Chapter Text
Stiles was watching the TV screen, but he wasn’t actually paying attention to it. His focus was more on the giant lump of Alpha werewolf pressed up against him, one arm slung over his shoulder as they lounged on the couch. Derek had come over the moment his dad had left, crawling in through his window even though Stiles insisted his dad didn’t want to shoot Derek anymore (probably) and they couldn’t do this forever. Derek wasn’t so convinced.
“He’s not going to hate you,” Stiles said, half-watching an explosion light up the screen. “He’ll probably just buy some more wolfsbane bullets, threaten to put a few in your head, and then invite you over for a steak dinner.”
“Not much of that sentence was very comforting, Stiles.”
“I’m just saying,” Stiles said, turning to look at the werewolf. “I think if he hears how I wooed the big bad Alpha of Beacon Hills with a nerf gun, spray bottle, hard candies, and package of sticky notes, he’d be more impressed than angry.”
“I wasn’t wooed,” Derek said grumpily. “I still wanted to wring your neck.”
“But in a sexy way, right?”
Derek closed his eyes for a long moment. “Oh my god, Stiles.”
“It was totally in a sexy way.”
“Was it really?”
Stiles squawked and leaped up off the couch, spinning around. Derek was at his side in a second, looking like a deer caught in headlights. The Sheriff stood in the doorway of the house, keys dangling from his fingers as he looked at them. Stiles gaped for a second, mouth opening and closing, before he looked at Derek, elbowing him in the side. “Dude! How did you not hear my dad coming back?”
Derek just stood shock-still. His eyes were round and his face was pale and he didn’t say a word, just stood there. In the doorway, his dad sighed.
“Don’t have a heart attack there, son. Derek. Can you talk?”
Derek nodded silently. Stiles sighed and facepalmed, turning back to his dad with a small smile. “Um, so dad, how long have you been standing—”
“Long enough.”
“And if I told you Derek was just here to—”
“Don’t even.”
Stiles scrunched up his face. “Dammit.”
The Sheriff looked between then and then rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. He hung his keys up next to the door and kicked off his boots, jerking his head toward the TV. “Stiles, turn that off and go pull out the steaks. Derek, can I show you something in the garage?”
“Da-aad,” Stiles complained, giving him a piteous look. Derek had gone stiff and the Sheriff gave them both an unimpressed look.
“You laid down the plan five minutes ago, Stiles. Would you prefer I go to Chris Argent for advice instead?”
“Mr. Argent actually doesn’t actively want to kill Derek anymore, so—”
“Stiles. Steaks, now.”
Stiles groaned. He looked back at Derek a little bit worriedly, but the werewolf was still breathing at least. He poked him in the arm instead. “Hey, Der? You gonna be good?”
Derek nodded. Stiles grimaced and shot his dad a warning look before flipping the TV off and stumbling toward the kitchen. The Sheriff crossed his arms, looking at Derek.
“So you and my son.”
“I wouldn’t hurt him,” Derek said suddenly. Then he winced. “Sir.”
The Sheriff’s face softened. He nodded his head toward the garage door and Derek followed with heavy feet, wondering if he really was going to get three bullets in the head. He couldn’t read anything off of the Sheriff’s heartbeats. It was kind of terrifying.
Stiles peeked out from the kitchen as they passed. He gave Derek a reassuring smile, but Derek could only look helplessly back. The Sheriff let him into the garage first.
Derek expected to see a line of guns waiting. Or at least a rifle or two.
But he was surprised to see a whiteboard instead, covered in lines of blue, yellow, and green. There was a spool of red beside it, but it hadn’t been used. In the corner was the sticky note reading; ‘Don’t be such a Sourwolf’ with a smiley-face sticker beside it.
Derek dropped his gaze, turning red. At his side, the Sheriff studied the board, sighing.
“There was a little boy I saw once,” the Sheriff said. “A little boy sitting beside his older sister in the back of my cruiser, both covered in dirt and ash. Two innocent kids who’d just lost their entire family.”
Derek flinched. His throat closed tight.
“Those were two kids I considered taking into my home,” the Sheriff said. “I even got the paperwork, except when I got back to the station, they were gone. Left town. Only stuck around long enough to give a statement.”
“Laura was scared Kate would come back,” Derek said quietly. “ To finish the job. She didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.”
“I get that,” the Sheriff said, turning toward him. “But look, Derek. Stiles is my son. He’s Claudia’s little boy. I’d kill anyone that touched him.”
Derek clenched his jaw. He felt like he should’ve expected this.
“Except,” the Sheriff said, and Derek looked up in surprise. The Sheriff was looking at him gently. “I know you’d do anything to protect him. Don’t think I haven’t gotten calls from my neighbors about a suspicious leather-wearing man standing guard outside of my house every other night. Well, until recently, that is.”
“Stiles shot me with a nerf gun,” Derek muttered. “He said I wasn’t sleeping enough.”
“And he was right, but that’s not the point,” the Sheriff said. “My son has seen something in you that’s made him latch on. And unless we want a repeat of the Lydia fiasco, I’m almost scared to tell him no.”
Derek huffed softly. The Sheriff squeezed his shoulder.
“But I wouldn’t consider doing that. Because I do trust you, Derek, and I trust you would never hurt my son. Though I do have wolfsbane bullets, just as a warning.”
Derek stared at him, a bit like a deer caught in headlights again. But this time, his throat was tight for an entirely different reason. He nodded silently and the Sheriff clapped him on the back, turning toward the side door again.
“Steaks, then?”
Derek looked at the whiteboard one more time. It was covered in lines of string, different colors going from the sticky note, to a drawing of a nerf gun, to a few glued hard candies and the words ‘sweet tooth??’ written in red. There was also a list reading;
How to Train Your Local Alpha Werewolf: (to smile more)
1. Compliments (bunny teeth, seriously)
2. Chocolate (good for werewolves?)
3. Hard Candy (not for Peter)
4. Head pats? Belly rubs?? (Scott said no)
Derek looked at it, shook his head, and chuckled. He turned and followed the Sheriff back into the house that already smelled like grilling meat. Stiles was waiting for them, eyes darting from his dad’s to Derek’s face nervously.
“Well? No mauling, manging, or death?”
“I want mashed potatoes,” the Sheriff said. “And desert.”
“Dad, I swear to god—”
“And if you even bring up the idea of salads this week, Stiles, there’s always the chance I’ll lose my cool. You know what a low-fat diet does to a man.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. But after a moment, he sighed and waved his dad out to the back porch, where the steaks were grilling. A wave of triumph washed off the Sheriff and he started outside, patting Stiles on the shoulder as he passed.
Stiles looked nervously back at Derek. His teeth worried his bottom lip. “Der? You’re being quiet. Which isn’t the unusual but you look a little constipated and—”
Derek stepped forward and caught him in a small kiss. Stiles made a surprised noise at the back of his throat and then melted into it, hands pulling Derek closer even as he managed to gasp out; “So all good things went down, I assume?”
“The belly rubs,” Derek said. “Were a good thing to cross off your list.”
Stiles barked a startled laugh. “The head pats too?”
In answer, Derek kissed him harder. And unsurprisingly, he found he was smiling the entire time, unable to stop himself. Stiles smelled like hard candy and tasted like cinnamon. It was nice; a little bit like home.
Derek didn’t stop smiling all night.