Chapter Text
The New York City streets are in chaos.
The central bank is being held hostage by a group of armed robbers. The people inside are in complete hysterics, cowering under desks, on the floor. Even families outside are hysterical, calling out to their loved ones.
Children are crying. Security guards are shouting. Policemen are armed, waiting outside the building. The sirens wail, and then screaming begins. The noise of gunfire.
A streak of red and blue flashes across the sky.
"Thank fuck." Is heard through the intercom.
T H E
A M A Z I N G
S P I D E R M A N
Derek Hale buys a blueberry muffin and a takeaway decaf latte from a small coffee shop at 7:15AM - although he can be early at 6:50AM and he might sit for a moment at the window with his laptop, or late at 7:25AM and rush in with his hair a disarray and rush back out (those are the best mornings) - and then he walks (runs) to the subway station to catch a train to Beacon Hills High at 7:30AM.
He breezes inside, slides into the crowded table and is immediately greeted with his friends - or to the outside world: the popular kids. He quietly finishes his breakfast because there's no time at home, with two sisters commanding the bathroom and both parents going to work. The bell rings, he goes to his various classes.
During the weekends, Derek Hale wakes up at 10:00AM and jogs in Central Park for an hour, because he can't afford a gym membership. He then goes home, presumably to shower. During the summer, he meets with his friends for lunch, goes to see a movie, to a shopping mall, to walk around town if it's a nice day. Coming up to SAT's, he spends most of his time inside, or with his friends at the library. They talk. He studies.
During winter, he spends time with his family. On Christmas Eve, every year, they go for dinner to the fancy restaurant across town, and to watch Derek Hale squirm in a suit is one of the best sights New York City has to offer.
Of course, the view from a twenty story building is rather unlimited. So it seems only natural to notice things when you're sitting cross-legged waiting for a crime to commence.
*
*
Stiles crashes into the bathroom stall, ripping off his suit and throwing on his regular clothes. He reappears harried, and quickly washes his face of grime. Bank robbers. They really were the most unimaginative of crimes.
He barrels into homeroom.
"Late again, Stilinski?" His teacher drones, not glancing up from the papers he's grading. Stiles nods and makes his way to the back, flopping beside Scott.
"I'm dying." He says quietly. "All my muscles ache."
"I know buddy." Scott slaps him on the shoulder.
"Ahh." He tenses, his mouth falling open in pain.
Scott winces. "Sorry." He whispers. "But I have some good news." He tries, his head tilting like a puppy.
Stiles sighs, rummaging for his planner in his bag. "Go on."
"Well, you know Kira and I have started talking?"
"Do I ever."
Scott pushes him, and Stiles smiles. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Carry on."
"She asked us if we wanted to sit at lunch."
Stiles continues digging around his rucksack. "That's great man, I was actually planning on going to the library to catch up on some -"
"No." Scott interrupts. "She wants us to come over. She's going to introduce us to her friends."
Stiles stops. He whips around, hair standing up every which way. "What." He states.
"Yeah, that whole group. I mean I just suggested I would meet her at lunch, and then she was all, 'come over! Meet the - eh - gang, are you okay?"
Stiles blinks, and refocuses his gaze from staring blankly out the window. "Yup." He says. "Fine."
"Stiles."
"All the group? Everyone in that group?"
"Those are her friends." Scott says.
"So, like. All of them?"
Scott huffs. "Who is it?"
Stiles frowns.
"Who do you not want to meet?"
"No one!" He cries. "All of them! Apparently!"
"Stilinski! McCall!"
They quiet. Scott glances at him surreptitiously. He ignores him in favor of freaking out.
*
The day passes uneventfully. As uneventful as the day can be on the day you're going to meet the love of your life.
"Why are you so worried?" Scott asks. "It's not like your crush is introducing you to her closest friends."
"Ya - ha." Stiles laughs loudly. "You - hah."
Scott frowns, and, always the voice of reason, asks. "Is this about Derek?"
"Shhh!" He hisses furiously, pulling on Scott's arm and glancing around wildly.
Scott rolls his eyes. "Stiles. You're hardly subtle. I've known you for a while now."
Stile gapes. "I am so offended right now."
"Look." Scott begins. "I know that you, you know." He gestures wordlessly for a moment to signify Stiles' life-rendering crush. "And I know that he'll be there. But I'll be pretty nervous without you, and you're my best friend, I don't wanna leave you out."
"Ugh." Stiles rubs his face. "Don't give me those pleading eyes." He groans at the thought of seeing Derek, of talking to him, of being himself in his body anywhere near Derek.
Scott shuffles on the spot.
"Alright!" Stiles huffs. "Fine."
Scott winds an arm around his neck and ruffles his hair.
*
He cannot find Scott anywhere. He scans the whole cafeteria. Normally they just meet up at their usual table, but today they both need to go up to the popular table together and Scott, there is Scott, sitting beside Kira and waving him over.
He hitches his bag across his shoulder and ambles across. "Uh."
All sixteen eyes are fixed on him.
Stiles Stilinski has faced bullies, murderers, terrorists, police, paparazzi, burning buildings, falling buildings, lawyers - but this. This has to be the most terrifying.
Erica Reyes pops her bubblegum, Vernon Boyd's arm strewn casually across the chair she's perched on.
Jackson Whittemore raises an eyebrow, Danny Māhealani glances up curiously from his sandwich.
Isaac Lahey quirks his head inquiringly, Lydia Martin twists a strand of hair around her index finger. Malia Tate looks him up and down approvingly, Allison Argent smiles reassuringly.
Derek Hale does not glance up at all.
"Hi." He says awkwardly.
And then that's that.
If he is being perfectly honest, he didn't expect to be so wholly accepted. But Boyd gestures for him to sit, and the conversation flows, Kira asking about his classes and homework, and then the others join in, Erica ribbing him about his constant lateness, Isaac asking what classes he took this year, which is his favourite, Danny pitching in about lacrosse.
And then he's talking. It just seems to flow, an ease with them, as if he's known them all his life.
Scott and Kira seem comfortable, happy. They talk quietly, and she laughs and beams at everything he says.
He looks across the table and catches Derek's eye. He smiles nervously, and Derek frowns in utter bewilderment before going back to his book, a gloomy scowl darkening his features.
Stiles' face burns.
*
After that, he can't escape them. They're in class, nodding him over, at practice, ruffling his hair, falling into step with him seemingly from nowhere, smiling in hallways.
Derek is no different. Sometimes, on rare occasions, Derek might look up curiously, or intone a curt reply, but most days he sits reading for the whole lunch.
Some days, there's no other option but to sit in the next available seat - beside Derek. Those days are filled with sweat patches, tremors, involuntary body movements and spasms of the face.
Derek doesn't notice.
He leafs through his novel, or his textbook, or his notes, and only takes notice if a) somebody, mainly Jackson or Boyd, reminds him he hasn't eaten, wherein he will promptly blink and start eating his sandwich, or b) he is asked a direct question, then he'll blink and promptly answer.
Everybody suspects that Derek doesn't normally speak because he's arrogant, he's mysterious, he thinks he's too good for the school populace.
But his voice is gruff, curt, and when he glances up quickly, realising he's been spoken to, he frowns and asks, "What?" With a blunt tone, impatience bleeding through. It's clearly not the fact he thinks he's better than people, it's just the fact that he doesn't want to talk to anyone.
Stiles savors the moments where Derek gives him some kind of acknowledgement, when his eyes will light on him for a few brief seconds at a time.
And is falling deeper and deeper in love with him.
It all began, really, freshman year.
He doesn't want to say that he set his eyes on Derek and immediately knew it was love at first sight - well, he doesn't want to say it, but...
Derek was walking, head bent low in a textbook, not watching where he was going and yet seemingly always knowing when to slow and let somebody pass, tilt to the side as somebody flys by.
And he was wearing round glasses that engulfed his face, a scruffy jacket and dirty, scuffed sneakers.
Something in the way he moved, in the deep set of his permanent scowl as his eyes roved over the page, caught Stiles' attention. And then he began cataloging his features, and Stiles abruptly realised that underneath his baggy clothes and unwelcoming persona, he was really quite attractive.
His hair was thick; an inky, rich colour of black, his cheeks smooth and rosy. His eyes were clear and even from a distance, startlingly intense. A lock of hair fell across his bent forehead, he brushed it away with a hand.
Stiles had promptly been knocked into because he had stopped in the middle of the hallway. Someone bumped his shoulder and his bag fell from his grip, and when he looked up after he had sorted himself out again, he was met with the view of Derek's back.
*
So Stiles had done some research. Found out a few key points of interest. Just little things.
Derek was the only brother of two sisters and the son of two loving parents, he enjoyed reading literature and playing sports, he was on the swimming team at a the competitive national level, he had few friends, although they were the most popular in the whole school, he rarely spoke, and excelled in every subject he sat. He studied for hours each night and got up early each morning, enjoyed routine and structure and disliked anything that disrupted that. He was neat and organised and lined his pens up in a row, used color-coded notes and systematically pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose every couple of minutes.
Derek Hale was sought after by the school populace because there was so little known of him, but if people would just dig a little deeper, open up their eyes and see.
He rarely spoke to people but smiled openly with his sisters, talked animatedly with the handful of people he actually let divert his attention away from reading. He wore a surly expression but walking to school, he always checked his pockets for spare change when passing people sat huddled on the street, and if he didn't have any, he gave part of his lunch. He frowned at anyone and everyone but always, always bent to pat the head of any dog at any opportunity he got. And he turned girls down but he always, always, always picked up Mrs Pankhurst's cat when it was raining and brought him inside and kissed the top of his furry head when he had to let him go again.
He's beautiful. Utterly, starkly beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful, from the grace of the curve to his jaw to his kindness for strangers and his love of animals.
Stiles has never felt this way for anyone.
He'd thought his childhood crush on Lydia Martin had been him set for life, until he realised that sweaty palms and a beating heart didn't constitute as love.
What constituted as love, for Stiles, was an aching fondness for somebody who he's never exchanged two words with.
It's concern when seeing that someone coughing and spluttering with the flu, sadness when they're away for a couple of days. Happiness and joy when they achieve a good grade, a terrifying mixture of nauseous ecstasy when in their presence whatsoever. He fell in love with Derek Hale over the course of freshman and sophomore year, and he is still in love with him today, nearly graduating.
And yet, Derek changed sophomore leading into junior year. He started dating Kate Argent, the college student from across town, and Stiles still can't figure out why.
He dressed differently, in leathers and Henley's, took off his glasses, and started taking notice of his appearance. He began talking to people, and in a few days was firmly situated inside the most popular group in their year. He grew more confidant in himself, more open to conversation, although with sharp, short replies and derisive facial expressions.
SAT's rolled around, Derek quit dating Kate, locked himself in his room for a week, got straight A's, had a party, and invited everyone in the school.
Nearly everyone. Stiles is cool with it.
For weeks after the breakup, Kate spread rumors and lies - that Derek was terrible in bed, he was secretly gay - but his friends (his many, many friends) all came to his defence, ripped Kate Argent down, and Derek's reputation was left intact - (plus if Stiles wanted one of the rumours to be just a little true, well, he wouldn't admit that to anyone.)
Derek matured after that, still kept his leather jacket, but stopped wearing contacts, put his old glasses back on and sat with a book in his hand around the lunch table. He was Derek, Stiles' Derek, and Stiles has never been so glad.
Glad because he had more people who cared about him, more people who extracted that earth shattering, unwillingly snort-laughter from him, were there for him at any point in the day. Derek was surer in himself, even though he still frowned, still appeared to the general public as egotistic. But Stiles felt something settle that had been unsettled for a long time, ever since Derek started hanging around Kate.
But then, Stiles leads a pretty hectic and unsettled lifestyle, what with being a vigilante and saving the world and all.
*
*
To begin at the start, to really explain, it was during a school field trip to a science engineering lab in sophomore year that it happened.
Stiles hadn't really been paying attention to anything other than the stark curiosity on Derek's face that shone in his glasses as he gazed up at the technology, ran reverent fingers over the machinery.
Stiles was wandering aimlessly, taking idle notes and doodles in between surreptitiously flicking his eyes upwards to Derek's leather-clad back, and he had been in the middle of an impressive sketch when he realised he had lost half the class.
There was a door that led down a hallway, and it seemed perfectly plausible, so Stiles had pushed open the heavy metal, and came up short.
Now, if he were in possession of your typical fears and phobias, he would have let out a very manly screech. Instead, Stiles had raised his eyebrows in shock at the sight before him.
Spiders. Hundreds and hundreds of spiders, all in glass enclosures, spinning their webs, twirling, moving.
Stiles stepped a foot forward before he was even aware of it, coming closer. The spinning was methodical, almost mesmerising, and he crouched, lifted a finger to tap the glass.
Suddenly they were moving rapidly, the enclosures twirling around, and Stiles eyes were lit with the blue glow of the room, fascinated by the display, the whirring speed.
He left pretty quickly after that.
And then he had woken up the next morning, a foot taller, with webbing that shot uncontrollably from his hands, so he'd assumed it must have had something to do with it.
*
What he enjoys - apart from the adrenaline rush of stopping crime, swinging from skyscrapers, and the general feeling of goodwill when saving somebody's life - is the amount of leeway he has in seeing. He can potentially see everything.
And so he does. Everything on one particular matter.
Stiles wouldn't call himself a stalker.
He never looks inside Derek's bedroom window, even if the blinds are open, the lamplight is on and he could just sit and watch. He never, ever places any form of unwanted attention onto Derek; he doesn't purposefully bump into him in hallways, find places to meet him on the street.
Stiles never does anything to Derek or for Derek or near Derek that would warrant any kind of attention, and it's why he's kept invisible all these years. It's why Derek has no idea he exists. He was intending to keep it that way.
And now his plan has just been totally and royally screwed up.
Because now Derek is aware of him, sitting at their table and passing him in hallways, and every time those eyes set on his, Stiles wants to explode. He wants to physically combust.
This wasn't what it was meant to be like, this wasn't the deal. Stiles was supposed to stay quietly in love with Derek for the rest of his days and fight crime on the side. But now, he's a part of his friend group, there's no way to avoid him, and he has to suddenly sit up and realise that his little bubble of existence is not sustainable, that he can't follow Derek around for the rest of his life.
Because being in his proximity, no matter how awkward and painful, is the sweetest bliss Stiles has ever experienced, and suddenly he wants more, he isn't simply content with watching; he wants conversation, he wants laughter, he wants physical touch.
It's an agony he can't explain, because watching Derek make his way home, he wants to fall into step with him, imagines what would happen if he did, if he struck up a conversation - because he could, he could, they know each other, it wouldn't be odd.
They know each other in that vague, 'hey' head-nod kind of way, but still. He could.
He's wearing a pretty iconic spandex suit, though. So he might pass for tonight.
*
"And then, and then, I felt something pulling at me, turned around, and my shorts just flew off. They must have caught on the door or something, because they just ripped right off like they were made of paper. And then the door stuck. So I'm standing in the middle of these revolving doors, in my underwear, and everybody walking past can see -”
The whole table is in hysterics, slapping their hands down and shaking their heads, Stiles grins triumphantly, hands waving as he continues.
"And it took a good twenty minutes until the maintenance guy came! I had to walk home with my shredded pair of running shorts, and a shredded pride."
"Stilinski wins! Most embarrassing story!" Erica declares.
Stiles fist-pumps the air dramatically as the rest of the group boo.
"Aw that's not fair! It's just because nobody is willing to share their most embarrassing story!" Isaac says.
"Hence why I clearly win." Stiles replies smugly, and the others laugh.
"But how does that work?" Derek suddenly pipes up. The table silences, and Stiles startles at Derek addressing him.
"How did your shorts just come off?"
Stiles flushes from the close proximity of Derek, of his sole attention all focused on him, and flutters his hands up uselessly. "I don't know! It just happened! I didn't do it on purpose!"
There's a tick to the side of Derek's mouth. "I've never heard of anybody losing their shorts to a revolving door."
"You better believe it, buddy." He says humorously, adrenaline from simply exchanging words with Derek emboldening him, making him almost breathless.
When Derek huffs, Stiles sits straighter, chest widening, and feels pride radiate from his pores. He feels like Superman.
*
He's started talking to Derek Hale. He's started talking to Derek Hale.
He has started talking to Derek Hale.
They share glances in the hallway. Derek will look up from the page he's reading and look straight at Stiles, straight through him, give him a tilt of his head, a smile. Stiles will grin back, skip the rest of the way to class.
At the lunch table, he'll snort at something Stiles will say, shake his head. And he'll reply, engage Scott into the conversation, try to involve them both.
Stiles knows that Derek is only making an effort because he realises all his friends have taken to them, and he's pretty sure he heard Boyd talking to him quietly before pointing to Scott and raising his eyebrows. Derek has been more open since then.
But being open, friendly, and liking somebody are two very different things. He realises this. And so, he's struck up a plan. He is going to secure Derek's affections.
Ever since he began talking to him, he realised he wanted more. Realised that more was actually a possibility, nebulous and fragile but still, a possibility.
All he has to do is become Derek's friend, become his best friend, change his sexuality whilst he himself miraculously becomes attractive, and voila. Simple.
*
He slides into his usual seat at lunch and immediately gets caught up in the conversation, laughing and joking with Erica and Danny, teasing Jackson, complimenting Lydia and Malia. After a while he eases out, eats his sandwich and nods silently if anybody addresses him, quietly fading into the background.
Once he's sure everybody is distracted or occupied with something or someone else, he reaches out with a hand and presses a finger into the back of the novel Derek is reading, tilting it upwards to see the title, something he's never been able to do.
He nods approvingly when he sees A Thousand Splendid Suns, looks up to find two shrewd eyes on him, although Derek doesn't push his hand away.
"Any good?" He asks casually.
Derek raises an eyebrow, lifts the book up higher to illustrate the dog-eared pages.
"So it's good." He concludes. Derek's mouth ticks, and he goes back to reading.
"So." Stiles coughs awkwardly, swallowing. "What's it about?" He tries.
The whole table groan, and he glances up in surprise, unaware they were watching.
"You don't want to ask Derek what a book is about." Danny warns.
"Why not?" Stiles frowns, feeling abruptly defensive of him.
"Because he'll sigh for the thousandth time and say, 'it's hard to explain.'"
"Or, 'it's too long, you'd have to really read it for yourself.'"
"Maybe I will." He says confidently.
He finds it in the library, and reads it in a night. As soon as he comes into school, he's flopping down beside Derek.
"Whoa. Just whoa."
Derek bookmarks his page and turns to him curiously.
"I mean, that was mind-blowing. Mariam's whole struggle, her whole life. And then Laila -"
Stiles can say with confidant surety that he has never seen a person's face light up like Derek's does in that moment. His heart swells in excitement as Derek grins.
"How far along are you?" He asks quickly, twisting his body fully to Stiles.
"I finished! I had to, I was sobbing, I couldn't -”
Derek lets out a laugh.
"I couldn't stop without knowing they were alright!"
They spend the whole lunchtime talking, and lo and behold, Derek gives him his number, telling him to text him after school and they'll talk more. He's vibrating with energy by the end of the day, jumping up and down on his toes. When he gets home he immediately texts, despite how eager it makes him seem.
To Derek
Why didn't the skeleton go to the dance?
From Derek
I'm gonna make a wild guess and say this is stiles
To Derek
Yes, but c'mon you gotta say the punchline
From Derek
This is stupid I'm not doing it
To Derek
I'm not going to leave you alone until you do
From Derek
Is it because a skeleton can't move because it's oh I don't know DEAD
To Derek
Hah wrong it's because he had noBODY to go with, clever right?
From Derek
I'm already regretting giving you my number
To Derek
Hey that joke is hilarious
From Derek
Yeah to a four year old
To Derek
You're just mad because you didn't get it right
From Derek
that's totally my issue here
To Derek
There's no need to be so grumpy all the time
C'mon live a little
From Derek
I can't deal with you right now
To Derek
That wounds me
Derek?
He bites his thumbnail, waiting, and then gives it five seconds.
To Derek
Wow rude, you should at least say bye
In return he’s bombarded, and he means bombarded, by a list of books.
From Derek
Of Mice And Men
The Book Thief
Brave New World
The Collector
Catch 22
then we can talk
He makes about a million trips to the library, and leaves with his arms full of books, but he's grinning from ear to ear.
*
They share recommendations and reviews like spit-fire, and eventually, he's gravitated to sitting beside Derek at their table, closer and closer until their heads are bent and they're arguing and agreeing ceaselessly.
The others notice, and he tries to rein in his enthusiasm, his no-doubt glowing happiness at Derek shifting to gesture to the available space beside him, anytime they pass reading in the hallway and Derek smirks in approval.
God, he is so gone. He was gone before, but now he's truly, completely gone. Lost. There's no hope, no return.
Erica catches his arm at his locker, and his heart slams painfully into his ribcage.
"Hey." She says, smiling.
"I -” His eyes are wide, knowing what she's about to say, mentally preparing the speech, the denial, the -
"We're all going out for dinner, was wondering if you wanted to come?"
He relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief. "So this is me like - officially part of the group?"
She laughs, rolling her eyes.
"I mean, is there like - a signed document? A ceremony?"
"Are you free or not?" Erica asks.
"I'll try and make the time." He says magnanimously.
"Derek's coming." She says, casually inspecting her nails.
He waits a minute. "Cool." He replies, closing his locker and zipping up his bag. She just continues to smile.
He spends just over an hour standing in front of the mirror, freshly showered and freaking out because he has absolutely nothing, nothing in his wardrobe whatsoever, he has no clothes, none.
Okay he has clothes. But nothing.
To: Scott
bdjdnkfnajdbrjxnksnk
fhagdjdndj
Jkdnsjz
From: Scott
I'm coming over
*
"Are you sure, though?" He asks for the third time.
"Stiles, you look good, stop worrying."
"But do I look the best I have ever looked?"
Scott sighs noisily out through his nostrils, turning with a flat look at Stiles.
Stiles is wearing a plaid button-down and jeans, perfectly presentable, but he can't help smooth a hand down his hair, check his breath every few minutes.
"Yes. Now can we please focus on the fact that I asked Kira out for dinner and she invited everybody."
Stiles snorts. "Dude, you're solid. She's so into you."
Scott's expression morphs into something hopeful. "You think?"
"I know. I see things." He taps his nose.
"Yeah, yeah." Scott shoves him. "Don't joke."
"I'm not!" He says indignantly as they near the diner. "I'm being so serious right now, if you don't know yet, man, there's no hope."
He pushes open the door with his back and immediately there's a cheer as they're spotted and called over. Scott gives his open, happy grin as they're welcomed, and Stiles can't help but feel the same happiness for these people.
He sets himself down grinning; and almost knocks himself unconscious with the double take he makes when he sees Derek.
His hair is just-washed and fluffing up, thick and dark, his face shaven and smooth, and he's wearing his leather jacket, hugging across his shoulders and chest.
Underneath he's wearing a soft shirt, open slightly at the collar.
Stiles doesn't know how he's going to survive this.
He busies himself with the menus and tries not to let his cheeks burn too obviously.
Derek nods at him before going back to his conversation with Boyd, and Stiles nods back, flustered. Throughout the wait for drinks he keeps his eyes down, not wanting to give anything away.
Stiles and Derek order the same thing, coincidentally, and yet as he goes to bite into the burger, his mouth is filled with the weirdest concoction of textures, and the most disgusting blend of flavours, he's struck still, mouth agape, unsure what to do.
He and Derek's eyes meet across the table, only not in a spark of romantic connection he had hoped for, but in complete, abject horror. He can't help but grin with rising hysteria at the expression of desperation in Derek's eyes, and Derek's mouth begins to wobble as he tries to contain his food.
Stiles bursts out laughing. The sound is garbled and strange through the mushed abomination, and Derek shakes his head, grinning, hunching over his shoulders.
The group stop and frown, and Stiles nods, pointing to his mouth, and tries to relay the mixture of emotions, frowning in puzzlement and wrinkling his nose in distaste and then widening his eyes in revulsion, and Derek just explodes in laughter, snorts his whole mouthful all over the table and flushes the darkest shade of red he's ever seen.
"You knob what, 'our wright." He nods profusely and simply spits the mushed mess onto his plate.
The attention is then drawn to him and Derek just erupts, laughing so loud and so hard he has to tip his head backwards, gasping in pain, and Stiles joins in, chuckling into his drink and sniffling diet coke into his napkin, and then the whole table is laughing, and Derek isn't embarrassed, and he's looking at Stiles as if he's the best thing he's ever seen.
He goes home smiling, settles underneath his covers, closes his eyes to the image of that look, for him, all his.