[Derek's tensing is a bit worrying at first, but as usual, Stiles continues to barrel forward--his interactions with Derek tend to amount to swinging around a torch in a pitch black room and hoping he's aiming in the right way. But feeling Derek relax after a few seconds sends a squirm of pride to his chest, and he hugs him a little tighter, muttering into his ear.]
Yeeep, that's right, roll around in it. Seriously, make this thing smell like eau'd Derek so I can go home and get summararily sniff-attacked by a bunch of werewolves. [His tone is mostly joking, though, and he mumbles against Derek's broad shoulder, talking quietly in his ear where he knows the guard outside won't hear him.] They miss you. Erica says if you shank someone you'll up your prison cred, whatever that means.
[And then, with a little more urgency.] I think I got something. It's not--it's not perfect, but it's the best we've got and you have to promise not to maul me before I tell you.
[Because when Derek finds out they've been working with Allison, after she threatened their entire pack? This is going to be ugly.]
[ Closing his eyes, Derek buries his face into the junction of Stiles' shoulder and neck and steps in closer to him, shifting his arms so that the inside of the jacket will better smell like him. It's a brilliant idea, in lieu of them actually having him there with them. And he can tell how long each of them wore the jacket, whether they just wore it or if they hugged it to them or laid on it. They're all there, too, and a quiet falls over him. Not peace or real contentment, but relief.
He inclines his head, just slightly, towards Stiles' mouth as he speaks to let him know he's listening. There's no answer at first, safe for a quiet and tired huff at Erica's errant comment. ]
If it weren't already a thing, it'd mean that I'd have a reputation that screams "don't fuck with me." [ He's a little hoarse as he speaks, but it's largely from disuse. Save from the visits the pack pays him, he honestly doesn't talk to anyone.
That probably lends to his image.
But the humor leaves him, and he opens his eyes to look at what little of Stiles that isn't obscured by jacket. His cheek grazes along the shoulder of it, almost in an absent nuzzle, and he lets out a gruff sound. ]
[He winces mentally but continues on, steadily. Stiles has always had this secret idea that maybe if he keeps talking, if he proves his point then someone won't try to shoot it down before it ever gets off the ground. Usually that involves the other party listening to him first, and he's not completely sure if Derek's planning on doing that. So the words that come out of his mouth are fast, but steady, and he looks Derek right in the eye while he talks, the only thing fidgeting his fingers.]
She might have gotten us the exact piece of evidence we needed, don't look at me like that. [He pulled away earlier as he started to speak; Stiles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper.] Allison was supposed to burn this, but she held onto it for the fact that she is definitely a really good person even if she kinda had a couple weeks of Crazy con Carne and passed it on to Scott when he came to visit her out at--wherever she is, and Derek, just. It's a suicide note.
[ Stiles is right in thinking that Derek isn't entirely intending to listen to him right off the bat, at least not without interjecting something into it. But even as he jerks back like an agitated dog, brow furrowing and expression the very definition of sour, Stiles continues on and he keeps his jaw wired firmly shut. He's not happy about this, not after everything that the Argents have done so far-- Christ, his life is a fucking mess when it comes to that family-- but he listens.
And his eyes track Stiles' movements, but his hands stay secured at his waist rather than reaching out for the note. He knows that there's someone at the door, possibly watching them, and he's not about to take a piece of evidence from Stiles. Not at the risk of hearing them say that it's been tampered with. Instead, he lets out a low rumble, almost confirming that he heard him out and is considering everything. ]
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Yeeep, that's right, roll around in it. Seriously, make this thing smell like eau'd Derek so I can go home and get summararily sniff-attacked by a bunch of werewolves. [His tone is mostly joking, though, and he mumbles against Derek's broad shoulder, talking quietly in his ear where he knows the guard outside won't hear him.] They miss you. Erica says if you shank someone you'll up your prison cred, whatever that means.
[And then, with a little more urgency.]
I think I got something. It's not--it's not perfect, but it's the best we've got and you have to promise not to maul me before I tell you.
[Because when Derek finds out they've been working with Allison, after she threatened their entire pack? This is going to be ugly.]
no subject
He inclines his head, just slightly, towards Stiles' mouth as he speaks to let him know he's listening. There's no answer at first, safe for a quiet and tired huff at Erica's errant comment. ]
If it weren't already a thing, it'd mean that I'd have a reputation that screams "don't fuck with me." [ He's a little hoarse as he speaks, but it's largely from disuse. Save from the visits the pack pays him, he honestly doesn't talk to anyone.
That probably lends to his image.
But the humor leaves him, and he opens his eyes to look at what little of Stiles that isn't obscured by jacket. His cheek grazes along the shoulder of it, almost in an absent nuzzle, and he lets out a gruff sound. ]
Promise.
[ Still. ]
no subject
Scott and I talked to Allison.
[He winces mentally but continues on, steadily. Stiles has always had this secret idea that maybe if he keeps talking, if he proves his point then someone won't try to shoot it down before it ever gets off the ground. Usually that involves the other party listening to him first, and he's not completely sure if Derek's planning on doing that. So the words that come out of his mouth are fast, but steady, and he looks Derek right in the eye while he talks, the only thing fidgeting his fingers.]
She might have gotten us the exact piece of evidence we needed, don't look at me like that. [He pulled away earlier as he started to speak; Stiles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper.] Allison was supposed to burn this, but she held onto it for the fact that she is definitely a really good person even if she kinda had a couple weeks of Crazy con Carne and passed it on to Scott when he came to visit her out at--wherever she is, and Derek, just. It's a suicide note.
She committed suicide. The bite didn't kill her.
no subject
And his eyes track Stiles' movements, but his hands stay secured at his waist rather than reaching out for the note. He knows that there's someone at the door, possibly watching them, and he's not about to take a piece of evidence from Stiles. Not at the risk of hearing them say that it's been tampered with. Instead, he lets out a low rumble, almost confirming that he heard him out and is considering everything. ]
You're using it.