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"Everyone else is seeing this, right?" Stiles asks, looking around.
Nods all around.
"That is one big-ass unicorn," Lydia adds, sounding slightly awed. And terrified.
Stiles has never actually thought about what a real-life unicorn would be like, but he always pictured something a little more Disney than pale glimmering thestral-looking creature that was grazing nearby.
Scott was staring and looking like he was four seconds away from bolting out of his seat and trying to pet it, but luckily Derek put out his arm and kept Scott firmly anchored to his seat. "We don't know if it's dangerous," Derek says, because he's lived the type of life that leads to being suspicious of unicorns.
"Good point," Scott agrees, but Stiles knows him well enough to know that his fingers are itching to go over and pet the thing's muzzle.
They watch the unicorn warily, but it doesn't seem interested in doing much beyond standing around and occasionally rooting around on the ground looking for something edible.
Then Scott and Lydia both succumb to the urge to try to pet it, but the unicorn flees.
"Oh yeah," Lydia says. "Purity myth."
"Dang," Scott says mournfully, like he's actually regretting all the sex he's had. Stiles glares.
*
The unicorn shows up again two nights later.
Stiles is crouched behind a dumpster trying to keep his dignity intact while watching Scott, Derek and Isaac battle a group of werewolves. They're supposedly some sort of werewolf assassin club, likely hired by Gerard Argent, knowing his penchant for day-ruining, and Stiles knows when he's outmuscled. So he hangs out by the dumpster, yelling out warnings and clutching his baseball bat.
Then the unicorn appears.
It's both majestic and also scary as fuck, with gleaming white fur and a deadly looking horn, and a body that's all bone and muscle. It looks like something that is made to fuck up baddies' day, like Tarantino took a job at Nickelodeon.
It breathes out loudly, lets out a sharp whinny, and then charges. One of the rival werewolves is impaled before Stiles can blink, and then the others are running for their lives.
The unicorn surveys them before shaking its head, sending blood splatters across the alley, and trotting away.
"What the hell," Derek says.
"That was amazing," Isaac says while Scott stares after the unicorn with hearts in his eyes.
"I think I want that unicorn's autograph," Stiles agrees, because dude. Most badass display of violence he's ever seen from a being of purity.
*
"I don't want to say it sounds completely implausible," Allison says, crossing her legs as she sits down at the bench at school. "But... a unicorn ran up and killed a bad werewolf for you?"
"Weirder stuff has happened," Scott says, but he doesn't follow it up with an example.
Stiles nods, backing up his bro, even though the unicorn situation is definitely the weirdest shit Beacon Hills has thrown at them thus far, and that includes the time he'd gotten back a failing grade on an essay from Ms. Blake after she'd tried to freaking kill them.
"It was a mean-looking unicorn," Stiles offers, because maybe Allison is picturing something gentle and wise instead of the bad motherfucker that showed up and gutted a werewolf like it was nothing. "Like the Bad Bad Leroy Brown of unicorns. This unicorn could take down Galactus, if it wanted to."
"Okay," Allison says, clearly blown away. Well, really, she looks like she's doubting her own life choices that lead her to this particular lunch table, but thankfully Isaac sits down and immediately corroborates their story.
Stiles surreptitiously looks around, but there's thankfully no terrifying unicorns lurking around the high school. He did the math, he was the only one in possession of a v-card that was present at both sightings, and from a hasty -- for him, anyway -- bit of research, he's learned that this sort of unicorn tends to latch on to their chosen virgin.
It's watching and waiting out there somewhere. Stiles knows it.
*
A week goes by, and Stiles doesn't spot the unicorn.
But he has time to do more research, and it turns out that, badass as they are, the kind of unicorn that’s been hanging around is actually considered a nuisance, mythologically-speaking. They have a tendency towards minor property destruction and clinginess apparently designed to make sure that the object of their unicorn fixation is forever alone.
Which, makes sense, from a unicorn perspective, but Stiles is pretty sure that the level of suck is way too high to make up for having an awesome unicorn hanging around permanently.
*
He's pumping gas when he looks over and notices Derek standing at the edge of the parking lot, gesturing wildly at something in the darkness beyond the lights illuminating the gas station.
"Are you okay?" Stiles calls, getting the last few bucks worth of gas before putting the pump up. "Because you look exactly like someone who should be getting a drunk and disorderly called on them very shortly."
Derek turns, glares briefly but expressively, and then turns back to the woods beyond the gas station. "It won't leave," he says, voice pained.
"It?" Stiles asks, and jogs over to see what Derek is trying to shoo away.
The unicorn stands majestically a few dozen yards away, graceful and strong and looking for all the world like it deserves to be immortalized painted on black velvet.
"Um," Stiles says. "Has this been an... issue... for you?"
"It left a hoof mark on the hood of my car," Derek says. He glares at the unicorn again. "And ran out in front of me yesterday; I almost ended up in a ditch. And it stole my hamburger right out of my hand the day before. So yes, the thing is a problem. It won't go away."
"That's really interesting information," Stiles says, mind whirling, because the literature had been very specific on the matter of unicorns only fixating on virgins. "So, out of curiosity. Are you planning on wearing white on your wedding day?"
"What?" Derek actually turns to look confusedly at him. "Stiles, I don't have time for this."
"It's an important question," Stiles says, "because, you know. If you're saving yourself, that's okay. Admirable, even!"
"Saving myself... Jesus, Stiles," Derek shakes his head, like he's trying to transport himself away from the conversation.
"Well," Stiles says, gesturing towards the unicorn, "I'm asking because everything I read indicated that unicorns only attach themselves to virgins, and I would have thought that ship had sailed for you."
He doesn't actually say the names Kate or Jennifer, because Derek's love life has always been kind of touchy.
Derek gets a strange look on his face, something halfway between understanding and utter embarrassment.
"Oh my god," Stiles says. "How the hell are you a virgin? Me, I understand, but dude. Look at you! How has no one climbed all that like a freaking tree?"
Derek glares. "I've been... climbed. But in a very technical sense, I guess I qualify."
"As a virgin. You qualify as a virgin," Stiles says, because it's just not processing. "But... your evil girlfriends!"
Probably not the most tactful, but Stiles has never expected 'tactful' to appear on his tombstone.
The unicorn whinnied.
"There was completion," Derek says stiffly, "But no technical... penetration..."
"Oh good grief, Derek, did you seriously just use the words completion and penetration in the same sentence." Stiles' mind is whirring enough that he just fixates on Derek's horrifying word choices. "You're the unicorn bait, not me! This is golden."
"This sucks," Derek corrects. "It just needs to go away." He did a few more wild arm motions and even growled a bit in the unicorn's general direction, to no avail. "Thanks for saving my life!" he yells at it. "But please leave forever!"
The unicorn does not leave forever. The unicorn just makes a unicorn-patty.
"Listen," Stiles says, "as entertaining as this is.... I can think of another solution."
Derek stares at the unicorn for another long moment. "It actually bit a chunk off my favorite leather jacket, like it's part goat or something. What's your solution?"
And that's how Stiles Stilinski ends up propositioning Derek Hale for sex in a gas station parking lot.
*
"Is it gone?" Derek asks an hour later, sprawled heavily across Stiles in the backseat of his car. It's an awkward tangle of too-long limbs, and Stiles is too blissed out to try to squirm his way out.
"You're on top, you look."
Derek sighs, and pushes himself up, and a few moments drops back down and presses a grateful kiss on Stiles' throat. "It's gone."
"You're welcome," Stiles says sleepily. "Anytime. Though I'll point out that you didn't offer the same for me when I was the target of ritual virgin sacrifice."
Derek doesn't actually say shut the fuck up, Stiles, but Stiles feels it's really implied in the way he kisses him hard before Stiles can finish his rant.
Stiles would be completely okay if Derek always shut him up with his mouth, actually.