though hope is frail, it's hard to kill

[hypercompetent]

 Who: Stiles, Derek, and eventually Waver.
When: December 10th
Where: Casa Waver.
What: Stiles finds his spark. Literally.
Warnings: It's gonna be pretty gay.  Things exploding.

Now that things around the island had finally settled down, Stiles had been pondering the presents. There had been two boxes, and while his first one had his trusty red sweatshirt--useful, if a lousy ironic reminder of his humanity--the second had. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was insanely frustrating for Stiles, who liked to figure out everything, and he'd spent all of this evening ranting about it to Waver. 

(No one else would listen.) 

Stiles wasn't sure if Waver was actually listening, but Scott was busy with Allison and Derek was busy with...brooding, or something. Or at least that's what he'd assumed when he was six inches deep in a pile of books. While he'd not yet figured out where his present might have come from, Stiles started to go through Waver's library of books and various things he'd wished up, taking notes on things that could or could not be useful. Besides, he'd had an inkling. He wasn't sure if it was a good inkling, but it was an inkling. And the more books he read, the more confident he started to feel. 

"What are you doing in there?" 

The question wasn't directed towards Waver, but towards the person he'd assumed was brooding. About halfway through the evening Derek had just. Shown up. (As he does), and gone off to do something important (probably brooding related). At this point Stiles was used to him coming in and out of his life, enough to completely tune him out until his attention span finally wavered and he cracked his neck, pushing away from the large spellbook that was making his eyes swim.