Title: Bad Bitches Like Me Is Hard To Come By
Author: kevo
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski / Derek Hale (aka Sterek)
Rating: PG-13 (underage drinking)

Author's Note: The following fic was my submission for last fall's Teen Wolf Fanfiction Contest. I didn't win, obviously, but I'm still proud of it. I basically wrote the thing in one day.

Bad Bitches Like Me Is Hard To Come By

It all starts when Stiles finds a Nicki Minaj CD in Jackson's car. That apparently is how much the former lizard boy enjoys her music; he owns an actual physical copy instead of just a download. He tries to deny it at first, play it cool. Even though his Kanima experience humbled him exponentially, he's still Jackson, and he still puts up fronts. But then Danny pops the disc in, and when the aggressively peppy guitar on "Starships" starts playing and the drum starts to beat, he's unable to keep his shoulders from popping.

"You should see him on the dance floor," Danny stage-whispers from the passenger seat.

"Danny, shut up!" Jackson hisses, hitting his best friend on the shoulder. "Jesus!"

"Wait-wait-wait, there's dancing, too?" Stiles laughs. "You must be shitting me."

"Wolf pack or not, Stilinski, I can still throw your ass out of this car," growls Jackson. Which, yes, is slightly scarier now that it's an actual growl.

Later, when they've reached Derek's for the pack meeting and Jackson has stormed out of the car, Danny lingers behind with Stiles.

"It's a good outlet for him, actually," Danny says. "Dancing, I mean. Lacrosse always helped with his violent streak, but it doesn't get him out of his head. If anything, it just winds him up worse."

His tone is low, like they're co-conspirators now. Which they sort of are, Stiles supposes. Not many guys can say their best friend is a recent werewolf. The whisper can probably still be heard by Jackson's pointy new wolf ears, based on Stiles's own experience, but he doesn't want to chide Danny, especially when he's being so forthcoming.

"And dancing works?" asks Stiles.

Danny nods, adding, "The attention he gets probably helps."

It takes Stiles ten full seconds to realize, "You take Jackson dancing at gay clubs?"

"Club," Danny corrects. "We've only got the one. And yeah. He took me my first time, and then just kept tagging along. He hasn't come with in a while. Now I understand why..."

The conversation ends abruptly at the Hales' front door. Everything from there is enemy werewolves and defense of territory and serious business. Stiles tries to focus, but he can't stop picturing Jackson driving around rapping along to "Stupid Hoe" and has to stifle his laughter.

Maybe that's why Jackson leaves without him when the meeting's over.

This leaves a very unhappy Alpha as Stiles's only means of transport home. Derek's more annoyed that Jackson ditched a fellow pack member than anything else, but it doesn't make Stiles feel any better about having to rely on him like that. Yes, he's come to accept that he's part of the pack or whatever. And technically that sort of makes Derek his Alpha, just like everyone else. Whatever. Still weird. He'll be happy when he finally gets his Jeep back and doesn't need to depend on other people for rides anymore. As a constant driver, being a passenger this long is making him anxious.

It does, however, give Stiles the opportunity to idly muse aloud, "We should do something to welcome Danny into the pack."

Derek, being Derek Hale, responds with a typical squinty-eyed expression that's meant to indicate that he thinks Stiles is an idiot.

"What, like a party?" he scoffs.

"Yeah, and we'll put you in one of those pointy hats with the elastic chinstrap," Stiles kids. "No I meant, like, we should go out or something. Celebrate. Everything's always so gloom-and-doom. Can't we have fun for once? Shouldn't that be part of this whole being-a-pack business?"

After a moment of quiet consideration, Derek asks, "What'd you have in mind?"

"You know that place, The Jungle?"

"I'm familiar," Derek responds, shifting a little in his seat.

Oh. Right. Ha.

"I was thinking we could all get our dance on," says Stiles. Before Derek can say no, he rushes to continue, "C'mon, I'm sure Erica would love it. Probably Lydia, too. And Scott's, ahh, pretty popular with that crowd. Plus I know a few ladies who'd eat Isaac up with a spoon." He pauses before saying the next part, debating whether he should or not. Screw it. "It'd be good for Jackson, too. Danny said dancing like an outlet for him. Helps him unwind. With all he's been through lately, he's gotta be wound pretty tight."

Stony silence is all Stiles gets for his troubles. He reminds himself that Derek isn't ever much of a talker and it is a lot to consider.

"And what about you?" Derek asks when turns down Stiles's block. "What do you get out of this?"

"Do the letters F-U-N mean anything to you?" Stiles shoots back. But now they're parked and Derek is able to pin him with his discerning hazel eyes and, fuck, all right. Stiles sighs. "Maybe I just think it'd be... nice."

"Nice," Derek echoes. He takes a long, slow breath, puffing up his chest. "Okay."

"Wha- okay as in yes?" Stiles crows. "I won?"

"Don't press your luck," Derek warns.

He really was trying to do a nice thing.

What Stiles didn't count on was having to watch Jackson dance. Not that that was so bad in and of itself. It's more who he was partnered with. Stiles was having a hard enough time being around Jackson and Lydia since they went from being at each other throats to back and better than ever. But now, this? Seeing them getting all pelvic on the dance floor? Oh yeah. Definitely too much. And since that female Alpha just so happened to show up at the Jungle the same night the pack did (imagine that!) and she and Scott are circling each other like – well, like wolves, Stiles's alleged best buddy is of no help distracting.

The friends Stiles made on his first visit to the club do a much better job of it.

"Honey, don't even worry about it," Ladonna coos. "He's not worth it."

"It's the girl," Stiles reminds the drag queen yet again. "The girl, she's the one that I…"

Was in love with for, like, ten years but never actually dated so I hold no claim to? Not really a sympathy-earner. So he leaves the thought unfinished and sips the drink Amanda Hugandkiss provided for him. She's exes with the bartender, so she was even able to finagle one with alcohol in it.

A lot of alcohol.

He doesn't remember how many drinks he was given. All he remembers is trying to dance, thinking it would impress Lydia, somehow, and vomiting on the dance floor. Not his most shining moment. And since Scott and the girl Alpha disappeared, again (dude needs to look into romances that don't borrow themes from Romeo & Juliet, seriously), that left Derek to take responsibility for the inebriated Stiles. So Derek poured the teen into the front seat of his Camaro.

"I'm starting to get used to being chauffeured by you," Stiles hums.

"Don't," is Derek's even response.

"Fine," grumbles Stiles. "But could you at least slow down? I feel like I might hurl again. I was a way more considerate driver that time you were dying."

"You weren't all that considerate," Derek sniffs. "And you're not dying."

"I might as well," Stiles replies. "Or, okay, not really a fair thing to say, since people actual have died a lot lately. Just…" He glances sidelong at Derek, whose expression is inscrutable. "You're not even listening, are you?"

"I'm driving, Stiles," Derek grits out. "That doesn't mean I can't listen to you speak."

"Forget it, you wouldn't understand," says Stiles. "You don't understand what it's like to… To have your heart ripped out and stomped on and then to see the person who did it and have to feel like you're nothing to them. It's… unpleasant."

His forehead thunks against the cool glass of the window. Stiles doesn't expect a response to his diatribe, doesn't even want one, all he wants is to go home and crawl into bed and weather this hangover so he can remember why he shouldn't drink, ever, there's a reason for the legal drinking age, after all, and he's definitely going to adhere to it from now on.

"Kate."

The word sounds like a curse coming out of Derek's mouth. It takes Stiles a minute to understand why Derek would say it, to place the name, and when he does he sits bolt upright.

"Oh," Stiles says, ashamed. "Yeah. I'm –"

"Say you're sorry and I'm leaving you by the side of the road," Derek snarls.

Stiles chokes back his apology. Neither of them speak again until they reach the Stilinski house.

"Do you need help getting inside?" Derek asks. His tone is almost kind. "I could sneak you upstairs, if you need me to."

"Dad's squad car is gone," Stiles points out. "Must've gotten a call. Hopefully it's not related to Scott and his lady-wolf-friend."

The attempted joke fails to land with his audience. Without another word, Stiles pushes the car door open.

"Stiles," Derek says before the younger man can exit. "This thing with Lydia. You need to move past it. If you're going to be part of this pack…"

"That's your big pep talk, Papa Alpha?" Stiles scoffs. "'Move past it?' You suck at motivational speaking, dude. I'm sure you're already aware of that, but it bears repeating. This isn't just something I can get over like that." He even does snap his fingers to drive the point home. "I'm sorry if that's going to cause a problem for your pack, but then maybe I should bow out gracefully now before I piss you off any more."

"I'm not pissed off at you," Derek insists. "And I don't want you leaving the pack, either. I just wish…"

He puffs up, like the Big Bad Wolf that Stiles used to believe Derek was. Now he understands what the expression really means. Like Stiles so sweetly pointed out, Derek isn't the best at communicating, and becomes easily frustrated when he can't articulate his thoughts.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," Derek says finally. "There's plenty of girls like Lydia. You don't need to turn your whole world upside-down for her. If someone had told me that when I was sixteen, things – they might've turned out differently for me."

For a rare moment in his life, Stiles is dumbfounded.

"You should get inside," Derek tells him. "It's late. Your dad could be home any minute."

Stiles climbs out of the car and watches the taillights disappear into the darkness before realizing he never even said thank you. Maybe the next time he sees Derek, he will.