Story #2
Title: Establishing a Pattern
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Stiles, Derek, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski
Grocery Store Encounter
"I heard that!" snapped Stiles glaring in his father's general direction. "Put it back, old man!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied his father with false innocence.
Stiles leaned forward over the handle of the shopping cart, fishing through the cart for the bag of potato chips he knew his father had just tried to sneak in.
"I distinctly heard the crinkle of a ba... aha!" exclaimed Stiles triumphantly when his hand closed over the bag. He straightened, holding the bag out and frowning judgementally. "You know, it really is quite shameful that the Beacon Hills Sherriff would try to take advantage of a po..."
Stiles stopped mid-self-righteous rant before he could really even get going. A voice from the aisle over had caught his attention. He listened for a few beats.
"...had them first, can't you get something else?"
Stiles' mouth fell open in surprise when he placed the strangely familiar voice. He dropped the chips back into the cart, grabbed his cane and hurried down the aisle.
"Stiles?" called his father in confusion, but Stiles offered no explanation.
"Let go you big oaf," snapped an elderly lady's voice as Stiles rounded the next aisle.
"I. Had. It. First," grunted a deep voice.
"I'll scream for security if you don't let go," threatened the woman.
"Mrs. Chavez?" questioned Stiles slowing his pace as he approached the kafuffle.
"Stiles, my dear," answered the woman, her voice instantly melting into something warm and loving from the sharpness it was seconds earlier. "Don't come any closer, my child, there is the ugliest of brutes next to me trying to steal my groceries. He seems to think it is acceptable behavior to prey on us gentler folk."
Stiles grinned at that.
"Who calls you 'gentler folk', Mrs. Chavez?" he asked while smiling his most charming of smiles.
The woman chuckled.
"Anyway, I'm sure if he knows what's good for him, he'll let you have whatever it is you two are fighting over," said Stiles while sending a meaningful frown toward the area giving of an overall gloom and doom aura.
He heard a familiar huff of frustration and couldn't help but smile at it. Mrs. Chavez was suddenly making sounds of triumph, so Stiles figured he had successfully diffused the situation.
"That's better," she said before leaning into Stiles. "Now, Stiles, are you here alone? Why aren't any of the employees here helping you? Do I need to talk to the manager?"
"I'm here with my dad," Stiles assured her, patting the hand that had somehow wound around his forearm. "He's in the next aisle trying to sneak junk food into the cart."
Mrs. Chavez made a clucking sound like she didn't approve, but in a conspirational way as if she and Stiles were both in on the light-hearted judging of his father. Actually, that wasn't really that far from the truth, Stiles realized.
"I came over when I heard your lovely voice in distress," lied Stiles flirtingly.
"Ah, thank you my sweet! You're a hero just like your father," she said sounding both flirty and motherly at the same time. Stiles really wondered how little old ladies managed that. Perhaps it was a prerequisite for getting old. "Well, I best be going. I need to get home and clean the house. My grandchildren are coming for the weekend, you know."
"Awesome," said Stiles. "Say 'hi' to Jeremy and Shawna for me."
"That's sweet, I will do that," answered Mrs. Chavez. "Good bye, dear."
"Bye, Mrs. Chavez."
Stiles listened for the sound of her cart creaking and rolling away from him down the aisle before turning his attention to the man he could sense was still standing nearby.
"I think I've held you naked before," said Stiles, grinning as he said it because of how deliciously audacious it sounded even for him.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly and Stiles momentarily panicked worrying that he had guessed wrong at them being alone in the aisle.
"She stole my Sugar Wheaties," complained the man a few beats later.
Stiles' face stretched into a bright grin in response.
"I'm pretty sure wolves don't eat cereal for breakfast," he said. "Wouldn't you prefer a freshly killed rabbit or some other fluffy woodland creature you caught with your own teeth?"
"Yeah, sometimes," answered the man seriously causing Stiles' smug grin to falter, "but I like Sugar Wheaties."
Stiles scoffed at that.
"That was the last box," growled the man.
"Really," said Stiles, "you should be thanking her... and me. That stuff is garbage and is absolutely terrible on your system. All those preservatives and sugars and nasty shit cannot be good for you. I mean, hell, it is right in the name... SUGAR Wheaties."
"But there's also wheat in the name," countered the man sounding pouty. "That's supposed to be good for you."
"Not the point," groaned Stiles, rubbing a hand over his forehead as if it physically pained him how dense the guy was being. "All the sugar and chemicals in there completely counteract any good stuff it might have. If you insist on eating your food all dehydrated and from a box like some kind of house pet, at least pick something better. Down the aisle a bit there's a green box that says Mueslae. Do you see it?"
The man grunted in response.
"Buy that," ordered Styles. "There's no dyes or preservatives or other weird ass shit. It is a bunch of nuts and dried fruit and grains and coconut. It tastes like the freaking Garden of Eden. Plus, it is organic and fair trade and the packaging is even 100% biodegradable... you know, if you're into that sort of thing."
"You some kind of hippy?" asked the man, his raspy, low voice making really any stupid thing that came out of his mouth sound sexy.
"Hippy?" sputtered Stiles. "So, I have to be a hippy to want to eat healthy food instead of SUGAR WHEATIES junk. That shit will KILL you DEAD."
Stiles let out a put-upon sigh.
"I guess you don't really have much sense of self-preservation, though. I mean, you chose to pick a fight with Mrs. Chasez of all people! She may be small, but she is freaking scrappy, dude."
"I had it first," grumbled the man. "She took it right out of my hand."
Stiles laughed, shaking his head and working hard to stop himself from reaching out to touch the other man. There was just something about him that made Stiles want to be closer to him. And his scent, it smelled of pine trees and moss. He smelled so good, so fresh and warm and inviting. Stiles might not have the olfactory of a werewolf, but given his whole sight situation, he did put a bit more stock on smell than the average person.
"Stiles?" said his father, suddenly. He approached them from further up the aisle having come from the opposite direction as Stiles had. "Why'd you just run off like that? Oh... hey... who's this?"
"Oh, uh... dad!" stammered Stiles, smiling awkwardly and flailing slightly. A few explanations ran through his mind, but none of them seemed like good icebreakers. Hey, look Dad, this guy found me when I was lost in the wood and helped me find the road. He thinks he's a werewolf, but don't worry, he hasn't tried to bite me yet—Yeah, maybe not. Stiles didn't even know the guy's name so he could introduce him like a normal person.
"Derek," said the man, ending Stiles' internal freak out with one simple word. "Nice to meet you, sir."
Stiles could hear the rustle of fabric and a few footsteps. He imagined the two men taking steps closer to each other and shaking hands.
"Derek... Hale?" asked his father.
"Yes," replied the man, Derek, tightly.
"Wow, I haven't seen you since... er... since you were just a boy," said his father. Stiles wondered why the stunted sentence. "So... are you just visiting or have you moved back into town?"
"I just moved back," answered Derek, his voice monotone and low, not giving Stiles any clues.
"Ah, well, welcome back, son," said Stiles' dad in response.
"Thanks."
"We better get going if we're going to get all these groceries home and put away before my shift starts," said Stiles' dad.
"Right," said Stiles, not really wanting to leave Derek just yet. "Uh, bye Derek... see you... around."
"Bye," came the awkward, stunted answer.
Stiles gave a little wave in the guy's general direction before dropping his white cane back into the shopping cart and taking over pushing it while his dad led the way with a hand on the front.
"So, you friends with that Derek kid or something?" asked his father trying to sound conversational but Stiles knew better.
"Ah, well, we've talked once or twice," answered Stiles, unsure how to properly answer the question that suddenly started to feel like an actual exam or something. "He seems... interesting."
"Yeah."
Silence followed. Well, sort of silence. There was the beeping of the lady at the register checking their groceries through the till and the general hum of people talking and roaming around the grocery store. Once their groceries were bagged and paid for, they carried them out to the cruiser.
"Next time you talk to him," said Stiles' father once they were both seated in the car, "you should invite him over for supper."
"Uh... okay, sure?" answered Stiles, feeling completely confused by the thought.
"Good," said his father. "He could probably use another friend and I doubt he has many people in his life right now."
Stiles frowned, wondering what his dad knew that he didn't. He shrugged it off, though, and buckled his seatbelt. He leaned forward to turn on the radio as his father put the car in reverse and backed out of their parking spot.
"I know you bought those chips, by the way," said Stiles as they pulled out into the street.
He grinned when he heard his father curse under his breath.
His Milkshake Brings All The Boys To The Yard
"I can't believe the amount of homework the new world history teacher gave us for the weekend," whined Scott. "Doesn't he know we have lives— oh, careful, there's a..."
"I've got it, thanks," cut in Stiles, his white cane clicking against the stone pot sitting in front of the hardware store. "What colour this year?"
"Pink and white," answered Scott.
Stiles hummed to himself, nodding.
"Why do you ask every spring?" asked Scott, curiously, a few beats later.
Stiles could feel the corners of his mouth pulling down. He swallowed and shrugged, trying to look unbothered by the topic.
"Mom always looked forward to when Mr. Johnson put his flower pot out front," he answered. He cleared his throat a few times trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "She said it meant spring was truly here. We made a game of trying to guess what colours the flowers would be, he likes to change it up every year."
"Oh... uh," stammered Scott before letting out a sigh and placing his hand on Stiles' arm. They paused in their journey down main street. Stiles could practically feel the sympathy radiating from Scott. "Stiles," he breathed, "I'm..."
"Don't," snapped Stiles, but immediately feeling sorry for speaking so sharply. "Don't say you're sorry," he said more softly. "There's... I'm not sorry. It's a good memory, you know? I don't want to be sad about having good memories."
"Yeah," said Scott after a long moment. "I could... I could guess with you next year... I mean, if you want."
Stiles grinned, patting Scott's shoulder while shaking his own head.
"No way, buddy," he said. "You'd just cheat and say you got it right. I wouldn't know the difference."
"Dude!" exclaimed Scott in horror. "I would never use that against you like that!"
"Oh my g... I was teasing, Scott," said Stiles with an exasperated sigh.
"I'm sorry about last month," said Scott, suddenly. "You know I would never have..."
"Scott," said Stiles, frowning hard, "it's fine."
"No, it is so not fine," argued Scott.
"Yeah, you're right," answered Stiles after a moment. "It really wasn't fine, but you've apologized about a million times and you bought me Reeses cups every day for a week, so... yeah, we're good, okay?"
Stiles began walking again, his cane arcing back and forth in front of him. He could hear Scott groan behind him and his footsteps as he jogged a few paces to catch up.
"I'm such a bad friend," whined Scott. "What kind of person leaves their best friend alone in the woods?"
"One who was lured away by the dastardly, curvalicious charms of a lovely but wily young female?" suggested Stiles with a crooked smile and a shrug. "It wouldn't be the first time it has happened to a guy; crafty ladies."
"I'll go back to buying you Reeses peanut butter cups every day," decided Scott, speaking thoughtfully but a little mournfully. "Actually, I'll buy you two every school day for the rest of the school year."
"Scott," ground out Stiles, his good humor falling to annoyance, "I'm fine, everything turned out fine. Can we just forget about it?"
Scott sighed and Stiles clenched his jaw. As much as it had sucked to be alone and disoriented in the woods before the wolf had shown up, the worst part of the entire ordeal had come the next day when Stiles had walked into school. The air around him had been heavy with lingering looks and whispered comments. It didn't take long for him to learn that almost the entire town knew about him having been lost in the woods after his friend had left him to go frolic with a female.
It had been humiliating. Stiles hated –no, hate wasn't a strong enough word, he detested, he despised, he loathed... he scorned with the passion and fire of a thousand suns... feeling useless and needy. He couldn't stand appearing like some weak little cripple in the eyes of the general public. When people looked at him, he knew they only saw his handicap. He tried to let it roll off his back like a duck in the rain, but it did wear on him; how could it not?
It was so much worse when his deepest fears were brought to the light; that those he cared for really only saw him as a burden. Did Scott wish to leave him and have regular friends instead of some blind tag-along he felt he had to always look out for? Was guilt the only thing keeping him at Stiles' side?
They walked together in silence for a while, the swish and click of Stiles' cane the only sound standing out to them outside from the background noises of the town around them. Stiles stewed in his angry angst, not caring to wonder at Scott's current mental state. Then, suddenly, Scott grabbed Stiles' bicep and slowed their pace.
"Stiles," whispered Scott.
"What?" answered Stiles, whispering as well though he wasn't sure why.
"There's some creepy dude looking at us."
"Umm... kay," said Stiles before he pulled his arm from Scott's grasp, but Scott just grabbed it again.
"Yeah, more like staring," said Scott, sounding properly disturbed. "Just standing there staring."
"That's... kind of weird, but... why are we stopping?"
"Because," hissed Scott, "because he's staring and he's freaky looking and he's right ahead of us standing in front of the ice cream parlour and I don't really want... can we just cross the street or something?"
"No, we're nearly to the library," said Stiles. "Who is he?"
"I don't know!" hissed Scott, his hand tightening on Stiles.
"Dude, it's Beacon Hills, everyone knows everyone," said Stiles, pushing at Scott's hand. "Watch it, you're creasing my jacket."
"Well, I don't know who that guy is," said Scott.
Unbidden, Stiles' thoughts flit back to Derek, the strange guy who thought he was a werewolf and fought little old ladies in the grocery store for the last box of Sugar Wheaties.
"What... what does he look like?" asked Stiles, not that he knew what Derek looked like, but perhaps he could rule him out.
"He's creepy looking," said Scott and Stiles let out a huff of exasperation because Scott should have been better at describing stuff by that point. "I dunno, man, he's buff like he works out a lot. He looks like he's twenty something; dark hair, angry face, kind of ugly, wearing a leather jacket. He looks like a criminal, maybe a drug dealer or a murderer or something."
"Okay, I have no idea who that is," said Stiles, shaking his head.
"He's still staring," said Scott, weakly.
"Well, let's go say 'hi', then," said Stiles before taking a step forward.
"Stiles... no... Are you crazy?"
Stiles just continued forward a few paces, unsure of exactly where this creepy, staring guy was, but curious as to how the entire thing would play out. He could hear Scott at his side, muttering nervously to himself.
"Uhhh... heeeey, hi," said Scott, suddenly, and Stiles knew they must have approached the man. He stopped and cocked his head to the side, waiting for the other person to speak so he would know which direction to look.
"Stiles," said the man, suddenly, his deep, sexy voice sending a familiar shiver up Stiles' spine.
"Derek?" asked Stiles, mentally cursing himself when the word came out in a wobbly stutter.
"Finish school for the day?" he asked and Stiles nodded.
"Who are you?" asked Scott.
Stiles clicked his tongue at how rude Scott sounded. There was a long moment of silence where Stiles really wished he could see the facial expressions of the two other people.
"Derek," said Derek.
"Yeah, I got that," said Scott, his tone unusually hostile considering his usual demeanor. "How do you know Stiles? How come I've never seen you before?"
"I haven't been in town long," explained Derek, though it was hardly an explanation.
Stiles floundered to try to figure out something to say to steer the conversation, but he was strangely coming up with nothing.
"And, you know Stiles... how?" asked Scott, practically bristling like an angry dog. Stiles patted his shoulder heavily in warning.
"We've met a few times," said Derek, vaguely.
"Are you some sort of drug dealer or something?" asked Scott. "Because we're not interested."
"Scott," exclaimed Stiles, "down boy!"
"Hey, Derek? Nice weather we're having," said Stiles, turning his attentions toward the other man. "We're just headed to the town library to do some research for class. What are you up to, today? Enjoying the spring weather while you creep the local ice cream shop?"
"Maybe I wanted a milkshake," growled Derek but Stiles could detect something akin to humor in his voice.
"Uh huh," said Stiles, nodding solemnly. "Well, Scott says you were being creepy. Do you enjoy looming over small children until they drop their ice cream in terror?"
"Almost as much as talking to you guys," answered Derek and Stiles barked out a laugh.
"So, my dad said that next time I talked to you, I should invite you over for dinner," said Stiles.
Silence followed.
"So... do you want to come over for dinner?" asked Stiles, awkwardly, "maybe Sunday night?"
More heavy silence.
"What should I bring?" asked Derek a few beats later.
Stiles grinned.
"Just your sunny personality," he said. He could hear an amused huff and his grin only widened. "Anyway, we need to get to the library; gotta check out some books so we can burn the midnight oil. You know how it is."
"Right," said Derek as if he actually didn't know how it was.
"See you Sunday, wolfykins," said Stiles, giving him a little wave before turning to leave.
With Scott at his side, they walked in silence for a while. Stiles could tell Scott was holding in a year's worth of questions and exclamations. When they were nearly at the town library, Scott finally breathed out a heavy breath.
"Dude," Scott squawked, "What the hell?"
Stiles burst out laughing.
Fancy Meeting You Here
Stiles barely suppressed the urge to groan, barely. He yearned for the days when he had his gameboy to play when he had something incredibly boring and stomach-turningly ridiculous to wait out. Not that he didn't appreciate Scott's attempts to include him in his outings even now that he had a girlfriend, but being a third wheel wasn't his idea of a good time. Spending his Thursday afternoon listening to Scott compliment Allison on everything from her hair to her toes whenever he could work it into the conversation while Allison acted pleasantly embarrassed by it, was definitely, definitely not Stiles' idea of a good time. At least he had his milkshake.
It wasn't even that he didn't like Allison. She seemed nice –actually ridiculously, teeth rottingly sweet, but with a bit of spunk and good humor hiding just beneath her surface. Most people seemed to only see her as super-sweet, but it was a lot easier to read between the lines when someone spent as much time and energy trying to interpret tone as Stiles had. He didn't have facial expressions to read as cues anymore, but it seemed like tone of voice really held all the clues if one would just listen. Allison, she definitely had some badassery to her. Stiles would probably really like her; would probably want to be "BFFs" with her if she hadn't turned his best friend into some sort of lovestruck moron.
"Ugh, I'm so sick of this hair always getting in my face," spoke Allison after making a little noise of frustration. "I think I'm going to get it cut this weekend."
"Oh, no," cooed Scott, "your hair is so beautiful, Allison."
"Are you saying you wouldn't want to date me if I had short hair?" teased Allison.
"No, no, no," exclaimed Scott, obviously not registering she was joking, "Of course not. You would be beautiful with short hair, too! You'd be beautiful bald, even."
Stiles held back a derisive snort. He went after his straw to keep his mouth busy so he wouldn't offer any snide remarks. He took a few long pulls from his milkshake and resolutely tuned out the conversation at his table. A few moments later, the door of the shop opened and shut causing Allison to suddenly go quiet. Stiles furrowed his brow and strained his ears.
"Guys," she said in a low voice a few seconds later, "is that... Derek Hale?"
Stiles was going to comment on that fact that he couldn't actually see who had come in until he heard the name. He tensed, lifting his head and letting the straw fall from his mouth.
"Which guy?" asked Scott.
"The one who just came in," said Allison. The sound of shifting in the seat across from him made Stiles think Allison was probably gesturing. "He's standing at the counter now, ordering."
No one spoke for a few beats, Stiles sat at attention while he waited.
"Yes? I mean... I think so?" answered Scott, finally. "It's that guy you had over for supper last weekend, Stiles. Was his last name Hale?"
Stiles choked on nothing, coughing a few times and pounding a fist against his chest.
"How... do you know him?" he asked Allison.
"Everyone's heard about the Hale fire, Stiles," cut in Scott. "Wait, he's that Derek Hale?"
"Yeah, but Allison moved here only two months ago," grit out Stiles while wondering, not for the first time, if Allison sucked all his brains out of him when they made out and resolutely ignoring Scott's question.
"Fire?" asked Allison, confused.
"Oh, right! So, how do you know him?" asked Scott, suddenly sounding intrigued and confused.
"Well, he and my aunt... oh, Hi! Derek, right?" she suddenly said, false brightly.
"You're Allison," sounded Derek's gruff reply in a neutral voice that gave Stiles nothing to go on.
"I am," replied Allison, sweetly.
A few moments of awkward silence followed.
"Scott," greeted Derek, then.
Scott made a weird sound in the back of his throat in reply.
"Stiles," said Derek in the same way, except for that he held the word on his tongue just a little bit longer. Stiles wanted to read into that, but he figured it wasn't purposeful, was probably just because he was more familiar to Derek than Scott.
"Hey, Derek," chirped Stiles. Despite the strange energy at the table, Stiles was happy for the interruption to ScottandAllison time. "What are you up to this lovely afternoon? Getting a miiilkshaaake?"
He grinned when he heard a soft huff.
"Would you like to join us, Derek?" offered Allison.
Stiles held his breath for the few seconds it took Derek to reply. He wasn't sure what he hoped Derek would say. On one hand, he would love the threesome to be turned into a foursome and erase his third wheel status. On the other hand, it would just be plain awkward all around. He thought back to Sunday and the stilted conversation between Derek and his father over roast beef and yams.
"Thank you, but no," said Derek, in his regular, neutral, gruff tone before he placed a heavy hand on Stiles' shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "I need to get back to my looming. This warm weather makes for a lot of little children with ice cream to frighten."
The hand disappeared from his shoulder before Stiles could even react to what Derek said. He was too busy choking on his own laughter to even reply when he heard Derek call out a "good bye, Stiles" over his shoulder as the front door of the shop opened and closed.
"What the hell?" asked Scott a few moments later, but Stiles just shook his head, the rest of him still shaking with laughter. He needed a moment.
