Just Say Yes Part 4
Title: Just Say Yes
Rating: Future Nc-17
Pairing: Derek/Stiles Other/Stiles
Warnings: Language, abuse
Notes: Written for this kink meme prompt
Summary: Stiles wanted nothing to do with Derek Hale. His life was already a mess, and the last thing he needed was his ex-boyfriend back. But when he showed up bruised, beaten, and completely detached from this world on Stiles' doorstep-what else was he supposed to do? Answer: it probably shouldn't have been dragging him into his flat and trying to put him back together, and definitely not hoping Derek to return the favor.
Notes on this chapter: There is a lot of dialogue here, sorry about that, it's a little slow.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Stiles didn’t know how long he looked for Derek. He drove along all the back roads of his neighborhood, he stuck his head out the window, yelled Derek’s name, and whistled a few times. He got pulled over once, by the elderly woman who lived a block or two down and let Stiles stay the night once when he was obviously in no condition to drive.
She asked him if she could assist him in looking for his dog, Stiles had trouble explaining that it was his ex-boyfriend.
Stiles began to wonder if something had happened to Derek. Stiles was finally able to make that trip to Costco so at least he didn’t look like a male prostitute anymore, nope he was back to his black t-shirts, serial killer appearance.
Clearly, he should be more worried if Derek had done something to someone else.
He didn’t realize that it had been a really freaking long time, until his phone rang.
“Where the hell are you man?!” His co-worker Nate screamed into his ear. Nate was a good guy, one of the few friends Stiles had at work, but also he was incredibly unreliable, erratic, and a bit of a crook. Then again, the place where Stiles was employed was filled with crooks.
Well crooks, and out of college students that were drowning in medical and student loans debt.
“I’m uh out and about,” His voice was rising to squeaky level, “lost track of time. That happens you know when you’re out and about…”
“You?!Stiles what’s up with you? The last time you missed a day of work was when you were barfing up the bad Chinese food restaurant we tried, and you were late was ‘cause of that big accident on the freeway. You’ve been gone twice over the past month, with no warning.”
Stiles could hear the noise in the background and Nate shifted the phone to his shoulder so the sound would be muffled as he yelled at someone behind him.
“Look, Nate,” He started to beg, “I know I’ve been really uh what’s the word, cryptic? I guess that could work, lately. There’s totally a reason for that, and I’ll explain it’s just right now is a really bad time.”
“So you want me to cover for you. Well, well, well Stilinski how the tides have changed.” There was a teasing arrogant tone that Nate used constantly. Stiles’ could just picture that triumphant smirk.
He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well I cover for you all the time and I do that because I’m a good person, and you know who should be a good person now, Nate? You.”
“You owe me, and the Boss man will probably find out anyways so you’ll probably end up working overtime still. Wow, Stilinski, what kind of mess have you gotten into? Got some girl you’ve been keeping secret?”
When Stiles found Derek he thought it would be in some really significant spot. Some secret place that held a deep meaning to both of them. Maybe Derek would be in this super romantic spot to try to win him back, or standing in the gateway to Narnia, or in front the bridge to Terabithia.
It would be inspiring, and alter the entire dynamic of their relationship.
Instead he was crossing the street to a Denny’s.
“Derek!”
Nate’s voice was still on the other end, “Derek? Well you have certainly been keeping something from me haven’t y-”
Stiles may have mumbled some goodbye, but it was completely unintelligible, as he threw the phone on the seat and swerved into the nearest parking lot.
_____________________________________________
Stiles always pictured Derek as a steak kind of guy. Like the meat was still half alive on the table, or something that he could rip off the bone. Some very manly manly food. Wolfish. So it was a little surprising to see him heading for a family-themed breakfast place. Now looking back, he could’ve very well been heading past it, to somewhere else along this strip of restaurants, but it was more amusing to assume not.
His park job was terrible, and Derek was standing there with that small hint of amusement. It was nearly unidentifiable except for the quirk of the mouth of the slight crinkle in the eyes.
Stiles stumbled out the jeep, and ran up to Derek. The neighborhood wasn’t brilliant. It was dirty, the sidewalk filled with grime. Several of the street lamps were broken and the lights were dangling from power lines that were bound to go out. There was not a high population. It was on an outskirts of the main attraction of Vegas, but just too far from other neighborhoods to be considered non-casino/tourist territory.
Stiles knew nearly everyone here. That was half because of his job, half because he had developed this uncanny ability to attract people, of strange sorts, and everyone was strange here. It was like he gained some sort of magnet after the whole werewolf affair. People knew he had been through some out-of-this world shit, and figured that he could take anything they gave him.
It was not the best quality to have.
He received several strange looks when he bolted up to the very large man that could very well pose as a serial killer.
He waved to the woman who was sending him looks like ‘honey, are you about to be tied down and thrown into the back of your jeep’?
Stiles would be quite embarrassed to admit that it had happened once but under completely different circumstances.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
They stepped away from the parking lot and to the alley between the restaurant and the adjacent building. It was weird, they knew each other so well that they both were sure that would be the only place they could converse without being given strange looks, or where the cops wouldn’t be called because of the violent actions that could and usually did occur.
“Clearly,” Derek used his impatient, I’m an awesome Alpha voice, “I’m eating something, what are you doing here Stiles?”
The answer was obvious. But Derek in short terms, was a dick. A dick and a hypocrite. Derek liked nothing more (well, okay there were some things he liked more) than having verbal evidence that he had succeeded in what he wanted to do.
“Clearly going after my temperamental ex-boyfriend werewolf, who when he usually storms out of places angry destroying, roar, things happen. That’s a good question anyways, why aren’t you all you know, Derek angry Derek smash.”
Then Derek, who had to have this conversation planned for the past few hours casually said with a smirk that could beat all other smirks in a duel, “Your boyfriend.”
Stiles’ rolled his eyes and fell right into the trap that had been so elegantly, and as suavely as Derek ever was, set up, “Okay, weirdo, yeah that’s what this whole thing arrived from the first place, are you going through menopause or something?”
Derek pulled the stick, cut the rope, snapped the latch, placed the last leaf over the hole, and with a triumphant statement that had to be the reason it took so long to find him, he finally answered, “I don’t see him anywhere.”
Stiles mouth gaped like a fish. His lips widened into a perfect oval and his eyebrows scrunched together in a downwards direction incredulously. He pulled back a bit, just enough space for him to throw his arms up in the air before shoving them in the back pockets of his jeans.
“Fine. You win. I admit defeat to the grand Derek Hale. I have nothing to say to you.” Then after a brief pause, in which Derek relished the moment of finally making Stiles Stilinski lose all powers of speech, he concluded, “Now take me to dinner you bastard.”
________________________________________________
It was about the time after they ordered that both of them realized that when sitting alone together in an inappropriate arguing space, with no movie or distraction on, that they had nothing to talk about. Most people could go for the, haven’t seen you in almost ten years! We have some catching up to do! But they both knew what the answer to that question was, and it wasn’t very…topical.
So instead Stiles said the first thing that came to his mind, “Wow, I haven’t eaten here since my dad…” He shut his mouth. What was Derek supposed to say? He wasn’t a normal person; did he even have those normal conversation manners? How did Derek speak when times like this came up?
Stiles didn’t know, because in the past whenever there had been a silence between them where chatter was supposed to go, it was instantly filled with sex.
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” He asked as if talking to an annoying child.
The plates were placed in front of them, and whatever the waitress said was lost to his ears. Their booth was towards the back, and even then people were still turning around to stare at them occasionally, because Derek had never looked more out of place than right now.
“Is this a trick question?” He approached cautiously, and stabbed a solid forkful of the mountain of pancakes he ordered. The eggs were a little slimy, but looked significantly less greasy than Derek’s omelet that was filled with every type of meat on the planet.
“What?”
“If I say the wrong thing, will you flip this table and I’ll never get to finish my pancakes?” He spoke with his mouth full.
Derek was actually quite the elegant eater. Stiles expected him to just go at it, tongue, plate, wolf style, but he looked as refined as anyone could while eating an omelet.
“I’ve never done that.”
“Well not to this table at least, anyways, now clarify.”
Derek huffed at having to repeat himself, “Do you want me to say sorry for what happened?”
Stiles was going to point out that clarified nothing at all, but it was like a circle with Derek. A never ending loop of getting no answers what so ever. So Stiles responded with, “Isn’t that what normal people do?”
“It’s useless.”
Stiles snorted. Well Mr. Hale if you thought that originally, it may have been more convenient to vocalize it sooner. Then there was that dead end, that place where Stiles was scraping for words that could lengthen this conversation without furthering to confuse him.
“If he died would you?”
Derek stopped eating, and placed his fork at the side of his plate. His eyes shifted to the left upper corner and he made a grimace that displayed a sliver of his teeth.
It was almost like he was thinking about a suitable answer. Usually Stiles assumed that he either had them piled up or just spoke whatever first came to mind.
“No, probably not.”
Stiles sighed overdramatically, and pushed his empty plate away to bury his face in his hands. He was grinning though, not because anything was funny, but more of the ridiculousness factor. “You confuse me. You’re like an enigma shoved inside a Rubik’s cube. If I ask you to explain will you do so properly, or has this gotten even more pointless?”
There was the slightest of smiles. Despite for Derek looking like he killed people, being angry most of the time, also incredibly bossy, and a general disagreeable person-his smile even just the flicker of one was absolutely infectious. Stiles returned it wide and whole heartedly.
“Pointless. Saying sorry doesn’t help anything.”
“How would you know?”
Derek just raised his eyebrows. Stiles almost smacked himself in the forehead. Derek must have, especially when he was a kid, gotten dozen of people coming up to him apologizing for his loss, or various form of ‘I’m sorry’. He probably couldn’t even bring it up without looks of pity.
“Because sorry doesn’t change the past.”
Stiles was caught between calling Derek out on posing as like a philosopher or something, and saying sorry. He was however completely caught off guard for what he was about to say next.
What Derek was about to say slyly over the corner of his coffee cup before taking a swallow, “wouldn’t help misunderstandings or forgiveness, I guess it could be called.”
Stiles mouth fell open into an identical position as before. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew exactly what Derek was speaking of. It was impossible not to, not when they were them. But why now? Why when Derek was still pissed, when he was going through something that was completely messing up his head, why when Stiles was in a relationship, and most importantly after ten-ish years?
It was time to place a call to Lydia.
He swallowed thickly, and as Derek took the check (because they both knew Stiles couldn’t pay for shit) he rambled, “You’re wrong, that’s why sorry was invented. It’s like ‘yes’, people invented yes to agree to things, and sorry was invented to convince people to say yes when someone asked if they were forgiven after sorry.”
From that cluster of words Derek got, “If we both said it would you…?”
The question didn’t need to complete. Just like before, Stiles knew exactly what Derek was referring too, but this time he knew how to properly respond.
“Would you even?” His voice was hushed, with the slight irrational fear that someone as they walked out the door would overhear them and instantly know their whole situation and history. He didn’t even make eye contact, just stared at the tiled ground.
“No.”
Stiles was relieved, because if Derek had, it wouldn’t have been very Derek-like. If Derek opened his mouth in an apology and waited for Stiles to make one of his own, it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be them. It would be too touchy feely, too emotional, too girly, and too easy of a solution.
“Then no, I guess.”
_____________________
The rest of the car ride was only filled by the static radio. To Stiles’ extreme irritation, Derek did not take the duty of shot gun to change the station. Their previous conversation was something that weighed them both down. It bogged on their conscious and any sort of other words that could be spoken required more of an effort than usual.
That silence continued on while Stiles rushed to get ready. He flipped on his vest, tied his bow as quickly as possible, and applied the eyeliner with such fast skill that he was embarrassed he was able to do so. When he was running out of the door, something stopped him in his step, a question that danced on the top of his mind since Derek arrived.
He was showering, and Stiles had to yell over the running water. “So I get that you’re a dude, and I’m a dude, and I guess it’s not normal to talk about feelings or whatever, so I’ll stop pressuring you, but can you just tell me, that why out of all the people- Scott everyone, why did you come to me?”
Stiles jogged in place waiting for the answer, his eyes flickered to the door and he debated if he should just go. He was already in huge trouble no doubt; he could even lose his job, why didn’t he just go-
Then he heard or at least what he thought he heard, it could just be lost in the water, the very faint answer that made Stiles press his ear to the door.
“…Because, your Stiles.”
He actually held his breath and pulled away. Before he ran out, he yelled a quick goodbye, and then quieter so that Derek may have not been able to hear over the rush of water.
“You know, you’re not alone.”
_______________
His conversation with Lydia was very brief. Lydia was meant to be handled in doses. Her relationship with Jackson had constant ups and downs, by the time Stiles was well over her; she was still having issues with him. She used to come to Stiles’ house crying over their recent break up. Weeks later they would get back together, and though Stiles would warn her about it every time, she would still anyways.
Right before she left, she would say this one line. When he called her tonight on his way to work, she said the same thing. Well she led into it by saying, “Wow Stiles your life is like some sad gay drama”. Then she repeated what she always told him, every single time she walked out his door and into Jackson’s Porsche.
“Men always want what they don’t have.”
Stiles wondered if that was true. Or if it only applied to beautiful, perfect, slightly evil gingers, and arrogant, pretty boys.
____________
He worked harder than he probably ever did before. He served people like lightening, delivered drinks at impressive speeds, fixed slot machines with skill he didn’t know he possessed. He even tolerated the obnoxious flirtation, ass grabs, and other sexual harassments. At the end of his shift Nate whistled, slapped him on the back, and even complimented him.
It was quite the accomplishment.
Then, when everyone went home, and the morning shift began, Stiles’ boss called him into his office.
It was as one would imagine a casino owner’s office to appear. The plush red velvet chair over the shiny wood desk, a computer in the far corner clouded by paper work. There were novelty items in each of the corners as well as in the book shelves. An old stereo took up the entire left wall along with mounds of cds of one hit wonders.
Sitting behind that desk, in that red velvet chair, with his legs crossed and his chin on his hand was Stiles’ boss.
“Close the door behind you, and take a seat.” His voice was sickly friendly, that saccharine tone that caused Stiles a full body shiver.
He did so, and as he moved to sit in one of the wooden chairs, the action was interrupted.
Stiles was completely prepared for the harsh slap across his face.
The weird thing, he came to realize about injuries, was that they changed over time. The first time you got hit, it hurt like hell. The second time it did too. The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and so on, all hurt the same. But after a certain number of times, you became aware of things. You learned exactly how a hand rose to deliver a punch, a knee bent to give a kick, and in that knowledge you expected that pain. You remembered how it felt, and were aware of how you would feel in a matter of seconds.
The pain became less. Maybe it was a sort of numbing device Stiles had unknowingly invented. He knew what was coming, so there was no reason to fear it. Fear intensified everything-fear made it worse.
Before he could recover, Stiles collar was brutally grabbed and he was yanked forward so his thighs dug into the edge of the desk.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You take a day off, now you’re coming in late, and your neck looks like it was mauled.”
Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. ‘It’s not what it looks like’ wouldn’t work, because it was very close to what it looked like. He could say ‘I’m sorry’ but that wouldn’t make him any less angry, sorry doesn’t do anything-
Sorry can’t change the past.
“I have a friend who’s sick. I’ve been helping him.” Stiles’ breathe was becoming thin with his wind pipe being cut off. Of course, that sentence was the entirely wrong thing to say.
His expression twisted in angry. Heat stormed up his face, turning it to a pink color from his scruffy chin all the way up to his slicked back dark hair. He threw Stiles’ backwards then, with a force that caused Stiles to fall to the ground and scrap his arms against the sharp edges of the chairs. Enough to draw blood at least, and his head bounced against the carpeted floor.
He left his desk and was on him. He straddled his waist, and delivered a blow to Stiles’ eye with his ring catching the top of his eyebrow.
“You fucking slut.” Then he kissed him and sucked Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth to suck violently on the gum line. “How fucking dare you cheat on me. Do you know what position you’re in? Do you not know who you fucking belong to?”
Stiles knew better by know, he knew not to fight, he knew that the best option was to lay there with his eye throbbing and for his excuses to be as clear as possible. “Nothing happened, really, there’s nothing between him and I.” Stiles didn’t want to add the now on.
“Then why is your neck chewed up like some whore’s? Do you not remember how much you owe me? Do you want to end up on the fucking streets, Stiles’?”
He leaned in close to his ear, “What would daddy say, huh Stiles? He’d have to move out of that house, and you two would be broke off your asses, and whenever you even try to get another job I’d tell them that you’re a filthy fag who harasses their bosses.”
He got up after, and left Stiles one the ground, with his legs apart and his hands in front of his face. He kicked the chair aside to crouch down next to Stiles. In a soft mock gentle tone he whispered, “You can leave now Stiles, you can go back to your friend and lose everything.”
“Or you could stay here, with me today. It’s your choice.” He stroked Stiles’ cheek narrowly avoiding the swollen eye, “But personally, I’d choose me.”
Stiles sighed, or a noise close, that caused his chest to rise and then fall again heavily. He made no motion of moving, but just turned his head to the side.
“Good boy.”
Part 5
Rating: Future Nc-17
Pairing: Derek/Stiles Other/Stiles
Warnings: Language, abuse
Notes: Written for this kink meme prompt
Summary: Stiles wanted nothing to do with Derek Hale. His life was already a mess, and the last thing he needed was his ex-boyfriend back. But when he showed up bruised, beaten, and completely detached from this world on Stiles' doorstep-what else was he supposed to do? Answer: it probably shouldn't have been dragging him into his flat and trying to put him back together, and definitely not hoping Derek to return the favor.
Notes on this chapter: There is a lot of dialogue here, sorry about that, it's a little slow.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Stiles didn’t know how long he looked for Derek. He drove along all the back roads of his neighborhood, he stuck his head out the window, yelled Derek’s name, and whistled a few times. He got pulled over once, by the elderly woman who lived a block or two down and let Stiles stay the night once when he was obviously in no condition to drive.
She asked him if she could assist him in looking for his dog, Stiles had trouble explaining that it was his ex-boyfriend.
Stiles began to wonder if something had happened to Derek. Stiles was finally able to make that trip to Costco so at least he didn’t look like a male prostitute anymore, nope he was back to his black t-shirts, serial killer appearance.
Clearly, he should be more worried if Derek had done something to someone else.
He didn’t realize that it had been a really freaking long time, until his phone rang.
“Where the hell are you man?!” His co-worker Nate screamed into his ear. Nate was a good guy, one of the few friends Stiles had at work, but also he was incredibly unreliable, erratic, and a bit of a crook. Then again, the place where Stiles was employed was filled with crooks.
Well crooks, and out of college students that were drowning in medical and student loans debt.
“I’m uh out and about,” His voice was rising to squeaky level, “lost track of time. That happens you know when you’re out and about…”
“You?!Stiles what’s up with you? The last time you missed a day of work was when you were barfing up the bad Chinese food restaurant we tried, and you were late was ‘cause of that big accident on the freeway. You’ve been gone twice over the past month, with no warning.”
Stiles could hear the noise in the background and Nate shifted the phone to his shoulder so the sound would be muffled as he yelled at someone behind him.
“Look, Nate,” He started to beg, “I know I’ve been really uh what’s the word, cryptic? I guess that could work, lately. There’s totally a reason for that, and I’ll explain it’s just right now is a really bad time.”
“So you want me to cover for you. Well, well, well Stilinski how the tides have changed.” There was a teasing arrogant tone that Nate used constantly. Stiles’ could just picture that triumphant smirk.
He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well I cover for you all the time and I do that because I’m a good person, and you know who should be a good person now, Nate? You.”
“You owe me, and the Boss man will probably find out anyways so you’ll probably end up working overtime still. Wow, Stilinski, what kind of mess have you gotten into? Got some girl you’ve been keeping secret?”
When Stiles found Derek he thought it would be in some really significant spot. Some secret place that held a deep meaning to both of them. Maybe Derek would be in this super romantic spot to try to win him back, or standing in the gateway to Narnia, or in front the bridge to Terabithia.
It would be inspiring, and alter the entire dynamic of their relationship.
Instead he was crossing the street to a Denny’s.
“Derek!”
Nate’s voice was still on the other end, “Derek? Well you have certainly been keeping something from me haven’t y-”
Stiles may have mumbled some goodbye, but it was completely unintelligible, as he threw the phone on the seat and swerved into the nearest parking lot.
_____________________________________________
Stiles always pictured Derek as a steak kind of guy. Like the meat was still half alive on the table, or something that he could rip off the bone. Some very manly manly food. Wolfish. So it was a little surprising to see him heading for a family-themed breakfast place. Now looking back, he could’ve very well been heading past it, to somewhere else along this strip of restaurants, but it was more amusing to assume not.
His park job was terrible, and Derek was standing there with that small hint of amusement. It was nearly unidentifiable except for the quirk of the mouth of the slight crinkle in the eyes.
Stiles stumbled out the jeep, and ran up to Derek. The neighborhood wasn’t brilliant. It was dirty, the sidewalk filled with grime. Several of the street lamps were broken and the lights were dangling from power lines that were bound to go out. There was not a high population. It was on an outskirts of the main attraction of Vegas, but just too far from other neighborhoods to be considered non-casino/tourist territory.
Stiles knew nearly everyone here. That was half because of his job, half because he had developed this uncanny ability to attract people, of strange sorts, and everyone was strange here. It was like he gained some sort of magnet after the whole werewolf affair. People knew he had been through some out-of-this world shit, and figured that he could take anything they gave him.
It was not the best quality to have.
He received several strange looks when he bolted up to the very large man that could very well pose as a serial killer.
He waved to the woman who was sending him looks like ‘honey, are you about to be tied down and thrown into the back of your jeep’?
Stiles would be quite embarrassed to admit that it had happened once but under completely different circumstances.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
They stepped away from the parking lot and to the alley between the restaurant and the adjacent building. It was weird, they knew each other so well that they both were sure that would be the only place they could converse without being given strange looks, or where the cops wouldn’t be called because of the violent actions that could and usually did occur.
“Clearly,” Derek used his impatient, I’m an awesome Alpha voice, “I’m eating something, what are you doing here Stiles?”
The answer was obvious. But Derek in short terms, was a dick. A dick and a hypocrite. Derek liked nothing more (well, okay there were some things he liked more) than having verbal evidence that he had succeeded in what he wanted to do.
“Clearly going after my temperamental ex-boyfriend werewolf, who when he usually storms out of places angry destroying, roar, things happen. That’s a good question anyways, why aren’t you all you know, Derek angry Derek smash.”
Then Derek, who had to have this conversation planned for the past few hours casually said with a smirk that could beat all other smirks in a duel, “Your boyfriend.”
Stiles’ rolled his eyes and fell right into the trap that had been so elegantly, and as suavely as Derek ever was, set up, “Okay, weirdo, yeah that’s what this whole thing arrived from the first place, are you going through menopause or something?”
Derek pulled the stick, cut the rope, snapped the latch, placed the last leaf over the hole, and with a triumphant statement that had to be the reason it took so long to find him, he finally answered, “I don’t see him anywhere.”
Stiles mouth gaped like a fish. His lips widened into a perfect oval and his eyebrows scrunched together in a downwards direction incredulously. He pulled back a bit, just enough space for him to throw his arms up in the air before shoving them in the back pockets of his jeans.
“Fine. You win. I admit defeat to the grand Derek Hale. I have nothing to say to you.” Then after a brief pause, in which Derek relished the moment of finally making Stiles Stilinski lose all powers of speech, he concluded, “Now take me to dinner you bastard.”
________________________________________________
It was about the time after they ordered that both of them realized that when sitting alone together in an inappropriate arguing space, with no movie or distraction on, that they had nothing to talk about. Most people could go for the, haven’t seen you in almost ten years! We have some catching up to do! But they both knew what the answer to that question was, and it wasn’t very…topical.
So instead Stiles said the first thing that came to his mind, “Wow, I haven’t eaten here since my dad…” He shut his mouth. What was Derek supposed to say? He wasn’t a normal person; did he even have those normal conversation manners? How did Derek speak when times like this came up?
Stiles didn’t know, because in the past whenever there had been a silence between them where chatter was supposed to go, it was instantly filled with sex.
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” He asked as if talking to an annoying child.
The plates were placed in front of them, and whatever the waitress said was lost to his ears. Their booth was towards the back, and even then people were still turning around to stare at them occasionally, because Derek had never looked more out of place than right now.
“Is this a trick question?” He approached cautiously, and stabbed a solid forkful of the mountain of pancakes he ordered. The eggs were a little slimy, but looked significantly less greasy than Derek’s omelet that was filled with every type of meat on the planet.
“What?”
“If I say the wrong thing, will you flip this table and I’ll never get to finish my pancakes?” He spoke with his mouth full.
Derek was actually quite the elegant eater. Stiles expected him to just go at it, tongue, plate, wolf style, but he looked as refined as anyone could while eating an omelet.
“I’ve never done that.”
“Well not to this table at least, anyways, now clarify.”
Derek huffed at having to repeat himself, “Do you want me to say sorry for what happened?”
Stiles was going to point out that clarified nothing at all, but it was like a circle with Derek. A never ending loop of getting no answers what so ever. So Stiles responded with, “Isn’t that what normal people do?”
“It’s useless.”
Stiles snorted. Well Mr. Hale if you thought that originally, it may have been more convenient to vocalize it sooner. Then there was that dead end, that place where Stiles was scraping for words that could lengthen this conversation without furthering to confuse him.
“If he died would you?”
Derek stopped eating, and placed his fork at the side of his plate. His eyes shifted to the left upper corner and he made a grimace that displayed a sliver of his teeth.
It was almost like he was thinking about a suitable answer. Usually Stiles assumed that he either had them piled up or just spoke whatever first came to mind.
“No, probably not.”
Stiles sighed overdramatically, and pushed his empty plate away to bury his face in his hands. He was grinning though, not because anything was funny, but more of the ridiculousness factor. “You confuse me. You’re like an enigma shoved inside a Rubik’s cube. If I ask you to explain will you do so properly, or has this gotten even more pointless?”
There was the slightest of smiles. Despite for Derek looking like he killed people, being angry most of the time, also incredibly bossy, and a general disagreeable person-his smile even just the flicker of one was absolutely infectious. Stiles returned it wide and whole heartedly.
“Pointless. Saying sorry doesn’t help anything.”
“How would you know?”
Derek just raised his eyebrows. Stiles almost smacked himself in the forehead. Derek must have, especially when he was a kid, gotten dozen of people coming up to him apologizing for his loss, or various form of ‘I’m sorry’. He probably couldn’t even bring it up without looks of pity.
“Because sorry doesn’t change the past.”
Stiles was caught between calling Derek out on posing as like a philosopher or something, and saying sorry. He was however completely caught off guard for what he was about to say next.
What Derek was about to say slyly over the corner of his coffee cup before taking a swallow, “wouldn’t help misunderstandings or forgiveness, I guess it could be called.”
Stiles mouth fell open into an identical position as before. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew exactly what Derek was speaking of. It was impossible not to, not when they were them. But why now? Why when Derek was still pissed, when he was going through something that was completely messing up his head, why when Stiles was in a relationship, and most importantly after ten-ish years?
It was time to place a call to Lydia.
He swallowed thickly, and as Derek took the check (because they both knew Stiles couldn’t pay for shit) he rambled, “You’re wrong, that’s why sorry was invented. It’s like ‘yes’, people invented yes to agree to things, and sorry was invented to convince people to say yes when someone asked if they were forgiven after sorry.”
From that cluster of words Derek got, “If we both said it would you…?”
The question didn’t need to complete. Just like before, Stiles knew exactly what Derek was referring too, but this time he knew how to properly respond.
“Would you even?” His voice was hushed, with the slight irrational fear that someone as they walked out the door would overhear them and instantly know their whole situation and history. He didn’t even make eye contact, just stared at the tiled ground.
“No.”
Stiles was relieved, because if Derek had, it wouldn’t have been very Derek-like. If Derek opened his mouth in an apology and waited for Stiles to make one of his own, it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be them. It would be too touchy feely, too emotional, too girly, and too easy of a solution.
“Then no, I guess.”
_____________________
The rest of the car ride was only filled by the static radio. To Stiles’ extreme irritation, Derek did not take the duty of shot gun to change the station. Their previous conversation was something that weighed them both down. It bogged on their conscious and any sort of other words that could be spoken required more of an effort than usual.
That silence continued on while Stiles rushed to get ready. He flipped on his vest, tied his bow as quickly as possible, and applied the eyeliner with such fast skill that he was embarrassed he was able to do so. When he was running out of the door, something stopped him in his step, a question that danced on the top of his mind since Derek arrived.
He was showering, and Stiles had to yell over the running water. “So I get that you’re a dude, and I’m a dude, and I guess it’s not normal to talk about feelings or whatever, so I’ll stop pressuring you, but can you just tell me, that why out of all the people- Scott everyone, why did you come to me?”
Stiles jogged in place waiting for the answer, his eyes flickered to the door and he debated if he should just go. He was already in huge trouble no doubt; he could even lose his job, why didn’t he just go-
Then he heard or at least what he thought he heard, it could just be lost in the water, the very faint answer that made Stiles press his ear to the door.
“…Because, your Stiles.”
He actually held his breath and pulled away. Before he ran out, he yelled a quick goodbye, and then quieter so that Derek may have not been able to hear over the rush of water.
“You know, you’re not alone.”
_______________
His conversation with Lydia was very brief. Lydia was meant to be handled in doses. Her relationship with Jackson had constant ups and downs, by the time Stiles was well over her; she was still having issues with him. She used to come to Stiles’ house crying over their recent break up. Weeks later they would get back together, and though Stiles would warn her about it every time, she would still anyways.
Right before she left, she would say this one line. When he called her tonight on his way to work, she said the same thing. Well she led into it by saying, “Wow Stiles your life is like some sad gay drama”. Then she repeated what she always told him, every single time she walked out his door and into Jackson’s Porsche.
“Men always want what they don’t have.”
Stiles wondered if that was true. Or if it only applied to beautiful, perfect, slightly evil gingers, and arrogant, pretty boys.
____________
He worked harder than he probably ever did before. He served people like lightening, delivered drinks at impressive speeds, fixed slot machines with skill he didn’t know he possessed. He even tolerated the obnoxious flirtation, ass grabs, and other sexual harassments. At the end of his shift Nate whistled, slapped him on the back, and even complimented him.
It was quite the accomplishment.
Then, when everyone went home, and the morning shift began, Stiles’ boss called him into his office.
It was as one would imagine a casino owner’s office to appear. The plush red velvet chair over the shiny wood desk, a computer in the far corner clouded by paper work. There were novelty items in each of the corners as well as in the book shelves. An old stereo took up the entire left wall along with mounds of cds of one hit wonders.
Sitting behind that desk, in that red velvet chair, with his legs crossed and his chin on his hand was Stiles’ boss.
“Close the door behind you, and take a seat.” His voice was sickly friendly, that saccharine tone that caused Stiles a full body shiver.
He did so, and as he moved to sit in one of the wooden chairs, the action was interrupted.
Stiles was completely prepared for the harsh slap across his face.
The weird thing, he came to realize about injuries, was that they changed over time. The first time you got hit, it hurt like hell. The second time it did too. The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and so on, all hurt the same. But after a certain number of times, you became aware of things. You learned exactly how a hand rose to deliver a punch, a knee bent to give a kick, and in that knowledge you expected that pain. You remembered how it felt, and were aware of how you would feel in a matter of seconds.
The pain became less. Maybe it was a sort of numbing device Stiles had unknowingly invented. He knew what was coming, so there was no reason to fear it. Fear intensified everything-fear made it worse.
Before he could recover, Stiles collar was brutally grabbed and he was yanked forward so his thighs dug into the edge of the desk.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You take a day off, now you’re coming in late, and your neck looks like it was mauled.”
Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. ‘It’s not what it looks like’ wouldn’t work, because it was very close to what it looked like. He could say ‘I’m sorry’ but that wouldn’t make him any less angry, sorry doesn’t do anything-
Sorry can’t change the past.
“I have a friend who’s sick. I’ve been helping him.” Stiles’ breathe was becoming thin with his wind pipe being cut off. Of course, that sentence was the entirely wrong thing to say.
His expression twisted in angry. Heat stormed up his face, turning it to a pink color from his scruffy chin all the way up to his slicked back dark hair. He threw Stiles’ backwards then, with a force that caused Stiles to fall to the ground and scrap his arms against the sharp edges of the chairs. Enough to draw blood at least, and his head bounced against the carpeted floor.
He left his desk and was on him. He straddled his waist, and delivered a blow to Stiles’ eye with his ring catching the top of his eyebrow.
“You fucking slut.” Then he kissed him and sucked Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth to suck violently on the gum line. “How fucking dare you cheat on me. Do you know what position you’re in? Do you not know who you fucking belong to?”
Stiles knew better by know, he knew not to fight, he knew that the best option was to lay there with his eye throbbing and for his excuses to be as clear as possible. “Nothing happened, really, there’s nothing between him and I.” Stiles didn’t want to add the now on.
“Then why is your neck chewed up like some whore’s? Do you not remember how much you owe me? Do you want to end up on the fucking streets, Stiles’?”
He leaned in close to his ear, “What would daddy say, huh Stiles? He’d have to move out of that house, and you two would be broke off your asses, and whenever you even try to get another job I’d tell them that you’re a filthy fag who harasses their bosses.”
He got up after, and left Stiles one the ground, with his legs apart and his hands in front of his face. He kicked the chair aside to crouch down next to Stiles. In a soft mock gentle tone he whispered, “You can leave now Stiles, you can go back to your friend and lose everything.”
“Or you could stay here, with me today. It’s your choice.” He stroked Stiles’ cheek narrowly avoiding the swollen eye, “But personally, I’d choose me.”
Stiles sighed, or a noise close, that caused his chest to rise and then fall again heavily. He made no motion of moving, but just turned his head to the side.
“Good boy.”
Part 5