Fic: Derek and the Unnecessary Pining (5/14)
Title: Derek and the Unnecessary Pining
Series: Bizarre Love Polyhedron
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3A
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Stiles, Scott/Isaac/Allison, Lydia/Aiden, Danny/Ethan, implied Scott&Stiles&Derek
Wordcount: 1220 (this chapter); ~18k total
Beta: percygranger
Stiles is unfairly attractive, Scott is terrifyingly earnest, and Cora is a brat. Derek just wants them to leave him alone so he can finish reading his book. Is that so much to ask?
Chapter 1: Back to Bacon Hills
Chapter 2: Pity Party
Chapter 3: Awkward
Chapter 4: Guardian
Chapter 5: It’s Not Stalking, Really
Derek startled awake when he heard Stiles’ voice, oddly muffled, saying “What the hell?”
The sun was hot on his face, and obnoxiously bright even through his closed eyelids. He winced as he stretched his back muscles, the shingles digging into his shoulder blades uncomfortably. Cracking his eyes open, he saw that his phone was balanced precariously on one thigh and one leg was dangling off the roof edge, the other propped up against the rain gutter.
Then it registered that Derek had not, in fact, heard the Sheriff’s patrol car pull up to the house at any point, but the light outside was much brighter than it should have been, and the sun was high overhead. He craned up to check exactly where it was, when his cellphone slipped off his thigh. Without thinking, he dove to catch it. If he landed on concrete from this height, his bones would heal, but his phone wouldn’t. He didn’t want to have to replace the damn thing again.
He was laying on his back in the grass, blinking up at the sun, cellphone clutched triumphantly in one fist and his book in the other, when Stiles’ window slid open and Stiles shoved almost his entire torso out the frame.
“What the hell?”
Shit. Derek had not prepared for this scenario. He jumped to his feet, shoving his cellphone in his back pocket, and sprinting for the nearest available cover.
“Hey, don’t run away, asshole! Why the fuck were you sleeping on my roof?”
Derek was debating the merits of retreating to the loft to cower in shame versus waiting until the Sheriff got home to make sure Stiles didn’t steal the remaining contents of the liquor cabinet, when he heard Stiles’ voice filtering down, and faint but just barely audible, Scott’s tinny reply.
“What?” Stiles asked. He sounded startled. Derek frowned and crept closer to the window.
“…perfect excuse to end it, right? I’m not imagining things?”
“Yeah,” Stiles replied, and his heartbeat stuttered. “So, um, I guess we’re broken up now, according to the pack?”
Derek was still wondering what the hell “according to the pack” was supposed to mean when Scott spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure, fine,” Stiles said. Derek winced, not only at the obviousness of the lie, but the overly bright tone. It didn’t even sound like Stiles, anymore. “Just, you might want to wait a week or two until you start dating someone else.”
Derek stiffened. Was Scott really so insensitive that he needed that sort of warning? The rest of the conversation was drowned out in the white noise of Derek’s anger, and he slunk off to the Stilinski’s back yard to think.
There was something seriously wrong between Stiles and Scott. Not just typical teenage heartbreak wrong, either. As much as Derek wanted to run back to Scott’s house and throttle him for answers, he knew he needed to stay here. Even if Stiles didn’t know Derek was still around, he shouldn’t be alone right now. Derek sighed and found a shady spot behind the garden shed, out of view of the main floor windows. He might as well finish his book.
***
About twenty minutes later, once Stiles’ breathing evened out into sleep, Derek left the backyard and walked back to the loft for another book and a change of clothing. He decided to check on Stiles once every hour. Otherwise, he would be tempted to just spend the entire day and night hiding in the Stilinski’s garden shed.
Stiles spent the rest of Saturday sleeping, as far as Derek could tell, but between three and four in the afternoon he ate a peanut butter sandwich (Stiles had left the plate on his night stand, still dotted with crumbs, and Derek could smell Stiles’ peanut butter breath through the cracked window). When Derek checked at one in the morning, the Sheriff’s car had appeared in the driveway and the kitchen light had been turned on, but Stiles hadn’t stirred.
By Derek’s check at three in the morning, though, Stiles had rearranged the covers and flipped over onto his stomach. His breath smelled faintly of cranberries and sugar, and his hands of oranges. His sleep was calmer, after that, and his heartbeat slower, but most importantly, he stopped smelling quite so lonely.
On Sunday, Derek didn’t bother climbing up to the roof to look in on Stiles; as he approached the house, he could hear Stiles shuffling around in his room, watching some sitcom with an excessive laugh track and munching on Cheetos (the spicy kind, which always made Derek’s nose itch).
Stiles got out of bed and wandered over to the window during the four o’clock and six o’clock checks, which puzzled Derek until the seven o’clock check, when Stiles slid the window open and started dialing a number on his cellphone.
Derek’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he had to fight a flinch as he crouched behind the shed. After a pause, he heard the faint strains of his own voice mailbox, and Stiles started speaking.
“Hey, stalker. Thanks for the ride home Friday night, but if you could stop the Edward Cullen watching-me-while-I-sleep routine, it would do wonders for my already fragile psyche.”
Derek frowned. He wasn’t stalking Stiles. He was just making sure Stiles was okay. There was a difference.
“Um, that’s all,” Stiles added. From where Derek was standing, he couldn’t see Stiles, but he sounded almost embarrassed. “Bye.”
Derek didn’t want to come out of hiding until Stiles had gone back inside, but he was starting to contemplate digging a hole under the fence to escape when he heard Stiles’ voice call out once more, quieter this time, but still audible to werewolf ears.
“I don’t really mind, you know,” Stiles said, and Derek froze, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m glad someone cares. So, um. Thanks.” The window squeaked as Stiles slid it shut.
Derek had to wait for a few minutes before he could stand without his legs shaking. He walked back to the loft, and when he came through the front door, Cora looked up from her seat on the couch to frown at him. “Where have you been all weekend?”
Derek stared at her for a moment. “The park,” he finally said. It wasn’t a lie. He’d spent most of his time in between checking up on Stiles sitting on a bench overlooking the Beacon Park Pond, rereading the Fellowship of the Ring.
Cora sniffed at him and pulled a face. “You smell foul.”
Derek bared his teeth. “Thanks for the input,” he said, pushing past her towards the main floor bathroom. He stalked over to the shower and set the water to its hottest setting before stripping down to his boxer briefs and stepping under the spray. Stiles’ words kept echoing in his head though, in a constant loop.
I don’t really mind.
I’m glad someone cares.
Thanks.
When he stepped out of the shower, still dripping on the tile floor, he texted Scott.
To Scott: You should check on Stiles tonight.
Scott replied seven minutes later, with a simple Ok. I will. Thanks.
Derek spent what felt like hours staring up at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows cast by the street lamps outside.
Chapter 6: Giving Advice
Series: Bizarre Love Polyhedron
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3A
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Stiles, Scott/Isaac/Allison, Lydia/Aiden, Danny/Ethan, implied Scott&Stiles&Derek
Wordcount: 1220 (this chapter); ~18k total
Beta: percygranger
Stiles is unfairly attractive, Scott is terrifyingly earnest, and Cora is a brat. Derek just wants them to leave him alone so he can finish reading his book. Is that so much to ask?
Chapter 1: Back to Bacon Hills
Chapter 2: Pity Party
Chapter 3: Awkward
Chapter 4: Guardian
Chapter 5: It’s Not Stalking, Really
Derek startled awake when he heard Stiles’ voice, oddly muffled, saying “What the hell?”
The sun was hot on his face, and obnoxiously bright even through his closed eyelids. He winced as he stretched his back muscles, the shingles digging into his shoulder blades uncomfortably. Cracking his eyes open, he saw that his phone was balanced precariously on one thigh and one leg was dangling off the roof edge, the other propped up against the rain gutter.
Then it registered that Derek had not, in fact, heard the Sheriff’s patrol car pull up to the house at any point, but the light outside was much brighter than it should have been, and the sun was high overhead. He craned up to check exactly where it was, when his cellphone slipped off his thigh. Without thinking, he dove to catch it. If he landed on concrete from this height, his bones would heal, but his phone wouldn’t. He didn’t want to have to replace the damn thing again.
He was laying on his back in the grass, blinking up at the sun, cellphone clutched triumphantly in one fist and his book in the other, when Stiles’ window slid open and Stiles shoved almost his entire torso out the frame.
“What the hell?”
Shit. Derek had not prepared for this scenario. He jumped to his feet, shoving his cellphone in his back pocket, and sprinting for the nearest available cover.
“Hey, don’t run away, asshole! Why the fuck were you sleeping on my roof?”
Derek was debating the merits of retreating to the loft to cower in shame versus waiting until the Sheriff got home to make sure Stiles didn’t steal the remaining contents of the liquor cabinet, when he heard Stiles’ voice filtering down, and faint but just barely audible, Scott’s tinny reply.
“What?” Stiles asked. He sounded startled. Derek frowned and crept closer to the window.
“…perfect excuse to end it, right? I’m not imagining things?”
“Yeah,” Stiles replied, and his heartbeat stuttered. “So, um, I guess we’re broken up now, according to the pack?”
Derek was still wondering what the hell “according to the pack” was supposed to mean when Scott spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure, fine,” Stiles said. Derek winced, not only at the obviousness of the lie, but the overly bright tone. It didn’t even sound like Stiles, anymore. “Just, you might want to wait a week or two until you start dating someone else.”
Derek stiffened. Was Scott really so insensitive that he needed that sort of warning? The rest of the conversation was drowned out in the white noise of Derek’s anger, and he slunk off to the Stilinski’s back yard to think.
There was something seriously wrong between Stiles and Scott. Not just typical teenage heartbreak wrong, either. As much as Derek wanted to run back to Scott’s house and throttle him for answers, he knew he needed to stay here. Even if Stiles didn’t know Derek was still around, he shouldn’t be alone right now. Derek sighed and found a shady spot behind the garden shed, out of view of the main floor windows. He might as well finish his book.
***
About twenty minutes later, once Stiles’ breathing evened out into sleep, Derek left the backyard and walked back to the loft for another book and a change of clothing. He decided to check on Stiles once every hour. Otherwise, he would be tempted to just spend the entire day and night hiding in the Stilinski’s garden shed.
Stiles spent the rest of Saturday sleeping, as far as Derek could tell, but between three and four in the afternoon he ate a peanut butter sandwich (Stiles had left the plate on his night stand, still dotted with crumbs, and Derek could smell Stiles’ peanut butter breath through the cracked window). When Derek checked at one in the morning, the Sheriff’s car had appeared in the driveway and the kitchen light had been turned on, but Stiles hadn’t stirred.
By Derek’s check at three in the morning, though, Stiles had rearranged the covers and flipped over onto his stomach. His breath smelled faintly of cranberries and sugar, and his hands of oranges. His sleep was calmer, after that, and his heartbeat slower, but most importantly, he stopped smelling quite so lonely.
On Sunday, Derek didn’t bother climbing up to the roof to look in on Stiles; as he approached the house, he could hear Stiles shuffling around in his room, watching some sitcom with an excessive laugh track and munching on Cheetos (the spicy kind, which always made Derek’s nose itch).
Stiles got out of bed and wandered over to the window during the four o’clock and six o’clock checks, which puzzled Derek until the seven o’clock check, when Stiles slid the window open and started dialing a number on his cellphone.
Derek’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he had to fight a flinch as he crouched behind the shed. After a pause, he heard the faint strains of his own voice mailbox, and Stiles started speaking.
“Hey, stalker. Thanks for the ride home Friday night, but if you could stop the Edward Cullen watching-me-while-I-sleep routine, it would do wonders for my already fragile psyche.”
Derek frowned. He wasn’t stalking Stiles. He was just making sure Stiles was okay. There was a difference.
“Um, that’s all,” Stiles added. From where Derek was standing, he couldn’t see Stiles, but he sounded almost embarrassed. “Bye.”
Derek didn’t want to come out of hiding until Stiles had gone back inside, but he was starting to contemplate digging a hole under the fence to escape when he heard Stiles’ voice call out once more, quieter this time, but still audible to werewolf ears.
“I don’t really mind, you know,” Stiles said, and Derek froze, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m glad someone cares. So, um. Thanks.” The window squeaked as Stiles slid it shut.
Derek had to wait for a few minutes before he could stand without his legs shaking. He walked back to the loft, and when he came through the front door, Cora looked up from her seat on the couch to frown at him. “Where have you been all weekend?”
Derek stared at her for a moment. “The park,” he finally said. It wasn’t a lie. He’d spent most of his time in between checking up on Stiles sitting on a bench overlooking the Beacon Park Pond, rereading the Fellowship of the Ring.
Cora sniffed at him and pulled a face. “You smell foul.”
Derek bared his teeth. “Thanks for the input,” he said, pushing past her towards the main floor bathroom. He stalked over to the shower and set the water to its hottest setting before stripping down to his boxer briefs and stepping under the spray. Stiles’ words kept echoing in his head though, in a constant loop.
I don’t really mind.
I’m glad someone cares.
Thanks.
When he stepped out of the shower, still dripping on the tile floor, he texted Scott.
To Scott: You should check on Stiles tonight.
Scott replied seven minutes later, with a simple Ok. I will. Thanks.
Derek spent what felt like hours staring up at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows cast by the street lamps outside.
Chapter 6: Giving Advice