#ionlyshiphere

Stiles nodded. It made sense. Stiles himself was a human with no profound powers other than the ability to run his mouth faster than any other human, or non-human for that matter, and his sheer amount of sarcasm would put anyone else to shame.

“So... why are we in a broom closet?” Stiles asked again, because it was a legit question. Of all the places they could be hiding, this was less than ideal.

Derek growled lowly in his throat, a warning to Stiles to shut the fuck up, but since when did Stiles ever do that?

“Dude, it's uncomfortable. Something, I don't know what and hopefully it's not harmful to my person, is sticking into my back.”

“Then move.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but followed Derek's simple advice and twisted his body around, trying to get away from the object pressing sharply into his back. Of course, the space was tight with no room to move and an endless amount of objects to trip over. Anyone could have predicted what would happen next and Stiles would only further equate his life to a television show.

Because Stiles fell forward into Derek's arms who thankfully caught him... or not so thankfully because the things it did to his heart beat certainly wouldn't have gone unnoticed by Mr. Sourwolf over here.

“Idiot.” Derek mumbled as he held Stiles up by his arms, their bodies much closer than they previously were, so much that Stiles could feel the heat of Derek. Could even feel Derek's breath on his neck and that was doing all sorts of terrible euphemism things to Stiles' mind when he recalled that they were, in fact, in a closet. Which might have been his initial aversion to being in the closet in the first place because... he was in a closet with Derek fucking Hale. Was this a Freudian thing or was Stiles' mind too clouded by the closeness of sexy werewolf to properly analysis this?

“Oh right because it was my idea to hide in a fucking closet.” Stiles grumbled, keeping his chin down and his eyes away from any part of Derek's body, even though it was too dark for him to really make much out.

A rather uncomfortable silence followed as Stiles tried his hardest to keep his heartbeat and scents in check because he really didn't want Derek's wolf noise picking up anything it wasn't supposed to be smelling. Derek's hands continued to grip Stiles' upper arms, keeping him in place even though Stiles had found his footing long ago, after the stumble. It was ridiculous really, that Derek could remain so calm when they were this close to each other. It wasn't like Stiles expected any mutual feelings going on but considering Derek Hale was one of the most drop-dead attractive males anyone on the earth could ever encounter... Of course, when you think at what Derek had to be next to and see in the dark with his stupid night vision, there was no definite reason he should be feeling anything toward Stiles' nearness.

It was at that moment, when Stiles was getting cozy with the idea of heading back out into the school for some death by unknown-supernatural-creature, that he heard a deep inhale next to his ear, more specifically his hair.

“Did... did you just sniff me?” The question could barely form in Stiles' mouth but yes, that was what just happened. He didn't need to ask but then again... he really did need to ask. Stiles glanced up enough to look Derek in the face, which he could barely see in the lack of light.

Derek opened his mouth to answer and promptly shut it, frowning as he probably mulled over an excuse as to why he was going around sniffing people when they were pressed against your body in a tight, confined place. It was not a perfectly natural thing to do, okay? It was... inappropriate at best and Stiles was going to make note of that the moment after Derek told him what the fuck he was doing.

Stiles gaze only drove further into Derek the longer he remained silent and for some reason, Stiles' silence must be just as annoying as his constant talking because Derek rolled his eyes and exhaled through his nose. “Are you attracted to me?”

Well if that wasn't blunt... and rash... and so accurate Stiles nearly choked on his own tongue. And now it was Stiles' turn to stand awkwardly and wordlessly move his mouth as his throat closed up on itself like a defense mechanism for embarrassment.

Thankfully, Stiles didn't need to continue the drawn out inability to respond because the closet door swung open and Scott stood on the other side, looking at the position of Stiles and Derek with a rather confused expression. “Why are you in the closet?”

“Because it's the most ironic place in the world we could be!” Stiles spat, wrenching out of Derek's grasp and pushing past his best friend into the safety and less sexually confusing open space of the hallway. He didn't bother glancing back as he stalked away down the hallway, definitely in need of being anywhere that wasn't Derek Hale. Turns out his life wasn't a television show. He wasn't at all disappointed that Scott had walked in at that moment because there was no way in hell he was hoping that it would have led to Derek kissing him in a broom closet. That would have been far too... exactly what Stiles sort of wanted to happen. When was he going to get another perfectly cheesy opportunity like that again?

“Jensen.”

He barely blinked at the code flying down the screen as his fingers moved without conscious awareness. He had to finish this. He had to crack this code and he had to make everything better. He was going to fix everything that had ever gone wrong. He was going to-

“Jensen.” The voice struck him hard as it was combined with a firm grip on his shoulder that dragged him back away from his hunched position above the computer.

He blinked, barely able to take his eyes off the screen and his fingers didn't stop moving over the keyboard.

“Jensen, you have to stop.” Clay's fingers dug into his shoulder, the pain making Jensen flinch but it barely affected the speed of his typing. This was his mission. This was the thing that was going to put everything right again. If only he could crack it then he would be able to-

“He's not coming back, Jensen.” A tremor ran through his hands, momentarily pausing him before he continued to press the keys quickly and smoothly. “I know,” Clay continued slowly, “that you think if you break the code that it will bring him back. But this wasn't your fault. Even if you had been able to hack into the system on time it wouldn't have changed anything. He still would have-”

“You're wrong.” Jensen's voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from the lack of use and he was probably dehydrated as well. “I need to do this... I can save him. If I can just-”

“He's gone.” Clay's voice was gentle but strict. Each word annunciated perfectly to drive through Jensen's thick skull. “I'm sorry, Jake.”

Jensen's fingers paused at his name, he never heard his first name anymore... not often... not since... His fingers danced about the keyboard again, code that didn't even make sense in this context hitting the screen but it was okay because maybe that would work. Maybe it was structured to be nonsensical.

“Cougar's dead.”

Jensen's hands shook hard above the keyboard, hitting wrong keys as they trembled so hard he had to move them away if he was ever going to recover the codes. Placed them on his knees, gripping them tightly as the shaking traveled up his arms. “No... If I... if I finish this. If I can crack this then he'll be back. He'll come back like it never happened because this is my job, Clay. This was my part and I have to play it because everything is riding on this and I can do this. I will do this and everything... everything will go back to the way it was and...”

“No, Jensen. No it won't. He's gone. You need to accept it.”

“No! He's not. He's-” Jensen choked out a laugh, unaware of the tears forming in his eyes. “I'm gonna finish this and he's going to walk in that door with that stupid grin of his. Look at me from under his hat... that hat... and he's gonna put it on my head and not say anything but I'll know that he's thankful. I'll know he's proud that I was able to do it because he gave me his hat.” Jensen's shoulders shook under Clay's grip, unable to control himself. “And he never gives people his hat. Never takes it off. Only when I've done a good job do I get to wear that hat... that fucking hat... that... I love that hat. I fucking love that hat and I... I never told him. Clay... fuck. I never told him that.”