Chapter Text
He really didn’t hate them. In no way did he like kids, but he didn’t hate his. Mostly his. Whatever the hell they were, two of them were jumping up and down on the bed, shouting his name and the third was crying from the pack’n’play that doubled as a crib in the corner and they were making him reconsider the hating them thing.
“Derek, Derek, Derek.” It was whispered now, right next to his ear where Maribelle had dropped her knees, trying to wake him up. He groaned, rolling over and catching Marcus with one hand to knock him back down onto the bed with him and Maribelle.
“What do you want?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
Maribelle snuggled up against his chest and looked at him. “Evan’s crying. And we’re hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Derek gruffed.
“Because we’re growing pups!” Marcus was climbing on him too now, causing Derek to grunt as his breath puffed out of him.
“I can’t feed you if you’re laying on me,” he reminded them, which thankfully worked in getting them off of him and rolling towards the stairs. Derek rubbed his face and dragged himself out of bed. He scooped Evan up, taking a moment to change his diaper (god he changed diapers now) before he headed downstairs. The kids were already at work, pulling out boxes of cereals, setting them on the counter and bowls. Derek managed to snatch the milk out of Marcus’ hands before it wound up on the floor and set it on the counter and Evan in his highchair.
He wasn’t good at this parenting thing, but at least he had a handle on breakfast. After breakfast was school and then a few hours to get everything settled, just him and Evan. Only the worst part was the rush right before school. Once breakfast was finished, they were off in a flurry of arms and legs and before Derek knew it he was trying to get them out the door. His hands were full of Maribelle’s hair to put it back in pigtails, but it still wasn’t right and she was yelling about it, diaper bag swinging off his shoulder and hitting her which just made her yell more. Marcus was shouting himself, yelling something about a missing shoe and just as Derek got Maribelle right she was screaming about ballet shoes and needing her things which were completely not packed. Somewhere in there Evan had started crying and it was a small miracle that Derek heard the chuckle at all. His eyes darted up, seeing nothing but long and lanky laughing, decked in a red hoodie.
“Now you laugh at me.” Derek narrowed his eyes, but the look softened as the younger man moved forward, grabbing the diaper bag off Derek’s shoulder and heading for Marcus who was bouncing at the idea of hanging out with ‘Mr. Stiles’. Mr. Stiles was prattling on about shoes and elves and something else before finding Marcus’ shoe under the couch and helping him get it on his foot. Derek let out a relieved sigh and focused on Maribelle’s hair, fixing it for the fourth time, but at least this time it was right. It earned him a kiss on his cheek and a rare ‘thanks Dad’ which was ironic considering a few minutes before she’d been calling him an idiot for messing it up. And then she was babbling about ballet and just as Derek was about to panic because nothing was ready for that, Stiles was there again. Only this time he was holding Evan and handing the diaper bag back. “Ballet’s after school. You can get her things for her and have them ready at pick up when she gets done.”
Derek stared at the other man, surprised that he was bright eyed and bushy tailed this early, that he was here, just in time to get them out the door for school on time and not at all phased by the nine year old tugging on his sweatshirt. “There’s coffee for you, on the counter,” Stiles said, nodding towards the to-go cup from his favorite coffee shop waiting on Derek before heading out the door with Evan in his arms and Marcus trailing behind him. It took Derek until Maribelle tugged on his shirt to move, grabbing the cup and following after Stiles, locking up the loft as he left.
-----
Not two hours later Stiles and Derek were at the grocery store, Stiles pushing the cart and entertaining Evan in the child seat, who was cooing and giggling. Derek was putting things in the cart, trying not to get annoyed when Stiles either switched them out for something else or made a disapproving noise.
“You can’t buy them that cereal.”
“It’s their favorite kind!“
“Yes, but it’s awful for them! Here, get this one. Nutrition Derek. They’re still growing pups.”
“So that’s where they picked that one up from.”
In any other place, anyone would have assumed they were some sort of couple with their adopted son who looked a stupidly awful lot like Derek and a relationship that was comfortable with little squabbles over cereal. Anywhere else, that would be the assumption. Only here, it wasn’t the case. Beacon Hills was small and everyone knew who they were. Derek Hale and the Sheriff’s kid, who wasn’t so much a kid anymore. Everyone knew their stories. Or Derek’s story at least.
Jennifer had rolled into town with the kids in tow, someone Derek hadn’t seen in months. But once Evan was in his arms, he’d realized why that was the case. Definitely without a doubt his. The tufts of black hair and jaw that stuck out even in an infant? He didn’t need a test. He could tell. The others, he hadn’t even known they existed. Marcus and Maribelle were from another relationship, something Jennifer had kept a secret, despite the fact that they’d dated for a couple of weeks.
He wasn’t sure what to do, faced with a child that was his that he hadn’t known about and an ex who seriously needed some help. Just a little at least. So he’d let them in, got everyone set up in the loft. It was just a couple of nights until they figured out what to do about his kid, until Derek could get child support or whatever sorted out. Only Jennifer left before they could get it sorted. Just gone.
Derek watched Stiles play peek-a-boo with Evan, amazed that he was still functioning when Derek was almost certain that Stiles had worked the night before. “You make it look easy,” he blurted.
Stiles glanced up at him confused. “Peek-a-boo? What part are you struggling with? The peek or the boo?” He grinned a little, just to show he was teasing and Derek rolled his eyes, instantly wishing he hadn’t given the compliment.
“Forget it.”
-----
Derek wasn’t sure what to make of the lunch boxes sitting on the counter when he got up a few mornings later. There was a note with them, written out in a way that made it seem like whoever wrote it was trying to make it as neat as possible instead of just a scribble, with instructions. There were things in the fridge to go in lunch boxes, which were already half packed.
Less than a week later he got home from work, ready to turn around and pick up the kids and half the loft had been rearranged. ‘Child-proofed’, apparently. After that it was the cabinets and suddenly Derek couldn’t find anything useful without calling Stiles for help. It was finding him in the kitchen at 3am though that Derek really just wasn’t sure how to handle. He was up because Evan had woken. Hearing a sound, he had headed toward it and found his kitchen occupied. “What are you doing here?”
Stiles spun around like he’d been caught, lunch things in his hands and a sheepish look on his face. Derek realized he should be upset or more confused, but all he could really think about is if he’d given Stiles a key. He honestly couldn't remember.
“How many times to I have to tell you, big guy - proper nutrition is vital.”
“It's three am, Stiles,” Derek deadpanned, glaring at the other man with a look that would have been far more effective if he hadn't been resting a sleeping baby on his shoulder.
“I know, right!“ Stiles declared, throwing his hands up in despair. “But I was reading this post on mumsnet about...”
“It's three am Stiles,” Derek repeated, interrupting Stiles' explanation with a low hiss, desperate not to wake the baby. It had been hell getting him to sleep last night. Derek thinks he's teething.
“Would you prefer it I just left you to it, hmm?” Stiles hissed right back. “Face it, we with know what you're like in the mornings. You can barely look after yourself, nevermind three kids. Anyone else would be grateful, but oh no, not you! You'd rather fail spectacularly than actually say 'thank you'!“
Derek just glared at him, trying to deny to himself that maybe - just maybe - the guy had a point. No way he was letting Stiles know that though, he hold it over him for the rest of time. “I don't remember giving you a key,” he said, flatly, once enough prime glaring time had past. Glaring time which, annoyingly, seemed to entirely pass Stiles by. Apparently, he was immune to the glare.
“Oh, you didn't. Cora stole yours and made me a copy.” Derek practically growled at the nonchalant tone of Stiles' voice and the way the guy just went right back to making fucking sandwiches, like the fact that he'd broken into Derek's house, loft, chosen place of residence was no big deal. He doesn't even have a real response to that, plus he knows what'll happen if he corners Cora about it. She'll just roll her eyes and tell he's being an idiot.
So, instead, he just continued to glare at the top of Stiles' head until the other man had laid out two perfect packed lunches. Stiles stood back with a 'tada' gesture. Derek meet his eyes, looking unimpressed and then just turned and walked off. Take that, Stilinski, he thought, smugly. He actually broke out into a grin seen by nobody but a half sleeping baby when Stiles dropped his hands to his sides audibly and cried out, “Aww, come on! These are a work of freaking art! I know that Marcus has this class project on South America right now, so he has tortillas with mixed bean salad! And Maribelle decided yesterday that she doesn’t like sandwich bread, so she has a tuna pasta salad with carrot sticks and they both have one of these kick ass cranberry cookies I made this afternoon and an apple - because every kid should have an apple!“
He wouldn't admit it, but Derek was impressed - and glad that he was facing away from Stiles, who would be able to read it all over his face otherwise. He didn't know how Stiles did it - manage to know so much about his kids. Their likes and dislikes, what they’re doing at school, the lot - and still have time to bake cookies and plan the perfect lunch. Then break into the loft to put the damn things together at 3am. And it didn’t seem to bother Stiles at all that they’re having this conversation in the middle of the night and Derek’s barely dressed in sweatpants and Evan’s finally calmed down and started to drool on his shoulder. It took a moment for him to really get his emotions and feelings under control before he turned, raising an eyebrow to look at Stiles, then the lunches, then back at Stiles. “You need to sleep. So do I. I’m going to bed.”
-----
Stiles was still there when Derek was bodily pulled out of his bed the next morning by Marcus and Maribelle. Derek felt like shit and he needed at least another three hours sleep, probably more to catch up on the fact that he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep, or a lay in, in months. No such luck though, because he has a little hand in each of his and who knew that kids a fraction of his size could be that strong. So, he leaned down and pulled and their rabbiting on ten to the dozen about it being so cool and isn’t it exciting and Derek wasn’t even awake enough to comprehend what on earth they’re talking about until they’re in the kitchen and there’s Stiles. At the stove. Making pancakes.
… With blueberries.
In this apron that Peter had bought him for a joke last Christmas, that says ‘kiss the chef’ on it, with a big pair of red lips somewhere that Derek is fairly certain isn’t suitable for children, only none of them seemed to have noticed. Including, it seemed, Stiles.
Derek blinked again, not sure what he was seeing, but the kids are babbling, jumping into chairs as instructed by the chef who has just started plating pancakes and setting them in front of him. Even Evan’s up already, sitting in his highchair and giggling, which meant Stiles likely climbed up into his room and got the infant from his crib without Derek even realizing it. Somewhere in there Stiles noticed him, handing him a cup of coffee with a goofy grin, like this was one hundred percent normal. “I’m not kissing you,” Derek grumbled, not sure what else to say since ‘why the hell are you still here?’ sounded mean when he’d just been handed coffee that he desperately needed and ‘are you moving in?’ sounded too much like an invitation.
Stiles went a little pink, like the comment it out of nowhere and it’s not until Derek pointed to the apron that he got it - his mouth going into an ‘oh’ shape, his eyes widening and he laughed. Derek could see the moment that Stiles finally realized what he was wearing as the other man tried to get out of the apron as quickly as possible, tossing it aside in a heap and handing Derek a plate of food without looking him in the eye. Derek considered it a small victory.
“Why do you even have that thing with kids in the house anyway?” Stiles asked, before stuffing his mouth as full of pancakes as he can. Which, of course, has Marcus laughing with glee and trying desperately to mimic Stiles. Derek sighed. Marcus always tried to mimic everything Stiles does. That kid had the biggest case of hero worship going. For Stiles.
“Marcus - eat properly,” Derek admonished, trying to sound like a responsible father, but on so little sleep and with as little coffee in his system as he had, it just came out grumpy. He glanced at Stiles. “Peter. The other bad influence in their lives.” Not that Stiles was a bad influence, not really. Not when they’re not round the breakfast table. Not when he’s helping Maribelle with her spellings and Marcus with his science project. Not then at all.
“Figures,” Stiles said, though this time his mouth wasn’t full. Derek watched as Marcus stopped stuffing his face. Now his mouth was closed as he chewed slowly. Derek wondered, as always, if it had something to do with his instructions or Stiles’ example. Probably the second instead of the first as it should be.
“I’ll get you a normal one,” Derek offered, not even realizing he’d said it before the words were out there, making offers that he’d probably want to follow through with, even if it just made everything more awkward. If that was what this was - awkward. Derek wasn’t really sure.
Stiles shrugged a shoulder, making sure to carefully cut up both his pancakes and eat like a regular person. Huh, so apparently someone had actually listened to Derek, even if it wasn’t his son. That made his even more unsure whether this was awkward or not. He decided it probably wasn’t for Stiles the moment that the other man said, “Sure,” swallowing before he answered and then deftly pouring Marcus a glass of orange juice with one hand, whilst he rescued Evan from the piece of blueberry pancake that Maribelle was trying to feed her baby brother with the other. “Pancakes aren’t for babies, Mari - only big kids get the good stuff. Eat your breakfast,” Stiles admonished, lightly. Of course, she did just what he said with barely a pout. Seriously, Derek was starting to think that Stiles was some kind of a magician.
Derek focused on what he could do, eating his own food and making sure Evan was fed as well until breakfast was finished and the rush to get ready started up again, like tasmanian devils, whirring through the loft, grabbing things, getting clothes, fighting over what they were wearing and whose stuff was whose. It was a blessing that it was a boy and a girl and their stuff was different. A pink bag and a blue one, different style sneakers, all of that. Derek disappeared for a few moments to pull on real clothes, forgoing a morning shower and shave, but he stopped short when he spotted Marcus and Maribelle, dressed and ready to go with a smiling Stiles behind them. Magician for sure. The younger man even handed him the stocked diaper bag for Evan and Derek wasn’t at all sure what he’s supposed to do with Stiles. “Thanks?”
Stiles threw back his head and laughed, exposing a long expanse of pale, mole-freckled neck and sounding as carefree as ever. “Finally!” he exclaimed, looking back at Derek, his honey-brown eyes practically glowing. “That costed you, didn’t it? A ‘thanks’. Was it really that painful?” Stiles asked him, smirking and making Derek wish he’d just stayed silent.
“Come on kids,” Derek said, gesturing to Marcus and Maribelle. “Let’s get you to school.” Grabbing his keys off the side, he herded the two eldest children toward the door, with only the minimum of complaint - all focused around the fact that ‘couldn’t Mr. Stiles come too???’
It was kind of annoying, though not because the kids were annoying, but more because he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with Stiles just so there. He was there enough. More than enough.
The kids were dropped off at school, all in one piece and with everything they needed. Derek was still parked outside the school, having watched them walk in the door and when he got a friendly reminder text from Stiles for Parent-and-Me class with Evan. Oh and everything Evan might need was already in the bag. Derek made a frustrated noise, but he knew that Stiles would be checking on his attendance and disappointing him sounded worse than sitting in a class full of obnoxious women constantly bragging about how great their kids were. Women also still almost always called it Mommy-and-Me class, which Derek hated almost as much. They’d made a point of changing the name when he’d joined, because now they had a guy. He really didn’t need them knowing about the Stiles waiting on him at home because that would just start the gushing up again, about him being such a cute daddy. They always drew the word out, making it sound sing-songy.
Thankfully class passed quickly though, not as many group activities as much as it was playing with Evan, watching him grab and try and chew on anything he could get his hands on. Derek didn’t like kids, not at all, but he did like this one, talking to him like he was a little person rather than an infant. While he didn’t answer much more than hand Derek a drool covered block, it gave Derek someone to complain about blueberry pancakes to and wonder if Stiles would look better in - no, prefer - a blue apron or a green one. The conversation continued after the class, while they wandered through the store, trying to find the right apron, Derek rolling the stroller back and forth with one foot, holding them up for Evan to pick. And it was Evan’s fault he wound up with a hunter green apron, bringing it home to hang on the hook where the other had been.
The soft snoring on the couch had Derek abandoning the apron and heading that way, both surprised and not surprised to see Stiles, out completely cold, one arm flung over his eyes. Derek chuckled softly almost silently, then reached for the blanket to drape it over Stiles. “What do you say we go to the park, little man?” Derek asked Evan who was still in his stroller, waving his hands to be picked up and carried again. “Let the big goofball sleep this one off and see if he still wants to get up in the middle of the night again to make lunches?”
-----
It made him feel really needy, but Derek didn’t like leaving the kids at day care. It was a really nice day care, one he knew he couldn’t really afford, but Stiles had pulled a few strings with Melissa McCall who’d spent twenty minutes trying to tell him about it while gushing over how cute Evan was. Derek wasn’t entirely sure what Stiles had said to her, but suddenly the fees weren’t quite as horrendous as they’d first seemed and Derek was setting up a payment plan.
So Monday morning, eight am, he’d dropped them off. School was out for the summer and Derek checking his phone every five minutes for updates from the daycare, which he was getting every hour. Evan ate, Marcus played some games, Maribelle was showing off ballet steps. It made work easier yes, but it was still nerve wracking.
When the door to the loft was thrust open just as Derek was about to get up to make lunch, he wasn’t proud to admit that he actually jumped a little. He must have been seriously in the zone to not hear anyone coming. Yet, he looked up to see Stiles, striding across the floor toward him. Instinctively, Derek got up off the couch to meet him. He hated staring up at people.
“You didn’t have to get up,” Stiles insisted, climbing over the back of the couch to sit again, pulling out his computer and a stack of papers he’d printed out. Derek wasn’t at all sure why he was still there, why he’d show up when the kids weren’t here, but there he was handing the papers to Derek and launching into a monologue about how the loft wasn’t the right space to raise a family in. That was what it took for Derek to look at what he’d been handed, print outs of possible houses for sale around the area, their perks highlighted in green with little notes like ‘close to school’ or ‘near the grocery store’ written on them.
“What are you talking about?” Derek finally blurted, staring at Stiles like he was insane. Stiles seemed to miss the look though, turning his head, smile firmly in place.
“A house. You need to buy a house. This place really isn’t kid friendly, plus M and M aren’t going to want to share a room for too much longer. Plus they shouldn’t. Like, I know their mom left and that was why they like being close, but yeah, according to every psychology website out there, they shouldn’t.”
“I like the loft,” Derek said, still leaving through the papers. Stiles had even used different colored highlighters, he realized. Negative points in pink, pack locations added in yellow on the little maps that were attached to each. He looked over at Stiles and realised that the other man’s grin had turned into a rather more sympathetic smile.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Stiles asked, with a tiny sigh. “She’s never coming back. You can’t… just keep doing this. This… temporary shit. Making do. Getting along in the short term. These are your kids now. They need a home. Not some open plan space with bare walls and a spiral staircase that I’ve had to bodily prevent Marcus from killing himself trying to slid down twice in the past couple of days alone.”
“They’re not,” Derek started, but bit his tongue before he got too far. They weren’t really his kids, but most days, most days they were. And Evan definitely was. “She might come back. She has to...she can’t not want them can she?” He wasn’t talking to Stiles, he was talking to himself and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he was reaching for his phone, wanting an update on where the kids were. Why had he let Stiles talk him into daycare?
Stiles, for once in his life, was a quiet. He just sat there, staring at Derek as if Derek had something else he had to say. Derek ignored the look, going back to the papers in front of them, picking out a few then setting aside the others. “These don’t have enough space,” he said. There needed to be an extra room.
Stiles shrugged and stood. “I just got you a selection. Up to you to choose something. Maybe take the pups round a couple if you can stand it,” he suggested, then winced. “Or maybe not. M and M will probably pick different favorites just to spite each other. Just… pick one, okay?” he suggested, heading for the door.
-----
It was evening. Bathtime had been a nightmare. Derek swore that he’d gotten more wet than all of the kids put together as he fought to do three rounds of bathing. He’d stopped even questioning the fact that Stiles had been tucked up in the space between Marcus and Maribelle’s beds when he’d emerged from putting Evan to bed in his crib, then gotten changed into a pair of sweats and a soft grey t-shirt. Derek had leaned against the doorframe, silently watching as Stiles read the two older kids a bedtime story, complete with all the voices, that left them in fits of giggles that somehow, Derek knew, would end in them going to sleep faster rather than being stupidly hyperactive - which is what happened whenever Derek tried something like that.
By the time Stiles had finished the short book, Derek was feeling calm and relaxed. He had a weird sense of peace with the world, that he couldn’t quite place. It felt like, finally, things were on the right track. It also felt like maybe he needed to actually talk to Stiles about the idea he had.
He was still contemplating that as Stiles walked passed him, gesturing with his head toward the living area as the kids snoozed behind them. Derek cast one last glance over their sleeping forms, highlighted in the orangey glow of their nightlight. Marcus sprawled out on his back, using up all the available space. Maribelle curled up around her favored cuddly toy of the month. Derek let out a small sigh and then followed Stiles back into the living area. Yeah, they really needed to talk.
Only, when he got there, Stiles wasn’t alone. Scott was there, dressed up as though he was headed out somewhere and looking at Stiles as though he were insane.
“One night, dude. Seriously!” Scott exclaimed, gesturing toward the window.
“One night what?” Derek asked, eyes on Stiles not Scott. Stiles was the one who looked uncomfortable.
“Tonight?” Stiles asked, sounding as pained as he looked. “The kids just went to bed and it was an early morning.”
“You’re joking right?” Scott asked. “What the hell? You don’t even live here!” Derek wanted to correct that, that Stiles had all but started sleeping over most nights, but he figured that wouldn’t actually help any so he kept it to himself.
“You can’t even give a guy a warning?” Stiles asked.
“You don’t need a warning. This isn’t your job. It’s not like you have to ask the night off right? I mean Derek’s not started paying you or anything has he?”
“Pay me? What no.” Stiles sounded insulted. “I’m not a nanny.”
“You aren’t?” Scott sounded surprised. “Because it feels like it. I’m pretty sure you are.”
“Shut up Scott, I’ll come with you.” Stiles was already moving towards his stash of clothes to get something to wear out.
“No really, I’m curious, how are you not the nanny? When did you last pick up the kids from school.” Derek felt himself bristle as Scott spoke. He didn’t like that, the way that Scott was accusing Stiles of things, things that made both of them uncomfortable.
“Wednesday. Maribelle has dance after school and wants Derek to be there with the other moms.” Derek made a noise, hating that joke or comment whatever it was. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. And it was accurate. He was the only dad there most of the time. “So I get Marcus and we do the park or play here or…” Stiles trailed off as Scott just gave him that look. “Shut. Up. I’m coming. Come on.” Stiles made it two steps towards the door, different shirt that was nicer than the one he usually wore, before he turned back and looked at Derek pleadingly. “I can call my dad. He can come by. You know he loves being around them,” he said, but Derek shook his head.
“Go. Have fun. They’re already asleep.” It wasn’t like he’d been invited anyway. Stiles looked pained again, but Scott made a noise and pulled on his arm, dragging him towards the door.
-----
“I am so not the nanny!” Stiles declared, throwing back the last of his drink as Scott looked on, amused. If anything, his friend got even more loose-limbed when he’d been drinking, which was really saying something.
The bar they’d ended up in was moderately busy, but not too loud. They’d managed to score themselves a booth toward the back, and Scott had been working on getting Stiles well and truly drunk. The guy seriously needed it. Needed to let go, shake off some of that pressure and finally let loose from… whatever it was and the self-imposed role he’d taken on that nobody in their circle cared to define.
People might laugh at the title, but at least he was stepping up to the plate. He was staging a brovention. Rescuing Stiles from the depths of… well, in this case, himself.
“Sure, dude - you’re not the nanny,” he agreed as Stiles gestured to the waitress that they’d have another round, even though alcohol was pretty much a waste of time for Scott. He smirked, and added, “I mean, nannies get paid, right? You’re not the nanny, you more like-”
“Okay! No comparing the Stiles to anything!” Stiles said, leaping to prevent Scott from ever finishing that sentence, which just made Scott laugh. He wondered what Stiles was actually scared of. It’d definitely be interesting to know just where his friend’s mind had gone on that one.
“So you’re not that. Got it.” Scott was still smirking like he was right. “Which means you’re seeing who now?” Now he was teasing really, pushing a little harder than he needed to, but part of him wanted Stiles to see it, to see what he was doing and where he was. How he wasn’t just helping out. It was something more than that.
“Seeing? What?” Stiles made a disinterested noise. “Not all of us are you who can get hot chicks everywhere.” Or chicks at all. Stiles really didn’t have any luck. He also knew why Scott was asking and the answer he was sure Scott wanted to hear was on the tip of his tongue. He was too busy. With the kids. With Derek. Instead of saying anything else he lunged at the drink when the next round came and he focused on chugging it instead.
“Oh you’re seeing someone,” Scott said, shaking his head. Someone that wasn’t seeing him, just using him for nannying purposes. “I’m going to get you a ‘I’m the manny’ t-shirt.”
“Shit, Scott, let it go!” Stiles exclaimed, his eyes narrowing even through the blush as he abruptly sat up straight. “He was dying out there! And those kids were suffering for it. They’d already been abandoned by their mother, and landed with Derek as a father. You’ve seen what he’s like when he tries to organize anything! And he’s too damn stubborn to ask for help, like ever.”
“And that’s what child services are for,” Scott said trying to sound reasonable, but clearly falling short if the way that Stiles’ blush turned into the redness of anger was any indication.
“Fuck. You. No way. No kid of mi… No kid is going to be taken by child services when all that’s needed is a bit of help here and there.”
Scott raised a brow at the slip, and tilted his head to the side, watching Stiles assessingly for a long minute. Then he dropped the subject. Looking out over the bar, he spotted his target. “You know what you need,” he said, glancing over at Stiles and then gesturing with a finger toward a girl standing at the bar. “You need to get laid.”
“I need to what?” Stiles was still glaring at that that look wondering what Scott was thinking, what he was implying and the change of conversation had him glancing in the direction that Scott pointed. He tilted his head and looked at her, catching the way she was looking at them. Probably Scott, but their direction. “I’m not interested,” he said plainly.
That got Scott’s attention again, frowning as he saw it. “Not at all? She’s super cute. And probably interested.”
“Yeah well I’m not. I thought we were hanging as bros. What do girls have to to do with any of that?” Stiles looked at his drink, trying not to look at the girl. Where was he going to take her anyway? Derek’s? His dad’s place? Right, try again.
“Given that I know how long it’s been since you got some, I’m fine with you blowing me off. Just this once, hoes before bros.” Scott was just looking out for his friend. Even if he needed to be wingman for it.
“Let it go Scott. Not interested.”
“What?” Scott asked, because he couldn’t help himself. “You afraid she won’t call when she finds out you have kids?”
He realized he’d gone too far as Stiles practically catapulted up out of his seat, grabbing his jacket. Scott watched, stunned, as his friend rounded on him. “I don’t have kids. Derek has kids. I’m just the nanny, remember,” Stiles shot, before executing an Oscar-worthy stalk out that made Scott wonder if his best friend had been talking tips off Lydia again.
Belatedly, Scott grabbed his own jacket, threw enough money on the table to cover the drinks and a tip, and headed out after his friend.
He found Stiles sitting on the curb outside, his head in his hands. Sitting down next to him, Scott threw an arm loosely over Stiles’ shoulders. “Okay, dude. Tell me - what’s going on.”
“Nothing,” Stiles said, his head still in his hands. “Nothing’s going on.” That was the problem wasn’t it? He was there, again and again and he barely got thank yous. Nothing outright at least. The new apron in the perfect color. An offhand touch on his back. Nights where they were alone and Derek let him pick what show they watched. That was it.
“You’re full of shit,” Scott said, but he didn’t push, not right away. Something was bothering Stiles and he wanted to know, but he also knew he’d pissed him off enough already.
“I know I am. But it’s not important.” Stiles shrugged off the arm on his shoulder as he got up, swaying a little. “Give me a ride home?”
Scott looked up at Stiles, one eyebrow raised, pretty sure his eyes were going to stay that way the longer they talked about this. Or didn’t talk about it. “Which home?” It earned him a glare, but it at least Stiles answered the question.
“Derek’s.” Stiles’ winced as he said it but he knew that was where he wanted to go. Not his dad’s. He would be hung over in the morning but he wanted to sleep on Derek’s couch, be near them when he woke up. He wanted to see them. That was what he needed.
Scott let out a loud sigh, but he still led Stiles back towards the car and dropped him back off at the loft. It was quiet when Stiles let himself in, Derek had already gone to bed. Stiles hated it until he found the note on the coffee table, stuck to the front of a house listing.
This one. There’s room for you to move in too.