Stiles shouldn't have been surprised that Derek didn't have the patience to properly tape off the room. It was about thirty seconds before he was banished to unload the car and set up the microwave and toaster. Derek went, hints of a wry smile pulling at his lips. He might even have muttered 'bossy' as he left but Stiles was busy climbing on the couch and taping off the ceiling so he couldn't be sure. At least he didn't need to ask if Derek wanted to try and peel off the wallpaper. He rolled his eyes, stretching higher. He couldn't imagine Derek being patient enough to peel off the wallpaper. Stiles hadn't gotten very far before Derek returned. Stiles blew out a sigh before turning to him.
"Okay," he said, setting his hands on his hips, "why don't you take down the curtains then?" Derek rolled his eyes before crossing the room, giving Stiles a light push as he did. Of course, seeing as he was already precariously balanced on the back of an old sofa, Stiles flailed through the air and crashed to the carpet. The shock jarred the air from his lungs and he was trying to inhale as he watched the roll of tape he'd been applying pull off the strip he'd just painstakingly put up. It thumped to the floor as well, no doubt gathering lint and dust bunnies as it did. "Whoops…" Stiles tossed his hand over his eyes.
"I hate you," he moaned.
"It probably wasn't perfectly straight anyways," Derek shrugged before turning for the curtains. Stiles shot him a glare but it quickly fell off his face as Derek stretched up onto his tip toes to reach the curtain rod and pull the hooks down. The muscles of his shoulders bunched up and rolled beneath his gray shirt, the fabric lifting to reveal skin above his belt the further up his arms stretched. Stiles eyes wandered lazily down the lines of his legs to the pads of his feet. When had he taken his shoes off? More importantly why was Stiles laying there ogling him? He shook himself before pushing off the floor and grabbing the roll of tape.

He went to the doorway of the kitchen, starting out along the baseboards. He only looked up from his work when Derek addressed him again. "Where you want these boss?" He held the bundled up curtains in his arms, looking to Stiles expectantly. He rolled his eyes.
"Out of the way, obviously."
"Obviously," Derek echoed before stepping past him and moving through the kitchen. He was back too soon, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Stiles blew out a sigh.
"Why don't you open the drop cloths and then mix the paint."
"Mix the paint?" Derek repeated, one eyebrow creeping up. Stiles gritted his teeth.
"Are you trying to be infantile?"
"We only bought one color so I don't see what I'm mixing."
"Stir mix," Stiles said, flopping back onto his shins and waving his hand around. "Get the sticks they gave us and stir it before you put it in the trays. Jesus how did you ever do this by yourself?"
"Don't know," Derek deadpanned, "sure seemed easier by myself." Stiles bit his lip instead of responding. How had the conversation gone down that path? As if he needed a reminder that no one wanted him to be here.
"Do whatever you want," he snapped, moving to the baseboard again, "I'm taping off the room." He stared intently at his work and tried his best to ignore the fact that Derek hesitated several moments before crossing the room again.

They didn't talk again until all the baseboards and staircase were taped off and the drop cloths had been spread over the carpet beneath the walls.
"What about the couch?" Derek questioned.
"I need it for the ceiling unless you've got a ladder," Stiles answered, not looking at him.
"It doesn't have to be perfect," Derek informed him, "it just has to be-" he cut off and Stiles looked away from the wrinkle in the drop cloth he'd just chosen to study.
"Just has to be what?" Derek scowled at nothing in particular.
"I'll go find one," he muttered, stalking towards the front door. Stiles was about to warn him he didn't have shoes on but he was gone too quickly. It just has to be what? Stiles scratched the back of his head absently. Derek had a lot of secrets. Why was he suddenly eager to paint the living room anyways? It was clear that he wasn't excited about it. Stiles couldn't help but recall the first time his mom had let him pick out the paint color for his own room and how thrilled he'd been. Obviously this was different. He rolled his eyes quickly. All he knew was that Derek wanted to paint the room a light shade. He didn't really care how it looked so it couldn't just be that he was tired of the wallpaper, or at least, chances were slim. And it obviously wasn't because he had Stiles' free labor because he was complaining about Stiles' every move. Stiles scratched his head again before huffing out a breath. He went into the kitchen for a snack, still puzzling over Derek as he ripped open a package of Pop-Tarts and took a savage bite of one. The front door opened and Stiles forced himself not to move. "Here," Derek called out. Stiles stepped forward then, food still in hand. Derek had set a short ladder, looked like half of one really, just inside the door. "Good enough?" Stiles nodded as he chewed.
"You want some help with the couch?" he mumbled, mouth full.
"I think I can handle it," Derek exhaled dryly.
"Fine, fine. Be one with the couch Sensei." Derek's lips twitched and Stiles wondered if he'd just seen the world's shortest smile. He leaned against the wall and watched as Derek approached the green monster, wondering how Derek was planning on maneuvering it with how long it was. This ought to be interesting.

Derek stared at the couch for a long moment. "Maybe if you karate chop it hard enough it'll break in half," Stiles suggested.
"Why are you always talking?" Derek questioned.
"Because I have a mouth and it's a free country," Stiles answered easily. "Too bad you didn't kidnap me in Cuba." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Are you going to help me or not?" he demanded.
"All you had to do was ask," Stiles murmured, stepping back to toss the other pastry on top of the fridge. He stopped at the end of the couch closest to him waiting for Derek to take the other end. They both gripped the arm rests.
"Ready?" Derek questioned. Stiles nodded and lifted. Derek started moving as soon as the couch was in the air and Stiles followed. They carried it out the open front door and around to the garage before setting it down. "Hold on," Derek told him, disappearing back inside. The garage door creaked open and Derek reappeared. "I've got it from here," he said.
"Okay," Stiles agreed, glancing inside the garage. It was an unholy mess and he saw not only a few lamps but what looked like bed posts and a few pieces of wood. He decided to go inside without commenting. With his luck Derek would want to clean that out as his next project. Stiles was not going to become his slave for three months. No way. Stiles dragged the ladder to the far wall and picked up the roll of tape before climbing up. The half wall before the doorway took no time at all and Stiles was on to the doorway itself before Derek had returned. He moved the cans of paint further into the room before grabbing the trays. When the first lid fell to the floor stiles looked down to see that Derek had ripped it open with his bare hands. He gaped for a few moments before switching to the other side of the doorway. Werewolf. He had to remind himself again. Derek stirred the paint, probably not enough, before pouring it into a tray and moving to the half wall that Stiles had already finished.

He attacked the wall. There really wasn't any other way to describe the way Derek painted. The roller moved rapidly as paint squelched in strokes that were short and violent. "What are you doing?" Stiles demanded.
"What?" Derek looked to him, "What now?"
"Well nothing I guess you're just going to be really pissed off when you get done if you keep going like that." Derek stared at him a long moment, roller frozen on the wall.
"It needs done." Stiles rolled his eyes then, hopping off the stool.
"I'm aware." He moved behind Derek and gripped his forearm in both hands before moving his arm up and down slowly. "Painting is time consuming as it is. There's no reason to rush. Just take it easy. Back and forth, simple." He was dying to say wax on, wax off but chances were Derek wouldn't understand the reference and this close he could crush Stiles with one hand. It probably wasn't worth the risk.
"It'll just take even longer," Derek protested.
"But you'll be calmer."
"I doubt it."
"Fine," he dropped Derek's arm, "I will be calmer. I can't listen to that for the rest of the day."
"You are infuriating for your size," Derek informed him, roller moving again but at a much more relaxed pace.
"If I was huge and infuriating you'd know how I feel," Stiles shot back. "Just do your Tai Chi breathing or something."
"You're never going to let that go are you?"
"Nope."

Stiles moved on taping and Derek kept painting and for a long time they worked in silence sharing the same room. When the taping was done Stiles went back to where Derek had started with a brush and got the edges he'd left, eventually catching up to him and working around his feet. It worked well enough for a while until Stiles' brush slipped and a stripe of blue ended up on Derek's toes. "Uhm," he let out, eyes wide. He looked up ever so slowly, cringing when he saw Derek glaring down at him. "Sorry?"
"You did that on purpose." Stiles' jaw fell open.
"I did not. You know I get twitchy!" This did nothing to lessen Derek's glare and Stiles squeaked as he felt a quick swipe against the top of his head. "You didn't," he protested without much hope.
"I get twitchy too," Derek said, moving back to the wall.
"You do not!" Stiles huffed, fingertips inching into his hair. He recoiled when they encountered something wet. "You painted my hair," he whined, "oh my god." He tried to wipe his hand on the drop cloth, tempted to roll over and try and wipe off his scalp as well. "What happened to Tai Chi breathing?" he demanded after a moment pouting.
"You," Derek replied.
"I'm pretty sure that's offensive. In fact, I am offended." Derek ignored him, stepping to the side and painting more of the wall. Stiles huffed before dropping his brush to the drop cloth and stomping to the kitchen. He turned on the faucet and shoved his head under, distressed to see milky water run into the sink. "I hate you!" He had to turn to yell and therefore choked when paint and water slid right into his open mouth. He jerked his head up and hit the faucet, coughing desperately. "Oh god ew, gross, oh my god. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." He lifted the hem of his shirt and tried to scrub his tongue off, wincing. The worst thing he'd ever put in his mouth by accident. Hands down. He spun and slammed his hand down on the faucet, shutting it off as he mumbled to himself. "Are you laughing at me?" he demanded, reentering the living room and putting his hands on his hips. Derek sobered, roller moving again.
"No," he chuckled. He stalked to Derek, possibly the angriest he'd ever been with the werewolf, and yanked up the back of his shirt before bending to wipe off his face and hair. "Hey!" Derek spun so fast he nearly knocked Stiles over, dropping his roller and yanking his shirt down.

Stiles held up a single finger.
"I painted you accidentally. You painted me on purpose," he said simply. "Bad dog." He should have been more worried that Derek didn't really react. The next thing he knew Derek had retrieved his roller and ran it right down Stiles' face. For the longest moment Stiles stood stock still, disbelief filtering through every inch of him. Then he dove for his brush. Derek dove too and being both faster and stronger Stiles found himself pinned to the floor, Derek holding both of his wrists easily.
"Calm down," Derek ordered, lips quirked.
"I hate you," Stiles repeated, pulling at his wrists before trying to lift his hips. Neither part of his body moved a centimeter. Derek leaned closer.
"Calm down." Stiles stuck out his tongue, wincing when paint got dragged back in on the muscle. He choked again, jerking when his left eye began to burn.
"Oh my god it's in my eye!" he shouted, "Get off me get off me fucking get off!" He was released pretty much the second he started shouting but it took a bit longer for Stiles to realize it. He stumbled to his feet and moved for the stairs, tripping over his own feet in his blind panic. He was being pulled then, carried up the stairs when he failed to climb the first one. He reached for the shower handle as soon as it swam into his vision and he turned it on before shoving his face under the spray, forcing his eyes open. The next several minutes were spent frantically scrubbing at his face and eyes, totally ignoring the horrid taste in his mouth. Stiles was surprised he hadn't drowned himself by the time he shut the water off. His left eye was still burning and itchy now but his right eye felt okay, miraculously. He glowered when he saw Derek waiting with a towel, not bothering to say anything. Derek gestured to the toilet and Stiles sat down, sighing before tilting his face up to be mopped off.

"Do you want to go to the infirmary?" Derek questioned, towel moving over Stiles' neck slowly.
"I'll be fine," he said tightly.
"Okay," Derek agreed.
"You could have fucking blinded me!" Stiles gritted, hands clenching into fists.
"I'm sorry," Derek only looked at him for a split second before looking away again, "I wasn't thinking-I didn't think and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Stiles was going to snap at him again but then he noticed the towel was shaking. He deflated unexpectedly.
"I'll be okay," he said lamely. "You were just reacting to me being a dumbass anyways." Stiles took the towel from him and dried his hair before drying his face gently.
"I'll finish painting," Derek offered after a tense moment.
"I'll cook one of the pizzas in a bit," Stiles offered in return.
"Alright." Derek didn't leave immediately and Stiles wondered if he was thinking about saying something but he didn't look to him, examining the smears on the towel instead. Derek evidently decided against it and left. Stiles didn't make himself move immediately. A slight pounding was starting at his temples and he squeezed his eyes closed against it. That was about the last thing he needed right now. He didn't stand until his head had cleared and then he went to change clothes. As he descended the stairs he had to resist the urge to rub his eye. That wouldn't help and he knew it. He didn't look at Derek as he passed; he just went straight to the freezer and pulled out a pizza. He turned to pre-heat the oven and then blew out a breath. It would probably be a bad idea to let this linger. He sighed again before walking back into the living room. "You don't have to help," Derek told him, not looking away from the wall.
"Just shut up," Stiles sighed in response.

They ate the pizza even though Stiles had somehow managed to burn the crust. He vowed to experiment with the oven in the future as he ate in the stairwell, Derek didn't leave the kitchen until he went back to painting. Stiles stayed on the steps for a while, watching him and trying to get some sort of a handle on his feelings. There was no handle though. It was a chaotic swing and tangle of confusion and anger and embarrassment and Stiles couldn't even find which way was up. He pushed off the stairs and went back to painting. At least then he didn't have to think. Painting soothed him as it usually did and for Stiles it wasn't much longer before they were done. He surveyed the room with a small smile. It looked pretty good. After another moment he stifled a yawn and eyed the stairs. Yeah sleep sounded pretty good right about now. "Well I think I'm going to head to bed," he exhaled. It was only then that Derek glanced around the empty living room, frowning. The futon was still in its box, probably in the garage.
"Um," Derek's frown deepened, "where am I sleeping?"
"Couch is still in the garage right?" Derek's eyes widened and Stiles could have sworn it was panic filling them.
"Yeah," he breathed so quietly Stiles barely caught it.
"I was kidding," Stiles lied. "Pretty sure I can last one night without trying to tear your clothes off and have my way with you." Derek didn't comment and he exhaled sharply before shaking himself and looking to Stiles again.
"Did you want to go up first?" he questioned, suddenly busying himself cleaning up.
"Sure," Stiles agreed slowly. He waited to see if Derek was going to say anything else but he didn't so Stiles climbed the stairs, shaking his head to himself. Up in the bedroom he draped his wet clothes over the dresser before unzipping the comforter from its bag and throwing it over the bed. He stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt before climbing in and pulling the cover to his chest.

Derek knocked before coming in, still remaining silent as he stepped out of his shoes and stripped off his shirt. It was another moment before he took off his jeans and they joined Stiles' clothes on the floor. Stiles purposely looked out the window as Derek flipped off the light and climbed in, staying above the comforter.
"I really am sorry," Derek told him. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek.
"I'm fine now," he said eventually.
"Well goodnight."
"Goodnight." Stiles wished it was that easy but he couldn't remember the last time he'd shared a bed with someone. Derek's heavy weight on the comforter and his quiet breathing were constant reminders and Stiles couldn't get his mind to settle. Not to mention he normally moved in his sleep and he didn't want to accidentally kick Derek out of the bed or wake up on top of him. He ran a hand down his face. It was going to be a long night. He wasn't sure how long it was before Derek's breathing kicked up. Stiles glanced across the shadows to him, feeling himself frown. Derek's lips started moving too but Stiles couldn't make out what he was saying. It took another moment but then it hit. Derek was having a nightmare. The nightmare Stiles supposed. The one with Laura. As if on cue, Derek started whispering her name. It was nearly frantic the way he said it, over and over. "Derek," Stiles tried, wincing as he wondered how Derek would wake if he did. Derek grunted in response, jaw clenching.
"Laura," he breathed again, eyes shut tightly.
"Derek," Stiles called louder, tempted to try and shake him. Derek flinched as if Stiles had struck him and Stiles felt horrible. "It's okay," he tried next, voice quieter. He reached out slowly, hesitating at the next hushed,
"Laura," but finally catching Derek's fist in his hand.
"It's okay," he repeated, scooting closer. He couldn't think of anything else to do so he held onto Derek's hand, biting at his cheek and failing to notice as Derek quieted down. When he did notice he looked up in shock but as far as he could tell Derek was still sleeping. Relief swept over Stiles so thickly that he didn't wonder about Laura for several more moments. He was still holding onto Derek as the thought struck him. Maybe he wasn't Derek's first mate.

A/N: So..quick question. I don't know if you noticed but this chapter is a bit shorter. I've been trying to get them all to 5000 but my question is do you guys want me to stay there or do you want shorter (probably faster) updates? I'm thinking roughly 2000 words a chapter would help me move faster but I'm not sure.

Tell me how you want it.

Also…sorry about the misleading Laura thing but I mean I honestly think most people would jump to that conclusion (I know I would) so put down the pitchforks.

Lastly I know nothing was explained. I know. That's because this chapter was supposed to be longer but it's now 6:30 and I am posting damn it.

Next chapter for sure. We will see more oc's and one of them will manage to explain something to Stiles. Somehow.

Thank you.