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Grown Accustomed to Your Face	By : Jadeaffection Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 1699 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf nor am I making any money from this story

Chapter List
- 1-Grown Accustomed to Your Face
- 1
Title:
Grown Accustomed to Your Face

Characters/Pairing:
Pre-Derek/Stiles, Mrs. McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Mentioned
characters: Isaac, Scott and Lydia.

Warnings:
Handful of F-words and some other mild language, bit of fluff,
copious pop-culture references and mentions of violence, kidnapping,
self-esteem issues and responsible prescription drug use.

Spoilers: Up
to the end of 3a... but only for the Sheriff reveal.

A/N: I had a
dream about a conversation. I woke up. This fic happened.

My Fair Lady, Davy
Jones, Doctor Doolittle, The Monkees, Twilight, The Avengers and
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles references. (If you spot the
Firefly/Serenity reference you can have a cookie!)

I consider this a
"Pick-your-own-pack" story. Apart from those mentioned you
can decide who's included, who's alive and who's gone away. Up to
you.

My
first Teen Wolf fanfic ever... I'm very excited. o/

It
was expected so, when it came, he didn’t even blink. Roll his
eyes? Yes. Blink? No.

‘Go
home Stiles.’

‘Yeah,
because telling me what to do has worked so well up until now? Points
for being consistent Dude.’

Stiles
shuffled across the loft towards the table and away from where Derek
had just entered through the door. His sprained ankle was hurting
like a bitch. Stiles hated his crutches. His crutches could go
step on a Lego.

‘Well,
maybe if you listened every once in a while you wouldn’t get
hurt’

Derek
had mumbled it and Stiles was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed
to have heard it. So he pretended he hadn’t.

Gritting
his teeth against the pain, Stiles took a seat in front of one of the
burger and fries combos.

He
gestured at the other when it became apparent Derek was going to try
the old “Lean against the wall and glare intensely until the
annoying kid leaves” trick.

‘I’m
not going anywhere so stop it. Sit, eat!’

Nobody
will ever understand the level of restraint it took not to add “stay”
and/or “roll over” to the end of that. Derek twitches
like he heard it anyway before crossing his arms and pointedly not
coming over.

‘I
took Scott home before I came back and the others have gone to
Lydia’s. We’re gonna meet up in the morning. There’s
nothing more to do tonight so you might as well just head home…
you’re father’s probably waiting for you.’

Stiles
gave him the squinty eyes of judgment as he swallowed down his
mouthful of curly fries.

Which
he promptly choked on, causing Derek to shoot him his own version of
the look. It was less squinting, more rolling and eyebrows, but the
level of judgment was the same if not more so. Okay, definitely
more so.

Scowling,
Stiles took a few gulps of soda to clear his throat before holding up
a finger at Derek.

‘Firstly,
emotional manipulation? That is so below you. We both know Dad was at
the McCall’s'. It’s date night. Which basically involves
Scott’s mom cooking and them falling asleep on the couch.
Scott’s been traumatized by unconscious cuddling. So guilt’s
not going to work.’

When
Derek opened his mouth to answer back, Stiles shushed him before
holding up a second finger.

‘And,
secondly, you really expect me to buy that you're not going to go
straight back out as soon as you change into a shirt that's less
blood encrusted and holey? Because I don't. Wouldn't even if you
threw in free steak knives.'

Derek
sighed, over-dramatic in a way only he could pull off. What with the
tragic telenovela that was his life.

But
before he could start with the obvious denials, Stiles cut him off.
He was not in the mood.

'Oh
my God! Don't even dude! Save the spiel for someone who's not
intimately familiar with your martyr complex. Sit the hell down!'

To
Stiles' complete and utter surprise Derek actually listened. He
stepped away from the wall, walked over and took the seat across from
Stiles.

His
victory was short lived however when he realized Derek was planning
on using the close quarters to try a different tactic.

He
could tell by the way the werewolf was pensively rearranging his
fries.

'I'm
fine Stiles, really.'

Oh,
so that's how it's going to be. Bring it!

'Why
don't you go on home, I promise I won't go straight back out. You
should be resting, taking the weight off your ankle. I got this.'

The
shocked look on Derek's face as Stiles' pickle hit him right between
the eyes was priceless. If it was the last thing Stiles saw before he
died, which, given Derek's “anger is my copilot” life
motto, was a real possibility, it would be worth it.

'No!'

'Stiles...'

The
second evil soaked cucumber missed it's mark by an inch, landing in a
bushy eyebrow. For one hilarious, cheek biting moment it hung,
suspended, before falling to the table.

'I
said no!'

Finally
Derek's nostril flaring seemed to indicate he was beginning to take
Stiles seriously. About freaking time!

Not
that Stiles particularly enjoyed seeing a frown spread across Derek's
face but he wasn't backing down. Not this time. Not about this.

'Isaac's
my responsibility and...'

'I'm
gonna have to stop you there big guy because, and correct me if I'm
wrong, last time I checked you weren't the one who flung me across
the room, fucking up my ankle, or the one who locked Lydia in a
closet. So, ergo, you weren't the one who kidnapped Isaac. This is
not your fault and if you think killing yourself over this is
going to...'

'You're
wasting my time Stiles! I need to get back out there.'

Derek
pushed himself away from the table and moved, presumably, in the
direction of a clean shirt.

Before
Stiles knew what he was doing, he was up out of his seat and slamming
Derek up against the nearest wall. Derek must have been just as
stunned as Stiles about the turn of events because he let him.

When
their eyes met Derek's were wide with surprise until they narrowed.
Now he wasn't just serious, he was angry. Good!

'What
the fuck do you want Stiles?'

'What
do I want? Well, let's see... I want my dad safe. I want my
friends safe. I want my ankle to stop throbbing. I want more salt on
my fries. I want Black Widow to get her own movie. I want a Ninja
Turtle onesie, preferably Donatello. I want them to sell Girl Scout
cookies all year round. I want a pony and a plastic rocket. I want to
not feel all useless and impotent because I was stupid and weak
enough to let myself be put out of commission. I want to feel like
I'm DOING SOMETHING TO HELP GET ISAAC BACK AND I WANT YOU TO STOP
BEING SUCH A SELF-SACRIFICING ASSHOLE!'

It's
totally possible Stiles lost it somewhere around the onesie point and
that by the end he was shouting right in Derek's face.

And
then he was leaning his face on Derek's shoulder because...

'Ow,
fucking ow! Shit! Moved too fast! Fuckity fuck fuck! Oh my God!
Mother of ass!'

He
was definitely crying on Derek's shirt, but if Derek wasn't going to
bring it up then damned if Stiles was going to mention it.

Nor
was he going to be waxing lyrical about Derek basically picking him
off the ground and carrying him back to his chair. And if the
universe never brought up the truly embarrassing noise he made when
Derek knelt in front of him, gently held his foot and did the
werewolf pain removing black vein thing, that was okay by Stiles.

When
most of the pain was gone and Derek looked up to see Stiles biting
his lip to keep from whimpering in relief, any remaining anger
disappeared from the moment.

'You're
an idiot!'

Stiles
scoffed at that as he watched Derek go back to his own seat.

'Takes
one to know one.'

Derek
raised an eyebrow at him and then kept it raised. Which was Derek
speak for “Explain your ridiculousness so I can explain why
you're wrong!”.

Stiles
sighed.

'I
know how desperate you are to get Isaac back. I do. Because I
know you. Which is how I know you haven't eaten in ages and are
completely exhausted. And so help me god, even if it kills me, you
are going to eat that lukewarm burger, have a shower and then sleep
for at least five hours before I let you back out.'

And
now Derek had both eyebrows raised in incredulity. High on his
forehead in a classic “You and what army, puny human?”
gesture.

'I
mean it. You can't keep doing this to yourself. You'll get sloppy
with exhaustion and you will die. These aren't guys to mess
around with. I should know. Why do you think they took Isaac? They're
trying to get to you and I refuse to let that happen. I might not be
able to protect you in a fight, especially forcibly
benched like this, but I can make damn sure you're not screwed
before you start. So let me. Trust me just this once?'

Stiles
may have been pushing buttons there just a bit. He knew Derek trusted
him. At least a little and much more than most. But this was
important.

'Fine!'

'I'm
just trying to help and... wait, fine? As in “you're going to
listen to me” fine?'

And
he knew that he had actually gotten through to Derek since the
eyebrows of silent communication were lowered.

Well,
that and Derek was pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like
he was regretting all of his life choices, especially the ones
involving nosy, bossy teenagers.

'I
said fine Stiles.'

As
if that was all that needed to be said, Derek picked up his burger
and began to eat. Shrugging and taking the victory for what it was,
Stiles joined him. They finished their meals in a silence that was
only broken by Stiles mewling pathetically until Derek opened his
child-proofed pain pills for him.

It
was after Derek had been in the bathroom for five minutes, the sound
of the running shower echoing through the loft, that Stiles started
to doubt the ease of his success.

Not
that he was expecting Derek to escape out of the bathroom window or
anything but...actually...

'DEREK?'

'WHAT?'

'NOTHING...
JUST REMEMBER TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH.'

Stiles
didn't need to hear Derek's response to that to feel the exasperation
directed at him in his soul. It was comforting.

Anyway,
not anticipating a jailbreak, Stiles still felt that he had got away
with everything a bit too easy. And the uncomfortable pit in his
stomach only continued to grow as he waited for Derek to return.

When
Derek did finally emerge, in a cloud of steam, wearing sweatpants and
possibly the softest looking t-shirt Stiles had ever seen, it became
obvious the discomfort was not misplaced.

'Well,
I'll just try and get some sleep now I guess. You're job here is
done.'

Sneaky
and subtle he was not. Stiles could see Derek mentally calculating to
fastest way to get back in his jeans and out of there the moment
Stiles was gone.

Oh,
the precious naive little werewolf. Bless his cotton socks.

'I'm
not going anywhere dude.'

'Stiles,
you are not watching me sleep! Despite the constant teenage
supernatural shenanigans, our lives are not actually a young adult
novel!'

'Twilight?
Really? You're team Jacob aren't you? Also you should always say
“shenanigans”. It sounds glorious coming out of your
mouth. You should definitely say it around Scott. I want to see his
brain break. Anyhow, if I had even the slightest faith you
would really sleep if I left you here alone I wouldn't have to pull a
Cullen but as it stands... Let's get comfy shall we? Would you like
some warm milk? Want me to tuck you in? Bedtime story?'

Derek
had a tick in his jaw that always seemed to act up when he was
fighting his natural urge to throttle Stiles into silence. It was
currently beating out a samba.

'Are
we really doing this?'

'Define
“this”?'

And,
despite popular opinion, Stiles didn't actually have a death wish so
instead of waiting for Derek to answer that he decided to take the
pointed look for the out it was. Best not to tap dance on the thin
ice.

'Okay,
yes, we are doing this. You are going to go to bed and sleep. I am
going to not stare at you creepily but instead use my time
efficiently to research and... fine, stop with the eyebrows, I'm
going to ass around on the internet because there is nothing more to
research on these bastards without a new lead. And if you try to get
up from that bed, I will hit you with The Spoon.'

'The
spoon?'

Stiles
brandished the wooden spoon he had taken from the kitchen drawer
before he left home.

'Do
not underestimate The Spoon! Just the phrase “Don't make me get
The Spoon!” was enough to make me behave for years. And not
once was I even hit with it. It was the way that Mom and Dad talked
about it, you know. Like it had magical properties. So, I figure... a
little bit of magic should be enough to cow a werewolf.'

Stiles
would never know if it was the image of little!Stiles in trouble, the
idea that a wooden spoon would be enough to stop Derek from leaving
if he really wanted to or Stiles' rare mention of his mother but
something in that speech had made Derek smile.

Soft,
fond and nothing like his usual smirk, Stiles wouldn't mind seeing
Derek's face transformed with it more often.

'How
long do I need to sleep to satisfy your insane need to help?'

'Five
hours at least. I want you to not collapse of fatigue when the bad
guys are trying to dismember you. Maybe you could even win a fight
for a change?'

That
earned him a growl but the smile remained so Stiles counted it as a
win.

Especially
as, after Derek had helped him to the couch, he then went to sit on
his bed, heaving a resigned sigh.

'Against
every instinct I have, which are all demanding I get back out
there and find Isaac, I'm going to go with you on this. Mainly to
shut you up but also because a part of me, and you better remember
this because it might be the only time I'll say it, vaguely suspects
you might be right.'

Stiles
was taking a rain-check on the happy dance until his ankle was more
up to it. And Isaac was safe. And nobody was trying to kill them. He
might be waiting awhile.

'Your
confidence in me in overwhelming. I'm touched, really! Now sleep big
guy, you can shower me with more praise when you wake up.'

Stiles
went to dig his laptop out of his bag. But he really should have
known there was a reason the dread in his stomach hadn't eased. Derek
wasn't finished.

'Answer
me one question first Stiles.'

Oh
crap!

'Why?
Why do you care so much about keeping me alive?'

And
there it was.

He'd
really hoped Derek wouldn't ask that question. Because, hell if he
knew the answer.

But,
when he looked over to the bed, the solution was right there.

It
was there in the open and lost look on Derek's face, honest in a way
he wasn't with anyone else. It was there in the way their eyes locked
and held.

And
Stiles suddenly knew exactly what he wanted to say. Now all he
had to do was say it in a way Derek would understand.

'Do
you want the whole truth? Or the single truth you'll believe?'

To
Derek's credit, he took a moment to consider. Maybe too intently if
the way he was staring at Stiles' face like it held the secrets of
the universe was anything to go by.

Eventually
he seemed to come to a decision, face hardening in resolve. Obviously
expecting something horrible. Not an unprecedented response given his
life but sad nonetheless.

'Let's
start with the one you think I'll believe but then I want the whole
truth.'

The
“or else” went unsaid but clearly heard.

Now
it was time for Stiles to harden his own resolve and suck it up.

'We
need you dude. You realize that, right? You die and as a pack
we are totally screwed. Do you know how many times you've saved my
life alone? Not to mention everyone else. Scott would be dead without
you to swoop in and save his ass. All of our life expectancies go up
when you're around. Mainly because you're always so willing to
sacrifice yourself in our places. You keep us safe...ish and that's
awesome.'

Stiles
could see Derek's expression tighten and then relax in acceptance.
Which sucked.

He
would have preferred to not focus on Derek's usefulness first. But
the idiot was so used to only having his value measured by what he
could contribute. By what purpose he could serve in furthering others
agendas. It would always be the easiest reason for Derek to swallow.

It
made Stiles want to punch someone. Multiple someones.

But
it was true and to lie about it would be unfair.

'Can
you just stop. Like right now. You wanted the one you'd believe
first, I didn't say it was the main reason or the most important.'

Derek
frowned at him.

'What's
more important than keeping your friends and you alive?'

Stiles
was never going to stop facepalming. Ever.

'Oh
my god!'

'Stiles?'

Okay,
so maybe he would stop if only so he could side-eye the heck out of
Derek.

'You
really don't get it do you?'

And
the look Derek gave Stiles made it very clear he didn't.

'Derek!
Jesus, I don't know whether to laugh or cry! You want the whole
truth? You are my friend dude! I know I haven't come out and
said it before but I mean it so quit it with that look.'

And
Stiles wasn't quite sure what look he was referring to. The
disbelieving wry one written all over Derek's face. Or the one he was
rocking on the bed. All fluffy hair, soft shirt and crossed legs,
appearing touchable and human in a way Derek rarely allowed himself
to.

Both
made Stiles feel uncomfortable in very different ways.

But
best to address Derek's appalling lack of self-worth first. Other
matters, especially those involving touching, would keep.

'I
would totally give a shit if you died. I give a shit about you in
general. You're not that bad once you get past the rage and
Trojan-like defenses. Spending time with you isn't exactly a
hardship... You keep up with me, which I appreciate, and you're able
to give as good as you get. You make all this crap we have to deal
with half bearable. You care. About everything. And everyone. Way
more than you let on. You're actually kinda hilarious. Dry, witty and
smarter than I think you get credit for. Of course your plans still
suck and I'm always right but that's a given.'

Derek
was smiling again and, if Stiles was one to over-analyze things, it
could be considered indulgently fond.

'Because
all your plans are shining examples of strategy, organization and
logic?'

'Damn
straight! My plans are flawless!'

Someone
should really record the sound of Derek snort-laughing. It could
probably help facilitate world peace and cure cancer or something.

'Anyway,
Derek, my point is that not having you around would suck. I've
gotten used to your gloomy self always being there. In the immortal
words of Henry Higgins, I have grown accustomed to your face.'

'Did
you just say 'Enry 'Iggins? Also the line's “her face”.''

'Semantics!
And if you don't say it with a Cockney accent you might as well not
say it at all. '

'“My
Fair Lady”, Stiles? Really?'

And
Stiles was going to blame the late night, the pain meds and Derek's
bare feet for the dramatic over-share that followed.

'One
of Mom's favorites. She had a huge crush on Rex Harrison. We'd watch
it all the time. Same with “Doctor Dolittle”. Christmas
when I was five, I refused to come out of my room all day because I
was so pissed that Santa hadn't brought me the Pushmi-pullyu that I'd
asked for. I still watch them sometimes, on her birthday and stuff.
Anyway, you understood the reference!'

Stiles
had very pointedly told that entire story to his own shoes. They
seemed rather uninterested.

'My
Mom loved Davy Jones. I was singing “Girl” before I'd
even mastered the “Alphabet Song”. And I've seen every
episode of “The Monkees” at least five times.'

Stiles
had to look up at Derek then, it was impossible not to. The moment
and the stories hung in the air between them. It felt easy and right
in a way nothing had for a long time.

But...

'Great,
right, okay, so have I answered your question well enough? Because
you need sleep so you can wake up tomorrow well rested, go out and
kick bad guy butt and bring Isaac home.'

'Yeah.
It'll do.'

With
one final smile, small, private and knowing, Derek pulled the covers
down and arranged himself under them with his back facing Stiles.

'Still
need me to tuck you in?'

'Stiles!'

'Night
dude.'

'Goodnight.'

And
that was that.

Finally
Derek's breathing evened out before eventually deepening to what
could maybe generously be called a snore on a very quiet
night.

Stiles
had been expecting chainsaws. Go figure.

Getting
lost in the recesses of internet, it took Stiles longer than it
should have to realize that his self-imposed five hour minimum had
been reached.

And
he really would go home but he was so tired. It was quarter to five
in the morning, it had been a long day and his ankle was aching.
Besides, his Dad knew where he was and was all right with it so there
was no rush.

It
wouldn't hurt to just close his eyes for a few minutes. To just put
his laptop in his bag, adjust his position so he was lying down and
take a little nap. A tiny one. He'd be awake and gone in no time.
It'd be fine.

When
Stiles awoke the afternoon sun was streaming through the windows,
highlighted by it filtering through the two yellow post-it notes
stuck on his forehead, and the becoming-too-warm quilt thrown over
him smelt like Derek's deodorant.

Sitting
up and peeling the paper off his skin, Stiles couldn't help but feel
equal measures sheepish and deeply pleased.

The
warm feeling in his gut only increased as he read the first note
Derek had left him. Derek's hand writing was beautiful.

Scott
sent a msg, said he'd found a scent trail. He went ahead alone. Gone
to rescue him and hopefully Isaac too. No food or coffee in loft. Go
home! I'll call later. Promise. -D

The
second note was even better.

P.S.
Thanks for making the night time nicer.

You
couldn't pay him enough to wipe the grin off his face. Even the
concern for his friends couldn't do it.

Gathering
his things before grabbing the crutches that Derek had thoughtfully
placed in reach of the couch, Stiles couldn't stop himself from
humming a happy little tune as he made his way out of the loft. He'd
already located Derek and Scott's cells and he'd be there in fifteen
minutes.

And
if that happy little tune happened to be “I Could Have Danced
All Night”, well, he doubted the pigeons roosting on his jeep
were going to be telling anybody.
- 1
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Grown Accustomed to Your Face