Clothes in Jeep

Today is errand running day for Stiles, and last on the list is groceries. Maybe it’s weird that Stiles enjoys it. Or, as Peter would say, the pleasure from such a mundane task comes from the fact that his days are often filled with death threats, blood, gore and/or murder - something that is not lost on him. But Stiles is going to pretend it’s just a pleasant little oddity, thank you very much, Peter.

By the time he’s reached the store, Stiles is more than ready to lose himself in wandering about the food aisles, deciding what to make for this week’s dinners and if maybe his dad deserves a  sweet.

Two hours later, Stiles has made it out of the store with minimal sweets for his Dad and enough food to last two weeks if all the pack was to stay over. He counts this as a victory, seeing as feeding a swarm of werewolf teenagers is not for the faint of heart or shallow of pockets. Which, if Stiles is truthful, the hardest part isn’t the cost, thank God for Scott’s mom. It’s keeping the sweets for the pack from his dad. Sheriff Stilinski has an uncanny ability to find anything bad for his cholesterol or health in any way, shape or form inside the house. So, like any smart son, Stiles has taken to hiding the sweets in his Jeep because hello, convenient?

What his car is also convenient for, specifically his trunk, is to hold everyone’s clothes. A look in the back shows that no one has been listening to Stiles about tidying up because it looks like he’s robbed a department store and shoved everything in here.

“Lydia, I told you only two outfits!” Stiles exclaims, arms flailing to make his point, even though he’s on the phone with her and - “You put your jewelry in here too? Lydiaa.” He can’t help but whine and, okay shoot him, but everyone is taking over his car.

“Well, Stiles, unlike some people, I have more than just one standard look. By the way, I’m not the only one,” she sniffs. “Allison has more knives in there then I have shoes.” Stiles blanches at the unexpected mention. Thankfully, his mouth doesn’t consult his brain before he yelps.

“What?! I didn’t see any knives back there!” Lydia’s exasperated sigh tells Stiles he isn’t using his brain. He scrunches his face in protest at this silent insult, though he probably just looks like he ate something gross to any passerby.

“Stiles, do you think Allison would just throw them in there?” And, okay, Lydia has a point but give him a break. He hadn’t realized letting the pack stash extra clothes in here for the inevitable bloodstains that came about meant his Jeep was now a moving armory. Or that, essentially, he had reminders of Allison everywhere. But, by the time he gets home, still haggling with Lydia over the amount of clothes and shoes everyone can keep back there, Allison’s knives have slipped from his mind particularly in the face of his Dad arriving home right behind him, and shit how is he going to hide the junk food now?

So who can blame him for what happens later that week?

---

It’s Friday after school, which finds Stiles and Scott playing in a stream on the reserve, goofing off as they’ve not done in what seems forever. If the others are around, namely Derek or Peter, they keep away, or Scott doesn’t tell Stiles they’re there. Hopping from stone to stone, it’s Scott who ends up slipping on a slimy rock, flailing and going face first into the water. Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to announce that he, Stiles, has finally bested Scott with his supernatural abilities. Scott takes it with good humor as Stiles helps him up, toes dug into his own mossy rock to keep from following after.

Back at the Jeep, Scott pops the hatch to get a different set of clothes while Stiles applies himself to rooting around the front of his car for the beef jerky he knows he stashed there. Unlike Scott, Stiles was been smart enough to go barefoot and in cargo shorts for their reserve playing.

“Stiles.” Scott’s choked voice has him immediately on high alert and, at his friend’s side, scanning the tree line all around them for an enemy to pop out. Damn it, he should have noticed how quiet and uneventful these past few days had been. Too quiet, Stiles thinks eyes narrowed at all this innocent looking nature. “No, Stiles.” Scott touches his shoulder and he turns to see what’s got Scott’s attention. Fuck, crosses his mind at seeing the teal shirt with black hearts laid out in front of them. The deep creases and rumples speak of how long it must have been crammed back there.

“How - how did this get back here?” Scott asks thickly rubbing his fingers against the glitter hearts. Stiles opens his mouth but finds his words have left him. What can he say? Oops, I thought the love of your life would have taken all her clothes back when she left? “Stiles!”

“Okay, okay! Lydia would’ve been the one to have her shirt. She probably brought it over, maybe for a sleepover, even though what with all the monsters and Lydia doesn’t seem like -” Raised eyebrows from his friend has Stiles waving away his rambling. “Lydia probably put it in here to give it back to her or figured she’d see it.”

“Allison. She thought Allison would see it.” Scott states picking up the shirt and brushing the collar against his mouth in a gesture of self-comfort that even Stiles can recognize.
Stiles nods “Yeah, Allison.” Scott moves the shirt away to look at him, and what can Stiles do but open his arms? This time, Scott is the one who needs him; it's Stiles’ turn to be strong. Scott’s shoulders tremble beneath Stiles’ arms, but still he holds on. It’s after more than a minute with Scott hugging him that Stiles has to rub his burning eyes against Scott’s bare shoulder. This is why Stiles is terrible when things got heavy and emotional or anyone cries around him, girls or guys, because then he starts to tear up too. A hoarse laugh and yelp comes from Scott when he wipes his eyes on his shoulder.

“Dude don’t wipe your nose on me!” Stiles snorts and nearly does snot on his shoulder.

“I was wiping my eyes, asshole, and I love you by the way.” Scott gives a wobbly smile.

“I love you too, Stiles.” A glance at Allison’s shirt bunched in his fist. “Can we get burgers and fries on the way home?” And goddamn, Stiles loves Scott.

“Duh, what else would we get? Now get a shirt on there, Captain Kirk, you’re blinding me.” Scott’s laughter is bright as he moves towards the passenger door. One step at a time.