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teencopandthesourwolf · 9 months

Text

“Why did you ask me that?”

“Huh? What's that, big guy?” Stiles mumbles, answering the query with one of his own without looking away from Derek's laptop screen. The laptop Derek kind of bought for Stiles for when Stiles is at the loft.

Whatever.

There's a ballpoint pen shoved in the kid's mouth—God, that mouth—and another slid behind an ear, the latter ready and waiting for Stiles to click to death in the In Between Typing Times.

The others dispersed a couple of minutes ago. Apart from Derek and Stiles, only Lydia and Deaton now remain at the loft and they're deep in conversation about the preliminary theory of who or what is killing the humans of Beacon Hills this week and are standing at the opposite side of the open-plan space, making more coffee. Scott and Malia left to rally the other ʼwolves (not answering their phones as they're at a cinema screening) plus find and talk to Argent to arrange a pack meeting proper about the situation, so they can all work on devising a plan. Granted, there is Peter to consider—who's probably still lurking somewhere, what with lurking being one of his favourite pastimes—who can obviously hear any and all conversations that are, or could be happening inside of the building. Sadly, though, Derek has never been able to hide much of anything from his uncle.

So.

He thinks about elaborating on the question he asked Stiles, but can't.

He tries not to stare at Stiles, and fails.

Stiles is squinting at the screen with intent and looking like he has forgotten Derek said anything at all. Or that Derek is still hovering close by. Or that Derek, you know, exists.

Derek is just standing there, all difficult and awkward in his own fucking home and his own fucking body, looming over Stiles like a creeper as Stiles taps away furiously at the keyboard and violently zig-zags a fingertip across the mousepad like an actual lunatic.

Derek almost laughs at that.

The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.

“Why wouldn't I?” Stiles now asks, still mumbling around the chewed ballpoint Derek is trying not to be jealous of.

“I—what?” Caught off guard, always and only by Stiles.

Stiles doesn't skip a beat, unlike Derek's heart. “Why wouldn't I ask?” he adds.

Oh, right.

“I, uh, I don't... ” Derek trails off pathetically, swallowing any confidence he had previously mustered and looking away from Stiles, even though those big, brown devastating eyes aren't actually looking at Derek because they are, of course, still zoomed-in on whichever web page is currently yielding the most information.

Dusk is quickly closing in and all around them and the light filtering through the loft's huge window has begun to dim somewhat, so that the glow of the computer screen is now filling Stiles' eyes with bright, dancing sparks and arrhythmic shapes as they flicker like lightning from one tab to another, then another, then another. And as mesmerising as it is to watch—Stiles looks as though he is brimming with magic—the sight becomes too much for Derek, and looking away feels like his only option.

It doesn't last.

Stiles' long, large-knuckled fingers still their rapid movement just as Derek's eyes find their way back.

Derek watches the kid some more, like a lifeline.

An anchor.

Then, Stiles is taking the pen from those perfect lips as sneaker-toes slowly spin the swivel chair around so that Stiles is now facing Derek where he stands with arms crossed reactively over his chest.

His heart.

“I asked because I wanted to know if you were okay, man," Stiles divulges, as if that's nothing at all. As if it's something Derek hears often. He tilts his head to catch Derek's eye. Which works, of course—because it always works, no matter the nature of the moment they're caught up in. "Like, I was concerned, y`know?”

Derek feels guilty just for looking. And not only because he wants to touch but because he wants to let Stiles care.

“I care, dude,” Stiles says on cue and Derek tries to self-implode while Stiles waits, probably for Derek to look at him and say don't call me dude and maybe hoping not to have his head bitten off or his throat ripped out.

Derek does look again, just not for long. Barely a glance. He can't afford himself too much Stiles, not when Stiles is looking directly back at him. It's safer that way; self-preservation and all.

“You do know that, right?” Stiles tries again. “That I care.”

Derek wants to ask Stiles if they can talk, if Derek can tell Stiles things. Derek wants to ask Stiles if he'll stay and if he'll let Derek spill his secrets, tell Stiles everything, like Derek never does with anyone these days, and if Stiles will hold Derek's hand when Derek cries about it, like Derek doesn’t allow himself to anymore. Derek wants to ask Stiles if Derek can touch him and hold him and if Stiles would hold him back, if Stiles would ever want that, if Stiles could ever be his.

“Don't call me dude,” is what he actually says because he can't not. But then he steals himself, head staticky and heart thumping as he dares himself to add (after what is undeniably too-long a pause), “And yeah. Maybe I do.”

Then they look at each other. They just—look.

Look and look and look.

And they each keep looking at the other for a very long time. Definitely too long for two people supposedly not much more than acquaintances. Allies, maybe. Comrades at tenuous best.

Then they look for longer. Look for more. Look until it starts to feel as if they are the only two people in the room, in the building, in the world.

Whatever happened to self-preservation?

Something is happening and Derek is pretty sure it's not just happening to him, and he finds he is equally stunned as he is thrilled as he is completely fucking terrified about that.

Eventually, Stiles says, “Derek, we're friends.” Then he's licking his lips and looking Derek up and down, shameless, and adding with a shrug of one shoulder, “Till we're not.”

The latter part is spoken like a dark secret, but one without the slightest hint of malice—that's not how he means it. It's more of a promise than a threat, if Derek is remembering correctly what genuine affirmations sound like (it's been a while).

The sparks from Stiles' eyes are then flashing blue in Derek's, and Derek could swear he hears every one of his neurons firing inside of himself, all at once as each of his mutated cells flare into overdrive, nail beds and gums tingling, the short hairs on the back of his neck and arms and hands standing up on end.

He feels utterly alive.

It's honestly a struggle not to whine like a pup and Derek has truly never been more happy of the fact that Stiles is unable to scent chemo-signals because, oh, Derek would be so fucked right now.

He has a reply for Stiles but it's caught in his throat, the sentence forming then solidifying, fast as a quick-drying glue.

Derek is just—standing there. Statuesque. Alternating between trying to swallow his words down and attempting to speak them, like a first class dipshit, and just looking and looking and looking at Stiles.

In an entirely mortifying turn of events, it is actually the sound of Peter's low, mocking chuckle from some tucked-away shadowy place in the loft that is the thing that forces Derek unstuck, and it takes all Derek has to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and growl out I'm going to kill you again now, Uncle.

He takes a breath, un-clenches his fists and tries for a smile—or at least a hint of one. He doesn't want to freak the kid out.

Derek then manages to repeat Stiles's words back at him, no more than a whisper. “Till we're not.”

Stiles is just looking and looking and looking at Derek before he's asking, “Can I stay for the evening? You can talk to me while I research. I always work better with noise. It'll be soothing,” like he's ordering pizza instead of answering all of Derek's prayers.

Derek notes how the kid's usually erratic eye-contact is weirdly as unwavering as his usually erratic heartbeat, which is now weirdly steady as a metronome.

That's a lot of weird.

Derek fights the urge to bite into his lip with his fangs. He wants to draw blood, and to taste it.

He embarrassingly feels his eye twitch and his breath hitch as he dares himself to do this.

He sputters, “What do you want me to talk about?”

Stiles slowly swivels back towards the light of the laptop—ethereal milky skin and dark moles once again luminous in its white-blue glow—at the very same time as the evening's first moonshine peeks through clouds and seeps in through the loft's huge skylight.

Derek is memorised.

Stiles starts annoyingly clicking away at the Clicking Pen, while shoving the other back between those beautiful lips of his, now mumbling his words around the thing once more and speaking them as if they are the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Everything, Der.”

for @poebin for asking <3 (unedited, soz)

#with love <3 #sterek #sterek ficlet #sterek fic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #eternal sterek #sterek is eternal #everything der #for poe #peter hale #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf

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skyloftian-nutcase · 13 days

Text

It was supposed to have been a relaxing family trip. Zelda had promised a place for them to stay in Castle Town, and they would have had the opportunity to just see the city and not worry about selling anything or doing knightly duties.

Malon should have known better. As much as Link preferred his domestic life, adventure always seemed to find him… and he was all too eager to answer the call.

She didn’t mind going on an adventure with him, honestly. She’d kind of always wanted to. What she hadn’t wanted, though, was to drag their daughter into it as well.

Their journey to Castle Town had been interrupted by beasts, rerouting them towards the forest to the south, near Lake Hylia. It was adjacent to the Lost Woods, and Link claimed it was mostly safe - at the very least it was safer than being exposed in Hyrule Field. He hadn’t wanted to engage out in the open with Malon and Navi so vulnerable, so this had been the next best thing.

The only issue was that Link was injured. And ill on top of it - he’d been coming down with something but had insisted on the family still going to Castle Town, outwitting Malon’s arguments by saying Well this is a vacation, darling, it’ll be restful!

Sighing, Malon leaned against a tree, her daughter nestled safely in her arms. Restful was not the word she’d use for this.

“We outran them,” Link noted as he watched behind them, pacing. With each step he took he faltered, steadily developing a limp.

“Honey, you can’t fight like this,” Malon said worriedly. “We should just stay here until they go away.”

“They might try to look for us,” Link argued. “Besides, the woods aren’t the safest either. It’s just that nothing’s going to go out of its way to attack us. But we can’t stay here.”

“You’re hurt,” Malon reiterated, pointing to the blood on his leg. She’d already wrapped the wound, insisting on taking care of it as soon as possible, but that didn’t mean it was all better now. She really wished they’d packed some milk - of all the times for them to be lacking their own product!

Link sighed heavily, sitting on the forest floor. His brow was furrowed deeply, holding that scowl he used to when worries plagued his mind. Malon reached over to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but to be honest she wasn’t much less anxious. This entire situation was a disaster, and she was frankly starting to get scared.

Link watched her a moment and then looked down. He was definitely deliberating something specific now, based on the way his eyes moved back and forth, one argument clashing with another in some kind of internal debate.

“What is it?” Malon asked.

“Nothing,” Link answered, shaking his head. “Can you do me a favor?”

Malon perked up in an instant, eager to help. “Of course, darling.”

“Can you help me get this boot off?”

Malon glanced at his injured leg and nodded. First, she looped a sling around her to let Navi rest while freeing her arms up. As she bent down to gingerly assist Link, suspicion tickled at the back of her brain. Link rarely asked for help - the man triaged himself by situation, not injury. Out in the field he would write off a broken bone as an inconvenience, but in the safety of their home a cold was the deadliest disease on earth.

But this situation wasn’t safe. Why was he suddenly so compliant? What was he up to?

Malon was about to ask as she reached for the boot, when a bright light flashed, warmth filled the air, and Link jerked with a muffled yell. Malon gasped, rising to her feet and grabbing the nearest stick as a weapon, eyes wide as she looked for whatever had hurt her husband, when—

When two glowing eyes looked back at her.

Malon stared. And then it clicked. “What are you doing out here?! Why, that idiotic husband of mine, take that off right now and I’ll punch him myself—“

The Fierce Deity hastily stood, taking three steps back as Malon charged at him. “This wasn’t of my volition.”

“You both know that mask hurts him, why is he putting it on when he’s sick and injured already—“

Navi burst into tears, upset by the racket. Malon paused from her tirade only due to such desperate circumstances, shushing her daughter and rocking her gently while glaring daggers at the deity.

“Perhaps he didn’t think he could protect you in his current state,” Fierce offered.

“That’s ridiculous!” Malon denied even as her mind screamed in agreement with Fierce. She herself had just been saying it.

But—but—oh, that husband of hers! He was getting the lecture of his life when he took that mask off!

A twig nearby snapped, and the deity had his blade out in an instant. Malon tried to calm Navi, who was still greatly perturbed, and she let the mythical being take the lead. He quickly rooted out the source of the noise. Malon had to admit she certainly felt safe watching the demigod dispatch the beasts with so much ease it might as well have been a joke.

When the danger had passed, she quietly asked, “Can you even feel the injury he had?”

The Fierce Deity glanced at her, and he tested the affected extremity. “A little, yes. I know he hurt it.”

“Things just… don’t hurt you, do they?” Malon huffed, marveling a little at it. Perhaps that was why Link had chosen to let him take over - nothing could slow him down.

The deity blinked, head tilting down as if he were considering it. “They do.”

He didn’t elaborate, and somehow that made the words all the heavier. Malon watched him a moment in silence, Navi finally calm in her arms. Then she sighed, finding a fallen tree to sit on, and she pat the space beside her invitingly. As she waited for the deity to approach, she started humming Epona’s song while rocking Navi back and forth.

Fierce slowly made his way over to her, sitting with such care it was as if he was approaching a frightened animal. Malon didn’t think too much into it - she knew his focus was on her daughter. She continued to sway gently, beaming down at her baby girl. Navi was calm, resting once more. Not for the first time, Malon had to marvel at the little one. She was perfect and beautiful.

And now she was safe.

Sighing, Malon said quietly. “Thank you.”

Fierce smiled softly. “Protection is my sworn duty. But more than duty, it is always a pleasure to protect Link’s family.”

Malon mirrored his smile, resuming her humming for a little while. Eventually, the deity commented, “She’s gotten bigger since you showed her to me.”

“That was six months ago,” Malon giggled. “Of course she’s gotten bigger.”

“I… do not know how quickly mortals grow,” Fierce noted a little uncertainly. “I've ascertained that the little Hero's journey wasn't exactly traditional. How long will she be this helpless?”

“Don’t you worry about her,” Malon chided gently with a chuckle. She knew that concerned tone and expression anywhere - it was still her husband’s face, even if the mask’s magic distorted it to share the deity's spirit. The two worried all the same. It was honestly kind of cute. “Link and I can take care of her.”

The deity continued to watch her daughter, face softening.

“Now don’t you tell me you don’t think we’re up to the task,” Malon teased, elbowing him.

He straightened a little, a smile pulling at his lips. “I remember little of my time before this mask, but I do recall that a mother’s love and protection is far fiercer than I could ever be.”

Malon felt a swell of pride in her chest, and she giggled. “Aw honey, look at you buttering me up. That won’t save you.”

Fierce blinked. “From what?”

“From eating,” Malon insisted, pulling out some biscuits that had been wrapped up for the journey. “Link needs it, and you don’t get to eat that much. My daddy always said my cookin’ was fit for a god, so I guess it’s time to test that.”

She actually managed to pull a laugh out of Fierce with that one, and it filled the air with mirth and magic. Malon felt like she'd just accomplished some grand quest like Link did on his journeys, and she laughed with him. Fierce eventually took the biscuits, sniffing them hesitantly.

Malon raised an eyebrow at him, but the gesture was lost upon the mysterious being. He took a laughably small bite, testing it, and then sighed, closing his eyes.

"You alright?" Malon asked quietly, trying to parse out the gesture. In most it would be a sign of appreciation, but Fierce's mannerisms didn't always match the norm.

"Six months," the deity said quietly before taking another bite. "It's such a short time."

"It certainly has flown by," Malon muttered, looking down at her baby. Navi had grown so much. She wanted nothing more than for time to stop. It was pretty ironic considering who she was married to. But his magic over time, as fantastical as it was, would be a curse in this situation. No, Malon didn't want to live the same days over and over as she herself grew old. She just wanted to cherish the time she had as much as possible.

Some days she did wish she could slow it down, though.

She kissed her daughter's soft head, taking in the scent of her skin, so new and unblemished, naïve to the worries lines her parents bore. Navi was her entire world, and she couldn't imagine it any other way.

"I suppose mortals do grow up quite quickly."

Malon nuzzled her baby girl a little more before looking up at the deity. He seemed very sad and alone all of a sudden, biscuit forgotten in his hand as it rested on his lap.

"Oh honey," she cooed gently, shifting closer to him. "All that means is we treasure what we do have."

Fierce watched her, his brow heavy over his eyes, a weight pushing on his shoulders. Malon tried reading into it, trying to figure out what was leaving the sweet mysterious man so perturbed. She supposed it was fairly obvious, though.

He would outlive them all. They both knew it. But that didn't mean—

Oh.

He didn't think he would have a chance to treasure such moments. How could he? He was locked away in a mask, only touching reality when worn. And Link had no reason to wear it.

Well, that just wouldn't do. They had to figure something out. Malon didn't wish the pain of that mask on her husband, but she didn't wish the loneliness of its imprisonment on Fierce.

"We have right now," she reasoned, trying to give him the most sincere smile she could. "Come on, love. Take your armor off and relax. As long as you're eating and resting, I reckon it'll be okay for a little bit, at least."

"You three were going somewhere," Fierce noted. "I should clear the road and escort you there safely."

"Maybe so," Malon replied. "But you're going to finish eating first."

He complied, finishing the biscuit before being handed another. After having several snacks from the provisions the family had packed, Malon and Fierce rose together. His gaze seemed to settle on Navi, and Malon held her out carefully, nodding in encouragement to the tall being.

Gently, oh so gently, Fierce took the baby in his arms. Instinctively, he swayed on his feet, eyes never leaving her face. Malon's heart warmed at the sight of it.

“Sometimes, I just wonder,” Malon remarked as she watched him. “You’re so… compassionate, and kind. They claim you're a war god, but you're really not. You love children so much. Surely… I think you might’ve had some, you know? Back then and all.”

Fierce watched her in silence before he tilted his head to the side with a smile, returning Navi to her mother. “I do have children.”

Malon jumped, surprised. “You do?”

“Yes,” the deity hummed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that was nearly akin to purring. “And I’m very proud of both you.”

The words settled over her a moment before sinking in, and she knew she had to look like a deer caught in lantern light. The deity’s smile grew, almost as if teasing, but she knew he was being genuine. And she… felt almost at a loss for words by it. Her throat tightened a hair before she laughed, stepping towards him and pulling him into a hug. “Oh, you. You’re just as bad as Link.”

The Fierce Deity stood there stiffly a moment, clearly caught off guard by the contact, but slowly, he settled into the embrace. His hands were warm on Malon’s back as he pulled her closer, careful not to hurt Navi between them. His breath warmed her hair at the top of her head, and Malon nuzzled against his chest a little.

Silence hung amicably in the air, a pleasant comfort and warmth like a hearth ablaze with a cheery fire. Slowly, fairies came out of hiding, dancing and twinkling in the shadows and bringing a glow to the forest like the pink hues of a sunrise.

The supposed god of war knew peace, and Malon held this moment in her heart forevermore.

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