Stiles slammed the door behind him after shoving Derek into the loft by the bicep, turning around and pausing for a moment with his back against the door. He’d kept a tight hold on the man’s bicep since they got out of the Jeep, Derek talking about another dangerous plot that he and Scott had cooked up, one that put Derek front and centre in harm's way, again while the rest of the pack hid under their blankets. And when Stiles had found out, he went into a fit of silent anger, jaw clenched, fists tight around the steering wheel of the vehicle, eyes staring straight ahead. When they had gotten out, the teenager had grabbed the older man by the arm and pulled him towards the door of the loft, Derek allowing himself to be yanked around like a dog on a fucking leash. Pushing off from the wall, the teenager made his advance towards Derek who had disappeared into the kitchen, the fridge door open. Slamming his hand on it, he shoved it closed and glared at Derek.
“You know what your problem is? You don’t care about getting hurt. But you know how I’ll feel? I’ll be devastated! And if you die or get hurt, I will literally go out of my fucking mind. That doesn’t fucking happen to you, Derek, it happens to everyone around you, everyone left standing around after you’re gone trying to figure how to go on without you!” The words came out at 100 miles an hour, spitting them out before he lost his nerve. The alpha laughed and stepped back, crossing his arms against his chest as he took in the sight of the teenager with his stupid messy hair and those obscene lips. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped forward.
“Why are you so worried about me?” There’s a pause, the silence in those few seconds, deafening. Stiles gulped and glanced down for a second. Oh, you fucking idiot. He was talking before he could stop himself, his mouth moving and he could /hear/ himself talking.
“… I love you.” Derek barked a laugh and turned away, back to the fridge, opening it again and grabbing the butter, which is what he was trying to get earlier, shaking his head at the words that come out of the teenagers’ mouth. What the hell did he know? He was just a kid. And right now? This was the worst time for Stiles to work out his sexual frustration.
“This is why you manhandled me into my loft and nearly took my fingers off in the fridge door? This is why you want us to change the plan? For your stupid little teenage crush, that means absolutely nothing? You’re not in love, Stiles. You don’t know anything about love. You’re sixteen years old. You’re a child. Go home.” The words come out a little harsher than the alpha had intended but clearly, he had got his point across by the look on the teenagers’ face. A gulp from him and he ducked his head, already heading towards the door, slamming it shut behind him. After that, he didn’t look back, he just got in the car and drove.
He’d been sat in the car for half an hour with the headlights on outside his house when his dad came out, tapping his knuckles on the window. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he rolled down the window before killing the engine.
“You’ve been out here a while, kid,” he murmured, leaning against the door and watching his face for a moment. “Was going to wait until you came in of your own accord, but I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.” Stiles scoffed and wiped his eyes again, looking over at Noah and biting his bottom lip, taking a deep breath.
“I did something really stupid tonight, dad. Something so fucking stupid.” Stiles’ voice was rough, it was clear he’d been crying for a while. And Noah knew there was only a couple of things that could have this effect on the kid. With a nod, he stepped away, opening the driver’s side door and placing a hand on his shoulder, coaxing him out of the car, slipping an arm around his waist before rolling the window up with his spare hand and then removing the keys, shutting and locking the door.
“Why don’t we go and order pizza, put on a movie and when you’re ready to talk about Derek, we can talk about him.” A frown flickered on the teen's face as they approached the house.
“I didn’t tell you it was about Derek.”
“You didn’t have to.”