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Derek wakes up and it doesn’t sound like the building is about to fall down around him, which automatically makes today better than 85% of his mornings.
He rolls off his bed (or really, his mattress on the floor. But he has an actual mattress now, so who’s complaining?) and makes his way out to communal area of their lair to find his young pack sitting around, eating in near silence.
He’s suspicious already.
“Are you planning something, or am I dreaming?” he asks warily. They look at him, eyes wide.
“Dreaming?” Boyd asks.
“Yeah, dreaming. You’re all… quiet. And not trying to tear each other apart. What happened?”
“Maybe all your house training is starting to pay off, daddy dearest,” Erica supplies with her trademarked smirk. Okay, so dreaming or no, Erica is still Erica. Derek merely grunts skeptically.
“Actually,” Isaac begins, clearing his throat, “I was going to go for a run. Would you, I mean, if you felt like it, you could come too, I guess.”
Derek very nearly sighs at Isaac, with his puppy-dog eyes, running his hand through his own curls. The poor kid was so used to being kicked around and rejected by his father that he almost expected it from every male figure in his life.
“Yeah, of course,” Derek agrees instantly, “I’ll meet you outside in five.”
Isaac’s face brightens a little and Derek wonders if maybe he might have this Alpha thing down a little better.
--
The run with Isaac was largely uneventful, in the respect that no one tried to shoot at them, hit them with a car, or trap them in silver kennels (yeah, that one may have happened before). There’s a lot of silence mostly, a few bits of advice and training tips passed from alpha to beta, but not much else. Overall, it’s good.
Which serves to make Derek more suspicious. Because nothing’s gone to hell yet.
After the rest of the pack is off to school and he’s showered off the morning’s exercise, Derek decides that he needs to take advantage of the quiet and lack of utter chaos to take of responsible adult things, like running errands. First stop, the laundromat.
--
The problem with living in a burned out house or an abandoned train station is that there isn’t always a ton of extraneous features. Like, oh, running water, for instance. So Derek has been frequenting the Spin City Laundromat since his return to the town of Beacon Hills, though usually not that often, seeing as he’s only had himself to take care of. Only now he has teenagers to look after as well, which means quite a bit more laundry, and he’s really starting to dread that someone is going to take notice of his quarter hoarding problem.
He’s dragging a large mesh bag of dark shirts and denim into the building (he’s only able to tell the difference between his clothing and Isaac’s based on size; the young wolf has stated taking after him in the wardrobe department as well as everything else), when his phone chimes.
Stiles: Hey Sourwolf. Scott thinks Harris might have something to do with the Kanima. he got detention so he can sniff him out one-on-one. I hope he wasn’t being literal.
Derek grimaces. Scott had no sense of subtlety and if he by some miracle was right, he was probably going to get himself killed. It almost wasn’t a matter of “if” but “when” at this point. Derek drops the laundry and types out his reply.
Derek: Tell him to be careful.
The return message arrives almost instantaneously.
Stiles: Yeah, yeah. We already talked about Bad Touches.
Derek smirks. But he doesn’t laugh because that would be weird. Stiles isn’t funny, he’s just… strange. And it kind of amuses Derek, but he’s not going to ever admit that. So he slips the phone into his back pocket and begins to load their clothes, wondering when he became a stay-at-home dad.
About an hour later, all the laundry is washed, dried, and stuffed back into the mesh bag (if Isaac wants his clothes folded, he can fold them himself), and he still has two dollars in quarters to spare. Derek smiles internally because, while that may not seem like a fantastic moment for most people, Derek hasn’t had left over quarters on laundry day in weeks. In fact, he’s usually comes up a bit short, having to opt for hanging random articles of clothing around the den (he really doesn’t like to think about the time he had to drape his underwear around the station when he came up 50 cents short at dry time. Erica nearly made herself sick laughing). So, on his way out, he stops and gets a soda from a vending machine and, man, does it taste good.
--
The next stop is the drug store. They’re running low on some supplies because even though they’re werewolves, they still need to keep up with basic hygiene. Unfortunately, Derek’s also running a bit low on cash, so he’s trying to decide what to sacrifice on his list when he sees the sign.
Toothpaste, waterproof bandages, and toilet paper are on sale and Derek swears he hears angels singing.
--
He’s standing in line for check out, pointedly ignoring the questioning looks from little old ladies, when his phone chimes again.
Stiles: Speaking of bad touches, you remember Mr. Davidson, the health teacher?
Derek pauses, thinks, and replies.
Derek: Yes. How are they related?
Stiles: Oh, he got fired today. Got a girl pregnant. She was 18, but still. Not bueno. Decidedly un-bueno.
He sighs and stares at his screen, not really understanding why Stiles felt the need to run his proverbial mouth all the time. He could give it to the teen, sometimes he had some gems, but it took a lot of mining through irrelevant facts and criss-crossed trains of thought to get to them.
Stiles: I think there’s something ironic about a health teacher getting a girl pregnant, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what.
The alpha moves forward a few feet in the line then texts back.
Derek: Then maybe you should be paying more attention in class right now.
Stiles: I’m in Algebra. They don’t teach irony here.
A few moments then:
Stiles: I don’t think.
Derek knows Stiles is smarter than that, so he rolls his eyes and pockets the phone again as he comes up to the counter. It can’t ever be said that he doesn’t recognize humor when the intent is there, because if that weren’t the case, he’d probably have to throw himself off a building due to the sorry state of his pack.
As it stands, they’re in a good place, he thinks. But he’s going to continue denying Stiles’ the satisfaction of knowing Derek might actually think he’s a bit funny.
--
When Derek arrives home that afternoon, he’s greeted with the scent of chocolate and cinnamon, which makes him very, very nervous.
Someone must’ve broken something big.
He walks in, cautious, waiting to see his betas with tails figuratively between their legs. But he enters the common space, sets down the clothes and supplies, and is pleasantly surprised by the scene in front of him.
His tiny pack is centered around a small salvaged table, playing cards spread before them. They’re all laughing, smiling, and gifting one another with small, platonic touches, as packmates do. The elder wolf swears he can feel his heart warming at the sight of Erica’s genuine grin and the brotherly hug between Boyd and Isaac. This is was a pack is supposed to look like, he thinks.
“Oh look, daddy’s home!” Erica laughs when she sees Derek watching them from afar. “Come over here and tell these idiots that you totally can too use werewolf powers during Texas Hold ‘Em.”
Derek’s eyes fall to a pile of what he assumes is foodstuff on the table amongst the cards.
“Are those… cookies?” He asks, lip curling. They don’t really look like cookies, fat and droopy as they are, but they smell like it so he has to ask.
“Yeah,” Boyd replies, “Technically.” Erica smacks him.
“Hey, they’re really good! Once you get past their general look... and pick off the burnt bits.”
“Erica and I made them in home ec today,” Isaac adds, “She’s right though, they’re actually pretty decent. Help yourself.”
So Derek does. And wow. They’re probably the best cookies he’s had since his mom was around. He nods in approval then grabs a handful of the treats and stalks back to his room, leaving the teens to bond.
--
Once Derek is settled on his bed, he realizes he has a text waiting for him.
Stiles: hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia
He stares at the message, wondering if the boy had a seizure while typing a message and if he should be concerned.
Derek: What
Stiles: It means a fear of long words.
Stiles: THAT’S irony. :D
Derek actually chuckles, which causes him to pause, horrified at his own reaction. Good thing Stiles wasn’t actually present, otherwise he might get the idea that Derek liked him, or something. Time for a subject change.
Derek: What did Scott find out?
He’s almost afraid to ask, and wonders if Scott even was back in one piece yet.
Stiles: He says nothing. Pretty uneventful detention, apparently. Pretty uneventful day actually. Quiet. Almost too quiet.
Derek: I know. No one’s made a move yet today. Be careful anyway.
Stiles: No need to be paranoid, Sourwolf. Maybe it’s just a good day.
This time Derek genuinely laughs. It actually bubbles out, uncontrollable. Because, hey, maybe Stiles is right, maybe it’s just a good day. They don’t come along often in Derek’s experience, even saying “once in a blue moon” might be pushing it, but with all the little nice things happening today, it would probably be best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He raises his phone to reply.
Derek: That’s probably the funniest thing you’ve said all day.
Stiles: I knew you thought I was funny :)
Derek: It’s relative.
Stiles: Relatively hilarious.
Derek: Shut up.
Stiles: Kay, Sourwolf. Enjoy your night off. :)