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Stiles waved goodbye to his boss and stepped out of the library doors. He closed his eyes and lifted his face into the soft summer breeze, smiling. He hadn’t thought working at the library would be much of a summer job, but he found he liked the quiet, of all things. Plus, it gave him access to all manner of research materials. He’d even found that he had quite the talent for entertaining the little kids at story time.
He headed towards the parking lot on autopilot before he remembered his car was laid up, stranded like a dead whale in his driveway. The part he’d ordered online was waiting at home, or so the UPS tracking service claimed. It better be worth the extra chuck of cash he’d spent to get it express delivered. Being without a working vehicle was cramping his style, such as it was.
Sighing, he turned back towards the sidewalk and the long walk to the Sheriff’s office where he fully intended to bully his father into a ride home. If he was lucky, his Dad would be ready for dinner and they could stop off at the diner on the way. Curly fries would hit the spot right about now. Lost in his thoughts, Stiles didn’t notice the low growl of a certain vehicle until Derek tapped on his horn.
Stiles jumped and squeaked, glancing furtively around. Derek rolled down the window of his camaro and leaned over to grin at him.
“Damn it, Derek. You have got to stop creeping up on me. People will talk.” Derek just cocked his head at Stiles, eyebrows crawling into his hairline. “What do you want?”
“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”
“I’m not.” Derek managed to convey a look of disdain through a complicated dance of eyebrows and sneer. “Not walking home, I mean. I was gonna bum a ride from my Dad.”
“Get in,” Derek barked, leaning back into his seat.
Stiles looked at the camaro. Looked down the street towards the Sheriff’s station. Looked back at the camaro and sighed. He opened the car door, tossed his backpack in the back and climbed in.
“Happy?” Stiles asked.
“Ecstatic.”
The camaro rumbled softly to itself as Derek headed towards the Stilinski house. Stiles watched the Sheriff’s office fly by and turned to Derek.
“Um. Dude. You just blew by the Sheriff’s office.”
“I know.”
“Then where are we going?”
“You’re going home.”
“But I was gonna talk my Dad into dinner,” Stiles whined. “I’m hungry,” he added with a low growl.
Derek looked at him, one eyebrow quirked. Then he made a sharp right turn into the diner parking lot and slotted the camaro into a parking spot in the back. Engine off, he turned to look at Stiles.
“You’re paying.”
“I am broke. Dead broke. There’s nothing but pocket lint in my wallet. I had to spend $350 on that damn starter. It should be here by the way.”
Derek just looked at him, glowering, before Stiles threw up his hands and opened the car door. He climbed out and turned around to lean his head back inside.
“Fine, ya damn tightwad. But you’re on a budget. I have like 25 bucks in my account to last me until pay day.” Stiles slammed the door shut and stomped off towards the diner entrance without waiting for Derek.
Derek followed behind, a smirk on his face. They found an empty booth, ordered burgers and curly fries, of course. Derek settled back and watched Stiles. Even sitting down, he was a perpetual motion machine. His knee bounced, his fingers tapped out a random rhythm on the tabletop. He picked up his soda, chased the straw with his tongue, and then set it down and picked up over and over again, making overlapping rings on the table.
Derek just waited. Sooner or later, Stiles would start talking. He wondered where the stream of consciousness might take them this evening. Not that he would ever admit it, but Stiles random flailing and equally random bursts of speech were growing on him. Sure enough, after nearly knocking over his glass when his fork inconsiderately jumped underneath, Stiles gave up.
“So, now that you’ve kidnapped me, what are your nefarious plans for the evening? Cause my Dad’s pulling a double. The department is still not up to full staffing after Matt’s little rampage and he’s covering for Hayes who’s out sick, I think. We could start that Buffy marathon we keep putting off. I still maintain that it’s research. Damn, I wish our high school library was half as well stocked as Sunnydale’s. Do you have anything else in that secret stash of books you’re hiding from us that might be useful? Cause I think you should just let me at ‘em. I should be the one deciding what’s needed. I mean, you can never be too prepared. Are witches real, Derek?”
Derek’s eyebrows crawled into his hairline in disbelief at this last bit. “Stiles. Seriously? You’ve done magic yourself.”
“I have?”
“The mountain ash circle at the rave?”
“Oh. Right. Cool. I wonder if Deaton can teach me anything else? I mean, I could be helpful then. Give you guys an edge against the crazy shit that seems to follow you all around. Does this mean I’m a witch? I don’t feel particularly witchy.”
“Stiles,” Derek growled.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
Stiles’ gaping mouth and incredulous look lasted all of two seconds. “Nope. Not gonna happen. Sorry dude.”
Their burgers finally arrived and with them, the hope that Derek would have a moment to recover from the word vomit. That moment passed fairly quickly.
“So, what’s on the agenda? Hey, did Lydia tell you she’s thinking about an end of summer bash? Are you gonna show?” Stiles asked between mouthfuls of food.
Derek frowned in disgust and shook his head. Keeping his eyes trained on his food to avoid the Stiles Stilinski show featuring raining fries.
“No.”
“Oh come on, sourwolf. Live a little.”
“I thought Lydia’s last party didn’t end well.”
“Maybe,” Stiles mumbled, tongue searching for the stray bit of ketchup that his burger left behind. Derek froze, watching him, before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “It’s not like she’s gonna spike the punch again with whatever shit your creeper uncle mind whammied her into concocting.”
“Mind whammied?”
“Hesh, your face.”
Derek cocked his head to one side and gave Stiles a look of utter disdain. “You’re insane.”
Stiles mimicked Derek’s head tilt and glare. “Whatever.” He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back as the server dropped off the check. He looked at the check, looked up at Derek. He waggled his eyebrows and gestured at the offending piece of paper. “Are you seriously going to make me pay?”
Derek carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin, folded it into fourths and set it on his empty plate. Leaning back, he crossed his arms over his chest and just looked at Stiles, a small smile on his lips.
“Fuck you and the duck you rode in on, man,” Stiles muttered, digging out his wallet. As he pulled out his debit card, Derek snatched up the check. Stiles stopped, hand holding his card extended towards the table and glowered. “You are such a tool.”
Derek grinned and slid out of the booth. Standing up he pulled out his wallet and left enough cash on the table to cover the bill and the tip. Turning on his heel, he headed out towards his car, Stiles scrambling to stuff his wallet back in his pocket and follow.
The trip to the Stilinski house was short and unseasonably silent. Stiles spent the entire trip with his head leaning against the window and staring at the passing scenery. Derek pulled the camaro up to the curb in front of the house and shut off the engine.
“Thanks for the ride,” Stiles mumbled as he reached into the backseat for his backpack.
“I have time to work on the Jeep. If the part got here.”
Stiles turned to look at Derek, one hand on the door. “Yeah. Sure. It should be on the stoop.”
The two of them headed for the Stilinski front door. Spying the package propped under the window, Stiles pumped his fist in victory and leapt over the three steps to scoop it up. Turning, he tossed it to Derek, who caught it easily.
“Do you need anything? Dad has some tools in the garage, but I have no idea what. They only make an appearance under the most dire of circumstances. Handy around the house, we are not. And cars, pffft,” Stiles scoffed.
“I’ve got my kit in the car. I should be fine,” Derek said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Cool. Let’s get to it.”
Derek raised one eyebrow at Stiles, which he ignored, pushing past the werewolf to scamper over to his Jeep. He popped the hood and stuck his head underneath. Stiles poked and prodded at the mystery that was his engine. Which part is the starter any way, he wondered.
Derek joined him, the thump of his toolbox dropping to the driveway making Stiles jump.
“Must you always creep?” Stiles asked, rubbing the top of his head where he hit the hood.
Derek ignored him and set the box with the new starter near the right front wheel. Squatting down, he opened his toolbox and pulled out the tools he’d need for the job, laying them out on a towel he had spread.
“I don’t suppose you have a creeper?” Derek asked, turning to look up at Stiles who was standing next to him.
“Just you.”
“No, Stiles. It’s the thing with wheels you lay on to slide under the car.”
“Oh! Well, then. Uh, maybe,” he stammered, blushing. Stiles reached into his Jeep and hit the garage door remote. As it slid up, he bounced on his toes impatiently and dashed underneath as soon as he could. Derek could hear him rummaging around and waited for the door to finish its slow crawl upwards before joining him.
Stiles was in the rear of the garage, opening cabinets and making noise. Derek shook his head and headed over to the side of the garage where a large toolbox, an old wooden flat dolly and a set of tire stands rested. All of it covered in a fairly substantial layer of dust.
“Hey genius.”
Stiles pulled his head out the cabinet he was rifling through and looked over his shoulder at Derek. “Yeah?”
“This will do.”
“Oh,” Stiles remarked, looking down at his feet. “Cool. Do you need anything else?”
Derek picked up the dolly and glanced around the garage. Spying a couple of broken down cardboard boxes, he shook his head.
“Nope.”
Stiles watched as Derek used the folded cardboard to fill the open spaces in the dolly before pushing it out the garage with one foot. He grabbed the two tire stands and headed back outside. In short order, the Jeep was hoisted up onto the stands and Derek was underneath the engine.
Stiles leaned over and tried to watch what Derek was doing from above. While he could hear the other man grunting and cursing softly as he fought with the rusty bolts to remove the broken starter, he couldn’t see anything. He leaned against the Jeep, ducking his head around and trying to peer through any open spaces in the engine. When the Jeep rocked on the tire stands and Derek propelled himself out from underneath, Stiles backed away.
“Stiles,” Derek growled.
“My bad. I was just trying to see. I’ll um, go inside and uh, wait.” He headed towards the house as Derek slid back underneath the Jeep. “Uh, Derek?”
Derek pushed himself out from under the car and glared.
“How long do you think you’ll be?”
“You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”
“Again?”
Derek shrugged and rolled back under the Jeep. Stiles turned and headed into the house. He paused as he opened the front door, on hand on the knob.
“Inconceivable,” he whispered.
“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” Derek yelled from under the car.
Stiles grinned, stepped inside and shut the door.