“Stilinski, make sure these files are done this afternoon.”
The loud THUMP as the files hit his desk, jerk Stiles out of a pleasant daydream.
“Yes, sir. Will do, sir!” He raises his voice slightly as his manager strides out of the tiny cubicle that Stiles can call his own. Craning his neck, he checks to make sure the man is really out of earshot before he mutters: “You bullying piece of crap.”
With a sigh he thumbs through the files he has to revise. Fourteen in total, thankfully not too many pages per file.
Being an intern sucks. Being an intern at this particular company sucks. But, he muses as he opens the first file and doubleclicks on the corresponding file on his computer, at least this company doesn’t care if he sneaks out at odd hours for his other… hobby. As long as he finishes whatever it is they want him to finish, they’re cool with whatever.
His foot gently nudges the bag that he keeps under his desk and a small smile plays on his lips.
A few hours pass without anything noteworthy happening. Well, unless you count Vanessa bringing him coffee when he asked for tea particular noteworthy. He just saves the changes he made on the last files, when he’s suddenly overwhelmed by a huge sense of doom. The smile on his lips grows into a grin. With a smooth jump, he gets up from his chair and grabs the bag from under his desk.
“Joe, I’m out!” He calls out to his manager, “I finished the files. See you tomorrow!” He adds, just before he’s out of the door and rushes down the stairs. On the stairs he almost collides with Derek whom he has a huge crush, but has never dared to act on it. The guy is just too gorgeous. Black hair, greenish eyes, a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow, not to mention a body to die for. He apologizes profusely before running on.
Behind him he can faintly hear his manager yell after him, “You’re a lazy sonofabitch, Stilinski. You’ll never amount to anything in this world! Be on time tomorrow!”
Stiles is always in the office before Joe is, but that doesn’t stop Joe from telling him every day to be on time. Maybe it makes him feel more manager-y, or something. There definitely is some overcompensating going on.
Stiles barges into the bathroom on the ground floor, and swiftly checks by peeking underneath all doors to see if there’s anybody in here with him. Nobody. Good. He ducks in the middle stall and pulls the clothing out of his bag.
In less than a minute he’s changed out of his normal clothes and into the outfit he had been carrying with him. As he opens the door, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror opposite of the stall. In the reflection, Spiderman is grinning back at him.
Stiles, also better known as Spidey, Spiderman, Spides, or ‘Hey you!’, can’t help but enjoy the feeling of the rushing wind as he swings from building to building. This is the life, he muses as he lands another web on a flagpole with a soft fwhip, just swinging around the city with the sun on your face. This must be as close to flying a person can get without actually having wings or levitating. Sure, yes, having to fight bad guys every day means that the city still isn’t safe, and of course, having a normal full time job with a hobby like this is kind of sort of tricky.
And dating is all kinds of difficult. Most dates don’t really appreciate being left alone in a restaurant because Stiles had to run out during the main course. If he managed to show up for the date at all.
But all that doesn’t matter! Stiles looks down and sees three men running on the streets below. The thing they are running from seems to be a bank and the thing they’re running to appears to be a getaway car. This is what matters. At the highest point of his swing, the part where he almost feels weightless, he lets go of his web. With an elegant backflip he dives down towards the three men, catching himself with a well aimed strand of web just before reaching the ground. He lands smoothly in front of them, hands placed on his hips.
“Lovely weather to be out running, isn’t it?” Is what he wanted to say. But he doesn’t get any further than “Lovely weather,” before the men run past him, jostling his shoulder as they go.
“Move! Out of the way! It’s coming!” One of them shouts as he barrels on, panic clearly noticeable in his voice.
“Run if you value your life!” Another yells at Stiles.
The third one finally recognizes him as Spiderman, “Spiderman! Thank God!” He pants, grabbing Stiles’s arm, “Safe us! We’re being chased by a monster!”
Stiles is flabbergasted. He looks over the man’s shoulder and sees that they dropped their bags with loot a few yards away, in an attempt to get away. What he doesn’t see, however, is a monster chasing them.
“Right. Sure. What do you say we go and talk to the nice policemen so they can introduce you to a nice room with pillows on the wall? Possibly a new shirt that will let you hug yourself.”
He barely finishes this sentence when he suddenly hears terrifying screams coming from an alley to his right, where the other two men fled to. He had figured that he would follow them later, there aren’t many criminals able to outrun Spiderman. The screams turn from terrifying to bloodcurdling.
“You. Stay here.” He orders the man that pleaded with him earlier. The man nods, his face a mixture between sickly green and ghostly pale.
Stiles swings himself in the alley, where it’s disturbingly dark despite it being the middle of the day. “This is not ominous at all,” he grumbles to himself. His spider senses are going mad inside his skull. Danger, danger, danger. And they’re going completely berserk the further he goes inside the alley.
His muscles are tense and he’s ready to strike at the first thing that’s coming out to get him.
The situation doesn’t improve when he stumbles on a body. Lowering himself gingerly from the wall he checks the body for vital signs, keeping a wary eye out. The body turns out to be one of the fleeing men. He’s still alive, but there’s already a lump forming on his temple. Knocked out cold.
A soft thud makes him raise his head in time to see the second man landing on the ground not too far from him. But whatever it is that attacked the two men still can’t be seen.
“Okay, listen,” he says out loud, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the help here, but I had this. Why don’t you come on out and we can have a serious discussion about the dangers of vigilantism. Like, for instance, you’re lucky these guys didn’t have a real gun with them-”
“They did,” The voice is low and soft, its owner still hidden in the shadows. For a second Stiles imagines he can see two blueish glowing orbs in the darkness. Almost like the reflection in a pair of eyes. Not to mention that the sound of that voice does things to him. Dear Lord, if its owner is just as sexy as the voice itself, he might jump him right here in this alley. Which might be frowned upon in Super Hero League.
“They did… what?” He asks cautiously,
“Have a gun. Didn’t do much against me, though.”
There they were again, Stiles is sure of it now. He casually aims his webshooter in the direction of the glowing eyes. “And why is that?” Keeping the conversation flowing seems smart, as a way to catch this guy unaware. Whoever this person is, his spider senses keep screaming at him that there’s danger this way.
He hears something scraping against the pavement, almost like nails against-
“Probably because I’m a werewolf,” the voice growls and Stiles shoots his web in a reflex as a huge dark figure suddenly pounces on him. The web hits the creature between it’s front legs, but this doesn’t seem to hinder it. Stiles lets himself fall on his back, using his feet to catch the huge figure in midair. With a grunt he manages to toss the creature straight on, making it fly over his head as he quickly rolls backwards to get back on his feet to face it.
Despite it flying over Stiles, it lands neatly on all fours. And there it is. Standing in front of him, a huge black-haired hulking beast, is a werewolf. For a moment he is taken aback. “Holy- Are you for real?”
The wolf growls at him, baring sharp white fangs dripping with saliva.
“Right. You are for real. Got it.” Stiles glances at the bodies on the ground. “You left them alive,” he says, “So either you’re saving them up for when you get those late night munchies-”
The wolf growls louder at him, blue eyes flashing in the dark.
“-so that’s a ‘no’ to that. So… what? Are you the new superhero? Trying to rid the streets of scum? Parents killed when you were a little wereboy?”
“Go bug someone else, Spiderboy. I’ve got other shit to do.”
“Spiderb- Spiderboy??” Stiles splutters, not quite believing his ears, “That’s it. You’re going down, Fido.”
“Fido?” The werewolf snarls, “Listen, Bugboy, I’m telling you this once and only once-”
“S- Seriously? Bugboy? You couldn’t think of anything more creative?”
“This is my neighborhood. I have things well under control here. Keep your creepy creepers out of my business.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Stiles scoffs, “I’m taking you in. You’re a werewolf, my dude. That, or you have a very serious case of excessive hair growth. Now, just give in or I’ll- OOMPH.”
Stiles always prides himself on his lightning quick reflexes. He always prides himself on his ability to read a situation. And he’s pretty damn proud of his grace if things don’t go the way he wants, physically wise. So he’s extremely surprised when the werewolf suddenly jumps at him, uses his chest as a sort of stepstool to vault over him, and then bounds out of the alley. The impact on his chest is great enough to bring Stiles completely off balance, making him fall on his ass.
“Well. This has never happened to me before,” he mutters, picking himself off the ground.
He delivers the three robbers to the police, cashes in on the reward money (What? He needs to pay his bills as well!) and then goes home to do some research on werewolves. He’ll be damned if he’s going to let some pooch get the better of him.
He encounters the werewolf again a few weeks later. And again he wasn’t quite prepared for it. The thing is, Doc Ock is his nemesis. His! Sti- Spiderman’s! And when Doc Ock sends a giant robot to destroy the city, it’s his duty to stop it! But no. Not this time. When he arrived at the scene, Fido was already trying to bring the robot down. Stupid mutt. Who tries to use claws against metal, anyway? So it stands to reason that he started bickering with him. With the werewolf, not the robot. Bickering with a robot seems even more pointless. And, alright, maybe he got a bit carried away by the fighting. And maybe it led to the both of them not paying quite as much attention as they should have. Whatever the cause may have been, it ended up with him being chained up. Inside the fucking robot. Which will self destruct once it reaches the city centre. Because of fucking course. He sends a withering glare to his left, where the werewolf is chained up next to him.
“I’ll have you know that this is all your fault,” he sneers as he pulls on the chains, testing their strength.
“Oh, fuck off, I had everything under control before you showed up and started yelling at me. And what is your deal with wanting to cover everyone you meet in white, gooey stuff?”
“I- You- Do you have any idea how that sounds? Dude, seriously. What the hell. It’s a web! A web!”
“I’m pretty sure you’re just using it as some sort of euphemism. It isn’t healthy, is what I’m saying.”
Stiles glares at the werewolf, who tests the chains as well. “Forget it, there’s no way you’ll ever be able to break those ch-”
With a slight grunt and a loud pang the werewolf yanks the chains from the wall. Bolt and all.
“You were saying?” He rumbles smugly. “Need some help with those chains of yours, Arachnafreak?”
“Wow. Just. Wow. Did you have to eat a lot of dictionaries to come up with that one? No. Thank you. I’ve got this.” Stiles strains against the chains, and while he can hear them creaking behind them, there is a serious lack of breaking free. “Hnnnngg… hang on… I can do this. Ock must’ve put these ones on tighter than yours…,” he pants, putting all his strength into it.
After three more attempts he gives up, glaring daggers at the werewolf in front of him. Who… isn’t a werewolf anymore. While he was busy trying to get free, the werewolf changed back into.. well… there was no other way to say this. The werewolf is Derek, from his internship. His hair is as black as his counterpart’s fur, but his eyes are his normal mesmerizing greenish grey and not the piercing blue from before. He’s also very fit. Very very ripped. Something that Stiles can clearly see because for some reason beyond Stiles’s knowledge, Derek is only wearing a pair of jeans. No shirt. No shoes.
Huh. Derek a werewolf. Who would’ve guessed.
“Well. Hello there, puppy,” Stiles says, whistling low between his teeth, “But couldn’t you wait with changing back until you’d gotten me out of here? I mean, your strength is significantly less now and-”
With an annoyed snort, Derek reaches past him and grabs both chains in one hand. He gives one short pull, breaking the chains loose.
“Well. I loosened them for you. Obviously.”
Derek glowers at him, not answering. He looks around, clearly searching for an exit.
“So, do you think we can exchange names? I mean, if we’re going to keep running into each other like this. My name is Spidey. Or Spiderman, if you want to get formal.” Stiles extends his hand, and keeps it there even though the man looks at it with utter disdain and disgust.
Finally, he relents and shakes it.
“Derek. Derek Hale.”
“Pleased to meet you, Derek Hale. What do you say we blow this joint?” He points to a trapdoor over their heads.
“Sure. Lead the way.” Derek says, cupping his hands together to give Stiles a boost up.
Stiles raises an eyebrow, remembers suddenly that Derek can’t see it because the mask is blocking all expression, then shoots his web up. He swings up and uses the upswing to kick the trapdoor open before clambering through.
“Impressive,” he hears Derek say, and he feels strangely proud at the compliment.
“That’s me. Impressive, flexible, nimble. I’m the whole package.” He pokes his head through the trapdoor and extends his hand to Derek again. “Need me to pull you up, Cujo?”
Derek scoffs, bends his knees and lands next to Stiles in what only be called a majestically performed standing jump. “No thanks.”
“Impressive,” Stiles concedes, “Look, I’ll take out Doctor Octopus. Do you think you can disable this giant walking tin man?”
“Piece of cake. I’ll come help you when I’m done.”
“That won’t be ne-” But Stiles was already talking to thin air.
A short while later the robot is deactivated, now functioning as a very ugly new statue near the city centre, and Doc Ock is wrapped up nicely in Stiles’s web. But there is no sign of Derek.
Stiles feels strangely disappointed by this. He had even taken his time in beating Ock up, hoping that Derek would show up, like he had said he would.
After getting his reward, he takes one last look at the scene and his eyes falls on a little note stuck to the robot’s leg.
He grimaces when he sees that whoever left him this note used chewed up bubble gum as an adhesive. But that grimace quickly turns in a grin when he sees the note:
Good to meet you, Spiderman. Let’s do this again soon.
Black smoke billows from the windows four floors up. A crowd has gathered in front of the building that’s currently on fire, watching in horror as the flames engulf the entire structure.
But of course, Stiles muses bitterly, of course there just has to be someone stuck inside. And obviously it’s a child. Of course. Because what else.
He swings inside, thanking heaven that Boyd designed his suit to be heat resistant. He really needs to buy that guy a sixpack of beer sometime soon.
His facemask keeps the poisonous smoke from his lungs long enough to find the child and get the hell out of here. Hopefully.
“Hello?” He calls out loudly. No response. A quick sweep around the room he’s in makes it clear that he’s currently standing in the master bedroom. He makes his way through the smoke and around the flames towards what he hopes is the child’s room.
“Hello? Anyone here?” He tries again. And now he can faintly hear sobbing and coughing coming from the closet. Aha!
Then, without warning, the window in the room explodes inwards and a giant black thing comes rolling in.
“Oh, come ON!” Stiles yells, brushing glass splinters off his suit, “How the HELL did you even get up so high? What the actual FUCK, dude!”
Derek shakes himself and gets up, “I used your web to climb up,” he explains calmly, “Seems to me you could use some help.”
“Help? You’re in a freaking burning building! Since when are werewolves flame resistant?”
“Then get the hell OUT!”
Stiles, still fuming, yanks the closet door open to reveal a trembling and terrified child of undetermined sex. “Hello darling, we’re uncle Spidey and Uncle Derbear and we’re here to get you back to mommy,” he croons.
“Stiles?” He hears Derek ask, an urgent tinge to his voice.
“Look, ‘Derbear is a completely acceptable nickname, just because you don’t-”
“No, Stiles. The gas tank in the kitchen. It’s about to blow!” Derek yanks the child out of Stiles’s arms and turns his back to the doorway to the kitchen. Just as he bends his upper body over the child, the gas tank in the kitchen explodes.
Stiles is suddenly blown backwards by a giant gust of singing hot flame, out of the window. As he’s free falling, he sees Derek plummeting down below him, body still curled around the child.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Twisting in midair, he manages to web one the nearby buildings, sending him swinging to safety. He shoots another web towards Derek and the child, praying that he’s not too late.
The strand of web slows Derek down somewhat, but not nearly enough. With a sickening thud Derek hits the pavement first, the child clutched to his chest.
Stiles lands next to them, heart thudding in his ears. The people around him cheer when the kid stirs, relieved that it stills lives. But all Stiles can see is Derek, lying there, not breathing.
A couple of ambulance workers wrestle their way towards him, but he stops them.
“I’ll take him,” he snarls, “I’ll be in the hospital with him before you guys can strap him in the ambulance.”
“But Spiderman, what if his spine-”
“I’ll. Take. Him.” He replies through gritted teeth, praying that Derek’s werewolf healing skills will be enough to prevent him being paralyzed. Or worse.
He can’t take Derek to a hospital. People would freak out over werewolves and healing abilities and all that shit. But Deaton might be able to help. After all, he was the one who helped Stiles after getting bitten by that fucking radioactive spider.
Stiles gently nudges the door open to the recuperating rooms in Deaton’s clinic. In the middle of the room stands a hospital bed. He swallows with some difficulty when he sees that the curtains around the bed are drawn. Derek must be in pretty bad shape if the curtains are closed.
He shuffles in, bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in his hand. This is awkward. Derek doesn’t even know him. He knows Spiderman. But…
Stiles thinks back on how Derek looked, beaten down on the street with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He shudders, trying to push that memory away.
“Uh… Derek? It’s Stiles, from… work…” He pushes the curtain away.
And reveals a neatly made up and empty bed. Well. Nearly empty. A dufflebag is sitting in the middle of the bed, waiting for someone to pick it up.
“What the actual fuck.” He yanks the curtains open completely. “Where the hell did he run off to now?”
“I went to take a piss, actually,” Derek’s voice comes from the doorway.
Stiles spins around, eyes wide. And sure enough, there Derek is. Wearing those jeans again. But this time with a shirt. And shoes. He’s moving up in the world, really.
“Uhm. Hi. I’m Stiles. I’m an intern at your company,” He smiles nervously, fidgeting with the string around the bouquet.
“I know,” Derek walks in calmly, grabbing the dufflebag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“And… er… I’m a friend of Spiderman… and…he told me where you were... you see… I wanted to wish you well… and… Err. These flowers are for you.” Stiles thrusts the flowers to Derek.
“Thank you,” Derek smiles and takes the flowers, “But as you can see, I’m doing just fine.”
He pushes past Stiles, leaving him alone in the room, completely stunned.
Then Derek pokes his head around the corner, “See you next time. Spiderman.”
Stiles has been following him for a while now. It’s evening, it’s dark. Derek has no idea that he’s been followed from the roofs. It’s not stalking, per se. Not really.
Anyway, Stiles is determined to find out how Derek knew that he’s Spiderman. It’s been driving him crazy for days now. And every time he bumps into Derek at work, the man just smirks at him. It’s so fucking annoying.
Derek turns left into an alley and suddenly stops.
“You can come down, Stiles,” he calls out.
Stiles curses under his breath, “How the HELL…”. But then he gives in and slowly lowers himself on his line. Upside down, until he’s eye to eye with Derek. Like a true spider.
“Charming.” Derek mutters, rolling his eyes.
“How?!” Is all Stiles says.
“Your smell,” Derek answers with a shrug, “I’m a werewolf. I smell things. I can’t help it. And your suit doesn’t exactly stop you from smelling like you.”
“Well. Shit. I didn’t get that far in the research on werewolves yet.”
“So, I was wondering,” Derek continues, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I already liked you a lot when you were just an intern. I just didn’t have the guts to ask you out. So, would you like to, maybe…” Derek takes a deep breath, “Would you like to go on a date with me?” He blurts out.
Stiles is dumbstruck for a second. Then, “Yes! Oh my God, yes! Dude! You have no idea how much I want that!”
He feverishly starts pulling his mask up, revealing only his lips and puckers up.
Derek stares at him, horrified, “What… what are you doing?”
“Getting ready for our kiss, obviously.”
“Yeah no. Not until we’ve had a proper date. Weirdo.” Derek pushes him out of the way and strolls out of the alley.
Stiles, swinging gently from side to side, lips still puckered, yells after him, “Rude!”.
But he can’t help but grin at the idea of having a date with Derek Hale.