The cabin had been Stiles’ idea. “We need our own traditions,” he’d said one night. They’d been laying in bed, wrapped around one another in the dark, the weight of the holidays pressing on them both. They’d tried for the past two years to recreate a Thanksgiving like the ones they used to have. Wild pheasant like Derek’s dad used to catch and roast every year, small turkey breasts from the supermarket made in the oven like Stiles’ mom used to bake. Two different kinds of potatoes – mashed with cheese for the Stilinskis, lightly sweetened yams for the Hales – different vegetables ranging from green bean casserole to roasted acorn squash.
The only thing they agreed on was the pumpkin pie. And even then, it was two different recipes.
Two years of arguing in the kitchen, the Sheriff demanding Claudia’s squash casserole while Cora said she wasn’t eating if there wasn’t stuffing, and two burnt turkeys and a wild pheasant Derek caught in the preserve that tasted like it had been dead when he caught it, and they were ready to cancel Thanksgiving all together.
Instead, this year they pack a few bags and drive north into the mountains, to a cabin by a small lake. They are remote and away from most civilization. Derek and Scott go into the woods to hunt wild turkeys while Cora and Isaac drive into town for groceries and Stiles starts a fire. Melissa has already started preparing the food; they’d all gotten one dish they had to have. Stiles had chosen twin rolls because he knew his father was going to demand the squash casserole. He didn’t care what they ate as long as he had his mother’s squash casserole. Twin rolls were just a bonus.
Stiles is curled in an old leather armchair by the fire with a mug of cider when Scott and Derek return, laughing and red-faced from the cold wind. Derek drops a kiss on Stiles’ lips before going into the backyard to clean the turkey. Stiles watches him for about five minutes as he and Scott pluck feathers among other things before getting nauseous and going back into the house.
“You’ve killed a ghoul with your bare hands!” Scott yells after him. “How is this gross?”
“Dude, I think I’m a vegetarian now,” Stiles responds.
Stiles sets the table while the others cook. He notices that his dad is milling about the kitchen, stealing bits of food that has Cora and Isaac slapping his hands playfully. Stiles leans on the doorway into the kitchen, watching as his father laughs and jokes with the two, notes the absence of the whiskey bottle. Stiles doesn’t remember the last time they made it through a Thanksgiving without his father drinking.
Derek and Scott bring in the turkeys, cleaned and chopped and ready to be put in the oven. Derek comes over to pull Stiles into his arms, but Stiles ducks him. “Not until you shower, buddy,” he says. “You smell like dead turkey.” Derek rolls his eyes and goes upstairs.
He comes down half an hour later, clean and wearing a festive sweater with a moose on it. Stiles points and laughs. “You have moose on your sweater,” he says as Derek wraps his arms around him right there in the middle of the kitchen, everyone busy around them as they finish cooking.
“I have one for you,” Derek says, smirk playing around his lips. “We can match.”
“Oh perfect,” Stiles drawls. “Just take our picture by the roaring fireplace and we’ll be the perfect Christmas card.”
“That’s the idea,” Derek says before kissing him. They ignore the others bumping into them as they kiss, barely register that Isaac is making snide remarks and Scott and Cora have ganged up to make gagging noises.
While the turkeys roast in the oven, they set up a game of Scrabble on the coffee table in the living room. Stiles, Derek, and Scott play while Isaac and Cora team up together in the fourth spot and Melissa and the Sheriff watch while drinking coffee and eating pre-dinner cookies.
“That’s not a legal word!” Stiles yells at Derek, who just grabs the dictionary from the table behind him. Derek is smug for thirty minutes afterwards when he proves Stiles wrong. But Stiles puts a long word on a triple word spot for fifty points, which wipes the smirk off Derek’s face. Stiles kisses him to make him feel better, and they forget about the game for a good thirty seconds.
They eat dinner on the back deck. It’s cold, but the leaves are a perfect image of golden red and the lake below provides a perfect backdrop. Stiles puts on the other ridiculously cheesy festive sweater that also has two moose on it, but the happy, content look on Derek’s face is enough to make him get over his aversion to lame holiday wear.
Dinner is perfect. It’s not what any of them are used to – there are missing pieces from Hale Thanksgivings, or Stilinski dinners, and even the McCall and Lahey menus – but as Stiles glances at the faces around the table, he realizes that this is better than trying to capture his mother’s ghost. That she’d be happy his dad was smiling and stuffed on squash casserole and pecan pie instead of whiskey, that she’d be happy they had found a family to spend the holidays with.
Derek drapes an arm around Stiles’ shoulder and kisses his hair. Yep, Thanksgiving is definitely not canceled, not anymore. They’ve just had to come up with their own tradition.
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