crying because of that gif, i just imagined derek on candy duty and MY STOMACH HURTS
“Be safe tonight!” Stiles calls out as he shuts the door, before leaning against it and sighing heavily. “Uuuugh how many more of them could there be? Isn’t it past their bedtimes yet?”
“You could just turn off all the lights and hide upstairs,” Derek points out. He’s over on the couch, methodically removing the foil from a series of mini Reese’s peanut butter cups and arranging them in an easy-to-eat row. It looks automatic, like a habit from Halloweens past, and Stiles tries not to find it insanely endearing. “You don’t have to do this just because your dad had to work.”
“Yeah, I do. Last time I tried that, the Jeep got egged. And plus, we… I always liked Halloween.” My mom and I, Stiles doesn’t say, but Derek’s trying-not-to-look-sympathetic face suggests that he knows anyway. “Besides, what else am I gonna do with my night? Scott said I shouldn’t come to his little little Freddy Kreuger movie marathon with Isaac, and it’s not like I’ve got any awesome keggers to attend.”
“Don’t take the Scott thing personally. Isaac doesn’t trust easily.” It’s not the first time they’ve been over this, and Stiles is pretty sure it rankles Derek, too—Isaac is his wolf, after all, and Scott was supposed to be his too, and still he’s allowed their weird little codependent beta bond to develop without interfering. “Scott makes him… comfortable. For some reason.”
“What, and I don’t?”
Derek snorts. “You don’t make anyone comfortable.” He says it with his mouth full, because he’s just shoved two peanut butter cups in there at once, and he’s got his shoes off and his legs kicked up on Stiles’ couch, so it’s possible that he’s a huge liar.
“So did you really not have anything better to do than come here and invade my space?” Derek reaches over the back of the couch, making a grab for the candy bowl in Stiles hands; Stiles huffs in disbelief and jerks it back protectively, before another attack can be made on the peanut butter supply. “Dude, quit it, the candy is for the kids!”
“I told you,” Derek says flatly, settling back and plucking at a thread at the cuff of his jacket. “I found out Scott wasn’t going to be around, and it’s close to the full moon. I don’t mind keeping an eye on you.”
“Who asked you to,” Stiles says, shifting the candy bowl to rest against his hip and wondering why he’s arguing so hard against this, Derek soft and loose-limbed on his couch, with chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “I’m safe here. You watched me put down the mountain ash circle and everything, and you tested it. I’m not going to be eviscerated by eight-year-olds in costumes, dude.”
“You might if you start handing out those raisons I saw in the kitchen,” Derek says, and it doesn’t matter that they’ve started spending more time together lately and having an increasing number of non-threatening exchanges, because Stiles still isn’t used to the novelty that is Derek Hale making jokes.
Stiles is still recovering from it when the doorbell rings again. He groans, resigned to his fate—but then suddenly Derek is beside him, taking the bowl from his hands. “I can get this one.”
“No, man, I appreciate it, but no.” Derek is heading for the door anyway, and Stiles trots after him. “Come on, no! You’ll scare them!”
“I’m not scary,” Derek says through his fangs, because yes, he’s absolutely got his fangs out for this, and he’s smiling.
“Oh god we’re gonna get reported to Neighborhood Watch,” Stiles hisses. He pulls ineffectually at the back of Derek’s jacket to try and stop him, but it’s already too late.
“Hi,” Derek says, pitching his voice lower and rougher than usual. “Good evening, princess. Hulk. Indiana Jones.”
“Ohmigod wooooow, cool teeth!” says Hulk, punching a giant foam fist in the air. “How did you do those?”
Derek leans down and stage-whispers “I was born with them,” and then curls his hands into fake claws and raaaawrs cartoonishly. The kids all burst into giggles, and the mom with them is looking at Derek from under her witch’s hat like she’s thinking about making a proposition.
Stiles completely understands.
“All right, all right, come on.” He throws a packet of M&Ms into each bag and herds Derek back inside. “Be safe out there,” he says, aiming a vaguely-threatening look at Witch Mom before shutting the door in her face. “What the fuck, Derek?”
“Oh come on.” He’s still smiling, but the fangs are gone now. “They loved it.”
“I thought werewolves were secret. Secret? Remember how you don’t want Scott or Isaac playing lacrosse? Remember how I have to hide you all from my dad? What are you doing?!”
“No one knew they were real.” He shrugs, leaning back against the door. “We… I used to do it all the time. When I was little.” But Stiles hears the blip, where my sister and I should have gone, and god, he can’t be mad now.
“It’s just cheating if the costume doesn’t require any actual effort, you know,” Stiles says, trying for a derisive tone to avoid having some kind of moment. “Be honest, how many Halloween parties did teenage-you crash wearing the ‘oh I’m just an accidentally-sexy werewolf in leather’ look? Did you use your claws to open beer cans for drunk girls?”
“I never really got to go to any parties,” Derek says. He slides his claws slowly out and then back in on one hand, as if he’s wondering if he should have been using them to open beer cans this whole time. “And—accidentally sexy?”
“Whatever,” Stiles says, waving a hand dismissively and flushing. “So you’ve never bobbed for apples, then? It’s a time-honored tradition of dumb teenagers everywhere; I feel a little sad that you missed it.”
Derek does look a little sad, is the thing, and suddenly this whole conversation isn’t so entertaining anymore. “Derek?” Stiles steps a little closer, under the pretext of taking the candy bowl back. “Did you come here tonight just so you could, like, do fun Halloween stuff because you miss your childhood?”
“Screw you,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and turning toward the door. Stiles stops him with a hand on his arm.
“We can bob for apples right now,” Stiles says, more gently than he means to. “It’s just. I never got to, either. It’s the sort of thing you normally have to be invited to parties for.”
Derek turns back around, his eyebrows raised incredulously. Stiles is half-expecting to be either chewed-out or punched in the face, but Derek just shrugs and says “Yeah, okay.”
“…oh.” Stiles grins, and Derek’s smile is unfamiliar, soft without the usual mocking edge. “Okay. Although, we don’t literally have to bob for apples. I’ve always suspected the whole point of that is to watch girls in tiny costumes bend over, and we don’t have any of those here.”
Derek’s smile goes a little wicked as he flicks his eyes down Stiles’ body and back up. “We can make do,” he says, and.