Hi Guys! The story is completely written and I plan to post on a weekly basis-I'm just working on edits now. This chapter is unbeta'd, so I fully own all mistakes. Feel free to let me know if you find any glaring errors. Hope you enjoy!

Derek was going to kill his therapist for convincing him that this wasn't a terrible idea. He knew that it hadn't been a particularly good idea, but now that he was standing at the back of the classroom—

This was obviously a terrible idea.

Annoyed, he searched the already crowded room for an empty seat. The only ones left were at the front of the room, which wasn't much of a surprise considering that Derek's luck was completely nonexistent. Huffing out a sigh, he cursed his therapist again before heading down the aisle, shrugging off his heavy leather jacket as he walked, boots thumping ominously against the floor with each step.

Eyes followed him as he made his way forward, the weight of the stares making him uncomfortable in his own skin. His good looks had caused him nothing but pain in the past, and if he could, he would just fade into the background, where he was much more comfortable.

Derek's family was killed in a fire when he was in high school, and since then he'd actively sought a lifestyle that let him limit human interaction as much as possible. He and his older sister Laura were the only ones not home that night, each staying at a friend's house when it broke out, and just like that everything in their lives changed. After all these years, the anger and sadness at what they lost could still be overwhelming at times, and it was easier for Derek to keep to himself.

He just wasn't very good with people.

Laura had thought things would get better over time, but after an incident involving a sobbing waitress and banishment from her favorite diner, she put her foot down and demanded that he finally start seeing a therapist. As a general rule, it was easier for Derek to just do what she asked than argue with her. He hated disappointing his last living relative even though he'd done it often enough since they'd been on their own.

After a few sessions, his therapist had suggested—if he wasn't vehemently opposed to air quotes as a general rule, Derek would have used them there—that he take some sort of class, something that might help develop his social skills a bit. They went through a brochure for upcoming classes at the local community college and he could have sworn that Dr. Morrell's eyes lit up when he lingered in the cooking section.

Fire still made Derek skittish and he hated that he felt a little nervous every time he turned on the stove in his apartment. She thought it would be a great idea for him to kill two birds with one stone, and work on both his social skills and aversion to fire by properly learning basic cooking techniques.

Derek agreed to start with one class and if that went well he would consider signing up for the Basic Skills series. He chose "Your Home Steakhouse" because the menu featured two of his favorite things—meat and potatoes. However, he began to regret that decision as soon as the class full of women looked at him like he was the meat on the menu.

He stashed his jacket on a coat rack in the corner of the room before stepping behind an empty table at the front, set up with two small burners. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman gathering her things and start moving toward his table.

Great.

Dropping her things unceremoniously, she held out her hand to him. "Hi. I'm Erica."

She looked almost predatory with long blonde hair, red lips and wicked smirk. Derek wanted nothing more than to ignore her, but that wasn't why he was there. He grasped her hand, replying with a terse, "Derek."

She raked her eyes up and down his body and self-consciousness took over, making him wish that he could pull his jacket back on and hide from her gaze.

"So," she said, oblivious to his discomfort, "what brings you here? Learning how to cook a special meal for your special someone?"

"Something like that," he responded. Maybe if she thought he was taken she'd back off.

Her lips turned down into a pout. "That's too bad." Suddenly, her tone changed into something more conspiratorial. "I wasn't expecting this class to be such a vagina-fest, you know? I mean, Appetizers 101, sure, but the steak course?" Derek's eyebrows rose up on his forehead, but the girl didn't seem to notice. "At least Stilinski's teaching. He's good, and not too shabby to look at, either."

Sheriff Stilinski was the one who broke the news to Derek about his family. He was a nice man, but Derek didn't exactly have positive memories of him. He couldn't help but be surprised that he moonlighted as a chef. "Sheriff Stilinski?" he asked. Derek guessed that he was attractive for an older man, but—

"No!" Erica started cackling. "His son, Stiles."

Derek didn't remember anyone in school with the sheriff's last name, but he was interrupted from asking any other questions by a loud noise. At the front of the room, there was an overgrown teenager with closely cropped brown hair banging on a pot with a wooden spoon. Suddenly overwhelmed, he looked over his shoulder toward the door, debating if he could sneak out before class started. At that point it would have been worth it, even if he lost the seventy-five bucks he'd already paid for the class.

As if she knew he was gonna make a run for it, Erica placed her hand on his forearm, smiling a bit more genuinely at him. Narrowing his eyes, he was about to tell her to take her hands off him, but then the kid at the front of the room started talking.

"Hi everyone! I just demonstrated how you should definitely not treat your pots and pans! Unless, of course, you need the attention of a room full of ladies." His eyes met Derek's and a fiery blush stained his cheeks. "And gentlemen too, of course. No sexism here!" he said, gesturing wildly toward Derek.

If Derek hadn't been so embarrassed at being singled out as the only man taking the class, he would've felt bad for the kid. However, when thirteen pairs of eyes fell directly on him, he responded by glaring daggers instead.

"So, anyway. Welcome everyone! My name is Stiles, and I'll be your kitchen coach, chopping teacher and meal-making mentor for the day!"

The kid looked like he was in high school, wearing a graphic printed t-shirt that said 'stud' with a picture of a muffin below it. Reaching into the wooden table in front of him, he pulled out a chef's jacket and slipped it over his shoulders, buttoning up the front.

"There should be aprons at everyone's station. I'm sure you're jealous of my incredibly stylish chef's jacket, but please cover up before we start. I can't afford to replace any ruined silk blouses," he said, motioning toward Erica before looking at Derek. "Or even plain black t-shirts. Starving student, here, people. Well, maybe not starving, but you know what I mean." A ripple of laughter ran through the room and Derek couldn't have stopped his eye roll if he tried. Which he didn't.

"So, we'll start with a salad. You two," he pointed at Erica and Derek, "come on up to the front. Everyone else should have some olive oil, balsamic and dijon mustard in front of them. Nominate one of you to whisk while the other pours." He waited a beat and let the pairs sort themselves out. "Okay, start with two teaspoons of mustard." He opened his eyes widely at Derek, cocking his head toward the measuring spoons. Derek grabbed the jar of mustard and spooned a small amount into a glass bowl. "Next, add three tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and start whisking." Derek added the balsamic and Erica began expertly whisking the ingredients together. "Finally, start pouring the olive oil in slowly, about a third of a cup total, while continuing to whisk."

There wasn't a measuring cup for the oil, and Derek didn't understand how he was supposed to figure out how much a third of a cup was. Before he could ask, Stiles picked up the bottle, put it in Derek's hand and tipped it into the bowl. He tensed, positive he was going to screw up the simple task and add too much. Derek glanced up at Stiles for some direction, but he was busy staring out at the rest of the class encouragingly. "When do I stop?" he growled.

"Huh?" Derek widened his eyes and looked pointedly at the bottle of olive oil. "Oh! Yeah, that's probably enough. Let's give it a try." He dipped his spoon into the mixture and darted out his tongue to taste. "Perfect! You guys are salad dressing making geniuses! Grab a spoon and try it." Derek huffed as he picked up his own spoon. How good could it be when they didn't even know how much oil they put into the mix?

After a taste, Derek was forced to admit that it was really good. A small spark of pride bloomed in his chest, knowing that he helped make it.

"See? Good, right?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded. "Okay, I'm just going to mix this into some greens that I absolutely did not buy pre-cut in a giant bag from the grocery store and put it to the side so we can move along."

Heading back to his station, Derek breathed out a sigh of relief at no longer being the center of attention. Next they went through some knife skills, and Derek learned how to chop an onion without making a complete mess of it. He learned what it meant to blanch a vegetable—asparagus in their case—and that there was a difference between smashing potatoes and mashing them. And that smashing was easier.

Derek found himself enjoying the class, and most of that was due to Stiles' lighthearted approach to cooking. When they finally started on the steak, Stiles did most of the work, but was like a fountain of knowledge with his tips, like, "get the pan as hot as possible before adding olive oil," and, "let it finish cooking in the oven for a nice crust." Everything was delicious when they sampled it in the end and overall, it didn't seem too difficult. Derek even waved goodbye to Erica and thanked Stiles for the class as he left.

It was a big step for him.

On his way home, he passed by a kitchen supply store and decided to stop inside, confident with his newly attained skills. Stiles had said that a stainless steel pan would work best for the steaks, and Derek splurged, spending fifty bucks on a brand new one. He also swung by the grocery store and picked up some steaks to cook the following night, excited to start practicing. Laura was coming over for dinner, and he knew that it would make her happy that he enjoyed the class.

The following night, Derek prepped the meal and started working long before Laura showed up. The salad dressing turned out great, just like in class, but the potatoes weren't quite as good. Still, they weren't bad, and he could definitely work on that. He skipped the veggies, satisfied that the salad would be enough.

Derek had just finished setting the table when there was a knock at the door. With everything timed perfectly so far, he placed his new pan on the stove to heat before answering. Bypassing pleasantries, Laura walked right past him into the living room. "Okay, I want to hear all about the class. It sounded like you didn't have a completely horrible experience when we talked earlier."

Derek rolled his eyes. "It was fine. You remember Sheriff Stilinski?" Laura nodded. "His son taught the class."

"His son? Wasn't he a lot younger than us?"

"Probably." Derek snorted. "He didn't look old enough to teach when I first saw him, but he did a good job. I learned a lot."

"Is that so?" Laura asked and Derek schooled his features. He didn't compliment people often, and she was looking at him as if trying to figure something out. After a beat, she continued. "Well, I want to see what you learned. What are we having?"

Derek rubbed his hands together, excited to get started. "I'm about to put on the steaks. The trick is to mostly cook them in a pan, but finish them in the oven. Stiles said that it gives them a nice crust."

"Stiles? His name is Stiles Stilinski?" Laura asked with a smile in her voice. It sounded odd when she said it, but somehow the name just seemed to fit.

Ignoring her, Derek walked into the kitchen, where the pan had been heating. "The other trick is to get the pan as hot as possible before adding olive oil."

"Hmm. How long do you leave the pan on the stove for?" Laura asked.

Derek furrowed his brow. Stiles hadn't really gone into detail about that. "I don't remember it taking very long in class, so it's probably ready." Grabbing the oil that he had pre-measured, he poured it into the pan.

He was reaching across the counter for the steaks when the oil suddenly caught fire. Derek jumped back as flames rose out of the pan and he looked around the kitchen in a panic with no idea what to do.

Laura moved quickly, covering the pan and snuffing out the flames. "It's fine, Der," she said, softly, "the fire's out." Derek's heart raced. He was frozen in place until Laura lifted off the lid to show him and said, "See? It's okay."

It wasn't okay, though. There was a huge scorch mark across the bottom of Derek's brand new pan, he could have started a fucking kitchen fire, and worst of all, he had completely panicked. He had known that this was a terrible idea from the start and just proved it to himself.

Derek Hale had no business trying to learn how to cook.

Laura peered into the pan with a slight frown on her face and Derek wished that he had never invited her over to witness yet another failure. "It's not that bad," she said. "Let's just try again. The pan must've gotten a little too hot."

"No," Derek growled.

"Come on, Der—"

"I said no, Laura!" Derek took the pan and threw it into the sink, the metal clashing loudly in the otherwise silent room. He was throwing a tantrum, and knew it, but Derek wasn't sure if he would ever be ready to try again.

"Well, what about this other stuff?" she asked. "Salad and mashed potatoes? It looks pretty good."

"Smashed," he replied, under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Derek mumbled, defeated. "Yeah, go ahead and try it."

She made them each a plate and they ate in silence, sipping on some wine that Laura had brought for the occasion. When they finished, Derek showed her to the door, and she looked at him sadly. "Don't give up, baby bro. I think this is good for you. It seemed like you really enjoyed it."

Derek hummed a noncommittal noise as he gave her a quick hug goodbye.

There was no way in hell he was going back.