Word Count: 929
Pairing: Sterek, pre-slash; probably a little Stisaac-y
Run, Run, Fast as You Can
Stiles and Scott have always had the tradition of making gingerbread houses at Christmas, ever since Scott's dad left. It's something that neither of them are good at, though their attempts now at least stay upright.
It was hard, the year after Stiles' mom died. He asked Santa not to come that year, but looked up his mother's gingerbread recipe and followed it to the last measurement and instruction. It came out perfectly, which upset Stiles more than he let on. Something should have been different, right? His mom had to have something that made the gingerbread better.
He got over it.
This year Scott brought Isaac over, which was okay because Stiles was nothing if not adaptable. He just asked if Isaac wanted to make his own or just help Scott.
Isaac actually acted shy for a minute, and asked quietly if he could make his own.
It was so unlike the way he usually acted that Stiles just stared at him for a second before he said, "Yeah, okay." He gave Isaac the gingerbread meant for his house and made another batch while Isaac and Scott put theirs together.
Oddly, he didn't feel left out. After the shiny newness had worn off of Isaac, Scott had made every effort to include both of them equally. So the three of them conversed pretty easily, and Isaac kept loosening up. By the time he put the roof of the house on, he was smiling and laughing softly. He even thanked Stiles.
They were still decorating when Stiles pulled his gingerbread out of the oven. He helped Scott lay out gumdrops on his roof while the gingerbread cooled.
Isaac, as it turned out, had noticed Stiles' All Time Low poster when he'd come over some other time, and was questioning whether Stiles had seen them live before.
Stiles had, on a rare weekend when his Dad had allowed him to drive to Anaheim with Scott.
Isaac asked if they were better live or recorded.
"Live," Stiles said at the same time Scott said, "Recorded."
"Agree to disagree," Stiles said, shrugging. "You ever see them, Isaac?"
"Nah," Isaac said.
Stiles got up and checked the gingerbread. It was cool enough, he decided. To Isaac, he said, "Seen anybody live?"
"Nobody big," Isaac replied, and wrinkled his forehead as he added latticework to the roof of his house. "Just local bands and stuff."
"Huh," Stiles said, cutting into the ginger bread to make his own house. "We should go to a concert. All three of us."
"Or the whole pack!" Isaac said, sounding more excited than usual, which only served to make him look like more of a puppy than usual.
"Uh," Scott said.
"No Peter," Stiles said.
"But Derek's okay?" Isaac asked hopefully.
Stiles shot Scott a look, wondering if the kid could get over his issues with male authority figures long enough to let Derek go to a concert with them.
Scott groaned. "Guess so," he said, like it was paining him.
It probably was.
Isaac and Scott left after they all finished decorating their gingerbread houses, carrying them carefully. They didn't nail down any plans for the concert, but they all promised to keep an eye out for someone good to come nearby. Isaac promised to ask Derek.
So maybe Stiles shouldn't have been surprised that when he went upstairs a few hours later he found Derek waiting at his desk.
"Hi," he said, because really, Derek showing up was no big deal at this point. "How's it going?"
"You guys want to go to a concert," Derek said. He always cut right to the chase.
"It's an important part of every teenagers' development. We have to make sure Isaac develops properly."
Derek gave him a sort of half-glare that Stiles interpreted as "Please do not joke about Isaac's development as we all know that was messed up."
Stiles just shrugged and grinned at him. "Seriously. And you should come. Isaac wants you there." I want you there, he added mentally.
Derek sighed. "Fine. Whatever." He didn't leave and that was basically a yes, which Stiles decided to count as a victory.
Stiles flopped onto his bed and propped himself up to look at Derek. "Did Isaac's gingerbread survive the car ride over?"
Derek nodded. "It was…nice of you to let him make one. He said you had to make more."
Stiles shrugged. "Somebody has to be nice to him."
"I'm nice," Derek protested.
"Uh-huh," Stiles said, smirking. "Good job."
Derek glared at him (a full glare this time.) "Don't make me hurt you," Stiles interpreted.
Whatever, Stiles thought. Derek was a big softie. He wouldn't do anything. He kind of missed the days where Derek's threats actually scared him. "Remember when you used to say you were gonna rip my throat out with your teeth and I believed you?" Stiles asked, using the most nostalgic tone of voice he could.
"Shut up, Stiles. I still might do that," Derek said, frowning.
Stiles quirked an eyebrow. It almost seemed like Derek was…flirting. Which meant he had permission to do it back. "So do it," he suggested.
Derek's ears actually turned red, and he lurched to his feet. "Uh," he said, and then practically jumped out of the window.
Stiles got up and leaned out the window, watching Derek back away from the house cautiously. He tried to mimic Derek's incredulous face—one eyebrow up, lips slightly parted. "Dude," he said.
Stiles howled with laughter, and went back downstairs to make dinner before his dad came home.
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.
A/N: Somehow all my Sterek keeps turning a little Stisaac-y. Which I would apologize for if I didn't kinda like it. But whatever. Written for 25 Days of Ficmas (link on profile).