Derek woke up not to the voices quietly arguing about killing and gutting fish (and what the hell those two were even doing in his loft?!) but to the wild heartbeat signaling a deep distress.
With a weary sigh Derek rolled out of his warm, comfortable bed and padded in the direction of the voices.
On his way he glanced at the clock. It was seven in the morning! He was going to rip their throats out. After he’ll deal with the crisis.
The two culprits were standing in his bathroom, gesturing now and again at the bathtub. One of them had a knife in hand.
“Scott,” Stiles was saying calmly, though his racing heartbeat belayed that notion. “You are a predator. You can’t expect me to believe you can’t kill some fish.”
“I can’t!” Scott argued back. “I’m practicing to be a veterinarian. I’m supposed to heal all kinds of animals, not harm them!”
“Tell that to all those bunnies you have eaten on the full moons,” Stiles snorted.
“I…” Scott reared back a bit with a hurt expression. Then he remembered he didn’t actually ate any rabbits. Ever. “I did not!” he protested hotly. “Why won’t you do it?” the true Alpha retaliated, pushing the large knife under his best friend’s nose, expecting him to take it.
Stiles’ heartbeat kicked up a notch toeing the edge of a panic attack. Scott didn’t seem to notice. Which was stupid of him, considering everything that went down with the Nogitsune. Sure, it was just a fish, but killing was still a very sensitive topic for Stiles.
Derek grabbed the distressed teen by the back of his shirt and pulled him back, almost out of the bathroom. Stiles let out a startled yelp and started cursing at creepy werewolves. Derek ignored him, pushing the teen behind him and keeping him close to his body.
“Nobody is going to kill anything,” Derek grumbled. “And put that knife back, before you hurt someone.”
He felt Stiles relax and lean more into his back.
“What are you even doing here?” the older werewolf asked. He blinked at the bathtub filled with water and five fish swimming around. “And why there are five carps in my bathroom?”
“Dude,” Stiles said, leaning over his shoulder. “Tonight is Christmas Eve!”
“So?” Derek deadpanned.
“So?” Scott gaped at him.
“So we’re going to celebrate, of course,” Stiles replied, unfazed by Derek’s attitude.
“At seven in the morning?” Derek grumbled. Stiles was calming down rapidly, so he prepared to kick them the hell out and go back to sleep.
“You wolves eat a lot, and the whole pack will be here, so there is a ton of food to prepare,” Stiles explained. “The faster we start the better.”
Derek froze.
“The whole pack? Here?” he demanded. Bye bye much desired and needed sleep. “Why here?!”
Stiles chuckled lightly and jumped a little, wrapping his long limbs around Derek’s body.
Derek snarled.
Scott stepped back.
“You have a lot of space here,” the teen replied, unconcerned by the fact he was clinging to the werewolf whom was practically spitting in his rage. “Peter and Malia will come soon to help.”
“Peter!” Derek growled through his fangs.
“Yeah,” Stiles smiled. “A bit later Lydia, Aiden, Danny, Kira and her parents will bring some decorations.”
“What!”
“My dad, Scott’s mom and Deaton will bring more tables and chairs with them after their shifts. Chris Argent, Isaac and Cora will drive from the airport in the afternoon.”
That stopped Derek in his tracks.
“Cora?” he asked, turning his head to look at Stiles.
“Yup,” the teen grinned brightly.
“Fine!” Derek grumbled. “Now get off me.”
Stiles complied, but not before giving the werewolf a happy nuzzle, making him stiffen in surprise. Then he grabbed Scott and they both went downstairs.
“Dude!” Derek heard Scott exclaim.
“I told you it’ll be fine,” Stiles said.
“I thought he was going to kill you!” the Alpha cried.
“Nah,” Stiles denied. “He wouldn’t.”
Derek sighed, shaking his head and went to get dressed.
True to Stiles’ words soon the rest of the pack showed up.
After too much enthusiastic show of wanting to claw the fish apart, Malia was banned from trying and instead helped Stiles in the kitchen with other things.
Peter turned up his nose and declared, that the smell of fish is too strong for his sensitive nose and he won’t go near them, much less touch them.
Lydia made it clear, that the task of killing and gutting fish is beneath her and declared, that her boyfriend will not lower himself to that level too.
Kira’s parents busied themselves with decorating the Christmas tree and the loft to avoid the task.
Kira tried, but ultimately failed.
“They’re staring at me like that and I just can’t do it,” she stated, cooing at the carps.
Danny was Danny, he wouldn’t even hurt a fly.
The topic of preparing fish was put aside with the arrival of Cora, Isaac and Chris Argent, only to be renewed when all of the pack was present and Stiles declared the only dish left to prepare was carp.
There was a long debate where everyone protested their part in the fish’s demise.
“Alright, I’ll do it,” Argent finally declared impatiently.
Many hours later, when everything was said and done, the guests gone and everything cleaned up, Derek found Stiles in his bathroom saying goodbye to the carps.
“…and bye, Grumpy,” the teen waved slightly. “See you soon.”
“You named them?” Derek asked, smirking at Stiles’ surprised flail.
“Stop doing that!” Stiles send him a glare.
Which Derek wiped out with pulling him closer and giving him a short gentle peck on the lips.
“Thank you for this,” Derek said quietly.
Because of course Stiles was the instigator of the whole thing.
Stiles’ shocked expression melted into soft smile.
“You’re very much welcome.”
Law of physics
Stiles was so worried, he couldn’t even appreciate a ride in the camaro right now. Derek was going well over the limit and Stiles was sorely tempted to tell him to go even faster, but the Alpha was so tense, that the teenager was afraid he’ll snap and kill them both. Instead Stiles focused on his phone in case someone tried to contact him again.
Just a few minutes ago he and Derek were at the loft making plans for the next pack training when Stiles got a call from Isaac.
“You need to,” Isaac wheezed through the phone with an almighty effort, “get to Deaton.”
He didn’t say anything more. There were just some more gasps and then the line went dead.
So now they were on their way, incredibly worried and preparing for the worst.
Soon they turned into parking lot of the animal clinic and Stiles jumped out of the car before Derek even stopped the camaro completely.
With the Alpha close on his heels, Stiles hurriedly made his way inside.
In the waiting area sat Chris Argent with an arm in a sling and Isaac with tear stained cheeks. They both looked up in surprise as Stiles and Derek flew into the building in the state of near panic.
“What happened?!” Stiles demanded, while Derek growled at the hunter. “Where’s Scott?”
“Oh my God,” Isaac said quietly with wide eyes and started laughing. “Your faces!”
The new arrived duo stared at him in confusion.
“Scott is fine,” Argent said helpfully, rubbing his shoulder with a wince.
At this point Isaac was literally rolling on the floor with laughter, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Isaac, man,” Scott complained, limping from Deaton’s examination room with the vet following him. “For the last time, it’s not that fu-” he stopped, noticing the Alpha and his best friend. “You called them?!” he groaned.
“Scott,” Stiles said slowly, trying to make sense of the situation. “What’s going on?”
“Yeah, Scott,” Argent smirked. “Why don’t you tell them what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, really,” the teen wolf hedged. “We’re fine. Nothing to talk about.”
“You almost broke the man’s arm,” Deaton pointed out. ”That’s not nothing.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Scott defended.
“What?” Stiles asked at the same time.
“What did you do?” Derek demanded with all the Alpha authority.
Scott ducked his head, kicking at the floor with his uninjured foot and mumbled something.
Derek let out a pained groan and facepalmed.
“Christ,” he mumbled into his palm.
“What was that?” Stiles wanted to know.
“Scott wanted to play Superman,” Isaac chimed in, keeping his laughter in check. “So he walked up to Mr. Argent, grabbed the barrel of his rifle and tried to bend it down.”
“Jesus,” Stiles joined Derek in his ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’ play.
“The barrel went down,” Isaac continued. “Mr. Argent’s arm went up and he pulled the trigger in surprise and shot Scott in the foot.”
“It hurt!” Scott whined.
“Good, you won’t do something so stupid again,” Derek growled and stalked out.
Stiles nodded in agreement, turning to follow the Alpha.
“You can’t believe everything you see on television, Scott,” he threw over his shoulder.
“I’m going too,” Chris Argent got up and looked at Isaac. “Can you drive me home in my car?”
“Sure,” the werewolf agreed and followed the hunter out.
“Hey, guys, what about me?” asked Scott plaintively, limping slowly to the exit after them. “Guys?!”
Really, Stiles should have known better than to send his daughter off to the mall, right before Christmas, with Scott Enabler Extraordinaire McCall.
So when she entered the house with an open-mouthed, gap-toothed smile a mile wide and a fluffy puppy in her arms, it was Scott who received the brunt of his glare. And Derek Hale, dressed as the mall’s Santa, who had to face the consequences of his puppy-gifting actions.
(AO3 link available Dec 26)
Really, Stiles should have known better than to send his daughter off to the mall, right before Christmas, with Scott Enabler Extraordinaire McCall.
Scott had been his best friend since they’d bonded over the fascinating taste/texture combination of paste and crayons, and the less-fascinating results of puking up the mixture after an invigorating round on the swings. They’d essentially grown up together: brothers in every sense of the word, other than that pesky genetic one.
What most people didn’t realize about their friendship, though, was that a good percentage of the incidents that had sent them to the principal’s office - or the Sheriff’s station - throughout their teenage years had, in fact, not always been instigated by Stiles. Granted, the impetus behind Stiles’s ideas usually involved poking at boundaries, defying authority, and knowing full well what the consequences would be if they got caught, while Scott’s heavily optimistic nature meant he simply blundered into situations with the expectation that everything would turn out the way he wanted.
The problem was, they generally got into the same amount of trouble, regardless of whose plan it had been to begin with. And somehow Stiles always ended up with the short end of the stick.
“It’s because Scott apologizes,” Stiles’s dad had, a decade earlier, sighed in response to Stiles’s loud protestations about being grounded during Lydia’s epic eighteenth birthday party, which Scott was still allowed to attend. When Stiles had attempted to launch into another objection - Scott had been the one to suggest dying the pool red before the swim meet, in honor of their school colors - his dad had raised a tired hand. “And he helped the janitor scrub it clean. While you sat back and explained, in detail, why it was so funny that it gave Jackson hives. Besides, Scott’s not my kid; you are. And you’re not going to that party.”
Stiles had ruined his own carefully crafted righteous indignation by snickering. They hadn’t really meant it as a prank when they’d started. But, considering Stiles’s glee at the outcome, it’d been difficult to argue they hadn’t known Jackson was allergic to food coloring. Anyway, Stiles had pointed out, Jackson was the idiot who dove into the pool early in the morning, without even turning on the lights or bothering to glance at the water. Was it their fault he was that reckless about his own well-being?
Yes, his dad had said, threatening to handcuff him to his desk if he tried to sneak out of the house. Again.
At the time, it’d been hard for Stiles to imagine ever being on the other side of the equation - putting his foot down and sticking to his decision, despite the wobbling lips and tear-filled eyes of a kid who hadn’t meant to do anything wrong. The reality was, he’d been damn lucky. To everyone’s relief, and certainly his own, Claudia had inherited his looks - snub nose, brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles that he appreciated far more than his own moles - but had been graced with a much steadier personality. As “Grandpa John” made sure to mention fairly often, she was far more sedate and well-behaved than her father, even after he’d mostly outgrown his difficult teenage years. Stiles always made an exasperated face in response, but he had to admit it was true. He didn’t mind agreeing with his dad that he’d somehow managed to produce the most perfect child in the universe.
So when she entered the house with an open-mouthed, gap-toothed smile a mile wide and a fluffy puppy in her arms, it was Scott who received the brunt of his glare.
Scott’s sunny grin dimmed a bit, and he hung back in the doorway, beginning to look slightly sheepish. Stiles ramped up the fury and disbelief in his eyes, trying to nonverbally express exactly How Uncool this entire situation was, and Scott shrugged apologetically.
“It was love at first sight,” he explained, as though saying no to Claudia’s pleadings for a puppy was completely unfathomable. Which was probably fair, but Stiles had been managing it for eight years, and he didn’t need his best friend overturning his efforts.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Stiles promised, before kneeling down to let Claudia run into his arms, puppy and all. She was chattering with such excitement that it took him some time to pick out the pertinent elements of the story.
“The mall santa gave you a puppy?” he asked, and Claudia nodded happily.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” She hefted the puppy higher in her arms so she could smoosh their cheeks together, two sets of big brown eyes gazing at him in appeal. “Santa said she was his favorite, even. He picked her out for me, ‘specially.”
“Did he.” Stiles frowned over at Scott, who shrugged again. “And why was Santa handing out puppies?”
“For Santa Paws,” she said, kissing the puppy on its nose and setting it down on the floor. It stood in place for a moment, then shook itself, its ears flopping, and began sniffing around the furniture. Probably looking for a place to pee, Stiles thought darkly, but he let it go for the time being. Their rugs had seen worse.
“What’s Santa Paws?”
She scrunched her forehead, thinking about it. “Puppies need homes,” she finally said, halfway under the table in pursuit of the one exploring their living room. “And kids need puppies. So Santa matches us up for Christmas. He said it was his job to make sure we’d be happy together.”
“Mm, I see. C’mere for a minute, okay Clauds?”
“Oh,” she said sadly, picking up on the tone that meant they were about to Have A Serious Conversation. She stroked gently over the puppy’s furry back before dragging her feet over to Stiles. “Can’t we keep her, papa? Uncle Scott and Santa both said it’d be okay.”
“I know they did, honey, but it wasn’t their decision to make. Both of them should have known better.”
Scott scratched awkwardly at his neck and pretended to examine a spot on the wallpaper.
Claudia sniffled wetly and said in a small voice, “But I love her.”
Which was exactly why it wasn’t okay to send a kid home with a high-maintenance pet without consulting her dad. It was difficult enough being a single parent; now Stiles had to be the villain who snatched his baby’s dream gift out of her arms during Christmas. He hated that he’d been put in this position, but he was doing his best to keep a level head about it. He scrubbed his hands roughly through his hair and breathed deeply.
“Okay, I need to go talk to Santa. Uncle Scott will-” But when he looked up, Scott was already edging out the door.
“Gotta go home,” he said. “I’d promised to make dinner tonight, and I still need to grab some groceries.”
“Which you could have done while you were babysitting my daughter, instead of bringing me a puppy!” Stiles yelled after him as he escaped.
Claudia had gone back to the puppy while his back was turned; she was sitting on the floor, quiet tears streaming down her face, petting it with both hands as it tumbled into her lap on unsteady paws and mouthed at her clothes.
“Fucking hell,” Stiles muttered under his breath, then shot a glance at her to make sure she hadn’t heard him. His daughter seeing him yelling at Santa would be just the thing to complete this shitfest of a day, but what could he do? He had to take her with him now. And he had to get the puppy back to the mall as quickly as possible, so the world’s most irresponsible Santa could pawn it off on another unsuspecting family.
What a day this was shaping up to be.
***
They got to the mall as the Santa Paws line was closing up. Stiles hadn’t planned that out, but he was relieved; it was certainly better than chewing Santa out in front of a crowd of children. Claudia tearfully pointed at a flash of red velvet disappearing behind a barrier, and pressed one last kiss into the puppy’s fur as she handed it over. “It’s okay, papa,” she said bravely, her voice shaking but her chin held high. “I know you’re only doing what you think is best.”
Stiles’s determination wavered for a moment. But…shots and housebreaking and walks and obedience school and figuring out what to do with the thing while he was at work and Claudia was at school…it didn’t make sense, not at this point in their lives. He’d explained this to her many times over the years, and she’d understood, appreciating the stuffed animals he’d given her as stand-ins for the real thing. But when Santa gives you a puppy, of course it trumps everything your dad’s told you.
His resolution settled back into place, firmer than ever.
“Hey! Hey you, elf lady!” He leaned over the partition and shifted the puppy to his left hand so he could wave at a blonde elf.
“That’s Erica,” Claudia said, clinging to his pants leg. “She was helping Santa earlier. She’s nice, I like her.”
Elf Erica clacked over on her color-coordinated stilettos and smiled down at Claudia. “Back already?” she asked. “I’m afraid we’ve closed up for the day, but you can see Santa again tomorrow, if you want.”
“We’re here to return my present,” Claudia explained, her brown eyes huge and sad, and the friendly expression on Erica’s face disappeared.
“I need to talk to Santa,” Stiles said, trying not to shiver at the venom in Erica’s expression. “Would it be okay if - you do mind watching her for a few minutes while I do? I promise I’ll be quick. In and out.”
“And apparently without a puppy on the way back,” Erica growled, looking at him like he was single-handedly destroying Christmas for everyone. “Fine. He’s just through that curtain, but you’d better make it fast.”
Stiles hurried in the direction Erica had indicated. Behind him, he could hear Erica asking Claudia questions to keep her attention fixed on her, rather than on the fact that Stiles was dumping off an unwanted - even if appealingly warm and fuzzy - gift.
Santa was sitting on a low bench, tugging off his polished boots to reveal woolen socks that looked like they’d been clumsily hand-knitted. He looked up when Stiles entered, his dark eyebrows lifting in surprise. Stiles shoved the puppy at him and barrelled into an explanation before he had a chance to speak.
“I’m returning this,” he said, and Santa dropped his boot and caught the puppy, which grunted a little at the new pair of hands braced around its fat belly, but otherwise didn’t make a sound. If Stiles had been a puppy, he’d have been whimpering and attempting to wiggle free, or biting these people who kept passing him around. He had to admit this one seemed like a pretty good dog, all things considered, but - he shook his head sternly. A good dog for someone else. This dog was not going to become Puppy Stilinski. No matter how much it stared at him, blinking with golden lashes, its soft paws sadly dangling as Santa lifted it into the air.
“Returning?” Santa asked, his voice sounding mellower and younger than Stiles had expected. They were probably about the same age - Santa was in his mid-thirties, maybe, judging by the hints of laugh-lines at the corners of his unexpectedly pretty eyes, and by the dark eyebrows that in no way matched his flowing white beard. It made Stiles feel a little better; at least he wouldn’t be telling off a senior citizen. This guy could take it.
“Returning,” he confirmed, his jaw tightening in annoyance. “I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running here, buddy, but you can’t just hand dogs off to children all willy-nilly. Isn’t there paperwork or something you should be having their parents sign? In fact,” he said, warming up to the subject, “I’m not even sure what you’re doing here is legal. Do you have the right kind of permit for this?”
“Yes,” Santa said, turning the puppy around so he could gaze into its eyes. “I worked it out with the Sheriff. And the parents do sign off on the puppies before they leave; this one went to little Claudia, right? Her dad was completely on board.”
“I’m her dad,” Stiles gritted out.
Santa looked at him, startled. “Oh - her other dad, then. I’m sorry if he didn’t check with you first, but we don’t ask a lot of questions once an adult agrees to all the adoption conditions. We wouldn’t have sent this little lady home with Claudia on her own, of course.”
“She doesn’t have two dads. She has one parent. It’s me. She also has an Uncle Scott, whose presents this year are being returned as soon as I can unwrap them and make it to the store.”
“Oh no,” Santa said, sounding satisfyingly dismayed. Before Stiles could work himself into another rant, though, Santa pushed his fake beard down, letting it drop around his throat so he could nuzzle gently at the puppy’s silky ears. The puppy licked at his nose, and Santa smiled - a bright, absolutely devastating smile that made dimples pop into his cheeks. Bearded cheeks, still, but dark and neatly trimmed, with stunningly beautiful cheekbones that were visible now that the Santa disguise had fallen away. Stiles bit at his lip before he could think too much about his sudden urge to rub his face against that beard.
“What’s your name?” Stiles croaked out.
“Derek,” Santa said, tucking the puppy close to his chest with one arm and extending his other hand to shake Stiles’s. “I’m Derek Hale; I run the animal shelter.”
“Hale,” Stiles mused. “I know your sister, don’t I? Cora.”
Derek nodded. “My younger sister. She and our older sister Laura run the pet lodge - you’ve probably driven past it? They handle doggie daycare and grooming and boarding services. I sometimes help out when they’re overbooked.”
“You Hales are some pet lovers, huh?” He could feel his anger seeping away. He absently batted at it in the back of his mind in an attempt to bring it to the forefront again, but under the circumstances, it was hard to maintain his indignation.
“It runs in the family, I guess.” Derek grinned as the puppy gnawed gently at his chin. “My priority’s always been on making sure the unwanted ones are able to find a home. We’re a no-kill facility, but it gets pretty crowded, and holidays are a good time to bring visibility to the adoptable animals.”
“That’s smart,” he grudgingly admitted. “I can see why my dad would’ve supported you on this idea.”
“Your dad?” Derek lifted his eyebrows in question.
“Sheriff Stilinski. I’m Stiles. His no-good son.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you,” Derek said, grinning at him. “He brings the K-9s in for grooming. He likes hanging around and telling stories when he’s got the time to spare.”
“Great. Of course he does. Well - don’t believe everything he says. He may be a man of the law, but that doesn’t exempt him from tall tales. And uh. Exaggerations. I’ve probably only done half of the things he says.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about what he tells people. He’s proud of you, and it shows,” Derek said. He tugged off the Santa cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair, which had been slightly flattened over the course of the day. The puppy jostled against his chest, and he rubbed his chin against its fuzzy head in mute apology.
Stiles coughed and unsuccessfully tried to tear his eyes away. Santas weren’t supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous. It went against the rules of the universe or something. “So the adoptions - they’ve been going well?”
“Yeah, we’ve had a good run this week, with older dogs as well as the puppies. This girl was one of the last to go today. I’m sorry she didn’t work out. She was the best puppy in the batch, actually; I’d been thinking about taking her home myself, so I hadn’t made her available until I saw your daughter bonding with her.”
Stiles grimaced. “You’re making me feel like a serious grinch here.”
“No, you’re right, I should’ve handled the screening more carefully. I usually do ask a few more questions, or send them over to my elves for that part, but they were both so enthusiastic and genuine, and I was honestly getting a bit overwhelmed. It’s been a long day. A long week, really. Sorry, do you mind? I’m overheating in this getup.” He handed the puppy back to Stiles and unbuttoned his red jacket, peeling away the padding that gave him the jolly, cozy Santa look. He had a lean, toned body, with dark curls of chest hair peeking over the top of the white tank top he’d been wearing under his costume, and Stiles swallowed convulsively.
“I get that,” he said. “It’s been crazy at work for me, too. Probably part of why I got so frustrated when they came home with this thing.” He looked more closely at the dog, which was panting happily, its tail thumping against his arm. It lunged for his face with an eager tongue, and he laughed, charmed despite himself.
“Not a dog hater, then,” Derek said, his eyes twinkling.
“No, not at all. I was always the one pestering my dad about it when I was a kid.” He scratched behind the puppy’s ears. “I don’t know. Maybe I was being rash. It’s just that dogs are a big responsibility, and I don’t have a lot of extra time on my hands right now. Plus, we’d be first time dog owners - there’s the training and supplies and everything.”
“It’s an investment.” Derek folded his jacket and set his hat on top of it, his eyebrows furrowing in thought as he worked. “Now, I’m not trying to talk you into anything here. Having a pet isn’t something you should take lightly, and rehoming this little lady wouldn’t be difficult. But my sisters would give you a friends and family discount on their classes. And I - well, I used to train service dogs, before the shelter took up all of my energy. I wouldn’t mind helping out.”
“For a discount, too?” Stiles asked dubiously.
Derek ducked his head, then looked back up at him with new intensity that made Stiles shiver. “No charge. Unless - well, I wouldn’t say no to dinner. Drinks, maybe?”
The puppy yipped sharply as Stiles accidentally squeezed her. “Sorry, sweetie,” he said, stroking her fur, and she gave him a forgiving lick in return. “I, uh - yeah, I. That sounds like a great deal, actually.”
“If you’re interested,” Derek clarified. “It’s not something I offer to every parent who comes through here. Usually I’m just handing out puppies, not my number.”
Stiles laughed. “Santa would have a different reputation around here if that was the case.”
“So it’s a yes?” he asked, looking nervous, like maybe he’d overstepped, or read something into their interaction that hadn’t been there on Stiles’s end.
“It’s a definite yes. And in case you can’t tell, I’m interested. Very interested. Kind of appallingly interested, considering you’re still wearing giant red velvet pants, and I wouldn’t have ever thought Santa was my type.”
“I was trying to change out of them before you barged in,” Derek said. “Seemed presumptuous to keep going while you were yelling at me about being a morally bankrupt under-the-counter pet dealer.”
“I didn’t say that,” Stiles protested. “I might’ve been thinking it, but you stopped me before I got to the good part of my diatribe.”
“I’m good at reading between the lines,” Derek said.
“Are you.” Stiles set the puppy down and summoned his best seductive stalk, pausing just short of Derek to wink elaborately at him. “How about this line, then, Santa. D’you know what I want under my tree this Christmas?”
“I think I can guess,” Derek breathed, surging off the bench to join him.
***
“And you complain every time you catch me and Boyd making out back here,” an annoyed voice said from behind Stiles some time later. “Wait a minute, kiddo, your dad’s kinda busy.”
“Papa!” Claudia shrieked, and Stiles broke away from Derek, wiping his mouth and spinning around, trying to pretend that he hadn’t just been kissing Santa Claus, although his still-tingling lips would beg to differ. She’d already made a dive at the floor, though, scooping up the puppy, who’d settled into a cozy nap on top of Derek’s Santa boots.
“Heyyyy,” Stiles said smoothly. “Sorry, I, uh, lost track of time there.”
“It’s okay, Erica wanted to know all sorts of things about you, but we got bored after a while.” Claudia smooched the puppy gently on her sleepy head. “Does this mean we get to keep her? Since you and Santa Derek made up.”
“Um,” Stiles said. “You uh - you know Derek? And that he’s not actually Santa?”
“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes in true Stilinski fashion. “I’m eight years old, papa. Erica told me she and Derek and Isaac and Boyd all work together and get to play with animals all day long. She said I could visit if you say yes.” She gave him a shrewd look. “If you let me keep the puppy, you can keep Santa for Christmas,” she negotiated, looking far too pleased with herself.
“She drives a hard bargain,” Derek said. He’d grabbed a flannel shirt and was in the process of buttoning it over his tank top, hiding his frankly unfair muscles from view. “What do you say?”
Stiles pretended to think about it, and Claudia narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his expression. “You can keep him past Christmas, even,” she conceded.
“That sounds like a pretty fair deal to me,” Stiles said. “You in, Santa Derek?”
“Definitely,” Derek said, looking as flushed and happy about it as Stiles felt.
“Oh lord,” Erica said, pulling her elf ears off and tossing them at Derek. “Cora told me this would happen if you two ever met. I can’t believe she was right; she’s going to be unbearable about it.”
Puppy Stilinski agreed with a loud, sleepy yawn, and Claudia hugged her more tightly.
“Best Christmas ever,” she whispered none-too-quietly, her voice filled with delight.
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, giving in to the impulse to take Derek’s hand, which brought those infernally beautiful dimples back out. “Yeah, I think you might be right.”
̴ I hope my little ficlet, will fill you with some Christmas cheer!
Ever since the old Hale house was rebuild, Stiles and Derek spend the eve before Christmas eve looking out on the preserve, from the back deck. Derek makes the best chocolate milk for Stiles, with mini marshmallows and coca powder and even sometimes a dollop of whip cream. He prepares the milk so warm, that it keeps Stiles hands warm for the whole evening.
Stiles is snuggled in a mountain of blankets, with the small outdoor heater nearby, and with a Christmas hat so snug pulled on his head, it nearly covers his eyebrows. While the blankets and the steaming chocolate milk keep him warm, he watches how Derek shifts into his wolf form to avoid the cold. And how Derek lets loose and bites at the falling snowflakes. After a while Derek will be panting but to stubborn to admit, that he tired himself out. Stiles snorts at the predictability. He can see one of Dereks ears turn towards the house at the noise.
“Just come over here, big guy. Snuggle up to me and rest.”, Stiles says. Derek gives a playful growl and trots over towards the outdoor couch, Stiles is on. Derek makes a move to jump on the couch and worm his way under the blankets.
“Wait! First shake of the snow, I don’t want a repeat of last time. I really didn’t enjoy the smelting snow, even though we warmed ourselves up afterwards.” Stiles urges. Derek rolls his eyes by moving his whole head back, and trots to the other side of the back deck. He squares his paws and shakes his coat from head to the tip of his tail. When he’s sure he got off most of the snow, he proudly shows his coat to Stiles.
“Yeah yeah, now get under here”, Stiles sighs, holding up a bunch of the blankets. Derek gets underneath them and behind Stiles before shifting back. Stiles hisses because of the cold skin to skin contact, luckily it only lasts for a few seconds. Next Derek weaves his arms around Stiles middle and places one hand below the hem of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles leans back into Derek’s embrace and heaves a content sigh. Derek nuzzles behind Stiles ear and sent marks the side of his neck.
“I love this.”, Derek whispers. Stiles chuckles, “I do too, you sap”, he answers, petting the side of Dereks face. Stiles starts scratching Dereks beard, Derek makes a low growling sound, eliciting another chuckle out of Stiles.
They stay outside till it’s dark enough for the light in the snow covered pine tree, to make the tree stand out in the blue shades of the falling night. If they’re quiet enough a deer might even walk along the edge of the preserve and their garden. Then Stiles holds his breath, and grabs Derek’s arm, as if Derek didn’t knew the deer was there, before it walked through the bushes. It are these calm evenings before the Christmas eve, which is with the whole pack, that Derek loves to share with Stiles.
Derek dropped his head onto his kitchen counter where it hit with a thud, his cell phone still pressed to his ear. “Oh come on, Erica! You owe me for introducing you and Boyd.”
“Sorry, D. Boyd and I are on our way to Chicago. I’d help if I could. Did you try Isaac?”
He groaned. “Yes. Thanks anyway. Have a safe trip.” He sighed as he ended the call. Now, he knew he wasn’t the easiest person to get to know, but how the hell did he manage to have so few friends and family that no one was available to help him in his time of need?
His time of need being ten p.m. on Christmas Eve, standing in his kitchen, his mother’s prized cookbook open on the counter. The page had been turned to the beginning of the section of cookie recipes. He should really learn to say no. He wouldn’t be in this mess if he could.
Dr. Deaton had approached him on his shift earlier in the day, frantic --which was, in and of itself, something to take note of. Honestly, the man was never rattled--because the bakery they’d hired to make Christmas treats for the sick kids in the pediatric ward had a gas leak. Their power had been turned off as well as their gas lines. With neither, they couldn’t bake.
Why did he come to Derek? Because someone (cough Nurse McCall) reminded the guy that Derek always brought cookies to hospital potlucks. Cookies that she said were absolutely to-die-for. He should have said no, but he didn’t.
Never let it be said that Derek Hale didn’t have a giant soft spot for children.
The problem was not so much the making of at least twelve dozen cookies as it was the fact he didn’t have nearly enough butter...or enough time to have the baked goods ready to drop off by eight a.m. while still getting a decent night’s sleep. One-by-one, he’d dialed everyone he could think of and been turned down.
He heard his next door neighbor curse at something in his apartment, followed by a slight crash. Hopefully, the guy hadn’t hurt himself. Though, if he had and required some help getting to the hospital, Derek would volunteer to help him in a heartbeat, and it would have nothing to do with having a legitimate excuse to bail on baking.
Stiles- “Stiles”, Derek said aloud, his voice soft and fond as he pictured the occupant of 17G dancing around his apartment to the Christmas music quietly carrying through the walls. He’d be wearing that ridiculous holiday cardigan his grandmother had knit for him, the one with garland around the cuffs and a sloth in a Santa hat on the chest. His eyes would be lit up with the mix of colors reflecting from the lights on the tree as he put the finishing touches on his decorations just so everything could be perfect for when his family came over in the morning.
They’d lived next to one another for three years now, and for almost as long, Derek had been fighting his feelings for him. Derek had been around to see not one, not two, but five relationships crumble and fall apart for Stiles. After each break-up, the sound of a tentative knock would come around nine at night, and Derek, the pushover that he was, would open the door every time and keep him company as Stiles, usually closer to drunk than sober at that point, would nurse his broken heart on Derek’s couch. The most recent crushing end to a relationship with a woman Stiles was sure was the one, came just after Halloween. If he were a braver man in the matters of the heart, Derek would have told Stiles by now. Okay, that wasn’t true either. He had courage as far as relationships went. The problem?
He was positive by this point that his beautiful neighbor was, unequivocally, completely, one hundred percent hetero. Leave it to Derek, master of relationship disaster, to fall in love with a straight guy. His sister, Laura--rest her soul--would laugh if she could see him now. Laugh, and then pull him to her her chest in a crushing hug as she offered up platitudes that he’d find someone someday who was absolutely perfect for him. The longing made his heart ache in the worst way
“You’re impossible, Derek,” he said to himself as he flung the cookbook off the counter in a fit of anger before rushing after it to pick it up and inspect if for damage. He lovingly placed it back on the counter. “I wish you were here, Mom. You’d give me good advice on how to get over him.”
After disappointing people more often than not in his younger and more reckless years (if you were to look up teenage screw-up in a dictionary, there would be a bunny-toothed dorky picture of his sixteen year old self), he’d pulled himself together after three years of wallowing in the guilt of being at least partially responsible for the deaths of his family, and then another six months of mourning his big sister, his best friend. It was shockingly funny--in the sad and pathetic way, not hilarious way--how being totally alone in the world could lend perspective. First undergrad, then nursing school, and now he spent his days helping adorable but sick children feel as good as they can while they battled serious illnesses. It gave him purpose.
But now...he was going to disappoint people once more, and the thought of it made him a little sick to his stomach.
The air in his apartment was suddenly stifling, and he retreated for the solace of his balcony. Leaning on the railing, Derek stared out at the lights of the city trying to figure out if maybe he’d find a store open in the morning.
“Everything okay?”
Startled, Derek looked over to see Stiles standing in a similar position on his own balcony. He was not, in fact, wearing that Christmas sweater, but instead a tight, maroon t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and chest in a way that filled Derek with want. Stop it, Derek. It would never work. Stop torturing yourself.
“No,” he croaked out, “I volunteered to make cookies for the little bags we give the patients tomorrow.”
“Aww. That’s...seriously adorable.”
“I said I’d bake them before even thinking about it.”
“I fail to see the problem.”
Derek gave him a pained chuckle. “I only have one stick of butter.” God, he felt like dying, or at the very least, puking over the railing. “And none of my friends are able to come bail me out. I called everyone.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Stiles turn to face him. “No, you didn’t.”
“Pretty sure-”
“You didn’t call me, which, frankly, I think I should be insulted about, but as your one true friend apparently, I am not.”
Derek smirked. “Well, thanks for not being offended. I just figured you’d be busy readying your place for the big family gathering tomorrow.”
“Au contraire, my friend. I finished all that yesterday. I also, happened to make my monthly run to Costco earlier in week, and am in possession of twelve pounds of butter.”
Really? Who the hell buys- “Twelve pounds?”
Stiles shrugged. “The butter they sell by the four pound package was super on sale, and well, you know me.I’m impulsive. Just ask my dad.” He turned and walked towards the sliding glass door to his apartment. “Go let me in. I’ll be right over.”
***
And that was how Derek found himself standing in the middle of his kitchen less than an hour and six batches of dough later, rolling out dough for gingerbread people. Stiles had insisted that if he was going to help, then Derek had to listen to, without complaint, his choice of Christmas music. There would be no ifs ands or buts about it.
Instead of being annoyed by Stiles’ assertiveness, Derek felt lighter than he had in years as the pair of them stood at the island in his kitchen, each of them in front of a stand mixer--because of course Stiles had his own--preparing Derek’s mother’s award winning gingerbread recipe. Stiles’ hips moved along to the beat while he added ingredients to the bowl. Derek, no matter how hard Stiles had tried, did not join in, but he did sing along softly, which Stiles said counted as a win.
Derek looked over at him. Whenever Stiles pressed one of the cookie cutters into the aromatic, brown dough, Derek’s heart would flutter in his chest at the sight of him, covered in flour, his tongue sticking out a little from the side of his mouth while he concentrated on making perfectly shaped little cookie people.
Derek had told him they didn’t need perfection, that the children wouldn’t care about that, but Stiles had said, 'Nonsense. Just because they’re children, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t appreciate a beautiful cookie.’ He suspected there was more to that statement than Stiles let on.
“Oh, my god! I love this song! Turn it up!” The broad grin and the way Stiles laughed with his whole body in excitement at Chuck Berry telling that eponymous reindeer to ‘Run, run, Rudolph’ made Derek’s lips curl into an equally large smile. Stiles held out his hand.
“What?”
“Come on, Derek. Don’t be a downer. Dance with me. Just one dance.”
Instead of putting on his most obstinate face, he indulged him, and let Stiles pull him into a dance hold. “Sorry,” he said when he stepped on Stiles’ foot. “I’m used to leading.”
“It’s okay. I am, too.”
This close, Derek could see the faint smattering of freckles across Stiles’ nose, could lose himself wondering how lashes that long were possible. The warmth of Stiles' hand radiated through the fabric of his shirt. He tried not to think about how they were basically holding hands, albeit sticky and flour covered hands.
Stiles pushed him out and spun him, and Derek was sure he was blushing. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care that you can’t dance.”
“Thanks.” The song ended and though he was enjoying their closeness, he knew there was more work to do.
Before he could open his mouth, Stiles spoke up. “So, back to work?”
“Back to work.”
It was easy for them to settle back into a steady rhythm, and for all Stiles had complained in the past about his problems focusing, he was a cookie cutting machine. Dozen after dozen of cookies went in the oven and, nine minutes later, they came out. The ones that had cooled, Derek adorned with faces and buttons drawn on with royal icing. Before he knew it, the clock in his living room chimed one in the morning. He was exhausted.
But they’d managed to make enough cookies for the hospital.
From the mixing bowl, Stiles scooped out the extra dough they’d made so they could enjoy a cookie and their hard work, holding it above the counter. “Home stretch. Care to do the honors?”
Derek picked up the bowl holding the flour. When he went to dust the countertop, his sleep fuddled brain made him fumble the bowl, and in his attempt to catch it, accidentally threw a handful of flour all over Stiles. “Oh my, God. I am so sorry.”
Stiles blinked, and Derek braced himself for a biting remark. What happened next, was like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy. Derek watched, as if everything was unfolding in slow motion, as Stiles reached into the bowl of flour and threw a handful back at Derek with a smirk.
Oh, it was on.
Fistfuls of all-purpose flew back and forth like snow in a snowball fight. The flour fluttered down to the tile around them; it almost looked like it was snowing in Derek’s kitchen. It lent an air of magic to the whole evening.
Finally, the bowl was empty, and they were a mess. When he looked over at Stiles, his nose was dusted in white. Little bits of flour clung to his eyelashes. The maroon of his shirt now looked pink for all the mess covering it.
Derek thought he’d never looked more beautiful.
Just tell him. He could do this.
He reached out to grab a clean kitchen towel from the drawer so he could clean off their faces, but Stiles’ hand caught his wrist. Derek didn’t even have a moment to speak before Stiles had drawn him in and pressed their lips together.
He was sure his brain short circuited, and he went still for several seconds. Stiles mistook his stillness and began to pull away, but Derek was not about to ruin this, and instead reached out an arm and snaked it around his waist. He cupped Stiles’ cheek, brushed a thumb under his eye to clean off the flour.
Stiles’ lips, though slightly chapped, felt amazing as they moved against his. Tentative tongues slipped against one another when Derek’s lips parted.
He could hardly breathe, and his brain was still offline, when Stiles broke the kiss. “Wow,” Derek whispered, blinking at him owlishly, his head foggy with desire. “How- what? You’re- You like women.” Way to go, dumbass.
Stiles caressed his cheek. “I know. I can’t explain it either.” He looked away, almost as though he was a bit embarrassed and took a deep breath. When he looked back at Derek, his smile was blinding. “I was firmly in the ‘I love the ladies’ camp until you came into my life.”
Derek gave a soft chuckle, then dusted off Stiles’ face the rest of the way with the towel still clutched in his hand.
“The last time you let me cry over my pathetic attempt at a relationship, I woke up the morning after, sitting there on my bed, hungover as fuck until it hit me and knocked me flat on my ass. I thought about how sometimes there's things you wouldn't think would be a good combination end up turning out to be, like, a perfect combination. Like orange and blue, or...” He tapped on his chin as he struggled for another example, “Peanut butter and chocolate. Or, you know, like two people together - Who nobody ever thought would be together ever, but they are kind of perfect for each other? I wondered why I keep doing this to myself.’”
Stiles scratched his brow. “Then I thought, ‘Why do I keep looking for this mythical woman who will give my life meaning, or how ever that bullshit romantic cliché goes, when Derek is right there?’ I mean, I never thought I could be into men, until you-” He shrugged. “Or maybe it is just you that I could feel like this for.”
This had to be a dream. He’d slipped on a pile of flour and fallen, knocking himself unconscious. There was no way Stiles was standing here in his kitchen telling Derek everything he’d wanted to hear for years.
Stiles took a deep breath. “I’m three hours away from my family and almost all of my friends, and there you are. You’ve become my home away from home, my safe place...I guess what I’m trying to say is, I love you, and if I didn’t read this wrong, I think you might feel the same way about me. You’re the first guy I’ve kissed. I’ve never dated one, never been with one. But it can’t be that different. And you know what? I don’t really care if it is. After my string of failures, maybe what I need is ‘different’. I just know that I want to be with you.”
His heart pounded in his chest. He still couldn’t breath, and he couldn’t really think straight, but, in all honesty, he didn’t really need to. “I do. I feel the same, and I want that too, so much.”
Stiles kissed the tip of his nose. “Great. That’s really fantastic, wonderful, amazing- all the synonyms for awesome you can think of.” His flustered giggle was, quite possibly, one of the best sounds Derek had ever heard. “Anyway, I hope you have an ugly Christmas sweater, because it’s Stilinski Christmas tradition.”
“I don’t under-”
Stiles pressed a finger to his lips. “Oh no, you don’t. Don’t think I’m not aware you have nowhere to go tomorrow. After all, you should spend Christmas with the ones you love, and that wouldn’t be complete if you’re not there.”
“I don’t have a sweater.”
Stiles just shrugged. “You know what? Fuck the sweater.” He wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, staring at him in earnest. “Say you’ll come. They’ll love you. You and my dad’ll-”
This time, it was Derek’s turn to silence him. “How about you stop talking and kiss me again?”
“That sounds like a fantastic plan.”
As they stood there kissing in his kitchen, surrounded by cookies and covered in flour, Frank Sinatra sang his wish for a merry little Christmas. Yeah, Derek thought, for the first time in years, his heart would be light.
Derek had decided that this year, for his birthday/Christmas gift he was getting a pup. He started to read articles online about which type of dog was better for him, research about things he should get rid of that could be poisonous to his future pup and stuff like that and then he had started visiting shelters. He had thought about buying one from a pet store or from a breeder, but ultimately he had chosen the shelter because he believed in second chances, like he believed he was gifted so many years ago. It had been a terrible day, they had lost almost everything, but luckily they had all been saved from the fire by some powerful druid and despite the fact they had all been able to smell the magic they’re not able to find the druid so they never got the chance to say thanks. So… yeah, second chances.
Derek came for the first time to this shelter three months ago, to know their policy about adoptions and meet some potential pups, and then he met Stiles. Stiles was gorgeous. Adorable, docile and sooo out of his league that it wasn’t even funny. But despite all of that he was polite and always talked with Derek about everything. Derek was crushing on him hard.
Derek had barely passed the door to the pups dorms when he was assaulted by Stiles scent and he smelt… sad. Weird.
“Hi, Derek!” well… he didn’t look sad.
“H-Hello, Stiles! How are you?”
“I’m okay, thank you. So… Today is the day! Are you excited?” Today was the day that Derek had designated as the CD, as in Choose Day.
“Yeah… I am. But… I know today is CD, but I really don’t know if I’m gonna be able to pick only one, you know?” Stiles’ smell got even sadder and Derek wanted to ask, he was getting worried, but he didn’t have the right and it was impolite.
“I do. I can’t help you with that, sorry. Maybe you should call Laura. If you want my opinion, she should be here, making the decision with you, after all she will be living with the pup too.” Suddenly Stiles slapped his mouth shut. “Derek… I’m sorry. It was rude of me. I’m sorry. Damn… I’m so stupid. I’m sure that if she’s not here is because she had other things to do. More important things. Crap! I’m stop talking now.” Derek was… speechless. Why did him…?
“Why do you think Laura is gonna be living with the pup?” Stiles’ face was the same color of his favorite hoodie.
“I mean… She’s your girlfriend.” Stiles’ scent spiked again with that sad smell and Derek was really confused right now.
“Hmmm… no, she’s not. She’s my sister. My oldest sister.”
“Oh… Oh!” they looked at each other for a long time. Derek noticed how Stiles relaxed and although he didn’t smell like happiness he didn’t smell sad anymore and Derek was happy for that. “So… the pups! Let’s go see them.” He turned around and disappeared towards the dorms.
They spent almost two hours with the dogs, talking about the dogs and petting the dogs.
“I can’t anymore!” Derek almost shouted.
“Sorry… What?”
“I can’t sit here anymore trying to choose between them. Please, tell me I don’t have to.”
“Well… If you have the space for both of them, the time and the love that they will need… no, you do not have to choose.” Derek got distracted then, thinking about his life.
“I’m a writer so in the future time can be a problem but I can also pay some of my nieces or nephews to take them out. Love? Love is one thing that will never be missing in their lives again.” He looked to both pups. “And space? Sure. I do have space. My backyard is a preserve, so… yeah. I’ve space for the four of us.” Derek freezed. What did he said?! He was focused on the pups and hoped that Stiles didn’t noticed the slip of the tongue.
“Well… let’s take care of the paperwork then. We usually don’t proceed this way, but… I’ll let you take them home today, if you want that.”
“Of course I do.” He smiled. “But, you’re not gonna get in trouble because of that?”
“Nah!” Stiles scoffed. “I run this place. And my father is the sheriff, so… it’s cool. Let’s get you ready. We’ll come by in a while to pick them up.” They went to Stiles’ office and Derek filled the paperwork needed and paid for the adoption. Half an hour later they were ready to go and as promised Stiles walked Derek back to pick up his 3 month old pitbull who Derek had fed with a bottle once or twice and his 9 months old grand danois who had been abandoned when he was 5 just because ‘he became too big’. They were leaving the shelter when Stiles asked.
“Can I… Can I say goodbye?”
“Sure.” Stiles knelt and started to pet them while he was murmuring something that Derek couldn’t understand and then Derek felt… magic!
“You… It was you! You saved us!” he hissed. Stiles looked shaken and then he narrowed his eyes murmured again in that foreign language.
“Werewolf. I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Fire. Eight years ago in the preserve. The house of the mayor. She’s my mom.”
“Oh… ” Stiles smiled. “It was when I became aware of what I could do. I’m happy I was able to help.”
“I wanted to thank you for a while, so… thank you. Thank you so much for doing what I couldn’t. You saved my family.”
“I don’t want your gratitude. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that to be rude or disrespectful. I’m just saying that you are welcome and I didn’t do anything special. Someone else in my place should’ve done the same. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time with… hmmm… resources to help.”
“Still… if you ever need anything… tell me. I’ll do anything for you.”
“You are already doing. You’re giving an opportunity to this two. Love them, Derek and consider us even.” Stiles knelt again beside them petted them and stood up. “Bye guys. I’m gonna miss you.” He turned around and started to walk away when Derek made the decision to take a risk.
“Wait. You don’t have… You don’t have to miss them. You can be a part of their life. Be their godfather. Or… go out with me. If you don’t want anything else, we could be friends.” He was starting to hate himself for what he had said or how he had said it when Stiles broke his internal rant.
“I… would like that. To be your friend, for now. And their godfather. What are you gonna name them?” Derek smiled a big toothy smile.
“I thought of keeping their names. I think Lucifer and Sparky are perfect like that and besides they already respond to them.”
“Oh… good. Because I named them.” He smiled and Derek could literally feel magic in the air.
“They’re perfect, just like you.”
“Jeez… get out of here, before I grab you and lock you here with me forever.” Stiles threatened still smiling.
“Okay. I’ll go, but first… say yes.” Derek asked.
“To what?”
“To forever. But I’ll be happy if you star to say yes to coffee with me and the pups tomorrow at 3 in the park by the river.”
