Actions

Work Header

A Very Merry Mixup

Chapter Text

After dinner, Stiles and Derek clean up the kitchen since Laura and Aaron cooked. Stiles is hand drying serving bowls and checking out the china cabinet when Derek pulls the drain out of the sink.

 

“Man, your parents have excellent taste in antiques, I’d love for them to come see my shop.”

 

“I’ll have to stop by the next time I’m in the city,” Derek tells him, drying his hands.

 

“You totally should! I have so many cool things. It was my mother’s store, and the place is practically my third parent. After she passed away, my dad tried running it, but he had his own career, and we couldn’t find anyone to run it that loved it as much as we did, so I stepped in.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“Fourteen,” Stiles admits with a shy smile.

 

Derek nods. “Ah, child labor.”

 

“It’s the best kind, isn’t it?” Stiles jokes. “Anyway, it’s a lot harder than my mom made it look, I’m barely keeping the doors open right now.”

 

“I thought it was an established store,” Derek says, handing him another bowl.

 

“It is, but there’s a lot more to it than selling,” Stiles explains. “I have to buy the merchandise, go to auctions, check out estate sales. Not to mention keeping up with the books.”

 

“Can you hire someone to help?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “I can’t afford it. I mean, I work for pocket change, but regular employees won’t do that, and I wouldn’t ask them to.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Pray for a miracle? Sacrifice a goat? I don’t know, man.”

 

“You’ll figure it out,” Derek says with certainty. “You don’t strike me as the type who gives in easily.”

 

“Well, not if you don’t buy me dinner first.” Stile winks.

 

Derek laughs and whips the tea towel at him, catching him in the thigh. Stiles squawks and jumps back, dropping the bowl in his hands, watching in disbelief as it shatters at his feet.

 

“Shit, shit, I’m so sorry. I’ll get a broom.”

 

“No, just stay there, there are shards everywhere,” Derek, who is still wearing his ridiculous slippers, tells him, stepping over the debris and hoisting Stiles into a bridal carry.

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles squeeks, smacking him in the chest.

“Well, I was going to go with a fireman’s carry, but we just ate,” Derek tells him reasonably. “Plus, concussion.”

 

“What is going on in here?” Talia asks, her eyes going wide when she sees them.

 

“Stiles broke your favorite dish!” Derek blurts, holding Stiles out from his body, as though offering him up for punishment.

 

“Oh my god, it was your favorite?” Stiles groans.

 

“You’re in so much trouble, that was her favorite and you broke it,” Derek whispers, but he’s laughing as he says it.

 

“That’s it, out! Both of you, get out of this house! Go work off your excess energy outside while I make your father clean this up,” Talia shouts, pointing to the back door.

 

Derek apparently doesn’t need to he told twice because he bounds outside to toss Stiles into a snowbank.