#sterekweeklytrouble

He had his wallet in his left side pocket and phone charging in a makeshift holder by the dashboard. Jugs of water on the floor and a paper bag with a few nonperishable staples and an assortment of sandwiches, snacks, and caffeinated beverages in the passenger seat. His pillow, which would be especially necessary when he’d need to sleep at a rest stop or something.

Stiles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and sang along to the playlist he’d selected to start off his journey. He didn’t even know where he was going yet, just heading south until he had to get gas or piss and then he’d decide. There’d been no time to waste. This need to get away had been building for a while now and when he woke up this afternoon — he couldn’t fall asleep until after dawn — all he knew was that today was the day. It couldn’t wait another week or even until tomorrow or something else would come up to keep him there. He just knew it.

So he’d started the first load of laundry and then speed cleaned and showered in the quickly tepid while it was washing. He went to the store while the second load was going and the first one in the dryer, which had everything he was planning to take. Then he packed his stuff, set the remaining laundry to dry, scrawled a note that was frankly more stream of consciousness than rational explanation, but at least ended with a promise to stay in contact “Love, Stiles,” and then he was off.

Miles ticked up on the odometer and pavement passed beneath Roscoe’s wheels. It was at once exciting and bittersweet. He was done with high school and, more importantly, 18 so it’s not like his dad or anyone else could actually force him back. Not that many of the old crew were even going to be in Beacon Hills for much longer. Those that hadn’t already left like Jackson, Chris, and Isaac did overseas or Lydia getting an early start in Cambridge. 

But unlike her or Scott and the others he wasn’t heading off to college or something like that. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life anymore, was still stuck processing or at least dealing with having been possessed. As in he had to deal with it — the memories and nightmares and new little quirks that made him question himself — not that he was handling it in any particularly effective or healthy fashion. 

And so it was like it was expected, or at least assumed, that he would just stay here for all the shit the town and that fucking tree could possibly throw his way. Well, how about no? Again, he’d been possessed! He deserved a goddamn break. Or if not deserved (the little voice in his head had very different ideas about what he deserved) he fucking wanted one. Needed one before he broke anymore.

Stiles only wished he could take his dad with him. And maybe a certain Sourwolf if he was being honest with himself now that it mattered even less than it already did before. Those big, impossible feelings he never wanted to look at long enough to pin down. The pull he liked to pretend was just him being a hormonal bisexual teenager who was warm for the former Alpha’s form. That it didn’t matter because it hadn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’tmatter.

He thought of guarded green-hazel eyes, a clenched, stubbled jaw, and stubbornly crossed arms as he wailed along with Jim Adkins.

“The things we think might be the same, but I won’t fight for more. It’s just not me to wear it on my sleeve, count on that for sure.” 

Stiles snorted and shook his head. It was all too fitting, whether more for him or Derek or both of them equally he wasn’t sure. There were times, after all, when he’d thought that Derek also…

But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen. Famous last words.

Seconds later smoke was rising from beneath the hood of the Jeep. Always a wonderful sign. Fuck. No no no, please not now. 

This couldn’t be happening. Just another too vivid daydream, right? Or maybe he’d actually fallen asleep waiting for the laundry and this was simply a nightmare because of his nervousness about the upcoming trip. Haha, very funny brain! 

More smoke billowed out and there were sounds. Oh no. No no no. Fuck!

Stiles pulled off onto the wide shoulder, put the car in park, and snatched the keys from the ignition, hurling them onto the floor. Then he just sat there in silence with his head against the top of the steering wheel. He hadn’t even made it 30 miles and it was already over. There was always something. Some kind of trouble, like clockwork. Like a curse. 

He’d worked over senior year and into the summer, doing odd jobs and seasonal gigs to save up the money that he was now planning to use for gas and cheap motels and food. That he’d already spent part of on getting Roscoe some much needed maintenance and repairs over the last few months. Not enough, apparently. 

After smashing his head into the horn so that it blared obnoxiously a few times he pulled himself upright and scrolled through the contacts on his phone like he had options. Gone, gone, doesn’t have a car, gone, doesn’t have a car, doesn’t even have a license, don’t want to talk to him and have to explain anything right now. 

Stiles sighed. Well, he didn’t want to call his dad at the moment either — with any luck he could at least get home before his failed escape was revealed — so that left only one person. Of course it went straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, Derek. So funny story, I’m about 28 miles from town on the highway heading south and my car broke down. Yes, yes, I know. So, um, if you don’t have anything better to do, you think you could come get me? Let me know either way. Uh, catch you later.”

He wondered how long it would take to walk back to Beacon Hills. 10 hours? What if he just took the backpack, removed some of the books and added a few changes of clothes, some toiletries, and a towel and just kept walking south. Maybe he could hitchhike.

By the time he dug into the secret compartment in the lid of a jar of peanut butter and pulled out the little baggie of weed his hands were shaking. He’d gotten it from an acquaintance of Danny’s — the guy really could hook you up with just about anything —  and still had some left. Enough for now and a few times more.

He retrieved the rest of his supplies and crouched down on the other side of the car, calming as he performed the little ritual of rolling his own joints. Of lighter and flame. Burn, inhale, hold, exhale. Taking the edge off. Lightening him up. What if he just walked into the trees and disappeared. Became one with the forest like whats-her-face in Annihilation who was done with fighting the freaky bullshit and just noped the fuck out. If only.

17 minutes later his phone chimed.

<Sourwolf: Be there in 30.>

Stiles responded with a thumbs up emoji. Alright. Okay. He took a few more hits and snuffed out the end, saving the rest for later.

Derek’s face did all sorts of things when he got there, half of them with his eyebrows alone. How did he ever used to think the man was unreadable? Devoid of emotion except anger?

Obviously, he’d smelled the marijuana, but Derek didn’t say anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Hey handsome, think you can help a damsel in distress?” Stiles said, fluttering his eyelashes and sticking out a leg like he was pulling up the hem of a skirt before bursting into giggles. Derek shook his head and popped the hood on Roscoe. 

“Since when were you a mechanic, big guy?” He set a hand on a leather-clad shoulder. It’s August you silly goose.

“I know a thing or two.”

“I’m sure you do,” he vamped, leering exaggeratedly and then abruptly pivoting to walk to the back of the Jeep where he set his forehead against the cool glass. What the fuck are you doing?

Burning everything down around him apparently. He started chuckling, a dark, sharp-edged thing, and Derek looked over at him with concern. 

“Stiles?”

“Oh don’t mind me, I’m just falling to pieces.” 

He sat down hard on the ground and cracked right up, laughter turning to sobs as footsteps crunched toward him. 

“I thought I was actually getting out, Der. I tried. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t. I can’t,” he got out between gasping breaths. 

Derek crouched down beside him and started rubbing his back, tentatively at first and then in long, soothing strokes. His head moved and Stiles could swear he felt a kiss at the top of his head. Or something like that. He found himself practically head-butting Derek in his stupid muscly chest as he leaned into him, hands grasping at his left side and right elbow. Oh, he was going to be so embarrassed about this later. Derek took a deep breath.

“I’ll take you.” 

“What?” Stiles’ head jerked up, tear tracks drying on his face. 

Derek nodded toward the Camaro. 

“Wait, seriously?” 

The werewolf shrugged. 

“Yeah. You’ve got your stuff packed and everything.”

“But what about you? We have to go back, get your things and a tow truck for Roscoe and—“

“No,” Derek cut in. “I can just grab what I need on the way. I’ll have Malia, actually no, Mason, check on the place and I can call now about getting your Jeep towed to your house.” He raised a finger when Stiles opened his mouth. “I’ll give ‘em your dad’s number in case there’s any issues. But no going back there now or something will happen and you’ll never leave. So let’s just go.”

Stiles clambered up from the ground feeling strangely light and warm. Hopeful. And still kinda high he supposed. While Derek made that call he rearranged some of his stuff and then took all of it out it of Roscoe, putting the duffle bag in the now open trunk of the Camaro — it was so getting a name on this road trip — and throwing his backpack, pillow, and snacks in the back seat. 

“Shotgun!” he yelled, completely unnecessarily before getting in up front. Derek squinted at him and shook his head, getting behind the wheel. 

The sun had just gone down, but it wasn’t dark yet and he caught his beaming reflection in the side mirror. Stiles hooked up his phone to the stereo. 

The chorus of “Work” came blaring back to life just as Derek put the pedal to the metal and peeled out of there (after carefully checking the mirrors and blind spots of course,) tires kicking up dirt and gravel. “You wanna take a ride? Get out of this place while we still have time.”

The Camaro even fishtailed some pulling back onto the pavement and Stiles smirked, pretty sure that display of Fast & Furious-ness was for his benefit. He grabbed the Oh Shit handle and whooped. Now he was off! They. The both of them.

“So where are we going?” he asked a few minutes later when his heart rate had returned to what passed as normal for him. 

“Wherever you want,” Derek replied, a bit too conspicuously. 

Wherever. Where. Ever. 

Stiles’ left leg began bouncing up and down and he turned away to gaze out the window, eyes unfocusing so that the trees blurred into one continuous spiny ripple. He was hearing what he hearing, right? I mean, he was pretty sure. 

But if there was a 10% or even 3% chance that Derek would turn this car around or like, jump out the window of a moving vehicle in horror at his feelings and desires he didn’t want to risk it. No matter how much he wanted…whatever. Because if this trip ended before it even began Stiles didn’t know what he would do. How he would survive or if he—

A large hand clamped down to still his jittering. Warm and squeezing just above his knee. The inner side of his thigh. Without looking — he couldn’t okay, not until he knew he wasn’t wrong —  he “casually” put his left hand, palm up, a bit higher up on his leg. Derek laid his own on top of it, thicker fingers twining with his. Holy shit. Okay. 

Stiles turned slowly then, hardly daring to breathe, and met glowing blue eyes. Suddenly, it felt like something in his chest, in his soul, rearranged. Stabilized. A pack bond snapping properly into place. He rubbed over his sternum with his right hand as Derek inhaled sharply and then wrenched his attention back on the road since he was driving and all. 

Whoa.  

There’d been lots of upheaval over the last few years. Being Scott’s, Being both of theirs. Derek giving up his Alpha spark for Cora and leaving, the Nogitsune, things being all fucked up and not feeling like he belonged to anyone at all. Derek coming back, but them both out of sorts and dealing with their own shit amidst everything and him being confused and isolated and not really open for connection. Had to close the door. 

Their bond hadn’t broken, but it hadn’t been right either. And now…

Already he was feeling more settled. Stronger. Content even after they claimed or re-claimed each other as pack or whatever exactly that was. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“How about Reno?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but then broke into a grin. 

“Sure.”

Several more moments passed with his brain trying to regain functionality and Derek looking at him pointedly.

“What?”

“You’re the navigator.”

Stiles flailed and nearly dropped his phone.

“Oh, right.”

He pulled up the routes and selected one for directions. That done, he started looking up stuff about the city. Places they might want to eat or walk around.

About halfway there his dad called and he took a deep breath before answering. They talked for a while, Derek hearing everything of course, but Stiles had shaken his head no when he mimed pulling over. It’s not like the werewolf wouldn’t hear just as much anyway unless he ran off a good ways and that would just be silly. 

Stiles wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised at the clear relief in his father’s voice when he learned that Derek was now going with him. 

“You two stay out of trouble, alright? Derek…”

“I’ll look out for him, sir,” he responded loudly.

“Good man.” 

Stiles watched Derek duck his head a bit, bunny teeth peeking out as he smiled. God, he was adorable when he let himself feel things.

“Okay kiddo,” his dad said, addressing him again. “Well, I hope you get what you need out there. I’ll just be here enjoying the peace and quiet and bacon burgers every day—“

“Daaad,” he groaned as his father laughed. 

“Just kidding, son. I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, Dad”

“Alright, Love you, have fun.”

“I love you t—”

“But not too much fun.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes.  

“Bye!” he yelled, hanging up. 

They stopped at a drive-thru for some hot food on the outskirts of Reno. Burgers and sodas with curly fries, of course. It was around midnight when Derek pulled off at the next turnout, overlooking the city. They ate half-sitting, half-leaning against the warm hood of the Camaro. 

Stiles was going to propose going down there and gawking at the late night antics for a bit (unfortunately, unlike some places in California he was too young to play a few slot machines here and see if his luck really was turning around.) Then finding somewhere to sleep. A motel room. With Derek.

There was a flash of heat in his belly and it became a bit of a struggle to swallow his current bite of potato-y goodness. He managed not to choke as he blushed at where his imagination was heading and felt very accomplished.

Derek looked over at him, nostrils flaring, and reached out to wipe ketchup from the corner of his mouth with a thumb. Not quite daring enough to take it into his mouth, Stiles leaned into his palm and those searching eyes first softened and then focused intently. In the blink of an eye Derek’s face was much closer, but not quite touching his. Warm puffs of breath tickled his skin. 

He closed the gap and then they were kissing. Slow and tentative at first, gentle and tasting, and then something deeper. Hungrier. Derek was the first to pull back, grinning and leaving him breathless, but craving more. If it was left up to him he probably would've kept going until they both passed out. Or just him, who was he kidding. Damn werewolf constitution.

They turned back to the shining oasis in the darkness, flashing lights and neon signs, and he sidled up to Derek, who then put an arm around his shoulder. Slotting into place like puzzle pieces. A satellite passed by overhead, but he wished on it like a shooting star anyway. Please let this be real. 

Stiles snuggled even more into Derek’s side and breathed him in, calmed by his warmth and  woodsy scent as if he were a wolf himself. He closed his eyes to the sound and vibration of pleased rumbling, comfortable and pondering the possibilities opening up before them. 

The crunch of balled up wrappers and other garbage being placed in the bag that their food came in had him jolting awake. He must’ve dozed off for a while. God knows he needed it. 

Derek smiled at him, one of those special fond ones that Stiles had collected like rare treasures and placed inside his stupid little heart before forcing himself to think of other things. He didn’t have to do that anymore though, he could hold onto them and inspect them all he wanted. Do his best to get more of them.

“You ready?” Derek asked, holding out his free hand. Stiles took it and was pulled upright, where he stole a kiss.

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

Thanks for reading!

Previous (unrelated) fics for the Mead Moons event/series:

Second Chance Strays

Thunder

With the wedding reception in full swing, guests mingled around the gorgeous, sprawling grounds of the Hale Estate. And Stiles was in Trouble—capital T—as he stared out at Derek across the lawn. Derek, who looked too good in his tailored suit as he spoke with someone Stiles didn't recognize. Not that Stiles would know anyone here besides Derek or the rest of the Hales.

Talia, Derek's mom, had offered the use of their home to a neighboring pack for their wedding after their venue informed them that they'd double-booked. And, of course, Stiles said yes when Derek asked if he'd be his date since the Hales were all invited to attend.

"You're drooling."

Stiles flipped Cora off as she sat beside him under the enormous tent on the property.

She laughed. "Well, that's not a very nice way to treat your future sister-in-law."

Heat crept up Stiles's cheeks, and he just knew he was blushing. "I think you're getting kind of ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

Stiles and Derek had only been dating for a few weeks, so it was far too early to think about things like that. Right?

"Please. Derek is so hung up on you." She refolded the napkin on the table. "I wouldn't doubt if he's already picked out the ring."

"Don't be ridiculous." Stiles glanced back and found Derek heading their way. His heart jumped. It was as if a kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken flight in his stomach, and his whole body seemed to come alive just at the sight of him.

"I'm just saying…" Cora chuckled, and Stiles forced his attention back to her as she spoke. "Besides, you two are perfect for each other."

The back of Stiles's neck prickled in awareness.

"Hey." Derek's voice was a rumble behind him.

Stiles couldn't help but smile as he tilted his head back and looked up at Derek. "Hi."

Derek held out two roses. One white, one red. "For you."

"Me?" Stiles stood and adjusted his suit jacket before taking them. Warmth spread through his chest. No one had ever given him flowers before, let alone roses. He knew there was significance in their meaning—though he couldn't recall what either color meant beyond love. He ducked his head and smiled, offering up a shy, "Thank you," as he sniffed them.

Derek tipped his chin up and ran his knuckles across Stiles's jaw.

The look on his face took Stiles's breath away. It was soft. Adoring. And then he smirked, and Stiles wanted to swoon.

"Wanna get outta here?" Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, saying a quick goodbye to Cora as he linked his arm with Derek's when he held it out.

"Just…y'know," Cora called out as they walked away, "no hanky-panky in the gardens or anything!"

Heat crept up Stiles's neck, and Derek laughed.

"Just ignore her," Derek told him as they walked down the limestone steps that led to the gardens.

Stiles had only been down here once before, and that was the first day he'd come to the Hale estate—two weeks prior. Derek had given him a tour around the property. And just like before, they walked down the flagstone path that wound through the gardens.

Derek gestured to the bench by the koi pond—koi pond!—so they sat. "Thank you for coming today."

"Of course," Stiles answered honestly. While it might have been a little weird to attend the wedding of someone he didn't know, there was no way he would have said no. Not when it was a chance to spend more time with Derek.

Honestly, this summer had just been so amazing, and it was all because of Derek. Because of his easy-going nature, and the way he encouraged Stiles out of his comfort zone. Stiles could have spent the past few weeks holed up in his room, playing video games or bugging his dad about ongoing cases at the sheriff's station. But instead, Stiles had spent all his free time with Derek, doing things he never would have done before. Mostly because he would have been alone. But not anymore.

With Derek, he'd gone to the beach. He'd gone camping. Go-kart racing. Six-Flags. Had dinner at the fanciest restaurant Stiles had ever been to. They'd even gone to Jungle and Sinema, the local dance clubs.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek asked, cutting into Stiles's thoughts.

Stiles couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips as he looked at Derek. He twirled the roses as he spoke, "All the different things we've done this summer."

"Ah." Derek chuckled, and his gaze softened even more. "It's been okay, though? You know if there's anything you don't want to do, we don't have to."

"I know," Stiles assured him. "And I've had so much fun. Normally, I'd be at the station, helping my dad out. Well, I say helping—" He laughs. "My dad would probably say I’m more of a hindrance."

He had a habit of distracting the deputies.

Derek chuckled again, then looked across the gardens—a contemplative look on his face—and asked, "So what else should we do? Is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?"

"I don't know. I mean, we're going to the lake next week." And Stiles was excited about it. They were spending the full moon at a cabin Derek's family owned. He was looking forward to seeing Derek shift. As for anything else…

There were so many things Stiles wanted to do, but he also didn't want to take advantage of Derek. Stiles was perfectly content just sitting here with Derek. Or in either of their rooms. Or going to the park across town. Even strolling down Main Street.

"Hmm…" Derek glanced back at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What if we take a road trip somewhere? We could go to the Grand Canyon or just drive down the coast."

Stiles huffed a laugh. "You wanna do that?"

"I wanna do everything with you."

The butterflies that had been fluttering in Stiles's stomach from the moment Derek walked up to him intensified. "I'd like that."

Derek smiled, it was small but gorgeous, and Stiles melted a little. Especially when Derek reached out, threading their fingers together and squeezing. "Good."

Then he tilted his head as if he were listening for something.

"I think they're going to do the first dance now. You wanna go back?"

"Yeah." Excitement bubbled through Stiles as he imagined walking onto the dance floor with Derek. Swaying with him to whatever song the DJ played.

Derek tugged Stiles up and off the bench, their hands still linked as they wandered back to the reception.

When they returned to the tent, the newly married couple were having their first dance—eyes locked with beautiful smiles as they swayed to the music.

One day. One day that would be him and Derek. He was sure of it. More certain than anything else he'd ever felt before because Stiles knew, without a doubt, that he was in love with Derek. And while Derek hadn't said it either, he'd shown Stiles, in just about every way, that he loved him too.

Stiles looked up at Derek then, a smile tugging at his lips. His heart fluttered in his chest. And as if Derek knew the direction of Stiles's thoughts, he leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead. Stiles glanced around, but no one was watching them, their attention on the bride and groom. So he reached up, cupping Derek's face and pressing their lips together.