Work Text:
3 Years Earlier
Even when Stiles dragged him into the woods because there was an apparent “dead body,” Scott went along with it. “Where’s Mrs. Talia, Stiles?” Scott had asked gently that night. Talia Hale was Stiles’s occupational, speech, and RDI sensory therapist. She and Claudia, Stiles’s late mother, were good friends before Claudia passed, so whenever the Sheriff had a late-night shift, Talia or Melissa McCall would switch nights they’d watch Stiles. The Sheriff had always felt guilty. Having a child with Autism wasn’t easy, especially being a single parent now, and RDI therapy was really something between a child and their parent. But, duty calls as the sheriff of Beacon Hills.
Stiles had forgotten to answer Scott’s question. Scott took him down to the back porch, a safe, relaxing space for Stiles when he couldn’t focus. He gently took Stiles’s hand and began to rub the back of it, soothingly.
“Uh-uh,” Stiles said, taking his hand back and shaking it as if Scott had gotten some kind of noticeable smudge of dirt on it. Stiles had a hard time with touching, something he and Talia—and Sheriff Stilinski, when he had time—worked on. “Mrs. Talia is making me curly fries for dinner, she said.” Stiles said animatedly to Scott, chewing on his lip, repeatedly. “Okay, well, I’m going to call her so you can eat your curly fries, OK?” Scott said, getting up as Stiles nodded his head innately.
Scott went inside, called Talia and told her the situation, and she soon showed up to the McCall house. Knocking worriedly, she waited for Scott to open the front door. When he showed up, after Stiles stopped asking who it was, Talia came in and walked to Stiles, guiltily.
“Curly fries! Yes, yes, yes!” Stiles said. Talia just hugged him, telling him that she was sorry she accidentally fell asleep, on the verge of tears while stopped cheering and Stiles stood there, staring at the ground, humming to himself.
Present
“Derek! Derek!” Stiles shouted excitedly when the Sheriff opened the door and he appeared. He carried with him a large box wrapped in paper towels instead of gift wrap, something Stiles hated the texture of. It was Stiles’s 18th birthday, so the family (Scott, Melissa, John, The Hales, and some school friends) decided to throw him a party and invite his favorite people—including Derek Hale, whom everyone who had ever known Stiles knew. Derek had always been a subject that Stiles could focus on, always a person who he could talk to, and one of the best therapists, in John Stilinski’s opinion. Derek Hale had decided to take his mother’s footsteps and help in whatever way he could to make things easier for Stiles.
“Everyone was aware of the crush Stiles had for Derek. Stiles was in the group of teenagers with Autism that liked to be vocal, and he was very vocal about things he liked and disliked. “You like Derek Hale!” He’d always shout to people, even strangers that’d rudely push pass him when he’d erupt in public, unknowning of his disability. “Stiles, honey,” John would say, “I think you mean to say ‘I like Derek Hale.’” He’d chuckle. John worried for Stiles often. He was aware of Stiles’s sexual preference, and he feared that, that, his Autism, and his ADHD would get him into a trouble he wouldn’t be there to help with.
Derek walked up to Stiles, arms spread out to hug him and a large, toothy smile on his face. He made an “oomph” noise as Stiles head-butted into him, and laughed it off. Stiles buried his face and began sniffing at Derek’s neck and stroked his beard, a texture he liked, and was used to dealing with in his sensory therapy sessions. “Derek, Derek, Der'k. . .” He muttered, while simultaneously smothering his face into Derek's neck.
Derek’s cheeks and ears turned red in embarrassment of Stiles’s affection so early into him being there.
“Alright, buddy,” John took hold of Stiles’s hand and walked him to where everyone else was located—the backyard. “Noooo,” Stiles whined as he struggled to pull his hand away from the Sheriff. John backed off when Stiles started spewing threats of “chopping him with a light saber.” When John encouraged Stiles to join the others with the promise of curly fries in the backyard, Stiles was off, while the Sheriff trudged anxiously, watching to make sure Stiles was out of earshot. He turned to Derek, “We need to talk.”
Derek nodded his head in understanding. He’s awaited this talk forever.
“I know… that you have feelings for Stiles—don’t give me that look, Hale, I’m fine with it. I just need to know that you’ll take care of him when I can’t. I want you to be safe with him and learn the ways that he can be comfortable in each and every scenario that he’s in. You have got to watch him. God knows the amount of times I’ve turned my head, and five seconds later get a call from your mother saying he walked to your house.”
Derek nodded, red-faced, yet determined. “I promise, sir.”
“Ah, Derek, you’ve never called me 'sir', and I’ve known you since before you could walk. Let’s go join the others so your boyfriend can open the present you got him.”
Derek sputtered, and John laughed along with Stiles’s loud laughter he could hear from the backyard.
“Welcome to the family, son.”