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Derek stood behind the bar, wiping off the counter as he ignored the group of women at the end who were doing their best to get his attention. He cursed Erica under his breath for deciding to take her break while the bachelorette party was still there. He looked up as someone pounded on the bar in front of him. He almost snapped until he realized the guy had fallen into the bar, smacking his forehead on it.
He didn’t have the patience to deal with cutting off a drunken asshole. He looked around, hoping to grab Boyd for the hard work when the guy looked up with a groan. Fuck, it was the barista from the coffee shop downstairs from his apartment. Huffing out a breath, he reached into the fridge under the bar and pulled out a bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and set it next to the barista.
The guy looked up and blinked slowly. “Hey….I know you,” he slurred. “Grande, half-caff, java chip frappucino.” Derek was impressed he remembered his order and got the words out recognizably.
“And you’re tanked,” Derek returned, nudging the water bottle closer to his face.
“No, I’m Stiles,” he said, pushing himself to sit up and reaching for the bottle. “And it’s my birthday.”
“Your twenty-first?” Derek questioned, looking around, trying to find Stiles’ friends. He didn’t like that no one was watching him in this condition. If something happened, who would make Derek’s drink in the morning?
“You think I look twenty-one?” he said, perking up a bit and moving the bottle away from his mouth before taking a drink.
“You’re not?” Derek asked, looking around for Boyd again and wondering how someone underage managed to get inside the bar.
“Nope,” he responded, popping the P. “Today, I turned twenty-five!” He slapped the top of the bar for emphasis. Derek raised an eyebrow, and Stiles nodded his head rapidly a few times before stopping. His eyes went wide, and his skin paled. Derek grabbed the trash can by his feet and put it in front of Stiles’ face just in time for him to empty the contents of his stomach.
“You’re cleaning that out,” Erica said, magically reappearing and heading down to quiet down the bachelorette party.
“I’m taking him to the office,” Derek told her, and she gave him a look. “To call him a ride and make sure he doesn’t pass out on the floor.”
Derek walked around the bar and pulled Stiles’ arm over his shoulders. He kept the can in front of Stiles just in case as they made their way to the back of the bar. Heading through the swinging door, he helped Stiles down the hall to the office at the end. He unlocked the door using one of the keys on the retractable keyring attached to his belt. He helped Stiles to the couch along one wall. He settled him down, moving the trash can by his desk to sit on the floor next to him before taking the other one into the attached bathroom.
He heard Stiles talking to himself as he cleaned the basket and set it down to dry. He knew he should take the trash bag out immediately, but he’d deal with it later. He didn’t need Stiles falling over and hurting himself.
When Derek left the bathroom, Stiles was sitting up, his hands over his face. He peeked out at Derek from between his fingers. “Fuck, I was really hoping I’d been hallucinating.”
“No such luck,” Derek responded, moving to sit in the chair behind the desk. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”
“Might as well keep the humiliation going. Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” Stiles muttered.
“I don’t think getting drunk when you’re of age is an arrestable offense,” Derek observed, but he was already looking the number up on his phone.
“Ask for Sheriff Stilinski. Tell him Stiles needs a ride home because Scott is a stupid jerk that abandoned him on his birthday to have cyber sex with his ex-girlfriend,” Stiles said.
Derek’s eyebrows rose, but he dialed the number, putting the phone on speaker when it started to ring. He’d always noticed that Stiles enjoyed talking, his voice filling the air in the coffee shop, but this was the most personal information he’d heard in a while. Although the information was about his friend, he still wondered what the Sheriff had to do with it all.
“Good evening, Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. Deputy Graeme speaking, how may I help?” a pleasant-sounding woman answered, her voice ringing through the office.
“Um, yes, may I speak to Sheriff Stilinski, please?”
“May ask what this in regards to?”
Derek looked over at Stiles, who was still hiding his face in one hand while making a ‘go on’ gesture with the other. “Stiles.”
There was a long pause. “Is Stiles alright? Who is this?” Deputy Graeme demanded.
“Relax, Tara,” Stiles called. “Just need a ride home.”
Deputy Tara Graeme let out an indelicate snort. “Scott desert you again, honey?” Stiles made a noncommittal sound as he pushed himself off the couch and came closer. “Don’t tell me you went back to Wicked Wish to stalk your hot customer. The one with the chocolate chip frou-frou drink. De- ”
Stiles let out a squawk and dove at the phone, tripping over his own feet and falling into Derek, knocking him and the phone to the ground with a crash, disconnecting the call and shattering the screen of Derek’s phone. “Oops,” Stiles said, pushing himself up and looking down at Derek, who was feeling a bit out of sorts, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Stiles’ phone began to ring, and he pulled it out of his pocket while pushing himself off Derek. “Yo, dad,” he answered. Derek could hear the concerned voice of Stiles’ dad coming through the phone but not make out the words. “Yeah, Wicked Wish.” Stiles’ face crumbled. “Really? I’ll call an Uber.”
Derek shook his head. “I’ll give you a ride,” he said, standing up and reaching for his keys. He figured Stiles couldn’t live too far if he worked at the coffee shop nearby. Erica and Boyd could handle running closing; he was overdue for an early night.
Stiles hung up with his dad. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Derek said. “It would be bad for business if you puked in the Uber, though.”
“What if I puke in your car?”
“It would be bad for you,” Derek countered with a grin, handing Stile a bottle of water from the mini-fridge next to his desk.
“I can pay you,” Stiles offered, taking a sip of the water.
Derek thought Stiles looked a little steadier on his feet, but he put a supportive hand on the small of his back as they left the office. They bypassed the bar to tell Erica they were leaving. She gave them a wink, and Derek flipped her off while Stiles buried his face in his hands again.
The ride was relatively quiet because Stiles more or less passed out as soon as they were out of the parking lot. Derek eventually let him sleep and called the Sheriff’s station again to get directions. That had been an awkward conversation, and the Sheriff stayed on the phone with Derek until he pulled up in front of Stiles’ place and woke him up to say good night.
Derek waited at the curb until Stiles let himself into the house and turned off the porch light. Driving away, he thought about what the deputy had said to Stiles and wondered if she had meant Derek. He figured it wasn’t the case, but Derek felt himself smiling at the possibility.
The following morning, Derek hesitated outside the coffee shop. He didn’t know how Stiles would feel about seeing him, but he really wanted his coffee. Taking a deep breath, he pulled open the door and saw Stiles behind the counter, his head in his hands. He looked up when the bell above the door jingled and groaned.
“I was hoping it was all a nightmare,” he said as Derek approached the counter.
Derek smirked. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he teased. “I’m just looking for my, what was it, chocolate chip frou-frou drink?”
“Fuck off,” Stiles muttered, but he smiled just a little as he made the drink. Derek wanted to talk to him more but couldn’t come up with anything to say to carry the conversation.
Stiles returned to the counter and handed Derek his cup with a smile. “Have a good day, Derek.”
“You too, Stiles,” Derek returned as he handed over money.
“On the house,” Stiles said. “It’s the least I can do after last night.” Stiles’ coworker looked up with raised eyebrows, and Derek felt the tips of his ears burning. “See you tomorrow? Or sooner?”
“Sure,” Derek said, thinking that meant Stiles would be at the bar again that night, but as he pushed open the door, the writing on the cup caught his attention. “Call me, and I’ll get you a real drink,” was scrawled above a phone number. He looked up and saw Stiles smiling at him. Derek nodded and gave a wave, ready to make that phone call but deciding to wait until after Stiles’ shift.