Say Something (Sterek)

Chapter 3

Stiles runs into Chris Argent at the 7-Eleven after school. He would be moderately creeped out if it weren't that Chris is clearly there for the same reason Stiles is-to get milk-and if Chris weren't in line before Stiles, meaning that he can't have been following him.

"Mr. Stilinski," Chris says, as if he is a polite adult and not someone who sometimes tries to kill teenagers. And, okay, maybe it's not exactly fair to hold that against him, considering recent events, but Stiles is still very much smarting over his conversation with Peter, so he will hold anything he wants to against sir hunter Argent.

"Mr. Argent." Except he's not willing to make a scene in a public place, especially since one of his father's deputies has just stepped into line behind him. "How are you?"

"Having some pest troubles," Chris says. "Something seems to be getting in through my windows. I think it's a rodent of some sort, but it may be something bigger."

Fuck, Scott. "Oh? Well, you know, that's what comes of living out here."

"Oh, I know." Chris smiles at him, collects his milk from the counter by the register, and says, "Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Stilinski." Stiles nods, his mouth dry.

He texts Scott as soon as he's in his Jeep. If you're sneaking into Allison's house for any reason, you should probably stop.

Scott responds, I'm not.

Good, okay, well her dad says they have a rodent problem, so I'm glad he wasn't mistaken. Would suck to find out what you thought was a friendly little mouse was actually a fucking werewolf.

Scott doesn't reply.

Stiles had been fairly confident that Scott and Allison would be able to keep their hands off of each other, considering all the damage that their relationship had caused the previous semester. And Stiles knows that it sucks for them. He doesn't know-like, actually know know-how very much it sucks for them, because he's never had the chance to miss someone like that, but he knows that it must. But he also knows that everything in the last semester had sucked for them, so honestly, sometimes you've got to take the better of two evils.

He considers going to Derek. He thinks about it for a minute. But he and Scott had promised to keep each other's confidences a long time ago, a nonverbal promise that is all the more binding for their mutual understanding of it. And honestly, Stiles asks himself, what would Derek even do? Threaten and growl and tell Allison and Scott that the only times they're allowed to see each other are during meetings and at school? Stiles doesn't really see how that will help.

He keeps checking his phone all evening, hoping that Scott will man up and tell him so they can go about fixing it. Although Stiles's plan currently involves apologizing to Mr. Argent, which is something that he can't picture happening, not ever, so some more time for Stiles to plot is probably necessary.

He sits at the dinner table, pushing microwaved mac and cheese around on his plate and staring at his blank cell phone screen. His dad is at work, and Stiles has zero interest in calling one of the pack to eat with him, so he waits for Scott's text and eats about half of his mac and cheese before dumping the rest down the drain and returning to his bedroom.

Derek is already there, asleep on his bed, his face turned towards Stiles's computer desk. It is probably a bad sign that he isn't even surprised to see Derek anymore; he has spent more nights at Stiles's than anywhere else in the past week.

Stiles is careful to be quiet, although Derek always sleeps like he's dead when he's there, so his effort is probably unnecessary. He sits at his computer and starts typing out plans to keep Chris Argent from killing Scott-something that he feels he has spent more than enough time attempting to accomplish over the past year-and tries to ignore the way Derek is snuffling in his sleep. He sounds like a puppy and it shouldn't be at all adorable but it somehow is.Derek makes a very large snuffling noise and Stiles glances to look at him and catches sight of another form crouched in his open window. Scott sits there, toes balanced on the edge and fingers clutching the windowsill, eyes locked in astonishment on Derek's sleeping form.