Chapter Text
Off the beaten path on a secluded lane, our country bed and breakfast is located in the heart of Northern California near the town of Beacon Hills. Set in a restored farmhouse, Berry Hills Garden Bed and Breakfast overlooks 300 acres of gardens and woods, offers a great room with wood burning stove, wrap around porch and a full country breakfast served every morning.
We endeavor in every way to make your stay a comfortable and pleasurable one.
Stiles had always liked the inn, ever since he was old enough to understand that he didn’t live in a regular home. His home was a safe spot for runaways, lovers, old couples, families, poets, even truckers on occasion. They stopped into his life for a day, maybe two, and then were gone. They told him their stories, left little trinkets behind, little marks on his life. When his mother died, the inn was left without its keeper.
“We can’t sell the inn, Dad. Mom wouldn’t want that,” eight year old Stiles begged, tears falling from his eyes. He tugged at the Sheriff- then Deputy’s sleeve and stared up at him with a plea in his eyes. “We can hire someone; I looked it up at school during recess! We can hire a manager until I’m old enough to take it over myself! Please, Dad. Don’t sell it.”
Hanna Brooks was an amazing manager, attentive to the dying business, keeping it open just for a growing Stiles while he excelled in school. She was like a cool aunt, Stiles thought as she attended his graduation, two years ahead of his class. She snuck him sips of her wine at dinner with the guests, even though the Sheriff was watching, and didn’t care as long as Stiles was being safe with it. She took him to see R-rated movies before he was allowed to, and picked him up early from school for “doctor’s appointments” so they could go to an amusement park. Hanna eased back on her duties after Stiles started classes at the local community college, and finally, just after he turned 17, handed over the business back to him. She kissed him on cheek, wished him luck, and moved on with her life, just like the guests at Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast had his entire life.
Stiles ran the inn, and his father protected the town, and nothing excited every occurred.
“That’s not true,” Scott had said, sitting in the kitchen with his chemistry and trigonometry homework. “You and Lydia finally worked your ridiculous problems out, and Allison’s father tried to poison me, and your father arrested that drug dealer on Pleasant Street.”
Stiles let out a long suffering sigh.
“Yeah, but that’s typical Beacon Hills news. That’s nothing new, nothing exciting.”
“You chose this, Stiles. You could’ve graduated early and gone to Berkeley, and been Tony Stark by age 25, but you wanted to run Berry Hills. You got your associate’s in small business management for this.”
“I love the inn, that’s not the problem. I’m just so bored of the same things going on day in and day out. I want some excitement! Where are my lost travelers and wizards with gaggles of hobbits?”
“You don’t live in Middle Earth,” Scott answered, scribbling the wrong answer to a trig question.
“Oh, you get my Lord of the Rings references but you can’t be bothered to watch Star Wars? You’re the worst best friend in the world.”
“I watched Battlestar Galactica for you, haven’t I suffered enough?”
“I can’t associate with you anymore, McCall,” Stiles said, turning to start dinner.
Two days later, though, Stiles got his excitement, his lost traveler, although there was no wizard with a gaggle of hobbits. Storms had blown in, and scared off any guests that might have travelled to the inn. He left the light on, though, just in case anyone needed a place to stay safe from the whipping winds and buckets of rain. He curled up in the reading room, his mother’s knit blanket around his legs while he devoured the new Heroes of Olympus book, ravenously turning the pages.
“Try to get to bed at a decent hour tonight, Stiles,” the Sheriff said, heading towards the back of the bed and breakfast to the two residential rooms reserved for the two of them. They shared a bathroom, once a double room overlooking the back gardens. The owners before them had lived in the small cottage in the middle of the gardens, but it had grown too small for the Stilinskis and they had moved into the inn’s back rooms. The cottage was now their honeymoon suite, although no one had ever booked it intentionally. It was a cute home, just a bit small for a family with a hyperactive child like Stiles.
“Yeah, goodnight, Dad,” Stiles called over his shoulder belatedly. He dug back into the book and lost himself, finding himself in the world of Greek and Roman demigods. He was just getting to the climax when a loud, frantic banging on the front door sounded through the bottom floor of the bed and breakfast. Stiles yelped, jumping to his feet in surprise. He tucked his bookmark, a fancy one that Melissa had bought him when he graduated from college, into the book and left it on the armchair. He grabbed the aluminum bat from the corner and edged the front door open cautiously.
He didn’t know what he expected, a big burly man, maybe, or a serial killer holding a severed head. A soaking wet teenage boy with a backpack on his shoulder that he had never seen around their small town was definitely not any of his guesses. The boy looked around nervously, clutching at the strap on his backpack.
“Hi,” Stiles squeaked out.
“I’m sorry, I saw your light was on, and was hoping I could come in. I don’t have any money, but I just need to dry off for a few minutes, hopefully the storm will pass soon,” the boy said and Jesus, Stiles thought, that voice was perfection.
“Come on in, always room for a soaking wet traveler at Casa Del Stilinski.”
“The sign says Berry Hill Gardens,” the boy said, skirting past Stiles as he opened the door wider.
“Well, you’re not wrong,” Stiles chuckled, shutting the door gently. “I don’t think you’re grasping the premise of a bed and breakfast.”
The boy gave him a flat look, water dripping from his soggy curls.
“Right, well, I’m Stiles. Let me go grab you a towel and a change of clothes.”
“I have some in my, oh,” he said, peering into his bag. “They’re soaked too.”
“We have a dryer, if you want to toss your clothes in there,” Stiles said, bustling down the hall to the linen closet. He pulled out one of the bath towels, thick and fluffy and smelling of lilacs, just like his mother used to have. Some things had changed over the years since Claudia had died, but some things stayed the same, like the fabric softener and dryer sheets that Stiles washed the sheets and towels in, and the kind of chocolates he left on the pillows in each room (chocolate covered berries, to be precise).
“What’s your name?” Stiles asked, handing the towel to the kid and leading him into the laundry room underneath the stairs. He shuffled through his clean laundry, found his softest t-shirt and sweatpants, handing those over as well.
“Isaac,” the kid, Isaac answered. Stiles eased the bag from Isaac and dumped his sopping clothes into the front load dryer. When they’d invested in a new washer and dryer, Hanna urged him to let her get the industrial load pair, but Stiles would rather do load after load of laundry, for some insane reason. He liked how his washer and dryer handled sheets and blankets, softened them and made them smell like home. He wouldn’t give that up for convenience. That’s also why he insisted on washing all the dishes by hand, that and he needed something to keep his busy at night when his mind was too loud, even for him.
“Can I ask you a question, Isaac?” Stiles asked, keeping his back to Isaac as he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into Stiles’.
“Y-yeah, sure,” Isaac answered, handing his clothes to Stiles to throw in the dryer. He added a few Lilac Breeze dryer sheets to the compartment before shutting the door and starting it up on a quick dry cycle.
“What brings you to Beacon Hills? We don’t normally get runaways,” Stiles said.
“I’m not, I’m not a runaway!” Isaac yipped, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
“You seem a bit young to be anything else,” Stiles said with a shrug, leading the boy out of the laundry room and into the kitchen. Isaac stood awkwardly, not responding as Stiles set the kettle on the stove and turned the burner all the way up. He spoke as he set up two mugs, both with a generous amount of hot chocolate powder at the bottom. “I’ve seen all kinds of travelers, living in a B&B my entire life, and no one usually shows up in the middle of the night with just a backpack and no money unless they’re running away from something.”
“How do you know my car didn’t break down?” Isaac asked. Stiles turned to face him, leaning against the counter.
“You would’ve asked to use my phone to call a tow truck. You, however, asked to come in from the storm, a sign that you’ve been walking with no relief from it. I’m not going to report you, just so you’re aware. That’s not my job. I can give you a place to stay for the night, though.”
“I don’t have any money to pay for a room.”
“Did I ask for money?” Stiles asked. The kettle whistled and the pair fell silent while Stiles finished fixing two cups of cocoa. “Do you like marshmallows in your cocoa?”
“Yes,” Isaac said.
“Good, because my dad does this thing where he like, overbuys. I don’t know why, but almost on impulse this week, he bought this huge bag of marshmallows because they were on sale or something. You’d think he was fourteen or something, not forty,” Stiles said, popping open the pantry door and finding the massive bag of mallows. “Although, I gotta hand it to him, he does know me well.”
“Why’s that?”
“I love me some marshmallows.”
Stiles plopped a literal handful of small marshmallows into each cup until a mountain was heaped on top of the liquid. He handed one mug to Isaac and slid into a stool at the island with his own.
“Does your dad own the bed and breakfast?” Isaac asked, sipping carefully at the cocoa while Stiles stirred his slowly, watching the mountain of marshmallows turn awkwardly in the cup.
“No, I do. I’m the owner and proprietor of Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast, although Dad does help out when he’s home. He’s not on the payroll, however. It’s just his home, too, so it’s either help out or deal with the mess.”
“You’re like 12, though,” Isaac said.
“I’m 17, thank you very much, and I have my associate’s degree in small business management.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. I don’t even have my high school diploma.”
Stiles shrugged.
“I’ve wanted to run the inn since I was 5, when my mom used to own it. I’ve had my eye on a business degree since I was old enough and I kind of fast-tracked myself through high school by taking summer school courses and overloading my schedule,” Stiles said with chuckle. “Coffee and Adderall, my two best friends. I’m still taking courses, actually, working towards my Bachelor’s.”
“That’s just amazing,” Isaac breathed. Stiles smiled. They finished their cocoa in peace, not saying another word to each other.
“I think I have the perfect room for you, Isaac,” Stiles said, taking their mugs and depositing them in the sink for him to wash later. “The Gooseberry Room, in fact. It’s got a queen bed, private bath with a tiled shower and Greek soaking tub, and it overlooks the North Gardens, which is to be honest, the best view we have. Although, you can’t see much through this rain.”
“Sounds expensive.”
Stiles smirked.
“There’s no one here to use it, so I’m not losing any revenue by loaning it out. Besides, I’ve got four other rooms, plus a honeymoon suite, in case anyone shows up in this storm.”
“Thank you,” Isaac said, catching Stiles’ arm. Stiles looked at Isaac and nodded.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room. In the morning, I’m making our advertised full country breakfast, if you’re interested. And if you promise not to tell my dad, I’ll even make the full fat bacon.”
Isaac grinned back as Stiles led them up the stairs and down a long hallway to a mahogany door, Gooseberry emblazoned on a gold plaque to the right of the door frame.
“This is it. I hope everything is to your liking, and just come get me if anything’s wrong. I’ll be right downstairs, behind the kitchen. Sleep well, Isaac.”