An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Vacation my ass,” Stiles wails while he adjusts his backpack. His sunglasses are halfway down the bridge of his nose and his hair looks disheveled, falling loosely over his forehead. There’s sweat glistening on his face. If Derek listens closely, he can hear his shallow breathing. Stiles pushes the sunglasses up his nose.
“Stop whining, idiot,” Cora says from behind them. She places her hands on his backpack and starts pushing him forwards. Stiles struggles against her shove, steps sideways to throw her off. She smirks at him when she walks past; Stiles glowers menacingly in her direction. “You agreed to come.”
“Because I was expecting relaxation. Chilling in the sun. Gorging myself into food comas. Not moving more than strictly necessary,” Stiles argues and sets after her, picking up his pace considerably to keep up with her. “I didn’t know you would drag me off to climb mountains.”
“We’re hiking,” Cora scoffs rolling her eyes. “There’s a distinct difference, genius.”
“And what is that?”
“You’d be dead already if we actually climbed mountains.”
“Derek!”
