#derek: no need sir werewolves don't get sick

[josjournal]

Sterek Valentine Week - Day 6 - Secret Admirer

Derek could smell Stiles’ mood long before he’d reached the door. A tinge of sadness, as well as his usual overthinking, was overlaid by something else he couldn’t identify. Pulling the door open before Stiles could knock, Derek barked out a laugh as the boy startled, arms pinwheeling. Derek managed to grab him and pull him upright before he fell backwards off the porch.

His laughter died when he got a good look at his friend’s face, a large bruise covered his cheekbone and a spot of blood dotted his lower lip. He realized the third emotion he’d smelled was identified as pain. Derek lifted a hand to Stiles’ chin. Under the guise of taking a better look, he pulled some of the pain, thankful he’d worn his thumbhole sweater that morning as it hid the black lines travelling up his arm. Stiles was aware of him being a werewolf, of his entire family being werewolves, but he hated when Derek used his powers on him without permission and Derek might have felt guilty about it if he wasn’t so worried.

“What happened?” he ground out. “Is this why you had to stay after school?” he continued, not letting stiles answered as he dropped his hand to his arm and dragged him inside. It was a sign of just how out of it Stiles was when he didn’t put up even a token protest.

Derek’s mother stood in the living room when he pulled Stiles over to the sofa and pushed him to sit. She held out an ice pack to Derek who took it and applied it to the side of Stiles’ face. He lowered his eyebrows, flaring his nostrils trying to discover who had done this damage.

When Stiles lifted his hand to take control of the ice pack, Derek noticed the bruising on his knuckles and felt a flare of pride. He wondered what the other guy looked like. He started to lift a hand to brush over the knuckles, but Stiles scooted away from him on the sofa, face flushing and eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m fine,” he snapped but held the ice pack in place belying his statement. After a moment of Derek holding eye contact, Stiles looked away with a sigh. “Alright, I’m not fine, but I’ll live.” He let out an even louder sigh before throwing himself back against the sofa cushions. “I’ll live and I’ll die alone because I am unlovable!”

Derek could hear his mother laughing from where she’d escaped to the kitchen as he shook his head. “Don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?” Stiles glared at him. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I asked Lydia to the Valentine’s Day Dance,” he said, running a hand over his mouth muffling the sound, but Derek heard it anyway.

“So did she do that or Jackson?” Derek asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Not that point,” Stiles said. “Why doesn’t anybody love me, Derek?” His friend’s voice was serious and slightly wet, the scent of salt filling the air and filling Derek’s throat.

“I love you,” Derek told him, keeping his voice light and thankful when it brought a quirk to Stiles’ lips and a low chuckle.

“I love you, too, but not what I meant,” Stiles told him.

Derek made a noise of agreement despite disagreeing because what Stiles didn’t know was that Derek did love Stiles in just the way that he had meant.

***

The next morning, Stiles was bouncing on his heels next to Derek’s Camaro when he’d opened the front door balancing two travel mugs of coffees in his hand and holding a paper bag of homemade cinnamon rolls between his teeth. “Man, Mama Hale is the best!” Stiles squealed, grabbing the bag and one of the mugs. “Thanks, Mama!” he shouted into the house and Derek heard his mother laughing again.

Once they were settled into the car and heading towards school, Derek had enough of Stiles’ fidgeting. “Who put extra sugar in your toothpaste this morning?”

“I think Lydia loves me,” Stiles said, his smile growing. “Or maybe Jackson.” He wrinkled his nose and Derek felt sick.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, hands tightening on his wheel until he felt it creak beneath his hands.

Digging into his bag, he pulled out a red gift bag, sparkling pink filler paper spilling out of the top. “I found this on the porch this morning!” He reached in and pulled out a can of Red Bull and a bottle of Motrin along with a heart shaped sucker with a piece of paper that said, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” He shook the Mortin at Derek, giving him an expectant look.

“What does that have to do with Lydia?” Derek asked.

“There’s only a few people who know that I got hurt yesterday. So, it’s either Lydia, Jackson, or the school principal.” Stiles tapped a finger as he named each person. “Lydia is really the most logical choice, but I suppose it could be Jackson.” He looked thoughtful.

“Or your father. Or my mom,” Derek suggested as he pulled into the school parking lot.

“Or you,” Stiles said, laughing and then protesting when Derek grabbed the Red Bull. “Hey!”

“You can have this or the coffee, not both,” Derek told him. “Remember the last time; you didn’t sleep for three days.”

Stiles conceded the point and chose the coffee, claiming it went better with the cinnamon rolls. “I’m going to thank Lydia,” he said as he got out of the car and smiling at Derek over the roof.

***

“She laughed in my face!” Stiles shouted as he arrived at the car at the end of the day.

Derek shook his head. “At least she didn’t punch you in the face,” he muttered. He’d seen Jackson earlier in the day, a slightly smaller bruise to match Stiles on his own face, so he’d been right in assuming that Stiles had fought back the day before.

Stiles climbed in the car, sulking and spent the ride to the house complaining again about his unlovability. By the time they said goodbye and Stiles had gone into his own house and slammed the door, Derek was reading to claw his own ears just so he could stop hearing until they’d healed.

***

Derek was surprised that Stiles wasn’t standing next to his car in the morning, as he had every morning since Derek had gotten his license. Unlocking the car, he threw his bag in the backseat while checking his phone to see if there were any messages about him not going to school, but there was nothing. Heading next door, he stepped onto the porch, but the door was pulled open before he could knock revealing the Sheriff already dressed for work.

“Morning, Derek,” he said. “Stiles is running a little late. You can wait in the kitchen if you like.”

“Have a good day, sir,” Derek called after him before going into the house and nearly running into Stiles or at least someone who looked like Stiles but muted. “You ready?”

The Stiles-like person just shrugged and grabbed his bag, following Derek out the door before locking it behind himself. They made their way to the car. Derek was climbing inside as Stiles opened his door and let out a shout. Glancing over, Derek spotted a bag similar to the one from the day before sitting on the passenger seat, a tag with Stiles’ name hanging off of it. “Did you leave your car unlocked, dude?”

“Don't’ call me ‘dude’,” Derek muttered as he watched Stiles dig through the bag out of the corner of his eye.

Stiles pulled out a heart-shaped sugar cookie on a stick. It was dipped in red chocolate and had, “You are loved,” scrawled messily on it.

“Wow,” Stiles said, smiling as he stared at the cookie before digging in the bag some more, but coming up empty. “Wish I knew who was doing this,” he said, voice sound happy despite the confused tones of his scent.

“Does it matter?” Derek asked. “Can’t you just enjoy knowing someone admires you without knowing who they are?”

Stiles gaped at him, spluttering and waving his arms before crossing them over his chest in a pout. “Just drive,” he finally said, the happiness of his tone lost in something else.

Derek listened, pulling away from the house and heading towards school, allowing Stiles to sulk in silence. It was the first time since he’d started driving them to school that the trip was completely silent the entire way, but when Derek went to get out of the car, Stiles stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What if it’s a joke?” he asked, voice quiet. “I mean, Lydia already laughed when I tried to thank her for yesterday's gift. What if Jackson or someone is waiting for me to make a fool of myself over this. I need to know who it is so I know it’s real.” His tone was pleading.

“I get it,” Derek said. “I’m pretty sure it’s not a joke, though,” he reassured him.

“Why? Can you smell who left it?” Stiles asked, eyes wide. “I was going to ask you to sniff the bag yesterday, but didn’t want to be rude.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t smell anyone that shouldn’t have been in the car. Sorry,” he told him, climbing out of the car and ignoring Stiles’ pout.

***

The next morning was Saturday, so there was no need for Derek to get up early and yet he had risen with the sun and gone for a run. He was just returning when he spotted Stiles sitting on the Hale front porch, a familiar looking red bag in his hand, a smile on his face as he spotted Derek.

“Another one?” Stiles nodded. “What is it today?”

“Don’t know. I was waiting for you to open it,” Stiles told him as he followed Derek into his house, settling at the kitchen table as Derek tossed him a bottle of water, which he immediately dropped.

Derek drained one bottle before grabbing another and sitting across from Stiles at the table. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, stopping when Stiles’ scent took on a strong scent of arousal. When he dropped his shirt to check on him, he was digging in the bag and Derek wondered what in the bag could possibly have garnered that reaction.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, getting an embarrassed laugh from Stiles as he laid the items from the bag on the table between them.

There was a book about astronomy that Derek knew Stiles had on his Amazon wishlist, along with a box of glow-in-the-dark stars. A note taped to the top said, “If you be my stars, I’ll be your sky.” There was also a gift card for the coffee shop that he and Stiles frequented.

“Wow, your secret admirer really seems to know you,” Derek said, reaching out a finger to run over the edge of the book.

“If a person is ugly, they’re a stalker. If they’re good looking, they’re a secret admirer,” Stiles muttered as his scent turned metallic with anxiety.

Horror ran through Derek as he processed Stiles’ words. He fumbled the water he’d been sipping and it spilt across the table, thankfully Derek recovered in time to rescue Stiles’ gifts. “I’m sure it’s the latter, even if they aren’t terribly good-looking.”

Stiles studied Derek, eyes focused until they both began to squirm. “Der, do you know who my secret admirer is?”

“If I did, wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told you,” he responded, pushing to stand from the table. He tilted his head, ignoring Stiles’ dog comment from behind him. “Mom needs me to run to the store. I’ll talk to you later,” he said before disappearing out the front door, ignoring Stiles’ call of, “Dude, your mom isn’t even home!”

***

Derek didn’t talk to Stiles on Sunday, but he sat beneath his cracked bedroom window which was right across from Stiles and listened to him moving about his own bedroom. Stiles did a lot of pacing and he kept skipping songs on his iPod, never listening to any of them for more than thirty seconds before giving up and turning on his laptop.

It was around eleven o’clock at night and Derek was dozing off underneath the window when his mother came to check on him, bringing him something to eat. “You should just tell him how you feel.”

“I’ve tried and he doesn’t get it,” Derek told her, knowing he was whining but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to temper his tone. “He wants to be in love so bad and yet he believes he’s unloveable.”

“We know he’s not,” his mom responded. “Now you need to get him to see that.”

“I’m trying, but everything keeps backfiring,” Derek huffed.

“Use your words, son,” she told him before rising to her feet. “And get some sleep.”

She left the room, turning off the light she’d turned on when she’d entered. Derek was pushing himself to his feet, suddenly grateful that he’d kept the blinds closed all day when he heard Stiles’ voice. “Derek? Are you there?” He froze in place, voice caught in his throat, like the coward he was. It was a fortunate thing that Stiles as not a werewolf or he would be able to hear his heartbeat even across the yard.

The silence dragged on and just when Derek thought Stiles wasn’t going to speak again, he heard him. His voice was low, even by normal standards and Derek actually had to strain his ears to hear him. “...it were you,” was all that he heard, but before he could question, Stiles continued. “It’s so stupid, I know, but I wish it were you. I wish you were the person who loved me like that.”

Derek dropped quietly to his bed, burying his face into his pillow and allowing himself to cry as he ran Stiles’ words over and over in his head until he fell into a fitful sleep.

***

Derek didn’t want to get out of bed Monday morning, so he asked his mom to drive Stiles to school, which she did before returning home and telling Derek that Stiles had smelled sad and wouldn’t talk to her the entire ride other than a greeting and a thanks when he got out of the car. “Talk to him,” she encouraged Derek, although it sounded more like an Alpha order, so Derek got up and moving.

He arrived at school at lunchtime, checking the items he had sitting in the passenger seat. He walked to the cafeteria and spotted Stiles sitting at their usual table, stabbing his fork violently at whatever atrocity the cafeteria was serving that day. Smiling, he weaved through the crowd of students, returning greetings but never taking his eyes of Stiles.

Arriving at the table, he set down the bag and drink carrier from Stiles’ favourite diner, smiling when his head whipped up. “Curly fries?” he asked, excitedly as Derek sat down.

“Dig in,” Derek told him, waiting until his hands and face were buried in the bag before setting down the last item.

When Stiles looked up, he froze at the red bag sitting in the center of the table. As she continued to stare, Derek nudged the bag towards him. “What?”

“I heard you last night,” Derek whispered.

Stiles had been reaching for the bag but froze at Derek’s words and his gaze hardened. “If this is some kind of joke -”

Derek growled. “Never. I heard what you said and it was what I needed to hear to come forward,” he explained. “When I walk into a crowd, I’m always looking for you first. It’s been that way since my family first moved next door to you and you fell over the fence trying to get a look.”

“Derek-”

“Stop. Just please open the bag, I can’t keep talking,” he choked out.

Stiles reached into the bag, pulling out a book on werewolves that he’d seen at Deaton’s office that had gotten him a smack to the hands when he’d tried to touch it. The next item was a construction paper heart covered with glitter glue that was tacky enough to stick to his fingers and photo stuck to the center. The photo had been taken the day they’d met, the two of them covered in red kool-aid. Derek was looking at Stiles who had his head thrown back and laughing. “From this moment, I loved you,” was written beneath the photo in gel pen.

Stiles gaped at the words, his heart beating faster as his scent warmed and grew until it surrounded Derek in a feeling of safety and home and love. When their eyes met, they both broke into wide grins before Stiles was leaning over the table to press a kiss to the middle of Derek’s forehead and laughing at the way he scrunched up his nose.

“I love you, too,” Stiles responded. “Like really do.” There was no skip in his heartbeat, no lie on his lips. Just honest emotion and Derek had to get closer so he moved to sit next to Stiles instead of across from him. “And just so you know, you’re definitely not a stalker.”

Derek loved the feeling of the laughter that flowed between them as they shared their first real, yet still completely disastrous and perfectly them, kiss.

#sterekvalentineweek #sterek #sterek au #sterek fic #my writing #not a stalker