Sterek One Shots (WEREWOLF)

The night was heavy with tension, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Stiles stood in the Beacon Hills preserve, gripping the flashlight in his hands as though it were his lifeline. He didn't need to be here-Derek had told him to stay home, to let the wolves handle it. But when had Stiles ever listened to Derek? The snap of a branch made him whip around, heart pounding. "You really don't know how to stay put, do you?" came Derek's voice, low and gravelly, as he stepped into the circle of light. Stiles tried to mask his relief with a sarcastic quip, but before he could open his mouth, Derek pulled him close. "Next time, I'm chaining you to your Jeep."In another moment, the loft was eerily quiet save for the sound of rain tapping against the windows. Derek sat on the couch, his usual brooding posture intact, while Stiles paced the room. "You can't just growl your way through life, Derek," Stiles snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "Some of us like to use words." Derek raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Words won't stop hunters, Stiles." The boy's pacing stopped, and he turned to face the werewolf. "Maybe not. But working alone won't either." For a moment, Derek softened, his eyes meeting Stiles'. "Fine. What's your plan?" Stiles grinned, already halfway out the door before Derek could regret asking.And then there were the quiet moments, the ones Stiles never saw coming. The full moon had passed, and Derek was exhausted, slumped against the wall in his ruined shirt. Stiles sat beside him, passing over a bottle of water. "You're not as scary as you think, you know," Stiles said, his voice quieter than usual. Derek shot him a glare, but it lacked its usual bite. "Don't push your luck," he muttered, though a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Stiles leaned back, letting his shoulder brush against Derek's. "Whatever, Sourwolf. You're stuck with me now." And for once, Derek didn't argue.