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Entry tags:
teen wolf ficlet: need
need
Derek, Scott (Derek/Stiles) | gen | ~700 words
Inspired by this Tumblr post.
--
"You need to stop," Scott says, after nearly two hours of silence. It's a cold night, and the moon is three-quarters full; they're in the woods, crouched behind a bush that smells like fox piss because people are dying again.
Derek grunts, half-shrugging as he watches the tree line. He's not dating Stiles -- not exactly, it's still to causal and unspoken for that -- but whatever they're doing has been going on about three months, and Derek has spent most of that time waiting for Scott to give him a lecture. "It's not your business."
"Of course it's my business. He's my best friend."
"I know."
"I can't tell you two not to, um." Scott frowns and gestures uncertainly. "You need to tell him to stay at home."
"Yeah, because that will work," Derek says. He does tell Stiles to stay at home, constantly, but Stiles just smiles and kisses him and drives headlong into danger anyway. "Do you even know him at all?"
"He's going to get hurt. He almost died the other night."
Derek bites the inside of his cheek, half annoyed that it heals before he really tastes blood. Stiles had almost died the other night, and Melissa had stitched him up with a tight mouth and a narrow look in her eyes that should have peeled Derek's hide off in strips. Stiles had moved like an old man for the next three weeks, leaning on the walls and the furniture and Derek's shoulder and wincing when he got in and out of chairs, but it hadn't really slowed him down, either.
"We need him," Derek says honestly, keeping his eyes on the tree line because he can hear Scott grinding his teeth. He's come to appreciate Scott's even personality, because he's good for Boyd and Isaac in a way Derek never could be, but Stiles' tenacity and ruthlessness has saved them all a thousand times. Stiles is the one who gets shit done, the one who snoops in police files and listens to his dad's scanner and steals phones for blackmail material and asks embarrassing questions and does ninety down Avenida de Árboles while tailing a suspicious person, nearly flipping his jeep because it was fucking raining. Christ, he really should tell Stiles to stay at home.
Scott sighs under his breath, shifting around until he's sitting on his heels with his elbows across his knees.
"I," Derek starts, standing as something rustles the underbrush just ahead of them. "I don't want to see him hurt anymore than you do."
"Who is getting hurt?" It's Stiles, crashing through the bushes with enough noise for seven or eight people. He's wearing a gray hoodie and carrying a dufflebag under his arm.
Scott clears his throat. "No one."
"That's good," Stiles says, smiling. "So, Lydia thinks it's a giant snake."
"What?" Derek asks. "Why?"
"Mainly because of the giant fucking snakeskin we found near the last campsite." Stiles shudders, then shoots Derek an unrepentant grin; Derek had specifically told him to stay away from there. "She's thinking it's at least fifty feet long."
"No way," Scott says, shaking his head. "Snakes can't get that big."
"I highly doubt this thing occurred in nature. Deaton says there's at least ten ways someone could have, you know," Stiles says, waving his hand around like a magician doing a trick. Then he sets the dufflebag down, unzips it, and pulls out two handle-jugs of off-brand vodka. "You're best bet is cutting its head off, obviously. But if it bites you, pour this over its face. Snout. Whatever."
Derek snorts. "Where'd you learn that."
"Animal Planet."
"Where did you get that?" Scott asks, pointing at the vodka. "You're not old enough."
"I stole it."
"What?"
"I stole it," Stiles says, shrugging. "Peter didn't answer his phone, and I figured it couldn't wait, so. I knocked over a couple cases of beer, and when the clerk went to clean it up I stuffed these in the bag." He smiles at Scott, then presses a quick kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth. "You two behave."
Derek tries not to sound relieved. "Are you leaving?"
"Yeah, Lydia doesn't do snakes, so. She's waiting in the jeep. Try not to die without me, okay?"
Derek, Scott (Derek/Stiles) | gen | ~700 words
Inspired by this Tumblr post.
--
"You need to stop," Scott says, after nearly two hours of silence. It's a cold night, and the moon is three-quarters full; they're in the woods, crouched behind a bush that smells like fox piss because people are dying again.
Derek grunts, half-shrugging as he watches the tree line. He's not dating Stiles -- not exactly, it's still to causal and unspoken for that -- but whatever they're doing has been going on about three months, and Derek has spent most of that time waiting for Scott to give him a lecture. "It's not your business."
"Of course it's my business. He's my best friend."
"I know."
"I can't tell you two not to, um." Scott frowns and gestures uncertainly. "You need to tell him to stay at home."
"Yeah, because that will work," Derek says. He does tell Stiles to stay at home, constantly, but Stiles just smiles and kisses him and drives headlong into danger anyway. "Do you even know him at all?"
"He's going to get hurt. He almost died the other night."
Derek bites the inside of his cheek, half annoyed that it heals before he really tastes blood. Stiles had almost died the other night, and Melissa had stitched him up with a tight mouth and a narrow look in her eyes that should have peeled Derek's hide off in strips. Stiles had moved like an old man for the next three weeks, leaning on the walls and the furniture and Derek's shoulder and wincing when he got in and out of chairs, but it hadn't really slowed him down, either.
"We need him," Derek says honestly, keeping his eyes on the tree line because he can hear Scott grinding his teeth. He's come to appreciate Scott's even personality, because he's good for Boyd and Isaac in a way Derek never could be, but Stiles' tenacity and ruthlessness has saved them all a thousand times. Stiles is the one who gets shit done, the one who snoops in police files and listens to his dad's scanner and steals phones for blackmail material and asks embarrassing questions and does ninety down Avenida de Árboles while tailing a suspicious person, nearly flipping his jeep because it was fucking raining. Christ, he really should tell Stiles to stay at home.
Scott sighs under his breath, shifting around until he's sitting on his heels with his elbows across his knees.
"I," Derek starts, standing as something rustles the underbrush just ahead of them. "I don't want to see him hurt anymore than you do."
"Who is getting hurt?" It's Stiles, crashing through the bushes with enough noise for seven or eight people. He's wearing a gray hoodie and carrying a dufflebag under his arm.
Scott clears his throat. "No one."
"That's good," Stiles says, smiling. "So, Lydia thinks it's a giant snake."
"What?" Derek asks. "Why?"
"Mainly because of the giant fucking snakeskin we found near the last campsite." Stiles shudders, then shoots Derek an unrepentant grin; Derek had specifically told him to stay away from there. "She's thinking it's at least fifty feet long."
"No way," Scott says, shaking his head. "Snakes can't get that big."
"I highly doubt this thing occurred in nature. Deaton says there's at least ten ways someone could have, you know," Stiles says, waving his hand around like a magician doing a trick. Then he sets the dufflebag down, unzips it, and pulls out two handle-jugs of off-brand vodka. "You're best bet is cutting its head off, obviously. But if it bites you, pour this over its face. Snout. Whatever."
Derek snorts. "Where'd you learn that."
"Animal Planet."
"Where did you get that?" Scott asks, pointing at the vodka. "You're not old enough."
"I stole it."
"What?"
"I stole it," Stiles says, shrugging. "Peter didn't answer his phone, and I figured it couldn't wait, so. I knocked over a couple cases of beer, and when the clerk went to clean it up I stuffed these in the bag." He smiles at Scott, then presses a quick kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth. "You two behave."
Derek tries not to sound relieved. "Are you leaving?"
"Yeah, Lydia doesn't do snakes, so. She's waiting in the jeep. Try not to die without me, okay?"