Chapter Text
Stiles often found himself debating between punching Derek in the face and trying to make his eyebrows appear as happy as possible. It was something that’d bothered him for years.
Scott didn’t understand it. And to be honest, Stiles didn’t either. But Derek and his emotions were something Stiles had latched onto Junior year and hadn’t let go of since. He didn’t plan to either. Not until he figured out how to get under the werewolf’s skin and stay there.
Lydia claimed it was a crush. Stiles called it a period of observation. One he totally had control over. He had for years. Except he totally didn’t.
Everything changed on a Thursday.
This week, they were after a pixie that’d been spreading curses all throughout town. Stiles thought it was beyond ridiculous. Of all things, the monster of the week was a pixie. A tiny little pixie. Stiles felt like that summarized his existence pretty well.
He’d always imagined pixies were some sort of Tinkerbell look-alike, with dainty fingers and toes. He hadn’t expected the thing to be mean and ugly, looking like a stick with sharp teeth. Stiles didn’t think any of them were prepared. Which was how the pack ended up running through the preserve in the middle of the night trying to avoid curses, much to the pixie’s amusement.
Stiles decided if this was how he died, he was going to be pissed. He’d survived far too much to be taken out by a deformed Tinkerbell. It wouldn’t be fair.
It was this thought that led Stiles to face the pixie head-on, determined to take it out for good. A lot of things could survive his baseball bat, but he didn’t think it stood a chance.
Stiles had been wrong before.
Though it wasn’t until the pixie turned into a man, with sharp claws and white fangs, that Stiles realized exactly how wrong he was. He cursed and stumbled back, tripping over his feet and falling hard to the ground. The pixie sneered down at him.
“Brave little human,” he said, eyes glinting. “Foolish, but brave. What is your stick supposed to do to me?”
“If you’d turned small again, we could test it out and see,” Stiles said, scrambling back through the leaves. His back rammed against a tree and he grunted, swallowing hard as the pixie laughed. Those fangs were like a thousand tiny knives. Stiles didn’t want to know what they felt like meeting skin.
“I don’t know whether to kill you,” the pixie said. “Or curse you for all eternity.”
“Doing neither would be nice. Let’s go with neither.”
“A talkative one,” the pixie sneered. “What would you do without your lungs, little human?”
“Probably die. So that’s not exactly on my bucket list.”
The pixie’s eyes gleamed and he raised a clawed hand. Stiles flinched back, cursing himself for ever trying to be a hero, right as a roar struck the air. The pixie’s claws cut through thin air as Stiles was tackled sideways, shoved out of danger. Derek spun around to face the creature head-on, snarling a challenge. The pixie straightened and his eyes gleamed.
“An Alpha!” He said in excitement. “And one so full of pain, too. Oh, but not completely, are you?”
Derek leaped forward without preamble, his claws slashing straight through the pixie’s chest. The man shrieked in pain and stumbled back, and Derek drove him to the ground. Stiles looked away as bloodied claws lifted into the moonlight again, sweeping down one last time.
“I curse you,” the pixie whispered weakly. “May you lose all that you cherish.”
Stiles sat straight up. Derek growled and dug his claws in deeper, and the pixie’s body went limp. Stiles stared in shock. He expected to see some flash of light or sudden burst of energy to fulfill Derek’s curse, but nothing happened. The Alpha sat back, breathing heavily, and wiped his claws off on the leaves.
“Derek?” Stiles shoved himself up and scrambled over. “Derek, dude, Derek! Oh my god, are you okay?”
“Stiles?” Derek looked at him and promptly drew back, snarling slightly. “Stiles, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Thinking?” Stiles blinked in surprise. “Uh, maybe that the pixie was getting on my nerves and the last thing I expected for him to do was turn into a freaking clawed man.”
“You’re an idiot,” Derek said again. “Is it actually possible for you to think for once before throwing yourself into danger? Do you realize that’s a risk to the rest of the pack? One day, you’re going to get someone killed, if not yourself.”
“Woah,” Stiles said, drawing back. “Dude, I get that you’re irritated and all, but that’s really not necessary.”
“What’s not necessary,” Derek said, glaring at him. “Is you and your baseball bat trying to keep up with wolves. Next time you’re staying at the loft.”
Stiles stared in shocked silence as Derek pushed himself up, grimacing at his bloodstained hands again. The Alpha gave him another irritated look before stalking off into the woods, leaving Stiles alone with a body. He nearly had a heart attack as Scott came racing out of the darkness from the other side.
“Stiles! Stiles, are you—” Scott’s gaze landed on the pixie’s body and his eyes rounded. “Oh, wow. Derek?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “But I think the pixie cursed him.”
Scott straightened. “Is he dying? Is he dead?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “No, he’s not dying. Or dead. The pixie said something about him losing what he cherished… though nothing really happened.”
“Maybe it didn’t go through,” Scott said. “Or maybe Derek doesn't have anything to lose. Seriously, what does he cherish besides his Camaro?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, “I guess. If he’s missing the Camaro, though, you’re fighting him while I run.”
“Oh my god,” Scott said, paling. “He’d kill us all.”
Stiles threw back his head and laughed, starting in the direction where Derek had vanished. The others could clean up the body, he decided, since they’d gone who-knew-where during the chaos. Jackson always wormed out of clean-up duty anyway. The asshole.
Turns out, Derek still had his Camaro. Which would’ve been a relief, because he was Stiles’s ride. Except the Alpha was already gone.
“Um,” Stiles said, staring at the empty space where the Camaro had been. “Seriously?”
“Maybe he forgot,” Scott said, eyeing the empty lot too, before going over to his motorcycle. “Do you want me to give you a ride?”
“Dude,” Stiles said, glancing at Scott’s death contraption. “I already escaped dying once today. I’ll call my dad and have him come pick me up, it’s no big deal.”
“Do you want me to hang out?”
“Naw, dude,” Stiles waved him off. “It’ll be ten minutes, tops.”
Scott hesitated, but Stiles offered his best grin and his friend eventually nodded, pulling on his helmet. Stiles watched him leave before fishing out his phone, dialing his dad’s number. The Sheriff wasn’t excited to lose out on his beauty sleep, unsurprisingly, but he agreed to head over. Stiles ended the call and punched in Derek’s number, bringing the phone back to his ear.
Derek always answered within the first three rings, if not sooner. But Stiles didn’t get an answer this time and frowned, dialing again. This time, Derek picked up right away.
“Stiles, what.”
“Dude, what the actual hell? I’m still here!”
“So?”
Stiles gaped, staring at the empty darkness. Was Derek being serious? Was he really that pissed Stile had tried taking on the pixie by himself? It wouldn’t be the first time Stiles had thrown himself in the face of danger. Derek usually got over it after a sarcastic joke or two. “Uh, what do you mean, so? You were my ride, asshole!”
“Ask Scott.”
“Ask Scott? Ask Scott? Derek, you hate his motorcycle! You once locked me in the trunk of your Camaro so I wouldn’t let him take me on a joyride!”
“Stiles,” Derek said, long and dragged out as if Stiles was being the obnoxious one. “I’m driving. Is someone coming to get you?”
“Yeah, my dad, but—”
“Good. Then I’m not needed.” And then the asshole hung up.
Stiles stared at his black phone screen. For a moment, that was all he could do, because he couldn’t believe Derek had just hung up on him. The Alpha was irritable sometimes, sure, but he didn’t do anything like hanging up on Stiles anymore. He hadn’t in years, not since Stiles was the annoying sixteen-year-old trying to rile him up.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, glaring at his phone. “You absolute jerkwad.”
His dad wasn’t happy to see him on the side of the road alone.
“Where’s Scott?” His dad demanded the moment Stiles climbed into the cruiser. “Where’s Derek or one of his pups? Someone always stays with you, Stiles. In fact, I thought Derek was supposed to be the one driving you home tonight.”
“I told Scott I’d be fine,” Stiles said sullenly. “And I think Derek forgot about me.”
“Derek did what?” The Sheriff’s grip tightened around the steering wheel and his voice went deadly calm. “What do you mean, he forgot about you? He left you alone in the middle of nowhere? Did you trying calling him?”
“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged. “I think he’s pissed at me.”
“So he left you alone?”
“I might’ve tried facing the pixie alone,” Stiles said miserably. “He always gets mad when I do stuff like that. Oh my god, dad, I think I broke Derek Hale. Did I break Derek Hale?”
“He left you,” his dad raged again. Stiles suddenly realized he probably should’ve cut Derek a little slack, because his dad looked like he was about to drive to Derek’s loft and give him a proper beating. Quickly, Stiles backtracked.
“It was an accident, dad! Or at least, I think it was an accident. Of some kind.”
“Derek Hale is lucky I left my wolfsbane bullets at home,” the Sheriff said darkly. “Because we’d be paying him a little late-night visit if I hadn’t.”
Stiles swallowed, gazing out the window. Silence fell over the car and he couldn’t help glancing down at his phone as they drove, thumbing over Derk’s contact name. He felt bad. What if he’d really broken Derek? The Alpha always got pouty when Stiles didn’t listen or put himself in unnecessary danger, so tonight shouldn’t have anything new. But he’d never reacted this strongly before.
Stiles wondered if something else was going on. Up to this point, Derek could’ve had a worse day than usual for all he knew. Maybe he’d overslept. Or the Beacon Hills coffee shop was out of double chocolate chip muffins— Stiles knew those were Derek’s favorite, even though he pretended not to have a sweet tooth. Or maybe something else had happened.
The rest of the ride was silent. Stiles was all too relieved get be back home, exhaustion crashing over him in a sudden wave. Running through the forest at one in the morning had its drawbacks. As if running through the forest wasn’t a drawback of its own.
Derek would’ve dropped him off in the driveway, driven to park a few blocks away, and snuck back in through the window. He did that a lot; he liked to check in on the pack after a fight and Stiles was usually the closest one. But Derek didn't show up this night. Stiles tried not to feel too bothered by that, turning his phone on and off, glancing at Derek’s contact one too many times.
He eventually went back to his home screen. The background picture was one of the pack; arms thrown across each other’s shoulders in front of the preserve. It’d take an hour to get one where nobody was messing around, arguing, or convinced they didn’t look like a supermodel. But it’d been worth it.
Stiles smiled at the photo, where he had one arm thrown over Derek’s shoulders and one over Scott’s. Derek was on the very edge of the picture and he was smiling. Not fully, but Stiles considered it special anyway.
Derek looked content in the photo. Something almost near happy.
Stiles sighed, shutting his phone off again. Lydia claimed it was a crush, Stiles called it a period of observation. One he totally had under control; and had for years. Except he totally didn’t.
And Stiles didn’t think he ever would.