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Billie Eilish - everything i wanted is absolutely Derek about stiles. Could you write a mini fic?

Here ya go, love! 🩶🩶🩶

••••••

Stiles had a dream.

He jumped from the edge of the Beacon Hills Preserve cliffs, and no one tried to stop him.

Not Scott.

Not Lydia.

Not Malia.

Not anyone.

And when he hit the water, when he sank, he didn’t feel fear. He felt relief.

He woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, and utterly unsurprised.

It wasn’t the first time. Wouldn’t be the last.

Because even awake, it felt like he was drowning.

••••••

They stopped including him in pack meetings. Not on purpose, they said, just forgetfulness. Miscommunication. A few slipped texts.

Then they stopped listening when he talked. Laughed off his ideas. Took credit for his research.

Scott told him once, “You’re not like us. You’re not a fighter. You’re the guy in the chair.”

Like that was supposed to make it okay.

Stiles had (temporarily) died for them. Killed for them. Bled and clawed his way back to a semblance of life for them.

And somehow, it still wasn’t enough.

The worst part?

He believed it. Believed he was a liability. A joke. That the only reason anyone kept him around was because they couldn’t quite remember to tell him to leave.

Derek came back in the middle of all this.

Out of nowhere. A black Camaro rolled into town like a ghost from Stiles’ past, beard a little longer, eyes a little softer.

He’d barely gotten out of the car before he was looking at Stiles.

Not Scott. Not Lydia.

Stiles.

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, like it hadn’t been years.

And Stiles, god help him, cried.

Not full out sobbing. Just a single, broken sound as Derek wrapped his arms around him and held him like no one had in a very long time.

••••••

Derek noticed it all.

The way the others dismissed him. The way Scott interrupted or waved him off. The way no one seemed to see how tired Stiles was, like his bones were worn thin and see through.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just started showing up.

With coffee. With extra notes. With food.

He sat beside Stiles in every meeting of the McCall he attended. He listened. He asked questions. He took Stiles' side.

And when the others rolled their eyes at Stiles’ idea to track the latest attacks using ley line activity, Derek growled, low and sharp, and said, “He’s right. You just don’t listen.”

Stiles thought he might fall in love right then and there.

••••••

The shift was quiet but absolute.

Stiles started spending more time at the loft. Started sleeping there when he couldn’t bear to go home. He didn’t even have to ask. Derek just handed him a pillow and said, “Top shelf has blankets.”

Then, one night, Stiles found a single duffel bag waiting by the couch.

“Is that… mine?” he asked.

Derek nodded. “It’s your room now. Upstairs.”

Stiles blinked, heart in his throat. “I have a room?”

“You have a place in my pack,” Derek said softly. “If you want it.”

He didn’t even realize he was crying until Derek wiped a tear away with his thumb.

“You saw me,” Stiles whispered.

Derek’s voice broke a little. “I always saw you.”

••••••

The nightmares didn’t go away right away.

But in the dreams now - when Stiles stepped off the edge - Derek was there.

Grabbing his hand. Holding him back.

Telling him, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

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I just think bilingual Stiles would be such a mess lol bi(lingual) disaster amirite

Soft-and-sappy sterek is my main squeeze but lbr they also are both assholes 🫶

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Kay, like I know I ramble, but when I shoot my lines I go Rambo

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character in a movie: Oh no, angry dog, please don’t bite me!

the dog: I’m at work! I’m doing so good at being at work! I’m barking because my handler gave the sign ‘bark’! I am going to get such a good grade in being a dog actor, which is completely possible to achieve, and normal to want! I am doing a great job! I am proud of myself for doing such a great job! I love this, because I’d make it physically impossible to get anything done if I wasn’t enjoying it! I’m barking!

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childhood friends team freewill au

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thinking about that one wordless calvin and hobbes sunday strip thats just calvins dad ditching his work to go play in the snow... its going to make me cry

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Reblog to put one of these in your mutuals’ pocket when they’re not looking

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Oh, to be crushed underneath your werewolf boyfriend 💭

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ough ouhhhhh hold on gotta stretch Oughgg ..

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Derek: I do not like Stiles. No way. Nope. Cordial acquaintances at best. Allies.

Derek’s around Stiles as a full wolf:

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[I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?]

Derek is done.

Done.

He's done with this shithole of a town that only takes and takes and takes. He's tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of wondering when the next horror is going to spring from the shadows and try to kill him next.

When it might try and kill the few people Derek has left. (But Cora is gone, packed up and back with the Pack that raised her. Peter is gone, even though Derek isn't sure he ever got him back after Paige died. Issac went to Scott, to Argent, to never looking back.)

(He doesn't think about blonde hair and bright red lipstick. About wild eyes that made him think about Laura. He doesn't think about the quiet presence that could have been so much. About the boy who had been wary but steady.)

Derek stares down at the open trunk, at the duffle bag that has everything of his. His room had once been a mess of books and paper and blankets. His closet stuffed with hand-me-down clothes from uncles and cousins and knitted sweaters from his aunt.

He's gone from never having enough room in his suitcase to his entire life fitting in one. He doesn't slam the trunk closed, just makes sure it clicks shut before he rounds the car to the drivers side. He's just reaching for the handle when he hears a car heading towards him.

It's not the death rattle of the blue jeep that's saved his life more then he'd like to count, or anything else that belongs to the rest of Scott's pack. (Not Derek's. Not his. Alone. Alone. Alone Again.)

This car has a steady rumble. Older. Slight squeak of a break pad. Slight whine of an overdue oil change. The click of a radio and scanner.

The Sheriff.

He's turns towards the headlights coming his way, blinking as they cut off before the car turns into the lot and pulls up beside him. John Stilinski steps out of the car, not in uniform but in plaid and jeans that instantly makes Derek think of Stiles.

Its the haggard look on the sheriff's face that reels Derek to the here and now, makes him tense up just a bit. The man stops before him, glances back at the cruiser before he faces forward again.

Derek knows that look. He's already shaking his head even as a wistful smile cracks the sheriff's face.

"I haven't even said anything."

"With all due respect, sheriff," Derek says, shoulders sinking in defeat, "you didn't have to."

"Call me John. I know..." The sheriff hesitates, hand raking through his hair before he seems to crumple before Derek's eyes. "I know it's not my place to ask where you're headed. Lord knows you shouldn't stay here after everything that's happened."

"But?" Derek asks, waiting for the drop. Will he be asked to stay? To try and help Scott again despite how unwilling he's always been. (A True Alpha. A boy whose moral compass is always correct, who is led by his dick, who doesn't want his wolf but still uses all that comes from it.)

"Can you take Stiles with you?"

Derek freezes, eyes immediately finding the head of dark hair he'd missed at first glance pressed against the passenger side window.

"He's not...I don't..." John sighs heavily, arms crossing in a move Derek is familiar with. "I don't know how to help him. I did a shit job after Claudia, my wife, died.

"I didn't know how to help him then, and I don't know how to help him now. I do know that there isn't anything here that can though."

Derek opens his mouth to ask a question, but the immediate stink of anger-fury-wrath rolling off the man has him snapping his mouth shut.

"I made him tell me everything. From the night all this started until just a few hours ago. And do you know what stood out to me?"

The sheriff's gaze make him think of his own father, quiet but intense. His mother may have been his Alpha, but he'd always been his father's shadow.

"That whenever anything was wrong, it was you who showed up."

"Sir," Derek's voice rose, not quite in shock, but something close, before he shook his head. "John, it's my fault he ended up in half those situations."

"Son, I've met Stiles. I raised him. Even if you think you were the reason he ended up in anything, there was an eighty percent chance he would have found his way there on his own."

There was nothing Derek could say to that.

"If you can't, if you just need to get out of here, that's fine. I can figure something out. But...he trusts you." John's voice was soft, and the truth of his words, of what they meant, rocked Derek to his core. "He knows that you'll there to help him, that of things ever went wrong, that you'd know what to do."

And Derek did. Whether it was finding a way to talk him down from a panic attack, or making an impossible decision, Stiles would put his life in Derek's hands.

He glances again at the cruiser, just barely able to make out the sleepless smudges on pale skin, on a mouth that's been bitten bloody.

Derek knows there's a duffle bag in the cruisers trunk. He knows that Stiles doesn't know it's there.

He turns and heads back to pop the latch for the trunk, reaching in and shoving his bag over to make room. He keeps his head down, feeling his heart twist at the wet laugh the sheriff lets out before his boots shuffle across the gravel.

Derek hears Stiles stir as the cruisers trunk opens and shuts, watches as a second bag and pillow land beside his own before he turns his gaze to the railing limbs spilling out of the passenger seat.

"Dad? Derek? What's..." Stiles trails off, amber eyes taking in everything faster than Derek could ever hope to even with his abilities.

Derek watches as the sheriff pulls his son into a hug, focuses on the hum of the streetlight instead of their not quite crying conversation. He closes the trunk as they finally pull apart, turning to face them both.

He freezes as the sheriff pulls him into a hug, slowly responding before he steps back and finds Stiles pressed up to his side.

"Where are we going?"

"Dunno," Derek says with a shrug, shoulder bumping into Stiles. "Haven't decided yet."

A smile, soft, a little cracked at the edges but real, lifts the corners of Stiles' mouth. From the way John's breath seems to catch in his chest, Derek assumes this is the first real one Stiles has had in a long while.

"Well, let's get these troubled souls on the road then. How do you feel about the ocean?"

"Salty."

Stiles barks out a laugh, startling all three of them before he turns and heads to the passenger side of Derek's car.

"We'll send you a postcard when we get to our stop, pops. I'm gonna find the most Hallmark bullshit print I can find."

He's still talking even as he closes the door behind himself, and John's quiet, teary laugh draws Derek's attention.

"Thank you. Have him call me when you stop. Call me when he drives you crazy. And if he tells you he doesn't need a rest stop, he's lying. His mother was the same way."

Derek watches the sheriff head back to his vehicle, raising a hand in goodbye before he slips into the car. The air has the sharp tang of salt, tears not quite shed, and Derek twists the keys in the ignition.

"Derek."

He clicks his seat belt, eases the car into gear and onto the road before he turns to glance at Stiles from the corner of his eye.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Derek nods, waits. "So about the beach."

"No."

"Come on! Don't be such a sourwolf!"

He reaches out and flips on the radio, pretending to ignore Stiles' argument about why saltwater has healing properties as he lets the music fill the car.

Derek wonders if Stiles will still feel that way when he throws him into the Pacific.

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