Soaring Comfort

Stiles is flying home to California to start teaching after college. At 35,000 feet, he learns that his seat mate's name is Derek and that Derek, big and muscled and angry, is terrified of flying. For UnproductivePeanut for the prompt: "This is a five-hour-long plane ride, we're sitting together and you're deathly afraid of flying" AU

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This is OMG so late. I'm so sorry it took me like a year to actually write this, Megan. Usually I'd go through the whys and hows of it taking so long but it's taken so long I have no excuse. Heck, you've probably forgotten you asked for it. I'm going to post this and then hide in shame.

Also, FFN messed up the formatting of my hangman. I did my best to fix it but I apologize if it's hard to read.

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Stiles whistled as he walked down the hall toward his plane. He hummed as he traversed the rows and rows of seats to find his own. He liked planes. He loved flying. Add to that the fact that he was finally headed back home after years away? Stiles was ecstatic.

There was already someone sitting in his row when he got to it. It was a guy bigger than Stiles, older by probably five or six years, with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard. He was smoking hot and sitting in the aisle seat. Stiles checked his ticket three times, and the designations above the seats.

"Hey, dude," Stiles said amicably, grinning. "I'm pretty sure my seat's the aisle." The guy barely glanced up at him. Stiles reached out to show him the ticket. "See? 42B. That's the aisle seat. If yours said 42A, that's the window." He pulled back. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, I guess, but that's what the ticket says. 42B. Aisle seat. And I have an issue sitting still for long periods of time, so being able to get up and move around would be kind of awesome."

Now the guy did look up at him. His eyes landed on Stiles' face and it took all Stiles' had in him not to recoil into the seat behind him. That glare could curdle milk and kill infants.

"Or….I could take the window seat. That's as good a seat as any. I'll get to watch the take off and I'll know when we're gonna land and see the sunset. Yeah, yeah, the window seat is great," he babbled, lifting his carry on into the bin above the seats.

He squished past his seat-mate with trepidation, and flinched when his small backpack bumped into the guy. No retaliation came and, once he was seated and the bag was stowed under the seat in front of him, Stiles risked another glance at his seat-mate.

The guy was staring at the seat in front of him with a level of concentration that Stiles reserved for pass-fail tests in college, or tests that cost about $200 to take each time. Things that caused him huge anxiety and felt rather like life or death, is what he was getting at. Stiles looked at the seat back but there was nothing special about it. There was a screen that would later offer movies (for a price) or music (for free) and detail where they were in their trip, but right now it was black and empty.

"Okay. This'll be fun," Stiles muttered to himself, reaching into the side pocket of his bag to retrieve his iPod and headphones.

…

…

Three songs had come and gone, Stiles watching workers move around outside and tapping his fingers on his legs the whole time, before everyone was boarded and the plane began to taxi slowly away from the airport to the runway. He let out a content sigh and turned off his music so he could hear all the announcements.

Welcome. Thanks for flying. I'm your captain. Here are your exits. In case of emergency, do this. Travel time is five hours. Minimal turbulence is expected. Please enjoy the complimentary beverages. Bye.

"Those are the worst part of the whole trip, right?" Stiles asked as he rolled his headphones around his hand idly. "The captain or co-captain rambling on with the same stuff you hear on every-Whoa," he cut off as his eyes finally landed on his seat-mate.

The plane was now picking up speed as it moved down the runway and the guy sitting next to Stiles looked about to have a heart attack. Stiles wasn't sure if the two events were related, but he really really really didn't want someone to have a heart attack next to him on a plane.

"A-are you okay?" Stiles asked, voice shaking with nerves.

Just as he reached a hand out to touch the other guy's shoulder, the plane left the ground. The guy's posture stiffened more – though Stiles hadn't thought it possible – and his hands clenched on the arm rests so hard that his knuckles turned white. And just like that, Stiles understood.

His seatmate was afraid of flying. Very very afraid of flying.

Stiles lowered his hand to his lap, though he kept his eyes on his seatmate. He was very nice to look at, but Stiles was focused on more than just his smoking jaw line. His mind was racing through everything he'd ever read on fear and anxiety and panic attacks. His seatmate wasn't gasping or hyperventilating, but he also didn't appear to be breathing much at all.

When the plane had leveled off and there was barely a motion to let passengers know they were in the air and not on the ground, Stiles held his hand out in front of his seatmate. "I'm Stiles. What's your name?"

The guy looked down at the hand like a snake about to bite and his lips pressed into a thin line. Several long moments later, broken only by the quiet sounds of the people around them, Stiles pulled his hand back. He was just thinking some rather bitter thoughts about the guy when he heard, barely audible,

"Derek."

Stiles perked up like Toothless in How to Train Your Dragon whenever Hiccup called him.

"Nice to meet you, Derek," he said brightly yet quietly. "What brings you on this flight, hm? I'm going home to live near my dad and finally put my teaching degree to good use."

The wait was slightly shorter this time, but the response was just as quiet. "Funeral. My uncle."

Stiles frowned. "Oh. Damn. I'm sorry. But you'll be with family, right?" A curt nod. "And you like your family?" Another nod. "Then at least there's a silver lining. If my dad died, I'm not sure I'd have much of a family to comfort me. I mean, I have some aunts and uncles and a cousin or two, but I haven't seen them since my grandma died when I was four. They wouldn't exactly be a comfort. I probably wouldn't even recognize them, actually. They'd get off the plane and I'd be all 'Who are you?' and they'd call me by the wrong name and it'd just be awful."

The excessive talking didn't seem to be calming Derek down much. Sure, he glanced away from the seat in front of him once to look at Stiles, but his hands were still gripping the seat like a life support IV and his posture hadn't relaxed at all.

Reaching forward, Stiles navigated Derek's screen to the music selection and then reached over and plugged his headphones into Derek's port. He held out the ear buds halves to Derek. "Here. They don't give complimentary headphones on these kinds of flights but you can borrow mine. What kind of music do you listen to?"

Derek put the ear buds in with one hand, slowly, almost like a malfunctioning animatronic at Disney. He didn't answer the question, so Stiles started flipping through the music choices until he found comforting nature and meditation music. He clicked it and then glanced at Derek for a response. Derek's face twisted in distaste and Stiles hurriedly picked something with vocals – Bruno Mars. Derek still didn't look pleased, though he looked more pleased than he had before.

Sitting back in his seat, Stiles said, "I don't know, man. Pick your own music then."

Though Derek glanced at Stiles for a few seconds, he didn't move to change the music. Instead, he continued to stare at the seat in front of him – now with a picture of the Bruno Mars CD that was playing – as he listened. Stiles wasn't sure if staying on that album was because he didn't mind it or because changing the station would mean moving more than he already had.

…

…

Stiles had finished playing solitaire on his phone about five times – and losing pretty quickly – when he glanced at Derek again. Derek's eyes were closed but the lines on his forehead and the hunch of his shoulders told Stiles that the music was not helping him in the slightest.

Still hesitant, Stiles reached over and poked Derek in the shoulder with his phone. When he had Derek's attention, Stiles gently pulled one of the ear buds out of Derek's ear and asked, "Do you wanna play hangman?"

"Excuse me?" Derek asked in clear disbelief.

One would think he'd never been asked to play hangman on a plane by a total stranger before. Rude.

Stiles rummaged through his bag and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. Holding them out toward Derek, he said, "Hangman. Do you want to play?"

He didn't wait for a response before he began drawing the post from which the metaphorical man would hang, then drawing a box below the post for all the incorrectly guessed letters, and finally the lines for the phrase in his mind. It was five words long, twenty-four letters long. First word, eight letters. Second word, four letters. Third word, six letters. Fourth word, two letters. Fifth word, four letters.

Stiles gave Derek an expectant look when he was done. "Guess a letter."

Someone walked by their row on the way to the bathroom in the back of the plane and Derek's gaze was momentarily pulled away by the movement. As he turned his head back around, he said, "A."

Grinning, Stiles filled in the appropriate lines.

_ _ _ _ _ _ A _ - _ A _ _ - _ _ _ _ _ _ - _ _ - _ A _ _

Derek didn't even look at the paper. "E."

The pencil touched the paper and then Stiles paused, his brow furrowing. "Are you gonna pick all the vowels first?" A glance up at Derek showed his cheeks were faintly red and his lips were pressed together so hard they were turning white. Sighing, though the idea that this intimidating looking guy still played like an elementary school kid was endearing, Stiles said, "Okay. I'll just do all of them then. You're welcome."

_ U _ E _ _ A _ - _ A _ _ - _ _ _ I _ _ - I _ - _ A _ E

And he put the "O" in the incorrect box and drew a circle for the head. "Next."

It seemed hangman was working somewhat to calm Derek down. The more letters he guessed, the faster he answered and the more he let go of the arm rests. He had actually turned his head to watch Stiles entirely and was leaning slightly over to look at the paper by the time he'd earned all but the legs of the hangman and the message read:

S U _ E R M A _ - S A Y S - _ L Y I _ G - I S - S A _ E

Stiles couldn't help but think that he was much more attractive when he was more relaxed, when he wasn't glaring at you. And now this super attractive man was leaning into Stiles' personal space and playing a silly kid's game with him. Stiles' heart was running a marathon.

"Su…erma," Derek murmured to himself, though he was so close that Stiles heard him. "Says…lying is…say…safe. Lying is safe. F-" He frowned. "F."

S U _ E R M A _ - S A Y S - F L Y I _ G - I S - S A F E

"N."

S U _ E R M A N - S A Y S - F L Y I N G - I S - S A F E

Still frowning, almost as if disappointed, Derek opened his mouth. Stiles knew he was going to guess the answer before a sound exited those hot lips. However, all he got out was, "Sup-" before the plane rattled gently with the most mild of turbulence.

Derek shot back into his seat like he'd been shot, hands grabbing for his arm rests with white knuckled grips again. In that one instant, he was back to being as tense and scared as he'd been before Stiles suggested the music option, let alone hangman.

All the closeness and familiarity between them seemed to dry up with Derek's calm, leaving Stiles sitting alone in a desert with his silly game.

Sighing, Stiles closed the notebook. "It's the safest way to travel," he quoted under his breath.

Their little game still had Stiles feeling more comfortable around Derek than he had before, so he didn't hesitate to reach out and place a hand on Derek's tense, muscled shoulder. Derek inhaled sharply but didn't look at Stiles.

"Listen, dude," Stiles said, trying to use his most comforting voice. "Only like one in every two and a half million planes crash, okay? And even on those one in two point five million, only about twenty percent cause any deaths. So if you think about it, the likelihood that you might die in a plane crash is more absurd than being killed by a cow. No, seriously, cows kill tons of people every year. Like several hundred percent more people than sharks, alligators, and bears combined. It's ridiculous. So if you're gonna be scared of dying, fear the cows, you know?"

"Stiles," Derek said through grit teeth.

Shifting closer in his seat, Stiles asked, "Yeah?"

Derek met his eyes. "Stop talking about dying." Then he faced the chair in front of him again.

Right. Stiles had been told by most of his friends that his best comforting voice wasn't very comforting. He was too blunt about stuff to comfort with words. He didn't have the tact for it. He needed a new strategy.

Just then, one of the flight attendants stopped by their row with the drink cart. "Crackers? Nuts? Anything to drink?"

Both the flight attendant and Stiles looked to Derek first, but he just shook his head. Attention now on Stiles, he smiled. "Can I get both?"

The woman smiled and handed him a tiny packet of peanuts and a package of cheese sandwhich crackers. "Anything to drink?"

"Can I get coffee?" Stiles asked. The woman was still nodding when Stiles got his next idea. "Actually, do you have tea?"

"We have black tea and green tea," she said.

Giving his best winning smile, Stiles asked, "Can I get one of each?"

The woman chuckled. "You think you're cute." Stiles fluttered his eyelashes in a way he knew was ridiculous and she laughed again. "Sure, sweetheart. I'll be right back with your tea."

"You're the best!" Stiles sang quietly to her.

As soon as she was two rows ahead of them, Stiles opened Derek's seat tray and slapped the crackers down in front of Derek before he began eating his own peanuts. Derek looked at the crackers like they'd started talking.

"Eat. It might help your nerves," Stiles instructed. Or it might make him puke, but Stiles was being optimistic.

Derek had peeled his hands from the arm rests and consumed two of the four cracker sandwiches when the flight attendant returned with two small Styrofoam cups of tea, one black and one green. After handing them off to Stiles, she reached into her pockets and produced three creamers and four sugar packets for him as well. He thanked her again, earnestly, as if she'd just saved his life, and she snickered at his silly behavior before leaving again.

Stiles placed the green tea and two sugar packets on Derek's tray. Then he put one creamer and the other three sugar packets into his black tea and stirred. "Tea is calming. It calms nerves. Green tea especially, cause it doesn't have as much caffeine as black tea. Black tea is for staying awake. Green tea is for calming down. Oolong tea would be good too, but that's used more for digestion and stuff than calming nerves. But really any warm beverage could calm you down in the right situation."

He was saying 'calm' too much.

Derek lifted an eyebrow. "You know a lot of random information."

Waving the comment away, his cheeks warm, Stiles said, "Drink your tea, Derek."

…

…

Three cups of tea later, Derek got up to use the bathroom. He'd walked so stiffly that he'd looked almost like a robot, and he'd grabbed on to every available surface as if afraid he would fall down without them.

Stiles couldn't think of much else to try to make the flight easier on Derek other than suggesting sleep. But even if he did suggest that, Derek was too tense to manage a nap.

Putting his chin in his hands, Stiles thought back over the past five years in college. What had his friends done for him when he was stressed out? Beer or wine showed up sometimes, but alcohol cost money on planes and probably wasn't the best. Movie marathons, but the movies cost extra too. Tea and essential oil aromatherapy, except Stiles had tried the tea idea and had no lavender oil. Jogging together in the park as training for a marathon they'd never run. You can't run on a plane. Trivia night at the local bar. Stiles could give Derek trivia, but having no competition would diminish the fun and what if Derek didn't know any of the same subjects Stiles did?

No, none of those would work.

Oh. One of his friends had owned cats. A cat's purr was meant to be soothing and healing. But Stiles couldn't reproduce that. He wasn't a cat.

He remembered visiting that friend six times before her cats would stay in the same room as him. At nine visits, Leo the black American shorthair had come up to him and head butted him. Amy had said…cats did that to spread pheromones from their forehead onto the object or person in front of them. It meant…'This is safe.' Yeah, that's what she'd said. It meant you were safe, you were good, you were trusted.

Just then, Derek arrived back from the bathroom. He sat down in his seat again looking moderately exhausted. Maybe he would pass out after all.

Before he could rethink (or properly think about it the first time) the idea, Stiles turned in his seat and butted the top of his head into Derek's arm.

For a moment or so, Derek didn't move or speak or do anything. He was probably shocked or confused at the action. Stiles mentally cursed himself but didn't pull back. This was a dumb idea. Stiles was the king of dumb ideas and this was one of his dumbest.

Oh god. Stiles just remembered. The head butt thing also meant 'This is mine.' He'd just cat-claimed Derek. Holy shit.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked at length. He didn't sound upset. As Stiles thought, he sounded totally baffled by the turn of events.

"Cats," Stiles said, then tried to swallow his tongue.

"Cats?" Derek repeated, sounding, if possible, more confused.

No, Stiles wasn't going to admit to the stupid idea. That would be even stupider. But he had to say something.

Oh oh! His friend with the tea and his friend with the cats were both excellent listeners and sometimes just letting him ramble it out calmed Stiles down in school.

"My friend Scott works for a vet's office," he said, his face pointed down and eyes fixed on Derek's white knuckled grip on the arm rest. He kept his voice soft as he spoke, as much to not draw attention from other passengers as to be comforting. "He's always around all these animals. He used to try and bring home all the strays but his mom always made him take them back. Cats didn't like him much, but dogs? He was the maharaja of dogs."

"Maharaja?"

"Yes. The maharaja of dogs," Stiles repeated, a bit petulant at his word choice being questioned. "Anyway he dated this girl who's dad likes to go hunting. He used to freak me out when I was a kid but he's actually a really cool guy. Pro-gun and all that, taught his daughter how to outshoot an army sniper, but he'll go through like ten peaceful steps before he'll raise a weapon to someone. Saved me from a mountain lion once. His dad's a poacher though. My dad arrested his dad. I thought Allison would be pissed, and she was, but her dad actually helped the case and made her see reason or whatever."

"They aren't dating anymore, though. Her and Scott. She's with this girl named Lydia now, who was like my goddess back in school. They're both like scary, and scary good at what they do. Allison works at a gun shop and goes hunting with her dad on the weekends and Lydia develops new math theorems and solves unsolvable math problems all the time, and translates ancient texts into English in her spare time, so when I say scary good, I mean scary good. Scott was really torn up about Allison leaving him for awhile but now he's with this girl named Kira. They're engaged, actually. She teaches martial arts and swordsmanship in the next city over and she's really intense about it but when she's out of class she's the sweetest thing, which is a good match for Scott cause really."

"Anyway, the point is, I think it's super ironic that my pacifist, veterinarian best friend is engaged to a girl who practices and teaches people how to use a sword and fight, and that my pro-gun, pro-hunting friend is all but married to my ex-crush who is all about fashion and wouldn't touch a gun except to save her own life," Stiles said. "There are all these things that you wouldn't think would work well together in life, but then they do. Like peanut butter and chocolate. I hated peanut butter for the longest time, and then a friend of mine named Boyd made me some pretzels covered in peanut butter and dipped in chocolate. It was like heaven on a stick. I've loved peanut butter and chocolate in pretty much any combination or form ever since. Milk shakes, candies, snack foods, beverages, coffees, ice cream, spreads for sandwiches, whatever."

Realizing he was flat out rambling nonsense, Stiles shut his mouth just soft enough to avoid clacking his teeth together.

His mouth had gotten him into trouble before. Namely, his inability to keep his mouth shut had. Granted, he wasn't in trouble at the moment, but his runaway tongue wasn't exactly helping him either. What the hell was he doing?!

"My sister used to get me to eat fruits by coating them in chocolate," Derek revealed, voice quiet, hesitant, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to add his thoughts.

Stiles lifted his head so he could see Derek's face. "That's about the only way my dad doesn't complain about eating fruits and vegetables too. But it's gotta be dark chocolate cause that's got antioxidants in it and it's good for him."

Derek's face was tinted red, but he was looking at Stiles and not the screen in the back of the seat so Stiles counted it as a win. And they were so close that Stiles could see how blue and green and brown all mixed in Derek's eyes to make them into that amorphous hazel from a distance.

"Do you have any…siblings?"

Derek had asked a question. For the first time on this plane ride, the first time in almost two hours, Derek was the one initiating things.

Even though he was shaking his head, Stiles grinned. "Nope. Just me and my dad. Like I said, I have cousins my age, but we haven't seen each other in two decades, so it's just me. You?"

"Two sisters. One brother. The extended family all lives in the same house," Derek said, sounding like he was on the verge of a yawn.

"But not you," Stiles added. At Derek's questioning eyebrow, Stiles expounded, "You're going home for the funeral, right? That means you don't live there."

Derek's eyes dropped from Stiles' and Stiles kicked himself for mentioning the funeral. Stiles sat back in his seat, no longer leaning into Derek's space, and frowned.

"I was living with my sister," Derek said after about a minute. "She and my uncle…they had a fight. She's not coming to the funeral."

Oh. What do you say to something like that? Stiles' eyes trailed down from Derek's head to his arm to his hand on the armrest. Derek's grip on it had loosened. He was no longer giving it a death grip.

Well, the head butt thing was apparently working.

"Is…there a reason you're afraid of flying?" Stiles asked cautiously, worried that mentioning it would make Derek tense up again.

A shrug. "Not really. No. I just am."

When Stiles had boarded this plane, Derek had glared at him with killer intent. He'd refused to speak to Stiles or look at him. It was fear and nerves that made him that way. Now, calmer, he looked at Stiles in the face when he spoke, the frown had fallen from his face, and he was even leaning a bit toward Stiles' seat.

Stiles placed his hand over Derek's on the arm rest for a comforting squeeze and then…just…didn't take it back. It was a bold move, but it felt right. When Derek didn't make to shove his hand off after several seconds, Stiles smiled.

"Tell me about your friends," Derek requested.

So Stiles spent a long time regaling Derek with stories of him and Scott as kids, climbing trees – and falling out of them, sneaking into police investigations – and spending the night in a cell when they were caught, climbing into Scott's second story bedroom – and getting hit with a bat by his mom when she thought he was a burglar, and more silly instances from their childhood. These things were normal for Stiles growing up but they never failed to make other people blanch or laugh and both outcomes were good for distracting someone from things that were bothering them. Derek let out little huffs of laughter throughout the stories, but never outright chuckled. It was enough to make Stiles' cheeks warm up again.

"Why didn't you become a cop?" Derek asked, turning his hand on the arm rest until his palm was facing up into Stiles'.

Their fingers naturally fell together and Stiles found it hard to breathe. "Eh. I had this…uh…really shitty teacher in high school. Guess I just didn't want other kids having to deal with that shit." He shrugged. "I also just really like learning stuff, researching, planning things. Seemed like a good fit for me."

Derek leaned his head over a bit and nodded. "I guess."

Stiles swallowed deeply. "And-and you? What do you do?"

"I'm an architect." Derek frowned. "Or…I was. I don't know. I left pretty quick. I'll have to look for another job when I get home."

If Stiles leaned his head over like Derek was doing, they'd be resting their heads together. This is definitely not what Stiles thought would happen on his five hour flight back to Beacon Hills. Still, when life gives you roses, stop and smell them. And maybe pick a few to take home with you. Stiles leaned his head over and then they were cuddling as much as any two people could on an airplane in economy seats.

"Well, you've got plenty of family to help you out, right?" Stiles asked.

Derek nodded and Stiles felt it against his head, but he didn't say anything. For several long moments, they just sat there, holding hands and leaning against each other. It was pretty quiet on the plane. A few people were talking here or there and one person in front of them somewhere had their music too loud. The sound of the air circulating to keep the cabin cool was like a white noise machine, just enough sound.

But Stiles wouldn't be Stiles if he could keep quiet.

"I'm afraid of birds," he said, voice quieter now that they were so close. "Not, like, parakeets or finches or whatever. And not like one bird. I mean…When you see like a hundred birds hanging out on phone lines like there's some kind of bird convention going on and you didn't get the memo. Or when they're circling like it's Legend of Zelda Wind Waker and that way there be treasure, arr." He made a short hook with his finger and jabbed as if attacking someone, then dropped his hand again. "So what I'm saying is, you don't like flying, and I don't like swarms of flying things."

There were a few moments of silence, and then, "What about insects? They swarm."

Stiles snorted. "Swarm's a swarm. I'd be freaked out by biblical levels of locusts or flies, but the birds terrify me cause of the beaks. They could peck me to death and what could I even do about it? The Birds, man. That movie messed me up."

Again, a few moments of quiet. Derek, it seemed, thought through his words before speaking. He was the exact opposite of Stiles in that regard. "Bees could sting you to death."

A shudder. "And thank you for adding that to my list of fears. You're a ray of sunshine, Derek."

…

…

When the plane landed, Derek got out into the aisle almost immediately. Then he waited until Stiles had grabbed his stuff and gotten out as well, holding up the line, before grabbing his bag from the overhead compartment. They didn't talk much during the awkward penguin shuffle off the plane, but they waited for each other before continuing on.

They had to stand on the tram ride because there were too many people on board.

"So who's picking you up?" Stiles asked. "Or are you getting a cab?"

"My sister."

"I thought your sister didn't-Oh right. Two sisters. Gotcha."

Derek nodded. "You?"

A shrug. "Probably a deputy." Derek looked appropriately freaked out, as if he were wondering if he'd been colluding with a criminal this entire time. "My dad's the sheriff?" Stiles reminded, and Derek calmed down. "He's supposed to be on shift right now, but that doesn't mean he won't show up. He's done it before. But yeah, it'll probably be a deputy who had the day off or something."

The tram docked and everyone began shuffling off and into the main body of the airport. Stiles didn't know who to look for, so he looked for his dad just in case.

"Derek! Finally!"

It was a man's voice but Stiles still looked over along with Derek. He had medium brown hair and brown eyes, but his eyebrows could match Derek's for intensity. He was probably about Stiles' age, making him about five or six years younger than Derek. Was he related to Derek?

"Evan?" Derek asked, sounding confused. "I thought Cora-"

"She had a work thing," Evan said, waving the thought away. "Now come on. I was supposed to be on a date today but I got forced to wait here for an hour for your plane to get in. If we leave now I can still make something happen this evening."

He all but dragged Derek away by the arm. Derek struggled for a few steps before managing to stand and walk like a normal person. Then he turned and gave a short waved with his free hand at Stiles still standing there alone. Was that regret on his face or was Stiles' imagining it? Stiles gave a weak wave in return.

"Stiles?"

Turning around, Stiles came face to face with his dad's youngest deputy. Light brown hair, light green eyes, six foot of lean muscle. Why Jordan Parrish decided to become a cop and not a model, Stiles would never know.

"Parrish!" he greeted with a bright grin. "So dad roped you into Stiles Duty, huh?"

Parrish frowned. "I volunteered."

A soft sigh. "Of course you did," Stiles mumbled. He smiled again. "Alright, so give me the scoop. How many burritos and burgers has dad been eating while I was away? Give me a weekly average."

Parrish grinned. "Let's go get your suitcase and get going," he said.

That wasn't an answer. Damn deputies being loyal to their sheriff. How was he supposed to keep his dad's heart healthy if they wouldn't snitch?

"You are such a-"

"Good friend for picking you up on my day off?" Parrish interrupted. "I know."

Stiles let out a large put upon sigh this time and Parrish looked like the cat that got the canary. Sometimes, Stiles didn't know what to do with this man.

"How's Isaac?"

Parrish shrugged. "Tired. His last case was hard, but the kid's in a better home now so it all worked out."

Though he glanced around the room as they entered baggage claim, Stiles didn't see any sign of Derek. Did he not have a suitcase? Oh, right. He was here for a funeral, not to live. He'd probably had just that carry on bag.

"That's good," Stiles responded, several moments late. Parrish didn't mention it.

…

…

Three Weeks Later

The school year was off to a good start. One week into classes and Stiles could already tell who was going to need careful watching and who was going to shine bright like a diamond without much help from him, the teacher, at all.

He looked around his room. It was large, with lots of big tables for groups, stools for sitting on, a back room for the kiln, racks for drying paintings, and a storage room full of a variety of art supplies. They hadn't started painting yet, but there were already samples of student work pinned up on the walls made in colored pencil, marker, and crayon. Later in the year he'd start them on clay, and on other forms of 3D art. He couldn't wait to see what they came up with.

Just as he finished packing up his stuff to leave for the day, there was a knock on his door. It was a young woman about Stiles' age that he remember being introduced to as…Ms. Hale. A history teacher. She had shoulder length red-brown hair and intense eyes. Stiles remembered thinking that she probably scared her students into submission.

Opening the door, he asked, "Hey. Did you need something, Ms. Hale?"

She pushed her way into his room and took a seat on the nearest table. Arms crossed and legs dangling, she looked him over from head to toe. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Is your name Stiles?"

"What?"

His name was written on the board in big comic book-esque letters. 'Mr. Stilinski.' He'd told his students they could shorten it to 'Mr. S' if they needed to. He'd also mentioned 'Stiles' to them, but none of the students had yet used that name for him in class. They'd all used 'Mr. S.'

Ms. Hale looked bored. "One of my students called you Stiles in class today and I need to know if that's really your name."

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles said, "Well, technically no. But no one can pronounce my first name so it's a nickname based on my last name. And wow, that's a lot of names, huh?" He tried to grin but Ms. Hale's look had intensified and the grin died before it fully materialized.

"Are you the Stiles that sat next to my brother on the plane?" Ms. Hale asked.

"Derek?" came out of Stiles' mouth before he'd even realized he was thinking it.

Then again, he was almost always thinking it. When he wasn't teaching or planning for class or grading, that was. He hadn't been able to say good-bye to Derek. Not really. And Derek seemed to have really warmed up to him on that flight. And Stiles had warmed up to Derek. They cuddled for goodness sake! And yet they hadn't exchanged phone numbers, email addresses, or even last names!

"You're Derek's sister?" Stiles expounded. "The one that was supposed to pick him up but a work thing came up? Cora?"

Ms. Hale, no, Cora, smirked. "Perfect." She slid off the table but kept her arms crossed. "You're coming to dinner then."

Stiles took a step back. "Wait, I'm what?"

Cora narrowed her eyes at him. "You're coming to dinner to see Derek," she said like an order. "Because if I have to hear about borrowed headphones, different kinds of tea, hangman, or fucking forehead bumps one more time, I might actually kill someone. So either you're coming to dinner tonight, or Derek is going to mysteriously show up in your classroom tomorrow."

While the mental image of Derek in Stiles' art room was a pleasant one, adding thirty-five or forty students to the mix kind of destroyed it. And it wasn't like Stiles had any plans that night anyway, he supposed. But it was so sudden. But the way Cora said all of this meant that Derek probably had no idea his sister and Stiles worked together or that Cora would invite him to dinner.

Oooooo that could be fun.

"You're an evil, evil person, Ms. Hale," Stiles said in monotone.

"I know." Then, like her brother had done to Derek, Cora grabbed Stiles by the arm and all but dragged him toward the door.

…

…

fin.