Stiles was just checking his phone to see if Derek had responded to his text when he heard his window open. He rolled his eyes and turned in his desk chair to watch Derek climb through with the kind of grace Stiles wished he had. Of course Derek wouldn't just answer a text like a normal person. He had to come and make an entrance.
Derek landed in a crouched stance, his eyes darting around the room as if he was looking for a threat. If Stiles had been in danger, he's sure he would have found Derek's concern reassuring, but at the moment he was trying not to laugh as Derek glared at his laundry hamper suspiciously. Finally, he seemed to decide that the room was safe and straightened up. "What's the emergency?"
"You know, you could have just texted me back," Stiles said.
"You said it was an emergency," Derek pointed out. He pulled his phone out of his pocket showing Stiles the text that he'd sent just a few minutes ago.
"Well, yeah," Stiles said. "But on a scale from one to ten, this is like a four. Crawling through my window and growling at my laundry is way too dramatic for a four. You should save that move for sevens and up."
"Stiles," Derek said, nearly growling. "All you said is '911. talk asap. not deadly.' How am I supposed to know if that's a seven or not?"
Stiles pointed at the "not deadly." "Sevens are always life or death."
Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, obviously coming to the end of his patience. "Why did you message me, Stiles?"
"School picture day is tomorrow," Stiles said.
"So," Stiles repeated, drawing the word out. "What are we going to do about the eye flares? Matt figured Scott's secret out that way and he was just a regular garden variety sociopath. It's going to be more than obvious to any hunter who flips through the yearbook."
"Not a problem." Derek took out his wallet and handed his driver's license over to Stiles.
Stiles studied Derek's driver's license, tilting it into the light. "How did you keep your eyes from flashing?"
"There's a trick to it," Derek said, reaching his hand out for the license. "And I've already shown Isaac. I'll stop by Scott's house later."
Stiles nodded and gave Derek the driver's license back. "Isn't the flash biological? How do you stop the reflection of light?"
Derek shrugged. "How do our sideburns grow and recede at will? The supernatural is more magic than science. Don't try to apply logic."
Stiles frowned. "Magic is just science we don't understand yet."
"Did you watch Thor again?" Derek asked, rolling his eyes.
Stiles didn't dignify that with an answer—although the answer would have been yes, because it was an awesome movie. "Okay, so that problem was easier to solve than I expected. However, you brought something else to my attention."
Derek sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of Stiles' bed. "What's that?"
"Why haven't you updated your driver's license?" Stiles asked. "You know that you're supposed to do that within ten days of moving, right? It's been way more than ten days since you got back from New York."
"Are you serious?" Derek gaped at Stiles as if he'd grown an extra head sometime in the last thirty seconds.
"Mostly," Stiles answered. "I could care less about license laws—although I'm sure my dad thinks otherwise—but the real issue is: how are you going to vote if you haven't registered in this county?"
"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I have a lot more important things to worry about than which asshole gets to live in the White House," Derek replied, sarcasm practically dripping off of every word.
"You do realize that there is more to an election than the president, right? In fact, local politicians usually have more impact on our day to day lives." Stiles shook his head at Derek. "Did you never take civics?"
Derek crossed his arms. "I doubt any of it is worth getting my name added to the official rolls where anyone can find me if they try. It's not like werewolf rights are up for vote."
"Oh really?" Stiles asked. He turned back around to his computer and pulled up one of his bookmarks before rolling the chair out of the way and pointing at the screen. "How do you feel about Chris Argent for mayor?"
Derek's jaw dropped as he stared at the brand new Chris Argent for mayor campaign site. "When? How?"
"He just declared yesterday," Stiles said. "There hasn't been enough time for the town to get plastered in his signage yet." Stiles crossed his own arms and glared at Derek. "Now, I can't vote against him because apparently I don't really exist until I turn eighteen—even if I am clearly much more informed and civic minded than some people—but you can. At least, you can if you register before the cut off date."
Derek nodded numbly, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
Stiles turned off the monitor to get Derek's attention. "It's not all bad; he's running against a very popular incumbent. But just in case, why don't we head down to the county clerk's office before they close? You do have an actual address we can use to register you, right? One that isn't a condemned building?"
"Not really," Derek answered, his brow furrowing.
Stiles sighed. "We'll claim you live here. No one will question the Sheriff's word about it."
"Your dad would be okay with that?" Derek asked, doubtfully.
"You let me take care of him," Stiles said. "He's all about civic responsibility and voting. You know, he's up for election this year, too. I'm sure he'd appreciate your vote."
Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles. "This sounds suspiciously like voter coercion."
"Hey," Stiles held his hands up innocently. "My dad being Sheriff means that I can continue to break the law to use police resources to help you."
"True," Derek said. "And all things considered he was pretty nice that time he arrested me." Derek paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And he's been understanding about the whole fugitive thing."
Stiles laughed, patting Derek on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now come on."
Derek rose and wordlessly followed Stiles out of the house.