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Summary
“OK, so Derek made these. This. The lunch in front of me is from Derek. Derek made all of us, including me, lunch.”
“What happened to all that genius of yours, Stilinski?” Lydia is snuggled up in the curve of Jackson’s arm, apple held daintily in her manicured fingertips. There is nothing dainty about the bite she takes out of it.
If Stiles has learned anything over the past two years, it’s that you should absolutely look a gift horse in the mouth, because the horse probably isn’t a horse at all, or if it is, it’s got fangs or halitosis or secret powers or something else that will fuck up Stiles’ day. He’s also crazy hungry, though, and the sandwich is like…a real sandwich, with two different kinds of meat and cheese and lettuce.
~*~
Or, the one where Derek starts taking care of the pack in all the little ways, and Stiles wants to pay him back