Stiles laughed brightly as he surveyed the barely controlled chaos taking place in the Hale kitchen Thanksgiving morning. Considering he cooked the majority of the meals for the pack he had informed them under no uncertain terms that he would not be cooking Thanksgiving dinner. That had been a week ago, and he had kept to his promise. (Though he may have slipped a few recipes under Boyd’s door a few days ago to be certain it wasn’t a complete disaster).
“Jackson, take the damn pie out of the oven, the timer has been going off for at least five minutes!” Lydia shrieked from somewhere deep inside the group.
Isaac managed to extract himself from the pack, a giant bowl of uncooked green bean casserole nestled in his arms, and a smear of some unnamed liquid across his cheek.
“So tell me, should I have the fire department on speed dial or what?” Who was he kidding, he already had it so he only needed to press send and run for safety.
“It’s actually not as a bad as it looks. The pies Jackson and Boyd made smell pretty good, Allison is a whiz at stuffing, and Lydia is working on about a million deviled eggs.” It probably actually would have been worse if Lydia had not relegated Scott to the corner and practically dared him to move and face her wrath.
“Erica and Derek are still out frying the turkeys.” Yes, turkeys, as in plural, three to be exact.
Stiles had wanted to have left overs and, while he was not officially in charge of any of the cooking, he may have told a burly alpha birdie what to purchase at the store.
“Isaac, get your butt back in here and finish making the casserole!” Lydia’s growl was just this side of maim and slaughter, sending a terrified Isaac back into the kitchen with a sheepish grin.
Stiles just laughed, flopping back onto the couch and soaking up the feeling of pack. He was leaning towards sleep, lulled by the smells of food and the gentle off and on banging of dinner preparation in full swing, when he dad walked in.
“Hey pops, care to join me? Today we live like kings! Or well, more like minor dignitaries with a so-so set of chefs, but close enough right?” he ignored the squawk of indignation that sounded suspiciously like Jackson, and stood to pull his dad farther into the living room.
He liked how comfortable his dad was starting to look here. It had been weird at first, stiff and formal in a way family should never be. Stiles still spent most of his time at the Hale house, but his dad was becoming a more and more frequent guest. Soon he was helping Isaac with his homework, chastising Erica for low cut tops, playing cards with Boyd, and even throwing things at Jackson or Lydia when they got too full of themselves. It was comfortable in a way Stiles had never let himself hope for.
“So do you wanna watch the game or go watch Erica and Derek attempt to fry a turkey for the first time?” something in his chest swelled at the way his dad perked up and started heading outside without a word.
Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to know the words Erica was whispering at the turkey fryer were probably not ones of love and endearment. In fact, he would bet good money that they were more along the line of imminent turkey fryer death if said fryer did not cooperate.
“Derek! How is the turkey coming?” his dad grinned, the murderous stare Derek was giving the second fryer not exactly lost on his him.
“Turkeys, and…not so well.” Derek was grinding his teeth, the internal struggle of ‘claws or fangs’ fairly evident on his face.
“Woah there big guy, what seems to be the problem?” Stiles winced, jogging over to place a soothing hand on Derek’s shoulder as he surveyed the scene.
The glare he received was Glare #3, the ‘are you a fucking idiot?’ glare. Translation: I can’t figure something simple out, but I’ll be damned if I ask for help and look like an idiot in front of anyone so I’ll just suffer through.
Oh, oh this was priceless, true gold. If moments could be turned into monetary values, Stiles would have been able to purchase an entire country using this exact moment.
The problem was fairly evident to Stiles, and his grin could only be described as shit-eating, “You can’t figure out how to turn it on can you?”
“Stiles.” Definitely a warning growl, so he was right on the money.
“Let it be known, the great Derek Hale cannot figure out how to turn on a turkey fryer, not even with the trusty help of his sidekick Cat Woman!” the little tick in Derek’s jaw had started meaning he was working up a good way to shut Stiles up.
“Don’t worry Batman, the great and glorious, Superman Stiles is here to save the day!” he reached down, turning the knob to adjust the temperature of the grease before flicking a switch and tada.
“It’s okay, not everyone can be….holyshit….”Stiles stood with a flourish, only to have his grin wiped off his face in the best way possible.
Derek was pretty much devouring him, his hands wrapping around to his ass and affectively hoisting him so high Stiles had no choice but to wrap his legs around his waist. The kiss was filthy, Derek using his strength to grind Stiles against him so all he could do was hold on. Fuck it was hot, he didn’t think anything could be so hot in the middle of November.
“Hale.” And suddenly Stiles was unceremoniously dropped on his ass, the impact would have knocked the air out of him if hadn’t already been left gasping from the kiss. He used the term kiss loosely, Derek had practically fed on his mouth in front of Erica and…and his dad, holyshit his life was over.
“Dad….dad…um…wow…uh.” and now his face was hot, what was with this stupid month and not being cold like it was supposed to.
“While I appreciate Stiles being speechless for once, I would rather not have to have so much visual knowledge of the fact that my teenage son is dating someone so experienced. If you don’t mind that is.” Never before had the line ‘if you don’t mind’ sounded so much like an insult, a friendly one, but an insult nonetheless.
“Of course Sheriff, won’t happen again.” Derek would later say the flush high on his cheeks was from the chill, possibly even the kiss, but he would deny until his dying day that he had actually been embarrassed.
“S-so…um…how about those chickens?” he couldn’t help but notice Erica was rolling on the ground, her lips almost bloody from the effort she was putting into not howling in laughter.
The rest of the evening went off without much of a hitch. The eggs were a little salty, the pie crust slightly blackened, and the casserole more lumpy then any of them were used to but to be honest no one could bring themselves to care. To this day Stiles still claims it was the best Thanksgiving to ever occur under the Stilinski (Derek growled, “Hale” every year) roof.
After dinner and dishes, which Stiles magnanimously agreed to help with, they all piled into the living room to watch White Christmas. There may have been a few grumbles but Stiles drowned them out by loudly yelling “It’s tradition!” until everyone shut up and sat down. This was their first real holiday together, they didn’t have traditions as far as any of them knew. But it didn’t take a genius, or even a werewolf, to understand where the tradition came from.
Stiles tucked himself into Derek’s side, pulling his dad next to him so Scott could squeeze in between the Sheriff and the arm rest. Isaac propped himself up at Stiles feet with Erica at his side and Boyd’s head in his lap. Allison and Lydia came in at the last minute with popcorn for everyone, before tucking themselves together on the loveseat, Jackson at their feet. When they finally hit play, the smooth notes of Bing Crosby settled through the room like silk. They all laughed at the proper bits, and sighed when appropriate. Scott, Stiles, and his dad all may have teared up at “Counting Your Blessings” but no one made a comment as the salty tang permeated the air. Jackson may have raised an eyebrow, but Derek honestly wasn’t sure, too busy pressing kisses into Stiles’ hair as his mate ached with bittersweet sadness.
At the end of the movie Stiles looked down at his and Derek’s interlocked fingers, his eyes distant and muted, “White Christmas was always my mom’s favourite Christmas movie.”
No one really moved for a while and it occurred to Derek how disconcerting it may have been for the sheriff. The pack was used to moments like this, where just existing in each other’s presence was enough, maybe not to heal, but to brace against. When he finally looked over his mate’s head he was startled by how much they looked alike. The glow of the main menu screen softened his features, smoothing over worry lines and bitter thoughts to the point that he now had a fairly good idea of what his mate would look like in ten years. As if sensing his gaze John turned his head and locked eyes. In that moment, serenaded by the soft snores of the pack, Stiles and Scott drooling on their respective shoulders, they reached an understanding.
“I’m glad he has you Derek, has all of you.” He patted Scott’s hair absent mindedly, the kid had always been a second son to him since the first day Stiles had brought him home with a skinned knee and a triumphant grin, declaring him his ‘first friend ever’.
“Stiles is lucky to have you as a dad. “ the sheriff just shook his head, but Derek was insistent.
“I’m serious, Stiles talks about how great you are all the time. When you accepted us, he was over the moon. Your approval means more to him then you will ever know.”
“I don’t deserve a kid like him.” At his words, something fierce and protective sharpened Derek’s gaze.
“You don’t. But the thing about Stiles is, no one does.” John’s laugh was soft, disbelief at the fact that someone finally understood.
“You’re alright Hale, you know that?” The conversation may have gone on, but at that point Stiles was snuffling in his sleep, his mumbled slurred against Derek’s neck as he railed against an imaginary pancake thief.
“I’ll take him up to bed. Wake up Scott and have him show you the guest room if you want. Stiles…we… would love it if you stayed.”
In the morning, Stiles made pancakes, grumbling at Jackson for stealing his breakfast foods in his dreams, and beaming for all the world to see as he kissed Derek good morning before handing his father a plate of organic wheat blueberry pancakes.