Note: Massive thanks to my amazing beta reader, MidnightMoonWarrior. No, seriously, she's great! You should really go check her out.
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters.
Derek slowly circled the thoroughly beaten car, noting what had to be fix and mentally estimating how much it was going to cost him; he sighed and was tempted to rub his temples. His parents were going to have a fit when they found out he much he needed to borrow to fix the damn thing, a stranger's jeep no less. He tentatively reached his hand out, pressing two fingers to the rear view mirror, to see how stable it was; it promptly fell clean off to clatter in the floorboard. Derek let out a shuttered sound, a mix of irritation and curses, as he stepped back from the wreckage and tallied the total damage.
He had really done a number on it, as it was practically crumbling into dust right before his eyes, but to be fair, it had already been at that breaking point before he had laid a finger on it. Regardless of that fact, now he was going to have to spend ages trying to fix it. Which was just wonderful, just what he needed, to waste his time repairing someone else's jeep. He huffed angrily, this was all Erica's fault. if she had done nothing other than drive him home, Stiles would be none the wiser to who had done the damage to his jeep. But no, she had to leave a note, she had to leave his name and address. Sometimes he questioned why he was even friends with her, other than having someone he could bully into being the designated driver.
"It's not that bad." Derek lied and Stiles snorted, obviously disagreeing with his false analysis; at least the kid was smarter than he looked, the older man noted offhandedly. "I'll have to replace the windows, the left car door, the headlights, and the rear view mirrors." Derek simply listed off the repairs, gesturing with his hands to what areas he was going to be spending his time on. "The engine might need patched, does it stall often?"
"Sometimes." Stiles replied, little commitment evident in the answer as his energy had dwindled slightly; that lack vanished as the boy perked his head up to ask. "But, how long will it take you to fix it?" He was insistent, having asked the same thing for at least twenty times in the past, in the short span of fifteen minutes that Derek had been there. Stiles was met with the same response, a simple "I don't know" from a extremely agitated Derek; the older man was still hoping that he was going to learn, but he was continually disappointed.
"The bumper might need some work..." Derek mused aloud, crouching down to run his hand across the metal piece; Stiles, the deprived hormonal teenager he was, took the opportunity to shamelessly check his new mechanic out. Unaware of this, Derek continued with his assessment, trying to not let the weariness of the projected project seep into his voice. "I won't get much done today. Most of what needs to be done is things being replaced, not repaired, and I just don't have the parts. I could probably do something about the stalling engine though."
Stiles nodded, not hearing a word, and watched as Derek picked up a small tool box that had been brought with him. After picking out a flat head screwdriver, the man slid underneath the car in a practiced motion and even though Stiles couldn't see what was going on, he knew that Derek was probably changing the fuel filter...or something like that. Stiles really didn't pay attention when his dad was explaining about how to fix cars, usually he was more occupied with the idea of what they were going to eat afterwards; he loved his curly fries, so sue him.
"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, desperate to break the unfamiliar silence that was in the air. "You know, my dad once showed me how to fix cars. Are you loosening something? You look like you are. Are you going to change the fuel filter? What does a fuel filter do anyway? Do you need me to pass you anything? Are you hungry?"
He kept asking, question after question, in hope that he would get any kind of an answer; instead, Derek ignored him. Derek hoped the kid would catch on and stop talking, because it was obvious that he did not want to listen, but unfortunately, Stiles did not take the very visible hint. Instead, he took the silence as a chance to babble on and on about cars and his time with his dad. The subjects then mixed all together and went from favorite foods, to favorite cooks, and then about another million things that Derek lost track off in the endless ranting on of the other. Derek was very tempted to hit his head against the car, because he honestly would prefer the clanging metal instead of the words, but that would probably give him even more of a headache; so, he didn't.
The worst part of the whole situation was that Stiles was only a little intimidated by Derek, at least that was the show he put on. Maybe it was because he was the son of the Sheriff, so Stiles felt safe that Derek wouldn't murder him in his sleep (as tempting as a thought as it was.) But, still, Derek was the one who has smashed his car in. Stiles should be shaking in his shoes right now and trying to leave as fast as possible, but instead...he was making every attempt to try and spark up conversation! It's was unnerving, really.
Stiles took a deep breath, finally, and a moment of silence passed between them; Derek dearly hoped it would last and the ranting wouldn't start up again. It did. Within second, his mouth was moving, talking mindlessly. Derek finished the fuel filter quickly, wanting to make an escape of his own, and collected his tools; he walked with purpose, trying to swiftly get to his Camaro and escape the endless talking.
As soon as Derek was sat safely inside his car, he let out a deep breath and pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. The time he was going to spend fixing up the boy's jeep...it was probably going to be longest time he was going to spend doing anything. And it was going to be made even longer if Stiles insisted to talk all way through it.