a/n: all the thanks to andy for cheer-leading and giving me a hundred different ideas (including telling me about the wirral egg run and sharing stories about her brother and their friends who ride bikes) on what i could write about biker!derek. even though this turned out to be more of a paramedic!stiles fic.

lots of hugs and kisses to viola for telling me to give her all i've got, and to beth for reading this over for me. you're all lovely xoxo

title from steppenwolf's born to be wild because i like smoke and lightning, heavy metal thunder, racing with the wind, and the feeling that i'm under.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Scott, buddy," Stiles looks at his best friend's fallen face and swallows hard. "You promised."

"I know, I know I did," Scott runs a hand over his hair, clutching his helmet tightly in a white-knuckled grip in the other. "But Allison wanted to be in the run and I told her she could ride with me and-"

"Scott," Stiles whines, because he cannot fucking believe this. "We've been doing this for years. It's tradition!"

"I know!" Scott says loudly, a couple of the people in the hospital parking lot turning to stare at them. "But this is the first day off Ally and I have together in a really long time and she knows how much this means to me and she wanted to support me."

"Can't she support you by waiting for you at the finish line with a big bottle of champagne and dressed as a slutty bunny like the rest of the riders' girlfriends?"

And when Scott's face closes off, Stiles knows he's being a dick.

It's not like he's trying to be one, not really, but he means what he said.

Stiles and Scott have a very close relationship with the Beacon Hills Egg Run.

It started with them as little kids, running around the hospital hallways and driving the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall crazy while Stiles' mom laughed and told them to let the kids have fun.

They saw the hospital as their own personal kingdom. Mostly because they were still cute and innocent enough to have the staff give them warm smiles and let them get away with things - like having wheelchair races and stealing jelly donuts from unsuspected nurses at the nurses' station and making balloons out of latex gloves - but also because they knew what both Scott and Stiles didn't.

That Stiles' mom was sick.

That treatment wasn't working.

That she wasn't getting better.

And that they'd be spending a lot more time walking around the hospital hallways driving the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall sick with worry while Stiles' mom smiled weakly and told them to let them be kids while they still could.

So one day when the Sheriff dropped them off with Scott's mom after school and they saw the bikes in the parking lot, finding out from another nurse that the people in them were bunnies - some of them with only whiskers drawn on their faces and floppy bunny ears on their heads and others with a full bunny suit with a fluffy tail - and that they brought along chocolate, it was like everything was alright in the world again.

At least for a little while.

And even though a part of Stiles still hates going anywhere near the hospital, he can't help the warmth those memories bring him.

He knows Scott feels the same way, and that that was one of the reasons why it wasn't really that hard to convince him to sign them both up in the race when they turned sixteen and Scott managed to save enough money to buy himself a bike.

The look on their parents faces when they told them they'd be participating and helping deliver Easter eggs to the children up at the Beacon Hills Hospital all the while raising money for charity was enough to seal the deal.

Because seeing their parents stare at them with tears in their eyes and pride in their smiles is enough to make Stiles and Scott feel secure enough to do anything, really.

So it became tradition for them to sign up and ride together year after year after year, with Stiles in the back in a full bunny suit and Scott with his face painted and bunny ears glued to his helmet.

And that's why Stiles can't really help the utter disappointment he feels when standing in front of Scott right now.

Because this is something that's theirs.

Or at least was.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It's just-"

Scott gives him a nod of understanding when all Stiles can do is wave his hand in front of him, but before either of them can say anything Allison comes running from behind Scott and throws her arms around his shoulders, "Scott!"

She has on a tiara with fake bunny ears glued to it, one of them falling over her forehead, the tip of her nose painted black and whiskers drawn on her cheeks.

She looks adorable, and Stiles kind of wants to die a little bit because he knows there's no way he's going to stay mad at either her or Scott for this.

Especially when he sees the brown tail and safety pin she has in one hand.

"Please tell me that's for him," Stiles asks her, pointing a finger to the tail and tilting his chin up in Scott's direction.

He can't help but smile in glee at the evil glint in Allison's eyes when she looks at him from over Scott's shoulder.

Or at the horrified look Scott gives him when he sees what Allison is holding.

"But-" Scott tries to protest, failing horribly when Allison merely flashes her dimples at him and comes to stand by Stiles' side.

"You can't have ears without having a tail, dude," Stiles shakes him head at his best friend.

He knows the reason why Scott avoids that particular part of the costume is because he forgets he even has it.

He forgets it so much that once he walked around town with his tail pinned to the back of his jeans for a week before Stiles had the heart to tell him why people were giving him weird looks any time he went to the grocery store.

Or to firefighting school.

Or to class.

But Stiles figures that if Scott can ditch him to ride with his girlfriend, Stiles can make him suffer.

"Stiles is right," Allison says, leaning in to kiss Stiles' cheek. "You look really good in that bunny suit, by the way."

"Really?" Stiles raises an eyebrow at her before staring down at himself. "Do you think I should wear unitards more often?"

"Don't even think about it," and Stiles absolutely does not yelp in surprise.

He doesn't.

No matter what Scott and Allison say.

"Lydia," Stiles clasps his hands together as she comes to stand beside him. "How wonderful seeing you here."

"Like you don't know I'm the one organizing this mess," Lydia waves a dismissive hand in front of her, eyes going from her iPad to Scott and Allison before stopping on Stiles. "You don't have a driver."

"You see-" Stiles starts, only to stop when Lydia narrows her eyes at him.

"I'm not the best cardio surgeon this hospital has just because I look amazing in scrubs," Lydia tells him, fingers tapping incessantly on the screen before her. "Give me a second and I'll find you someone."

Stiles scrunches his face up at her but doesn't say anything.

He knows better by now than to open his mouth and go against whatever Lydia is planning, and he has to admit that sooner or later he would have to accept his fate and go to her so she could find someone willing to let Stiles ride in the back of their bike.

For the millionth time Stiles wonders why he never bought a bike for himself.

And then his eyes rake over the parking lot and fall on the blue paint of his mother's Jeep and he doesn't have to wonder anymore.

Lydia is still going at it with her iPad, so he turns his attention back to Allison and Scott.

And laughs out loud.

Because right now Scott is staring at the ground looking utterly dejected while Allison pulls the back of his shirt up and pins the fake brown tail to the waistband of his pants.

Stiles wishes his costume had pockets so he could take out his cell and film this.

It's that golden.

Especially when Allison lets Scott's shirt fall down and crosses her arms over her chest, staring at him critically before saying, "Shake your hips a bit."

"What?"

Stiles takes back every mean thing he's ever thought about Scott since the moment he told him he was going to be riding with Allison, because this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"We need to see if it's pinned right," Allison explains, poking Scott on the back when he doesn't move. "Now shake it."

Best thing.

Scott presses his lips together, looking from Allison to his tail and back to Allison again.

Stiles can practically see the internal struggle from where he's standing.

And covering his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter is all he can do when Scott sighs and shakes his hips, the tail wiggling a little but remaining in place.

Seriously, best.

Allison nods her head in satisfaction, uncrossing her arms as she comes closer to Scott and leans in for a kiss.

Stiles doesn't fight the urge to roll his eyes at the both of them, turning his attention to Lydia.

"Did you find me someone?"

"I found you someone three minutes ago," Lydia smiles sweetly at him. "In the meantime, I now have video evidence of Scott wiggling his tail just because Allison asked him to."

"Did I mentioned that you're my favorite?" Stiles bats his lashes at her, because Lydia is just as beautiful as she is terrifying and Stiles is so glad he's not in love with her anymore.

"Once or twice," and Stiles doesn't miss the way her lips curl up before she's all business again. "Now let's go. I need to introduce you to your new partner and make sure he's okay with driving your sorry ass around town."

"Hey," Stiles clutches at his imaginary pearls, mock-offended. "My ass is not sorry. It's a fine ass and people would be lucky to drive it around town."

"You mistake me for someone who cares," Lydia flips her hair over her shoulders and turns on her heels, not even bothering to look back and see if Stiles is following.

Which he is, because he knows there's no winning when it comes to Lydia.

Only painful and horrible losses.

They walk further into the parking lot, and Stiles can't help but smile at the sheer number of people who showed up for the race. Some of them he recognizes from years past, waving whenever someone spots him or calls his name.

Which is why he's not paying that much attention when Lydia stops by the side of a bike and starts talking to the person straddling it.

That is until he hears someone say, "What kind of name is Stiles?"

And Stiles turns his head ready to give the guy a piece of his mind and say that it's the kind of name that's mine, only to stop before anything comes out of his open mouth.

Because this guy is seriously attractive.

Like, awkward-boner-inducing attractive.

Even more so if Stiles considers the black bunny ears glued to the guy's helmet, his red-painted nose, and the whiskers drawn on his clean-shaven face.

But Stiles is not doing that, because that way lies madness and Stiles doesn't have time for this shit today.

He has eggs to deliver.

So he promptly snaps his mouth shut and glares at him.

Only to have Lydia roll her eyes at both of them and elbow Stiles in the stomach and whispering, "You can thank me later."

Stiles mentally crosses her name off his Christmas list.

"Derek, this is a Stiles. Stiles Stilinski," Lydia says, gesturing a hand in Stiles' direction. "Stiles, this is your ride. Derek Hale."

Stiles' brain gets stuck in the words this is your ride and all the images of him riding Derek on top of the bike for a few seconds.

And by the dangerous glint in Lydia's eyes, she knows exactly what kind of effect her words had on him.

Not that he can be blamed when he's faced with someone this hot.

Someone who's wearing leather.

And straddling a bike.

Thinking about the two of them having sex is a given, really.

And Lydia knows that.

She knows exactly what pairing Stiles with someone this hot would do to him, especially considering the fact that he hasn't had sex in seven months.

Stiles hates her a little right now.

"Well," Lydia drawls out, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Are you going to just stand there?"

Scratch that, he hates her a lot right now.

But he still swallows down the urge to stick his hands in her perfectly styled hair and mess it up, looks back at Derek, raises his fingers in an aborted wave, and says, "Hi."

"Hey," Derek says back, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips as his eyes rake down Stiles' body.

Or what he's wearing, really.

And by that he means his bunny suit.

Stiles doesn't know whether to be proud for being as committed to the run as he is or dying of embarrassment for having the first guy he's been remotely interested in in a while seeing him this way.

He puffs his chest and goes with pride, mostly because Derek doesn't have a foot to stand on if he decides to bark out insults at people dressed as bunnies, you know, considering his own nose is painted red and he has whiskers drawn on his face with black sharpie.

But Stiles is pleasantly surprised and maybe a little flattered when all Derek does is widen that faint smile of his and gets this soft look on his face as he tilts his chin up at Stiles and says, "Nice costume."

Stiles bites back down the nice face comeback ready to spill out of his mouth.

Instead he goes with a simple, "The kids like it," shrugging and scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand and trying to will his cheeks not to blush.

Neither of them say anything after that, Lydia's eyes going from Derek to Stiles before turning to her iPad as she says, "You two know how it goes. I take it I don't have to stay here and explain it all?"

"No need," Derek answers, shaking his head.

"You're free to go terrorize the newcomers," Stiles takes a little bow, ignoring the way his stomach flips when he sees Derek lower his head and run a hand over his face as if hiding a laugh.

"Cute," Lydia narrows her eyes at him before turning to Derek. "Whatever you do, don't let him eat whatever's left of the chocolates at the end of the run."

Stiles gapes at her, and he's pretty sure he looks just as betrayed and broken as he feels.

"Sugar rush?" is all Derek says, lips twitching up.

Stiles hasn't seen a full smile from Derek yet.

He figures that when he does it'll feel like being hit in the face with sunshine.

It will be bright and warm and it will blind you.

But the little twitch of his lips tell Stiles that he doesn't need to see Derek smile to know that he's amused by all of this.

Or at least he looks amused.

"I like you, Derek," Lydia says, eyes calculating.

"Thank you?" Derek blinks at her, shifting his weight from one leg to the other on the bike.

Stiles tries not to feel offended in Lydia's behalf when Derek's thanks comes out as a question.

They all know Derek hasn't known Lydia long enough to figure out that having her tell someone that she likes them is a big deal.

Stiles has been friends with her for years and he the most he ever got was a pat on the head and a smile.

On Jackson's 21st birthday.

She was drunk.

So Stiles just turns to Derek and tells him that "Yes, you are thankful."

Lydia pats him on the cheek for that one, "I'm still not letting you eat the leftover eggs."

"You wound me," Stiles pouts.

"I'll make sure he doesn't have any," Derek says when they both turn to him, Derek's eyebrows joining on the twitching along with his lips.

If Stiles had to take a guess, he'd say Derek looks really fucking amused right now.

"Good," Lydia flips her hair over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at Derek before kissing Stiles on the cheek and saying, "Have fun, boys."

Stiles watches as she walks away, not even trying to contain a snort when one of the bikers comes up to talk to her, placing a hand on her arm, only to promptly get stabbed in the chest with a pen.

Stiles takes his eyes off of her in favor to stare at Derek, who's already staring back at him, his face carefully blank.

"So," Stiles says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is this your first time in the race?"

"No."

And, really?

That's all the answer Stiles gets?

"Really? That's all the answer I get?"

Derek just shrugs one shoulder, lips pressing together when Stiles raises both of his eyebrows at him.

Stiles tries desperately not to find him cute.

He's being a dick.

Dicks aren't supposed to be cute.

But Derek surprises him when he sighs and decides to put words together, "I used to come to them with my dad when I was young."

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, a little surprised by the casually shared info about Derek.

Not that there's anything casual about it, Stiles notices, taking in the way Derek's eyes go downward and his Adam's apple bobs as he says that, Stiles figures his dad must not be in the picture anymore.

He thinks about his mom.

About how much she would've loved being able to participate, but couldn't because she didn't even have enough strength to get up and go to the bathroom.

Stiles likes to think she would've been proud of him for doing this.

Derek keeps quiet again, going for answering Stiles' question with a nod of his head.

And Stiles thinks he understands a little bit of what Derek's going through.

Being here might bring Derek some painful memories, so it's no wonder he'd rather stay quiet than talking to Stiles.

Stiles takes it back.

Derek is not a dick.

And he's now 15% more endearing to him.

Which is why Stiles decides to share a little bit of himself with Derek, too.

"My mom," Stiles starts, hands fiddling with the sleeves of his suit so he doesn't have to stare directly at Derek. "She spent a lot of time here when she was sick, and the run was something that distracted me from that for a little while. It was something that helped make me feel like a little kid again."

When he takes his eyes off the parking lot ground to glance at Derek, Stiles finds him looking at him with the kind of sad and bitter understanding he wished nobody had. Because whenever someone looks at him like that Stiles knows that they get it, knows that they lost someone important too, and he wouldn't wish that for anybody.

So he sends Derek what he hopes to be a reassuring smile, trying to show him that yes, it sucks, but he's okay. He thinks it comes out grimmer than anything else, though, not that he should expect any other kind of facial expression when he's talking about his mom and how she's not alive anymore.

But Derek's answer to his failed attempt at make light of things is to lick his lips and tilt his chin up in acknowledgement.

And Stiles thinks he should feel guilty that the sight of Derek's pink tongue is enough to make him forget about his mom.

At least long enough for him to start thinking about Derek's tongue on him and how he would taste and if his lips are as soft as they look from where he's standing.

He shifts in place a little bit so Derek won't see his dick twitch.

Lydia's voice floods the parking lot just then, telling the riders to get to their respective places in line so the run can start.

Derek gives Stiles his spare helmet with white bunny ears glued to it, and at Stiles confused face he explains, "There's always someone who doesn't have a rider."

"You're lucky this goes with the rest of my suit," Stiles jokes, gesturing at himself.

He gets another lip twitch from Derek at that, the heavy air the was surrounding then disappears as they start to get ready and Stiles asks Derek to check his makeup for him.

"I need to know if my bunny face still stands," Stiles tells him seriously when Derek just gives him an exasperated look.

Stiles makeup is, in fact, standing.

"Your whiskers look a little shaky, though," Derek says, tapping one of his fingers against Stiles' left cheek.

"Don't mock the whiskers, man," Stiles bats his hand away. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw on yourself?"

"It's not that hard."

And Stiles knows deflection when he sees it. So he blinks at Derek and asks, "You did your own makeup, didn't you?"

He notices the way Derek's shoulders minutely tense before he forces himself to relax, his eyes raking over the parking lot before settling on Stiles.

Only to look back out at the other bikes when Derek gives him his most unimpressed stare.

"I might have had help," Derek admits, playing with the bunny ears glued to his helmet.

"Might have," Stiles repeats, trying really hard to keep his face blank and not collapse on himself giggling like an idiot over how cute Derek looks right now.

"I had help," Derek admits, and Stiles can see the tip of his ears turning red.

"From whom?"

When Derek doesn't answer, Stiles assumes the worst.

Which is why he blurts out, "Your girlfriend?" before he can really stop himself.

Derek makes a face at him at that, a mixture between dread and disgust that immediately has Stiles asking, "Boyfriend?"

He's not ready for the way Derek's expression smooths out at that, only to be replaced by one of-

Could that be embarrassment?

"No boyfriend," Derek says shyly, fingers playing with the zipper of his jacket.

Yep, definitely embarrassment.

And Stiles doesn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful that Derek won't meet his gaze, because that way he doesn't see the delighted grin that breaks across Stiles' face from knowing Derek's single.

"Who was it, then?" Stiles teases, tongue poking out from between his teeth.

Derek looks even more uncomfortable, if that's possible, which only makes Stiles want to cup his face between his hands and kiss him.

Derek mutters something under his breath that Stiles doesn't quite catch, taking a step closer to Derek and leaning in a little, "What was that?"

There's a little more avoiding looking Stiles in the eye and fiddling with his zipper before Derek finally says, "My mother helped me."

Stiles' first instinct is to laugh.

Because Derek, who looks like he should be on a reality tv show about badass hot bikers, had his mom help him with his bunny gear.

But then he thinks about the way Derek looked and sounded when he talked about his dad and things don't sound too funny anymore.

"Your mom did a good job."

Derek finally glances up at him at that, eyes a little wide in surprise before they turn a shade warmer and he says, "Thanks."

"Think she could be persuaded to do mine next year?" Stiles asks, and then adds, "So I don't have shaky whiskers and all."

"I'll see what I can do," Derek says flatly, his amused only visible by the glint in his eyes.

"Maybe you could put in a good word for me," Stiles rocks on his heels. "Tell her how awesome of a riding partner I am."

Lydia's voice comes through the speakers again, letting them all know they have five more minutes to get their things together and get in place.

"I guess we'll see if you're as good as you think you are," Derek tells him, checking his helmet to make sure his ears are glued right.

"I'm even better," Stiles winks at him, ignoring the way his face heats when Derek just rolls his eyes at him before moving to check Stiles' helmet.

"Thanks, man," Stiles says when he's done, fiddling with the rest of his suit before putting on his helmet, closing the straps under his chin.

Derek gives him another one of his shrugs as he deals with his own helmet, turning to look at Stiles when he just stands there, doing nothing.

"Aren't you going to climb up?"

And Stiles feels his stomach drop as he realizes that climbing up means getting behind Derek.

With his crotch snuggled close to Derek's ass.

Holding on to him.

And just really being pressed up against his back as they ride.

Stiles really really tries to stay mad at Lydia, but when he looks at the inviting place right behind Derek on the bike, he can't muster up the energy.

Stiles stays where he is until Derek crosses his arms over his chest, and he doesn't even have to look at Derek to know he has both of his eyebrows raised.

So he braces a hand on Derek's shoulder, throws a leg over the bike, and immediately starts thinking about his dad and Scott's mom having sex.

Because Derek's back is warm against his chest and he smells like leather and wind and fucking pine needles and Stiles does not need a boner right now.

Really, he doesn't.

And he's so distracted by how good Derek smells that he almost misses the horn marking the beginning of the race, winding his arms around Derek's waist and holding the fuck on just in time for them to take off.

Stiles is not new to the feeling of riding with someone.

He's been doing it with Scott for years, so he knows to lean sideways at the curves and hold on if he doesn't want to slide off and ignore what the vibrations between his legs do to his dick.

He's learned to ignored all of that when he was riding with Scott, because Scott is his brother and he most certainly doesn't press back against him or pulls at his wrist so that he's holding on tighter or shifts the muscles of his stomach every time Stiles moves his hands.

When Derek touches his wrist for the third time in twenty minutes, Stiles might think that there's a real possibility that not only Derek likes guys but that he also likes Stiles. That he enjoys having Stiles against him, Stiles' arms around his waist, Stiles' hands on his stomach, Stiles' chin bumping lightly against Derek's shoulders every time Stiles turns his head to look at his right.

So it's no wonder that the first miles of riding with Derek are hell.

And Stiles has no idea how he's supposed to be delivering chocolate eggs to children when it's possible that his suit won't be able to hide the semi he's sporting.

The worst part of this whole thing is that, for two hours, they don't stop.

The race is organized in a way so the riders will pass by the most crowded places of Beacon Hills before going back to the hospital. It brings more money for the charity that way, if people can see them and wave at them when they're getting out of work or going grocery shopping or picking their kids up at school.

Stiles holds himself as still as possible so Derek won't feel how much Stiles is enjoying this particular ride, distracting himself from his blue balls by waving at the people walking down the sidewalk, making faces to little kids, and yelling out a "Hi, Dad!" when they drive by the police station and he can see his dad coming out of his car.

It's not until they get to the firehouse and the entire battalion comes out to support the riders, some of them screaming "Looking good, Stiles!", that Stiles can feel the vibrations of Derek laughing under his hands.

He's glad he's sitting behind Derek right now, so that way Derek can't see his cheeks flush and his smile curl into a an embarrassed smile.

But he still doesn't hesitate to poke Derek in the ribs for laughing at him, cursing himself when that makes Derek shift in place and slide back closer to Stiles.

And that's Derek's ass pressed against Stiles' crotch.

Where Stiles' dick is.

Half hard.

Stiles takes a minute to thank the gods of the highway when the little choked-up moan he lets out gets washed away by the roar of the bikes next to them.

And Derek doesn't move.

Well, except for pinching the back of Stiles' hand in retaliation, he doesn't move.

He doesn't make any effort to slide down the bike and go back to sitting the way he was before. He just stays there, ass to crotch and back to chest, like he can't feel the quickly hardening line of Stiles' cock pressed against him.

Stiles swallows hard.

This isn't going the way he planned.

Not that he had time to plan anything other than getting this race done with and dragging Derek to one of the hospital's supply closet and going down on him.

And then maybe invite him to dinner.

And this isn't helping Stiles' situation.

So he settles for paying attention to the riders around them, the wind on his face, on putting itching powder on Scott's firefighter gear, and plotting Lydia's murder.

But after a while his focus narrows down to all the points of contact he and Derek have between them when they're like this, the warmth of him, the feel of him, the scent of him, and how fucking amazing it is to have him between Stiles' spread thighs.

And now Stiles wishes they could just take a left on the next street and stop by one of the coffee shops, buy themselves a cup, sit down on a booth, and talk.

You know, get to know each other.

And then get to know each other naked.

And have orgasms together.

His hands spasm against Derek's stomach, his legs clinging tighter to him and the bike as he bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from making a sound, and Stiles could swear he feels Derek lean back a little further against his chest.

Not that he has time to figure out if that really happened, considering they're already driving back to the hospital and soon he'll have to face little kids and their hunger for chocolate.

And their parents' love for guys in bunny suits.

Stiles doesn't want to talk about it.

He's been hit on and traumatized enough times by now.

And if it wasn't for how much all the kids seem to like his costume, he would have chopped it to pieces a long time ago.

They drive around Beacon Hills pressed close together, not really making any attempts to pass the other bikers and win the race.

Stiles has the feeling that this isn't about winning for Derek.

It's about helping people and giving little kids something to look for, something to make them happy about and smile and get their minds off whatever it is that's keeping them locked in sterilized hospital rooms.

Much like it is for him.

When he and Scott were kids they never really got any eggs for themselves, which Stiles supposes is fair, considering they weren't in the hospital, just at the hospital, visiting his mom.

They'd see the commotion from Stiles' mom's hospital room and beg Mrs. McCall or the Sheriff to take them down to the parking lot and see the start of the run. Once people saw the two little boys vibrating with excitement, they'd waste no time in getting bunny ears for them to wear and drawing on their noses and cheeks so they could join in on the fun.

And that's why Stiles always makes a point of having this day off and participating on the run. So he can give other kids the much needed break they sometimes need in their lives.

He must be clinging closer to Derek as he thinks that, because next thing he knows he has a warm hand covering his own, fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles and squeezing his wrist before letting go.

Stiles smiles a little and, wondering if he's reading this right, bumps his chin against Derek's shoulder in silent thanks, going back to watching his surroundings.

Not before feeling Derek relax in front of him, though.

And now, since he's not thinking about sad things anymore, he has time to think about Derek.

And how much he wants to sleep with him.

Or at least get a chance to.

He comes up with so many scenarios about him and Derek having sex that he almost misses the green dirt bike coming up beside them on the street.

The reason he doesn't miss it is because Allison takes one look at his suit and starts waving a hand around like she's going to die if Stiles doesn't see her, and Derek ends up bringing an elbow back and hitting Stiles in the ribs.

He's so startled that he almost falls of the bike, saved by the iron grip Derek suddenly has on his arm, pulling Stiles to him.

When Stiles turns to wave back at Allison he takes one look at the way her head is tilted to the side and the dangerous glint in her eyes and he knows he's going to be hearing about this later.

Especially when Scott's eyes rake past him only for him to do a double take, going from Stiles to the way he's clinging to Derek's waist. And then he smiles and lets go on the bike with one hand to give him a thumbs-up.

Stiles' friends, seriously.

And then there's Derek, head turned to the side in silent question as he takes in the exchange.

Stiles shrugs one shoulder, hoping Derek will feel the movement against his back and let it be for now.

He does.

The rest of the race goes by without anything too exciting happening.

And by too exciting it means that with the exception of a few riders who run out of gas half way through the race and a couple who crashes into a bench when the driver's bunny ears fall on his face, everything is pretty chill.

Stiles continues to think about all the ways he wants Derek to sex him up, not really paying attention to where they're going until the hospital comes into view.

He tries not to feel disappointed when Derek parks the bike, because that means he doesn't have an excuse to touch Derek anymore.

At least not an easy one.

Stiles still lingers a little after they stop, mentally checking himself to make sure his suit will cover everything that needs covering - meaning: his dick - once he finally gets off the bike.

He gets his hands on Derek's shoulders when he climbs off, thumbs resting against the soft skin on the back of Derek's neck. He thinks Derek shudders at his touch, and Stiles can't really help but smile smugly to himself when he sees the back of Derek's neck start to flush.

Yeah, he's reading this right.

They both take off their helmets at the same time and run their hands through their hairs, Derek's matted to his forehead while Stiles' sticks up everywhere.

"Come on," Stiles says when Derek doesn't move. "We need to get the eggs and go around spreading joy."

He turns on his back, but not before he can hear Derek mutter, "Wanted to spread something else."

Stiles trips.

That's the only acceptable action to what he just heard.

Tripping.

Because Derek wants to spread something else.

And please let that something else be Stiles, spread over Derek's bed or Derek's bike or Derek's back.

He's not picky.

What he is, though, is currently on his way to falling face down on the floor.

That is until Derek's suddenly there, behind him, his hands gripping Stiles upper arms and pulling him back against Derek's chest.

As soon as Stiles had his balance back, he steps back.

He knows what being close to Derek does to him, and he can't go and be around kids with a semi.

There are laws against that.

Stiles should know, his dad is the Sheriff.

So he quickly glances back at Derek's face, the way his brows are coming together in a frown, before saying, "Lets go, big guy. We have work to do."

Stiles notices how stiff Derek's posture is as they get their respectives Easter baskets from a volunteer near the hospital entrance, each of them containing ten chocolate eggs, and go to work.

He figures it's because, although he is here and he is helping, Derek doesn't like hospitals.

Stiles knows he must have looked the same way the first few times he had to come back here after his mom died.

He chooses not to say anything about it to Derek, though. He knows he didn't like when people wanted to talk to him about what happen, so he extends him the same courtesy.

Instead, Stiles nods at people he knows while they walk around the hallways to their destination, stopping to hug and kiss Scott's mom on the cheek when he sees she's on shift.

That earns him an inquisitive raised eyebrow from Derek, who so far hasn't open his mouth to ask Stiles anything he wants to know or even make an off-comment about the doctor that just ran past then with his scrubs covered in puke.

"She's my best friend's mom," Stiles tells him anyway. "And she's dating my dad."

Derek gives him a nod, and Stiles takes that as permission to keep going.

If Derek doesn't want to fill the silence, he will.

"My best friend was the one in the green dirt bike that gave us the thumbs us. I was also supposed to be riding with him, by the way, so if you want to blame someone for getting stuck with me he's the one you should talk to," Stiles says, getting on the elevator. "He's a firefighter at the same station I'm an EMT at and his girlfriend is a trauma doctor here at the ER. I guess today was the first day off they had at the same time in forever, so when she heard he was going to be on the race, she asked if she could ride with him."

"So here you are," Derek says as they get to their floor and the elevator doors open.

Before they can step out Stiles grabs Derek by the arm and says, "I can't let you go in there without warning you first."

Derek blinks at him, "Warning me about what?"

"The moms," Stiles whispers.

"The moms," Derek deadpans, only to have Stiles put a hand over his mouth and hiss, "They'll hear you."

Derek's eyebrows are at his hairline by the time Stiles realizes he's covering Derek's lips with the palm of his hand, but he still doesn't let go.

He can't let Derek in there without proper warning.

If he wants to take him out and fuck him with their bunny makeup still on, then Stiles needs to make sure he won't get traumatized first.

"They're vicious," Stiles says, leaning in conspiratorially and keeping his voice low. "They take one look at good-looking seemingly single young men and wait for them to be distracted by the kids before they attack."

Stiles ignores the way he can feel Derek's lips move against his hand, because this is important.

"And by attack I mean feeling you up when you're not looking or cornering you right as you're leaving and propositioning you by asking if bunnies really do fuck nonstop."

Stiles notices the terrified gleam in Derek's eyes as he says this, and now that he knows he's been taken seriously he lets his hand drop to his side.

"Do they really do that?" Derek asks, voice cracking at the end.

"Yes," Stiles nods, raising a hand when Derek opens his mouth again. "I can tell you all about moms squeezing my tail and asking me how big my carrot is some other time, but first I need you to understand how dangerous they are."

Derek licks his lips before looking from the basket he's carrying back to the hallway in front of them.

"If you promise to let me eat the eggs that we don't deliver," Stiles starts, refusing to squirm at the way Derek's eyes narrow at this. "Then I'll promise not to leave you alone long enough for one of them to get to you."

"I think I can handle a few moms," Derek says, but Stiles can hear the underlying uncertainty in his voice.

Fuck, Stiles really wanted those eggs.

Which is why he crosses his arms over his chest and gives Derek his most condescending look, "Oh, can you?"

Stiles has to say he's enjoying teasing Derek.

He likes the way the tip of Derek's ears turn red, his eyes glancing everywhere and never staying at one point for too long, his fingers tapping a random beat against his thigh, and his absolute refusal to give in and admit defeat.

"I'll be fine," Derek answers, scowling down at his basket.

Stiles snorts at him, rolling his eyes. "Don't come asking me for help when you're getting bad touched by soccer moms."

"I said I'll be fine."

Stiles raises his hands in surrender, "Alright, dude. Whatever you say."

Derek just directs his scowl at him before turning on his back and walking down the hallway to where they're supposed to meet the kids, not looking back to see if Stiles is following.

Stiles isn't, by the way.

He's too busy covering his mouth with his hands to keep the squeal he wants to let out in.

Because Derek scowling at him while wearing bunny ears and having whiskers drawn on his face is adorable, okay?

So Stiles waits for a few seconds until he doesn't feel the need to coo at Derek anymore before trailing behind, making sure to check his suit and bunny ears as he's walking.

He's still mourning the loss of his leftover chocolate eggs when he gets to the room the kids are supposed to be.

He just has time to plaster a smile on his face before they're both crossing the threshold and being jumped by little screaming kids, all of them wearing their own set of ears and bunny makeup.

Stiles tries not to melt into a puddle on the ground, but he doesn't think he's that successful.

Not when he bends down to hug and kiss the kids closer to him, leaving Derek to deal with his own little army as they try to walk further inside the room.

There are parents leaning against the windows and walls with their phones out, filming the scene with a grin on their faces, and Stiles can almost make out a few moms who get that dangerous gleam in their eyes as they watch both of them interacting with their kids.

Not that Stiles is any better when he turns his head to talk to Derek and promptly forgets everything he is going to say.

Two seconds ago all Stiles wanted out of life was Derek's dick up his ass.

And now he has this.

Derek with a little girl dressed as a bunny princess on his arm, snuggled close to his chest, trying to place her tiara on top of Derek's head.

If Stiles thought that Derek trying to look angry at him while dressed as a bunny was cute, than this has nothing on that.

This is cuteness overload.

This is too much.

This is cause of death: Derek wearing a tiara.

So Stiles swallows hard, shakes his head to clear all images of what his and Derek's kids would look like, and goes back to the children.

He wastes no time in calling them all out closer to him and asking from them to sit in a circle, trying to ignore the way Derek just smiles a little at him as he takes his place next to a little boy with blue bunny ears and missing his front teeth.

"Now," Stiles clasps his hands in front of him, wrinkling his nose when everyone turns their attention to him. "Who wants some chocolate eggs?"

It's pure chaos from then on.

Stiles grabs his basket and makes sure each kid gets an egg, all the while keeping an eye out for the moms who seem to be smiling a little too broad whenever he bends down to give one of the kids a hug or their chocolate.

Derek waits until Stiles' basket is empty before getting up and starting on his, ruffling little boys' hairs and waving his fingers at little girls and grinning at everybody.

That is until he stops right in front of a mom and bends over to talk to a kid.

Stiles doesn't think he'll ever forget the full body twitch Derek gives, muscles tensing, smiling freezing in place.

He also thinks he'll have nightmares about the wicked grin one of the moms has on her face, and the way she brings the hand that a second ago was groping Derek up to her throat and how she licks her lips as her eyes zero in on Derek's ass.

Stiles goes as far as taking a step forward to try and save Derek from the clutches of single moms, but then he remembers how Derek told him he could handle it and that he'd be fine. So he just blows him a kiss when Derek lifts his head up to look at him and pleads for help with his eyes.

He knows he's being an asshole, but it's that just those chocolate eggs are really good.

Half an hour later and they're done, Derek's basket with three eggs left, both of them worn out from playing with the children for almost two hours, and Stiles sharing the horrors that were a few of the moms.

They have equally little pleased smiles on their faces as they gather their things and make their way out of the room.

Or at least Stiles does, because when he looks back over his shoulder to talk to Derek he sees that Derek's currently being crowded up against a wall by the mom who felt him up earlier.

Stiles thinks about pretending he didn't see anything and going on his merry way, but when he sees the pure terror on Derek's face he takes a deep breath, braces himself, starts walking, and really hopes he doesn't get punched in the face.

"Hey, babe," Stiles says as he plasters himself to Derek's side, widing an arm around his waist and hooking his fingers through one of Derek's belt loops. "You ready to go?"

Derek just blinks at him for a couple of seconds before setting his hand on the back of Stiles' neck, lips twitching up as his ears redden and he leans in and says, "Yeah, sure."

They just stare at each other then, Stiles holding himself as still as possible so he doesn't give in to his desire to close the distance between them and brush his lips to Derek's.

"Well," and the mom who was about to molest Derek actually looks a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to say that you two did a wonderful job with the kids."

Yeah, right.

"You don't have to thanks us, ma'am," Stiles smiles charmingly at her. "You and the other parents have wonderful kids. Don't you think so, honey?"

"I do," Derek says, not breaking his gaze from Stiles. "I wonder if our kids are going to be half as cute as theirs."

Stiles entire body tenses, fingers clutching tightly at the material of Derek's jacket as he swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and forces himself to smile, "Please. With you for a dad they won't be anything less than amazing."

"Aw," the woman coos at them, eyes shiny and bright. "By what we saw today with the children, I'm sure you'll make great parents."

Stiles ignores the way his stomach flips at that, settling for keeping his smile on his face and looking at anywhere but Derek.

"Thank you," Derek tells her. "That's very nice of you."

"No worries," she waves a hand in front of her. "Well, I should get back. It was nice meeting you. And thank you for today, really."

"You're welcome," they both say in unison, watching as she walks back into the room.

Derek doesn't let go of him until they're getting inside the elevator, thumb rubbing circles against the skin of Stiles' neck as they wait for the door to close, but Stiles can feel the rigid muscles of Derek's back against his hand and see the way his lips are pressed together in a thin line.

As soon as it does Stiles steps back, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing to stare anywhere but at Derek.

Because he doesn't know what he's feeling, doesn't know what this little ball of warmth in his chest means, doesn't know why it melted his heart into a puddle of goo when he was close to Derek.

"Stiles?"

Stiles startles so bad he ends up hitting his elbow on the wall, hissing as the pain creeps up his entire arm up to his shoulder.

"Fucking hell," Stiles swears under his breath, rubbing his elbow.

Or trying to, until he feels a hand wrap around his upper arm while the other holds him right under his elbow.

And that's Derek, rubbing his fingers against Stiles' arm.

Touching him.

And there's the little warmth spreading through his chest and down his arms to the point where Derek's hands are on him and this needs to stop.

Especially when Derek leans close, staring at him with genuine concern on his hazel eyes, and asks, "You okay?"

And Stiles can't handle this, okay?

He's reached his limit.

There's only so much sexual frustration one guy can take before he breaks.

So Stiles pulls his arm back from Derek's warm hands and cradles it against his chest, "Yeah, dude. I'm fine."

"You sure?" Derek asks, not looking convinced.

"Yep," Stiles says, popping the 'p'. "Not the first time I hit a wall."

Derek arches an eyebrow at him, bringing his hand up to touch Stiles again only to have Stiles step back and plaster himself against the wall.

Stiles swallows hard when a flash of hurt and confusion pass over Derek's face, taking a deep breath before saying, "I'm okay. Really. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

Derek just stares at him, nodding his head when he figures Stiles must be telling the truth.

But the silence between them doesn't feel comfortable anymore. It feels awkward and stiff and there, making itself known with the way Derek glares at the floor and Stiles goes back to looking at anywhere but him.

"I'm sorry about that," Stiles says, breaking the silence because he can't take it anymore. "I mean, about pretending to be your boyfriend. I just saw how horrified you looked and I thought that the fastest way to get you away from her was to pretend we were together."

"That's okay," Derek answers, clearing his throat. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Stiles nods.

His eyes are glued to the elevator panel, so he misses the way Derek's brows furrow, the hard line of his mouth, the way he crosses his arms across his chest, shifts on his heels, and stares at Stiles like he has no idea what the fuck is going on.

Stiles is the first one to step outside the elevator and start walking towards the volunteer collecting the empty baskets, Derek a silent presence behind him.

They still don't talk as they make their way to the parking lot, Stiles trying to come up with a way to make things okay between them again.

Because he so desperately wants things to be okay between them.

He wants things to be so fucking okay between them that when he gathers enough courage to ask Derek out, he'll say yes.

But he can't think of anything to say, and the closer they get to where Derek's bike is parked the less Stiles can come up with anything.

And then Derek's walking in front of him, stopping, and then turning on his heels so he's standing directly in front of Stiles, his bunny ears perched dangerously low on his head.

"Here," and Derek's grabbing Stiles' wrist and dropping something in the palm of his hand. "You can have them."

"I-" Stiles looks from the three chocolate eggs he's now holding to Derek and back to the eggs again, thinking what is this and does this mean he likes me and should I offer him one. "Thank you," is what Stiles says instead, smiling softly.

"Sure," Derek grunts, throwing a leg over his bike and zipping up his jacket.

"No, really, thank-," Stiles gets interrupted by Derek starting the bike, and he just has time to yell, "See you later!" before Derek is putting on his helmet and driving off without looking back.

And without giving Stiles any time to ask for his phone number.

Well, fuck.

"So, who was that guy Lydia got you riding with?"

Stiles can't really help the dreamy little sigh he lets out when he thinks about Derek.

That's all he's being doing lately, you know, thinking about Derek.

About why he was acting so weird by the time they were done with the race and about how cute he looked as a bunny and about how hot it felt to be pressed up against him when they were riding the bike and about how sad it is that Stiles didn't even get his phone number.

He even went as far as begging Lydia to give it to him, since he knows everyone register to the race has to fill in a form and give them a contact number.

Lydia said no.

And then she called him pathetic.

"I gave you the perfect opportunity for you to do something about it," Lydia says, her tone serious. "If you screwed up, that's not my problem."

Stiles doesn't know why he's friends with her, really.

So when he and Scott are at Scott's mom's house waiting for the Weekly McCall-Stilinski Dinner to commence and Scott asks him about Derek, Stiles sighs.

"That was Derek," Stiles says absentmindedly, watching as Mrs. McCall starts bringing the food out and his dad finishes setting the table.

"Derek...?" Scott looks at him expectantly.

Stiles opens his mouth only to snap it back shut, because he doesn't remember.

He remembers feeling like he got punched in the gut when he laid eyes on him, but he doesn't remember if Lydia told him Derek's last name.

"Stiles?"

Stiles shakes his head at Scott, feeling a little bit sick. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't remember his last name."

Scott just blinks at him, "Really."

"Really," Stiles snaps at him. "I was distracted, okay? Like you get whenever Allison wears that black strapless dress with no back that she has."

"Yeah," Scott's eyes glaze over. "She looks beautiful."

"Ugh," Stiles drops his head to the table.

"No using furniture as weapons during dinner," the Sheriff scolds him as he and Mrs. McCall join them on the table.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbles, smoothing the wrinkles on the tablecloth with his hand.

"What's gotten into you?" Scott's mom asks him as she serves Stiles' dad a healthy portion of carrots and spinach, kissing him on the cheek when he makes a face at his plate.

"Stiles is in love," Scott pipes up, dodging to the side when Stiles throws a napkin at him and yells, "I'm not!"

"Who's the lucky girl?" the Sheriff asks, completely ignoring his son's protests that he's not in love. "Or guy?"

"His name is Derek," Scott answers before Stiles can open his mouth, smirking when Stiles turns to glare at him.

"Derek...?" Mrs. McCall waves a hand in front of her.

"Stiles doesn't remember his last name."

And that's it.

Stiles is firing Scott as his best friend.

"I'm firing you as my best friend."

Scott just grins at him, "No, you're not."

"So, Stiles," the Sheriff starts. "How did you two meet?"

When no one answers Stiles turns to Scott and asks, "Aren't you going to go ahead and answer that for me, too?"

Scott takes a sip of his beer, shrugs one shoulder and says, "Okay," before going on about how Allison wanted to be on the race so Stiles had to get Lydia to find him another driver, and when Scott drove by him during the run Stiles was, "kind of sitting really close to him? Like, glued to his back? That's why I didn't really recognize him at first. I just thought they were a really fat dude."

"Half-dressed in a bunny suit?" Stiles raises an eyebrow at him.

Scott shrugs.

"So you're in love with this Derek person," Scott's mom chimes in, getting them back on track.

"Guy," Scott says, snickering when Stiles murmurs, "Hot Guy. On a bike."

He's so busy glaring down at this plate that he doesn't really notice that everyone's staring at him until he serves himself of some of Mrs. McCall's lasagna.

"What?" Stiles asks, sounding defensive.

Anyone in his place would be, too, if they were suddenly faced with Scott's mom's nurse face and his dad's I Am The Sheriff expression and Scott's shit-eating grin.

"I'm not in love with him," Stiles denies, ignoring that neither of them even asked him if he was.

"That's good," the Sheriff eyes him dubiously. "Because for what I can tell you've only met him once. Talked to him twice."

"There's a special bond that's formed when you save someone from the clutches of soccer moms," Scott informs them, getting a pat on the back from Stiles and a hissed, "Scott", from his mom. "Plus, Stiles doesn't believe in love at first sight."

This, right there, is why Scott is Stiles' best friend.

He doesn't hesitate to lie in front of their parents about something everyone knows it's true. Because when you grow up seeing the love his dad and his mom had only to get older and see your best friend have the same kind of relationship with a girl, it kind of makes you a believer.

So he knows his voice sounds weak when he says, "That's right."

And that's why it only takes an offended look from his dad for him to come clean about it.

"Okay, that's a lie. We all know it's a lie and that I do believe in love at first sight, but," Stiles trails off, focusing his gaze on his lap before he keeps going. "I'm not in love with him. Not really. I don't know him well enough, or at all, to have those kinds of feelings for him, but I like him. And yeah, maybe we really did only met once and didn't talk much, but I like what I saw. And I'd like to see more of it, get to know him, take him out for coffee and find out when he started riding and if he likes strawberry ice cream and if he asked him mom for help drawing his bunny whiskers or if she offered."

No one says anything after that.

Scott gives him a nod, Mrs. McCall smiles softly at him, and his dad stares at him like he knows something Stiles doesn't. They go back to eating dinner and talking about lighter topics like Scott being called to rescue Mrs. Agnes cat from a tree, Mrs. McCall finding new nursing shoes at half-price in a store downtown, the Sheriff winning a pool at the station on how long it'd get Officer Mills to get off his ass and finally ask the new dispatch lady out.

No one comments when Stiles doesn't offer his own story.

It's not until after they've eaten desert and Scott is drying the dishes Stiles washed that his dad finds him sitting on the porch, hands loosely clasped together over his stomach, thinking about what he'd do when he saw Derek again.

His dad sits beside him but doesn't say anything, settling for resting his hands against the top of Stiles' head like he did when Stiles was little.

"You know," the Sheriff says, staring straight ahead. "Beacon Hills is not that big of a town. I'm sure you'll see him again."

Stiles just presses his lips together, leans his head back against his dad's hand and hopes to hell his dad is right.

Stiles didn't really think that the next time he would see Derek would be because Derek was in a bike accident and Stiles was the EMT on call.

Nope.

He had hoped for a more agreeable scenario, with Stiles not in a bunny costume or at work and Derek not being bad touched my single moms or possibly dying and where they'd both be going out to dinner somewhere and then going back to Stiles' place so they could take off all of their clothes and fuck each other until they couldn't move anymore.

Until they couldn't move anymore because they were so fucked out and spent that even a trip to the bathroom to grab a wet cloth to clean themselves up would be too much, and not because one of them was currently in a neck brace and being loaded into an ambulance to be driven to the hospital due to get a CAT-scan because he had been in a bike accident and had a concussion.

At least Stiles got a last name, though.

Hale.

Derek Hale.

And he can't really say he's disappointed by this turn of events when Derek finally wakes up, takes one look at him, and slurs out, "Bunny."

Stiles tries not to choke on his own spit or look delightfully surprised at this.

By the way Danny looks at him from the rearview mirror and raises an eyebrow, he doesn't succeed.

"Hey, big guy," Stiles gives Derek a small smile as he focuses on checking his vitals and making sure Derek's brains aren't leaking out of his ears. "I didn't think you'd remember me."

Derek blinks owlishly at him before narrowing his eyes and saying, "I remember."

"Well," Stiles licks his lips, ignoring the way his stomach flips because this is wrong and Derek is injured and this is not the time to be flirting with him. "That's good. So do you also remember what I do for a living?"

"You're pretty," Derek blinks a couple more times, raising his left hand and gesturing wildly to Stiles' face or any part of the ambulance around him. "Really pretty."

Stiles opens his mouth only to close it again when he hears Danny choking on a laugh from the driver's seat.

And it's not like he knows what to say to that, at least not when he's supposed to be making sure Derek doesn't die on his way to the hospital.

Now, if they were on that date Stiles wants them to be, things would be different.

Like, Stiles probably would have jumped him by now.

So he settles for blushing and clicking his tongue before saying, "Thank you."

And just as he's about to keep going Derek answers, "You're welcome, Bunny."

Stiles presses his lips together in a thin line and feels torn between wanting to coo or die of embarrassment.

Judging by the way he can hear Danny laughing from the front of the ambulance he knows he should choose the latter. Because there's no doubt in Stiles' mind that as soon as they leave Derek in the capable hands of the Beacon Hills Hospital staff, Danny will be texting all of their friends to let them know about all of this.

"Well, Derek," Stiles tries again, ignoring the way Derek's face softens and his lips twitch up when Stiles says his name. "I'm an EMT and you're in my ambulance."

Derek was pretty out of it when Stiles and Danny got to the scene, his bike a mangled mess in the middle of the road and Derek stretched out on the sidewalk unconscious and with his helmet thrown to the side as the police tried to keep people away from the scene.

"Ambulance?" Derek repeats, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes," Stiles nods encouragingly, trying not to find him adorable and failing. "Do you remember what happened?"

Derek takes a few seconds to answer, brow furrowed in what could be concentration.

Or pain.

Stiles is not really sure.

"Bike accident?"

Stiles nods again, letting himself feel a little relieved that Derek possibly remembers what happened to him.

"That's right," Stiles says. "You were in a bike accident."

"Head hurts," Derek mumbles.

"You have a concussion, buddy," Stiles tells him. "Your helmet did a good job, but your brains still got a little scrambled when you fell off the bike."

"I liked you on my bike," Derek says, completely oblivious to the way Stiles almost chokes on his tongue and Danny starts laughing again. "Behind me."

Stiles fights the urge to fist pump when Danny is the one to choke on his own spit, but mostly because he's too busy thinking about the implications of what Derek is admitting to when he's concussed.

"You have a really nice bike," is what Stiles ends up blurting out for a lack of having a decent response to what Derek said.

"Your face is nice," Derek slurs at him. "Your nose. Your moles."

"Derek-" and Stiles doesn't know whether he wants Derek to stop forever oh my god or just keep going yes please.

Not that he really has a choice in the end when Derek says, "Your mouth is the nicest."

Stiles doesn't think he's ever been happier when Danny croaks out in a strangled voice that, "We're here."

He's never been more disappointed, either.

But he focuses on helping Danny open the back door of the ambulance and wheel Derek out, listening to Danny tell the nurses and doctor that are waiting for them in front of the hospital what happened.

"Hands, too."

"He hurt his hands?" the doctor reaches for Derek's left and hand lifts it.

"No, he-" Danny tries, only to be interrupted by Derek saying, "Bunny's hands are nice."

"Oh, god," Stiles groans, wondering that he did in his past lives to deserve this.

"You didn't mention he's hallucinating," the doctor narrows her eyes at both Danny and Stiles.

"He's not," Stiles shakes his head, swallowing hard before saying, "I'm Bunny."

"I like you, Bunny," Derek says from his place on the stretcher. "And your face."

"And his hands," Danny pipes up, earning a glare from Stiles.

"Yes," Derek tries to nod, only to be stopped by the neck brace he's still wearing. "Nice hands. And arms. Wrapped around me. On my bike."

Stiles tries.

He really does.

But he can't help they way his lips twitch up when Derek keeps blinking and smiling at him.

And then the doctor clears her throat and all the guilt comes crashing down, because Derek is lying in a stretcher and he's at the hospital and he's hurt and Stiles shouldn't be thinking he's about the cutest person he's ever seen.

"Right," Stiles licks his lips, nodding at the people around them before tipping his head back down to talk to Derek. "I have to go now, but these people here are going to make sure everything's okay with you, alright Derek?"

"You're leaving?" Derek's brows furrow at that, the lines of his mouth hardening.

"Yeah, buddy," Stiles says, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat because Derek looks so fucking fragile and vulnerable and concussed that all Stiles wants is to stay here with him until he's okay. "I have to go back to work."

"Come back?" Derek asks him, his voice much more clear and steady in those two words than they have been so far.

And Stiles knows this is a fight he's not going to win, not even when he doesn't know if Derek will remember any of this when he's cleared to sleep without someone waking him up every hour.

Because ever since getting that call at the fire station and getting in the ambulance, to drive out and find out that it was Derek that was in an accident and it was Derek that was injured, Stiles knows that he's fucked.

Majorly fucked.

Because he really meant it when he said he wants to get to know Derek. They might have only seen each other twice now, but Stiles liked what he saw at the hospital. It was enough to make him want to see more, to know more, to find out more things about Derek.

Derek Hale.

So when Derek asks him to come back, all Stiles can say is, "Yeah, I'll come back."

Because he will.

Even if Derek had spent the entire ambulance ride to the hospital listing all of the reasons why Stiles is the most annoying human being in Beacon Hills, Stiles still would have stopped by the hospital to make sure Derek was okay.

Because again, Stiles doesn't know Derek, not really, but he'd like to.

"Good," Derek licks his lips, giving Stiles one last smile before saying, "See you later, Bunny."

Stiles rolls his eyes at that, smiling despite himself. "See you later, big guy."

Stiles forces himself not to look back as they wheel Derek away and he and Danny make their way back to the ambulance.

Not that he thinks he's going to be able to keep quiet judging by the way Danny keeps glancing at him as they walk.

He manages to avoid the interrogation until they close the doors of the ambulance and climb back up, Danny in the driver's seat while Stiles hops in the passenger side.

"So," Danny starts. "What was that all about, Bunny?"

Stiles pulls the door shut and turns to make a face at Danny, "How hard do I have to grovel at your feet to ask you not to tell that to anyone?"

"There isn't enough time in the world," Danny smiles at him, dimples and all.

"Thank you, Satan," Stiles deadpans.

"You're welcome," Danny tilts his chin up at him, starting the ambulance and driving off from the hospital. "But really, what was that all about?"

"Remember the Egg Run?" Stiles asks, waiting for Danny to nod his assent before he continues. "Well, you know that Scott was supposed to ride with me."

"But he went with Allison instead," Danny fills in.

"Yes," Stiles says, pursing his lips together because he knows he's not going to like having to say this. "And do you remember me mentioning a Hot Biker Guy?"

"Hot Biker Guy with perfectly sculpted facial hair and hazel eyes and chiseled chest and a facial bone structure that makes you want to swan dive into a volcano?"

Stiles blames Scott for that one, because as soon as he go to the firehouse the next day he told everyone about Stiles' little predicament.

"Yep," Stiles says, waving a hand in front of him. "That was Derek."

"Derek?"

"Yep."

"Hot Biker Guy was Derek?"

"Yes."

"Derek who calls you Bunny?"

"In the flesh."

"Because the first time you two met you were wearing that ugly bunny suit you insist on not throwing away," Danny says in a tone like he now understands the meaning of life.

"Hey," Stiles shouts, punching Danny in the shoulder as Danny yells, "No hitting the driver!"

"I will if he keeps offending my awesome costume," Stiles sniffs at him, settling back on his seat when Danny just rolls his eyes at him.

They drive in silence for a few seconds, that is until Danny opens his mouth and says, "Well, it clearly worked for Derek."

"Oh my god, I hate you so much," Stiles says, throwing his head back and staring at the ambulance ceiling. "I'm going to ask the Chief to change partners."

"Like Finstock would let you ride with Greenberg," Danny snorts.

"Ugh, why is this my life?" Stiles whines, screwing his eyes shut.

"You love me," Danny shrugs. "Don't even try to deny it."

"If it wasn't for our sacred EMT bond created over strangers' spilled blood and puke and other body fluids I don't like to think about, I would have ran you over with this ambulance a long time ago."

"That's a vivid image," Danny chances a glance at him before turning his eyes back on the road. "But you're still not denying it."

"One of these days I'm going to poison your coffee."

"Jackson will kill you."

"Lydia will kill him," Stiles raises an eyebrow at Danny.

Danny, who presses his lips together and curses, "Dammit."

Stiles lets out his most obnoxious laugh at that, because it's not everyday that someone bests Danny.

And he figures he should enjoy this while it lasts, because they're almost back at the fire station where Danny will tell everyone about what happened with Derek.

Not that Stiles has any illusions about keeping it a secret.

He's learned long ago that firefighters are worse gossips than nurses.

Or police officers.

It's a feat, really.

So he has absolutely zero doubts that as soon as they park the ambulance and step foot inside the firehouse everyone will know about him seeing Derek again and Derek calling him Bunny.

Which is exactly what happens.

Jackson is the first one to meet them, sneering at Stiles before clasping Danny on the shoulder and asking, "So, anything interesting?"

The thing is, being an EMT or a firefighter can be kind of... morbid.

The same way being a doctor or a nurse or a police officer can be.

And by that Stiles means that all of them have horror stories about their jobs.

Stories that they share, because none of them can keep their mouths shut.

So having someone ask if they have anything interesting to tell after coming back from a scene is not really that uncommon.

Unethical, but not uncommon.

So when they walk back to the kitchen and the rest of the company waves or nods their hellos, Stiles knows his time is up.

He makes sure to grab a mug and fill it with coffee before sitting down besides Scott on one of the couches, just waiting for the moment Danny decides to spill the news.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"You know we got called because of a bike accident, right?" Danny tells Jackson in a loud enough voice that he knows everyone will hear.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

It's not like he can get mad at Danny either.

Not when he was the one who told everyone about the old lady who was so grateful to have Danny assist her when she was stuck in an elevator for two hours that the first thing she did when they got out was to grope his ass.

And then tell him to wheel her chair to the closest bathroom so she could thank him properly.

Yeah.

Good times.

"Stiles knew the victim," Danny says after Jackson makes a gesture for him to keep going.

"Derek?" Scott turns to him, worried.

Stiles gives him a tight smile.

"Is he okay?"

Stiles nods, "Just a concussion. Nothing overly serious. He'll be okay."

"And not only Stiles knew the victim," Danny keeps going, tone teasing. "It was Hot Biker Guy," that gets an eyebrow raise from Jackson and a few catcalls from the other firefighters. "And he kept calling Stiles Bunny."

"Oh, god," Stiles hides his face behind his hand as he hears the sounds of Jackson choking on his water and the battalion collapsing on itself from laughing too hard.

He doesn't even want to know what face Scott is making right now.

So he stays exactly where he is, one hand clutching his coffee cup and the other one over his face, as Danny tells them the rest of the story, from Derek calling him pretty to asking him if he was going to come back to the hospital.

"Are you, though?" Scott asks, poking him in the shoulder.

"Am I what?"

"Going back to see him?"

Stiles lets his hand fall at that, blinks a few times before saying, "Well, yeah."

Scott makes a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat at that, and Stiles immediately turns to him, eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"Nothing," Scott shrugs. "I just think it's nice of you to do that."

"Really."

"Yeah, dude," Scott throws an arm around his shoulders. "You know he's gonna need something pretty to look at if Nurse Turnblad is the one making the rounds."

"Oh my god," Stiles pushes him off of him and to the ground. "Why am I even friends with you?"

"You shared your crayons with me in kindergarten," Scott says seriously. "There's no going back."

Stiles snorts a laugh and helps Scott up, scooting over so he can sit on the couch again.

Just as Scott opens his mouth to say something else the siren blasts across the station, dispatch letting them know about signs of smoke in the Preserve.

Scott sighs and gets up, stealing Stiles' mug and draining it all in three large gulps before following Jackson to get to their uniforms.

"Try not to get mauled by wild animals," Stiles yells from where's he's sitting.

"I'm not the one who should be worried about that, Bunny," Scott throws over his shoulder before stepping out of the kitchen.

His friends, really.

Stiles does as promised and goes back to see Derek at the hospital.

From the sympathetic glances nurses are sending his way as he walks down the hallways to where Derek's room is, he knows he must look as nervous as he feels.

He couldn't find the doctor that treated Derek when Stiles dropped him off, so he doesn't know the extent of the damage Derek's suffered from his concussion. He doesn't know if he even remembers anything that happened when he was in the ambulance with Stiles or that he admitted to liking having Stiles on the back of his back.

Among other things.

So Stiles is feeling a bit apprehensive when he finally gets to the door of Derek's room.

Only to find it open, with Derek inside struggling with his stiff muscles to get his leather jacket on and a girl with dark black hair sitting on the bed and stifling a laugh.

If Stiles didn't already know that Derek doesn't have a girlfriend, he might have been jealous.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?" Derek huffs.

At first Stiles thinks he's talking to him, but the sharp sound of the girl's laughter and the force of the glare Derek's directing at her makes him think otherwise.

"I don't know, Der," the girl gasps, wiping at her eyes with her thumb. "Watching you failing at putting your jacket on looks pretty funny to me."

The glare deepens, Derek's mouth joining in as his lips press into a thin line.

"Why are you even here?"

"I drew the short straw," the girl shrugs, and at the way Derek's shoulders drop and his jacket falls to the floor she adds, "I'm kidding. All the others had to work. Boyd and Cora are at the bar with mom, and Peter, Erica, and Isaac are overseeing something to do with car parts and shipping that I know nothing about."

"Like that's news," Derek rolls his eyes at her.

"Don't be cute," she narrows her eyes at him. "Or I won't help you with your clothes."

"You'll do it anyway," Derek smirks at her. "Otherwise I'll have to tell mom how unhelpful you were while I was hurt."

Stiles just blinks at the two of them, still going unnoticed.

Because that's Derek smirking at someone.

Like, his lips actually forming something close to a smile that's not just a twitch of muscle or the impression of one. It's right there and it makes him look five times more attractive than he already is, and the little warmth Stiles gets on his chest that he's come to associate with Derek comes back in full force.

It registers on some part of Stiles' mind that the person with Derek must be his sister, with her dark hair and sharp jaw and the way she's scowling at Derek right now.

But Stiles is too busy biting down on his bottom lip, thinking about turning on his back and walking away. Walking away from the way his chest feels tight and his body feels hot all over and his skin feels like it's stretched too thin over his bones.

And then the girl is reaching for Derek's jacket on the floor, and just as she closes her fingers around the fabric her eyes snap up and pin Stiles in place.

"Who are you?"

Stiles swallows hard as he sees Derek following her gaze to the door, Derek's hands clenching into fists and his expression closing off when they make eye contact.

This was a bad idea.

It's obvious Derek doesn't want him here; maybe doesn't even remember what happened and what he said.

He's just about to open his mouth and say this was a horrible terrible mistake when he hears Derek say, "Stiles."

"Hey," Stiles smiles sheepishly at him, fingers raising in an aborted wave before he clasps his hands behind his back.

"This is Stiles?" the girl asks, head tilted to the side and a small smirk playing over her lips as.

"That'd be me," Stiles rocks back on his heels just as Derek warns, "Laura."

The girl, Laura, merely raises her eyebrows at Derek before turning her attention back to Stiles, her smirk turning into something sweeter and far far more dangerous.

Stiles briefly wonders if she knows Lydia.

"I'm Laura," she introduces herself. "Derek's sister."

"Nice to meet you," Stiles says shyly, biting down on his bottom lip.

He doesn't know if he should be scared of her or not.

Especially when Derek's made no move to even acknowledge he's here except calling his name.

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine," Laura says, sweet smile still in place. "Derek's mentioned you."

Stiles tries to play it cool, tries not to show how much those words affect him, tries to hide his surprise of knowing Derek talked about him to other people.

Other people who are related to him.

Not that he succeeds much when he asks, "He did?", his voice coming out a little higher than normal.

When he glances at Derek is only to find him glaring hard at the floor, lips pressed together. He looks like he's trying really hard to fight something, and as Stiles takes in the faintest of flushes spreading down the back of Derek's neck, he figures out what.

"Oh, yeah," Laura's smile widens as he notices Stiles noticing Derek. "You two rode together in the Egg Run, right? Stiles, the EMT."

"Yep," Stiles licks his lips. "I'm an EMT," and then adds. "I was actually the one who brought Derek to the hospital."

"Oh, really?" and Laura sounds super interested now, going as far as crossing her legs and resting her chin on her hand. "Do tell."

"Uh...," Stiles starts, taking a step inside the room only to stop abruptly when Derek finally looks at him. "I was actually wondering if you remember anything from the accident?" Stiles' question is directed to Derek. "Or at least what happened in the ambulance?"

"No," Derek says, Stiles' stomach dropping until Derek shakes his head. "I mean. No, I don't really remember anything from the accident, but after..."

He looks painfully awkward standing there, eyes locked to Stiles' as if willing him to understand the hidden meaning behind the words he didn't say.

"Oh," Stiles says, heart beating a mile a minute as he offers Derek what he hopes is a soft and warm smile. "Did you mean it?"

Stiles can't help but ask, not really. He needs something to make sure Derek's into him just as he's into Derek. He just hopes Derek also understands what he's trying to say without, you know, actually saying it.

"I-," Derek starts, clearing his throat before bobbing his head up and down. "Yes. I did. I meant it."

The beam that breaks across Stiles' face at that must be enough to blind a whole town.

Not that it matters.

Because Derek likes him.

"Good," Stiles says quietly, lowering his head a little. "I'm glad."

"Yeah?" Derek asks, hope filling his tone.

"Yeah," Stiles lifts his head up to continue to grin at him.

"Good," Derek says, lips tugging up.

"Oh, god," comes a groan from the bed, startling both Stiles and Derek. "You too are so disgustingly sweet and awkward together I don't know if I should hug you or smother myself with my shirt."

Stiles blinks at Laura, lips pursed together as he starts feeling the embarrassment curling on the bottom of his stomach.

He completely forgot she was there.

And judging by the pinched look on Derek's face, so did he.

Derek recovers fast enough, though, narrows his eyes at her and saying, "Smother yourself and do us all a favor."

"You love me," Laura bats her lashes at him.

Derek sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The motion makes him wince.

"You stiff?" Stiles asks, not realizing what he said until Derek makes a choked-up sound and Laura buries her face in Derek's jacket, shoulders shaking with laughter. "I mean," Stiles waves a hand in front of him, eyes wide. "Your muscles. From the accident."

"Yeah," Derek croaks out, rolling his shoulders. "A little bit."

"You should ice it when you get home," Stiles offers, scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Or take a hot shower. Whichever you prefer."

"Thanks," Derek gruffs. "I will."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"And we're back to awkward again," Laura rolls her eyes at both of them, getting up from the bed and coming to stand behind Derek. "Arms back."

Derek does as she tells him to, letting her slip the jacket up his arms and past his shoulders. He fiddles with it for a while after she steps back, fingers rearranging the collar, pulling at the sleeves.

"You're being released, I take it?" Stiles gestures to the whole expense of Derek's body dressed in normal clothing.

And not a hospital gown.

Stiles tries not to feel too disappointed by not being able to see that, because this means that there's nothing wrong with Derek and he's safe to go home.

"Yeah," Derek says, only to be interrupted by Laura.

"They couldn't find anything wrong with him besides the obvious, so they're sending him home," she pats Derek on the shoulder when he scowls at her. "Which is where we would be driving to if Derek hadn't had a problem with dressing himself."

"Oh," Stiles says slowly. "Right. I guess I should go then," he points over his shoulder to the door. "Since I came here check on you and make sure you're okay. Which you obviously are, so... Yep."

Stiles forces himself to take a step back from Derek, biting down on his lower lip as he tries to figure out a way to maybe ask Derek out without having Laura embarrass them any further.

Not that he needs to, with the panicky look Derek gets on his face just as he blurts out, "Your number."

Stiles stops in his tracks, ignoring the way Laura chokes on a laugh, his whole being focused on Derek and what he just said. Trying to process it. Trying to understand it.

"Your number," Derek repeats. "You could give it to me. So I could text you."

Derek looks so painfully awkward standing there, hands clenched into fists by his side while his sister's eyes water from holding in the laugh that she wants to let out. Stiles' heart does some complicated leap in his chest as he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Derek.

"I'd like that," Stiles says, his voice cracking a little.

Derek takes his phone and punches his number in, his lips curled up at the sides when he gives it back to Stiles.

"I'll do that, then," he says softly, and when Laura clears her throat behind them he adds, a little put out. "We should get going."

"Yep," Laura pipes up. "If I know mom, she must be thinking you're probably dead by now."

Derek looks skyward at that, as if asking for strength.

Stiles snorts a quiet laugh at both of them, opening the door and ushering them outside. "Go on, then. I wouldn't want be the reason your mother worries."

"It's okay," Laura smiles sweetly at him. "I'll just tell her all about the cute EMT who held us up."

Stiles opens and closes his mouth at that, eyes wide, and he's incredibly grateful when Derek lifts his arm and elbows her in the ribs.

The three of them walk together to the parking lot, Laura getting into a black Camaro while Derek stops outside the passenger's side, leaning against the door so he and Stiles can be face to face.

"Thank you," Derek says, voice low and a little gruff.

"For what?"

Derek shrugs. "For driving me to the hospital."

"Just doing my job, dude," Stiles shrugs one shoulder back. "But you're welcome."

Derek tilts his chin up at him before turning and getting into the car, Laura sounding the horn and waving at him from the window before driving off the parking lot.

Stiles makes his way to his Jeep with his heart light and a skip on his step. It's not until he's inside and safely buckled up that the reaches a hand into his pocket, grabs his cell, and unlocks the screen to see the text Derek sent to his own phone so he could have Stiles' number.

To: Derek

I'm glad you came back.

He smiles all the way home.