01 : Heads Up

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There were a multitude of ways Derek would have rather spent his weekend. Marathoning Keeping Up With The Kardashians, for instance. Or offering himself as a test subject to see if Erica could actually flay a werewolf's skin off in one strip like a sailor peeling a potato.

"You know, it's starting to look like we're gonna be here for a while, Derek. The least you could do is help me keep up a conversation," Stiles whined, wriggling so that his heels knocked against Derek's.

Volunteering as a rodeo clown. Finding out if that Chinese bamboo torture Erica mentioned was actually effective against werewolves. Letting her try out her idea about waterboarding him with wolfsbane-infused water.

"I'm dying over here, man, could you at least try to contribute a little to the cause of keeping me from gnawing my own tongue off in boredom?"

There was that thing she'd brought up about iron brands and tongues...

Ugh. He really needed to stop letting her watch the History Channel. Learning was all well and good, but at some point, Parental Controls needed to be utilized, if only to protect the rest of the pack from Erica's insidious experimentation. No matter how useful she claimed it would be.

"Dude!" Stiles' shoulders shifted against his. "Are you even alive back th-"

With a growl, Derek reared back sharply, smacking the back of his head against the back of Stiles', wincing a little at the audible thunk. That might have been a bit rougher than he'd intended - he didn't want to actually damage Stiles. Despite the fact that he was a nosy, motor-mouthed, jittery, irritating pain in Derek's hind end, Stiles wasn't actually so bad. He was loyal, after all, intelligent as hell, and braver than Derek would have expected him to be. Stupidly brave, usually, running into situations no human had any business being in, leaving Derek scrambling to save his skin.

Still. Good points aside, he was slowly yet surely convincing Derek that maybe sweet, slow, agonizing death might be the better option. For either of them.

"Mother Hubbard on a Jesus-humping pogo stick," Stiles whimpered. "When we get out of this, we are going to have words. A lot of words. Possibly angry in nature. I will talk the happy right out of your soul...assuming there is any happy left in there. Or that you have a soul. Because I'm starting to wonder."

"Stiles. If you don't shut up, I promise you the second I get out of this, I'm going to yank your scrotum up over your head."

"Harsh, dude. I'd almost believe it, if I didn't know that underneath that crispety-crunchety werewolf shell, you were full of ooey-gooey Stiles-loving caramel."

Derek knew for a fact that the only thing under his crispety-crunchety werewolf shell was bitter regret and more werewolf, but he didn't say that. He sighed instead, shifting against the thick chains that bound them together from shoulder to ankle.

Torture, maiming, consenting to watch reality television. So many things he could have done with his weekend that would have been infinitely less painful than being chained to My-First-Name-Is-A-Tragedy-We-Don't-Talk-About-It- Shut-Up "Stiles" Stilinski and dangled upside-down over a giant vat of a witch's potion that, besides having the potential to do something incredibly unpleasant to both of them, smelled absolutely noxious.

As if Stiles was reading his mind (although Derek knew he couldn't, because if he could, he would probably be recounting the history of waterboarding in excrutiating detail), he huffed, "Do witches just not have a sense of smell? Is anosmia a side-effect of being a soul-munching, cat-loving, amoral sister of Satan? Like having warts and stringy hair and being played by Sarah Jessica Parker in a cheesy Halloween movie?"

Derek sighed again. He wasn't sure if it was Stiles or the fumes causing the tight, white-hot pain behind his eyes to build, but he was willing to bet it was a healthy combination of both.

"Hey, since we're here, and it doesn't look like Granny Weatherwax is gonna be back any time soon, why don't we play a game?"

"No."

"We'll play Truth or Dare!"

"No."

"Well, okay, more like Truth or Truth, since we're not really in a position to do dares, I guess."

"No."

"I'll start. Hmm..."

They twisted a bit, the contents of the vat blurping sluggishly at them as Stiles was, for nearly an entire, blissful minute, completely silent.

"Ooh! Got it!"

Ignore him, Derek reminded himself. Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him-

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Derek grit his teeth. Because, of course, in a situation where there was surely no way for things to possibly get worse, things had gotten worse. He might have guessed, though. Stiles had a way of making shit situations even more shit.

Derek had never actually made a list of things he never, ever wanted to talk to Stiles Stilinski about, ever, in any circumstances. Ever. If he had, the circumstances under which he'd lost his virginity - really anything involving Kate Argent or his family or...pretty much anything personal at all - would have been at least number four. And, God, if his internal monologue wasn't starting to sound way too much like the stupid kid for Derek's peace of mind. He should probably get that looked at.

"I'm guessing...fifteen? Sixteen?"

Ignore, ignore, ignore...come on, Hale, just ignore him, don't rise to the bait, don't cave his skull in with yours, just pretend you're alone in the woods or something, calming breezes and birdsong or what-the-fuck-ever, just-

"Or maybe you were a late bloomer...eighteen? Twenty?"

He wasn't going to murder the kid. He really wasn't. You didn't to that to packmates, even packmates that weren't really packmates, so much as they were irritating, oddly-endearing pack-hangers-on.

"Ohmygod, are you still a virgin?!"

Then again, murder might not be so outlandish an idea.

They swayed through the air in a slight, sickening circle as Stiles writhed gleefully. "Holy shit, that would be, like, the best thing ever!"

"...why?" As soon as the question spilled out, he regretted it. You don't engage, he snarled at himself. Never engage the Stiles!

Stiles snickered. "Oh, come on! You've totally got the good-looking bad-boy vibe going on, with your expensive car and all the leather and the brooding air of eternal self-imposed misery - girls love that kind of thing! It would be ridiculously, perfectly ironic if you never took advantage of that. Also, I'd finally have one up on you."

"Right. You're not a virgin," Derek drawled, rolling his eyes, even though the effect was lost without anyone around to witness it. And why, why was he still engaging?

"Dude, please. I'm so not a virgin. I've been thoroughly de-cherried. Defiled and tainted by the carnal arts. No white wedding dress for this Stilinski."

Derek wasn't sure why he bothered listening to Stiles' heartbeat - he didn't really care so much about the kid's virtue or lack thereof - but it was steady and honest, and he snorted.

"Right. Hope you didn't catch anything off the hooker."

"Ouch. That's low. I'll have you know, he wasn't a hooker at all. He was hot. And built. And totally into me."

"I'll have you know, I don't actually care about your pathetic pseudo-love-life."

"Pshaw. Gooey. Caramel. Center."

Snorting, Derek rolled his eyes again.

Wait...

"He?"

This time, Stiles snorted, and Derek could practically hear his eyeballs rolling. "Wow, you're on top of your game today, dude. Really bringing your observational skills to bear. Nothing gets by you, does it, Were-lock?"

"What?"

"It's a play on 'Sherlock', as in 'Sherlock Holmes'. I was making an amusing Sherlock Holmes reference to poke fun at the fact that you're one of the least-observant people I know. And I know Scott."

"I was with you up until you said 'amusing'."

"You know what? Your attitude sucks. Royally sucks. You'd think after all the crazy-ass drama with the crazy-ass people trying to kill everyone was over and done with, and you got yourself a pack, you'd lighten up, but I'm really starting to think you've forgotten how. What do you even do for fun?"

"Disembowl annoying high schoolers like you," Derek grumbled, wondering if it would be bad form to pop out his claws and pinch Stiles with them. He concluded that it was probably the sort of thing his mother would have grounded him for and decided against it. Headbutting the dumbass had been bad enough.

"You're not as scary when I've seen you faint like a society lady in a period film, you know."

Growling, Derek popped out his claws and pinched Stiles' wrist just enough to leave a mark without drawing blood.

"Ow!"

"I didn't faint. I was dying."

"Dude, you pinched me! That's it, I'm shunning you for the rest of this kidnapping. I'm totally shunning you. You are shunned."

"Oh, thank God."

"Shuuuuuunnnnn-nuh."

"Fine, whatever. Shut up."

But Stiles didn't shut up. No, he proceeded to sing the entire Beatles catalogue in chronological order until Derek's pack crashed their way in and rescued them. And he was very, very off-key.

When he finally had his head up over his ankles again and could think straight, Derek snuck a look at the teenager. Stiles was leaning against Scott, bottom lip jutting out, holding up his 'mauled and mangled (for-no-good-reason-thank-you-very-much-Derek)' wrist for Allison to inspect. The dark-haired girl was doing so with a ridiculous amount of sympathy, and Derek sighed heavily through his nose.

"I barely grazed you, Stilinski. Nut up."

"You know," Stiles drawled, turning his pout on Derek, "that's the second time you've mentioned my naughty bits today. Third, if you count your all-consuming concern for my reproductive health and lack of STDs. I'm sensing a pattern here."

"That I'm seriously contemplating ripping your testicles off?"

"I think you just like thinking about my testicles," Stiles said with a wry grin, pushing off of Scott. He wavered a bit in Derek's direction before, blinking heavily, he leaned precariously and stumbled.

Derek's hands twitched instinctively, ready to catch him instead of letting him faceplant, even though he deserved it. Scott would have complained, though, surely. And then he'd have an armful of Stiles, which definitely wasn't on his list of top ten things he wanted to happen. Ever. Even if it meant he'd get to throw Stiles' fainting comment back in his face.

He was saved from having to worry about it, though, because Stiles found his balance and shuffled for the door, Scott hovering worriedly behind him. He patted Derek on the shoulder companionably as he passed him. "It's okay, Derek. I know you can't resist me and my naughty bits. It's my animal magnetism."

Derek let his eyes slide shut as the remaining members of his pack surrounded him, raised eyebrows all around. Isaac even had the nerve to waggle his suggestively. Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Just...just don't," he said tiredly.

And for the sake of his sanity (and their safety), he pretended they didn't cackle at him all the way home.