Work Text:
The war was over and Stiles supposed that was a good thing. In fact he knew it was a good thing, it was just that everything had changed. “Fuckin’ stupid war” Stiles grumbled to himself.
Stiles was right, it had been a stupid war - how it had started was still a topic for much debate but what wasn’t in doubt was that it had been terrible and devastating and nothing would ever be the same again.
In most places the population had been decimated, California had been lucky in only losing about half its people but the result was much the same. Nothing worked.
In the six months following the declaration of peace, some services had been restored but there was much still to be done.
Business and industry just didn’t exist anymore; trade was non-existent (trust not yet restored) and those people who remained scraped together a living as best they could.
Beacon Hills had fared better than its people, who’d been drafted like everybody else into some sort of military organisation. Most of it was still standing, the bombers having largely ignored the unimportant settlement hidden in the Californian hills. Thankfully some of the infrastructure was also still intact. At least there was a good clean water supply and power for a few hours most days.
Stiles had returned to Beacon Hills having been discharged from the army. He hadn't been too badly injured but wasn’t much use for the hard labour that most of the surviving military was now engaged in, trying to put the country back together.
His dad had been assigned law enforcement duties in Sacramento at the beginning of the war and was still there, trying to get a grip on the looting and theft that had become endemic since peace broke out.
Stiles nearly opted to join him there but there were no jobs and the ex-sheriff was housed in barracks. At least there was a house waiting for him in Beacon Hills even if the job situation was much the same.
The house was pretty much intact although the fridge was something of a nightmare. Stiles had had to find gloves, chemicals and breathing equipment to get it cleaned up. He got it done eventually, swearing that he’d never go away and leave stuff in the refrigerator again. New life forms would probably evolve.
He didn't know whether any of his friends were back in Beacon Hills, he hadn’t heard from most of them since the beginning of the war. He didn't even know whether they were still alive but he was fairly positive that if he'd survived it then most of them should have too.
It took him a while to get his bearings, he wasn't used to having nothing to do. Years of following orders in the army meant he was somewhat lost having nothing but free time. After a week of wandering around in a daze he decided he'd have to dedicate himself to working out how to earn some money. There were very few shops open and none were hiring. It looked like he’d have to rely on his own ingenuity to make a living. Luckily several things came together to provide a solution for Stiles.
The circumstances under which Stiles came to solve his employment problems were not due to research or any such diligence but to observation and the sudden flash of inspiration.
He had taken to walking in the woods surrounding Beacon Hills mostly for the exercise but also to reacquaint himself with the paths he once used to run. He couldn't run now unfortunately due to his injuries, which though minor, prevented him moving easily at speed. He found that he could manage a brisk walk that maintained his fitness and helped to rehabilitate his limbs. On one such outing into what had once been the Hale preserve he came across an astounding number of bramble bushes bedecked with the most beautiful looking blackberries he'd seen in an age. Stiles was jubilant and determined to return to pick as many as he could but his good mood was somewhat diminished by the sight of a large black-coated animal that he could not rightly identify. Although he thought it looked a little like a large wolf, everybody knew that California had no wolves, the last having died out in the early 20th century. Surely even with the hardships the war had brought, they could not have returned.
Deciding it was probably just a large dog and that his observation had been hampered by the trees and undergrowth, Stiles didn’t worry but headed off in the direction of home.
Being alone in the house without his father to regulate his behaviour, (although he was a grown man now, he was still subject to the sheriff's rules. The man carried a gun after all) he had the opportunity to investigate the contents of the attic. He knew his Mother's belongings had been stored up there, according to his father ‘out of sight and out of mind’ but Stiles was curious, he wanted to know more about his mother who had died when he was so very young and a little investigation of her things seemed the best way to proceed.
His major find was an old book, not quite a journal more like a grimoire or almanac, the kind of thing that witches recorded their spells in. It mostly contained recipes, some wildlife, local flora and fauna and the occasional diary-like entry recording her opinions. Stiles was intrigued and returned to the living room to settle down and read as much as he could.
A key turning in the front door woke Stiles from his doze, his head snapping up from where it rested on his mother's book. A tremor of fear ran down his spine until his father appeared in the doorway.
“Dad. Wow! What are you doing here?”
“Had a couple of days, so I thought I'd come and see how you were doing?”
“Awesome! Dude that's awesome!”
Stiles jumped up and gave his dad the biggest hug. They clung to each other. They hadn't been together in their house for years and somehow it felt comforting and safe.
“Hey, when did you last eat?” Stiles asked.
“To be honest, not since last night”, the sheriff admitted.
“Shit, man... I better see what there is to cook.”
The sheriff followed his son into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to marvel at the heaps of blackberries spread in numerous containers over every surface.
“What are you going to do with this lot?” He asked slightly bemused.
“Ugh... yeah... I had an idea but I'm not sure whether it's even possible now.”
“Well tell me the idea and I'll see if I can help any.”
“There’s loads of berries and fruit and herbs and all kinds of things growing around here and everyone’s so short of food. I thought if I could make some stuff, maybe I could sell it and make a little money too.”
“That's not a bad idea Stiles. So what's holding you up?”
“Yeah, so... I thought about making pies but it's practically impossible to get butter and flour is really scarce too, so that's a non-starter. Thought I could make jam but then I’d need sugar and yeah... I keep hitting brick walls.”
Stiles pulled together a meal from the canned goods he had left and they sat and ate at the dining table, trying to recapture a little bit of ‘normal’, that had been gone for so long. Stiles told him about the poster he’d seen advertising a farmers market in town the next day and they decided they’d take a look at it.
John then began to talk about Stiles’ mom, something that hadn’t happened probably ever. The sheriff had been so shaken up by her death that he’d never really talked to Stiles about his mother and Stiles had never dared ask.
He told Stiles that Claudia had loved foraging back before he was born and even when he was a little baby and she could carry him on her back. That she had spent much of her days wandering through the local woods collecting as many edible things she could find. He talked about her bringing home puffballs, huge white mushrooms that were so tasty fried up with a little seasoning. And how he'd been so sceptical at the start that he'd refused to eat some things but that everything she’d made had tasted delicious and he’d always been won over. He said that Stiles should go through all of her books, see what he could find. Stiles had tears in his eyes when his dad told him that his mother would be proud of him, that he was definitely his mother's son.
By the time they'd finished doing the washing up Stiles had tears running down his cheeks and his dad wasn't in a much better state. They both missed her so desperately that all they could do was hug each other and promise to keep her memory alive.
The next day was warm despite it being Fall, so they walked into the small town centre and found the few stalls that made up the market. It was still early but they were quite a few people there already and Stiles was surprised by how many different things were on sale. Secretly he was pleased to see that no one else was selling wild fruits and berries.
There were displays of more fresh fruit and vegetables than Stiles had seen in years and he wished he had enough money to buy it all. Even so between Stiles and his dad they got a pretty good haul and found lots of things that would help Stiles transform his blackberries into tasty treats.
He asked around about getting a stall of his own and was introduced to Betty Wilson, a friendly middle-aged women with a sound business mind. She welcomed Stiles with open arms.
“The more the merrier,” she said, “We've all been eating out of cans for so long it's a wonder we don't all have scurvy.”
When they got back Stiles busied himself putting the food away and planning lunch while the sheriff disappeared into the garage. He emerged sometime later laden down with the paraphernalia of jam making. Jars and pans and all kinds of other things that had been stored away after his mother’s death.
With the power on, Stiles spent the rest of the day sterilizing equipment and reading his mother’s books. He discovered ways to make his own pectin to help the fruit set and also how to use other fruit so that sugar wasn't necessary. This would make jellies and jams that tasted great but wouldn't necessarily last very long. Stiles didn't think this was going to be too much of a problem what with people being desperate for any kind of food that broke the monotony of the canned supplies they’d had to rely on during the war.
He also found a recipe for fruit leather, he didn't think the name was very appealing but he remembered eating it when he was small and thought it would be great to have something like candy for the kids.
The were loads of other recipes in his mom's books and Stiles began to make a list of the other fruits and herbs and mushrooms to look out for on his next trip into the woods. He was quite excited about the prospect of the farmer's market at the end of the next week and felt sure he could bring products that people would be pleased to buy.
His dad wandered off down to the sheriff's department to see what had been going on while he’d been away. He didn't think he’d be able to return any time soon but he liked the idea of getting the lay of the land.
The next Saturday Stiles was up at five o'clock, bleary eyed but excited. He set to work filling the Jeep with his produce and checking he had all the other things he’d need. He thought he'd be one of the first there but half the market had already been constructed when he pulled up. There were people coming and going everywhere in a somewhat organised chaos. Stiles jumped out of the Jeep and went to look for Betty, to find out where his pitch would be. Then it was just a matter of trying to get the Jeep as close as possible and wrangling the trestle tables and awnings into some form of market stall.
The frustration was just beginning to get to him when a voice behind him asked
“Need any help?”
“Oh wow! Yes please. Dude, you've no idea”.
With the man’s help it only took another ten minutes to get set up, leaving Stiles to get the products he’d made set out in an attractive fashion.
The guy who’d helped him out had the stall next to his. He hadn't introduced himself, in fact he'd said very little to Stiles, except for giving him the odd order. It was only when Stiles was settled behind his counter that he realised he didn't know the guy's name.
“What do they call you, Dude?”
“Don't call me Dude.”
“Well d’you have a name?”
The man turned towards him scowling, “Derek”, he said and then turned away from Stiles not asking his name in return.
With anyone else Stiles would have left it like that, but this guy was hot, built like the proverbial brick house and with the most perfect stubble he had ever seen.
“I’m Stiles,” he said introducing himself, “I grew up here but I've only just got back from the war. I'm trying to make a couple of bucks,” he said gesturing to his stall, “given there's no work around. What about you? Have you got your own farm? Where did vegetables come from? They look really good. Any chance you got any lemons?”
Derek looked over at him and gave him a particularly menacing scowl but after a moment he nodded and told Stiles that he didn't have any lemons but there was a guy over the other side of the market who brought oranges and lemons up from the south.
Stiles thanked him and set off across the marketplace, finding the guy with the fruit quite easily. The citrus fruit would mean that he could make lots more things to sell the next week.
Life, Stiles thought, was beginning to look sweet.
Stiles life settled happily into routines. Training every morning, farmers market on a Saturday, foraging trips at the beginning of the week and preparing and cooking later in the week. All ready for another market the next Saturday.
His injury was improving, the training helped. He was still pretty slow but it felt good to be building up his muscles again. It helped to make him feel more positive about the future.
He'd bumped into Melissa the third time he'd been at the market. She'd hugged him so tightly he thought he'd pass out from lack of air. She was back working at the hospital, keeping them all in order as she always had. But the best thing was the news that Scott was alive. Well and happy and living in Nebraska.
Knowing that Scott was alive and well and practising as a vet seemed to settle Stiles. He hadn't realised quite how much tension he was carrying around until it lifted from his shoulders on hearing Melissa's news. She had an address for him and although Stiles knew it would take forever for a letter to get to Scott he was determined to write one, just to let him know he too was alive.
Stiles got better and better at finding what he needed in the woods and fields surrounding Beacon Hills. The Hale preserve, particularly good for finding what he needed, was so diverse that he couldn't believe that someone hadn't managed the property, planting and encouraging such a wide range plants. He also got better at identifying fungi and even found some of the puffballs that his dad had told him about.
The other thing that happened was not quite so good, Stiles continued to see the black wolf. That's what he called it now, always seeming to be there when he went to the Hale property. It even began to come closer to him and seemed to watch him.
One time even chasing away a mountain lion that had strayed into the preserve. Eventually Stiles began to get fond of seeing it around, it didn't appear to be a threat of any kind and he began to worry slightly when the wolf wasn’t there.
After about a month of doing the market, a new stall set up selling coffee. Stiles was ecstatic. A strong cup of coffee in the morning before the market opened was the perfect way to start his day.
He started bringing a cup for Derek too, which resulted in Stiles actually getting a smile out of him. And what a smile! Stiles thought he might be in love.
After that Derek slowly became more friendly. They'd chat when the market was quiet, talk about the old Beacon Hills before the war. They never actually spoke about the war, too many deaths, too many friends lost, too much heartache. But they did talk about the future, planning different ways that they might be able to expand what they had to offer on their stalls.
Stiles was worried that once fall had ended, there wouldn't be such a variety of plants to forage. Derek was also worried that he only had a few vegetables that he could cut during winter. They agreed to join forces to look for recipes and ideas that would turn what they had available into good things to sell and ways of storing the fruit and vegetables in order to prolong their lives. Stiles begin to think of them as a team, it felt good to have companionship again and if once in awhile he fantasized about Derek in a less than platonic way, then that was his business and no one need know.
“Derek…” Stiles whined, “how much space do you have where you're growing your vegetables?”
“Why, Stiles? What are you after?” Derek looked at him suspiciously.
“Nothing really, I just wondered if you could put in some mint for me. You have to be careful because it does tend to spread everywhere but I'm sure you've got a small corner where it wouldn't hurt. I mean it won't do much this end of the year but it would be good to have some come spring and it goes really well with those little early potatoes. Do you grow those?”
“So you want me to grow something for you so you can sell it?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, no... yes, well you can sell it if you want.”
“It's more your line.”
“Yes but um... I could um... give you something in exchange.”
“Like what? I don't use a lot of jelly.”
“I don't know do you like elderberry vodka, or rowanberry or blueberry or elderflower wine or…”
“Shut up, Stiles. Yes, I'll grow some for you.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. If you have lots of space there are some other things you could grow for me.”
“Stiles!” Derek growled, drawing out each letter of his name.
Beacon Hills had begun to fill up with people returning and new people looking for a safe place to settle. Stiles knew some of them, at least recognised them from when he was at school. He was in the market one day when he noticed Allison's father, Chris Argent and it set him thinking about Scott and whether he and Allison were still a couple. The guy who was hand in hand with Chris, looked slightly familiar as he strode through the marketplace heading for Derek’s stall.
“Hey Nephew!” He called out to Derek and he replied with the nastiest scowl Stiles had seen to date.
“Oh come on, that's hardly the way you should greet your favourite Uncle Peter.”
“Only Uncle,” Derek muttered.
Stiles stared at Derek's uncle. He knew about werewolves, there’d been battalions of them in the war, but it had never occurred to him that Derek might be one. Derek may not have looked like a werewolf, but his Uncle Peter definitely did. His mannerisms screamed of danger and hidden strength and he had a cocky demeanor that would have sent fathers-of-old to drag their daughters inside. Stiles thought he looked downright creepy but Chris was obviously enamored by him.
They hung around for a bit, Peter baiting Derek, trying to get a rise out of him while Chris spoke to Stiles. He even bought a couple of jars of Stiles’ jelly just before they wandered off. “Ten percent off next time if you bring the jars back,” Stiles called after him, smiling.
Stiles was quiet after they’d left, locked up in his own thoughts. As he packed the stall away around lunchtime, he saw Derek was staring at him.
“What?” Stiles demanded unhappily.
“You've been very quiet. Is it the wolf thing?” Derek looked nervous.
It was Stiles turn to stare. “Don't be ridiculous, I'm not like that. It’s just... it was Chris Argent. He didn't even mention Allison… his daughter... and I'm worried about what that might mean.”
“Stiles don't fret. What people do and do not talk about has been weird ever since the war began, it doesn't mean a thing.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. I guess I should have asked him, but y’know I didn't want to… in case it was bad news.”
“Come on, don't dwell on it. I’ve got an idea for you.” Derek smiled at him.
“Really? What?” Stiles asked, his face lifting, smiling back at Derek.
“There’s a guy I knew before the war, he's got some land up by Mad River and I heard he’s started selling venison. I thought I might go up there and see what he’s got going. And… and I wondered if you fancied a road trip.” Derek rushed through the last sentence as if he was afraid to ask.
“Road trip? Aw Dude, that would be excellent!”
“Stiles, don't call me Dude.”
“Yeah right, sorry, no... but yeah, road trip... that'd be excellent. When?”
“I thought we might go tomorrow, got nothing else on.”
“Yeah, why not and the name of that place always makes me laugh.”
Derek picked Stiles up at his house the next morning around six, it was a bit early but he wanted to have plenty of time over there and get back before it was dark. Stiles excitedly jumped into the front seat.
“Oh man, this is going to be fun! I haven't been out of Beacon Hills for months.”
“Yeah well,” said Derek scowling, “Put your seat belt on and don't chatter all the way there,”
Stiles turned sharply towards him, only to see Derek grinning back at him.
“Oh man, you are the worst!” Stiles complained, but clipped his seat belt into place and made a show of sealing his lips. Neither of them thought it would last, but at least he was making an effort.
Just over half way there, Stiles turned and looked at Derek.
“So is this a date?” he asked. And watched as Derek’s face turned pink.
Derek took a deep breath and asked in return,
“Do you want it to be?” And then it was Stiles turn to blush.
They didn’t say much for a while after that.
The ranch house was set back off several long winding tracks up from the town of Mad River. The fact that they found it at all suggested to Stiles that Derek had been there before, more than once.
It was beautiful and Stiles immediately imagined himself living there, being able to look out over the land every morning, breathing in the fresh country air. The more pragmatic part of him reminded him that Beacon Hills was not exactly a great metropolis and had pretty fresh country air itself.
As Stiles stretched out, getting his stiff leg back in some sort of working order, (the definite downside of road trips), Derek walked up to the house and knocked. The door swung open and a girl about seventeen or eighteen stared out, calling back over her shoulder,
“Mom, it’s Derek Hale.”
“Hey Stacey,” Derek said, “you’ve g…”
“Don’t say it, don’t you dare say it,” Stacey butted in. “Wow, so what are you doing here?” she asked, giving him her most alluring smile. At least that's what Stiles thought it was meant to be.
“Don’t be rude, Stacey darling. Invite him in.” Mrs. Jones called from the kitchen.
“He’s got a friend,” Stacey replied, peering at Stiles over Derek’s shoulder.
“Then invite him in too. Then you go and find your brother.”
“Aw Mom…”
“Stacey!”
Derek walked into the kitchen and was enveloped in a massive hug.
“Look at you, you’re looking good, Derek dear. And who’s this?”
“Stiles Stilinski, maam” Stiles said, holding out his hand towards Mrs. Jones.
“Oh lord, boy,” she laughed as she hugged him as well, “I’ve never been called that before.”
“I’m Nelly Jones, you call me Nell,” she said to Stiles. Then pointing at Derek she smiled, “And no Auntie Nelly jokes from you, you’re not too old…”
A man a little older than Derek pushed through the outside door into the kitchen.
“Don’t start on that now Mom, Derek’s full grown”.
He walked over and hugged Derek, clapping him on the back and then held out his hand to Stiles.
“Bill Jones,” he said. Stiles shook his hand, only flinching slightly from the strength of it and replied, “Stiles Stilinski”.
Derek leant in and staged whispered to Stiles, “He was Billy-boy when I knew him.”
Bill raised his eyebrows, giving Derek a very judgemental look.
“Careful what you start there, Der-bear.”
And Stiles gave up trying not to laugh.
The three of them walked around to Bill’s office in back of the house. Settling into his chair Bill said, “You heard about the Buffalo then”.
“Buffalo, no,” Derek replied, “but we did hear about the venison.”
Bill laughed, “I knew I should have done the one flyer instead of two.”
“We’ve got stalls at the farmers market in Beacon Hills,” Derek told him, “Was wondering if you could do us a nice deal on some of that meat.”
Stiles bored of the negotiations very quickly and headed back towards the house, hoping to get some recipe ideas from Nell Jones. He was in luck, she loved talking about food. By the time they were ready to leave, he had dozens of recipes and had promised her a good selection of his jams and jellies, not to mention a bottle or two of the rosehip vodka.”
Stiles leaned against a fence watching Derek load meat onto the truck bed of his pickup when another truck pulled up and two large men got out. They hung around out front, staring at Derek and then Stiles.
“What's he doing with a fuckin’ human?” one asked.
“Dunno, maybe he likes playing with them before finishing them off,” the other laughed.
“That smile he gave him says something different, makes me think it's something a bit more than sex.”
“Nah, don’t worry, no self respecting Hale would think of getting serious with a human.”
Stiles didn't know whether Derek had heard them, maybe he’d been getting more meat when the guys had been talking but he was certain that he didn't like what he’d heard. ‘Fuckin’ werewolves’, he thought, ‘think they're so damn superior’.
Bill came out the door and and welcomed the new visitors, then paused to wave off Derek and Stiles. “See you again soon, I hope,” he said, “Next time you want some quality meat you come straight back to me.”
Stiles was deathly quiet on the way back to Beacon Hills. He didn't really know what to think. Maybe those guys have been right, maybe Stiles was just a plaything, maybe Derek never had anything serious in mind. Then he considered that maybe he was getting ahead of himself, maybe this wasn't a date at all, a not-date and Derek had no intention of their relationship going any further. He slumped into the seat feeling his confidence draining away, he didn't even tell Derek about the recipes Nell had given him, he didn't want to talk at all.
When Derek dropped him off at the house, he waved and smiled a weak smile before going inside.
Stiles was getting ready for bed a few days later when he heard a loud knock at the door, he sighed but still went down the stairs to see who it was. He opened the door and wasn't particularly happy to see Peter Hale standing there.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asked, “I was just going to bed.”
Peter leered, “As I can see, Stiles, you look rather attractive in just your pyjama pants. I won't keep you long, I just wanted a quick chat with you about Derek.”
“What about Derek?”
“About you and Derek.”
“There is no me and Derek.”
“Oh I think you'll find there is.”
Stiles huffed angrily. “Listen!” Stiles yelled, “There is no me and Derek, you don't have to worry, I know that no self respecting Hale would ever want a relationship with a human.” And he slammed the door shut.
Peter opened it again, with a little effort, “Don't be ridiculous Stiles,” he called after him, “What do you think me and Chris have been doing, playing patty cake?”
“I don't fucking know, I thought you'd be here to warn me off.” Stiles paused for breath.
“And anyway, I don't want anything to do with him. You damn werewolves are too fucking superior, you should leave us humans alone,” Stiles shouted and went to storm back up the stairs. Before he could reach them he felt his feet leave the floor and he found himself tucked under Peter's arm. He struggled; he’d like to think he struggled manfully, but it was to little avail. Before he knew it he was in the trunk of Peter's car, heading off to God knows where.
He couldn't get his bearings in the darkness of the trunk but as his eyes became accustomed to it he realised that it must be Chris's car. There was a semi-automatic poking him in the back and he could definitely smell gunpowder. ‘They’re in it together,’ Stiles thought. He tried to work out what exactly these two wanted with him, after his little conversation with Peter it obviously wasn't to warn him off Derek but for the life of him he couldn't work out what it could be.
Stiles woke up on a thin mattress in a small room with no windows. He considered his situation and came to the conclusion that he was probably at Chris's house. It would be just like the Argents to have ready-made cells in their basement, just waiting for whoever they thought they needed to kidnap next. He rolled over and put his head under the pitiful excuse for a pillow and tried to go back to sleep.
Unsurprisingly the dull thumping headache he had was making it difficult. He sat up and looked around the room, there was a toilet pan on the far wall, a sink next to it and just to the left of the door there was a plate of food and a bottle of water. Stiles thought he might as well be a good little prisoner and wandered over to pick it up, settling back on the bed to eat it.
As far as Stiles could tell he'd been there about two days before the door opened and Peter stepped through.
“Go on then, tell me”, Stiles said as Peter moved into the room with Chris behind him. “What exactly is all this about?”
“Yes well,” Chris said from behind Peter, “It should have been all over in little more than half an hour but we got called out on an emergency. We’re back now.”
“You mean you left me locked down here just because you had to go somewhere. Couldn't you have dropped me off at home? Given me a book or something?”
“There wasn't time, Stiles,” Peter said, unrepentant. “That's what emergency means.”
“Ah shit, all right then, what was it that you wanted?” Stiles bit out the words, hoping for an answer this time.
Chris sighed, “We needed to convince you to go out with Derek.”
“What?” Stiles practically screamed, “You kidnap me and lock me up in here for two days just so that you could ask me to go out with Derek!”
“We need you to be serious about it,” Peter added.
“I don't think you're even listening.” Stiles gazed at them, astounded. “Do you seriously think that this is the kind of behaviour that will get me into a relationship with your nephew? You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”
Chris put his hands on Peter's shoulders, “I don't think you're helping Pete, why don't you leave this to me.”
Peter nodded and walked out of the room.
“At least he listens to someone,” Stiles growled.
“Stiles,” Chris started, “I am very sorry for keeping you locked up for so long but we really did have the best intentions at heart. Derek thinks that you hate the sight of him and you, it seems, have been told some baloney about the Hales attitude towards humans. Let me explain,” Chris continued while Stiles scowled at him. “When werewolves fall for someone, they fall hard. Me and Peter have been together for five years, we're in love and we don't care what any werewolf or human has to say about it. I would like that to be the situation with you and Derek. Peter and I thought that if we brought you here and had a quiet chat with you, we could convince you to go and talk to Derek and you in turn could convince him that you do, in fact, like him. But now, I don't know what you’re going to do. Just, please promise me that you won't take out your anger at our behaviour on Derek. He didn't know anything about this.”
As Chris was waiting for Stiles response they heard a commotion above them. They could hear Peter and Derek arguing. Both Chris and Stiles jumped up, pushed out through the door and ran up the stairs to find both the Hales half shifted, snarling at each other as they circled around the room.
“What the fuck have you done with Stiles? Where is he?” Derek was shouting.
“Behind you!” Stiles couldn't resist calling back. Derek's head whipped around, leaving him glaring at Stiles where he stood at the top of the staircase. Peter collapsed in a corner and Chris sat down next to him and pulled him into his arms.
“Take me home, please Derek,” Stiles asked. “I think I've been here long enough.”
“As they drove away through Beacon Hills, Stiles’ stomach rumbled.
“Man what I wouldn't do for some curly fries.” And without further inducement, Derek pulled off the road and parked up in front of ‘Mary's Deluxe Diner’.
Derek looked Stiles over thoroughly as they finished eating. Stiles scoffing the last of the curly fries he’d been sharing with Derek.
“Are you ok, Stiles?”
“Yeah, yeah, not that bad really. I was just hungry.”
After a deep sigh he went on, “The worst of it was the boredom. I can’t believe they stuck me in that room and ran off to deal with some emergency for two days.”
“Three days, Stiles. It's Sunday, you weren't at the market yesterday. That’s the first I knew you were missing. I thought you were just pissed at me. Then everyone on the stalls got really worried about you, they even thought I’d done something to you.”
Stiles smiled and then started to giggle. “As if you’d do anything to me. You love me.”
Which was when Derek turned a decidedly bright shade of red and said, very quietly, “I kind of do.”
Stiles’ smile got even wider.
They left the diner and walked out into the rain.
“Perfect!” Stiles declared. He stopped and turned to put his arms around Derek.
“Nothing's more romantic than kissing in the rain,” Stiles told him and Derek took that as his cue.