Work Text:
Stiles frowns as he looks out the front window of his house. In one hand, he clutches the curtains and in the other, his phone. The snow - the snow is unusual. He presses his nose closer to the cold glass and his breath fogs up the glass.
Stiles reaches up and rubs the condensation away with the sleeve of his hoodie. Maybe, he thinks, it's not the presence of the snow but the sheer amount of it that's so weird.
"Weird," he mumbles, pulling back the curtains so he can peer out some more without actually having to go outside.
There's no way he's going out there.
There's enough snow outside that it completely blankets his dad's cruiser and the Jeep. They should have parked in the garage but the weather channel only called for a couple of inches. This is so much more than a couple of inches.
From where he stands, he can see car tracks on the road and in some of his neighbors' driveways, but aside from that the scene remains unbroken - still and serene.
Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket when it buzzes. A text from Scott pops up so Stiles thumbs the screen to read it.
'p sure theres a yeti or sumthin'
Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and thumbs the screen again to make a call.
Derek answers as his usual charming self, so Stiles blunders on before Derek can ask why he's calling. "Scott thinks there's a yeti in town."
Stiles can imagine the look Derek's currently making - the pinched pull of his mouth, his furrowed brow, closed eyes.
Derek finally replies, "Of course he does."
"You've been outside, right?" Stiles asks. "I mean, there's no way that much snow is normal for Beacon Hills. When is the last time you can remember it snowing so much? Oh God, Scott is right, there's probably a yeti running around doing yeti things and-"
"Stiles," Derek interrupts. "There's no yeti."
"How do you know there's no yeti?"
"A yeti would be pretty hard to miss."
"If that's the case, why has no one ever gotten a picture of a yeti, huh?"
Derek stays silent for a long moment before he finally says, "Stiles, have you ever smelled a yeti? They stink. Someone would have smelled if a yeti came through town."
"What do yetis smell like?" Stiles asks. Seriously, he's just being thorough here. "Wait - what makes you think Scott didn't smell a yeti?"
He knows Derek is rolling his eyes. Stiles considers himself to be very well versed in how Derek communicates. Stiles can feel Derek's eyes rolling in his eye sockets from across the phone line. "They smell like mildew and like ice that's just a bit off."
"A bit off?" Stiles asks dubiously.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Stiles. Like old ice from the back of the freezer. There is no yeti. If it makes you feel better, you can call Deaton and he can confirm that the snow is just regular snow."
"I can never get a good read on Deaton," Stiles says, releasing his grip on the curtain and stepping out from behind the couch. "Maybe you're right. What's the plural of yeti?"
"I don't know and I don't care. I'm hanging up now."
"No! No, no, no-" Stiles looks down at his phone. “He hung up on me.”
What a dick.
***
Stiles doesn't particularly want to leave the house, but his dad instituted a 'no go in the snow' rule as he was leaving for his shift - his dad thinks he's hilarious, but Stiles knows that’s a filthy lie - so now Stiles has this itch under his skin and he wants to get out of the house. He's going stir-crazy. He's got to get out.
Instead, he sits cross-legged on his bed, X-Box controller clasped loosely in his hands and phone jammed up between his shoulder and ear. Scott talks on the other end of the line but Stiles only pays attention to every other word or so that Scott says. Half of his attention is on his game and the rest of it - well, not even Stiles knows where it is.
He tunes back into the conversation when he catches the tail end of something Scott's saying, "-think there's a yeti."
"Wait, what?"
Scott huffs a sigh like he knows Stiles hasn't been listening to him and repeats, "So I talked to Deaton and he said he doesn't think there's a yeti."
Stiles mashes a few buttons on his controller and says, "Oh yeah, I called Derek and he said you'd smell if there was a yeti in Beacon Hills."
"Yetis have a smell? Weird," Scott says. And then, whoop, there it is, "Wait, when did you talk to Derek?"
"Like right after you texted me, dude, what," Stiles says absentmindedly into the phone. He's going to own this level.
"Nothing,” Scott says.
Stiles sighs and pauses his game. He'll have to kick ass later. "What's up, dude?"
"Nothing, I mean - you've been spending a lot of time with Derek lately, haven't you?"
Stiles tosses the controller next to him and wriggles his way up his bed. Once his head's firmly planted on the pillow, he says, "Yeah, why? You jelly?"
"No, dude. We're forever bros, remember?"
Stiles lets a soppy smile cross his face. "Aw, Scottie, always."
"So," Scott leads, "you think Derek's doing okay?"
"Yes?" Stiles says, suddenly suspicious. He's not sure where Scott is going with this. "I mean, he's been a little bummed since Cora went back to South America, but I think he's okay overall."
"Great," Scott says, resolutely. "You get to invite him over for Christmas."
***
Derek picks him up in the Toyota.
Stiles raises his eyes up to the sky and briefly mourns the Camaro before he tucks himself into the passenger’s seat. “I miss your Camaro.”
“I know,” Derek says sympathetically. He glances at Stiles and says, “You literally tell me that every time you get in my car.”
Stiles solemnly nods in agreement.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says as Derek pulls away from the curb. “Scott wants you to come over for Christmas. We’re doing it at his house this year. Bring a pie.”
“What if I don’t like pie?” Derek asks.
“Then you’re a liar, Derek. Everyone likes pie.”
A flash of a smile crosses Derek’s face.
“Hey, where are we going anyway?” Stiles asks.
Derek ducks his head as he makes a turn and says, “Coffee?”
“You’re going to give me coffee?” Stiles grins. “Is this like a date?”
Derek nods and says, “Yeah, I guess so.”
Some warm feeling grows in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. “Okay, cool. And you should bring a cherry pie. My dad loves cherry pie.”
“You giving me an in with your Sheriff father?” Derek asks as he pulls into a parking space in front of the local coffee shop.
“I hate to break this to you, but after those pixies three months ago you’ve practically had all the ins.” Stiles takes a moment to think about what he’s said. “Oh man, tell me us dating is a new revelation for you, because if we could have been dating for three months I’m going to be vaguely annoyed.”
Derek holds open the door for him. “I’m not the girl,” Stiles says, just to make sure.
“Oh, God, I definitely can’t date you now,” Derek says, deadpan. “I always thought you were a little too flat chested.”
Stiles looks around at the near empty coffee shop. There’s a couple of people he knows from school sitting at a table in one of the corners. “I won’t make you endure coffee-Stiles since we’re dating now.”
Derek gives him the major side-eye. “Why did you emphasize ‘we’re dating now’?”
Stiles shrugs with his whole body and ends it with a flail that vaguely gestures to the teenagers in the corner. “Gotta get the rumor mill going.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Go find us a seat. What do you want?”
Stiles clasps his hands together in front of his chest and swoons. “Hot chocolate. Ooh, with all the whipped cream.”
They part ways, Derek to the front counter and Stiles veering toward a couple of big armchairs in the back that look super comfortable.
Stiles jumps - gently - into one of the chairs and is satisfied when it envelops him the way a good chair should. He wriggles into a more comfortable position, with a leg tucked under him, and unzips his jacket. It’s pretty warm in the cafe, which is a nice change from the snow - snow, still - outside.
When he looks up, Derek’s settling two drinks down on the table between the chairs. He disappears back up to the front for a second and when he comes back, he has a plate with some sort of awesome looking dessert on it.
“You’re spoiling me,” Stiles moans as he reaches for the cup with his name misspelled on the side.
Derek looks particularly smug as Stiles pulls off the top of his hot chocolate. Seriously, he says, “All the whipped cream.”
Stiles looks up at him with wide eyes. “You seriously want to date me?”
Derek smirks and nods. He leans down and cuffs Stiles around the back of his neck and pulls him forward so he can press his lips against Stiles’.
Stiles just barely hangs onto his drink. Derek pulls back and sits down in his own chair. A shy smile crawls across Stiles’s face and he breathlessly murmurs, “Awesome.”
***
The doorbell rings when Stiles is elbow deep in peeling potatoes.
He can’t see who it is but he hears his dad call, “Pie!”
His dad goes on to say, “Is that cherry? That’s my favorite pie. Let me get that for you.”
Stiles yells, “Don’t let him take it, you’ll never see it again!”
Scott winces as he cuts the potatoes up into cubes next to Stiles. “Stop yelling in my ear.”
Stiles knocks elbows with Scott in apology. His dad pops into the kitchen to put the pie on the counter and Derek follows at a more sedate pace.
He’s holding a tall gift bag in his arms, which he passes off to Melissa.
“Oh,” she smiles warmly, “Derek, you didn’t have to bring this, but I’ll definitely take it!”
She pats him on the arm and puts the wine on the counter next to the pie.
Isaac tumbles in from the garage with a six-pack of coke in his arms. He grins when he sees Derek and bumps his shoulder against Derek’s. “Hey, man.”
Derek bumps him back and grins. He looks really happy. Stiles smiles into the potatoes.
There are only a few of them left so he starts peeling the potatoes again, eager to be finished.
A hand presses against his lower back and Stiles leans back into it. Derek leans forward to say in his ear, “They let you near sharp objects?”
Stiles pushes his elbow back into Derek’s stomach and squawks, “Rude!”
He hears his dad and Melissa laughing behind him and when he looks over at Scott, he’s holding back a grin. Frankly, Scott’s doing a terrible job. Isaac has no qualms about hiding his giggles.
“Actually,” his dad says, “this is the only thing he’s allowed to do. Ask him about the Great Cranberry Debacle of ‘08.”
The tips of Stiles’ ears turn red and he hisses, “Do not ask me about that. I don’t even know what he’s talking about.”
Scott puts down the knife he’s holding and has to walk away to laugh at Stiles from another room.
Isaac says, “I want to know about the Great Cranberry Debacle of ‘08, Sheriff. Please tell me about it.”
“I am a gift,” Stiles says, voice raised toward his father. “I don’t know why you are so mean to me. Melissa is the only one I like anymore.”
“Oh, honey,” Melissa scoffs as she walks to the hall to get the tablecloth for the big dining room table. “Oh, honey, no.”
Stiles peels the last potato and rinses his hands. He turns away from the sink and looks at Derek. “You haven’t even been here ten minutes and he’s already bringing up things-we-do-not-speak-of, God.”
Derek smiles and shrugs. He opens his arms and Stiles lunges forward to lean against him. Stiles slips his hands under Derek’s jacket to press against his warm skin. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles sighs. “This is nice. You’re a good man, Derek Hale.”
Derek presses a kiss against Stiles’ temple. “Merry Christmas, Stiles.”
Stiles hums under his breath and angles his mouth to slide a kiss against Derek’s mouth. He pulls back just enough to say, “Merry Christmas to me.”
***
A week later, a yeti thunders through Beacon Hills. Scott yells, “Called it!”
Stiles doesn’t care. He tucks himself against Derek’s side and grins when Derek pulls him closer.
Derek’s hand is snug in his back pocket.
Just ‘cause it’s ‘tis the season, and all that.