#hallowolf

"Yeah, I do. Last time I tried that, the Jeep got egged. And plus, we... I always liked Halloween." My mom and I, Stiles doesn't say, but Derek's trying-not-to-look-sympathetic face suggests that he knows anyway. "Besides, what else am I gonna do with my night? Scott said I shouldn't come to his little little Freddy Kreuger movie marathon with Isaac, and it's not like I've got any awesome keggers to attend."

"Don't take the Scott thing personally. Isaac doesn't trust easily." It's not the first time they've been over this, and Stiles is pretty sure it rankles Derek, too—Isaac is his wolf, after all, and Scott was supposed to be his too, and still he's allowed their weird little codependent beta bond to develop without interfering. "Scott makes him... comfortable. For some reason."

"What, and I don't?"

Derek snorts. "You don't make anyone comfortable." He says it with his mouth full, because he's just shoved two peanut butter cups in there at once, and he's got his shoes off and his legs kicked up on Stiles' couch, so it's possible that he's a huge liar. 

"So did you really not have anything better to do than come here and invade my space?" Derek reaches over the back of the couch, making a grab for the candy bowl in Stiles hands; Stiles huffs in disbelief and jerks it back protectively, before another attack can be made on the peanut butter supply. "Dude, quit it, the candy is for the kids!"

"I told you," Derek says flatly, settling back and plucking at a thread at the cuff of his jacket. "I found out Scott wasn't going to be around, and it's close to the full moon. I don't mind keeping an eye on you."

"Who asked you to," Stiles says, shifting the candy bowl to rest against his hip and wondering why he's arguing so hard against this, Derek soft and loose-limbed on his couch, with chocolate at the corner of his mouth. "I'm safe here. You watched me put down the mountain ash circle and everything, and you tested it. I'm not going to be eviscerated by eight-year-olds in costumes, dude."

"You might if you start handing out those raisons I saw in the kitchen," Derek says, and it doesn't matter that they've started spending more time together lately and having an increasing number of non-threatening exchanges, because Stiles still isn't used to the novelty that is Derek Hale making jokes. 

Stiles is still recovering from it when the doorbell rings again. He groans, resigned to his fate—but then suddenly Derek is beside him, taking the bowl from his hands. "I can get this one."

"No, man, I appreciate it, but no." Derek is heading for the door anyway, and Stiles trots after him. "Come on, no! You'll scare them!"

"I'm not scary," Derek says through his fangs, because yes, he's absolutely got his fangs out for this, and he's smiling.

"Oh god we're gonna get reported to Neighborhood Watch," Stiles hisses. He pulls ineffectually at the back of Derek's jacket to try and stop him, but it's already too late.

"Hi," Derek says, pitching his voice lower and rougher than usual. "Good evening, princess. Hulk. Indiana Jones."

"Ohmigod wooooow, cool teeth!" says Hulk, punching a giant foam fist in the air. "How did you do those?"

Derek leans down and stage-whispers "I was born with them," and then curls his hands into fake claws and raaaawrs cartoonishly. The kids all burst into giggles, and the mom with them is looking at Derek from under her witch's hat like she's thinking about making a proposition.

Stiles completely understands. 

"All right, all right, come on." He throws a packet of M&Ms into each bag and herds Derek back inside. "Be safe out there," he says, aiming a vaguely-threatening look at Witch Mom before shutting the door in her face. "What the fuck, Derek?"

"Oh come on." He's still smiling, but the fangs are gone now. "They loved it."

"I thought werewolves were secret. Secret? Remember how you don't want Scott or Isaac playing lacrosse? Remember how I have to hide you all from my dad? What are you doing?!"

"No one knew they were real." He shrugs, leaning back against the door. "We... I used to do it all the time. When I was little." But Stiles hears the blip, where my sister and I should have gone, and god, he can't be mad now. 

"It's just cheating if the costume doesn't require any actual effort, you know," Stiles says, trying for a derisive tone to avoid having some kind of moment. "Be honest, how many Halloween parties did teenage-you crash wearing the 'oh I'm just an accidentally-sexy werewolf in leather' look? Did you use your claws to open beer cans for drunk girls?"

"I never really got to go to any parties," Derek says. He slides his claws slowly out and then back in on one hand, as if he's wondering if he should have been using them to open beer cans this whole time. "And—accidentally sexy?"

"Whatever," Stiles says, waving a hand dismissively and flushing. "So you've never bobbed for apples, then? It's a time-honored tradition of dumb teenagers everywhere; I feel a little sad that you missed it."

Derek does look a little sad, is the thing, and suddenly this whole conversation isn't so entertaining anymore. "Derek?" Stiles steps a little closer, under the pretext of taking the candy bowl back. "Did you come here tonight just so you could, like, do fun Halloween stuff because you miss your childhood?"

"Screw you," Derek says, rolling his eyes and turning toward the door. Stiles stops him with a hand on his arm.

"We can bob for apples right now," Stiles says, more gently than he means to. "It's just. I never got to, either. It's the sort of thing you normally have to be invited to parties for."

Derek turns back around, his eyebrows raised incredulously. Stiles is half-expecting to be either chewed-out or punched in the face, but Derek just shrugs and says "Yeah, okay."

"...oh." Stiles grins, and Derek's smile is unfamiliar, soft without the usual mocking edge. "Okay. Although, we don't literally have to bob for apples. I've always suspected the whole point of that is to watch girls in tiny costumes bend over, and we don't have any of those here."

Derek's smile goes a little wicked as he flicks his eyes down Stiles' body and back up. "We can make do," he says, and. 

“They should just move to Northern Alaska for half the year if they’re so afraid of the dark,” Lydia suggests.

“Shut up, you’re ruining it,” Scott says.

Stiles ruffles his hair, “Don’t let a little thing like logic get in the way of your fun bro.”

They all give Scott the benefit of remaining (mostly) quiet for the rest of the film but everyone lets out a collective groan when Stiles holds up his choice for the next movie.

“Wait, what’s Ginger Snaps?” Danny asks, confused.

“A movie about werewolves getting their period,” Lydia says.

“It’s a classic,” Stiles insists, “Hey, I could’ve brought the porno version of American Werewolf in Paris but I decided to spare you.”

“There’s a porno version of that?” Isaac asks.

Stiles grins, “Spoiler: Paris is a very flexible brunette with an Eiffel Tower tramp stamp. It’s actually really well made, which is surprising. Decent actors too. You don’t always get that in your werewolf themed pornography.”

Boyd raises an eyebrow, “You watch a lot of that?”

Stiles crosses his arms, “I had a free weekend and some pent up frustration, don’t judge me.”

“Oh, we’re judging you,” Erica says.

“Whatever, we’re watching it.” Stiles tosses the DVD to Allison who gives him a wink with the eye not covered in zombie makeup before putting it in, because she secretly likes it too.

“Can we watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown again?” Isaac asks staring wide eyed a the impressive amount of blood on the screen.

“Boyd bled more than this last month and you were fine,” Stiles says from where he’s sandwiched between Allison and Derek.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a painfully obvious allegory for puberty.”

Erica rolls her eyes and kicks him in the calf, “Man up, Lahey.”

Isaac does indeed man up, however manning up seems to involve seeking revenge via insisting they watch It next. Which is super rude considering nobody likes clowns except other clowns and serial killers.

Pennywise is luring poor innocent children into the sewer and Stiles is distracted from his sympathy for Georgie never receiving the stranger danger talk by Derek tensing up next to him.

Stiles glances at Derek out the corner of his eye. He’s sitting more rigidly than usual and there’s a worried looking furrow to his brow. Stiles would write it off as Derek just having the creeps, but he hasn’t so much as blinked at any of the gore and monsters all night. Stiles takes in the way Derek clenches his jaw  and digs his fingers into the hem of the Superboy t-shirt Isaac had goaded him into wearing.

Derek’s scared.

There’s something about that that’s just so violently not right it makes Stiles feel bad for the guy. The realization of the teasing he’ll receive if the rest of the pack catches on that their big bad alpha is afraid of clowns inspires him to act.

“I’m gonna go to the kitchen,” he turns to Derek and offers his hand, “escort me? There may be some jars I’m unable to open with my frail human hands.” Stiles gives him a wink.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand and follows him up the basement stairs at a pace that’s a bit quicker than normal.

“Coulrophobia, huh?” Stiles says, leaning against Lydia’s marble counter top.

Derek crosses his arms, “What?”

“Means fear of clowns, which seriously, understandable. Who’s idea was it to paint smiles on people and encourage them to harass children? Seriously, I wanna know because there are probably bodies in their basement.”

“I’m not a afraid of clowns,” Derek says and Stiles is pretty sure he’s pouting.

“It’s cool dude, you don’t have to be super alpha all the time. You’re allowed to be afraid of stuff.”

Derek give him a death glare that might be effective on someone less accustomed with facing actual death than Stiles.

“No judgement dude. I’m scared of plenty of shit. Like zombies, and mind control, and dying before I hit 25… also I’ve always been weirdly paranoid about breaking my femur.” Stiles rubs at his thigh absently.

Derek looks like he can’t decide whether to ignore Stiles or berate him some more, “Laura showed it to me when I was five,” he finally says, “I couldn’t tell my parents I was scared because then I’d have gotten in trouble for watching the stupid movie in the first place.”

Stiles nods, “been there like whoa.”

“Laura thought it was hilarious. Then, at my cousin’s birthday party our uncle dressed up like a clown  and—” Derek looks down.

Stiles grins, “Did you cry?”

“I was five.”

“You still cried,” Stiles says. Derek still looks pretty pissed and probably more than a little embarrassed. “Moths,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“I just get really freaked out by moths. They’re all fuzzy and like butterflies, only if butterflies were evil, and they always come out of nowhere when you’re just trying to look through old clothes and they’re just the fucking worst okay?” Stiles says, fighting a full body shudder.

Derek’s lip tugs up into a small smile, “moths?”

“Shut up, they upset me deeply.” Stiles leans forward to lightly punch Derek in the shoulder, “I’m going to assume we’ll make a pact to never speak of this?”

Derek shrugs.

“Good, I’m glad we can talk about our manly feelings of irrational terror together.” He gives Derek a sincere smile, “Seriously though, you know I like to talk, you can hit me up if something’s bothering you or you just want to talk about your secret dreams of becoming a modern dancer or which cute boys you’re hoping ask you to the spring formal.”

“Please, stop talking.”

Stiles leans closer, “what? You don’t wanna dish about cute boys, I love to dish about cute boys, ask Scott.”

Derek pushes him back against the counter, “I’d rather not.”

“Aw, c’mon, I thought we were having a moment,” Stiles bats his eyelashes.

“We still would be if you’d just shut up.” Derek says stepping forward until his bare feet are pressed to Stiles’ orange and black striped socks.

“When you say moment—” Stiles is interrupted by Derek placing the single most annoyed kiss in the history of mankind to his lips before stomping off toward the deck.

Stiles touches his fingertips to his bottom lip and grins, “You gonna stay out there till it’s over?” He calls, “I can bring you some Kit-Kats and we can cuddle away the fear.”