Derek’s hands clenched around the steering wheel while he glared out the windshield at the house in front of him, knowing this was a stupidly horrible idea, but unable to think of a way to get out of it.
“This is going to get us arrested,” Derek informed his neighbour. “I am going to get arrested again.”
“What? No you’re not,” Stiles insisted, slapping him in the arm. “And you barely got arrested last time.”
Derek turned to give him a look and Stiles grinned with a shrug, turning to motion the house.
“It’s fine! Besides, my dad won’t arrest us. Neither will Parrish. It’s all in good fun, we’ll be fine. No one’s gonna get hurt.”
“You always get hurt,” Derek reminded him.
“Hey, not always,” Stiles insisted, affronted. “Just, you know, most of the time. Whatever, we’re losing valuable night time coverage, come on.”
Stiles kicked open his door, Derek scowling at him given it was his car, and then climbed out. Grumbling about definitely getting arrested, Derek followed Stiles up the front steps to the porch and looked around while the moron picked the lock. He kept muttering and grumbling under his breath and Derek stared upwards at the heavens, silently asking for the strength to resist killing him.
Stiles was useful. Stiles was smart. Stiles was great in bed. Stiles did sinful things with his mouth.
He just needed to remind himself that killing his boyfriend for being an idiot and getting them arrested was more trouble than it was worth.
“Aha!” Stiles exclaimed loudly, the door opening and Stiles stumbling into the house.
Derek closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to find his patience, and then followed him into the house, shutting and locking the door.
This was a ridiculous plan, especially given Stiles was about as subtle as a herd of elephants stampeding through the house. The humans a block over could probably hear him, at this point.
Stiles turned to shush Derek—as if he was being the loud one—and then snuck silently up the stairs. Derek just followed with his hands in his pockets, wondering how Stiles could possibly manage to hit every creaking step on their way up.
When they reached the landing, Derek had to grab his shirt to stop him from walking into the hall table, then led the way to their destination. Opening the door silently, he peeked in and found an unconscious and snoring lump on the bed.
Unbelievable, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. Worst Alpha Werewolf on the planet.
Derek would’ve woken the moment he heard a car outside, yet Stiles had literally made as much noise as was humanly possible on his way up, and still Scott slept like he’d heard none of it.
Stiles was practically vibrating behind him and Derek just exhaled through his nose, annoyed. The sooner they did this, the sooner it was over so he walked silently into the room, gritting his teeth at Stiles’ loud footsteps behind him, and went to the bed.
He’d only just reached it when Scott finally stirred, letting out a confused grunt and opening one bleary eye.
Derek pounced on him, twisting him roughly and climbing onto his back, holding his arms behind him and barking at Stiles to hurry up.
“What the—What are you doing?!” Scott demanded, voice still rough from sleep. He started struggling while Stiles jumped on him as well and got to work chaining his hands together.
Derek’s muscles bulged in his shirt, the Beta struggling to keep the Alpha down long enough for him to get tied up properly.
“Stiles, I swear to God—”
“And that’s enough out of you,” Stiles said, shoving what looked like a sock in Scott’s mouth.
Derek really hoped it wasn’t a sock.
“Perfect!” Stiles proclaimed once Scott’s arms and legs were chained up. He struggled angrily on the bed, but Derek knew Stiles’ work was solid so he climbed off the end and stared down at him.
“Great,” Derek muttered sarcastically.
“All done.” Stiles slapped Derek lightly in the chest. “Grab him and let’s go.”
Sighing and ignoring the murderous look he was getting from Scott, Derek bent down and grabbed him around the middle, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and heading out of the room after Stiles.
When they exited the house, Derek saw Stiles pause to lock the door, evidently having stolen keys from somewhere inside the house.
“If we get caught,” Derek told him while they headed for the Camaro, “I’m throwing Scott at you and running.”
“He would crush me!” Stiles insisted, horrified.
“Not my problem. This was your stupid idea.”
“This is a great idea,” Stiles corrected, popping open the trunk and grinning. Derek just reminded himself that his bed would be cold and lonely if he killed Stiles and dropped Scott unceremoniously into his trunk, slamming it shut before the Alpha could think of trying to escape.
“You’re an idiot,” Derek informed Stiles.
“No. Just an idiot.”
He moved back around to the driver’s side, looking around for anyone calling the cops of them for kidnapping, but the street was dark and silent.
Climbing in, Stiles jumped into his own seat beside him, drumming both hands excitedly on the dash. Derek almost pulled out fast enough for his forehead to slam against the dash, but Stiles would complain about it the next time he gave him head so he decided against it.
Turning and heading for the Preserve, Derek turned on the music to drown out the banging from the trunk and he and Stiles said nothing while they drove.
Stiles was bobbing his head and drumming along to the song on his knees, glancing out the window occasionally. When they finally reached the Preserve, Derek parked on the side of the road and climbed out, Stiles scrambling out after him excitedly.
“This is gonna be great!” he exclaimed, banging both hands across the trunk before Derek got it open.
Scott launched himself out of it as best he could while chained up but Derek just stepped aside and let him hit the ground.
“Dude, really?” Stiles asked, motioning Scott and giving him a look.
“Do you wanna carry him?”
“Then shut up.” Derek bent down and grabbed Scott off the ground, throwing him over his shoulder once more and following Stiles into the woods.
Scott was still seething, but he seemed to have realized struggling would do him no good because he didn’t try to get free again. He just let himself be carried further into the woods, Stiles randomly changing directions and scratching at his head before heading where he thought they needed to be.
Finally, they reached a ring of trees and he stopped, turning to Derek and grinning hugely.
Derek dropped Scott, who grunted angrily and glared up at him. Stiles gave his boyfriend an exasperated look but Derek didn’t worry about it. He just bent down to pull the sock—yes, it was actually a sock, what the fuck Stiles—from his mouth and then began undoing the chains binding him.
“Stiles, what the hell is going on?!” Scott demanded angrily, flailing his way out of the loosened chains and getting to his feet, glaring at them both in turn.
“Happy Wolf-day!” Stiles proclaimed, arms spread wide and huge grin on his face. “It was exactly five years ago today that you were bitten in this very spot to become a Werewolf!”
“Wasn’t it over there?” Derek asked, motioning towards the left.
Stiles rounded on him, looking offended. “Excuse you? Were you there? No. Zip it.”
Derek looked at Scott and motioned to the left with a jerk of his head. Scott just nodded, letting out a long-suffering sigh, but neither of them interrupted Stiles while he continued.
“So many things changed that day. Some good, some bad.” He paused. “Most of them bad. But! We persevered! We adapted! We survived! And now, we party!”
“Stiles, I have a class at eight tomorrow morning,” Scott insisted, he and Derek watching Stiles hurry to one of the trees and grabbing what looked like a cooler from behind it. “Did you seriously agree to this?” Scott asked Derek.
Derek just shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “He threatened me.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Derek muttered, ignoring the now-curious look he was getting from Scott.
Stiles wandered back over to them, holding out two Aconite beers for the Werewolves and then popping the tab on the regular beer for himself. He held it up, and Scott sighed before doing the same. Stiles stared at Derek until he also held his drink up.
“Here’s to the original trio of Beacon Hills. May every new experience we come across bring us less terror and pain than the past five years.”
“You’re terrible at this,” Derek informed him, but took a sip of his drink anyway.
Stiles just grinned and kissed his cheek, then grabbed Scott in a chokehold and informed him very loudly of how glad he was that Scott hadn’t died that night.
Derek just sighed and rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his beer and glancing up at the sky. The moon was half-full and bright, and while he knew this entire outing had been a completely ridiculous idea, in a way, he thought it was nice Stiles wanted to celebrate something that few people saw the good in.
It wasn’t just about Scott becoming a Werewolf, it was about everything that had happened since then. About all the trials they had faced and overcome. About the friends they’d made and lost along the way.
About the more-than-friends they’d made along the way.
“So, what do you think?” Stiles asked, bumping Derek lightly with his elbow. “Should we make this a tradition? Kidnap Scott every year and drag him out to the woods?”
“Only if you want to end up buried in them,” Scott muttered but Derek turned to regard Stiles and let a smile tease the corners of his lips.
“He’s got a pretty bad memory. He might forget about this by next year. But,” Derek pointed his finger at Stiles, “we’re not using the Camaro next year. Scott probably dented my trunk.”
“Fair,” Stiles grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek, then staring up at the sky, the two of them enjoying the silence of the forest.
“Guys? Seriously, I have an early class tomorrow. Can we go?”
Enjoying the silence.