#but in my head he is tall and broody and judgy

[whatthebleep]

how many times do i have to scream out THE BLACK BROTHERS ARE TALL before i am taken siriusly

TALL

TALL BOYS

[mutualpiningandawkwardness]

Distracted Driving

Sterek, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Bicycle Cop!Derek, College Student!Stiles, Car Accident, Erica Reyes/Vernon Boyd

3977 words, Rated T for language, (on AO3)

The sound of crumpling plastic and fiberglass snaps Stiles’ wandering mind to the present. He blinks, pulled from a daydream of a gorgeous, tightly muscled bicycle cop in booty shorts who is slowly peeling himself out of his skin-tight uniform. Stiles slides his gaze away from the real-life bicycle officer on the nearby sidewalk, the inspiration of said fantasy, to the car in front of him.  The rear bumper of his friend Erica's hatchback is cracked, tail light shattered. He can only imagine what the front end of Roscoe looks like.

"Stilinski!" Erica shrieks, and then she’s getting out of her car and stomping towards him. How she manages such an earth shaking murder stomp in stiletto boots he’ll never know.  “What the fuck? What kind of idiot dumb fuck rams into a car that is  stopped  in front of him?”

He sets his hazard lights and jumps out of his car, holding his hands out to her placatingly.  Cars honk angrily and pass around them as they step between the safety of their two cars.

"I'm sorry!  I'm sorry! I was, um," he steps in closer and drops his voice, "...distracted."  His eyes cut to the sidewalk where the bicycle cop, Officer Hot Stuff, tall dark and broody, keeper of the eyebrows, is making his way over. Oh shit!

"Oh shit. Me too!" Erica whispers and grabs his hands.  "Those shorts are  unreal  !  I thought they only wore those in movies-"

"Are you both okay?"  Officer Stubble asks. “What happened?”

"Um."

"Um." Their eyes dart towards each other guiltily.

"Are. You. Okay?” he repeats, a little more slowly this time.  Maybe he suspects they sustained brain damage in the accident.

“Oh, we’re  fine alright.” Erica purrs.  Officer Dangle - it’s the shorts, and the whole thigh area to be honest - gets a confused look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. No damages.” Stiles says hurriedly.   “I mean, maybe damages, but I’ll pay. My bad and all.”

“What. Happened.”  Officer - Stiles peers at the badge pinned to the nicest uniformed chest he’s ever seen, and he's seen plenty - Hale is starting to look and sound impatient. Which is a shame because now that he’s looking, Stiles can see the blue-green-hazel swirl of Hale’s eyes, the sharpness of his jawline, the cute, bunny-like front teeth that show, just a little, as he’s waiting for them to answer. When he’s not frowning that is.

Stiles looks at Erica again.  He really doesn’t want to tell the officer he was too busy ogling him in his shorts uniform that he wasn’t paying attention to the road. She stays silent as well, widening her eyes and tilting her head at Stiles, a clear “you tell him” gesture.

“Is there something going on here?"  Officer Hale looks between the two of them.  They must look guilty, holding hands, huddled together, because he grabs the radio on his shoulder.

"Boyd.  I could use some back-up."  The radio crackles.

"What? Noooo. No back-up needed.  Nothing going on here. Just your run-of-the-mill fender bender. We're totally cooperating.  See?” Stiles holds his hands up and wiggles them in a faint approximation of jazz hands.

An even taller, broader shouldered and just as attractive officer approaches, walking quickly from the Jamba Juice on the corner. Unlike Hale with the grumpy cat frown and judgy eyebrows, Officer Boyd is stoic and calm looking with kind eyes. He must play the Good Cop, Stiles thinks.  Though, he also looks like he could take down a perp without breaking a sweat. Boyd glances at them, then around the scene, assessing the situation. The just-stepped-from-the-pages-of-safety-officers-monthly models nod at each other. "Hale. What’s going on?"

"Now that’s what I call  back-up  ." Erica mutters to Stiles.

"What was that?" Officer Hale turns back to ask her.

"I said,” Erica repeats, loudly enough for them all to hear, ‘Now that’s what I call back-up!’" She looks at Officer Boyd, smiling and batting her eyelashes.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“Uh.  What’s going on here?”  Officer Boyd asks again, eyebrows lifting, looking wary.

“Fender bender.”  Hale answers. “But…” He looks between Erica and Stiles again.  “Maybe we should get statements. Miss?” Hale holds a guiding hand out towards Erica, but she slinks past him and up to Officer Boyd.

“I’ll give you my statement.  If I leave anything out, you can take my number and give me a call.”  She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and they move up the sidewalk a bit. Boyd holds her hand on his arm like he’s been cotillion trained (Stiles is around Lydia enough to know what that is, okay?) and looks down at her, a bit stunned but also enthralled.  And who wouldn’t be? Erica is a bombshell.

“Um.” Hale looks at Stiles cautiously.  “I guess I’ll take your statement.”

Great.  Could he sound any less enthusiastic?

“Sure.” Stiles is a little… sad.  Not that he expected a love connection or anything, just not the reluctance that is so apparent in Hale’s voice.

-

“So, I guess I glanced at the side of the road and didn’t notice that Erica hadn’t moved yet.  I saw the light turn green though, so I took my foot off the brake.” Stiles scratches his cheek, more out of nerves than actual itchiness.  Talking to attractive people has always made Stiles nervous. Lydia, once they became friends, told him she thought for years he had a thyroid imbalance, he was so sweaty and jittery around her.

“How did you see the light turn green, but not the car stopped in front of you?”

“Um.  I don’t know.”

“Were you looking at your phone?”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”  Hale gives Stiles a skeptical look.

“Dude, I said  no . I wouldn’t do that!” Stiles folds his arms in annoyance. Even if his dad hadn’t threatened him with a slow, painful death if he ever texted while driving, he’s seen enough case file pictures of traffic accidents to know better.

“It’s just, it happens a lot nowdays.  You’re lucky this was just a minor accident.  People are killed all the time from distracted driving.  Lots of innocent bystanders too.”

“I wasn’t looking at my phone,” Stiles mutters sullenly.

“Do you know the other driver?” Hale continues with the questioning.

“Yes.” they both look over to where Erica and Officer Boyd are doing the same thing they are, albeit a lot more cheerfully.  Erica is laughing, the fingers of one hand on Officer Boyd’s arm, her other hand toying with her necklace. Boyd is leaning in, close-talking like they’re sharing secrets. His hand comes up and - is he stroking her neck?!  Erica tilts her head side to side and, oh. He must be checking her for injuries. That’s... a good idea actually.

“We went to school together.”

“Dating?”  Hale is looking at his notepad, pencil poised above it as if he’s going to write Stiles’ answer down.

“Nooo?” It comes out sounding like a question because, well, was it relevant to the accident? “I guess she sort of liked me, like, a long time ago, but that was before she knew me.”  Stiles thinks about how that sounds. “Not that I’m unlikeable, like you get to know me and think ‘yikes, no way’ or anything. I don’t think...” Come to think of it. Stiles really hasn’t had any relationships that lasted longer than a couple of weeks. Did that mean something? Did people-

“It’s just, you two seemed - intimate. And she wasn’t that angry with you.” Luckily, Officer Hale’s words cut off his self-loathing downward spiral.

“Oh, no.  She’s angry.  She’ll get me back.” Stiles has no doubt about it.

Hale raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing bad. Nothing illegal, like, bodily harm or anything.“

“Hm.” Hale looks skeptical again. He turns to look at the cars.  “I’m going to file a report. The damage is probably going to be over five hundred dollars so it’s-“

“No!” Stiles yells, then, at a more normal volume, “Uh, I mean. Can you, can you skip it?”

“Sorry, the damages dictate-“

“I would really, really like it if you didn’t file this.  I really need you to not do this.” Stiles wonders if getting down on his knees would be overkill.

“Is there some reason you don’t-“ Hale stops and looks more thoughtfully at Stiles. “I’m going to need to see your ID.”

“Fuuuck. Oh fucking, fuck no,” Stiles breathes quietly.

He gives one last try, “Look, my car - barely shows any damage. It’s always looked like that.  And Erica’s will be under five hundred, I swear! I know a guy. That’s like, three hundred, max!” Stiles’ hands gesture wildly, going nowhere near his wallet.

“Again, I’m going to need to see your ID.” Hale is speaking slowly and deliberately.  He looks angry, his eyebrows furrowed even more than before.

Stiles’ hands twitch as Hale crosses his arms over his chest.  Is it wrong that he takes a moment to admire the thick forearms and muscular chest shown to such advantage in that pose?  Now if only he could get Hale to bend over and pick something up.

Stiles slowly takes out his wallet and pulls out his driver’s license, hoping against hope that Hale changes his mind in the next two seconds.  But, no such luck. (He briefly considers dropping it so Hale has to pick it up, but restrains himself.)

Hale takes it and turns to walk to his bicycle which is parked in front of the sandwich shop one storefront over. “Don’t move,” he throws over his shoulder.

Stiles looks over at Boyd and Erica. They’re both laughing, heads thrown back in companionable humor.  Ugh. Hale is probably searching his name for priors. Stiles wonders if the search will notify his dad. Fuck.

Erica finally glances over and must see Stiles’ misery. She leans up and whispers something to Boyd who nods in response.  They make their way over, but Boyd detours and joins Hale.

“Hey, ready to go?” Erica asks.  She looks too happy for someone with significant - but hopefully not costly! - car repairs in her near future.

“Uh. No. Officer Hale is going to file a report for this.”

She looks shocked. “Why?”

“He says it’s because the damage looks like it would be over five hundred dollars.  I totally disagree. Hey. You think you could ask Officer Boyd to tell Hale to, to  not ?”

“Hm. I dunno.  I’ll give it a shot.”

She saunters her way over to where Hale and Boyd are standing at their bicycles, Hale looking at a laptop.  Officer Boyd smiles when she gets to them, but his smile disappears after she says a few words. Boyd and Hale look over at Stiles with identical questioning frowns.

Hale walks back.

“Mr. Stilinski, you are acting very suspiciously for a minor fender bender. That doesn’t give us enough probable cause for a search, but I’m telling you right now, I’m considering bringing you in for questioning due to-"

“Oh God. Please, no!  Boyd- Officer Boyd wasn’t even going to file the report on Erica! Why do you have to?”  Stiles is flailing and sweating at this point. He knows he’s not helping his own case, but he’s just moved into his dorm and classes are about to start on Monday. Couldn’t he just do this one thing without his dad being alerted to another fuck up on his part?

(He’s  just  finished paying back his dad for repairs to the high school chem lab after the small -  tiny - fire that broke out when he and Scott tried heating their nacho cheese with a bunsen burner. Stiles still maintains it wasn’t their fault since kids did that all the time.  Except this time, someone - not them - neglected to properly clean up an earlier chemical spill, which was what caused the, uh, the fireball.)

Stiles looks around for Erica and finds her over by the police bikes talking to Officer Boyd again, not paying attention to him at all.

Hale gives him an exasperated look. “It’s not that bad. If the repairs are as low as you expect, your insurance won’t even go up by much.”

“Please, I’m begging you. Isn’t there anything we can do so that you don’t file this?  Anything?” Stiles puts on his best Scott-like puppy dog eyes, dipping his chin low and blinking slowly.  Officer Hale’s mouth drops open. Ha! It’s working. Stiles reaches forward to try Erica’s fingertips on the forearm trick.

That causes Officer Hale to step back abruptly before they make contact. “What.  What are you saying.”

“I’m  saying  ,” Stiles gestures emphatically, giving up on the pleading look - apparently only Scott can make that work, “that I really,  really  don’t want you to file a report.  If we can work something out to that effect, I would be very,  very  appreciative.”

“That- Why do you sound like… Why do you sound so guilty?

“Me? No!  No guilt! Just a guy trying to stay off the radar, so to speak.”

Hale pinches the bridge of his nose and audibly exhales for what feels like a long time.  “Stay here,” he says and turns to go back to the bicycles. The bicycles with the computer.  The computer that files reports from the field.

“No, wait-“ Stiles, in a fit of unthinking hubris-slash-idiocy, grabs Officer Hale’s arm.

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s face down on the sidewalk with his arm twisted behind his back, a knee holding him in place, digging into the back of his thigh. Jeez, that was fast and he’s not even - Stiles does a quick inventory for bodily pain - not even injured.

“Boyd!” Officer Hale calls.

“Oh my God, Stiles!” He can hear Erica yell and footsteps running towards him.

He turns his head and sees Officer Boyd stopping Erica from reaching him, one strong arm holding her across the shoulders, her back to his front.

“No, no nononono.  Oh my God. My dad’s gonna kill me! He’s gonna kill me and then make me move home and put a detail on me!” Stiles would be shouting but the pressure holding him down is also preventing him from inhaling too deeply. His words come out more like strangled whimpers.   “I won’t be able to go out of the house without supervision until I’m thirty!”

“Why would-  Is your dad a diplomat or something?”

“Wha? No. He’s a sheriff,” Stiles says, all the fight leaving his body.

“Not- John Stilinski?” Hale’s movements still.

“Uh, yeah. Shit. You know him?”

“Yeah... it’s our county department. We work together, share resources sometimes.  You’re really his son?” Officer Hale removes his knee from Stiles’ thigh and pulls him to standing in one smooth move. Really, it’s smooth. The ease with which he can move Stiles from standing to prone to standing again would be alarming if it weren’t so… arousing. Then Hale’s words sink in.

“Oh shit, you know my dad!  And you’re gonna tell him about this, aren’t you?”

“You don’t think he should know his son was in a fender bender, which he tried to get out of by flirting with the responding officer-“

“Flirting!? That was not flirting!  Why would-“. Stiles pauses. Why would Hale say that? But then, he guesses, it’s probably something that happens to Hale and Boyd often, considering how good looking they are. Stiles looks up and notices the corners of Officer Hale’s mouth are twitching. “You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

The corners of Hale’s mouth pull down, but it’s still a smile, Stiles can tell. It’s in his eyes.   “Sheriff Stilinski is a great guy. I wouldn’t want to upset him by possibly increasing his son’s insurance premium. I think we can let you off with a warning.  But,” Hale’s expression goes from smug to confused. “Why were you being so weird about it?”

“Ugh! Not weird! I just. Didn’t want my dad getting any notifications about me - I’m sure he’s set up an alert for my name. He’ll call me and give me hell. Or worse, I’ll get that tired, disappointed voice. ‘What did you do this time, Stiles?’”  Erica makes a noise of sympathy. She knows how mad his dad had been after the lab incident, plus any of the many other incidents that his dad has had to weather over the years.

“Disappointed?  I doubt it. You know how proud he is of you, right?  I mean, the guys basically know to not ask about you or he’ll talk our ears off about how you graduated top of your class or that you’re going to Berkeley on a full scholarship.  Or about the time - what was it Boyd? The missing minor case?”

“Yeah. When you figured out how the suspect communicated with the victim in their blog tags, when the detectives didn’t have a lead.”  Stiles glances at Boyd as he chimes in. He still has a hand on Erica’s shoulder but the tension, the ready anticipation for a fight is gone from his stance.

“Or the fact that you created the Dinner with a Deputy fundraiser to pay for the mountain lion specialist after all those attacks that one year.  The office upgrades you organized, the digitization project you implemented. Do you want more?” Hale looks wry but fond, however he makes that possible.

Stiles does not have tears in his eyes.  The wind must have blown a piece of dust in there.  Great, he’s blotchy, sweaty and red eyed: making a great impression on the hot-like-the-sun officers who are letting him know how proud his dad is of him.

“Oh. Uh.” His voice is raspy. He clears it.  “I guess you really do know him.”

“Yep. So, are you going to tell me how you crashed in the first place?” Hale crosses his arms again and the straining shirt sleeves make Stiles’ eyes glaze over.  

Erica’s bright laughter brings back his focus. When he turns to see her she’s leaning up, whispering something to Boyd.  He throws her a glare, but it’s probably less effective because of his burning cheeks. He sighs. Might as well fess up now, get all the embarrassment out there at once. “There might have been something, an attractive person. Who might have. Distracted me.”  It comes out in fits of words.

“Oh, okay.”  Something shutters over Officer Hale’s expression and he glances around the street, then looks back down at his notebook, the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly.

“He’s talking about  you, numbnut!” Erica yells.  Boyd laughs.

Stiles looks over and Erica is leaning back on Officer Boyd, almost like when he’d held her before when he was restraining her, but now it looks cozy.

“Oh.” Officer Hale’s eyebrows perk up considerably.  “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean…” Stiles gestures at Officer Hale’s everything, but then lets his hands move into a more neutral arm flail. Implying he’s only interested in Officer Hale for how well he fills out his uniform is probably not the path to take.

Hale smiles and - wow, he should do that all the time because it’s like those butterfly wings that look all plain when they’re folded but open to reveal their irridescent beauty, it’s that stunning - and looks down at his notebook as if to hide it. Or maybe he’s trying to hide the pinkness of his cheeks; they’re adorably pink and it spreads to his ears too!  “Oh, well. Would you. Do you think you’d. Like to. Um. Get coffee some time?”

“Yeah, get it, Stilinski!” Erica cheers. Stiles ignores her.  He nods at Hale vigorously.

“Coffee would be great. Um. When do you- when would you-

“We’re off duty in half an hour.  Want to meet us at the station? Does that give you enough time to take care of your cars?”

Stiles looks at Erica who gives him a thumbs up.  He turns back to Officer Hale, “Sounds awesome.”

“Woo hoo! Double date!”  Erica holds out her hand and Boyd meets her with a high five.

-

“Did you really raise that much money for the station?” Derek - Hot Bicycle Cop’s first name is Derek - asks.  They’ve finished their coffees and are still lingering at a table, talking. Erica and Boyd have moved to squeeze into a nearby oversized beanbag chair and are probably naming their future kids.

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t hard after the explosion.  You heard about that, right? We have a lot of nice old ladies in Beacon Hills willing to pay to spend a day with their favorite deputies. Why?”

“Well, we wanted to start a mentoring program with the high schools, but our budget is strapped since we just spent all this money starting the bike patrol.”  Picturing Derek mentoring kids melts Stiles’ heart even more than when he talked about Stiles’ dad.

“Oh.  Yeah, I can- You can do Coffee with a Cop. But, you know what would bring in even more money?  A calendar. You know. Each officer with a different themed photo shoot for each month. I could…art direct.”  Stiles thinks of a theme that would suit Derek. “Do you have a surfboard?”

Derek scoffs and looks down into his lap.  “Yeah, maybe if the Sheriff’s department does one too.  And only if the junior deputies are included.” When he looks up his smile is mischievous.

“Oh my God. Did my dad tell you I'm a junior officer?  Did he show you pictures?! Those were terrible!”

“Yeah - I mean - You turned out… better than expected.” He's smirking and giving Stiles a once over.

“What?- Rude! It was a bad haircut!  And. I’ve filled out since then! And Lydia’s trying to fix my clothes but-” Stiles is indignantly waving his arms when his hand is grabbed mid-flail and brought gently down to the table.

Derek pulls and Stiles is dragged bodily forward before he realizes what’s happening. His hand is now tucked under Derek’s and their faces are inches apart over the small table. Stiles can only blink and stare dumbly at the beautiful face in front of him.  

Derek smiles and looks down at Stiles’ mouth.  “I’m saying, if your dad had a more recent picture of you I’d have found an excuse to try and meet you sooner.”

“Oh. Oh cool. Maybe-“

He’s cut off by Derek moving in and bringing their lips together softly.  It’s slow and lingering and hints at more to come. Derek pulls back and Stiles opens his eyes, blinking away the haze of lust threatening to overwhelm him.

“Wow,” he breathes. “Totally worth paying six hundred dollars in car repairs.”

“What.”

-

The next week a new framed picture appears on the Sheriff’s desk. In it, Stiles is smiling broadly, the arm not taking the selfie wrapped around someone whose nose is turned into Stiles’ cheek.

“Is that … ? Stiles!” The Sheriff stomps out of his office into the deputy bullpen. “Why is there a picture on my desk of you, hugging one of my officers?”

Stiles looks up from the cabinet where he’s pulling his notes from the last fundraiser.

“Okay, A, he’s not  your officer. And B, I was told that your lack of recent pictures of me was hindering my love life. Not that I need it anymore, but I’m rectifying that.”

“When were you going to tell me you were dating one of  my officers?”

“Um, I’m telling you now?”

“He’s coming over for dinner Sunday. Would you like to tell him or should I send an inter-office notice?”

“I’ll let him know,” Stiles says hurriedly.  He’s sure Derek would appreciate not being publicly singled out at his workplace by the county sheriff.

His dad gives a curt nod and takes the photo back to his office. He might not even realize he’s doing it, but Stiles sees his dad smile before disappearing through the door.  The fist pump reflected in the window to his office is definitely intentional though.