Title: Bare Your Teeth To Me
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Author: riceishere 
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: about 800 words
Author notes: Derek/Stiles pre-slash. Title shamelessly stolen from the song "The Wrestle" by Frightened Rabbit.
Summary: Derek realizes that the alpha is kind of shit.


Derek tags along the first few pack meetings in the Stilinskis' kitchen. He figures he owes them insider’s information at least, being born human into a werewolf family and all, after what they've done for him and for Laura. But between the complete disaster that is the last full moon - that Scott kid is really missing a few things upstairs, why would anyone leave a newly-turned werewolf alone and unrestrained to go to some party? - and the betas being unruly dicks who never listen to a word of common sense, Derek realizes that the alpha is kind of shit.

"Stiles, we need to talk." Derek says as soon as the last of the pack trickles out of the front door. Through the window Derek can see Jackson bulldoze his way past Scott and his girlfriend, Allison, to get to his Porsche while Isaac goes about kicking the garbage bins out in the yard, Erica hovering behind him. Boyd, as always, is missing in action.

"Yeah?" Stiles looks up from the mess that is his kitchen table - cookies had been baked and consumed, words and insults have been thrown about and ignored and the kitchen suffered for it. Now it looks like some twisted version of Winter Wonderland where every surface is covered in flour and crushed eggshells and Stiles is the perennial elf who has to clean it all up. Laura never once held a broomstick in her entire life as an alpha. She'd made her pack (sometimes Derek) clean it up for her.

Stiles starts to scrub the table clean, mouth running. “-could we get away with no choco chip on the cookies next time? They’re a bit messy to clean- Hey, full moon up next week, do you think the doors will hold? I’m thinking we might need to find an honest-to-god dungeon with like chains and manacles and stuff. I think Erica can already punch through doors. Like Pai Mei. We should do movie nights too.” Derek just blinks at him and tries to not get swept away into the maelstrom that is conversation with Stiles or they’ll never get to the point. Again.

“It’s not working.” When Stiles stares uncomprehending at him, Derek adds, “The pack.”

“What do you mean it’s not working? The cookie party is a resounding success! We totally bonded!”

“You’re cleaning up after them.” Derek says.

“I’m said to be very nurturing. I don’t think that’s a character flaw, Mr. Grumpypants.“

“The alpha takes care of AND controls the entire pack."

Stiles shrugs. “Not exactly my leadership style, you know? I’m more of a laidback, cookie-baking, let’s-just-hang-and-hopefully-we-don’t-kill-anybody kind of alpha.” And there it is, that growing irritation at the back of Derek’s mind, because these people –

“They don’t listen to you during meetings. They outright disobey everything you’ve warned them off not to do. They fuck-off wherever they want when it’s the full moon. The pack is not holding itself together, Stiles. It’s out of control. Only a matter of time when something goes wrong and you’ll be easy pickings for even amateurs." It’s the most Derek has said to him in the entirety of their acquaintance; he can’t help it, Laura would have been furious if she was still here and his father- Well, his father wouldn’t waste time being mad.

Stiles is tightlipped for once, a crease deepening at the corner of his mouth and it’s both familiar and sad. It’s the same expression on Laura’s face that time after the fire but it looks even more disconcerting on Stiles, on someone looking so young.

“I think you should leave now.” Stiles says, holding his gaze for a second too long before picking up the cleaning rag he’d dropped on the floor. Derek is out the door without a spare thought. He’s already in his Camaro, gunning for a hundred, when the red of the traffic light at the next intersection makes him hit the brakes hard.

“Damn it.” Because for the last few seconds there it had been the alpha talking back to him wasn't it? He can still feel the burn of Stiles' blood-red stare even behind his eyelids, searing into the core of his brain, and Derek barely suppresses a shiver running down his spine.

Stiles can't keep his wolves in line but when pushed he can apparently control him. While keeping these stupid-ass teenagers alive somehow Derek has become pack. He is torn between punching someone in the face or carving someone's throat out with his knives.

Instead Derek hits himself hard on the steering wheel to drive away the memory of Stiles’ face. Pale, dangerous, and beau- He floors it again when the traffic lights turn green and ignores the resounding 'jailbait!' that sounds suspiciously like a mocking Laura at the back of his mind.

END