Sterek Stories - A Collection - I

D stands for... - Part 4

In one of their bi-weekly calls Scott told him that Kirsten and Derek had broken up. Something about Kirsten wanting different things from life. Stiles knew how to read between the lines and that stone in his stomach that had never really gone away felt a little heavier for it. Derek went back to Los Angeles and Scott figured they wouldn't see him for a long while.

Stiles never got a call from Derek.

***

Time is a funny thing. Stiles would argue it didn't heal all wounds, yet it was able to scab them over quite efficiently. You know, as long as you didn't think too much about stuff that hurt.

***

"They're pixies, Scott. Annoying, yes. Lethal not so much, not if you're a big strong werewolf. Which you are, last time I checked. You guys can get rid of them without me," Stiles told his friend over the phone.

"We already tried," Scott conceded. "It didn't work. They're persistent, like a weed. People in town are noticing something's off, it's only a matter of time before someone calls the police."

"And? My dad or Parrish will redirect those calls. It's hardly the first time someone calls the police over supernatural crap in Beacon Hills."

"We're beyond that point. Jordan says there are talks at the station of calling in the feds."

Stiles groaned. "You don't want my people involved. Not for weeding out pixies. They'll overrun the department and my dad will be buried in paperwork. Literally buried, like, you would only be able to see the top of his head." He scrolled through his calendar on his laptop. "You're lucky I have an opening between two projects. If you're able to hold out for a couple of days, I can come over to kick some pixie asses."

"Thanks dude, you're the best," Scott answered warmly. "Kyra has tired out all of our research channels. If anyone can find something to get rid of those pixies, it's you."

"You don't need to flatter me, Scotty, I've already said I'd come."

It turned out Stiles could've used some more flattering from Scott to get through the extremely uncomfortable situation that awaited him in Beacon Hills. Scott had conveniently failed to mention that Derek was in town too, after months of absence. No matter how painful that talk with Piper had been, at least they had talked. It was more than he had with Derek; there had been no contact between them. Stiles had sent a couple of texts at first, making sure to apologize in a text at least, yet all he got from Derek was silence. And angry glares now they were in each other's vicinity. Yeah, Derek was mad at him, that much was clear. Stiles knew why too, it was not like they would need a lengthy talk for that. He was all too aware of his own mistakes.

Stiles almost regretted coming out to Beacon Hills. The pixies were annoying. Derek was mad at him and that hurt. It hurted even more now he could actually see Derek, hear Derek. It made him realise how much he wanted to touch Derek. Maybe Lydia was right, maybe they really were too emotional to do the whole fuckbuddy thing. At least he was, Lydia was right about him.

Luckily, Stiles knew how to deal with an angry Derek. It was like they'd regressed to the days when he was 16 years old and stumbling through the woods to find half of a dead body. Okay, maybe Stiles had kind of a history when it came to doing stupid things. Still, he pushed all that to the back of his mind, back to where it had been the last couple of months.

"I think I know how to get rid of them," Stiles said, looking up from the old tome Derek had unearthed from the remnants of the Hale library. It was one of the reasons why Scott had asked Derek to come help out. No matter how many times Derek had told them they could help themselves to his family's books when needed, Scott still prefered to ask for permission. It was one of the things that made him a good Alpha. Still, for Stiles it meant he was doing research while Derek was glaring at him from the other end of the room. The werewolf wasn't even subtle, it really was like going back in time, to when Derek thought he could make Stiles do what he wanted - faster - with an angry eyebrow stare.

Really, it was just like old times. Stiles went out into the preserve with a handful of werewolves, ready to implement Plan A. Of course that plan didn't work, because why would it go right the first time anyway? That's why Stiles had a Plan B ready, or most of a plan. Honestly, he had something prepared, he wasn't completely flying by the seat of his pants, no matter what anyone might think. This wasn't his first pixie rodeo.

Stiles batted away a pixie that tried to make a nest in his hair with his hands. His arms and neck were covered in scratches from their sharp little nails. He severely regretted not driving by his dad's home to pick up his old baseball bat before coming here. Hitting home runs with pixie bodies sounded like a great pastime right about now. Instead, he had to watch how Derek clawed his tiny attacker out of the sky and threw it into a nearby tree. Scott and Liam did the same a few yards over, although most of the pixies seemed to be focused on Derek and - by proximity - Stiles. He couldn't really understand their shrieks, yet it was clear they were saying mean things to the werewolf who was - albeit reluctantly - defending him from pixies using him as a scratch post. Derek may be angry with him, he still protected Stiles. And Stiles wanted to protect him, to the best of his abilities. Because no matter what, they had each other's back.

It took him a few moments, but then he understood the pixies were taunting the werewolf. The little buggers evidently remembered Derek, and last time they met him, he was still Alpha.

"Come on, big guy," he yelled at Derek, throwing the anti-pixie dust he'd made at another pixie, paralyzing it so he could stomp on it. It was Plan B, no time for finesse. "Show them who's boss!"

Stiles whooped in delight when Derek roared extra loud, whether it was in response to his encouragement or not. The other werewolves roared in answer and the next moment there was a large black wolf running rampage through a gaggle of pixies.

Not long after that, Stiles could finally put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His skin was itching like a motherfucker. Each scratch - and he didn't count them, but they were plenty - itched like a nasty mosquito bite. A little before him, the black wolf shook out his fur violently. Stiles imagined the scratches bothered him too, yet the werewolf healing would soon make it go away. Not for the first time, Stiles felt a pang of jealousy at their healing abilities. It was easily forgotten though, when he looked at Derek's wolf form. Instead of jealousy he felt something most akin to pride.

"Oh man, I totally forgot you can do that." Stiles marveled at the large black wolf before him. "You look... fucking amazing, alright! This, that you can do this, that you can turn into this majestic beast, it's nothing short of amazing!" The wolf still looked mad, though at least he was listening. And maybe this was the only chance Stiles would get. So he took a deep breath and soldiered on. "And it's not something you should have to hide, not from the person you want to be with, from... from the person you love." He idly scratched at the tiny - but numerous! - claw marks on his arm. God, they itched! He let his gaze fall away from the wolf, starting to feel nervous and sad. "I only wish for you to be happy, dude. And if I'm wrong in assuming you can't be happy with someone you can't be totally honest with, then so be it." He scratched some more. "No," he said suddenly. "No! You know what? That's bullshit. You can't be happy if you have to hide your wolf. Maybe you can tell yourself that the first year, or maybe the first five or even ten years. And you're gonna be living with a new Kirsten, in a fucking perfect house with a fucking perfect picket fence, and to all of the outside world you'll be the perfect fucking couple!" Stiles waved his arms angrily. "But what if she wants to know why you're never home with a full moon? Or, oh my god, Derek, what if she wants to have kids?!" In all his agitation Stiles lost his footing and he fell to his butt on the forest floor. He sagged in a sad heap, curling up around his upturned knees. "I'm sorry, Derek," he said, his voice breaking with unshed tears. "I'm really sorry I fucked up that night at the party. I'm sorry I messed up what we, what we had. I wasn't supposed to catch feelings, I know that. But leave it to me to fuck shit up." Stiles took in a last, raggedy breath and finally broke down crying. Hot tears wet his arms where he hid his face in them. His whole body ached and itched where those Pixies got to him, yet it was nothing compared to the sharp ache in his heart.

When he looked up, the black wolf was gone. The only one left was Scott, holding out a hand to help him up.

Author's note:
So, I still haven't decided how I'm gonna end this story. I want it to have a happy ending, with Derek and Stiles working their shit out, but I'm not quite sure yet how. If you have an idea (or a wish), let me know! :-)