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They are on the edges of town, where it turns from suburbs to forest. It's far enough out that the wolves aren't on edge about being surrounded by the sights and sounds of Fourth of July. When he and Scott had been kids, they'd run around through the Beacon Hills fair like idiots hopped up on cotton candy and youthful stupidity. Stiles actually thinks he's like this version of the Fourth better. They've spent the day in the woods playing tag under the guise of training and now they are all piled on blankets waiting for the start of the town fireworks display.
Stiles packed enough food to feed a small army or a small wolf pack. Brats and hotdogs cooked over the fire. Potato chips and salads with non mayo based dressings because he figures that even werewolves and kanimas can get ptomaine.
There is a watermelon and stuff for s'mores if the kids decide that they want more, but right now Stiles is content to sit on the hood of his jeep and smile down at lazy pack below him.
Scott and Allison are tangled together with his head in her lap but his legs are stretched out far enough to be in Lydia's lap. The strawberry blonde is resting against Jackson's chest and pressed shoulder to shoulder with Isaac on one side and Danny on the other. Erica is curled between Isaac and Boyd so the only one who is missing is Derek, who Stiles figures is proverbially "walking the dog". Stiles knows that he could slide down off the hood of the jeep and find a place in the pile. Lydia would let him duck under arm or he could put his head in Danny's open lap or on Scott's chest and no one would say anything except for the subtle sigh and shift as the pack make room for him. But it feels right to be up here watching over them, waiting for Derek to come back to the fold.
When Derek does return he doesn't slip into those open spots in pack's puppy pile instead he hoists himself up onto the Jeep's hood with an alarming groan of metal, that causes Stiles to internally wince at the mistreatment of his baby. Derek mimics Stiles relaxed pose and removes his ever present leather jacket, draping it unasked over Stiles' shoulders.
"It's July." Stiles' mutters but pulls the edges of the jacket a little closer around him. Beacon Hills hasn't experienced the heat wave that's crushed most of the country and it's actually starting to get cool . Derek gives one of his "who do you think you are fooling" grunts and then scans the area with sharp eyes ever vigilant for any threats to his relaxed pack. But it's a quiet night, so quiet that Stiles startles a little when the first explosion lights up the sky. A shower of red and blue sparks cascades to the ohs and ahs of the appreciative group. There is another bright flash, this time gold and silver.
Stiles loses himself the rhythm of the fireworks feeling it build in crescendo to the massive explosions that signify the end. As the night sky lights up in a rainbow of colors, Stiles chances a glance over at Derek, just wanting to see his unguarded reaction, wondering if he's filled with the same child like awe as the rest of the pack but Derek isn't looking up at the sky. Derek is looking at him. A smart remark dies on Stiles' tongue because Derek's eyes are ice blue and fixed upon him. Derek's hand comes up and traces the curve of Stiles' cheekbone. Another loud volley lights up the sky but Stiles can't look away from Derek. Not when he's drawing Stiles closer until their mouths are pressed together.