Chapter Text
Stiles smacks his head against the steering wheel and groans. This is just his luck.
His dad had told him not to run away. “Running away from your problems doesn’t fix anything…”
But, of course Stiles hadn’t listened to that sound advice and had skedaddled out of town as fast as humanly possible. Now, he’s somewhere in Wyoming- stranded on the side of the road because the Jeep decided to give up the ghost.
He raises his head up and gently rubs at the spot on his forehead that will surely bruise. He sighs- the mountains cresting the horizon that looked so majestic a few moments ago now look ominous. Snow is beautiful from a distance, but those storm clouds look like they’re coming his way.
Stiles grabs his cellphone and pulls up the number for roadside assistance. He waits for the call to connect and tries his best to answer the questions the worker gives him. “Look, dude, I’m not getting much of a signal- I can’t pull up my exact location. All I know is I’m on Interstate 80.”
He looks around, squints to see the nearest mile marker sign and relays the information. A truck should be by to get him within the next two hours.
He groans again, ends the call, and fishes around in the back seat for some snacks he picked up at the last gas station he stopped at.
- - -
Three hours later, Stiles has managed to eat the rest of the Doritos and is two Twizzlers away from an empty bag. His sodas are gone, and he’s about to go out of his mind from boredom.
He calls AAA. “Hi, um, yes. This is Stiles Stilinski. The dude I talked to before said that they’d be here in two hours, but it’s been three… What do you mean they can’t find me? I’m literally the only vehicle out here?”
“On I-80?” the woman asks.
“Yes. I haven’t seen another car the whole time I’ve been stuck here.”
“On I-80?”
“Yes, on I-80! Geeze, could someone please come and get me. Hello?”
He looks at his phone- the call has dropped. Despite his best efforts, he can’t get another call to go through.
Stiles takes a deep breath to keep from panicking. He’s the only vehicle out here. Cell service- forget about it. The sun is starting to set, and is that… yep, that’s snowflakes. It’s official; he’s screwed.
“This week on Dateline…” Stiles deepens his voice. “The Idiot on I-80…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Twenty-six year old freezes to death on the side of the road after fleeing his girlfriend of five years’ surprise proposal.”
The problem wasn’t the fact that Heather proposed to him… in front of all their friends and family… She had even flown in her grandma from Vermont…
The problem was that she was… a she. Stiles had always thought that guys were objectively good looking, but he never even let himself think more of it. He’s not stupid, he knew being gay was a thing. He just never thought it was a possibility for him. There were literally only two gay people in the entire town of Beacon Hills. Old Mr. Jenkins who grew up in the sixties and never really fully came out, and Danny.
It wasn’t until Danny came home for their fifth high school reunion (with his HUSBAND) that Stiles ever even considered being gay himself. But, he looked at them- standing there smiling, roaming around the gymnasium holding hands, laughing… and he was so jealous. They were just so happy, and was Stiles happy? Could he find a time in his life that he and Heather just stood somewhere holding hands and smiling? Did Stiles radiate happiness when he introduced Heather to someone like Danny did when he was introducing Ethan?
He wanted what Danny had, and from that moment on he knew he’d never have it with Heather. He’d never have it with any girl. The knowledge had eaten away at him for the next three years, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say it out loud- to tell her… to break up with her.
And, then, suddenly she was down on one knee. Everyone was looking at him. It was now or never, and his brain had blue screened. Before it could reboot, he blurted out, “I’m a raging homo,” turned tail, and ran from the building as fast as he could.
There’s a peck on the window and Stiles screams bloody murder. Flinging himself away from the door, he flails across the seat and holds his chest.
“I said, ‘Do you need some help?’” the man rolls his eyes as he repeats himself.
Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to control himself. He swallows hard and forces out, “Where the heck did you come from?”
The man points at the old truck now parked in front of Stiles’ Jeep. “I was on my way home, and I saw you sitting here. No one ever comes this way and it’s getting dark, so I thought I would stop to help.”
“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say,” Stiles frowns.
The man huffs, offended. “Whatever. If you’re good…”
“No, wait!” Stiles calls. He opens his door and steps out onto the pavement. “I called for a tow like three and a half hours ago. I told them the mile marker, but they’ve been all up and down I-80, and they can’t find me.”
The man smirks. “And, they won’t find you. This is Highway 251. I-80 is about 120 miles from here.”
“Crap,” Stiles groans. “Can I borrow your phone, then? I need to tell them where I’m actually at so they can come and get me.”
“Not gonna happen,” the man shakes his head.
“Oh come on, Murder-Brows. Just one last call…”
“I mean,” he emphasizes with a growl, “they can’t come get you. Officials have already closed the road due to the storm coming in.”
Stiles whines. “I’m screwed. Screwed!!!”
“I’ll give you a ride into town.”
“So, I can either, A) take a ride from a kind stranger, get to safety, and live happily ever after, B) take a ride from a serial killer and never be seen or heard from again, or C) stay in my Jeep and freeze to death.”
“What will it be?” the man shrugs.
“That’s the million dollar question,” Stiles shakes his head. He looks over at the man. He doesn’t LOOK like an ax murderer. His truck has an open bed, so it’s not like he’s going to be able to shove his body into the trunk. When Stiles sighs, he can see his breath. “Okay, I’m going to trust you. I appreciate your help.”
The man nods. “Get anything you need, and we’ll put it in the bed.”
Stiles fishes around the vehicle for anything valuable and shoves it into his duffle bag. Then, he maneuvers his huge suitcase out of the back seat and does his best to roll it to the truck.
It’s an old truck- rusted out in a few places, but he can appreciate someone not wanting to let an old heap of metal go. He struggles to lift the suitcase over the side. It’s oversized- has to be at least seventy-five pounds, and his fingers are already going numb.
The man walks over to him, holds out his hand. Stiles steps back and stands there in awe as he lifts the luggage one handed into the truck.
“That’s… impressive.”
“Let’s get going,” the man rolls his eyes.
- - -
“I really appreciate this, Derek,” Stiles says a few miles down the road. They’ve exchanged names by now and made a bit of small talk.
“Not a problem,” Derek says. He rolls his shoulders as he drives- scrunching his face.
“You okay?” Stiles questions.
He nods. “Yeah, it’s just that tonight’s the Hunter’s Moon.”
“And that is?” Stiles asks cluelessly.
“The October full moon,” Derek replies as if it’s obvious.
“Oh,” Stiles looks out at the snow accumulating on the hood. “Does it always snow like this here in October?”
Derek shrugs. “Pretty much.”
“Yikes,” Stiles props his elbow up on the door’s armrest and holds his head in his hand. “I’m used to California weather.”
“Ever seen snow before?”
“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I’m from Northern California, but not Northern enough to get it this early. We get maybe like a dusting in January, and that’s about it. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
They drive a while longer before Derek turns onto a side road.
“Um,” Stiles suddenly has doubts about the man again. “Isn’t the town that way?”
“My house is closer,” Derek explains. “I can barely see to keep going, and if we did make it to town, there’s no way I’d be able to make it back home.”
“Oh,” Stiles tries to shake away any fear. “Makes sense.”
“The cabin’s a little secluded, but it’s safe. We’ll get warm, and I can make us dinner.”
“Ah,” Stiles replies in a low voice. “The secluded cabin in the woods. A beacon of safety to get them through the blizzard. The promise of a warm meal seemed like such a thoughtful gesture… Or was it?”
Derek frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Keith Morrison?” Stiles asks. “Everyone’s favorite creepy Dateline correspondent.”
“If you compare me to a serial killer one more time, I swear…”
“You’ll kill me?” Stiles smirks.
Derek growls and turns his eyes back to the road.