[Well, you know, Stiles was starting to feel a little better, being no longer concussed and having repeated the mantra of "someone will find us we're gonna be fine" in his head that he's sort of believing in it that he's also feeling up to helping out around the house, painting the walls, carrying furniture and so on-- but if there was one thing that could throw a bucketful of the patented wow is this really my life - normalcy at him, it's the sight of Isabela and the walls.
Okay, so, you have two choices here. Either you're taking this bucket and I'm taking that bucket and we paint like a hurricane over all of that before Snow sets one foot in this room, or I throw the contents of this bucket over you.
Your choice. [:|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||]