Bullets and Claws, Part 1 (gift for pyjamagurl)
Title: Bullets and Claws
Author: miya_tenaka
Recipient: pyjamagurl
Pairings: Derek/Stiles, Peter/Chris
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 12’303
Warnings: None
Summary: Semi-AU. When the Hales open a bookshop next to the Silver Bullet coffee shop, Stiles notices his new boss Mr Argent seems to have a history with them. It’s the only reason he tries to find out more about their family. It has absolutely nothing to do with how attractive that grouchy Derek looks. Nope, nothing.
Author's Notes: I took one of your prompts and it somehow turned into a 12'000-words fic. Oops? ^^ I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing it! Huge thanks to A. for the beta. <3
Lydia is a more terrifying boss than Stiles could have ever imagined. Okay, technically she isn’t his boss, she’s just another employee at the Silver Bullet coffee shop, but she’s been working here for two years now, so Mr Argent’s appointed the task of supervising Stiles to her.
She shows him how to work the coffee machine, listing all the different dosages for the different drinks, then watches him like a hawk as he tries to make a double espresso macchiato. She tastes it, judges it “passable”, then hands him a small booklet, telling him he’ll be clearing up tables until he can recite its content by heart. Allison gives him a sympathetic look from behind the cash register.
The Silver Bullet is a very popular place. Not only because it’s situated at the center of the Beacon Hills Great Mall, but because it offers a variety of European style coffees and other hot beverages of top notch quality. Also, a lot of teenage boys tend to stop by just to get a smile from the pretty baristas, though no one would ever dare to say that in front of Mr Argent. Especially since one of said pretty baristas is his daughter.
So it’s popular. Of course that means there are rush hours, during which Stiles scrambles to clean the tables, keep the pastry trays full, bring back milk and caramel sauce and chocolate from the back shop when Lydia barks at him they’re running short, load and unload the dishwasher, in short do all the little menial tasks so the girls can keep on serving clients without a hitch.
Mr Argent usually shows up at these times and helps Lydia behind the coffee machine so they can get everything done in a timely manner. Stiles knows one of the reasons he’s been hired is so he can be the one helping Lydia, because Mr Argent is planning on opening a second shop downtown, so he needs to have this place up and running without him. No pressure at all.
But the thing about rush hours? They don’t last forever. Things start to calm down after 3 pm, and Stiles finally has the time to dig up the booklet from his pocket and go through it. The list of drinks is daunting in itself, especially since Stiles isn’t a big coffee drinker (caffeine only makes his ADD worse), but if you add to it that he has to know the exact composition of every type of sandwiches they sell and what exactly is each type of pastry, and on which drink you add which type of chocolate sprinkles, Stiles wonders how the hell he’s going to remember all that.
He’s leaning against the counter, trying to commit to memory the list of cup sizes to use, but his eyes keep wandering at the other shops around him. From here he can catch a glimpse of the comic books store window, and he checks the time on his watch to see how long he still has to wait until his break.
“Stiles!”
Stiles startles and looks at Lydia, who tells him to get his ass behind the counter with a simple but effective head-tilt. He slips past Allison, who’s taking an order from a gorgeous but grumpy-looking dude in a leather jacket, and joins Lydia by the coffee maker.
“You’re going to make the coffees for this nice gentleman, and I’m going to make sure you don’t screw up,” Lydia tells him. “And that it doesn’t take you forever to do it, because we don’t keep our customers waiting, now, do we?”
“I’m in no hurry,” Mr Grumpy says, voice rough and eyebrows down in a frown. “Just make sure you don’t forget the sprinkles.”
The way he says that last word, it’s like it physically hurts him to pronounce it. Stiles would laugh, except the guy seems to have a lot of muscle under that leather jacket and Stiles does have some survival instinct. Also, did he mention how hot that guy looked?
“A triple espresso, a small cappuccino and a medium Chocolate Bullet, to go,” Allison informs them as she hands Tall, Dark and Brooding his change and a receipt.
Stiles looks at the paper cups piled up on top of the coffee maker and hesitantly selects three. Lydia takes one back and gives him a bigger one.
“The whipped cream takes up space,” she informs him. “Now hurry up a bit. Start with the espresso shots, then heat up the milk.”
Stiles tries to remember all the things Lydia showed him earlier as he works the coffee machine, and watches the dark liquid fill the cups. Meanwhile, Lydia’s filled two metal cups with milk from the fridge.
“Two?” Stiles asks as he puts the second cup in place and fills the handle with just one dose.
“Yes, Stiles, two. Cappuccino requires steamed-milk foam and the Bullet is made based on a latte macchiato, which means...?”
“Same as the cappuccino, but with regular hot milk?” The Chocolate Bullet was the specialty of the Silver Bullet Coffee Shop.
“See, you’re learning,” Lydia preens, as if it were all of her doing. “You can already put the chocolate powder in the other cup for the Bullet, then we’ll pour the espresso shots on it. Now make the foam.”
Stiles does as he’s told, and soon he’s pouring the steamed-milk foam on top of the espresso shot while coffee mixes up with chocolate in another cup. Then he adds warm milk to the chocolated coffee, stirs, gets the whipped cream to spray on top and finally adds the sprinkles. Lydia makes an approving sound as she sprinkles cinnamon on the cappuccino then covers the cups and put them in a bag before handing them to Mr Grumpyface.
“Thanks,” the guy grits through his teeth.
Stiles and Lydia watch him walk away, silently admiring the muscles of his ass moving in his fitted pants. Tall Dark and Brooding doesn’t go very far, stopping at the closed-down boutique right in front of the coffee shop and knocking on the door. A gorgeous girl with long, dark hair opens the door and steals the paper bag from him before she lets him come in, closing the door behind them.
“So, I take it someone finely bought Mr Radley’s shop?” Stiles asks, a bit surprised.
Mr Radley had been selling sheet music at his shop for over thirty years, but he’d retired a few months ago and had been trying to sell the place.
“Looks like it,” Lydia shrugs, turning back to him. “Now, tell me what you could have done to work faster?”
***
There are hammering sounds coming from inside Mr Radley’s old shop. Stiles can hear them now that the mall is almost empty. They’re cleaning up before closing for the day, and Stiles is exhausted, but he can’t help it, he’s curious about what the hell is going on in there. The blinds are still closed, have been all day, and Stiles has been unable to catch a glimpse the inside whenever the gorgeous boy and girl bought boxes after boxes in.
“So, how was your first day, Stiles?” Mr Argent asks him, bringing him back to reality.
Mr Argent had come back to pick Allison up, obvious, but also to check up on his new employee.
“Best summer job I’ve ever had,” Stiles grins, washing his hands.
“If I remember correctly, this is your first summer job,” Mr Argent smirks.
“Ah, yes,” Stiles admits, rubbing the back of his head. “Seriously though, it’s a bit more complicated than I thought but I think I’m doing okay? You should ask Lydia, really, but she’ll probably make an excruciatingly detailed list of all the ways I failed today, so no, don’t ask Lydia. My first day was fine, thank you.”
Mr Argent huffs, amused. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he tells Stiles, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Stiles thinks Mr Argent is about to say more, but he sort of freezes on the spot, his eyes darting somewhere behind Stiles. His face goes blank and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder tightens slightly. It’s not painful, but still uncomfortable.
Stiles turns his head in the direction his boss is staring at. Tall, Dark and Broody is dragging a ladder out of the shop while the girl holds on a huge sign. An older man follows the guy outside, and at first Stiles has the feeling he’s looking straight at him.
“Argent,” he says with a strange little smile, half amused, half taunting, and half nervous. Yes, Stiles is aware that’s too many halves.
“Hale,” Mr Argent nods in reply, polite but tight. Then he looks at the sign that the girl and boy are putting up. “The Lone Wolf’s Bookshelf, really?”
“We buy and sell used books,” Mr Hale says, that strange smile still tugging at his lips. “You called your coffee shop The Silver Bullet.”
Mr Argent just nods, which leaves Stiles completely confused over the strange exchange.
“You could have warned me, Peter,” he says, softly.
“We don’t owe you anything, Argent,” the girl chirps in, almost nonchalantly.
“You remember my niece Laura,” Mr Hale says. “And Derek, of course.”
“Of course,” Mr Argent says. “Welcome to the Great Mall.”
After that, Mr Argent just turns around, calling his daughter and telling her they’re leaving. He tosses his keys to Lydia and lets Stiles and her finish closing up the shop.
“That was weird,” Lydia tells him, looking in Peter Hale’s direction with a frown.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees.
“And why does that name sound familiar, anyway?”
“You remember that fire, like ten years ago? The one where almost a whole family died?”
“That was six years ago, not ten,” Lydia corrects him. “And, yeah, now I remember. The kids were at school and their uncle escaped the fire, right?”
“Yeah, he was the only one to make it out alive,” Stiles confirms. “I remember my dad talking about that case, a little. He used to talk to mom about everything.”
“Well, in any case, the kids are obviously not kids anymore,” she says, arching an eyebrow at where Laura was laughing and Derek was glaring at her and at the world in general.
“Nope,” Stiles agrees.
Derek glances in their direction, and Stiles’s heart skips a bit under the intensity of his stare. He licks his lips nervously, and Derek looks away, shoving past his sister to get back inside the bookshop.
“Hey, you want a ride home?”
“In your Jeep?” Lydia sneers. “Yeah, right. I’m calling Jackson to pick me up.”
***
It’s late when Stiles finally gets home, and his dad is already sprawled on the couch, watching the baseball game. There are boxes of Chinese food on the coffee table, and Stiles frowns.
“You know that’s not good for you, right,” he lectures his dad as he sits down next to him and grabs one of the boxes. “How’s the game going so far?”
“The Mets are losing.”
Stiles sighs, then proceeds to stuffing his mouth with noodles. They watch the game in silence for a while, until it appears clear that there’s almost no way the Mets could make up for their bad start. The other team is way too ahead of them on the score board.
“So, the Hales are opening a bookshop next to the coffee shop,” Stiles says, going for casual and missing by a thousand miles judging by the look his dad gives him.
“Are they now?”
“Yeah. It was weird, too, when Mr Argent showed up.”
“Son, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Stiles exclaims, on the defensive. “I haven’t done anything!”
“Oh, so you weren’t about to question me about the history between Chris Argent and the Hales?” his dad says, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.
“That would depend on how you define ‘questioning’? Because my plan was totally to just hint subtly about the tension between them until you give up some info. No questions asked. It was a good plan, too.”
“Just leave it alone, please? Some things are better left in the past.”
***
The bookshop opens three days later. Beacon Hills is a small town, so a new shop opening at the mall is almost some kind of big event. Well, not exactly, it’s still a bookshop after all, but there are definitely a lot of curious shoppers turning up to have a look at the Lone Wolf, which inevitably results in a busier day at the coffee shop.
Stiles is getting better, but there’s no way he and Lydia can keep up with the amount of work behind the coffee maker. Allison calls in her dad and Mr Argent shows up twenty minutes later. The three of them make it work, even though it’s a bit crowded behind the counter. Mr Argent only leaves much later in the afternoon, and Stiles switches place with Allison, because according to Lydia he needs more experience on the cash register.
Mr Argent’s been gone for less than two minutes when Derek Hale shows up, almost as if he’d been waiting for the older man to leave. Stiles smiles at him, but Derek just frowns and orders three coffees to go.
“How’s opening day going?” Stiles asks as he writes the orders on paper cups and hands them to Lydia.
“Busy,” Derek grumbles.
“I hope it quiets down a bit, to be honest,” Stiles says, and Derek glares at him. “Today was exhausting for us. Not that I’m saying - I don’t mean - Obviously it’s awesome for you if the bookshop is doing well!” he adds, mumbling.
Derek just sighs, but he leaves Stiles a generous tip, so Stiles must have done something right.
“You’re so cute when you’re mooning over someone else than me,” Lydia mocks him when Derek is gone. “Not that I blame you, I’m amazing.”
“I’m not mooning!” Stiles blushes. “I barely talked to him twice!”
Lydia hums, amused, and Stiles turns to his next client, deciding to ignore her. Seriously, just because Derek is hot and Stiles has eyes doesn’t mean he’s crushing on the guy. He doesn’t know anything about him.
***
It’s Stiles’s day off, and he ditched Scott to spend it at the library. Stiles isn’t sure what it says about him. He hates the library, the need to be quiet. But Google had produced no result when he cross-referenced the names of Hale and Argent, and the Beacon Hills Herald doesn’t keep an online archive.
Stiles starts by looking for the news about the fire, because now that he thinks of it Allison and her parents moved to Beacon Hills about six years ago, and he has no other starting point. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for.
The first article is from February 2005. It doesn’t state names, but Stiles recognizes a younger Peter Hale sitting on the back of an ambulance, EMTs checking him out. 11 people died in the fire, including children. There’s a mention about two teenagers being at school when it happened, and Stiles wonders why there were so many people in the house at the time.
The next article is from two days later. There’s a photo of a burned-out house, which seems to be in the middle of the woods. The title reads “Foul Play Suspeced In Hale Fire” and talks about suspicion of arson. There’s a couple of follow-up pieces in the next weeks, in which all Stiles learns is that the Hales had family over for some kind of family event, and the police made an arrest in early April. Stiles feels proud when he sees a photo of his dad pushing a couple of guys in his police car. He’d just been elected sheriff back then.
There’s nothing more for a few weeks and Stiles is about to give up when finds the next article. At least the title is clear: “Local Bartender Behind The Hale Fire”. It seems a young woman paid the guys his dad arrested to set the fire. The article doesn’t mention any motives, but it does give her name: Kate Argent. Stiles goes frenetically through the next issues of the newspapers, looking for more, but when he reaches the month of December he still hasn’t found anything and his head is buzzing.
Either someone killed the story, or the town moved on, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles found his link. He goes back to that last article, looks at the photo of Kate. She has an arrogant smile on her face even as she’s being walked into the police station. She looks in her mid-twenties, so it’s easy for Stiles to deduce the logical family tie: she’s probably Mr Argent’s sister, maybe a cousin. Sister is most likely, given the tension between him and the Hales.
Stiles sighs, putting the newspapers back in place, though probably not all in the right order. He’s too tired to care, his ability to concentrate shot to hell after hours of intense research. He needs to go do something that requires no real amount of concentration. He’s not even out of the library yet when he grabs his phone and calls Scott’s number.
***
The next week is easier for Stiles. He knows what he’s doing, for one, and the mall is more quiet. People are starting to go off on holidays, and the novelty of the Lone Wolf’s Bookshelf has died down a little bit. Oh, they have customers, just not the constant crowd of the first few days. The Hales stop by for coffee, and sometimes Laura even convinces her brother to sit down at a table when they’re on a break. It looks a lot like sibling-bullying to Stiles, which is kind of hilarious because Derek is a tall, muscular guy and Laura is kind of small, but she bosses him around almost as much as Peter does.
Derek never comes by when Mr Argent is there. Peter always comes by when Mr Argent is there. Stiles can’t tell if he’s trying to play nice or just to make Mr Argent feel nervous or guilty. He’s all polite smiles and quiet conversation, but Mr Argent flexes his hands by his sides the way Stiles’s dad does when he’s itching to pick up his gun. If Stiles is perfectly honest, he can’t blame him. As attractive as they are, there’s an aura of danger around the Hales that Stiles can feel deep in his bones at times.
“Hi,” Stiles smiles at Derek when he stops by on Saturday afternoon. “Same three as usual?”
“I’m on my lunch break,” Derek replies, looking vaguely irritated. It’s his usual look though, and Stiles isn’t phased by it anymore. Well, not much.
“Oh. What can I get you then?” he asks, and starts describing their different French bread sandwiches.
Derek takes two, his glare warning Stiles off making any sort of comment about the amount of food he eats, and Stiles offers to put them on the grill for a minute to warm them up. While they wait, Lydia comes back and orders Stiles to take his own lunch break now before the rush hour of the afternoon starts.
Stiles slides Derek’s sandwiches on a plate and hands him the tray with a smile, then goes to the back shop to retrieve his own lunch - a salad, because his dad insists that if he has to eat rabbit food, then so does Stiles - and take off his apron.
When he comes back out, Derek is still standing next to the counter with his tray in hand, grunting monosyllables at whatever Lydia’s talking to him about. Stiles isn’t expecting Derek to follow him to a table and sit down in front of him, but okay, cool, he can roll with that. Probably. And hopefully without making too much of a fool of himself.
He picks at his salad, trying not to stare too hard at the hotness that is Derek Hale. Though Derek looks less sexy and more scary when he’s devouring two gigantic sandwiches. There’s cheese running over Derek’s fingers and crumbs are getting caught in his stubble, and Stiles hides his nervous smile by stuffing lettuce in his mouth.
Derek’s eyes catch his over the second sandwich, and he looks annoyed and surprised. He lowers his food and cocks his head to the side, studying Stiles’s face, which is more than likely turning a bright shade of pink under that intense stare.
“Dude, I know you have a fork and a knife because I gave them to you, Stiles comments to break the awkward silence.
“It’s a sandwich, you’re supposed to eat those with your hands.”
“Yeah, except when it’s hot and dripping melted cheese and crispy crumbs all over the place,“ Stiles snorts. Once his mouth is running, it’s like he can’t stop. “Plus, you know, sitting at a table, like a civilized person. God, it’s like you were raised by wolves or something!”
Derek’s eyes drift to the bookshop and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Yeah, or something,” he agrees, but he puts the rest of his sandwich down on his plate and picks up the knife and fork.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Stiles starts, watching Derek aggressively cut into the sandwich and stab it with his fork. “I’m sure your uncle did a great job with you and Laura. I mean, your sister at least didn’t turn out all cavewoman-like, so he can’t be that bad, right?”
“What?” Derek grunts, a bite of hacked-up sandwich raised half-way to his mouth. He’s looking at Stiles, all frustrated confusion.
“You know, Laura? Nice girl, kind of bossy but mostly smiling and polite?”
“I know who Laura is,” Derek says, still looking confused.
“Yeah, well, I just...” Stiles looks down to his salad, avoiding Derek’s confused glare. “What I meant was, I didn’t mean to imply your uncle didn’t do a good job raising you guys. Just because you turned out to have the manner of a prehistoric homo sapiens.”
Stiles has no idea how Derek manages it, but even his chewing sounds angry.
“I’m gonna stop talking now,” Stiles sighs. He really did get his foot in his mouth big time, it would seem.
In front of him, Derek grunts. whether it’s at what Stiles said or at his food is hard to say. They eat in silence for a little while, and Stiles’s legs starts bouncing of its own accord, because Stiles’s body is incapable of staying motionless for too long.
“Stop that,” Derek grunts, clearly annoyed.
“Sorry, dude, but it’s either that or I start talking again and make things even more awkward,” Stiles rambles.
“I don’t mind your talking,” Derek grumbles, then stuffs another piece of his sandwich in his mouth.
Stiles stares at him, his mouth hanging open in surprise until he remembers to close it again.
“Okay then,” he breathes out.
He starts blabbering about his job and how it’s both easier and harder than he thought. He talks about working with Lydia, about Scott’s crush on Allison, about the latest episode of Eureka and how he can’t believe it’s the last season. Light, safe conversation topics that he can just go on and on about without even thinking, without having to watch his words and wonder if he’s going to inadvertently say something stupid or hurtful.
Derek’s replies are monosyllabic at best as he finishes his sandwich then starts tearing up his paper napkin into small pieces, but he doesn’t growl at Stiles to just shut the fuck up already, so Stiles counts it as a small victory. He isn’t sure why Derek choose to spend his lunch break with him, but he’s not going to complain. Maybe Derek is just very bad at conversation.
“What was that all about?” Allison asks him with a conspiratorial smile and a shoulder nudge when he comes back from his break.
“I’m not sure,” Stiles says, biting his lower lip as he watches Derek disappear into the bookstore. “It was nice though.”
“What was nice?” Lydia asks, pushing passed Stiles to get behind the coffee maker.
“Stiles’s lunch date with Derek Hale,” Allison replies with a grin.
“Oh, good for you Stiles!” Lydia congratulates him.
“It wasn’t a date,” Stiles protests. “It was just lunch!”
As if he’d have a chance with a guy like Derek Hale. The girls just smile and nod, and Stiles grumbles, but soon the afternoon shoppers file into the mall and they have too much work on their hands to talk about Stiles’s not love life.
Laura stops by a couple of hours later to buy coffee, and she smiles brightly at Stiles. Seriously, sometimes Stiles wonders if they really are siblings, even though it’s obvious from the shape of their nose and the incredible blue-green color of their eyes.
Mr Argent arrives when they’re closing the shop, and he helps Allison count the daily takings while Lydia and Stiles clean everything up. Like most of the shops in the mall they’re closed on Sundays, and Stiles is looking forward to collapsing in his couch and watch the baseball game. Maybe he’ll even call Scott and have him come over, since his dad is working tonight.
“Stiles?” Mr Argent asks when he’s done sweeping the floor.
“Yes, Mr Argent?”
“I have to drop Allison to the train station since she’s spending a couple of days at her mother’s. Would you mind stopping by the bank to deposit the week’s takings into the shop’s account? They close in an hour and I don’t think I can make it.”
“Um, sure,” Stiles says, resisting the urge to complain that he just wants to go home. Mr Argent trusting him with something like this is huge.
Mr Argent opens the safe and takes out a fat envelope in which he slips the day’s money. He closes it and scribbles an account number on it.
“Just give them my name and the account number,” he tells Stiles as he hands him the envelope. “And be careful on the way there.”
“I’ll guard this with my life,” Stiles says seriously, sliding the envelope in his backpack.
Mr Argent smiles indulgently and pats his shoulder. “I know you will.”
***
Stiles wasn’t expecting to stumble into Derek at the bank, but here he is, right in front of Stiles in the queue. Stiles tries very hard not to stare down at the curve of Derek’s ass in his ridiculously tight jeans and wonders if he should say something to let him know he’s there. He’s not sure if they’re actually friends now that they had lunch together.
The queue moves forward and Stiles manages to trip over his own feet, because he’s smooth that way, and he bumps against Derek’s strong back.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, trying to regain his balance.
A hand lands on his shoulder to stabilize him, and when Stiles lifts his gaze from the uneven floor he meets Derek’s eyes staring at him from much closer than he has ever seen them before. There are flakes of brilliant green in the blue irises.
“Um, hi there,” Stiles says.
Derek just nods. He doesn’t take his hand from Stiles’s shoulder until, and they keep staring at each other in silence until the queue moves forward again. He drops his hand then and turns around to take a couple of steps in the direction of the counters, but his body is slightly tilted to the side and he steals glances at Stiles from the corner of his eye.
“So, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Stiles eventually says, because silences are stressful and evil. “Do you come here often?”
“You’re aware that this sounds like a bad pick-up line, right?” Derek grunts, but the corner of his mouth twitches up.
“Yeah, I’m not the most subtle guy on Earth,” Stiles replies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that it was supposed to be a pick-up line,” he adds quickly when Derek turns a little bit more towards him and raises an eyebrow. “It was just a way to open the conversation, because I like talking to you, even if you mostly just grunts back. I think the whole silent and broody look suits you, it gives you an air of mystery that’s kind of really hot, but again, not coming on to you, oh God, please stop me from talking and humiliating myself even more!”
“I’m almost morbidly curious to see where you’re going with that,” Derek says flatly, but there’s a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
“Dude, that’s just mean!” Stiles complains, play-punching Derek’s shoulder. “Also, ow. How much time do you spend in the gym?”
Stiles flexes his fingers. Derek’s arm is hard as a rock.
“I mostly work out at home,” Derek shrugs.
“Freak,” Stiles comments with a smile, and Derek just shakes his head, half exasperated and half amused, judging by the little twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Stiles is starting to think Derek might have some medical condition that renders him incapable of smiling.
They talk a little more - well, Stiles talks and Derek vaguely responds with grunts and nods and the smallest amount of words possible - and as the queue slowly moves forward they end up more side by side than one behind the other. Stiles is mid-sentence when Derek suddenly grips his wrist.
“Shut up,” he says, cocking his head on the side.
“Wow, dude, okay, I thought you didn’t-”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek grits through his teeth, aggressive and scary in a way Stiles has never felt heard before.
His mouth seals shut, and he watches Derek take a quick glance behind them at the bank’s entrance then purposefully looking anywhere else. His jaw is clenched as he checks out their surroundings.
“Don’t say anything.” he says gruffly, then tugs on Stiles’s wrist. “Come with me.”
Stiles almost protests but a warning look from Derek makes him keep his mouth shut and he follows Derek. There’s an Out of order sign on the restroom door, but Derek pushes it open anyway and drags Stiles inside. He leaves the door open by a crack and peaks inside before turning back to Stiles, who’s trying very hard to calm his hormones down, because he sincerely doubts Derek dragged him in hear to do dirty things to him.
“Dude,” he starts, but Derek makes a shushing gesture, bringing his finger to his lips. “What’s going on?” Stiles whispers anyway.
“Do you have your phone?” Derek asks instead of replying.
“Er, sure, don’t you?”
“Battery died yesterday,” he grunts. “Call your dad.”
“Yesterday?” Stiles stares at Derek. What kind of person doesn’t recharge their phone for a whole day?
“Yes, Stiles, yesterday. Call your dad. This place is about to get robbed.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“Quiet!” Derek growls. “Just trust me.”
“Nu-uh,” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m not calling my dad for a robbery when nothing’s happening. I don’t especially want to be grounded all summer.”
Derek sighs, exasperated, and grabs Stiles’s neck to drag him to the crack of the door.
“See the two guards at the back? They’re shutting the main doors, but the bank doesn’t close for another twenty minutes and they always shut the doors ten minutes before. And that guy leaning against the opposite wall with a dufflebag? See the bulge in his jacket? That’s a gun. There’s at least two others we can’t see from here. Now call your dad.”
Stiles is going to protest Derek can’t possibly know these things for sure, even though it does seem suspicious, when the sound of a gunshot resonates through the hall. Amongst the following shouts, he clearly hears the words “this is a robbery”.
“Fuck.”
Backing away from the door, Stiles digs his phone out of his pocket and calls his father with shaky fingers.
“Stiles, this better be important, I’m on duty.”
“Does bank robbery rate as important?” Stiles asks as hushed as he can.
“Ha ha, very funny kid. What do you want?”
“I’m serious dad! Mr Argent sent me to the bank on Jefferson and there’s a robbery going on!”
Outside, Stiles can hear the thieves instruct everyone to give them their phones and keep quiet. Derek is still peeking through the small opening.
“And they’re letting you call your father because?” the Sheriff asks, clearly not believing him.
“Derek and I are hiding in the bathroom. They haven’t found us yet.”
“Derek Hale?” His dad sounds surprised. “Pass him to me.”
Stiles should feel offended that his dad won’t trust his word but will trust Derek’s. But to be honest, Scott and him have done a fair amount of prank calls in their time. He hands the phone to Derek, who doesn’t seem surprised.
“Stiles is telling the truth,” Derek whispers into the phone. From what I could see and hear, there’s six of them. Yes sir, we will. Thank you sir.”
He hands the phone back to Stiles.
“Stay on the line with me, son,” his father says, sounding serious. “We’re on our way.”
***
Derek looks at the bars on the restroom windows. He could easily bend them, haul himself and Stiles through there, but it would raise too many questions. He cocks his head, listening to the law whispers of the robbers near the entrance, the ones dressed as security guards.
“The cops are here, how can the cops be here?” one of them is saying. “Dan disabled the alarm before we even shut the doors!”
“Someone must have called them,” the other one says. “Damn it, that makes things more complicated.”
“We took everyone’s phones though, and Charlie’s been keeping an eye on them. I don’t get it!”
“We must have missed someone. Did you check the bathrooms?”
“Of course I... Wait. I didn’t check these ones, they’re out of order.”
“Damn it,” Derek breathes out.
He turns around and grabs Stiles’s wrist, takes him into one of the stalls.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asks in a hurried whisper, and Derek can hear the Sheriff on the other end of the line, asking what’s going on.
“They’re coming here. We need to hide.”
Derek closes the toilet’s lid and steps on it, tugging Stiles up. He pushes the door mostly shut and Stiles fists a hand in his jacket to keep his balance. It’s a tight fit, the two of them standing there, their bodies flushed against each other. The Sheriff is silent through the phone, and Stiles is breathing hard in Derek’s neck, his heart pounding against Derek’s chest, and Derek holds him still.
The restroom door creaks as it’s pushed open. The sound of boots clanking on the tiled floor is almost deafening, and Derek can feel the wolf in him stirring, restless, wanting to come out and eliminate the threat. He can’t, though, so Derek focuses on Stiles’s breathing, loud in his ear but hopefully quiet enough to human ears, on Stiles’s scent flooding his nose, the faint, almost apologetic note of arousal in it.
On the other side of the door, the man walks to the end of the bathroom, then starts pushing doors open. If Derek was alone, he could jump up, leap over the partition separating the stalls and hide in one where the guys has already looked. Is he was alone, he could knock the robber out, not caring if he shoots his gun at him. But he has Stiles to think of, to keep safe. They’re going to be found.
“Stay calm,” he whispers in Stiles’s ear just before the door opens.
“Awww, look at that,” the robber says sarcastically, pointing is gun at them. “Aren’t you adorable. Come out.”
Derek helps Stiles down, trying to discretely grab the phone from his hand to slide it in his pocket, but Stiles slips and he has to grab him to prevent him from knocking his head against the wall.
“Give me the phone,” the robber says, and he brings it to his ear without taking his gun off them. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Sheriff Stilinski,” Stiles’s father replies. “You’re surrounded, but if you just give yourselves up without harming anyone, I’m sure we can work something out with the DA to reduce your sentence.”
“Not gonna happen, Sheriff. We’ll be calling you back.”
***
On to Part 2
Author: miya_tenaka
Recipient: pyjamagurl
Pairings: Derek/Stiles, Peter/Chris
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 12’303
Warnings: None
Summary: Semi-AU. When the Hales open a bookshop next to the Silver Bullet coffee shop, Stiles notices his new boss Mr Argent seems to have a history with them. It’s the only reason he tries to find out more about their family. It has absolutely nothing to do with how attractive that grouchy Derek looks. Nope, nothing.
Author's Notes: I took one of your prompts and it somehow turned into a 12'000-words fic. Oops? ^^ I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing it! Huge thanks to A. for the beta. <3
Lydia is a more terrifying boss than Stiles could have ever imagined. Okay, technically she isn’t his boss, she’s just another employee at the Silver Bullet coffee shop, but she’s been working here for two years now, so Mr Argent’s appointed the task of supervising Stiles to her.
She shows him how to work the coffee machine, listing all the different dosages for the different drinks, then watches him like a hawk as he tries to make a double espresso macchiato. She tastes it, judges it “passable”, then hands him a small booklet, telling him he’ll be clearing up tables until he can recite its content by heart. Allison gives him a sympathetic look from behind the cash register.
The Silver Bullet is a very popular place. Not only because it’s situated at the center of the Beacon Hills Great Mall, but because it offers a variety of European style coffees and other hot beverages of top notch quality. Also, a lot of teenage boys tend to stop by just to get a smile from the pretty baristas, though no one would ever dare to say that in front of Mr Argent. Especially since one of said pretty baristas is his daughter.
So it’s popular. Of course that means there are rush hours, during which Stiles scrambles to clean the tables, keep the pastry trays full, bring back milk and caramel sauce and chocolate from the back shop when Lydia barks at him they’re running short, load and unload the dishwasher, in short do all the little menial tasks so the girls can keep on serving clients without a hitch.
Mr Argent usually shows up at these times and helps Lydia behind the coffee machine so they can get everything done in a timely manner. Stiles knows one of the reasons he’s been hired is so he can be the one helping Lydia, because Mr Argent is planning on opening a second shop downtown, so he needs to have this place up and running without him. No pressure at all.
But the thing about rush hours? They don’t last forever. Things start to calm down after 3 pm, and Stiles finally has the time to dig up the booklet from his pocket and go through it. The list of drinks is daunting in itself, especially since Stiles isn’t a big coffee drinker (caffeine only makes his ADD worse), but if you add to it that he has to know the exact composition of every type of sandwiches they sell and what exactly is each type of pastry, and on which drink you add which type of chocolate sprinkles, Stiles wonders how the hell he’s going to remember all that.
He’s leaning against the counter, trying to commit to memory the list of cup sizes to use, but his eyes keep wandering at the other shops around him. From here he can catch a glimpse of the comic books store window, and he checks the time on his watch to see how long he still has to wait until his break.
“Stiles!”
Stiles startles and looks at Lydia, who tells him to get his ass behind the counter with a simple but effective head-tilt. He slips past Allison, who’s taking an order from a gorgeous but grumpy-looking dude in a leather jacket, and joins Lydia by the coffee maker.
“You’re going to make the coffees for this nice gentleman, and I’m going to make sure you don’t screw up,” Lydia tells him. “And that it doesn’t take you forever to do it, because we don’t keep our customers waiting, now, do we?”
“I’m in no hurry,” Mr Grumpy says, voice rough and eyebrows down in a frown. “Just make sure you don’t forget the sprinkles.”
The way he says that last word, it’s like it physically hurts him to pronounce it. Stiles would laugh, except the guy seems to have a lot of muscle under that leather jacket and Stiles does have some survival instinct. Also, did he mention how hot that guy looked?
“A triple espresso, a small cappuccino and a medium Chocolate Bullet, to go,” Allison informs them as she hands Tall, Dark and Brooding his change and a receipt.
Stiles looks at the paper cups piled up on top of the coffee maker and hesitantly selects three. Lydia takes one back and gives him a bigger one.
“The whipped cream takes up space,” she informs him. “Now hurry up a bit. Start with the espresso shots, then heat up the milk.”
Stiles tries to remember all the things Lydia showed him earlier as he works the coffee machine, and watches the dark liquid fill the cups. Meanwhile, Lydia’s filled two metal cups with milk from the fridge.
“Two?” Stiles asks as he puts the second cup in place and fills the handle with just one dose.
“Yes, Stiles, two. Cappuccino requires steamed-milk foam and the Bullet is made based on a latte macchiato, which means...?”
“Same as the cappuccino, but with regular hot milk?” The Chocolate Bullet was the specialty of the Silver Bullet Coffee Shop.
“See, you’re learning,” Lydia preens, as if it were all of her doing. “You can already put the chocolate powder in the other cup for the Bullet, then we’ll pour the espresso shots on it. Now make the foam.”
Stiles does as he’s told, and soon he’s pouring the steamed-milk foam on top of the espresso shot while coffee mixes up with chocolate in another cup. Then he adds warm milk to the chocolated coffee, stirs, gets the whipped cream to spray on top and finally adds the sprinkles. Lydia makes an approving sound as she sprinkles cinnamon on the cappuccino then covers the cups and put them in a bag before handing them to Mr Grumpyface.
“Thanks,” the guy grits through his teeth.
Stiles and Lydia watch him walk away, silently admiring the muscles of his ass moving in his fitted pants. Tall Dark and Brooding doesn’t go very far, stopping at the closed-down boutique right in front of the coffee shop and knocking on the door. A gorgeous girl with long, dark hair opens the door and steals the paper bag from him before she lets him come in, closing the door behind them.
“So, I take it someone finely bought Mr Radley’s shop?” Stiles asks, a bit surprised.
Mr Radley had been selling sheet music at his shop for over thirty years, but he’d retired a few months ago and had been trying to sell the place.
“Looks like it,” Lydia shrugs, turning back to him. “Now, tell me what you could have done to work faster?”
***
There are hammering sounds coming from inside Mr Radley’s old shop. Stiles can hear them now that the mall is almost empty. They’re cleaning up before closing for the day, and Stiles is exhausted, but he can’t help it, he’s curious about what the hell is going on in there. The blinds are still closed, have been all day, and Stiles has been unable to catch a glimpse the inside whenever the gorgeous boy and girl bought boxes after boxes in.
“So, how was your first day, Stiles?” Mr Argent asks him, bringing him back to reality.
Mr Argent had come back to pick Allison up, obvious, but also to check up on his new employee.
“Best summer job I’ve ever had,” Stiles grins, washing his hands.
“If I remember correctly, this is your first summer job,” Mr Argent smirks.
“Ah, yes,” Stiles admits, rubbing the back of his head. “Seriously though, it’s a bit more complicated than I thought but I think I’m doing okay? You should ask Lydia, really, but she’ll probably make an excruciatingly detailed list of all the ways I failed today, so no, don’t ask Lydia. My first day was fine, thank you.”
Mr Argent huffs, amused. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he tells Stiles, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Stiles thinks Mr Argent is about to say more, but he sort of freezes on the spot, his eyes darting somewhere behind Stiles. His face goes blank and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder tightens slightly. It’s not painful, but still uncomfortable.
Stiles turns his head in the direction his boss is staring at. Tall, Dark and Broody is dragging a ladder out of the shop while the girl holds on a huge sign. An older man follows the guy outside, and at first Stiles has the feeling he’s looking straight at him.
“Argent,” he says with a strange little smile, half amused, half taunting, and half nervous. Yes, Stiles is aware that’s too many halves.
“Hale,” Mr Argent nods in reply, polite but tight. Then he looks at the sign that the girl and boy are putting up. “The Lone Wolf’s Bookshelf, really?”
“We buy and sell used books,” Mr Hale says, that strange smile still tugging at his lips. “You called your coffee shop The Silver Bullet.”
Mr Argent just nods, which leaves Stiles completely confused over the strange exchange.
“You could have warned me, Peter,” he says, softly.
“We don’t owe you anything, Argent,” the girl chirps in, almost nonchalantly.
“You remember my niece Laura,” Mr Hale says. “And Derek, of course.”
“Of course,” Mr Argent says. “Welcome to the Great Mall.”
After that, Mr Argent just turns around, calling his daughter and telling her they’re leaving. He tosses his keys to Lydia and lets Stiles and her finish closing up the shop.
“That was weird,” Lydia tells him, looking in Peter Hale’s direction with a frown.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees.
“And why does that name sound familiar, anyway?”
“You remember that fire, like ten years ago? The one where almost a whole family died?”
“That was six years ago, not ten,” Lydia corrects him. “And, yeah, now I remember. The kids were at school and their uncle escaped the fire, right?”
“Yeah, he was the only one to make it out alive,” Stiles confirms. “I remember my dad talking about that case, a little. He used to talk to mom about everything.”
“Well, in any case, the kids are obviously not kids anymore,” she says, arching an eyebrow at where Laura was laughing and Derek was glaring at her and at the world in general.
“Nope,” Stiles agrees.
Derek glances in their direction, and Stiles’s heart skips a bit under the intensity of his stare. He licks his lips nervously, and Derek looks away, shoving past his sister to get back inside the bookshop.
“Hey, you want a ride home?”
“In your Jeep?” Lydia sneers. “Yeah, right. I’m calling Jackson to pick me up.”
***
It’s late when Stiles finally gets home, and his dad is already sprawled on the couch, watching the baseball game. There are boxes of Chinese food on the coffee table, and Stiles frowns.
“You know that’s not good for you, right,” he lectures his dad as he sits down next to him and grabs one of the boxes. “How’s the game going so far?”
“The Mets are losing.”
Stiles sighs, then proceeds to stuffing his mouth with noodles. They watch the game in silence for a while, until it appears clear that there’s almost no way the Mets could make up for their bad start. The other team is way too ahead of them on the score board.
“So, the Hales are opening a bookshop next to the coffee shop,” Stiles says, going for casual and missing by a thousand miles judging by the look his dad gives him.
“Are they now?”
“Yeah. It was weird, too, when Mr Argent showed up.”
“Son, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Stiles exclaims, on the defensive. “I haven’t done anything!”
“Oh, so you weren’t about to question me about the history between Chris Argent and the Hales?” his dad says, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.
“That would depend on how you define ‘questioning’? Because my plan was totally to just hint subtly about the tension between them until you give up some info. No questions asked. It was a good plan, too.”
“Just leave it alone, please? Some things are better left in the past.”
***
The bookshop opens three days later. Beacon Hills is a small town, so a new shop opening at the mall is almost some kind of big event. Well, not exactly, it’s still a bookshop after all, but there are definitely a lot of curious shoppers turning up to have a look at the Lone Wolf, which inevitably results in a busier day at the coffee shop.
Stiles is getting better, but there’s no way he and Lydia can keep up with the amount of work behind the coffee maker. Allison calls in her dad and Mr Argent shows up twenty minutes later. The three of them make it work, even though it’s a bit crowded behind the counter. Mr Argent only leaves much later in the afternoon, and Stiles switches place with Allison, because according to Lydia he needs more experience on the cash register.
Mr Argent’s been gone for less than two minutes when Derek Hale shows up, almost as if he’d been waiting for the older man to leave. Stiles smiles at him, but Derek just frowns and orders three coffees to go.
“How’s opening day going?” Stiles asks as he writes the orders on paper cups and hands them to Lydia.
“Busy,” Derek grumbles.
“I hope it quiets down a bit, to be honest,” Stiles says, and Derek glares at him. “Today was exhausting for us. Not that I’m saying - I don’t mean - Obviously it’s awesome for you if the bookshop is doing well!” he adds, mumbling.
Derek just sighs, but he leaves Stiles a generous tip, so Stiles must have done something right.
“You’re so cute when you’re mooning over someone else than me,” Lydia mocks him when Derek is gone. “Not that I blame you, I’m amazing.”
“I’m not mooning!” Stiles blushes. “I barely talked to him twice!”
Lydia hums, amused, and Stiles turns to his next client, deciding to ignore her. Seriously, just because Derek is hot and Stiles has eyes doesn’t mean he’s crushing on the guy. He doesn’t know anything about him.
***
It’s Stiles’s day off, and he ditched Scott to spend it at the library. Stiles isn’t sure what it says about him. He hates the library, the need to be quiet. But Google had produced no result when he cross-referenced the names of Hale and Argent, and the Beacon Hills Herald doesn’t keep an online archive.
Stiles starts by looking for the news about the fire, because now that he thinks of it Allison and her parents moved to Beacon Hills about six years ago, and he has no other starting point. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for.
The first article is from February 2005. It doesn’t state names, but Stiles recognizes a younger Peter Hale sitting on the back of an ambulance, EMTs checking him out. 11 people died in the fire, including children. There’s a mention about two teenagers being at school when it happened, and Stiles wonders why there were so many people in the house at the time.
The next article is from two days later. There’s a photo of a burned-out house, which seems to be in the middle of the woods. The title reads “Foul Play Suspeced In Hale Fire” and talks about suspicion of arson. There’s a couple of follow-up pieces in the next weeks, in which all Stiles learns is that the Hales had family over for some kind of family event, and the police made an arrest in early April. Stiles feels proud when he sees a photo of his dad pushing a couple of guys in his police car. He’d just been elected sheriff back then.
There’s nothing more for a few weeks and Stiles is about to give up when finds the next article. At least the title is clear: “Local Bartender Behind The Hale Fire”. It seems a young woman paid the guys his dad arrested to set the fire. The article doesn’t mention any motives, but it does give her name: Kate Argent. Stiles goes frenetically through the next issues of the newspapers, looking for more, but when he reaches the month of December he still hasn’t found anything and his head is buzzing.
Either someone killed the story, or the town moved on, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles found his link. He goes back to that last article, looks at the photo of Kate. She has an arrogant smile on her face even as she’s being walked into the police station. She looks in her mid-twenties, so it’s easy for Stiles to deduce the logical family tie: she’s probably Mr Argent’s sister, maybe a cousin. Sister is most likely, given the tension between him and the Hales.
Stiles sighs, putting the newspapers back in place, though probably not all in the right order. He’s too tired to care, his ability to concentrate shot to hell after hours of intense research. He needs to go do something that requires no real amount of concentration. He’s not even out of the library yet when he grabs his phone and calls Scott’s number.
***
The next week is easier for Stiles. He knows what he’s doing, for one, and the mall is more quiet. People are starting to go off on holidays, and the novelty of the Lone Wolf’s Bookshelf has died down a little bit. Oh, they have customers, just not the constant crowd of the first few days. The Hales stop by for coffee, and sometimes Laura even convinces her brother to sit down at a table when they’re on a break. It looks a lot like sibling-bullying to Stiles, which is kind of hilarious because Derek is a tall, muscular guy and Laura is kind of small, but she bosses him around almost as much as Peter does.
Derek never comes by when Mr Argent is there. Peter always comes by when Mr Argent is there. Stiles can’t tell if he’s trying to play nice or just to make Mr Argent feel nervous or guilty. He’s all polite smiles and quiet conversation, but Mr Argent flexes his hands by his sides the way Stiles’s dad does when he’s itching to pick up his gun. If Stiles is perfectly honest, he can’t blame him. As attractive as they are, there’s an aura of danger around the Hales that Stiles can feel deep in his bones at times.
“Hi,” Stiles smiles at Derek when he stops by on Saturday afternoon. “Same three as usual?”
“I’m on my lunch break,” Derek replies, looking vaguely irritated. It’s his usual look though, and Stiles isn’t phased by it anymore. Well, not much.
“Oh. What can I get you then?” he asks, and starts describing their different French bread sandwiches.
Derek takes two, his glare warning Stiles off making any sort of comment about the amount of food he eats, and Stiles offers to put them on the grill for a minute to warm them up. While they wait, Lydia comes back and orders Stiles to take his own lunch break now before the rush hour of the afternoon starts.
Stiles slides Derek’s sandwiches on a plate and hands him the tray with a smile, then goes to the back shop to retrieve his own lunch - a salad, because his dad insists that if he has to eat rabbit food, then so does Stiles - and take off his apron.
When he comes back out, Derek is still standing next to the counter with his tray in hand, grunting monosyllables at whatever Lydia’s talking to him about. Stiles isn’t expecting Derek to follow him to a table and sit down in front of him, but okay, cool, he can roll with that. Probably. And hopefully without making too much of a fool of himself.
He picks at his salad, trying not to stare too hard at the hotness that is Derek Hale. Though Derek looks less sexy and more scary when he’s devouring two gigantic sandwiches. There’s cheese running over Derek’s fingers and crumbs are getting caught in his stubble, and Stiles hides his nervous smile by stuffing lettuce in his mouth.
Derek’s eyes catch his over the second sandwich, and he looks annoyed and surprised. He lowers his food and cocks his head to the side, studying Stiles’s face, which is more than likely turning a bright shade of pink under that intense stare.
“Dude, I know you have a fork and a knife because I gave them to you, Stiles comments to break the awkward silence.
“It’s a sandwich, you’re supposed to eat those with your hands.”
“Yeah, except when it’s hot and dripping melted cheese and crispy crumbs all over the place,“ Stiles snorts. Once his mouth is running, it’s like he can’t stop. “Plus, you know, sitting at a table, like a civilized person. God, it’s like you were raised by wolves or something!”
Derek’s eyes drift to the bookshop and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Yeah, or something,” he agrees, but he puts the rest of his sandwich down on his plate and picks up the knife and fork.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Stiles starts, watching Derek aggressively cut into the sandwich and stab it with his fork. “I’m sure your uncle did a great job with you and Laura. I mean, your sister at least didn’t turn out all cavewoman-like, so he can’t be that bad, right?”
“What?” Derek grunts, a bite of hacked-up sandwich raised half-way to his mouth. He’s looking at Stiles, all frustrated confusion.
“You know, Laura? Nice girl, kind of bossy but mostly smiling and polite?”
“I know who Laura is,” Derek says, still looking confused.
“Yeah, well, I just...” Stiles looks down to his salad, avoiding Derek’s confused glare. “What I meant was, I didn’t mean to imply your uncle didn’t do a good job raising you guys. Just because you turned out to have the manner of a prehistoric homo sapiens.”
Stiles has no idea how Derek manages it, but even his chewing sounds angry.
“I’m gonna stop talking now,” Stiles sighs. He really did get his foot in his mouth big time, it would seem.
In front of him, Derek grunts. whether it’s at what Stiles said or at his food is hard to say. They eat in silence for a little while, and Stiles’s legs starts bouncing of its own accord, because Stiles’s body is incapable of staying motionless for too long.
“Stop that,” Derek grunts, clearly annoyed.
“Sorry, dude, but it’s either that or I start talking again and make things even more awkward,” Stiles rambles.
“I don’t mind your talking,” Derek grumbles, then stuffs another piece of his sandwich in his mouth.
Stiles stares at him, his mouth hanging open in surprise until he remembers to close it again.
“Okay then,” he breathes out.
He starts blabbering about his job and how it’s both easier and harder than he thought. He talks about working with Lydia, about Scott’s crush on Allison, about the latest episode of Eureka and how he can’t believe it’s the last season. Light, safe conversation topics that he can just go on and on about without even thinking, without having to watch his words and wonder if he’s going to inadvertently say something stupid or hurtful.
Derek’s replies are monosyllabic at best as he finishes his sandwich then starts tearing up his paper napkin into small pieces, but he doesn’t growl at Stiles to just shut the fuck up already, so Stiles counts it as a small victory. He isn’t sure why Derek choose to spend his lunch break with him, but he’s not going to complain. Maybe Derek is just very bad at conversation.
“What was that all about?” Allison asks him with a conspiratorial smile and a shoulder nudge when he comes back from his break.
“I’m not sure,” Stiles says, biting his lower lip as he watches Derek disappear into the bookstore. “It was nice though.”
“What was nice?” Lydia asks, pushing passed Stiles to get behind the coffee maker.
“Stiles’s lunch date with Derek Hale,” Allison replies with a grin.
“Oh, good for you Stiles!” Lydia congratulates him.
“It wasn’t a date,” Stiles protests. “It was just lunch!”
As if he’d have a chance with a guy like Derek Hale. The girls just smile and nod, and Stiles grumbles, but soon the afternoon shoppers file into the mall and they have too much work on their hands to talk about Stiles’s not love life.
Laura stops by a couple of hours later to buy coffee, and she smiles brightly at Stiles. Seriously, sometimes Stiles wonders if they really are siblings, even though it’s obvious from the shape of their nose and the incredible blue-green color of their eyes.
Mr Argent arrives when they’re closing the shop, and he helps Allison count the daily takings while Lydia and Stiles clean everything up. Like most of the shops in the mall they’re closed on Sundays, and Stiles is looking forward to collapsing in his couch and watch the baseball game. Maybe he’ll even call Scott and have him come over, since his dad is working tonight.
“Stiles?” Mr Argent asks when he’s done sweeping the floor.
“Yes, Mr Argent?”
“I have to drop Allison to the train station since she’s spending a couple of days at her mother’s. Would you mind stopping by the bank to deposit the week’s takings into the shop’s account? They close in an hour and I don’t think I can make it.”
“Um, sure,” Stiles says, resisting the urge to complain that he just wants to go home. Mr Argent trusting him with something like this is huge.
Mr Argent opens the safe and takes out a fat envelope in which he slips the day’s money. He closes it and scribbles an account number on it.
“Just give them my name and the account number,” he tells Stiles as he hands him the envelope. “And be careful on the way there.”
“I’ll guard this with my life,” Stiles says seriously, sliding the envelope in his backpack.
Mr Argent smiles indulgently and pats his shoulder. “I know you will.”
***
Stiles wasn’t expecting to stumble into Derek at the bank, but here he is, right in front of Stiles in the queue. Stiles tries very hard not to stare down at the curve of Derek’s ass in his ridiculously tight jeans and wonders if he should say something to let him know he’s there. He’s not sure if they’re actually friends now that they had lunch together.
The queue moves forward and Stiles manages to trip over his own feet, because he’s smooth that way, and he bumps against Derek’s strong back.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, trying to regain his balance.
A hand lands on his shoulder to stabilize him, and when Stiles lifts his gaze from the uneven floor he meets Derek’s eyes staring at him from much closer than he has ever seen them before. There are flakes of brilliant green in the blue irises.
“Um, hi there,” Stiles says.
Derek just nods. He doesn’t take his hand from Stiles’s shoulder until, and they keep staring at each other in silence until the queue moves forward again. He drops his hand then and turns around to take a couple of steps in the direction of the counters, but his body is slightly tilted to the side and he steals glances at Stiles from the corner of his eye.
“So, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Stiles eventually says, because silences are stressful and evil. “Do you come here often?”
“You’re aware that this sounds like a bad pick-up line, right?” Derek grunts, but the corner of his mouth twitches up.
“Yeah, I’m not the most subtle guy on Earth,” Stiles replies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that it was supposed to be a pick-up line,” he adds quickly when Derek turns a little bit more towards him and raises an eyebrow. “It was just a way to open the conversation, because I like talking to you, even if you mostly just grunts back. I think the whole silent and broody look suits you, it gives you an air of mystery that’s kind of really hot, but again, not coming on to you, oh God, please stop me from talking and humiliating myself even more!”
“I’m almost morbidly curious to see where you’re going with that,” Derek says flatly, but there’s a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
“Dude, that’s just mean!” Stiles complains, play-punching Derek’s shoulder. “Also, ow. How much time do you spend in the gym?”
Stiles flexes his fingers. Derek’s arm is hard as a rock.
“I mostly work out at home,” Derek shrugs.
“Freak,” Stiles comments with a smile, and Derek just shakes his head, half exasperated and half amused, judging by the little twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Stiles is starting to think Derek might have some medical condition that renders him incapable of smiling.
They talk a little more - well, Stiles talks and Derek vaguely responds with grunts and nods and the smallest amount of words possible - and as the queue slowly moves forward they end up more side by side than one behind the other. Stiles is mid-sentence when Derek suddenly grips his wrist.
“Shut up,” he says, cocking his head on the side.
“Wow, dude, okay, I thought you didn’t-”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek grits through his teeth, aggressive and scary in a way Stiles has never felt heard before.
His mouth seals shut, and he watches Derek take a quick glance behind them at the bank’s entrance then purposefully looking anywhere else. His jaw is clenched as he checks out their surroundings.
“Don’t say anything.” he says gruffly, then tugs on Stiles’s wrist. “Come with me.”
Stiles almost protests but a warning look from Derek makes him keep his mouth shut and he follows Derek. There’s an Out of order sign on the restroom door, but Derek pushes it open anyway and drags Stiles inside. He leaves the door open by a crack and peaks inside before turning back to Stiles, who’s trying very hard to calm his hormones down, because he sincerely doubts Derek dragged him in hear to do dirty things to him.
“Dude,” he starts, but Derek makes a shushing gesture, bringing his finger to his lips. “What’s going on?” Stiles whispers anyway.
“Do you have your phone?” Derek asks instead of replying.
“Er, sure, don’t you?”
“Battery died yesterday,” he grunts. “Call your dad.”
“Yesterday?” Stiles stares at Derek. What kind of person doesn’t recharge their phone for a whole day?
“Yes, Stiles, yesterday. Call your dad. This place is about to get robbed.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“Quiet!” Derek growls. “Just trust me.”
“Nu-uh,” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m not calling my dad for a robbery when nothing’s happening. I don’t especially want to be grounded all summer.”
Derek sighs, exasperated, and grabs Stiles’s neck to drag him to the crack of the door.
“See the two guards at the back? They’re shutting the main doors, but the bank doesn’t close for another twenty minutes and they always shut the doors ten minutes before. And that guy leaning against the opposite wall with a dufflebag? See the bulge in his jacket? That’s a gun. There’s at least two others we can’t see from here. Now call your dad.”
Stiles is going to protest Derek can’t possibly know these things for sure, even though it does seem suspicious, when the sound of a gunshot resonates through the hall. Amongst the following shouts, he clearly hears the words “this is a robbery”.
“Fuck.”
Backing away from the door, Stiles digs his phone out of his pocket and calls his father with shaky fingers.
“Stiles, this better be important, I’m on duty.”
“Does bank robbery rate as important?” Stiles asks as hushed as he can.
“Ha ha, very funny kid. What do you want?”
“I’m serious dad! Mr Argent sent me to the bank on Jefferson and there’s a robbery going on!”
Outside, Stiles can hear the thieves instruct everyone to give them their phones and keep quiet. Derek is still peeking through the small opening.
“And they’re letting you call your father because?” the Sheriff asks, clearly not believing him.
“Derek and I are hiding in the bathroom. They haven’t found us yet.”
“Derek Hale?” His dad sounds surprised. “Pass him to me.”
Stiles should feel offended that his dad won’t trust his word but will trust Derek’s. But to be honest, Scott and him have done a fair amount of prank calls in their time. He hands the phone to Derek, who doesn’t seem surprised.
“Stiles is telling the truth,” Derek whispers into the phone. From what I could see and hear, there’s six of them. Yes sir, we will. Thank you sir.”
He hands the phone back to Stiles.
“Stay on the line with me, son,” his father says, sounding serious. “We’re on our way.”
***
Derek looks at the bars on the restroom windows. He could easily bend them, haul himself and Stiles through there, but it would raise too many questions. He cocks his head, listening to the law whispers of the robbers near the entrance, the ones dressed as security guards.
“The cops are here, how can the cops be here?” one of them is saying. “Dan disabled the alarm before we even shut the doors!”
“Someone must have called them,” the other one says. “Damn it, that makes things more complicated.”
“We took everyone’s phones though, and Charlie’s been keeping an eye on them. I don’t get it!”
“We must have missed someone. Did you check the bathrooms?”
“Of course I... Wait. I didn’t check these ones, they’re out of order.”
“Damn it,” Derek breathes out.
He turns around and grabs Stiles’s wrist, takes him into one of the stalls.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asks in a hurried whisper, and Derek can hear the Sheriff on the other end of the line, asking what’s going on.
“They’re coming here. We need to hide.”
Derek closes the toilet’s lid and steps on it, tugging Stiles up. He pushes the door mostly shut and Stiles fists a hand in his jacket to keep his balance. It’s a tight fit, the two of them standing there, their bodies flushed against each other. The Sheriff is silent through the phone, and Stiles is breathing hard in Derek’s neck, his heart pounding against Derek’s chest, and Derek holds him still.
The restroom door creaks as it’s pushed open. The sound of boots clanking on the tiled floor is almost deafening, and Derek can feel the wolf in him stirring, restless, wanting to come out and eliminate the threat. He can’t, though, so Derek focuses on Stiles’s breathing, loud in his ear but hopefully quiet enough to human ears, on Stiles’s scent flooding his nose, the faint, almost apologetic note of arousal in it.
On the other side of the door, the man walks to the end of the bathroom, then starts pushing doors open. If Derek was alone, he could jump up, leap over the partition separating the stalls and hide in one where the guys has already looked. Is he was alone, he could knock the robber out, not caring if he shoots his gun at him. But he has Stiles to think of, to keep safe. They’re going to be found.
“Stay calm,” he whispers in Stiles’s ear just before the door opens.
“Awww, look at that,” the robber says sarcastically, pointing is gun at them. “Aren’t you adorable. Come out.”
Derek helps Stiles down, trying to discretely grab the phone from his hand to slide it in his pocket, but Stiles slips and he has to grab him to prevent him from knocking his head against the wall.
“Give me the phone,” the robber says, and he brings it to his ear without taking his gun off them. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Sheriff Stilinski,” Stiles’s father replies. “You’re surrounded, but if you just give yourselves up without harming anyone, I’m sure we can work something out with the DA to reduce your sentence.”
“Not gonna happen, Sheriff. We’ll be calling you back.”
***
On to Part 2