Work Text:
Finding out that Derek, big, strong, stoic Derek, still sucks his thumb is—well, it’s shocking to say the least. Stiles feels like he’s just entered the Twilight Zone when he walks into Derek’s apartment and finds him curled up on the couch, half asleep, thumb resting lightly in his mouth. It surprises him so much, in fact, that he actually takes a step back to process it all.
He hightails it to the kitchen as soon as he regains his senses, making sure to open the fridge particularly forcefully so as to give Derek some warning that he’s here. When he reenters the living area, two sodas in hand (a sprite for him and a coke for Derek), Derek’s still sleepy looking, but his thumb is resting on his thigh.
“Thanks,” Derek says gruffly when he accepts the can of coke.
“No problem, sour wolf. Ready for the pack meeting tonight?” Stiles asks, tipping his soda back and downing a long gulp.
Derek shrugs and takes a small sip of his own drink. He doesn’t bother with a verbal answer, but Stiles is used to it by now. Sometimes more than others, Derek is especially quiet.
“Scott thinks there’s something really important with how the rabbits are avoiding certain parts of the meadow in the middle of the forest,” Stiles tells him. “Says it has something to do with supernatural pheromones. Allison isn’t sure though, cause she thinks that it’s probably just them avoiding unsheltered areas, and they actually got into a fight about it. Well, like, not an actual fight, but a Scott and Allison fight.”
Stiles babbles on and on about what’s happened in the pack that day, and Derek almost nods off in the middle of a particularly long spiel about Malia and Kira and how they’re trying to master the art of healing together, but it’s most definitely just an excuse to be together.
“Derek? Hey, wolf brain!” Stiles says, prodding Derek’s shoulder.
“Mmmph,” he mumbles.
He’d meant to say “what,” but his thumb is in the way. He pulls it out of his mouth quickly, hiding his thumb in the sleeve of his shirt like maybe if Stiles doesn’t see it now he’ll forget it was ever there.
“Anyways, as I was saying it’s kind of time to go, and you said you’d give me a ride remember? ‘Cause my jeep is in the shop right now?” Stiles continues, ignoring the whole thumb situation entirely.
“Oh, right. Lemme just—” starts Derek, but then Stiles is grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards the door.
“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” he whines, shoving Derek out the door somehow.
Derek’s too stunned to protest, really. Only Stiles would pull this. The rest of the pack, even Scott sometimes, despite being the alpha, would be too intimidated to do something so bold. And yeah, maybe he has a soft spot for Stiles, thinks that the weird, gangly limbed teenager is kind of endearing, but now really isn’t the time because he’s had to pee since before Stiles got to his apartment, pre-soda. He’d meant to go before, but he’d slipped pretty far into little space and he hadn’t felt big enough to leave the couch. And then Stiles had arrived and now, well. Now he’s being pulled along by Stiles, away from his apartment and his bathroom.
“Hey,” Stiles wheedles, “Could I maybe… drive your car? I already know how to drive a stick, and you mentioned that one time that maybe I could—”
“Yeah, sure,” Derek cuts him off, tossing Stiles the keys and hurrying to sit in the passenger seat. Walking hasn’t helped his situation at all, and he’s grateful when he can finally sit again. Not so grateful when the seatbelt digs into his stomach, though.
As per usual, Stiles talks his ears off the entire way there. Derek struggles to keep his thumb out of his mouth, to stay big. But most of all he struggles to not have an accident.
It’s happened a few times when he’d been particularly deep into little space, and it had all been embarrassing and disastrous. Nobody had been around during any of these occasions, luckily, but he’d been too little to clean himself up and had earned himself a rather nasty rash that even his werewolf abilities were slow to heal. Not to mention his rug had to be washed twice to get the stain and the smell out. He’s infinitely glad that his apartment has hardwood floors and not carpet, because that would’ve been hell.
Derek is jolted back to the current situation at hand when Stiles accidentally brakes too hard, not used to the sensitivity of Derek’s car, which causes the seatbelt to lock up and dig harshly into Derek’s bladder. He whimpers, which is embarrassing enough, but then he can’t help but do a little potty dance in his seat to try and keep everything in. He can feel Stiles looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and he does his best to keep still for the rest of the car ride.
“We’re here,” Stiles announces unnecessarily when the car rolls to a stop on the edge of a large, grassy field.
There’s not anywhere that he can slip off to in order to relieve the past-uncomfortable-edging-on-painful pressure in his lower stomach, Derek notices. No trees, no bushes. Nothing. He groans. Nobody else is even here yet, so why the hell didn’t he have time to use the bathroom before they left? His little side makes him want to cry and stomp his foot over it, but Stiles is here and he doesn’t know.
“When is this meeting starting?” Derek bites out, subtly crossing his legs and leaning against the car in what he hopes is a casual manner.
“Ummm,” Stiles looks at his phone, “Definitely not more than… twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?” Derek just barely manages to not shout. “Stiles, what the hell, why did we leave so early?”
Stiles shrugs, picking at the hem of his shirt. “I forgot?”
He doesn’t sound very convincing, but Derek’s too distracted to care about anything else than the fact that he would definitely have had time to go to the potty—to the bathroom before they left.
They stand there in silence for a few awkward moments, Stiles staring at Derek and biting his lip guiltily, Derek trying not to wet himself. The silence is broken when Derek feels the front of his pants grow a bit damp. He whines, a high pitched noise from the back of his throat, something that makes Stiles’s eyes widen in surprise, and hunches his shoulders, hands balled into tight fists by his side.
His head is getting fuzzier, to make things worse, and Derek can even feel tears burning at his eyes. He sniffles pathetically, one hand coming up to rub uncertainly over his lip, and gives in to the squirming that he’s been fighting since they arrived.
“I—I needa go,” Derek says in an impossibly small voice.
If he were big he’d be surprised at how quickly he’s dropped down into little space, but right now all he notices is that Stiles’s eyebrows are drawing closer together and he doesn’t look mad which is good probably.
“Go?” asks Stiles dumbly, even though he already knows. He can see the spot on Derek’s jeans, the way that he can’t keep still.
Derek whines. “Gotta go potty.”
“Oh,” says Stiles, clearly surprised at Derek’s confession. Not so much that he didn’t know that Derek needs to pee, but how he’s said it. Stiles is used to Derek’s icy, authoritative voice, not this. But it’s not a bad thing, per se. Just different.
He’s trying to figure out what to the hell to do when suddenly Derek squeaks (yeah, squeaks) and then his jeans are several shades darker. And shit, he’s crying too, thumb once again in his mouth, snot probably getting all over his hand. Stiles hovers for a second, because this sight before him, Derek in pants soaked in his own piss, nose tinged red, and tears making his cheeks glisten, should be gross and off putting. Sure, it’s maybe a little uncomfortable because Stiles doesn’t know how to fix this, but it’s also not… awful? It’s kind of cute, Stiles thinks. He also wonders briefly if he should be worried about this new discovery, but he pushes that to the back of his mind for now.
He doesn’t know how to fix this, but he does know that hugs are usually good, even with Derek (the normal Derek, not this small, vulnerable Derek), so he steps forward and pulls him to his chest. It’s kind of awkward because Derek is taller and broader than him, but it seems to work because Stiles can hear Derek’s breathing evening out.
“So, maybe I can just tell Scott that we’re skipping this meeting. It seemed like an excuse for him and Allison to have a public debate anyways,” Stiles says, leading Derek back to the car.
Derek, thumb still held firmly in his mouth, blinks wordlessly back and him. The only sound that he makes is an almost imperceptible sucking noise and an occasional watery sniff.
“Alright, sounds like a plan,” Stiles replies, sending Scott a quick text.
This is so bizarre, is all he can think when he’s driving back to the apartment with Derek snuffling around his thumb in his half asleep state. Stiles doesn’t know what this is, but he knows that he doesn’t mind it. Not at all.