Chapter Text
“I’ll go easy on you.”
“Oh, come on! Dude, that’s like totally against the whole point of this.”
Derek rolled his eyes.
“I train all the time,” Stiles quipped, “I need to know if it actually works in a fight against a werewolf. You have to actually put up a fight here.” He brought his hands up and gestured like he was egging the man on.
“I agreed to this, but I still don’t plan on needing to mount a full-scale attack to beat you,” Derek said, shrugging and throwing his hands out. There was a quiet but sharp noise like a sword being drawn as his claws came out.
“Well now you’re just being mean.”
“Do you want to do this or not?”
Stiles stepped forward and threw the first blow.
• • •
“Nnnngggg…,” Stiles groaned, slouched against the wall.
“I told you this was a bad idea. I also told you that I would beat you. Easily.”
He looked up to see the grouchy werewolf leaning over him, a touch of concern to his face but mostly a big, fat look of I-told-you-so.
“The smugness,” Stiles said, reaching up to wave a hand around in the general direction of Derek’s face. “Totally unnecessary, you know that, right?”
Derek offered no consolations and continued looking like an irritating bastard, but he reached out a hand to pull Stiles up.
Stiles sighed and swallowed his pride, clasping the outstretched palm. “If you drop me, this is done,” he said, vaguely gesturing between the two of them as he was hoisted up.
Derek seemed to process what Stiles had said after he was already back on his feet. “Missed my chance, I guess.” He turned and started to walk away, although Stiles got the general impression he was meant to follow.
“Rude,” he said.
When he first started spending time around Derek, he’s thought the man to be quite an enigma. All dark stares and silences and no straight answers. It was almost comedic, in retrospect. Derek was easier to read that most of the people Stiles spent time with, it just took some initial figuring out.
For being as stoic as he was, his silences often served as plenty effective communication once you started to understand him. Like now, Stiles thought. If Derek had beat the shit out of him and then turned to walk away within those first months of knowing each other, he would have surely thought that Derek meant to be rid of him.
He wasn’t even really sure what it was that clued him in to Derek wanting him to follow, it was just kind of a feeling.
“Can you guys communicate by smells?” Stiles speculated aloud, letting his thoughts run from his mouth as they came. “Like hormones or something? Dogs have all sorts of scent markers and stuff that they can talk to other dogs with. Wait—hold on, if you pee, can you leave a message for another werewolf?”
Derek looked at Stiles disparagingly, but the younger man hardly took note.
“Or is it just like when people graffiti on walls? Like a ‘Stiles-was-here’ type of leaving a message without any real depth to it.”
Derek sighed. “I have never peed to communicate with a member of my pack, Stiles.”
“Okay, but could you? I feel like you’re saying you could. You’re not saying you couldn’t, which makes me feel like you totally could.”
“Stiles.”
He looked up from his thoughts and found himself standing in front of a little out-building just against the edge of the woods. It was tucked away just enough that it wasn’t clearly visible from afar, blending seamlessly into the dark of the forest.
“I didn’t know this was here,” Stiles admitted. “I mean, I suppose I don’t spend that much time around your guys’ training area anyway, but still…” He trailed off as the werewolf stepped inside, leaving the door propped behind him.
The inside of the building wasn’t much to look at. It was no bigger than a typical bedroom and was incredibly sparsely decorated. A long, empty table spanned across most of one wall, and the others were dominated by shelving.
“Quite the place you’ve got here,” Stiles said sarcastically, earning himself a derisive look from the other man.
“Sit,” Derek commanded.
Stiles’ attention landed on a chair he had overlooked, and begrudgingly (but obediently) took a seat.
Derek pulled open one of the many drawers and started rifling around. Moments later, he turned back around, holding an assortment of medical supplies which he promptly dropped unceremoniously onto the table.
Trying not to look overly surprised, Stiles raised an eyebrow gently. “I thought you didn’t have any kind of medical stuff, what with all your being super-healers and such.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Derek said, tearing open an alcohol wipe and scowling. We’re not invincible and have been occasionally known to associate with humans.”
“You made this little storage spot to make sure you could patch up your little humans? Aw, look you care about me, that’s so sweet.”
“Don’t push it,” Derek growled. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me right now?”
“I could probably patch myself up alright.”
“You’re bleeding from at least four different places.”
“Pffft, surface wounds.”
Derek fixed him with a look. Doing his best to keep the grin off his face, Stiles uttered a word of thanks.
The werewolf was surprisingly gentle in wrapping up Stiles’ wounds. Although, Stiles considered, perhaps it wasn’t that surprising after all. He had seen Derek’s gentleness before; in taking in Isaac when he had no place to stay, in burying the dead bird they’d once found on his porch, in reassuring Jackson before he left for London (Stiles didn’t think he was supposed to have overheard that last one, but what can a man do).
“What are you thinking about,” Derek said. Not in a nice, I-want-to-know-what’s-on-your-mind sort of way, but more in a I’m-not-sure-what-that-look-means-and-I-don’t-like-it sort of way.
Stiles briefly considered saying the honest truth just to see how Derek would respond, but ultimately determined that there would be greater consequences for himself that there would be joy in watching Derek grapple with being told he was gentle.
“Lots of things. Did you know—”
“Forget I asked.”
Stiles’ mouth flattened and pulled back at the corners, eyes remaining unamused.
Derek glanced up quickly as if surprised that the human had actually listened to him.
There was a minute or so of quiet while Derek finished wrapping Stiles’ upper arm. Obviously, he had been very purposeful about avoiding even the slightest potential of coming close to vital organs or anything of the sort, but had, at the human’s relentless insistence, put up a substantial fight.
He had been pleasantly surprised that Stiles’ at-home training, or whatever it was exactly that he was doing, had paid off slightly. As anticipated, the human was still a million miles away from being able to beat a werewolf, especially an alpha, but had at least gotten a couple of good hits in.
Derek gave a gruff nod and stood to put away the supplies.
“Soooo…” Stiles drew out, “when do we do this next?”