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"Dude," said Scott, wandering unannounced into Stiles' kitchen. "What the hell are you doing?"
"The tango," said Stiles, rolling his eyes, then giggling and turning to look at Scott with some added flourish and a couple of choice moves. "What does it look like, idiot?"
"It looks like you're cooking," said Scott dubiously.
"You're a genius, dude," said Stiles dryly, turning back to stir the pot on the stove. "So fucking observant really, I'm surprised you haven't been pulled out of school to work for my dad yet, you-- "
"Why," said Scott, raising his voice slightly, "Are you cooking?"
"Because, dude," said Stiles, "I am sick of forking over a small fortune to pay for my 'equal'-- " He stopped to make air quotes, "-- share in the takeout when you-- you wolves eat more than I do in an entire week, so. Cooking is happening. Plus you guys need, like, healthy shit to keep you up and running like good little supernatural evil-slaying cubs."
"Is this you, like." Scott waved a hand. "Trying to be the pack mom again? I thought you were joking about that, dude."
"So not joking," said Stiles, pointing threateningly with his wooden spoon. "Anyway, since you're here now you can help me take all this shit up to Derek's. Grab a pot and a ladle!"
"Great," said Scott blankly.
Derek didn't actually say anything when Stiles shouldered through his front door carrying a really stupidly heavy pot full of casserole in both arms, just raised an impossibly, eloquently aggressive eyebrow.
"Food, feeding, too much takeout, holy shit get out of my way so I can put this down and I'll explain in a minute," said Stiles all in one breath, moving as fast as he could with like, an actual weight-equivalent black hole of deliciousness in his arms.
Derek followed him into the kitchen with his arms crossed and made no move to help Stiles as he struggled to heft the pot onto the counter, the asshole.
The eyebrow was still raised when Stiles turned to look at him again, panting.
"Look," he said, holding up his hands, "I'm not trying to impose on your pack, or like, stage some kind of hostile takeover or anything, I mean, I'm not stupid." His eyes flicked totally involuntarily to the muscles that were distressingly visible through Derek's black t-shirt. "I just figured, this is something I can do, right? You guys eat a kind of ridiculous amount, especially after you've been chasing your tails round and round the woods or whatever it is you do for hours out there, and I'm not actually a completely awful cook, you can ask my dad even, so. I mean, it'll save everyone a bit of cash, right?"
Derek rolled his eyes and left Stiles alone in the kitchen, blinking.
"Right," he said to himself. "I'll take that as a blanket yes, then," he added more loudly, echoing after Derek.
He may have heard a growl in response, he couldn't be sure, he was too busy giggling a little hysterically. What the hell was his life.
So like, Derek could raise his eyebrows and roll his eyes and growl all he wanted, but there was actually not a scrap of food left when Stiles hauled his pots back into the jeep later.
"Next time I'm making mac and cheese!" he shouted to the house in general.
He heard a muted cheer in response; probably Scott.
The mac and cheese was just as successful, if not more so, than the casserole. Even Jackson couldn't keep the grudging appreciative look off his face as he helped himself to thirds.
Derek was the only one who remained apparently totally unmoved.
"Are you taking requests?" asked Lydia as she helped Allison wash the plates, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Yeah, why not," said Stiles, shrugging. "No fancy crap though, I don't have time for that shit if I'm gonna be running all over the place saving everyone's asses, and you know that's what'll happen."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said. Stiles stuck his tongue out. "I want beef stroganoff."
"Seriously?" Stiles blinked at her. "That's your definition of not fancy?"
"That's your definition of fancy?" she shot back.
"Touché," said Stiles. "I see what you did there. Challenge accepted, bring it bitch, et cetera et cetera. Next up on Stiles' bi-weekly menu of deliciousness, the best beef stroganoff ever."
"Can you make potato mash?" said Scott wistfully.
"Fuck you, make it yourself. Or get in line, whatever," said Stiles.
Scott threw a spoon at him.
Derek made a Disapproving Face.
"Oh, come on," said Stiles. "For once we aren't worried about some obscure otherworldly creature finding new and creative ways to fuck with us. Or kill us. Or maim us. Or...something. We can totally fantasise about food instead. Or throw spoons. Not that I approve of spoons been thrown at me, but-- "
"I miss the takeout," said Derek long-sufferingly.
"Lies," said Stiles happily, flicking a spoon back at Scott and catching his left ear.
The next time Stiles went to drive his jeep, there was a pile of mushrooms nestled in the back seat.
He stared at them for a long time.
It probably wasn't some supernatural entity fucking with him, but he couldn't be sure. Weirder things had happened.
In the end he took them inside and dumped them in the sink. They were probably still poisonous, but werewolves were immune to that shit, right?
He googled it just to be safe, because hey, he wasn't a werewolf, after all.
Turned out they were good to go.
"This is actually good," said Lydia, halfway through her bowl of the stroganoff. "Where did you even get the recipe?"
"The fucking internet, man," said Stiles, pumping a victorious fist. "Haven to the amateur cook."
"Classy," said Lydia dryly.
"Hey, don't hate on the net, I don't hear any complaints," said Stiles, waving to the room in general. Even Derek was eating, which Stiles considered the most momentous victory of all.
"I call next request," said Scott with his mouth full. "Potato mash."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "You can't survive on potato mash alone, you heathen," he said.
"I can," said Scott. "Make it for me, bitch."
Stiles sighed. "I hope everyone appreciates the things I put up with around here," he said.
"Yeah, you have it real tough, Stilinski," said Jackson flatly.
"Whatever, you're just pissed you didn't shotgun a request before Scott," said Stiles smugly.
Jackson made a face at him, but didn't actually argue.
The next time Stiles left his house he tripped over a sack of potatoes.
"What the hell," he muttered, glancing around at the deserted premises.
Obviously it was someone fucking with him. One of the pack, because who else knew that Stiles had taken up cooking in such vast quantities lately?
Unless his dad had gone shopping in the middle of the night and somehow misplaced the potatoes on the doorstep, but he doubted it.
It was probably Scott. It seemed like his lame idea of a prank, or what he considered teasing.
Although he wouldn't actually put it past Lydia. Allison was way too nice, unless this was someone actually trying to be nice, but again, Stiles doubted it. That was just how his life went.
It was a weird fucking prank though, and Stiles couldn't actually say he minded.
It made things a lot easier, considering the nightmare he'd had last night about Scott drowning him in a pool of his own sub-par potato mash.
After that it was apples.
"Apples?" he said, frowning. "We didn't talk about apples, did we?"
The apples, predictably, didn't say anything.
"If this escalates to dead animals," Stiles shouted to the world in general, "I'm calling the cops!"
"What the hell are you doing here?" said Derek when he opened the door.
"I have way too much pie, okay," said Stiles, "I've been doing the rounds like some kind of-- houseboy, or something, so here, take it." He held out the fucking pie.
Derek just stared at it, then back at him.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't care if you eat it or throw it out or do some fucking American Pie shit with it, I just can't have any more pie in my house, I can't do it, okay, I'm done, I'll be sick."
Derek took the pie slowly, like it was going to explode in his face or something.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said. "It's after dark."
"Right, sorry dad," said Stiles. "You're right, I'm sure with all the freaky supernatural goings on in this place it's a pie run that's going to kill me."
"You're going to get yourself killed," said Derek in his you're such a moron voice, which was pretty much his regular voice, but there were nuances, okay, Stiles totally paid attention. Maybe a little more than he should, but that was a whole other thing. "By not ever listening or staying the fuck away. From anything."
"We're way past that crap, man," said Stiles easily. "You know there's no point arguing with me."
Derek looked long-suffering, like he was in actual physical pain. Also not an unusual look on him.
It was…something, though, like…almost like he genuinely cared. About Stiles, and not just the pack.
Which was stupid, really, wasn't it? Definitely stupid. Stiles blinked.
"Anyway, you have pie now, so my job here is done. Enjoy. Or not, whatever. I'll see you around."
He didn't look back as he headed back to the jeep, but he didn't actually hear the front door close. Derek probably watched him til he was all the way out of sight, the creepy paranoid weirdo.
Creepy paranoid hot weirdo.
Whatever, it was just facts. Stiles shook his head despairingly at the steering wheel.
He was halfway through making Jackson's asshole request of beef Bourguignon (it was going to be amazing though, no way was Jackson getting the better of him) when his phone rang.
"Yo, haute cuisine de Stilinski, how can I help you?" he said.
"Stiles," said Derek tightly, "Get Scott and get over here. Now."
"Oh my God, what's happening?" said Stiles, dropping the spoon he was using to stir into the pot and getting scalding hot sauce all over himself. "Fuck, fuck, ow, okay, I'm coming. What is it though? Is it more were-animals of some kind? Is it vampires? Do I need to get my stakes? Some garlic? Do you-- "
"I don't know," said Derek, "Just get over here," and hung up.
"Fuck," said Stiles again, licking away the sauce that'd landed on his lips and turning the stove off.
He contemplated the pot for half a second and shook his head, grabbing the keys off the counter and sprinting to the jeep.
When Stiles pulled up in front of the Hale place with Scott in tow, it was on fire.
"Jesus," said Stiles, jumping out of the driver's side. "Again? Oh man, this is not good."
Derek materialised around the side of the house.
"Scott," he said sharply, "East side of the woods. See if you can find anything."
"Yeah," said Scott kind of stupidly, blinking rapidly before he vanished into the shadows.
"What can I do?" said Stiles, wringing his hands uselessly.
"Help put out the fire," said Derek, turning back to run towards the house.
"Right, firefighting, I can totally do that," said Stiles, stumbling after him.
It wasn't as bad as Stiles had first thought; only a small portion of the place was actually alight-- Stiles squinted; the kitchen, he guessed-- and Derek was doing a pretty good job of getting it under control.
"Are you sure we shouldn't call the fire department?" said Stiles, catching the hose Derek threw at him and aiming it at the fire.
"I'm not calling anyone until I know what the hell is going on," growled Derek.
"Okay, okay, cool, it's your house, dude," said Stiles, shrugging and like, gunning the hose. If that was even a thing. Probably not. Still though, between them they got the fire out pretty quickly, and afterwards Stiles stepped back a bit, wiping his forehead and staring with wide eyes at the smoking, burnt-out hole in the side of Derek's house.
When he chanced a glance over at Derek, it was…a little heartbreaking, actually. Yeah, mostly he just looked fucking angry, the way he did every time something like this happened, which was depressingly often, but there was also…Stiles could see something even more hollow than usual in his eyes, and this, well, this sadness playing about the lines of his mouth, and wow, this was a really fucking shitty thing to have happened, of everything in the world that could've gone wrong, and Stiles could think of a lot of things-- he was a pretty imaginative dude.
"Are you," Stiles started hesitantly, and Derek's eyes snapped from the house to him like he'd forgotten Stiles was there.
Stiles bit down on his lip and tried to figure out where he'd been going with that sentence.
It was kind of hard to think; Derek had gone from just mostly to completely angry.
He was saved by Scott coming jogging out of the trees, Boyd and Isaac not far behind.
"There was…something," said Scott. He looked kind of nervous. Stiles didn't blame him. "It smelled human. I think."
Boyd and Isaac nodded their agreement.
"Yeah," said Derek. Stiles got the feeling he wasn't hearing anything he hadn't already confirmed for himself.
"That's a good thing though, right?" said Stiles. Everyone turned to look at him. Or glare, whatever. He winced. "I mean, in terms of dealing with it, you know, at least it's not some kind of…of undefeatable demon, or-- or vampires, right? Because if Twilight has taught us anything it's that werewolves probably don't want to come up against vampires. Uh." He trailed off at Derek's scathing look.
"You didn't see anyone?" he said, turning to glare at the other guys. "Did the scent get stronger anywhere?"
"Lost it at the road," said Isaac.
Derek pursed his lips. "Of course," he said. His eyes went distant again for a moment, then he squared his shoulders visibly and said, "Okay, go home. This was-- there's nothing else we can do now."
"But," said Stiles without meaning to.
Everyone looked at him again.
"You didn't-- I don't know, recognise the scent, or anything? I mean, you all seem to know what I smell like, and, uh, you know, everyone we know, so-- "
"No," said Derek shortly.
"Oh-kay," said Stiles slowly. "You're not going to go, like, exact some kind of horrible revenge once we're all gone, are you?"
Derek didn't dignify that with a response, just frowned harder and said, "Go home," again.
Scott, Isaac and Boyd were already walking away.
"Stiles," said Derek warningly. Threateningly, really.
"I just," said Stiles. "This sucks, right? I mean, you-- " He stopped. Probably if he brought up the whole fire thing Derek would actually kill him.
Derek was still frowning at him, although it looked slightly more…curious than it had a moment ago. "I'm fine, Stiles," he said.
"You're really not," said Stiles without thinking.
Derek's frown went right back to all-out terrifying.
"I'm fine," he hissed again, teeth clenched.
Stiles swallowed, but also figured, hey, if he was going to die, he may as well do it honourably, or some shit. "Your family died in a fire," he said, and it was like, holy shit, he could hear what he was saying and part of himself was completely horrified but he couldn't stop, even when Derek lurched towards him and started walking him backwards towards the house, all he did was start talking faster, "And this was a fire, and you looked-- I mean, we deal with a lot of shitty things, you deal with a lot of shitty things, but this is-- this is different, right? I mean, I know, my mom died, and it's like…like her birthday, or when I hear about other people who're sick with the same thing, or, ow." He stopped when his back hit the side of the house, one of Derek's hands pressed flat to his sternum and his face ducked in close, glowering.
"I will kill you," he hissed.
"You won't," said Stiles, laying all his cards on the table. He swallowed and tried to straighten his shoulders beneath Derek's grip.
Derek bared his teeth. "What makes you so sure?" he said.
And Stiles-- he didn't even know-- had some kind of fucking seeing the light, actual honest-to-God epiphany.
"It was you," he shouted. "Oh my God. That's how I'm so sure. It was you."
Derek's brows drew together.
"It was-- were you, what, were you trying to be nice, or-- "
Derek ground out, "Kill-- "
"The food!" said Stiles loudly. "All the food that just kept mysteriously appearing around my house, that was you, did you even-- I mean, did you go grocery shopping or, oh my God, you didn't, did you, you did it all caveman style, or wolf style, whatever, like, hunting and shit, you-- "
"I hate you so much," Derek cut him off, and kissed him.
"Um," said Stiles when Derek finally let him up to breathe. "That was…you kind of contradicted yourself there, a bit. I think."
"Shut up," said Derek, closing his eyes.
He was crowded all up in Stiles' space and he was so solid and warm, and close, Stiles felt like that needed to be emphasised, because he could feel Derek trying to like, breathe all calming and shit.
His eyes were still closed and Stiles felt pretty much braver than he ever had when he lifted a hand to touch Derek's cheek.
Derek's eyes flew open.
"Um," said Stiles. "Hi? You kissed me just then. I feel like we should talk about that."
Derek sighed heavily. "You're the most annoying person I've ever met," he said.
"So you're…still going to kill me?" tried Stiles, blinking.
Derek rolled his eyes. "You're the most annoying person I've ever met," he said again. "I'd still…rather be annoyed at you than…anything else."
Stiles narrowed his eyes, then widened them to stare. "Are you trying to pay me a compliment?" he said incredulously.
Derek looked pained.
"Don't hurt yourself," said Stiles dryly.
Derek said, "Shut up," pointedly, and bore forward to kiss Stiles again.
He wasn't gentle at all; there was a lot of teeth, a lot of biting, but it wasn't bad, it was…well, it was pretty much the best thing that'd ever happened to Stiles, hands down, because Derek was also precise and thorough and bruising in the best sense, Stiles could feel him everywhere, all the places they were touching and the wall at his back.
"Holy shit," he gasped when Derek pulled back again.
"Um, Stiles?" came Scott's voice, from very far away, it felt like, "Are you coming, or-- " He stopped short, mouth open.
"Uh," said Stiles.
"No," said Derek. "He's not."
"Right," said Stiles. He glanced at Scott, trying to decide whether or not this was a situation worthy of embarrassment. Really, really not, he guessed, and grinned brightly at Scott. "I'm not. So…keys! You can have my keys, hang on." He went to fumble in his pockets, which was kind of impossible with how close Derek was standing.
Scott was hilariously looking anywhere but at them.
"Um," said Stiles, looking at Derek pleadingly.
Derek pursed his lips but stepped away, arms folded.
"Keys!" said Stiles again, pulling them triumphantly from his pocket. He tossed them to Scott. "So, um. I'll see you later, dude. Don't crash my baby or I will murder you. Or have Derek murder you, if he's amenable. Which he probably will be. He's pretty murderous."
"Um," said Scott, and fled.
Stiles started laughing hysterically.
Derek watched him stonily for a moment, then said, "My bedroom didn't get burnt."
Stiles stopped laughing immediately. "Jesus, dude," he said, "Like, you don't say much, but you sure as hell know what to say when you do, fuck."
Derek raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, yeah, bedroom, awesome, let's go," said Stiles.
He followed Derek silently into the house, but obviously had to ask, halfway up the stairs, "Seriously? Like, seriously seriously? The whole-- me thing, I mean."
Derek had that look on his face again, it was pretty much a permanent fixture, that my life sucks look, but for once he didn't seem too pissed about it.
"Wow," said Stiles.
Stiles blinked around at the kitchen-- at the shiny new expensive-looking appliances, the huge stove; everything.
"Wait a minute," he said, "Was this all just some elaborate ploy to turn me into your, like, pack housewife or something?"
"You already were the pack housewife, Stiles," said Derek.
"I'll have you know I'm all man," said Stiles huffily, waggling his eyebrows like a lunatic.
Derek rolled his eyes but stepped forward, crowding Stiles back against the island. "You wanna test that theory?" he growled, ducking in to bite Stiles' jaw.
"Um, duh," said Stiles.
Derek made an approving sound and then, fucking, lifted Stiles to sit on the granite counter, pressing himself in between Stiles' knees.
"Ugh," said Lydia, walking into the kitchen and then promptly walking back out again. "Seriously?" she added from the hallway. "I mean, it's nice that you've mellowed Derek, Stiles, and we all thank you, but no one needs to see the actual process."
"I haven't mellowed," said Derek, frowning.
"You kind of have, babe," said Stiles, grinning and ducking the cuff Derek aimed at his head.
Stiles wasn't really big on the pet names; mostly he did it because it pissed Derek off so much.
"I am not eating anything you cook in that kitchen, just so you know," said Lydia.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "You'll eat it and you'll like it," he said.
Derek actually grinned at him then, and bit an approving bite into his neck, and wow, okay, even though they still somehow got themselves into mortal danger on a weekly basis, and Derek was still his usual frowny angry constantly-telling-Stiles-he-was-an-idiot self ninety per cent of the time, Stiles' life was kind of awesome.