Chapter Text
Stiles doesn't know the first thing about car maintenance. Noah Stilinski has made a valiant effort to show him the basics, but none of the knowledge sticks. One day, Roscoe breaks down and no amount of cursing or duck taping seems to fix her. He reluctantly hires a tow truck to drop her off at the only mechanic within the city limits.
"Hales' Full Moon Auto" the sign reads, below it sits a beautiful, black, pristine Camaro. Stiles thanks the tow truck driver, hops out of the truck and heads in while the driver unloads the jeep. The bell above the door chimes and Stiles is hit with the strong scent of grease and tires. He resists the urge to scrunch up his nose as he glances around in curiosity. The small waiting area is clean but not photographic. Three small metal chairs line one corner, circling a bland wooden table. On the coffee table sat magazines that had to be at least three years old. Did anyone even buy magazines anymore? The desk at the end of the room is unoccupied and the door to the mechanic's bay is propped open. The room itself is quiet with only a small mini fridge humming in the corner, filled with water bottles. Through the doorway, loud sounds of metal clanking travels into the near silent space. Stiles resists the urge to cartoonishly whistle as he strolls curiously up to the counter.
After a minute of waiting, he steps around the desk just slightly, peering through the doorway towards the loud sounds within. He can't see anything from his position but can now hear mumbled curses hidden under the clanking. Lost in thought, he doesn't notice a gorgeous blonde blocking his field of vision.
"Hello handsome," a sultry voice makes him jump, his vision refocusing on the new person in the room. Leaning against the doorway is a godly woman, her blonde waves bounce over her shoulders, her red lips curling into a smirk as his eyes trail over to hers. Her baby blues pinch slightly in amusement. "What can I do for you?" She pushes off the doorway and strides casually over to the empty desk. He watches her sit on the comfiest chair in the room before his voice finally returns.
"Uh, sorry, I didn't see anyone at the desk." She continues to stare at him silently, watching him like he's her favorite tv show. "My jeep stopped working. Not sure what's wrong with her this time. The tow truck driver parked her out front," he trails on awkwardly, pointing vaguely at the bay doors.
"What's the make and model?" She turns her eyes away, staring at the computer screen. He rattles off his information easily. She turns back to him with a friendly smile and tells him to take a seat. He nods dumbly and plops himself down into one of the uncomfortable metal chairs to wait.
What seems like a lifetime later, but is a mere hour in reality, the silence is finally broken. Heavy boots thump through the bay, leading towards the waiting room. Suddenly, a deep voice booms through the calm atmosphere. "What the fuck is this?" Stiles jumps in surprise, looking up from his phone. His wide eyes land on the new figure taking up the doorway. His mouth waters and his heart threatens to pound nearly out of his ribcage. He doesn't know what is in the air, but the man before him is just as godly as the woman typing away at the computer. His clothes are coated in black grease, the grey tank top nearly black from stains. His hands wipe across a stained cloth in a futile attempt to clean them. His sharp features are shaped with a delicious beard. His mouth is set in a deep, dangerous scowl.
Stiles nearly falls out of his seat as he realizes the man's heated glare is set on him. "W-what?"
The man seems to growl in agitation at Stiles' fumbled answer. "What the fuck did you do to that jeep."
"Uh," Stiles stutters useless, willing himself not to drool all over the stone floor. "Duck tape?"
Derek only glares venomously at him before turning back around and stomping back to the bay. Stiles glanced helplessly towards the gorgeous blond still manning the desk- Erica she had told him. But Erica only snickers at him pitifully and goes back to her work.
Hesitantly, Stiles stands up, back aching, and bumbles towards the open door. When a glance towards Erica shows her utter disinterest, he continues on. Once he passes though the doorway, the loud clanking and rattling only intensifies, no longer dulled by thick walls. He gazes around the room in curiosity. Two cars are suspended off the ground, an unknown man working on each. He turns his head and spotted Roscoe still on the ground with her hood propped up. The growly man from before was leaning over the engine, cursing up a colorful storm.
Checking to see if anyone has noticed his presence, he quietly strides across the bay towards his beloved jeep. As he gets closer, he gets a better look at the man from behind. The tight shirt does nothing to hide the toned muscles underneath. Stiles could feel his mouth watering again at the very sight of the man's arms flexing around the ratchet in his hand. Stiles gets to bask in his present for a few moments more before the man turns his head towards him. The disgruntled man's face screwed up in displeasure as he glares venomously back at Stiles. Stiles smiles sheepishly as he stops at the front of Roscoe, next to the mechanic.
"This is ridiculous," the man sneers, turning back to the engine to continue his tinkering.
A faint blush tints Stiles cheeks as he turns his gaze back to his beloved Roscoe. "Its worked so far," he lamely excuses. Thick silence surrounds them for a while, Stiles watching in fascination as the grumbling man works. "What caused her to break down?"
"Other than the mounds of duct tape covering every issue?" The man snarks as he stands back up, snatching a stained towel to wipe his hands. "The biggest issue is the alternator."
"How much will it cost to repair?"
"Generally about $600 for the part and labor."
Stiles grimaces in pain at the thought of forking over so much cash in one go. "If you fix it, she'll run again?"
Derek glares over at him, "everything needs to be fixed on her." Stiles flinches at his honest reprimand.
"I can't afford all the repairs at the moment," he responds sheepishly, turning his gaze towards the other cars in the bay.
The mechanic huffs, "yes, I can get her running for a while with this repair." His sharp gaze picks up on the relief flooding through Stiles.
"Go back to the waiting room, Erica will take your payment. I'll let you know when she's ready." Stiles nods his head silently, sending a thankful smile the mechanics way before heading back inside. He misses the conversation between the other mechanics as he conversed with Erica.
She happily took his payment and offered him a chilled water while he waited.
Three agonizing hours pass as he fidgets in his stiff metal seat impatiently. Finally, the gruff mechanic calls out his name from the doorway. Stiles nearly jumped out of his seat in excitement as he trots up to the man like he's won a prize. The mechanic only raises an eyebrow in amusement before turning back towards the bay, not waiting on Stiles to follow. Stiles lets a goofy grin spread across his face as he stares at the mechanic's back. He quickly schools his expression as the man faces him, arms crossing distractingly across his toned chest.
"Uh, thank you..."
"Derek," the man grunted in answer.
"Thank you, Derek. I'll stop by as soon as I can save up some money." The man, Derek, stares blankly at the beaming customer, gives the man a noncommital grunt then carelessly dropped Roscoe's keys into Stiles' hand and walks away. Stiles stares at the man's very toned, very sweaty back and a mischievous smirk stretches across his face. Maybe duct tape was never the solution after all.