Work Text:
… explosion …
“Tell … if … hurt.”
… flames …
“... know whether … alright.”
… smoke …
“Say …! Can ... hear me?”
… blue eyes …
“Talk to me! Are you okay?”
Oh, damn.
Stiles hadn’t even been aware that he had been staring, eyes already burning from the smoke he had just been lead out of mere minutes before, nor that those thoughts of his had escaped in a hoarse voice and through dry lips, ears still faintly ringing after the explosion responsible for the fire on the other side of the street, but it was a good thing that he still couldn’t take his eyes off the other man, because that was the only reason he saw the slight flinch back.
Shaking himself out of the shocked stupor, he mentally kicked his own ass for the persistent lack of a brain-to-mouth filter he suffered from in stressful situations, which again and again had a penchant for landing him in even more troubling situations, so much so that he really should be used to it by now. Time to backtrack and hope he wouldn’t dig himself even deeper, he thought with a grimace. “Shit, no, I didn’t -”
“It’s fine.” The smile was presumably supposed to be reassuring, the voice light, but Stiles could recognize the forced edge to it. “I know I don’t make a pretty sight, and it’s admittedly a good deterrent example for whenever I’m part of any educational efforts at schools or anything like that, so ….”
“Tha- okay, wow … man, that’s actually kind of tragic, although understandable. But no,” he insisted, through the sympathetic wince, forcibly redirecting his thoughts towards the more pressing matter. “I really wasn’t referring to your appearance. I mean, I was,” he instantly amended at a sardonically raised eyebrow, “but I didn’t mean your scars. It’s just -” Stiles hesitated then, but the now almost curious, if still noticeably reserved, gaze locked on him gave him the strength to continue, “oh, damn, and I thought the fire was hot as hell, but you are something else entirely.”
The rough bark of laughter was a surprise. It was certainly better than the vague hurt from before or the disgust and hate he had feared at his remark, knowing that all types of forces - military, police, firefighters and such - unfortunately tended to attract men full of toxic masculinity.
While the laughter morphed into deep chuckles, which had him feeling warmer than the fire accounted for, Stiles was wondering whether he should instead feel insulted. He had received all kinds of reactions to his various observations and several harmless flirtations before, but never laughter, at least not like this. Honestly, though, it was too nice a laugh to think too negatively yet, maybe the guy it came from would have a personality just as nice, even if that was probably wishful thinking.
“I’d almost suggest having you checked out for a concussion or smoke inhalation and lack of oxygen,” came the amused reply, “but I have a feeling that you were in fact absolutely serious just now.”
“Wha- of course, I’m serious!? Have you recently looked at yourself in a mirror?!” He shook his head, decisively ignoring his red face and blaming it entirely on the residual heat of the fire or a belated reaction to the smoke. “No, you know what, I get ‘not being interested’ and everything, so you don’t need any excuses, just tell me to ‘shut up’ and ‘fuck off’ or better yet, throw me back into the flames, otherwise I’ll just burn up with embarrassment.”
As Stiles started to stand up, maybe to check on the others huddled under shock blankets close to the second ambulance or to figure out what had been the cause of the explosion in the first place or to get an estimate for the duration of the operations and for the damage - anything to clear his mind of the man with a smile both warmer and brighter than the fire - aforementioned man held him back with a gentle grip around his wrist. “Hey, hey, now wait a moment, please. I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. And who said anything about me not being interested?” He let himself get tugged back into his seat, watching the other’s eyes crinkle with a genuine curl to his lips this time. “I’m not looking for pity or intending to put myself down here, but I am aware enough of both myself and my surroundings to acknowledge that my scars aren’t exactly a beauty mark - literally or metaphorically. It’s just refreshing to have someone beside my niece and nephew ignore or look beyond them.”
“But I’m really not. Ignoring them, I mean. It’s just that your eyes were the first thing I noticed and everything else became secondary.” Stiles shrugged, and he wasn’t even lying. Those cool and focused eyes had been the first thing he had seen through the smoke, and the only thing he had been able to focus on in the heat of the flames, to get him out of there. Then, outside the building and out of danger, these same eyes had turned concerned and, even after his bumbling and stumbling over words and through the laughter, they had remained kind and warm, so he added seriously, “I’m not looking beneath your scars and seeing how you might have looked before, I’m looking at them and noticing someone who just went against what’s probably their every instinct to jump into what must be their living nightmare and all that to save a total stranger.”
“Well,” the man cleared his throat, “we don’t have to remain strangers. I’m Peter.” He reached out - “Peter Hale” - and Stiles shook the proffered hand.
Still, he couldn’t quite help the soft smirk, “Alright, hot-as-Hale Peter, I’m Stiles Stilinski,” but he managed to ignore the huff and fond eye-roll, if only because of the slightly widening, still lopsided grin directed at him. “I’d love to buy you a coffee sometime, not only but admittedly also as a ‘thank you’ for saving my ass back there. Just, please, let’s not meet like this ever again.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry, I’d save your ass anytime.”