Brownies, Iappropriate Caps, and Answers
“Stiles?” Isaac asks, making him look up in surprise.
The blonde is standing in the doorway of the kitchen in his boxers rubbing sleepily (read: adorably) at his eyes. “What are you doing up?”
“I rolled over and you weren’t there.” The blonde says, shuffling to sit in the chair at the bar. “Why are you up so early?”
Stiles sighs as he continues mixing the brownie batter. “Scott called. Wanted to check in, I guess, make sure I wasn’t dead. He said that he had talked Lydia, but he wanted to check himself.” He rolls his eyes. “Guilt trip in disguise. So now I’m making brownies.”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“Yeah, well, the brownies don’t know that.” He says, earning himself one of Isaac’s sunshine laughs.
“Lydia was talking about going back in a few days.” Isaac mumbles after a quiet moment.
“I know.” Stiles’ heart gives a painful squeeze at the thought. “Break is almost over.”
“I don’t want to go back.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough to make Stiles stop what he’s doing and look over at the blonde beta. Big wide eyes look back at him hesitantly. “I want to stay with you.”
“Isa-“
“There’s nothing there for me anymore.” He closes his mouth and comes to sit down in the chair next to him. “Derek is gone. You’re here. Scott’s a douche. I’ll miss Erica and Boyd and Lydia, but they’re leaving Beacon Hills after high school anyways. I want to stay in New York with you.”
“You’d be leaving the Pack, you realize that, right?” Stiles asks softly, putting his hand over Isaac’s larger one. “You wouldn’t have a Pack.”
“You’re my Pack.”
Wow. If his defenses were crumbling before, they’re pretty much non-existent now.
He doesn’t say anything, just hugs his best friend.
“Okay.” He sniffs a little as he pulls back, fighting tears. “Well, now that I am in serious danger of becoming a puddle on the floor, brownies.”
“Can I lick the bowl?”
Stiles has to try to keep his laughter quiet so he doesn’t wake the others.
“Yes, you can lick the bowl.”
The smell of baking brownies rouses the other werewolves in the house, as well as Clint, who – while Stiles didn’t even know he was here – does not surprise anyone by being downstairs faster than the wolves at the smell of Stiles’ deserts.
“Are you making brownies?” He asks hopefully, the prospect of chocolate waking him right up.
“I can’t wake you up during an actual crisis, but the smell of brownies can get you out of bed at Ass O’Clock in the morning.” Stiles shakes his head fondly. “You heathens.”
“Are you making brownies?” The Sheriff is suddenly standing right next to Clint.
Stiles lets out a long groan as everyone laughs. "Heathens!” He repeats exasperatedly.
“Lies.” Erica says as she attempts to swipe the bowl that Isaac is literally licking clean. He growls and snaps at her hands with his teeth, causing Stiles to throw a spatula at them with a warning look. “Isaaaaac. Share!”
“NO.” He says as he sticks his entire head back into the bowl. There’s brownie batter in his hair now, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s mine. He gave it to me.”
“I am surrounded by a bunch of overgrown toddlers.” Stiles mutters to himself as the oven beeps. He turns to get it only to find Clint standing almost all the way pressed against him impatiently. “Jesus fuck! Don’t do that!”
“Brownies.” Is all Clint says in response.
“I hate all of you.”
*****
“Oh my God, can you not right now?” Stiles laughs as he half-heartedly pushes Erica’s face out of his neck. “I am trying to read here.”
Erica scenting his neck has nothing to do with his lack of concentration right now. The stupid words don’t make any sense.
“You smell like the city.” Is all she says before returning to scenting him. He sighs exasperatedly, but he’s not actually annoyed. In truth, he’s missed this – snuggling with Pack – more than he’d like to admit and he’s feeling more than a little touch-starved.
“I’ll make sure to notify the city of your complaint.”
“Smartass doesn’t look good on you.” Lydia says from where she’s sitting on his other side doing her makeup.
“Smartass looks stunning on me.” He rolls his eyes as he tries to continue reading whatever it is that he can’t focus on.
Okay. He can do this.
Something about dialogue?
No. Figure of speech?
Is this even English?
Okay. Deep breath.
Try again. Look for context clues.
Apple.
Wow. That’s all he got? Apple?
Seriously?
Fine. Slightly more agitated deep breath.
Apples and…house?
That helps nothing.
Serious, he just needs a subject, then he can go from there.
History? Science? Math? Anything.
Nope. Nothing.
“Fuck!” He shouts and throws the book into the wall.
“Stiles!” his friends cry in alarm.
“Oh.” He jumps. He forgot they were there. “Sorry guys. Um, I’m going to take a walk.”
“Wha-“
“I’ll be back in an hour.”
Stiles hates days like this, where no matter what he can’t focus on what he wants to. Sometimes he’ll spend all day stubbornly glaring at the same page even though he knows it’s no use.
He’s so caught up being annoyed at himself that he doesn’t even notice what’s going on around him until he runs head-first into James – or rather, James’ metal arm. “Ow, fuck!”
“Stiles, are you okay?” James asks worriedly, putting is flesh hand on his waist to steady him.
“Yeah.” He rubs at his forehead, wondering if the metallic clang came from James’ arm or his head. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. Wrapped up in my own head, I guess.”
“Seemed like it. I said your name, but you didn’t answer.”
“My brain isn’t really working today.” He admits, suddenly very aware at just how close they’re standing, and that James’ hand is still resting lightly on his waist.
James seems to realize that too, because he drops his hand, but doesn’t back up. Stiles tries not to read into that.
Instead he looks around, confused. “Um, where are we?”
“You went on a walk in a city you don’t know how to navigate?”
“Not my brightest idea.” Stiles blushes under his intense gaze.
“Come on,” James rolls his eyes, “I’ll walk you back.”
“I don’t really want to go back yet.”
“Well then I’ll walk you to the park.”
“Okay.”
*****
“Where did you even get a dog?” Stiles questions as he watches James throw a yellow ball, trying desperately – and failing spectacularly – to ignore the way the muscles under the tight shirt bunch and flex as he moves.
“Lucky is Clint’s.” He drops onto the bench next to Stiles as the dog bolts after the ball. “I just figured that as long as I’m staying with him, I might as well take the dog on a walk.”
“Wow, there is totally a Fluffy Marshmallow under that Badass Spy Bro exterior, huh?” James arches an eyebrow at him. He blushes but stands his ground. “Oh, come on! You’re taking the time to walk the dog and keep me from being murdered in the streets of New York. I’d say those are the beginning steps of becoming a Fluffy Marshmallow.”
“Did you just capitalize that?” He asks curiously and Stiles blushes even harder.
“No one has ever actually picked up on that before.”
“Well then, I’m honored to be the first.”
It really should be that easy to put dirty thoughts in his head, but it is.
“So how long are you staying in New York?” Stiles asks before any visible changes happen that could lead to a very awkward conversation.
“I don’t know.” He admits as Lucky returns the ball and promptly lays down at their feet, apparently having had enough exercise for the day. “I only came back for Steve’s birthday. Now that I’m here I guess I’m just struggling with it, you know?”
Stiles nods. “Yeah. On one hand you have Steve trying to fix you, which sucks, and on the other you don’t want to disappoint him by leaving. Not an easy choice.”
“How’d you do it?” He asks, blue eyes staring straight into his soul as if it holds all the answers. “How’d you leave?”
“I hit my breaking point.” Stiles admits. “So much crap had happened and just kept happening and I just snapped. I guess the difference is that my best friend wasn’t trying to ‘fix’ the situation, but then, Scott only does when it falls in line with what he wants and what he believes.”
“Sounds like a shitty best friend.”
He makes a resigned noise of assent at that. “I don’t have the answers, James. I’m just some kid who would is lucky he doesn’t get himself murdered on the streets of New York because he was so caught up obsessing about things he couldn’t control, he walked into a city he doesn’t know. I don’t know how you make the decision on whether or not to put yourself through Hell if it fixes things between you and Steve. But, I do know that Steve is trying. He’s might be just making things worse right now, but that’s because he doesn’t know you, James. He knows Bucky, so that’s all he has to go on. Right now, he sees you as a broken Bucky and he feels like it’s his fault. That’s why he’s trying to fix you. You want you best friend back, and I get that. But neither of you is going to get the other back until you get to know each other again, not as Stevie and Bucky, but Steve and James.”
“But what if he’s right?” James whispers and Stiles feels his heart shatter at the helpless look in his eyes. It’s the same way Stiles feels all the time. “What if I am broken?”
“Then I’d say welcome to the club.” He puts his hand over James’ cautiously, slowly. He knows better than to be his usual flaily self around someone who has so much going on in their heads right now. “But I don’t think you’re broken. Different? Yes. But not broken. We all have our scars, some of us just have a few more than others.”
“Don’t have the answers, huh?”