Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing and online publication of it.
A/N: Written because there is a cupcake sitting next to me and I'm in a quirky mood. Thanks kbeto, and thank you animegirl1129 for reading and offering support.
A cupcake is staring at him. Has been for quite some time now. But, he isn't supposed to eat it. Not supposed to touch it. Not supposed to even 'think' about it, because his mom is saving it (well, a whole box of itses almost quite, but not exactly, like this particular cupcake) for something called a bizarre. He doesn't know if he has that word spelled properly in his head, and wonders why bizarres need cupcakes in the first place.
It'd be a whole lot easier to ignore the cupcake if it, in all of its splendid glory was not staring at him, practically begging him to take just a tiny taste, because a tiny taste couldn't hurt anything. Right? No one would notice if just a smidgen, rather a minute crumb, of the cupcake went missing, would they? Certainly not his mom.
But, and Stiles looks out of the corner of his eyes, using his perperiferal vision, whatever 'that' is, to see if his father is nearby. His father is a sheriff, and sheriffs are good at solving crimes. Maybe his mom wouldn't find out about the missing crumb, but his father might. His father is very, very good at his job.
The coast is clear, but Stiles hesitates, his hand hovering over the cupcake in a masterful display of self-control for a five-year-old who has little control over much of what he does or what he says, because his mind and body are always busy, and he...
"Honey, it's time to go." Mom to the rescue.
And now the cupcake is watching him sadly as it, too, joins its brothers in the box. The lid closes down upon it, masking it from his view and he frowns because maybe it's dark inside of the box, and even with all of its brothers, the cupcake might be afraid, like he sometimes is when the lights go off and he's supposed to be asleep, but he isn't, and there are shadows dancing across his walls, like monsters waiting to eat him when he least expects it.
Stiles sighs and follows his mom out to the car, but his mind is still on the cupcake. He's kind of happy that he didn't take even a crumb from it, even if it did look yummier than all the rest. There is something special about the cupcake, his cupcake, and he hopes that it doesn't feel too crowded in the box.
The car ride to the bizarre, which Stiles knows means strange, because Mrs. Stotlesmeyer told his class all about the word during circle time. What he doesn't know is how someone can go to a strange, and why his cupcake needs to suffer in the dark, without him by its side, on the way to the strange place.
It turns out that the bizarre is at the park, and there's a big sign with red, white and blue lettering which spells out the word: B-A-Z-A-A-R. Whoever made the sign spelled the word wrong, but Stiles can totally understand that, because it sometimes takes him a really long time to learn how to spell new words, especially ones like bizarre, where there's a silent 'e' at the end of the word.
"Mama," Stiles tugs at the hem of his mother's shirt, and points at the sign, "they spelled it wrong. It's supposed to be: b-i-z-a-r-r-e, bizarre, like Mrs. Stotlesmeyer taught us."
"Very good spelling sweetie, but that's a different kind of bizarre. B-a-z-a-a-r means a place to shop for things," his mother explains, and Stiles frowns and considers his mother's words very carefully.
"How come they don't call it a store then?" he asks, fully expecting to see any number of strange and crazy things, because with a name like bazaar, it's got to have things like monkeys or maybe monkey brains or maybe even elephants for sale.
All he can see as he looks around, though, are tables filled with baked goods and blankets and quilts and everyday ordinary stuff that is boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. There's nothing bizarre about any of it.
His mom waves to another woman and she grasps his hand and they hurry over to a table that's covered with a checkered tablecloth. There are all kinds of pies and cookies and so many different types of treats that Stiles' eyes grow big at the sight of them and his stomach growls appreciatively.
His mother laughs. "Hungry?"
Stiles nods and his mouth waters as he looks at everything on the table.
"Well, since you were such a good little boy and didn't sneak any cupcakes when I was getting ready for the church bazaar, you can pick out one sweet to have. Just one, though, because I don't want you to spoil your dinner."
"Okay, Mama," Stiles says, and he eyes each of the tasty treats carefully, walking up and down the table as he ponders this very important decision that he has to make.
He catches sight of the box, out of the corner of his eye, as his mother places it on the table, and his heart hammers in his chest, because, in all of his excitement about the bazaar, he forgot all about the lonely cupcake locked away in the dark. An apple tart catches his eye. He lingers by it. His legs are already headed toward the white box which houses the cupcakes his mother made, but his head is still by the apple tart. He loves apples, but the cupcake, he thinks he can hear it calling his name, is being lifted out of the box, and he trips, because his head wasn't following his feet and his brain and stomach are in two different places all at once, and he would've fallen flat on his face or maybe rammed his head into the table, but for hands that catch him and set him to rights.
"You okay?"
Stiles looks up, and up and up, at his rescuer. A boy with green eyes and bushy eyebrows and a friendly almost smile is looking down at him.
Stiles nods and looks at his feet, because he's shy and this is a big boy and he tripped all over him and he's always tripping all over everything.
It's embarrassing, especially in front of a bigger boy.
"Derek?" the woman his mother waved to calls and the boy turns to look at her.
"Yes, mother?"
"Derek," Stiles tries the name out, quietly, and to himself. He smiles at how it feels on his tongue - it kind of rolls and clicks and it sounds nice.
"Would you mind helping Mrs. Stilinski and I with our table?" she asks, and Stiles can see that Derek's mother also has green eyes. They're pretty and so are the freckles that cover her face.
"I can help too," Stiles pipes up, and he reaches for Derek's hand and pulls the older boy along with him.
"Have you picked out your treat yet?" his mom asks, and Stiles nods.
He reaches for the cupcake, admires his mother's handiwork - the chocolate frosting swirled into a mountain - and, though his tongue can almost taste the chocolaty goodness on his tongue, he bites down on his lip, and looking up at Derek, his new-found friend even if the other boy doesn't know it yet, he hands the coveted confectionery to older boy.
Derek frowns, but then he smiles and kneels so that the both of them are eye-level, and he asks, "Would you like to share this with me?"
Stiles nods, and his heart pounds a little harder in his chest when Derek hands the cupcake back to him and lets him take the first bite. They hand the cupcake back and forth, each taking a single bite at a time, until it's gone, and Stiles licks the frosting and crumbs off his fingers and the corners of his lips. Derek's got a little bit of frosting in the corner of his mouth, and Stiles, without thinking, does what his mother does with him or his father when he's got a little bit of something left on his face, he leans forward, ever so carefully, and kisses the chocolate out of the corner of Derek's mouth.
"Oh my," he can hear his mother say, and Derek's mom laughs.
Derek, though, is smiling. "That was the best chocolate cupcake I've ever eaten."
"Me too," Stiles says, and he only worries a little bit about how the other cupcakes might feel left out because they weren't eaten too.
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