Work Text:
When Derek gets home from work, Stiles is making dinner. Not that you could tell from the noises coming from the kitchen, which remind Derek of a battle to the death more than anything else. It’s safe to say that if Derek didn’t know Stiles as well as he does, he would be supremely worried.
Ignoring the chaotic crashes coming from the kitchen for the moment, Derek toes off his shoes and takes off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of the couch. After a brief moment of silence, Derek hears a sudden bang from the kitchen, and moments later, Stiles’ voice resounds loudly through the apartment they share.
“I thought I told you not to move, you stupid piece of shit!” Stiles yells, and Derek can just imagine Stiles’ face, which is no doubt scrunched up adorably in annoyance. Derek shakes his head fondly and begins walking toward the kitchen, deciding that Stiles needs adult supervision before things get out of hand. He’s witnessed the fallout of Stiles’ unorthodox cooking methods before, and he doesn’t really want to end his day scraping pasta off of the ceiling… Again…
Reaching the kitchen, Derek leans up against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes in the scene of utter chaos before him.
Various pots and pans are strewn haphazardly atop the counters and there are splatters of… something covering the wall above the stove. Derek shifts his attention to the kitchen table on the far side of the room, noticing a lone pan sitting underneath a sign that’s been taped to the wall labeled “time out”. And then there’s Stiles. The young man is standing at the stove alternating between waving a rubber spatula in the air and frantically stirring whatever insane concoction he has brewing on the burner. He’s muttering to himself, and Derek picks out a few phrases, such as, “stupid, traitorous pans that don’t know how to do what they’re told” and, “there’s not enough brown sugar in this tomato sauce.”
Derek would be concerned for Stiles’ sanity if it weren’t for the fact that he’s witnessed what Stiles calls his “culinary genius” before, and therefore knows that Stiles has a process and it’s best to just stay out of the way and let it happen.
After a few more moments of erratic flailing and muttered curses, Derek decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat loudly, making Stiles whip around, spatula still in hand. He flails his arms clumsily, causing tomato sauce to fly off of the spatula and splatter across the floor and walls. Derek sighs. At this rate, Stiles will have the entire room painted red by the end of the evening.
“Jesus, Derek! Don’t do that! You know it’s detrimental to my health!” Stiles exclaims, smacking a hand to his chest, breathing heavily. Derek snorts and rolls his eyes before taking another look around the room. Stiles notices this and huffs in annoyance. “What?” He questions grumpily, narrowing his eyes as a frown forms on his lips.
Derek chuckles. “You’re a walking disaster.” He states, smiling fondly at the affronted expression that makes its way onto Stiles’ face, which Derek now realizes is also covered with tomato sauce.
That affronted expression quickly transforms into one of poorly concealed anger. Stiles’ arms cross over his chest and the young man jerkily juts out his hip to further convey his displeasure at Derek’s words.
“Yeah? Well, this walking disaster is making you dinner, so I’d watch your tone.” Stiles growls out through gritted teeth, stepping forward to stand directly in front of Derek so he can jab his spatula against Derek’s chest to punctuate his words.
Derek looks down at his now soiled shirt, then back up at Stiles, who is still glowering at him, spatula raised in an attack position.
Derek’s eyes widen and he raises his hands as a sign of surrender, backing up a few small steps. He’s been on the receiving end of Stiles’ fury countless times before, and he’s not eager to incur the wrath of Stiles again.
“Duly noted.” Derek says in an attempt to appease the seething young man before him. Stiles’ expression shifts from enraged to ecstatic in less than a second, his instantaneous mood shift giving Derek whiplash.
“Perfect!” Stiles yells, beaming with delight. “Now,” he begins, moving to stand behind Derek. Stiles places his hands firmly on Derek’s shoulders and frog marches him over to the kitchen table, shoving him down to sit on a chair that has been pulled out. Once Derek is seated, Stiles goes to stand in front of him so he can continue. “I have a very important job for you.”
Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles’ declaration. “Okay?” He says, drawing the word out apprehensively.
“You see that pan?” Stiles asks, aggressively pointing his spatula at the lone pan on the table. Derek nods, his confusion mounting as he waits for Stiles to explain further. He desperately hopes that his boyfriend’s next words will be at least somewhat sane, but he knows that Stiles lost the last of his sanity long ago. Therefore, he readies himself for whatever lunacy is to come as Stiles opens his mouth to speak. “I need you to watch it for me.”
Derek blinks owlishly, staring blankly at Stiles for a moment before shifting his gaze to the pan in question. He returns his gaze to Stiles after a few seconds of consideration. “Um… Why?”
“Because, Derek,” Stiles begins huffily, obviously believing that any explanation should be unnecessary. “It has committed a grievous crime. As a man of justice, I can’t just let that shit slide!”
Derek groans internally, knowing that he will undoubtedly regret inquiring further into the issue. However, his curiosity for Stiles’ antics overrules all common sense - as per usual - and he decides to engage, much to Stiles’ delight.
“What did it do?” Derek asks through a breathy sigh.
“Mutiny.” Stiles states simply, his expression deadpan. His eyes meet Derek’s for a moment as Derek attempts to process Stiles’ statement. However, before Derek can compose himself and formulate a response, Stiles turns on his heels and stalks back over to the stove, continuing to stir his so-called tomato sauce.
Derek takes another few seconds to ponder the situation before ultimately deciding to roll with the crazy. After all, what’s the harm in indulging Stiles’ eccentricities? Derek glances down at the pan, and if it were possible for an inanimate object to convey emotion, Derek would swear that they shared a moment of solidarity.
Derek turns his attention back to Stiles when he hears the young man begin humming the tune to “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas” under his breath. Just to give you a bit of background information, it is currently April, which, at least last time I checked, is nowhere near Christmas. But, despite this, Derek finds himself chuckling softly, smiling fondly at Stiles as he continues to flail his way around the kitchen. Stiles may be quirky, sometimes even bordering on clinically insane, but Derek loves him, crazy and all.