“When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it will never end. But however hard you try, you can’t run forever. Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark, if he ever, for one moment, accepts it. Everybody knows that everybody dies. But not every day. Not today. Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all. Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair, and the Doctor comes to call.”
This is the longest answer I ever did. Here’s the trash I promised to you last week. As always, I started to hate it in the middle of the making. Forgive my horrible handwriting, my horrible grammar, and the horrible quality. The original was a lot more colorful. Meh. I always think about how Don and the boys feel about Della, but how does Scrooge feel? After all, he’s kinda the one who everyone’s blaming. Guys, this looked so much better in my head and I hate it. I need more practice.
This is an expansion of the following idea, written by the lovely @artemis69:
the coffee!AU, where John goes to the same coffee shop every day, and there is this very grumpy, quiet barista that always makes him amazing coffee and keep the best pastries for him. And one day the Sheriff learns that Derek is the one to bake them all, so he decides: this will be my son in law, I need a reason to have this man in my family for at least forty to fifty years. Then he matchmakes with no subtility whatsoever, basically offering his only son on a silver plate, Stiles spluttering all the way (but he takes Derek’s number anyway because the guy is just amazingly cute)
John’s on his regular morning stroll when he stops in his tracks and takes in the brand-new coffee shop, complete with a banner advertising their opening day. The little corner space has been boarded up for over a year, and John had no idea it was opening today.
Any new businesses are a boon for Beacon Hills, especially family-run ones like this one is rumored to be, so John ducks inside. It’s warm and homey, and there’s a pair of young dark-haired people behind the counter, close enough in features that they’re probably siblings. The quiet bickering points that direction, too.
They stop, though, when they see the Sheriff—the uniform tends to have that effect—and he pastes on his public servant smile. “Hi there. I saw this place was open and wanted to come on in and introduce myself. Sheriff John Stilinski.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” the woman says, holding out her hand for a shake. A nice strong grip—John likes this girl already. “I’m Laura Hale, and I own this place with my brother Derek, our resident grumpy barista-slash-baker.”
Derek rolls his eyes at Laura, but his smile to John is genuine, if small. “Hi, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, son,” he says, perusing the case full of tempting sugary treats. “You made these?”
He nods. “Can I get you anything?”
John hums. “A medium coffee, and…any one of these delicious-looking goodies. You pick. Just don’t tell my son,” he adds, and Derek looks up at him.
“I have slightly elevated cholesterol,” he says, stressing the word. “Nothing to worry about, honestly. But he polices my diet. I don’t think he knows about this place yet, though, so this is great.”
Derek hums. His tongs hover over a muffin—lemon poppyseed, it looks like—before moving to another one. Raspberry-almond, according to the sign, and well, John isn’t picky. Derek drops it into a little bag and hands it over.
“Happy to help,” he says.
John thanks him and opens the bag. Laura’s still pouring his coffee, but it smells so damn good that he can’t resist.
“Wow,” he says, his mouth full. “This is delicious.”
Derek looks quietly proud, and Laura claps him on the shoulder as she reaches over to hand John his coffee. “On the house, today, Sheriff,” she says. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises.
“Thanks, Nina,” John says dryly, leaning back so she can put his plate in front of him.
“You’re welcome, Sheriff,” she says with a friendly smile, ignoring his stink eye.
Stiles just grins at both of them and digs into his French toast. He insists on having their weekly father-son breakfast at Paulie’s Diner because no matter what John orders, Nina will only bring him an egg-white omelet with a dry English muffin. Stiles must have some serious blackmail or be paying her off somehow, and John is, he has to admit, grudgingly impressed.
“Don’t look so bummed out, Pops,” Stiles says, around a mouthful of what’s surely syrup-drenched deliciousness. “At least I let you have turkey bacon.”
“It’s not the same,” he says grumpily, poking at it. “But at least I’m getting a steady stream of baked goods now.”
Stiles glares at him. “Are you serious? From where? I thought I had paid everyone off.”
He knew it. “I’m not telling you,” he says, a little displeased with how childish he sounds.
“Fine,” Stiles says, sniffing. “I’ll figure it out, you know I will.”
He will, John knows. Goddamn, he loves his kid, even if his life goal seems to be depriving John from any and all delicious food. “And speaking of, I met someone the other day,” he starts, and Stiles gasps theatrically, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“Is this you crapping all over my dream of having Melissa as my stepmom?”
John sighs at the reminder. Melissa is…well, she seems happy with that Argent guy. Whatever. He’s not bitter.
“Not for me, Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “For you.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles says, slumping back in the booth. “Eye roll” is too mild, John thinks. It’s more of a whole head roll. “Seriously, Dad, I’m only 25. You don’t have to marry me off quite yet. You’ll get your grandchildren someday, I promise. Stop trying to set me up with people.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful!” John protests. “He seems nice.”
And makes really good treats, he adds in his head. That’ll be a good trait for a son-in-law.
“And who exactly is he?”
John pauses. “I met him at the aforementioned undisclosed location.”
Stiles snorts. “Find out if he actually likes dudes, then get back to me.”
When I was a boy, discovering my powers, I had no one. I had to figure out the Downworld all on my own.It was awful. So… I vowed to myself that if I ever found someone in a similar situation, I’d try to make sure they didn’t have to go at ita l o n e.
I’ve never stopped loving someone I wasn’t forced to. I don’t get bored with people or fall out of love… I don’t crave excitement or traverse ever expanding social circles… if we are close then you’re one of a select few and I’m content with the status quo pretty much indefinitely.
My head is never turned by someone better looking, my opinions are never swayed by someone more charismatic and my affections are never bought by someone’s wealth… so if I distanced myself from you emotionally it was because you were hurting me over and over until my back was to the wall and I was left with no other option…
Because I’m the kind of person who only ever stops feeling when it hurts too much and my forgiveness has long since run out. Even then, it has always been a gruelingly painful process of systematically shutting down the emotional connection layer by layer for my own protection until there was nothing left; not hate, not anger, just… nothing. So if you didn’t see it coming then you should have because it takes time to build walls and shut people out… And if you’re hurting then I’m sorry but the simple fact is that if you’re on the outside I didn’t put you there… you did it to yourself.