Much to little Stiles' dismay, it never snowed in Beacon Hills. It had once, when his dad was young; or so he had said, but never in recent memory. His parents told him every year that if he wished hard enough, they might have a white Christmas this year. Once his mom died, his dad stopped telling him to wish for white Christmases. Not that Stiles had been wishing for one the whole year before she passed, even though she insisted he not waste his wishes on something 'as silly as me, sweetie' and she'd tickle his sides. Near the end, he kept wishing, on everything. 11:11, a wish. An eyelash, a wish. A sigh, a wish. A penny on the ground, a wish. Stars, planes, fireflies, the rare times they lit up. Anything. Anything to save his mom. All wasted, and she couldn't even tickle it better. Couldn't even smile. Stiles had a hard time believing she even knew he was there, she was so lucid. He doesn't wish anymore. It's a jinx, not a wish, and he never does it. Afraid to curse his hopes.
But tonight is pretty special. He's with the pack, it's New Year's Eve and he's managed to convince Lydia to peck him on the cheek. A couple of months ago, he would've burst of excitement, but now it seems insignificant. If anyone asks, he'll tell them otherwise -except for Scott of course- it just seems so pointless. Danny is being turned tonight, the night of the full moon, when everyone can look after his first morph. It's a sign of the tentative healing of Derek's pack. Having suffered so many losses, betrayals and hardship, they're coming together. Scott is being a sport as always and is being True Alpha lonesome with Lydia and Stiles. Allison is a variable, nobody's really sure who's pack she's in. She's in the confusing, nebulous area between the two packs, the space that doesn't allow them to merge.
There's a bonfire, and Danny's focusing on the lines of his hands, the licking of the heat drying his face. He seems to be in a trance of sorts, and Stiles watches on curiously. His control is impressive, his eyes glow at every fast movement, half-morphing when Stiles shrieks dropping a s'more into the flames, burnt. Derek is sitting directly to his right, shoulder right up against Danny's, keeping him rooted to the pack. The pack having stabilized means no more dangerous full moons. Even when on a full-moon morph, they can work cohesively, the change is incredible and Stiles is consistently amazed at Derek's newfound peace.
They're all sitting quietly, conversation at a rare lull, when Stiles sees it's one minute till midnight. It's awkward, everyone avoiding each other's eyes as they set themselves up near their buddy for the evening. Stiles' eyes dart toward Lydia's which just roll. Allison and Isaac, much to Scott's despair, are looking at their feet, sides brushing. Stiles had jokingly suggested Scott kiss Danny, at which Derek shot him a look fit to wither Japanese stone gardens. At which Scott had looked so anguished and lonely, that Derek had gotten a weird, twisted face and grumbled that if he really wanted someone, he could kiss him. At which point Stiles dropped his s'mores and burnt himself.
He would've been jealous, but Scott looked so relieved that Stiles would've kissed him, had it come to it. Stiles tends to avoid his imprecise emotions regarding Derek Hale, marking it up as an example of nothing ever being precise around Derek Hale. There's some shifting and awkward coughing but then Stiles starts a loud countdown twenty seconds before midnight. Allison chimes in, and soon everyone's at it, even Danny, who looks a bit dazed. But that might be Derek's eyes' powers. Lord knows it happens to Stiles too often to not be embarrassing.
Lydia kisses him, as expected there aren't any fireworks, but Stiles manages to catch Scott and Derek's supernaturally quick kiss. He would crow and stomp his feet at Derek's expression, but the rage already presented toward Stiles' barely contained mirth is enough to stop him. But only because he knows what would happen if Danny snapped. Conversation eases back in, the fire starts to sputter, and Derek is gone, back within a few minutes with prime firewood. Stiles would make a joke about Derek being a great lumberjack, because come on, this is Beacon Hills, it rains 370 days a year, how the shit did he find dry wood. But he's stuck, on the sight of Derek's face lit up by firelight, and lifting wood (haha double-entendres haha) in Henleys truly did wonders to one's physique.
Scott coughs under his breath, murmuring odes to Derek's softsoft lips and that's it, Stiles is done. He thanks Lydia for her kiss, marches up to Derek -gently, because there's no way in fuck his neck is getting ripped out by a newly turned wolf, no thanks- and grabs his ridiculous hair and pulls him to his face. It's weird because Stiles hadn't realized how similar they were in height, Derek being the same as him is not something Stiles had anticipated. But then his brain short circuits, because, fuck, Derek's tongue is in his mouth and goodbye world. The pack starts to whoop very, very quietly and Stiles is hit by the ridiculousness of the situation and just laughs.
He laughs and laughs and laughs, and his stomach is pinching up, Danny is tensing up and Stiles really couldn't care less because what the fuck is his life. Isaac's saying how he's finally snapped when they hear a weird sound. A snort. Coming from Derek, who Stiles is still leaning on. And that's the night Stiles wishes again, for the first time since he was ten. Wishes on the eyelash lying on Derek's t-shirt's shoulder, for Winter Break to not end.
The next morning, he wakes up with his hangover, and sure maybe school still starts in a week, but, for the first time in fifty years- it's snowing.