Chapter Text
Derek’s walking the fence line when he hears the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine, probably half a mile away. It’s most likely Deaton, he’s supposed to be coming today to check on a couple of pregnant cows, vaccinate some calves, and inspect the injuries on his quarter horse Ollie’s hind legs from some old barbed wire he got tangled in last week. With his dog Bud on his heels he cuts across the pasture, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his tank top. The July sun seems hotter than it’s ever been, the heat bugs buzzing obnoxiously beneath his feet. As much as he likes Deaton, along with the vet comes a hefty bill, and milking cows doesn’t exactly a millionaire make. Not that there’s any place else on earth he’d rather be than on his farm with his cows, horses, chickens and dogs, but a money tree wouldn’t hurt. He can hear Laura’s voice in the back of his head telling him thatshe doesn’t have a problem spending her part of the insurance money, and that he’s absolutely ridiculous for only using a small portion of his third of it to rebuild the family’s farm house. He can’t seem to find the words to explain to her that he feels responsible for what happened to their family, for the fire that burned up his life. It just feels wrong to use the money that came from it. Of course, Laura would counter that by saying it’s wrong for him to continue living in exile for ten years after the fact.
Whatever.
The truck rolling down his driveway trailed by a cloud of dust isn’t the familiar white GMC that Deaton usually drives. No, this one is more beat up, a dark green Dodge dually with a utility body. When he squints it doesn’t look like Deaton’s driving either, in fact, both the driver and the passenger look like they’re his age or younger. Derek doesn’t even bother trying to hide his eye roll and dramatic sigh. There’s a reason he lives on the outskirts of Beacon Hills all alone with only his animals for company. And that reason is that people are the actual worst. They always want to talk, ask him how he’s doing, pet his dogs, hit on him and are just generally annoying.
He’s preparing himself to tell these kids that they’re obviously in the wrong place when the driver hops out of the truck. Derek’s words die in his throat when he sees the Beacon Hills Veterinary Services logo embroidered on the left pocket of the guys’ denim work shirt.
“Who are you?” he growls, forcing himself not to react when his rude tone is met with a smile that might actually be made from sunshine. “Where’s Deaton?”
“Hey dude,” Sunshine Smile says, holding out a hand. “I’m Scott McCall, I’m taking over the large animal portion of Dr. Deaton’s practice.” Derek accepts the handshake, forcing himself to only squeeze a little extra hard, you know, for intimidation purposes. It doesn’t seem to faze Scott, who continues smiling his lopsided grin. “I’ve got my-”
“Light of my life?” A voice pops in from the other side of the truck. An awfully familiar one. “Moon and stars? Honey bear? Lovah?” Scott rolls his eyes as the owner of the voice walks around the hood of the truck, smirking proudly while chomping on a piece of gum.
“I was going to say boyfriend, but I guess Lovah will have to do,” Scott looks up at Derek like they’re going to share some kind of fond look, and Derek forces himself to at least look something other than gutted. It’s not every day that a guy finds out that his years spanning, tooth rotting, embarrassing as all get out, school boy crush on the local sheriff’s son, that he maybe thought was possibly mutual, has definitely been unrequited. Judging by the slight crinkle to Scott’s brows, Derek has only succeeded in looking deranged.
“Oh look, it’s my favorite farm boy!” Stiles, because of course Derek has a crush on someone named Stiles, sing songs, punching Derek solidly in the arm. He shakes out his hand and grumbles under his breath, but Derek’s attention is more caught by Scott, who seems to be giving him an appraising look, like he’s a cow up for auction or something. It should be unnerving, and normally when people look at them like that Derek has to fight back the urge to injure them. Right now though, he kind of likes the tingly feeling running down his spine as deep brown eyes sweep across his chest.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
“The girls are this way,” he mumbles, turning abruptly on his heel and stalking off towards the main barn.
“So this is your farm boy huh?” Scott whispers, his voice carrying on the breeze and not very well masked by the scuffling of his and Stiles’ feet. “I thought you were exaggerating about how hot he was.” The tips of Derek’s ears and the back of his neck burn hot, and he wills it down, ducking into the cool darkness of the barn.
The familiar scent of hay, silage and manure doesn’t do that much to calm him, especially when the door swings open and Scott and Stiles practically stumble inside. They’re both wearing muck boots now, and Scott has a bag slung over each shoulder. It shouldn’t be - muck boots are actually the most unattractive item of footwear any person could wear. No one should look good with their pants stuffed all into their rubber boots. But for some god awful reason Derek wants to push themboth up against a wall and kiss them senseless. Because that’s exactly what he needs right now, to have the hots for not one, but two taken guys who are dating each other.
Perfect.
This day can’t get any worse.
“Let’s check out the mom-to-be’s first,” Scott offers, seeming to find his own way into the tie stall area and bee lining for the small Jersey tied at the far end. She whips her head up and glares at them as they approach but Scott it seems, is unaffected. “Hey pretty lady,” he murmurs, running one hand down her flank. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy glaring at Derek. Derek glares back because he knows this one is going to be a pain in his ass. She’s small and mean, and will probably kick him every time he tries to put a milking machine on her. “She’s on the small side,” Scott says conversationally as he pulls on gloves that go all the way up to his shoulders. Derek nods and looks determinedly at the floor, kicking his toe through the sawdust. He may be a farmer, and he isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty, but this part never fails to gross him out just a little bit.
“She tore through three fences when she came into heat,” he grumbles. “Got in with the neighbor’s beef herd.”
“Ah,” Scott chuckles over the squelch of Vaseline. “Well, the Reyes’ bull is small, she should be okay.” Derek just nods, shifting so that he can see the screen on the sonogram machine Stiles is holding. The calf looks to actually be in the right position, its little nose resting neatly on top of its two front hooves. “Looks like she’ll be ready to go in a couple days.”
The next three cows go just as smoothly, complete with Scott petting them and telling them: “you’re doing so well sweetie” and “you’re going to be a great mom baby girl”.
“Deaton doesn’t talk this much,” Derek observes as he leads them down to the calf barn. “I like Deaton.”
“You are such a grouch dude,” Stiles says with a grin. Derek refuses to look at him, if only out of concern for his own sanity. He’s spent too many years running into Stiles at the feed store (buying bird seed for his dad), and at the dinner (getting his dad a salad and himself some curly fries) and at the library (‘wow Hale I never thought I’d see the day when you’d willingly enter my place of employment’) to know that as annoying as Stiles is, he seems to have a knack for turning Derek on andembarrassing him with only a smirk and a few choice words. “Does it like, physically pain you whenever you hear my voice? It looks like it might.”
Derek rolls his eyes and yanks open the door to the calf barn, taking a second to pull himself together before glaring at Stiles. “It’s not so much the sound of your voice as it is the words you say.” There. That ought to show him. He even sounded like a normal person there for a second.
“Where’d you get that from, Tumblr or something?” Stiles snorts, pushing past Derek and leering at him as their bodies brush.
Derek hates that he feels it all the way to his toes, hates that when Scott brushes by him it only gets worse. And by worse he means better, especially when Scott leans down and lets one of the calves suck on his fingers while he scratches her head. Of course it’s only natural to let his eyes travel down the curve of Scott’s spine to his really nice ass-
“Ahem.” Derek jerks his head up to find Stiles watching him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed suspiciously. He knows his cheeks are probably brilliantly red, can feel the heat radiating off them in the coolness of the barn. Swallowing hard he heads towards the larger calves, the ones that need their vaccinations.
“These ones need their first set,” he mumbles, gesturing to the four calves gathering at the half door of their stall and mooing at him. “The ones tied over there need their second set and brucellosis vaccinations too.”
Scott gives the calf (her name is Leila but no one needs to know that besides Derek), one last pat on the head before straightening up and pulling some syringes and a couple of bottles of vaccinations out of his bag. Derek can feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he and Scott slip into the stall. Stiles is probably angry that Derek was checking out his boyfriend, he figures, wrapping one arm around the nearest calf. She stills instantly, her sandpaper rough tongue dragging across the underside of his arm before she settles on trying to get as much of his tank top into her mouth at once as she possibly can.
“You’re not gonna tie them up?” Stiles asks from outside the stall. Derek doesn’t dare look at him, and instead pretends to be too focused on stroking the calf’s neck (which she loves, by the way) to glance his way.
“No, they’re used to me and small enough that I can hold them still. It’s easier on them.” And it’s true, the calves barely flinch when Scott administers their shots, his fingers quick and efficient as he loads the syringe and then disposes of the needle, over and over. Scott also whispers encouragement into the calves ears and lets them lick his face even though it probably hurts, and only laughs when one head-butts him in the chest and knocks him on his ass in the messy stall.
Derek might be a little bit in love.
Of course, all he has to do is glance sideways as Stiles seems to decide it’s necessary for him to sit on top of the stall door, biceps bunching and t-shirt riding up, to remind himself that he’s also a little bit in love with that asshole too.
He’s going to hell.
They manage to make it through the rest of the vaccinations without Derek making too much of an ass of himself. He mostly just keeps quiet and tries not to look at either of him. It might mean that his heifers get more intense neck scratches than they’ve probably ever had, but the cows seem to enjoy it none the less.
“Deaton said you have a horse you need me to look at?” Scott says as he pulls off his latex gloves and tosses them in the trash. Derek can’t help but stiffen slightly, his heart rate ticking up just a notch.
“Yeah, he’s back here.” He leads Scott and Stiles out of the barn and up towards the house, trying to calm himself down. It’s just that he feels responsible for Ollie’s injuries, and is embarrassed that he let his beloved horse get hurt. He trusted Deaton not to judge him, or at least to keep any judgmental comments to himself. And heknows there is nothing he could have done. His family hadn’t used barbed wire for fencing in over twenty years, but it had been used for decades before that by every rancher in the area, and there was no telling how much of it is packed in the dirt and curled around trees. But just because he knows it doesn’t mean Scott and Stiles won’t judge him for it.
Ollie is contently munching on grass in Derek’s back yard, tail flicking lazily at flies. The grass was getting long anyways, so it had only made sense to set up a temp fence for Ollie while he was injured. Plus, it made it easy for Derek to check on him whenever he wanted, and took away any worries about additional barbed wire. Ollie seems to be okay with the arrangement, especially when Derek slides open the kitchen window and feeds him snacks. What? He likes his horse more than he likes most people.
Ollie’s ears flick towards them as they approach, nostrils flaring slightly before he whinnies softly and trots towards Derek. He’s still favoring his rear left leg, but seems to be putting more weight on it every day.
“Hey buddy,” Derek murmurs, hopping over the fence. “It’s not on,” he says over his shoulder, pulling a peppermint out of his pocket and unwrapping it. Ollie pushes his head against Derek’s chest and nickers, mouthing sloppily at the hem of his tank. He manages to get drool all over Derek’s hand when he finally takes the peppermint, but he doesn’t seem to mind when Derek wipes it back on his shoulder.
“Wow, he’s beautiful.” Derek had almost forgotten that Scott and Stiles were there. They’re both staring at him with identical expressions of awe. “Is he… can we pet him?”
“Sure,” Derek nods while keeping an eye on Ollie. “He’s fine.” Scott and Stiles approach cautiously, hands held out flat in the way that little kids are taught to feed horses. Ollie mouths at their palms, and after looking supremely disappointed in the lack of snacks, blows a breath through his nose in Stiles’ face and returns to hanging his head over Derek’s shoulder so he can investigate the contents of his back pockets.
“He got tangled in some barbed wire. I think his stitches are ready to be taken out,” Derek says just to break the awkward silence. Scott and Stiles are both staring at him like they’ve never seen a man pet a horse before, and while it’s possible with Stiles (what, the guys a little unpredictable), there’s no way Scott’s that naive.
“Don’t you need to put a halter on him?” Stiles asks, rocking back on his heels with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. Derek frowns at him, fingers carding absently through Ollie’s mane.
“What is your obsession with me tying up my animals?”
Stiles skin flushes in an instant, all the way up to his scalp and spreading in blotches down his neck and towards his chest.
“He has a thing for hot guys and rope,” Scott says as bends towards Ollie’s rear leg, leaning slightly against the horse. He winks at Derek and bites his lip, and Derek knows that Stiles isn’t the only one who looks like a cherry tomato. “I’ve just got a thing for hot guys and horses.”
Derek blinks at the back of Scott’s head for a few moments before turning to look at Stiles, hoping for answers. Instead, Stiles seems to be glaring at Scott, his left eyelid twitching slightly.
“Bro,” he starts, taking a step towards Scott and freezing when Ollie lets out a warning huff. “You can’t steal my farm boy. That is totally uncool.”
“Don’t bro me babe,” Scott replies easily, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard over the tearing of bandages. “You know we can share.”
At that Stiles swings his head over towards Derek, who, of course, is in the middle of choking on his own spit because what is even going on here? For all that he gives off the appearance of an uneducated country boy, he’s never in his life felt so lost in a conversation. And he’s never been hit on by a guy and then appraised by his boyfriend in the way that Stiles is looking at him right now. Normally at this point his life is being threatened.
“You have the greatest ideas Scotty,” Stiles actually strokes his chin as if he has a beard, winking roguishly at Derek. “We can totes share the farm boy.”
“If you call me farm boy one more time,” Derek growls, trying to point menacingly at Stiles. It ends up just looking ridiculous, especially when Stiles snaps his teeth and pretends to bite him.
“Ooooo, whatcha gonna do farm boy? Tie me up?” Stiles laughs when Derek lunges at him, jumping away and managing to get himself tangled up in the fence.
“I told you he has a thing for ropes,” Scott mutters as he straightens, patting absently at the new bandage on Ollie’s leg. “You should be able to take that off in two days. He’s healing really well. I’d keep him in this area for another week though just to be sure.”
“Thanks,” Derek finds himself smiling at Scott without really wanting to, but the way Scott’s entire face seems to light up in return is more than worth it.
“I’ll just print up your bill and then we’ll be out of your hair,” Scott shoots a fond look at Stiles, who seems to be having absolutely no luck getting himself untangled from the fence. Derek sighs and stops to help him, lifting up Stiles’ feet like a child so he can pull the wire off.
“You have pretty eyes.” Stiles’ own eyes widen like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, the pink flush returning high on his cheekbones.
“You have cow eyes,” Derek replies matter of factly, grabbing Stiles arm and carefully leading him out of the fence.
“Is that a compliment?” Stiles asks. “That sounded like you were trying to be nice but I honestly have no idea. I’ve never even noticed if cows have nice eyes? I feel like that’s a weird thing to say to someone. Who even says that anyways? What kind of person goes around comparing other people to cows? That’s the kind of thing that usually gets me slapped across the face man…”
Stiles continues to babble, and Derek has to turn his face away to hide the smile that’s threatening to lift the corners of his lips. Scott’s waiting for them at the truck, muck boots off and replaced with worn out work boots. He’s rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his shoulders, and Derek can’t help but wonder what the tattoo wrapped around his bicep would feel like against his fingers and under his tongue.
Stiles continues to talk as he marches straight over to the hose and sprays off his boots, apparently unconcerned with the fact that no one is listening to a word that is coming out of his mouth. He stomps towards the back of the truck before awkwardly pulling off the boots and throwing them into the back and pulling out a pair of Adidas.
“Here you go,” Scott says, reaching into the backseat and grabbing a piece of paper off the mobile printer. “Deaton says you know the drill, but payment is due within the month.” Just as Derek’s about to grab the bill Scott snatches it back, hastily scribbling something at the bottom before he folds it up. “Just uh, think about it.” He smiles at Derek before righting himself in the driver’s seat and swinging the door shut.
“Do I have cow eyes?” Stiles asks him, leaning across the center console and batting his eyelashes.
“Yes.” Scott winks at Derek as he starts the truck, ignoring Stiles’ indignant squawking as he back the truck up before turning out the driveway.
Derek watches them go until the dust settles again, his blood rushing too loud in his ears. He feels like he’s just been hit by a tornado or something, everything all jumbled up and discombobulated in his head. With shaking hands (he really needs to get himself together), he unfolds the bill. He can’t help but let out the tiniest chuckle at the words scrawled across the bottom with two phone numbers:
Call us, Farm Boy ;)