Drunk Dial

THIS IS A STEREK FANFICTIIN OKAY XD

Sterek is perfect and needs to get into my bed this very second. T HOECH AND DYLAN ARE PERFECT.

Your arguement is invalid.

I'm mobile. I apologize for the typos/ misspellings in advcance. I don't have much of a spell check

Any warnings? Nermm... Nah not really. I don't bother with them.

ENJOY! ~Bee

* Drunk Dial *

Derek Hale rolled over in his bed and shoved his pillow over his ears, like it would actually do any good. A small mass of fluff and feathers wouldn't muffle the unyielding ring of his cell phone, not with his werewolf hearing.

Why the hell did he even own that thing in anyway? He didn't want people calling him! And not in the middle of the night. He was finally able to get some half decent sleep, which was the Derek Hale equivalent of amazingly restful slumber. Peter was dead, he was the Alpha. The girl Peter had attacked had woken up, alive, well, and surprisingly human. Nobody else was dying, and the Hunters had backed off a bit.

But now some idiot had decided to ring him up at 2 am, agitating him more than he usually was. The phone quieted after a minute and he let out a sigh of relief, removing the pillow and placing it back under his head.

"ARRRRGH!" he groaned outloud as the noise started up again not two seconds later. He glared at the device, before stretching over and answering it. It could be an emergency after all and the dunderheads in this town would likely need his help if it was.

They would simply need help if it wasn't because Derek would murder the person on the other end if they didn't have a very good reason for calling him.

"What?" He growled. Politeness be damned. He was Derek Hale, he wasn't polite, especially not to the handful of people who had this number.

"D-deeerrreeekkk!" An excited voiced stuttered out. "W-where arrree yoou?" The phone might have been snapped in half if Derek didn't have as much control as he did, even only half awake.

"Stiles, you idiot, what do you want?" He was less than pleased, to put it nicely. It was obvious to anybody that the sheriff's son was intoxicated. The slight slur of his words and the returning stutter was clear.

"Ooohhh D-derrrreek. Whattt do III w-want? Hummmmmm... I-I wan-" the boy was cut off. Derek heard him shout "Hey! G-gimme it back!" at somebody.

"No, Stiles. Go sit down," they said. Derek imagined Stiles glarring - or trying to glare; the boy was about as terrfying as a pup - at them before huffing and going to plop down in the general spot he was instructed to.

"Derek," a much clearer voice said into the phone. Derek let out a small growl into the mic.

"What the hell, McCall?"

"Derek I need you to do me a favor." Scott's voice was more confident than it should have been. Most would be more timid in asking the Aplha wolf for a favor, but becoming a werewolf came with the additional gift of growing a pair for Scott. Plus, he had something up his sleeve.

"And why the hell would I do that, McCall?" Derek was irritated at the young wolf. Actually, Derek was always irritated at something.

"Because you owe me Derek! You killed Peter when you knew that I needed to do it! It was the only chance I had at becoming human again, but you killed him anyway!" It was true, not that Derek would ever admit that out loud. But it was, nonetheless.

Scott wanted nothing more than to become human again. If he was he could be with the girl he loved, without having to worry. But he was stuck as a werewolf because Derek had killed the one who bit Scott, destroying any chance for humanity that either knew of. And, he did admit, it sucked for the sophomore. Allison Argent belonged to a family of hunters who didn't want their daughter dating a werewolf, even if he hadn't killed anybody.