“Dude. Dude, look at this huge ass can of coffee.”
It comes from somewhere off to his left, too close for comfort. Derek tenses all over, huffing and hunching down to look through the open slots in the shelving stacks for the owner of that dumb-ass voice. He finds him, or rather, them, three rows down.
Isaac takes the coffee from Scott and hugs it. It’s twice as big as his head.
“I love this place,” he sighs, cheek mashed against the tin.
Scott grins and squeezes the nape of his neck. Isaac tilts his head, unconsciously submissive. Derek doesn’t snarl at this sickening display, but it’s a close thing.
“C’mon, man,” Scott says, squeezing Isaac’s neck one last time and pushing their cart down the aisle. “We still have to get the rest of the shit on the list.”
Isaac nods, but doesn’t make any attempt to let go of the coffee.
“Can we keep it, Scott? Promise I’ll look after it,” Isaac says with a mocking curl of a smile, but his hand is sweeping down its’ side, stroking the tin.
It’s weird how loving the gesture is. It’s a fucking can of coffee.
Scott plays along, sighing. “I don’t know, buddy, it’s a big responsibility. But,” he says when Isaac’s eyebrows draw up tight and he starts working up to a whine, “I think we can swing it.”
“Fucking sweeet,” Isaac says, dropping the earnest child bit and tossing it in the cart.
Derek watches as they disappear down another aisle, and tries not to be bitter about the fact that that could’ve been him, joking around with his betas, doing mundane shit like getting groceries for the house. It’s how it should’ve been. But Derek’s not Alpha, not anymore.
And, as much as he’d like to blame Scott for everything being all fucked up with Isaac, that Boyd only comes by once a week and that Erica is gone, he can’t, because like most of the shit that’s gone wrong in Derek’s life, it’s not actually McCall’s fault. It’s his. He was the one who’d decided to toss Isaac out like that.
It’s not like Derek doesn’t know that it was a dick move, throwing that glass at Isaac; he gets that he burnt that bridge all by himself, he does. But how the hell else was he supposed to get the kid to leave? He’d chosen a bunch of headstrong little shits to attach his wagon to and now, in the words of a person far wiser than he, he’s living with the bratty, hormonal consequences.
It bothers him, though, this thing with Isaac. It bothers him a lot. Sure, the kid had gone back to help him anyways, nearly getting himself and Boyd killed in the process, but as soon as the threat had been eliminated, he’d started giving Derek the cold shoulder. He could say he’d been surprised that yet another relationship in his life went to shit, but he’d be lying.
He leaves the store with a sour taste in his mouth.
The next time he sees Isaac—a few weeks later—he’s at the supermarket. Again.
Derek ducks behind the meat freezer he’d been digging through (he’s a werewolf cliché, what can he say) and, just to be safe, lingers there until Isaac goes away.
Not that he’s hiding from a sixteen year old. That would just be...pathetic. And dumb. No, what had happened was he thought he dropped something, so he’d bent down to pick it up. And then when he couldn’t find it, he’d decided to stay there. To look. Without moving. Or actually looking at the floor at all.
He’s considering giving up “the search” when Isaac passes by again, and this time, he has Scott with him. Surprise, surprise. (For the life of him, Derek will never understand how that measly little shit always ends up reaping the benefits of Derek’s hard work while Derek himself is left with nothing.) Isaac stops a few paces away, eyes honed in on the general area in which Derek is...looking. For that thing he dropped.
Derek mumbles a quiet, “Fuck.” and holds his breath, cursing himself for his not-so-out of the blue craving for red meat.
Full moon approaching. Werewolf. It happens.
“What’s up, man?” Scott asks Isaac, knocking their shoulders together in a manner that’s so chummy and familiar that it makes Derek want to tear something in half. Scott hadn’t even known Isaac’s name until Derek bit him. And they’d gone to school together since kindergarten.
“Hmm?” Isaac responds absently. “Oh, nothing. I was just, y’know... thinking,” he says, sounding not the least bit convincing.
Scott rolls his eyes and walks over to the freezer that Derek is definitely not hiding behind and says, “Dude, this is just getting sad.”
Derek hunches down further, scowling to himself and wondering why shit like this keeps happening to him. He is an adult, okay. He should not have to deal with being constantly looked down upon by a bunch of fucking teenagers.
“Seriously.” Scott says, judgment heavy in every syllable.
Derek calmly exhales through his nose as he comes to the conclusion that god hates him. Actually, looking back at his life, it’s more likely that it’s all of the gods that hate him. From every religion.
“Okay,” Scott sighs, sounding like he’s resigned to pulling Derek bodily out from behind the freezer. Which he could probably do without losing a limb now that he’s an Alpha.
In fact, Derek might actually be the one who needs to be worried here because, given his already tainted reputation in this town as a former murder suspect, plus their current whereabouts (were-abouts, ha), it would not be...prudent for Derek to engage in a physical altercation with a child.
That’s what he’s telling himself anyway. The reality of the situation is that Derek’s no longer sure this is a fight he can win.
He’s just about to give up the ghost—of his dignity—and stand, when Scott grabs a couple packages of meat and tosses them over to Isaac.
“I know the full moon’s in a few days, but c’mon, man. Mom’s gonna start noticing how much meat we’re going through.”
Derek sneaks a peek over the edge of the freezer in time to see Isaac sniff the steaks appreciatively and drop them in a cart that’s already filled with enough food to supply a small village. And sustain it. For, like, a year.
“Couple more?” he asks hopefully. Scott gives a put-upon sigh and turns back to grab another four packs of steak, toting them back to their cart. “Don’t worry,” Isaac says earnestly, “I can pay for them.”
Scott gives him a dopey smile. “Nah, man. I got it.” He slings an arm around Isaac’s shoulder and leads him down the cookie aisle. “Besides. I’m the Alpha. I’m supposed to, like, provide for you and shit.”
Isaac laughs and ruffles Scott’s hair and Scott ducks out of reach and growls at him, the effect of which is kind of ruined by the dumbass smile he’s got on his face, but you know, whatever, that’s just Derek’s opinion.
He stands and dusts off his pants, glaring after them. I’m the Alpha, he mimics silently, making a face at Scott’s back.
“Yeah, the Alpha of morons,” he mutters angrily.
McCall turns around, looking confused and Derek barely manages to drop out of sight before Scott sees him.
So he’s hiding from a couple of sixteen year olds. Whatever.
He doesn’t chance coming up again until he hears them reach the registers. The only thing is, he’d been so focused on listening out for Scott and Isaac, he hadn’t realized that someone was looking through the meat on the opposite side of the freezer. So when he pops up, this person, who’s got a pack of meat in each hand, by the way, gives a startled shriek and flings both of them right at his head.
Derek stalks out of the market with cow blood dripping down his face and favorite leather jacket. (Laura is somewhere—in a Hell dimension, probably—laughing her ass off.)
Shortly after the Supermarket Episode, directly after, really, Derek decides to give up on ever making amends with Isaac. Fuck it, he doesn’t need Isaac; he still has Boyd. Well, mostly. And one out of three isn’t so bad—he isn’t counting Jackson, obviously; that smarmy assclown is abroad and, therefore, out of his jurisdiction.
He immediately feels guilty for thinking it. What happened to Erica wasn’t a joke, not to him, not to Boyd, and he might’ve been trying to protect Isaac, but in the end, all he’d managed to do was drive him away and directly into the waiting arms of that crooked-jawed little fuckface, Scott.
Derek’s on his way home from the store the next time he sees Isaac (he’d avoided it as long as he could for the sake of his pride, but a person could only live off of takeout and diner food for so long, even diner food as good as Earl’s). By some miracle, Isaac’s alone this time, standing on a street corner and staring at the house he used to live in with his dad. It’s the perfect opportunity for Derek to talk to him. It would literally be nothing to pull off to the side of the road and walk over, say hi, ask Isaac how he’s doing, maybe even work up to apologize for being a dick or something; he doesn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day.
But he doesn’t.
He idles at a stop sign for a minute and then drives on, glancing at his rearview mirror every few seconds, watching Isaac get smaller and smaller until he disappears from sight altogether.
A voice in the back of his head—it sounds suspiciously like his sister’s—nags him to grow a spine, go back and apologize, Isaac is pack and pack understands, pack forgives.
He tells the voice to shut up and leave him alone. And anyway, Isaac has a new pack and Derek is perfectly content with being a pack of one, thank you very much. Plus Boyd. Maybe. (He’s not actually too clear on where Boyd stands, pack-wise).
The voice in his head sighs and calls him an idiot.
Days pass and the voice doesn’t quiet. If anything, it gets louder, more insistent. It tells him to call Isaac and then when that doesn’t happen, it tells Derek to at least text him, ask him what’s up, how’s he doing, and casually slip in that Derek may or may not be feeling mildly apologetic for past events that may or may not have possibly transpired because Derek is an insensitive asshole.
He debates calling Deaton to ask whether it’s possible that he’s being haunted. Or like, possessed. He doesn’t, but only because he’s afraid that Deaton will tell him what he fears he already knows and doesn’t want to face.
Somewhere, between killing his own uncle and the loss of his Alpha-power, he’d managed to grow himself a conscience.
Fuck his life.
He holds out a few more weeks, but eventually Derek gives in to his inner demon—as he’s taken to referring to his newly developed sense of morality—and, reluctantly, decides to try and talk to Isaac.
At first, he’s just planning on stopping by the McCalls’ and trying his luck there, but after thinking about it, he rules a home invasion out. Because now that Scott is, for lack of a more appropriate word, Alpha, entering his “territory” “uninvited” is “frowned upon,” something that even someone as new and uninformed as Scott is sure to recognize.
So, here Derek is, lurking in a high school parking lot—a place he is far too familiar with for someone who has been out of high school for nearly ten years—all in the hopes of making peace with a teenage werewolf.
Seriously, though. Fuck his life.
He waits around until the bell rings and students start streaming out of the exits, and, realizing he really can’t put it off much longer, decides he may as well get it over with.
“Isaac. It’s, uh, it’s Derek.” He coughs awkwardly. “Look, can we talk?”
There’s no immediate answer, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Isaac hadn’t heard. Derek will wait and if Isaac comes, he comes. If he doesn’t, well. It won’t be a total loss; Derek had been planning on stopping by the store today anyway. And after he goes to the store, he can head home, eat a bloody steak and-
And spend the rest of his life being badgered by his stupid inner demon, fuck.
He growls in irritation. “Isaac.”
He hears Scott say, “Derek’s here,” after a moment.
Derek curses under his breath, because he’d been hoping that maybe Scott and Isaac went home separately, which, now that he thinks about it, was entirely too optimistic of him.
And with Scott came...it.
Derek snarls a little, aggravated at his own stupidity. He should’ve just staked out Isaac’s old place and waited for him to show up again or something, anything but coming here and making an ass of himself in front of Isaac and his stupid little friends. It would’ve been smarter and less painful. He should leave. Now, before they have a chance to stop him.
He makes it two steps before he just stops and sighs.
Who the fuck is he kidding? He’s not going anywhere.
He kicks a rock clear across the parking lot, not caring if he looks like a child. He is hanging around outside of a high school, being ogled by teenagers, and will shortly be forcibly subjected to Scott and his motor-mouth sidekick. Derek will be as childish as he fucking wants to be.
“Uhm,” someone behind him says, “can I help you?”
Perfect. Just what he needs. Derek scowls at the ground for a split second before putting on his best swear I’m not a pervert smile and turning around. And yes, he has a specific smile for this situation. Like he said, he’s spent a lot of fucking time in this parking lot.
“No, no, I’m just waiting for my—” Derek’s words escape him momentarily and he has to clear his throat to cover up the slip, because oh. “—cousin. Hi.” His smile becomes less forced.
The woman, teacher? smiles back, looking flustered. “Hi. Sorry about the—” she gestures around and flushes a little, embarrassed, “—you know, but you can’t be too careful. Especially in this town,” she adds with a laugh.
Derek’s back immediately goes up and he eyes her warily, wondering what she knows, because that’s a pointed remark if he ever heard one.
Her expression changes to one of alarm. “Oh, no! No, I only meant that there’s been a lot of excitement lately, with all the deaths and whatnot,” she explains.
Derek lifts an eyebrow. Her face is expressive. Derek can see the exact moment she realizes what she’s said.
“Not that I’m saying people dying is exciting! I mean, it kind of is, but— Oh, god.” She gives a disbelieving laugh. “I really just said that,” she says, sounding slightly mortified.
She shakes her head and straightens her shoulders. “Sorry, let’s try that again.” She sticks out her hand and says, “I’m Jen. Jennifer! I mean. You can call me Jen. If you want. I— most people call me Jen, but Jennifer’s good, too. Either way.” She grimaces and stares at the ground, nodding, like yep, that just happened.
Derek can’t help but smile. She talks a lot.
“Derek,” he says, reaching for her hand and shaking it. “No derivatives. Just Derek.”
She grins, easy and bright. “So I’m guessing nicknames are off the table then, huh?”
Derek smirks. “I could be persuaded.” He could not be persuaded. No way in hell.
Jennifer laughs, seeing right through him. “No, you couldn’t.”
Derek smiles, “You’re right, there’s no w—”
“—Derek talking to Ms. Blake? And why is he smiling? Derek doesn’t smile, does he? Guys? That’s not actually Derek, is it. What is it? A shapeshifter? A robot?”
Derek grits his teeth and forces the smile to stay on his face, forces himself to not look over to where he knows the owner of that irritating voice is standing.
He knew this would happen. He knew it.
But nooo, he had to go and grow a conscience and feel bad about the means by which he saved a life!
Okay, so Isaac had ignored him and almost died anyway, that’s not his fault! Derek was being a good. person.
And this is his reward.
“—erek? Derek.” Jennifer waves a hand in front of his face.
Derek blinks, only just keeping himself from flinching away from her. “Sorry,” he says, pasting on an apologetic grimace. “I just saw my cousin.”
“Oh! Right,” she says, looking a little disappointed. She gives him a hopeful smile, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around?”
Derek gives her a slow smile in response. “Yeah. Definitely.”
Derek hates teenagers. They have no sense of loyalty. All they do is lie, and complain, and, apparently, make stupid references to stupid Disney Channel shows that have been off air for give or take ten years.
“So,” Stiles says next to him, nodding. Derek glares even harder at Scott and Isaac’s retreating backs, silently willing them to come back and take this moron with them. “‘Sup.”
Derek drags his eyes away from Scott’s mom’s car to give Stiles a look he hopes conveys just how infuriating he finds Stiles’ presence and that he would very much like nothing more than to strangle him and watch the life slowly leave his body.
Stiles lets out a nervous laugh.
Sadly, Derek is prevented from making good on his unspoken threat because there are people around. People, that would probably notice if Derek murdered the sheriff’s son in broad daylight.
Derek is still glaring at Stiles and Stiles is still laughing nervously when Jennifer passes. “Hey, Stiles,” she says, smiling and glancing at Derek. “I just finished reading your essay.”
Stiles’ face does something odd. Derek supposes it might be a grin, but the kid’s mouth is open far too wide for it to be a smile of the conventional sense. “Was it the best?” Stiles asks, sounding eager to hear her answer.
Jennifer makes a considering noise. “Close second. Ms. Martin’s was—”
When Stiles groans, he groans with his entire body. It’s stupid.
“Say no more,” he sighs. “Really. I got it. I’ve no hope of being first in anything as long as Lydia is breathing.” Stiles’ expression turns thoughtful for a second. Derek is pretty sure he’s thinking about killing off the competition.
“Yours was by far the most entertaining,” Jennifer assures him. “It was very...interesting,” she adds with a suppressed smile.
Derek snorts. Yeah, he bets it was real fucking interesting.
Stiles shoots him a dirty look, and then turns his attention back to Jennifer, shrugging. “That’s what I was going for.”
“You did a good job,” Jennifer tells him sincerely.
Derek fights to keep a straight face. Stiles? Do a good job?
But the kid seems to believe her, if the stupid smile that spreads across his face is any indication.
Stiles looks away bashfully, mumbling something about teachers and chairs, Derek doesn’t know. He blocks Stiles out and twitches his eyebrows at Jennifer. She flushes and hides a smile and gives him a stern look that says, not in front of the student, and yeah, Derek could be into that, playing teacher.
Stilinski recovers quickly and immediately starts chattering at Jennifer about an upcoming test or something. It’s annoying, the way Stiles seems to have to talk with his hands flying around, but Derek uses the distraction he provides to study Jennifer, or Ms. Blake as Stiles keeps referring to her.
He has to appreciate the way she handles the moron’s babbling. She keeps up with Stiles easily, even though he changes topics constantly and draws conclusions that have literally nothing to do with what they’re talking about. And she smiles while she does it, like it’s not completely exasperating that someone feels the need to waste so much energy on, what should be, a simple conversation.
She seems...nice. Funny, smart. Genuine.
And okay, yeah, she’s not too hard on the eyes. Hell, that’s an understatement.
And she’s—she’s leaving, saying bye to Stiles and turning to Derek with a small, shy smile. “See you around?”
Derek dips his head in acknowledgement, lips twitching up at the corners. “See you.”
Jennifer glances over her shoulder a few times as she follows another teacher across the lot, flushing every time her eyes meet Derek’s.
“So,” Stiles says after a minute.
Derek tears his eyes away and lifts his eyebrows.
Stiles rolls his eyes.
“Just because your eyebrows can convey questions as well as - hell, maybe even better - than you actually using your words and saying ‘What?’ can, doesn’t mean you don’t have to talk, too, asshole.”
Derek blinks. His eyebrows do what now.
Stiles has already moved on, though, giving no sign that he’d just had a fifteen second little tirade about Derek and his, apparently, expressive eyebrows.
“What’s that all about?” he asks with a nod towards Jennifer.
“That?” Derek repeats dumbly, dropping his gaze. “That’s nothing.”
“Right,” Stiles says, voice odd. Derek narrows his eyes, simultaneously wanting and not wanting to know what’s going on in that funny little brain.
“Well, wrap it up, big guy,” Stiles says brightly. “We don’t need any more of your were-spawn running around these parts.”
His face must show how unimpressed he is because Stiles starts spitballing alternatives. “Were-children? Were-babies? Whelps? Cubs? Puppies?”
Derek glares and Stiles grins, looking for some reason pleased with his reaction. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
Like Derek is worried. Derek could give a flying fuck.
“Catch ya later, Hale,” Stiles chirps, clapping him on the chest and leaving before Derek can tear his arms off.
If that had been the case, Derek probably would’ve enjoyed the moron’s presence, for once.
Boyd comes to see him.
“So I heard you’ve been stalking Lahey,” he says the second Derek answers the door.
See, this is what he means. Teenagers have no sense of loyalty.
“It wasn’t stalking,” he grinds out. “I just stopped by the school and waited around to try and talk to him and—”
“Not. Stalking,” Derek snaps. “I was—” he grimaces, “—concerned for his wellbeing.”
“And what happened after you expressed your concern,” Boyd asks, smirking like he already knows the answer.
Derek glares at the ground. “I don’t know. He was...busy,” he hedges, “he had to leave.”
Boyd gives him a dry look. “So, basically, you went to apologize and he shot you down.”
“Who asked you,” Derek says sullenly.
Boyd pats him on the shoulder, reeking of condescension. “I’m sure he’ll get over it someday.”
Boyd is an asshole.
“So I heard you’ve been stalking Lahey.”
And Derek reiterates: Boyd is an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” Cora says, not sounding sorry at all, “you showed up at his school to ‘express your concern for his wellbeing.’”
Derek glares at his phone. “You and Boyd need to stop talking. I don’t like it.”
Cora laughs. “Yeah, well, fortunately for me, I’m an adult and, therefore, do not have to take your opinions about who I do or do not talk to into account.”
“Wow, Derek, don’t strain yourself. Comebacks like that only come around so often. Now you’ve wasted it. Who knows how long it’ll be before you come up with another one?”
Derek holds the phone away from his face and breathes deeply and tries to remember that at one point, Cora had been his favorite. Back when she was six and thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Now, she’s sarcastic and mean. Like a mini-Laura. Except Laura had been worse. Much worse. There were no boundaries with Laura. She used to pick the lock to his apartment and eat all his food and scare off the girls he brought home. Like that one time she’d stuffed a couch cushion under her shirt and pretended to be his pregnant fiancé. She’d cried and made it convincing enough that the girl he was with that night had left, but not before smacking him in the face and calling him a pig. After she’d gone, Laura had laughed so hard she’d started crying all over, saying “Should’ve given me a key when I asked, bro.” Derek had asked if that would’ve stopped her, and she’d just said, “No,” and laughed some more.
So, no, Derek supposes that Cora isn’t anywhere near as bad as Laura.
He uses that thought to calm himself. “So how was Lima?”
“Subtle,” Cora says drily. “It was great. Probably would’ve been better if you’d decided to stick around, but—”
“What,” Derek asks, smirking, “you miss me already?”
At least someone in this world loves him.
“Nah, the cell service around here is shitty. It would be much more gratifying to make fun of you in person.”
Derek hangs up on her.
Someone is standing outside his door.
Derek could lie and say he doesn’t know who it is, but he does. He could probably recognize that annoying heartbeat anywhere. He entertains the thought of ducking out the window in his room, but decides against it in the end. What kind of werewolf would he be if he allowed some scrawny human to run him out of his own home?
Stiles is nodding, having a silent conversation with himself like the weirdo he is, heart tripping and speeding up when he catches sight of Derek, anxiety leaking from his pores. Derek wonders what it is he and Scott have got themselves into this time.
“Heeey, buddy, I was just in the neighborhood—” Lie. Total lie. Derek doesn’t even need his werewolf hearing to see through that one. Stiles breaks off, taking in Derek’s appearance and says, “Holy shit, you’re sweaty. What were you doing?” all in one breath and it’s kind of ridiculous enough that Derek feels himself starting to smile before he remembers that that’s not something he does with Stiles.
Or anyone really. Unless smiling is necessary. His real smiles are few and far between, have been for years now.
He schools his expression back to one of impassiveness.
“So, uh, I brought entertainment,” Stiles says after an awkward pause. He holds his movies up like they’re something to be proud of, waves them under Derek’s nose.
Derek spares a glance at the movies, he’s pretty sure he’s seen them all, and focuses on the bag of takeout in Stiles’ hand. He hasn’t eaten yet. It smells good.
Stiles notices his interest and holds the bag up, wiggles his eyebrows like a moron. “Oh, and sustenance.”
Derek inhales through his nose, “Is that from Mr. Lu’s?” Stiles gives him a bright smile and shoulders his way inside Derek’s house, leaving Derek himself standing in the doorway, blinking in confusion.
He’s not entirely sure what the hell is happening right now.
A short ways away, Stiles is making himself comfortable, plopping down on Derek’s floor and pulling containers of food out and setting them in a little circle around himself because yeah, Stiles had interrupted his afternoon workout and all his furniture is shoved up against the walls.
Derek lets the door fall shut and takes an apprehensive step towards his living room, then stops. He doesn’t know what the hell is Stiles thinking. They don’t do this, they don’t hang out. They don’t even like each other. Derek would go as far to say that on a good day, he can barely tolerate Stiles’ presence and on a normal day—for them anyway—Stiles is voting that Scott & Co. leave Derek to die.
Which never actually happens, but whatever. It’s the principle of the matter.
Stiles is too busy breaking out the chopsticks to notice the internal battle Derek is waging with himself in the corner (he’s moved past confusion and is now debating whether or not he should keep the food when he grabs Stiles by the scruff of his neck and throws him out of his fucking house).
He opens his mouth to say something, something that will probably start with the words, “Now listen here, you little shit,” but gets distracted watching Stiles eat. And he means that in the loosest sense of the word because Stiles isn’t really eating so much as he is stuffing noodles down his gullet like they’re alive and trying to get away from him.
Derek tries to tear his eyes away, but it’s kind of like watching someone get hit by a car; it’s horrifying, but you can’t just stop watching.
He must make some kind of sound, most probably one of disgust, because Stiles stops chewing and looks up at him with his weirdly large eyes.
“You gonna put a movie on?” He holds up a carton of something that smells amazing and shakes it at Derek. “C’mon, man. A good portion of my friends are werewolves. I know your kind is hungry, like, eight days a week.”
And that’s awful and racist—speciest?—but Derek only stands there for another second or two before giving in with a resigned scowl. Fine. He’ll let this happen. But only because he wants to eat and his inner demon will probably bitch him out if he actually does kick Stiles out and steal his food. Derek would rather not have to deal with all that.
So one movie. One movie and then the moron can go home.
They end up watching three. He doesn’t know how it happens.
Surprisingly, Stiles’ taste in movies isn’t...horrible. He’d already seen Willow and Thor, but he’d never gotten around to watching Stargate. It was alright.
Okay, it was kind of fucking awesome, but Derek will never admit that to the moron. Death first.
He’s tossing their trash, wondering what the fuck possessed him to making sort-of plans to hang out with Stiles in the vague future when he hears Stiles cackle once loudly in the other room and promptly start choking.
Derek stomps out of the kitchen with a scowl. “What’s—” going on. Stiles waves a small strip of paper at him, still braying like a donkey, and Derek growls when he realizes that it’s his own fortune Stiles is laughing at.
The one that reads, Unwind and enjoy a frisky romance.
“That was private,” Derek snarls, face heating. Fuck, how the hell had the brat even managed to get his hands on it? It was in his fucking pocket!
“Finders keepers,” Stiles sing-songs. Derek glares down at him and snatches at the fortune, but Stiles uses his abnormally long monkey arms to hold it out of reach. “No, you can’t have it! I’m keeping this for memories!”
Derek grabs his wrist and pries the fortune out of his hand, bearing his teeth and growling, “Mine,” so that Stiles will get the message. The fortune belongs to Derek and Derek doesn’t like people he doesn’t like touching his things.
Stiles’ face goes weird, mouth falling open and eyes giving way to panic. Derek falters; why the hell is Stiles looking at him like that? What, does he thinks Derek’s going to try and bite him or something? Given, he has gotten pretty close to the idiot’s face, but still. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna kill him. Blood is difficult to get out of hardwood floors.
Stiles whimpers and Derek remembers Isaac saying something about Stilinski getting panic attacks and tries to slowly back away from Stiles without him noticing. He’ll hide in— not hide, go to his room so that Stiles can panic out here by his lonesome. His inner demon calls him an asshole, but Derek is, for once, glad to ignore it. He and Stiles aren’t friends, aren’t anything to each other, really. How is Derek supposed to get him through a panic attack when he was, apparently, the cause of said panic?
The point is moot because Stiles ends up running out of Derek’s house like his ass is on fire about five seconds later.
Derek is irritated that it bothers him.