Considering how long the radio had been playing in the background, this turn of events was inevitable. Everyone who has ever known Scott, or Stiles, or Scott and Stiles together, would have known to intercept the ancient boombox and change the station before the first strains of that song echoed through the warehouse. When Derek said, “pack bonding night”, he did not mean this.
“RIPPED JEANS, SKIN WAS SHOWING,” Stiles howls, doing the Charlie Brown.
“HOT NIGHTS, WIND WAS BLOWING,” Scott answers. Call of his kind, or whatever. Stiles always assumed that with those werewolf reflexes, Scott would have finally got a few moves but that was the worst running man he’d ever seen and he knows bad. He watched himself practice it in front of the mirror for many a night when they were kids.
The others had disappeared on a pizza run. All the anarchy in the world could be directly blamed on Isaac’s stomach, Erica was sure, as she was the first one to pick up on the mangy street cats dying in their homebase. “Oh, Jesus,” she sighs, dropping her head into her hands. “They’re at it again.”
Isaac, mouth half-stuffed with a Hawaiian pizza with anchovie (because he’s sixteen and a werewolf and apparently has no taste), just hums behind her, evidently unbothered by this. He really likes Scott way too much, Erica decides, slumping onto Boyd’s shoulder.
Derek, barely getting the car out of park, opens the door just in time for the the boys’ voices and the tinny sound of the radio to blast at him, and it was the chorus. He’s not sure what he did in a past life to deserve this, but he was going to find that previous Derek and he was going to wring his neck.
“HEY, I JUST MET YOU, AND THIS IS CRAZY.”
“Are they doing the robot?” Isaac asks, arms wrapped around six pizza boxes. They were all different types and he intended to try them all.
“Very badly,” Boyd says in answer.
“BUT HERE’S MY NUMBER, SO CALL ME MAYBE.”
Derek slams the door, and Erica flips the radio off. The silence is weird after that, and the guilty, embarassed look on Scott’s face doesn’t make it easier. “That’s better,” is all Derek says, like that finishes the subject, and stalks back out. Boyd and Erica follow suit, and Isaac holds out pizza before he shrugs and follows.
“Oh my God,” Scott moans, dropping his head into his hands. “That was not cool.”
Stiles, smiling serenely, just wraps his fingers around Scott’s wrists and pulls him closer. “Please, like we haven’t caught them all doing much worse stuff.” Scott falls into the embrace easily. “Don’t you remember that time with Isaac and the big tuna? Why did we even have a giant tuna? Yellowfin is expensive, you know, so I bet it was something sustainable. Boyd is a very informed young man.”
Scott sways to the beat of Stiles’ heart, face pressed against his neck. “That wasn’t a real tuna, dude.” But he does feel better, knowing that pack means being embarrassed and not having it backlash on you.
Stiles just presses his cheek against the top of Scott’s head and murmurs quietly, in tune with the song playing in both their heads. “I threw a wish in a well. Don’t ask me, I’ll never tell. I look to you and I fell, and now you’re in my brain.”
“That’s not the words,” Scott huffs, pressing his lips to the smooth skin of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles grins, rubs the edge of his chin against Scott’s hair, and says, “I know.”