Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters: Derek, Stiles (pre-slashy, I guess)
Word count: 830
A/N: Cardfic for ordinaryink: Something Teen Wolf.
What is this, I don't even. I DON'T EVEN WATCH THIS SHOW. Tracey, you are magic. *hearts*
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Stiles is standing on his front porch. What the hell.
Of all the humans and not-so-humans that Derek had to deal with on a regular basis, he would not have expected Stiles Stilinski to be the one who ought to come with a warning label.
"What are you doing?" Derek demanded, keeping one hand curled around the side of the door in case he needed to slam it in Stiles' face.
"Waiting for you to let me in," Stiles said matter-of-factly. He bounced on his heels a little, though whether it was from the cold or his chronic inability to stay still, Derek had no idea. "Or for you to stop lurking behind the door and come out here, because this house is really kind of creepy and depre-"
"Why are you here?" Derek clarified, letting his voice drop into a growl.
Stiles' eyes widened comically as the sudden scent of fear spiced the air but, sadly, it wasn't enough to make him leave. Apparently Stiles had all the survival instincts of a suicidal lemming.
Derek scowled. "Well?"
"I- uh," Stiles stammered, before his natural ability to never shut up kicked back in and he blurted, "Do you want to come over for dinner?"
Derek stared at him. "What."
Stiles' expression was rapidly approaching disturbing levels of manic. Not an unusual look for him, but worrying nonetheless. "Dinner," he said. "At my house. Because it's Christmas Eve and Dad's at work till late and usually I hang out with Scott but he's busy with Allison doing stuff I want to know absolutely nothing about because I see way too much almost-naked Scott with the whole werewolf thing so it's kind of easy to picture and that's incredibly gross, and then I thought 'Hey! I bet Derek's being all broody and lonely, he should come over!' so now I'm here. You look kind of funny with your eyes bugging out like that, you know."
Distantly, Derek wondered what freak evolutionary trait gave Stiles the ability to view breathing as an optional exercise.
"You're inviting me over for dinner," Derek said, taking great care not to make it sound like a question. It still came out more than a little dubious.
"Yeah! Well, I mean, only if you want to, I guess, but since I'm pretty sure you haven't got any plans beyond sitting by yourself and being miserable you should totally come. My dad always leaves dinner for me on Christmas Eve and, like I said, Scott's usually over, so there's a massive thing of roast beef in my oven that I definitely can't finish on my own and-"
"You left your stove on?" Derek asked, almost despite himself. How had Stiles managed to stay alive long enough to become a teenager?
Stiles snorted. "Of course not. It takes forever to drive out here and I put about even odds on you caving and coming with me, and you killing me and hiding my body in the woods. My dad would kill me if I burned down the house." He paused thoughtfully. "Except for the fact that I'm already dead in this scenario."
Derek resisted the urge to sigh. "Go home, Stiles."
"I will if you come with me."
"Do you actually have a death wish?"
"No, so I'd rather not freeze to death on your porch if that's okay with you." Stiles craned his neck, trying to see around Derek and into the house. "Do you even have heating?"
"I'm closing the door."
"Oh, come on!" Stiles said, flinging his arms wide. "Give the broody, my life is suffering thing a rest for one evening! The world won't end, I promise. Besides, I'm totally giving you permission to lurk creepily in my house, which we both know you love; you can turn off all the lights and stand in dark corners, even." Stiles tilted his head, looking unexpectedly serious. "Just not until after dinner. Dad says that dinner has to be eaten at the table."
Sometimes, Derek thought that talking with Stiles was a good benchmark for what it felt like to go insane. "Stiles. You don't want to spend Christmas Eve with me."
"Yes, I do!" Stiles protested and, amazingly, actually sounded like he meant it.
Derek looked at the stubborn tilt of Stiles' jaw, the way his hands were jammed in his pockets to keep warm and the unexpectedly hopeful cast to his face. He thought about slamming the door in Stiles' face and spending Christmas Eve alone with his regrets, like always.
It wasn't a particularly appealing thought.
Derek sighed and arranged his face into something that was meant to convey how completely put-upon he felt at the moment. "I'm taking my own car."
Stiles whooped and actually punched a fist in the air. Still such a child. "Awesome! I hope you like broccoli. And yams. Do you drink Coke?"
It was, Derek thought, a blessing for the world that there was only one Stiles Stilinski. He knew that he, at least, would never have survived knowing more than one.