riserva (riserva) wrote in stiles_derek,

Fic: Stir

Title: Stir
Author: spiny
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Spoilers: First season
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~4, 000
Summary: Stiles wakes up.

On Monday a storm rolls in. Driving to school Stiles has to creep along, peering through the windscreen and shivering because the heat is broken and his dad hasn't had time to fix it. All day he can feel the cold teething at his fingertips as he goes from one gloomy classroom to another, where the teacher's drone goes over his head and his leg jitters in syncopation with the water on the roof.

They hold lacrosse practice in the gym. The lights flicker exhaustingly and Scott's shoulders hunch with every shriek of the whistle.

At home Stiles sits in front of his computer long enough for the grey weather to tilt into a steady darkness. He chews on a pen and some gum and his fingernails while he waits for Scott to come online, even though he knows it's still too early. Evening is usually Allison time, these days.

"Doing your homework?" his dad says, sticking his head around the door.

"You know me," Stiles answers, clicking away from the everything-but-homework pages he had open. "Love that homework. You heading out?"

"Late shift. But there's some leftover meatloaf and I picked up some fresh bread earlier."

"Great, thanks," says Stiles, thinking about his dad having to drive around in the wet. "Hey, be careful out there."

"Will do, and don't you stay up too late. School tomorrow."

"School everyday," Stiles sighs. His dad smiles tiredly and heads downstairs, and Stiles listens to the front door close and the sound of an engine turning over.


Wednesday night Allison is busy so Stiles gets to hang with Scott, which is awesome. They get burgers and argue about movies (Stiles considers his a moral victory in that he has seen twice as many Hollywood classics as Scott), and once it gets dark enough for the woods to be horror-film worthy they decide to go visit Derek.

"Is this a good idea?" Stiles wonders, going too fast between the trees.

"You driving like a maniac or visiting a homicidal alpha werewolf at night?" Scott replies.

"Dude," says Stiles, but he doesn't stop, nor turnaround.

The Hale house looms silently over the landscape when they arrive. There's no lights, of course, and no sound beyond that of the trees dripping wetly and the distant hoot of an owl. Stiles tugs his hoodie up and they tramp around the edges of the ruin, mud squelching beneath their boots, but Derek doesn't appear.

"No car," Stiles points out. "Where would I go if I were a brooding werewolf with a pathological need to wear black...biker bar? Poetry reading? Hey, does Beacon Hills have a leather fetish club?"

Scott gives him a pained look.

"I'm gonna look inside," he says. "You wait here."

"Oh, my god," Stiles groans. "Again with the waiting here!"

Scott just shrugs a shoulder and goes into the house, his flashlight fading through the doorway. Without him it seems darker, less like an adventure; the woods seem to expand outwards. Stiles sits in the car drumming his fingers and scratching over his short hair. The jeep's headlights fall on the place where they dug up Laura Hale. In the beams the spitting rain looks like fireflies.

"Do you think he buried her there?" Stiles asks on the drive back.


"His sister -- Derek's sister. After his name was cleared. Do you think he buried her out there again?"

Scott says, "I guess," like he doesn't know where Stiles is going with that, and Stiles changes the subject.

He meant that it must have sucked, but he doesn't know how to say it without sounding like he cares.


Stiles is dreaming of lacrosse when he gets woken in the middle of the night.

"Oh, good," he says, still caught in the frayed edges of the dream. "Coach will be happy."

"About what?" the darkness answers, and Stiles bolts upright in bed.

"Holy god," he says as soon as he's found the switch of his bedside lamp. For some reason it's entirely reassuring, entirely unsurprising, that the voice belongs to Derek Hale -- and yet still really creepy.

"Dude, it's one in the morning. You couldn't terrify me at a decent hour? Like maybe after lunch?"

Derek is apparently unmoved by this speech and sits in a chair, staring at Stiles across the room.

"Seriously," says Stiles.

"You were at my house," Derek replies.

"Well, yeah. Scott wanted to talk to you about Jackson and things of a wolfly nature. You should probably go ask him about it."

"Maybe," says Derek.

Stiles waits for something more, for him to move or speak or threaten Stiles, which would at least be familiar, but Derek continues to simply sit in the chair.

"Well, now I'm awake," Stiles sighs, and leans back against the wall. He wishes he'd saved some of the fries from dinner, and zones out a bit trying to backtrack his dream -- Lydia was there, right? -- blinking heavy eyelids until he hears the chair creak.

"So I wasn't dreaming you up," he murmurs, looking over at Derek. There's a soft quietness in the room and he feels sleep beginning to curl back over his limbs. "Do you get rained on?" he remembers to ask. He'd been thinking about it earlier. "Since you don't have a roof?"

"No," says Derek.


"There are cells, beneath the house," Derek adds. "They're dry."

"Sounds nice. Next vacation I'm gonna ask Dad if we can book into some nice, warm cells."

"Try a padded one," Derek says, and Stiles squints sleepily at him.

"Did you just make a joke? Alert the press: Derek Hale cracks wise, story at eleven."

Derek scowls. He looks kind of young, in the dim light. Not quite like himself.

"Those the same cells where Crazy Aunt Kate tied you up?" Stiles asks after a moment. "Allison told Scott."

"You don't want to believe everything an Argent says," Derek replies, and something turns over in Stiles' stomach, because it's not young that Derek looks, exactly. It's human.

"Hey," Stiles says, "if you don't want to stay there, you can crash here sometime. We have a third bedroom, actually, so. I mean, it's got boxes in it but -- well, now that you're not a wanted murderer and all, Dad would probably be okay with it. Maybe. It's possible."

Derek looks at him and finally stands up and crosses the room. "Go back to sleep, Stiles," he says, and slips too-easily out the window.


Friday night Allison and Scott get invited to a party, so Stiles considers himself invited by extension -- or rather, he knows inviting himself is the only way he'll ever get to go, which is good enough. He bops awkwardly to music he doesn't really know and drinks horrible, awful, amazing beer and gives lots of thumbs up in the direction of Scott (one time Allison gave him thumbs up in return, so either his aim was off or Allison's kind of cool). Lydia isn't there but Jackson is, dancing with some girl he hopefully won't try to snack on later. All things considered it's an okay party. Stiles goes home with a smile on his face.

He's sacked out on his bed thinking about Lydia when Derek arrives, appearing in the doorway like a normal person would. He and Stiles look at each other for a beat and then Derek is peeling off his leather jacket and folding it into a pillow, and lying down on the far side of Stiles' bed.

Stiles rolls over to peer down at him there. The movement makes him feel sick, and Derek has his back to Stiles anyway.

"Okay, night, Derek," he says, flinging a hand out in an approximation of a wave, and remembers to take his tie off before he falls asleep.


Stiles wakes on Saturday with a throbbing head and zero interest in behaving like a productive human being. He lies in bed where he's warm and listens to the sounds of late-morning traffic on a wet road, pushing his face into the cotton sheets until he can almost believe he's still asleep.

By noon his dad is hollering up the stairs about lunch being served and Stiles decides the needs of his stomach (and bladder) outweigh the needs of his mind to be unconscious, so he drags himself up and out without looking down at the empty space beside his bed. He's willing to bet cold, hard cash he doesn't actually possess that Derek crept out with the sunrise, like some awkward morning-after walk of shame.

It's pretty funny, actually. Stiles hopes Derek shows up again, just so that he can properly mock him about it, but the rain is tapering off and Saturday afternoon opens out into a pale sky, so there's really no reason for Derek to come over. Stiles texts stupid jokes to Scott and eats chips in the window seat; outside everything looks washed clean and new.


"Did you talk to Derek?" Stiles asks, bending down behind his Chemistry book as if that will hide him from the teacher's notice. Scott is obviously a bad influence on him.

"Huh? No," says Scott. "What, you think I should call him?"

"He didn't come see you over the weekend?"

"Should he have?"

"No," Stiles says on consideration. "Well, yeah, he should have. But I have a promising theory that Derek actually lives in Opposite Land, which compels him to always do the opposite of what he should be doing, which in fact makes the answer no."

"Too much Adderall," Scott whispers, dark eyes laughing at him.

Stiles agrees. He does think it's a promising theory, though.


"So I have this theory," he says, partly because his mouth will get him into trouble whenever possible and partly because Derek has him pushed up against a wall and he's freaking out.

"Theory," Derek repeats dubiously.

"It's a good one. Maybe a little elementary school in nature. Can I ask you a question?"

Derek crowds in a little closer. Stiles has never been good at reading body language, and he's not sure if that's 'yes, I enjoy and encourage questions!' but he's going to forge ahead anyway.

"Do you ever feel the need to do the opposite of what --"



"Are you really this stupid?"

"That probably depends on your definition of stupid."

Derek lets out a frustrated breath and steps back. He wanders over to Stiles' desk and flicks restlessly through some of the papers there.

"Scott seems serious about the Argent girl," he says after a moment.

"If by serious you mean disgustingly besotted, then yeah. He is."

"Werewolves and hunters don't mix."

"Apparently they do in this case."

"Not in any case. Hunters can't be trusted, no matter who they are."

"And grass is green and the Pope has a cool car, et cetera. Look, I'm pretty sure Allison's okay with the werewolf deal. She knows, and she still attaches herself to his lips at every possible opportunity."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Stiles."

"Maybe not. It's not like I have lycanthropy or a girlfriend. But I know Scott, and I trust his judgement -- unless it's about movies or when to wash his shirts, and believe me, I learned about those the hard way."

"Do you want a girlfriend?" Derek says abruptly, and Stiles is sure that this is his weirdest conversation ever.

"Wh -- are you offering?" he jokes, and cringes immediately. "That was a joke. A bad, bad joke. Very bad."

Derek closes a book, turns it over and flips it open again.

"You prefer a girlfriend?" he says again.

"To...being single?" Stiles hedges.

"Forget it," Derek huffs. "Tell Scott I'm keeping an eye on Jackson."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" It's an honest question; Stiles doesn't know, but Derek is already out the door, leaving Stiles to make the universal gesture for what the hell?

"Raised by wolves," he reminds himself. "Literally raised by wolves."


Stiles calls Scott and says, "Okay, we have a problem with Derek."

Scott says, "We always have a problem with Derek."

"Yeah, but this time it's a really weird problem, and by we I mean me."


"Okay," says Stiles bracingly. "I'm just gonna say it. I think maybe Derek has a crush on me."

Scott laughs, because he is a terrible, terrible friend. "What?"

"I know! But I've thought about it and it all makes sense. He keeps coming over! And not threatening me, and threatening people is like his thing! It's practically how he says hello. And, look, do you think you could sense anything if you went and saw him?"

"I can't sense what he's feeling."

"Well, can you ask him?"

"You want me to ask Derek Hale if he has a crush on you," Scott says. He doesn't sound impressed.


"Stiles, are you crazy?"

"Probably. Please. Please, please, please, best friend since ever."

"God, fine! Shut up. This is the worst plan ever. If he kills me I'm so blaming you."

"That's my boy," says Stiles.

They don't talk about it again until they catch up at school. Scott meets him at his locker and after a debrief on the subject of Allison (amazing, wonderous, amazing, whatever), Scott says, "And then after I left her place I saw Derek."

Stiles spits his pen out of his mouth. "What, really? Did you ask him? Is it a werewolf thing? Oh, god, does he want to bite me?"

"I didn't ask him. I tried but dude, do you have any idea how stupid it sounded? I just started talking about how I was going to see you and, I don't know, I guess I could smell it on him."

"Oh, my god," Stiles says in horror. "Bloodlust?"

"No, idiot. But he was definitely giving off a weird vibe."

"A weird vibe -- what, that's it?"


Stiles closes his locker. "You're not making any sense."

"Well, I couldn't tell for sure."

"Well, I need to know for sure!"

"So why don't you go ask him yourself, since you're so interested?"

Part of Stiles is registering the fact that he hasn't seen Scott look this awkward since that time he tripped and accidentally molested Coach Finstock. The rest of him is flailing incoherently at the suggestion that Derek Hale might actually want him for perverted bestiality purposes.

"Ha," he says. "Ha ha. Funny. Funny Scott."

"Just telling you what I think, man. Maybe it's a werewolf thing. Pheromones or whatever."

"Oh, this can't be good."

"Dude, it's not that bad. Just give him a hint that you like girls. Shouldn't be too hard, you've been swooning over Lydia for the past ten years."

"And the jokes just keep on comin'."

Scott pulls on his sleeve. "Whatever, c'mon, we're going to be late."

They have Economics. Stiles tries not to fidget too much, has to somehow contain the millions of things he needs to say to Scott right that second, because Finstock has fallen off the rage wagon and spends the class ranting about short attention spans or something. When the bell rings Stiles leaps up, grabs Scott and hurries him into the locker room to demand further detail on 'pheromones or whatever' while they get changed for practice.

Out on the field everything is shining. The sun gets in his eyes, bright gold and sharp, and despite the ridiculousness of it all, Stiles gives himself a few minutes to feel pleased that maybe somebody likes him.


"So, Derek," says Stiles. "I just wanted to say, I'm totally flattered but boy werewolves -- not really my thing. Now, girl werewolves, on the other hand..."

Imaginary Derek is almost as stubborn as the real one, and doesn't reply.

"Yo, Derek. Have you met Lydia Martin? Ugh, sure, Stiles, introduce Lydia to a hot guy with a cool car. Great idea."

It's colder in the woods, and a faint mist has settled on the ground. Stiles eyes the Hale house and wonders if he needs to take some kind of remedial decision-making class. He can't think of anyone qualified to teach that class, though, so maybe not.

He's seen Allison deal with guys who ask her out. She smiles and says, 'Thanks, but I have a boyfriend,' and it seems nice, the way she does it. Better than Lydia's method of complete and total humiliation by pretending Stiles doesn't exist. The problem is that Derek hasn't asked him out. Derek hasn't actually said anything. And Stiles isn't sure why he felt the need to drive all the way out here on a school night just to say, 'thanks, but no thanks.'

He sits there for another half hour before he throws open the door of his jeep and heads into the house.

"Yikes," he says quietly, getting a proper look inside. He wanders into what must have been the living room, and stands looking at the tracks in the dust and dirt on the floor until he realises he's not alone.

"Kinda cosy," he says stupidly, turning to find Derek in the doorway. "You seriously living here?"

"What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"Nothing. I mean, just came to...say hey. Hey."

Derek stares at him for a long moment. "No more stupid questions?"

"You'd be surprised," Stiles replies, "how many stupid questions I have right now."

Derek snorts. Then he looks at the far wall and says, "I was going to get some dinner."

"Okay," says Stiles. "Yeah, I gotta go, actually. So."

"Have you eaten?"

"Uh. No, not, no."

"I'm getting pizza," Derek says.

"Good choice, man. Awesome. Awesome choice."

Derek glares at him. "You can come if you shut up and don't ask stupid questions."

Stiles means to say 'no thanks', but what comes out of his mouth is, "How 'bout if I promise not to change your radio station?"

"Fine," Derek mutters, and waits expectantly in the doorway until Stiles stops staring and falls into step beside him.


He texts Scott. Can't talk now, he writes, even though Scott hasn't tried to contact him. Have accidentally gone on date with Derek Hale.

Half an hour later he sends: He's just sitting there staring at me. SEND HELP.

And then: Think he just growled at the waitress. Are you with Allison? What if he tries to eat me?

Firing you as my buddy, McCall, he writes when Derek drops him back at his jeep. Lucky for you DH is perfect albeit weird gentleman. Totally going to make Danny be my new BFF since apparently we both date dudes.

And from home, once he had flailed in the privacy of his room and questioned his choices in life: Thanks for the pizza. Stiles.


If he'd assumed Derek would show up at his place more often after that, he'd be wrong. The guy doesn't creepily appear in Stiles' bedroom or at the lacrosse fields or anywhere, and Stiles wonders if maybe he was a lousy date. But how can you be a lousy date getting pizza? You eat and you talk and it's pizza.

At lunch he shovels fries into his mouth in between trying to make small talk with Danny and watching Lydia organise her notes. The cafeteria is full of noise, a buzz of student voices and fluorescent lights. Later Stiles is going to go home and kick back and watch the classic Star Trek marathon, and put this whole Derek Hale thing behind him.

"So do guys not call after dates, or what?" he asks Danny. "Is it a guy thing? Who's meant to call? Speaking hypothetically."

Danny frowns at him but Allison leans over and says, "My personal stance? If you want to call, call. If you don't, then don't."

Stiles can feel himself flushing. "Oh, great. Yeah, I was just asking for a friend."

"Is your friend's name Biles?" asks Danny.

Allison kicks Stiles under the table. "Oh, sorry!" she cries. "I was aiming for Danny!"

In English class Stiles slips his phone out of his pocket and writes, So was that pizza a one-time deal?

He's at home admiring Uhura's dress by the time his phone buzzes.

Can't see you until after the full moon.

"Okay, that's not horrifically Twilighty at all."

Cos I'm irresistible, right? he sends back. Captain Kirk is fighting a giant lizard on screen with might be a piece of bamboo. If Captain Janeway weren't so badass, Kirk would be his favourite.

No, Derek writes.

Stop with the romance, dude, I'm blushing.

Shut up, Stiles.

Captain Kirk gets beamed back to the ship, impressively still in one piece. Stiles puts his phone in his pocket, scratches at his head and can't help but smile at the screen.


He spends the full moon doing homework. Scott's taken care of and his dad's downstairs watching baseball and Stiles actually manages to get through two essays and a bunch of math problems which he knows he's gotten absolutely correct. He does a victory dance, takes a shower and falls asleep listening to the faint strains of cheering crowds drifting up from below.

In the morning Derek Hale is in his room.


Stiles is on the edge of sleep. The morning light is pouring into his room, white and strong, and the only sound is that of his own steady breathing. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Derek puts a knee on the end of his bed and begins to crawl to him.

"Some people say good morning," he murmurs against Derek's stubble-rough cheek, and Derek bumps their noses together, breathes against Stiles' lips and says, "I want you," in a low voice.

Stiles arches against the warm weight of him. He slides a hand up Derek's neck and into the dark thicket of his hair, getting a handful and holding on as their mouths brush and catch in a kiss. It's Stiles' first kiss. It comes easy, as does the second, and the third, until Stiles is clutching hard at Derek's shoulders.

It's nothing of what he imagined. It's exactly what he wants. Derek pushes the blankets away and settles against Stiles, rocking their hips together and pressing close. There's something wild in the movement of his limbs. All around them the house is quiet and the light is strong. Derek kisses him slowly and Stiles shivers, holding their faces together like its something he needs.


"So are you dating?" Scott asks on Monday. "Like...dating?"

"I don't know, we didn't talk about it. He just hung around for a while on the weekend. It's okay though, right? I mean, he's the alpha. And a guy, which is, you know, kind of new."

Stiles doesn't think he's gay. He likes girls -- well, he likes Lydia. Lydia's the only girl he's ever liked, in fact, and she's there for him whenever life feels overwhelming and he needs something -- someone -- to think about and focus on. She has no idea that she's been that for him, of course. He's grateful anyway, and he's spent so long, now, turning to her that it feels natural.

Nothing about Derek feels natural. He's all solid heft and taut muscle. Stiles can never guess what he's thinking, which is uncomfortable.

Yet on the weekend, when they were both lying in bed and the sun was creeping across the floor, Stiles had been running his mouth about Scott and Allison and Derek had said, "He's lucky he's got you."

Stiles had been so surprised he didn't reply. Derek had closed his eyes and said, "You're loyal. And kind. If things go wrong with Allison, he'll still have you."

A whole bunch of things had stampeded through Stiles' head -- Stiles hadn't been Derek's first kiss, that had been obvious -- and fell into some kind of order that started with hunters can't be trusted and ended with Kate Argent.

For some reason, looking at Derek lying there, sleepy and gruff and kind of distressingly human, it just made Stiles want to kiss him more.

"I'm a little freaked out about the part where it's Derek Hale," Scott says. "But, of course, man."

"Okay. Good."

"What about Lydia?"

"Lydia Martin is a goddess, but I'm kind of seeing someone right now. You'll have to try to contain your jealousy, McCall."

Scott shoves him down the corridor and they bump shoulders on the way to class.


When he gets out of school it feels like summer's on the way and Derek's actually waiting there, hanging around in black and looking like he just stepped out of a James Dean film. Or maybe a 'Know Your Predators' PSA. Stiles feels a laugh bubble up in his throat and flips Scott the bird when Scott rides by on his bike wolf-whistling at them.

"I can't believe you haven't been arrested yet," Stiles says, walking up to Derek.

"You've already had me arrested once," Derek says, falling in to step with him.

"Well, you look good in handcuffs."

Derek raises an eyebrow and gets into Stiles' jeep.

"Where we going?" Stiles asks lightly.

"Anywhere," says Derek.

Stiles turns the key, pulls out of the lot and drives out into the bright, blue afternoon.
Tags: - by: s, rating: pg-13, type: fanfic, word count: 1001 to 5000
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