Chapter Text
It's been two hours, Derek is surprised to realize, when they decide that it's enough for the day. Two hours and Derek didn't hate it. Usually the first few meetings with a client are the worst: that's the time when the client's unrealistic expectations are met with reality and many people look at Derek like it's his fault that he cannot bend the laws of physics.
Working with Stiles wasn't perfect either, but it was obvious that he'd done quite a lot of reading and, most of all, he actually listened when Derek told him something. Derek's worked with way too many clients who thought that they knew his job better than him: the "I will design the house, I just need you to draw it for me" sort of people. Stiles, on the other hand, threw one hundred ideas at him, but then he listened to Derek's explaining if and how they could work, and he was open to Derek's suggestions.
"So, that was good, right?" Stiles looks at him sideways from where he's still sitting right next to Derek; at the start of the meeting he was sitting across the desk from him, but then they begun to draw and they soon discovered that it's much easier when they're both looking at the sketch from the same angle. They ended up at the same side of the desk and Derek finds that he's in no hurry to get up.
"Right," he says and feels stupidly happy when Stiles grins. They look at each other for a moment. Stiles clears his throat.
"Right. So. I should…" He stands up, manages to kick the chair he's been sitting on and then catch it before it falls down. "Thanks. For, you know, explaining everything. And… Stuff."
Derek snorts and tries to make the answering "you're welcome" as sarcastic and sincere as possible at the same time. Stiles laughs.
"I'll see you Friday, yeah?"
Derek nods. "You want me to distract Erica?"
***
Erica's sitting on the reception desk, her high heels knocking against the wood. The way she's sat, it's impossible to get to the door without passing by her. Stiles feels vaguely as if he was looking at a sphinx.
"Are you going to give me a riddle to solve?" he asks, pushing his hands into his jeans pockets.
"Are you going to avoid me until the house is built? Cause let me tell you, nobody does tiles better than I do."
"Erica," Derek growls from where he is just a step behind Stiles, and he puts a hand on his shoulder, which feels weirdly protective. In a good way.
"Geez, chill out, will you? I'm not going to eat him," she says, giving Stiles a look like she actually considered eating him; it's not exactly comforting. Erica hops off the desk. "We're not going to bother you, okay? Whatever it is that you have to do with the game, it's your business."
"That's… Really cool of you, thanks. Not that I have anything to do with- wait." Stiles narrows his eyes at her. "You…"
"Shhh," she murmurs, pressing her index finger against her lips. "You're secret is safe with me, Bruce."
Stiles lets out a startled laugh. "It better be, Selina," he answers and she winks at him before going back behind the desk. Stiles isn't sure what to think — did she just google him? How much did she actually find? He tried googling himself and he's pretty sure there isn't much out there (thank you, Danny) — But he finds that he isn't actually bothered. She'd make a good Catwoman, he thinks.
The front door opens with a ring of a bell and a man comes in. He looks thirty-something, pissed off and is holding a tissue to his forehead.
"Peter? I thought you were in LA," Erica says, while the man — Peter — moves past them and sits down in one of the armchairs near the window.
"What you're doing here?" Derek asks, which earns him a glare; Stiles thinks vaguely that their glares look oddly matching.
"Can't an uncle visit his favourite nephews?" Okay, so that explains the similarity.
"Bullshit, Cora's your favourite. What happened to your forehead?"
Peter looks at the ceiling. "I tripped. On a shoelace," he says like he cannot believe the extent of his disgrace. Stiles winces in sympathy because it has actually happened to him before and he knows what it feels like.
"I feel you, man, shoelaces are the worst. Not only you hurt, but you also feel like out of all the trite cartoon motives you've picked the worse one to imitate. I'd be dead by now if my limbs weren't made of rubber."
Peter looks at him with interest, tilted head and all.
"Thank you. And you are…?"
"Stiles. Stilinski." He offers his hand and immediately feels stupid because he's standing and Peter is still sitting down, which makes it kind of awkward. Peter either doesn't share Stiles' feelings about the height difference, or chooses to ignore them, and shakes his hand.
"It's certainly a pleasure to meet you, Stiles," he says, which for some reason seems to increase the level of weirdness by another few degrees. "Now," Peter says, finally turning his gaze away from Stiles, to Erica and Derek. "Can somebody get me a First Aid kit?"
“First Aid kit.” Derek raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed. “You’re fine.”
"Now, let Peter be the drama queen that he is, will you?" says Erica, leaning over the desk, cleavage and all. "No reason to rain on his parade."
"Whatever." Derek not so much rolls his eyes as rolls his whole head; it almost beats Stiles' patented Special Triple Eyeroll, Stiles thinks. Not quite, but it's definitely up there. "I think we have one in the office," Derek says. "I'll get it."
Peter smirks. Derek disappears into the office and a moment later Laura comes out with a grin on her face.
"Peter!" She moves across the room to give him a hug. "What you're doing here?"
"Why does everybody always assume that I have a motive? Do I need one?" Peter pouts, putting the tissue back to his forehead.
"No, but you always have one anyway." Laura sits in an armchair next to him. "And what’s with the tissue? I can see barely a scratch there."
"Don’t I deserve just a little bit of compassion?" He sighs theatrically.
Suddenly a medium-sized box lands in Peter's lap.
"First aid," Derek says and Stiles snorts.
"Whatever happened to 'respect your elders'?" Peter says dryly, rummaging through the kit. "One day you're the favourite uncle and the next they mock your injuries."
"Should I kiss it better, oh favourite uncle of mine?" Laura asks in a sweet voice.
"Please, don't," Derek says at the same time that Peter says: "Thanks, but I'd rather use the antiseptic."
"Hey, there should totally be a mutant like that," Stiles blurts and suddenly he has four pairs of eyes fixed on him. It occurs to him that maybe it wasn't the most obvious thing to say in a room full of adults, even if said adults don't behave very seriously. Whatever, he's wearing Marvel snickers, he's allowed to randomly talk about X-Men. "I mean, like Viper but with an antiseptic instead of venom? So she could literally kiss it better."
"More like: lick it better," Erica says. "But it is kind of weird that there aren't more mutants with healing abilities. They can heal themselves, but not the others."
Everybody looks like they're considering this thought, rather than desperately trying to come up with a change of subject; Stiles might love these people a little.
"Angel could do that freaky thing with his blood," Derek says and, wow, did he just get even more sexy or what? Stiles tries to distract himself with thinking about more examples. He's pretty sure that there have to be some, but he has trouble recalling any at the moment.
"Huh. Elixir could do that, right? But it was that whole organic matter stuff. There has to be somebody whose powers are focused solely on healing."
"When you think about it, healing others isn't exactly essential for your survival."
"Wrong," Laura says. "If you can heal others, they can provide for you in return. And you could heal your own children and family, make sure your genes stay in the poll…"
"That's not even how Marvel's mutation works," Derek says. "The children may get the x-factor but they can develop completely different powers. If there are few mutants with a power to heal others, it's because of the writers' choices, not because of the evolution."
"Says the one who spent hours discussing the inner workings of a Time Turner with me?" Laura sniggers.
"Says the one who kept drawing baby dementors?" Derek retorts, raising his eyebrows. Peter, who just applied a band aid on his forehead and closed the first aid kit, looks at them with a quiet amusement and in this moment Stiles can really see him as their uncle; probably the one who bought them all the comics and took them to the cinema to see Harry Potter premiere at midnight.
Peter catches him looking.
"So, Stiles," he says, and for some reason it grabs everyone's attention; even Laura and Derek break their silent staring contest. "How did you end up being friends with this bunch?"
Stiles puts his hands into his pockets and smiles. "Actually, I'm a client. But I hope that the two are not mutually exclusive?" He shots a glance at Derek, who looks at the floor, and is that a smile?
"Sure they aren't," Laura says, grinning, "otherwise you'd have to find yourself a new contractor." Stiles grins right back at her; they haven't known each other for that long but he already likes her and it's a pretty great thing to hear from somebody.
"Wouldn't want that," he replies. "I hear that you're the best in Beacon Hills."
"Damn right we are," Laura says. "Stiles has just bought that land near the preserve," she tells Peter. "The one Mr Jones wanted?"
"Ah, yes, and he resigned because of the price, didn't he? I told you that you could negotiate something more acceptable, Laura."
"Actually, it was all Stiles," Derek says, and Stiles might be imagining things but he thinks he can see a hint of a smirk in the corners of his mouth. Peter raises his eyebrows in what looks like an ironic version of polite interest… Or something. Apparently Derek's talkative eyebrows didn't come out of nowhere.
"Well," Stiles says, going for a casual shrug. "What I didn't pay in money, I paid in embarrassment."
"He fell into the pond," Laura stage-whispers, "and threatened the owner with the Whittemores."
Stiles doesn't really mind but it doesn't stop him from making an indignant noise. Peter laughs.
"I will certainly keep this tactic in mind for the future," he says.
“Says the man who tripped over his own shoelace. You could just as easily fall into a pond, quit with the condescension."
“Fair enough," Peter admits.
***
Derek leans back against the reception desk. Why is he even surprised that Stiles and Peter are getting along? Let's face it, Stiles is exactly the kind of person Peter would find entertaining, he loves it when people come right back at him. And Peter himself can come across as smart, witty and likable if he gives enough of a damn to make the effort.
Now somehow Peter mentioned the fact that he's an accountant and it looks like Stiles didn't expect that at all. To be fair, he's not the most stereotypical one, so Derek doesn't blame Stiles for being surprised.
"What? No way!" Stiles says.
"Way," Peter says, because apparently he's been reduced to a five-year-old. Derek sees Laura and Erica exchange amused glances.
"Never underestimate an accountant, Stiles." Peter takes a business card out of his pocket (Derek once saw him produce his card out of nowhere at a swimming pool, so he's not one bit surprised that he has one handy now) and offers it to Stiles.
"In case you ever require assistance," he says. "I have experience with both big companies and wealthy individuals."
Stiles gapes at him.
"How do you…?"
Peter smiles smugly. "Please, you're wearing Marvel snickers from a limited edition, how many college students do you think walk in ten thousand dollar shoes?"
"How do you even know this? Damn, I knew it would bite me in the ass one day, but I just couldn't resist. What else do you need money for if not for fulfilling your wishes? My eleven-year-old self would be so disappointed with me if I didn't get them."
"Couldn't have that," Peter agrees. "Speaking of wishes” he says to the room at large, "you know about Macklemore playing in LA?"
Stiles not only knows, he also has tickets — precisely, two tickets, for him and Jackson. Out of all of their friends, only Stiles and Jackson are Macklemore's fans, so it was only logical for them to go together, but Jackson hadn't mentioned it and Stiles felt weird just asking... It took him two days of overthinking (the ticket sale coming closer and closer to opening) before he decided to, very casually, just text Jackson about it. In the end Jackson beat him to it with a text: I'm buying the tickets, loser. Sector A?
So, yeah, Stiles definitely knows about the gig. "Sure," he says, in time with Erica's shrug and Laura's groan while sinking deeper into her armchair.
"Don't talk to me about it. I can't believe I missed the ticket sale! It's like with birthdays, you know it's coming for weeks, and then on the day — don't you dare laughing at me, you wanted to see him, too!" She points her finger at Derek, who's smirking. Peter looks at them with a polite smile until he has their attention again. He raises his eyebrows pointedly.
"You didn't…? Do you…?" Laura says.
Peter grins. "I'm a man of many talents. And connections. And you owe me dinner. Both of you," he says, glancing at Derek, who looks like he's smiling despite himself.
"Oh my god! That's — sure, dinner, absolutely! Thank you!" She stretches out from her armchair to hug Peter. "You're my favourite."
"I better be."
"Who else is coming?"
"Cora."
"I though she wasn't a fan?"
"She's not, she just likes to go out."
"Who's Cora?" Stiles asks Erica.
"Laura and Derek's little sister who lives in LA."
"…And the apple of Peter's eye," Laura adds.
"Hey, I got you the tickets, didn't I? No need to get jealous."
"As if," Laura says and Derek snorts, which earns him a kick.
Peter rolls his eyes in a way that very clearly says kids.
"Jack wanted to go as well but he's out of town, working. That's my other nephew," he adds for Stiles' benefit.
"Wow, how many of you are there?"
"Are you sure you want to start this conversation?" Erica says.
"That many? Okay, hit me."
Suddenly all three of the present Hales are wearing scarily similar smirks.
"Well," Laura says. "There is me, Derek and Cora, that's three. Our parents used to live here but when Cora left for college they said it's time for a change and moved to Florida to rescue some wetlands."
"Wow, really?" That sounds pretty awesome.
"Yeah. They're working on the restoration of the Kiss Me river."
"Kissimmee," Derek corrects with exasperation, which suggests that it's not the first time Laura made this joke.
"Whatever. I went there last spring, it's pretty great, if not for all the tourists coming to the Disney World. So, that's our parents. Uncle Peter here is mom's brother. Then there's dad's brother, uncle Chuck-"
"He's a writer, but we don't talk about it," Peter breaks in.
"...Uncle Chuck," Laura says, as if she hasn't been interrupted, "with his wife Becky, they live on the East Coast. Dad also has a sister, aunt Hannah — I think she might be in Mexico now?" She looks at Peter, who shrugs.
"No idea, you know she avoids me since the soup incident."
Stiles' eyebrows shot up at this remark but Derek just shakes his head in the "you don't want to know" gesture. Stiles is pretty sure that he would in fact very much like to know, but he lets it go for now.
"Okay, so that's, how many... Nine so far?" That's already much bigger than his family, even counting Scott, Melissa and Allison (which he does), but Erica grins at him and says:
"Wait till you hear about the cousins."
"Right," Laura says. "You've already heard about Jack. He's uncle Sam's son, works for a publishing company in San Fran. His older sister, Julie, went on an exchange to Belgium a few years ago, met Nick there."
"He's a good guy," Derek says with a small smile.
"Yeah, he is. Julie was always Derek's favourite cousin," she explains. "He had the talk with Nick and everything." She grins. "They stayed in Belgium, both work as simultaneous translators for the EU and they just had a baby boy, Eric, I haven't seen him yet."
"We have to visit," Derek says. "Wanted to go to Europe for a while anyway."
"Yeah, we should. So that's them. Then there's Susie — she's aunt Hannah's eldest, she lives in Chicago with her husband John and their two adoptive kids, Caroline and Harry."
"And three dogs, don't forget the dogs," Peter says. "I don't have a clue how their house still stands."
"Hush! Hales' houses are known for very high endurance. Okay, who else...?"
"Tom," Derek says. "Hannah's son from her second marriage. He's doing a round the world travel with his boyfriend Joe. Last I've heard from them, there were in Japan and Tom was being an asshole about sushi."
"Oh my god!" Stiles laughs and mouths "I've lost count ages ago, how many people is that?"
"I've warned you," Erica says.
"With granddads Theodore and Michael, that's twenty two," Laura supplies.
"No, wait," Derek says. "Aren't we forgetting someone...?"
"Nooo, I don't think so," Laura says, grinning, and Stiles feels like he's missing something.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure we only have twenty one so far. Trust an accountant's word on that."
"Isn't this kind of sad that we always forget about someone?" Laura sighs dramatically.
"It's even sadder that almost every time it's the same person," Peter says seriously. "What's his name again? Luke? Louis?"
"Leo!" Derek snaps his fingers.
"He's an actor," Erica tells Stiles with a smirk, like it explains everything.
"I think he might have been in this movie or another," Peter says, shrugging theatrically. Stiles snorts; it's one of those times when you're not in on the joke but you can't help laughing anyway.
"Might have been nominated for an Oscar or two…" Erica says, studying her nails.
"Oh, really?" Laura says with exaggerated astonishment. "Who knew."
“Well, he changed his name, so it’s not our fault we keep forgetting about him.” Peter doesn’t look bothered with that at all.
“Okaaaay,” says Stiles. Talk about weird family. "Is that all, then? Twenty two?"
"It depends on who you count — there is family's family, like aunt Becky's sister — but we don't really keep tabs on them."
"No wonder… Wow. So, like, what do you guys do for Christmas and such? You seem pretty close for people who live all over the globe. Do you all get together?" He has trouble imagining it, really. His idea of a crowded dinner is ten people, tops; twenty sounds like a freaking Armageddon.
Laura shakes her head. "Not for Christmas, no. Everything is just hectic and crazy expensive, and anyway we can never agree on our traditions. There've been wars over potatoes. So now we celebrate Christmas, Thanksgiving and such in small groups where we live - here it would be just the five of us, with Cora and Jack. But then we have the Hale Day."
Stiles snorts. "What? You actually call it that?"
Derek smirks. "Like you wouldn't jump at the chance."
"Point. So what's that about?"
"It's more like a Hale Week actually; once a year we have a big get together of the whole family. Usually we go camping, because nobody in their right mind would agree to host all of us at the same time. It's kind of horrifying as it is."
***
Closed says the sign on the door but it's only true in regard to the clinic, because the door itself opens easily, letting Stiles in. The front is dark, with only a strap of light coming from the back room.
"Yo," he says, walking in. Scott is hunched over a kitten on the examination table; he looks up to flash Stiles a smile.
"Hey, dude."
"Sorry, I thought I'd be here earlier, I got caught up at the Hell. But I have Chinese in the car!"
"It's cool. I just have to finish with Fluffy here and do some cleaning. Get the gloves, I could use a hand."
Stiles snorts — seriously, how unimaginative you have to be to name your kitten Fluffy? Unless it was bald or something, Stiles could probably name a kitten Fluffy ironically — and grabs a pair of disposable gloves.
"Hold it here. So how was the meeting?"
"Great!" Stiles says, reminding himself not to gesticulate (Scott is the only person who'd trust Stiles to hold anything fragile while he talks). "Derek is actually really good at explaining stuff, we did some sketches, I'll show you later. Derek does this thing when he draws without touching the paper with his hand, you know, so that he doesn't smudge the pencil… Dude, don't give me that look, you and your self-defense boner don't get to judge. Oh my god, is this a needle!"
"Easy, it's a routine vaccination."
"Well does Fluffy know that?"
"Stiles, it's just a kitten."
"Sure. A cute, little creature, completely innocent," Stiles snarks, just as the cute, little creature sinks its cute, little, sharp as hell claws into his hand. "As long as you're not putting a freaking needle in its body!"
"They never even scratch Allison."
"Apparently they're smarter than I thought," mutters Stiles, pushing the kitten back into Scott's hands. "Why can't it be a puppy? Puppies like me better."
***
"So we have places in different sectors, but I said we could hang out before or after the gig."
Stiles and Scott are on the edge of the preserve, sitting on the hood of the jeep, eating rice and chicken with their fingers, and Stiles has already told Scott about pretty much everything that happened that day.
"Isn't it a little bit weird?" Scott asks. "To spend time with your architect? And his family?"
"It's only four of them, that's, like, not even twenty percent of the family! And they're pretty awesome. And, really, it's no weirder than the fact I'm going there with Jackson."
Scott huffs a laugh into his takeout box. "Still can't believe you're going with Jackson. Here I thought I was your best friend," he says, pretending to pout.
"Please, you don't even like Macklemore."
Scott grins. "Yeah, but I will never ever stop mocking every time you do something with Jackson."
"I even mock myself about it. We're never gonna get used to it, are we?" (They are so totally used to it.) "I'm just wondering when it's gonna stop being hilarious. And then I think about Jackson singing with the crowd, have I told you about when I heard him singing in the shower at Lydia's?"
That day Stiles just came to... He doesn't even remember why he was there, just that he stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he heard it. "Is it...?" he asked, incredulous, and Lydia nodded, completely unfazed. "Does he always...?"
"Yeah," she said, with a little smile, and Stiles almost managed to put his whole fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Five minutes later, when Jackson emerged from the bathroom, with damp hair and a towel around his hips, Stiles managed to look completely innocuous. For about two seconds.
"Yes, you told me," Scott says now. "You even threatened to send me a recording."
"I'm saving it for when you're having a bad day. God knows it doesn't happen often, but when it does, I will be ready. I will take some pictures at the gig, too, Jackson under a sign- dude! We totally have to make a sign! A huge one, I'll make Jackson hold a half of it. Lydia will help to make it and then he won't be able to say no!"
Scott laughs. "Sure! I will even help if it means Jackson will have to hold it."
"Do you still have the glitter we used at Danny's birthday?"
"I think so. Bringing out the big guns, huh?"
"He won't be able to get it out of his hair for weeks." Stiles won't be able to, either, but he isn't bothered. "Laura and Peter will totally have a sign, too. Maybe they'll make Derek do it. He'll think it's ridiculous but still make a freaking sculpture in 3D or something, so we need all the glitter we can get."
Scott shakes his head fondly. "So, this guy, Peter, you said he's an accountant?"
“Yeah, why?
“I just remember you saying that accountants were, like, the most boring people in the universe." Stiles raises his eyebrows, because he recalls no such thing. "Uncle Ben? We were eight or something. Dad banned you from dessert after that.”
“Hey, I remember! And you gave me half of yours!”
“You’re my best friend, what do you think.”
“I know, but dude, we were eight and it was your mom’s famous chocolate pie. I know adults who aren't capable of this level of altruism.”
Scott beams up at him and then grabs a handful of prawn crackers from Stiles' box.
"Hey!" Stiles cries, batting at him. "Traitor!"