Of Talking and Camping part 3 - Prompt #8
Author: witchyemerald
Title: Of Talking and Camping part 3 (Still a working title, in fact I will change it)
Rating: G
Pairing/s: None as of yet
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski
Summary: Derek learns something about the Sheriff’s past
Warnings: Talking about Canon Character Death
Word Count: 966
Prompt: Memories
Author's Notes: Part 3. And Sorry Mods, late again
“About time you stopped creeping around and joined us,” Stiles told Derek the moment he walked into the light of the campfire. “Pull up a crappy camp chair and take a seat.”
Stiles sat on the ground not too far away, legs stretched out, and back leaning against a log, someone had pulled up to the fire pit at one time, leaving Derek to take one of only two folding lawn chairs that where placed next to the fire.
“So, Derek, my son tells me that I need to talk to regarding some of the questions I have been asking him,” The Sheriff told Derek, using the same stare he used the last time he and Derek spoke face to face. Derek remembered that interrogation room well, his wolf practically had him pacing the walls. The silence between the three lasted for eighteen heart beats, Derek counted, before anyone spoke. The Sheriff asked if Derek wanted a beer, but the look on his face told Derek that he was not going to get anywhere close to the other man's alcohol.
“Dad, stop testing Derek like a father who's trying to intimidate their daughter’s boyfriend. It's not cool dude.”
“Yes, but is it necessary?”
“Dad, for the last time, Derek and I are not dating.”
“Wait, you called me out here because your father thought we were dating?” Derek was even more confused. This was not the way he thought this conversation was going to go. Leave it to the Stilinski men to not follow logical thought.
“Told you to use the door dude, looks more like invited guest and less like a hidden star-cross lovers affair.”
“Yes, sneaking into my son’s bedroom window late at night. Maybe not dating, maybe you two are having a …what do you call it…oh yes booty call?”
Derek heard his own heart skip a beat. He may be a werewolf, but one didn’t become Sheriff of Beacon Hills by using a Nerf gun. And Stiles, the little shit, was just smirking at him.
“So Derek, do I have permission to tell my father why you sneak in my room to see my fine ass some nights?”
It took every bit of inner strength not to have his eyes bug out at the whole situation. He might not be able to threaten Stiles, but he sure as hell can glare at him to death.
“That death glare didn’t work when your father used it on Stiles, Derek, and I am sure as hell know that yours won’t either,” the Sheriff laughed, which knock Derek off his glare game. Not that he would ever call it is glare game.
“Dad, you knew Derek’s father?”
“Of course I did Stiles, he was my boss for years. Before he…well, he was the Sheriff before me.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You were like eight, Stiles.”
“You remember my father?” Derek tried, but couldn’t hold back the longing in his voice. Time healed all was bull shit. You never got over loss like that.
“Of course. He would always have stories about you and your sibling. We would talk about whose child would be more of a handful. He may have had more, but I have Stiles. The only child in Beacon Hills who had his own police code by the time he was seven.” Derek looked over at Stiles when the Sheriff told him that. Sadly Stiles looked almost proud. “It was your father idea Derek, we called it a 21-81-20. The code spelled Brat and at the time we only used three digit codes, so no confusion.”
At this Stiles did laugh, “Was it the time Mr. Peters, down the street, tried to have me arrested?”
“No, but you did try to break into his garage.”
“I still think he was the basketball thief. He hated when we played outside.”
“No, it was the time your school called us over to stop, and I quote, ‘The unapproved protest, of the refusal to allow the students to use ketchup with their curly fries.”
“I remember that, Sheriff Hale had to tell the principal, that escorting me out in handcuffs was a little much. I was a little sad he didn’t. I had the whole ‘Brave Heart’ freedom speech memorized and everything.”
Picturing a six year old Stiles, on top of a cafeteria table, bellowing about how they can’t take his freedom, had Derek burst out laughing. It felt good to have something, admit dumb, to laugh at.
“Dude, I don’t ever think I heard you laugh. Didn’t know you could,” Stiles told Derek when his laughing died down to a chuckle.
“Yeah, Stiles gave your father about as hard of a time as he gives me,” the Sheriff said fondly. “One of the hardest days in my life was responding to the call about the fire. I lost a good friend that day. Your mother too. She sent over dinners after my wife died, even came over and help clean the house a time or two, before I could get back on my feet.”
The three men let the silence wash over them again, each in their own memories. Derek thought about his father in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He didn’t think of what it might have been like for his father, in his final moments, but remember who his dad was. It was good to talk about him and hear stories he didn’t know. It also gave Derek a feeling of calm he hadn’t felt in a while.
Maybe that was the Sheriff’s plan all along, because the next thing he said, caught Derek by complete surprise, that he knew there was a moment that he couldn’t hide the expression on his face.
“So Derek, tell me about the Werewolves.”
Title: Of Talking and Camping part 3 (Still a working title, in fact I will change it)
Rating: G
Pairing/s: None as of yet
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski
Summary: Derek learns something about the Sheriff’s past
Warnings: Talking about Canon Character Death
Word Count: 966
Prompt: Memories
Author's Notes: Part 3. And Sorry Mods, late again
“About time you stopped creeping around and joined us,” Stiles told Derek the moment he walked into the light of the campfire. “Pull up a crappy camp chair and take a seat.”
Stiles sat on the ground not too far away, legs stretched out, and back leaning against a log, someone had pulled up to the fire pit at one time, leaving Derek to take one of only two folding lawn chairs that where placed next to the fire.
“So, Derek, my son tells me that I need to talk to regarding some of the questions I have been asking him,” The Sheriff told Derek, using the same stare he used the last time he and Derek spoke face to face. Derek remembered that interrogation room well, his wolf practically had him pacing the walls. The silence between the three lasted for eighteen heart beats, Derek counted, before anyone spoke. The Sheriff asked if Derek wanted a beer, but the look on his face told Derek that he was not going to get anywhere close to the other man's alcohol.
“Dad, stop testing Derek like a father who's trying to intimidate their daughter’s boyfriend. It's not cool dude.”
“Yes, but is it necessary?”
“Dad, for the last time, Derek and I are not dating.”
“Wait, you called me out here because your father thought we were dating?” Derek was even more confused. This was not the way he thought this conversation was going to go. Leave it to the Stilinski men to not follow logical thought.
“Told you to use the door dude, looks more like invited guest and less like a hidden star-cross lovers affair.”
“Yes, sneaking into my son’s bedroom window late at night. Maybe not dating, maybe you two are having a …what do you call it…oh yes booty call?”
Derek heard his own heart skip a beat. He may be a werewolf, but one didn’t become Sheriff of Beacon Hills by using a Nerf gun. And Stiles, the little shit, was just smirking at him.
“So Derek, do I have permission to tell my father why you sneak in my room to see my fine ass some nights?”
It took every bit of inner strength not to have his eyes bug out at the whole situation. He might not be able to threaten Stiles, but he sure as hell can glare at him to death.
“That death glare didn’t work when your father used it on Stiles, Derek, and I am sure as hell know that yours won’t either,” the Sheriff laughed, which knock Derek off his glare game. Not that he would ever call it is glare game.
“Dad, you knew Derek’s father?”
“Of course I did Stiles, he was my boss for years. Before he…well, he was the Sheriff before me.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You were like eight, Stiles.”
“You remember my father?” Derek tried, but couldn’t hold back the longing in his voice. Time healed all was bull shit. You never got over loss like that.
“Of course. He would always have stories about you and your sibling. We would talk about whose child would be more of a handful. He may have had more, but I have Stiles. The only child in Beacon Hills who had his own police code by the time he was seven.” Derek looked over at Stiles when the Sheriff told him that. Sadly Stiles looked almost proud. “It was your father idea Derek, we called it a 21-81-20. The code spelled Brat and at the time we only used three digit codes, so no confusion.”
At this Stiles did laugh, “Was it the time Mr. Peters, down the street, tried to have me arrested?”
“No, but you did try to break into his garage.”
“I still think he was the basketball thief. He hated when we played outside.”
“No, it was the time your school called us over to stop, and I quote, ‘The unapproved protest, of the refusal to allow the students to use ketchup with their curly fries.”
“I remember that, Sheriff Hale had to tell the principal, that escorting me out in handcuffs was a little much. I was a little sad he didn’t. I had the whole ‘Brave Heart’ freedom speech memorized and everything.”
Picturing a six year old Stiles, on top of a cafeteria table, bellowing about how they can’t take his freedom, had Derek burst out laughing. It felt good to have something, admit dumb, to laugh at.
“Dude, I don’t ever think I heard you laugh. Didn’t know you could,” Stiles told Derek when his laughing died down to a chuckle.
“Yeah, Stiles gave your father about as hard of a time as he gives me,” the Sheriff said fondly. “One of the hardest days in my life was responding to the call about the fire. I lost a good friend that day. Your mother too. She sent over dinners after my wife died, even came over and help clean the house a time or two, before I could get back on my feet.”
The three men let the silence wash over them again, each in their own memories. Derek thought about his father in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He didn’t think of what it might have been like for his father, in his final moments, but remember who his dad was. It was good to talk about him and hear stories he didn’t know. It also gave Derek a feeling of calm he hadn’t felt in a while.
Maybe that was the Sheriff’s plan all along, because the next thing he said, caught Derek by complete surprise, that he knew there was a moment that he couldn’t hide the expression on his face.
“So Derek, tell me about the Werewolves.”