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The passenger side door of the black camaro that’s parked on the sidewalk across from the station is unlocked, and Stiles can’t see much, but the guy inside looks tough. Frankly, when he burst through the station’s front door, running just fast enough to escape his dad, nearly tripping over himself giggling, he didn’t know where he’d be going; his jeep’s at home. The station door opens again, and Stiles bursts into movement before he can comprehend that it may not even be his father. Just as well, he figures, halfway to the camaro, because even though that sounds like Parrish’s footfall, he’s probably acting on behalf of the sheriff anyways.
In a mess of limbs flailing the way only he can, Stiles yanks open the door, dives into the deep leather seat, and pulls it shut behind him, yelling ‘Drive, drive!!’ as he buckles up. Because hey, he may be breaking into some guys car (but not really, cause it was unlocked, a problem he fixes by punching the knob down) but he’s still the Sheriff’s kid. He clicks it.
The guy drives. Only then does Stiles breath, turning his head to laugh at, yes, it was Parrish. Who’s laughing. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him.
It’s about thirty seconds before he realizes he very well could have just gotten in the car of a serial killer. He turns to the guy, who’s shockingly younger than he looks on first glance- yes, scruffy lumberjack, no, frown lines- and introduces himself.
Cause hey, manners.
The guy doesn’t introduce himself back; he raises an eyebrow and grunts ‘I know.’ Not even a twitch of a smile.
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The guy is Derek Hale. He just got off his first shift at a new police department, after a few years with the NYPD. He only pulled one person over, and gave a few parking tickets. The Sheriff, who’d spent the shift off-duty but with him, had said that it was a pretty standard day. The change of pace was more than welcome.
The Sheriff had been the first person on the scene to the fire. He’d been a deputy at the time, but he tells Derek he was promoted shortly after; the old Sheriff had quit mid-investigation of the fire, saying it was too much for him, that he should’ve quit earlier. Honestly, Stilinski says, if he had, if someone else had been investigating the fire, it probably would’ve been ruled arson instantly. But after it’s original ruling, they need more evidence to re-open the case. He says that if Derek knows of any, and that if he wants to re-open it, most of the department is on his side.
After that initial discussion, likely to make the rest of the day lighter, most of what came out of the sheriffs mouth was to do with his 19 year old son, Stiles.
Who had just barreled into Derek’s car and shouted ‘Drive, drive!!’
Derek would be worried, but after hearing about him all day, it was incredibly clear who this was, and that he was just ‘getting up to his antics.’ He was, after all, giggling. And the Sheriff was watching from the station door, as Parrish chased him. So, Derek drove. Like a criminal, kinda. Directly to the burnt out shell of a house. Might as well scare the kid a bit, teach him a lesson.
At the first red light, he texted the Sheriff ‘the house,’ knowing that would be enough. He’d come get Stiles when he was ready.
The next red light, he really looked at the boy. And almost forgot he was driving.
Derek could recall Stiles a bit before the fire, from seeing him around town, in the way that happens when you live in a small town and some people are involved. His mom was a teacher; Derek never had her, but Cora was in his class at the time of the fire. His dad was a cop. The kid was a nuisance, and most town people had heard of him at least, while plenty could easily pick him out of a crowd.
The man laughing to himself softly in the passenger seat of his car was so far from that kid, Derek’s not sure he is. He’s got to be, though. No other reasonable explanation.
There are only two stop signs between here and his house, and Derek can see the second Stiles realizes they’re headed for the forest. He half-turns, but thinks better of it, leaning back in the seat, trying to appear relaxed. Derek smirks, and laughs to himself as his passenger picks up on that and tenses even more.
At the second stop sign, he asks. ‘Are you going to the forest?’
His voice is smaller now that he’s timid, but no less adult. It’s a damn good thing that he’s over 18, but even so, he’s only home for the summer, and he’s the Sheriff’s kid. Derek’s not gonna go there.
Nor is he gonna speak. This game is too much fun.
Besides, if he’s half as smart as the the Sheriff thinks he his, Stiles will figure it out as soon as the house comes in to view.
Derek parks the car where his dad would always park his, and checks his phone. There’s a text from the Sheriff: Don’t text while driving, Hale. He cracks a half-smile, and slips his phone into his back pocket. Stiles has gotten his seatbelt undone, and seems like he was in the process of opening his door to run, but is now frozen, glancing between the house and Derek.
“What are you doing back in town?” Yea, the kid’s smart. Derek raises an eyebrow. No talking. “Please don’t kill me; I didn’t really think, I mean, the worst my dad would’ve done was tickle me in the parking lot in front of the rest of the station, he hates when I give him veggie burgers for lunch, we were mostly kidding and-”
Stiles stops. Derek doesn’t know why, but without the crazy fast words to focus on, he realizes he was scowling. Probably why.
Stiles opens the backpack that’s been on his lap this whole time, and woah, he has hot food in it. It’s clearly junky, but god, it smells so good, and he’s got Derek’s full attention. Nervously, Stiles tears the burger in half, extending his left arm towards Derek. They eat in silence, but it’s more comfortable. After a day of listening to the sheriff, he knows better than to expect any of the curly fries. He’s quite honored to be offered a small handful, but he shakes his head. They’re not his favorite, so the kid can keep them. They relax, leaning back into the car’s seats. Now that it’s rather clear Derek won’t be talking, Stiles is quiet. Derek wonders how long it’ll be until the Sheriff gets here. They haven’t got cell service by the house, and he’s considering turning the car back around when the cruiser pulls up behind them. Stiles is startled, freaks out for a second before he sees the markings on it, but then opens the door.
“Bye, Derek. Welcome home. You grew up hot.” Stiles freezes, looks vaguely horrified at what just came out of his mouth, and runs. Derek breaks, laughing softly, before he turns his car on and pulls away, waving at the Sheriff as he goes.
He wonders just how far away the college Stiles attends is.