#sterekmystery

[midnightisquiet]

STEREK WEEK 2019: Day 1 - Mystery

[jmeelee]

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Stiles and Derek’s Cat

Sterek Week 2019 • Mystery

Rating: T (for swearing and lite innuendo)

Word Count: 2.1 K

***********

Derek flips on his blinker, and the taxi driver riding his ass swerves around the Camaro, rolling down a window and shouting something indecipherable while Derek pulls into the fire lane in front of the airport. His sister walks through the automatic doors as he climbs out and pops the trunk, a parting blast of air conditioning blowing her dark shoulder-length hair around her head like a demonic halo. She’s dressed in an old band t-shirt with a black blazer layered over top, and ripped skinny jeans, one hand gripping the handle of her rolling luggage, the other pressing a ratty book to her chest.

“It seems stupid for a werewolf to be superstitious,” Cora greets, handing Derek the leather-bound album, “but I didn’t want to take the chance of it getting lost in the mail.”

He pulls her close in a one-armed hug; Cora was never the overly affectionate type, but distance and pseudo-death make the heart grow fonder. “I appreciate you lugging it all this way. Stiles has been asking me a lot of family questions since he started emissary training, and I wanted to put some faces to the names he’s been hearing.” Pictures that aren't attached to obituaries, he silently adds.

She tosses her suitcase into the trunk, dusty wheels leaving a streak of dirt across the upholstery, and slams it closed, climbing in through the passenger door Derek holds open. “Alpha Varela had a decent amount, and Alpha Ogden gave me a half-dozen,” she supplies as he slides behind the wheel and pulls out into traffic, “but they only fill up a quarter of the pages. It’s pretty pathetic.”

She reaches out a hand, lovingly runs fingers over the brown cover embossed with a triskelion.

“It is,” Derek concedes, “but it’s better than nothing.” His fingers itch to flip through the meager pages immediately, pour over the pictures like Cora’s been able to do, and bring his long-dead family back to life, but it will have to wait through rush hour traffic and a trip to the pet store. They’re out of cat food, and Agnes Nutter—the stray orange tabby Stiles fell in love with when he started spending so much time with Deaton at the vet clinic, and proceeded to drag home—has been known to take claws to the curtains, leather couches and freshly painted walls when dinner isn’t served on time.

“We’re back!” Derek calls through the front door an hour later, pulling his key out of the lock.

Cora drops two five-pound bags of dry food to the entry-way floor. “How much does this damn cat eat?” She laughs. Derek shrugs, wet food cans clanking in the bags hanging from his hands. The album is tucked securely under his armpit.

“I’m in the family room!” Comes Stiles’ disembodied voice. Derek detours to the kitchen to stock the cat food in the walk-in pantry and Cora heads to the back of the house to greet her brother-in-law. He’s only moments behind her, but when he finally rounds the corner into the family room, his little sister’s face is shifted, snarls twisting out of her throat through elongated teeth, and Stiles is sitting on the couch, eyes wide, laptop in one hand and the other raised, palm out, sparks sizzling along his fingertips. Acrid ozone spikes the air.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I don’t know, dude!” Stiles’ voice trills and Derek doesn’t have the time to admonish his husband for calling him dude. “She rolled in here and didn’t even say hello! Just went all grrrr-” his nose does the scrunchy little thing Derek secretly loves, top teeth bared like an adorably angry hamster- “and scared the shit out of me.”

“It’s that...thing,” Cora rasps, pointing a claw-tipped finger at Agnes Nutter, calmly lording over the room from Stiles’ blanketed lap, like a ginger queen on a throne.

Stiles drops his laptop to the couch cushion, wrapping his now free arm around Agnes, who’s yellow eyes squint in annoyance at the vigorous display of affectionate protection. “What’s your problem with my cat? Does the lupine-feline rivalry actually run that deep?”

“Really, Stiles? Dog jokes? Now?” Derek rubs at a tension headache brewing over his left eyebrow.

“Stiles,” Cora commands through sharp white teeth, “get away from it. It’s a demon.”

Agnes answers the accusation with a charming little “meow,” and rubs a paw over her docked left ear.

“Put your teeth away. She’s my pet!” Stiles shrieks.

“Derek. Get the photo album,” Cora orders.

Derek glances back toward the kitchen. He can see the book sitting on the granite countertop, but is loathe to leave the room. “Is this really the best time for a Hale family history lesson?”

“You bet your hairy ass it is. Go get those pictures. Now.”

Derek’s never been more grateful for supernatural speed. “Here.” He hands the album to his sister, who flips open to the second page, turns the book around and hands it back to him.

At first, Derek’s baffled. What do his unearthed family photos have to do with a c—

An orange and white striped cat that’s sitting on his grandmother’s lap, when she was roughly thirty years old. A cat that twists around his mother’s ankles as she stands on tip-toe to kiss his father on the cheek, while toddler Laura plays in the background. A cat that lingers behind his great-grandfather as he cuts the ribbon at the dedication ceremony for the Beacon Hills preserve. The last photo is in black and white, but this cat, like the others, has a docked left ear.

“Stiles…” Derek looks up at his husband. Agnes stares at him with slanted eyes. He does the math in his head. At least fifty years…

Stiles groans, head lolling on the back of the couch. “Don’t tell me she’s a Flerkin. I knew I should have named her Goose.”

“Not a Flerkin,” Cora says. “But definitely something.”

Agnes jumps off Stiles’ lap and calmly pads over to her empty food dish, flops down next to it, and lets out a loud, piercing howl.

“Get the cat carrier,” Derek says. “We’re going to Deaton’s.”

———-

“Why did you let me adopt a time-traveling cat?!”

Deaton, as usual, says nothing in face of Stiles’ hysterics. Agnes dangles from Stiles’ outstretched arms, held at a forty-five-degree angle like a domesticated lion king. She blinks, whiskers twitching. Derek feels her pain; the overlapping scents of animal, iodine and industrial-grade disinfectant makes him want to hurl.

“I was surprised you even got a cat,” Scott chimes in from the waiting room chair. Having a pet who turns out to be old enough to collect social security merits calling your alpha right away. “I didn’t think you liked them. Remember my old Maine Coon, Louis? You used to pelt him in the ass with spitballs.”

Everyone’s mouths drop collectively, and Stiles reels Agnes back to his chest, hiding part of his blushing cheek in her soft orange fur. “I was seven, Scott! And in my defense, Louis used to bite my toes through my sleeping bag.”

“Well, thank goodness it was in retaliation,” Derek deadpans. “I wouldn’t want to be married to an animal abuser.”

A war plays out on Stiles’ flushed face; narrowed eyes shooting daggers at Derek, while the corner of his generous mouth cocks up. “I didn’t hear any complaints from you the other night.”

“Gross,” Cora bemoans. “Get a room.”

“Already did.” Tucking Agnes under his arm like a football, Stiles holds up his free hand and wiggles his fingers, white-gold wedding band flashing under the fluorescent lights. “Made it legal and everything.”

“Did you bring the photos?” Deaton inquires, enigmatic face as placid as the surface of the little pond in the preserve. Cora hands them over, and everyone watches Deaton slowly flip through the pages, eyes skimming over each picture. “Hum,” he says, laying the album on top of the reception desk, open to the picture of Derek’s parents with Agnes at their feet.

“Hum? That’s all you have to say?” Stiles scoffs.

“I’m surprised at you, Stiles,” Deaton says softly, crossing arms over his lab coat. “I thought you knew what Agnes was when you took her home.”

“Obviously not,” Stiles grumbles. “I’m supposed to be learning from you, aren’t I? One would assume the teacher would tell the student if the class pet was an immortal demon waiting to eat their face off when they fell asleep.”

Derek feels a hysterical giggle crawl up his throat and clamps his lips closed.

Deaton spins the album around to face the waiting room, and Scott extricates his butt from the chair to creep closer. Deaton taps the top right corner of the Hale’s photograph. “I took this picture in nineteen-eighty-eight. Derek,” he says, glancing up into his face, “your parents had just gotten the news they were pregnant with you.”

The giggle threatens to turn into a sob.

“Talia and Sebation celebrated their good fortune with a pack dinner. As you well know-” Deaton turns toward Scott- “emissaries are invited to important pack events.” He turns back to the room at large. “I came that evening, and Agnes, as you are fond of calling her, came with me.” He flips to the picture of Derek’s great-grandfather. “Emissaries protect their alpha’s, so I assume the former Hale pack emissary was somewhere in the crowd during this ceremony.” Deaton blinks, letting the pregnant pause come to full gestation. “Familiars tend to follow witches wherever they go.”

“So…” Cora trails off, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips while she studies Agnes. “She’s a familiar? Familiars are demons, right?”

“Fantastic,” Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping. “We all know my track record with demons.” His face is carefully blank, except for the bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“No concrete evidence exists to say familiars are demons,” Deaton lectures. “In fact, that tends to be an antiquated belief held over from the witch trials. Some believe they are fae, or goblins, sent to assist fledgling witches in the practice of magic. Others believe they’re guardian angels.”

“Ha!” Stiles crows, sticking his tongue out at Cora. “She’s not a demon after all. She’s an angel. Take that!”

“Hey!” Scott helpfully adds. “You could change her name to Aziraphale!” Stiles looks like he’s considering it.

“I’m not trying to rain on the parade,” Derek cuts in, ignoring Stiles’ mumbled Sourwolf, “but you’re saying Agnes is here to help Stiles? She mostly just eats, craps, coughs up hairballs in my shoes and knocks shit off the counters. Like that time she broke the vial of ground-up Mucuna pruriens, and we all broke out in that horrible rash.” Derek’s butt itches just thinking about it.

Scott snaps his fingers, goofy smile stretching across his face. “Yeah! And then Stiles used it to make those smoke bombs we attacked the hunter’s compound with the following month. It’s like she knew exactly what he needed to use.”

Everyone stares at Agnes, baffled and impressed.

“Legends say familiars most often take small animal forms,” Deaton continues, “but some are human-like, or can shape-shift. One was a horse.”

“No,” Derek says to both his husband and Agnes, on the off chance any ideas are forming in their heads. “No horses in the house. We don’t have the room.”

“So, you’ve told us what legends say, and what other people think about familiars.” Stiles bounces on his toes, jostling Agnes. She yowls, and he plops her onto the reception desk next to her portraits. “You’ve been an emissary for years. What do you believe?”

Deaton inhales deeply through his nose, exhales through his mouth. “I believe they’re an extension of our souls.”

Stiles smiles, scritching Agnes behind her mangled ear. “You’re the Pantalaimon to my Lyra. The Salem to my Sabrina. The—” Agnes hoists one leg straight into the air and starts licking her butt.

“Yup.” Cora smirks. “That makes total sense.”

“In conclusion, Stiles, your pet is not a demon who’s waiting to eat your face off. Now, can I please go home for the evening?”

It takes half a bag of treats to coax Agnes back into the cat carrier, and Deaton locks the doors to the clinic on their way out.

“I thought she was a stray,” Stiles says as they all head out into the moonlit night, voice a little wobbly. “I didn’t realize she was... Do you want her back?”

Deaton’s smile is as mystifying as ever. “She’s yours now, Stiles.”

Derek notes that, unsurprisingly, Deaton didn’t actually answer the question.

“One more thing,” Derek says, loading Agnes into the backseat of the Camaro. He’s strangely curious, even though he’s heard what curiosity did to the proverbial cat. “If she was yours for years, you must have given her a name. What was it?” Even arcane Dr. Deaton must be human enough to name his cat. Right?

“Some things,” Deaton answers before he slams his car door, “will have to remain a mystery.”

[purpleyin]

Teen Wolf moodboards: Sterek - mystery AU

Made for @sterekweek2019 and Day 1 prompt ‘mystery.’

---

Stiles likes being Agent Stilinski. He likes the thrill of the chase and solving case after case. Turns out, no matter how much his praises are sung by his boss, he likes it too much for the HR department because he gets reluctantly ordered to take a holiday.

You can take the case away from the Stilinski but you can't take the case out of the Stilinski. Or something like that. Stiles does go on holiday. He just might have happened to pick a small town with the aesthetics of a low-budget horror film and four times the amount of missing persons per capita. No biggie. Besides, they have good local beers and a strangely adorable cryptid themed B&B. Stiles checks into The Mothman room and spends his evening drinking while he peruses digitized case-files with his tablet. But then he sees him and a chill goes down his spine as their eyes meet for a second. Then the man is gone, leaving only a nagging sense of recognition.

The bartender tells him the guy's nickname is Blue, he lives out of town in a small cabin by himself, and no one seems to know any more than that. Stiles scours his files for that face and eventually finds it - a much younger, hopeful version with eyes shining out in the photo: Derek Hale. Sole known survivor of a tragic house fire two states over and a decade ago, who disappeared days after, never to be seen again. Until now.

Stiles starts asking around and can't get a clear picture of who he is – half the town believes he's a dangerous lone wolf, and the other half appears indebted to him, convinced he's a man of few words but no shortage of heart.

A week's holiday changes into two, eagerly taken with flimsy excuses as to why. No one else knows what's gotten into him all of a sudden. Stiles never has been able to leave a mystery alone once he's stumbled onto it. He wants to know the truth and the only version of the truth that matters is the one he intends to coax from the wolf's mouth...

[nightlight9]

Sterek Week 2019 Day One: Mystery

Title: The Mystery of Derek Hale aka Screw You Scott

Summary: Something is going on with Stiles’ roommate, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Rating: G

AO3

----------

“You don’t understand, Scott,” Stiles hisses into his receiver. He’s laying on his bed glaring across the room as though that will be enough to somehow answer all of his questions. “There is something seriously wrong with him.”

Over the phone, Scott sighs. “Stiles, I think you’re over exaggerating. There’s nothing wrong with your roommate.”

Throwing his arm into the air in defeat, Stiles groans. “Aren’t you supposed to agree with everything I say? Isn’t that what best friends are for?”

When Scott laughs, Stiles’ scowls, though it’s more fond than threatening. “I don’t think it says anywhere in our friend contract that I have to agree with you when you’re being crazy.”

“Then we need to amend the contract immediately.”

There’s some shuffling from over the receiver as Scott bustles around. “Listen dude, I’m sure you’re just overthinking this because Derek isn’t me and you kind of resent him for it.”

That’s a low blow coming from Scott. They had been planning on being roommates for years before they started college. And then Scott decided that he wanted to take a year off before going back to school, leaving Stiles all alone to deal with a stranger. And yeah, maybe Scott would normally be right in his assumption. But he’s wrong about Derek. “No, Scott, listen-.”

“Stiles, I have work in an hour and I still have to shower. I can’t listen while you complain about Derek again. Just, get to know the guy. He’s probably not as bad as you think he is. Hell, you guys might get along so well that I’ll have to come down and kick his ass to defend my best friend title.” The image makes Stiles snort. There’s no way that soft, lovable Scott could take on all the muscles that Derek has. “Talk to him. I’ll call you later.”

“Yeah, okay.” He lets Scott hang up without protesting, then rolls over onto his back with a groan. Really, Scott doesn’t understand. He’s not being crazy. There are just too many things about Derek that Stiles can’t make sense of.

As though he was summoned from Stiles’ errant thoughts, the dorm door opens and Derek shoulders his way inside. He’s wearing his signature leather jacket over a grey Henley and jeans that are sinfully tight, and he looks good. He always looks good. It’s something that Stiles is still coming to terms with. 

As soon as the door closes, Derek glances over at him. His nostrils flare as though he’s trying to sniff out an enemy, and Stiles closes his eyes. This is what he was trying to tell Scott. Derek does some really weird things, like relying on his sense of smell in a completely abnormal way. 

“Hey,” he draws out the word, rolling over onto his side. 

Derek has crossed the room and is standing at his desk, unloading a stack of books from his backpack. He glances over at Stiles, surprised that he’s talking to him. And okay, Stiles has never really tried to talk to him, not after Derek shut down any attempts at conversation while they were moving in by grunting in response to whatever Stiles said. But he’s still vaguely insulted by the confused tone Derek has in regards to a simple hello.

Still, he pushes on. “How’s it going?”

Derek narrows his eyes, staring at him for a long moment. “Fine.” His voice is curt, and Stiles thinks that will be the end of it. But then he asks, “How are you?” It sounds like a threat as much as a question, and Stiles wonders, not for the first time, why Derek seems so guarded.

He decides to be honest. “I’m already tired of general ed classes, and need to find the energy to finish my political science homework. But other than that I’m alright.”

Derek almost smiles, which makes Stiles’ heart thump uncomfortably. Then, as though he’s able to hear it, Derek tilts his head to the side and his smile falls away. “I’m going to the library,” he says, voice void of all emotion and inflection. 

Stiles sighs. That was a fun conversation while it lasted. “Yeah, sure. Have fun.”

He closes his eyes again before Derek has a chance to do anything more than raise his eyebrows, and he doesn’t move until he hears Derek leave. As soon as the door clicks shut, Stiles rolls off the bed and settles in at his desk. Instead of pulling out his homework, he opens his notebook to a clean page and grabs his pen. 

The Mystery of Derek Hale a.k.a. Screw You Scott

Can he actually smell well, or is it just a weird habit? Can I test this?

Seems to hate sunshine and everyday conversations 

It’s not a lot, and Stiles feels a little bad about the second point, but he feels better about writing it down. Because Scott is wrong. Something is going on with Derek, and Stiles is going to get to the bottom of it.

—————

Growls a lot: scary and strange

Stiles knows that this is a weird point to put on his list, but he feels like it’s valid. He’s been doing what Scott suggested, and actually tries to talk to Derek now. At first, he seemed suspicious and reluctant to engage in anything more than daily greetings. But slowly, Derek allows Stiles to prattle on about useless things without immediately leaving the room. 

He does growl though. All the time. He growls in response to questions, growls when Stiles tries to pry a little deeper into his personal life. And the one and only time Stiles tried to bring someone back to the room, Derek had growled loud enough that the guy got scared away. Stiles wasn’t really upset about it, the guy was a tool anyway. But seriously, the growling is strange. He’s not sure what it means, but he knows that it’s not normal. Scott thinks that he’s over exaggerating when he brings it up. Stiles thinks that Scott doesn’t know anything. 

“Maybe you were raised by wolves,” Stiles mutters one day. He’s hanging off of the side of the bed, putting more effort into thinking about Derek than the readings he needs to get done for tomorrow’s lecture. 

Across the room, Derek is sitting on his bed with his headphones on, typing away on his laptop. He must hear Stiles though, because his head snaps to the side so that he can stare at him. “What did you say?” His eyes are open wide with surprise that Stiles doesn’t understand. 

“Hm? Oh, nothing. I’m just thinking about this paper I have to write.” Derek doesn’t look convinced. In fact, it looks like he wants to argue. Instead, he just clamps his jaw tight and growls at Stiles, turning back to his computer. Stiles counts it as a win when Derek stays in the room.

—————

“Derek. Derek. Derek.”

Peeking his head out of their bathroom, Derek snaps, “What?”

Pressing a grin against the side of his arm, Stiles asks, “What’re you doing?”

Stiles would think that the eye-roll he gets in response is glorious, even without being drunk. “Brushing my teeth. Some of us care about our oral hygiene.”

He snickers like a twelve year old. “You said oral.”

Derek grimaces like he’s actually in pain. “Wow, you’re so drunk.”

Trying to sit up, Stiles doesn’t question it when the world spins. “Psh, you’re drunk.” 

“Go to bed, Stiles.” He disappears back into the bathroom and Stiles sighs. Why doesn’t Derek want to be his friend? Why does he hate him so much?

“I don’t hate you,” Derek says softly. He’s sitting on his bed looking confused, and Stiles isn’t quite sure how he got there. 

“You were bushing your teeth.”

Derek blinks. “Stiles, I finished that up minutes ago. Are you alright?”

He’s not fine. Now he’s sad because Derek hates him for no good reason, and that sucks. Why can’t they be friends?

“You want to be my friend?” Derek looks bewildered at that prospect. 

“Duh,” Stiles agrees, rolling onto his back. “And stop reading my mind.”

“I’m not-.” He rubs at his face. “Is this what all drunk people are like?”

Stiles turns his head to the side so that he can stare at him in disbelief. “You’ve never been drunk?” He makes a motion to get up, but Derek is by his side in a moment, pushing him gently down on the bed. “No,” he whines. “Derek. You have to get drunk, right now. It’s very important.”

Huffing a laugh, Derek shakes his head. “I can’t get drunk, Stiles. And what’s important here is that you get some rest.”

He wants to argue more. He wants to go back over to Leia’s bedroom and steal the rest of the bottle of whiskey they had been drinking earlier. But sleep sounds too nice. 

“You win this round, Mr. Hale. But one day, one day I’ll get you.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek pulls Stiles’ blanket up and over him. “Whatever you say, Stiles.” Before he goes and gets in his bed, Derek pauses. “And I don’t hate you, alright. I’m just not-. It’s hard for me to get to know people.”

Stiles pats at his arm, feeling better. “Good.”

Derek smiles slightly, and then moves across the room to climb into his bed. Before he falls asleep, Stiles tells him, “Good night, Derek. Sweetest dreams.”

He doesn’t notice when Dark presses a smile into his pillow and responds, “Sweetest dreams.”

In the morning, he remembers to add to his growing list. 

Has never been drunk

May be able to read minds

—————

After his drunken night, things between Stiles and Derek warm up. Derek makes more of an effort to talk to Stiles, and he starts letting him know more about his life. He even introduces Stiles to his friends (all of whom are too pretty to be real, and Stiles adds might be a male model to his list of Derek Hale mysteries). 

And it’s nice. Scott was actually right that, given the chance, he does come to view Derek as one of his friends. He still thinks that Derek is weird, and he still adds random points to his list when he thinks of something new. But solving the mystery of Derek Hale falls to the wayside in favor of actually becoming his friend. Besides, talking to Derek more actually gets him closer to solving the mystery (or so he tells himself).

One of the stranger quirks about Derek (which Stiles still hasn’t figured out), is that he always knows when Stiles is lying. No matter how small or how big the lie is, Derek always knows that he isn’t being honest. It’s actually very frustrating. 

“If you had finished the assignment when I told you to last night, you wouldn’t be freaking out right now and then you’d be able to come to dinner with us.”

Stiles growls at him, glaring over his computer screen. “I’m not freaking out. And I did finish the assignment, you just won’t believe me.”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “I know that you didn’t. Stay here and finish it. You can come with us next time.”

It’s not fair. Sure, maybe he hasn’t finished his assignment, be he’s not worried about it. If he wants to go to dinner with Derek and his friends, he should be able to. Why does Derek get to tell him not to go? And how does he know that Stiles is lying anyway? Stiles knows for a fact that he is a great liar. Many people have told him that, including his father (with a lot of regret). How does Derek see through him?

“I finished the assignment!”

Derek shrugs his leather jacket on and grabs his wallet. “No you didn’t. Stiles, I’m not trying to be mean. But I know how freaked out you get when you push your deadlines. So please, stay here and finish it.”

That makes Stiles deflate. There’s not point arguing. Derek knows better. And, how could he argue with him anyway when he sounds so concerned. 

“Fine. Whatever. Bring me back some bread.”

A smile curls Derek’s lips up. “Of course. Good luck, Stiles.”

Stiles grumbles as Derek leaves, ignoring how his heart is racing at soft way Derek says his name.

—————

“What the hell happened?” His voice is pitched high, but he can’t help it. There’s a gash on Derek’s shoulder that Stiles can see through his ripped shirt, and a purple bruise marring the edge of his jaw. Scrabbling to his feet, Stiles stumbles over himself to get over to the door where Derek is standing.

As Stiles approaches him, Derek curls his shoulders so that he can tuck his body against the side of the door. “Leave it, Stiles.” His voice is strained, and he sounds tired. 

Stiles gaps at him. “Leave it? Are you kidding me.” His hands flutter in front of him for a moment. He’s never touched Derek before, which gives him pause. But he can’t let this one go. His hands prod gently at Derek’s shoulder, and he winces when the contact makes Derek hiss.

“Stiles, please don’t.”

He’s never heard Derek sound so soft, and because of that, he wants to listen. But there is an anxious energy thrumming in his chest that feels too much like a panic attack for him to ignore. “Derek. Let me help, please. I need-.”

There must be something in his voice that gives away his anxiety, because Derek turns to watch him. They stay there, staring at each other, before Derek slowly pulls away. Immediately, panic seizes Stiles. But Derek doesn’t go far. He only moves back far enough that he’s able to pull his tee shirt over his head, giving Stiles full access to his injuries. 

There are a collection of bruises across his ribs and a nasty slash on his hip just above the edge of his jeans. Carefully, Stiles presses his hands against Derek’s chest, tracing his fingers from one bruise to another. It’s should unnerve him, being so close to Derek, but it doesn’t.

“What happened?”

Underneath his fingers, Derek stiffens. “Don’t worry about that, Stiles.” He wants to protest, but something in Derek’s eyes makes him hesitate. “Please.”

Swallowing, Stiles nods. “Okay. Just-. Are you safe?”

The question makes Derek’s lips quirk up, just a little. “Yes. Everything is safe.”

Just like that, the rest of the tension leaves Stiles’ body. His voice is fierce when he responds, “Good. Now, wait here. I have a first aid kit.”

Scrambling to the bathroom, he sends silent thanks to Scott and his mom for thinking ahead enough to give the first aid kit to him as a graduation present. It’s a monster of a kit, filled with everything Melissa thought that he might need one day, and he grabs it from under the sink with a victorious sound. 

Derek stays where he was at perched in the doorway until Stiles comes back, and Stiles takes a moment to look at him before saying, “Come sit down.” Slowly, Derek follows Stiles over to his desk. He sits prim and proper as Stiles cleans and bandages his cuts. There isn’t much that he can do for the bruises, but at least the worst of the damage is taken care of. 

When he’s done, Stiles sits on his bed and watches while Derek lifts his arm to test the bandages. “Thank you.” He sounds soft, softer than Stiles has ever heard him. It makes Stiles want to pull him close and protect him from whatever trouble he was in. 

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he smiles gently and says, “Anytime.” There isn’t really anything else after that. Derek watches him for a moment, and it looks like he wants to say something as much as Stiles does. They both keep quiet, and eventually Derek gets up and readies himself for bed. Stiles tucks himself into his covers and lays on his side, waiting until he hears Derek’s breathing even out before he carefully gets out of bed and gets his notebook. 

May be in some sort of trouble. Gang activity? A fight gone wrong? 

Writing this note leaves him feeling dirty in a way that his investigation never has before. Somehow, this feels more real. But now, instead of wanting to know what’s going on with Derek, all Stiles wants to do is protect him. 

—————

Light streams through the open window, and Stiles curses Derek for being such a morning person. He stayed up way to late listening to Derek’s soft, even breathes and making sure that he was actually alright. More than once, he had to resist getting up to make sure that he wasn’t bleeding through the bandage on his shoulder, so the early morning interruption is anything but welcome. 

Squinting his eyes open, Stiles does his best to glare over at where Derek is sitting at his desk finishing a report. Stiles opens his mouth, ready to bemoan his existence, when he notices something. The bruise on Derek’s jaw is gone. 

Sitting up quick enough that it actually makes him dizzy, Stiles stares at Derek with his mouth open. 

“Stiles?” Derek turns to look at him. He’s wearing an oversized grey hoodie and sweats, and his voice is soft even though it’s filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Rubbing at his eyes, Stiles stares at Derek’s jaw. “What-? Where did your bruise go?”

Derek freezes, eyes widening in panic. Stiles gets off the bed, crowding closer so he can’t run away. “Take off your shirt.” Derek flinches. “I’m serious. Let me see.” He’s awake, so much more awake than he had been only minutes before. 

He doesn’t think that Derek is going to comply. It looks like Derek would rather throw himself out of the window than do what Stiles says. But after a drawn out staring contest, Derek reaches back and tugs his hoodie off. 

The bruises on his chest, like the one that had been on his jaw, are all gone. There isn’t even the lingering green color giving away that they had been there in the first place. With shaking hands, Stiles reaches out and peels the bandage off of his shoulder. The smooth tan skin, unblemished except for a small smear of dried blood, makes Stiles shiver. 

“What the hell,” he breathes, running his hand over Derek skin, not caring how intimate it feels.

“I didn’t think about you seeing them,” Derek says finally. “I-. I forgot that you didn’t know.”

He wants to ask just what the hell Derek is, but absurdly, he doesn’t want to make Derek run away from him. “You’re healed.”

“Yes. I-.” They fall into an unsteady silence. Then Derek sighs, and meets his gaze. “You’re not going to ask?”

Stiles exhales. It’s a shaky sound. “I want to.” Gods, does he want to. He’s spent weeks trying to figure it out, for crying out loud. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me.” What’s more honest is that Stiles doesn’t want Derek to leave. They’ve just got to a place where they’re friends, and it’s good. He likes having Derek in his life, and going back to what they were before, living beside each other without interacting, it would be excruciating. Now that he knows what it’s like to have Derek around, he doesn’t want to go back to that. He doesn’t want Derek to run.

Derek is watching him with a look of surprise. He looks even more surprised when he says, “I want you to know.” 

Stiles can’t help but narrow his eyes. “Really? Because, up until a few weeks ago, I thought that you hated me. Now you want to tell me your secrets?

Despite the tense situation, Derek rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ever hate you, Stiles. I-. It’s hard for me to get close to people, and I was worried that you would figure out what I was. Putting up walls between us was easier than letting you in.” He takes a deep breath. “But that’s changed now. We’re friends. I came back to the room last night instead of staying with Boyd because this room makes me feel safe. You make me feel safe, and I forgot that you didn’t know my secret.”

His heart is racing, both from what Derek is saying and with the prospect of finally solving the mystery of Derek Hale. What sticks out to him the most though is, “I make you feel safe?”

Huffing a laugh, Derek reaches out slowly and takes his hand. Stiles watches, fascinated, as their fingers curl together. “Yes. Stiles. Last night you nearly had a panic attack because I wasn’t going to let you look at my injuries. You took care of me, and made sure that whatever had hurt me was taken care of. And then you didn’t ask any questions. Even before that, even when we were becoming friends, you respected my boundaries and let me set the pace. It drove you crazy, but you did it anyway. And even though you were trying to take notes and figure out what the hell was wrong with me, you still gave me my space.”

A flush heats up Stiles’ face. “You know about that?” His voice cracks in embarrassment, and Derek laughs. 

“I could hear you when you called Scott and gave him updates on the situation while I was in the shower. At first I was worried you would figure it out. Then I was just amused by the whole thing. You weren’t malicious about it, you just wanted to know what was going on.”

Stiles blows out a breath, tightening his grip on Derek’s hand. “You could hear me.” Derek nods. Stiles’ mind is spinning, trying to piece everything together. “You can tell when I’m lying.” Another nod. “And your injuries heal overnight.”

“Sometimes faster,” Derek agrees, watching Stiles with bright, curious eyes.

“You can smell really well, and you growl at everything.”

Derek laughs. “Yes. You know when you lost that bottle of Axe your friend sent you?”

Stiles gaps at him. “You took it, didn’t you?” He pulls away from Derek to glare at him, but doesn’t move back far enough that they’re forced to let go of one another. Derek pulls Stiles back toward him with a laugh.

“It smelled terrible, and I hated it.”

“That’s just rude,” Stiles says, mock indignation coloring his tone. 

Derek just shrugs. HIs smile doesn’t falter when he asks, “Have you figured it out?”

Stiles huffs. No, he hasn’t. It doesn’t-. It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing about Derek adds up. “Unless you are Wolverine, no I haven’t.”

Titling his head to the side and looking thoughtful, Derek says, “I guess that’s not too far off.” Stiles squints at him, which seems to make Derek a little nervous. “Okay, just-. Don’t freak out?” Using his free hand, Stiles gestures for Derek to go on.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles doesn’t react. It’s as though time stops in their room while he thinks it over. It shouldn’t make sense. Werewolves have always been a thing of fiction, not college roommates. But the more he thinks it over the more he can believe it. Sure, he’s going to do a shit ton of research as soon as he can, but he trusts Derek enough to give it a chance. 

“Okay.”

Derek blinks at him in surprise. “Okay? I-? You believe me?”

HIs fingers tighten on Derek’s hand when it seems like he’s going to pull away. “I trust you,” he says honestly. His words make Derek shiver. “So what, do you turn into a wolf when the moon is full? Or are you more American Werewolf in London.”

When Derek rolls his eyes in a familiar way, Stiles feels more balanced. “Neither. I can shift at anytime, first of all, not just on nights of the full moon. And most werewolves will never achieve a full wolf shift.”

“Can you?” Derek talks about being a werewolf in such a blasé way that further establishes that he’s being honest. And Stiles is excited, not only about learning more about Derek, but also by learning about something that most people don’t know is real. When Derek nods, he asks, “Can I see?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Derek says slowly. “Not right now. Even though you seem alright, it’ll be better to ease you into that so you’re not shocked. But,” he sounds nervous, “I could show you my beta shift, if you’d like. It’s the shift that all werewolves can achieve, and it should be easier to handle than having me turn into a giant wolf right before your eyes.”

Swallowing, Stiles nods. “I want to see.”

Carefully, Derek pulls his hand away from Stiles, flexing it while his nails turn into claws. Stiles is enraptured by the sight, reaching out to take Derek’s hand back in his. He turns it over and runs his fingers across Derek’s claws, making sure not to cut himself. “Woah.” He looks back up at Derek, ready to tell him how cool and crazy that is, and his breath catches. Derek’s face has changed. He still looks like Derek to an extent, but he has fangs instead of his sweet little bunny teeth, his eyebrows are gone, and his eyes are glowing bright blue. “Woah.”

Reaching out and being all too aware how his hands are shaking, Stiles runs his fingers across Derek’s cheeks. “You’re not afraid.” His voice sounds funny around his fangs, and Stiles smiles. 

“Am I supposed to be?” Derek huffs out a laugh of his own as his eyes close. He looks like he’s enjoying the way that Stiles’ fingers caress his face. Stiles likes being about to touch. “Does it hurt when you shift?”

“No. I was born a werewolf, so I’m used to it.” His eyes open slightly, just slits of brilliant blue, and it hits Stiles that Derek is still shirtless. He’s practically standing in between his legs, running his fingers across Derek’s face, and he hadn’t even noticed that Derek wasn’t wearing a top. Now that he’s noticed though, it’s all that he can think about.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice is husky and weighted. Stiles swallows. His mouth is dry. With a smirk, Derek opens his eyes further, and the look he gives Stiles could set him on fire. “I can hear your heart racing.”

It should make him feel embarrassed, but it doesn’t. There’s something about the way that Derek is smiling, something in the tone of his voice that makes Stiles feel brave. He steps closer, letting his hands drop to curl around Derek’s neck. “You’re amazing,” he breathes, watching Derek closely. 

Mindful of his claws, Derek reaches out to grip Stiles’ waist. Slowly, he shifts back until he looks like Derek again, green eyes bright. “I have another secret,” he says, voice low. “I want to kiss you.”

Stiles laughs. “That’s my secret too,” he whispers back, licking his lips. Derek watches the movement, and then, in typical Derek fashion, he growls. Stiles opens his mouth to make a comment about it, ready to tease him about actually being raised by wolves. But then he’s being pulled down enough so that Derek can press their lips together, and everything else falls away.

So Derek is a werewolf, so what? Kissing Derek seems so much more exciting than that. He’ll have time to ask all of his questions later. For now, he’s happy just to fold himself down on Derek’s lap, curling his arms around his neck to hold him close.

—————

“I’m telling you,” Stiles says into his phone, “there is something seriously wrong with Derek.”

Scott groans. “Not this again, Stiles please.”

Pressing a smile into his pillow, Stiles continues talking as though Scott had never interrupted him. “I mean, who likes pineapple on pizza. It’s a huge crime!”

“Stiles, I love you man, but can we talk about something else? Anything else? I’m so tired about hearing about Derek.” Stiles reaches his free hand across the bed, threading his fingers into Derek’s hair and marveling at the way that Derek leans into it. “You really need to let this thing with him go. Dude, you guys are friends now! So he has a few weird quirks, so what? You really should just admit that you have a thing for him!”

Beside him, Derek snorts. Stiles smacks at his shoulder and pulls his body over enough that he can drape himself across Derek’s back. “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? I solved the mystery of Derek Hale.” Turning his head and watching him with a curious expression, Derek almost looks worried that Stiles might actually give his secret away. It makes Stiles roll his eyes. “He totally wanted to bone me,” he announces, cackling when it makes Scott groan and Derek raise his eyebrows and mouth, ‘bone?’

“Great, so now I’m going to hear about him even more, aren’t I?” He doesn’t sound excited about that prospect. 

“He’s weird and amazing, what do you expect? Listen though, I have to let you go. I have him in bed right now, and shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Scott makes a gagging sound and hangs up without a goodbye, making Stiles laugh.

“He’s never going to talk to you again,” Derek says, rolling over as best he can without dislodging Stiles. 

When they’re comfortably rearranged, Stiles says, “Yes he will; he’s my best friend. And that was payback for all the times I’ve had to listen to him pout over girls.” He tucks his head down against Derek’s chest, enjoying that he can hear his heartbeat for a change. Tucked so close to him, Stiles feels safe and warm. He’s so happy that he got Derek as his roommate.

[halevetica]

Unsigned

Derek stopped at the top of his stairs as he spotted the vase of flowers. He knew without looking what the note said. He got the same one every year on this day.

Plucking the card from it’s stand, he smiled slightly.

This was the third year that he had received flowers on this day. The anniversary of the Hale fire. It meant a lot to Derek to know that someone was thinking of him and cared enough to reach out on such a difficult day.

The first year it had happened Derek had been shocked and nearly cried. He had hidden the flowers in his room to avoid questions from the pack.

The second year he set them out proudly on the kitchen table. Erica had been the only one to mention them, but Derek only shrugged making her drop the topic.

Both years the card was unsigned. Just the same message.

Just a reminder that you’re not alone.

The card remained unsigned this year as well, however, Derek was determined to find out who they were from.

He was sure it wasn’t anyone in the pack, as they had never mentioned the tragic event and Derek had never told them the date. They would have no way of knowing.

The alpha set the flowers on the kitchen table like he had the year before and pulled out his phone. There was only one person that he would trust to tell about this and that could help him find out who they were from.

 -

 Stiles hurried to swallow the mouth full of curly fries he’d just shoved in his mouth when he saw Derek’s name flashing across his screen.

“Hey, Der, what’s up?” He asked cheerily.

“Stiles, are you busy?” Derek asked, his tone sounding uncertain.

“Uh, no,” Stiles frowned, he didn’t like the way his alpha sounded. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected any less as he knew what today was, though he would never tell Derek.

“I need a favor.”

“Sure, what’s up?” Stiles would do anything to help Derek, especially today.

“Could you stop by the loft?”

Stiles stood up and grabbed his keys, “I’m leaving now.”

 When Stiles arrived at Derek’s loft, he wasted no time with knocking. Derek expected the pack to come and go as they pleased, however, the door was locked when Stiles went to open it.

“Derek?” Stiles knocked, his tone full of worry.

A moment later the door opened.

“Sorry, I didn’t want anyone interrupting us,” Derek apologized.

Stiles’ scent must have spiked because Derek immediately reassured him, “Everything’s okay, I just want to talk to you about something and I don’t really want the rest of the pack to know.”

Stiles relaxed slightly, but the frown on his features remained.

“Come on, let me show you,” Derek lead Stiles to the kitchen after locking the door back.

Stiles stopped short when he saw the vase of flowers, he’d picked out that morning.

“Here,” Derek plucked the card he’d had made and handed to him.

Stiles already knew what it said but he couldn’t tell Derek that.

“That’s very…ominous,” Stiles handed the card back.

“It’s unsigned.”

Stiles only nodded.

“This is the third year and they’re always the same flowers.”

Stiles bit down on his lower lip as he tried to hold back a smile. He had spent weeks putting together the perfect bouquet the first year. He wanted flowers that represented Derek’s family.

There were Lilac’s to represent family. Violets to represent loyalty. Irises because they were Talia’s favorite. Daisies because they were Laura’s favorite. Lily’s in remembrance of Derek’s five-year old cousin Liliana, and lastly Gladiolus to signify strength.

“My mom was really big onto flower meanings, growing up she said it was important to know what each plant represented, and which ones were safe and dangerous.”

“That’s smart,” Stiles nodded. Trying not to give away too much.

“I need to know who these flowers are from; can you help me?” Derek gave Stiles a hopeful look.

Stiles’ head snapped towards Derek, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I need to know who sent these,” Derek repeated.

“I think if they wanted you to know then they would have signed the card,” Stiles gestured towards the card that was in Derek’s hand.

“Stiles, I don’t think you know how important this is to me.”

Stiles sputtered but didn’t have anything to say. Derek was right, he didn’t know how important it was to Derek.

“Do you not like them?” Stiles frowned at the vase on the table.

“I love them and that’s why I need to know who they were from,” Derek reached out and touched the petal of one of the Lilly’s.

“Oh,” Stiles swallowed. He could tell Derek, but the whole point was that he didn’t want Derek to know he knew.

“They’re for the anniversary of the fire,” Derek’s voice dropped as he avoided Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles licked at his bottom lip unsure of what to say. He would feel dumb pretending to not know what today was, but he also knew Derek didn’t want anyone to know.

“Stiles…” Derek glanced up at the abnormally quiet guy.

“Do you know who sent these?” Derek narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Stiles scoffed. “No.”

Derek straightened; his eyes boring into Stiles’. “You’re lying.”

“Damn you Werewolves,” Stiles threw his hands up.

“Stiles, did you know about today?” Derek demanded.

Once again Stiles was left to splutter unsure of what to say.

“Wait,” Derek’s demanding posture relaxed slightly, “They’re from you.”

Stiles’ tongue flicked out, anxiously wetting his lips. If he lied Derek would know.

“All this time, you knew?” Derek’s tone was gentler now, vulnerable.

“I knew you didn’t like making a big deal of it but I didn’t want you to think you were alone,” Stiles shrugged, his eyes dropping as if in shame.

“And the flower meanings?”

Stiles shrugged. “Remember when I found those dried flowers in that book forever ago? You said they belonged to Laura, they were her favorites. Cora had mentioned Irises being your mom’s favorite. And then Lily’s in remembrance of Liliana…” he trailed off almost afraid to continue when he saw the pain cross Derek’s face.

The alpha reached out stroking a petal gently. “Violet’s for Loyalty. Lilac’s for family. And Gladiolus for strength, right?”

Stiles only nodded.

“How did you know about Lily?”

“It was in the paper, the list of everyone who died inside. She was Peter’s daughter, right?” Stiles had never talked to Derek about the hale fire to this extent. It felt odd but he felt honored that Derek would talk to him at all.

“I don’t know what to say,” Derek’s jaw clenched.

Stiles couldn’t be sure if Derek was mad or not. His posture was tense, but his tone was soft.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Stiles shrugged.

“Thank you,” Derek looked up to meet Stiles’ gaze. His eyes were slightly glossy from unshed tears.

Stiles gave a sympathetic smile.

A banging at the door pulled Stiles and Derek’s attention.

“Hey, why’s the door locked,” Erica yelled before banging again.

“Coming,” Derek called as he went to step by Stiles. “Can we keep this between us? I like the pack not knowing the exact day,” he paused as Stiles’ side.

“Of course, Der,” Stiles grinned.

Derek felt relieved knowing who it was that was sending the flowers now and if he was being honest, he was glad it was Stiles.

  The next year when Derek found the same flowers at his door, he smiled when he saw the name at the bottom of the card this time.

Consider buying me a coffee, I would really appreciate it!

[dearericbittle]

Detective Stiles Stilinski and the Case of Derek Hale’s Mysterious Mate (1/1)

Read the fic on AO3

Summary: Mates are a thing. A werewolf thing. Which is fine and shit, but finding out that Derek fucking Hale has a mate? That gets to him. And seeing as Derek won’t tell him who it is, well… Guess that means this is a job for Detective Stiles Stilinski - if he’s not too distracted by his traditional banter with Derek.

AN: My first @sterekweek2019 fic, a mystery. For @christinesficrecs, for being the best moral support a girl can have when starting over like 3 times. 

Preview: 

So apparently werewolves have mates. Like, soulmates. Like, bonded for the rest of their life, living happily ever after, other half, two sides of the same coin, actual fucking soul mates. Stiles really doesn’t know how the discussion somehow got from the terrible werewolf knotting porn Erica was making fun of to a discussion of how mating is basically marriage plus. No divorce allowed - or even possible. 

That and how the sex is so much better when you’re mated. Which is a thing he doesn’t think he’ll ever need to know (why would he?) - but it is also completely unsurprising that Erica still feels the need to share that information. There is a lot that can be said about his Catwoman, but her not being proud of the awesome partner she snared for herself is not one of them. 

Erica and Boyd came back changed from their Alpha Pack kidnapping, having been forced to rely only on each other. They’d built a relationship in their months apart from the pack, and were now suddenly able to communicate without using actual words. They’d worked through their traumas side by side afterwards, with the support of their pack - Derek’s pack. It’s sort of Stiles’ pack too, though, by now. 

He says sort of because well, he’s not in Beacon Hills that much anymore and his involvement in supernatural shenanigans has devolved into the occasional bit of tricky research using his dorm room’s annoyingly crappy WiFi. 

Stiles Stilinski is almost normal now. And it’s so fucking boring, but no matter how much he pushes, Derek seems determined to keep him out of pack business. Because apparently school matters now, and there’s others who can pick up the slack. 

Which, rude. He thought Derek and him had something special. 

No, not like that. As if. He means an ally/frenemy type deal where they trust each other with their lives and know way too much about each other’s dark and dirty secrets, but they have no idea how to communicate without a supernatural crisis motivating them. 

At least Derek’s a better Alpha these days. It only took him forever, but he’s managing. Stiles is close to graduating from college - that’s how long it’s taken him. 

Okay, so maybe Stiles is a little impressed. A little.

Read the full fic on AO3

[chrysthebadwolf]

STEREK WEEK 2019: Day 1 - Mystery 

When a mysterious series of supernatural murders start taking place in Eichen House, the Emissary of the Hale pack, Stiles Stilinski, tries to use his magic to trace his way to the culprit. The ritual he uses has unexpected results, sending him and his Alpha back in 1953. In the past neither Stiles or Derek have their powers but they seem to have acquired the identities of a BHPD detective and a newspaper reporter. Soon they’re thrown into a case that seems to be identical to the one that they were trying to solve in the future. Without their special gifts they’ll have to try to shed light on the murders using just traditional means.

Is solving the case the key to them returning to their old lives? And why did Stiles’ spell even led them there? Is the person they’re looking for in the 21st century a copycat or can they travel through time? 

[thedaughterofkings]

Revenge of the Mystery Meat

Written for Day 1 of Sterekweek 2019: Mystery!

Stiles stares skeptically at the offerings of the cafeteria. 

Tuesday is supposedly Italian day, but this doesn’t look like dolce vita or even Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love. It’s over cooked spaghetti and a sauce with mystery meat that is way more mystery than meat.

“Well, do you want anything or not now?” the bored lunch lady asks and Stiles watches as fly lands on the mystery meat and promptly disappears.

“No, thank you,” he replies and quickly leaves the queue. Looks like he’ll have to skip lunch today. Still better than being poisoned by the kitchen’s mystery meat, though.

His belly doesn’t seem to agree, choosing that moment to growl loudly. 

Stiles quickly leaves the cafeteria before the mystery meat starts looking edible after all. Surely some fresh air is going to help - the stands tend to be empty at this time of day, so he should have them to himself. 

Only when he gets there, it looks as though someone else has had the same idea. It’s Derek Hale, star of the basketball team and two grades above Stiles. He’s going to graduate this year and looks to be studying. 

Biting his lip indecisively, Stiles is torn between sitting somewhere on the bleachers anyways - they are certainly big enough for two, or leaving Derek to it and trying to find some other secluded place on school grounds. Before he can come to a decision, though, Derek looks up and spots him.

“Stiles, hey! Come sit down!”

Derek Hale knows his name.

Stiles automatically makes his way over to Derek while that thought runs around in his head. He hadn’t thought Derek Hale knew his face, nevermind his name!

“How do you know my name?” is thus of course the first question that comes out of his mouth before his brain can come back online again and Stiles wishes the bleachers and the earth would swallow him up.

To his surprise, though, Derek doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re on the Lacrosse team, aren’t you?” he asks and Stiles shrugs.

“Just as a benchwarmer really.”

“That still makes you part of the team,” Derek insists and then adds: “I try to know all the other teams of Beacon High.”

It’s plausible enough - Derek isn’t just the star player of the basketball team, but their captain, too. Perhaps that’s part of his duties - knowing the other teams. Though Stiles can’t see Jackson learning the names of basketball players two grades below them. And also, there’s this faint blush staining Derek’s cheeks and colouring his ears crimson that makes Stiles think it might not be the full truth.

Before he can dig any deeper, though, his stomach pipes up again. The growl is even louder this time, and now it’s Stiles’ turn to feel his face heat up in embarrassment. 

“Skipped lunch today?” Derek asks, biting back a smile. Stiles is just grateful he hasn’t outright laughed.

“Today’s Italian Day, though really, they should just go ahead and call it Mystery Meat Day; and leave it like that,” Stiles complains and Derek laughs.

“I do avoid the cafeteria on Tuesdays for a reason - seriously, what do they put in there? And how long ago?”

“Yeah, you never know when it’s going to start walking again,” Stiles jokes. 

”Tuesday Lunch: The Revenge of the Mystery Meat,” Derek intones dramatically and Stiles laughs out loud.

Unfortunately the movement makes his stomach complain again. Loudly. 

“Here.” Derek has suddenly got a sandwich out and is offering half of it to Stiles. “We can’t have you be the first indirect victim of The Mystery Meat, can we?”

It’s a nice sandwich, too, not one of the tasteless store-bought ones, but homemade, with thick slices of bread and even plenty of greens between them. 

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks, even as his stomach insists again loudly that it needs to be fed now. 

“Take it,” Derek urges, adding: “I’m not all that hungry anyways.”

A growl from his belly immediately proves him a liar and Stiles tracks how the blush darkens, starting with Derek’s ears and moving to his cheeks and even a little onto his nose. Ducking his head in embarrassment only serves to reveal that the back of his neck is red, too.

Derek’s obvious embarrassment is enough for Stiles to overcome his own jitters, though, and so, with his heart in his throat and almost unable to believe his own chutzpah, he returns:

“Let me repay you though: dinner? Tonight?”

Derek presses half of the sandwich into his hands and grins, cheeks still flushed, but more from excitement than embarrassment now, it seems.

“It’s a date. As long as there’s no mystery meat!”

And that’s how Stiles accidentally almost became a vegetarian.

Oh, and got a boyfriend on the way. 

Looks like the mystery meat was good for something after all.

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