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Literally no one is surprised when Stiles is classified as a Little. There’s lots of cliched stories where people are shocked by their classification, and then they come to terms with it. But Stiles has known practically since he was a baby the first time that he would be a Little. When he was a toddler, barely three years old, his mother had taken him to the playground. He giggled wildly while his mother pushed him higher and higher. He wasn’t in danger of falling out because he was still tiny enough to fit in the baby swing that had safety straps.
“Mommy?” He asked.
“Yes, Mischief?” She asked, giving him her sweetest smile. Stiles didn’t know it at the time, but she’d just gotten her diagnosis. It wasn’t a total shock, given that her grandfather had also had the disease, but she and John had been mourning. They’d caught it early, which meant she very well could live another ten or fifteen years… or just two.
“I like when we play together, Mommy,” he said, grinning toothily. Claudia gave him a sad smile. She might not be able to play with him for much longer, but she was going to treasure whatever time they had left together.
“I like when we play together too, my sweet boy.” She gave him a particularly good push, and he let out a whoop as he sailed further forward.
“Maybe, maybe you stay home with Stiles every day?” He asked.
“No, baby,” she said gently. “Mommy has to work at the hospital, remember?”
“Why?” He asked, and Claudia bit back a smile. They’d been playing the ‘why’ game a lot lately, but she didn’t mind because she’d also been a curious child. She remembered how frustrating it had been to have unanswered questions.
“Because Mommy and Daddy have to go to work.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what grown-ups have to do, honey.” Stiles frowned, and Claudia let the swing slow to a stop.
“I don’t ever want to be a grown-up. I want to stay a little boy!” Claudia pressed a kiss to his forehead, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s okay, baby. You can stay our little boy, forever and ever.”
Lots of people in his life have pegged him as a Little since then. He’d been called immature by most people at least once, and he'd decided to just lean into it as a personality trait. Some people were annoyed, but his dad and Scott were usually just fondly indulgent of his antics.
There were lots of other signs too, of course. Recently, his usually short attention span had been practically nonexistent at times, and his Netflix history was showing a lot more Disney films than the average teenager probably watched. All that combined with his suddenly having decreased bladder control… Well, if he wasn’t classed as a Little, he figured he was going to need Melissa to look him over.
Thankfully, he was classified as expected, and he’d been settling into his headspace pretty well, all things considered.
Stiles gives a little start when his dad knocks on the door. He hadn’t noticed that he was chewing idly on his finger, and he yanks it out of his mouth quickly.
“Come in,” he mutters, only a little embarrassed. His dad opens the door, giving him a knowing look as Stiles wipes his wet finger on his shirt.
“Hey, champ. I’ve got some bad news. Scott can’t come stay with you tonight; Melissa’s sick and he’s taking care of her.” Stiles frowns.
“Is she okay?” He asks worriedly. Melissa has been a permanent fixture for most of his life, and she’d become like a second mother to him.
“She’ll be fine, Stiles,” his dad says comfortingly. “Just the flu. I imagine she’ll be much better tomorrow, but they didn’t want to expose you to the germs.” Stiles nods.
“I get sick lots,” he says sagely.
“Pack some toys, okay bud? I gotta take you to the station with me this afternoon.” Stiles nods, beginning to gather some of his action figures and a few coloring books. He puts all of his things on his blanket and then gathers the corners like a rucksack, dragging it slowly out of his room and down the stairs. John snorts at him.
“Guess that’s one way to carry your things. Can you put them in the diaper bag for me?” Stiles frowns.
“Is not a diaper bag, Papa. Stiles doesn’t wear diapers!”
“He wears them sometimes,” the sheriff points out.
“Yeah, but only when Stiles is teeny. That barely even counts!” Papa rolls his eyes.
“Okay, fine. We’ll call it the pull-up bag, then,” he says drily. Stiles thinks for a minute.
“Papa, that’s even worse.” Papa ruffles his hair and Stiles leans into the touch, grinning.
“Go get Blue, okay?” Stiles gasps.
“I almost forgotted her!” He runs towards the stairs, mumbling his apologies to the stuffed dog. It was one of the toys he’d had since he was little the first time, and since he’d been classified it went everywhere with him. Stiles had an absolute meltdown in the supermarket the other day when he realized in the middle of picking out apples that Blue wasn’t there. It wasn’t a bratty tantrum either, like he was crying because he didn’t get what he wanted- Stiles just genuinely started missing his stuffed friend in the middle of the produce.
“Walk, Stiles!” John reminds him, sighing. Stiles is clumsy enough out of headspace. He doesn’t need his four-year old falling down the stairs again. Predictably, a few seconds later, Stiles comes clomping down the stairs, but he stops suddenly at the halfway point. John smirks as Stiles suddenly remembers he wasn’t supposed to be running and makes his way slowly down the rest of the stairs. “Good job remembering, buddy,” John praises him. Stiles preens.
One thing Stiles’s classification had shown John was that he was lacking in support and validation. The comprehensive evaluation that people underwent to find out their classification also included a full physical and mental health evaluation, and Stile’s had shown that he had anxiety and sometimes suffered from low self-esteem. John was doing his damndest to combat that, and so Stiles was seeing a therapist every other week. Everyone else in his life, from his teachers to his friends, had been advised to show Stiles some more appreciation. John himself had been guilty of blowing Stiles off sometimes, or making jokes about how Stiles was a bad son. He and Stiles had had a long talk, and John had vowed to be more mindful of Stiles’s feelings.
“Papa, your little boy is hungry,” Stiles says, tugging on John’s shirt sleeve. John checks the time and nearly swears. It’s almost four o’clock, and he’d forgotten to get Stiles his after-school snack. No wonder Stiles was hungry.
“You have apple sauce in the diaper bag, and I’ll order you pizza when we get to the station. How’s that sound?” Stiles cheers and grabs John’s hand, pulling him towards the door.
“Come on, Papa, ‘fore all the pizza is gone! Let’s go!” He calls. John rolls his eyes and follows, locking the door carefully behind him. Stiles prattles on eagerly about his day from the backseat, and John interjects the occasional comment/question to at least give the appearance of listening. He tries, he really does, but sometimes Stiles talks so fast that he genuinely can’t understand him. “And so, that’s why Stiles thinks we need a puppy,” the little boy finishes, letting out a deep breath. John jolts, glad he’d tuned back in in time to hear that comment.
“Baby, who’s gonna take care of a puppy?” He asks mildly. Stiles frowns, tapping his lip thoughtfully. Then he grins, bouncing in his seat.
“Stiles can when he’s big!” John snorts.
“Stiles doesn’t clean his room when he’s big. How’s he going to clean up after a puppy?”
“Puppy won’t make messes,” Stiles says dismissively.
“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?” John asks good-humoredly.
“Scotty will train the puppy like the Betas!” John finally lets himself laugh at the mental image of Scott becoming a dog-whisperer, or the Betas finding out they’d been compared to puppies.
“Let’s talk about it when you’re big, okay?” Stiles hums noncommittally. In a tiny corner in the back of his mind, he knows he’s not really responsible enough for a puppy. But it’s fun to think about.
When they arrive at the station, Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt but waits patiently for Papa to unlock the door. The child-locks are pretty much perpetually on because sometimes Stiles gets excited and tries to run out into the parking lot. You almost get hit by a car one time…
The sheriff takes his hand firmly, leading him into the station. He looks a little funny wearing his uniform with the not-diaper bag slung over his shoulder and holding Stiles’s hand.
When they walk inside, half the station wants to come and see Stiles. He’s spent very little time at the station since he was classified, and he gets a warm feeling in his belly when he thinks about how much they all care for him. After just a few minutes, though, his dad shoos them all away.
“All right, get back to work, everyone. I need to-” He’s interrupted by Parrish, bursting in the room.
“Sheriff, I need you. And you’re probably going to want to send Stiles somewhere else tonight,” he says bluntly. John’s eyes widen a fraction.
“Go sit in my office a minute, okay buddy?” He says to Stiles. Stiles chews worriedly on his lower lip, but even in this young of a headspace, he knows not to argue. He grabs the not-a-diaper-bag, carrying it awkwardly into the office and shutting the door. He debates aging up, but the reason he’s been able to have such control over his headspace is because they keep him on a strict schedule. He’s little most weekdays after school until bedtime. With time, he’ll be able to have more control over his headspace, but for now he’s heavily dependent on the schedule they’d set up. His body is simply conditioned to be little at this time of the afternoon.
The sheriff comes in about ten minutes later, looking harried.
“Buddy, I need you to focus on me for a minute, okay? If you can age up even a little bit, you should for just a minute.” Stiles’s eyes widen. His dad never, ever asks him to age up once he’s in his headspace. He always encourages Stiles to be as little as he needs. “I called Scott, and he said Derek would be willing to watch you for tonight. Would you be okay with that?” Stiles chews on his lip some more. Derek is really growly, and he’s hurt Stiles more than once before. Sure, he’s been more standoffish than openly aggressive recently, but still… Stiles has never been around him in his headspace before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows Derek had been classed as a Caregiver, though he’d never had a Little.
“He’ll be nice?” Stiles asks, a little nervously. Papa nods vehemently.
“Scott’s promised, baby, and you know Scott doesn’t break his promises.” Stiles nods again. Scott always tried really hard to keep his word.
“Okay, Papa. If Derek will be nice, I’ll go,” he says bravely.
“Thank you, baby. He’s going to pick you up from here in just a few minutes, okay? He’ll get you something to eat and everything. I’ll call you as soon as I can, but you might have to stay with him overnight,” John says anxiously. Stiles smiles, clumsily patting John’s hand.
“That’s okay, Papa. I’ll be okay.” John informs a few of the other deputies that Derek Hale will be picking Stiles up soon. They seem even warier about that idea than Stiles does. John also sets Stiles up in a chair with Blue and a fidget toy in his office. Derek will be there soon. Stiles waits a little anxiously, but he doesn’t have long to wait. Derek arrives less than ten minutes later.
Derek seems his normal, brooding self, if a little nervous. Stiles has aged up a bit since the conversation with his dad, but he can feel the fuzzy pull of his headspace in the back of his mind.
“Does he need anything besides the diaper bag? Do you know if he’s wearing diapers today? Derek asks the nearest officer with some urgency. Stiles rolls his eyes.
“I am not wearing diapers today,” he says irritably. Derek gives him a sheepish half-grin.
“Sorry, buddy. Just trying to make sure we get everything you need. Have you eaten?” Stiles shakes his head.
“Papa said Stiles can have pizza?” Stiles asks cautiously. Derek gives him a real smile this time.
“Well, we have to do what Papa said, right? We’ll pick some up on the way to my place.” Stiles gives him a tentative smile, clutching Blue tightly as Derek scoops up the diaper bag. He waves goodbye to the deputies as they exit the building, but he stops at the edge of the sidewalk.
“Stiles? What’s up?” Derek asks curiously. Stiles sighs.
“Have to hold hands in the parking lot,” he explains. Derek bites back a smile, but Stiles thinks that’s okay because it doesn’t look like a mean one.
“That sounds like a pretty smart idea. You’ll keep me from getting hit by a car, won’t you?” He asks. Stiles giggles.
“No, Derek, you’re a’posed to keep me from getting hit by a car!” Derek laughs.
“Oops. Does that mean I’m the babysitter? I thought that was your job!”
“You’re silly,” Stiles giggles as Derek buckles him into the backseat. He even buckles Blue in in Stiles’s lap, so she can be safe too. Stiles is glad someone else is finally treating her like he does!
“What kind of pizza do you like?” Derek asks from the front seat, pulling out his cell phone. Stiles frowns.
“You’re not ‘posed to be on the phone in the car, Derek,” he says reprovingly. Stiles expects the eye roll he gets, but he doesn’t expect the fond look that comes after it.
“The car isn’t moving, kiddo,” Derek snorts.
“Oh. Then I guess we’re fine,” he concedes. “My dad gives lots of tickets to people on their phones, but I think only when they’re driving.”
“Uh-huh,” Derek says drily. “So, pizza?”
“Cheese, please,” Stiles answers, then he giggles. “Hey, I did a rhyme, Derek, didja hear it? Cheese, please!” Derek laughs too, albeit less enthusiastically.
“You sure did! All that Dr. Seuss Scott reads to you must be paying off.” Stiles nods, then frowns when he thinks about Scott.
“Scotty was a’posed to watch me tonight, ‘cept M’lissa got sick. You think she’s okay?” He asks, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Derek pauses in dialing the pizza place.
“Hey,” he says, turning around to face Stiles. “Melissa is going to be just fine with some rest and meds. And I’m sure she’d love for you to come see her once she’s not contagious.” He frowns at Stiles for a minute, and Stiles is afraid he’s done something wrong until Derek taps on his lip, gently prompting him to release it.
“Let’s get you a pacifier, bud. I don’t want you hurting your lip.” Derek digs through the diaper bag until he comes up with the pacifier. He hesitates for just a moment and then presses it into Stiles’s mouth. Stiles hums his appreciation as he starts to suck on it. The familiar object is soothing, and already some of his worries are melting away. “Good boy,” Derek says warmly. He sounds like he means it.
Stiles sucks placidly on his pacifier while Derek orders the pizza and begins the drive across town. Derek must sense Stiles needs some quiet time, because he doesn’t prompt him to talk at all. When they arrive at the pizza place, Derek opens his door and unbuckles him. After a brief, searching look, (and weirdly, a sniff) Derek lifts him out of the car. Instead of placing him on the ground, though, he places Stiles on his hip, one arm under his butt and the other supporting his back. Stiles freezes. This is new. He’s never been carried by anyone other than his father or Scott, in headspace or otherwise. Tentatively, Stiles lays his head down on Derek’s shoulder, one arm clutching Blue to his chest and the other slung around Derek’s neck.
It’s kind of funny, because Stiles didn’t even realize how small he was until Derek picked him up, but WOW he’s suddenly feeling teeny-tiny. When Derek takes one arm away to pay for the pizza, Stiles lets out a quiet whine at the loss of the warm hand on his back.
Somehow, magically, Derek knows exactly what’s wrong.
“Let me just pay for the pizza and when we get home you can have all the cuddles you want, okay?” He murmurs, cuddling Stiles closer with his one arm. Stiles tucks his head more tightly into Derek’s neck, relishing in the close contact. He’s teeny, and a little bit frightened, but Derek’s presence is soothing.
The man at the checkout counter coos at him.
“Aw, what a precious baby you have there. He looks so sweet!” Stiles expects Derek to snort, or to contradict the man, but instead, Derek runs a gentle hand through Stiles’s hair.
“He’s very sweet,” Derek agrees. He picks up the pizzas with one hand, waving off the clerk’s offers of help. If anyone else was balancing him on their hip using only one hand, Stiles would probably be freaking out, but with Derek, he feels sure that the older man won’t drop him. Stiles lets out another little whine as Derek buckles him in (the pizzas are now resting temporarily on top of the car so he can open the door). Stiles’s breath hitches. “I know, little man,” Derek coos sympathetically at him. “I know, everything’s really big and scary right now, isn’t it? We’ll get you back to my place, and we’ll have some pizza, and cuddles, and a bottle. How’s that sound, huh?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stiles feels like he should be annoyed, but Derek isn’t talking down to him, and the baby-talk does kind of make him feel validated. Everything is big scary loud and-
Stiles takes in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling tears in the corner of his eyes.
“Oh, Stiles. You’re so tiny right now, aren’t you?” Derek says sympathetically. Stiles buries his face in Blue, giving the faintest of nods. “Okay, buddy. I have to get in the front to drive us home, but I’ll hold your hand the whole way. Can you be a very brave boy for just a few more minutes?” Stiles sucks harder on his pacifier, but he nods. He can do this. For sure.
True to his word, Derek slides into the front seat, starts the car, and then reaches his hand back to take Stiles’. Stiles imagines it’s not very comfortable and probably not the safest thing to do while driving, but gripping Derek’s hand in both of his is enough to keep some of the panic at bay. Derek keeps murmuring reassurances, too, like how Stiles is being so super brave and he’ll have to tell his dad and the pack how awesome he is.
And wow, interacting with the pack while he’s little is kind of a scary thought, but if things go okay with Derek, maybe the rest of the group will be supportive of him, too.
When they get to Derek’s place, Derek somehow manages to juggle Stiles, the diaper bag, and the pizzas all the way up the stairs. When they enter the loft, Stiles makes a vaguely questioning noise.
“Ithac?” He lisps behind his pacifier. Derek smirks.
“Isaac’s out on a date with the girl from Biology,” he says with some amusement. “He told me he’d be home around 10, but… we’ll see.” Stiles grins. Good for him. Isaac deserves something normal in his life after everything he’s gone through.
Derek sets Stiles down on the counter next to the pizzas while he fixes him a sippy cup of juice.
“Apple, right?”
“Wif half-”
“Water,” Derek finishes for him. Stiles eyebrows raise comically. “Hey, I had Scott give me the low-down. I don’t go into babysitting blind!” Stiles grins, taking out his pacifier.
“You make me sound like a monster,” he giggles. Derek snorts.
“Nah, I don’t have to change monsters’s diapers,” he teases. Stiles blushes bright red.
“You’re not changing my diapers! I mean- I don’t wear diapers!” Derek holds up his hands in surrender.
“Hey, I’m just teasing, little man.” Stiles pouts. “Pouters don’t get pizza!” Derek decrees.
“Hey, I need pizza! I’m a growing boy,” Stiles says reprovingly.
“Better stick that lip back in,” Derek jokes as he plates Stiles pizza. Stiles sucks his lip under his front teeth comically. Though he is definitely feeling big enough to walk, that doesn’t stop him from reaching his arms out to Derek (who’s finished setting the table). Derek rolls his eyes, but he still lifts Stiles up and carries him over to the table.
“Is your headspace always so inconsistent?” Derek asks him curiously. Stiles shrugs.
“Sometimes I start off bigger and go smaller, or I go bigger if something interesting happens- like when Scott brought fireworks,” he explains. Derek laughs because that was the most Scott thing he’s ever heard, bringing fireworks over to play with a baby. Good intentions, but horribly misguided. “Papa says it should be more the same soon.” Derek smiles wistfully.
“You know, we always thought my sister Cora was going to be a Little. You never know for sure until you’re Classified, of course, but I just had a feeling. Gah, the trouble she used to get in,” he reminisces. He gives Stiles a wry smile. “You know, she reminds me a lot of you, actually.”
“She was awesome?” Stiles asks. Derek laughs.
“She was cheeky, and smart, and very thoughtful,” he counters. Then he frowns. “I’m sorry I didn’t always see those traits in you, buddy.” Stiles shrugs uncomfortably.
“No big deal.”
“No, it is a big deal. I really hurt you, and I’m sorry. I promise, from now on, I’m gonna do my best not to hurt you ever again.” Stiles cocks his head to the side.
“No more slamming me into walls and steering wheels?” Derek winces.
“I really screwed up there, huh?”
“You were soooo grumpy. But you’re a lot nicer now,” Stiles says frankly. Derek snorts.
“Thank you?” Stiles pats his cheek fondly.
“Can we make cookies?” Stiles asks, giving a dopey smile that he’s been told is adorable. Derek gives him a pointed look. He knows he's being blatantly manipulated.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says finally. Then he picks Stiles up and throws him over his shoulder, tickling him mercilessly.
“D-Derek! Put me down!” Stiles gasps in between bursts of laughter.
“Okay, who’s the best babysitter ever?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Scott is!” Stiles crows.
“Wait, what? What does Scott do that I don’t?” Derek demands.
“He lets me eat ice cream for dinner and he doesn’t make me go to bed ever!” Stiles says enthusiastically. Derek rolls his eyes, settling Stiles in his arms right-side up.
“Something tells me Scott’s not allowed to babysit you very often,” he says drily. Stiles nods seriously.
“Papa asked Lydia before he asked Scott. But you can’t tell him that!” Stiles says frantically. “He’d be soooo sad.” Derek smirks at the thought of Scott’s ridiculous puppy dog face. He pantomimes putting a key to his lips and locking it.
“Our secret, little man,” he promises with a wink. “Say, what do I have to do to become your favorite babysitter?” Stiles, without missing a beat, shoots back,
“Well, you could start by hurrying up those cookies.” Derek feigns annoyance and pretends to drop him. “Derek! I take it back, you can be as slow as you need to! But I still won’t settle for any less than chocolate chip!”
“You’re incorrigible,” Derek informs him. Stiles stares up at him unblinkingly, a slight smile still playing at the corners of his lips. Derek sighs. “You have to help me mix the batter.” Stiles squeals in delight because helping in the kitchen is SO super fun. Derek cracks the eggs but Stiles gets to mix it all together and sprinkle in the chocolate chips. Derek has to prevent him from dumping the entire bag in and Stiles grumbles a little but then he and Derek have a flour war while the cookies are baking and Stiles is too breathless with laughter to miss the extra sugar.
Finally, when they’re both covered from head to toe, Derek attempts to clean him up with a rag.
“Derek, nooo,” Stiles whines, squirming away.
“Stiles, I need to clean you up,” Derek says reasonably. Derek makes another attempt with the washcloth and Stiles shoves his hands away. “Stiles, we don’t push,” he says sternly. Stiles lowers his hands, lower lip wobbling. Derek sighs. “I’m not mad, buddy, but I have to clean you up, okay? Your dad won’t ever let me watch you again if I send you home with flour in your ears,” he says lightly, poking at the appendages in question. Stiles smiles shyly and lets Derek finish cleaning him up without further argument.
“Scott says, if we have milk, cookies are a healthy snack!” Stiles observes wisely. Derek rolls his eyes.
“Well, if Scott says it, it must be true,” he snarks, but he fixes Stiles a sippy cup of milk anyway.
“Can we watch a movie?” Stiles asks curiously. Derek nods.
“Sure thing. I don’t really have any DVDs, but I think Isaac convinced me to get a Netflix subscription the other day.” He sets Stiles up on the couch with the remote and tries to help him before quickly realizing that even in his headspace Stiles is always going to be better than him with electronics.
“Jurassic Park! Look, Derek!” Derek raises his eyebrows.
“Okay, I think maybe we should switch over to the kid’s section,” he suggests mildly.
“Aw, okay,” Stiles says a little disappointedly, but he quickly settles on “The Iron Giant.” Derek settles down beside him, waiting to see what Stiles will do. He looks uncertain for a fraction of a second, but then he climbs up into Derek’s lap with the special kind of confidence only very young children can exhibit. Derek holds back his laughter as Stiles shifts around to find the optimal position.
“Comfy?” He asks, and his tone is only half snark. He can’t see Stiles’s face, of course, but he can practically hear his wicked grin.
“Perfect.” Derek rolls his eyes and curls a lazy arm around Stiles middle. He had promised him cuddles earlier, after all. Stiles is a little squirmy during the movie, and halfway through Derek has to get up and search for his pacifier, but the sweet smile Stiles gives him for finding it makes the whole thing worth it. Isaac comes in just as the end credits are rolling. Stiles hides his head in Derek’s neck adorably.
“Hey, bud. You’re home a little early, everything go okay?” Derek asks easily, like he’s not cradling Stiles Stilinski on his couch. Isaac gives him a crooked smile.
“She had an early curfew. Hey, little dude,” he says, sprawling on the couch next to Derek.
“Hi, Ithaac,” Stiles murmurs shyly.
“He’s so teeny,” Isaac remarks in awe.
“It’s almost his bedtime. Wanna help me get him ready?” Derek offers. Stiles lets out a sad little whine. “Yes, it is almost bedtime, but first you get a bottle and a story. Deal?” Derek can practically hear the cogs turning as Stiles ponders the deal. He gives a little grumble that Derek chooses to interpret as acquiescence.
“C-can I hold him?” Isaac asks hesitantly. Derek shrugs, but he gives Stiles a careful look.
“That okay, Stiles?” Derek asks lightly. He knows Stiles and Isaac had had issues, (which was definitely his fault, now that he thought about it) so he wasn’t going to just pawn Stiles off on Isaac if that was going to make him uncomfortable. Stiles just shrugs.
“Bottle?” He reminded Derek. Derek laughed.
“All right, you demanding child. I’ll get your bottle while you and Isaac pick out a story, okay?” Isaac takes Stiles from Derek’s arms carefully, like he's afraid he’ll break him if he grips him wrong. Which, to be fair, he could.
“Like this?” He asks nervously. Derek smiles fondly, readjusting Isaac’s arms to where he’s cradling Stiles more comfortably.
“There, like that. That’s perfect.” Isaac smiles shyly at the praise, and Stiles lays his head down on his shoulder with a yawn.
“Oh my gosh, he’s so cute, Derek. You’re sure we can’t keep him?” Derek smirks. His wolf is purring contentedly at the sight of the two of them interacting.
“Unfortunately, the Sheriff wants him back in the morning.” Isaac sighs dramatically before carrying Stiles over to the pointedly not-a-diaper-bag.
“I’m really glad you’re letting me hang out with you,” Isaac tells him quietly. Stiles gives him a shy smile, patting Isaac’s cheek. Stiles isn’t feeling very verbal, but the way Isaac beams and cuddles him closer, he figures he got the message across anyway. “Okay, what are we reading, little dude? Looks like we’ve got The Giving Tree, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, and a Bad Case of Stripes.” Stiles points at the middle one.
“Excellent choice,” Derek says approvingly from behind him. He sets the bottle on the table near Isaac. “I gotta steal this guy for just a moment, okay Isaac? Don’t start reading without us!” He teases, clearly for Stiles’s benefit. Stiles looks really confused until he sees Derek nonchalantly grab a diaper and wipes from the (okay, maybe it really is a diaper bag) bag. He sighs, but he doesn’t throw a tantrum about it. He’s pretty much gotten used to the pull-ups and diapers by now- it beats waking up with wet sheets.
“Your pull-up is wet, buddy. Do you need to go any more?” Derek asks him once they’re alone in the bathroom. Stiles thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Okay. I’m going to change you now. Is that okay?” Stiles gives a lazy wave of his hand. He’s too tired to care about anything right now. His dad’s schedule for him is evil and now Stiles has trouble staying awake past 9 o’clock. He’s so tired, in fact, that he barely notices that Derek slid a diaper over his bottom instead of a pull-up after cleaning him. Stiles doesn’t complain, but he does put on a pretty impressive pout.
“You’re so little right now,” Derek explains apologetically as he finishes taping up the diaper, and Stiles gives a kind of shrug because he’s maybe sort of right about that. “There, all done. That wasn’t so bad, huh?” Stiles gives an unimpressed ‘humph,’ but he magnanimously allows Derek to lift him up and carry him back to the living room. “Now, do you want me to read, or Isaac to read?” Stiles shrugs, laying his head tiredly against Derek’s chest. Derek gives a warm chuckle, and Stiles can feel the rumble of his chest against his ear. “How about I let you sit with Isaac and I’ll read. Sound good?” Stiles nods sleepily, clutching Blue and sucking absently on his pacifier. It takes Isaac a moment to settle him on his lap, but his grip is more sure now, less awkward. He pokes the bottle into Stiles’s mouth, who latches on eagerly, making happy little suckling noises. Derek clears his throat self-consciously.
“If you give a mouse a cookie,” he starts, “then he’ll ask for a glass of milk.” He sounds a little uncomfortable at first, but in Stiles’s opinion, he really hits his stride by page 5. Stiles makes happy little babbles when Derek finishes the story, and he and Isaac both melt a little.
“Tookie?” Stiles says blearily, unlatching from the bottle for a moment.
“We already had cookies, buddy,” Derek reminds him. Stiles nods, looking at him like he’s an idiot, and Derek realizes he wasn’t really asking for a cookie, just repeating what he’d heard.
“He must be pretty tired,” Isaac observes. Derek nods, getting up and carefully taking Stiles from Isaac.
“I’m try and get him to sleep. I’ll be back downstairs in a bit, okay?” Isaac waves him off cheerfully, settling down on the couch and turning on the tv. Meanwhile, Derek snags Stiles’s blanket from the diaper bag and heads upstairs. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights in his bedroom, hoping to get Stiles to sleep. He doesn’t have a rocking chair, but he’s hoping simply bouncing Stiles on his hip will be just as effective.
He’d thought for a long time where to put Stiles to sleep tonight. The couch downstairs wasn’t uncomfortable, but both his and Isaac’s bedrooms were upstairs, and he wanted to be close by in case the baby needed him during the night. A pallet on the floor just seemed mean, so Derek had finally decided to just put him in his own bed. Hopefully if Stiles woke up big in the morning, he wouldn’t be too miffed.
Derek shifts positions so he can cradle Stiles in one arm and feed him the bottle with the other. It takes some maneuvering, and he probably couldn’t do it if he wasn’t a werewolf, but he manages in the end. Meanwhile, Stiles keeps placidly drinking his bottle, though his pace has slowed considerably. Derek bounces him gently up and down, humming something absently. After just a few minutes, Stiles pulls away from the bottle and leans into Derek’s chest. Derek replaces the bottle with his pacifier and starts to rub Stiles’s back, continuing both the bouncing and the humming. It makes him feel a little ridiculous, and he’s glad Isaac isn’t up here to witness him being this soft.
If someone had told him a month ago, or hell, even two weeks ago, that he’d be rocking Stiles Stilinski to sleep tonight in his arms, he’d have laughed in their faces. Stiles’s classification had made him reevaluate their relationship, and he’d felt a little guilty at the way he’d treated him. Still, he wouldn’t have expected or even wanted this. But something between them had shifted- he felt it first in his wolf. It always felt a certain element of protectiveness over his pack members, which definitely included Stiles. But since he’d found out Stiles was a little, and a young one at that, that feeling of protectiveness had been steadily increasing. It unnerved him, so he’d basically been avoiding Stiles up until Scott had called and begged him to babysit.
They’d had an important yet succinct conversation wherein Scott promised that if Derek was a shitty babysitter, he’d claw out his throat. Derek had growled a reprimand at the threat from his second, but he promised to be as nurturing as he could be. And not to brag, but he's feeling like he’s done a pretty good job tonight. His wolf is both content and proud to care for his human like this, and it leaves a warm feeling in his chest.
“Ni-ni, De’k,” Stiles murmurs as his eyes drifted shut. Derek smooths the hair back from his forehead and lays him gently on the bed, tucking the covers in firmly around him.
“Sweet dreams, Stiles,” he says softly.
Sheriff Stilinski calls him early the next morning.
“Thank you so much for looking after him,” he says, still sounding harried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you before now. I hope he was all right?” Derek slips quietly into the hall to avoid waking Stiles.
“He was perfect, Sheriff. A little nervous at first, but we got along just fine.” The Sheriff chuckles a little.
“You changed my kid’s diapers last night, Derek. I think you can call me John.” Derek smirks a little.
“Sure thing, John. You get things worked out last night?” The Sheriff sighs, clearly disappointed with the way the night had gone.
“Not yet. There was a break-in at the bank. They took almost fifty thousand dollars, and disappeared without a trace.” Derek whistles appreciatively. “I’ll be by to pick him up in about fifteen minutes. Hopefully he’ll stay asleep; I’m going to take him back to the house and sleep for a few hours before going in to the station again.” Derek frowns. It seemed kind of pointless to wake Stiles to then try and put him back to sleep so soon. And what would the Sheriff do with him when he needed to go back to the station?
“You know, if you need to leave him here a little longer, that’s fine,” Derek says hastily. “He’s no bother, really.” The Sheriff hesitates.
“Are you sure? I don’t know when I’ll be able to pick him up again today. I don’t want to put you out.”
“No, I mean it. We were talking about having a Pack Night tonight, anyway. They haven’t really been around Stiles when he’s little. I think it would be good for them.” John sighs.
“If you’re absolutely sure it won’t be putting you out,” he hedges.
“Completely. Pack bonding time is really important to werewolves. I think him spending time here has been good for both of us,” Derek says honestly.
“Well, I won’t pretend to understand your pack dynamic, but I really appreciate you looking out for my son.”
“Any time, John.” He means it.
“No, I- Derek, I have to let you go. I’ll call to check in when I can. Key’s under the mat if you need to get into our place for any reason,” John says hurriedly before hanging up. Derek smiles, happier than he thought he’d be about the prospect of babysitting for an entire day.
Pack Night was something Derek had started only recently. He remembered having a night set aside each week with his family pack when he was young for bonding and fun. It seemed to serve its purpose- they all remained a tight unit until the fire. They took turns picking what the activities were, though most of the time the member whose turn it was just chose a movie.
Derek decides he might as well be up for the day since Stiles will undoubtedly wake soon. He gets to work making breakfast. Stiles likes pancakes, right? And a little fruit and eggs won’t hurt. And juice, of course. And Isaac will want bacon... Maybe he's going overboard, but it wouldn't do to skimp. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. And he's got to look after his Betas.