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Living with Stiles Stilinski is an adventure. A gift that just keeps on giving, if you will. Actually, maybe Derek is getting ahead of himself. You know what? Let’s just rewind and start again, perhaps, this time, with a bit more realism.
Living with Stiles Stilinski is like living with a category five hurricane that has a nasty tendency to set itself on fire at the most inconvenient times. There, that metaphor is much more accurate than the optimistic bullshit that Derek was trying to sell you earlier.
Let me make it perfectly clear, though. Derek doesn’t mind. Really, he doesn’t. He chose to live this life a very long time ago and reaffirmed that decision when he put that ring on Stiles’ finger last year. And, contrary to popular belief, he was not drugged, coerced, bribed, or beaten in any way when he decided to propose. He loves Stiles for all of his imperfect perfections, and no amount of chaos will change that.
However (Did you see that coming?), there are times when all Derek wants is to come home from work to a bit of peace and quiet. Instead, he usually spends the twenty-minute drive home wondering what manner of madness will await him when he opens the door to the house he and Stiles share. Yesterday, it was a blanket fort that took up their entire living room (Not exactly an unpleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.) The day before he walked in on Stiles creating an extensive timeline of their relationship on sheets of poster board that he’d taped to the walls. The project spanned all the way from the living room to their bedroom, and before you ask, yes, glitter was involved. How Stiles got ahold of some when Derek has taken every precautionary measure he can think of to ensure that this doesn’t happen, the world may never know. If you’d like a bit of backstory, I have six words for you: The Great Glitter War of 2016. No further explanation needed.
Derek is now on his way home after a ten-hour shift. He’s been working at Angie’s Auto Repair for the past six months as a mechanic. The shop is a small, family-run business that’s been based in Beacon Hills for over twenty-five years. Little known fact, Angie and her family are werewolves, which, as you can imagine, was a bit of a shock seeing as they’ve been living undetected in Beacon Hills for over two decades. Angie revealed her and her family’s supernatural nature about a year ago when she came to ask for the Hale Pack’s help with some rouge hunters that were threatening her niece, who was just back from college. Apparently, the poor girl slipped up and went all glowy-eyed on her now ex-boyfriend at some party. I guess the wrong person noticed, and, well, the rest was history. The firearm-wielding psychopaths were quickly dealt with and sent running for the hills, and soon after, an unofficial treaty was hashed out between the two packs. Beacon Hills is still officially Hale territory, and as long as Angie and her family don’t contest that, the packs will remain allies. So, when Derek suddenly found himself unemployed, Angie was quick to offer him a job, welcoming him with open arms and teaching him the basics.
Derek really enjoys his job. He gets just enough human interaction to be able to claim that he’s been social, but not so much that he wants to rip someone’s throat out. However, there will always be people who try his patience. Today, for example, a man came in with what used to be an attractive, red Corvette. The car had been reduced to a disaster on wheels after becoming well-acquainted with the inside of a Dairy Queen earlier in the week. The car’s owner wants the job to be finished by the end of the day tomorrow, which, if you saw the state the car was in, you’d know was an impossible feat. The man was insistent, and by the end of the argument, Derek was stuck with ten hours of work instead of his usual eight. Needless to say, Derek was not amused, and his annoyance is still lingering in his mind by the time he pulls into his driveway.
Derek puts his car in park and takes the keys out of the ignition, slumping down in his seat for a moment to close his eyes and sigh, attempting to rid himself of his irritation. It works, to some extent, at least, and he finally exits the car. His heavy work boots crunch against the gravel beneath his feet as he stands and closes the car door. Slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder, Derek begins walking up the driveway toward the house. However, something odd quickly draws his attention.
Someone is on the roof. Derek squints his eyes against the sun, attempting to make out the person’s figure, groaning aloud soon after.
Correction, Stiles is on the roof. As if that isn’t a disaster waiting to happen.
The young man is on his knees, kneeling over the edge with a hammer in his right hand and a couple of nails between his teeth. A box has been placed next to him that looks to be overflowing with decorative lights and tinsel. Derek has no idea what’s happening, but he does know that he needs to put a stop to it before someone, namely Stiles, is grievously injured.
Derek takes a moment to consider how he should announce his presence. It’s possible that Stiles didn’t hear him pull into the driveway, so the young man may be startled if Derek suddenly asks him what he’s doing. The last thing he wants is for Stiles to fall off the roof… Again. But, after quite a bit of thought, Derek realizes that any other method would just succeed in startling Stiles more, and is therefore not worth the risk.
Derek clears his throat in preparation. “What are you doing on the roof?” Much to Derek’s surprise, Stiles doesn’t flail, which is a victory in Derek’s book considering Stiles’ precarious position. Stiles whips his head up to look at Derek and grins.
“Derek!” Stiles exclaims, the nails that were previously in his mouth dropping over the side of the roof. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, however, and continues on to answer Derek’s question. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m putting up the Christmas lights!”
Derek is officially confused. Last time he checked, Christmas was still six months away. So, unless he somehow slipped into a coma for five months, there is no way that it’s time to decorate for the holidays. Derek knows that he shouldn’t encourage this. He should just say “Alright then”, walk away, and let Stiles go on with his business. However, against his better judgment, he decides to press on.
“Stiles, it’s halfway through June.” Derek states, deadpan, as he raises an eyebrow and cocks his hip.
Stiles immediately looks offended. He drops the hammer, which thuds angrily against the roof, and falls back to sit criss-cross with his arms folded over his chest.
“I refuse to let that bitch, Margaret, outdo us this year!” He yells, glaring at the neighbor’s house scathingly, as if he can psychically convey his hatred through the wood paneling of Margaret’s home and directly to the woman herself. After a moment, Stiles looks back down at Derek, probably expecting some husbandly support. As is it, Derek is, once again, not amused .
Without another thought, Derek walks calmly up to the ladder that’s leaning against the side of the house. When he reaches his destination, he looks back up at Stiles, meeting his wide-eyed gaze with hard, determined eyes. A moment passes in complete silence.
Derek grabs the ladder and tucks it under his arm in one fluid motion before breaking eye contact with Stiles and turning on his heels, marching over to the garage, punching in the code to open the door, and entering, leaving Stiles stranded on the roof.
“Hey- No- I need that!” Stiles yells after him, watching Derek disappear from view. “Derek!” Stiles tries again when he receives no answer on his first attempt. But, he realizes that his efforts are in vain when the garage door begins to descend. Soon, the door is closed, and with an indignant huff, Stiles tears his eyes away from the garage and continues his work.
“This is all Margaret’s fault.”