for @thegeekindenial @statisticallymorelikely because reasons
thank you @mad-madam-m @paintedlandscape for quick read thru ^_^
Derek turns into a cat on a Tuesday.
There’s nothing unusual about this particular Tuesday. He wakes up in the abandoned warehouse he’d claimed in North Carolina, on top of an old flea-bitten mattress, and he’s wallowing in his usual morning routine of self-doubt and questioning his life choices. It isn’t until he realizes the sad, pitiful meowing is not coming from the feral cats he tries to feed with what meager income he can get doing odd jobs, but is in fact, coming from himself.
He is a cat.
Derek takes stock of the situation. This must be that witch he met yesterday; he’d politely asked her to move on from this town because her anti-aging potions were giving the neighborhood ladies glow-in-the-dark hair and it wouldn’t be long until she attracted attention-- of the local supernatural enforcement kind, meaning packs, meaning emissaries, meaning Derek would have to move on. Yet again. She’d shot some spells at him, ruined his favorite leather jacket, and chased him through the woods where there were a startling amount of hidden cameras. Derek then had to avoid several bungling FBI agents and led them on a merry chase through the woods until losing them, then he headed back to town.
The worst part was that whatever spell it was, Derek couldn’t shift into a wolf. He’d forgotten about it once he got to safety, and there didn’t seem to be any other effects of the spell, but...
Yeah. Four legs. Tail. He’s fluffy. And small.
He should have just stayed in South America.
Derek meows and scrunches up his nose; the warehouse, which he’d deemed passable as a human, now smells incredibly awful. He does not want to stay here.
He runs. Finding food is somewhat easier and harder as a cat, and avoiding calls of “pretty kitty” soon fade away after a storm and Derek’s fur gets matted with mud. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but it feels right. He steals food and avoids dogs who would have been terrified of him in wolf-form, lets small children pet him, runs away from do-gooders who try to take him to a shelter. Snoozing in the back of a pickup truck in the full sun, lazily licking his paws, Derek thinks, he’s actually kind of enjoying himself. It’s a lot easier to be on the run when you’re a cat.
Whatever city he ends up in is full of traffic and crowds and noise; Derek winds his way down a quieter street. It’s not quite suburb; a mix of houses and small apartment buildings, cramped quarters. There are posters in windows; Derek scurries along and climbs up a fence and then the ledge of a second-story building. There’s an open window with scents wafting through that smell fantastic.
Derek pokes his head in the window; looks like a cluttered college kid’s place, books and empty cup noodle containers everywhere. Okay, not exactly the feast he was imagining, but it still smells nice. Especially this pillow, on this couch, right here in the perfect spot of sun.
Derek falls asleep.
“Hey there,” says an amused voice, and it’s so familiar and startling that Derek wakes up immediately, and a flood of emotions he doesn’t quite understand floods through him, the scents of Beacon Hills and pack and an echoing of trust spoken in a chlorinated pool a long, long time ago.
Stiles is grinning at him, holding out his hand. Derek should run away. He should leave now. He can’t stay here, he can’t endanger anyone else, that’s why he left in the first place, but there’s something clicking inside his head, why he was drawn here in the first place...
Okay, head scratches? Amazing.
“Aw, you kinda look like the Grumpy Cat. You have eyebrows, dude. Heh. I mean, I can’t technically have a cat in this apartment, but I live alone and the landlord is never here...” Stiles is rambling, his voice is bright and warm, and Derek is lost in the neverending train-of-thoughts as Stiles picks him up and pets his head in a constant, soothing strokes. “Are you a stray? You kinda don’t look so good... all skinny... been on the road for awhile?”
Derek doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to; he’s a cat. But the purring sound, he realizes, is coming from him. Maybe he can stay for a little while. Being a cat is easy. Easier than being human. It would be safer, too. It’s not like anyone knows who he is.
“Derek.”
Derek jolts up in surprise, and then he realizes Stiles is looking off into the distance. He turns to Derek-the-cat with a small smile. “You kinda remind me of him, with the eyebrows and the grumpy face. I saw that dude today, it was so weird. I mean, I didn’t see him, it was during a training video, but, still. So weird.”
Derek meows as Stiles’ hand starts stroking his head again. He’s kinda glad he’s a cat. He doesn’t know what he would say if he was human. The last time they’d seen each other, and there was so much Derek didn’t say, that he didn’t have to say. He’d thought he was going to die there, in that lonely abandoned church out in Mexico, and there was too much across that distance in that one look. There had been something there, something Derek never acknowledged, that something when they moved beyond reluctant allies to trust and there’s a part of Derek that doesn’t want to admit he might be fond, too, of that sharp intelligence and resourcefulness and sarcasm.
“Aw, you’re a good kitty. You wanna stay?”
No, no. Derek doesn’t belong here. Scott’s pack is doing well, for all Derek’s heard through the whispers that travel across the country. They’re all doing their own things, Stiles is in college, he has a future. Derek doesn’t. He needs to leave.
He scrambles out of the too-comfortable lap and back to the window.
“Oh. Okay.”
Derek turns around, and Stiles looks so hurt and vulnerable, rubbing the back of his head.
“I mean...” Stiles sighs. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, it’s not like you get it. But it’s so fucking lonely here and the program is really hard, and I miss Scott and my friends and it would be really nice to come home to someone.”
Derek looks up at him, calculating.
Stiles gives him a hopeful smile.
Well, maybe a little while wouldn’t hurt.
He leaps off the windowsill and ambles back to the couch, giving Stiles a judgemental look that he hopes conveys you better feed me and take care of me.
“Awesome,” Stiles says, beaming. “I”m gonna call you Derek.” He laughs. “I mean, you’re making the exact face he would make if he were a cat.” The smile falls from his face and his eyes glaze over a bit. “I hope he’s doing okay.”
A sort of short follow-up to this cracky nugget, for my darling nothingcanbreakthemapart
Inspired by this ;)
All Stiles can think at first is, “Not again, motherfuckers.”
And then he can’t help it, he coos--just a little, not for long, but Derek looks far too adorable with his whiskers and his spots.
And his patented glare loses a little bit of its edge when Stiles can pick him up and Derek curls in the crook of his arm with a purr.
“Again?” Scott sighs and frowns at the cat in Stiles’ arms. “Who is it this time?”
Stiles shushes him, since the cat has his eyes closed and seems very comfortable where he is, one white paw curled around Stiles’ bicep while the other is resting on his very white, soft belly.
“It’s Derek.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“No. Way.”
Stiles laughs, but he quiets down when the cat flickers his tail over his right arm like a whip. “Wait for him to open his eyes.”
Scott’s sigh is deeper, more pained too, and he passes his hand over his face. “Alright, we’ll look for witches who might have a beef with Derek, but in the meantime, you’re on kitty duty.”
“Why me?”
“First of all, because he did it when it was you who had whiskers,” Scott states sternly. “Second of all, because he seems comfy. And third of all, to give him an opportunity to cuddle Derek,” he adds with a smirk, jumping out of reach when Stiles tries to swat at him in retaliation.
“You’re an asshole, you know that? A prime, Alphasshole!”
“Yep--learned from the best!”
And really, there’s nothing Stiles can say to that.
---
“Meow.”
“Meow my ass,” Stiles argues the next morning. “It’s cold outside, and you’re going to wear it.”
“Mrrooowr pfftt.”
“Disgusting, and not a good argument.”
“Stiles.”
“Yes daddy-o?”
“Are you talking to a cat? And since when do we have a cat?”
“Surnatural. And it’s Derek.”
“Of course it is.”
“While you’re here, could you give me a hand?”
The Sheriff looks down at Stiles who is kneeling on the floor, holding a little plaid shirt. He then turns to look at … Derek (for fuck’s sake), who is sitting in front of Stiles, tail flicking left and right and ears flattened to his skull.
“Yeah, no, you’re on your own kiddo.”
“Dad!”
“Nope.”
“But he’ll catch a cold otherwise--do you know what it looks like when a cat gets sick?”
That freezes the Sheriff on the doorstep.
“Do you know what it smells like, Dad?”
With a groan, the Sheriff returns to Stiles’ room. Now Stiles looks triumphant, holding up the shirt in his direction, and Derek looks … Defeated.
“Come on, big guy,” Stiles says, and the Sheriff is amazed at the soothing quality of his son’s voice, “let’s do this.”
“Meow.”
One paw after another, and the little shirt is on, and then the Sheriff steps aside to look at Derek rolling on his back and looking at the window while Stiles buttons it up.
“There,” Stiles whispers, “wasn’t so hard was it?”
Derek rolls back on his flank, away from Stiles, and Stiles sits back on his heels.
“Too proud to say thank you, uh?”
“Mrrrrow.”
“You’re welcome.”
---
Kira is the one who finds the witch--who was actually trying to turn Peter into a familiar, and isn’t that a laugh--and she gives them the potion to give to Derek to turn him back to normal.
But when Scott and Kira arrive at the Stilinskis, Scott pockets the vial.
And smiles at the picture that his best friend and his beta make on the couch, the two wearing matching plaid shirts as they nap on the couch.
With Derek’s head and a paw resting above Stiles’ heart.
“We’ll give it to them tomorrow,” Scott tells Kira, and she nods with a soft smile.
They do take a picture before leaving, but that’s only fair.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall, Alan Deaton
Additional Tags: Derek is a cat, an angry cat, but he gets better I guess, not beast/furry i swear, Crack Fic
Series: Part 1 of Derek is a Cat
Summary:
Wherein Derek is a cat, Stiles is too nice for his own good, and Deaton probably knows more than he's letting on.
‘Hey, what’s his name?’
‘Uh, Deaton calls him Derek.’
‘Derek? You’re kidding. Derek is a people name. Scott,’ Stiles gestured at the crate, ‘he’s not people.’
‘Yeah, well, I tried calling him ‘Mister Fluffy Pants’ one time and he shredded my favourite shirt,’ Scott sighed as he slung his backpack over one shoulder. ‘So maybe just stick with Derek.’
I had a conversation one time (uh, five times) with drunktuesdays about Derek Hale being a cat, and we kept having to just stop talking because it was so true that we had nothing more to say. So here's that fic!
Derek gets turned into a cat. Stiles learns to be a cat person.
This is for Sauce, you arousing, heart-melting, Stiles-arousing —yes, twice arousing— shipper of all things feels and rainbows and glitter, with perversion and yummy boy lips and wayward men— GOD I LOVE YOU, OKAY?! AND STILES IS NERVOUS, BECAUSE HE'S NEW TO THE HALE HOUSE, AND DEREK'S ALREADY BEEN THERE FIVE YEARS, AND HE WANTS TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION, BECAUSE FOR SOME REASON DEREK IS GRUMPY AND OLD BUT HE'S ALSO SLEEK AND DEADLY AND HIS COAT IS SO SHINY AND HE'S THE ONLY OTHER ONE HE CAN TALK TO, BECAUSE HUMANS ARE JUST THEIR SLAVES, WELL, STILES TRIES TO BE KIND TO LAURA AND PETER AND THE REST, AND HE DOESN'T MIND WHAT CAT FOOD THEY GIVE HIM, HE'S NOT FUSSY AT ALL AND LOVES PETTING TIME, UNLIKE DEREK, WHO JUST BROODS AND NAPS AND HISSES AND SCRATCHES ANYONE THAT COMES NEAR HIM, WHICH ANNOYS STILES, BECAUSE ITS MORALLY WRONG TO MAKE PETER'S KIDS OR ANYONE'S KIDS CRY, SO HE TAKES IT UPON HIMSELF TO MAKE THEIR LOUD WAILS AND REJECTED FEELINGS DISAPPEAR BY BEING ALL CUTE AND TILTING HIS HEAD AND "MEOW"S RIGHT IN THEIR LITTLE PLUMP FACES, GOD, HE'S SUDDENLY THE FAVOURITE CAT IN THE HOUSE. WITH CHILDREN RUNNING AFTER HIM WITH HAPPY PEALS OF LAUGHTER, AND THE OCCASIONAL TEENAGER GRABBING HIM AND PETTING HIM FOR COMFORT, AND WHENEVER LAURA'S HANDS WORK INTO HIS FUR, IT FEELS LIKE TUNA-HEAVEN. BUT DEREK IS STILL HER FAVOURITE AND HE'S BEEN WITH HER SINCE SHE TURNED TWENTY, BUT STILES STILL LIKES HIS CUDDLING SESSIONS ON THE SOFA. BUT TODAY, HE'D SWORN AN OATH TO HIS CAT-HOOD THAT HE'D MAKE FRIENDS WITH DEREK HALE. AND THAT MAYBE THEY COULD USE EACH OTHER'S CAT-FLAPS AND GO HUNTING TOGETHER AND THAT THEY COULD LICK EACH OTHER'S FUR CLEAN, BECAUSE STILES HAS SEEN HOW CAREFULLY AND THOROUGHLY DEREK CLEANS HIS FUR, MAKING HIS DARK PELT SHINE WITH MEASURING LICKS FROM HIS ROUGH TONGUE, FROM HIS PADDED PAWS TO HIS SLEEK TAIL. AND SO STILES HESITANTLY, DUTIFULLY, MAKES HIS WAY ACROSS THE CARPETED FLOOR TOWARDS DEREK. AND DEREK DOESN'T LOOK THAT IMPRESSED WITH HIM, BUT HE ISN'T HISSING OR GLARING AT HIM OR ANYTHING, SO IT'S AS GOOD AS IT GETS AT THE MOMENT. OKAY, SO STILES IS SCARED THAT HE'LL GET CLAWED BY DEREK AND END UP SPRAWLED ON THE FLOOR UNDER HIM, BUT HE'S SWORN AN OATH TO HIS CAT-HOOD AND THE TUNA-HEAVEN, SO HE'S NOT GOING TO FUCK IT UP, AND SO, SLOWLY, SLOWLY, STEP BY STEP, HESITATING, STARING AT DEREK THE WHOLE TIME, HE GETS CLOSER AND CLOSER, UNTIL, OKAY, HE TELLS HIMSELF, AND THEN VERY QUICKLY, WHILE DEREK'S GREEN EYES DRILL A HOLE INTO HIS SKULL, VERY QUICKLY PATS HIS HEAD WITH A CUSHIONED PAW AND RUNS THE HELL OUT OF THE KITCHEN BEFORE DEREK CAN SINK HIS CLAWS INTO HIS LEG. EXCEPT THAT DEREK HADN'T HISSED OR WANTED TO SCRATCH HIM, HE'D JUST HUFFED AS IF TO SAY, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?
