allirica:

“Derek’s gone missing.”

Stiles went still, the straw to his slushie halfway to his
lips.  He was in the middle of the store
parking lot and got shoved slightly out of the way by an angry shopper, but he
couldn’t bring his feet to keep moving.

“What?” he finally managed, gripping his phone tightly
against his ear.

“We think he was taken by the harpies.”

Stiles huffed out a breath. “Of course he was.”

“Lydia says they’re going to kill him in some kind of ritual,”
Scott’s voice was tinny over Stiles’ phone, the sound of traffic almost
drowning out his voice.

“Naturally.”

“We’re going to the preserve, need us to pick you up?”

Finally, Stiles kicked into gear, jogging towards his jeep. “Nah,
I’ll meet you there. I’ve got my bat.”

Scott hung up and Stiles shoved his phone back in his pocket,
climbing into his jeep.  Trust Derek to
get kidnapped for some supernatural ritual.
And trust Derek to get kidnapped for some supernatural ritual after
their first fight as a couple.

He’d be damned if he let Derek die after getting the last
word in.

The argument had been over something so stupid.  They’d been together – officially, both on
the same page, finally, after months
of casual-not-so-casual sex – for a few months and hadn’t had a single falling
out.  It was kind of impressive,
considering that before, they couldn’t spend more than ten minutes in the same
room before they started sniping at each other.

But then Stiles had left the dishes instead of doing them
right after dinner and Derek had made some asshole comment, and Stiles had
retaliated, and it had all gone to shit from there until all the stuff they hadn’t spoken about, all the serious
stuff like Derek constantly martyring himself to save others and Stiles
constantly pushing himself headfirst into danger, came to the surface and they
ended up in each other’s faces, yelling and flinging insults backwards and
forwards, until Derek had thrown up his hands, spat, “You’re so fucking impossible” and stormed out.

Because of course he got to have the last word and the dramatic exit.

Asshole.

God, Stiles loved him so much.

*

Scott and the others were already there when Stiles pulled up
and parked.  

He unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted around to grab his
baseball bat from the back seat, jumping out of the jeep.  Adrenaline was pulsing through him, body and
mind geared for a fight, and he opened his mouth to suggest ways of tracking
the harpies.  Except Lydia had beaten him
to it and all in all, it was fairly anticlimactic.

They found the nemeton and, with it, the harpies.  Just in time, as well.  The fight was over fairly fast, in a chaos of
wings and claws and bats and screeches.
Scott drove them off the territory, out of Beacon Hills, and Stiles
would have high fived his best friend if he wasn’t already dropping to his
knees next to Derek and deftly untying the ropes that bound him to the nemeton.

He was completely unharmed, which was better than Stiles who
had come out of the fight with some wicked looking scratches thanks to talons,
and he let Stiles drag him up into a hard embrace.

“You asshole,” he
muttered against Derek’s shoulder, closing his eyes and just breathing him in, reassuring
himself that Derek was okay.

Derek pulled back, just enough to cup Stiles’ face and press
their foreheads together. “You came,” he said quietly.

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll always have
your back.”

Derek kisses him then, slow and soft, sliding his hands along
the curve of Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him closer.  

“You don’t get to die,” Stiles added when he pulled back. “Not
after an argument and sure as hell not before I get the last word.”

A small grin touched Derek’s face and, just as it always did,
the sight made Stiles melt because Derek was just so beautiful.

“Deal,” he said gruffly.