Burning Slowly

Chapter 4

"We are not watching The Notebook!" It was a unanimous declaration.

Stiles smiled at the fact that for once, that communal pack voice was not directed at him. He grabbed another pinch of garlic, tossed it into the tomato sauce he had simmering on the stove and cheerfully hummed to himself. He leaned back away from the stove he was slaving over and craned his neck to see the rest of the pack lounging in various positions in the living room.

Lydia was pouting, not used to having people say no to her. Allison patted her arm. Whispered what was probably some sort of reassurance to Lydia's wounded pride.

Stiles glanced back at the sauce. He added a dash of oregano before stretching his other arm out behind him blindly to grab for the wooden spoon resting on the opposite counter. He stirred as he stretched but he wasn't having any luck.

"Can someone come in here for a sec?" Stiles begged. He glanced back toward the living room while his fingers groped futilely for the handle of the spoon. "Anyone there? Guys, hello?"

From Stiles perspective it looked like Scott and Jackson were rummaging through movies they had spread out on the floor. They constantly pushed and pulled on each other, their bromance was getting way out of hand. They looked like one step away from sitting in a tub and washing each other's backs. He sighed wistfully and wished for better days, days when they hated each other. Life was so much simpler when Jackson was an irredeemable ass. Something had changed in the blonde after he'd become a werewolf but Stiles wasn't friendly enough for him to know what it was exactly. Blindly he groped about for the wooden handle. It should have been impossible but somehow it ended up in his hand.

Stiles licked his lips. His face furrowed up in confusion. Had he become psychic? He couldn't spare a glance over his shoulder with the sauce at the critical point of being either exceedingly delicious or tragically mediocre. Stiles was tired of tragically mediocre, now was the time for amazing, it was not the time to question his ascension to the ranks of the supernatural. Now was the time for action, cooking action.

"Something I can do to help?" someone behind him asked.

He dropped the spoon in shock. He winced as it clattered on the tiles of the kitchen floor. It was true, he had become psychic, not only was he psychic, but his power had driven him insane. He recognized the voice, but it was impossible for that voice to have said those words. Yes, he was psychic. That was the only reasonable explanation. He waved his hand experimentally behind him.

"What are you trying to do exactly?" Derek asked. Familiar traces of exasperation crept into the Alpha's voice.

"Do or do not, there is no try." Stiles sagely informed him.

Derek grunted. Stiles was more comfortable now that the older werewolf sounded like he normally did, surly with a hint of impatience, classic Derek. He tried not to swallow his tongue in shock when Derek leaned over and picked up the spoon, washed it in the sink. Stiles blinked when Derek joined him by the stove and began to stir the large pot of boiling pasta.

"That smells good." Derek nodded in the direction of the sauce pan Stiles was working with.

Stiles licked his lips nervously. He couldn't figure out Derek's angle. He seemed to be genuinely not about to tear Stiles throat out, which made Stiles slightly mistrusting. Derek would strike when Stiles least expected it.

"T-thanks." Stiles offered cautiously.

"Derek, tell them we are going to watch The Notebook," Lydia called from the living room.

The Alpha calmly removed the wooden spoon from the pot. He set it on a paper towel Stiles had placed on the counter for that very purpose. He walked into the living room to confront the playfully bickering male werewolves making a mess out of the living room floor. Jackson and Scott were at the epicenter of an expolsion of crumpled chip bags, DVDs, and empty cans of soda and rootbeer.