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Stiles talks.
A lot.
He knows that, mainly because it was a conscious decision for him, in the beginning.
When he was a kid, he was pretty energetic and loud just like any other child with ADHD. He got in trouble at school a lot, for not being able to focus, for not following directions on assignments, for getting in fights with the other kids. But he wasn’t all that talkative, not until one of the bullies tried to pick on him or anyone else. He tended to stick to himself, a little lost in his own world, his own thoughts.
At eight, he was put on Adderall, and that helped straighten out his attention problems. It didn’t help the fact that he hadn’t really made any friends up until that point, but that was also the year Scott McCall moved to town, so that issue was fixed pretty quickly as well. Still, Stiles wasn’t very talkative, not even with his best friend.
The rambling, babbling, bantering didn’t start until he was eleven when his mother was sick and suddenly the house was too quiet, too empty because she didn’t have the energy to fill it. He talked to fill that silence, and then he talked to his mother while she was in the hospital, even when she was confused and forgot who he was, and then he talked after she died, to his father, at first to keep the man grounded during the year he fell apart, and then afterward to convince him that Stiles was okay. (He wasn’t.)
Eventually the talking became second nature. It was a defense mechanism, a way to push everything in his head and heart to the very back of his being so that he didn’t have to deal with it now, or ever.
So yes, Stiles knows he talks a lot.
It doesn’t mean he can’t be quiet, he knows how to. There are some days that are just worse than others.
When Derek first starts in with the “Shut up, Stiles” he doesn’t think much of it. Mainly because he kind of hates Derek and Derek kind of hates him back and he’s perfectly okay with that.
But then Derek keeps saying it, even after they’ve stopped hating each other, and maybe it should feel like something of an inside joke except the rest of the pack picks it up too. Jackson is first of course, because he’s an asshole. But then Erica, Isaac, and even Boyd on occasion are saying it as well, and it’s not always in a teasing, friendly way.
They tell it to him when he swings by the loft one morning and drives them to school because Derek’s Camaro is in the shop.
They say it during lunch when he’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s not hungry and lately the feeling is unsettlingly familiar, and the last time he remembers eating was the day before.
They say it on his mother’s birthday when he’s trying desperately not to think about it.
They say it when he’s legitimately excited about some bit of research he just found, something that’s cool and interesting and could potentially save their lives in the future.
Hell, even Scott gets in on it every now and then. At the very least his best friend only says it teasingly, usually coupled with a playful push or smack and some laughter.
Most of the time, Stiles just rolls with it, lets his sarcasm flair and pretends to be indignant. On some occasions he’ll simply talk right over whoever said it, typically until they threaten him with fangs and claws. He’s used to being insulted after all, used to being put down; he’s gangly and awkward and too smart and too loud, unattractive and just plain weird, so of course he’s used to it by now.
He’d thought it had all stopped hurting him sometime during middle school.
The difference here is that these are people he considers to be his friends, and they’re still continuously putting him down. He does a lot for them, tries to make himself as useful as possible considering he doesn’t have super strength or speed or anything useful at all, really. And yeah at first none of it really bothered him, but the more it goes on the more the words start to prick at him, sharp edges slicing into where he thought he was calloused and immune.
The insults he can usually shake off after a minute or two. That’s fine. He’s fine. He knows most of the insults are warranted. It’s when they tell him to shut up that it really starts to hurt.
He’s a loudmouth by design, okay? It’s how he’s learned to cope with all the shit going down in his life. But they don’t seem to realize that, they don’t seem to care, and every time they tell him to be quiet he wants to listen because they matter to him and he doesn’t want them to push him away just because he can’t shut his trap for two minutes. He’s scared one of these days they’ll all just walk out on him, realize that they never should have bothered with him in the first place, that he’s not worth the headaches and the arguments. Not like he brings anything else to the table.
But being quiet hurts. There are times when it’s physically painful for him not to say anything, because the silence around him presses in, makes his head seem caustic and huge and he doesn’t want to fall into the pit of his own thoughts, can’t do it because if he did he’d probably never come back out again, too caught up in everything he keeps hidden. So he talks, and he talks, and he talks, and he prays that his friends will put up with him for another day longer, that he can keep himself silent for a few more seconds each and every time they get pissed at him, that he’ll learn to cope without bothering the people in his life that matter to him.
He doesn’t learn.
It comes to a head on a Thursday in March. It’s the anniversary of Stiles’ mother’s death and only Scott knows the significance of the date, but he’s out of school for the day doing lord knows what and Stiles doesn’t really blame him for not remembering because Stiles has kind of encouraged him to drop all knowledge of it in years previous.
Unfortunately, it leaves Stiles alone during school with the rest of the pack and a need to ramble so deep that he can’t ignore it for shit. Not even when Erica starts rolling her eyes and getting huffy, or when Isaac eventually just walks away from him without saying a single word.
He talks to anyone who will listen, anyone dumb enough to sit close to him, and tries to ignore exactly how much he’s pissing everyone off because he really can’t afford to think about that right now.
There’s supposed to be a pack meeting after school, but Stiles has absolutely every intention of skipping it. The decision is taken completely out of his hands when he walks out the front doors and is greeted by Derek in his flashy car and douchey aviators. He’s there to pick up the three stooges, as Stiles likes to think of them, but one raised eyebrow and a condescending look has Stiles climbing into the front seat as the wolves climb in the back.
“Ugh,” Erica says once she’s seated in the middle between the two boys. “Do we have to bring Stilinksi? He won’t fucking shut up today, my ears are going to start bleeding.”
Graciously, Stiles pretends not to hear that and launches into a convoluted discussion about the play they’re reading in English right now, one of Shakespeare’s lesser known works, and why exactly several of the characters are complete and total idiots.
Boyd sighs. Isaac grumbles the entire ride to the loft. Derek just glances at Stiles over the rim of his aviators every time they hit a red light.
It’s all Stiles can do to press his lips together when they actually get to Derek’s apartment, keeping himself silent up the stairs and inside, though he can’t keep himself from fidgeting and tapping his fingers in an uneven pattern against his leg.
Scott and Allison wander in a few minutes after Stiles has started a new speech on the recent discoveries scientists have been able to make thanks to pictures from the Hubble telescope. His best friend takes one look at Stiles and his eyes go comically wide, making the words in Stiles’ mouth die mid-sentence.
“Oh fuck,” Scott breathes and Stiles makes a short jerking motion with his head, trying to keep his friend’s mouth shut please god please he doesn’t want to do this in front of everyone else.
As much as he loves and adores Scott though, the guy isn’t the most astute of wolves, and he barrels right over Stiles’ silent signals to whine, “Shit, Stiles, I’m so sorry I completely forgot about what day it was.”
He can feel all the eyes in the room on him now, and Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to the other silently cussing Scott out in his head.
“What’s happening today?” Derek asks, and Stiles can see his hulking, arm-crossed form out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t turn his head when he waves a hand at the Alpha, a smile plastered across his lips.
“Nothing, nothing at all! Scott’s just being an idiot.”
Scott looks confused at first, and then the puppy dog eyes come out, big and watery and completely unfair. “You need to go home, Stiles, come on I’ll take you on my bike back to the school so you can get your jeep.”
“Seriously, what’s going on?” Isaac questions.
Erica snorts. “He’s probably on his period or something.”
Normally Stiles would hop all over how sexist that is, but he doesn’t have it in him right now. He wants to take Scott up on his offer, he desperately does, but if he leaves then he’s admitting that there’s something going on, that there’s something wrong. So he just keeps his smile in place and shakes his head.
“I’m fine, Scott! It’s all good, don’t worry about it. Now,” he claps his hands, glancing around at the rest of the pack in his desperate attempt to change the subject, “I believe we had a meeting to conduct. What is it this time, is there a new big bad in town? Fairies, trolls, vampires?”
Derek’s eyeing him like he doesn’t believe him, but he slowly follows Stiles’ lead and pulls the discussion towards a strange scent he found just outside the border of their territory. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and lets himself focus on the information, already making a list of details he can use to scour through the bestiary with.
Scott spends the entire meeting making puppy dog eyes at him and looking like he wants to wrap Stiles up in a hug. Thankfully the other wolves ignore him and Allison just looks slightly concerned.
There are multiple times Derek has to warn Stiles to get back on track, because he’s gone off on a tangent about one magical creature or another, or skipped to a completely new topic, and Stiles tries not to let the reprimands rub him the wrong way. Even if Derek does look like he’s ready to duct tape Stiles’ mouth shut by the time he’s herding all of the teenagers out of his loft, even the ones who live there.
“Um, kinda need a ride back to my jeep,” Stiles reminds him, and the Alpha actually rolls his eyes.
“Scott said he’d take you.”
His best friend gives a small canine whine, eyes flickering between Stiles and Allison like he doesn’t know what to do. “I can take Allison home first and then come get you?” Scott offers, looking hopeful that the compromise will be appreciated.
Only, Stiles doesn’t really want to spend all that time waiting for Scott alone with Derek, and apparently neither does the Alpha because he gives an angry huff. “I’ll drive him.”
Scott perks up at that, and then flashes what’s probably meant to be a reassuring smile at Stiles. “I’ll come by your place later!” And help you hide all the liquor before your dad gets home goes unsaid but Stiles appreciates the sentiment anyways.
He waves Scott off, watches as Allison climbs onto the back of his bike and they speed away. If he has to physically bite his lip to keep the words from spilling out, well, nobody needs to know that.
The car ride back to the school is quiet and awkward. Stiles knows he’s already pushed Derek pretty far today, and he doesn’t want the Alpha legitimately mad at him. Partially because Stiles has kind of maybe a huge crush on him, but partially because Derek has the power to kick him out of the pack once and for all. So he lists the periodic table, in order, in his head loud enough that it drowns out most of his other thoughts. Stiles is so focused he doesn’t even notice that they’re parked next to his jeep until Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face.
“Where were you?” Derek asks, retreating to his side of the car with a small furrow on his brow.
“Uranium,” Stiles answers.
It’s…not exactly what he was going to say, but hopefully it’ll throw the wolf off his trail a little bit.
“Why are you being so quiet all of a sudden?”
Damn. Tough luck.
Stiles sighs, drags a hand through his hair as he tries to figure out how to answer that question. Over the years of hanging out with werewolves, he’s become pretty damn good at lying without actually lying. It takes skill and knowing how to word everything in such a way that it rings with truth, even if said truth is a bit twisted and bent. Unfortunately, Stiles doesn’t currently have the mental energy or capacity to lie like that.
“I…didn’t want you to tell me to shut up,” he says eventually, words mumbled in a poor attempt to keep Derek from actually hearing them. Ha, yeah, fucking werewolf hearing sucks.
The expression on Derek’s face looks a little like Stiles just reached out and slapped him or something, mouth hanging open a bit (and no, he’s totally not staring at those adorable bunny teeth), nose scrunched slightly and brow drawn low in surprise and confusion.
“I mean it’s just,” Stiles rushes to explain, hands shaking a little while he gestures with them and voice pitched maybe a little too high, “I know I’ve been really loud and everything today so I figured I’d like, give you a break or whatever! Anyways, thanks for the ride, I really gotta get going.”
Without waiting for a response of any kind, Stiles stumbles his way out of the Camaro and practically flings himself at his jeep. He doesn’t glance over at the sleek black car once as he buckles his seat belt and starts the engine, pulls out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. It’s a little over dramatic sure, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with like, anything, right now, so he just heads to his empty house to wait for Scott to visit him.
After that, it’s like Stiles has had some kind of spotlight fixed on him or something. The pack doesn’t seem to notice it that much, but he certainly catches the way Derek is always watching him, pale eyes following him across a room in a way that would be kind of suspicious if he didn’t know that his alpha actually has a gooey heart of gold and only wants the best for everyone. That doesn’t make it any less disconcerting, or not make Stiles want to crawl out of his skin. He doesn’t like being under observation, and that’s clearly what this is, Derek trying to figure out what the fuck was going on and what he’d meant when those stupid words had slipped through his brain to mouth filter in the car.
The day after Derek sees Isaac legitimately growl at Stiles to be quiet and fuck off, not at all playful, the wolves avoid Stiles for a little while before coming back with shifty glances and odd behavior. They go out of their ways to be nice to him and trip over their endless teasing, like they’re not sure they should do it or not, until he finally rolls his eyes and ribs them until they start fighting back again. And he makes sure to do in front of Derek too, avoiding the feeling of a gaze on the side of his face the entire time.
Of course, Derek pulls him aside later for that, all concerned eyebrows and lips pulled down in a (damn near-perpetual) scowl.
This conversation isn’t going to go well, Stiles can already tell.
Because the universe only likes to agree with Stiles’ terrible predictions and never the ones with good outcomes, Derek starts with, “I thought you didn’t want people telling you to shut up.”
Stiles heaves a sigh. “I don’t.”
“So why do you pick fights then?”
“I’m not picking fights. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of an asshole. I like the teasing and pigtail pulling because it’s exactly what I do. What I don’t like is when they’re serious about it.” And when I’m feeling vulnerable. And when it goes on for too long. And when they insult me directly before or after telling me to shut up.
Derek stares at him for a long moment, gaze inscrutable. Like Stiles is some kind of puzzle he’s only just now realized he doesn’t actually know the answer to.
“Look, I appreciate whatever it is you were trying to do,” Stiles says, flapping his hand in the direction of where the rest of the pack disappeared. “But whatever you told them, don’t do it again. It’s fine, like I said I’m an asshole and I know I talk a lot, I’m used to hearing that shit. So long as they’re not mad at me when they say it, I don’t care.”
“I wasn’t angry with you the other day.”
That makes Stiles pause, and he has to fight the urge to drop his gaze and rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. “No, that was…” His voice trails off, but Derek picks up his dropped words with a strange softness in his tone.
“Scott said it was the day your mother died.”
For some reason, hearing it said like that, and from Derek’s mouth no less, Stiles feels his throat close up. This time he really does look away as he gives a nod instead of answering out loud. He takes a moment to gather himself before trying to offer an explanation. “Yeah, it was. I just…I talk. When I’m upset. But I know you guys don’t like it so I try not to sometimes. I don’t mind being told to shut up normally, but when I’m upset I just can’t, and when someone gets mad at me for that it makes everything worse.”
It’s more than he meant to say, but there’s an unusual gentle quality to the green-hazel of Derek’s eyes and Stiles can’t really say he regrets that. His crush rears its ugly head (born sometime after they had stopped actively hating each other out of a mixture of admiration, trust, and surprising levels of affection), makes his heart beat a little faster than it probably should be. If the Alpha notices, he doesn’t comment.
“It’s uh, how I cope I guess, babbling.”
“Like you’re doing now?”
Stiles clears his throat. “Yeah.”
The smile Derek gives him is a tiny thing, barely there, but it still makes Stiles feel warm, and he echoes it with one of his own.
“So you’ll stop trying to protect me from the pack then?”
“Yes, I’ll let you all be assholes. Let me know when you’re upset though? If it’s bad? I can keep them off you for at least that long.”
“That’s…really nice of you. Thanks.”
Derek growls softly. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can be nice.”
Stiles laughs at that, feeling that same warmness and a little giddy. “Sure, sourwolf,” he teases. “Of course you can.”