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Jackson
The first time Derek sees Stiles Stilinski in just under ten years he’s carrying three plates of Carbonara, a pepper grinder under his arm and trying not to glower at the slowest old lady in the world making her way to the bathroom.
Stiles looks good. He’s definitely filled out in all the right places since he was a gangly eleven year old. His hair is longer, although his eyes are the same; bright and earnest looking; a warm brown Derek can feel from all the way over at table nine. Stiles is tugging at a green silk tie nervously and glancing around like he’s clocking all the available exits. He doesn’t notice Derek, and he uses that to his advantage to stare openly right the way back to the bar.
Erica’s mixing up a Grey Goose Martini and raises an eyebrow at his dazed expression. She follows his line of sight and smirks. “First date if I ever saw one.”
“Hmm? What?”
“The guy you’re checking out. Don’t even bother—he’s waiting on a date.”
He growls at her, trying not to feel put out because up until five minutes ago he hadn’t thought about the Stilinski kid for years and it’s outrageous to feel some sort of weird possessiveness over him.
“How do you know?”
She inclines her chin. “His date’s not here, so they didn’t come together—ergo no anniversary— unless he or she is running mega late.” She considers Stiles for a second as she adds an olive to the side of the glass, tilting it on the cocktail stick just so. “He’s looking kind of like he’s going to shit himself; so he’s nervous—worried he’s going to make a bad impression. Also, he seemed really disappointed you turned out to be working when you came back from the cloakroom five minutes ago—think he thought you were the person he was waiting on.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “That’s unlikely.”
She shrugs. “Only one way to find out.” She gently pushes the tray of drinks towards him with warnings not to spill her hard work, and demands he bring back all the dirt on the boy at table thirteen.
Derek’s tempted to acquiesce to neither, but he delivers the drinks safely and then reluctantly heads towards Stiles’ table.
Stiles pauses from smoothing down his tie and stares up at him. “Derek, right? Derek Hale?”
“Yeah, hello Stiles.”
A grin spreads across Stiles’ face and it feels like the sun rising softly all over him.
“You remember?”
“You and your idiot best friend used to get lost on the land right by my house once a week, Stiles, of course I remember you.”
Stiles flushes and scratches the back of his neck. Derek tries and fails not to find it endearing.
“Yeah, we kind of had no situational awareness back in the day.”
“But, you do now?”
“Hey, man, you plant me in those woods anywhere and I’d find my way back,” he says cockily, leaning back on his chair and wiggling his eyebrows. “So, what are you doing back in town?”
Derek shrugs casually. “Finished my degree.”
“That’s like your third, right?”
Derek frowns and Stiles holds up his hands. “I’m not keeping tabs or anything, dude, it’s just your mom stops by the station every once in a while, and she likes to keep us all updated.”
“Huh.”
“Moms right,” Stiles says almost wistfully.
Derek opens his mouth to say something apologetic and then feels stupid, foolish even. He’s never been very good at conversation and anything more intimate than hello is normally territory he tries to avoid.
He clears his throat. “You’re back too then?”
“Yeah,” Stiles’ darkened face flexes back into a good natured smile, open and easy. “Fortuitous timing for us both, I guess.” He grins like he’s teasing and Derek tries his best to smile back in a way that doesn’t send him running for the hills.
“So, are you wanting to order or—”
“Oh—shit, yeah,” Stiles laughs suddenly awkward. “Kind of forgotten where we were. Nah, man, thanks, but I gotta wait. I, uh, I’m waiting on a date.”
“Ok.” Derek hands him the menu. “First one?”
“Yeah! How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” he says drily, shooting a look over to the bar where Erica is blatantly watching them, draft beer for table six completely ignored.
“We haven’t met actually.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Scott put a fucking add in the paper for a joke, and then I figured what the hell, right? Can’t be worse than being perpetually single.”
Derek wants to say he has no idea why someone like Stiles has come home from college single, but he’s never been that forward in his life. Plus, there’s the off chance Stiles is no longer the smart, irritatingly earnest, sweet kid he was a decade ago and is now a complete douche. The three minutes of conversation they’ve just had could be Stiles’ way of buttering him up for good service or—
Derek is over analyzing this way too much.
He places the other menu on the table and starts to ask if Stiles wants a drink while he waits when Stiles’ whole body freezes in place. Derek knows without turning around it’s the date, and he tries to school his face into one of professionalism and not annoyance at being interrupted.
This isn’t his date.
Stiles moans and hides behind his own menu.
“Oh my god, kill me now.”
Derek looks behind him to see who Stiles is busy pretending to be invisible to and scrunches up his nose when he sees Jackson Whittemore strutting into the restaurant.
Jackson, Derek knows from his family’s infamous Christmas parties. He often gets very drunk, and very competitive. Last year he challenged Derek to a swimming race, which Laura took him up on and beat him, flat out. Jackson wasn’t happy.
Jackson looks over to their table, and visibly rolls his eyes. He does it with his whole body, too; which is definitely a skill he and Erica have in common.
“Stilinski?”
“Stiles isn’t here right now,” Stiles mutters from behind his menu. “But, if you’d like to leave a message with Derek here, I’m sure he’d be glad to take it.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Derek says crossly. “Handle your own awkward dating situations.”
“We are not on a date,” Stiles hisses, snapping his menu down to glare at him. “Whatever the ad said, it did not offer me up as a masochistic idiot that wants to be pushed around by an arrogant dick all night.”
Jackson rolls his eyes. “I only came because I had a bet I could bang whatever loser answered the ad within the hour.”
“Ever the charmer,” Stiles mutters, lip curling as he glowers up at Jackson.
Derek smirks to himself and retreats from the table, suddenly feeling a whole lot better. He lingers close by, clearing up after a party that’s left what looks like half their food on their plates. They’ve clearly never had to survive on a student budget.
Jackson jerks back the chair opposite Stiles and loudly drawls that he’s not interested in sleeping with Stiles, but he can sure as hell buy him dinner now he’s here.
“You were late,” Stiles cries in outrage, “I don’t have to do anything!”
Jackson shrugs. “’S’not my fault some piece of shit Jeep was parked across three spaces outside.”
“Hey! I just like to make sure no asshole is going to stick a dent in the side of her, again.”
“That was five years ago, oh my god, how are you not over that?”
“You never even apologized.”
“You keyed my car in retribution.”
“Oooooh look at Jackson and his big fancy words with his fancy car. I hate you.”
Jackson raises one eyebrow in amusement and then looks smugly up at Derek who has returned to take their orders. He’s not sure how he’s going to serve anyone else tonight when this is entertainment at its finest right here.
“I’ll have the steak, rare, Stiles will some sort of salad, no doubt.”
Stiles pulls a bitchy face at him that he quickly tries to swap for one of politeness when Derek looks down at him. Derek grins and the facade fades as Stiles glowers even harder at him.
“I don’t know why I haven’t left yet.”
“Uh, please, like you don’t want to date this. I’m everyone’s type.”
“You weren’t my type in tenth grade; you’re not my type now.”
Jackson snorts and looks away in clear disbelief.
“Stiles,” Derek prompts. “Food?”
“Steak, medium rare, please,” Stiles adds through gritted teeth.
“Drinks?”
“Beer.”
Derek raises an eyebrow at Jackson, “You overage?”
Stiles snorts and hides his smile behind his arm when Jackson glares at them both.
“I’m older than Stilinski by a month.”
Derek shrugs, “You got ID?”
Jackson’s mouth opens and closes. “Here,” he shoves his driver’s licence at Derek and Derek makes a show of examining it just to see Stiles grin conspiratorially at him.
“I can’t believe I let Aiden talk me into this, I should have known he had a loophole to win the damn bet,” Jackson huffs.
“I can’t believe you came on a date with someone you hadn’t closely vetted for earnings and what car they drive.”
Derek leaves them bickering at one another and returns to the bar.
“So, he’s still on the market then?” Erica smirks at him. “If I didn’t have Boyd…”
“But, you do,” Boyd says suddenly from where he’s leaning through the hatch to the kitchen. He places two smoked salmon appetizers on the counter. “Seven’s up,” he lifts an eyebrow at Erica and she rolls her eyes, reaching over to pat his face.
“You know you’re the only man for me, honey. I’m a very lucky girl.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says fondly before ducking back into the kitchen. Isaac waves from the background and Derek hears his mom hollering at his dad about something by the burners.
It feels good to be home, in the thick of his family, and their restaurant again. If he’s honest he used the last degree as a means of procrastination. He’s never been a hundred per cent about what he wanted to do with his whole life; the prospect terrified him and led him into some shitty decisions from eighteen to twenty two. Now, he’s glad to be here, he’s ready to be involved in the business, to carry on his family’s tradition as one of the best restaurants in the area.
He serves up Stiles and Jackson’s steaks and Stiles nods his thanks whilst Jackson silently glowers at him.
“I don’t think he’s quite forgiven you for being more attractive than him,” Stiles tells Derek conspiratorially.
“Hey, shut the fuck up,” Jackson huffs.
Derek tries not to smirk, waves a hand at the food. “Enjoy.”
Stiles lifts his beer at him, and then winks. Derek feels his heartbeat stutter and ducks away from the table, leaving them to their bickering.
Jackson leaves before Derek can offer desert, and Stiles visibly wilts in his chair. His eyes light up when Derek approaches with the menu, however, and he sits forward again.
“Awesome, dessert is so the best part of any meal, am I right?”
“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” Derek says apologetically.
“You’ve clearly not been eating the right kind of dessert,” Stiles assures him.
Derek feels his throat dry up a little as Stiles flicks his eyes up and meets his gaze.
“Excuse me—” Derek whirls round, sees the man from table eleven waving his hands around in a check motion.
Stiles leaves shortly after their conversation, waving blithely at Derek and Derek almost trips over a chair leg in his haste to wave back, and then stopping himself for fear of looking like an idiot.
Erica howls with laughter from behind the bar.
*
Derek’s always been a bad sleeper. His mom always says it’s because he’s watchful by nature, ruffles his hair and tells him he needs to relax more. Derek never appreciates having his hair ruffled, or being told to basically chill out, but from his mother he accepts both with as much dignity as he possibly can.
Cora sometimes tries it, and he ends up tickling her until she cries.
It means that Derek has made a habit of doing his grocery shopping in the middle of the night. It’s not that weird, there’s almost always plenty of people around; stoners, busy moms, single people who obviously got bored with Tuesday night television and thought hey, I’m running low on everything. Derek’s people if he’s honest.
Possibly destined to be alone forever, and spend their evenings considering the pros and cons of wholegrain rice over white in their sweats and raggedy t-shirts, when ridiculously attractive, out of Derek’s league, vibrant people like Stiles swing into the aisle.
Of course.
Derek glances surreptitiously down at his shirt, and he sighs when he notes there’s still a little baby throw up from his nephew distributing his dinner all over him earlier.
Stiles is wearing a t-shirt that’s doing wonders showing off his shoulder to waist ratio, and a pair of skinny jeans. When he sees Derek, he straightens up, looks around as if he’s imagining him, and then cracks a grin.
“Busted!”
Derek blinks, “Busted?”
“The insomniac’s secret,” Stiles waves a hand around, “Grocery shopping.”
“Oh,” Derek flushes, throws both boxes of rice in his cart before he starts eating from one nervously. “Yeah.”
Stiles wheels his cart right up to Derek’s, bumps them together easily.
“Not settling back in that well?”
“No, I mean I like being home, I just—” he shrugs, rests one hand as casually as possible over the baby sick. Stiles’ gaze trails right over it, and then up his chest. Derek feels the back of his neck and his ears heat up from the once over.
“Uh,” he clears his throat, looks down into Stiles’ cart and blanches, “You’re seriously buying all that crap?”
“What?” Stiles points at a bag of beef jerky, “That’s damn fine protein!”
Derek snorts, “Do you even know the meaning of the word?”
“Hey, I make food, too,” Stiles grabs his lone bag of potatoes and smirks, “I can do these baked or fried.”
“How do you not have rickets.”
“I love how that didn’t even sound like a question,” Stiles says with fondness in his voice, glancing at Derek from under his lashes. “I’ll prove it to you one day, ok, I can do healthy.”
Derek eyes his packets of processed meat, chips, salsa and a variety of candy bars.
“I doubt it.”
“I would suggest it now, but,” Stiles yawns, and then flinches, cheeks heating up, “Oh my god, sorry.”
Derek’s trying desperately not to stare at his mouth. It went… very wide. Stiles has… very pretty teeth. Teeth. He’s thinking about teeth. Nothing else. Nothing that could slip into Stiles’ mouth.
His knuckles go white as he tightens his grip around the handlebar of the cart.
“Here,” Stiles obliviously proffers an open bag of twizzlers at him, “Keep your energy up for Doris.”
“Doris?” Derek repeats, taking one and chewing on it slowly.
“Mmm, she likes to chat,” Stiles teases. “And you’re a hot new commodity in town again, ten bucks says she’s got your inside leg measurements by the time you’re done.”
Derek balks, “I certainly hope not.”
“She’s like eighty, man,” Stiles bursts into laughter, “But, I’d love to see her try, I really would.”
“You’d like to see an old woman molest my leg?” Derek arches an eyebrow, “What a strange kink.”
Stiles sobers up immediately, narrows his eyes at Derek, “You don’t know the half of it.”
Derek swallows, continues to stare back at him even after the pause in conversation has drifted into a gaping silence he should fill. He should leave. He should go home and at least try to sleep. He should… stop staring at Stiles. Why can’t he stop staring. What the hell’s wrong with him? He’s a grown up, he has a masters, he’s dated before, he should not be this ridiculously awkward around someone he’s attracted to.
“Hey,” Stiles interrupts his mental breakdown, “You wanna come to part two of my sleepless evening?”
“Well,” Derek drawls, “If it’s anything like as exciting as part one, perhaps it’ll put me to sleep.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, runs over his foot very deliberately as he passes by Derek to grab his own box of rice. “I’m bein’ friendly, jackass, if you have something better to be doing…”
“No,” Derek sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, “I really don’t.”
“Alright then,” Stiles beams at him again, and it really does light up his whole face. Derek’s a little entranced. “Sorry about your foot,” Stiles blinks innocently, “This sleep deprivation… Does all sorts of things to my spacial awareness.”
Derek glowers at him right through to the checkout.
As it turns out, Stiles’ epic second act for the evening was sitting on the top of his Jeep’s roof and sleepily listing random names of stars to Derek. Derek hums, sees how far he can throw pebbles across the grocery store car park as Stiles’ vibrates slightly against his knee as he talks. It should be awkward. They’ve not seen each other in years, were never really in the same social circles when they were in school together. But, there’s something nice, something easy about Stiles resting his elbow on Derek’s knee as he sits cross legged besides a sprawled out Stiles. There’s something making his chest warm as he looks down at him, his eyes closed and his eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks as they flutter when he speaks.
“Don’t you think it’s sad that all the stars we’re lookin’ at are technically dead?”
Derek sits back on his hands, tips his head up to the sky, “No. They lived very beautiful lives, they’re giving us something beautiful now, what’s sad about that? Circle of life and shit.”
Stiles grins, eyes still closed, “How poetic.”
Derek pretends to push him off the roof of the car.
He goes home around five, Stiles waving him a sleepy goodbye, and hopefully off to get some rest and not terrorize any other grocery shoppers. Derek pauses halfway through unpacking his fridge items when he realizes he’s smiling. At nothing. Except the idea of Stiles.
Fuck.
*
Heather
It’s less of a surprise to see Stiles sitting at the same table the following week. His date’s already arrived when Derek starts his shift, and he can’t help but feel a little like he’s sucking on a lemon when he takes in her pretty face and her long blonde hair. Of course she’s beautiful, and she’s laughing and touching Stiles’ hand easily. Of course.
In comparison, Derek’s a walking, barely talking, awkward nightmare.
Erica sets a tray of glasses down, nods at him as he comes over, “She’s boring him.”
“Excuse me? Is that a—do I need to call the police?” Derek tries to glance under the table, but he can’t see anything out of the ordinary from where he’s standing.
“That wasn’t a euphemism, dumbass. God, how did you ever get laid?”
“Shut up,” he huffs, “What are you talking about?”
“See that,” Erica points to where Stiles is scratching his ear, then his nose, nodding along to what Heather’s saying, and then repeating the process of scratching himself.
“I used to do it at school when Harris’ lectures got really, really awful.”
“He looks like he’s having some sort of conniption.”
Stiles glances up and spots them, and Derek pretends to be wiping down the bar extremely thoroughly. When he looks back over Stiles’ eyes are bright and he’s smirking a little, his face suddenly a lot more animated. He touches the girl’s wrist, leans in to say something and Derek busies himself grabbing a pile of menus to go hand out at table five to prevent himself from openly staring in curiosity.
They’re swamped for the next hour, and Derek barely has time to keep track of Stiles, or his delightful looking date. He backs into the kitchen for his ten minutes, nodding at Boyd as he loosens his collar, and pulls up short when he sees Stiles sitting at the mess table they have set up at the far end of the room.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Erica said it was ok,” Stiles says immediately, eyes on the baseball game playing above on their tiny television.
“You—what about your date? Did she leave already?” Derek tries to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.
“Nah,” Stiles sighs, bites his lip as his expression goes bashful. Oh fuck, if he tells Derek he thinks he’s found the one before Derek’s even had time to see what his mouth feels like against his own, he might combust.
“She was really…” Stiles runs his hands up and down the table top awkwardly. “She was really cool? I used to be friends with her, years ago, and I think she replied to the ad knowing it was me. But, I think she was expecting the me I was when I was twelve?”
“Are you so very different?” Derek asks drily.
Stiles quirks a smirk at him, “Ha ha.” His face falls a little, and Derek sits down opposite him, watches Stiles dig into the bowl of ice cream he’s obviously sweet talked Boyd into letting him have. After a moment he sighs, glances up at Derek, “You know when you’re a kid and you imagine your life when you’re ‘grown up’?”
Derek nods, crumbles a cracker over his soup. It’s one of Boyd’s special tomato and basil creations that tastes just right. Not too spicy, not to sweet, perfect with a little crunch from the dry cracker topping.
“You think you’ll get married, and have a job and kids and—you never think about the details. You just have this… plan. You don’t worry about whether or not someone gets your stupid Star Wars references, or if they’d be cool with your weird shit. I don’t think I thought about fitting, you know?”
Derek stirs his spoon slowly, stares at the soup instead of Stiles’ earnest face. He’s never expected anyone to ever fit with him. He doesn’t have anything inspirational to offer.
Stiles clears his throat, looks back up at the game, “I don’t know, that was over sharing, sorry.”
“No,” Derek says quickly, “No, I,” he frowns, “I don’t think you necessarily have to find someone that gets you, to make a relationship work. That’s what you have friends for, I guess. I imagine Erica would point out I only have three, but,” he gives Stiles an awkward self-deprecating smile, but when he meets Stiles’ eyes his expression is sincere, understanding and he gives up the act. “I think you look for someone who wants to be with you because of all the weird shit, and doesn’t try and solve you, or fix you. Someone that keeps you on your toes, not that… lets you settle into yourself. I don’t know, I’m talking crap,” he rubs a hand over his jaw and scowls at his food.
Why can’t he say normal things?
“I get it,” Stiles grins a little, “Ironically.”
Derek snorts.
“Jeez, this shit’s deep, man,” Stiles picks up another spoonful of strawberry ice cream, points at Derek, “You’re not supposed to get deep and profound on the first date, dude.”
Derek rolls his eyes, “You started it.”
Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, pulls his spoon out slowly and licks around it. Derek looks determinedly at the pans hanging up behind them.
“Technically, we’re not on a date,” Stiles says eventually.
Derek drops his gaze back to him, watches Stiles’ eyes go darker and then he stands abruptly.
“But, I am, fuck—she’s probably thinking I went out the window.”
“You sort of did,” Derek points out.
Stiles throws his spoon at Derek’s head, “Shut up! If Scotty finds out I ditched her, he’ll kill me. He’s obsessed with this thing working!”
“Just tell him you got food poisoning or something.”
“Dude,” Stiles’ eyes go wide and incredulous, “At your mom and dad’s restaurant? Nah, I’ll take the rep,” he twists at his tie nervously for a moment, glancing between Derek and the door back out into the restaurant, “See you out there?”
“Yeah,” Derek nods, “Yeah I’ll be out in a minute.”
Stiles snaps his fingers, “Maybe you could call with an emergency.”
“Go and tell your date it’s not her it’s you, weirdo.”
Stiles flips him off, but goes.
Derek eats the rest of his now lukewarm soup, and ignores Boyd clucking his tongue in the background.
*
“Derek, darling,” Talia waves a wine glass at him, “Is there any more white in the car?”
“You’re already on your second bottle, mom,” Laura chides, “There are babies present.”
“Oh please, sweetheart, you were conceived on a bottle of nineteen eighty one Bordeaux.”
Even from where he’s standing across the field from them, Derek can still see his sister’s face go bright red, and she swats at her mother’s shoulder.
Derek snickers, looks down at Caleb, who’s clutching the kite strings tightly in his chubby hand.
“As if your mom isn’t halfway to drunk already,” he says softly.
Caleb peers up at him blindly, gives him a half smile. Derek’s insides twist gently, warmly at the look on his nephew’s face.
“You’re hogging the baby, Derek,” Cora whines, bouncing over and making gimme hands at Caleb. “My turn.”
“You’ve had months of him,” Derek protests, “I’ve got catching up to do.”
Cora huffs, collapses on the grass next to Derek’s feet and looks up at the kite, “You’re doing so well at pretending to be normal, are you sure you’re not on something?”
Derek nudges her back with his foot, “Shut up.”
“Seriously,” she tips her head back to look at him, “Erica’s even convinced you have a crush.”
“What am I, nine?”
“Not denying it,” she sing songs softly.
“There is… a person,” he says finally, knowing Cora can wait him out all day.
“Oh good, there aren’t so many of those about these days.”
“Cora.”
“Fine, be vague.”
“How’s living with Lydia Martin? I never thought I’d see the day you had friends, room mates, even,” Derek muses, “Are you sure you didn’t take anything while I was at college? A lobotomy, maybe?”
Cora punches his shin, and Derek jerks away laughing.
“Dick, it’s fine, I’ll have you know. There’s a couple of kids from school always hanging around,” she shrugs, “But, now they’re a bit older and plenty hotter, it’s not so bad.”
Derek hesitates, glances down at his sister, “You were in Lydia’s year, right?”
“Mmm, obviously, or else we probably wouldn’t have hated each other for years, fought for Valedictorian, and then roomed together for the whole of college after realizing the rest of our class were idiots on day one.”
Derek vaguely remembers meeting Lydia at a Christmas party of his mom’s; she gave him an appraising once over, asked him how he felt about Ruppert’s Crossing The Rubicon and then proceeded to have a conversation with Cora in fluent Russian. Of which, Derek managed to follow about half of, but the general gist was that Cora insisted Derek was an idiot, and Lydia insisted he had potential. To this day he hasn’t dared ask for what.
“So,” he continues carefully, “You were friends with uh, what was that kid’s name… the Sheriff’s son…”
“Oh my god, you’re literally hurting me,” Cora groans, throws an arm over her face, “Stiles. And yes, he had a crush on you, and yes, he probably still does. Christ, do you need me to ask for his number for you, too?”
“Cora! That’s not what— I haven’t even—”
“He’s your type,” Cora shrugs, “Hot, abrasively sarcastic, pretty much like you in every way other than that he laughs as much you frown and wears his heart on his sleeve. I had a crush on him for like, six months when we were in senior year, actually.”
Derek actually vaguely remembers that, too.
He’d scoffed and huffed through about four conversations with Laura about the matter, because his baby sister wasn’t going to be dating boys or girls until Derek had seriously vetted all of them. Laura had crowed with laughter and said none of Cora’s friends would hurt a fly.
Which, is what he’s actually curious about here.
“He date anyone, like, seriously, at school?”
“No, he worshipped Lydia for the entirety of our high school career, and then finally, thankfully, grew up and moved on,” Cora sniffs, “He likes them a bit mean.” She cuts a sly glance at him, “So, I guess you’re in.”
“Shut up,” he hisses.
Caleb startles, and looks up at him with big, shocked eyes.
“Oh, no,” he says quickly, “No, no, not you, big guy.”
“C’mere,” Cora stands, eases Caleb out from Derek’s arms, “I got you.”
Caleb wails harder, and Derek tugs down the kite, waves it in front of his face.
“Look! Colors! Bright things!” He tries to make his face excitable, lifts his eyebrows, and for a moment Caleb pauses, blinks at the kite.
“Damn,” Cora murmurs, “Laura’s gonna have you on babysitting duty forever.”
There’s a shriek from where his mother and Laura are sitting with the picnic, and they both race over to see Talia’s somehow managed to start a small fire.
“Somebody put it out,” Talia says calmly, waving her glass around, “I’m not wasting my wine on it.”
“Mom!”
“Darling, you’re a grown woman with a baby, this is the kind of crisis you’ll be facing on a daily basis from now on. When Derek was six he set the whole kitchen on fire trying to make your father and I breakfast in bed.”
“Thank you for that,” Derek huffs, stamping on the flames with his boot.
The smoke curls up into the air, and it’s not ten minutes later, with Talia still calmly drinking her wine and Laura and Derek trying to air out the singed blanket, that a police car rolls up.
Derek sort of wishes he could burst into flames as Stiles steps out of the car, in a fucking cop uniform no less, and surveys the scene.
“Someone said they saw a fire coming from the field,” he smirks at Derek, “I never in a million years figured you for a pyro, Derek.”
“It wasn’t me,” he snaps, “It was my mother.”
Talia blinks innocently at Stiles, “Do I look like the kind of person who accidentally lets a camp fire get out of hand at a Sunday afternoon picnic? Really, Derek, I’m a grown woman.”
Stiles snorts, and then tries to smooth out his grin into a serious expression.
“There could be some damage I need to look into, vandalism, being deliberately negligent with an exposed flame.” He tsks at Derek, and Derek tries not to show that he’s more than a little turned on by his entire stance, and the fucking uniform. “Might have to take someone in…”
Derek sets his jaw, glowering at his laughing sisters and mother, “It wasn’t me,” he insists. “I was over there—flying a kite!”
“A kite—you were—” Stiles clearly bites the inside of his cheek, “Interesting hobby.”
“It was for my nephew.”
“Sure, sure,” Stiles puts his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels and leans against the car, arching an eyebrow at Derek, “You fly kites often?”
“Oh my god,” Laura whispers, stuffing her fist in her mouth and beginning to silently shake with laughter.
“Just arrest me,” Derek groans, tipping his head back to glare at the sky, “Anything is better than this.”
“Nah,” Stiles shrugs, “Just came to check it was nothing serious, but now that I know you’re in capable hands—”
“Oh, we’re not capable hands,” Cora says immediately, “Derek needs a much firmer, sturdier pair of hands to keep him in line.”
“Cora, mom! Tell her to shut up!”
“Live and let live,” Talia says jauntily, standing and shaking her skirt out, picking up Caleb and wandering away across the field to look at a butterfly.
Stiles watches her go, a wistful look on his face, and Derek stops feeling so entirely mortified.
“I’m sorry,” he says shortly, “For wasting your time.”
“It wasn’t a waste,” Stiles smiles brightly at him, “It actually made my day, uh, not the fire,” he adds quickly, “Just… seeing you. All of you.”
“Smooth, Stilinski,” Cora drawls.
“Shut up,” Stiles mutters out of the corner of his mouth, opening the door to the car and waving a hand at them all awkwardly. “Well, as you were. No more fires! Or, I might actually have to arrest you.”
“Chance would be a fine thing,” Laura calls coyly.
Stiles goes bright red and flops into the car, gaze darting between Derek and the rear view mirror.
Derek watches him leave, and then kicks at the burnt up blanket. Fuck. They always make it so much easier in fucking books.
*
Finstock
There’s absolute silence from the table as Derek makes his way over the following Saturday. Stiles is staring at the ceiling as if in prayer, and the man opposite him looks up at Derek and then balks.
“Christ, what is this, a reunion?”
“Coach,” Derek says faintly, “Are you—is this—” he looks at Stiles in complete shock, and Stiles continues to stare at the ceiling.
“There was a mix up,” Finstock waves his hand, “I thought the ad I was replying to was for tonight, evidently, as Stilinski is a moron and I can’t imagine anything worse than dating an ex student, let alone a moronic one, we shan’t be entering into a blossoming romance any time soon.” Stiles flips him off and Finstock chortles. “I was supposed to be meeting a lovely redhead who deals in antiques and speaks Klingon. But,” he grins nastily, “As we’re here, Stilinski and I are going to have a catch up.”
“We’re not,” Stiles cuts in, voice strangled, “I’m not here, I’m waiting for my cab.”
“What happened to the Jeep?” Derek asks, skipping over the horrifying details of his Coach’s private life.
“Overheated engine, she’s on her last legs,” Stiles ducks his head down to meet Derek’s gaze for a second, “I’m gonna have to give her up soon.”
Derek feels a twist of empathy, he remembers the Camaro being totalled when he was twenty. She was his one home away from home in the big city, and he’d not wanted to part with the crapped up remains for weeks. Laura had eventually talked him into getting rid of it, pointing out he was a pathetic loser who didn’t need a car in New York anyway. It had done the trick. Laura’s brisk chipper attitude has always worked well whenever Derek gets what his mother calls the grumps.
“You’ll have the memories,” he says finally.
Stiles snorts, but his expression cheers a little.
“Dear lord,” Finstock mutters into his menu, jerking them out of their staring match. “Stilinski, what’s the steak like here?”
Stiles bashes his head on the table, and Derek pats him on the shoulder. He’s suddenly aware it’s the first time he’s initiated any sort of contact, and from the way Stiles snaps his head up, it’s something he’s aware of, too.
“I’ll be back with, alcohol?” he suggests.
“So much of it,” Stiles groans, but he leans into Derek’s hand for the brief second he keeps it on Stiles’ arm, and then lets his fingers slide away.
Finstock leaves after they’ve shared what looked like a truly hilarious hour of arguing about the Mets, and Stiles squints drunkenly up at Derek when he comes over to clear their plates.
“How come I keep ending up with the really awful dates?”
“Maybe because your best friend posted an ad in the paper, and you keep coming back?”
“I come back for the service,” Stiles says bluntly, and then rolls his head back to grin at Derek, “And the ever so cheerful waiter.”
Derek nudges him with his elbow as he passes, tells him to stay where he is and brings him back a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
“I’m serious,” Stiles sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he digs into the ice cream, “Oh, god, this is better than the strawberry!”
“My dad makes it,” Derek offers.
“God, can I pay him to make me personal cartons?”
Derek laughs, “No, but I’ve got some you can keep at mine if you want.”
“I can keep it… at your house? Does this mean you’re gonna be like my ice cream dealer? Do we have sordid hook ups in dirty alleyways?” Stiles’ gaze goes unfocused, and Derek swallows hard.
“That doesn’t sound at all wise coming from a cop.”
“Oh, yeah, heh,” Stiles scratches his nose uncoordinatedly, and Derek tears his gaze away from Stiles’ fingers to go and serve Mr and Mrs Pontiera their dessert. They’re last in the restaurant, and when they leave, Stiles is still moping into his ice cream, whisking it about.
Derek sits down heavily opposite him, grabs a spoon.
“Where’d your cab get to?”
“Erica’s meant to call me ‘ne,” Stiles slurs.
Derek cuts a glance to the bar, and Erica waves brightly, winks and then disappears into the kitchen. Derek resists the urge to bash his own head against the table.
“I can do it.”
“Na’s’ok, I can walk.”
“I can take you home,” he offers, and then bites on his tongue when Stiles jerks to look at him sharply. “That wasn’t a—I mean—”
“No,” Stiles sighs, “It probably wasn’t. That’s not my luck.”
“Stiles,” Derek tries again, “You’re really drunk.”
“Finstock ordered a lot of beer, I couldn’t keep up.”
“He shouldn’t be encouraging you to drink,” Derek huffs.
“He wasn’t, I was—nervous,” Stiles licks his lips, and Derek feels the world shift upside down.
“Nervous. For a non date. With Coach Finstock.”
“No, dumbass, becausssh you’re here. You’re all,” Stiles waves a hand at him, shuts one eye and squints with the other, “I haff the best non dates with you.”
“Oh,” Derek looks at his hands, swallows hard, “I—yeah, me too.”
“Yeah?” Stiles leans forward, hooks his ankle around Derek’s under the table. Derek stills, looks steadily back at him. “I think if anyone’s not gonna get me, it’d be you.”
And then he passes out.
On the table.
With his foot pressing against Derek’s.
Derek sighs, used to drunken antics at his place of work, but never coming along with an admission of… something. Something that’s making his heart beat fast and his palms sweat. Stiles lets out a snore.
Derek feels vaguely less sweaty.
Boyd helps him get Stiles into the car, and without knowing where Stiles lives now, he takes him home to the Sheriff’s.
John leans against the door frame as Derek gets out of the car, shakes his head ruefully, “My kid, the upstanding officer of the law.”
“I think he had a little too much to drink,” Derek glances at him reluctantly, “I hope I did the right thing?”
“Of course, son, thank you,” John comes out and flicks Stiles’ nose through the open window, “Stiles.”
“Mmmf, ‘s’what’s happenin’?” Stiles jerks awake, eyes darting between his dad and Derek. “Oh my god, is this a dream? This feels like a really bad dream. Am I naked? Are we at Prom?”
“No, kid, you’re at home, and breaking curfew,” John chuckles as Stiles’ eyes go horrified. “I’m kidding, Jesus, get your ass inside before you embarrass yourself any further in front of young mister Hale, here.”
Stiles stumbles out of the car, rolls his shoulders back and looks straight at Derek. Derek finds himself standing to attention, aware of the Sheriff’s eyes on them and Stiles’ expression.
“I—am gonna be sick,” Stiles declares finally, racing past them both and into the house.
The Sheriff clucks his tongue, “Well, he knows how to leave ‘em laughing.”
Derek snorts, swings his car keys around in his hand, gazing after Stiles, “Yeah, he’s really… something.”
John narrows his eyes, and Derek suddenly wonders if he’s about to be shot, “Uh.”
“If you ask me,” the Sheriff says softly, “He shoulda just manned up and asked somebody he actually liked on a date; instead of this ridiculous ad nonsense Scott’s got him on. He’s not got an endless salary, and I’m pretty sure he’s not paying to see what kind of character’s gonna turn up every week out of curiosity anymore,” he gives Derek a significant look, and then backs towards the house, “Thanks for getting him home safe, Derek.”
“Sheriff,” Derek manages.
The car smells like alcohol and Stiles. He wonders if he can get rid of one scent, and keep the other.
*
There’s a gigantic bright red kite waiting for Derek on the bar on Monday morning. A scribbled note that says, Thanks.
Derek ignores Erica’s cackling about the chosen gift, keeps the note in his pocket all day.
*
Derek
Derek’s halfway to the bar when he sees Stiles at his usual table. He can’t help but feel a little betrayed; his heart plummeting to his feet. He hasn’t heard from him since the kite arrived, and he’d almost hoped…
Well, that removes any last embers of a dying flame Stiles really did see past all of his other options and thought Derek was a possible dating candidate.
He slams the dishwasher open, yanks out a tray of glasses. Behind him, his mother hums in disapproval, “Careful, dear, those cost forty dollars apiece.”
“I’ll buy you a new set,” he promises.
“Buy something for yourself, instead,” she pats his cheek as she closes up the bookings for the week, “A new jacket maybe. You never know when you might need it.”
“For funerals?”
Talia smirks, “No, something a little nicer than that, darling. You know I don’t like you thinking about the future in such a dismal way, honey. Things are going to be wonderful, I’ve always believed it for you, and you should believe it, too.”
His mother is, if anybody has not realized over the course of Derek’s life, insane.
Before Derek can ask what she means, Erica bustles across the room, “Oh, good, you’re here.” She starts yanking off his work jacket, and tugging at his tie. “He’s so nervous I hardly managed to keep him here.”
“Who’s the special guy?” Derek asks darkly.
Erica frowns at him. “Oh my god, Boyd’s right, you are oblivious.”
“What?”
Erica starts shoving him towards Stiles’ table before he can protest and Stiles stands when he sees them.
“I was getting kinda worried. You’re like an hour later than usual.”
“My shift doesn’t start till eight—You’ve been here an hour?”
“Mmm,” Stiles sits, and Erica shoves Derek in opposite him before disappearing. “I was waiting for my date.”
“I figured,” Derek says sourly, fingers curling into the menu.
Stiles opens his own menu and glances at Derek, eyes sincere and a little nervous. “So, what’s good here?”
Derek stares at him like he’s nuts. “You’ve eaten here for a month.”
“And, I still don’t know what you like best.”
“Oh,” he falters, feeling thrown. “I like my dad’s risotto.”
“Cool,” Stiles shuts his menu, leans forward across the table and smiles at him, “Guess I know what I’m ordering.”
Derek lifts an eyebrow at him. “Stiles… where’s your date?”
“Currently sitting opposite me looking a little confused which, I have to admit has happened more than once recently. It’s like I’ve been a magnet for all the people I want to date least. I think it was a sign,” he scratches his chin, “I don’t really believe in that crap, though, do you?”
Derek’s frowning at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “Your date—I’m—what are you talking about?”
“I was asking about your opinions on fate, the universe, signs and shit,” Stiles shrugs, “Small talk, Derek, we skipped right over it. And, I’d kind of like us to get it out of the way, because I’m pretty sure you’re awesome. You’re kind and smart and when you get embarrassed your ears go pink and it’s fucking adorable. I think I’m entranced. And, we haven’t even been on a date. I think Scotty’s plan to get me out there worked in a really hilarious, ironic way; because, the whole time I was dating other people, I wanted to be on dates with you. So, if you’d like, I’d really like to do that. With you. If… that’s an option.”
He glances up at Derek, chewing on his bottom lip. Derek opens and closes his mouth several times, looks around the room to check whether or not this is for real, and Stiles hooks his ankle round Derek’s like before, only now he’s completely sober. His expression is serious, and a little hopeful when Derek looks back at him.
“My ears are not adorable,” he says finally, “I’m cooking any time we stay in, indefinitely, until you know how to make something that doesn’t involve a fryer.”
“You can teach me,” Stiles says easily, his smile widening until it’s stretched across his whole face.
“My sisters will probably threaten you a lot.”
“No more than Cora did in high school.”
“No, more, now she doesn’t have a crush on you so there’s nothing in it for her.”
“She had— nevermind,” Stiles says weakly at Derek’s glare, “I literally had no idea.”
“You don’t have any idea ever, apparently,” Derek seethes, “I would have gone out with you if you’d asked as soon as Jackson left.”
“I gave you an in!” Stiles cries incredulously, “I gave you my best bedroom eyes and talked about dessert! You’re more obtuse than me by a mile!”
“Those were your bedroom eyes?”
“Oh, shut up, apparently they worked for you anyway.”
“Of course they did,” Derek snaps, rolling his eyes, “You talk about stars and bought me a fucking kite, you keyed Jackson’s car and you look ridiculously hot in a uniform.”
Stiles leans back in his chair positively beaming, “Oh my god, I have never been so angrily told I’m attractive, this is amazing.”
“I’m—” Derek feels his cheeks heat up and Stiles crows, reaches across the table and pets Derek’s ear.
“I told you so.”
“I’m not talking to you for at least ten minutes.”
“Should make the date lively.”
“This isn’t a date, you never asked.”
“I booked the table, I wore a tie, I’m playing footsie with you, and I’m paying,” Stiles shrugs easily, “Totally a date.”
“I don’t put out on the first date.”
“’S’cool, we can keep going on them for as long as you like,” Stiles’ eyes go serious, “I can wait. It’s not especially important to me what we do, or when you put out, or if you do, or if you don’t want to. I just really like talking to you, dude. You might not get me, and I might not get you, but you make me feel…” He wiggles his fingers against his chest, “Effervescent,” he says finally. “So, you wanna keep trynna talk me out of wanting this to be a date, or you wanna go on a date with me?”
Derek shoots out a hand, catches Stiles’ and squeezes it tightly, “I want it to be a date.”
“Cool,” Stiles squeezes his fingers back, “Look at that, all I had to do was ask.”
Erica bursts into applause at the bar, and behind her Boyd’s grinning and winking at them. Talia’s opening champagne. Derek’s family is mortifying.
It doesn’t seem to bother Stiles.
They go on dates, every week, almost every day, for months. Even after Stiles has started leaving clothes in Derek’s apartment, after they’ve babysat for Caleb a hundred times, and Stiles has insisted Derek take him back to the field and show him how to actually fly a kite. Saturday night, Derek clocks off at nine, and he and Stiles pick somewhere to go out, to hold hands and be awfully romantic, bicker at one another until the sky’s white and they’re sprawled in Derek’s bed, Stiles fitting against Derek like he was made to.
*
Scott puts an announcement in the paper when they get married. He tells everyone it was all down to his genius idea to get Stiles into the dating game. Derek cuts it out and sticks it on the fridge. It was a pretty damn good idea. He got a date for life out of it. A+ would recommend.