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In Desperate Times

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So Stiles finds this watch in the attic. It's cool-looking watch, even if it doesn't have any ninja turtles or talking sponges decorating it, and without thinking too much about it, Stiles puts it on, and just kind of forgets about it. He takes it off to shower, but that's about it.

Nothing strange happens -- Stiles has been vigilant about watching for strange symptoms since the whole nemeton and nogitsune thing, once bitten twice shy and all that. It's just a watch that he feels naked without.


Three weeks later, Stiles ends up teamed up with Derek against the latest supernatural threat, which is an actual monster. Stiles isn't sure what its... monster genre is, just that it looks like something from an HBO version of Monster's Inc, and Stiles is really fucking glad that he's here with an experienced werewolf.

He glances over at Derek, because surely, someone born into a werewolf pack would have a plan of attack for dealing with a monster. A grey, slimy monster. That...

Okay, the slime appears to be acid, judging from the sizzles as it burns through the pavement. They're out near the bowling alley, but luckily Beacon Hills' general population has evolved to the point where they ignore terrifying sounds in the night out of principal and self-preservation.

Derek shrugs.

Stiles stares at him. "Dude. You're the freaking supernatural guru here. What do we do?"

The monster gurgles threateningly.

"Running would normally be ideal, but we're trying to stop this thing," Derek says unhelpfully.

"So we..." Stiles trails off meaningfully, gesturing for Derek to finish his sentence.

"Don't you have some sort of... doomsday scenario about acid-monsters?" Derek asks, because he saw Stiles' go-bag with his supernatural apocalypse plan of action that ONE time and Derek Hale is, at heart, a total dick.

"First of all, fuck you," Stiles says, because it needs to be said. "Second of all, no, I do not. Acid-slime monsters aren't something that just come up in normal everyday doomsday scenarios."

"They should," Derek says. He shifts, and growls menacingly at the acid-slime monster.

It's a supremely shitty plan. As far as Stiles can tell, the only thing it accomplishes is to alert the acid-slime monster to their location.

"Running now," Stiles announces, and high-tails it out of there. Derek catches up to him quickly and overtakes him, skidding to a stop on the other side of his bland new dad-car.

Stiles ducks down beside him, hearing a strange sizzle as the acid-monster flings its own leaking fluids at the car. Stiles peeks through the window and sees that entire section of the car has melted away.

Derek hisses through his fangs, "We have to distract it."

Stiles looks around pointedly and then back at Derek, "With what?"

Derek gave him a look.

"Crap," Stiles says as he steps out to the left, waving his arms and yelling so that -- best case scenario -- Derek can punch the monster into submission. Without burning his hands off, which, judging by the fact that half his car is melted, seems wildly unlikely.

Stiles wishes deeply, fervently, that the ground would just swallow the monster so that they can walk away from this without looking like Deadpool.

The monster turns to him, and as Derek backflips off the top of his car, the monster...

Kind of gets sucked up into the ground.

Derek gracelessly crashes into the ground, and Stiles, arms still raised as a distraction, stares incredulously. The monster is 100% gone. Poof.

"Ow," Derek says, but he's just being melodramatic, because Stiles has seen him get annihilated by enemies before without whining. Stiles rushes over and, pushing Derek aside, pats at the ground, trying to see if... He doesn't know, if there's a trapdoor or selective sinkhole or maybe an underground mutant breed has a tunnel here for the express purpose of recruiting new creepazoids.

All he finds is the ground. Totally undisturbed, except for a little dent where Derek's face hit it.

Stiles sits back on his heels and stares at Derek. "You saw that too, right?"

"I regret my backflip decision," Derek admits. "The monster was there when I jumped; it was gone when I was flipped back around."

"This is going to sound crazy," Stiles says slowly, "but right before the monster disappeared, I kind of... wished it would get swallowed up by the earth." Stiles pokes the solid ground. "There's no way, right?"

"Make another wish," Derek says, instead of telling him that Stiles was talking nonsense and nothing like that could ever happen.

"I wish cheeseburgers would fall from the sky," Stiles says half-heartedly.

He looks up. Derek looks up.

Nothing happens.

"Okay, good," Stiles says. "Because I really do not need that kind of power."

He looks at Derek's car, thinks that probably he should have wished it back to its former unmelted glory, but... The car just isn't Derek, not in the way the Camaro had been, and Stiles can't bring himself to mourn its loss.

"I'll call Scott," Stiles sighs.


Scott stares at the melted car, and then at the unremarkable spot of ground that had eaten the monster. "I don't hear anything under there," he says, confirming what Derek had already established. "You really think you wished it away?"

"Well, something happened," Stiles says, because he's been quietly wishing things since Scott arrived and none of them have come true.

Derek sighs and climbs into the passenger seat of Melissa's car. Stiles would normally point out that he has unlocked permanent shotgun status in all McCall vehicles due to best friendship but Derek's car currently looks like the Wicked Witch of the West at a pool party, so. Stiles can be magnanimous.

When they stop in front of the loft, Derek pauses before opening the door, then says, hastily, "Thanks for saving me," before climbing out of the car and walking with obviously affected casualness towards the building.

"Well," Scott says. "He believes you."

"I don't even believe me," Stiles says, because, maybe he mixed it up in his head. Maybe the ground swallowed the monster and then he wished it. That makes...

Okay it makes zero sense, even to Stiles, but none of his other wishes have worked.

"Maybe your life has to be in danger," Scott says. "Maybe you have a guardian angel! Or a genie. I always wanted a genie. Think you'll get to have an elephant parade and magic carpet?"

"I haven't rubbed any lamps lately," Stiles says, and Scott does his duty as his bro to waggle his eyebrows suggestively at him.

They go back to Scott's house. He's pulled a Super NES out of his closet, and they spend the night playing Super Mario. It almost feels like the old days, except for the fact that Isaac joins them and they have to take turns.

Stiles wishes a few times that he'd just disappear already, but apparently his wishing powers are acid-monster-specific.



A few days of pretty intense personal wishing pass, but as there's no actual danger, none of them work.

"We should put you in danger," Erica suggests at lunch. Boyd nods.

"That is a terrible idea," Stiles informs them. Neither look surprised at his opinion, but they both clearly still want to see if their plan will work.

"It'd be effective, though," Isaac says. "I mean, it could be safe danger."

"There is no such thing as safe danger," Stiles says. He turns to Lydia, because surely she'll back him up. She's the queen of rational thought.

"It probably wouldn't hurt to disprove the theory," Lydia says thoughtfully. "I mean, if Stiles can magically eliminate threats, we need to know about it. I'll tell Allison. She and Kira can set something up."

Isaac had told them about what a killer duo Kira and Allison had made. Stiles scowls at everyone. "I hate you all."

"Channel that," Erica suggests. "Maybe it's anger-fueled."


"I'm not supposed to tell you this," Scott whispers when they're at their lockers later, "but Allison and Kira are going to sneak-attack you."

"When?" Stiles asks.

"They wouldn't tell me," Scott says sheepishly.

"Scott," Stiles says, horrified. "Why would you even tell me? I'm going to be so paranoid."

"Keeps you on your toes," Scott says. He pats Stiles on his back. Stiles briefly wishes that Scott would get sneak-attacked, but he’s glad when that doesn’t come true.



Stiles is jogging down the cross-country path when an arrow whizzes by his face and hits a nearby tree.

He squeaks and closes his eyes and...

When he opens them, he's standing in the middle of Derek's loft, still wearing his sweatpants and Beacon Hills High t-shirt.

Derek is sitting on the couch holding a bowl of cereal. He's frozen with one spoonful hovering in midair near his gaping mouth.

Stiles blinks a few more times, half-hoping that he'll be back in the woods, but nope. He's one hundred percent in Derek's loft. He does a quick check to make sure all his limbs teleported with him, and then says, "Did I just poof into here?"

"Yeah," Derek says, setting the spoon back into the bowl, cereal uneaten. "You did."

Stiles isn't really sure what to say. "Allison was shooting arrows at me."

"So you teleported here?" Derek says doubtfully.

"Apparently." Stiles can't remember making any conscious wishes. Just the general need-to-get-the-fuck-away-from-here impulse, and then... Derek. Sitting on his couch wearing sweatpants, eating what appeared to be Lucky Charms.

Lucky Charms.

Stiles' mouth twitches.

Derek glances down, and Stiles wonders if he's actually going to try to hide the cereal behind his back or something, but then Derek just sighs and takes another bite.

"Are they working?" Stiles asks. "Feeling lucky?"

Derek's mouth is the one that twitches this time. "Incredibly."

"I'm leaving," Stiles tells him, because he doesn't have to take that sort of attitude. Also there’s the whole he-should-be-at-practice thing. He's outside before he realizes that he doesn't have his phone on him and his Jeep is all the way at the high school.

He has to slow-trudge back to Derek's loft, and Derek actually honest-to-god laughs when Stiles slides the door open and skulks back in with a, "Can I borrow your phone?"

Stiles tries hard not to examine the fact that he apparently subconsciously considers Derek's the safest place he knows.


His friends are assholes, and the 'surprise' attacks don't stop coming.

Malia hides under his bed in coyote form, growling in the night and then leaping onto his chest before he can grab his baseball bat.

Stiles shrieks and flails and is magically transported to Derek's bed, where his shrieking, flailing, sudden entrance is greeted with Derek Hale shrieking himself.

It's kind of totally worth the terror for that moment alone.

Stiles also discovers that Derek sleeps in a pair of extremely attractive boxer-briefs. It's a lot of information for his brain to receive in just a few seconds, and Stiles blames that for the stumbling, awkward things he says as he hastily tries to leave. When he gets home -- he's started keeping his phone on him at all times, and Scott was privy to the Malia-sneak-attack and was on standby with his mom's car -- he hides his face in his pillow when he remembers that he told Derek, "Thanks for the briefs. Visit. Brief visit."

Then two days later, Kira dresses up like Shredder and drops in front of him from a freaking tree, brandishing a sword.

Stiles screams, stumbles backwards, and falls into Derek Hale's shower.

He's fully clothed and at first just flails around, eyes squeezed shut because he's suddenly going from a Shredder attack to steaming hot water in his eye and then when he opens his eyes, he gets another eyeful.

Of penis.

Of Derek Hale's penis, just dangling there right in front of his face, and oh, look, Derek Hale's penis is attached to a completely naked and dripping wet Derek Hale.

Someone just needs to bury Stiles right now because his mouth is gaping open and filling with shower water and he can't stop staring. Derek is just looking dumbly down at him like he's confused as to whether this is actually happening or not.

"Hguh," Stiles blurts, and Derek's penis twitches.

Then Stiles starts to choke on the water and Derek pulls him up and helpfully beats on his back a few times. The third hit knocks him off balance, and when his hand flings backwards, Stiles is pretty sure that he accidentally touches the naked Hale penis. Unfortunately for Stiles the water that is still running has made his clothes cling uncomfortably to him and Derek can totally see his boner right now.

Yeah. Stiles pretty much wants to die. He's not even the naked one and his face is so red that Derek probably still thinks he's choking.

"I have to go," he gasps out, and manages to shove open the shower curtain and falls out onto the bathroom floor. He manages to create a small lake of water in the middle of the floor, and he'd feel bad about it normally, but Derek is naked and Stiles can't stop his brain from showing the best-of highlights clips in his mind and it's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to him, except for the part where it's the worst.

"Wait--" Derek says, probably about to offer Stiles a towel or something, but Stiles just flees, leaving behind soggy footprints as he hobbles out of the apartment the best he can, considering both the discomfort of wet jeans and his boner valiantly fighting against its wet-denim prison.

"I'm not talking about it," Stiles says when he climbs into his Jeep downstairs.

Erica's on pickup duty today; she raises an eyebrow but doesn't actually say anything to humiliate him.

If he ever recovers his dignity from this, Stiles will totally buy her thank-you curly fries.


Miraculously, the watch survives the surprise shower.


"This is the worst superpower ever," Stiles tells everyone at lunch the next day. Erica had put two and two together and had gleefully informed everyone that Stiles had fallen into Derek's shower, so he felt context was unnecessary.

"I think it's adorable," Isaac tells him, and then makes a little kissy face at him.

Stiles stares in horror. "I do not," he makes the same kissy face, "Derek."

He looks around the table for support. Everyone is studiously inspecting their lunches, like the cure for lyncanthropy was going to be found in the cafeteria's green bean casserole.

"I don't!" Stiles protests, voice raising ever-so-slightly.

"It's just," Scott says gently, "wishing yourself to Derek every time you're in danger..."

"You have to be in love with him," Lydia explains, "because we all know Derek's track record with avoiding danger."

"Or defeating danger," Erica adds.

"You've got it bad," Boyd agrees.

Allison pats him on the arm. "It could be worse, sweetie."

Stiles thunks his head down on the table. "No, it couldn't."

"So how was that view in the shower?" Kira asks. Scott glances at her, and she shrugs. "I wanna know!"

There were a lot of interested looks around the table, actually. Stiles almost wished that he could say something to embarrass Derek, but they'd all be able to tell he was lying. "Annoyingly perfect," he says instead, and does his best to change the subject.

Which really, Stiles realizes abruptly, kind of proves their point. If it had been anyone else, he'd be giving them head to toe analysis.

But Derek... he want to keep those details to himself.

The details were still on his mind when Stiles was stripping down that evening in his bathroom. His hand drifts southward out of habit, and by the time he's really decided to go for it, he's naked, leaning against the counter, knees falling apart as he strokes himself slowly.

It's the same hand that maybe-touched Derek's junk in the shower, and he lets his eyes flutter shut as he pictures that glory, and his balls are just starting to tighten up when he hears someone take in a sharp breath.

Stiles' eyes pop open.

Derek is standing in his bathroom. Derek is standing there, fully dressed, and he's staring at Stiles' dick. Correction: he's staring at Stiles' hand stroking up and down his dick, and Stiles freezes.

His dick doesn't even have the decency to wilt under the weight of Derek's gaze. Stiles is just standing there, buck-ass naked, holding his boner, and he's pretty sure that if Derek doesn't do something soon he's just going to stand there dumbly coming all over himself.

"Erm," Derek says, and his eyes meet Stiles'. Stiles is totally projecting because Derek doesn't look grossed out, Derek looks kind of turned on.

"I wasn't thinking about you," Stiles says, which is the absolute wrong thing to say to someone who can freaking smell lies.

Derek's eyes drift downward again, and then he's reaching forward.

Stiles' muscles tense, and he's half-afraid he's going to come on Derek's hand when Derek touches his wrist. No, not his wrist. Derek is twisting the watch that Stiles is wearing -- the only thing he's wearing -- around to get a better look at it. He leans forward to get a better look, like he's somehow forgetting that Stiles' dick is right there, and Stiles' hand involuntarily clenches.

Stiles lets out a weird breathy half-moaning sound, and Derek drops his wrist like a hot potato.

"I'm sorry," he says in an awkward rush, stepping back and looking anywhere except Stiles.

"Why the watch?" Stiles asks. He slowly releases his dick, and looks at the watch himself, trying his best to breathe steadily.

"Enchanted objects," Derek says. His eyes are focused somewhere heavenwards, and Stiles is realizing just how much eye contact they normally have.

"The watch..." It makes total, perfect sense. Stiles hasn't developed a weird-ass superpower, he just found a weirdly specific enchanted watch.

"The face says, in desperate times," Derek tells the light fixture.

"I am not desperate for you," Stiles blurts out. It's a blatant lie; he has clearly just magically willed Derek to his jerk off session through the power of desperation.

Derek nobly refrains from pointing this out. "That's why none of your other wishes panned out. There had to be an element of desperation. The sneak attacks must have triggered the same panic as the first attack."

Stiles nods, and figures, what the hell. Derek would have to be a moron to not know why he'd just been magically transported to Stiles' naked happy time. "And I was just thinking pretty desperately about the last desperate measure when you showed up."

He's pretty sure Derek is blushing. "So I saw," Derek manages.

Stiles is the one standing there at attention and Derek's blushing about it. "You can leave if you want."

Derek takes a deep breath, like he's gathering strength, and then meets Stiles' eyes and says, "And if I don't want to?"

Stiles carefully takes off the watch and sets it on the counter. Then he launches himself forward and kisses the hell out of Derek.

He feels like he should be more embarrassed about the fact that he's plastering his naked body all over Derek, but after a brief, startled second, Derek joins the kiss with just as much desperation as Stiles feels. Stiles is pressed back up against the counter in seconds, and as soon as his legs splay apart Derek is nestled between them.

"Are you down with this happening?" Stiles asks as he grinds his hips as gently as he can up against Derek. If anything happens, Stiles knows it won't last long. "Because I am so down. So unbelievably down."

Derek nods, and says against Stiles' mouth, "I'm down."

He kisses him briefly, and then dips his head down, down, down, until Stiles is tangling his hands in Derek's hair and clenching himself to keep from coming as soon as the wet heat of Derek's mouth engulfs him.

Derek's head bobs once, twice, three times before Stiles is stuttering out a warning, and then he's coming so hard that he thinks for a moment he might have blacked out and imagined the whole damn thing.

When he opens his eyes, he's slumped bonelessly against the sink, and Derek is palming himself through his jeans. He'd be embarrassed at how quick his own orgasm came, but Stiles only has to shove his hand into Derek's unzipped jeans and stroke a half-dozen times before Derek is joining him in the afterglow.

He catches a glimpse of the watch as he slumps against Derek, and thinks, Desperate times, maybe, but these definitely aren't desperate measures.


Stiles keeps the watch.