Chapter Text
“Remember when you first got bit and were all ‘there are no wolves in California, Stiles’, and then our lives went to shit?”
“Good morning, Stiles,” Scott’s voice mumbles from the other end of the phone.
“Yeah, yeah, that part was implied. The important bit is, when I say what I’m about to say, please don’t say ‘there are no reindeer in California, Stiles’. Because historically speaking, that would mean I am about to become a were-reindeer and I for one think that would suck ass.”
There is silence on the other end, presumably as Scott catches up with the fact that Stiles is standing on the preserve next to a goddamned reindeer, and it just bit his finger. Hard. It’s probably bleeding, in fact. Or at least bruised.
“Reindeer?”
“It could also be a caribou?” Stiles considers, eyeing the animal speculatively. It looks supremely unconcerned, and stamps a hoofed foot on the ground. “I’m not exactly an expert on ungulates. I know it’s not a deer. I think. It looks too rugged to be a deer. I mean, it pretty much looks like a reindeer. So I think it’s a reindeer?”
Scott is grumbling, and Stiles hears the rustle of bedsheets and drawers opening and closing.
“I’ll be there in five, Stiles. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“You know, when Derek used to say that, I chalked it up to him being a dick. But apparently it’s an alpha thing, not a Derek thing! We’ll pencil it in next to superhuman strength: ‘condescending inability to trust Stiles’.”
“It’s a being friends with you thing,” Scott mumbles before the line goes dead and Stiles sighs heavily, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
“Looks like it’s just me and you, bud,” he says, turning back to the reindeer. Who promptly turns tail and trots away, deeper into the preserve.
“Hey now, slow down! You’re not allowed to do that. You stay here until Scott shows up. I’m pretty sure letting a reindeer run loose in Beacon Hills falls under the ‘anything stupid’ category, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word. Hey! Come back!”
The reindeer is halfway out of sight now, and Stiles quickens his steps to keep up.
“You’re being an asshole. Nobody likes a douchey reindeer, so stop being a douche and get back here before Scott thinks it’s my fault you left.”
The reindeer ignores him. It’s almost completely out of sight now, but Stiles can faintly see its antlers amidst a tangle of branches, and knows that the damn thing can still hear him. Which would be useful if Stiles could make reindeer calls. Do reindeer even call? Maybe they neigh, like horses? Wait, moose bray, right? Or is it mooses? What a weird word to pluralize. Stiles stops short to repeat the word in his head a few times. It's a really weird word to pluralize, how has he never noticed that before?
Oh, shit, the reindeer is completely out of sight now.
“Come on, man! I thought we had something special!” Stiles shouts, in lieu of impersonating an animal he has never seen before, let alone heard. “You bit my finger off, doesn’t that make us bros for life?”
Stiles hears leaves crunching on the ground behind him, and whirls around, wondering how Scott got here so fast.
Only it’s not Scott.
It’s Derek.
Wearing his patented what-the-fuck-Stiles expression.
“I lost the reindeer!” Stiles explains, a little miffed that Derek is already wearing that face without even waiting to hear why Stiles is calling after his hoofed buddy at 10AM on a Sunday morning. “No, wait. I didn’t lose it. I just lost sight of it. This situation is still 100% under control.”
Derek raises an eyebrow, and folds his arms over his chest. Stiles takes that as a cue to continue, after the requisite 5-second lag for his brain to reboot after seeing Derek’s henley strain against his biceps when he crossed his arms.
“Scott called you about the reindeer, right? That’s why you’re here? Because you were closer than Scott and there is a reindeer in the preserve?”
“Are you high?” Derek asks, looking completely serious and maybe even a bit concerned.
“Am I- what? Of course not! Why would you even ask that? Of course I’m not high, what I am is confused, because there is a fucking reindeer in those trees right now, and it bit me, and reindeer do not belong in California, Derek.”
“Scott didn’t call me. I was driving home from the grocery store when I heard you yelling about asshole reindeer, and figured you had gotten yourself into some kind of ridiculous mess.”
“Ah.” Stiles nods. Well, that explains the expression, at least. “Yes. Well. The thing is, I found a reindeer this morning. And I don’t know why it’s here, but I think it may be supernatural? Seeing as how, y’know, there shouldn’t really be reindeer around here?”
As if on cue, the reindeer trots back into the clearing.
“See? Not crazy. That’s totally a reindeer.”
“It’s probably just lost,” Derek shrugs, looking nonplussed.
“If it’s lost, it’s literally the world’s worst reindeer, because this is pretty fucking lost for an animal to be.”
Derek shrugs again, watching the reindeer as it increases speed and starts to gallop in a wide circle around where Stiles and Derek are standing.
“What’s it doing?” Stiles asks, frowning.
“How the hell should I know?”
“I dunno, you’re both supernatural creatures, sort of?”
“It’s not a supernatural creature, Stiles. It’s just a reindeer.”
The reindeer is charging full speed now, headed straight for where Derek and Stiles are standing.
“Oh shit,” Stiles breathes. “This is how we die, isn’t it. Trampled to death by an angry reindeer.”
“This is how you die, maybe,” Derek grumbles. “I’ll just heal.”
Stiles manages to tear his eyes away from the charging reindeer long enough to squint at Derek.
“You are literally the worst.”
Derek looks unruffled by this judgment.
The galloping is thunderous now, so close that Stiles can do nothing but watch in abject horror as the reindeer approaches and, at the last second, swerves upward.
Wait.
Upward?
“What in the actual fuck!” Stiles shouts, staring at the reindeer that is now galloping through thin air, trotting in lazy circles above their heads. He shoves Derek, hard, then regrets it as pain lances up his arm. Stupid brick wall of abs.
“You said it wasn’t supernatural, you dick!” Stiles shouts angrily, gesturing frantically at the flying reindeer above them.
How is this his life?
Derek scrubs a hand over his hair.
“I didn’t even think it could be Kris’s.” Derek sighs, looking annoyed.
“Why would Chris fucking Argent have a flying fucking reindeer?” Stiles screams, still pointing wildly at the reindeer because it is still flying.
Derek scowls at him, and really? He gets a scowl for that? Like he’s supposed to know that Chris has a flying magical pony or whatever bullshit is happening right now?
“Not Chris Argent, you moron.” Derek replies. “It’s Kris with a K.”
“I’m the one who deserves to be called a moron right now? You’re the one who knows someone with flying reindeer and forgot to mention it, asshole.”
Stiles swears that Derek’s lips twitch upward at that.
“What’s so funny?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowed.
“You do know someone with flying reindeer.” Derek responds with a full-on grin. The shit.
“I think I would know if I knew someone with a flying reindeer. Maybe I’ll just call up my good pal Santa Claus and see if he’s got the registry of people he’s loaned his out to, and-”
“See, you know someone with a flying reindeer.” Derek interrupts him.
"Ha ha very funny, asshole. Seriously, though, whose reindeer is it, and can we call them to come get it because there is currently a reindeer in the sky and if people start seeing it that would be very bad.”
“I’m not kidding. It’s Kris’s.”
“Great, so call this Kris, and tell him to get his ass to the preserve stat.”
“He lives in Nunavut, so that might take a while.”
“Nunavut? Like, Canada? Who in the actual fuck do you know who lives in Nunavut, and why do they live in Nunavut?”
“Well, his workshop is there, where else would he live?”
Stiles rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, I get it, Santa Claus jokes hardy har. While I love that you’ve recently acquired a sense of humor, albeit cornier than my father’s, I would love it even more if you could call the reindeer’s owner like, yesterday.”
“I’m being serious. That’s whose reindeer this is.”
“This is Santa Claus’s reindeer.” Stiles says flatly, leveling Derek with what he hopes is the most irritated stare to ever stare. “This reindeer belongs to Santa. Fucking. Claus.”
“He goes by Kris. You know, Kris Kringle?”
“Of course he does.”
The reindeer whinnies and chuffs, shaking its mane out above their heads.