januarylight: (life)
[personal profile] januarylight
Again, all I can do is apologise for the delay, but this is almost done, and I got a wisdom tooth out today and have nothing to do but stay in bed and groan in pain, so medication permitting, it should be finished by tomorrow at the latest.


Most of the trek back over there is spent with Scott whining in his ear, but Stiles is used to that by now and his brain turns it into white noise before it has the chance to ruffle his feathers.

So unfair,” Scott says, “I don’t want to see this and I don’t want to know it’s happening, and Derek isn’t going to want me there anyway,” and Stiles hears: “Blah blah I’m afraid we’re going to make Derek mad.”

“Derek is always mad,” Stiles says. “That’s just his personality, don’t hate.”

“That’s not what I said,” Scott says, “and Derek is freaking out, you shouldn’t be going back over, I don’t know what he’s going to do,” and Stiles hears: “The thought of you having sex before I do wigs me the fuck out for more than one reason; please don’t make me watch Derek lick your face.”

“That’s why you’re coming too!” Stiles says, because he is a genius and Scott needs to recognise. “So none of those kind of shenanigans will happen.”

“I’m concerned, and I don’t think you’re getting it,” Scott says, and Stiles rings the doorbell.

“I’m getting it,” he says, shuffling his feet nervously as he waits for an answer he already knows isn’t going to come. “I just don’t think it’s going to go down that way.”

“You’re delusional,” Scott says. “Are you seriously that sure that Derek couldn’t be into you or whatever? Because—“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says quickly, and dives off the porch to circle around the back of the house again and squeeze in that window with the frame that’s peeling away from the house enough that Stiles could probably get in that way even if the catch wasn’t broken.

Derek knows what they use it for and he still hasn’t fixed it; it’s like he wants Stiles illegally entering his home.

Except for how he doesn’t, and would never. Whatever.

“Hello?” Stiles calls once he’s inside, leaving Scott to struggle in awkwardly behind him. “Derek?”

“A little help would be nice.”

“I’m busy,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t move further into the house. “Derek? Scott’s here, he wants to talk to you!”

“Lying liar,” Scott says, and hits himself in the face with a broken piece of windowframe. “Ow, splinters, fuck! Are you just going to stand there and yell all day? Because we could have done that over the phone. My mom was going to make pizza.”

“Just until you get your ass in here,” Stiles says. “Afraid you’re going to break a claw on the window? I’ll pay for the gels.”

Scott stops squirming around to stare at Stiles. “I don’t get it,” he says. “What?” and Stiles rolls his eyes, because how is it fair that Scott never listens to a word that comes out of his awesome girlfriend’s mouth and somehow still has an awesome girlfriend? Stiles doesn’t get that and he loves Scott, he does, but sometimes he questions Allison’s taste and self-respect.

“I don’t have time for this today,” he says. “Come on.”

“Hey, wait, don’t—“ Scott says as Stiles grabs his flailing arm and yanks, and wood cracks ominously and some part of the structure of the house falls to the ground outside as Scott pops through.

They both stare down at the debris through the window. Derek won’t mind, and it was Scott’s fault anyway. “It was like that when we got here,” Stiles decides, and Scott grabs his arm and drags him into the house, evidently willing to brave Derek if it will get him away from the broken window.

“Don’t touch him,” Scott instructs, and Stiles scoffs.

Halfway down the corridor, Derek suddenly looms up in front of them, like what, was he lurking in the shadows waiting for them? Stiles likes being friends with these guys; objectively, he’s pretty sure he’s the straight man, and it’s a novel and welcome experience.

“Just don’t—“ Scott says, “—do anything.”

He’s gazing at Stiles meaningfully, though not in the way that Derek might have been gazing at Stiles meaningfully lately, not that Derek’s been doing that, not that Stiles is admitting anything, even though Derek might be getting his gaze on right now, and wow, Scott looks so very much like his mother when he makes that face at Stiles, how has Stiles never noticed that before?

“You look like your mom,” Stiles says, and doesn’t stop to watch Scott’s face turn purple before he walks over to Derek.

“Hey dude,” he says to Derek, stopping just out of reach, because he isn’t stupid or anything. “Scott says you’re in heat.”

Derek is still looking at him, and Stiles did have a reason for coming over here, right? He’s pretty sure. He just can’t really focus right now; he’s too busy trying to hold his ground while Derek inches closer.

“I do not!” Scott says from behind him.

“And Scott wants to know how come he isn’t in heat, is it because he still uses Axe? I keep telling him it stunts the growth. And I did actually want to know why you couldn’t have clued me in before jumping me in the middle of the afternoon like that. And in the middle of the night in my bed. A little warning would have been nice either of those times.”

Derek stops moving towards Stiles, and his eyes fasten on Stiles’, clear and serious. “I didn’t know,” he says. “I didn’t know what it was. And I still don’t know what’s going to happen to me or what I’m going to do, so you should assume the worst.”

“Hey, now,” Stiles says. “You’re not that bad. Any more. I’m not just going to assume the worst about you dude, come on—“

“I do not look like my mother!” Scott insists, thumping Stiles in the shoulder with his fist, and Derek growls and dives between them, sending Stiles sprawling into the wall and making Scott jump a good six feet backwards in sheer panic.

“Or maybe I will,” Stiles says.


September 2012


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