A Night to Begin Anew
Saturday, January 22nd
The supermarket had one of those automated entrances: the doors that opened on a sensor and a rush of cool air blasted over the patrons before they entered a store. Since it was January that wasn't exactly pleasant. Since Derek was a werewolf, it made him sneeze. He couldn't help it; no matter what store he went into that rush of stale air and influx of scents always made him sneeze, even when he held his breath. It seemed to be a conditioned response after twenty-two years living.
"Stiles?"
The Sheriff paused in front of him, grocery cart halfway through the entrance, but not seeming to care that he was taking up traffic space. Or at least, not seeing it as more important than his son. Derek steeled himself against the thought of family and turned back to see what the problem was.
Just a few steps behind him, the teenager was still like he'd been shocked and had a wildly dazed expression on his face. The born wolf had to restrain the hint of a smile on his lips, but then easily frowned when he remembered why it made him smile. Cora had done the same thing on outings. Not wanting to collect anymore attention than those few seconds could have cost, Derek reached back and grabbed the boy's free elbow to force him forward. When he spoke under his breath, he didn't lean close to Stiles or even look at him, the enhanced hearing would take care of the distance, "Keep up."
The boy breathlessly muttered back, "What the Hell was that?" with his bright brown eyes still wide and confused. Derek huffed, keeping a hand where it was to drag him behind the Sheriff.
"You alright, son?" the elder asked and received an absent nod in return. The born lycan belatedly realized he was still attached to the Bitten when they were halfway down an aisle full of deli supplies. Nothing like drawing attention than hanging on to an underage, faux injured officer's son. Good job, Derek… Jesus.
He was so preoccupied scanning the store and trying to orient the number of breathing people he could hear to the various exits that he missed when Stiles came back from the mess of smells buzzing his sinuses. The boy gave a sudden shake and jerked forward with a loud, "Nah-ah! I don't think so. No roast beef for you, it's chicken and turkey breast on your sandwiches."
He became a blur of motion, surprisingly quick fingered for such a clumsy kid with one arm trapped in a sling. A glance at the boy's father showed a fond smirk and Derek realized the man had grabbed the beef on purpose to shake his son out of his daze. The named meat packages made it to the cart and was quickly followed by Colby and cheddar cheeses, each sporting a 'low fat' label, a triangle of provolone and then a tin of goat cheese. Derek felt like he was missing something.
An indignant squawk interrupted his confusion and he watched as Stiles protested his father, already ahead of him, adding one of those individually wrapped sausages to the pile. The man raised a dark blonde eyebrow at the teen, then claimed, "It's Sunday tomorrow, Stiles. We should have bigos."
What? Hazel eyes blinked at the uncommon word and what Sunday had to do with it, but he determinedly said nothing. The Bitten countered, "Hah! That's what you think. I'm making kiszczonka and you'll eat it and like it." Derek's eyes went wide. Kich-kish-what?! What the Hell was that?
The Sheriff took on a sly expression and glanced over Stiles' shoulder at the older wolf, "Really, son? You think black pudding soup should be Derek's first taste of Polish cooking?" Stiles' head whipped around just in time to catch the born wolf's instinctive grimace at the phrase 'black pudding soup'. The teen's mouth dropped open, not that it stayed closed often, but his indignant manner doubled along with Derek's surprise. That was one clever and manipulative man. He watched while Stiles tried to negotiate from a disadvantage and noted not to stand between the Sheriff and whatever he was after if he could help it.
Polish dishes flew back and forth between them, the father finally dropping from whatever bigos was to some other meal using the sausage he still held to gesture and probably show his determination to eat it. He wasn't as wild as the teen with his hands, but there was no doubt the two were father and son. Seeing that relationship so obviously stung a little. Trying to shove his feelings of guilt and sorrow into frustration, Derek interrupted, "I have eaten Polish food before." He wasn't prepared to have two expectant stares pinned to him with such intensity. Maybe he shouldn't have spoken… "I liked the dumplings."
Brown eyes narrowed on him and Stiles spoke swiftly, "Gołąbki or pierogi?"
"Uh…" He had no idea what they were called or that there was more than one kind. Around a year after they'd settled in New York Laura had gone on a foreign food kick, dragging him out to every non-American restaurant she could find in an odd attempt to bring him 'culture'.
The Sheriff took pity on him, "Were they wrapped in cabbage leaves?" Derek shook his head, but kept his expression as neutral as possible in an attempt not to be used as tool in the negotiations again. "Pierogi then. Probably the cheese and potatoes kind, huh?" He got barely a nod in return, "Well Stiles. You'll have to show him how it's really done, right?"
The boy groaned in mock agony, "Do you know how long dumplings take? I'll be cooking all freaking day!" He ran a quick hand across his scalp, left arm jerking in his sling like he wanted to use both of them. But he apparently didn't mind that much, as he grabbed the deli meat from his father and pointed it at him, "No sausage then. And you're just eating the mushroom ones!"
Obviously pleased with himself, the Sheriff countered, "As long as you don't skimp on the bacon bits."
Groaning even more dramatically, Stiles rolled his eyes so hard his head rolled on his neck before resentfully grabbing the bacon for their cart. He grumbled under his breath and yanked the cart away from his elder to drag it behind him one handedly. Huh. Derek had never seen resentful grocery shopping before. Sheriff Stilinski chuckled at his boy, then some more when he glanced back at the slightly stunned Hale.
"Come on, son." Derek jerked to attention, staring with a vulnerable expression as he continued down the aisle, "Can't let Stiles get too far ahead or he'll skip all the good stuff."
Swallowing thickly, the wolf shook out the trembles in his hands, cracked his neck, and shoved his grief back down under his anger. It was just a fucking grocery trip. The boy was an annoying Bitten wolf who was going to cause more problems than he solved. And the Sheriff hadn't exactly been all that useful when the fire had happened, unable to even get the insurance investigator to call it arson.
There was no reason for Derek to get so damn worked up over the father-son duo dragging him along on a shopping trip… And including him in their dinner plans. He grit his teeth and caught up to the Stilinskis debating before the very next aisle. Looks like the Sheriff hadn't let the teen go far.
"And I'm saying we skip it because the only thing you'll find down that aisle is salt, empty calories, and more salt."
"C'mon Stiles, I'll even get the baked ones. Those are supposed to better for you, right?"
The fine hairs on Derek's neck rose on end when he heard a canine growl from the Bitten. His first instinct was to grab the boy, make him submit again, but what he saw made him hesitate. Stiles' frowning face wasn't serious, and the Sheriff simply sighed at him. The Beta tensed again when the man clasped Stiles' neck in a fatherly pat, but was instantly relieved that the boy ceased growling immediately. His sigh matched the exasperated one from Stiles who gave in with a snotty 'fine'.
He trailed them down the snack aisle, thinking about what he'd just seen. Dealing with a brand new werewolf just might be easier than he'd thought. Derek didn't dare to hope, but the boy had submitted nicely to him in his bedroom, his own territory. And he seemed to treat his very human father as… maybe his Alpha? They'd see how long that would last when the rogue reared his head. But despite his misgivings, Derek couldn't quite squash that tiny bit of optimism that just maybe this wouldn't be as difficult as it could've been.
The three men went down the next row, a family size bag of baked Lays added to their sandwich goods. There was no argument about the choice of bread or cereal and a loaf of multi-grain oats wheat bread and a box of Cheerios with the little heart healthy symbol on the box followed the chips. The cart rattled around into the refrigerated dairy section instead of another set of shelves. Here the Stilinskis collected eggs, no-fat: milk, ricotta cheese, cream cheese and sour cream. That niggling feeling that he was missing something sprang up again. Then a flash of memory followed: the feeling of wolf warm flesh under his palm, the porcelain pale skin dotted with freckles and too skinny by half. Pale hazel eyes studied the teen as he clumsily banged his hip into a shelving unit full of tortillas and then flailed to catch one of the packages that slipped out. Stiles looked surprised to actually catch it and pleased, he decided to add it to the cart. There was lean muscle to him, but not a lot, and no fat whatsoever.
Derek's dark brows furrowed and he couldn't help speaking up before they moved on to the condiments, "You know, you're going to need more calories as a.." he trailed off, carefully watching a distracted mother passing by with her own cart and two children. Stiles peeked over his shoulder at him, brown eyes curious. "If you eat right, you'll build more strength. You shouldn't cut out all the fat from your diet for-whatever reasons you had."
"What?!" the teen's voice cracked, nothing short of alarm on his face. But it seemed to be directed at his father, not for himself or Derek. He grew more confused as Stiles' heart rate climbed suddenly, genuine fear kick-starting it for no discernable reason. "Don't you dare-"
"Okay, okay, calm down, Stiles," the man interrupted, holding both hands up from the cart in appeasement. He looked slightly guilty, and stepped closer to his son with concern, "Easy, son. I'm not going to let you deprive yourself of what you need on my account, but I promise I'll do better on my diet, alright?" His heart didn't stutter once, and gradually his son calmed. Derek couldn't tell if the boy had sensed what he had, but the Sheriff was genuine in his words. So the special foods and family banter hadn't been about Stiles being health conscious at all, but about his father's health. The elder Stilinski ran his palm over the teen's short hair and turned to Hale, "Last year the doctor found I had high cholesterol, and with my job that can be a bit…"
"Dangerous," Stiles bit out, still agitated but seeming to be studying the closest shelves to distract himself.
His father nodded, "I haven't had an incident, and I likely won't as long as I watch what I eat and make sure to get some exercise in," worn blue eyes watched Stiles for a moment, "Just like the doctor said, son. And I'll do it. I'm gonna have to keep up with you now, aren't I?"
The younger Stilinski huffed, shrugged and stomped down the aisle like he was on a mission. Derek felt his shoulders drop a little and tried to school his expression. He shouldn't feel regret on account of what he'd said. He didn't know about the Sheriff's heart trouble and had no clue why it was a trigger issue for the Bitten. A large hand clapped his back once, making Derek stiffen up like a board in an instant. The off-duty officer politely ignored it and offered, "Just give him time to cool down. He knows you didn't mean anything by it."
The born wolf wasn't sure where it came from, but somehow he managed to say in the driest tone possible, "I did mean something by it. He's way too skinny."
"I heard that!" Stiles yelped from the far end of the aisle. The Sheriff laughed and his son visibly relaxed. And weirdly enough, Derek felt a sense of accomplishment for the first time in a long while. He received another slap on the back, obviously telegraphed that time and Derek surprised himself by not tensing. Stiles returned shortly, right arm curled around three jars that were just begging to crash to the tile floor. Accident waiting to happen this one. It was ridiculous that becoming a supernatural creature of the night didn't give the kid anymore grace. Or sense.
Scowling, Derek reached forward and tugged a couple from beneath the boy's arm. Then immediately regretted it. Grimacing, he dropped a bottle of horseradish to the cart in favor of holding out the sauerkraut by its lid like a dead rat by the tail. "You've got to be kidding me. You can smell this, can't you? Don't tell me you want to put this on your food."
"Dude," the teen emphasized, wide amber eyes catching the fluorescent lighting, "We're Polish. Mostly. Have you ever even had it?"
Face falling flat and unimpressed, the Beta hoped he well expressed his disdain for the sour-salty scent that reminded him of rotten seaweed then stiffly added, "Yeah. On a New York hot dog." Again, thanks to Laura. It'd probably scarred his taste buds for life.
The Sheriff winced sympathetically and shook his head while Stiles made a hilarious face of disgust. He dropped a bottle of mustard into the cart haphazardly and then leaned on it in an odd, exaggerated motion, "Guessing it was way too salty. They probably didn't even rinse it once." Derek blinked at him blankly. He didn't even know you were supposed to do that. The jar was in the condiments section. Didn't that mean you added it to food like ketchup on a burger? Suddenly the boy started to smirk, cheek twitching with restraint as he snatched that awful jar back to add to their items, "Man, your eyebrows can say so much. Don't worry, we'll cook it up and it'll be tasty. Trust me."
At first his brows had risen in surprise then furrowed in irritation at Stiles' rather personal comment. But then Derek had to turn away, pretend distraction from both the little family and the ice cold feeling in his chest. The second he'd heard those two words, his instinctive thoughts had sent a dull pain through his ribs. He didn't trust anyone. And they shouldn't trust him. It was safer that way.
In his peripheral vision he could see the Stilinski men seemed to shrug off his cold shoulder and turn to go to the back wall. Separated by an employee hallway from the dairy, the rows of meat and butcher sat apart from the next aisle of refrigerated items, of which Derek was more familiar as it held frozen dinners and ice cream. Laura had a sweet tooth. And no cooking skills. Well, neither had he, but he'd decided that food was her prerogative as the Alpha and provider. They'd had a lot of play fighting over it... Shaking the thoughts out of the forefront of his mind, he followed in the Stilinski's wake to the fresh protein.
The Sheriff paused and hummed thoughtfully for a moment, "Well, since I've got a growing pup to feed now, how about the two of you figure out how much meat to get and I'll go pick out some cans?"
Stiles came to attention like he'd noticed a predator on his six as his father stepped away. "Remember to only get-"
"Low sodium. I remember, Stiles. You concentrate over here."
The kid really had to stop over-reacting like that. It was driving Derek's sympathetic instincts crazy to have a new wolf next to him acting like there was danger in everything his father did. The tentative bond between them since Stiles had submitted was going to be extremely irritating if he didn't calm the Hell down. He huffed at his companion and glared, "Knock it off. He promised, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Stiles," he intoned firmly, catching the distracted teen's eye. He was mildly surprised to note the boy was actually his same height when he straightened up. Derek continued, "You heard the same thing I did. He promised. And he meant it."
The stress the younger Stilinski had carried since they came to the store dissipated with a sigh, "Yeah, he did, didn't he…" He absently itched at his covered left arm and finally started scanning the beef section. The way he had honestly relaxed made Derek think the kid really did hear what he had, the steady beat of a truthful heart. Stiles picked up a package of ground beef to compare against another while Hale slowly found the words he was looking for.
"Are you adapting alright?" He met the boy's raised brows with a single glance, "To your new… limits?"
Realizing that Derek was censoring himself on account of the human public walking around and completely ignoring them, Stiles snorted and kept absently figuring out the best deal he could find while answering, "No one's going to believe we aren't talking about fiction if you say werewolves, Derek." He blatantly ignored the tense man besides him, going blithely on, "And yeah, I guess I'm doing alright. The smells are a little distracting; not compared to the way something moving too fast gets my attention is distracting. Makes me feel like a dog that wants to chase squirrels. But the hearing is actually the worst, that can get freaking painful sometimes. Is there a way to, you know, lower the volume or something?"
But Derek was distracted himself this time. A single breath had set his heart racing in a sense memory that spoke of pain. There was wolfsbane in the air. And goddamn this recycled air conditioning garbage because now he couldn't even tell what direction it was coming from.
"Derek?"
His fangs itched and every instinct was screaming at him to flee so his entire body was tensed for flight. Even a newborn wolf couldn't miss his chemosignals. Stiles' heart started to race in turn, anxiety flooding the space between them as he dropped the ground beef. "Derek, what is it?"
Still scanning each person in his vicinity for any sign they were a threat, the born wolf snarled softly through gritted teeth, "Can't you smell that?"
And despite his stampeding heart muscle, Stiles managed to be a little shit and answer sarcastically, "You're gonna have to be more specific. There's literally, like a million scents here." Growling subsonically, Hale ground his teeth and took another deliberate inhale, searching. The stinging floral scent grew stronger; they were getting closer. A hand clasped his shoulder, softly encouraging him to face the meat again-to put his back to the threat.
"Stiles." A wolf-like growl echoed in his whispered word, making it doubly threatening.
But the teen's heart was actually calming somehow, and his even breaths drew Derek's attention back to the two of them. "Dude," the Bitten started, "We're in a high trafficked, public place with the Sheriff of Beacon Hills fifteen feet away. As long as whatever is freaking you out doesn't want to be outed for what they are, they can't hurt us. And you looking around for whatever it is, is just going to draw them to us faster probably, yeah?"
Closing his eyes and swallowing hard, Derek tried to accept the boy's rationalization. Everything he knew told him not to leave a threat to his back, to find the hunter and get the fuck out of there as fast as possible, but that could also endanger them. Those very instincts could reveal them as werewolves. He didn't relax, but the last Hale studied the variety of red before him, using the color to help fantasize about cutting into a particular Argent's throat to distract himself. Derek tightly began, "First lesson on things that can kill you now. Take a slow breath. Smell something spicy?"
Stiles busied himself with shuffling some of the products around and tilted his head in a comically considering fashion while he sniffed. Ridiculous puppy. He hummed then answered, "Yeah. Like a weird, spicy flower. Perfume?"
Snorting, the born wolf was disconcerted to find the aerosolized weapon was already doing its work. He couldn't smell anything anymore. "It's not spice. It's an allergic reaction burning away your sinuses. Wolfsbane."
The Bitten went still, eyes widening while staring blankly ahead. He swallowed and absently confirmed, "Hunters," in a whisper. Stiles stopped paying much of any attention to his price sorting and grabbed a package of lean ground beef to add to the cart. Then he continued on, body calm and smooth while his heart rate picked up again to a steady jog. Stew beef and a couple steaks joined the pile before he moved to the pork. Derek was reluctantly impressed with his reaction. Despite the signals of stress and fear the lycan could hear without his sense of smell, the new wolf was remaining visibly calm under the strain.
His attention towards the other shoppers refocused using mostly his ears. The squeak of metal carts was irritating and usually something a wolf would try to tune out, but Derek had been counting them as they walked. Shoes were a more accurate measurement of people, but not always easy to catch. The clack of heels was distinctive, as well as the squeak of rubber soles, but some persons had a lighter tread and still others just had softer soles that didn't carry noise. But combat boots were heavy, and more prevalent among his enemies. He caught the latest person to begin walking behind them: a single woman from the heels, with a heavy shopping cart and moderately heavy, jingly purse.
The cart paused at the row of frozen goods directly behind them. Then Derek scowled as he noticed something odd. Why could he hear the purse? Most other women had placed theirs in their carts. All of the fine hair on his neck, arms and legs stood on end. Stiles sensed his mood, glancing at him in sudden awareness just as the woman spoke.
"You must be the Stilinski boy." On the surface there was nothing wrong with her voice. Underneath it was cold.
Derek stayed still and tense, watchful as Stiles subtly took a calming breath as he turned. Bambi brown eyes widened and his tone was absent confusion, "Ah, yeah? That's me?"
The lycan twisted only his head, doing his best to look disinterested though not sure he accomplished it in the face of what could only be the Argent matriarch. Dyed red, cropped hair made her stand out from the crowd,and her makeup and accessories were Stepford wife perfect. The image of perfection was completed with deadly, ice blue eyes over a faux friendly smile that raised his hackles.
"I'm Allison's mom, Victoria. I heard about your little accident in the woods," the edge of concern in her voice didn't match her eyes and he could hear Stiles' heart start to climb as he obviously understood the underlying motive behind her approach. "I'm a little surprised to see you out and about already. Are you doing alright?"
"Ah, yeah, pretty much. I mean, it's been three days so it's not as bad as yesterday. Plus painkillers are a marvelous invention. I figured they'd give me vicodin at first, but turns out that that would lessen the effects of my Adderall-"
"Stiles," Derek scolded, wondering how long and how personal the teen would let this conversation go. As amusing as it was to see a hunter's eyes get that wide, the quicker she was gone the better. The kid chuckled nervously and scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand, smiling in apology.
"Sorry. Ah, yeah, I didn't know they made ibuprofen that strong, so I'm okay for a grocery trip. And my Adderall is starting to wear off about now. So… yeah." God, this teen. Was that on purpose, a kind of strategy? Drive people away by getting too personal?
"I see." Victoria let a little genuine emotion bleed through. She seemed a bit repulsed, actually, even as her face attempted to still look concerned, "May I ask, do you know what attacked you in the woods? I know a number of people like to jog on the trails and the Preserve is still open to the public."
Was that a dig at the Sheriff? Who went jogging in the woods, someone she knew? Or did it only mean the hunter's were patrolling there? Derek let himself turn towards the young wolf, trying to keep himself from watching Argent with too much anxiety by studying Stiles in turn. The boy licked his lips and looked around a bit before answering, "A bear. I mean, it was dark and I didn't get a great look, but I'm pretty sure it had to be a bear."
Before Derek could begin to wonder about the choice of predator, Victoria frowned at them and spoke with thinly reigned intensity, "Not a mountain lion? I hear those are more common around these parts."
Stiles put on an air of shared confusion. It was pretty good in all fairness, "Yeah they are, but I had, like, the supreme bad luck to stumble across a black bear out of hibernation or something. It was so big," Derek dodged back a step as the teen's free hand made a grand sweeping motion, "I thought it had to be a California Grizzly, but those are extinct. Did you know 'black bear' is actually a misnomer? They can have brown fur too. And while they're the smallest species of bear in North America, the largest one killed on record was about eleven hundred pounds. I mean, that is just-phew!" He puffed out his cheeks with a juvenile breath of air and shook his head like he just couldn't believe the natural world.
The sheer amount of information served to keep all of the female hunter's attention and not in a good way. The unrelenting words finally cracked through her mask of geniality, and she frowned with an extremely unimpressed expression. "You're certain it was a bear, simply because it was large?" Her entire demeanor said she was already writing the younger Stilinski off as an idiot. Derek wasn't sure if he wasn't about to do the same. He really hoped the rambling was deliberate.
Stiles carefully shrugged with only one shoulder and acted like he was pretending to be unconcerned as he splayed his free hand across his covered upper arm, fingers hooked like claws, "Well that and the claw marks. Bear claws are that much bigger and longer than a cougar's. Pretty obvious difference there." And now he was frowning at the Argent, visibly disliking not being believed as most people would. Hale silently sighed in relief as Victoria's shoulders relaxed.
The woman nonchalantly placed her purse in the child's seat of her cart and stepped over to the whole frozen chickens at her side. "Yes, I suppose that would be a strong indicator of the animal involved. But I'm sure since it's a bear in January it must've returned to hibernation by now." Her entire demeanor was dismissive, and Derek belatedly realized the reason she had been holding onto her purse when all other women hadn't. There must've been a weapon inside. He barely kept himself from eyeing it and felt his stomach turn as she perfunctorily examined a bird before sliding it into her cart. He had the sudden idea that she was very handy with a knife. Those dead blue eyes barely scanned them as she turned to leave, "Well, I'm sure we'll see each other again sometime now that Scott and my daughter are dating. Have a good night. Sheriff."
Derek startled, looking a little further ahead to where the man was coming out of an aisle with an armful of cans. With his sense of smell diminished and all his focus on the threat in front of him, he'd missed the elder Stilinski's approach. The Sheriff greeted her with a politely distant, "Mrs. Argent," and didn't try to keep her in conversation so she continued on her way.
Both of the werewolves took deep breaths, partially instinct to try and catch a scent unaffected by wolfsbane and partially sheer relief, as the hunter disappeared from view. The human man gave an elaborate shiver and grimace, "That woman scares me."
"You and me both," Stiles added flippantly. Despite the fact that Derek knew his fear had been truly genuine, he couldn't help the instinctive swipe he took at the boy's scalp. The teenager curled away, raising an arm defensively, "What?!"
Hazel eyes glared at him, and he moved half a step closer to intimidate the kid in the hopes of a less sarcastic answer, "Do you do that on purpose?"
Stiles gave him a very contrived innocent look, far too expressive to be sincere and almost cartoonish for it, "I have no idea what you're talking about." His heart, still slowing down from their encounter, gave an obvious skip that made Derek frown harder at him.
"Did he babble at her? At the head hunter in charge?" the Sheriff asked with measure of resignation. Hale nodded shortly, still staring at the recalcitrant teen. The father just sighed heavily.
Stiles grimaced at him, turning defiant, "So what? It worked, didn't it? She barely even looked at you, so I didn't have to do the polite thing and introduce you. And unless you can speak fluent Spanish, I don't think you can pass for my cousin Miguel from Me-xi-co."
The name and location were obviously chosen off the top of his head. Jesus, was this kid ever serious? Even his father was rolling his eyes and Derek felt the urge to one up the boy and put him in his place. He answered with a sneer, "Yo hablo español, idiota. Probablemente mucho mejor que tú."
The teen's jaw dropped and his eyes glazed. His first thought was that the rapid fire Spanish had turned the Bitten wolf on, but that couldn't be right. Derek was unable to confirm without his sense of smell healed, but it's not like this was the first time Stiles had stared at something with his mouth open, the lanky geek. He'd probably just stunned him silent with the sudden knowledge that he could speak something other than English, unlike most born Americans. A rattle of cans disturbed their stand off, and both turned to see the Sheriff already moving on with the cart, collecting a couple chicken packages as well. He gave them a resolutely calm look over his shoulder.
"Well? Come on then. We're almost done and the quicker we're out of here the better, right?" The mature adult was done arguing about the nature of the confrontation between wolf and hunter evidently. Stiles chased after him and Derek covered their backs, scanning behind them as he moved, ensuring the hunter matriarch didn't double back to watch them.
Without prompting the younger Stilinski began filling in the older almost exactly word for word of what had been said between wolf and hunter, along with a description of the woman's terrifyingly annoyed mein. Once again a little impressed with the kid, Derek only nodded whenever the Sheriff glanced at him for confirmation. The Bitten quickly finished rehashing the relatively short incident, and his father simply hummed consideringly, scanning the nearby shelves without speaking immediately. Where the teen tended to think out loud when he could, the officer thought before he spoke and was the type to plan a course of action before attempting. Given how Stiles impulsively ran into the woods at night to find a dead body, Derek was going to assume there wasn't a lot of planning aforethought in the process. The fact his father was the opposite was a reassuring if interesting difference between them.
The Polish family collected a number of spices, most of which Derek in his limited cooking experience had never heard of. Some had simple names like 'allspice' or odd ones like 'vegeta'. His sense of smell was slowly healing, and Stiles' too based on the way the kid suddenly dropped a plastic container with a huge sneeze. Sheriff Stilinski shot him a disgusted look and the boy shrugged apologetically, wiping the seasoning off on his shirt before tossing it in the cart.
The trio finished with the spice and variety aisle and turned into the large fresh fruit and vegetables section. Here Stiles rubbed his palms together like he was about to manage a huge undertaking and Derek grimaced when he remembered the Sheriff's promise to eat healthier. It was probably safe to assume they would spend just as much time there as in the rest of the store. He could only hope their hunter drive by would install some urgency to the task. But before the teen could dive in, the off duty officer began to speak.
"So the Argents moved here to find a werewolf threatening revenge. They know one person was killed, but not who she is yet, because Victoria didn't know Derek on sight. They know Stiles was attacked, but he's probably assumed human. And they might or might not figure Stiles' description of the wolf for an Alpha," the summary was concluded with a tapping of fingers along the cart handlebar. He tilted his head and raised a blond brow at first his son and then the last Hale. "The Alpha's going to be looking for Stiles. Maybe even before he begins whatever vengeance he wants to take. As troubling as that might be," the Sheriff clasped his son's neck, "I actually think we're at an advantage at the moment."
Stiles gave a morbid grin, wary but believing his father. And even with the danger ahead of them, Derek felt a kernel of hope grow within. A sense of unity was taking hold despite his attempts to stay apart. The calm wouldn't last forever, it likely wouldn't last the night. But that moment with the Stilinski family… felt like Pack.
Return to Normal Days
Monday, January 24th
Polish night was a rousing success. At least, from his father's perspective. But then, he had much lower standards for social gatherings apparently. Stiles couldn't stop thinking about it. That and a hundred other things that morning, a veritable tornado of thoughts assaulting his mind from every angle. Jittery fingers swung his car keys over and over while he stayed in the safety of his Jeep, feet tapping in the footwell without rhyme or reason. He'd arrived early with the intent to see Scott as soon as he got in. But he was lucky to have gotten there safely at all. Or early. When the newly turned wolf had slammed on the brakes for a leaf, heart rate threatening to make him wolf out, he'd quickly realized it was going to be one of those days… He'd had to drive at a freaking crawl to make sure he didn't flip his baby. The nervous energy causing him to fidget at every movement, jerk with every scent, was rapidly devolving his ability to think coherently at all. Not that that was his best skill anyway, but he usually managed to follow a railway with only a few pit stops, trained with his prescription. Right now his mind was off the rails.
Sunday had a been a practice in concentration that drained the energy out of him, but being a werewolf meant he had a lot more energy to give apparently. When he'd finished most of his school work, triple checking he hadn't crossed subjects and assignments after doing so about a million times already, the teen had tiredly set out to make several kinds of Polish dumplings. He'd proactively made the pork stuffing the night before after their grocery shopping, along with soaking his mushrooms, but that only saved a little time compared to the massive amounts of pierogi he had served up. He still wondered if Derek had really liked them or just had an enormous appetite. That 'so beautiful he could be marble' face of his could really be as still and cold as stone.
The practice of stuffing dumplings was actually meditative, or maybe it was just that he'd been so exhausted his brain had quieted to a dull roar instead of a class five hurricane. Cooking should not help his attention problems; doing the same task over and over again before the all-important Bite had been a job for his Adderall and taking a variety of breaks to ensure the food wasn't ruined by inattentiveness. But he'd found the repetitive acts soothing to his senses. It required little brain power, letting his thoughts whirl where they would as long as his hands kept to the same tasks. The kitchen had been calm and still except for his movements, and his nose full of smells that reminded him of good times, the quiet sound of his father's music and working in the office had been his rhythm. The Sheriff entered and when blue eyes had widened in surprise, Stiles was startled to realize he had finished and was staring into space. Maybe it was relaxing because cooking was highly sensory experience for his new abilities.
Some douchebag jock slammed on their horn, making the teen flinch and his attempt at consistent thought shatter. Almost dropping his keys mid-flip, the new wolf leaned back in his seat to toss them to his free left. Going to school without his sling was a risky decision to his dad, but Stiles had been reluctant to essentially be restrained while at school with Allison Argent. Scott was a huge part of his choice as well, though he still hadn't told his dad about their argument. Scott: who hadn't shown yet. Swallowing thickly, Stiles took a shaky breath and wondered if he could do what he planned. Or, was trying to plan.
He still wavered, back and forth. Was he going to try and convince him he really was a mythical creature? How could he do it without scaring him? Would he apologize instead? Let his best friend have his so-called perfect, normal high school life? Stiles wanted his longest friend, his brother, to have his back and support his new supernatural lifestyle. He also wanted Scott McCall to have the best high school years of his life, like he'd always wanted. He scanned the parking lot again, wondering if the boy had managed to borrow his mom's car instead. Still nothing. A small part of the pessimistic teen felt guilty; he'd never believed Scott would make first line. Lacrosse had always been so hard, too athletic for the asthmatic boy who wanted to be the hero, scoring the game-winning goals. The guilt mixed with uncertainty. Would Scott be happy in the net? It was his least favorite position. Would success there be enough to satisfy him?
Wait, had Stilinski looked at the bike rack already? No, he'd missed it, he'd missed-oh, false alarm. Groaning irritably as every minute felt stretched into an hour, the attention deficit teenager wavered back onto Polish night. While the Sheriff had been certain Derek Hale would show up, Stiles had been surprised. The born wolf had vanished in the parking lot after their grocery trip. But he'd arrived right as the boy was dishing up, which made him think the wolf had been hovering just outside their property listening in on them. Creeper. By then, Stiles had regained some momentum and managed to keep up the majority of the dinner conversation.
To Derek's benefit, he'd tried all three types of pierogi on the table and hadn't cringed once. The guy had very much preferred the pork kind, but hadn't avoided the mushroom and cabbage ones, ie mushroom and sauerkraut. As in the guy had probably eaten half of everything all by himself. Admittedly Stiles had made a whole ton more than usual, but even his new wolfish appetite couldn't compete with Hale's. Was it the fact it was home-made? Was he staying at a hotel and no kitchenette? Or could he even cook at all? One of the few expressions the older werewolf had made had been startled pleasure at the first bite of Stiles' desert dumplings: lemon and blueberry with spiced sour cream.
He dropped his keys.
"God fuckin' damn it."
Even just the memory of that face was enough for his heart to skip a beat. He started patting around the footwell for the handful of metal. The majority of the night, Stiles had fought irritation at the stoic presence across the table from him. His father hadn't seemed to mind. On one level, the new werewolf was aware that grief was debilitating. He knew the Stilinskis had had their share of disquieting moments. Though not usually in company. The McCalls had been a godsend when his mother passed. What was he looking for again?
Oh right! Keys! Ducking his head to look around, he finally snatched at the ring of keys that had somehow managed to climb all the way up behind his brake pedal. On a second level his annoyance rose over his understanding, making him provokingly sarcastic. He hadn't meant to be, he didn't mean to snark and snap at the brooding man. But his reticent behavior had urged Stiles' contrary nature into trying to bring the man out of his shell. By any means he could find. The distracted teenager absently scanned around him after straightening up in his seat.
An animal whine leaked from his throat, startling Stiles into the present. Wait, where did everybody go? The school bell rung loud and shrill; his hands started to shake. The parking lot was empty. Where was-was that the five minute bell or-Scott was absent, no-that was the first period bell wasn't it-Scott's bike was right there! How could he have missed-
"Stiles!"
The boy yelped, limbs jerking and pushing him bodily away from the sudden presence at his driver's side door, heart thundering a mile a minute. When it was yanked open, he instinctively started to struggle and kick but was easily manhandled out and then pinned to his baby blue Jeep.
That's when he finally recognized his attacker. A shuddered breath of relief escaped him, "Derek…"
"What's wrong," the man growled out, scowling at him but not giving off that adrenaline laced scent Stiles had begun to associate with anger. Was he scowling in concern? Or was that just his face?
His jittery hands finally stilled when he clasped Hale's forearms, and he tried to slow his breathing and heart rate, "Just a bad day. This is what the Adderall was for, you know? When I can't think straight and-what are you doing here again?"
Had the wolf told him he'd follow him to school? No, he couldn't have. The man had barely said a word on Sunday. And all of them to the Sheriff. Stiles had just gotten scowled at. Like right now.
"You weren't like this the whole weekend. It's not about your ADHD," Derek frowned at him in an unimpressed manner. The teenaged wolf felt a growl vibrate his teeth, defensive anger sparking up his spine.
"I'm always ADHD, it doesn't fucking go away." Shit, he was turning, wasn't he? Shitshitshit. Claws started to dig into the long sleeves of the older man's shirt and fangs pinched his inner lips until Stiles snarled involuntarily. "Perfect, just perfect! How awesome is this, I can't go to school like this! Although maybe Scott would believe me now that I'm that much more likely to kill him. And then his little girlfriend could kill me right after and-"
A hand pinning him moved and the bitten wolf flinched back, only to be shocked when a large palm curled around the back of his head and tilted his fangy face into Derek's neck. Immediately the born wolf's scent filled his next breath, and then he took an unintentionally deeper one. His hearing seemed to sharpen, or maybe just focus, and he could hear the steady pounding of Derek's heart directly under his cheek. An unconscious whine escaped as the new wolf stepped closer, eyes drifting closed to shut out visual information in favor of his nose and ears.
"You were anxious," Derek said, voice soft and curious though still vibrating his chest. Stiles realized his hands had shifted to hold onto the man's shirt and his claws had retreated. Was he supposed to respond to that? Of course he was anxious. Who wouldn't be in his shoes… Still, the younger wolf supposed Derek didn't have any reasons to help him, to be at the high school except for him. And here he was anyway.
Since the last Hale was probably there to look out for him, Stiles decided to offer more information with a resigned sigh, "I had a nightmare last night. Couldn't sleep after. I dreamt about the Alpha attacking me." Derek tensed up but Stiles wasn't sure what to do about it. His short brown hair bristled softly against a stubbled neck as the boy tilted his head down, forehead against a strong shoulder to avoid the older wolf's gaze. He kept talking, "Only this time I was paralyzed or something. Couldn't move. Woke up howling. My Dad was right there trying to calm me down, but him being so close made me panic. I didn't want to hurt him again. So I clawed myself."
The hands on his head and shoulder tightened, but didn't release their hidden weapons. Stiles frowned at the ground, finally opening his eyes and wondering if he should care about just how close they were standing. He absently added, "Dad didn't like it either, but I stopped turning."
They shared a moment of quiet. The teen wolf listened to their hearts and lungs, slowly coming within range and then seconds of each other. He wasn't even trying to focus, it felt like his mind was expanding, awash with the white noise of their synchronized bodies. He had no idea how long it was before Derek suddenly jerked back. The man's respirations jumped, making Stiles' follow suit until they were out of rhythm again.
Derek looked stunned. And not in the good way, like he had over the dessert pierogi. He watched the boy with wide hazel eyes, uncomprehending and uncomfortable. Just as Stiles was about to speak, brow frowning in confusion over what had happened seconds ago, the other Beta beat him to the punch.
"You need to get to class. I'll be off campus but close by. Don't turn in school."
And then he stalked off, stiff and angry again. Stilinski's jaw dropped, face offended though his mind was thoroughly weirded out. What the Hell was that about? How did the other wolf manage to calm him down so quickly again? He glanced at his phone when it vibrated with an email alert. Crap, he was fifteen minutes late to first period. Not long enough to justify skipping it entirely.
Stiles turned on his heel, snagging his backpack from the passenger seat, slamming his car door shut and wheeling around to sprint up to his class. The subject of Derek and their odd moment was put on the back burner. For now.