donotlistenthebadthings YOU BET YOUR CUTE LIL ASS I CAN THO TBH IT TURNED INTO WAY MORE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD. YOU ASKED FOR ONE NICKNAME I GAVE YOU 6.
Sourwolf was a thing with Derek and Stiles. John didn’t know why and he wasn’t about to ask, the finer, non-lifethreatening points of his son’s involvment in the supernatural where something John wasn’t sure he wanted to know to be completely honest.
He actually wasn’t even completely sure that anyone other than Stiles and Derek themsevles (and perhaps Scott) knew the full story behind, “Don’t be such a sourwolf”, though that didn’t stop them from using the phrase when Derek tried to reign them in when they got to rowdy.
Like on Pack Night where there was a small mountain of pizza, movies no one watched, and cups full of John didn’t know what.
Derek thought it was less than amusing when they jokingly told him to ‘Lighten up, sourwolf, even Stiles is having fun’, flashing his eyes and growling. It didn’t do much, his pack knew by then that his bark was worse than his bite. He was too fond of the lot of them to actually hurt them.
He would, however, throw them into a wall or two for being shits.
“Derek!” Stiles called from his spot on John’s couch with a cup full of what his father hoped was root beer, “Stop being such a sourwolf. It’s not like they can get drunk, just let them drink their cheap ass beer.”
John looked at his son sharply, “I’m sure I just misheard what you said, Stiles.”
“They can’t get drunk!” Stiles threw his free hand in the air. “Dad, Sourwolf, it is completely and totally legal for these idiots to drink their pissbeer as there is zero chance of them becoming intoxicated.”
“I’m not sure it works like that.” Derek mumbled, letting Scott away from the wall -he rubbed at his shoulder like he wasn’t already healing whatever minor damage Derek’s hand had done-. “You don’t get high off of weed but I’m pretty sure possession is still a crime.”
John’s head reeled. “What?”
“Nothing!” Stiles said quickly, narrowing his eyes at Derek, “The sourwolf meant that completely hypothetically. The ‘you’ was ambugious.”
“As ambiguous as your morals.” Derek dropped next to Stiles on the sofa, watching carefully as Pack Night continued.
Stiles shoved his elbow into Derek’s ribs. Derek flicked the back of Stiles head and stole his cup with the other hand. John left the room.
Big guy was generally used right before (what Erica called) ‘Epic Sass Battles’ started. To John it just looked like they were bickering like an old married couple.
“Well you see, big guy,” Stiles said, his voice taking on the condescending lilt that only appeared when he and Derek were in the same room, or car as the case may be, and John suddenly wished that he was in the backseat instead of Stiles, “you definitely have a tone.”
“I do not have a tone.” Derek argued, and then he did the most terrifying thing, he put both hands on the wheel of the camaro.
John started to pray.
“Yes, you do. You have a tone and this tone says, ‘I’m going to rip out somebody’s throat with my teeth’, okay? It basically screams that you’re a werewolf.”
“You’re delusional.” Stiles smacked the back of Derek’s seat with enough force to send Derek’s head forward.
“And you’re not actually a member of the Beacon Hills police department so maybe you should apologize when you get one of the actual members shot.”
“You’re a werewolf!” Stiles argued, “Which by the way, everyone probably knows at this point because of that tone you took!”
“I don’t have a tone!” Derek hissed, tightening his hands on the wheel.
“Yes you do, and don’t you take it with me, big guy, because I’ll shoot you myself and you’ll end up sleeping on the fucking couch, I swear to God.”
There was a beet of silence while Derek seethed and John pursed his lips. “Why would Derek sleep on the couch?”
Another two beets of silence while his son looked at him like he’d forgotten that he and Derek weren’t alone and then, “Because he wouldn’t be able to climb his stairs…? He’d have a bullet jammed in a very uncomfortable place.”
“Uhhuh.” John looked to Derek with raised eyebrows, hoping for clarification from someone not quite as squirrelly, only for the werewolf to stare resolutely out the windshield and grit his teeth. “Huh.”
They drove in silence for a few moments, John’s gaze flicking before his deputy beside him, looking anywhere but a Stilinski, and his son in the rearview mirror, chewing on the inside of his lip until Derek’s nose twitched and he reached back blindly to swat at him.
“Stop making yourself bleed, idiot.”
“You’re one to talk. I’m not the one covered in my own blood right now, big guy.”
“You got me shot!”
“Semantics.” Stiles waved his hand.
Big bad was for when things went to hell. When Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were crowded up against each other, and Scott had his arms around Kira, and Lydia and Allison were pressed together, and John’s son was on the ground with Derek’s head in his lap, wiping blood away from the werewolf’s mouth with his sleeve, and speaking so lowly that John had to struggle to hear.
“Come on, big bad.” Stiles pleaded, pressing his balled up plaid shirt to the hole in Derek’s abdomen. “Come on, you can come back from this. This is nothing for the big bad wolf. You’ve had worse than this training Jackson.” Stiles sniffed hard. “Big bad, open your eyes, come on.”
“How come…” Derek gasped, his eyes fluttering open, “you freak out about a Sphinx’s claws… but you make fun of me when you get me shot?”
Stiles ducked his head, laughing quietly as everyone else breathed a sigh of relief. “You fucking idiot. Big bad fucking wolf running in there like you’re indestructible.”
“I’m okay.” Derek assured him, and indeed his color was coming back as he turned to the rest of the pack, “We’re all okay.” A little bruised, a little bloody, and a lot exhausted, but okay.
“Yeah, you won’t be after I’m through with you, you asshole.” Stiles was frowning again as he lifted his shirt to check the slowly healing wound, “God are those your intestines? Gross.”
Scott, ever interested in the kind of stuff that made the rest of them want to change the channel, leaned over to look, “Gnarly…” He mumbled.
Stiles shot him an unamused look, “It is not gnarly, you wanna be surfer. It is disgusting and the result of someone running in there like he’s all big and bad and completely wiping the fuck out.”
Derek, pale faced and bleeding, smiled. “I’m not the teenager who took on a sphinx that injured a whole wolf pack with a baseball bat.”
“Me neither. I’m the teenager who took on a sphinx with a baseball bat and won.” Stiles replaced the shirt, looking up and meeting his father’s eyes as he added, “I’m old school; if you hurt one of mine I will hurt you back. Hurting my whole pack? Death sentence, do not pass go.” He paused, “That even occasionally includes Peter.”
Lydia’s nose wrinkled.
Allison kissed her on the cheek.
They went home.
(Derek slept on the Stilinski couch for almost a week because Stiles wouldn’t let him go home until even the scar from the sphinx’s wound had disappeared.)
John wasn’t entirely sure that Stiles realized he called everyone in the pack ‘hon’ or ‘sweetie’. Scott had grown up with it but John had seen the confusion on Erica’s face the first time Stiles had said “Thanks, sweetie.” when she handed him the milk, the pleased surprise on Isaac’s face when Stiles hugged him and exclaimed “That’s awesome, hon!” when he’d shown off an A+ Chem test, the ‘what the fuck’ in Boyd’s eyes at “Please don’t, sweetie.” when he’d almost put pineapple on pizza.
“Babe” though… that seemed to be reserved for Derek and only Derek, the way ‘love’ was reserved for Lydia. It should probably worry John that he referred to an ex-murder-suspect, serial killer looking werewolf with the same kind of reservation he payed to his first love…. but it didn’t.
”Derek, babe, close your eyes for a minute or two so I can go over there and break all of that guys fucking fingers.”
“Don’t you dare.” Derek clapped a hand down onto Stiles’ shoulder, watching Melissa flirt with a possible incubus. “You’re not even supposed to be in here.”
John swirled his beer raising his eyebrows at Derek. “I wanted to leave him at home.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Derek asked, “Drug him? Bash him in the dead?”
“So close to a 101 Dalmatians joke.” Stiles mumbled, wincing as Melissa laughed a laugh so fake it almost made John shiver.
“Oh, you want me to drown you instead?” Derek snarked.
“Only in love, babe.” Stiles winked over his ‘completely nonalcoholic dad, I promise’ drink.
John raised his eyebrows.
“Whoa, whoa, what is he getting out of his pocket?” Derek suddenly, hissed, leaning over Stiles to get a better view.
John didn’t fail to notice how Stiles’ cheeks flushed as Derek’s shoulder pressed into his chest, but he had bigger problems than his son‘s secret relationship. “Is that…?”
All three of them hissed out a unison, “OH!” as the guy slipped something into Melissa’s drink.
Definitely not an incubus.
“Jesus, lord, thank you for the reason.” Stiles slid out from under Derek and before either John or Derek could think to stop him was marching up and slamming his fist into the guys nose, opening with “I’m no cactus expert but I know a prick when I see one” and how if he had to drug a woman into sleeping with him maybe someone should do society a favor and just cut his fucking dick off so it wouldn’t be an issue and they wouldn’t have to worry about trash like him reproducing.
John turned, shared an impressed look with Derek, and then sat back to watch the show while subtly texting Parrish -who had taken over the night shift so John and Derek could case the bar- so someone could come pick the guy up.
He wasn’t their guy but he still needed to be taken care of.
Stiles wandered back over, arm and arm with Melissa once Parrish had wrestled the guy out the door. He’d kept going until Jordan had got there though, and then for a few minutes after while the deputy stood with John and Derek and watched Stiles get increasingly more creative (he finally stepped in at ‘what kind of used tampon -’ though that didn’t stop Stiles from screaming “I HOPE YOUR ASSHOLE GROWS TASTE BUDS” at him as he was brought out).
“That was… interesting.” Derek commented, his eyebrows hanging out somewhere around his hairline.
Muffin. Stiles Stilinski had just called Derek Hale muffin and the pack was never going to forget this moment as long as they lived. John knew he wasn’t.
“Muffin?” Erica asked with barely concealed glee. “Stiles, did you just call my alpha ‘Muffin’?”
“Yes?” Stiles answered, looking over his shoulder from where he was making pancakes on the griddle, “We’re making breakfast. It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“You know,” Allison looked at Lydia, perched on the counter in front of her, “Stiles calling people outlandish nicknames isn’t exactly new.”
Lydia hummed around the spoon of yogurt in her mouth. She pulled it out with a pop, “No, but Derek answering to it is.”
“Not really.” Boyd, still half asleep at the Stilinski’s kitchen table, mumbled. “He answers to all of Stiles’ shit.”
“Wow, I’m so glad we’re not here for this conversation, aren’t you, Stiles.” Derek asked.
“Thrilled.” Stiles answered, “Hey, can you flip the sausage patties, please, my favorite Granola Bar.”
Derek’s eyebrows rose but he made his way to the pan on the stove, “Sure thing, Over Easy Eggs.”
“Why thank you, sweet French Toast.”
John coughed into his hand.
“This is the best thing that I’ve ever witnessed.” Isaac whispered to Erica.
“Do you hear those idiots whispering about us, Waffles?” Derek flipped sausage, refusing to look at any of them.
“Indeed I do, doughnuts.”
Derek looked at Stiles with pursed lips, “I thought we talked about the cop jokes.’
“I literally didn’t even think about that, babe.” Stiles flipped the last pancake onto the plate, nearly dropping it when he saw Erica’s phone. “Erica Michelle Reyes how long has that cell phone been out?”
“Since ‘granola’.” Erica giggled, pressing a button with her thumb. “And now it’s on Twitter.”
“Oh. My. God.” Stiles groaned as his phone vibrated in his pocket. She’d tagged him.
“I’m disowning all of you.” Derek hissed.
John looked offended, “Even me?”
Derek looked horrified and John’s not saying that watching his son’s secret boyfriend furiously backpeddle was the greatest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life…. but it was probably the greatest thing he’d ever seen in his life.
John had been scared before, pretty regularly considering his line of work and the fact that his son was the token human in a rag-tag group of supernatural creatures that fought supernatural creatures fairly regularly.
But nothing had prepared him for Stiles being kidnapped. By some stupid, random alpha who wanted to take over the McCall-Hale territories.
And the thing was, John was scared for Stiles, terrified, that was his baby. But honestly, he was more scared about what Stiles was about to see than what the other alpha was going to do to him.
The guy wanted Stiles as leverage, killing him woudln’t get him anywhere with Scott and Derek. But Derek had no reason not to kill the sonofabitch who took their favorite person.
“Listen,” John grabbed Derek’s shoulder, motioned Scott ahead. They’d decided on a three man mission; one alpha against Scott, Derek, and John’s wolfsbane bullets, “When we get in there I want you to go straight to Stiles, leave the alpha to us.”
“What?” Derek stiffened.
“You heard me.” John stared him down, “Stiles has been through enough today without having to see the guy he’s in love with rip out someone’s throat, don’t you think?”
Derek swallowed hard, “How long have you…?”
“How long have I known that you’ve been secretly dating my son, babe?”
“Fair enough.” Derek sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, alright. I’ll go straight to Stiles. But promise me you’re going to empty your gun into that bastard’s balls.”
“You have my word on that one, son.” John clapped Derek’s shoulder before turning and following after Scott.
Turns out, it didn’t take much willpower to bypass the alpha completely. Stiles was on the ground, absolutely reeking of blood.
Derek didn’t waste a glance to Scott and John, dropping to the ground and pulling Stiles into his lap. “Kochanie?” He wiped the smear of blood away from Stiles’ temple. There was moor blood, but it was mostly superficial, scratches on his legs and arms from struggle. The only bits that really worried Derek was the head and the long gash on his shoulder. “Stiles, kochanie, come on open your eyes.” It sounded an awful lot like what Stiles had babbled at Derek when their roles had been reversed. “Open those pretty eyes for me, kochanie…”
John stayed true to his word, firing off every round in his gun into the alpha’s balls. “Heal from that.”
Scott averted his eyes, pursing his lips like he was trying to hide a smile before plastering on his most terrifying expression and leaning down to alpha eye the moaning asshole, “Listen to me, and listen good,” John knew for a fact that the line came directly from Melissa; she was going to be so incredibly proud, “you are going to leave. Right now. And if any of us here even catch your scent on the wind I am going to set Derek on you. You know Derek, right? The big one over there who’s mate you just hurt? I’m going to point you out and I’m going to let go of the proverbial leash, do you hear me?”
John didn’t catch what the guy said back, only that between one blink and the next he was gone.
“How is he?” John dropped next to Derek, reaching out to pet Stiles’ hair, not even holding it against Derek when the werewolf actually growled at him.
“He’s alive.” Derek grumbled, pulling Stiles closer in against his body. “Bleeding, but alive.”
“Also…” Stiles mumbled weakly against Derek’s shirt, “I can’t breath through muscle.”
Derek jerked him away to stare down at his face. “You’re awake.” He breathed.
“Yeah…” Stiles swallowed, turned his head, smiled at John and Scott. “I knew you’d find me.”
“Always, bro.” Scott reached out and pat Stiles’ bloody hand. “We’ve got your back. We should get you home, though. The pack have probably paced groves into Derek’s floor by now.”
“Probably.” John agreed, making no move to actually leave and continuing to pet his son’s hair.
Stiles’ eyes jumped to his father, “Hey. I heard gunshots…”
“Mmm.” John nodded, “I kind of want to keep up with his pack, see how well werewolves heal from wolfsbane to the genitals.”
“You did what?” Stiles choked on air and Derek sat him up the slightest bit to make it easier for him to breathe.
“Oh yeah, it’ll be useful information for if that werewolf boyfriend of yours ever steps out of line.”
Stiles looked at Derek so sharply that he nearly displaced himself, wincing as it pulled the cut on his shoulder.
“Yeah, um… your dad kind of knows… Muffin.”
Kochanie: Polish for ‘darling”