OKAY EXPLANATION TIME! So I was searching for some Sterek to read (God, they've taken up my life) and I happened upon a story that's somewhere along the lines of a Christmas Carol AU. And before I even attempt to start reading it I just really wanted to write my ideas. So, yeah.
I don't really think I need to credit anyone since technically this will all be original (except for the whole Christmas Carol AU thing which, okay, maybe I should credit,) and we basically all know Charles Dickens wrote a Christmas Carol so... Yeah... The AU I happened upon belongs to hbrackett. Cheers mate!
Five hours of work and I finished it. A total of 16 pages. You guys are in for a ride. I'm estimating it's going to be a total of 5k or so words when it's all uploaded. Five chapters and an epilog. So, enjoy! -Cat.
Derek locked up the loft after everyone left. Of course they'd have decided to throw a surprise party this time of year, probably the one that Derek liked least. He loved Christmas before the fire but afterwards there really wasn't a point.
What fun was celebrating when your whole family was dead?
Yeah, none.
He kicked aside a pile of confetti that Stiles had given him a shower with when he stepped through the door. All Derek could say was thank god there was no glitter. If there had been glitter he probably would've ripped Stiles' throat out. With his teeth.
The sickeningly strong smell of cinnamon still lingered and Derek scowled. He thought he'd thrown the last of the pine cones over the balcony. He quickly glared–not glanced, Derek was too brash to glance–around in search of the offender.
He spotted nothing but his nose was practically screaming of the scented decoration's presence.
He sneezed. Then cursed. He was going to kill Stiles.
He covered his nose with one hand and went about his search, glaring at everything that could possibly hide the pine cone. They were as large as his fists, how the hell could Stiles just hide something like that without it being in plane sight?
Then he saw something. A glint of aluminium that caught his attention. Slowly he walked over.
It was a tin. One of those annoyingly decorative tins that were always in stores come Christmas time.
Derek growled and picked it up. Then he realised where the cinnamon scent was coming from.
His nose tingled slightly as he opened the lid. Inside was row upon row of neat, tan cookies. And a note.
Derek raised an eyebrow and picked up the note.
Sweeten up, Sourwolf. Happy holidays! -Stiles
Derek squinted and closed the tin, stuffing it into the highest cabinet to mask the scent. Then he turned to the rest of the loft–and promptly froze.
He hadn't realised just how big of a mess the pack had made before but now that he saw it he felt like curling into a ball and letting the crows pick at him. It would take hours to clean!
It was almost as if they'd been raised in a barn. Sighing, Derek pulled out his broom and dustpan. At least the pine needles smelled good, like the forest after a nice warm day.
He swept silently, collecting mugs of abandoned hot chocolate as he went. There was a sprout of mistletoe hanging a few feet in from the front door–no doubt Stiles' doing, again. Red and green streams of garland and cranberries looped around the main room and eight stockings hung just below the makeshift mantle.
Each stocking had a name; Lydia, Allison, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Stiles, and Derek. They also had little images that no doubt Stiles had paid to have put on.
Lydia's had a tiara and a dress, Allison's a bow and arrow, Scott's a lacrosse stick. Isaac's had a puppy, Erica's was adorned with what looked like leather clothing, and Boyd's had an ice ring. Stiles' had an image of textbooks and a laptop while Derek's had sunglasses and the Camaro.
Derek growled at them but left them hanging so he could take care of the rest of the loft. Jesus, it was as if they'd thrown a frat party.
Derek continued cleaning and refused to stop until his floor was clean and the mistletoe and garland were gone. He had started on the cranberries when he decided he needed a break.
He sat down on the couch, avoiding the cushion that smelled of Stiles and cinnamon, and turned on his television. The pack had begged him to get both so they could have proper movie nights rather than crowding around Stiles's or Isaac's phones.
He raised an eyebrow when the title screen of A Christmas Carol came up. Well, it was better than Rudolph or Frosty.
He started watching, arms crossed, as the movie played.