Slight trigger warning for panic attacks. Stiles gets a small one (and calms himself down) while he's driving. Just beware, lovelies.

To say Stiles was nervous about driving on the wrong side of the road, on the wrong side of the car, would be an understatement. During the process of deicing the car and then turning on the heat (after he accidentally got into the passenger seat, that is), he kept trying to convince himself that maybe he didn't need to go to town. Truth be told, Scott didn't stock up on Stiles' favorite brand of alcohol, and half the food in the house wasn't quite up to par with what Stiles usually ate. If Stiles was going to be spending just about all of vacation holed up in a cottage away from civilization, then he needed the right kind of beer.

Stiles got behind the wheel, but only after he sat in the passenger seat first. Shutting the car door, he sighed, and coached himself under his breath. "Alright, Stiles, you can do this. You can totally do this!"

He pulled out of the driveway and drove off, correcting himself to drive in the left lane—"The fucking wrong lane," he muttered.

Along the way, he finally started to believe he actually was getting the hang of it. "Just gotta stay focused—oh my God, that's a car, please don't hit me, oh my God!" Stiles winced and swerved a bit more than was necessary into the shoulder of the road. He sighed when the car passed. "Fuck, I hate thi—oh my G—not again!" he nearly wailed, this time a truck bypassing him. He nearly forgot to breath but then almost began to hyperventilate when he did take in a deep breath. He pulled the car over and shut her down, his head instantly bowing. No, c'mon, he thought, trying to steady his breathing. He hadn't had a panic attack since he was a teenager; there was absolutely no reason for him to have one now.

Well, despite the fact that he was in a completely new country and had to drive on the wrong side of the road and he was worried about dying in a crash collision.

When his breathing sped up again, Stiles forced a hand to his chest to feel his pounding heart. He began counting backwards in his head, willing to slow his heart and his breathing. Around seventy-three he could breathe normally, and around forty-nine his heart seemed to have calmed down as well. Stiles sat up and thumped his head back against the seat. "God, I need a drink," he mumbled. He started the car back up, and trying to keep his mind preoccupied so that he didn't through himself into another panic attack.

He pulled up to the curb of the first shop he spotted. From he could see, it looked like he would be a grocery store, if a bit more homey. Stepping inside, he made a beeline for the alcohol section, stocking up because he was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to make this drive again. Then he shopped around a bit, buying his usual as well as some sweets. Then he went back through and doubled everything he had picked up—some things, tripled—just to be completely positive he wouldn't have to drive again.

The cashier ringing up his stuff looked at the wide expanse and laughed to herself. "Oh," she said. "Someone's having a party tonight."

Stiles laughed with her. "Oh, yeah," he said conspiratorially, winking. Yet in his head, he kept reminding himself what a loser he was. This trip was going to turn him into a hermit.

Back at the cottage, Stiles packed everything away, grabbing a case of his beer and toting it upstairs with him. He reclined back on the bed, beer in hand, and Duke jumped up on the bed with him. Stiles surfed through the stations a bit, shivering and wishing he had started the fire in the fire place. He landed on a random movie and began watching through hooded eyes, slowly nursing his beer.

The movie cut to commercial, and just like that, Stiles saw the trailer he had just approved a day ago on the TV. He sat up, eyes glued to the screen. "Holy shit," he muttered, a grin breaking out. He was totally right to approve that trailer, because that one was a masterpiece. He turned his head to Duke and said, "That was the most badass trailer I have ever seen, and my team had edited it."

Duke cocked his head at Stiles, as if he was trying to understand him, before settling back down.

"I'm talking to a dog," Stiles said to the air. He pushed the blankets off him, deciding it had to be the cold that was making him delirious, and going downstairs to start the fire. Duke trailed after him.

The fire warmed him up considerably, so he sat down in front of it, Duke coming to lay half on top of him almost immediately. Stiles scratched behind the dog's ears, and continued to nurse his beer, watching the fire pop.

—

After sleeping in the most comfortable bed known to man, Scott was determined to take advantage of everything Stiles' house had to offer.

Starting with the high powered jet showing, continuing on with the swimming pool. He hadn't gone swimming in years. Not since he and Derek were teenagers, he believed, Derek forced to bring his tag-along little brother to his friend's party. Scott had moped the whole time, though, because the party was stupid and Derek wouldn't pay attention to him, too busy flirting with some girl.

Though when some jerkoff decided it would be funny to throw Scott into the pool, Derek made sure to threaten the guy into oblivion. And then, because he really was an awesome brother, he dove into the pool too, fully clothed, just so Scott wouldn't be alone.

Scott finished his lap and grinned at the memory, dunking himself underwater one last time before getting out. He dried off and headed back into the house, planning on spending the next few hours in the home theater. He was sure there was some movie that he had seen before and wouldn't mind watching again. Scanning his choices, towel wrapped around his shoulders, he glanced toward the DVD player, only to look back and full on gape. It wasn't just a DVD player. There was a stereo too, too many knobs and dials for Scott to wrap his head around.

The phone began to ring before he could even try to figure it out. He glanced on the caller ID section of the phone, reading Front Gate. "Oh no," he muttered, sitting on the couch next to it. "Gate?!" He felt slightly panicked, unsure of what to do. He found a huge binder of codes, skimming through, trying to find what he needed. He picked up the phone and tried, "Hello? Hello?" a couple of times, before looking through the codes again, and pressing them on the phone keypad. "Hello?" he said again. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," a female voice came through. "It's Allison. Stiles?"

"Oh, oh, no, sorry," Scott said. He kept flipping through the codes, trying to figure out how to open the gate. "Stiles isn't here, I'm afraid. I'm trying—I'm trying to figure out how to open the—the gate. Oh, fuck," he muttered. Then he covered his mouth.

"Very nice," Allison's voice said.

"Oh my—if you heard that, I'm sorry." Scott hung up the phone, unable to believe that he had made such an ass of himself so quickly. He groaned and then made his way to the front door, opening it to reveal what he assumed was Allison and her car.

"Hi!" Scott said. Words began rushing out of his mouth, overriding Allison's, "Hi." "I'm so sorry, I'm new at the gate thing, I've never had a gate before."

Allison smiled and Scott was almost immediately distracted by her dimples. "It's okay," she said. "It was pretty funny. Um, I'm Allison, I'm friends with Danny."

"Danny—?"

"Stiles' ex..."

"Oh, right, him. The cheating ex," Scott added, already feeling indigent on Stiles' behalf.

Allison nodded, a small laugh escaping her. "That'd be him. Do you—do you know when Stiles will be back? I'm supposed to pick up some of Danny's things," she explained.

"Actually," Scott said, clapping his hands, "Stiles is in England, on holiday. I'm staying here..." he trailed off, noticing an eyelash on Allison's cheek.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her face instantly growing concerned.

"No, I mean, yeah, yeah I'm fine. It's just." He gestured to her face. "You have an eyelash."

She flushed slightly, wiping at the wrong cheek. "Gone?"

"No, um, let—let me." Scott reached a hand up and gently cradled Allison's cheek, using his thumb to wipe at the eyelash. Her flush deepened. "There," he said, lifting up his hand to show her the eyelash. "Make a wish?"

Allison's eyes met his directly. Scott was almost positive that he stopped breathing, and then she blew lightly on his thumb, her eyes closing as she made a wish.

"There," she said quietly, eyes opening. A sudden gust of wind blew, throwing Allison's hair into her face. Brushing it out, she said, "Santa Anas."

"Pardon."

"The wind," she clarified. "It's what makes it so warm this time of year." She cleared her throat and leaned in conspiratorially. "Legend has it, when the Santa Anas blow, all bets are off. Anything can happen."

Scott wanted to take that as a sign. He lived for signs. Stiles practically begging to switch houses was a sign, Allison stopping by was a sign, her eyelash was a sigh, this Santa Ana wind was a sign. It had to be. This was it, this was another one of those pivotal moments in his life. Allison seemed like a complete opposite of Lydia, full of happiness and smiles, rather than indifference and calculated looks. He'd be stupid to let her pass him by.

And yet.

Scott said, "So you needed to—"

"Pick up Danny's laptop," Allison finished, nodding. "We're friends and he asked me for a favor."

Scott nodded, about to ask Allison if she wanted to wait while he called Stiles or his assistant, until he noticed another person getting out of Allison's car. He hadn't even noticed that there was someone else in the car. The boy was tall, with curly hair.

Allison glanced behind herself and smiled. "This is Isaac, my boyfriend," she introduced.

"Scott," he said, trying to pretend like all the future life plans he had just made up in his mind about him and Allison weren't crashing down around him.

Isaac nodded at him and then turned to Allison. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Scott, I'll just...I'll just stop by tomorrow, okay?"

Scott nodded. He knew if he let himself think about it, his cheeks would glow red with embarrassment. He watched them get back into the car and drive off. He groaned, grabbing the towel still around his shoulders and stuffing his face into it. That was another one of his problems. When he began to fall, he fell fast. He stomped back into the house, letting loose another loud groan.

—

Stiles couldn't sit and watch the fire pop forever. Eventually he grew restless, walking around the house, having staring contests with Duke. He tried reading a book, but his mind just wasn't there.

Maybe I should just go back home, he thought. He set the book down and walked upstairs. He grabbed his suitcase from under the bed and began packing everything up. He was going home. This was a completely idiotic, impulsive plan that he should have never gone through with.

Fully packed, Stiles sat on the bed and thought about trying to sleep, but after a quick calculation, he realized it was only four in L.A.. It would be nearly impossible for him to fall asleep. But if he wanted to make sure he could make the flight he booked, he would have to try right? If he was fully rested, then he would be more likely to get up in the morning—meaning he wouldn't have to rush around, making sure that he didn't leave anything unpacked.

Someone knocked on the door, Duke going crazy. Stiles rushed downstairs and called, "Who is it?"

"It's me," a gruff voice answered. "Hurry up, it's freezing out here."

"Who are you?"

"Scott, dammit, open the door, or I am going to take a leak on—" Stiles rushed to open the door, getting face to face with—holy shit—possibly one of the most attractive human beings he had ever seen.

"You're not Scott," the stranger said. The he blinked and sighed. "Or you are and I am much drunker than I realized." Stiles nodded at him, keeping the door mostly closed in case he had to slam it in Mr. Gorgeous' face. "I'm—for being..." The stranger trailed off, briefly closing his eyes. "I'm sorry for intruding, but actually, if you don't mind, if I could." He pointed behind Stiles.

Stiles glanced behind himself and said, "Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm—I'm sorry, yeah, let me just." Stepping out of the way, Stiles let him in, shutting the door behind him. Sighing he said, "I'm Stiles, by the way."

Mr. Gorgeous turned around. "That's not a real name."

Stiles cocked an eyebrow. "Right, that's why it's a nickname. And you are?"

"Derek, Scott's brother," he said slowly, as if the words pained him to get out. He gestured behind himself, to the bathroom. Stiles nodded and turned around.

Brother, he mused in his head. Really attractive brother. He began tousling his hair, trying to make it look tame, and slung his pajama bottoms lower. He needed to pull out all of the stops because, Goddammit, he would be an idiot if he just let Derek go.

"So, uh," Derek said, exiting the bathroom. "Scott, where—where is he?"

"He didn't tell you?" Stiles asked, running a hand through his hair.

"He could have, but I'm very far from sober right now, so I'm not remembering a lot."

"Oh. Right. He's in Los Angeles."

Derek froze, staring at Stiles. His eyebrows crinkled, and holy God how had Stiles not noticed those eyebrows. "That's not possible," Derek said. "Scott doesn't—he doesn't go anywhere."

Stiles pursed his lips, nodding. "Yeah, well, we have that in common." He laughed nervously. "He listed his house on a home-exchange website and—" Stiles stopped, Derek already nodding along.

At Stiles confused look, Derek said, "I made him do that a couple weeks ago. I didn't think he'd actually do it though. But, now that you say that, he did leave me a message. Never got back to him, though. Huh." Derek paused and then began walking over to the couch, stopping to glance at Stiles. He lifted an eyebrow, which Stiles then had to translate. Can I sit down?

At least, that was what Stiles was assuming Derek was asking, seeing as he was hovering over the couch but not actually sitting. So Stiles nodded and gestured with his hand. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead."

As Derek sat down, he groaned, a sound that went directly to Stiles' dick. He sighed and directed his thoughts elsewhere, not really wanting to pop a freaking boner in front of Scott's brother. He knew the dude would have to stay the night; there was no way Stiles was going to let a drunk man drive.

He observed Derek as he relaxed, craning his neck as if to crack it. Stiles found the action strangely arousing.

Wow. He and Danny really hadn't had sex for a while if Stiles was already having these thoughts.

He was screwed. In the bad way. Though if he was lucky, he'd be screwed in the good way too.

So this one is slightly (by about 200 words, give or take) longer than the other chapters. I contemplated waiting until the next chapter to bring Derek into the fold, but I just couldn't resist. Let me know what you think!