Chapter Text
Stiles shouldn't even be at the bar.
He was supposed to be taking a relaxing day off from work and unwinding with his favourite trashy reality TV shows. Maybe have a beer or two as a reward for his miserable week. But no, apparently he had to meet Scott at the local dive bar and be his wing-man for the night.
As if the man wouldn't do fine on his own. He fixes puppies for a living, girls fall over themselves for that shit. Alas, Stiles could never say no to Scotty's big round eyes, so here he is.
Whatever. Stiles checks his phone for any sign of Scott and sighs heavily at the radio silence. He'll just have to wait for him at the bar for a bit.
The first thing that hits him as he walks through the clearly well-worn door is that trademarked stale beer smell of local dives. Putting it kindly: it's a shithole. The red and blue chequered carpet looked faded and stained and the tables weren't any better. The table immediately to his right has a chunk taken out of it for crying out loud. Surely that's a health violation, he thinks, or a safety concern at the very least?
Stiles shakes his head, not his problem.
Stiles walks up to the bar and orders a cheap beer. The bartender is a young blonde woman with a few tattoos on her right arm, he squints at her name tag, Sarah is her name, apparently. She nods at him and goes to get the beer from under the bar.
"Just got off a long shift?" She asks, not unkindly.
He huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah. Packed week this week but at least it keeps me busy, you know?"
She nods in acknowledgement. "Hear, hear to that. So what do you do then, if you don't mind me asking? It's gotta be something in law enforcement given the way you've been eyeing every inch of the bar from the second you got here."
Ah, so she's the 'confide in me' type of bartender. Oh well, Stiles could do with someone to chat with while he waits for Scott to get here. "Yep, right on the nose. I work with the police department, I'm consulting on a few cases until they assign me to a field office near here."
"Ah, an FBI man?" She bites her lip and pats the bar, "we don't get many of your lot around here. What brings you to this charming pile of crap?"
Well that's one way of putting it.
"I used to live around here, actually, but I left a few years ago for the academy. How about you? Have you been too busy today?" Stiles pointedly looks around the bar.
There are a few men not too far down from his own bar stool chatting, they must be the regulars, he thinks. Along with a group of women with cocktails at the circle tables in the back corner of the room. He checks his phone again. It's almost eight o'clock and still no message from Scott. Stiles decides he'll give him half an hour to get his ass here before he goes home, his best friend has been a bit flaky with plans as of late so he won't hold his breath for him to turn up.
"Eh, not too bad. It's nearly hitting the rush though, tends to busy up at half eight. You waiting on someone? A girlfriends perhaps," she pauses and raises a non-judgemental eyebrow at him, "a boyfriend?"
He sighs. "Neither. I'm waiting for my friend. I mean I love the guy, he's been my best friend since we were in pre-school, but I'm fresh off a 12 hour shift and I've been called in to wing-man him." Stiles rolls his eyes. "That's if he even shows up."
It comes out more bitter than he would like but Sarah doesn't say anything about it.
As an after thought he adds on, "I'm Stiles by the way."
The Bartender chuckles, "I was wondering when I'd get the pleasure of your name. I'm Sarah." She sticks out her hand for him to shake.
"Nice to meet you, Sarah." Stiles smiles.
"Very nice to meet you too, Stiles." She gives a smile back.
There is a tapping from the end of the bar and Sarah sighs. She tilts her head in apology and goes over to see what one of the regulars want. Probably a refill.
Stiles takes a swill of his beer and places his head to the cold of the bottle, ignoring the condensation that drips down his face in favour of letting it keep him awake. He can deal with a few more hours of socialisation, it'll be fine once Scott gets here to cheer him up. There's been too much doom and gloom today, he thinks. Maybe a bit of flirting might make him feel more like himself again.
Stiles' dad had told him to go home and get some rest but he couldn't take his mind away from the case. It unnerved Stiles that the killer had travelled to his home town and he was hell bent on making sure that they caught the asshole here before they could travel to the next unsuspecting town. But with his father standing over him, working through the same evidence as he is and still being no closer to catching the bastard. Well it was getting on his last nerve.
Actually, Stiles was willing to bet money that Scott and his dad were behind this whole effort to get him out of the station or his house. The pair of them have gotten far too sneaky in his time away.
Stiles hears the bell ding above the door behind him, startling Stiles out his thoughts.
The bar stool one down from him makes a dragging noise across the floor and he looks over to see a man sitting down. Sarah made her way back over to his side of the bar and shot a smile at the stranger. The blonde woman sent a wink his way; Stiles tipped his beer in acknowledgement.
"Hey, what can I get for ya?" Sarah asks the guy with that customer service cheer.
"Just whatever beer you have on tap, thanks."
Honestly, Stiles didn't think much of the man until he opened his mouth. That's when he heard a deep masculine voice, smooth enough to make Stiles have to turn his head. Oddly, he thought it sounded like the oceans waves crashing against rocky shores. Since when did he wax poetic about stranger's voices, you ask?
Well when they're this handsome he thinks he can make an exception.
Just this once…
"Hey— uh, hi. My name is Stiles." Smooth, he thinks to himself.
The guy slowly turns his head to look at him, which is fair he supposes, he would also look at him funny if some rando just started stuttering at him.
The guy is wearing a white Henley shirt that shows off his biceps very well in Stiles' opinion and dark well-fitting linen trousers that cling to what Stiles can only assume are strong thighs. The man has a strong stubbled jawline, seafoam green eyes and perfectly tousled jet-black hair. Stiles felt his heart do a teeny jump in his chest. Woah.
Stiles clears his throat and goes for a direct, "hi." Better to keep it simple.
The Adonis inclines his head at him, he's the picture of confusion, as if someone talking to him was the last thing that he thought would happen at a bar. "Hey, can I help you?"
"Oh, uh, I don't need anything or anything. I just thought you looked a bit… troubled, I guess?" Stiles answers honestly.
Sarah puts a glass of beer down in front of the other man and promptly makes her way back to the other side of the bar once more. Not without mouthing 'oh my god' to Stiles first though, and he has to say, he agrees with her.
When he looks back to the other man he has a look of puzzlement on his features. A bushy brow is slightly tipped inward, making the most delectable frown creases, and Stiles finds lagoon green eyes staring back like he's a particularly confusing murder mystery. Don't even get him started on his cheekbones, he'll be here for days.
"Troubled." A matter-of-fact voice parrots back. "Just what I wanted to hear."
The Stranger's non-answer is discouraging but Stiles still has time to kill so he does what he does best: he starts talking.
Over the years of working at the FBI and dozens of interviews you eventually learn that people feel safest (and most likely to talk) when the pressure of a conversation is not all on them. Stiles finds that it has a calming effect until they realise they contributed more to the discussion than they wanted to.
"I'm supposed to be meeting my best friend Scotty here. He said he needed a 'wing-man' but how am I meant to do that when he doesn't show up? It's like he and my dad are conspiring to get me to socialize — which would usually be fine I am well aware that I need normal social interaction sometimes — but it would be nice to just go home after a long shift too, you know?" Stiles leans over to nudge The Stranger but he gets no response. A non-committal hum comes late enough for him to start questioning going home now.
"So do you have a name or am I going to have to keep calling you 'Stranger' in my head?" Stiles asks, never having been one to beat around the bush.
A deep chuckle escapes from the man next to him. "Just 'Stranger', really? That's original." The bone dry response takes him a bit by surprise, mainly because he thought he would be talking to a brick wall for the rest of this interaction.
"Well after being creative all day, one tends to run out of good nouns to use. I humbly apologise, my liege, please take pity on my witlessness." Stiles sends him his best crooked smile and gets a begrudging one in return. Tough crowd.
He turns on his shaky bar stool. "Okay, man, you gotta tell me what's going on because to tell you a secret," he leans in to stage whisper. "I don't think many happy people come to this dive for fun on a Thursday night."
Stiles feels he has to emphasise again that this place is a dump. A complete tip. So this obviously well off stranger has to be really down in the dumps to drink here. Stiles just has to take pity on the guy.
"You're probably right. I never do that whole 'confess your woes to a stranger' thing but…" Sea-green eyes look him up and down and Stiles represses a shiver. "I guess I can make an exception."
The Stranger's hand shoots out to greet him. "Derek. Nice to meet you."
Alas! The Adonis does have a name! Lucky for Stiles because it was only a matter of time before he tripped up and called him 'stranger' like it was his name.
"So, what's been troubling you Derek?" Stiles asks, subconsciously leaning closer in his curiosity. Derek doesn't seem to mind, however, or he just doesn't care to say anything. Whatever, Stiles is dying to know this guy's story.
Derek puffs out a long sigh. "My sister thinks I'm too… spoilt. I haven't been home in a few months and they just found out that I quit my lecturing job. So, yeah, that means I'm a spoilt asshole for wanting to not be bored to tears with my own damn job." He finishes with a wry smile in Stiles' direction before taking a sip of his drink.
"I mean, not to judge you man, but you're not exactly giving me much to work with here." Stiles shrugs unapologetically and spins around a bit more in his seat. "Is there like any other reason why she would call you spoilt?"
Stiles figures that there has to be more to this no way Derek's sister called him spoilt for just being unhappy in his job, right? Or maybe she did, what would he know? He's really only known the guy five minutes.
The Adonis– Derek sits silently for a moment, for long enough that it has Stiles questioning if he was going to answer his question. "Over the past few years I've been quite… everywhere. My sister says my 'womanising ways' and the fact that I get easily bored with my job means that I don't want to do the work. In a relationship or a job."
'Womanising ways?' Well damn, there goes Stiles' chances.
"Some people spend a long time searching for something. You could spend years doing this 'womanising' and be perfectly content. Plus switching jobs can be a good thing, I guess. More to put of your resume."
Derek laughs. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm not… content. I wish I could be doing something that makes a difference. As fun as teaching to students that try and fail to hide their phones under their desk is, it doesn't exactly fill me with a sense of purpose."
Stiles nods. "I don't think that makes you spoilt, Derek. I think that makes you kinda unhappy."
The dark haired man draws in a light gasp and looks over to him. Suddenly Stiles is looking right into Derek's sad green eyes and he finds that he really wants this man he's just met to be happy. It's a weird feeling for someone who avoids attachment like the plague.
"I think you should find that job or thing that makes you happy. Plus, if you can afford it, why the hell not change jobs until you're not bored. Personally I love what I do, even if can get hard at times." Stiles advises.
God knows he could have been on a very different career path by now if it weren't for the incident a almost a decade ago. That never really left him.
Derek is looking at him with open curiosity on his face. "So what exactly is it that you do?"
Stiles' lent into the bar a bit more, slender fingers tapping on the pole attached to the wood of the beers stained bar. How much could he tell him? Stiles has this crazy urge not to outright lie to this guy and it's kind of freaking him out. Every time he gets asked this question by strangers it's always the first career to come to mind. He decides to play it safe.
"I'm a cop. I don't usually work around here though but with all the stuff doing on it's all hands on deck." Stiles thinks that was vague enough, right? He's really not supposed to disclose anything about the case or his involvement with it. Plus it might be fun to make Derek guess a bit, keep the conversation flowing and all that.
"Huh. That makes sense, I guess." Derek concedes, "You have that 'law enforcement' vibe about you. It's in the way you carry yourself."
Derek gives him an obvious once over with his eyes and Stiles has to resist the urge to physically do a fist pump because his chances with Derek just danced back into the room. Hell yeah!
"I- I get that a lot actually. It's probably genetic though." Derek quirks a very expressive inquisitive brow and it has Stiles almost tripping over himself to explain. It's like all of his coolness just left his body. "My dad is a Sheriff. Of Beacon Hills actually! So I don't know how local you are to here but you'd probably know him if you are. God that makes me sound like a nepo baby–" It would be great if Derek could stop him from talking any time now.
Luckily, Derek seems to have this idea too. "Not really. I'm willing to bet you worked hard to get into the academy. The FBI don't take just anyone, I hear."
Well shit. Is he really that obvious?
Stiles takes a breath. "How did you know that I was FBI?" His tone is not accusatory, just curious. Sure, he's not supposed to go around announcing his job but it's not the end of the world if people figure it out. Well, surface level things anyway, if people started to figure out the supernatural part of his job then they were going to have a few problems.
Derek chuckles a bit. " You're in town to consult on a case; I've seen you look around the room like nine times now, almost like you're checking for something but its far too clinical to be anything but habit; and 'all hands on deck' means you were called in for something big. Most likely to do with the murders that are all over the TV." He gestures to the TV on the far wall that, sure enough, is covering the recent murder only a county over.
Derek inclines his glass slightly in Stiles' direction. "Plus, you were far to keen to solve my issues."
Stiles is sure his face looks like something akin to 'The Scream' painting because damn. Stiles is damn sure that he is not that easy to read, in fact he's been told quite a bit that he's not, and he didn't think Derek had been paying attention enough to notice all of that.
What the hell? And when did he mention that he was consulting on the murders.
That's when it hits him- "I didn't say anything about consulting on the murders." It's Stiles' turn to raise an eyebrow at Derek.
The other man's almost smug expression falters. "I- uh- you didn't have to?" He says it in such an unsure way that Stiles thinks that he's asking him instead. Well now he's even more confused.
Stiles lets the options run wild through his head. Derek could be some sort of true crime junkie. Most people are now days but only the crazies tend to know what agents are on big cases like these. God, he hopes that Derek isn't one of them, he was just starting to like the guy.
Secondly, he might be a creepy stalker. Stiles hopes it's this option even less, he really thinks he would've noticed, not to mention it would suck for that to happen again. Option three is that he's something supernatural. There is no way he could have heard his and Sarah's convocation before he came in unless he has some sort of enhanced hearing.
Stiles lets himself take a second to observe Derek.
The man in question is currently picking at the beer mat that lays on the bar, drawing circles onto it with his nail. There's a loud cracking sound that comes from the other end of the room where the pool table is and Derek flinches minutely. It's so small an action that it would be unnoticeable if you weren't looking. The noise also could not be loud enough to hurt, especially at such a distance. So he's something supernatural then. Interesting.
Stiles decides to hazard a guess.
He narrows his eyes at him. "So… how good is your hearing then? Like on a scale from Jacob to Castiel?" Hopefully his hinting isn't too niche for the guy otherwise he's going to start doing a bad imitation of fangs and claws until he gets it.
Derek's eyes bug out of his head comically. "I- I have no idea what you mean? I, uh–"
Yep, that pretty much confirms it then. Stiles resists the urge to sigh, maybe his dad is right and he is just a magnet for the supernatural.
Stiles holds a hand up. "Save it." He takes a long swig of his beer that is just a few minutes away from being lukewarm, gross.
"So, what are you then?"
Derek looks panicked and pretty much like he wants to dart out of the bar. Which is fair enough, Stiles supposes, it's not like he brought it up with much tact. He also supposes that the way he said it sounds like an accusation but he wants answers now so he'll just have to ask for forgiveness later.
"Listen, I'm not a hunter or anything. I'm honestly just curious about how you knew all of that," Stiles says in a way of reassurance. "You can listen to my heart, if you want? I'm not lying." When Derek inclines his head slightly to the right, Stiles knows he's listening. "I'm not a hunter. I'm not going to say anything to anyone about what you are, well y'know, unless you've killed a shit ton of people but you seem perfectly civil. Anyway, I just want to know how you knew what I said before you got here."
As he speaks Derek seems to relax incrementally and eventually sighs. "I'm more of a Oz Osbourne guy."
Oh my god.
He got his references! And he made one of his own!
This guy has to stop before Stiles does something stupid like getting on one knee (or preferably two later but he's amenable to both options).
"A hottie who's seen Buffy." Stiles clutches his heart dramatically. "A man after my own heart."
Much to Stiles' delight, a delectable shade of pink makes its way onto Derek's cheekbones.
"Ah so you howl at the moon when the fancy strikes you, got it." Stiles nods to himself.
Thankfully, Derek chuckles. "Yeah. Sorry for eavesdropping on you earlier, I was just sat in my car trying to calm myself down and I just heard your voice. I swear it wasn't intentional, I really don't mean to make you uncomfortable." Derek looks down back at the bar and takes a long sip of his beer while waiting for Stiles to reply.
Stiles decides to take pity on the poor guy. "It's all good, man. I get it. So… what is it that you do, then? You mentioned that you work at universities and such but what subjects do you teach?" Very subtle change of subject there, a voice in Stiles' head says that sounds suspiciously like his father when he reprimands his lack of tact.
At least Derek looks relived at the change of subject. Take that voice. "I have two masters in Art and Religious literature, so I usually teach that but I do a bit of authenticating for museums on the side. Mostly linguistic things like when a piece of writing can be dated back to." He looks sort of bashful and Stiles finds it super charming.
He blows out an impressed breath. "Wow. That's incredible."
Derek turns slightly pink once more and they begin to talk about the ins and outs of what Derek does for a living. Stiles finds our lots of fun things about Derek, such as the academic gene tends to run in the family and that his uncle actually does consulting work too just for the police instead of museums, he says.
He asks about his family, Derek talks about his big family 'full of crazy people' and makes Stiles laugh himself off his stool when he regales him with the exploits of his sisters. Stiles tells Derek about some stories he's got from his time in the bureau.
They talk for so long that by the time Stiles checks the time it's 11:30pm and almost time for the bar to close.
Regretfully, they have to leave their night there. Stiles has a busy day full of meeting with local law enforcement and trying to get them to look past the 'big city badge' and share their resources.
"I really hope to hear from you, Derek. I had a good time tonight." Stiles says as he leaves some cash on the bar to cover his drinks and a nice tip for Sarah.
Derek touches his arm and smiles charmingly. So much so that it has Stiles' faint heart tripping over itself. "Me too. I'm sorry that your friend didn't show up, though. Well not too sorry."
Stiles, who had forgotten that he was supposed to meet Scott here in the first place, grinned back at him. "I'm not sorry at all."
Stiles leaves Derek with his number and a kiss on the cheek that surprises them both in a pleasant way.
"Goodnight, Derek." Stiles gives him a small wave before he turns to walk out of the bar.
Derek is stood watching him leave with one hand lightly brushing the spot on his cheek that Stiles had kissed.
"Goodnight, Stiles."