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“Are you sure Derek isn’t part gorgon? Because I get rock hard whenever he looks at me.” - Stiles Stilinski, probably.
au where stiles works for a “pranks for hire” company, which was supposed to be perfect for his personality with its “spontaneous creative challenges” which are actually just incredibly stressful brick walls he gets to pick a way to run into, and “fun, laid-back workplace environment” which is actually just exhausting and actively eroding the last ounces of joy in his soul. at this point he’s completely emotionally checked out, but he can’t quit because student loans are a thing he inexplicably thought wouldn’t be a horrific looming nightmare for the rest of his life. his degree’s also actually useless, because after dad’s health scare stiles forgot how to concentrate on anything and basically failed out without actually failing. so, yeah, he’s an expert in bullshitting the right-ish enough answer to pass without actually learning anything. story of his life.
the new guy he’s being sent to bully is possibly the gloomiest person in the entire world. it’s almost impressive how dour he is. like, before stiles’ brand of mayhem even slightly disrupted his life, he’s already angry about it somehow. like, intuitively.
and, fuck this. stiles hates this fucking job, where he’s supposed to like—scale this guy’s wall, and sneak on to his porch, and ambush him and give him a heart attack. then: surprise! you’re on candid camera! want a photo? no, no, don’t kill me, keith set this up! keith, he’s like—he’s really worried about you.
all so dourface can go, like, get off my lawn. and stiles can nod, like, hated again, that seems fair. sorry to ruin your day like this. you probably had a meal you were gonna heat up, you were gonna watch a movie. now you’re gonna shut your door and spend thirty minutes just getting your breath back. just going, what the fuck is wrong with people?
so. fun. stiles can totally see why people thought he was cut out for this! and it’s because they thought he was a psychopath.
but that’s the claim, right, he’s not restricted to anything. he has freedom! to brainstorm creative solutions.
the actual assignment, this time, is: play a stalker. hidden notes, weird calls. it’s gonna be so funny, dude.
dourface looks like he’s never had fun in his life.
but, fine. notes, stiles can do notes. make it like, a game, kind of, make it interesting. or not mind-numbingly boring, at least.
derek’s still a werewolf in this. and stiles startles him, and he wolfs out.
“holy shit,” stiles says.
he's kind of paralyzed. kind of—not having a reaction at all.
“sorry, does your face just do this?” he says. “wait. have you looked like this the whole time?”
his eyes are just failing him, maybe. or maybe he’s going insane.
delusions, right? visual, like, imaginings…
the guy’s just looking at him. his face settling back into a face again.
the way you’d expect a face to be.
“sorry,” stiles says, and rubs his eye. “um, i think i’m going insane.”
the guy smiles at him. all teeth.
“i don’t think you are.”
it’s almost a threat. except it’s not really threatening.
“um, thank you?” stiles says. “i think. for the vote of confidence in my sanity. really… really reassuring.”
he rubs at his eye again.
“and look at you and your totally normal face,” he says. “your too-attractive, not remotely monstrous visage. have you pissed off any witches lately? maybe, not letting them inside your father’s castle, i don’t know. and now you’re cursed if you don’t find your true love?”
the guy sighs.
“why are you in my house.”
“right, right,” stiles says. “um, i was hired to prank you.”
“to prank me,” derek says.
“yup,” stiles says. “never do this job. i hate it. you think people are gonna be happy, and like, laughing all the time, but no. because it’s never funny, and they just think you’re a psychopath. what do you do?”
“what?”
“for work. what do you do,” stiles says. “might wanna look into it.”
derek laughs. “you wouldn’t.”
“hitman,” stiles guesses. “killer of fun. lab rat.” derek stops laughing. “really?”
“it’s complicated.”
“it’s complicated,” stiles says. “is that why you’re, you know…” gesturing all around his face.
derek snorts. “no.”
“no,” stiles says. “so that’s just a complete coincidence.”
“not exactly.”
“not exactly,” stiles says. “so it’s like—an experiment gone wrong. wait, no.” snapping his fingers. “freak accident. and now you’re like, being studied to see how it happened.”
but derek’s back to especially grim. “oh my god. really?”
nothing from derek, or the stone statue that replaced him. “holy shit. that’s so fucked, dude.”
“still want my job?” derek says.
“no,” stiles says. “maybe. is there an opening?”
derek looks at him.
“as like, a lab tech or something.”
“because you have the degree for that.”
“i don’t know, i could get it.” stiles throws his hands up. “i don’t know, dude, i’m desperate. secretary?”
“you’re serious,” derek says.
“very much so,” stiles says. “what, you think i wanna be pulling pranks for the rest of my life? hobbling around, scaring the shit out of teenagers.”
“what are you, like sixteen?”
“twenty-five,” stiles says, pulling himself up to his full height. “but thanks so much.”
“you’re wearing two hoodies and a disney sweatshirt.”
“i’m cold,” stiles says. “and my niece made that for me. it’s anna.”
derek looks at him.
“from Frozen,” stiles says.
“i know what it’s from.”
“okay, you seemed confused about it.”
“that’s not what i’m confused about,” derek says.
he hesitates, and—it happens again.
“okay, wow,” stiles says. “i’m not crazy.”
“don’t count on it,” wolf-derek says. it’s a little muffled, because of the teeth.
fangs, really.
“look at those things,” stiles says vaguely. “are they sharp? i bet they’re so sharp.”
tilting his head, considering.
“actually, i bet they’re purely decorative,” he says. “like those horns some people get. or elf ears.”
“they’re not like elf ears.”
“no, no,” stiles agrees. “cat ears. catboy.”
derek lets out a huge sigh.
“so dramatic,” stiles says.
“you really don’t care about this.”
“that you’re a furry?” stiles says. derek sighs again. “not really. cool mods, though.”
“they’re not—” derek gives up. “are you gonna be coming back?”
“why?” stiles says. “do you want me to?”
he has to, anyway. still his job, no matter how lame it is.
how truly, completely unfunny.
“hi again,” stiles says. “um, i’m stalking you.”
he holds out the note. in cut-out magazine letters, it says, CREEPY MESSAGE!
“i’m going for a kind of meta thing,” stiles says. “creative interpretation of the assignment.”
“someone assigned this to you?” derek says.
“yup, same job,” stiles says. “still sucks, by the way.”
“were you tortured for six hours?” derek says.
“um, no,” stiles says. “maybe metaphorically? what are we talking about, ‘torture’?”
“forget it,” derek says.
“no, no,” stiles says. “are you actually wolverine?”
derek rolls his eyes.
“well it’s a pleasure, as always,” stiles says. checking his watch. “looks like i’m gonna have to bully someone else soon.”
“already?”
“already,” stiles confirms. “believe it or not, i do not get paid to prank you and you alone. partners, roommates… old college buddies, exes. we do ‘em all.”
“exes,” derek says.
“yeah, why?” stiles says. “is that who’s pranking you?“
“you don’t know?”
“hey, i’m just the messenger,” stiles says. “the burnt out, deeply disinterested… you don’t need to know that. i’m so happy to be here, dude.”
“funny,” derek says.
“i’m, like… this is my favorite job in the world,” stiles says. “i’m so lucky.”
“i get it.”
“dream job,” stiles says. “i know you’re so jealous.”
“do i need to explain what torture means?”
“yes,” stiles says. “i have no idea, and i’d like to know how concerned to be. how illegal is this whole lab thing?”
derek shrugs.
“semi-illegal,” stiles says. “undocumented.”
derek shrugs again.
“is it government?” stiles says. “or, like, private company. or military.” considering. “or like, one guy in a lab coat, probing you.”
“very funny.”
“yep, i regretted that immediately,” stiles says. “so tasteless. and like, downplaying… what that actually means.”
“it’s not that,” derek says.
“well, that’s something,” stiles says. “always a silver lining. so, what is it?”
“well, there’s a basement—”
“oof,” stiles says. “nothing good happens in a basement. good science? no fucking way.” looking at him. “a basement of what, exactly?”
“a house,” derek says.
“a house,” stiles says. “you get tested on private property? no way you don’t end up dead.”
“thanks for that.”
“in a basement,” stiles says. “yeah, this is nightmare fuel.” he brightens up, then. “can i come?”
“what?” derek says.
“to like, observe,” stiles says. “as an observer. objective… peer review.”
derek laughs. “good luck with that.”
“well you can get me in, you’re the testee,” stiles says. “the test subject. the main event.”
derek rolls his eyes.
“patient x,” stiles says. “patient zero.”
“they’re not making more of me.”
“why not?” stiles says. “‘s not good for dogs to be lonely.”
derek rolls his eyes. “i’m not a dog.”
“or whatever,” stiles says. “cat-guys. no, their ears are pointy. what happens to your ears?”
“nothing,” derek says.
“i don’t believe you,” stiles says. “there was definitely… hair, or something. that wasn’t there before.” tilting his head, squinting. “or something changed shape…”
“take it easy.”
“sorry, sorry,” stiles says. “i just need, like, before and after pictures. for my Find-The-Difference brain.”
“spot the difference,” derek says.
“what?”
“it was Spot The Difference,” derek says. “in those magazines.”
“highlights,” stiles says, and derek nods. “yeah. good catch! anyway, i need that. just to, fully… like, appreciate what’s happening. when it happens.”
“i can’t take photos,” derek says.
“shut up,” stiles says. “like a vampire?”
“not like a vampire,” derek says. “my eyes flare.”
“like, red eye,” stiles says, and derek grabs his phone from his hand.
“whoa, hey!”
snaps a picture.
“whoa,” stiles says, staring at it. “laser eyes. okay.”
derek snorts. “they’re not laser eyes.”
“well i don’t know, what do you call them?”
derek looks at him. “there isn’t a name.”
“just like, built in instagram filter,” stiles says. “built in bokeh effect.”
“you’re overthinking this.”
“i’m underthinking this,” stiles says. “i’m thinking about this the normal amount. how’s your vision?”
derek scoffs. “better than yours.”
“i’m gonna start writing the stalker messages from over there,” stiles says. “‘BOO!’ in microscopic letters. long-distance startled.”
derek nods. “you do that.”
“i will!” stiles says. “aw, man. i have to think about this.”
silly string, something. or shaving cream, or tied-together balloons.
“i’ll think of something,” he says. “it’s gonna be awesome.”
“and terrifying, of course,” derek says. finally taking stiles’ stalker note, tucking it in his jacket.
“oh yeah,” stiles says. trying to swallow down the sudden warm feeling. “that too.”
stiles the vampire is staked and wakes up 2000 years later surrounded by vampire hunters. he assumes they’re hunters, anyway; they’re all wearing little silver stakes on chains around their necks. on chains, on strings, as earrings, on tattoos, on t-shirts, stickers on the back windows of their cars. he’s constantly terrified.
finds out, after a while of near-constant panic attacks, that they’re fans of his.
“of my death,” he says, somehow coming off casual. “of my murder, that’s, wow! neat.”
“not of your murder,” one girl says earnestly. “it’s about what it means. you sacrificed yourself.”
“right, yeah,” stiles says. “that, definitely. and the stakes—it has to be stakes? not, like, hey, stiles liked, uh, star wars—”
“it was torture for you,” she says, eyes wide. “a slow, painful death.”
“that’s... uh, yep,” stiles says, wincing. “i’m actually, actually not the biggest fan of the memory, so—”
“but you did it for us,” she says. “for beacon hills.”
“i guess,” stiles says. “more like, my dad, at the time, but in a broader, more general—uhhh, yeah,” he adds quickly. her eyes are starting to narrow. “beacon hills, you know, where the hills are beakin’. the beacon-est of hills. so, it worked, then?”
“you don’t know?” she says, frowning, and her stake pendant catches the light again. stiles winces.
“look, hey, can you, uh... i don’t know, can you tuck that under your shirt?”
“closer to my heart,” she says, eyes widening. “of course!”
“yeah,” stiles says faintly. “...yeah, that’s the reason. listen, i appreciate the... enthusiasm, you know, it’s very flattering, but i, uh...”
he shakes his head. there’s no good way to say this.
“there was someone with me,” he says. “someone, uh, maybe he died, right after, i mean, he got pretty close, but—derek hale? he might’ve been, uh, howling.”
“derek hale,” she says. “who’s he?”
“right,” stiles says, heart sinking. “so... but you’d know him, if he was dead. if he died with me. because of me.”
“a lot of people die,” she says. “who was he?”
“oh, just this guy i knew,” stiles says. “just... he would’ve been really angry about the whole my death thing. making a scene, like. it’d be memorable.”
“it was 2000 years ago,” she says.
“right, yeah,” stiles says. “but you still know who i am.”
“you were our sacrifice,” she says.
it’s miserable searching for derek, half-knowing already, scaring himself, but finding his body is just a horror show. derek really did die with him. the stake that did it is still lodged in his chest, and stiles can almost laugh. can almost scream, or go on a rampage. derek wasn’t even a vampire.
but no one’s heart likes being punctured.
he just hates it. stiles just hates it, he hates the freaking sight of it. derek pierced through like that.
he almost grabs at the stake, just tugs at it. he wants to just get it out of him. but he can’t risk doing worse damage. even if it doesn’t really make sense that there’s so much left of derek after so long. the thought of his still-too-familiar body crumbling into dust with one sudden move is horrifying.
he kind of rubs at the spot, warms it up. works the stake out slow.
“sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he says. he can barely even look at what he’s doing, his hands are going numb just hovering over where derek’s body is. he’s lightheaded, he’s gonna be sick. “i just have to, i’m sorry, i just can’t…”
and derek gasps.
stiles freezes.
stares at him.
“how,” and then he doesn’t care. “i, holy shit.” leaning over him, feeling it, derek warm again, his chest rising and falling, and stiles drops his head against it, tears-blind. “oh my god, you’re really breathing.”
“is that surprising?” derek says hoarsely, and stiles pulls back enough to watch him cough up dust.
“not to really spring this on you, but you’ve been not breathing for kind of a long time,” stiles says. it’s a relief to go back to rambling at him. “two thousand years long, actually, and you should’ve seen what you looked like when i found you. you were mummified. fermented, you were kimchi.”
“good thing you were here,” derek says dryly.
“you say that sarcastically,” stiles says. “but yeah, it was! you have no idea what a pain in the ass it was to find you.”
“sorry to inconvenience you,” derek says.
“shut up, i’ve never been more relieved,” stiles says. “i—derek, i swear to god. i’m going crazy here. i’m scared of everybody. especially my fans,” he adds. “they think i’m, like... all-knowing. and purposeful.”
“sounds perfect for you,” derek says.
“ha, you’d think,” stiles says. “never leave me. you’re the only one who knows how full of shit i am.”
“always so flattering,” derek says.
“sarcasm,” stiles says. “i’ve missed that so much. you know how straightforward people are with me? they think i grant wishes. they take all my jokes literally!”
“nightmare,” derek says, shaking his head, and then stiles says, “i missed you.”
voice low, close to breaking.
“stiles,” derek says.
“i thought you were dead,” stiles says. “like really dead, like never—”
and derek’s hugging him, he’s struggling to breathe.
“you brought me back,” derek says. “you did that.”
and stiles’ hands are shaking.
“i thought i was,” he says, “two thousand years away from you. i thought i needed a time machine, if i wanted to see you again.”
“werewolves live for a long time,” derek says, and stiles takes a shuddering breath, yeah.
so do vampires, apparently.
“good,” derek says. “good.”
“who is he?” that first follower says, when she finds them. derek sleeping, stiles just watching him.
“the most important guy in the world?” stiles says, he is. the actually most important one.
she’s listening, because of course she’s listening. somehow, he has devotees.
“his name’s derek,” stiles tells her. “and if anything happens to him, it’ll kill me.”
[maybe stiles shouldn’t have trusted the girl who opened with you were our sacrifice.]
I don’t know if the biting will stay nonsexual…
Imagine Stiles and Derek are talking all the way to the bathroom where Derek asks “Are you going to stay and watch me shower?” Stiles turns and leaves. Derek starts to undress when suddenly Stiles reappears with a chair and takes a seat. Derek looks confused and asks, “What are you doing?” Stiles, completly nonchalantly, replies “Watching.”
Well, that’s a success. Now do something about it, Derek.
Erica: Stiles, this is my top friend, Derek.
Erica: Derek, this is my bottom friend, Stiles.
Stiles:
Derek:
Stiles: Why did you introduce us like that, though?
Erica: What? I’m just introducing my two gay, sexually repressed besties.
Erica: Derek, did you know Stiles call has no gag reflex? And Stiles, did you know Derek loves tight holes?
Stiles:
Derek:
Erica: Oh shoot, I totally forgot I have to help Boyd with a thing. I’ll be back in an hour or two or three. Catch you all later.
Erica: (leaves)
Stiles:
Derek:
Stiles:
Derek:
Stiles: So do you wanna-
Derek: Yeah.
