This is a fucking long one so be prepared to see multiple smuts hehe
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"He wants you to what?" Stiles had his mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth before Scott had just uttered the absolute last thing he was expecting to come out of his mouth in connection with Beacon Hill's resident sour wolf and all around creeper, Derek Hale.
"You heard me - he wants me to house sit. Or apartment sit, rather." Scott picks at the rather sorry looking peas on his lunch tray and decides that it's worth going without those essential vitamins rather than trying to eat them. "I mean, he asked me to house sit when he was still living out in the woods but I turned him down."
"So this isn't the first time." Stiles says it as a fact rather than a question.
"Yeah. I mean, I think he trusts me. Or pretends to. I don't know, something about pack, respecting territory, blah blah blah." Scott's a little miffed as to exactly why Derek's entrusted him with this task but if it helps build trust, then maybe it won't be so bad.
Right?
"He's probably peed on everything." Stiles finally gets his mashed potatoes to his mouth and finds that they're actually palatable today.
"Stiles, we don't pee on things to mark our territory. I'd have thought that with all the research you've done on this that at least would have stuck."
"Fine, scent it, whatever. All the same, why's he going to trust a seventeen year old with his stuff? I thought you had to be a million or older to come anywhere near his lair."
Scott offers a helpless shrug. "Look, if I knew how the guy's inner brain worked, I'd tell you. But since Derek's about as unreadable as a pre-cal book, I got nothing."
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Scott making a game try of cutting up his chicken tenders and Stiles chewing on ice from his drink. Stiles breaks it by asking "where's he going anyway?"
"Something about a helpful artifact down in Los Angeles. Apparently he has the other half at his place and is too paranoid to leave it unguarded."
"Couldn't he just get Peter to keep it safe?"
"I think Peter's the one whom he's trying to keep it safe from."
"And if Peter comes sniffing around and realizes he smells you and not the Grouch..."
"Then I show fang and tell him he's not allowed, I guess."
"Like it'll stop him."
"Well... I could try."
Stiles sits up and scratches absently at his cheek. "Dude's scary, Scott. I could keep you company, if you want."
Scott shakes his head. "He made a very strong point of telling me that 'Stilinski isn't to come anywhere near my place and if I smell him on my stuff then I'll kill him and you.' And since Derek doesn't seem like the sort of person to joke, I'd heed what he said."
Stiles does a wonderful job of snorting in derision and looking offended. "Firstly, I don't smell. Secondly-"
"Stiles, can you let it go? Just this once?" Scott gives him this imploring look and damn that face to hell but Stiles shuts up without that much of a fight.
