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"Scott-"
"You were the one that said you would do me a favor if I let you pass on our group date last Friday."
"I know, but Scott-"
"You are also the one that decided to go get drunk in the Hale Preserve and almost brain yourself coming home.”
"Scotty, please. I love you like a brother, but this is just-“
“And you are also the one I had to cover for when Mrs. White saw you stumbling around and thought you had been attacked.”
Stiles lets out a heavy sigh and turns to the other person in the room, hoping at least she would be on his side in this.
Kira, however, has one hand clamped over her mouth so hard that her knuckles are turning pale as her shoulders shake with small tremors, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
No help there.
"And if you have any other complaints,” Scott finishes, arms crossed in front of his chest in an attempt to be stern, but having to stop every few seconds to bite at his lip to keep from smiling. “I’m the one that had to go get your phone from that very same Derek Hale and listen to him gripe at me that I need to keep a closer eye on my friends, then spend the next twenty minutes making sure I knew how to take care of a hangover.”
There’s another sigh this time, but it’s one of defeat and acceptance. “Alright, let’s get this over with; it’s not like there’s anyone there that wanted to go out with me before they saw me stuffed into something an elf puked up, so I doubt it’ll be that bad.”
Stiles has his back to both Scott and Kira, so he misses the way they shake their heads at that last comment.
It’s only been half an hour and Stiles already wants to go home.
He wanted to leave ten minutes in, when people who’ve never spoken to him before comment on his ‘adorable’ shirt he was wearing.
Not sure how something that’s an atrocious shade of red with the contents of a snowglobe thrown across the front and small lights dotted around the shirt that light up could be considered ‘cute’, Stiles’ only response has been a sort of pained smile.
This has to be one of Scott’s better underhanded plans-Stiles has taught him well, he is so proud!-and timing it so it’s the same night as the police station’s Christmas party is just icing on the cake.
"Hello, Stiles." John Stilinski smirks as soon as he sees what Stiles is wearing, a cup of heated cider-he had let Stiles try it when he saw the way his son was eyeballing it, sighing the entire time-in his hand. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that before… Something you want to tell me, son?"
"Nope!" Stiles chirps, trying to look as innocent as possible while wearing something that he had openly mocked before. "Nothing to tell, nothing to talk about, just lost a bet with Scott!"
"Uh-huh." John takes a sip of his cider, a thoughtful hum preluding, "This doesn’t have anything to do with the way that you and Derek have been avoiding each other, does it?"
"What? I have no clue what you’re-"
"You do realize that there is a reason I’m the Sheriff, right? That it isn’t just to get you out of being thrown into jail. Give me some credit, son.”
"I don’t know why or what is going on with Derek; the guy is unreadable on a good day, how am I suppose to know what he’s thinking?”
"Maybe because he only acts like a perp hiding information whenever your name comes up in conversation?”
Stiles thinks that the wallpaper in here really should be redone, he’s pretty sure that it’s been there ever since his dad was a deputy and it’s seriously cracking in one part…
John sighs heavily through his nose and gives Stiles a halfhearted pat on the shoulder. “As long as it doesn’t involve any broken laws, I’ll let it go this once. Try not to antagonize the judge’s son tonight, okay?”
"Derek’s here?" Stiles squeaks, before he realizes how damning that sounds and clamps his mouth shut as his father narrows his eyes at him.
"Derek is one of my deputies, why wouldn’t he be here?”
Stiles shrugs his shoulders in a way that could say anything from ‘Because the last person I want to see me in this crime against humanity’ to ‘I was hoping he had finally accepted his wild roots and is living in a cave somewhere’.
John throws his hands up in the air after ten minutes of silence and states, “I’m done. Someone else can deal with the two of you tonight.” before stomping off.
It’s almost as if the stars aligned; because just as his father’s leaving, Stiles sees Derek for the first time since he stumbled into Stiles’ pity party over a week ago.
Surprisingly, Derek’s presence actually makes this night better, because someone has stuffed him into a horrible sweater as well. Granted, it’s not as bad as Stiles, with it just being a horrid green color and one large blinking light in the middle of his chest instead of a bunch scattered all over the place, but at least he’s not the only one suffering now.
Derek seems to catch his gaze just as Stiles sees him, his eyes raking over Stiles’ festive wear before tugging at his own as if to say ‘Why do people we love torture us so?’, eyes raising to the heavens as if to ask for strength.
Stiles just gives him a shrug, plucking at his shirt as if responding with ‘I have no idea. Tell me we can burn these later.’
Derek scoffs, as if Stiles had actually said that outloud, but more like he found humour in the ridiculous picture they made.
It makes Stiles grin, his brows raising when it looks like Derek is going to make his way over to him, but gets sidetracked by one of the older ladies of Beacon Hill that insist that Stiles will meet someone nice if he ‘just settles down a bit’.
The wool over his shoulders doesn’t feel as much of a burden now; if Stiles had put his foot down-an impossible feat when Kira and Scott are involved-and had seen Derek in his shirt, he would have teased him, no doubt about that.
Now, though, Stiles has a conversation opener; he can also talk to Derek about getting a better poker face, but thank him for keeping his little slip-up from his dad.
Actually glad now that he was talked into this, Stiles goes and looks for the punch, a lighter step than when he first entered the party.
He and Derek have all night, he can wait.