Sorry for the delay, if anyone's been waiting - just been struggling to find the motivation recently.
Enjoy this chapter - we get a little Scott and Derek bonding, because I love their relationship in TW.
Step Nineteen: S is for Scare Tactics
In the week and a half since Stiles aggravated Derek into basically admitting that he doesn't hate Stiles, that he gives a shit, a few things have happened to Derek. Firstly, Stiles has decided to always make himself scarce when Derek goes into Deaton's, or simply ignores Derek's very existence if he's stuck in close proximity - Derek couldn't say why, since he's the one who made such a fool of himself in front of an audience of idiots intent on tearing his carefully-curated reputation apart (and the cold-shoulder bothers him a lot more than he'd ever admit).
Secondly, while Boyd has overcome whatever all-consuming assignment he had been trapped in for so long, they've still wound up going back to Derek's after work on three separate occasions for dinner, some beers, and a movie or TV show - he doesn't really know when they transitioned from the mutually-enjoyed employer-employee relationship to this hanging out type of friendship, or how; all he knows is that they talk more now and might even start going to the gym together in the mornings (and maybe he's actually learning to appreciate having someone over at his apartment to break up the monotonous isolation he's used to).
Thirdly, and definitely the strangest of the lot, is that Scott has texted him twice. Neither message was about threats or dangerous situations or calls for backup - because, of course, Derek couldn't have just willingly given his phone number out with good intentions and not have learned to regret it almost instantly. In fact, the first message was an invite to a local bar. The second - which Derek nearly blocked Scott's number for - was an invitation to go over and play video games. Him, Derek, playing video games. With Scott. He can honestly, truthfully, wholeheartedly claim that this is one of the most bizarre things to ever happen to him, and that he has absolutely no interest in doing either of those things with Scott (or with someone else).
Derek isn't intellectually challenged, and he doesn't lack basic observational skills either - he knows that something in his life has shifted. He isn't sure whether it's his appreciation of Boyd, his social tolerances, or his personal interests, but he knows that the version of himself that existed before he hired Boyd has been bent and molded into something a lot more pliable and soft, and it is without a doubt the reason behind the three changes in his life the past week and a half. Someone has ignored him out of awkwardness or something after he conceded that he liked them (since that is technically the implication of not hating them), he has willingly brought a friend(?) back to his apartment to hang out together, and he has been invited to two separate social situations by an additional person he is familiar with. These are things that the old Derek would never have experienced, no matter how drained someone seemed or how warm whiskey-coloured eyes were or how bright and puppy-like someone's expression was.
He doesn't quite know what to make of it. It's different and new, but he's not sure whether it's good. Not yet. (Maybe he needs to do some more investigating before he decides.)
Investigating is absolutely not what he's doing when he pulls his jacket on and moves out from behind the counter for the daily lunch-run - especially not when he catches movement in the corner of his eye and discovers Boyd copying his movements.
"I didn't realise you were going," Derek says, eyes twitching narrower until he purposefully relaxes his expression again.
Boyd shrugs a shoulder as he pulls his jacket on. "No, I'll just come with you."
Derek blinks at him. Boyd meets his gaze, giving absolutely nothing away, and then fishes out the "Closed for lunch" sign that Derek didn't even realise he knew about.
It doesn't seem to be up for discussion, so Derek goes through the usual motions of heading out to Deaton's on the lunch-run, just with someone following him this time. Something feels different about this run, though, and it pulls Derek's brows together, makes his jaw clench, taps his fingers on his steering wheel; but he can't put a name to it. There's an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his spine, slipping under his skin and winding down his arms to his fidgeting fingers. Derek's new normal would probably be to engage in some kind of short, succinct conversation with Boyd on the car ride over, but he finds himself regressing back to his old ways, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and feeling Boyd's presence in his space like a physical entity pushing against Derek's mind and soul.
Whatever it is that he's feeling, it's because of Boyd - he knows that much. He was mostly fine hanging out with Boyd at the lacrosse game, and lately when they're driving to Derek's place, there's no tension like what he's feeling right now, so he's not entirely sure what it is about Boyd's presence in the car while he goes on the lunch-run that's putting him so on-edge (and makes his stomach clench with anticipation when he imagines them both in the queue ordering their paninis and coffees together).
Nothing eases off as he parks the car and the two of them head towards the coffee shop, together. Walking side by side. Derek is scowling when he opens the door and holds it open for Boyd walking in behind him, and he feels the muscles in his back tense. He lingers there for a moment, glancing outside and then at the side of Boyd's face as his friend looks around the shop, wondering why he's feeling so distinctly uncomfortable.
"Hey, guys, how's it going?" comes an incessantly bright voice.
Derek looks at the counter to see Scott grinning comfortably at him and Boyd, lifting a hand to wave at them casually, and it hits him suddenly that this feels more like a social visit rather than the usual lunchtime obligation between employee and employer to collect sustenance. It feels like friends visiting friends.
Boyd returns a greeting to Scott and then walks past Derek to the cluster of tables at the front of the shop, sitting himself down next to Erica. The blonde is apronless today and doesn't seem surprised by Boyd's appearance at all - in fact, she leans in closer to him to show him something on her phone that makes him chuckle quietly.
Derek blinks at the scene, his forehead still wrinkled by his scowl.
"You gonna eat here today?" Scott asks, eyebrows lifted inquisitively as his tone lilts with pleasant surprise.
"Might as well," Boyd answers before Derek can grunt out a refusal.
"Cool, man. You can just sit down and we'll bring the stuff over to you."
Derek remains where he stands, frowning between Boyd and Scott. This feels far too familiar for him. It's not what he had subconsciously prepared for when he'd realised he was the one needing to make the lunch-run. He had anticipated Scott's cheery greeting, maybe some irritating and confusing behaviour from Stiles, a bored drawl from Isaac or smug quip from Erica; but he had not anticipated Boyd's company and the way it changed a chore into an apparent social situation. Derek doesn't do lunches with people, let alone people who might call themselves friends - especially when said people include someone like Stiles, who Derek has noticed at the back of the shop pretending to look busy.
(And Derek doesn't understand why Stiles suddenly wants nothing to do with him, why the barista overnight decided that instead of rambling at Derek as if he was interested in the Big Plan, Stiles now aggressively avoids any eye contact and verbal communication.) (Because Derek definitely isn't interested in anything Stiles has to say, really. Most of the time. Sometimes. The point is, he certainly doesn't miss Stiles' absurd ramblings. At all.)
But Derek isn't one to linger on thoughts of Stiles and his strange behaviour. Trouble is, standing motionless in the middle of Deaton's entryway doesn't inspire a change in the direction of his thoughts. So, reluctantly, Derek follows Boyd's gesture and moves to sit down at the table with his employee/friend and Erica. He sits with his elbows on the table, chin resting on his clasped hands, but then shifts uncomfortably at the proximity to the other two that position forces upon him, so he leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest instead.
"Hey, Derek, you worked alone for a while before you took Boyd on, right?" Scott calls over the end of the counter, leaning his head past stacks of coffee mugs to make eye contact.
Derek blinks, frowning. "Yeah," he answers, wondering what the hell relevance that has to anything.
Scott throws a quick look at the coffee machine, checking the progress of their order, before he leans a hand on the counter and cocks his head at Derek. "How did you find it? Like, transitioning from only being responsible for yourself to suddenly having someone working under you?"
Derek glances at Boyd, but the young man is absorbed in a quiet conversation with Erica. "Uh, I guess it was pretty easy," he responds awkwardly.
Scott runs his teeth over his lower lip, eyes narrowing as he contemplates Derek's answer. "But, like, how did you deal with having to teach someone new everything about the store?"
Derek lifts a hand to scratch his beard. "There wasn't really much to learn. I just needed another body in the store to help keep it organised and deal with customers. Boyd caught on pretty quick."
Scott nods concedingly and moves back to the coffee machine and Derek glances again at Boyd and Erica, wondering if they feel as uncomfortable as he does witnessing the casual conversation Scott had struck up with him. He looks out the window for a moment to try and gather himself, subconsciously checking the windows of The Bunker for any ominous smirking.
The coffee mugs thud dully on the wooden surface of their table when Scott sets them down in front of Boyd and Derek. Derek nods his thanks and reaches for the handle, but his movements falter when Scott slumps into the seat next to him and crosses his arms on the table, his expression scrunching curiously again.
"How do you even begin to teach someone everything about your store, though?" the barista asks quietly, as if establishing that the conversation is only for him and Derek.
Derek sighs and takes a hold of his mug, shifting forward on his seat as he rests his forearms against the edge of the table. "Why are you asking?"
Scott smiles a little nervously, his jawline crooked in a way that could almost be endearing. "Deaton hired a new guy. He's a couple years younger and this is gonna be his first job."
Derek nods. "And you're gonna show him the ropes?"
Scott exhales, his smile fading as the nerves beat out the optimism. "Whatever that means."
Derek clears his throat and glances around, noting that nobody seems to be eyeing this interaction with even a smidgeon of the shock that they probably should (Stiles is behind the counter now, but he seems to be obnoxiously avoiding looking at their table). "People learn in different ways."
"Yeah, but, like, how do I figure out what way's best? What do I even say? What do I do with him all day?"
Derek finds that he has to tilt his head down to try and hide the amusement on his face. If someone told him a few months ago that he'd be sitting in the coffee shop with people who considered him their friend, holding back a chuckle at something one of them said while asking him for help, he'd have probably moved towns to avoid it.
"You'll get a feel for him," Derek assures, lifting his face again to meet Scott's almost-pleading gaze. "You could always just ask."
"What if he thinks I'm an idiot? What if I do it wrong and he ends up confused and overwhelmed and quits?"
Derek shrugs a shoulder. "Then he quits," he says. Scott drops his head into his hands, groaning quietly. Derek can't hide his smirk. "Just show him what you do, let him shadow you for a bit. Then you can see if he'd be comfortable trying it out for himself."
Scott runs his fingers over his face until he holds his head up by his jaw, blinking at Derek distractedly. "Okay, so, just do what I usually do for, what, a couple hours or something? And then ask if he wants to try it out? Do I then shadow him? Like breathe down his neck while he's serving someone? Or do I just leave him alone and let him figure it out?"
Derek swallows the sip of coffee he took while Scott was rambling and lowers his mug back to the table. "You'll get a feel for what's best when you're actually interacting with him," he says. "There's no point trying to plan every minute of the day before you've even spent any time with the kid."
"What if I can't figure it out?" Scott asks dejectedly.
Derek inhales deeply, trying to downplay the effect of Scott's sad-puppy eyes on him. "Listen, Scott, you're a friendly guy. You're approachable. If you treat the kid the same way you do everyone else, I'm sure he'll feel comfortable to ask for help when he needs it. The more you communicate, the easier it'll make it for both of you to work it out."
Scott's eyes brighten considerably, his fingers lowering from his head as a pleased smile spreads across his face. "Communication - is that how you made it easy with you and Boyd?"
Derek scoffs quietly, glancing at Boyd as he lifts his coffee mug back to his mouth. "Boyd and I communicated a little differently."
"How?"
"Grumpy silence would be my guess," Erica smirks, joining the conversation.
Boyd shrugs. "Pretty much."
"Oh, god, what if he's like you guys?" Scott groans, leaning his cheek on a fist as his eyebrows twist upwards in a helpless expression. "I dunno how to be intimidating and broody."
"I'd pay to see you try," Erica grins. "But he'll probably be a nervous little puppy like you, Scott. Don't worry about it."
Scott rolls his eyes, grinning, but Derek notices the nervous curl at the corner of his mouth.
"You're gonna be good at it," Derek finds himself saying, and he means it.
Scott meets his eyes, his grin softening. "Thanks, man. I feel like I need a manual or something, but I appreciate the vote of confidence."
Derek can't help but smile back at Scott - which is exactly the moment that Stiles drops a couple of plates on the table with their paninis. Derek looks up at him, his smile lingering in his distraction, not really expecting to get anything in response from Stiles. But the young man is staring down at Derek with an unreadable expression, his lips parted gently, sunlight bathing the side of his face and warming his eyes. Derek blinks, caught off-guard by Stiles' sudden and unexpected attention in such close proximity and in such a direct manner. His fingers twitch around his coffee mug, noticing Stiles' hand hanging by Derek's bicep and remembering the feel of the barista's wrist under his fingertips.
"Step nineteen," Stiles blurts.
Derek stares up at him, eyebrows lifting.
Erica snickers quietly and Stiles' eyes dart to her and back to Derek's face, his mouth snapping closed.
"Stiles, man, you're gonna need to give them a little more than that if you want their help," Scott advises.
Derek's eyebrows furrow in response, glancing at Scott. Stiles shifts on his feet, clearly working his jaw in some kind of agitation. When he looks back down at Derek, it's like he's waiting for something. Maybe it's the "Why the hell should I help you when you've been pretending I don't exist for a week and a half, idiot?" that sits primed and ready in Derek's throat to launch at the young man in a tone as gruff and blunt as he can muster (he's totally not annoyed about it, at all).
But Stiles' eyes are doing that thing they do when the sun hits them in that way, and Derek swallows the words, quirking an expectant eyebrow instead.
Stiles blinks. "Uh, right. So, it's Step Nineteen: S is for Scare Tactics," he says. Derek sighs through his nose, and Stiles seems to read his expression. "Right, I know," he nods, gesturing concedingly. "None of us really fit the bill. Except maybe Erica. But she might not be enough."
A new customer walks into the shop and Scott jumps up out of his seat to greet them, hurrying off to resume his station behind the counter while Isaac is busy clearing tables and Stiles is busy doing whatever this is.
"We thought maybe we could hire you two to go into The Bunker and intimidate Argent and his cronies - y'know, scare them into submission," Stiles explains.
"Stiles-" Derek begins, leaning his elbows on the table and rubbing his fingertips over his forehead.
"C'mon, dude, look at me," Stiles implores, defeated, as he slumps into Scott's seat and leans over the table towards him. "Nobody's gonna look at me and be intimidated, right? The best I can do is shout insults across the street at them - which, by the way, is gonna be the next step if you guys don't take one for the team and end this war today."
Boyd scoffs, lifting an eyebrow at Stiles.
"What?" Stiles demands, defensive. "We'll wear them down with excruciating taunts aimed at their stupid appearances and general unlikeability."
"You're gonna get punched," Erica smirks.
"I can handle it," Stiles rolls his eyes.
"Man, you couldn't handle Allison, never mind the other assholes," Boyd mutters.
"I'm quick and skinny," Stiles retorts. "They'd never catch me."
"You're an idiot," Derek grunts. He's scowling again, he knows he is, but he can't help it. "And you're gonna get yourself hurt."
Stiles scowls, shifting nervously. "Not if you guys help me out, here, and carry out Step Nineteen."
"I'm not gonna intimidate Argent, Stiles."
"You don't even have to say anything," Stiles persists, leaning closer again. "All you need to do is go over there dressed like- well, I guess like this, and just stand there and that'll do the job."
"I'm not gonna encourage this stupid shit," Derek says flatly, pulling his plate closer to him.
"You kinda are if you're not gonna do this, 'cause then I'll need to do the shouting insults thing."
"You don't need to do anything. You could just not insult them."
Stiles groans and slumps back in his seat. "God, you're such a killjoy."
Derek scowls (and he might even feel a little offended). "Only when your idea of fun is getting beaten to a pulp."
"Oh, ha-ha," Stiles snarks. "So, you're just gonna refuse to help me out? Just like that?"
"Yeah, Stiles. Just like that," Derek mutters, and he forces himself not to watch Stiles' back when the barista scoffs and shoves out of his seat to stomp off.
(And Stiles just doesn't realise that if he asked for help with anything else, Derek would be able to stop coming off as such a fucking killjoy, and maybe Stiles would see a different side to Derek that he wouldn't hate the way he obviously hates this side of Derek.)