Fic: Stiles and the Flawless Plan (7/10)
Title: Stiles and the Flawless Plan
Series: Bizarre Love Polyhedron
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3A
Pairings: Scott&Stiles, background Stiles/Derek, Scott/Isaac/Allison, Lydia/Aiden, Danny/Ethan
Wordcount: 1460 (this chapter); 13k total
Betas: percygranger, gretchen4321
No matter what anyone else says, Stiles comes up with great plans, okay? Maybe this wasn't one of his best ideas, but it's mutually beneficial. Him and Scott are already bros. Calling each other boyfriends isn't that different, right?
Chapter 1: Stiles and the Terrible Idea
Chapter 2: Entirely Stiles' Fault
Chapter 3: Trouble in Paradise
Chapter 4: Derek
Chapter 5: Welcoming Committee
Chapter 6: Party Foul
Chapter 7: Fallout
Soundtrack: Say Something - A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera
Stiles was silent for most of the drive home, staring out the window as the streetlights rolled by. It was easier than looking at Derek, anyway. Stiles’ eyes flicked over to Derek’s reflection in the window. He was staring out at the road ahead in his typical broody fashion, but every few seconds his eyes would flick to the side, to land on Stiles, and his expression would morph from the generic blend of anger and angst that he usually wore to something else. Something like concern, maybe. No, more than that.
It took Stiles more than half of the drive to put a name to Derek’s furrowed brow, his slightly pursed mouth, the intensity in his eyes. Derek was wistful. Derek wanted.
The realization stole the breath from Stiles’ lungs.
“Stiles,” Derek said, then repeated, increasingly urgently, because Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the air moving in and out of his mouth in short, sharp bursts.
The next thing he knew, Derek had pulled over onto the side of the road. He gripped Stiles’ shoulder tight, just shy of painful, and stared at him with big, freaked out eyes.
Stiles sucked in air through his nose, concentrated on holding his breath for a full five seconds before exhaling and trying again.
“I’m good, I’m okay, it’s fine now, you can let go,” Stiles babbled, and Derek jerked back as though burned. “Dude, what? I’m not mad.”
Derek just stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slack.
“Stop freaking out, why are you freaking out, I thought that was my job.”
Derek’s eyes snapped back to the front, his hand trembling on the gearshift as he shifted the car into first gear and pulled back out onto the road.
“Seriously, what’s wrong? I thought I was the one who just had a massive fight with my best friend.”
Derek barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. His anger was comforting, almost; anger was so much more familiar on Derek than the awkwardness that he’d been displaying around Stiles the rest of the evening.
“What?” Stiles snapped, falling back into the familiar pattern of anger meeting anger.
“Nothing.” Derek kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“No, seriously. You laughed at me, that was not a nice laugh. I want to know why.”
“You don’t call him your boyfriend.”
Stiles swallowed as he registered the slip.
Derek gritted his teeth. “I just…”
Stiles slumped back into his seat, figuring Derek was either going to talk, or he wasn’t.
“It must be nice.”
Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, for the first time since getting in the car. “Nice?”
“That he’s still your best friend, more than just your boyfriend.” Then, quieter, “That you have a best friend.”
“Yeah, well.” Stiles swallowed. “I might not have that, anymore.”
Derek growled. Swear to God, his eyes flashed blue and he snarled. Stiles shrank back in his seat.
“What the fuck, dude?”
“You deserve someone who loves you just as much as you love them.” His eyes changed back to their normal grey-green and his claws (holy shit, Derek’s claws had come out) shrank back to human lengths. “You deserve better.”
“Don’t tell me I deserve better than Scott.”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you!” Derek snapped. He clamped his jaw shut, as though he were fighting for control over his shift. “If he doesn’t love you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Who the fuck are you to say he doesn’t love me?”
Derek slowed to a stop and turned off the car, before turning to face Stiles. Stiles turned to look outside. They were still a couple blocks from his house.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I know it’s not my business, but…”
“Yeah? You going to tell me who does and doesn’t love me?” Stiles could feel something flaring up in his gut. Not quite anger, but just as warm.
Derek’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “Get out.”
Stiles blinked. “What the hell, Derek?”
“Get out, before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Jesus, fine!” Stiles unfastened his seatbelt and flung the door open, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get out of the car.
Derek pulled away as soon as Stiles had slammed the car door shut. “Fuck you too, asshole!” Stiles shouted, loud enough to wake up the neighbors.
He stomped the last block and a half to his house in petulant silence.
***
When Stiles woke up the next morning, he noticed three things.
The first, and most unpleasant, was that he had the mother of all hangovers. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there, died, and then sucked out all the moisture; his head was pounding arrhythmically and more intensely than a samba; and his stomach was trying to shrivel up and possibly expel itself through the nearest bodily cavity. He crawled to the bathroom and choked down two aspirin and a glass of water before crawling back to his room and collapsing on his bed.
When he blinked back to consciousness a few hours later, he reached for his phone, and noticed the second thing: namely, that he had a crap-ton of missed calls and text messages. He scrolled past the ones from Scott without even looking at the contents. Isaac had asked “U ok bro?” and Allison had said “Let me know if you ever need to talk” less than a minute later. Peter, creep that he was, had sent “Have you seen my nephew this morning?” along with a goddamn winky face. Cora had forwarded a picture message, labeled “wtf?” He opened up the image from Cora.
Scott and Derek were both wolfed out, facing each other. Allison was grabbing onto Scott’s jacket but looked freaked out, and Isaac was hiding behind the couch.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Stiles was about to send a reply when he noticed the third thing.
The third thing being a werewolf falling off of his roof.
Stiles dashed over to the window and slid it open. Derek was lying in the grass below, looking a little stunned.
“What the hell?”
Derek blinked up at Stiles, scrambled to his feet, and ran off.
“Hey, don’t run away, asshole! Why the fuck were you sleeping on my roof?”
Derek, of course, ignored him, and soon was out of sight.
Stiles started to dial Derek’s number, but a glance at the missed call notification, and the tug of guilt in his stomach, made him stop and dial Scott instead.
Scott picked up on the first ring. The first words out of his mouth were, “You did that on purpose, right?”
Contrary to popular belief, Stiles did, in fact, have a brain-to-mouth filter. For instance, he did not say, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “Did what on purpose?”
“Broke up with me!” Scott said. “I know I kept bugging you, but I thought we’d talk about it first before you did something.”
Stiles choked on his spit. “What?”
There was a moment of silence on the other line. “It was the perfect excuse to end it, right? I’m not imagining things?”
Stiles swallowed. Of course Scott would leap at the opportunity to dump him. “Yeah,” Stiles said. If he had been talking to Derek, he would have sensed the lie, but Scott had a knack for hearing what he wanted to hear. “So, um, I guess we’re broken up now, according to the pack?”
Scott was quiet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Stiles forced false cheer into his voice. “Sure, fine. Just, you might want to wait a week or two until you start dating someone else.”
“Good idea,” Scott agreed. “You wanna come over and play Call of Duty?”
Stiles breathed in through his nose. “Nah, we should probably avoid each other for a bit. We just broke up, after all.”
“Oh, right,” Scott said, and Stiles felt a vindictive stab of pleasure at the disappointment in his voice. “Well, um, let me know when you think it’ll be okay for us to hang out again.”
“Sure,” Stiles said. “Talk to you later.”
“Okay,” Scott said, still sounding unsure, and Stiles clicked the end call button before he could say anything else.
He flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t even been dating Scott, not really. They had been faking, that was all. He knew it was going to end eventually. So why did it feel like his chest had caved in? Why did it hurt so much to breathe?
In and out, Stiles reminded himself. One breath at a time, he would keep going until it stopped hurting.
Chapter 8: Weekend Woes
Series: Bizarre Love Polyhedron
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3A
Pairings: Scott&Stiles, background Stiles/Derek, Scott/Isaac/Allison, Lydia/Aiden, Danny/Ethan
Wordcount: 1460 (this chapter); 13k total
Betas: percygranger, gretchen4321
No matter what anyone else says, Stiles comes up with great plans, okay? Maybe this wasn't one of his best ideas, but it's mutually beneficial. Him and Scott are already bros. Calling each other boyfriends isn't that different, right?
Chapter 1: Stiles and the Terrible Idea
Chapter 2: Entirely Stiles' Fault
Chapter 3: Trouble in Paradise
Chapter 4: Derek
Chapter 5: Welcoming Committee
Chapter 6: Party Foul
Chapter 7: Fallout
Soundtrack: Say Something - A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera
Stiles was silent for most of the drive home, staring out the window as the streetlights rolled by. It was easier than looking at Derek, anyway. Stiles’ eyes flicked over to Derek’s reflection in the window. He was staring out at the road ahead in his typical broody fashion, but every few seconds his eyes would flick to the side, to land on Stiles, and his expression would morph from the generic blend of anger and angst that he usually wore to something else. Something like concern, maybe. No, more than that.
It took Stiles more than half of the drive to put a name to Derek’s furrowed brow, his slightly pursed mouth, the intensity in his eyes. Derek was wistful. Derek wanted.
The realization stole the breath from Stiles’ lungs.
“Stiles,” Derek said, then repeated, increasingly urgently, because Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the air moving in and out of his mouth in short, sharp bursts.
The next thing he knew, Derek had pulled over onto the side of the road. He gripped Stiles’ shoulder tight, just shy of painful, and stared at him with big, freaked out eyes.
Stiles sucked in air through his nose, concentrated on holding his breath for a full five seconds before exhaling and trying again.
“I’m good, I’m okay, it’s fine now, you can let go,” Stiles babbled, and Derek jerked back as though burned. “Dude, what? I’m not mad.”
Derek just stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slack.
“Stop freaking out, why are you freaking out, I thought that was my job.”
Derek’s eyes snapped back to the front, his hand trembling on the gearshift as he shifted the car into first gear and pulled back out onto the road.
“Seriously, what’s wrong? I thought I was the one who just had a massive fight with my best friend.”
Derek barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. His anger was comforting, almost; anger was so much more familiar on Derek than the awkwardness that he’d been displaying around Stiles the rest of the evening.
“What?” Stiles snapped, falling back into the familiar pattern of anger meeting anger.
“Nothing.” Derek kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“No, seriously. You laughed at me, that was not a nice laugh. I want to know why.”
“You don’t call him your boyfriend.”
Stiles swallowed as he registered the slip.
Derek gritted his teeth. “I just…”
Stiles slumped back into his seat, figuring Derek was either going to talk, or he wasn’t.
“It must be nice.”
Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, for the first time since getting in the car. “Nice?”
“That he’s still your best friend, more than just your boyfriend.” Then, quieter, “That you have a best friend.”
“Yeah, well.” Stiles swallowed. “I might not have that, anymore.”
Derek growled. Swear to God, his eyes flashed blue and he snarled. Stiles shrank back in his seat.
“What the fuck, dude?”
“You deserve someone who loves you just as much as you love them.” His eyes changed back to their normal grey-green and his claws (holy shit, Derek’s claws had come out) shrank back to human lengths. “You deserve better.”
“Don’t tell me I deserve better than Scott.”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you!” Derek snapped. He clamped his jaw shut, as though he were fighting for control over his shift. “If he doesn’t love you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Who the fuck are you to say he doesn’t love me?”
Derek slowed to a stop and turned off the car, before turning to face Stiles. Stiles turned to look outside. They were still a couple blocks from his house.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I know it’s not my business, but…”
“Yeah? You going to tell me who does and doesn’t love me?” Stiles could feel something flaring up in his gut. Not quite anger, but just as warm.
Derek’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “Get out.”
Stiles blinked. “What the hell, Derek?”
“Get out, before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Jesus, fine!” Stiles unfastened his seatbelt and flung the door open, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get out of the car.
Derek pulled away as soon as Stiles had slammed the car door shut. “Fuck you too, asshole!” Stiles shouted, loud enough to wake up the neighbors.
He stomped the last block and a half to his house in petulant silence.
***
When Stiles woke up the next morning, he noticed three things.
The first, and most unpleasant, was that he had the mother of all hangovers. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there, died, and then sucked out all the moisture; his head was pounding arrhythmically and more intensely than a samba; and his stomach was trying to shrivel up and possibly expel itself through the nearest bodily cavity. He crawled to the bathroom and choked down two aspirin and a glass of water before crawling back to his room and collapsing on his bed.
When he blinked back to consciousness a few hours later, he reached for his phone, and noticed the second thing: namely, that he had a crap-ton of missed calls and text messages. He scrolled past the ones from Scott without even looking at the contents. Isaac had asked “U ok bro?” and Allison had said “Let me know if you ever need to talk” less than a minute later. Peter, creep that he was, had sent “Have you seen my nephew this morning?” along with a goddamn winky face. Cora had forwarded a picture message, labeled “wtf?” He opened up the image from Cora.
Scott and Derek were both wolfed out, facing each other. Allison was grabbing onto Scott’s jacket but looked freaked out, and Isaac was hiding behind the couch.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Stiles was about to send a reply when he noticed the third thing.
The third thing being a werewolf falling off of his roof.
Stiles dashed over to the window and slid it open. Derek was lying in the grass below, looking a little stunned.
“What the hell?”
Derek blinked up at Stiles, scrambled to his feet, and ran off.
“Hey, don’t run away, asshole! Why the fuck were you sleeping on my roof?”
Derek, of course, ignored him, and soon was out of sight.
Stiles started to dial Derek’s number, but a glance at the missed call notification, and the tug of guilt in his stomach, made him stop and dial Scott instead.
Scott picked up on the first ring. The first words out of his mouth were, “You did that on purpose, right?”
Contrary to popular belief, Stiles did, in fact, have a brain-to-mouth filter. For instance, he did not say, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “Did what on purpose?”
“Broke up with me!” Scott said. “I know I kept bugging you, but I thought we’d talk about it first before you did something.”
Stiles choked on his spit. “What?”
There was a moment of silence on the other line. “It was the perfect excuse to end it, right? I’m not imagining things?”
Stiles swallowed. Of course Scott would leap at the opportunity to dump him. “Yeah,” Stiles said. If he had been talking to Derek, he would have sensed the lie, but Scott had a knack for hearing what he wanted to hear. “So, um, I guess we’re broken up now, according to the pack?”
Scott was quiet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Stiles forced false cheer into his voice. “Sure, fine. Just, you might want to wait a week or two until you start dating someone else.”
“Good idea,” Scott agreed. “You wanna come over and play Call of Duty?”
Stiles breathed in through his nose. “Nah, we should probably avoid each other for a bit. We just broke up, after all.”
“Oh, right,” Scott said, and Stiles felt a vindictive stab of pleasure at the disappointment in his voice. “Well, um, let me know when you think it’ll be okay for us to hang out again.”
“Sure,” Stiles said. “Talk to you later.”
“Okay,” Scott said, still sounding unsure, and Stiles clicked the end call button before he could say anything else.
He flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t even been dating Scott, not really. They had been faking, that was all. He knew it was going to end eventually. So why did it feel like his chest had caved in? Why did it hurt so much to breathe?
In and out, Stiles reminded himself. One breath at a time, he would keep going until it stopped hurting.
Chapter 8: Weekend Woes