? I think? I dunno. Stiles says there are no wolves in California.”
“There aren’t,” Stiles interjected.
“No,” Deaton said, his expression darkening. “No, I’m afraid there are not.”
After poking and prodding Scott for a while, followed by a drawn-out interlude of staring at him with a grim face while ignoring Stiles’ totally respectful request to know what was going on, Deaton nodded once and announced that he was going to call their parents.
“What?” Stiles yelped. “No! You’re all chill and mysterious, why would you actively try to give people information? That’s like, completely out of character.”
Deaton looked the closest to having an emotion Stiles had ever seen. The whole effect was closer to constipated than anything, though, so Stiles was struggling to interpret what was happening on Deaton’s face. “I’m afraid the time for secrecy has passed,” Deaton said with a grave eyebrow furrow. Stiles groaned loudly.
“Yeah, but do you have to call my dad?” he definitely did not whine.
Because the Sheriff couldn’t get off work for another hour, and Melissa was at the hospital for another two after that, Deaton put Stiles and Scott to work cleaning up the mess from the puppy cuddle earlier that evening. Scott lasted maybe fifteen minutes before curling up on a pile of blankets patterned with pumpkins, black kittens, and fallen leaves and passing out. Stiles joined him a few minutes later.
He woke up to his dad and Melissa hovering over them, looking simultaneously concerned and amused. Stiles flailed in surprise, startling Scott awake.
“Ow! Stiles!” Scott yelped, “you hit my…” he trailed off, looking stunned.
“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said sheepishly. “Um, so Scotty here might have...have gotten...well, not gotten, it’s not like he went out asking for it, even though we all know that’s victim blaming and lazy thinking anyway, so I’m sure you would be smart enough to know better than to blame us for this, and - ”
“No, Stiles, it’s gone,” Scott interrupted, yanking his shirt up to show off blood- stained but perfectly smooth skin.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “What the hell?”
“Stiles, language,” the Sheriff said absently, frowning at the blood stains. “And yes, Scott, Dr. Deaton told us this might happen.”
“What might happen?” Scott asked, prodding at the smooth skin on his hip.
“You’ve been bitten, Mr. McCall,” Deaton said ponderously from the corner, “by a werewolf.”
“Happy Halloween to us,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, though, why’d it disappear like that?”
“I am being serious, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said. “It may seem incredible, but I must ask you to bear with me while I explain. I’m afraid we do not have unlimited time.” He paused dramatically. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Go on, then,” he said.
“There exists a world parallel to ours,” Deaton said, “and residents of the two worlds can only cross between one night a year. October 31st. Halloween. In this world reside the creatures of myths and legends, among them, werewolves. One such werewolf sadly lost control of his sanity, escaped into this world, and bit Mr. McCall.” Stiles glanced at his parents, who seemed completely on board with what Deaton was saying. And really, if someone were going to play a Halloween prank, it would be basically anyone other than Deaton. Shit. That meant...
“I told you there were no wolves in California,” Stiles said, lightly smacking Scott’s arm. Scott glared at him.
“There weren’t,” he said, pointedly glancing at his former bite mark.
“True!” Stiles said. “Hey, does this give Scotty superpowers? Can he leap tall buildings in a single bound? Can he fly? Oh! Will this cure his asthma?”
“Yes, he will experience heightened senses and abilities, and he should no longer have any problems with asthma,” Deaton nodded.
“Dude,” Stiles said, “you’re gonna be better at lacrosse than Jackson!”
“Actually, I’m afraid that’s the downside,” Deaton said. “Scott here has no control of his shift yet, and no one to teach him control. Without control, he poses a threat to himself, his family, the public at large, and threatens the secrecy of the other world. Scott cannot stay in this world until he has learned control, and your parents have elected to join him.”
“Oh, no,” Stiles said.
“Follow me,” Deaton said, “and I can escort you to your new home.” He opened the door to the clinic, and Stiles jumped when he saw a big yellow school bus hovering right outside the door. Stiles shivered as the opened door let in a draft of chilly night air.
“Don’t people notice that?” Stiles asked.
“You’d be surprised what people don’t notice,” Deaton said, smiling. He climbed up into the bus and took a seat right behind the driver, a tiny girl with bright pink hair as big as she was and pink skin to match. “Hop on.”
Stiles and Scott sat together across the aisle from their parents. Stiles clutched Scott’s hand when he felt a lurch in his stomach, and then they went flying through smoke and colored lights to eventually land in front of a huge stone brick city hall covered in vines. The city hall stood in front of a town square, with food stands and decorations filling the lawn. A giant pumpkin stood in the center, and as they got off the bus, they found themselves surrounded by monsters of all sorts. Two hags bought apple cider from a mummy at a stand, a couple of skeletons giggled while watching a tall, bright blue ogre carve a jack-o-lantern, a witch swept fallen leaves into a pile with a gesture, and two black cats perched on a low brick wall, staring eerily at the passengers as they stepped off the bus.
“My sister, Marin Morrell, has arranged lodgings for your family,” Deaton said, leading them through the square and onto a cobblestone street lined with old brick and white wood frame houses, colorful trees surrounded by fallen leaves, and more pumpkins in one place than Stiles has ever seen before. Deaton stopped in front of a modest-sized white wood house with a porch and dark red shutters.
“The Hale pack are covering your rent for as long as Scott requires training, as an apology for Peter’s actions,” Deaton said. “My sister will be in touch with you in the morning about career options and how best to integrate the boys into the local high school.”
“Thank you,” Melissa said, looking bewildered.
“Welcome to Halloweentown,” Deaton said.
Stiles woke up in the morning from a strange dream - probably too much whiskey - and rolls over with a snuffle-snort, only to freeze when he saw, not his usual desk and posters, but instead Scott, asleep on a bed across the room that was definitely not there yesterday. Stiles looked around, realizing that his walls were no longer blue, but deep green, the ceiling was wooden with thick, cobwebby rafters running the length of it, the windows now overlooked huge, colorful maple trees and - and Scott was a werewolf.
Everything came rushing back to him at the sight of Scott, wolfed out in his bed with little fangs poking out from under his lips and his leg twitching like a dog’s does when it dreams about chasing rabbits. Scott was making these little growling snores and his nose was twitching. Stiles flailed out of the bed and onto the floor, mostly landing upright.
“Holy shit,” he yelped, the noise startling Scott awake. Scott sat up supernaturally fast, his eyes flashing yellow and his claws digging into the sheets.
“Oh my god what’s wrong,” he yelled back, staring wide-eyed at Stiles.
“What did I do to your face,” Stiles yelped.
“Damn it, Stiles, did you draw another dick on my face?” Scott lisped between his fangs.
“No!” Stiles shrilled, “I turned you into a werewolf! A werewolf, Scott! How can you be thinking of face dicks at a time like this?”
“Oh,” Scott said. “I thought we agreed that wasn’t your fault?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. The door opened and their dad peeked in.
“You boys alright?” he asked.
“I mean, Scott’s still a werewolf,” Stiles said.
“Right then. You boys get dressed and come downstairs, your mother and I have been talking with Morrell about your new classes.”
“This early in the morning?” Stiles asked, incredulously. Scott spoke up at the same time.
“Stiles and I will be in the same classes, right?”
Stiles hadn’t even thought of that. “Dad, we just moved to a completely separate world with monsters and stuff! Hell, Scotty got turned into a werewolf! Do we really have to go to school already?”
“Yes, you have to go to school,” the Sheriff drawled. “And you’ll be in mostly the same classes, only Scott, you’ll have werewolf lessons in the afternoons, and Stiles, you’ll be in practitioner’s magic.”
“I’m learning magic?” Stiles gaped.
“I’m told it’s very beginner’s level stuff,” his dad said. “Apparently, students here study their particular flavor of...supernatural in the afternoons, and practitioner’s magic is the only class you can take in that time slot as a human.”
“Learning magic sounds cool,” Scott said. “I just get to learn how to bite stuff.”
“Actually, I think the point is to learn not to bite stuff,” Stiles said, nudging Scott with his shoulder. “Like me, for instance.”
“I’d never bite you,” Scott said, endearingly earnest.
“Get dressed, get downstairs,” the Sheriff said, looking at them fondly. “Ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Stiles chirped, laughing. He still had his Scotty, and he still had his parents. The only thing he didn’t have in this world was Lydia Martin, and even he’d begun to give up on his ten-year plan by now. Maybe a year in Halloweentown wouldn’t be so bad.
After a month in Halloweentown, Stiles was still not sure if he liked it or not. He was lonely quite a lot of the time. He and Scott only shared history, math, and crafts (surprisingly, Stiles’ most difficult class), and Scott’s werewolf classes often went long or moved to the evenings, leaving Stiles sitting at home alone (or, more likely, raking up yet another batch of fallen leaves - the trees never seemed to run out, somehow, so Stiles had to rake them up everyday) while his dad and Melissa were at their new jobs. He also found himself behind in all of his classes except math, his old education not really at all applicable at Halloweentown High.
To be fair, not all of the changes were bad, and some things had even improved. The high school contingent of the local werewolf pack, four kids in black leather jackets named Cora, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, waved when they passed each other in the halls, which was nice. Stiles loved some of his classes, even if a lot of the material went over his head.
His history class, which focused very little on actual history and quite a lot on interspecies relations, was probably his favorite. The teacher, an old woman with green skin (“it’s not impolite to call someone a hag if that is literally their species, Stiles”) named Ms. Powler, reminded Stiles of Coach Finstock, except that she wasn’t actually crazy and never spoke louder than a whisper. Scott sometimes had to repeat what she said when Stiles couldn’t hear.
His crafts class had probably the steepest learning curve. Stiles spent a month absolutely miserable before finding his groove. He was putting the final brush strokes onto a painting of a jack-o-lantern with a tiny black kitten poking its head up out of it, the top of the pumpkin resting on its head like a hat, and glaring balefully out at the world when Scott snuck up behind him.
“Dude, that is exactly what Derek would look like if he were a kitten,” Scott laughed. Stiles jumped, barely avoiding smearing his painting with the brush.
Derek. The other reason Stiles wasn’t sure whether or not he liked Halloweentown.
Stiles didn’t like to admit that he was jealous, but he definitely was. Scott never shut up about Derek these days. Derek did this in training today, Derek told me that about werewolves, Derek was a star lacrosse player in high school, Derek this, Derek that. Stiles was really starting to hate the name Derek.
“Well, what do you know,” Stiles drawled, frowning at his painting.
“You guys should hang out sometime,” Scott continued, blissfully ignorant to Stiles’ feelings about Derek. “I think you’d totally like each other.”
“Right,” Stiles said. “Derek is a twenty-something alpha werewolf, I highly doubt he has any desire to hang out with a hundred forty-seven pounds of measly human.”
“Oh, no, Derek says it’s totally normal to have humans in a pack!” Scott said. “He says his younger brother is human, and so is one of his aunts and two of his cousins, and that a pack is stronger if it has humans to balance out the wolves.”
“Good for him,” Stiles said. “Sounds like he’s got all the balancing he needs, though, so I don’t see why - ”
“I just think it’d be nice if he met my pack,” Scott said. Stiles glanced at him and immediately got hit with Scott's famous puppy eyes, werewolf edition.
“Oh my - fine. Jesus, put those away,” Stiles grumbled, shoving his paintbrush into the mug of paint water. “I’ll meet your werewolf teacher. God.”
Scotty beamed. “You’ll totally love him,” he said.
Stiles was not so sure.
By the time Stiles had been in Halloweentown for about a month, he’d made up his mind that the move was, on the whole, a positive experience. This was mainly due to him making a friend, which was one friend more than he’d ever had back in the normal world. Allison Argent shared his practitioner's class in the afternoons, and her father worked with Stiles’ dad as a lawkeeper. They were both human, too, and Stiles and Allison bonded over being human in a town where that was a minority.
“I mean, I have a little Fury blood in me, from way way back, but my family hasn’t had powers in ten generations,” Allison said while trying to cast a spell to light the candle sitting in front of her. Stiles didn’t know why they were spending so much time trying to learn this particular spell. It took a lot less effort to just use a lighter. “We just get a little obsessive about justice sometimes.”
“That’s cool,” Stiles said, glaring as his candle smoked a little but refused to light. “Have you always lived in Halloweentown?”
“Since our Fury ancestor, yeah,” Allison said. “She married a warlock, their daughter married a human, their son, who didn’t have powers, moved back to the normal world, but his son moved back to Halloweentown because he fell in love with a human member of a werewolf pack, and we’ve been humans living here since.”
“Wow,” Stiles said. “So are you guys always in law enforcement?” His wick disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Crap,” he muttered, grabbing a new candle.
“Not always,” Allison said. “My dad got the Fury justice thing stronger than most.” She crowed in triumph as her candle caught on fire. The fire was purple, but still. Fire. “Are you doing anything after this?”
“For once, yeah,” Stiles said, giving up on his candle with a huff. “I’m supposed to meet Derek Hale later today.”
“Oh,” Allison said, looking surprised.
“Is that a bad ‘oh’?” Stiles asked, sitting bolt upright in his seat. “What’s wrong with Derek?” He wasn’t sure if he was excited that his suspicions might be right or worried for Scott. He generously told himself it was definitely just worry.
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Allison said. “He’s a great guy, as far as I know. Our families just have ugly history.”
“Dude, is his family the mafia?” Stiles asked, his voice hushed.
“No!” Allison said. “There is no Halloweentown mafia, Stiles, we’ve been over this. No, it’s actually my family’s fault. My aunt dated his uncle for a while, and she set his house on fire when they broke up. He got trapped inside, almost died, and lost his mind.” She wrung her hands and didn’t meet Stiles’ eyes. Stiles got a sinking feeling.
“Wait, you’re not saying - ”
“Yep,” Allison said, sighing, staring into the candle flame like it was the fire her aunt had set. “My aunt was the one who drove Peter Hale feral.”
“Jesus,” Stiles said.
Stiles met Derek Hale, alright. He walked onto the lacrosse field to find Scotty after practitioner’s class, tripped on a crosse, and almost pitched head first into the guy. Derek caught him by the shoulders and set him back on his feet with a scowl, his gaze darting between him and Scott while one eyebrow slowly crawled its way up his forehead.
“Derek, this is my brother Stiles,” Scott beamed. Stiles waved awkwardly. Derek’s eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. Stiles wondered if that was a werewolf super power, disappearing eyebrows, since he didn’t think he’d ever seen one go that high before.
“Nice to meet you?” he tried.
“Right,” Derek grunted. He glared at Stiles some more before turning his back on him and telling Scott, “We’re done for the day. Tomorrow we’ll work on agility.” He shrugged on the mandatory black leather jacket - which completely matched his eyebrows, like, they actually made sense in the context of the jacket - and stalking off to the parking lot.
“Dude,” Stiles flailed. Scott looked a little confused.
“He’s usually much nicer,” he offered. “And he smelled funny, but I don’t know how to tell scents apart yet. Derek said we’d cover that after winter break.”
“Wait, do they even have seasons here?” Stiles asked suddenly, completely taken aback.
“Not really,” Scott said. “It’s always fall. But they do make christmas cookies, apparently, and have breaks from school.”
“Weird,” Stiles said, slinging an arm around Scott’s mildly sweaty shoulder and forgetting all about Derek Hale.
Stiles was leaving his practitioner’s class the next day, walking backwards so he could call out a goodbye to Allison, when he walked into something large and solid. He landed on his back, blinking owlishly up at Derek.
“We have got to stop meeting this way,” he said. Derek glowered down at him.
“Get coffee with me,” Derek ordered.
“Um,” Stiles said. “Where’s Scott?”
“Sent him home early,” Derek said. “He’s earned a day off, he’s a hard worker.”
“Cool,” Stiles said blankly. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” Derek said, looking inexplicably pleased.
“Right, right,” Stiles said slowly. “I...actually have been meaning to ask someone, is there anywhere I can get coffee around here that isn’t a pumpkin spice latte?”
“I,” Derek started, then frowned. “I think you can get a gingerbread latte at the coffee shop down by the swamp? It’s kind of sketchy, but you’ll be fine if you’re with me.”
“Huh,” Stiles said. “Okay. I guess I’m good with pumpkin spice.”
“Okay,” Derek said. He stuck out a hand, which Stiles used to haul himself back up.
“Thanks, dude,” he said, trying to extricate his hand from Derek’s grip. Derek didn’t seem to believe that he was able to stay on his feet, though, hanging on even after Stiles had gotten to his feet. “Dude, just because I’m not a werewolf doesn’t mean I can’t manage to balance on my own,” he grumbled.
“Sorry,” Derek said, looking constipated. He let Stiles’ hand go abruptly.
“Right, well,” Stiles said. “Coffee then.” He set out for his jeep, Derek trailed behind looking stiff and uncomfortable, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets and his shoulders up around his ears. Stiles did his best to ignore the tension in the air.
“I can drive,” Derek said when they got to the parking lot. He nodded seriously towards a sleek black Camaro.
“Wow, nice car,” Stiles said. “So, I guess I’ll follow you there?”
“Oh,” Derek said. “Yes.” He stalked off towards his car. Stiles shrugged, not sure what was going on but pretty convinced he would be safer all around if he just went along with it.
Stiles got home just before dinner, after having realized what time it was at the coffee shop and bolting just as Derek was gearing up to say something about next week. Stiles was sure it couldn’t be too urgent, and Derek could always tell Scott to pass on the message after class tomorrow.
“So, dude, how was it?” Scott asked eagerly as soon as Stiles walked through the door.
“The coffee?” Stiles asked, confused. “We’ve gotten coffee there before, dude. Still just as sugary as ever.”
“Not the coffee,” Scott scoffed, “the date!”
“What date?” Stiles asked, confused and with a growing sense of dread welling up in his gut. “I definitely did not go on any dates today.”
“Yes you did,” Scott insisted. “I coached Derek through asking you all afternoon! Did you say no?” He gasped, scandalized. “Stiles! You need to at least give him a chance!”
“I didn’t say no,” Stiles protested, even as his idea of what that afternoon had been shifted drastically. “I didn’t say anything. He never said it was a date! He just wanted to get coffee!”
“I swear, you are the two densest people I know,” Scott growled, throwing his hands in the air. “Did you honestly not notice you were on a date?”
“Not at the time,” Stiles grumbled. “Trust me to completely miss my first date ever.”
“Well, did you at least agree to see him again?” Scott asked.
“I kind of ran out before he got around to asking,” Stiles admitted. “I was going to be late for dinner!” he added in his defense, seeing Scott start to puff up angrily. “I lost track of time!”
Scott deflated with an audible rush of air. “Aw, you were so caught up in each other that you lost track of time?” he cooed.
“Yeah, I guess,” Stiles said. “I dunno, I’d probably go on an actual date where I knew what was happening if he gave me another chance. I probably blew it, though.”
“No way,” Scott insisted, “he thinks you’re totally cute. He’ll definitely go out with you again.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, processing the idea of dating Derek Hale. He’d have to learn to read his eyebrows, but...those abs. Yeah. And he had enjoyed himself today… “Yeah. Okay. But,” he added, “I’m gonna ask him out. I will not be shy, blushing virgin any more!”
“Um,” Stiles heard from behind him, and spun around to see his dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “I was going to tell you boys that dinner was ready, but maybe we need to have a different conversation?”
“Oh my god no,” Stiles breathed out in horror.
“Are you sure?” his dad asked, squinting uncomfortably.
“Neither of us want that,” Stiles said firmly. “Safe, sane, consensual, no glove, no love, I am so on top of this.”
“Actually, werewolves don’t even carry diseases,” Scott chimed in happily. “Derek told me we only have to worry about condoms if we want to avoid getting a girl pregnant.”
“Scotty, my man, shut up,” Stiles said. “You are not helping.”
Stiles’ dad took a deep breath and closed his eyes, grimacing. “We’ll talk more about that little tidbit after dinner,” he said finally. “Melissa made soup.”
“Yes,” Scott crowed. Stiles followed like a man being led to his own execution.
Derek was waiting outside practitioner’s again the next day, leaning against the wall in a leather jacket and sunglasses like a total douche.
“Dude, we are inside, and it’s cloudy out anyway,” Stiles said. Derek scowled.
“Maybe werewolves have sensitive eyesight,” he snapped, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. Stiles gawked.
“I mean, not really,” Allison piped up from behind Stiles. “They have really good eyesight, but it’s not necessarily super sensitive to sunlight.”
“Argent,” Derek growled.
“Sorry, sorry,” Allison laughed, seemingly unconcerned by the angry werewolf glaring at her. “Stiles, I’ll meet you at your house Friday?”
“Yep,” Stiles said. “See you tomorrow!”
“Bye!” Allison waved as she walked away. Stiles turned to Derek, whose eyebrows were scrunched together so tightly they disappeared into his sunglasses and whose shoulders were up around his ears. “What’s up, big guy?”
“Nothing,” Derek grumbled. “What’s Friday.”
“Dude, we have got to work on your punctuation,” Stiles said. “You know, question marks? You teach Scotty how to be a werewolf, and I teach you how to ask questions, that sounds like a fair trade to me.”
“Stiles,” Derek growled.
“What? Oh, sorry. We’ve got a group project, we’re supposed to practice using witches’ glasses without a witch to anchor the connection. Should be frustrating and pointless,” he said cheerfully. “I mean, haven’t they heard about the cell phone? Seriously.”
“Oh,” Derek said, relaxing a little.
“Yeah, right?” Stiles said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and heading for the parking lot. Derek trailed after him without saying anything. “Anyway, I kinda think we’re jumping a few steps, you know? We’ve just barely gotten our candles lit, and now they want us to anchor witches’ glasses?”
“Who’s your teacher?” Derek asked, clearing his throat.
“Mr. Piper. He’s, like, super smart, we’re pretty sure, but he also seems surprised whenever someone asks a question? Allison and I think he forgets we’re there and just starts rambling.”
“I had him for home room freshman year,” Derek said. “Half the class used the period to get some sleep. He never noticed.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles beamed. “That’s amazing, holy shit.”
“I - you should pay attention to your studies, though,” Derek said, looking a little panicked.
“Dude, relax,” Stiles said. “This is only, like, the second-coolest thing that ever happened to me. I’m not about to blow off learning how to do actual magic.”
“Right,” Derek said. They stopped at Stiles’ jeep, Derek looking down at him with weird intensity. “I’ll see you,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing seriously.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, blushing inadvertently. “Um, yeah. Do you wanna maybe...hang out on Saturday?”
“Yes,” Derek said firmly.
“Okay,” Stiles said. “Well. I’ve always wanted to go apple picking?”
“Yes,” Derek repeated. “Yes, we can do that. I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay,” Stiles said. “Um, not before noon though? Because I, like, never wake up before noon on Saturdays.”
“That’s - that’s fine,” Derek said, flushing red. “I’ll see you...one? One.”
“Okay,” Stiles said faintly. Derek nodded once and stalked away, his leather-clad shoulders up around his ears again. “Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath. Derek tripped over nothing and then sped up, glancing completely unsubtly over his shoulder. Right. Werewolf healing. Well, that’s fine. Stiles didn’t mind a little embarrassment. He had a date on Saturday.