Derek looked at Stiles like this was completely and totally his fault. He had that stern look, disapproving eyebrow all furrowed and doing that thing with his mouth and, oh. Yeah. Stiles was trying not to think about Derek’s mouth at all this week. For that way lies madness or wet dreams. Or wet dreams and madness. NO. Stopping. With the thinking. More pressing and gun related matters first.
Also, UNFAIR. This current situation was in no way, shape or form Stiles’ fault. He’d even said so.
“This is in no way my fault. At all. End of Transmission.”
Derek simply lifted an eyebrow. Right. It might have been a little bit his fault.
“Okay, it was my plan,” Stiles admitted, then plowed on. “But when the hell have you ever listened to my plans? Shouldn’t you have just charged into their motel room and, like, growled them out of town?” Stiles’ hands made helpful claw-slashy motions, his mouth a mock snarl.
“Growl at them,” Derek echoed, somehow managing to look incredulous through the frown as his fingers wrapped around Stiles forearm.
“Yes.” Stiles hissed empathically.
“Well, if you two are done flirting, I’ll be killing your boyfriend now,” the underwear model toting a shotgun said. His name started with a D, didn’t it? He totally looked too pretty to be a hunter. Stiles hadn’t caught his name, what with the shotgun POINTED IN HIS GENERAL FACE AREA, thanks.
Derek kept trying to maneuver Stiles out of the way, but Stiles wasn’t about to let Derek get in front of him. Maybe it was stupid that Stiles was betting the hunter wasn’t going to kill the human to get to the werewolf. At least he was pretty sure it was a safe bet.
“Wait, boyfriend?” Stiles asked and started laughing hysterically. Derek’s frown deepened, like maybe that somehow insulted him. Which, huh. Weird. He stopped laughing. Stiles filed that away to analyze later when they weren’t in the middle of peril. Or to studiously ignore. Because thinking about it might lead to insane thoughts of actually doing something about it and he just wasn’t going to go there. Yet.
It was even weirder than the baking Stiles had caught Derek doing earlier. Baking that Derek had even seemed to be embarrassed about and seriously, there was absolutely nothing in any way, shape or form to be embarrassed about when it came to cupcakes. The terms ‘delicious,’ ‘scrumptious, and ‘gluttonous’ could apply to the baked goods Derek had somehow produced, but not embarassment. Seriously.
“That’s the part of the sentence you focused on?” Hottie lifted an eyebrow. Stiles really needed to remember his name. Not that it would matter if they ended up dead.
“And you’re stalling,” Stiles observed, putting a hand on Derek’s chest and grabbing his t shirt to hold him there. Just a bit of cotton, which would do nothing to stop Derek if he decided to move move. Scott needed to get his ass here like five minutes ago. Preferably with the cavalry, or at least a stun gun. He hoped Allison had a stun gun. Actually, she could totally shoot an arrow in the underwear model’s ass. The underwear model would deserve it for being such a judgmental fuck. Who goes around just shooting random supernatural creatures of undetermined moral standing? Why the hell didn’t they follow the code?
“What kind of asshole are you anyway? Don’t you have a code?” Stiles asked, incredulous. “Because last I checked, the pack has not actually harmed any humans even after all this shit with the Alpha Pack and the Darach. Speaking of which, if you and your trigger-happy backup are such badasses, where the hell were you guys for that shit?”
“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was a warning. Or maybe he was just exasperated with Stiles in general, or wondered where the fuck their backup was.
“Dude, some of us were dealing with some actual world-ending scenarios,” hottie rolled his eyes. “Forgive me being a little too busy to get around to your meager-as-shit problems.”
“Dean, are you harassing a 16 year old again?” a much taller hottie asked, walking in from the tree line just as Scott and Isaac skidded to a halt beside Derek.
“He started it,” Hottie, well Dean, protested and he sounded just this side of pouting. What a fucker. “The fuck you been, Sammy?”
“Trying to call Cas,” Sammy the giant underwear model explained, shotgun pointed in the general direction of Scott and Isaac. Stiles was afraid to ask who that was. Probably another shoot-first, ask-questions-later asshole. Stiles never thought he’d be grateful that the Argents held themselves to actual standards when it came to hunting.
“Hey, I’m 17, thank you very much,” Stiles protested, glaring at Dean.
“Again with the narrowed minded focus,” Dean tsked at Stiles, giving this smirk that Stiles wanted to punch right off his face.
“You’re one to talk,” Stiles sputtered, trying his very best to come up with a plan that didn’t involve shooting and maiming. Where was Lydia to scream when you needed her?
“All out of words now, hot shot? Just step away from your furry friend and we’ll settle this.” Dean made that sound perfectly reasonable. Screw that.
“How about no, shithead?” Stiles gave his best vibrato and Derek’s grip on Stiles arm tightened ever so slightly.
“What if we all had some pie?” Allison asked, dropping down from a tree. What the fuck?! Has she been up there the whole time? Wait. Pie?
“Yes, pie.” Stiles gave a firm nod.
“Did someone say pie?” a dude in a trench coat asked who just appeared out of thin air.
Stiles had the decency to jump because seriously. Out of thin air! Like magic! Also, for the record, that noise he’d just made was a very manly squeak, not at all a girly scream, thank you.
“Yes, I believe that we can all settle this like reasonable people, Castiel.” Allison gave Sammy and Dean a very stern look.
“Allison Argent is that you?” Sammy asked looking just this side of surprised.
“Hi Sam.” Allison gave a little smile then sneered tipping her head at hottie number one, “Dean.”
“Still mad about that whole gum-in-the-hair thing?” Dean hedged a guess.
“Yep,” Allison chirped, crossbow pointed squarely on Dean’s chest.
“What kind of pie?” Dean asked, looking at Derek now.
“Blueberry,” Derek growled.
“Well, this isn’t going to be awkward at all.” Dean rolled his eyes and pointed his shotgun in the air. Sam mirrored him. Allison grinned. Stiles had absolutely no clue what had just happened.
“Derek, just,” Dean moaned. Literally moaned, like a proper sex noise as he took another bite. “This is the best pie I’ve ever had. Sorry for nearly killing you, although mostly because if I’d shot you I wouldn’t have gotten to eat this. Because damn.”
Derek shrugged, “I’ve got a good crust recipe.” “And,” he continued in the exact same tone of voice, “you are to never come onto pack land and threaten any of mine or associated packs again or I’ll rip out your throat myself.”
“That’s totally fair,” Sam agreed. “We hadn’t realized that you had reached an agreement with the Argent family anyway.”
“Dude, you’re still afraid of Allison’s mom,” Dean snickered.
“What, and you’re not?” Sam lifted an eyebrow.
“Of course I am. She was fucking terrifying.” Dean pointed his fork at Sam to make his point.
“These blueberries are the perfect ripeness,” Castiel observed. “Did you pick them yourself?”
“Farmer’s Market,” Derek gruffed.
“You go to the Farmer’s Market?” Stiles decided that he’d fallen into an episode of The Twilight Zone. Derek gave him a little chuff on the back of his head.
“Yes.” Derek answered through his teeth.
“Sorry just trying to reset my entire worldview. Hunters and angels and werewolves going to the Farmer’s Market on purpose. It’s a lot to take in.” Stiles defended.
“Dude, Farmer’s Markets are awesome.” Dean said seriously.
“Give a guy a secret bunker to live in and he starts going to Farmer’s Markets,” Sam muttered fondly.
“Two words, Sammy. Fresh bacon.” Dean grinned, then looked back at Derek, expression going more serious as he looked at his fork. “Did you thicken the filling with cornstarch or flour?”
“This one? I used arrowroot starch, actually, what do you think?”
Seriously, weirdest day ever, Stiles decided. So weird.