From a lj prompt where Stiles finds out that Derek has a daughter.
I dont own Teen Wolf.
It's the yellow truck that says Hale Construction in big black letters along the side that gets Stiles's attention. It's early in the morning, shortly after seven am, but Stiles pulled an all-nighter because he couldn't sleep after sleeping until four pm the previous day and did you know that the absolute best time of the day to do grocery shopping is six in the morning, hence seeing the truck at seven with an armload of shopping. Stiles stows it in his jeep and because he's Stiles, and has never had the best impulse control, he turns left instead of right, following the truck through the quiet streets. He loves the summer, being free from the constraints of school, when he's allowed to be at his most basic instincts, be himself. So he turns up the radio and sings along to Call Me Maybe with the windows down not caring that everyone can hear him. Well, they would, if there was anyone around to hear him.
He follows the lorry through town to the edge of the forest and turns up the mile long driveway that takes him to where Derek spends most of his time creeping about. With no television or Wi-Fi Stiles takes a moment to wonder how Derek entertains himself. Surely there's only so many times a guy can see the intimate mating and breeding cycles of Squirrels before he wants to gouge his eyes out.
Stiles hasn't been out here in a while. Scott told him that Derek had made a few structural changes but Stiles figured he meant Derek used a post to prop up a leaning wall or something. He didn't expect the house to be completely torn down and a new wooden frame rising in the air. Even the foundations look new. It's like something out of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, because Stiles was here two or three weeks ago and the house was still there falling apart. He expects to see a bus sitting somewhere with Derek glaring at it while the rest of the pack jump around screaming 'move that bus'. Huh, Erica and Lydia are beside each other and their boob's are-
Not going there, not at seven fifteen in the morning while Derek Hale stalks towards the truck with his morning face on. It looks surprisingly like his "I'm going to murder bunny rabbits and hang their carcasses around my decaying house to frighten teenagers away" face, except he doesn't have a decaying house anymore; he has wooden frames and when was the last time Stiles took his Adderall. He checks his watch, he was sure it was dark, but was it last night or two nights ago?
'Stiles!' Derek barks. Stiles all but falls out of his jeep. 'Can I help you with something?' His shirt is dirty like he's already been working for hours, and he's peeling thick work gloves off his hands and tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans. The gloves surprise Stiles, he pictures Derek as one of these all American heroes who don't need gloves or bullet proof vests to protect them. 'Stiles!'
Stiles is at a loss for words. Derek's glare intensifies. Or stays the same. Whatever. 'I brought you breakfast.' Stiles lies. Derek raises an eyebrow but something occurs to Stiles and moments later he's pressing a box of strawberry pop tarts into Derek's chest and watching the workers scurrying around the house like ants. Derek is totally the queen, except he's the king. Or the Alpha. Same difference.
'I don't have a toaster.' Derek says but he's ripping the box open and eying his prey. Stiles would protest at his loss of food because Derek was supposed to refuse the free food, but Derek's understanding of polite declines seem to be non-existent and he's eating it uncooked and hey, it's not the first time Stiles has forgotten to toast his own on his way to school so he can't really complain. 'What else have you got?' Derek asks and wanders to where the back door of Stiles's jeep is open. He plunders Stiles's shopping, taking a large bottle of spring water, a few pieces of fruit and a can of tomato soup. He makes a noise in his throat when he finds the pork chops and adds them to his haul. 'You can go now.'
'Do you have a microwave?' Stiles asks as he looks around the ground as if one will suddenly appear. He wouldn't be surprised to find Derek has hollowed out a tree somewhere that he likes to hide his precious things in.
'No.' Derek says. He's already bored with the conversation, fishing another pop tart out of the box and looking towards where a bunch of guys are milling around the house.
'How will you make your soup?' Stiles wonders. Tomato soup, unlike pop tarts, is not nice cold. Stiles should know, it's actually disgusting.
'I'll eat it cold.' Derek says with a shrug. Stiles shudders.
'How will you get into the can?' Stiles can't help but add, clearly his in his 'let's piss Derek off until he breaks' mood. Derek growls and Stiles wonders if he's pushing his luck, if Stiles's blood will mare the timbre frame of Derek's new home.
'I'll rip it open. With my teeth.' Derek's eyes flash red for just a moment, and Stiles takes a step back.
'Oh. The pork-'
'Raw.' Derek says. Stiles shudders again and gets the message, climbing into his jeep. He's left his collage essay half-finished on his laptop and he really thinks he should remove the part about werewolf maintenance being character building for him. Especially as his dad has offered to read it for him and he himself knows the inclusion of werewolves isn't the best idea. Nope, not at all.
'Well I'll just…' He walks backwards, trips over something and falls into the still open back door of his jeep, which closes and brings his ass closer to the ground. He does a nifty spin and stands up straight. 'Meant to do that.' He says, climbing into the jeep and stalling it as he tries to back away from where Derek is watching him, now chewing on a pear.
Stiles gets home puts most of the groceries away, at least the perishables, perishables, who ever came up with the word perishables, and trips upstairs. His dad has already left for work but there's a green sticky in the shape of a shamrock on the side of his laptop.
Son, we've talked about this werewolf business, folks won't believe you, but that's some pretty good writing. Also, where the hell are you?
Stiles scoffs, if his dad was really worried he would have called. As it is he's glad he cleared his browser history at four this morning after a porn marathon. He deletes the bit about werewolves, and gets ready to do some work when – he wakes with a pain in his neck and Scott standing behind him looking down at him. Stiles jumps, bangs his knee off the underside of his desk and half falls off the chair.
'Dude. You're creepier than Derek.' Stiles whines righting his chair and rubbing his knee. His necks pretty sore now too. What he wouldn't give for someone to force the kinks out with big strong…huh, when did big strong hands replace the tiny delicate ones?
'That's why I'm here. He said you called by this morning.' Scott says sitting on the corner of Stiles's unmade bed.
'Yeah he was hungry. I could hear his tummy rumble from across town.' Stiles says with a frown, fixing his papers into order, and then moving them to the floor. With his other papers. On something, very important something's. Like how to perform a lobotomy and a ten thousand word essay on the difference between Emo and Goth.
'He stole my dinner.' Stiles remembers, thinking of how he was going to make mashed potatoes. He loves mashed potatoes and butter and…dream city.
'Hey they were nice. Don't get them spicy next time.' Scott says licking his lips. Stiles narrows his eyes. Scott is the worst best friend ever, because he's been eating Stiles's stolen food. Raw.
'Ugh.' Stiles says as his dreams of food turning to mush. 'You two.'
'They were great. Derek's really good with a barbeque.' Scott grins, flopping back onto Stiles's bed and tossing a ball in the air.
'That bastard! I'll give him a piece of my mind. In letter form. Anonymously. You know with the gloves and the cutting up of newspaper to form words. And I'll post it from elsewhere. Like…Cincinnati or something.' Stiles says. He's already planning the driving route in his head and thinking about tweezers and adhesive and old newspapers.
'Have you taken your meds yet?' Scott pulls himself back to a sitting position.
'Now that! That is the million dollar question!' Stiles crows, sticking a finger into Scott's chest. 'I can't remember when I last took them.' He admits. 'Think I'll go for a shower.'
'I come over to hang out and you go for a shower.' Scott asks incredulous. He's got his arms wide like Stiles will suddenly decide a ridiculous pose will make him not take a shower.
'Hell yeah. I smell.' Stiles says. 'Uh, why aren't you trying to mount Allison at the minute anyway?' He expects Scott to go off on one about disrespecting Allison, or just dream about Allison but instead he finds words.
'She's shopping with Lydia and Erica, and besides Derek sent me over to tell you that next time you're going grocery shopping to get a list because he didn't need a lot of the things you got him today.' Scott says reaching for one of Stiles's comic books.
'Seriously?' Stiles asks. Scott just nods and focuses on the pictures.
'And shower. You stink.' Scott says.
'I'm calling Deaton, you need your hours increased!' Stiles snipes as he heads to the bathroom.
Stiles avoids Derek's place and for the most part that ok. He's not pack; he's the idiot that follows the rest of the pack around. He's the only human besides Allison, what with Jackson going ape on Danny one night and Derek saving his life, and Boyd, Erica and Isaac getting blood all over their hips a la Derek, not to mention Lydia's Peter Hale brush. Lydia's story is an endearing one. She found a way of coping with her PTSD that no therapist would ever condone. She's made various Peter dolls, and sticks pins in them until Stiles can feel the pain, especially around the crotch area. And then there's the tearing through the woods part. Even Derek keeps out of her way. And Jackson's a werewolf because of course that douche always gets what he wants. And Allison's sleeping with Scott which leaves Stiles, the hanger on who sometimes gets involved but never directly.
'I don't like you.' Derek says. Stiles is standing in the DVD section of Wal-Mart trying to choose between Underworld and Cars.
'I don't like you.' Stiles returns. Derek glares as if daring Stiles to look at what's in Derek's shopping cart, so naturally Stiles looks because, yeah, even to himself he'll admit he's an idiot. He's shocked to see The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and Pocahontas lying in there. He raises an eyebrow. At least he tries to. He's not sure if he's doing it right so he reaches up to hold one and move the other. Then he remembers Derek's staring at him. Feeling manly he returns Cars to the shelf.
'Vampires aren't real.' Derek says, snatching Cars from the shelf and tossing it into his cart. Stiles wonders where Derek gets his money from and then remembers Hale Construction in big bold letters on the side of the yellow dump truck. That leads to wondering how much the company is worth and suddenly Stiles is planning his evening of research out.
'Neither are werewolves.' Stiles returns, tossing the box for a pink Nintendo DS into Derek's cart. Derek growls and picks the box up. He frowns as he reads it.
'What is this?' He grumbles like the tiny games console is a personal affront to him.
'You can play games on it.' Stiles explains slowly, as if to a child. Or something from the sixteenth century. He shows Derek the colourful game cases. Derek looks at the kids educational ones. Eventually he selects three games and returns the box to the cart. Clearly he's buying it.
'There are other colours.' Stiles points out. He can't picture Derek playing on it, but maybe Derek has a pink fetish.
'Go away. You're annoying me.' Derek says. Stiles obeys because Derek looks…pensive and Stiles has plans…big plans.
So Derek's a big girl who likes pink and Disney movies. Who knew? He leaves Underworld on top of a pile of orange towels advertised at half price. He's seen it anyway.
He gets home and powers his laptop up. He prepares his research snack pack, after a moment's thought substitutes water for energy drinks, and after another moment puts them back and grabs soda, and hauls it all to his room. Hale Construction has a website, and details of the services it offers. Stiles reads the company's mission statement and it clearly wasn't written by Derek because there is no violence what so ever. He heads to financial websites next and soon reads the last several annual turnovers. It's a large company with several shareholders, the largest being Derek Hale, with sixty six per cent of the value. Stiles studies the turnovers, and wow, ok compared to similar companies Hale Construction is doing very well. Perhaps they have special services for a particular type of client, the kind that has a furry little problem once a month. He decides he's pried enough by five am and clears his browser history, as is his habit, strips and crawls into bed.
He's asleep when Derek lands on the floor of his room. Stiles wakes with a start, staring at Derek like he's a monster. Huh, guess he is. 'Dude it's the middle of the night.' He mutters rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.
'Its nine am.' Derek responds. 'Who provides your Wi Fi?'
'My dad…' Stiles says sitting up and staring at Derek like he's grown an extra head. Derek growls and Stiles squeaks. He climbs out of bed and stumbles downstairs, and after several minutes of rummaging in his father's intricate filing system (which is basically throw all paid bills into a cardboard box in the study), finds a telephone bill with all the information he hopes Derek needs and presents it to Derek. Derek taps the telephone number into his phone, before slipping it in his pocket and opening the front door without a word and leaving. 'I feel so used.' Stiles shudders and goes back to bed.