Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (6/19)
Title: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 2.5k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Stiles was ready when Scott stuck his head in the window, and he turned away from his laptop as Scott tumbled into his bedroom. “Okay,” Stiles said, “so most of the research I found on full wolf transformations is total bull, and we’re not even going into the really weird fetish porn I-”
“Stiles,” Scott said, his voice coming out in a growl. “What are you even talking about?”
“Well, I figured, maybe Derek got stuck this way without realizing it, sorta how Malia was a werecoyote for, what, eight years? Like, what says he’ll ever turn back on his own if he doesn’t want to? Malia’s grief pretty much prevented her from turning back to human, so maybe Derek’s the same. I figured it’d be a decent starting place, if nothing else.”
Scott blinked at him, then yawned.
“For some reason I feel like you’re not taking me completely seriously here, man.”
“It’s two in the morning, Stiles,” Scott pointed out, a lopsided smile on his face. “If I weren’t taking you seriously, I’d be in bed right now.” He raised his eyebrows. “Asleep.”
“Fine, whatever,” Stiles said, choosing to ignore his best friend’s pointed look. “If Derek’s stuck in wolf form, doesn’t that mean you can turn him back to human, the way you did with Malia?”
Scott’s expression clouded. “I don’t know if that would work on Derek. I can’t, like, growl him into submission.”
“Why not? He’s a beta, you’re an alpha; isn’t that how this stuff works?”
“We knew where Malia was, though.” Scott pursed his lips.
Stiles sighed. “And we don’t know where Derek is. Which is the problem in the first place.”
“Well, how hard can it be to track him down?”
“I don’t know, you’re the one with the wolfy powers.”
Scott frowned. “I found his clothes by the lacrosse field okay. But Beacon Hills is pretty big. We need to narrow it down somehow.”
Stiles nodded even as he felt his stomach clench in worry. Derek would probably be safe from hunters, but there were other things out there that he might not be able to avoid. Those stupid traps Malia’s dad had planted could snap on his leg while running. He could get attacked by wildlife in the preserve or hit by a car. Or he could be captured by animal control. Stiles had spent the past three days compulsively running through possible scenarios, and most of them ended up with Derek’s painful mutilation or death.
Scott’s hand settled over Stiles’ shoulder, snapping him out of his rather morbid imaginings. “I’m sure he’s fine, Stiles,” he said, his voice soft. “Why don’t you just ask Deaton? He has location voodoo stuff, right?”
Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Location voodoo?”
“Yeah, his magical emissary powers,” Scott said, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. “Look, you can drop me off at work tomorrow afternoon, just come in with me and ask him.”
Stiles nodded, but the sharp pinched feeling in his chest didn’t go away. “There has to be something I can do, though. Something non-supernatural, you know? Like, I don’t know, we could post missing dog flyers around the neighborhood. Large black wolf, color changing eyes, responds to Sourwolf.”
Scott snorted. “Yeah, that’ll go over well.”
Stiles grinned. “Or, like, we could pull some psychoanalysis shit and figure out where Derek would go when he’s feeling crappy. Isn’t there a basement torture dungeon somewhere in the Hale house?”
“Dude,” Scott said. “He’s not going to go to the place where he was tortured. He’s probably going to places that are familiar to him, where he feels safe.”
“Great,” Stiles sighed. “Now we just have to figure out where Derek-the-wolf goes when he needs an emotional boost.”
“He comes here, doesn’t he?” Scott’s eyes brightened and his mouth twisted into a smile.
Stiles felt his cheeks heat up. “Not while I’m here, he hasn’t. Lately. That I know of.”
Scott’s nose crinkled up in disgust before his expression cleared. “Does your dad still keep cameras in your room?”
Stiles nodded, tilting his head to the side in thought. “Yeah, but he hasn’t been using ‘em lately, since no one needs to see recorded footage of my solo time.” Though if he did have footage of that- “Do you think that would count as one of those leaked sex tapes that I could post on youtube and get famous?”
Scott looked vaguely nauseated. “Ew, no.”
“Sorry, Scott,” Stiles said, collapsing in his desk chair and opening the lid of his laptop, fingers flying over the keys. “No more talk of Stiles’ private time.” He turned to waggle his eyebrows at Scott. “But I can see where you’re going with this. Are you ready to set a trap for the big bad wolf?”
“Set a trap?” Scott stared at him, a crease between his brows and his lips down-turned at the corners. “What are you even talking about? I was just going to say that you could turn on the cameras.”
Stiles sighed noisily even as he pulled up the security camera control program. “Oh my god, yes, I was going to turn on the cameras. But that sounds way less cool, Scotty, get with the program already.”
“Whatever,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “It’s two in the morning, I’m allowed. Chill.”
“Chill?” Stiles asked, frowning. “Do you even know me? I thought you were my best bro here, you should know by now that chilling is not a thing I do at the best of times, and I’m definitely not going to chill right now, when Derek is possibly in danger-”
“I’m going to bed,” Scott interrupted. “Wake me up if you need anything,” he added helpfully, before collapsing on Stiles’ bed, stomach side down, and drooling softly onto Stiles’ comforter.
“What? No! You’re the worst.”
“Love you too,” Scott mumbled into Stiles’ pillow.
Stiles frowned at his best friend, lying boneless on the bed, and considered the pros and cons of shoving him onto the floor. On the one hand, Stiles wouldn’t get much sleep without the use of his bed. On the other hand, Scott looked pretty adorable even with his face mashed into the bedspread and his mouth half open, and who was Stiles to mess with that?
“Apparently my bed is just a werewolf magnet,” Stiles muttered under his breath as he settled back in his desk chair. “Does it look like a two person bed? Because it does not feel like one. But no, go right ahead, take up the whole bed, it’s not like I was planning to sleep tonight, or anything. Hotel Stiles is the number one werewolf friendly establishment in Beacon Hills. Try the veal.”
Unfortunately, Stiles’ audience had just started to snore. Stiles gave Scott one last look, his mouth curling into a smile despite himself, before turning back to his computer screen.
***
By the time Stiles’ alarm went off the next morning, Stiles had about twenty tabs open in his browser, a text notification alert set up to both his and Scott’s phones in case of detected movement during school hours, and gigantic bags under his eyes. Scott smacked the snooze button with one hand before rolling over and blinking sleepily at Stiles. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you.”
“Eh,” Stiles said, waving a hand in Scott’s general direction. “I was busy.”
“Please tell me you didn’t take any extra Adderall to stay up.”
“What? No.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at the computer screen. Scott was trying to distract him from something very important, now what was it?
Scott appeared over his shoulder, yawning widely and running one hand through his hair. “Why are you looking up Chupacabras?”
“Uh…” Stiles said. “I think I wanted to make sure Derek didn’t start eating goats.”
Scott just tugged on Stiles’ shirt collar. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find your dad’s hidden stash of pop tarts.”
***
Stiles only got reprimanded by two teachers for falling asleep in class. Coach seemed to take vindictive delight in blowing his referee whistle right in Stiles’ ear to wake him up.
Even Danny commented on how tired he looked.
Scott, on the other hand, looked obnoxiously bushy-eyed and bright-tailed, or whatever the hell morning people were supposed to look like. But Stiles resisted the urge to murder Scott, because he was an awesome best friend that way.
The first text alert came in during his biology class. Mrs. Martin was saying something about DNA encoding when Stiles felt the buzz in his pocket, and noticed Scott tensing up in his seat at the same time.
He immediately raised his hand and blurted “I need to go to the bathroom!”
Mrs. Martin narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”
Stiles tried checking his phone under his seat, but Mrs. Martin came over and snatched it away from him. “No texts either, Mr. Stilinski,” she said, a sharp edge in her voice, before smiling a little too widely and returning to the differences between molecular biology and evolutionary development.
Stiles did not stab himself in the eye with his pencil from sheer frustration, but it was a close call.
“Scott,” he hissed, leaning back in his chair. He batted his eyelashes as Mrs. Martin turned away from the chalkboard and squinted at him suspiciously. “Code blue. I repeat, code blue.”
Scott snorted.
Stiles turned fully around to glare at Scott in the seat behind him. “Oh my god, we went over this like five times. Red is for Derek sighting, yellow is for parental interference.” He rolled his eyes. “Blue means check your stupid phone.”
Scott’s eyes widened comically at a point just past Stiles’ shoulder, and a loud throat clearing noise echoed behind him. “Mr. Stilinski. Either turn around and pay attention, or you’ll be spending the afternoon shelving library books.”
“Yes ma’am, turning around right now,” Stiles said, snapping upright. Greenberg frowned at him from the front row. Suck up.
***
Scott kicked at Stiles’ sneakers as they exited the classroom. “You know, you could have at least tried to pay attention.”
Stiles simply snatched Scott’s cell phone from his open palm and thumbed through his notifications. “Oh my god, are these all from Kira?”
“Not all of them. Some are from this really weird guy I know, he’s always calling me at one in the morning about his missing boyfriend.”
“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. A regular comedian.” He paused when he got to the one from his security system. “Here! You got a text at 1:17pm.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just wait to get your own phone back.”
Stiles glared at Scott accusingly as he waited for the video attachment to load. “I need to know if we have a code red on our hands, bro. That cannot wait until lacrosse practice. Besides, Coach threatened me with extra suicides this afternoon since I fell asleep in class today.”
“Twice,” Scott added helpfully.
“Shut up, the second time doesn’t count, I was just resting my eyes.” He let out a crow of triumph when the video finally opened. “Time to face the music, my friend,” he said, and pressed play.
“Isn’t that your dad?” Scott asked, peering from behind Stiles’ shoulder.
“What the-” Stiles frowned down at the screen as his father made a beeline for his hidden stash of Oreos. “Dammit, Dad!”
“Okay, can I have my phone back now?” Scott whined. “I don’t want to be late for Spanish.” Without warning, he plucked his phone out of Stiles’ limp hold.
“No! This is a code yellow, something needs to be done!” He started following Scott into the classroom before his best friend gave him a pointed look. “Oh, shit, how much time do I have before the bell?”
The bell rang as soon as the words were out of Stiles’ mouth. Scott sat down in the back row, a grimace on his face.
Stiles was only five minutes late to trig, so he really didn’t deserve the glare the teacher gave him.
***
He did, however, deserve the detention he got for falling asleep in class. And snoring, apparently.
That didn’t mean he was going to like it.
“Scott,” he whispered into the mouth set of his liberated cell phone. “Scott, you have to go on without me. Be brave.” He clutched at his chest. “Give my love to Rosebud.”
“Rosebud’s a sled,” Scott answered automatically. Stiles smiled to himself. Apparently his classic movie one-liners training was starting to pay off. “You know, when I suggested you drop me off at work, I sort of assumed you’d get me there on time.”
“It’s not like I got detention on purpose,” Stiles said. He tried to put his math teacher’s diabolical smirk out of his mind. That man was a sadist. “Mills is a sadist.”
“Yeah he is,” Scott said, because even when he was annoyed with Stiles, he was a good bro. “You could just wait until tomorrow, right?”
“No!” Stiles hissed. “The longer we wait, the more likely that something horrible has happened.”
Scott paused over the line. Stiles could picture his face folding into a worried frown. “I think you’re making a bigger deal of this than it is.”
Stiles was considering how to best tell off Scott for his sudden yet inevitable betrayal when the phone was snatched away from him.
“Who is this? McCall?” Coach shouted into the phone. “Stop talking to Stilinski and start studying for that test on Monday. You need to keep your grades up to stay on as captain.” He paused as he listened to whatever Scott had to say, making the occasional humming noise in response. “Why, thank you, McCall. You’re looking quite handsome yourself. Keep up the good work!” He smiled as he hung up.
Stiles resisted the urge to slam his head into the desk repeatedly, instead just laying his forehead on his folded arms and groaning quietly.
“Charming young man,” Coach said. “Did you know he helped stem the blood loss when I was shot by an arrow?” There was a sharp pressure to the top of Stiles’ head, and he looked up to see Coach staring down at him, his hand still curled up in a loose fist from rapping his knuckles against Stiles’ skull. “Oh, that’s right. You were there, too. Can’t remember you doing anything useful, though.” He tossed the phone back at Stiles and wandered back to his desk.
Stiles stared at it morosely for a few seconds before pulling out his econ textbook.
“Next time you use the phone,” Coach added, not looking up from his desk, “call up the Mexican place. I’m in the mood for tacos.”
***
“I’m late for work,” Scott grumbled, when Stiles burst through the library doors and made a beeline towards his locker.
Stiles beamed in Scott’s general direction as he swung his backpack over his shoulders and stumbled down the corridor. “You’re the best,” he said, narrowly avoiding falling on his face as his sneakers skidded on the linoleum floor.
“Yeah, I know. Are you sure you’re cool to drive?”
“I’ll be fine, I took an extra Adderall right before detention. Plus, you’ll be there to keep me awake.” Stiles’ fingers twisted over the combination lock and he started shoving books in his backpack at random. “As soon as you get off work, you’re helping me look for him, right?”
“Yes, Stiles,” Scott said, a trace of impatience coming through, “for the last time.”
Stiles grinned over at Scott as he slammed his locker shut and started jogging towards the exit. “You won’t regret it, man, you can have my orange juice for the next month.”
“They don’t even sell orange juice any more,” Scott complained. “It’s all apple and cranberry.”
“I’ll smuggle it to school in my hip flask, then.”
Scott clambered in the passenger seat as soon as the doors unlocked. “Remember what happened the last time Harris caught you drinking from that?”
Stiles grinned as he adjusted his mirrors, fastened his seatbelt, and threw the jeep into reverse. “I can still remember the look on his face when I offered him a sip.”
“Well, I remember the week of detention you had, and how you couldn’t come to my house after school for a month after.”
They bickered good-naturedly for the rest of the drive, Stiles’ fingers only occasionally tapping against the steering wheel, his eyes glancing in the rearview for a dark form in the road behind him.
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 2.5k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Stiles was ready when Scott stuck his head in the window, and he turned away from his laptop as Scott tumbled into his bedroom. “Okay,” Stiles said, “so most of the research I found on full wolf transformations is total bull, and we’re not even going into the really weird fetish porn I-”
“Stiles,” Scott said, his voice coming out in a growl. “What are you even talking about?”
“Well, I figured, maybe Derek got stuck this way without realizing it, sorta how Malia was a werecoyote for, what, eight years? Like, what says he’ll ever turn back on his own if he doesn’t want to? Malia’s grief pretty much prevented her from turning back to human, so maybe Derek’s the same. I figured it’d be a decent starting place, if nothing else.”
Scott blinked at him, then yawned.
“For some reason I feel like you’re not taking me completely seriously here, man.”
“It’s two in the morning, Stiles,” Scott pointed out, a lopsided smile on his face. “If I weren’t taking you seriously, I’d be in bed right now.” He raised his eyebrows. “Asleep.”
“Fine, whatever,” Stiles said, choosing to ignore his best friend’s pointed look. “If Derek’s stuck in wolf form, doesn’t that mean you can turn him back to human, the way you did with Malia?”
Scott’s expression clouded. “I don’t know if that would work on Derek. I can’t, like, growl him into submission.”
“Why not? He’s a beta, you’re an alpha; isn’t that how this stuff works?”
“We knew where Malia was, though.” Scott pursed his lips.
Stiles sighed. “And we don’t know where Derek is. Which is the problem in the first place.”
“Well, how hard can it be to track him down?”
“I don’t know, you’re the one with the wolfy powers.”
Scott frowned. “I found his clothes by the lacrosse field okay. But Beacon Hills is pretty big. We need to narrow it down somehow.”
Stiles nodded even as he felt his stomach clench in worry. Derek would probably be safe from hunters, but there were other things out there that he might not be able to avoid. Those stupid traps Malia’s dad had planted could snap on his leg while running. He could get attacked by wildlife in the preserve or hit by a car. Or he could be captured by animal control. Stiles had spent the past three days compulsively running through possible scenarios, and most of them ended up with Derek’s painful mutilation or death.
Scott’s hand settled over Stiles’ shoulder, snapping him out of his rather morbid imaginings. “I’m sure he’s fine, Stiles,” he said, his voice soft. “Why don’t you just ask Deaton? He has location voodoo stuff, right?”
Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Location voodoo?”
“Yeah, his magical emissary powers,” Scott said, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. “Look, you can drop me off at work tomorrow afternoon, just come in with me and ask him.”
Stiles nodded, but the sharp pinched feeling in his chest didn’t go away. “There has to be something I can do, though. Something non-supernatural, you know? Like, I don’t know, we could post missing dog flyers around the neighborhood. Large black wolf, color changing eyes, responds to Sourwolf.”
Scott snorted. “Yeah, that’ll go over well.”
Stiles grinned. “Or, like, we could pull some psychoanalysis shit and figure out where Derek would go when he’s feeling crappy. Isn’t there a basement torture dungeon somewhere in the Hale house?”
“Dude,” Scott said. “He’s not going to go to the place where he was tortured. He’s probably going to places that are familiar to him, where he feels safe.”
“Great,” Stiles sighed. “Now we just have to figure out where Derek-the-wolf goes when he needs an emotional boost.”
“He comes here, doesn’t he?” Scott’s eyes brightened and his mouth twisted into a smile.
Stiles felt his cheeks heat up. “Not while I’m here, he hasn’t. Lately. That I know of.”
Scott’s nose crinkled up in disgust before his expression cleared. “Does your dad still keep cameras in your room?”
Stiles nodded, tilting his head to the side in thought. “Yeah, but he hasn’t been using ‘em lately, since no one needs to see recorded footage of my solo time.” Though if he did have footage of that- “Do you think that would count as one of those leaked sex tapes that I could post on youtube and get famous?”
Scott looked vaguely nauseated. “Ew, no.”
“Sorry, Scott,” Stiles said, collapsing in his desk chair and opening the lid of his laptop, fingers flying over the keys. “No more talk of Stiles’ private time.” He turned to waggle his eyebrows at Scott. “But I can see where you’re going with this. Are you ready to set a trap for the big bad wolf?”
“Set a trap?” Scott stared at him, a crease between his brows and his lips down-turned at the corners. “What are you even talking about? I was just going to say that you could turn on the cameras.”
Stiles sighed noisily even as he pulled up the security camera control program. “Oh my god, yes, I was going to turn on the cameras. But that sounds way less cool, Scotty, get with the program already.”
“Whatever,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “It’s two in the morning, I’m allowed. Chill.”
“Chill?” Stiles asked, frowning. “Do you even know me? I thought you were my best bro here, you should know by now that chilling is not a thing I do at the best of times, and I’m definitely not going to chill right now, when Derek is possibly in danger-”
“I’m going to bed,” Scott interrupted. “Wake me up if you need anything,” he added helpfully, before collapsing on Stiles’ bed, stomach side down, and drooling softly onto Stiles’ comforter.
“What? No! You’re the worst.”
“Love you too,” Scott mumbled into Stiles’ pillow.
Stiles frowned at his best friend, lying boneless on the bed, and considered the pros and cons of shoving him onto the floor. On the one hand, Stiles wouldn’t get much sleep without the use of his bed. On the other hand, Scott looked pretty adorable even with his face mashed into the bedspread and his mouth half open, and who was Stiles to mess with that?
“Apparently my bed is just a werewolf magnet,” Stiles muttered under his breath as he settled back in his desk chair. “Does it look like a two person bed? Because it does not feel like one. But no, go right ahead, take up the whole bed, it’s not like I was planning to sleep tonight, or anything. Hotel Stiles is the number one werewolf friendly establishment in Beacon Hills. Try the veal.”
Unfortunately, Stiles’ audience had just started to snore. Stiles gave Scott one last look, his mouth curling into a smile despite himself, before turning back to his computer screen.
***
By the time Stiles’ alarm went off the next morning, Stiles had about twenty tabs open in his browser, a text notification alert set up to both his and Scott’s phones in case of detected movement during school hours, and gigantic bags under his eyes. Scott smacked the snooze button with one hand before rolling over and blinking sleepily at Stiles. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you.”
“Eh,” Stiles said, waving a hand in Scott’s general direction. “I was busy.”
“Please tell me you didn’t take any extra Adderall to stay up.”
“What? No.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at the computer screen. Scott was trying to distract him from something very important, now what was it?
Scott appeared over his shoulder, yawning widely and running one hand through his hair. “Why are you looking up Chupacabras?”
“Uh…” Stiles said. “I think I wanted to make sure Derek didn’t start eating goats.”
Scott just tugged on Stiles’ shirt collar. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find your dad’s hidden stash of pop tarts.”
***
Stiles only got reprimanded by two teachers for falling asleep in class. Coach seemed to take vindictive delight in blowing his referee whistle right in Stiles’ ear to wake him up.
Even Danny commented on how tired he looked.
Scott, on the other hand, looked obnoxiously bushy-eyed and bright-tailed, or whatever the hell morning people were supposed to look like. But Stiles resisted the urge to murder Scott, because he was an awesome best friend that way.
The first text alert came in during his biology class. Mrs. Martin was saying something about DNA encoding when Stiles felt the buzz in his pocket, and noticed Scott tensing up in his seat at the same time.
He immediately raised his hand and blurted “I need to go to the bathroom!”
Mrs. Martin narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”
Stiles tried checking his phone under his seat, but Mrs. Martin came over and snatched it away from him. “No texts either, Mr. Stilinski,” she said, a sharp edge in her voice, before smiling a little too widely and returning to the differences between molecular biology and evolutionary development.
Stiles did not stab himself in the eye with his pencil from sheer frustration, but it was a close call.
“Scott,” he hissed, leaning back in his chair. He batted his eyelashes as Mrs. Martin turned away from the chalkboard and squinted at him suspiciously. “Code blue. I repeat, code blue.”
Scott snorted.
Stiles turned fully around to glare at Scott in the seat behind him. “Oh my god, we went over this like five times. Red is for Derek sighting, yellow is for parental interference.” He rolled his eyes. “Blue means check your stupid phone.”
Scott’s eyes widened comically at a point just past Stiles’ shoulder, and a loud throat clearing noise echoed behind him. “Mr. Stilinski. Either turn around and pay attention, or you’ll be spending the afternoon shelving library books.”
“Yes ma’am, turning around right now,” Stiles said, snapping upright. Greenberg frowned at him from the front row. Suck up.
***
Scott kicked at Stiles’ sneakers as they exited the classroom. “You know, you could have at least tried to pay attention.”
Stiles simply snatched Scott’s cell phone from his open palm and thumbed through his notifications. “Oh my god, are these all from Kira?”
“Not all of them. Some are from this really weird guy I know, he’s always calling me at one in the morning about his missing boyfriend.”
“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. A regular comedian.” He paused when he got to the one from his security system. “Here! You got a text at 1:17pm.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just wait to get your own phone back.”
Stiles glared at Scott accusingly as he waited for the video attachment to load. “I need to know if we have a code red on our hands, bro. That cannot wait until lacrosse practice. Besides, Coach threatened me with extra suicides this afternoon since I fell asleep in class today.”
“Twice,” Scott added helpfully.
“Shut up, the second time doesn’t count, I was just resting my eyes.” He let out a crow of triumph when the video finally opened. “Time to face the music, my friend,” he said, and pressed play.
“Isn’t that your dad?” Scott asked, peering from behind Stiles’ shoulder.
“What the-” Stiles frowned down at the screen as his father made a beeline for his hidden stash of Oreos. “Dammit, Dad!”
“Okay, can I have my phone back now?” Scott whined. “I don’t want to be late for Spanish.” Without warning, he plucked his phone out of Stiles’ limp hold.
“No! This is a code yellow, something needs to be done!” He started following Scott into the classroom before his best friend gave him a pointed look. “Oh, shit, how much time do I have before the bell?”
The bell rang as soon as the words were out of Stiles’ mouth. Scott sat down in the back row, a grimace on his face.
Stiles was only five minutes late to trig, so he really didn’t deserve the glare the teacher gave him.
***
He did, however, deserve the detention he got for falling asleep in class. And snoring, apparently.
That didn’t mean he was going to like it.
“Scott,” he whispered into the mouth set of his liberated cell phone. “Scott, you have to go on without me. Be brave.” He clutched at his chest. “Give my love to Rosebud.”
“Rosebud’s a sled,” Scott answered automatically. Stiles smiled to himself. Apparently his classic movie one-liners training was starting to pay off. “You know, when I suggested you drop me off at work, I sort of assumed you’d get me there on time.”
“It’s not like I got detention on purpose,” Stiles said. He tried to put his math teacher’s diabolical smirk out of his mind. That man was a sadist. “Mills is a sadist.”
“Yeah he is,” Scott said, because even when he was annoyed with Stiles, he was a good bro. “You could just wait until tomorrow, right?”
“No!” Stiles hissed. “The longer we wait, the more likely that something horrible has happened.”
Scott paused over the line. Stiles could picture his face folding into a worried frown. “I think you’re making a bigger deal of this than it is.”
Stiles was considering how to best tell off Scott for his sudden yet inevitable betrayal when the phone was snatched away from him.
“Who is this? McCall?” Coach shouted into the phone. “Stop talking to Stilinski and start studying for that test on Monday. You need to keep your grades up to stay on as captain.” He paused as he listened to whatever Scott had to say, making the occasional humming noise in response. “Why, thank you, McCall. You’re looking quite handsome yourself. Keep up the good work!” He smiled as he hung up.
Stiles resisted the urge to slam his head into the desk repeatedly, instead just laying his forehead on his folded arms and groaning quietly.
“Charming young man,” Coach said. “Did you know he helped stem the blood loss when I was shot by an arrow?” There was a sharp pressure to the top of Stiles’ head, and he looked up to see Coach staring down at him, his hand still curled up in a loose fist from rapping his knuckles against Stiles’ skull. “Oh, that’s right. You were there, too. Can’t remember you doing anything useful, though.” He tossed the phone back at Stiles and wandered back to his desk.
Stiles stared at it morosely for a few seconds before pulling out his econ textbook.
“Next time you use the phone,” Coach added, not looking up from his desk, “call up the Mexican place. I’m in the mood for tacos.”
***
“I’m late for work,” Scott grumbled, when Stiles burst through the library doors and made a beeline towards his locker.
Stiles beamed in Scott’s general direction as he swung his backpack over his shoulders and stumbled down the corridor. “You’re the best,” he said, narrowly avoiding falling on his face as his sneakers skidded on the linoleum floor.
“Yeah, I know. Are you sure you’re cool to drive?”
“I’ll be fine, I took an extra Adderall right before detention. Plus, you’ll be there to keep me awake.” Stiles’ fingers twisted over the combination lock and he started shoving books in his backpack at random. “As soon as you get off work, you’re helping me look for him, right?”
“Yes, Stiles,” Scott said, a trace of impatience coming through, “for the last time.”
Stiles grinned over at Scott as he slammed his locker shut and started jogging towards the exit. “You won’t regret it, man, you can have my orange juice for the next month.”
“They don’t even sell orange juice any more,” Scott complained. “It’s all apple and cranberry.”
“I’ll smuggle it to school in my hip flask, then.”
Scott clambered in the passenger seat as soon as the doors unlocked. “Remember what happened the last time Harris caught you drinking from that?”
Stiles grinned as he adjusted his mirrors, fastened his seatbelt, and threw the jeep into reverse. “I can still remember the look on his face when I offered him a sip.”
“Well, I remember the week of detention you had, and how you couldn’t come to my house after school for a month after.”
They bickered good-naturedly for the rest of the drive, Stiles’ fingers only occasionally tapping against the steering wheel, his eyes glancing in the rearview for a dark form in the road behind him.
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)