Run That Past Me Again
Title: Run That Past Me Again.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 2x12
Word Count: 3000
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "I'm not asking for nice restaurants, just for there to not be any dead bodies."
AN: Part seven of the Milkshakes and Matchsticks, series.
Stiles had kind of assumed he'd eventually have the sort of Saturday nights that you always see on TV. A few friends, a super-hot date, dancing, drinks, hint of reckless behaviour he could look back on with a fond sort of amusement.
He should have known better, he really should.
He's currently sitting in a cemetery, balanced somewhat indelicately on a hundred year old headstone (which he feels bad about in some sort of vague way, and he can't even apologise, because he can't read the name. It's all gummy with moss and the yellowness of age.) It's a warm enough night, and the half-moon in the sky's pretty bright. Bright enough that Stiles can still see the waxy surface of the leaves on the trees, but not so bright that he can't see the dizzy speckle of stars across the sky too. He thinks this would be a pretty appropriate setting for some sort of clandestine meet-up, or something. He'd probably appreciate it more if this was a clandestine meet-up, but it's not. Because Derek and him are currently waiting for a zombie to dig its way out of the ground.
Stiles's ass is completely numb. It's been that way for a while. But they're all business today, so he's trying not to complain too much. He's trying not to complain, or fidget, or in any way draw attention to the fact that Derek probably should have brought one of his Betas instead. He's being totally professional, because this is not a date, and he wants to prove that he can separate their business relationship from their personal relationship. Of course when he says 'business relationship' he actually means those confusing, terrifying moments where they're being hunted by bad guys, or supernatural creatures, and trying not to die. It's probably only a business relationship if you get monster-hunting expenses - which they don't.
Derek's ass is almost certainly completely fine (in all conceivable senses of the word,) and even if it wasn't, he'd probably never complain about it, because he's stoic and manly, and it would ruin his awesome image to do anything other than sit there, and look badass and prepared for anything.
Anything in this case being possible zombies.
Amanda Rollins had worked in the town library, and she'd been killed by an angry witch, who'd already proven she could do the whole creepy, corpse reanimation thing. Her headstone is new and glossy, and the flowers are still fresh. But there's a slim chance Amanda Rollins is going to rise from the grave tonight, and try to eat someone's brain. A slim chance, a very slim chance. Deaton had said she probably wouldn't, since Derek and Boyd had killed the witch already. Stiles is still kind of pissed about that, that even though the witch is dead, she's still causing trouble. Which makes him feel like he's probably a horrible person, being pissed at someone for not being dead enough. But no one wants to take any chances, considering some of the shit that's happened to them already. They don't want a zombie shambling around Beacon Hills biting people.
Stiles still has no idea how no one has noticed the werewolves, or the lizard monster that was terrorising everyone yet. There are only so many times you can use the, 'it was totally hallucinogenic mushrooms,' excuse. They're going to need another excuse, possibly some sort of gas leak, or pipes, pipes is always a good one, right? He doesn't know, he doesn't have any experience concealing supernatural conspiracies, he's just winging it. He'd spent so many years mocking the law enforcement, and members of the public, in movies for not catching on sooner - and here he is pretty much living it. People are dumb. He weeps for humanity, he really does.
But anyway, zombies, zombies roaming town will be bad. Zombies added to the werewolf convention they already have going on here, super-bad. Though the thought of a were-zombie is still pretty freakin' terrifying. There's still a part of his brain that thinks the werewolves should stay as far away from possible zombies as they can. He doesn't want the zombie magic, and the werewolf...whatever, to combine to form some sort of super-strain - and he really needs to stop playing Resident Evil before bed. He really does.
"Are you sure you wouldn't become a zombie if you got bitten?" He asks, for maybe the third time. But he's going to have nightmares, more nightmares than he does already. About were-zombies...zombi-wolves? Werewolf-zombies?
"Deaton says they can't pass on their infection. That's completely made up." Derek is going to sound like he's tired of that question any minute now. He's still in that gruff, reassurance stage. Which has lasted way longer than it usually does. Stiles likes to think he's been thawing Derek out a little bit. In a barely noticeable way - but still in a noticeable way.
"Six months ago I thought werewolves were made up, and we all know how that turned out." Stiles gestures at his life in general, and to Derek, who seems to take mild offence to it.
"There'll be no werewolf-zombies," Derek grumbles out, like he's annoyed he even has to say it.
"Dude, you realise that saying that is probably the worst thing you can do. Fate will immediately punish you with werewolf-zombies, man, she will."
Derek doesn't look like he's afraid of werewolf zombies. Which, no offence, because Stiles really does like Derek a lot, just proves that he completely lacks imagination. Werewolf-zombies are freakin' terrifying.
Stiles has definitely reached his 'sitting on cold headstones,' limit. He gets up and shuffles around a bit, to try and encourage some feeling back into his legs, and his ass. Then shoves his hands into his pockets, to check for the third time whether there are any snacks in there. He lives in hope, he really does. He should have thought to stash something. Though he's aware that he may have come to regret a stomach full of candy, or processed cheese, if there did happen to be any hilarious zombie shenanigans tonight. He doesn't think that him and Derek have reached the throwing up together part of the relationship yet. Though he's already seen Derek throw up, so if Stiles had a turn they'd probably just be even. In fact Derek once demanded he saw his arm off, so Stiles is probably already way ahead.
He was kind of surprised that Derek asked him to come, to be honest. Since Isaac and Boyd and Erica, he'd stopped being Derek's emergency contact. Which, granted, hadn't stopped Stiles from pulling out a few awesome rescues, but Derek has his own little Lost Boys to scurry around him now. They make Stiles look like bad back-up on his very best day. Derek had asked him instead of anyone else though, before even finding out if everyone in the pack had better things to do. Or, like he thought maybe Stiles needed more training to fight miscellaneous supernatural evil, if they were going to be dating. Which was kind of...he can't think of any other word but 'sweet,' and that in no way describes anything Derek has ever done. But the fact that he's thinking about Stiles at all is pretty awesome.
Either that or -
Oh.
Seriously?
"Just so you know, this isn't a date," Stiles says carefully. He really, really hopes that it isn't supposed to be a date.
Derek turns his head to look at him, and frowns. It's easy enough to work out that Derek doesn't understand why it isn't a date. Because he'd thought it was.
Oh my God.
Stiles doesn't know whether to be pissed, or just feel tragically, unbearably sad for him.
"We're in a cemetery," Stiles points out. "Waiting for a possible zombie to claw its way free of the earth, so we can chop its head off."
"It's one dead girl," Derek protests, and out of context that would sound amazingly bad. "It's not that much of a threat, and Deaton said it wouldn't happen anyway."
"Not the point. Oh my God. Look, this might work if I was a werewolf, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Who enjoys late night skirmishes with the undead. But I'm human. You know what happens if I have to fight a zombie? ... I probably die." Stiles can't even think of a way to gesture that will show how much he would hate that. "The odds of someone dying on a date should never be above absolutely none. Unless you're some sort of risk-taking, thrill-seeker who gets off on that."
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Derek says stiffly, like he's pissed Stiles doesn't already know that.
"Not the point I was going for. I know you didn't bring me here to get killed on purpose."
Derek glares at him.
"God, I thought it was a whole training thing, so I could be more helpful the next time we end up menaced by something supernatural. I figured you brought me here on my own so the pack wouldn't laugh their asses of when I ended up sucking at everything. Which I was giving you points for by the way."
"No," Derek says. Oh, and now he's clearly pissed that Stiles is taking away his points.
Telling him all the reasons why this isn't a date isn't helping. Stiles thinks he should come at it from the other angle.
"What's your definition of a date anyway?"
Derek looks annoyed to even be asked.
"You spend time together," he grates out. "Away from everyone else."
Ok, under that definition this is absolutely a date, and Stiles thinks that Derek had spent a while working out that definition by himself. Derek wanted to spend time with him, while possibly killing zombies. Maybe that's a thing for werewolves, an 'impress the person you're interested in by killing things,' kind of thing. Which part of Stiles thinks maybe he shouldn't be complaining so hard about. Because even if Derek really is trying to date him like a werewolf, at least he's trying. Derek is trying to date him.
"I'm not good at this," Derek says angrily. He's off the tombstone now, hunched into a stiff line. "I told you I wasn't any good at this. I'm not going to be able to do the whole sitting in a restaurant, and doing this like everyone else."
"I'm not asking for restaurants, just for there to not be any dead bodies," Stiles snaps out. "No date should involve dead bodies - unless you're at a convention of flirtatious pathologists, and we will just forget I ever said that. I don't even know where that came from. The point is, I'm not an indestructible werewolf, and taking me anywhere where there are things which want to eat me, and that will be in close proximity to my vulnerable flesh, is kind of a bad idea."
Yeah, Derek gets it now, he absolutely gets it.
"Do you want me to take you home?" It's quiet and there's no expression on Derek's face, but this stiff sort of calm, as if he's accepted this was going to go wrong, over and over again.
Stiles hates that he can make Derek look like that, that blank acceptance that he was going to fuck this up. That he doesn't know what else to do other than just...take a step back. Stiles guesses he's the one that's going to have to dig his fingers in then.
He pushes his feet in the grass until they squeak, and sighs.
"If we get pie afterwards, I will think about considering it a date," he says slowly. "As long as nothing rises from the grave we're currently staking out before we leave. I refuse to consider any night I have to fight a zombie part of my dating experience."
"You're not going to have to fight a zombie," Derek says. His voice is soft now, like he has no idea why Stiles has given him this one. But he's too afraid to push it.
Which makes, like...fifty, if anyone's counting.
"Fine, I refuse to consider any night where I have to watch my boyfriend fight a zombie as part of my dating experience either."
Derek face does something odd, mouth softening in a way that's strange and unfamiliar, and Stiles has to replay that sentence back, to work out what he said wrong
"Umm, I didn't mean - unless you're ok with that. I was kind of assuming. I know assuming is bad."
"It's fine," Derek says.
Which - wow.
Stiles tries to remember what he was saying about zombies.
"I'm just saying, I'm cool with the whole supernatural aspect of everything. That's my life now after all. But I like a little normal as well. If we're going to be hunting vampires, or trawling the lake for the swamp thing. I shall at the very least demand pizza afterwards, or to maybe stop off for coffee. Also, I would like to be told, so I can maybe wear body armour, or bring garlic." Or maybe notify his next of kin, though he doesn't say that last part out loud.
Stiles realises something, all of a sudden, and he can't help laughing.
"You totally brought me because you knew I liked zombie movies, didn't you?"
Derek sighs, and then shuts his mouth, as if he thinks that saying 'yes' to that will be the worst thing ever.
Stiles laughs again, and nudges their shoes together.
"Dude, the correct answer to that is 'yes,' and I will think about giving you your points back."
Derek clearly doesn't get that at all, but that frustrated confusion is better than the anger, or the gloomy turmoil. It's like they're working their way through the expressions. Stiles figures they'll get to more of the good ones eventually.
"You thought about something I was interested in, and then made a stab at taking me somewhere you thought I'd like. You get points for that," he explains.
There's a fleeting half a second of something good, before the stiffness is back.
"If this is too much for you. If I'm not -"
Stiles treads on his foot, hard, to make him stop talking, before he says something awful.
"I never said that, don't even pretend I said that. Look, I like you, I really do. You have to stop worrying that you're going to do something stupid, and I'm going to call quits on the whole thing. But it works both ways. If I fuck this up, like I inevitably will, you have to give me a chance to fix it. Because I know you, you're like a one strike and you're out, kind of a guy. Which - I get that, kind of. I get why you're like that. But people are allowed to make mistakes and mess things up a little, and you have to know that's not fair. I mean I don't know what I'm doing either. I'm on the same page as you here. I don't want to worry that you're going to just, I don't know, drop me the second you start freaking out about my age, or the fact that I'm human. Or if I say something stupid that I don't mean, or something. We're making this work, and it's good, it's really good. But I still feel like we both kind of - we're sort of awkward at this, and it would be really easy to ruin it. But I don't want to do that, and I don't want you to do that."
Stiles is pretty sure he just brought a shitload of heavy onto their three week old relationship.
Derek's staring at him, and Stiles honestly can't tell if he's shocked, or furious, or maybe in pain. He's doing the repressing thing again.
Stiles is the absolute worst. Why is he not surprised at all that he managed to fuck up his first relationship in less than a month?
"Ok," Derek says stiffly.
Wait. What?
"What?"
"I said, ok." Derek's looking straight at him, and he doesn't look angry, he looks...relieved, maybe?
Stiles thinks he's going to get more. He doesn't think Derek's just going to leave it at that. But he just stands there, shoulders rolling inside his jacket, and then doesn't offer anything else.
Stiles gives a breathy little laugh, when he realises that he's ok with that. It's exceptionally annoying but that's kind of their thing after all. He takes a half step forward, and he can feel the wet grass through the canvas of his shoes, it's warmer this close to Derek's body, where the wind flows around him, and misses Stiles. Stiles can't help grinning at him, because that's just like Derek, being a human shield even when he doesn't realise it.
Derek slips his hands into his pockets again, and gives him an odd look, like he still doesn't have a clue what to do with him. His gaze slide over Stiles's face, then drifts down.
Oh my God.
Stiles is pretty sure Derek wants to kiss him. Which is huge, because he hasn't looked like he's even thought about it so far, and the whole dating thing being a concept, Stiles had assumed they'd get around to it eventually. They've been so busy trying to work out if they can actually sit around together and have conversations, that it's always seemed kind of a stretch to go from there to kissing. Or maybe Stiles has just been assuming the whole relationship will crash and burn before they even get there. Because he has shitty self-esteem sometimes, and it's Derek.
Stiles might not have picked the setting, he is very nearly almost standing on top of someone's grave. But he's absolutely fine with it. He's completely ok with Derek kissing him here.
-
Which he doesn't seem to be doing. Even though Stiles is totally giving him eye-permission or something.
He has no idea what to do. Should he say something? Or do something to make it happen? Should he lean in? But what if he does something and somehow fucks it up, trips and falls on him, or something. Or maybe he has dirt on his face, and this has nothing to do with kissing at all. Maybe Derek's just looking at him in general, and Stiles is projecting because he really, really wants to kiss him.
"Derek."
He doesn't mean to say it, it just tumbles out, nervous energy or something.
Derek takes a step back, sudden and jerky.
"We can go for pie. Pie's good," he says awkwardly.
And then Stiles is left staring at his stiff back, as Derek makes his way through the headstones, back to the car.
"You fucking idiot, Stiles," he mutters. He doesn't remember until after it's out that Derek can still hear him.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 2x12
Word Count: 3000
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "I'm not asking for nice restaurants, just for there to not be any dead bodies."
AN: Part seven of the Milkshakes and Matchsticks, series.
Stiles had kind of assumed he'd eventually have the sort of Saturday nights that you always see on TV. A few friends, a super-hot date, dancing, drinks, hint of reckless behaviour he could look back on with a fond sort of amusement.
He should have known better, he really should.
He's currently sitting in a cemetery, balanced somewhat indelicately on a hundred year old headstone (which he feels bad about in some sort of vague way, and he can't even apologise, because he can't read the name. It's all gummy with moss and the yellowness of age.) It's a warm enough night, and the half-moon in the sky's pretty bright. Bright enough that Stiles can still see the waxy surface of the leaves on the trees, but not so bright that he can't see the dizzy speckle of stars across the sky too. He thinks this would be a pretty appropriate setting for some sort of clandestine meet-up, or something. He'd probably appreciate it more if this was a clandestine meet-up, but it's not. Because Derek and him are currently waiting for a zombie to dig its way out of the ground.
Stiles's ass is completely numb. It's been that way for a while. But they're all business today, so he's trying not to complain too much. He's trying not to complain, or fidget, or in any way draw attention to the fact that Derek probably should have brought one of his Betas instead. He's being totally professional, because this is not a date, and he wants to prove that he can separate their business relationship from their personal relationship. Of course when he says 'business relationship' he actually means those confusing, terrifying moments where they're being hunted by bad guys, or supernatural creatures, and trying not to die. It's probably only a business relationship if you get monster-hunting expenses - which they don't.
Derek's ass is almost certainly completely fine (in all conceivable senses of the word,) and even if it wasn't, he'd probably never complain about it, because he's stoic and manly, and it would ruin his awesome image to do anything other than sit there, and look badass and prepared for anything.
Anything in this case being possible zombies.
Amanda Rollins had worked in the town library, and she'd been killed by an angry witch, who'd already proven she could do the whole creepy, corpse reanimation thing. Her headstone is new and glossy, and the flowers are still fresh. But there's a slim chance Amanda Rollins is going to rise from the grave tonight, and try to eat someone's brain. A slim chance, a very slim chance. Deaton had said she probably wouldn't, since Derek and Boyd had killed the witch already. Stiles is still kind of pissed about that, that even though the witch is dead, she's still causing trouble. Which makes him feel like he's probably a horrible person, being pissed at someone for not being dead enough. But no one wants to take any chances, considering some of the shit that's happened to them already. They don't want a zombie shambling around Beacon Hills biting people.
Stiles still has no idea how no one has noticed the werewolves, or the lizard monster that was terrorising everyone yet. There are only so many times you can use the, 'it was totally hallucinogenic mushrooms,' excuse. They're going to need another excuse, possibly some sort of gas leak, or pipes, pipes is always a good one, right? He doesn't know, he doesn't have any experience concealing supernatural conspiracies, he's just winging it. He'd spent so many years mocking the law enforcement, and members of the public, in movies for not catching on sooner - and here he is pretty much living it. People are dumb. He weeps for humanity, he really does.
But anyway, zombies, zombies roaming town will be bad. Zombies added to the werewolf convention they already have going on here, super-bad. Though the thought of a were-zombie is still pretty freakin' terrifying. There's still a part of his brain that thinks the werewolves should stay as far away from possible zombies as they can. He doesn't want the zombie magic, and the werewolf...whatever, to combine to form some sort of super-strain - and he really needs to stop playing Resident Evil before bed. He really does.
"Are you sure you wouldn't become a zombie if you got bitten?" He asks, for maybe the third time. But he's going to have nightmares, more nightmares than he does already. About were-zombies...zombi-wolves? Werewolf-zombies?
"Deaton says they can't pass on their infection. That's completely made up." Derek is going to sound like he's tired of that question any minute now. He's still in that gruff, reassurance stage. Which has lasted way longer than it usually does. Stiles likes to think he's been thawing Derek out a little bit. In a barely noticeable way - but still in a noticeable way.
"Six months ago I thought werewolves were made up, and we all know how that turned out." Stiles gestures at his life in general, and to Derek, who seems to take mild offence to it.
"There'll be no werewolf-zombies," Derek grumbles out, like he's annoyed he even has to say it.
"Dude, you realise that saying that is probably the worst thing you can do. Fate will immediately punish you with werewolf-zombies, man, she will."
Derek doesn't look like he's afraid of werewolf zombies. Which, no offence, because Stiles really does like Derek a lot, just proves that he completely lacks imagination. Werewolf-zombies are freakin' terrifying.
Stiles has definitely reached his 'sitting on cold headstones,' limit. He gets up and shuffles around a bit, to try and encourage some feeling back into his legs, and his ass. Then shoves his hands into his pockets, to check for the third time whether there are any snacks in there. He lives in hope, he really does. He should have thought to stash something. Though he's aware that he may have come to regret a stomach full of candy, or processed cheese, if there did happen to be any hilarious zombie shenanigans tonight. He doesn't think that him and Derek have reached the throwing up together part of the relationship yet. Though he's already seen Derek throw up, so if Stiles had a turn they'd probably just be even. In fact Derek once demanded he saw his arm off, so Stiles is probably already way ahead.
He was kind of surprised that Derek asked him to come, to be honest. Since Isaac and Boyd and Erica, he'd stopped being Derek's emergency contact. Which, granted, hadn't stopped Stiles from pulling out a few awesome rescues, but Derek has his own little Lost Boys to scurry around him now. They make Stiles look like bad back-up on his very best day. Derek had asked him instead of anyone else though, before even finding out if everyone in the pack had better things to do. Or, like he thought maybe Stiles needed more training to fight miscellaneous supernatural evil, if they were going to be dating. Which was kind of...he can't think of any other word but 'sweet,' and that in no way describes anything Derek has ever done. But the fact that he's thinking about Stiles at all is pretty awesome.
Either that or -
Oh.
Seriously?
"Just so you know, this isn't a date," Stiles says carefully. He really, really hopes that it isn't supposed to be a date.
Derek turns his head to look at him, and frowns. It's easy enough to work out that Derek doesn't understand why it isn't a date. Because he'd thought it was.
Oh my God.
Stiles doesn't know whether to be pissed, or just feel tragically, unbearably sad for him.
"We're in a cemetery," Stiles points out. "Waiting for a possible zombie to claw its way free of the earth, so we can chop its head off."
"It's one dead girl," Derek protests, and out of context that would sound amazingly bad. "It's not that much of a threat, and Deaton said it wouldn't happen anyway."
"Not the point. Oh my God. Look, this might work if I was a werewolf, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Who enjoys late night skirmishes with the undead. But I'm human. You know what happens if I have to fight a zombie? ... I probably die." Stiles can't even think of a way to gesture that will show how much he would hate that. "The odds of someone dying on a date should never be above absolutely none. Unless you're some sort of risk-taking, thrill-seeker who gets off on that."
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Derek says stiffly, like he's pissed Stiles doesn't already know that.
"Not the point I was going for. I know you didn't bring me here to get killed on purpose."
Derek glares at him.
"God, I thought it was a whole training thing, so I could be more helpful the next time we end up menaced by something supernatural. I figured you brought me here on my own so the pack wouldn't laugh their asses of when I ended up sucking at everything. Which I was giving you points for by the way."
"No," Derek says. Oh, and now he's clearly pissed that Stiles is taking away his points.
Telling him all the reasons why this isn't a date isn't helping. Stiles thinks he should come at it from the other angle.
"What's your definition of a date anyway?"
Derek looks annoyed to even be asked.
"You spend time together," he grates out. "Away from everyone else."
Ok, under that definition this is absolutely a date, and Stiles thinks that Derek had spent a while working out that definition by himself. Derek wanted to spend time with him, while possibly killing zombies. Maybe that's a thing for werewolves, an 'impress the person you're interested in by killing things,' kind of thing. Which part of Stiles thinks maybe he shouldn't be complaining so hard about. Because even if Derek really is trying to date him like a werewolf, at least he's trying. Derek is trying to date him.
"I'm not good at this," Derek says angrily. He's off the tombstone now, hunched into a stiff line. "I told you I wasn't any good at this. I'm not going to be able to do the whole sitting in a restaurant, and doing this like everyone else."
"I'm not asking for restaurants, just for there to not be any dead bodies," Stiles snaps out. "No date should involve dead bodies - unless you're at a convention of flirtatious pathologists, and we will just forget I ever said that. I don't even know where that came from. The point is, I'm not an indestructible werewolf, and taking me anywhere where there are things which want to eat me, and that will be in close proximity to my vulnerable flesh, is kind of a bad idea."
Yeah, Derek gets it now, he absolutely gets it.
"Do you want me to take you home?" It's quiet and there's no expression on Derek's face, but this stiff sort of calm, as if he's accepted this was going to go wrong, over and over again.
Stiles hates that he can make Derek look like that, that blank acceptance that he was going to fuck this up. That he doesn't know what else to do other than just...take a step back. Stiles guesses he's the one that's going to have to dig his fingers in then.
He pushes his feet in the grass until they squeak, and sighs.
"If we get pie afterwards, I will think about considering it a date," he says slowly. "As long as nothing rises from the grave we're currently staking out before we leave. I refuse to consider any night I have to fight a zombie part of my dating experience."
"You're not going to have to fight a zombie," Derek says. His voice is soft now, like he has no idea why Stiles has given him this one. But he's too afraid to push it.
Which makes, like...fifty, if anyone's counting.
"Fine, I refuse to consider any night where I have to watch my boyfriend fight a zombie as part of my dating experience either."
Derek face does something odd, mouth softening in a way that's strange and unfamiliar, and Stiles has to replay that sentence back, to work out what he said wrong
"Umm, I didn't mean - unless you're ok with that. I was kind of assuming. I know assuming is bad."
"It's fine," Derek says.
Which - wow.
Stiles tries to remember what he was saying about zombies.
"I'm just saying, I'm cool with the whole supernatural aspect of everything. That's my life now after all. But I like a little normal as well. If we're going to be hunting vampires, or trawling the lake for the swamp thing. I shall at the very least demand pizza afterwards, or to maybe stop off for coffee. Also, I would like to be told, so I can maybe wear body armour, or bring garlic." Or maybe notify his next of kin, though he doesn't say that last part out loud.
Stiles realises something, all of a sudden, and he can't help laughing.
"You totally brought me because you knew I liked zombie movies, didn't you?"
Derek sighs, and then shuts his mouth, as if he thinks that saying 'yes' to that will be the worst thing ever.
Stiles laughs again, and nudges their shoes together.
"Dude, the correct answer to that is 'yes,' and I will think about giving you your points back."
Derek clearly doesn't get that at all, but that frustrated confusion is better than the anger, or the gloomy turmoil. It's like they're working their way through the expressions. Stiles figures they'll get to more of the good ones eventually.
"You thought about something I was interested in, and then made a stab at taking me somewhere you thought I'd like. You get points for that," he explains.
There's a fleeting half a second of something good, before the stiffness is back.
"If this is too much for you. If I'm not -"
Stiles treads on his foot, hard, to make him stop talking, before he says something awful.
"I never said that, don't even pretend I said that. Look, I like you, I really do. You have to stop worrying that you're going to do something stupid, and I'm going to call quits on the whole thing. But it works both ways. If I fuck this up, like I inevitably will, you have to give me a chance to fix it. Because I know you, you're like a one strike and you're out, kind of a guy. Which - I get that, kind of. I get why you're like that. But people are allowed to make mistakes and mess things up a little, and you have to know that's not fair. I mean I don't know what I'm doing either. I'm on the same page as you here. I don't want to worry that you're going to just, I don't know, drop me the second you start freaking out about my age, or the fact that I'm human. Or if I say something stupid that I don't mean, or something. We're making this work, and it's good, it's really good. But I still feel like we both kind of - we're sort of awkward at this, and it would be really easy to ruin it. But I don't want to do that, and I don't want you to do that."
Stiles is pretty sure he just brought a shitload of heavy onto their three week old relationship.
Derek's staring at him, and Stiles honestly can't tell if he's shocked, or furious, or maybe in pain. He's doing the repressing thing again.
Stiles is the absolute worst. Why is he not surprised at all that he managed to fuck up his first relationship in less than a month?
"Ok," Derek says stiffly.
Wait. What?
"What?"
"I said, ok." Derek's looking straight at him, and he doesn't look angry, he looks...relieved, maybe?
Stiles thinks he's going to get more. He doesn't think Derek's just going to leave it at that. But he just stands there, shoulders rolling inside his jacket, and then doesn't offer anything else.
Stiles gives a breathy little laugh, when he realises that he's ok with that. It's exceptionally annoying but that's kind of their thing after all. He takes a half step forward, and he can feel the wet grass through the canvas of his shoes, it's warmer this close to Derek's body, where the wind flows around him, and misses Stiles. Stiles can't help grinning at him, because that's just like Derek, being a human shield even when he doesn't realise it.
Derek slips his hands into his pockets again, and gives him an odd look, like he still doesn't have a clue what to do with him. His gaze slide over Stiles's face, then drifts down.
Oh my God.
Stiles is pretty sure Derek wants to kiss him. Which is huge, because he hasn't looked like he's even thought about it so far, and the whole dating thing being a concept, Stiles had assumed they'd get around to it eventually. They've been so busy trying to work out if they can actually sit around together and have conversations, that it's always seemed kind of a stretch to go from there to kissing. Or maybe Stiles has just been assuming the whole relationship will crash and burn before they even get there. Because he has shitty self-esteem sometimes, and it's Derek.
Stiles might not have picked the setting, he is very nearly almost standing on top of someone's grave. But he's absolutely fine with it. He's completely ok with Derek kissing him here.
-
Which he doesn't seem to be doing. Even though Stiles is totally giving him eye-permission or something.
He has no idea what to do. Should he say something? Or do something to make it happen? Should he lean in? But what if he does something and somehow fucks it up, trips and falls on him, or something. Or maybe he has dirt on his face, and this has nothing to do with kissing at all. Maybe Derek's just looking at him in general, and Stiles is projecting because he really, really wants to kiss him.
"Derek."
He doesn't mean to say it, it just tumbles out, nervous energy or something.
Derek takes a step back, sudden and jerky.
"We can go for pie. Pie's good," he says awkwardly.
And then Stiles is left staring at his stiff back, as Derek makes his way through the headstones, back to the car.
"You fucking idiot, Stiles," he mutters. He doesn't remember until after it's out that Derek can still hear him.