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Stiles wasn’t stupid. He prided himself in his ability to catch details everyone else missed. He didn’t know how he did it, it just happened some times. He saw more than someone else, he made a connection—easy stuff.
Which was why this was so hard for him to grasp.
The whole pack was gathered around the Stilinski-McCall dinner table for their first Thanksgiving dinner as a united family. To say that Stiles and Scott were relieved when their parents finally started dating was an understatement. They were even more ecstatic when they announced that they were getting married after only a few months of dating.
Stiles was the one that figured out everything, noticing the way his dad started to smile more, taking pride in his appearance, removing his wedding ring. They were a series of events that made Stiles add it all together.
This, however, was a curveball.
“Whoa now, you can’t legally drink that in front of me for another month,” the Sheriff commented with an amused smile. He didn’t think about how much of a shocker it would be for the pack to hear that.
The whole pack remained silent as they carefully watched the Sheriff. Derek was staring a hole into the table, his hands nowhere near taking the extended wine glass Melissa was handing him.
“You’re … you’re twenty?” Isaac nearly croaked, the first one brave enough to break the silence.
The Sheriff looked from Derek to the others. “Wait, you didn’t know that?” He arched his eyebrow as he looked at Stiles. “And how did you not know that?”
“Hey,” Stiles started, about to defend himself and Derek—which why was he defending Derek? “Derek didn’t say anything, and I am not as nosey as you make me out to be.”
“You stole Derek’s criminal record from the station,” the Sheriff deadpanned.
“You told me to!” Stiles stated in a shrill voice.
“You stole it before he applied to be a deputy,” the Sheriff countered.
“His file didn’t have his birthday?” Scott asked in confusion.
Derek’s features scrunched some, his grumpy face starting to solidify as everyone started to talk. He looked liked he was about to storm off, put on edge by everyone talking about him, not to him.
Stiles ignored the fact that the others were leaving Derek out of the conversation as he turned to look at Derek. “So,” he started, an encouraging smile covering his lips. “When is your birthday?”
Stiles thought it was a harmless question, that Derek could simply state the date and have it all over and done with. But apparently Stiles was wrong.
Derek tiredly shook his head, pulling the napkin from his lap as he placed it by his plate. He only spoke to the Sheriff, pardoning himself before exiting the dining room.
Stiles made a noise of indignation when everyone turned to look at him. “What?” He demanded as he looked from judging face to judging face.
“He was uncomfortable,” Erica stated.
“Anyone could see that,” Boyd added.
“I thought if he just got out when the date was, he’d feel better,” Stiles argued.
“That doesn’t make sense, Stiles,” Scott stated.
“It’s hard for him to talk about his birthday,” the Sheriff stated. “We learned that the hard way at the station.”
Stiles turned his head towards his dad. “How do you know his birthday?”
“He filled out a work application,” the Sheriff stated. “He froze up last year when he came in to have his desk covered in birthday wishes. I put him out on patrol all day just to make sure he didn’t have to deal with it.”
Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, evaluating his father’s words. “I get that he’s lonely, but he has us,” he finally offered.
“It’s not that he thinks he’d celebrate his birthday alone,” the Sheriff explained.
Stiles eyes widened in understanding as he swallowed down the lump in his throat before he spoke. “It’s the 25th, isn’t it?” He finally asked.
The Sheriff looked at his son, slowly nodding in confirmation.
“Wait, we missed it?” Erica questioned.
“No,” Stiles answered as he stood. “December 25th.”
“He’s a Christmas baby?” Scott asked. He was surprised when Stiles didn’t answer him as he left the room the same way Derek did.
“Oh, no,” Melissa softly stated, making the connection after a moment.
“I’m lost,” Isaac commented.
“The Hale fire happened on Christmas Eve,” the Sheriff explained.
~*~
Stiles remained silent as he moved onto the back porch, his eyes carefully scanning Derek’s back. He slowly approached Derek, waiting for him to turn on him at any point. He released a sigh of relief as he reached the railing unharmed. He leaned next to Derek, his eyes scanning the tree line.
Stiles hated to think back and realize that Derek was younger than Stiles was now when he lost nearly his entire family. He hated to realize that he was only a little bit older than he was now when he had to bury Laura—he had to find his sister’s body in pieces. He hated that the world liked to use Derek as a punching bag, and that he wasn’t there to stop any of it from happening.
“Sorry,” Stiles finally uttered, unable to take the silent treatment from Derek for a second longer.
“Not your fault,” Derek quietly answered, his voice relaxed—as if he had this conversation before.
“Not yours either,” Stiles echoed in reply. He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together gently as he thought about what to do next.
“Some years are harder than others,” Derek suddenly stated, not daring to look at Stiles. “It’s been getting easier, but … it’s still raw.”
Stiles nodded his head in understanding. He dug his fingernails at his cuticles in an attempt to distract himself. “My mom died when I was eight,” he finally offered. “Sometimes, I almost forget what she looked like—her voice is nothing more than a broken record that plays on loop in my head, something I can’t get out of my head but at the same time can’t remember for the life of me.” He paused, closing his eyes as he pictured what his mother looked like as she worked in the garden.
“Everyone always says it’s easier losing someone than having them leave you,” Derek added.
“They don’t tell you how hard it is to have them taken from you,” Stiles finished.
“My parents would have been married for twenty-seven years,” Derek commented, as if it was a nonchalant topic—as if he wasn’t breaking down at the thought of it.
“Twenty-two,” Stiles echoed without missing a beat.
“Sometimes it feels impossible to believe such a great amount of time could just end—could be over,” Derek wondered aloud as he looked up at the moon.
“I’ve lived more years without her than with her,” Stiles stated, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about it, turning to look up at the moon as he followed Derek’s suit. “Hell, I’ve known Scott longer than I’ve known her. Pretty soon, I’ll have spent more years getting to know you than she was allowed to get to know me.” He snuck a look at Derek, nibbling on his bottom lip as the butterflies in his stomach multiplied. “So, you’re only three years older than me,” he tried to state in a nonchalant tone.
Derek side-eyed Stiles without turning his body towards him. He looked back up at the moon before nodding. “Would seem so.”
“I thought you were like, six years older than me,” Stiles continued. “I seriously thought you were twenty-four, dude. Too mature to be hanging around with a teenager like me.”
“I have one of those faces,” Derek deadpanned.
Stiles actually laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “I forgot that I can fool around with you now,” he stated. His eyes widened when he realized what he just said.
“Freudian slip, much?” Derek asked as he turned his head to look at Stiles.
Stiles ducked his chin, releasing a nervous laugh. “Hey, I’m totally legal now, and you’re no longer six years older than me—I can’t help it if my mind wanders at the possibilities.”
“Six years is not that big of an age gap,” Derek commented.
“It is when your father is the sheriff,” Stiles added, uncertain where this conversation was heading towards.
“Considering I’m his favorite deputy, I don’t think he’ll care,” Derek added.
“The fact that you’re a deputy—wait, hold on,” Stiles turned to look at Derek. “Did you just use future tense?” He hopefully stared at Derek.
Derek turned his body towards Stiles, carefully watching him. “I’m not against it.”
“Seriously?” Stiles asked in disbelief, a foreign excitement crossing his features.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Derek questioned.
“Considering I thought you wanted to punch me back there,” Stiles gestured towards the house. “I would say it’s hard to believe.”
Derek dipped his chin, and Stiles was certain he caught sight of a faint blush caressing his skin just under his beard. “I didn’t. I just don’t like to talk about …”
“I understand,” Stiles offered, allowing Derek to know that he didn’t expect him to finish. That he knew how not wanting to talk about lost loved ones felt. “So, um …” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he looked out over the porch’s railing. “Do you want to, I don’t know, go out sometime?”
Derek softly nodded in response, looking at Stiles to judge his reaction.
Stiles didn’t bother hiding his smile. He knew if it did work out that it was going to be tough, both of them having their own baggage to deal with, but he figured it was always better to work together than alone. He knew that one day, together, they wouldn’t have to focus on their past.
Until then, it was one day at a time.