It Started Small—just A Single, Bright Yellow Rubber Duck Sitting On The Dashboard Of The Jeep.

It started small—just a single, bright yellow rubber duck sitting on the dashboard of the Jeep.

Stiles had picked it up at a gas station on a road trip with Scott, not thinking much of it. It was just a random impulse buy, something to make the battered old Jeep a little less… well, battered. He named it "Quackers" and forgot about it—until another Jeep owner at a red light pointed at it, grinned, and lifted his own rubber duck in salute.

And just like that, Stiles was sucked into an underground network of Jeep owners who traded rubber ducks like some kind of weird, adorable currency.

It became a thing. Every time he saw another Jeep with a duck on the dash, Stiles had to stop and trade. He scoured stores for the weirdest, most ridiculous ducks he could find—pirate ducks, superhero ducks, cowboy ducks, ducks in tutus, even a duck dressed as a taco. The collection on his dash grew, expanding from one duck to a full row, then two rows. Eventually, he had to start keeping extras in the glove compartment because space became an issue.

Derek, naturally, thought it was stupid.

"They're just rubber ducks," Derek had grumbled the first time he got into the Jeep and saw the ridiculous lineup of tiny, grinning, plastic birds staring at him. "Why do you have so many?"

"Why don't you have any?" Stiles had countered, like that was the real problem here.

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because I’m not a five-year-old, Stiles."

That had been the wrong thing to say.

Because now Stiles was on a mission.

Ducks for Derek

One fateful afternoon, Stiles stumbled upon The Ducks.

A pair of rubber duckies dressed in tiny black leather jackets, complete with little silver studs and sunglasses. They were practically the rubber duck embodiment of Derek Hale. One had a little scowl painted on its beak. The other had an eyebrow raised like it was judging Stiles' life choices.

They were perfect.

Stiles bought both immediately, grinning like a maniac as he made his way back to Derek’s loft.

Derek was at the kitchen counter when Stiles walked in, arms crossed, clearly expecting something annoying. He wasn’t wrong.

“Alright, Big Guy,” Stiles said, pulling the first duck from his pocket. “Meet Mini Derek.”

Derek stared at it. “No.”

“And this,” Stiles continued, ignoring him, “is Other Mini Derek. One for my Jeep, one for your Camaro.”

Derek’s scowl deepened. “They’re not going in my car.”

“Oh, but they are.” Stiles held out the second duck, his grin widening. “Come on, dude. Look at them. They are you. The broody one can sit on my dash, and the one with the judgey eyebrow can live in your Camaro, silently judging anyone who gets in your passenger seat. It’s poetic.”

Derek just stared at him, his face a perfect mask of unimpressed werewolf stoicism.

Stiles took that as a victory and put one duck on the counter in front of Derek before heading to dramatically place the other in the Jeep.

The Duckening

Derek tried to fight it.

He really did.

But the next time Stiles got into the Camaro, the second leather-clad duck was tucked neatly on the dash, facing forward like a tiny, plastic sentinel.

Stiles nearly burst into flames from sheer joy.

"See? You love it."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't not say it."

Derek sighed like he was being personally victimized by this entire conversation.

But after that, Stiles started to notice things. Like how Derek didn’t move the duck. And how, after a while, another duck appeared next to it—this one looking like a tiny wolf-duck.

Stiles gasped when he saw it. “Did you trade for that? Are you ducking people now, Derek? Are you one of us?”

Derek groaned. "Shut up and get in the car."

Epilogue: The Ducks Strike Back

Months passed. Stiles' dashboard was a mini duck army. His trades had led him to some rare finds, including a glow-in-the-dark werewolf duck and a detective duck with a tiny magnifying glass that Stiles swore was a representation of himself.

And then, one day, he got into the Camaro and saw it.

Sitting proudly next to Leather Jacket Duck and Wolf Duck was a new addition—one wearing a tiny red hoodie.

Stiles blinked, staring at it. "Derek."

Derek, who was already regretting everything, just sighed.

"Is that—" Stiles leaned closer. "Derek, is that me?"

Derek, refusing to make eye contact, pulled out of the parking lot like he hadn’t just revealed his slow descent into the duck life.

Stiles, however, beamed. Because he had won.

This story was inspired by the headcanon of @inlovewithdob