Forest for the Trees – 1 – Hazel

Reading Time:
15 Minutes

“I’m just saying, you can still explore your options.”

Stiles stared down at a stack of plaid shirts and jeans and closed the box clearly labeled Kitchen Towels.  “I could.  But what I want is to open the shop and sell my stuff and make money playing with runes.  I want to see you more than once a month and drop in to the station to poke around and annoy the deputies and make sure you wear the new vest I finished yesterday.”

“Another-” Noah cut himself off with the same exasperated affection he always used when Stiles made him a new magical protection amulet or ward stone or runic protection garment.  Stiles contended that it was absolutely not his fault that he made some kind of ward or shield or other magical means of protection every time he mastered a new skill in his studies.  If his father didn’t want his magical son’s protections he should find a safer profession.

The man shook his head, waving off the old argument.  “It’s impressive as hell that you saved up enough to open your own shop at your age, but just because you have it doesn’t mean that you have to work here full time.  You could hire someone to do the day to day and do something yourself that actually makes use of all your skills.”

Stiles actually looked up as he pushed the box against the wall and moved to the next, placing one hand over his heart with a gasp.  “I can’t leave Rita.  I just barely got her all set up and ready for her grand opening.  She can’t just be managed by anyone, what if they don’t stock her shelves right or mess up the books or something?  I have to keep an eye on her myself.”

Noah gave him a flat stare.  “Stiles, I’m being serious here.”

“Oh!  If you’re Sirius, do I get to be James?  Or Harry?” He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe Hermione?  She was the smart one and I could totally pull off the hot librarian look.”

“Stiles.”  Uh oh.  Dad’s sheriff voice.  Stiles looked at his father even as he pulled over another box.  “You could be making a lot more money working with a lot more than runes, and you know it.”  Noah leaned against the folding table Stiles was using until he found a real dining table he liked.

Stiles gave a full body shrug and reached for the scissors. “I like working with runes, and I happen to be really awesome at it.  And while I’ve never owned a business or worked retail, I think I could be awesome at this too.”  He cut the tape sealing the box but waited to open it.

Noah crossed his arms.  “You certainly could, but you have so much potential, son, and I hate to see you wasting it like this.”

Stiles put aside the scissors once he’d cut open the box, rubbed his face with both hands, then went back to unpacking.  “The only thing I’m wasting is the time I have to set up my place before the grand opening.”  The box, which proudly proclaimed Pots and Pans across the top looked to be full of DVDs and a few books.  He pushed it against the far wall with the other one.

“You could do so much more, though.”  His father was so damn earnest when he wanted to be.  “You did all that contract work during your last internship and you were so successful at it.  I know that last client wanted to hire you again.  For projects far beyond the little bits of sorcery you’ll be doing here.”

Stiles didn’t bother looking up from his search for another box.  “There’s nothing wrong with being a sorcerer.”

“No, there’s not.” His father agreed.  “But you’re not a sorcerer.  You’re a mage.  An archmage.  You’re the most powerful magic user born in a generation.  You went to one of the most prestigious magical schools in the country.  You have a well-respected and well-connected mentor willing and eager to help you open any door you need in the field of magecraft.  You worked so hard for your degrees.”  Noah let out a sigh.  “I don’t understand why you don’t want to use them.”

Stiles opened a box with just the word Kitchen written in bold letters on the top.  He bit back a sigh of his own as he lifted out a hand towel to find what looked like the contents of his bathroom shelves.  Stiles reached for another box and vowed never to reuse moving boxes again.

It said Baking Pans.  It had action figures.  He reached for another, only pausing when his father called his name again.  “Look, dad.  I get that you want me to be like a magical superstar or whatever.  But this is what I’m doing.  This is what I want to do.”

Stiles waved both arms in a flail of frustration.  “Yes, I busted my ass to get two Masteries in five years, but that was more because I had to join the program to learn the really advanced stuff and I wanted to learn everything I could.  I’m a curious shit.  You know this.  You also know I hated being gone even if I enjoyed the whole college experience.  So can you please just let it go?  At least for now.  I’ve been setting up the store practically every minute for the last two weeks.  I want to hear about what you’ve been up to.

“So.  How has it been at the station lately?  You said you had your eye on a guy to make your padawan.  Did he agree to be your Obi Wan to his Qi Gon?”

Noah closed his eyes for a moment, then sat at the makeshift dining area with a look of resignation.  “On one condition.  You get out and get some fresh air and interact with someone other than me for at least a few hours.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, looking from one group of unpacked boxes to another.  Before he could say anything, his dad held up one hand.

“Tonight, Stiles.  I mean it.  When I leave you’re leaving too.  And going someplace where there are other people.  At least one of which – not a waiter or bartender –  you will talk to.  Saying you’ve been holed up in the shop for weeks isn’t even a little bit of an exaggeration.  When the shop opens you’re going to be really busy and you need to take some time for yourself before that.  And no, unpacking your apartment doesn’t count.”

His shoulders slumped.  His dad had learned way too early just how specific he needed to be when he told Stiles to do something.  Damn him and his observational skills.  “Okay.  Fine.  But can we please hang out a bit while I get enough set up that I can actually make myself breakfast tomorrow?”

All he got was a single arched brow for a moment before his dad gave in with a tilt of his head and stood, moving towards the counter to open the package of shelf liners he’d brought.  Ugh.  His dad was so old.

“Great.  Thanks.  But, seriously, Deputy Kenobi.  Yes or no?”

“Yes.  I’ve decided to personally train one of the younger guys, and Deputy Hale has been a rockstar since he joined the force about four years ago.”

Stiles made a face at the name even as he threw his hands up in victory when he opened a box labeled Dishes to find dishes.  “Are you sure he’s an actual Hale?  Because if the oldest chick is anything to go by, Alpha Hale’s apples don’t seem to fall far from her sanctimonious tree.”

He was busy putting plates in the dishwasher, but he was sure his dad was shaking his head at the utterly obvious disdain he still held for the woman who ruled the Beacon Hills wolf pack.  Not that his dad wasn’t completely aware of that already.

Afterall, he was going out of his way to present himself as nothing more than a sorcerer strictly to avoid having to deal with that woman hounding him constantly to join her pack if for no other reason than to say she had a mage for an emissary.  Which, if she learned the full extent of his power and abilities, would be the least of the reasons for her to want him working for her.

Noah didn’t even bother to chastise him for the way he described the territory alpha.  He had interacted with Talia more than enough times to know what she was like.  And neither of them would forget the utterly serious expression on Claudia Stilinski’s usually cheerful face when she had sat little Stiles down right after she figured out he was a mage at the age of five and told him that he needed to be careful just who he told how special he was.  Noah never over-rode his wife’s decisions on matters of magic.  Not even fourteen years after she had died.

Instead, he just spent the next hour regaling Stiles with everything that had happened at the station over the last few weeks.  From there they discussed a few other things and Noah caught him up on all the latest gossip and the most recent nuisance complaint from hilarious old Ms. Jennson.  It was an enjoyable afternoon, and he even managed to get just enough unpacked in the kitchen to allow him a full, homemade breakfast in the morning.

Unfortunately, he did not manage to get his dad out the door without grabbing his wallet and following him down to the parking lot behind the shop where the sheriff’s cruiser was parked.  The man even waited until Stiles himself had walked half way to the bar a few blocks down before he pulled out and headed back to the station.  His dad really did know him too well.

But Stiles knew his father pretty well too.  So he was aware that the man was genuinely concerned about his recent hermit impersonation.  With that in mind, he entered the bar and didn’t head straight for the farthest booth to hide for a few hours.  Instead, he forced himself to sit down at the bar, order himself a drink, and look around for someone he wouldn’t hate talking to.

The place was fairly full but not crowded, so there were a number of options.  The blonde nursing a pink cocktail at the end of the bar didn’t look like she was drowning her sorrows or waiting for someone specific.  The lithe brunette at one of the middle tables seemed approachable enough.

Before he’d made up his mind, tall, dark and hot as fuck walked in.  The man glanced around the place before heading to the bar to sit casually in a tempting display.  His dad had said he had to talk to someone.  He hadn’t specified anything beyond that.  Flirting was talking, right?

A short chime from his phone announced an incoming text from his dad, asking if he had snuck back to his apartment yet.  So suspicious, his father was.  Instead of replying, he snapped a picture of himself at the bar at such an angle that the wall clock was visible.

Nosy and untrusting fathers appeased for the moment, Stiles took his mostly full drink and moved two seats over so there was only one empty stool between him and who he had mentally dubbed, hot guy.

His movement obviously did not go unnoticed, because the man glanced over at him as he accepted his drink from the bartender.  Not sure what to say, Stiles smiled back and enjoyed the way hot guy’s eyes tracked the motion of the bottle as he took a slow drink.

Hot guy turned to fully face him and took a drink of his own.  Stiles’ eyes only stayed on his face through sheer force of will.  “Insta?”

Stiles cocked his head to the side.  “What?”

“The selfie.  Putting together a riveting Instagram story for your legion of fans?”

Stiles laughed and did not blush.  “Hardly.  I promised my Dad I’d get out of the house for at least 2 hours.  He was checking to see if I was following through.”

Hot guy raised a brow.  “Do you have a history of breaking the rules?”

The tone had Stiles taking a quick drink to avoid swallowing his tongue.  “There was a time when I could have been described as having some problems with authority.”  He tried to follow up with a smirk.  He may have even been successful.

“And yet you had to promise to go out?  Not stay in?”

This time when he took a long drink from his bottle, Stiles couldn’t help but watch.  He cleared his throat.  “I’ve been super busy setting up my new place, so I haven’t really been out since I got back to town.  At all.  So,” he started to gesture vaguely with his bottle, but stopped and quickly took a sip instead.  Spilling beer everywhere would probably put a stop to the upturn his evening was taking, and that would be a damn shame.  Hot guy was seriously hot.  And apparently interested.

“Well, welcome back to Beacon Hills.  I hope your night out isn’t too much of an imposition.”  Hot guy’s smile was just this side of inviting.

Stiles nodded as casually as he could.  “It’s turning out better than I expected, actually.”

The grin hot guy gave him was probably some kind of illegal.  A misdemeanor at least.  “Glad to hear it.”

“You should be, since you’re-” what would probably have been a really horrible attempt at flirting was interrupted when an attractive woman cut in.

“Derek!  Hi.”  She placed a hand lightly on hot guy’s shoulder.  Who was apparently named Derek.  And who leaned away from her ever so slightly as he returned her greeting with a much dimmer version of the smile he’d been giving Stiles.

“Ms. Morrell, hello.”

The hand on hot guy- Derek’s shoulder stroked down his arm almost to the elbow before she drew it back.  “Marin, please.”

She gave another flirty smile.  Derek leaned just a little towards Stiles.  Stiles leaned closer without even thinking about it, and Derek glanced over, giving him what looked like a relieved smile.

Marin made the impression of following his gaze to Stiles.  Her eyes widened, as if noticing him for the first time.  “Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Derek cleared his throat.  “Actually, we were having a few drinks.  He’s been out of town so we haven’t seen each other in a bit.”  Her shoulders rose and her expression tightened when he raised one arm and rested his hand between Stiles’ shoulders, just under the back of his neck.

The touch was light, hesitant.  Stiles leaned further in, not wanting him to think his action was putting him off in any way.  The woman may have known Derek, but it was obvious the dude was not looking to get to know her any better.

As if to confirm that thought, Derek’s hand, large and warm, slid across his back to wrap around his other shoulder, effectively wrapping his arm around him.  Stiles immediately leaned completely into Derek’s side with a smile that probably looked as insincere as it felt.

Wrapping his arm around him seemed to make clear that Derek was trying to imply there were ‘having a few drinks’ as more than friends.  So Stiles employed the skills he had honed under the watchful and observant eye of a parent in law enforcement, and lied his ass off.  “I just moved back so we’re finally done with the long-distance thing.”

He turned to give Derek a grin.  The man flashed another smile in return.  Clearly he didn’t have a problem with pretending that he was dating someone he’d only just met if it meant getting this woman to back off.  So he leaned even closer and turned back to Marin.  “It’s such a relief to be know I won’t have to leave again any time soon, you know?”

Stiles widened his eyes just a little and smiled innocently.  He could tell she knew he was full of shit, but he just leaned resolutely against Derek and tried not to shiver at the way his hand rubbed briefly up and down his arm before returning to his shoulder.

Derek raised his bottle as if to drink, paused.  “It’s nice to see you again, though.”

She gave another stiff smile as he drank deeply.  “Of course.  Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon.”  Derek just smiled, so Stiles did the same, neither moving until she made it all the way across the bar.  As the door closed behind her, Derek dropped his arm and moved away, and finished his beer in one long swallow.

“Sorry about that.”

Stiles shrugged and followed suit, placing the now empty bottle on the bar.  “No problem.  Sorry I kind of told her we’re in some kind of long-term thing.  I might have over done it a bit.”

Derek shook his head, then shrugged.  “It’s fine.  She’s been pretty obvious about being interested and I guess pretending I didn’t notice wasn’t cutting it.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  That kind of thing can get a bit awkward.”  He bobbed his head.  Was that supposed to be a subtle way of telling Stiles that he was being let down easy too?  Thanks for pretending, but I have no interest in anything else?

“Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.  Let me at least get you a drink.”  Derek glanced away, then back at Stiles with an adorably earnest expression.  “To apologize.”

Stiles had to smile back, he couldn’t even help it.  As if the dude wasn’t hot enough already.  He waited calmly.  He was totally calm while the hot ass guy who just pretended to be dating him ordered them both another beer.  His was a wolfsbane brew, which meant shifter.  Hot guy was named Derek and was a shifter.  Why did that sound familiar?

Derek the hot shifter turned back and smiled yet again as the bartender gave him both bottles and he handed over the non-aconite version.

He took a sip.  “I guess since we’re in a fake relationship, I should probably introduce myself.  I’m Stiles.”

There was a silent pause, Derek blinked, then laughed a little uncomfortably.  “Stiles Stilinski?”

“Uh.”  Stiles put the cold bottle back on the bar.  “Yeah, how did you know?”

Derek laughed again just as awkwardly, and took a big drink.  “My name’s Derek Hale.  I’m a deputy.  Your Dad’s mentioned you more than a few times.”

Hale.  Great.  Fantastic.  “Oh.  Wow.  Small world, huh?”  It was Stiles’ turn to give an awkward laugh.  Derek took another drink without saying anything.  Well, apparently there went his hopes for a fun evening.  At least his dad would be happy that he had to admit Derek was not in fact as bad as his mother.  Or his sister.  Or his pack’s emissary.

With how obviously the man’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of his phone ringing, he’d be tempted to think Derek had orchestrated his own get away if it weren’t for the fact that his hands had been in sight since before they got their new drinks.

He watched the wolf give one word answers to the person on the other end for a good twenty seconds before hanging up and giving a pale imitation of the smile he’d worn when they’d first started talking.

“I should get going.”

“Of course.  Maybe I’ll see you around.”  At the station.  Where Derek was his father’s new padawan.  Fuck his life.

Derek nodded, put a twenty down on the bar and left, not even bothering to finish his beer.  Stiles nursed his own bottle for the whole five minutes it took him to drink it.  If the abandoned bottle hadn’t been laced with aconite, he’d have finished that one too.  Instead he paid his tab and walked home.

Welcome back to Beacon Hills.