"preheat"? dude i dont even HEAT my oven. thats right. im cooking my shit coldstyle. im stretching the definition of "cooking" far beyond its ultimate tensile strength. my chicken breasts are the most gorgeous pink color you've ever seen. they look like rosebuds on the very cusp of blooming. they look like the dawn when you're in love. hospital.
Hi! I was in Grand Central Terminal recently and when I saw a stall in the dining concourse called Hale and Hearty (it looks like they sell mostly soups and salads) my first thought was of your wonderful au's. Dont know if this is exactly your jam but I thought it might be interesting!
Derek’s phone buzzes two months after he’s left Beacon Hills. Well, let’s be honest, it’s buzzed before then because Cora has his number and also there’s those damn telemarketers these days and also Deaton has checked in and Lydia once and Derek never meant to do a dramatic “disappear into the wilderness and never talk to anyone again” so there have been buzzes. The ones from Deaton and Lydia and even the Beacon Hills library bring pressure and anxiety and a sort of nameless terror so he doesn’t enjoy them but he always answers the buzzes. He has to. He knows that.
And this particular buzz makes him look down and read Stiles’ name.
His heart sort of lurches but he doesn’t hesitate to open it.
It’s a text. A picture of what looks like a stall in an underground mall--Grand Central if he’s not mistaken (and he’s not, he did live in New York for years)-- with bold, proud lettering declaring it “Hale and Hearty”.
A moment later, another text: Is this you?
And then another: lol. soups. knew you were a big softy.
And then cause its Stiles: your tomato is not very good. do better.
Derek rolls his eyes. That’s obviously not my business, Stiles.
Not for long. You’re gonna go under if you can’t even get tomato soup right.
Derek changes the subject. Sometimes with Stiles, that’s the only way. What are you doing in New York?
Visiting colleges. Big fun. TTYL. Fix your soup.
Derek doesn’t bother responding, but he doesn’t feel bad about it. Stiles had all but said it was okay and the knot in his stomach eases and... okay, that wasn’t that bad. He can do that.
*^*^*^
The texts continue.
A few days later and it’s some kind of taxi service called Hale When You Need Us that frankly doesn’t make any sense. Stiles complains to him that the cabdriver hadn’t even wanted to chat at all and he thought that was part of the experience. Derek texts back that he was pretty sure Stiles had gotten into a fake cab that was supposed to kidnap him until he annoyed them so much.
Then there’s a few weeks later from a place in Vermont called Snow, Ice, and Hale Sporting Goods. Stiles claims that his prices are ridiculous. Derek texts back that you gotta pay for quality. Stiles says that’s easy to say when you are a secret millionaire. For some reason Derek laughs at his phone instead of getting offended.
There’s silence as, presumably, school starts up again and Derek doesn’t have any real urge to break the silence, to text first, but he smiles when mid-October he gets a picture of Scott in front of a sign of a store called Hale Mary that apparently sells religious statues? He asks if the misspelling was on purpose or had a deeper meaning and Stiles replies that they hadn’t really had time to stop since they were tracking a hag of some sort but--
Don’t worry, Stiles texts a moment later. Everyone safe, no stress, we’re fine.
Stop worrying.
Go have a drink
You can buy it from Hales&Ales.com. They deliver.
Derek frowns even as his shoulders relax. Werewolves can’t get drunk, Stiles.
Like you aren’t brewing that will some strong stuff. Probably why you started it in the first place.
“Idiot,” Derek mutters. He doesn’t feel pressure to text back but he does anyway.
They keep it up. Old as Hale (an antique store). Fighting Tooth and Hale (a boxing gym). Hale No Longer (a tanning salon?).
Is there a point to this? Derek finally texts after Stiles sends a picture of a sweatshirt declaring itself to be Hale University in a deep Yale blue that Derek is honestly concerned he had custom made.
Just trying to figure out what you’ve been up to.
For the first time since Stiles started texting, Derek feels a wave of pressure behind his eyes. He doesn’t... he doesn’t know what he’s been up to either. He’s...
He’s been travelling and spending time with Cora and reading and hiking and wandering and fishing, oddly enough, and he doesn’t really know how to say any of that.
So he doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t respond. Even when the pressure gets to him and he stops and types and retypes a dozen different responses a dozen different times. It’s stressful and embarrassing and--
Wait, wait. I got it, Stiles texts six days later.
The last text is like the first. A picture of a big sign of a store called Hale to the King: Toilets and Bathrooms accompanied by no less than eleven crying-laughing emojis.
I hate you. Derek texts and he somehow knows Stiles is still just laughing his ass off at him and he suddenly very much wants to hear that sound and so before he can think about it, he hits the call button.
The jeep was bright blue and the most obnoxious vehicle Derek had ever seen, but it was perfect. It was a 1980 CJ5 and once the list of defects was read aloud, he was the only bidder so he got it for next to nothing. Not that the price could’ve kept him from buying it, because Laura had a thing for jeeps.
Specifically older jeeps, none of that Cherokee or Sahara or SUV kind of models—she liked Jeeps. And she also liked to rant about shoddy craftsmanship of modern models and how they weren’t really jeeps… Derek usually tuned her out by the time she got to the wave hierarchy.
For someone who didn’t actually own a jeep and never actually had, she really liked jeeps.
And she would really like this one.
There was the expected wear of a vehicle over thirty years old and some body damage from an accident; the leather seat was ripped, and it looked like there was a scorch mark near the driver’s side door, a sizable dent in the passenger side. Aside from that, it seemed as though the jeep was relatively well taken care of, until it ended up in a county abandoned vehicle auction.
It would definitely take some work, and he’d probably have to replace everything under the hood, but it was worth it to see Laura happy and excited.
It had been a long time since she was happy and excited.
Now he just had to get it home to get it fixed up, without it breaking down on the side of the road. And despite the fact that he was going to have to fix every part of it in some way, that seemed like the much greater challenge at the moment.
The jeep lurched violently as he shifted, and he struggled briefly to get it into gear. That was where he could really feel the age of the car; he never had any difficulty shifting in his Camaro.
“Clutch, dude.”
He slammed on the brakes and the jeep swerved violently to the side of the empty highway. Derek twisted around in his seat to threaten whoever the hell stowed away in the back seat, eyes glowing and furious—
But the back seat was empty.
There were no other heartbeats, no muffled breathing, and the trunk was far too small for anyone to fit into, even if they did somehow manage to conceal the sounds of a living, breathing person.
“First clutch, then gas—seriously have you never driven stick?”
That time the voice came from the other direction, and he turned back towards the front.
The radio was off, his phone was in his pocket…
“Oh, and there’s a weird kind of delay? So wait a second before the gas or it stalls, and you gotta put some muscle into it.”
Derek did as the disembodied voice instructed and the car jerkily started forward again.
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