Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles stood back and watched as the sugar bubbled faster and hotter, the thermometer in the pot steadily increasing to the temperature he needed it to reach. Peter was still yapping away on the phone, hs constant string of weekly complaints about Jackson truly bringing the man to his wits end.

“I just don’t understand, Stiles.” Peter huffed, his light voice tinted with anger. “I don’t understand how he could just, how can someone in their right mind leave their fiancé, the person they love and are willing to devote their life to, out in the middle of nowhere by themselves. It doesn’t make sense.”

A lot of things about Jackson don’t make sense. Stiles thought, his eyes never leaving the pot. Sighing deeply, he switches the phone to his other ear and leaned his lower back against the kitchen counter, eyes closed as he tried his best to formulate a response that didn’t clue Peter in on just how close he was to ending it all with Jackson, all things be damned.

“I know you’re upset about it Peter,” I am too. “But, I’m a big boy. I’m fine. Besides, I like being out here by myself, I don’t mind it so much.” I’m used to it anyway. “I have Rhett to keep me company.”

“Rhett!” Peter suddenly exclaims, shocking Stiles. “How is Rhett anyway?”

Stiles was confused. “He’s fine? Why? Did you hear something that I don’t know about again?”

“No, no of course not. Just, he’s a fine looking dog that deserves to be checked up on. Saw his picture in the paper today. Didn’t look a day over twenty-one.” Peter got quiet again before asking, “Hey, what was with that god awful collar you had on the boy?”

Collar? “Collar? Oh, that was just some old piece of junk jewelry Doyle found in the attic.”

Peter was silent for a while before Stiles heard him inhale, a response on the tip of his tongue. At that moment, Stiles heard his pot bubbling rapidly and he turned around just in time to yank the pot off the burner before he had molton sugar cascading down the sides of his pot. “Shit, Peter hold on. Fuck.” Stiles began swirling the pot and looked at the thermometer, surprised to see that he actually hadn’t heated the sugar beyond use.

“You, my friend, are amazing.” Stiles said to himself, giggling. Behind him, Rhett started barking and Stiles rolled his eyes, tired at his dog and its loud mouth. “Rhett, can you please be—” Stiles stopped talking when he looked up and saw the kid with the gun. Fuck.

“Give me your dog.” the kid said, his confidence betrayed by the slight shaking of his voice. “Give me your dog and no one will get hurt.” As he said that, he lowered the gun and pointed it at Rhett and Stiles’ vision went red. He grabbed pot that was still on the stove and tossed it at the boy, the word “No!” leaving his mouth shrilly as the hot sugar arched in the air and his the kid in the face. He dropped the gun and screamed, his hands coming up to his face as he tried to swipe the hot liquid off his skin.

Stiles skirted around and kicked the gun out of reach and the kid charged at him, slamming him into the kitchen wall, hard. Stiles fought back, his elbow going directly for the dude’s stomach, making him hunch over in pain. Rushing out of reach, Stiles grabbed a pan from his drying rack and whacked the guy upside his head, watching with wide eyes as he hit the floor face first.

“Shit,” Stiles heaved out, his heart beating at triple speed. “Ok then.”

“ Stiles! ” He heard Peter shout his name over the phone on the floor. Glaring at the kid on the floor once more, he bent over to pick it up.

“Yeah?”

“Stiles, what the fuck happened?” Peter shouted. He could hear the wind whipping around over the phone and Stiles knew Peter was on his way. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Uh, a kid broke in. He had a gun. Threatened to take Rhett.”

“ What?! Where is he? Stiles, get out of there .”

“It’s fine, Peter. He’s on the floor passed out. I’m going to call the police.”

“Stiles. Leave the house. Now.”

Stiles sighed, his energy depleting fast. He didn’t want to deal with this. “I can’t. He passed out across the entrance. I’m not risking it. And the back door isn’t an option, Doyle boarded it up. Now, I’m going to call the police, like I said.”

“No, Stiles, no cops.”

That got his attention. “What the fuck do you mean no cops, Peter? I have to call them.”

Just then, Stiles saw movement from the corner of his eye. He told Peter to shut up and he put the phone down, his grip on his pan tightening as he actually looked at the kid.

He was an actual kid, no older than sixteen. He had dark hair, stringy and so greasy it stuck to his forehead. Knocked out on Stiles’ kitchen floor he looked pretty harmless. Stiles outweighed him by a good thirty pounds probably.

Exhaling deeply, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He was so strung out and exhausted. This was not what he wanted to be dealing with right now.

He could hear his therapist whisper in the back of his mind and that pissed him off more.

How are you feeling right now, Stiles?

Well, Doctor D, I’m a bit upset that this punk thought he could break into my house and steal my dog. But, other than that I’m fucking peachy.

“Stay right there,” Stiles threatened. He had the pan in his hand still and tried to look as menacing as possible with it. “I called the cops and they’re on their way,” He lied but the kid didn’t have to know that. “You tried this at the wrong house, kid. I’m scary and so is my dog. You’re lucky I didn’t hit you harder.” Shuffling slightly so he was far enough away to get at eye level and be out of reach, Stiles looked the kid in the eye, pan still in view, and asked, “So, mind telling me why you tried to kill my dog?”

“I wasn’t going to kill your dog,” the kid said, his voice higher than anticipated. “I’m not a monster, I wouldn’t kill a dog.”

“The gun, dude. You pointed a gun at him.”

“I was just going to take him,” the boy sniped back, glaring at Stiles. “You didn’t have to get mean and attack me like a mad man, I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t hurt anyone. No, you only broke into my home, with a gun I might add, and threatened me and my dog with said gun, making me feel like a victim in my own home. But, no, you didn’t hurt anyone.” Stiles rolled his eyes and stood up from his squat, walking back towards the phone and Peter. The moment Stiles turned his back, the kid lunged at him, taking Stiles by surprised.

Shocked, Stiles went on the defensive, trying to put as much space between him and the boy as he could. Once free, he held the pan out in front of him to keep the distance.

“Listen kid. Just back down. The cops are on their way and you so do not want to mess with me when I reach my limit, and trust me, I am close. Give up.”

“Give me your dog.”

“Hell no.” Stiles retorted. His patience was holding on by the smallest thread, god help him.

They circled each other for a bit before the kid attacked again, diving for Stiles’ stomach and launching him into the wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Stiles jabbed the handle of the pan into his spine which forced him to holler in pain and move away from Stiles, giving him enough room to smack him in the face.

“Get out of my house!” he screamed, going back to hit the kid upside the head. “I don’t want you here, get out!” Another hit and another, each one forcing them across the room. Stiles hit the kid once more and he fell back, his head smacking up against the wall and then his body and then his disappeared through the wall, his screaming abruptly cut off by a dull thud.

Wide eyed in shoc, Stiles shuffled over to the wall, slowly pushing it open with the edge of his pan. The wall swung open and shut softly, the ugly wallpaper torn at the edges. “Huh,” he murmured.

“Stiles!” He jerked his head in the direction he heard his name from and remembered he had left Peter on the phone when the kid moved. He rushed to pick it up.

“Yes, Peter, what is it?” Stiles answered irritably. Today had been a long day, he needed a nap.

“Stiles, what the fuck is going on?” In the background, Stile could hear horns honking and he just knew Peter was breaking about every traffic law to get to Stiles’ house as quick as possible. “Where is the kid, Stiles.”

“Huh, uh, funny thing happened.” Stiles turned back to look at the door he apparently had in his kitchen. “Did you know there was a hidden door in my kitchen, right next to the door that leads to the hallway?” He walked back towards the door and pushed it open again, peering down into the blackness. “Huh.”

“Where is the kid, Stiles?” Peter said, annoyance lacing his tone.

“Now, that’s a question I would love the answer to as well. Stiles moved away from the door to shuffle things around in his junk drawer, looking for the flashlight he knows he had in there. Once he found it he rushed back to the door and shone the light into the darkness.

“Stiles, what are you doing now?”

“I’m looking in the basement that I didn’t know I had! This is so cool, why didn’t Victoria ever tell me about—” Stiles fell silent as his light illuminated something he would never be ready to see. “Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong? Stiles, talk to me.”

“It’s the, uh, it’s the kid Peter. He, he’s dead.” Stiles continued to stare at the dead body in his basement, his stomach churning when he realised he did that. He killed that kid. He was the reason he fell through the wall. Fell to his death. “Fuck, Peter, I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him. He fell through a wall when he decided to attack a crazy person in his house in the middle of the night alone. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

There is a dead body in my basement because I lost my cool and attacked some kid. There is a lot I did wrong, Peter.

“I have to go,” Stiles says abruptly, hanging up on Peter and calling 911. When he was connected to an operator and was told that someone would be there shortly, he got his shit together and started cleaning the mess that was his kitchen. He had things to do and he wasn’t going to let the dead body in his basement stop him from doing those things. Someone else could handle it.

 ~`~

Half an hour after the dumbass kid had gone screaming through his basement door, Stiles was pulling sheet after sheet of macaron shells from the over and repeating his statement for the fiftieth time for the police. Peter had shown up about forty five minutes ago as a sign of companionship and support while Stiles tried his best to remember his therapy mantras and not lose his fucking cool for good.

Stiles jumped when he felt Peter drop a hand on his shoulder, a comforting smile on the other man’s face. Stiles tried his best to turn the look but know he failed.

Inhaling deeply, Stiles turned to Peter, a look of desperation on his face. “I’m not going to go to jail for hitting the kid, right Peter?”

“Of course not, kid. Everything you did was in self defense. You didn’t kill him, he fell through a wall.” Peter looked at him again and wrapped him in a tight hug. “You ok, kid?”

Stiles shook his head slightly, his reply muffled into Peter’s chest. “There’s some things I haven’t told you.”

“Go on,” He said, pulling away from the hug and draping his arm over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Well, remember my fiancé after college, the one that cheated on me?”

“Yeah, the bastard.”

“Well, when I found out, I hit him in the face. With a frying pan. And broke his nose.”

Peter’s silence made Stiles panic. “Did he file a report?”

Stiles nodded shallowly, his heart in his throat. “Yeah, but he dropped the charges,” Stiles whispered.

“Well,” Peter started, his tone unsure. “This is different. Nothing’s going to—”

“And then three years ago, the journalist I told you about? Well, two years ago he cheated on me with the receptionist at his job and I caught them having sex in my kitchen and I hit him in the back of the head with a cast iron skillet.” Fucking hell, Peter. Please tell me I’m okay.

“Fuck,” Peter muttered.

“So, what if they look me up and—”

“Did he die?”

“No. They put a metal plate in his head, he’s fine.”

“Did you do any time?”

“Court appointed anger management and therapy sessions plus community service. At a soup kitchen. Nice people.” Stiles plopped his head on Peter’s shoulder, tears burning at his eyes. Please, Peter. Tell me everything will be okay.

“Well, this was self defense. You’ll be okay, bud.” He wrapped his arm tighter around Stiles’ shoulder and rubbed and Stiles believed him. He always believed Peter.

“By the way,” Peter began, pulling Stiles away to look him in the eye. “I called someone to come out here and stay with you. I don’t like what happened out here and I sure as hell don’t think Jackson can do jackshit if he even comes out here. He should be here soon.”

“Peter,” Stiles protested. He didn’t need a babysitter, he was a grown ass man. “I don’t need someone to watch me, I’m a thirty-one year old man who can take care of himself.”

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. “I know you are, Stiles. But just, do this for me. Please?”

The look Peter was giving him shut down any argument Stiles had. “Ugh, fine. For you.”

“Good.” Peter walked away to look out the window while Stiles pulled out mor macarons from the oven and set them on a rake to cool, quickly whipping up a batch of buttercream frosting for the filling. While he was sandwiching cookies together, he heard Peter curse softly behind him and he turned to look, an question in his eyes. “We got trouble. More cops are coming up the drive.” Peter said.

“You mean more trouble than the dead body in my basement and the cop meandering around my living room? How?”

“Cop in the hallway is a know nothing deputy who isn’t trouble. Coming up your path is Detective John Stilinski aka the only cop in this god forsaken town who is good at his job. So, trouble.”

Stiles froze and felt the blood drain from his face. “Peter?”

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” Peter walked back to his side and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Just then, they heard a crash from the room across the hall and Stiles sighed.

“It’s probably that Deputy. He keeps wandering around whispering ‘So this is what Beacon Manor looks like’ and he won’t stay put. I even gave him cookies.”

Turning him around and pushing him in the direction of the room, Peter says “Deal with Deputy Dipshit. I’ll handle Stilinski.”

Stiles turned around quickly to look at Peter, tears back in his eyes. “I’m not going to go to jail, right Peter?”

“Of course not, bud. Just, no more hitting people with frying pans, please.”

“Oh okay. I can do that.” Stiles felt small as he shuffled towards the bedroom.

“Stiles, fuck. Stiles, wait.”

Stiles turned around and Peter gave him the frying pan. “I take it back. If that Deputy tries anything, give him a god wack.”

“Ok,” Stiles said, cracking a small smile.

Stiles makes his way into the dark bedroom. He feels around for the bedside lamp to switch it on.

“I told you nothing happened in here,” Stiles said, tone annoyed. “Everything happened in the kitchen, you don’t need to be in here.” I’m not angry sir, no matter how I sound. Please don’t arrest me.

The curtain blew away from the window and illuminated the room dimly. He saw that the bedside light had been knocked over and before he could call out for the Deputy again, a large hand clamped down over his mouth and a deep voice was whispering ‘shhh’ in his ear, hot breath hitting his neck. Stiles reacted instantly and swung the pan over his head, manging to smack the guy in the shoulder.

He went to swing again when the pan was wrenched out of his hands and he was tossed onto the bed. He scrambled farther up the bed—further away from whoever was with him—and turned on the light, heart pounded hard against his chest.

He made eye contact with the guy and felt his heart go into overdrive. He was a large guy, dressed head to toe in black and looking like something out of Stiles’ wildest dreams. His face was sharp and chiseled, his eyes had more colours in them than Stiles could make out in the dim light, but he knew they were beautiful. He was tense and poised, body and mind on high alert and ready to attack at a moments notice. And Stiles, he knew he should be afraid by the random man in his bedroom, but looking at his face felt like looking at an old friend.

Swallowing, Stiles got off the bed and stood tall, glaring at the dude. “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m Derek. Peter sent me,” and, well, that makes sense, Stiles could accept that. He looks like Peter. Looks like an old friend.

Derek jerked his head in the direction of the hallway and kitchen. “Who’s out there?”

Stiles scoffed and crossed his arms. “Derek, this is my house so I ask the questions. First, I want to kindly thank you for scaring the shit out of me. Cherry on top of an already amazing day. Now, Peter sent you. Why?”

“He called me and said I needed to protect someone he cares about. Someone named Stiles?”

Fucking Peter. Stiles thought.

Sighing, Stiles said, “That would be me. I’m Stiles.”

Derek was silent for a while before nodding slightly and saying, “Well, Stiles. I’m here to protect you.”

Protect me. That wasn’t good, Stiles knew that. Something more serious than the police finding out about Stiles’ penchant for frying pans, especially if Peter thought that this mountain of a man was needed to protect him.

In the hallway, Stiles could hear the godforsaken grandfather clock Victoria had left in his hallway chime loudly while he looked at Derek some more.

Big. Broad. Dark. Strong. Handsome if broodiness and angst were your thing. Looked like Peter. And he was there to keep Stiles safe. Okay.

“So, Derek,” Stiles said as the clock chimed one last time as midnight fell upon them. “I’ve got Peter in my kitchen, a cop in my hallway, a dead body in my basement, and you in my bedroom. Where’d you want to start?”

Chapter Text

TUESDAY

Stiles stood in the doorway of the kitchen to watch Derek as he surveyed the space and everything in it. He was still staring at the larger man when he heard voices in the distance coming closer.

“That’s Peter and Detective Stilinski,” Stiles said, worry coloring his tone. He was still on edge about the police finding out about his relationship with putting frying pans to people’s heads and would very much so like to avoid the Detective as much as possible. 

“You hit him with a frying pan,” Derek randomly said, his eyes trained on the long strip of sharp knives and forks attached to his backsplash. “Why not grab a knife?” 

“The pan was closer.” Stiles retorted, crossing his arms and glaring. “It’s not like I actually had time to think about which weapon to use, it’s not like the frying pan is my default weapon.” Stiles felt his voice rising and he tried to calm down. There was no need to get angry at Derek, he had just asked a question. 

Derek nodded and continued to look around the kitchen, cataloging every little detail. He turned back to Stiles and asked him where the body was, following close behind as he lead them to the hall door and pushed the wall beside it. Pushing the door open with the tip of his shoe, Derek watched it swing open and shut with nothing more than a whisper. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a tiny flashlight before pushing the door open again and pointing the light down into the darkness. 

“Think you can stall this Stilinski dude while I take a look down there?”

“Yeah, of course.” Stiles said, even though the tone of his voice said otherwise.

Derek nodded once and squeezed Stiles shoulder before disappearing behind the door and landing on the floor with a soft ‘thud’. Derek heard Stiles sigh heavily, his footsteps echoing on the floor above.

Derek pointed his flashlight around the dark basement before it landed on the body on the ground. The kids neck was at a funny angle, eyes glossy and white and unseeing. 

Repressing a shiver—because it doesn’t get any easier despite how many dead bodies he comes in contact with—he takes out a pen and starts examining the body, hoping to find any information about who this kid is before the Detective shows up.

Upstairs, Derek could hear footsteps fall heavy into the kitchen, Peter introducing Stiles to Detective Stilinski.

“Stiles,” Peter began, his voice slightly muffled thanks to the closed basement door. “This is Detective Stilinski. He’s going to be the one...dealing with this. Stilinski, this is Stiles , the greatest good this town has ever had. You’ve probably seen his face above his columns in the paper.”

Detective Stilinski muttered a hello to Stiles. before meandering around the kitchen, his eye lingering on the wall the basement door was located on. Panicking, Stiles grabbed the plate of macarons he had yet to put away and thrusted it in Detective Stilinski’s direction.

“Hello Detective!” Stiles said in fake cheer. ”Macarons? I just finished them. They’re fresh.” Stiles’ voice wavered slightly on the last word and Derek knew he was floundering a bit. 

“No thank you, Stiles. I’m more interested in this wall right here.” Derek heard footsteps get closer as Stilinski walked towards the basement door. He heard a soft creak as the door was pushed open and looked up just to be blinded by a light—and a gun— pointed directly at him.  

“Who the hell are you?” Stilinski shouted.

“Hi, my name’s Derek.”

“Hello, Derek. Care to tell me what you're doing, messing around my crime scene?”

Derek blinked once, twice, three times before standing up out of his squat and facing the Sheriff head on with a smile on his face. “I was just checking to see if he was okay.”

“And is he?” 

“He’s dead so it depends on your definition of okay.”

The Sheriff grunted in acknowledgement before placing a ladder in the opening of the wall and climbing down. Derek stepped out of the way when Stilinski made his way to the body to examine it and turned his attention to Peter. Peter’s eyes were staring at the kid on the floor, no recognition registering in his eyes, much to Derek’s happiness.

Bending down, the Sheriff began to rifle  around the man’s pockets, soon standing to his full height with a wallet in his hand. Flipping it open, he checked the ID and grunted in acknowledgement.

“Figured. Theo Argent. ”

Derek saw Peter grow still, a slight look of shock on his face. 

Jesus Christ, this isn’t good. Derek thought. What the fuck do you know, Peter?

“One of the Argent kids,” Detective Lahey mused. “Makes sense, they breed like crazy out there in that swamp. Bound to come across one in the city eventually.”

Stilinski snorted out a laugh and turned his attention to Peter. “Peter knows all about the Argents, don’t you Pete?” 

Peter grew still, not falling into the detective’s trap. “No idea what you mean, Stilinski.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Stilinski said sarcastically. “The Argents and the Hale’s used to be thicker than thieves back in the day. Always getting into some sort of trouble together. Couldn’t go anywhere without running into Chris and Peter, attached at the hip the two of them.”

Peter was growing more and more distant, the look on his face troubled and in pain. Peter hated thinking about the past, hated thinking about the life he lived before Derek’s parents died and he sent him away. 

“And that beautiful sister of yours. Such a shame what happened to them, with the fire and everything. And the son they left behind.” At that, Stilinski turned to look at Derek, a sad look in his eye that Derek refused to acknowledge. He didn’t need sympathy. It had been long enough. 

Before Stilinski could open anymore wounds and bring back buried ghosts, Stiles stuck his head in the door to the basement.

“Uhm,” He started, voice soft. “Deaton is here. Should I just send him down here?”

Stilinski nodded. “Please, Stiles. Thank you.”

~`~

By the two thirty Tuesday morning, Stiles had answered the same ten questions at least a hundred times, forever grateful not a single one had been “Exactly how many people have you hit with a frying pan Stiles?” since the number was now at four if you counted Derek which he wasn’t so he was only at three. 

Deputy Lahey, who’s name Stiles finally figured out, added some variety to the incessant questioning by asking about Allison’s upcoming wedding. Deaton showed up at a point and, in between rubbing on Rhett and being covered in slobbery dog kisses, declared the Argent kid dead. 

Stiles thanked the doctor softly and presented him with a box of macarons on his way out the door, a soft sigh escaping his mouth as he watched the ambulance leave the property with the body in the back, the taillights getting fainter the further down the lane they got. He sent a quick prayer up to the sky before making his way back towards the kitchen, getting halfway there before the doorbell chimed. 

“I’ll get it,” Peter said, sliding off the bar stool swiftly. “You go find Stilinski and wrap that up so he can go home and you can rest.” He gave Stiles a quick squeeze on the shoulder before disappearing down the hallway while Stiles squared his shoulders and radiated helpful citizen energy as he made his way towards the bar where Stilinski was sitting.

“Don’t know what else I can say about little ‘ole me,” Stiles said at the exact same moment Jackson strolled his way into the kitchen. He looked beautiful like always, a blond halo glowing over his head and his blue eyes piercing and soft. His gaze met Stiles in an instant and the fear and concern on his face as palpable. 

“I can tell you about him, however,” Stiles met Jackson halfway and gave his waist a comforting squeeze. “Detective Stilinski, this is my fiancé Jackson Whittemore. Jackson, Detective Stilinski.”

“Detective,” They shook hands swiftly before Jackson turned to Stiles, gripping his shoulders tightly and locking eyes. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Stiles smiled softly and shrugged to soften Jackson’s hold on his shoulders. “I’m fine. What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I heard someone broke in,” Jackson glared at someone over his shoulder and Stiles peeked to see Derek just lurking in the corner, watching everything unfold. “I had to make sure my baby was okay.” 

“Jackson, I’m fine. It wasn’t anything major.”

Clearing his throat pointedly, all eyes turned to Stilinski as he began talking to Jackson. “Someone broke into your fiancé’s house, Mr. Whittemore, and tried to steal his dog. Would you happen to know anything about that?” Detective Stilinski asked, voice still in investigation mode.

“He tried to steal Rhett!? ” Jackson screamed, his eyes locking onto Derek in a glare, even taking a step forward as if he was going to fight for Stiles’ honor. 

“Not Derek,” Stiles interjected, turning Jackson’s body back towards him. “A boy. A literal child. Derek is Peter’s nephew and he’s here to look out for me. Peter asked him to.” 

There was silence in the kitchen for a bit as everyone waited for Jackson to  process through the information he was just told. “I’m still confused. Why would anyone want to steal Rhett? And why would Peter ask his nephew to stay here? What’s going on?”

“The house is isolated. In the middle of nowhere,” Derek’s voice was soft and  calming in the corner. “He shouldn’t be out here alone. No one should.”

Ain’t that the goddamn truth. Stiles thought, a flare of anger towards Jackson brewing in the pit of his stomach which he instantly regretted. He was a grown man, he didn’t need anyone to protect him and babysit him, even if the person was his fiance and he should be living with him regardless. 

“Beacon Hills is a safe place,” Jackson argued. “The previous owner lived out her by herself for years, no problems at all.”

“A kid broke in and threatened Stiles.”

“It was a prank.”

“He’s not laughing.” Derek clenched his jaw as he stared Jackson down. “And the kid is dead.”

“Dead!?” Jackson turned to Stiles in horror. “What the hell happened here.”

“He fell.” Stiles managed out through gritted teeth. He so did NOT want to be having this conversation with Jackson right now. 

“Your fiancé was threatened and he defended himself.” Detective Stilinski said. 

“Yeah,” Lahey piped up from somewhere in the hallway. “With a frying pan of all things.” 

“A what?” Jackson questioned. He was staring at Stiles as if he had never seen him before. Jesus fucking Christ.

Groaning lowly, Stiles grabbed Jackson's arm and yanked him out the kitchen door. “Come on Jackson, time for you to go. I’ll walk you to your car.” 

“I don’t know, Stiles,” He looked back at Derek as Stiles continued to pull him out of the house.

“Honestly,” Stiles said when they reached the foyer and the front door. “Derek is only here to make sure no one else breaks in. It’s okay.”

“I want to stay,” Jackson said, his actions contradicting his words as he continued to make his way to his car parked on the dirt front yard.

Once they reached the car, Jackson drew Stiles into his chest, his arms creating a warm cage around his shoulders. With his head resting against Jackson’s heartbeat, Stiles tried his hardest to find that feeling he originally felt when he first fell in love. He used to think Jackson was perfect for him, the only one for him. He was so sweet and Stiles was so lonely . 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have Allison’s wedding here,” Jackson said, his hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “You’re under so much stress and now this mess with the boy. You know how Melissa McCall hates gossip. If she finds out about what happened here tonight—”

“Allison and Scott aren’t getting married in my basement. They’re getting married in the gazebo near the garden which is beautiful and corpse free.” Stiles said.

“I’m just sayin,” Jackson went to pull Stiles close again but he stepped out of reach. He really wasn’t in the mood anymore. “You’ve been through a lot. Why not have Melissa move it to the country club?”

“Fuck that,” Stiles hissed, stepping away from Jackson more. “Melissa is looking for any excuse for her son to not get married here and if that happens we owe Victoria three months back mortgage.” Stiles was getting angry now and he tried his hardest to calm down. He didn’t need to cause a scene, not with police still in his house. “We made a deal with Vic. We host the wedding here, and in exchange we don’t have to pay the first three months mortgage. Did you forget? Because I don’t have nine grand if this wedding doesn’t happen, Jackson.”

“Baby,” Jackson drawled out, his hands reaching for Stiles once more. “Baby, calm down. I’m sure we could work something out with Victoria. I just hate seeing you so stressed out.” Jackson leant forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, his warm lips staying there as Stiles forced himself to relax. 

“What’s making me stressed is the idea of having this wedding anywhere else but here.” He sighed, the stress from the day finally settling in deep into his bones. “The wedding happens here. The fact that someone died here today has nothing to do with the wedding that’s going to happen this weekend. It’s not like i killed him or anything.”

“I still can’t believe it. A frying pan, Stiles? Really?”

That was it. “Go home, Jackson. You’ve done more than enough for today.”

“I’m just trying to give you what you want,” Jackson threw his arms up in frustration. “You’re always complaining that I don’t come out and visit and when I finally do you’re tryna kick me out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed and smiled softly as he thought of him and Jackson together in the house. “You know? I got the attic room painted last week and it’s the most beautiful shade of blue, like water. And the bed is all made and ready. If you want to stay we can—”

“It’s hotter than hell up there.”

“Not with the windows open and the fan going. It really is so beautiful and—”

“I don’t have time to move right now, Stiles.”

Stiles sighed. He knew this was coming and he kept pushing it back and pushing it back and tried to ignore it but he knew he couldn’t, not any more. 

“Listen,” Stiles crossed his arms and looked at Jackson. “I’ve been out here, killing myself over this wedding and book deadlines and paying Victoria, with everything , and you’ve been out here all of, what? Twice this whole month?”

“Baby—”

“No, Jackson. I’ve been trying to fool myself but this was all wrong from the start. Today someone broke into my house and the person I turned to wasn’t even of you , my fiance. It was of Peter and, honestly, I forgot all about you until you showed up.” Stiles let all his breath out in one big sigh. “It’s not just you. It’s us .”

“You’re upset,” Jackson said, taking a step towards Stiles. “But remember, babe. We got our dream. We’ve got your dream. Beacon Manor and a life ahead of you living your dream. With me by your side.” Jackson came in quickly and gave Stiles a solid kiss on the lips, shocking Stiles still. “It’ll all be okay babe. I promise you.” 

Before Stiles could even properly respond, Jackson was already behind the wheel and starting his car. Stiles watched as he pulled off down the lane, dirt kicking up behind his wheels. 

Stiles made his way back into the house and towards the kitchen where Stilinski and Lahey were packing up to leave, promising to return later in the day.

“Say hi to Allison for me, please Stiles?” Lahey asked on his way out, a big goofy smile on his face.

“Of course,” Stiles replied. “Drive safe y’all.”

Once they disappeared down the road, Stiles turned to Derek. “I suppose you have more questions.” Stiles stated, his eyes locked on Derek.

“Nope,” He replied. “Got all my information from listening to Stilinski. You’re tired. I’ll make a bed nearby, keep an eye out, and you rest.”

Stiles felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll go get you pillows and a blanket.” Stiles smiled softly before disappearing to get everything. However, once he gave everything to Derek, he stood there awkward, unsure what to do. He wanted to ask Derek if he wanted to sleep in his room but that felt like dangerous territory to step into. Not that Stiles would have minded having Derek’s large arms wrapped around him. Even though he should mind. He was engaged. He didn’t cheat in relationships no matter how fine the other man was.

“Thank you,” Stiles said softly, his shoulder perched against the doorframe of his bedroom. “For watching over me.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek said, his voice smooth in the darkness. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight.” Stiles made his way into the small bedroom and sighed deeply before face planting into bed. 

Tomorrow is a new day.

~`~

There was an air mattress in Stiles’ hallway. 

He had opened the door of his bedroom, eyes still blurry from sleep, and stepped out only to have his foot catch on something and fall forward, catching himself against the wall. 

Looking down, Stiles catches Derek below him, his eyes instantly opening the moment Stiles jostled the bed. 

“Hi,” Stiles said, voice still rough with sleep. “You slept on the floor?”

Derek got up and slid the mattress from the hallway. “I wanted to be close by if anyone showed up.”

Stiles’ heart did a thing that he couldn’t explain. “Oh. Well, I would have let you sleep with Rhett if I knew you were gonna be that worried.” 

Stiles almost said that he would have let Derek sleep with him but he wasn’t sure if that would have been a good idea. He glanced down at Derek’s bare chest quickly and knew the answer to that question immediately. 

Shaking himself mentally, Stiles stepped over Derek completely and made his way to the kitchen, Rhett strolling behind him. He opened the fridge and started grabbing things for breakfast. 

He heard Derek sit down in one of the barstools at the counter, his eyes burning into Stiles’ skin as he watched his every move. 

“So.” Derek started. His voice was deep and soothing, Stiles could listen to it for the rest of his life. “Why would anyone want to steal Rhett? Has anyone been asking about him recently?”

“Kind of.” Stiles responded distractedly, focusing more on getting the sausages in the pan than Derek’s question. 

~`~

Watching Stiles cook was mesmerizing. He moved with such grace and ease, completely in his element as he cracked eggs into a bowl one handed and started whisking up a storm. He was dangerous for Derek’s health.

“What do you mean ‘kind of’?” Derek asked, his tone tight as he continued to watch Stiles. He snatched a pan from overhead and plopped it down onto the burner, fire cranked on and butter dropped in the pan. 

“Well, right before everything happened, I was on the phone with Peter. He had mentioned Rhett. Nothing serious.” Stiles was shuffling around the kitchen, moving from the sausages to the eggs and back again before pausing suddenly and turning towards Derek. “There’s coffee, by the way, if you want it. Do you want coffee? I can make you coffee.”

“I can do it. Where is everything?” Stiles points him towards the cabinet in the far corner of the kitchen and Derek makes his way over there, only to be confused as he comes face to face with a jar filled with coffee beans and a machine. “Uh,” Derek starts.

Stiles chuckles at him before hip checking him out of the way, pulling in the machine, and pouring the beans in. He presses on the top of the machine and sends it into action, grinding the beans into a fine powder, ready to use.

“Thanks,” Derek said before pouring the coffee into a filter and letting the coffee maker do the rest of the work. “Now, back to our conversation. Why was Peter asking about Rhett?” Because of course Peter would find a way to be deeper and deeper into this shit, deeper than just “a friend in trouble”.

“He always does,” Stiles had finished cooking while Derek was fumbling with the coffee. He slid an omelette onto a plate, quickly splitting it in two and separating it before adding the sausages he had been pan frying. The smell hit him, instantly making his mouth water. It reminded him of his childhood. “Plus, I did a column recently on homemade dog treats and they used a picture of him this time around instead of my usual mug. He’s a fine looking dog.”

Derek had to stop himself from sighing deeply and rolling his eyes. He honestly shouldn’t be surprised at this point. 

“Rhett’s picture was in the town paper.” Stiles nodded his head in agreement as he moved the plates towards the dining room table, Derek following behind him. “And you didn’t mention this before because...why?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem important. Everyone knows who Rhett is, I’m pretty sure 90% of the town’s population has gotten hit by his flying spit whenever I drive into town. It didn’t seem like news to report, oh great one.” Pushing Derek into one of the seats at the table, Stiles huffed out a sigh. “Now, please stop asking questions and eat. Feeding people is my love language, so please. Eat.”

“Don’t think this conversation is over,” Derek says, cutting into the omelette and watching as the cheese oozes out and stretches as he goes to take a bite. He has to hold back a groan the moment it hits his tongue. The egg is light and fluffy, the peppers he had snuck into the middle still crunchy  and fresh, floating around in the taste of butter. The sausage is just as good, plump and juicy and flavorful. Derek contemplated proposing right then and there. 

Pulling himself together he looks at Stiles and says, “I’m going to talk to Peter today, see if he has any information about anything. I’ll take Rhett with me. Can’t have you causing trouble when I’m not around.”

Stiles snickers, a small smile on his face as he puts down his coffee cup and begins to eat. “Sure, big guy. Hope you two have fun.”