[Two weeks of life back the way it should be. Stiles had gotten re-used to being lesser than the people he hung out with, remembering that it kind of sucked. But hey, two weeks of absolutely no Derek had given him time to get over the incident that he'd rather not ever think about again. Ever.
He even managed to see to his own needs, almost blacking out when he got to where he was going for. God, he'd missed that. (Which also heralded his return to his twice-daily (minimum) excursions into self love territory)
His dad was at work and that left Stiles alone to figure something out for dinner. He'd gone with a roast beef sandwich with the leftovers they had and chips. Nothing said teenager like chips as a side dish. He was carrying the plate and a glass of milk into his room when he saw a hulking figure over by the window.]
What, it took you two weeks to figure out you don't know where the on switch is on your computer?
[His comment was delivered with all the smug snideness he could muster, until he actually got a good look at the body by his window. Oh. That wasn't Derek. He hadn't gotten a good look at the werewolf he'd knocked out in the woods and his sense of smell wasn't going to help him out here, so he just stared blankly at the intruder for a second before he dropped the plate and glass and turned to bolt further into the house.
He didn't get far before he felt a body hit him and tackle him to the floor, landing heavily on him and driving the air completely from his body. His mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to suck in air that seemed like it didn't exist. He felt pain in his side, pinpricks of claws grabbing him and rolling him over roughly. It took him a second of looking up into glowing gold eyes and bared fangs for him to let it sink in that he was going to die. I hope dad isn't the one that finds me, is about all he has time to think before he sees a hand lifted to take a swipe at him.]
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He even managed to see to his own needs, almost blacking out when he got to where he was going for. God, he'd missed that. (Which also heralded his return to his twice-daily (minimum) excursions into self love territory)
His dad was at work and that left Stiles alone to figure something out for dinner. He'd gone with a roast beef sandwich with the leftovers they had and chips. Nothing said teenager like chips as a side dish. He was carrying the plate and a glass of milk into his room when he saw a hulking figure over by the window.]
What, it took you two weeks to figure out you don't know where the on switch is on your computer?
[His comment was delivered with all the smug snideness he could muster, until he actually got a good look at the body by his window. Oh. That wasn't Derek. He hadn't gotten a good look at the werewolf he'd knocked out in the woods and his sense of smell wasn't going to help him out here, so he just stared blankly at the intruder for a second before he dropped the plate and glass and turned to bolt further into the house.
He didn't get far before he felt a body hit him and tackle him to the floor, landing heavily on him and driving the air completely from his body. His mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to suck in air that seemed like it didn't exist. He felt pain in his side, pinpricks of claws grabbing him and rolling him over roughly. It took him a second of looking up into glowing gold eyes and bared fangs for him to let it sink in that he was going to die. I hope dad isn't the one that finds me, is about all he has time to think before he sees a hand lifted to take a swipe at him.]