Disclaimer: Nope, don't own.

A/N- ...I just wanted to write something, and this is what happened.

There are vampires.

Mother fucking vampires.

As if their lives aren't enough like Twilight.

Stiles was more than happy believing that monsters like vampires didn't exist and would quite like to go back to that blissful ignorance again. Please and thank you.

He doesn't think it's going to happen though. He's never going to forget the fangs or the claws. He's going to remember Boyd's pained howl and the slashes across Erica's back. His hands never shook as he bandaged them up, he didn't puke, he didn't flinch or faint and seriously, he deserves a freaking medal. Vampires are vicious shits.

Stakes don't work on them, or holy water or garlic- Stiles is never going to be able to watch an episode of Buffy ever again- but plain old beheading does.

The parking lot outside of the old movie theatre downtown is not where Stiles would have chosen to have their showdown. The vampires obviously feel different. People scatter, screaming in the confusion as howls and snarls rip through the air. The streetlights go out, shattering one after another, plunging the area into darkness. The moon is a sliver in the sky overhead.

It takes time for his eyes to adjust. He feels Lydia next to him, hears the clinking of the Molotov cocktails she's whipped up; hefts the weight of the spiked bat he'd altered. Its weight is reassuring- he breathes, just like Deaton taught him and waits until he senses movement and then swings.

It's fast and violent and bloody. The sheriff department shows up- and oh god his dad, he's never been more grateful for the yearly conferences the Sheriff has to go to- and try to keep the peace but all they can do is keep the civilians out of the way. He wonders how they're going to explain this one. Maybe gang violence. Most people will buy it because they can't handle the alternative.

Through it all Derek carves a bloody path, a huge hulking shape in his alpha form. Stiles remembers when the sight used to terrify him. Now it has him squaring his shoulders, planting his feet and swinging like a major league player as one of the vampires heads for Scott. The bat hits, crushes cartilage and bone and tears skin. Blood sprays. It lets out a piercing cry that Stiles' knows he's going to be hearing for months. The satisfaction he feels when it falls, face caved in, is a rush because no one is going to touch his best friend while he's around.

One clawed hand lands on his shoulder sending a shock of adrenaline and not a small amount of fear through him and he swings- ready to kick and scream and fight- but it's ripped away even before it manages to get a hold of him.

Derek roars and rips the creature in two. He tosses away the remains and is left standing there, blazing red eyes and heaving chest, coated in blood. His features slip back to normal, brow receding, snout and ears gone.

Isaac calls out victorious and as a pack the other wolves reply.

Stiles drops his bat to the ground- it echoes strangely in the sudden silence- and takes a step towards the alpha watching him. There's blood smeared across Derek's face and he reaches up to wipe it away without hesitation. A year ago it probably would have gotten his hand ripped off. Now though?

Heavy hands settle on his waist, hot in the crisp night air. There's something electric there. It's something they've been putting off and putting off but it feels all the more tangible with their win. It makes him feel strong, brave, invulnerable, how he imagines the wolves feel all the freaking time. His cheeks heat and he doesn't care that he's covered in someone else's blood, doesn't care that it's only a matter of minutes before the deputies try and take control of the situation again.

"Oh for fucks sake," Lydia breezes by, a whiff of perfume and flawless red hair even with what they've just gone through. "Just kiss him already."

He has no idea which one of them she's talking to but he doesn't care.

He and Derek are practically the same height so it's the easiest thing in the world to lean in. The only surprise is how close they've gotten without noticing as he barely moves and brushes their lips together.

Derek sucks in a sharp breath and then whatever gentleness they'd begun with is gone as he surges against him. Stiles kisses back, desperate and hungry for more, drowning in everything that's been pent up for too long.

Scott clears his throat and Stiles flips him the finger blindly definitely not ready to step back.

"Dude, we need to get out of here before someone sees us and tells your dad."

Stiles groans and pulls back but only far enough to rest their foreheads together. His breath puffs, misty in the air and his mouth feels pleasantly swollen. Their noses brush. He licks his lips, a shiver of heat flowing through him as Derek tracks the movement.

"We," he jabs a finger into his chest. "Are not done here."

Derek's smirk is positively wicked as they part.

"See you at the house." He says, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss, before turning abruptly and striding towards where the Camaro is parked. Stiles swears and hurries to his Jeep, barely waiting for Scott to get in before they're off.

And if he drives a little over the speed limit the entire way- well, it's completely understandable with the night he's had.