Title: Better Off Bread
Author: Sibyl Moon
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: Humor, Romance
Relationship: Stiles/Derek
Beta: Grammarly
Warnings: Murder, Canon-level-Violence, Discussion-Hate Crimes/Speech in relation to Hunters and Supernatural Beings, Discussion-Poisoning, Discussion-Torture, 
Word Count: 25k
Summary: Stiles has been taking care of the less than savory side of the supernatural world since his dad fell to a rogue hunter a decade ago. Opening up his own bakery and utilizing his spark made things easy as pie – or cake – depending on preferences. He’s remained undetected all this time, but now he’s got Derek Hale coming around asking questions. Worse than that, the werewolf is Stiles’ unforgettable one-night stand from just the other night.
Artist: Lalaith

Author’s Note: This fic was a labour of equal parts love and agony. All the lovely art was created by the wonderful Lalaith just for the fic, including the chapter markers. The only piece that I did was the banner on the first chapter–a holdover from when I first began to write this fic.

“See you tomorrow Mrs. Maloney,” Stiles said, handing the older woman her box of pastries. “Are you sure you don’t want your regular coffee?”

“Eleanor said she was going to bake for today’s book club.” She shuddered and shook her head, silver curls bouncing as her lip curled. “We both know how well that will turn out. These cookies and treats will be just the thing to keep everyone from rioting when she plops whatever abomination she’s created onto the snack table.”

“Miss Winters tries,” Stiles said, mouth curling into a wide grin. Rose Maloney and Delia Winters had been feuding on one level or another his whole life.

“She fails, every time.” Rose Maloney huffed. “I’ll get my coffee at the meeting, but I’ll be by tomorrow for my usual. Are you going to have those lavender shortbreads again?”

Stiles thought over his supply list, biting his lip briefly before nodding at the older woman.

“I could do that,” Stiles smiled, leaning on the counter. “I’ll even set a few aside just for my favorite lady.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the grubby little boy I found eating all the raspberries from the bushes in my backyard,” she paused, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. “Or the strawberries, the blueberries, and the carrots for some unknown reason.”

“I wanted to see in the dark,” Stiles said, clutching the counter as he laughed, sepia-edged memories flashing in his mind. “For all that, I probably owe you more than a few shortbreads—and a drink or three.”

“Ha, you come over and I’ll mix up some of my famous palomas and you can show me how to make those blueberry scones you had last week. Otherwise, you just keep making those fabulously delicious shortbreads and I’ll continue to buy you out of them and that fantastic coffee blend,” She laughed at Stiles’ expression as he held his hands up in defeat.

“You’re determined to get that scone recipe from me, aren’t you?” Stiles sighed in mock despair, before tilting his head in consideration. “A night of palomas and baking sounds worth it, though.”

“It will be. Let me know when, and I’ll even have Karl make up his famous lasagne—he’ll sit at the counter and judge us, but it will be like our own episode of one of those baking shows.” She laughed again before waving her goodbyes and practically dancing towards the door, silver hair bouncing with her glee.

“Hey,” Boyd sauntered up to the counter after holding the door for Mrs. Maloney. 

“Coffee and a muffin?” Stiles turned to put the order together before glancing over his shoulder. “Or did you need something for Erica today as well?”

“Just me, but that isn’t the only reason I’m here,” Boyd said, crossing his arms and staring at Stiles.

“Here, take this and head to the back,” Stiles replied, sliding the black coffee over to the other man. “You know where my office is. Let me just get Isaac back in here—unless you need me to close up briefly.”

“I already let him know. You can tell him later, no need to close up and have the regulars start a riot,” Boyd said, jerking his head towards the windows where they could both clearly see Isaac flirting with a couple at one of the patio tables. Boyd sipped his coffee, smiling at Stiles, even if the lines of tension failed to leave his face. As Isaac reached the front door, Boyd was already disappearing through the swinging door into the back.

“You know anything about this?” Stiles slipped his apron over his head and tucked it under the counter.

“No, you think it has something to do with that hunter the other night?” Isaac slid around him, settling into a lean half on the stool behind the register.

“No, its been two days and if there was something to worry about Erica would have been with him or I would have had a very angry phone call,” Stiles said, rolling his shoulders.

“Is that wolf still hanging around?” Isaac frowned, glaring at a spot over Stiles’ shoulder.

“He’s still in town, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t seen him though, and that is a shame. That man has some moves in the bed,” Stiles said, just to see Isaac wince. “I don’t think it has anything to do with him either, but Boyd was going to stop by and talk about the hunter the morning after they found the body.”

“If you came back to your office I could just tell you and you could stop speculating,” Boyd shouted from the back.

“True, but this is more fun,” Stiles laughed, not bothering to raise his voice. “I better go see what disaster has been dropped in our laps this time.”

“Keep me updated,” Isaac ordered, turning towards the door at the ringing of the bells. “Welcome to Better off Bread. Coffee and PB&J muffins for the minis?”

Stiles disappeared into the back to the sound of toddlers screeching in delight with a wicked laugh. Isaac loved kids, but they did tend to wear on wolf ears after a while.

“So what is this about?” Stiles shut the door and leaned against it. He noticed that Boyd wasn’t sitting either and realized things were more serious than anticipated. “Just spit it out, Boyd. We can’t deal with it until it’s out in the open.”

“Two things.” Boyd held up two fingers. “First, Coach Finstock met with Hale the other night and told him to get out of town. What other information he gave Hale, he wouldn’t say—”

“Cupcake isn’t going to tell anyone anything. You guys saved him from an arrow to the gut, and then we proceeded to make sure that it wouldn’t happen again,” Stiles reminded him. He remembered being flabbergasted when Coach showed up at his house a decade ago and informed Stiles about the hidden world of Beacon Hills. Coach Finstock was a witch and a supernatural info broker. It didn’t get any weirder, and Stiles had seen some weird shit in the last decade.

“It was rowan and laced with poison, too,” Boyd said, frowning. “Too bad it hit that dog.”

“What do you mean? Cupcake healed her and she followed him home. Candy is still following him around everywhere,” Stiles felt his brow furrow.

“I know, can you imagine getting shot with an arrow and then devoting yourself to Coach?” Boyd shook his head, grinning briefly before turning serious again. “I didn’t figure you’d be worried about Coach and Hale, but I wanted to let you know that Hale is definitely looking into things still.”

“I haven’t seen him since he took off the other night. Probably to meet with Cupcake, I’m going to have to complain about him cockblocking me—again.” Stiles huffed.

“I don’t want to know,” Boyd said, holding up a hand to stop Stiles’ explanation. 

Stiles shrugged and waved Boyd on, “You said there were two things and Cupcake meeting with Derek isn’t it, especially since I’m guessing you met with the man yourself.”

“I did, passed on what information I could—which wasn’t much but seemed to appease him,” Boyd said, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Shame he’s a Hale.”

“You like him.” Stiles grinned, ignoring Boyd’s groan. “You want to be his friend and solve mysteries together. You want to sit down and have a beer with him. I told you guys.”

“Shut-up,” Boyd said, muffled by the hand over his face. He looked up, meeting Stiles’ gaze. “Yeah, I think he could be a good guy to have around, but—and a big but here—he’s a Hale and that brings baggage. Probably alpha baggage.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, slumping back against the door. “That part sucks.”

They stood in silence for a brief moment before Boyd cleared his throat and nodded to a file that was on Stiles’ desk.

“I brought that in for you, its everything I could gather on Jedidah Williams,” Boyd said. When Stiles frowned at him, he continued. “The hunter’s brother—his twin. Also his partner up in Amity, as far as I can tell. Isaac is good at rooting out connections, but I didn’t go into cop work just because I look good in the uniform.”

“And why are you giving me this file?” Stiles rounded his desk, picking up the file he hadn’t noticed when Boyd entered the bakery.

“He’ll be in town sometime in the next forty-eight hours and word is that he’s on a mission to find out who killed his brother,” Boyd said, finally settling one of the chairs.

“I thought his death was ruled a heart attack, no foul play?” Stiles looked up at him, frowning. According to Erica, he knew that the investigation wasn’t entirely over, but the prelim had been simple enough. None of his work had shown—besides Jonah Williams having a sweet tooth.

“That’s what every report says, all tests are coming back clean. So your new mix works—even if its more potent than expected.” Boyd agreed. “Doesn’t mean that the hunters aren’t just looking for an excuse. The Williams family is going to be trouble.”

“When are hunters anything but,” Stiles said, sitting back, his chair creaking.

“What do you want to do about it? The guy can’t just die like his brother did, too many eyes watching Beacon Hills now.” Boyd picked his coffee up off the desk and drank.

“I’ve got some ideas, lets see how things go when he gets here. I want the pack to circle the wagons though. I have a feeling that this guy will have no problem with extra targets.” Stiles sighed, meeting Boyd’s troubled gaze. 

“You’ve been expecting something like this,” Boyd said when Stiles said nothing else.

“I’m surprised something like this hasn’t happened before, to be honest. As careful as we’ve been, we’ve probably left enough crumbs—especially in the early days.” Stiles nodded towards the door. “The wards we set aren’t foolproof and a decade is a long time to go unnoticed. We’ll have to have a meeting and decide where we go from here, because I have a feeling Beacon Hills is about to become a hot spot if we’re not careful.”

“So you do have some sort of plan for this.” Boyd sat back, raising his brows when Stiles smiled.

“I have a few, like I said, which one I use will rely on how Williams behaves when he gets here,” Stiles said, leaning forward to set his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. “Nothing is foolproof, which is why we need a meeting. I’m not going to have you guys go in blind, but we can go over things tonight—if you and and Erica are free.”

“We will be,” Boyd said, standing. “I assume this meeting will take place at our house.”

“We could totally go over to the old house, but it’s been closed up for the last few years,” Stiles said, cocking his head and frowning. “There is still power, but—”

“We’ll meet at our house,” Boyd ordered. “No one wants to have a meeting like this at the old house—too much went wrong the last time. No need to sour the discussion before it starts.”

“Agreed and thanks Boyd,” Stiles said as he let out a heavy breath. “Tell Erica the same. I’ll pick up some dinner from Lana’s. If Erica wan’t something other than her usual, have her text me.”

“I doubt it, but I’ll tell her,” Boyd said, tipping his cup towards Stiles before slipping from the room.

“Well, fuck.” Stiles rested his head against the desk, briefly contemplating an impromptu vacation. 

***

“Now you want me to leave town?” Derek pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it incredulously. He switched over to speaker as he moved around his hotel room. “You were loudly insistent that I ignore Finstock and keep poking around just the other day. What changed?”

“Jedidiah Williams will be hitting Beacon Hills with all the fury of the Williams family behind him in just a matter of hours—thirty-six, if Chris is right and he usually is. I want you out of their as soon as you can get packed,” Peter ordered. Derek could hear Peter’s footsteps echoing on the wood floors as he paced on the other end of the phone.

“So what, just leave town?” Derek shook his head, setting the phone on the rickety hotel table. “Are you sure about this, the prelim report I managed to get is saying no foul play. It’s looking like a heart attack.”

“I’ve got someone getting me some samples to verify that, but we both know Jonah Williams was murdered. If we know that, you can be sure that his brother—his twin brother and hunting partner—isn’t going to believe that report. So yes, I want you out of there. With hunters coming in looking for someone to blame and you sitting there alone with the Hale name painting a target on your back—who do you think they’ll go after first?” Peter clarified, something cracking on the other end of the line as Peter pounded his fist against it. 

“You do remember that there is another pack here? If Williams comes in guns blazing, they’re likely to get caught in the crossfire—if he doesn’t purposely go for them. You know the council would see him as justified considering they are a pack without an alpha. They’d probably sanction it.” Derek sat on the edge of the bed and glared at the wall above the table. 

“They aren’t my concern—or yours,” Peter replied, words bitten off, and Derek got the feeling that his Uncle would be shaking him if they were in physical range. “You are my concern. I’m not leaving you in that town on your own when its about to be inundated with hunters just primed for a target.”

“Uncle Peter—” Derek curled his fingers into fists, his temper rising.

“I don’t care. You can be furious with me, just get out of there. We can investigate the case after Beacon Hills cools down. I doubt Williams or his compatriots is going to have any better luck than we have tracking down our culprit.”

“Maybe not, but a lot of innocent people could get killed while they are looking,” Derek replied; Stiles’ brown eyes flashed in his mind briefly. “I can’t just disappear without giving the local pack some warning. Let them know to get out of town for a while if they can.”

“Fine. Fine. Do what you think you have to, but I want you on the road in the next couple of hours.” Peter sighed, his chair groaning as he sat. He continued in a softer tone, “Please Derek, don’t make me have to investigate your disappearance or murder because you were too stubborn to leave when the bullets fly. Don’t make me bury you, nephew.”

“I’ll be fine Uncle Peter,” Derek replied, standing and picking up his phone. “You and Chris both trained me, I know how to be stealthy and go for the kill when I have to.”

“You—” Peter blew out a breath. “Fine, call me when you’re on the road. Take care of yourself Derek. I mean it.” 

Derek heard Peter shouting for Chris seconds before the call ended. He pitied the retired hunter, dealing with whatever Peter was about to throw at him. Peter didn’t like feeling things, he wanted to pretend he was a hardhearted asshole. Derek might have specific issues with the man, but he knew better than that.

He took a deep breath and decided that driving by Stiles’ bakery would probably be his best bet. They’d exchanged phone numbers, but Derek had refused to call him after leaving the other night. He knew if he did, they would end up in bed together again, or worse, Derek might give in to his impulse to ask the man on a date. Despite what certain family members thought, Derek didn’t try to set himself up for relationship failure.

He shrugged into his leather jacket and grabbed his keys as he headed to the door. He definitely didn’t check how he looked in the mirror over the vanity sink outside the bathroom.

Derek contemplated what he would say as he drove the short distance to Better Off Bread. He still hadn’t decided when he parked and headed towards the door. He stepped back to allow Detective Boyd to leave, coffee cup in hand.

“Hale.” Boyd nodded at the shop. “Come for some coffee, or some company?”

“What?” Derek stared at the man, watching as a corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

“Nothing,” Boyd continued to smirk at him as he took a drink. “You know that Stiles is one of my friends—family, I would say.”

“I figured he didn’t deliver baked goods to just anyone,” Derek said, referring to when he met Stiles again the other night.

“Oh that?” Boyd shook his head. “His dad was sheriff a few years back. Stiles has a soft spot for the department here in Beacon Hills. The way he tells it, he practically lived there as a kid.”

“Huh,” Derek hummed. He didn’t know what to do with that information or why Boyd was suddenly acting so friendly. When the detective had stopped by the other day with case information, he’d been entirely professional. Derek got the impression that the other man was utterly indifferent to him. “That’s nice.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Boyd said, taking another drink before tossing his cup in the recycle bin next to the old-fashioned lamppost. “He’s important to a lot of people around here. This shop keeps him busy, and he doesn’t need trouble.”

“Are you—” Derek stared at the man, ignoring how his arms strained his shirt when Boyd crossed his arms and raised a brow in Derek’s direction. Derek ran back over their previous interactions and was positive about his conclusion—even if he couldn’t believe it. “Are you giving me a shovel talk?”

“Not at all,” Boyd replied, smirking again as his eyes flashed. “Just letting you know that Stiles might not have a lot of time to be your weekend lover, if that’s all your interested in.”

“You’re part of the pack,” Derek said, taking in a subtle scenting breath. Coffee and pastries overpowered the wolf’s scent unless he delved into the underlying scents of the area and looked for it. That didn’t explain why he hadn’t noticed the last two times they’d met. “How many of you are there?”

“Enough,” Boyd said dryly, slipping a braided band over his wrist. Derek hadn’t even noticed him taking it off. “Stiles is special; be careful with him.”

“Aww, thank you Vernon, but I think he’s an adult not fragile china. That means he gets to choose whatever trouble he wants,” Stiles interrupted from the door. “Hello Derek, wasn’t sure I would see you again. You ran out like your tail was on fire.”

“Don’t call me Vernon,” Boyd sighed, turning to the door. “If he’s going to be coming and going, he’s going to need to know some things. Just my opinion.”

“I get that, but you don’t get to decide on your own. Also, I doubt that Derek plans to hang around Beacon Hills long.” Stiles grinned at Derek before turning his attention back to Boyd. “I’ll see you guys tonight. Don’t forget to have Erica tell me if she wants something other than the meatloaf.”

“She lives for the meatloaf,” Boyd replied evenly. “Just remember mashed potatoes and fries—”

“Gravy over everything. Yes I know. We’ve been friends for well over a decade now, I’m not going to forget. Besides, I’ll just tell Lon that it’s for his favorite death doctor and he won’t even let me order anything else.”

“She hates when you call it that,” Boyd sighed, looking to the sky.

“I know, now get out of here. I will be by around six tonight.” Stiles shooed the other man away before turning a smile on Derek. “So, are you here for coffee or something else? Because I don’t close for a couple of hours yet.”

Derek laughed despite himself; he stepped through the door Stiles held open.

“You know, Boyd asked me the same thing,” Derek said, following Stiles as he waved him towards the counter.

“What’s he doing here?” Isaac glared at Derek.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Knock that glare down a couple of notches. Derek hasn’t done anything.” Stiles shook his head at his brother before turning back to Derek. “Did you want coffee?”

“Actually I need to talk to you, probably both of you,” Derek said, letting the gravity of the situation settle on him.

“Well, we don’t have any customers at the moment,” Stiles said, gesturing to the shop. “Shoot.”

“Jonah Williams—the dead guy from the other night—he was a hunter and now his brother is on his way to Beacon Hills to exact revenge for his death,” Derek said, words tumbling over one another as he tried to explain.

“You think we had something to do with his death?” Stiles frowned, crossing his arms and leaning against the display case next to the counter.

“No, of course not,” Derek shook his head. “But the Williams family is going to be looking for blood and even with the report reading as no foul play—well, you’re brother is a wolf.” He looked at Isaac, then turned his attention back to Stiles. “You mentioned there were more of you in town and I just saw Boyd. They won’t care whether you had anything to do with anything, they’ll just kill you.”

“We know what hunters are like,” Isaac said, lip curling in disgust. “We’ve also managed to get by over the last decade without any help, so you can go now.”

“Isaac, really,” Stiles said, blowing out through his mouth. “You aren’t a toddler. Stop acting like it.”

“Sorry,” Isaac replied, not looking apologetic at all.

“That being said, Isaac isn’t wrong,” Stiles said, looking back to Derek. “We’ve weathered some pretty intense hunter action here before. I think we’ll be fine, but thanks for thinking about us enough to give us the warning.”

“You aren’t surprised,” Derek said, sweeping his gaze over the both of them. “You already knew about this.”

“Boyd just let us know,” Stiles said, nodding at the door. “We’ll be fine. You on the other hand, have a pretty recognizable last name in certain circles. You might want to think about leaving town.”

“That’s what my uncle said,” Derek huffed. “I don’t feel right about it.”

“We aren’t a bunch of damsels in distress, Derek,” Stiles said, lips curving into a slow smile. “We have our own defenses.”

“I prefer offense and so do you,” Isaac muttered, eyes flashing at Derek when he glanced over.

“We’ll be fine, either way,” Stiles repeated with a grin at his brother.

The conversation ended, Isaac huffing about things he had to do and disappearing into the back. Stiles all but patted Derek on the head and sent him on his way.

“If you’re sure you don’t want any coffee,” Stiles said, stepping out of the bakery with him and tilting his face briefly towards the sunny sky before meeting Derek’s gaze again.

“No, not right now.” Derek frowned at him, trying to ignore the way the sunlight made Stiles’ eyes seem to glow, and his smile made Derek want to kiss him. “You should tell the others to lay low or get out of town.”

“We’ll deal with this like we always do,” Stiles replied, frustration leaking into his tone. “We aren’t amateurs at protecting ourselves or the town from hunters with murder on their minds. Really Derek, this is getting beyond ridiculous and a lot insulting.”

“Worrying about you is insulting?” Derek stepped back when Stiles stomped closer and jammed his finger into Derek’s chest.

“Ignoring everything, I’m saying because you think you know better, and I’m some daft idjit. Argh, it’s insulting and annoying,” Stiles stepped back, sighing. He ran his hands through his hair. “Just—just go home, Derek. Everything will be fine here. We’ll take every precaution.”

“Okay,” Derek said; he smoothed the front of his shirt and looked over at Stiles. “Can I call you?” 

Stiles tilted his head, studying the other man before nodding. “Yeah, you have my number and if you lose it, you can always call the bakery.”

“Okay,” Derek said again, and unable to help himself, he reached for Stiles. Running his open palm over the man’s shoulder and barely resisting pressing him up against the brick facade of the bakery. “You confuse me, but I’d like to talk to you again when things aren’t—” He frowned, and Stiles slid closer, lifting his hand over Derek’s and squeezing it briefly before dropping it.

“When you aren’t about to leave town?” Stiles said, glossing over the reasons why Derek was leaving. “Sure, we can do that.”

“Get a room,” Isaac said, sticking his head out the door. “Seriously, this is the longest goodbye—Stiles, we have work, I think you have timers going off.”

“Of course I do,” Stiles laughed, turning to his brother. Derek’s hand briefly brushed over the side of his neck as they separated. “Duty calls, but you should too—later.”

“Right, yeah,” Derek said, stepping back, his palm tingling from where it had touched Stiles’ skin. “I’ll do that, and you—you stay safe?”

“Always,” Stiles grinned at him over his shoulder, walking back towards the door. “I have an excellent sense of self-preservation.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying,” Derek said, unable to stop the grin curling his mouth. “But I’m going to choose to believe you, for my own sake.”

“Good choice,” Stiles replied; he stopped at the door and turned to look at Derek. Something passed over his face that Derek couldn’t decipher, and then he was striding back over to Derek.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s jacket and pulled him in for a gentler kiss than Derek had anticipated, but still hot enough to scorch him inside and out. Stiles pulled back breathless, lips already blushing pink and swelling.

“Something to remember me by,” Stiles said when Derek just arched his brows, still reeling from the pleasure humming under his skin now.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” Derek muttered without thinking.

“That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve said to me and you complimented me quite a lot the other night,” Stiles stepped back, grinning. “See you later Derek.”

“Yeah, later,” Derek shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, watching him walk back into the bakery before returning to his car—if his gaze lingered on his ass, no one had to know. If those thoughts were quickly followed by the yearning to hear Stiles’ laughter again? Well, Derek already knew he was fucked.

How was he supposed to leave Beacon Hills now?

Stiles leaned against the window edge, staring blindly past the buildings towards the preserve. Icy tendrils of fear dragged over his skin. The wards had been breached.

“That was Boyd,” Isaac said, coming out from the kitchen and leaning against the counter, watching Stiles close up the shop. “He says that the Williams’ are here.”

“They made good time,” Stiles murmured, returning to himself and pulling the blinds. “It’s barely been thirty hours since Boyd gave us the news.”

“And Derek Hale hasn’t left town,” Isaac said, finally pushing off the counter and helping Stiles turn the chairs upside down on the tables. “Last night, I could have sworn you said he was leaving.”

“That was the impression I got,” Stiles said, hands freezing on the legs of a chair. “He’s really still here?”

“That’s what Erica says,” Isaac replied. “He’s moved from the hotel to Clancy’s place, but its definitely still him.”

Clancy’s Bed and Breakfast was on the opposite side of town from the hotel and closer to Boyd and Erica’s place. Still—

“How did she find out?”

“She wanted waffles,” Isaac said, sharing a knowing look with Stiles. “So Boyd took her out for lunch.”

“Lenore’s?” Stiles named the family restaurant next door to the B&B.

“Where else? She says that Derek was there eating through the most protein-rich breakfast she’s ever seen, and she lives with Boyd,” Isaac replied. “He must have wanted more than Clancy’s ‘dry muffin and burnt coffee’ version of breakfast and lunch.”

“I heard he’s considering setting up a cereal bar—so there is hope that he’s finally learning his lesson,” Stiles said, glaring at nothing, then grimaced at the spite in his voice. “Besides, he knows that most of his guests go to Lenore’s.”

“Right,” Isaac grinned, flipping the last chair up. “Like you don’t love that he’s failing at baked goods and coffee.”

“That man couldn’t bake his way out of a paperbag. Just because he hates me is no reason for his guests to suffer sawdust shaped like muffins.” Stiles grunted as he leaned over the counter to grab the broom and dustpan from where he’d set them earlier. “He needs to learn to take constructive criticism.”

“He insulted you so much after you stayed there eight years ago that you opened this place partially to spite him,” Isaac reminded him. “He’s never forgiven you for your critique of his food or for the bakery being so popular.”

“If he can’t take a well meaning suggestion, then I don’t see how that’s my problem.” Stiles ignored Isaac’s laughter as he swept the floor. “This is all irrelevant. Derek could have just been grabbing a meal before he got on the road.”

“Erica saw him there an hour ago,” Isaac said dryly. “That’s a late start. She also asked him when he was leaving, that’s how she discovered he’s staying at Clancy’s.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles said, running a free hand through his hair while leaning on the broom. “He doesn’t even know Erica.”

“Boyd was with her.” Isaac shrugged.

“Late lunch, it’s almost five now,” Stiles grumbled, returning to sweeping. 

“Maybe, but I think Boyd is working a later shift all week, so it was really his breakfast,” Isaac said, disappearing into the kitchen briefly before returning with the mop and bucket.

“Ahh, that makes sense. Hopefully, they got enough sleep, we were up late planning.” Stiles frowned as he traded the broom for the mop. He watched Isaac dump the dustpan into the trash before hanging the broom in the closet next to the kitchen doors. “I hope they remember to take the precautions we talked about.”

“Boyd knows what to do and we went over everything a dozen times last night. You worry too much about everyone but yourself,” Isaac said as he bagged up the trash. “You’re the one they are looking for and we don’t know what information they have. We’re assuming that they are showing up looking for blood because they are in denial over the report, when they could have more than that.”

“How? Who would tell them? I’m confident that none of you have talked about it,” Stiles said, dragging the mop across the floor. “I’m fine, there is no way for them to catch me out, but you guys are vulnerable to a number of their tricks.”

They finished closing up in silence; Stiles flipped off the lights and set the alarm before they stepped out into the early evening.

“Stop worrying Isaac.” Stiles clapped Isaac on the shoulder as they parted ways. 

Stiles got in his jeep, and as the engine turned over, he considered his options for dinner. He found himself driving to Lenore’s. He was craving waffles, that was all. He wasn’t going to see if Derek’s car was parked at Clancy’s. Which was why he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t see it anywhere as he drove past the building and pulled into the restaurant lot.

***

Derek didn’t know what he was still doing in Beacon Hills, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His phone vibrated again, and he glanced at the notification. Peter had been trying to contact him since Derek had crawled out of bed this morning. Derek figured that his uncle suspected Derek wasn’t leaving Beacon Hills and had a few choice words to say.

“Hello Peter,” Derek said, pressing the speaker button so he could move around his new room.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re on the road nephew,” Peter drawled out his words. 

“I’m staying in Beacon Hills for now,” He sighed when his uncle cursed. “I have a bad feeling about this Uncle Peter. I need to stay.”

“And if your bad feeling is because you are still in town limits?” Peter bit out. “You’re needlessly putting yourself at risk. Do you even know why?”

“Haven’t the faintest. I just know that I can’t leave and still look at myself in the mirror if something happens here,” Derek replied, sitting on the bed, the worn fabric of his jeans catching as he rubbed his hand over the top of his thigh. “Stiles—the pack here—I don’t think they understand the danger they’re in.”

“Derek.” Peter blew out a heavy breath. “Tell me this isn’t about some twink you fucked once and aren’t going to see again after you leave town. Please tell me that you aren’t risking your life for what amounts to a one-night stand.”

“I’m not risking my life for a one night stand,” Derek replied, jaw clenching as he bit back his defense of Stiles.

“Really,” Peter’s voice dripped with skepticism. “Because it seems like that’s where this is headed.” Peter sighed. “Why does your sex life always put you in these situations.”

“You act like this is his fault,” Derek said, unable to hold back. “Stiles didn’t do anything to bring the hunters down on them. He and his pack shouldn’t have to shoulder it alone.”

“For fuck’s sake Derek,” Peter groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with this man.”

“I’m not in love with Stiles, we barely know each other,” Derek protested, wincing when he realized he was shouting. “We only met a few days ago. This isn’t about my relationship with him. Its about doing what’s right Uncle Peter.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter replied. “What do you think you’re going to do for them that they can’t do for themselves. Especially since I assume you’ve warned them about the danger.”

Derek frowned; he hadn’t thought beyond having to stay and help. “Maybe I can find the real murderer.”

“And you’d turn this person over to these hunters?” Peter laughed. “Derek, as much as I am irritated by this person, in the eyes of our justice system they haven’t done anything wrong other than swipe our quarry out from under us. The research we’ve done into the other suspected victims—hunter and supernatural both—shows that they aren’t hitting people randomly. They are doing the work of—”

“Peter?” Derek frowned down at the phone. Peter wasn’t wrong; even if Derek found the person responsible for Jonah Williams’ death, he couldn’t imagine turning them over to hunters.

“Nothing, I need to look into some things,” Peter said, sounding distracted. “I’m obviously not going to talk you out of staying—”

“You’re not,” Derek agreed, shoulders falling from where they’d crept towards his ears. “I have to stay.”

“Then you have to be smart Derek,” Peter said. “This family isn’t as well known as some of the other big names out these, but they are brutal. They follow Gerard Argent’s manifesto like it’s a religious doctrine and the man a martyr. There is nothing worse than a true believer and I don’t want to have to explain to my sister why you disappeared in Beacon Hills of all places.”

“You won’t and I will—be careful that is,” Derek promised, scratching at the scruff on his face, making a note to shave before it got out of control.

“Now tell me about this pack you’re insistent on helping,” Peter said. “And the ‘not a one-night stand’ that you aren’t making bad decisions for.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Derek rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling.

“You said that didn’t factor into it.” 

Derek could hear Peter’s smirk. He sighed and began to tell Peter about the Beacon Hills pack in the sparsest detail he could get by with. He didn’t know why he felt so protective of Stiles and his pack, but he wasn’t in the mood to analyze it with Peter in his ear.

“So that’s our illustrious visitor,” Stiles said, watching the man pace outside his shop while he shouted into a cell phone. Jedidiah Williams was the exact opposite of his brother—he was almost as tall and thin as the maple trees lining the sidewalk. Jedidiah’s scalp gleamed oily and slick in the late morning sun, turning a mottled red the more agitated he became. “If I had to draw a picture of an asshole, that’s about what I’d come up with,” Stiles said, mouth turned down as he squinted past the man to the multiple SUVs that had showed up with him.

“Boyd said he was just as delightful down at the station too,” Isaac said from behind the counter, his gazing tracking the hunter when Stiles glanced over at him. “Erica had to kick one of his men out of the morgue, she’s pissed.”

“As his brother, shouldn’t he be able to view the body?” Stiles said, frowning back out the window as he adjusted the chairs around the tables in front of it.

“Maybe,” Isaac said. “But he was busy yelling at Boyd and Sarah. He sent one of his other guys I guess—before he had clearance.”

“Ahh, yeah that would do it,” Stiles said. “Is Erica okay?”

“She’s fine, just pissed.”

“No indication that they know about us?” Stiles chewed on his lip as he watched Jedidiah shove his phone in his pocket and glare at the shop. Stiles knew that the glare of the window kept the other man from seeing him, but he felt the icy fingers of fear on his neck for the first time since he’d heard about the man’s arrival.

“Nothing that Erica or Boyd saw,” Isaac said, coming around the counter to stand beside him. “But since he just ordered a watch on the bakery I’m guessing he knows something.”

“Yeah.” Stiles continued to watch Jedidiah as he stalked towards the door. “Just the shop or did he mention any names.”

“I didn’t hear anything specific about us, but he’s aware that Hale is in town,” Isaac said as they moved away from the window.

“Wonderful.” Stiles crossed his arms and curled his mouth into a false smile as the bells above the door rang with Jedidiah’s entrance. “Welcome to Better off Bread.” 

“I’m looking for the owner,” Jedidiah said, stalking into the shop. 

“That would be me, Stiles Stilinski. What can I do for you?” Stiles tilted his head curiously, letting his smile fall while his brows rose.

“This was one of the last places my brother was seen before he was murdered,” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet; flipping through it, he pulled out a photo, passing it over to Stiles. “What can you tell me about his visit?”

Interesting play, Stiles thought as he used two fingers to take the photo. He looked down into the round face of Jonah Williams. Sliding his gaze back up to Jedidiah, comparing the two. Jonah had been stocky, built like a tank with no neck and two beady little eyes that had been shadowed with malice even standing under the bright lights of the bakery—

a fetid miasma of loathing and contempt radiating off of him. Jedidiah was almost the exact opposite of his twin in every way that it was almost comical. Tall and thin, as if someone had animated a skeleton and stretched flesh over it as an afterthought. He shared the same eyes as his brother, hatred and contempt burning so intensely around him that Stiles fought against his instinct to attack the man—to protect the pack.

“We get a lot of customers,” Stiles said after a moment’s contemplation, passing the photo back, careful not to touch Jedidiah. “I can’t say I’m familiar with your brother. Maybe if you know what he ordered?”

“How can you not know him?” Jedidiah shoved his wallet away after replacing the picture. “It was less than a week ago. You were seen at the murder scene.”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles blinked at the man. “I think I would remember being at a murder scene, especially so recently.”

“Don’t play games with me,” Jedidiah snapped, stepping into Stiles’ space. “He was killed just a short distance from this shop. You were there.”

“That man? I didn’t even see him. Besides I heard that was a heart attack or something,” Stiles said, not moving back from Jedidiah’s verbal assault. 

“Jonah was murdered and I’m going to find out who did it,” Jedidiah spat, leaning forward further into Stiles’ face. “You can help me or—”

“We’re a simple bakery. All we can do is supply you with pastries and coffee, other than that I’m not sure what we can do for you,” Stiles said, curving his mouth into a smile sharp enough to cut.

“You’ll regret this. We know that this shop—that you and your animals had something to do with this,” Jedidiah said, jaw clenching as he shoved at Stiles’ chest. “We’ll be back.”

“Very b-move villain of you,” Stiles said, unimpressed, as he finally stepped to the side and around the other man. He noted that Isaac had come around the counter with a furious look. He shook his head at his brother as he crossed to the door. “I’m going to have to ask you to order or leave.”

“You’re going to regret this,” He repeated as he stalked to the door. “We could have gone easy on you, at least you seem human.” His gaze flicked over to Isaac. “Too bad.” He slammed out of the shop.

“Well that answers whether he knows about us or not,” Isaac said, blowing out a long breath.

“He’s not exactly subtle, is he?” Stiles murmured, watching the man climb into his truck and pull out into the street with a squeal of tires. The truck that had pulled in while Jedidiah had been in the store didn’t move. It parked two spots down from the SUV that had initially arrived with Jedidiah. “Looks like we’re under watch. I hope they don’t think they’re being subtle.”

“What does he expect to discover?” Isaac frowned at the silver SUV. 

“No, the question is, what has he already discovered,” Stiles said, chewing on his lip. “I thought that we’d done a good job of covering our tracks over the years, but if someone like Jedidiah Williams was able to end up on our doorstep within just a few hours of being in town—”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, running his hand through his curls. “There has to be something we missed. Erica is positive that the tests have been clear, so we shouldn’t be able to be traced on that end.”

“Then it’s the magic?” Stiles pulled at his lip as he considered the possibilities. “Would hunters even use magic? We haven’t had to deal with them doing that in the past.”

“Not here, but you know that some of them will use any means to kill us. It just depends on how they can justify it to themselves,” Isaac pointed out.

“True,’ Stiles sighed and shook his head. “I need to think about this. I’m going to call Boyd and Erica to warn them. We still have a couple more hours here, but this has reached red alert status. I need to do some baking.”

“I’ll watch the front,” Isaac said, returning to the counter after squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, you should call Derek and warn him or something,” He said begrudgingly as Stiles was about to walk through the kitchen doors.

“Yeah, good idea. Thanks,” Stiles said, smiling at him.

“Don’t mention it,” Isaac grunted. “Just go do what you have to.”

***

Stiles frowned, shifting the box of cookies under one arm as he locked the door. Glancing around, he saw that it was much later than he’d first guessed. He’d let himself get lost in his baking and sent Isaac home a couple of hours ago despite his protests. He snuck a look across the street and saw that his silent observers were still there, both swathed in shadows now, even with the street lights on.

The cool evening air settled on the bare skin of his arms as the hair on the back of his neck rose, and Stiles just knew he wouldn’t make it home. Hopefully, the rest of the pack would be safe until he could figure something out.

He rolled his shoulders and began to walk towards his jeep, a casual stride that allowed him to scan the nearly empty street and lot. Nothing stood out as an immediate threat, but that didn’t stop the buzzing tension in his blood from dialing up another notch the further he got from the bakery. He reached his jeep and unlocked it, barely letting out a sigh of relief as he slid into the driver’s seat. He set the cookies next to him and rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment before a sound caused him to look up. He didn’t see anything; shaking his head, he started the engine and made his way home. Stiles answered when Isaac called, putting the phone on speaker.

“Why do I have a feeling you aren’t at home safely locked behind doors and wards?”

“I’m on my way there now,” Stiles said, glancing in the mirrors the eerie feeling from early not leaving him, but he didn’t see anyone following. “I was perfectly safe in the bakery.”

“I’m sure,” Isaac huffed. “Now you’re outside in the dark with a hunter on our backs. This isn’t the time to forget your self preservation Stiles.”

“He’s not going to try anything right away,” Stiles argued, turning onto his street. “He came by today to ruffle us up, have us running scared. Now he’ll watch us for a bit—do the hunter stalker thing. We have a couple days before he tries anything.”

“You sound so sure,” Isaac grunted as he moved around on the other end of the phone. “How do you know all of this.”

“The research we did on his brother and their family, remember? They had a pattern for how they did their hunts, depending on who or what they targeted. We fall under the intimidation and annihilation plan I’m guessing.”

“Well, that sounds awesome,” Isaac said blandly. He opened a can of soda—the pop hiss of it reminded Stiles that he was thirsty.

“Right?” Stiles pulled into the drive and shut off the jeep. “I’m home now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Stay safe Isaac, we’ll figure this out and get these guys taken care of. We didn’t let anyone take us down in the last ten years, I’m not going to start slacking now.”

“I know, but you have a bad habit of thinking you have to do everything on your own idiot, don’t forget that we have your back. We’re having a meeting tomorrow and coming up with a plan together,” Isaac said.

“Fine,” Stiles huffed. “I just—look, you guys have had it a lot tougher than me. You guys got changed, I just—”

“Fuck that Stiles,” Isaac bit out. “We all got changed, just because you don’t grow fur and fangs doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. We lost dad, we lost too much. But we got each other and we have Boyd and Erica. We’ve had some small disasters happen since then, but this is the biggest one since dad died. We do our best work when we work together and you know it.”

“Yeah—yeah, you’re right,” Stiles said, sighing. “I just hate that I brought this down on us.”

“Fuck that,” Isaac barked out a laugh. “This isn’t your fault, we’ve backed you all of the way and we’ll continue to. Nobody else was doing anything about these people. Just because we have to deal with a little fall out now just means we need to make some adjustments—doesn’t mean we have to stop. Who is going to protect Beacon Hills or the rest if we don’t?”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “I’m not actually Batman.”

“Of course not, you’d look ridiculous in spandex.”

“We have the strangest conversations, you know that, right?” Stiles closed his eyes but kept smiling.

“Go to bed Stiles, make sure you show up for the meeting tomorrow,” Isaac ordered.

“Aye Aye sir,” Stiles replied, hanging up on Isaac’s laughter. 

Shaking his head at Isaac, he grabbed the pastry box and a bag out of the backseat before heading towards the house, slinging the strap over his shoulder. With a bit of fumbling, he managed to unlock the front door, shoving it open with his foot, the bag leaving him off balance.

Shutting the door behind him, he dropped the bag just inside it and flung the keys onto the side table, keeping the cookies with him for now as he headed towards the kitchen. 

Stiles slid the box onto the counter when it struck him that the light was already on. The warning slammed into him seconds before Jedidiah Williams stepped into view.

“Hello Mr. Stilinski, I think its time you answered my questions now.”

“Well, fuck me,” Stiles said; he managed to dip into his spark mere seconds before Jedidiah Williams shot him—looks like he’d planned correctly after all. 

As the room began to fade and his legs turned to liquid, Stiles glanced down at the dart sticking out of his chest and wondered if he should be glad it wasn’t a bullet. When Jedidiah shot him again, Stiles didn’t have the energy to roll his eyes at the overkill.

Better Off Bread 1/3

Better Off Bread 3/3