Work Text:
From: Erica
MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
From: Isaac
hey stils whassup hows college i miss u
From: Boyd
Ignore them.
From: Isaac
hey stiles today i learned how to splint a broken leg isnt that awesome also erica punched me in teh face
From: Boyd
Also if they start telling you that Derek is beating us, don’t believe them.
From: Erica
HEY MOM DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT SUCKS TO LIVE WITH THREE GUYS IN A TINY HOUSE WHEN YOU HAVE SUPER SENSES? IT SUCKS A LOT.
From: Isaac
y rnt u ansrwinggggg
From: Boyd
I love the pack and all but sometimes I just really miss having my own space, you know?
From: Isaac
erca stole my shampoo and shaved her legs wit my razr stils please help save meeeeeeeee
From: Derek
Have decided to run away. It’s like herding cats. Constant herding. Would rather herd elephants and shovel elephant shit than herd cats. Wolves. Whatever.
From: Stiles
To: Boyd, Derek, Erica, Isaac
JESUS CHRIST IF IT’S THAT BAD JUST MOVE IN WITH ME AND SHUT UP ALSO ERICA STOP CALLING ME MOM AND DEREK STOP CALLING THEM CATS
--
If there’s one thing that Stiles had learned about werewolves, it’s that if you give them an inch, they take a mile. Which was how his tiny efficiency apartment had become home to Derek and the betas for three weeks. Even though he had actually been kind of joking in his angry text message. Obviously nobody understood that text messages are never binding.
He didn’t mind that much. It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends at school, because he did. But friends weren’t pack, and pack was—special. So he let the betas set up air mattresses on the floor while he and Derek took the bed. It felt a little like playing house in a really weird universe where he had three children who were the same age as him and also werewolves.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Derek muttered into his shoulder.
“I will think as loudly as I want until you start paying rent for me,” Stiles said, pressing Derek’s hair down so it didn’t block Jane Eyre. “Also has anybody ever told you that you’re such a Mr. Rochester? Just, like, a million times hotter?”
“No,” Derek said. “Heathcliff. I get Heathcliff a lot.”
Stiles stared down at him. “Dark. Brooding. Hangs puppies. I can totally see it.”
“Would you guys shut uuuup,” Erica groaned. “It’s, like, really early.”
“It’s eight in the morning,” Stiles replied. “And I have to finish reading this chapter before class at nine. Also you’re living here for free so you can just deal.”
“Can I borrow the car today?” Isaac said. “I have class.”
“You can take the Camaro,” Stiles said.
“No, the Jeep,” Derek said.
“Will you all. Just. Shut. Up,” Boyd growled. “Isaac will take the Camaro. Erica will buy earplugs. We will all be very quiet and I will go back to sleep.”
When Derek shifted sleepily against his shoulder, Stiles patted him on the cheek and murmured, “This is all your fault, you know.”
He could feel the smile against his skin as Derek said, “I know.”
--
“Can I come?” Scott said.
“No,” Stiles said, absently stirring the tomato soup he was heating up on the stove. The phone was pinched between his ear and shoulder. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, it’s just that I really don’t have room for you. Unless you want to snuggle up with me and Derek.”
“…Ew,” Scott said. Stiles knew him well enough to be able to imagine the grossed out tilt of his mouth. “No thanks, dude. There are just some things a guy shouldn’t see his best friend doing.”
“Oh, that’s very funny,” Stiles said. “You think just because Derek and I are sharing a bed it means sexy time is now all the time. Well, let me tell you, mister, when you’re sharing a tiny apartment with a bunch of werewolves who are, like, always there, there is surprisingly little sex. As in, no sex. No sex for Stiles. It’s like high school all over again, except worse because I am actually in a relationship. With a really hot guy. Who gives really good—“
“Bye Stiles nice talking to you!” Scott said as he hung up.
Stiles sighed and set his phone down on the counter just as Derek picked the lock to the apartment and walked in. “Hey there, sunshine,” Stiles said, rubbing at his forehead. Derek smirked at him as he closed the door. “So how long have you been standing out there listening to me?”
“Long enough.” He waggled his eyebrows, which was really weird to Stiles. Eyebrows emoting anything other than I will kill you or I’m the Alpha? Forever weird. “We probably have a while before the others get—“
And then Isaac threw open the door, knocking Derek over, which was almost funny enough to make up for the fact that Stiles was once again being cockblocked by werewolves.
“You didn’t hear him coming?” Stiles said, trying not to laugh too hard.
Derek stayed sprawled on the floor. He turned his head to glare at Stiles. “I was distracted.”
Which, okay, was actually really flattering, but whatever. Obviously Stiles was not allowed to have nice things in his life.
“Stiles, guess what!” Isaac said, bounding over to the fridge and taking out a leftover box of fried chicken. “Today we learned how to perform C-sections! On bulldogs!”
“Um,” Stiles said. “That’s…awesome.”
“Well, I mean, mostly we just watched, but it was still really cool. Also, Scott says hi. Also he says that he wants to move in with us. Can he? That would be really fun and plus we could study together.” Isaac heaved himself up onto the counter and started demolishing the chicken.
“Oh, yeah, he already called me. It would totally be awesome, but we just don’t have room,” Stiles said. “And he was really not okay with the idea of sharing the bed with me and Derek.”
Isaac grimaced. “Ew.”
Stiles groaned and let his head fall back against the cupboard. “Derek. Is there any chance you feel like making dinner? I’ve got soup going, but I just—am not feeling it.”
“I mean, I can order takeout,” Derek said, still on the floor. “If you hand me your phone, I will call in for takeout right now. As long as it does not involve me moving.”
Scrubbing one hand over his short hair, Stiles chucked his phone at Derek, who caught it and flipped it open. “In case you’re wondering, I hate all of you.” Derek gave him the eyebrows again—definitely forever weird—and soldier crawled away from the door just as Erica burst in, Boyd trailing after her.
“What kind of store doesn’t have tampons?” Erica shouted. “A store that hates women! That’s what kind of store!”
“Yes, I’d like to place an order for takeout,” Derek said.
“That’s gross, Erica,” Isaac said. “Hey guess what, I got to cut the umbilical cords of some baby bulldogs today!”
“Hey Stiles, here’s that mop you wanted,” Boyd said, throwing a scrawny foam mop at him.
“Singapore rice noodles. General Tso’s chicken—“
“They were so tiny and—well, no, they weren’t cute, actually they were kind of ugly because they were all, y’know, bloody—“
“I couldn’t find any Kleenex so I just bought a bunch of toilet paper. Hope that’s—“
“Do you have spring rolls? Egg rolls? Yeah, that sounds—“
“Maybe that store down the street has tampons. And those little single serving cups of macaroni? I could really go for that right—“
Stiles ground his fists into his eyes. Then he grabbed his keys and left, calling, “I’ll be back,” over his shoulder.
--
When he got back, the pack was sitting in a circle on the floor, eating Chinese takeout straight from the boxes. “Hey guys,” he said, dumping a couple bags on the floor. “How’s the food?”
“Where’d you go?” Isaac asked.
“Just needed some fresh air.”
The room was silent, except for the soft sound of Derek munching his way through all the egg rolls.
“Sorry,” Erica said.
“You guys didn’t do anything. I just had a long day and I needed some time to myself.” He grinned at her and the hangdog expression slowly melted from her face. “And I got you guys some presents while I was out, so all is well.” He used his feet to nudge the bags toward the pack. He sat between Boyd and Derek and began pulling stuff out, handing it out as he talked. “Tampons and macaroni for Erica. Surgical gloves and hand sanitizer for Isaac. A McDonalds gift card for Boyd. You never need anything, but I figure you deserve something for running my errands all the time and, y’know, being awesome. And cookies for Derek. Because why not.”
The pack stared at him. Even Derek stopped shoveling food into his face.
Finally, Erica broke the silence by saying, “You are the best mom ever.”
“You really are,” Isaac agree, staring reverently at his pack of one hundred nitrile gloves.
“Thanks for the hamburgers, man,” Boyd said. He was Stiles’ favorite, really.
Derek, because he was a horrible person, smirked as he grabbed the three cartons of Oreos and planted them in his lap. Then he went back to stuffing his face.
“Now give me my noodles,” Stiles said, making grabby hands.
--
“I think we need to talk,” Stiles said, hopping on to the counter to sit by Derek. Derek froze, wide-eyed, with two Oreos sticking out of his mouth. “Oh my God I’ve ruined you,” Stiles muttered, dropping his head into his hands. “There go your abs. Good bye, old friends.”
Derek took a few long seconds to chomp and swallow the cookies. “Stiles. You can’t just start a conversation that way.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. But we legitimately do need to talk.”
“Is this the sort of talking where it would be inappropriate for me to keep eating?” Derek said, his hand inching hopefully toward the Oreos.
“The day I discovered your sweet tooth was the best day of my life,” Stiles said.
“Shut uuuup.” Derek leaned over and bumped his shoulder into Stiles. Then he offered the carton to Stiles, who took three. “Okay, so talk.”
“First of all, you know I love having you around. Like, a lot. Also I just realized that for like the second time since you’ve been here, we’re alone together, and now I’m just cockblocking myself, what is wrong with me?”
“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles rolled his eyes over to look at him. It was really hard to take Derek seriously when he had cookie crumbs stuck to his face.
“Okay, right. So I love having you around. And I love having the betas around. It’s just—this apartment is really small. I’m sure you’ve noticed. And I just—finals are next week. And I have to write like twelve papers. I just get stressed sometimes, you know? And when I get stressed, it would be really nice to have my own space. Not that I don’t love having you guys here! Just, you guys—well, the betas mostly, are kind of a lot to handle. Also last night I realized that I’m actually a forty-year-old woman because apparently I’m the betas’ mom, when did that happen?” He groaned and leaned his head into his hands again. “You know?”
“Yeah,” Derek said. He handed Stiles another cookie.
“Thanks,” Stiles said. “And it isn’t like we won’t have all summer to hang out and—“
“Stiles. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” Derek leaned back against the chipped cupboards and sighed. “I’ll tell them we need to go back. Pack business. Okay?”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I wish I had a bigger place so you guys could stay.”
“I know,” Derek said. He looped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him in, crushing the Oreo carton between them. “I still can’t believe you bought her tampons.”
“What, it wasn’t a big deal,” Stiles said, leaning into his shoulder.
“Yeah. It was. And surgical gloves.” He smiled against Stiles’ temple. “Stop acting like their mom, idiot.”
“Whatever, you totally love me,” Stiles said, grinning.
Derek smiled a bit wider.
--
Finals were just fine, Stiles pulled only two all-nighters, and he never once forgot to eat a meal (mostly because Derek had found out that that was a thing and had employed the betas to text him annoying things at meal times). He used all his self-instated breaks to pack up everything in his apartment and started moving boxes to his Jeep, so that the instant he turned in his last paper, he could leave.
The drive to Beacon Hills was a little less than an hour, which was luckily not long enough for him to completely zone out in a finals-induced stupor. When he pulled into his driveway, he didn’t bother grabbing anything from the car, he just ran into the house and pounced on his dad.
“Whoa there,” his dad said, fake clutching at his heart. “What did I tell you about informing me before you headed home?”
“That I was supposed to?” He hugged his dad again. “Sorry, I forgot. But I’m fine, obviously, and also hungry, do you have any cereal?” He went to the cupboard and frowned at the Lucky Charms. “Dad—“
“This is why you should always tell me before you head home,” his dad said. “Besides, they’re made with whole wheat now, so they’re actually healthy.”
“Yeah, except for all the sugar.” He rolled his eyes and poured himself a bowl. “So what’s new? Are you still dating Scott’s mom?”
“Stiles. I never dated Scott’s mom.”
“Oh, that’s right, because you never once took her out to dinner or coffee or a lacrosse game—which, why would you even go to a lacrosse game when neither of you had a kid playing anymore? That’s just sad, Dad.” He raised his eyebrows and dumped milk all over his cereal.
“That—I wouldn’t call it dating,” he said.
“What would you call it, going steady?”
His dad rolled his eyes and said, “Good to have you back, kid. Unfortunately, I was just on my way out. One of the guys called in sick and I had to pick up an extra shift at the station. I won’t get home ‘til late, after dinner. You have someone you can eat with?”
“Yeah, I’ll call Derek or Scott,” he said, munching loudly. “Those kids will take any excuse they can get to eat.”
“Good,” his dad said, brushing his hand over Stiles’ head. “No sleepovers, okay? Unless it’s Scott.”
“Yes, Father,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? Omelets?”
“Sounds good. Love you,” his dad called as he left.
“Love you too,” Stiles yelled back. When he finished his cereal, he went up to his room, half expecting to find one of the wolves there already. Instead, he found a hammer on his pillow, which was…different, to say the least. He pulled his phone out and called Derek.
“Hello?” Derek said, sounding very tired.
“Why is there a hammer on my pillow?” Stiles said. “Also I’m coming over for dinner.”
“Bring the hammer,” Derek said before hanging up.
Stiles rolled his eyes, but he grabbed the hammer and ran downstairs. He locked the front door behind him.
Derek and the betas had been living in their rental on a monthly basis. When they’d come to stay with Stiles, they’d brought all their stuff with them and let the lease run out on the old place. Which meant that ever since Stiles had kicked them out, they’d probably been living in the Hale house, which was just gross.
So Stiles headed to the Hale house. The drive was familiar and thankfully short—his post finals brain meltdown was starting to kick in.
When he pulled up to the Hale house, he sat and stared for a minute. Yeah, he was tired. And probably not quite right in the head after writing twenty pages about mythemes embedded in the narrative of Jane Eyre, but—he definitely wasn’t out of it enough to be hallucinating all the scaffolding surrounding the house.
“Explain,” he said as he stepped out of the Jeep. He actually didn’t see anybody, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
He was almost ready for it when Scott flew out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground. “Stiles! Hi! How’d your finals go!” Scott said, giving Stiles a full body bear hug.
“Oh my God get off,” Stiles said, shoving at Scott’s shoulder. Finally, Scott stopped cuddling him and hauled him back up to standing. “My finals were just dandy, thanks for asking. Now explain all—that—to me.” He waved his hands at the scaffolding.
“We’re fixing it,” Scott said. “Didn’t Derek tell you?”
Stiles started to reply but then the rest of the pack emerged from the house, and his brain shorted out when he saw Peter wearing paint-splattered coveralls. “Scott,” he whispered. “Why is Peter here and why is he not a walking fashion-plate.”
“Peter is here,” Peter said, “because this was Peter’s house too. And Peter thought it would be wasteful to wear anything else for manual labor.”
Stiles flailed a bit and then pointed at Derek. “You. Thorough explanation. Go.”
“We needed somewhere to live,” Derek said.
“Yes. I understand that. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just, I don’t know, rent another house?”
“We can’t rent forever, Stiles,” Derek said. “This will be better. We’ll have the entire forest for the full moon, and everybody gets their own space.”
“Derek also said something about how renovating the house would help with our team-building skills, but I’m pretty sure he was just saying that,” Scott said, looking eager and confused and extremely puppy-like. “It seemed kind of bogus to me.”
Pressing his hands into his face, Stiles sighed. “And so the hammer on my pillow was your way of drafting me.” He grimaced at Derek. “Have you met me? I’ll break, like, all my fingers. And probably my neck. Possibly your neck also.”
Erica started laughing. She had wood shavings in her hair so Stiles did not feel offended. “He kind of has a point,” she said. “Maybe we should put him on furniture duty with Lydia.”
“Lydia? Lydia is involved in this?” he said. He looked around. “Where is she?”
“Oh, Lydia refused to help with anything until the house is actually, you know, structurally sound again,” Scott said. “Until then, she and Allison are putting together a decorating plan.”
Stiles glanced at Derek, who almost looked embarrassed. “Does this mean we aren’t having dinner tonight?”
“I mean, I don’t have a kitchen and nobody will deliver out here,” Derek said. He walked over and leaned against the Jeep, kicking at Stiles’ ankle. “We’ve been going in to IHOP mostly.”
“Save us,” Erica said.
“You are completely useless,” Stiles muttered at Derek, kicking him back. “Okay. Pack dinner at Stiles’ house. Now, let’s get down to business.” He raised one eyebrow at Derek and then shrieked as Erica crushed him against the Jeep.
“I missed you,” she said. “I’ve been sharing a bed with Derek. It’s awful. He kicks.”
“I do not,” Derek growled, walking away.
“Actually—“ Stiles said.
He didn’t get to finish because Isaac and Scott joined the dog pile and he crashed to the ground.
--
After spending three hours ripping rotten siding off the house, Stiles was only too glad to drive back home, even though Erica, Isaac, and Scott somehow managed to all fit into the front passenger seat. Stiles’ life was becoming one giant puppy pile.
“Can we have soup?” Isaac said.
“It’s summer, you can’t have soup in the summer,” Erica said. “Grilled cheese!”
“You can’t have grilled cheese without tomato soup,” Scott pointed out as they rolled out of the Jeep.
“False. You are clearly not doing grilled cheese right,” Erica said. She looped her arm through Stiles elbow and dragged him up to the front door. “What about spaghetti? Can we have spaghetti?”
“I don’t like spaghetti,” Boyd said as he and Derek stepped out of the Camaro. “What about hamburgers?”
“We always have hamburgers,” Derek said.
“Actually you are limited to the foods that I know how to cook,” Stiles said. “So, pancakes or mashed potatoes. Unless someone else wants to step up to the plate.”
Peter roared up on a motorcycle, wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket—typical, Stiles thought—and said, “On it,” as he slung off his helmet.
Because Peter was apparently a gourmet chef, they had beef stroganoff.
--
They settled into a pattern after that. Stiles would eat breakfast with his dad, then pick up Scott to go work at the Hale house. Derek put Stiles on gopher duty after the first time he tried nailing siding, predictably smashing his thumb so badly it swelled to the size and color of a plum. Basically, he just carried little things around and handed people stuff. And also made everybody sandwiches, but that was more because he was awesome and less because anybody told him to.
After working at the house all day, the pack went out for dinner, usually in their stained and sweaty clothes (only Peter ever bothered to change). If the sheriff was on duty, they went to Stiles’ house. Otherwise, they went out for dinner. Sometimes Lydia and Allison joined them, which always made Scott happy. And sometimes it even made Jackson happy too.
Stiles never bothered to ask why Derek hadn’t hired a professional construction crew. He figured it had less to do with labor costs and more to do with Derek’s mile-wide trust issues. Or maybe he really did believe all that team-building business.
The most surprising part of the renovation, for Stiles at least, was that Derek was actually not in charge. Isaac and Boyd both knew a bit about construction, and Erica was a fast learner. Most of the time, Derek just let his betas order him around until it was time for actual pack business.
Scott tried really hard to be helpful but he was only good for carrying heavy things and nailing boards in place. Jackson didn’t even try, and spent a lot of time being in the way while lounging around looking judgmentally at everybody else. The couple times that Allison came out to work, she was frighteningly competent, which surprised exactly nobody since it was a well-known fact that between her and Scott, she was the only one who was really good at anything.
It took a month to finish the shell of the house. Stiles, who was clearly the most sensible person there, made Derek wait to insulate and drywall until they could get an electrician in (because seriously, the last thing he needed was a pack of electrocuted werewolves, no thank you, they were hiring someone for that). Also plumbing. Plumbing was important. But before any of that could happen, Stiles insisted that they should probably fix all the floors and the stairs, just so the house was a bit less of a death trap.
It turned out that it was a lot of work rebuilding a house. It took a lot of time and effort.
Apparently it also required very few shirts, which Stiles was pretty okay with.
--
“That’s a disgusting color,” Stiles said.
“It’s moss green,” Derek replied.
“Yeah, well, it’s gross. You aren’t painting anything that color, unless you want me never to visit you ever.” He jerked his finger at a softer, lighter green paint chip. “I like that one.”
Derek grimaced. “Really?”
Stiles made a face at him and grabbed the chip. “Yes, really. Should we go see what the children are up to?” He latched on to Derek’s sleeve and pulled him into the next aisle, where Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were very seriously considering paint chips. “What’s up?”
“We all get our own room, right?” Boyd said.
“No. I built this house for you and I’m making you all sleep in a closet,” Derek said, totally deadpan.
“That means yes,” Stiles said, nudging Derek in the ribs. Sometimes the guy missed sarcastic and came off instead as plain old crazy.
“And we can paint it whatever color we want?” Erica said, clutching at a handful of paint chips.
Derek shrugged. “As long as I never have to see it.”
“Can I get those stick on glow in the dark stars?” Isaac asked, tugging at Stiles’ shoulder. “I always wanted them, but my dad—he thought they were for little kids.”
Derek opened his mouth. Stiles punched him in the kidney. “Go for it,” Stiles said. Then he pushed Derek away and said, “You go away now, you’re no fun. Go pick out some paint for your cave of sadness.”
“I have a cave of sadness?”
“Don’t you?”
Shrugging, Derek smirked at him and walked away. Stiles turned back to the betas and said, “Show me what you got.”
When Derek finally came back to drag him away, Isaac was explaining why it was so important that he paint not only the walls but the ceiling, and Erica was hanging off him insisting that she would not regret painting her room lime green. (Boyd, of course, had picked his color within five minutes and just stood there bored the rest of the time.) “No, stop, you’re smothering him,” Derek said as he hooked his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and hauled him away. “Go take your stuff to the front. I’ll be right there.”
The betas skipped off (well, Boyd walked like a normal person). “So what’s up, pudding cup?” Stiles said.
“Don’t call me that.” Derek stopped in front of a display of sedate paint chips. “I, well, I haven’t picked a color yet.”
“Derek. You had one job,” Stiles said, crossing his arms.
“No, I mean—for my room. I picked this beige color for downstairs, is that okay?” He held a paint chip in front of Stiles’ face and said, “Actually I called Peter. And he said the right shade of beige can really make a statement. Or something. But I just figured it probably wouldn’t show dirt.”
“Uh,” Stiles said.
“But my room?” Derek said.
Stiles blinked at him a few times. “I am really not sure what you’re asking me.”
“You pick.”
“You couldn’t just ask Peter?” Stiles said. “Is this because you don’t feel qualified to pick an actual color, or do you have weird ulterior motives?”
Then Derek ducked his head and kind of squinted at Stiles. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shuffled around for a bit before saying, “I just kind of figured, you know. Maybe after you graduate, you could, I don’t know, if you want, like—“
“Are you asking me to move in with you? In two years?” Stiles said.
“Um.” Derek squinted at him some more. “Maybe? If you think that’s—“
Derek never got to finish his sentence because Stiles squealed in a very manly way and jumped on him.
--
“I’m really glad you decided to go with the metal roof,” Allison said. “I thought it would look tacky, but it’s actually totally awesome.”
“Of course it’s awesome. I picked it,” Peter said, looking smugly around at everyone.
“And we all know that everything Peter does is perfect,” Stiles said. Peter glared at him. “Sorry, definitely didn’t mean that in a snarky way—well, maybe a little, but hey, water under the bridge, you get me discounts at Macy’s so who am I to complain.”
“Stiles,” Derek said.
“Sorry.” Stiles finally managed to keep quiet and instead joined the rest of the pack in admiring the house. Derek had stealth-painted it white the night before (all by himself, while the betas were sleeping, Stiles had no idea how) and this was the first time anybody had actually seen the house in all its renovated glory. The shutters and roof were black, and the front door was a cheery red. “But in all seriousness, it looks great,” Stiles said.
One side of Derek’s mouth quirked up in an almost-smile. “It does.”
“And it only took three months,” Peter said.
“Oh, like you can complain, Mr. I-have-a-swanky-apartment-furnished-entirely-from-swanky-department-stores,” Stiles said, slipping his hand into the crook of Derek’s arm.
“Yeah, we’ve been living in Scott’s basement,” Erica said. “Which smells kind of like cat pee.”
“I am very sorry that Mr. Tinkles became incontinent in his old age,” Scott muttered, his forehead scrunching up. “You don’t have to keep mentioning it.”
Allison blinked. “Well, you’re definitely never naming our children,” she said. Scott was apparently very okay with that because he turned to her and grinned idiotically.
“That’s disgusting,” Erica said. “I’m gonna go jump on my bed. In my room. Which is mine.” She started off running toward the house, but stopped and fell on her face when Isaac dove, grabbing her ankles.
“You can’t do that, it’s dinner time!” he said, spitting leaves out of his mouth. “Six thirty. We always eat at six thirty.”
Stiles pinched Derek’s arm with one hand and buried his face in the other. “What have I done,” he groaned.
“Worse things have happened than regular mealtimes,” Derek said, shrugging. He squeezed Stiles’ hand against his side and then said, “So, Peter, what’s for dinner?”
And of course Peter had disappeared, so Stiles said, “Pancakes.”
--
After dinner—which was totally awesome because pancakes were like the one thing Stiles did really well—Lydia, Jackson, Allison, and Scott all left, presumably to go be disgustingly in love somewhere. Well, Lydia and Jackson were kind of fighting so they were probably just going to go sit in a public place and judge everybody, but Allison and Scott were definitely gearing up for a sap-fest.
While Derek was washing dishes, Peter (who apparently had never left) walked out of his new downstairs bedroom, only to flee when Derek chucked a plate at his head.
“Derek, you can’t just throw plates at people!” Stiles cried. He was sitting up on the counter, knocking his heels against the new cabinets.
“What, it’s plastic, it’s fine,” Derek said. He picked up the plate and dusted it off. “See? Fine.”
“At least he didn’t throw a knife,” Erica said from the dining table. Derek looked thoughtful. “Also you should probably never do that because I think Stiles might leave you.”
“Nah, Stiles would never leave Derek,” Isaac said. He’d been drying the same bowl for five minutes because he was distracted by the impressionist print Lydia had hung in the kitchen.
Stiles could feel his face flushing, and he was glad that Derek was facing away from him.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Erica said. She jumped up from the table and said, “Okay I’m gonna go jump on my bed now. The floors are good, right? I won’t bust through?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Night, Isaac. Love you, Mom and Dad.” With a maniacal cackle, she ran for the stairs.
Isaac was grinning. “I should go study,” he said. “Class starts up tomorrow, you know.” He wrapped Stiles up in a tight hug and then moved on to Derek, who just stood there stiffly, enduring the hug. Isaac looked around and his smile became impossibly wider. “See you guys tomorrow.”
When he was gone, Stiles sighed and let his head thunk back against the cupboards. “Dude, we did it.”
“It being?” Derek said. He washed a glass and held it up to the light. “Does this look clean to you?”
“I told you we should’ve had a dishwasher installed,” Stiles said.
“But Stiles, I already have three dishwashers,” Derek said, turning to look at Stiles, obviously trying to radiate innocence. “Four, if you count Peter.”
“Oh, you’re right, how silly of me, it isn’t like you’re getting your werewolf hands all pruny washing dishes or anything, obviously your four dishwashers are working so well,” Stiles said.
“My hands are not getting pruny,” Derek said, sounding kind of disgusted.
“Dude, they totally are. It happens. It’s okay. Just accept it and move on.” Stiles slid off the counter and skirted the island to sit next to the sink. “So how does it feel, being a homeowner?”
Derek smiled softly. He rinsed out the last glass and set it on the drying rack. “Remember when you bought Erica tampons?” he said.
Stiles stared at him for a minute before laughing. “Okay, we really need to find you some new milestones, seriously. You can’t measure emotions in tampons, that’s just really weird.”
“You know what I mean,” Derek said. “Whatever. It was a good night.” He was blushing. He was totally blushing.
“Someday you’re actually going to have to say what you mean. I just really can’t handle you and your code words,” Stiles said. “I can only take this ‘oh Stiles you bought tampons’ thing for so long. But when you actually say what we both know you’re saying I will be there with bells on, and like, I don’t know, maybe some tampons just because you’re such a loser.”
Derek glared at him.
“Also I’m not saying it until you say it, and I don’t have a weird proxy like you do, I can’t be like ‘hey Derek remember that time you—oh wait, nope, you’re afraid of feminine hygiene’ because that’s just awkward. There was that time you fit ten Oreos in your mouth, that was pretty awesome, but other than that—“
Growling, Derek pushed him off the counter with one hand. Stiles fell with a yelp. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
Grinning up from the floor, Stiles said, “It’s probably because of that time I bought Erica tampons.”
Derek’s mouth pressed into a line. Then one corner twitched and suddenly he was smiling. “Nope.” He slid down the cabinets to sit by Stiles. “But it might have been that time you force fed me soup. Or maybe that time I vomited the soup back up on your shoes.”
Stiles scooted over and leaned against his shoulder. He frowned. “Wait, but that was when I was, like, seventeen, you mean you—“ He shut his mouth with a click and waited a few seconds before saying, “You dirty old man.”
Someone pounded on the ceiling above the kitchen and Stiles’ phone went off.
“Ten bucks it’s Erica,” Derek said.
Stiles flipped his phone open.
From: Erica
DEAR MOM AND DAD I HOPE YOU KNOW I CAN HEAR YOU. STOP BEING ALL MUSHY AND GROSS. ALSO DEREK PLEASE STOP USING TAMPONS AS A SYNONYM FOR LOVE THAT’S REALLY MESSED UP.
“We should have soundproofed everything,” Stiles said.
“Too late now.”
They sat leaning against each other for a long time, listening to the lived in quiet of the house and the hum of the electricity.