Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stiles owns a little shop in downtown (for lack of a better word) Beacon Hills. It isn't strictly magic, but it isn't not magic; contents ranging from ethically sourced dragon scales to a collection of books solely about the Mets, it has a little something for everybody. And Stiles does a good business, both with the magical and non-magical communities. His dad jokes that it's the lightly charmed coffee shop next door that keeps people coming back, but he would be wrong. And also jealous, considering his coffee purchases are carefully rationed.

It's a good life, though. The town is more or less safe from supernatural baddies, Stiles and Scott meet twice a week for their respective lunch breaks and a couple nights a week; Lydia is building some kind of mathematical empire in California that Stiles is both in awe of and frightened by; and Alison is the best deputy the Sheriff's ever had.

If anybody had bothered to tell sixteen year old Stiles that this would be his life, he'd have laughed in their face. While running for his life, of course. Never trust a time traveler.

There is just one thing he might complain about, if he were the complaining type.

(Who is he kidding, he's totally the complaining type)

Turns out, the last few years of high school really set his expectations high, as far as life excitement goes. Sure, okay, it was a little absurd there for a minute, with a kanima, hunters, AND Gerard Argent, followed immediately by the alpha pack, and the nogitsune after that, but still.

It's almost as if life is over correcting to the point of boredom. Banality. Monotony, even.

Sure, Stiles lives with Derek now, in a gorgeous sprawling three-storey farmhouse built by Derek's and Boyd's (and a team of minions) own hands. It's beautiful and spacious, homey when filled with Derek's slowly growing pack, but sometimes? It feels a little empty. Big, for just the two (or even three or four, depending on who's around and what their work schedule is like) of them.

It's something Stiles thinks about sometimes, in the lull between customers.

"Uncle 'Tiles?" says a tiny voice from behind the counter. Stiles leans over to get a look at who it is.

"Well, hello Miss Lucy," he says, smiling down at Erica's precious six year old. Her curls are pulled back into two little puffs today, and her shirt matches the neon green hair ties to eye-searing perfection. Stiles loves her more than life itself. "How can I help you?"

Lucy thrusts a crumpled piece of paper at Stiles' face and says, "I want the kitty."

Stiles chuckles. "Not sure I can do much about that, peanut." He opens up the paper to see an ad for a litter of kittens available for adoption at Scott's clinic. It has a big tear at the top, like she ripped it down from somewhere. Sure enough, his bulletin board has a very conspicuous blank spot toward the bottom. "Have you asked your mom?" he says. Erica is browsing the stones in the corner, definitely hearing every word of their conversation.

"She said no," Lucy says, brown eyes going big and watery. The second her lower lip quivers, Stiles scoots out from behind the counter and sweeps her into his arms with a loud, wet kiss to her cheek.

"Well, punkin pie," he says, giving her a squeeze, "I can't really override your Mama. Buuuuut…" he carries her over to the ancient photocopier in the corner, a relic that's more for nostalgic purposes than actual functionality. On a good day, it only works about 60% of the time. Saves on the paper budget, at least.

"I can make a copy of the picture and talk to your dad about it." Everybody knows Boyd can never say no to her. It's kind of hilarious, no matter what Erica says.

"Yeah," Lucy breathes out, her little legs kicking in excitement.

Carefully, Stiles lowers her enough that she can lift the copier lid on her own and slide the paper onto the glass. Once she's satisfied, her finger goes in search of the print button. With a subtle, magical push from uncle Stiles, the machine rumbles to life. While it warms up, Stiles adjusts Lucy's weight and twirls her around the shop, stopping once to say hello to Mr. Fred and his emotional support Pomeranian, Zelda.

Five minutes later, the Xerox machine finally spits out a sheet of paper and they return to the corner only to find a blank expanse of white where a picture of the kittens should be.

"Ugh," Stiles sighs, letting a wiggly Lucy slither out of his arms. She hits the floor at a run and crashes into Erica's legs with a squeal.

"See ya later, Batman," Erica calls out. He looks up and sees her wave, Lucy babbling in her ear about something Stiles can't hear.

Stiles slips the blank sheet of paper back into the tray, thinking how it's a good thing six year olds have a short attention span.

It's not quite four o'clock when Stiles ushers out the last customer of the day; as much as Stiles loves helping people, the best part of his day is always going to be the moment he gets to slide the lock into place and crank up the music while he sets about straightening up the shop and deals with the day to day paperwork in the back. It's like a form of meditation for him, and it's the only time he gets to spend one hundred percent by himself, no exceptions.

It was a slow day today, probably due to the picture perfect weather outside, so it doesn't take long to re-shelve books and sort out the various charms. While he rearranges the blessing candles into some semblance of order, he charms the broom into sweeping up behind him. Once that's done, the receipts are a breeze, the money stowed in the backroom safe.

The only thing left is the package from Cleo, the emissary from Jackson's pack in London. He's been waiting for this for months, but it can only be read on certain days, and today is not one of them. Of course.

Stiles is just running through his mental checklist when he thinks he hears a commotion out on the store floor. It isn't loud, so he can't be sure, but he thinks something is hissing? There haven't been any snakes in the shop in a while. Mystical or otherwise.

Out on the floor, he looks first to his left, in the corner where some of the darker products are. Ingredients for spells that aren't exactly… common. Nothing sticks out, though. Everything is in its properly secured container. And there are no snakes on the floor, though it could've slithered off by now. But then Stiles hears it again, from behind him, followed by a louder clatter. He jogs over to the other side of the store and sees the broom still in action, its bristles poking at something on the floor near the copy machine.

"Hey," Stiles says, making his way over. "Chill." The broom handle falls into his hand, lifeless, and a growl rumbles up from underneath the copy machine. "What the hell?"

Stiles drops into a crouch, one hand cupped to conjure up a little ball of light, big enough for him to see into the dusty gloom. It takes a second for his eyes to focus, to register a wide pair of eyes flashing back at him.

"Hello there," Stiles murmurs, reaching out with one careful hand to grab the kitten. It hisses at first, ears flattened against their head, but a quick sniff followed by a rough lick, and voila! Stiles has a new feline best friend slinking out of their hiding place to rub their tiny body against Stiles' face. Stiles grins and sits up, lifting the tiny fuzzball to clean off the dust clinging to their shaggy black fur.

"Where'd you come from, Squirt?" Stiles asks, bringing the kitten to eye level. They meep at him twice, then spot Stiles' nose and starts batting at it, their tiny claws almost ticklish. "Do you have any friends under there? Hmm?" Putting it down, Stiles conjures up his ball of light just to make sure nothing else is hiding under or around his copy machine. Once satisfied, he scoops up the kitten again, ending their one-sided tussle with the broom and heads for the back door.

"Looks like we have a stop to make before I go home."

Scott's sitting on the porch with a bottle of beer by the time Stiles pulls up to the McCall house. The box in Stiles' passenger seat goes blessedly silent once he shuts off the engine, and the flaps stop trying to pop open quite so violently. Stiles tucks it under an arm and waves. "Hey Scotty boy!" Scott jumps up and waves back, sweeping Stiles into a bone-crushing hug. Ten years gone by and Scott still forgets the force of his strength. Stiles wouldn't trade it for anything.

Well, maybe a smidge more oxygen.

The kitten yowls, drawing Scott's attention enough for him to miss Stiles' squeaky wheezing.

"Who's in the box?" Scott coos, reaching for it. The flaps push open from the inside and then they're both staring at a black fuzzball with jade green eyes. Scott gasps and the box drops, the purring kitten clutched to his chest. They yowl once, long and dire. "It's okay little dude, I got you." One hand under its rump, Scott leads Stiles into the house.

"Sounds pretty healthy," Scott says, lifting up the kitten to peer at their face. "Where did you say you found her?"

Stiles swallows down the last of Scott's abandoned beer. "Snuck into the shop somehow and hid under the printer."

Scott hums, leading them to the home office he has out back, for emergencies. "She feels like she's a good weight. Maybe a little young to be on her own yet." He sets her on the exam table and reaches for a stethoscope.

Stiles watches Scott listen to the lungs and heart, then asks, "It's a girl then?"

"Let's take a look at the under carriage," Scott says. The kitten flips with ease, attention on Stiles' wiggling fingers and not Scott scrutinizing her genitals.

"Yup, it's a girl." Scott rocks her back up again and studies her face. Bounces her a couple times, like he's weighing her with his hand. "She looks kinda the same age as Cleo's babies. You're sure there weren't any more?" He uses his thumb to rub under the kitten's chin.

"Not in the shop, no," Stiles sighs. "But I didn't think to check if there were any others in the alley." Cleo's babies are almost seven weeks now. Weaned, sure, but nowhere near ready to be fending for themselves on the streets. Lucky for them, they've been hanging out in Scott's office's cattery since birth. Stiles helps him socialize the kittens on Wednesdays. "I should probably go back and check." He looks from the kitten to the empty box dangling from his fingers to Scott. "Could I just—"

"Of course, dude!" Scott smiles up at him like Stiles offered him a million dollars, not a couple of hours with a kitten he wasn't expecting. "Maria'll love her! We'll get her fed too, while you're gone. See if she's weaned."

"You're the best." They bump fists on Stiles' way out the door.

Stiles returns a few hours later armed with a stack of pizzas, a couple liters of Coke, and no more kittens. He still hasn't decided if he's happy about that or not. There are just too many nooks and crannies for a kitten to hide in, for Stiles to overlook.

"Stop, dude," Scott says through a mouthful of pizza. The kitten is rolling around in a playpen in a corner of the kitchen, chasing after a crumpled up paper ball and a sparkle ball by turns. Scott's pit bull Finch is watching her with laser focus, nose pressed up against the screened side. "I'm sure if there were more, you would've found them."

Beside him in her high chair, Maria pats Stiles' forearm with one chubby hand. "It's 'kay," she says up at him, face smeared with sauce.

Stiles plants a wet, smacking kiss on her cheek. "Thanks Mimi."

"Welcome." And just like that, her attention turns back to the pieces of pizza Allison cut up for her.

"You're gonna have to hang on to her for a bit, though," Scott says, sounding apologetic. "The clinic is overrun for the adoption event right now. But I can give you some food and stuff, to get you through the night at least."

Stiles shifts in his chair, eyes darting around the kitchen. "I uh, may have stopped by the store on my way back here and picked up some stuff."

Standing behind the counter, Allison muffles a laugh. Traitor.

The sun is starting to set by the time Stiles pulls into his driveway. It makes it easy to see how dark it is inside the house. Derek's still in the greenhouse, then. Figures.

Stiles scoops the kitten from the box, cooing at her while she screams at him for his cruel and unusual punishment, as he heads around the house to the expansive yard out back. It looks magical with the deepening dusk; the grass coated in dew, vines of all sorts spiraling up and around the trees demarcating yard from forest. It feels alive, with the old house gone and the ground painstakingly blessed. It's a place of healing and growth, now. A monument to the Hales before them, a celebration of the Hales to come. And in the middle of it, Derek's custom designed greenhouse. The place he spends most of his time, nurturing plants of all kinds while also shadow-running his landscaping business.

It's the only place, other than their bed, where Derek seems most like himself. Most open and vulnerable. At peace.

And while all that is the primary reason this is Stiles' second favorite spot, watching from the door while Derek gets all sweaty and dirty is a very close second. Especially if he's wearing a tank top. Goddamn those arms.

"Hello Stiles," Derek says, without looking behind him.

Stiles coughs. "Said that out loud again, did I?"

Derek throws Stiles a wry look. His ears are turning red though, and his shoulders are shaking. Stiles loves him so fucking much.

Along with the typical bedding plants that can be found at any landscaping center, Derek sometimes procures rare plants for people that know what to ask for and how to take care of them properly. Stiles swears Derek is pickier about selling those plants than animal shelters are when they adopt out pets. It's ridiculously cute.

Almost as cute as Winnie trying to scale up Stiles' chest to get her claws in all the dangly green things while he walks along the main path toward Derek and his work bench.

"Would you chill for two seconds," Stiles hisses, getting one hand wrapped around her belly, the other keeping her rear legs contained. With her back to his chest, her front paws stick straight out in front of her, flailing through liquid gold sunbeams. Her claws look silver against her black fur, and deadlier than teeny tiny claws should be. It'd be adorable if Stiles wasn't afraid of them tearing one of Derek's beloved plants.

"Who are you muttering to?" Derek asks, muffled, while he works with something on the table in front of him.

"Nobody," Stiles is steps away now, Derek's broad back right in front of him, close enough for Winnie to snag a claw in. "Crap."

Two seconds later, Stiles' hands are empty, Derek is as still as a statue, and Winnie is sitting on Derek's head like a fuzzy little gargoyle, big green eyes trying to take in everything at once. She even has her mouth open, her tongue peeking out, chittering at a butterfly winding a path toward her. It's only by the grace of werewolf reflexes that she doesn't belly flop onto Derek's planting table and make a run for it. Unfortunately, Derek's hands are filthy with soil and vermiculite, which means Winnie is now filthy with soil and vermiculite, and so is the spot on Stiles' shirt where Derek's fist is pressed.

"Whoops," Stiles says, fingers clamped around Winnie's wriggling body. At least Derek isn't angry.

"Meet you inside?"

Derek sighs and scratches at Winnie's chin with one blackened finger. "Give me twenty."

Stiles kisses him on the cheek on his way out.

By the time Derek strolls into the family room, still toweling himself down from the outdoor shower, Stiles has liberated Winnie from her playpen prison and introduced her to the joys of feather wands. "You are the world's fiercest hunter," Stiles coos, dragging the feather bait across the floor. "Yes you are!"

"I've finally been usurped," Derek drawls, towel draped around his neck, a pair of clean sweatpants dangling from one hand.

"Yup," Stiles replies. "Not even all of that—" Stiles gestures at Derek's naked everything "—can save you. Princess Winnie is the ruler now."

Derek's eyebrows arch. "Princess Winnie?"

With a surprised meep, Stiles scoops the kitten from the floor and raises her to eye level with Derek. "Frederick Alexander Hale, meet Princess Winifred von Sugarbottom."

Winnie meows in agreement, a raspy squeak of a thing that turns Stiles' heart to goo. Derek's too, hopefully.

"Where'd you get her?" Derek asks, reaching out to boop Winnie on the nose. She sneezes in response and immediately starts purring, loud and hard. Feels nice against Stiles' cupped palm.

"Sneaked her way into the shop," Stiles explains. "Scott says she's young, but in good health."

"No mom?"

Stiles waits for Derek to step into his pants, silently mourning the loss, and says, "No mom, no siblings. Just this sentient little dust bunny." She murrps up at him, batting at his chin, then leaps for Derek's chest. Surprised, Derek goes with the momentum and drops to the couch with a breathy, "Ooof," Winnie cradled in one big hand. A hand made to look all the bigger compared to how tiny Winnie is. Stiles doesn't sigh. Too loud, anyway.

"She sure is cute," Derek says, gaze locked on her face. She seems equally enamored, or puzzled, until he flashes his red eyes at her. She puffs up in an instant, all of her floof standing on end, tail straight up in the air. Winnie doesn't hiss, though. And after a second, she calms right back down and scales Derek's bare chest. He winces under her little claws, but lets her go where she wants, which is high up on his shoulders so she can bat at his eye. "Who's gonna take her?" Derek asks, one eye closed, the other laser focused on Stiles.

"Ummm…" Stiles looks at all of the cat paraphernalia around the room. "I mean. You did see the room when you walked in, right?"

Derek waits for Winnie to scramble on top of his head where she can paw at whichever eye she chooses. "I figured that was going to be the bonus for whomever adopted her."

Stiles' heart crumples a little, but Derek's too busy tilting back his head to look at Winnie to notice. "I mean, I guess she'd get along with Kira…" Stiles says, watching as Winnie puffs up again, hissing and swatting at Derek's nose.

"Stiles," Derek says, tone low and serious. Stiles' stomach drops even further as Derek reaches for Winnie, calm now but desperately curious, and dumps her in his lap, belly up, wiggling his fingers to keep her attention. "I'm not gonna make you give her up."

"It's fine Derek, I'll just—" Stiles stops, freezes. Replays the last ten seconds in his head. "You're an asshole, Derek Hale." Derek's shit-eating grin shouldn't be so sexy, Stiles hates that grin. He hates it so much he grabs Winnie from Derek's lap, with an affectionate little fist bump spared for Derek's dick, and slides into Derek's lap.

Then, Winnie dangling from one hand, Stiles leans in and kisses that grin right off of Derek's stupid face.

Sundays at the shop are for taking inventory, scheduling house calls, and renewing the protection spells for the pack and Beacon Hills in general, especially the Nemeton. It's a little draining, doing it every week, but worth it for the lack of life or death situations in their lives. It means Derek being able to leave for a month to visit Cora in Columbia or Argentina or whichever country she's exploring at the time. Stiles leaving for a few weeks to work with Lydia on a new project. Chris Argent leaving Beacon Hills permanently. And it means the pack's kids not having to live through the stress and fear previous generations of Hale pack have.

The neighboring packs appreciate it, too. So much that Stiles is willing to teach some of his tricks to humans in their pack. Not all of them, of course, but enough.

At any rate, it isn't until about one in the afternoon that the hardest of the enchantments are done and Stiles can take a break for lunch. Once the ingredients are all packed away, he goes to town on the roast beef sandwich Derek put together for him. In between bites, he listens to his voicemail and makes notes of who needs to be called back and why. He has music playing in the background, low enough to be heard, but not loud enough to sing to, making it easy to fall into a rhythm.

That is until he hears breaking glass from out on the floor.

It isn't loud enough to be a window, probably, but Stiles can't imagine what else it could be; nobody comes in the shop on Sundays, not even Derek. So unless somebody's haunting the store again…

Stiles grabs his bat (carved from mountain ash, fortified with wolfsbane, etched with Enochian runes, studded with silver nails) and tiptoes out to the floor, his back to the wall.

At first glance, the windows seem fine. Makes it less likely Stiles needs the bat, but he tightens his grip anyway and peeks around to the cash register. Everything looks good there, too; nobody in a ski mask trying to clean him out (not that they could). In the corner beyond the register is all the candles and books. Not much glass, but there could be something Stiles forgot about, a vase or holder, something fragile. It all looks fine over there, though. No mess on the floor, nothing askew.

That just leaves the other side of the store, where the less dangerous spell ingredients are. Please don't let it be the bat eyes again.

Stiles creeps around the corner, bat at the ready. One step, two steps. The copier is in the way of the worst damage, but Stiles can already see glittering shards of glass. And in between those? A drift of fly wings. "Damn it." He takes one more step, to make sure it's only the fly wings, and yelps. In the middle of the mess is a giant gray puff ball chowing down on as many wings as it can get its tiny pink mouth on, not caring one bit if there happens to be glass mixed in or not.

"Stop trying to kill yourself!" Stiles says, ignoring the glass crunching under his shoes to reach for the tiny kitten. They hiss at him on the way up, one paw dragging its claws along Stiles cheek. He gasps and glares at them, both hands wrapped around their middle. "Do you have a death wish?" Stiles asks in a huff. The kitten yowls at him and glances back at the floor, rear paws scrabbling for purchase.

Stiles grunts, unamused, and stalks off to the store room in search of an empty box. The kitten protests, paws reaching for the edge. Before it can get any ideas, Stiles folds the flaps closed and huffs in triumph. "Let's see you try to get out of that." He's about to leave the room, broom in hand, when the box rattles and tumbles. A second later, the kitten streaks past him, and Stiles yells out a curse, a little too loud, on reflex. It freezes the kitten mid-stride, their poor little eyes wide and terrified.

"Sorry bud," Stiles says, stroking his palm along their spine. "Put a little bit too much force behind that one." He releases the kitten with a blink and their body slumps into Stiles' hands, limp and breathless. "Couldn't be more like Winnie, huh?" Stiles murmurs, dropping into his office chair, the kitten drawn close to his chest. It takes a few minutes for them to get their breathing back to normal, for them to seek out Stiles' stroking fingers. Another minute and they finally start to purr, letting Stiles' lungs work again.

"Trust me now?" he asks. He takes their lick of his thumb as agreement.

"Y'know," Stiles says to Scott, "When I imagined someone as a kitten magnet, I never pictured this." He gestures to Mary tumbling around on the exam table between them, her attention solely focused on the catnip mouse Scott found in his desk drawer.

Scott looks up at Stiles, one eye squinted shut. "Since when are you picturing people as kitten magnets?"

"In the abstract, Scott. In the abstract."

Scott looks dubious.

"Anyway!" Stiles claps his hands. "Since I obviously missed something, or someone, in the alley yesterday, I think I need a super sniffer to check my work."

"Yeah, it wouldn't hurt," Scott agrees. "Can't leave this one here, though." He scoops up Mary and nuzzles her belly. "No free cages, remember?"

"It's all good," Stiles says. "Derek should be done with his invoicing by now, and Winnie'll probably enjoy the company."

Scott stills. "You're keeping the other one?"

Stiles frowns and forces Scott to turn around and start walking again, one hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward. "Yeah, why not?"

"I dunno," Scott shrugs. "I never thought you wanted ki— ttens." Stiles ignores Scott's weird little hiccup there. Mary probably got a claw in his nipple or something.

"I've never not wanted kittens," Stiles says while sliding into the Jeep. "Winnie's super sweet and cuddly, and seems pretty chill. Not sure about this one though." He uses a finger to draw circles in the air, coming close enough to Mary's nose to make her eyes cross. "Gotta see if we can coax out some of her spice."

"If you say so," Scott drawls.

Derek is still in his office when they reach the house, so Stiles drops Mary into Winnie's playpen and he and Scott watch for a few minutes to make sure they get along well enough. After a bit of squeaking, hissing, and play fighting, they're rolling around together like long-lost sisters. And it's not a leap to think they might be. Stiles snaps a picture with his phone and sends it to Derek. Lord help the mister that comes between me and my sister. Be back soon.

At the shop, Scott searches every last inch, in several different directions, but the only kitten-related scent to be found is the immediate area of the Xerox machine. It's a little weird that there isn't a trail of some sort, but considering it's where the both of them were discovered, it stands to reason that's where the scent would be the strongest.

Scott even goes so far as to move the copier and open up all its nooks and crannies, checking to make sure there aren't any kittens stuck in the machine somehow, just in case. Stiles wants to point out the absurdity of it, but then again, he'd never imagined a pair of stray kittens washing up in his store, either. It just feels a little too on the nose; black — and almost black — kittens finding a home in a magic shop? Too Sabrina the Teenage Witch for Stiles.

Scott comes in through the back door rubbing at his palms and heads for the bathroom. "There's nothing out there, dude."

"Well," Stiles says, over the rush of water. "At least I don't have to feel guilty about missing anything yesterday."

"I guess," Scott replies, drying off his hands. "It's just so weird though. Kittens that small should still have a mother around, unless she died somehow. I didn't find a body, though."

Stiles throws an arm around Scott's shoulders and leads him back to the door. "We did what we could, dude. At least we know now that'll be the end of it." He locks the door behind them and nudges Scott in the ribs. "No more vicious attack kittens for this store!"

It's a bright, gorgeous California morning when Stiles walks into the shop. The sky is a clear, brilliant blue, it's warm without being hot, and Derek woke up Stiles with a spectacular blow job. There is no better way to start off a Monday.

Especially if that Monday includes walking into your locked and magicked shop and finding a pair of kittens asleep in a massive pile of toilet paper in the middle of your office.

Stiles follows the trail of it back to the bathroom; one, to see how much more damage was done, and two, to see how many more kittens might be hiding in there. Grateful that it's just the two, Stiles returns to his office and plucks the kittens from the floor, both of them hissing in surprise, to place them on his desk.

One is a solid gray, light like a wisp of smoke in the distance, with pale green eyes and a nose that's as gray as the rest of them. The other is a cream color, as fluffy as the gray, with gorgeous black eye liner to emphasize their even paler green eyes. The pair of them are quite well-behaved on the desk, sitting up tall with their tails wrapped around their legs, eyes just as focused on Stiles as he is on them. They follow his finger when he waves it around and both tilt up their heads for the obligatory chin scritches.

Stiles sighs and reaches for his phone. "Well now it's just getting weird."

After he calls and asks Willa and Jinx to handle the shop for the day, Stiles finds a box to bring home his two stowaways, with a pit stop planned for Scott's office. As Stiles suspected, Scott gives them a clean bill of health, along with a large helping of frustration.

"But I looked all over!" Scott says, looking disappointed in himself.

Stiles pats his shoulder on their way out the back door. "It's cool bro, I don't blame you."

"We're gonna have to go back later," Scott says, worried.

Stiles shakes his head. "I'm gonna get Derek and figure this out. You deal with your patients."

With another heavy sigh, Scott gives Stiles a sideways hug and boops the kittens' noses. "You gonna keep these two, too?"

Stiles sniffs and puffs out his chest. "I plead the fifth."

Scott rolls his eyes.

Back at home, Derek is still in bed, his neck blanketed by two rumbling puffs of fur. Stiles would be more jealous if it wasn't so goddamn cute, but they stagger their days off for a reason. He gets it. He'll just take one picture and send it to the group chat. Derek won't mind.

He does mind the two extra furballs stumbling their way along his legs, up over his ass, to cross the naked expanse of his back. They look so tiny compared to the width of Derek's shoulders; Stiles clutches his chest to hold in an obnoxious cooing sound. And then he has to take another picture of them trying to summit Derek's head. Stiles' heart is going to burst.

"At some point I'm going to put my foot down," Derek grumbles, trying to execute a slow roll onto his back without crushing any innocents in the process. Once he gets there, the creamy one, Max, settles on Derek's forehead and starts cleaning her paws with dainty little licks. Derek sighs the sigh of the most put upon werewolf in the history of the universe, but he also resettles the other three kittens into the crook of one arm. "We have to do something about this."

Stiles slinks into bed, trying to disturb his brood as little as possible, and says, "I am well aware." He pokes at one of Winnie's ears until she meeps at him and tilts her head into his touch for ear scritches. "I'd like you to check though, maybe your alpha nose will catch something Scott's didn't."

"We can't keep anymore," Derek says, softer. Now done with her paws, Max tries to curl up on Derek's face for a nap, mouth widening in a gigantic yawn. Derek gives her two seconds to get comfortable, then shifts her over to the kitten pile, using his thumb to rub her chin until she calms. Her eyes are still slitted open though, giving Stiles a very dark look.

"It wasn't me, lady," he huffs at her. Max licks her lips and then her eyes are closed. "That one's gonna be trouble," Stiles says to Derek.

"Stiles," Derek sighs.

"Yes, I know. No more kittens." Stiles studies the pile and adds, "This might be three too many already. But they're so cute. And they're siblings!" He pops up onto his forearms and digs his chin into Derek's belly. "You can't separate family!"

"We can if there are more," Derek says, using his hand to mess up Stiles' hair.

Stiles presses his cheek to Derek's skin and angles into his touch, chasing the shivers it creates. "Fine, fine," he says with a sigh. He uses his thumb to stroke the fur between Sarah's closed eyes, soaking up her purrs with the palm of his hand. "Let's just stay here for a few minutes though, okay? Enjoy the moment and all that?"

Derek smiles, his eyes warm and tender. "Of course."

Four kittens is too much for the playpen Scott loaned them, so they kitten-proof the biggest bathroom in the house and stow them in there before heading off to the shop.

It's a little harder today for Derek to try and find the old, faint trails of stray kittens, with customers in the shop and the usual back alley traffic going on, but that's all the more reason Stiles wanted Derek. With his alpha nose, years of practice, and half a dozen years of therapy and meditation in his back pocket, there is very little he can't track now. Unless they're supernatural and know how to mask their scent. Phone in hand, Stiles drops down to sit on his back steps and googles 'supernatural kittens,' just in case.

"Are werekittens a thing?" he asks absently, chewing on his thumbnail while a page loads.

Derek doesn't bother to reply, which is pretty rude, honestly.

After several hours of searching, in all possible directions (including vertical) for a three square mile radius, Derek returns empty-handed. Stiles is also empty-handed, on the werekitten front. Overall, it's a good thing, because splitting up families is mean. But it's kind of annoying too, with no clue as to where the kittens came from. Not only did Derek not find any more kittens, he didn't even find a possible mother, alive or dead.

It's a good sign for Scott's joint trap-neuter-return program he runs with the animal shelter, at least.

On the way home, they stop for more kitten paraphernalia; food, treats, litter and litter pans, toys... Stiles picks a giant puffy bed that's black and furry on the outside, and stuffed bean bag beans on the inside. Derek opts for a giant cat tree with three different towers and five cubby holes.

"They like being high," Derek grumbles at Stiles' questioning look.

"I didn't say anything."

Derek nudges him in the ribs. "Your eyebrows did."

"Gee," Stiles says, while the salesperson bags up the smaller items. "I wonder where they learned that from."

Derek sticks his tongue out at Stiles, like a proper adult. Stiles is so proud.

Back at home, they leave the kittens in the bathroom while they haul in everything, then take another hour to rearrange the living room to accommodate the cat tree. Well, Derek rearranges. Stiles Googles the best places to keep litter boxes.

After the both of them indulge in a well-deserved beer and sandwich, they file up to the bathroom to release the hounds. They're all passed out though, tucked in the small space between the toilet and the wall. It's kind of adorable how they're line up in a row, exactly in the order Stiles brought them home: Winnie on one end, Max on the other, Sarah and Mary in the middle, creating the world's cutest, fluffiest little gradie—

"Oh, mother of fuck," Stiles snaps, scrubbing at his face with his palms.

"They kinda look like that one cat meme," Derek says at the same time.

Stiles chokes back a hysterical cackle. "That's because they are," Stiles says. He spins on his heel and stalks out the door, headed for the stairs, keys in hand

"What do you mean?" Derek asks, still in the bathroom, probably gaping. With his hands on his hips. Stiles really loves that look.

From the Jeep, Stiles yells, "I'll explain when I get back!"

He bursts into the store a little violently, startling Mrs. Felson and Jinx, who's already a little high strung on a good day. Probably doesn't help that Jinx has a fluffy white snowball in his hand, screaming bloody murder, and Mrs. Felson is no doubt telling them everything they're doing wrong.

"I was just about to call you," Jinx says, hand thrust in front of them to relinquish control of the kitten to Stiles.

Stiles takes it and four sets of tiny razors dig their way through his t-shirt into his chest. He uses his hand to support her butt, and to prevent her weight from creating bigger holes. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this," he says to Jinx. "Are you okay?" Beside him, Mrs. Felson raps Stiles on the shin with her cane. "Ow??"

"That isn't how you hold a kitten," she sniffs. "Give it to me."

It's more like the kitten is holding onto Stiles at this point, but Mrs. Felson doesn't look like she cares about semantics. "I'm gonna take her to Scott's, Mrs. Felson. He has the mother." Mrs. Felson doesn't look like she approves, greedy little woman with her vulture-like claws. The only reason Stiles even lets her in his shop is because she's so powerful. And also spends a shitload of money every month.

Not enough to give her this innocent little angel, though.

Her sour look makes Stiles' toes curl, and he doesn't breathe until she shuffles off to the ingredients corner. Jinx looks equally unnerved, their hair a mess, face pale. Stiles gives their shoulder a shake. "You okay, bud?"

Jinx nods. "She kept trying to get the kitten," Jinx explains. "And then it climbed up my leg and tried to get to my shoulder." They take a deep breath and let it out slow.

Stiles looks around, but all he sees is Mrs. Felson and Dr. Skinner checking out the Mets books section. "Where's Willa?"

"As soon as she saw the kitten," Jinx explains, "She bolted for the back."

"I'm allergic!" she pipes up from the office.

"Sorry!" Stiles shouts back. "We'll be gone in a sec!" To Jinx he says, "Are you good to close still?"

Jinx closes their eyes and nods. "I'm good now. I just uh…" A slight tip of the head in Mrs. Felson's direction gets their point across.

"I'll make sure to pay you time and a half for today," Stiles murmurs, giving Jinx's shoulder a squeeze. "Just don't tell Willa."

"I heard that!" Willa says, miffed.

"No you didn't!" Stiles yells back.

Stiles doesn't bother dropping by the clinic again, now that he's put two and two together. In his rush to leave the shop, Stiles didn't think to grab a box for Dani, but she seems pretty content to perch on his shoulder like a purry little parrot. Her weight is something of a comfort, the way she kneads her claws into his shoulder almost ticklish.

At least until he pulls up to the house and Derek's sitting on the porch waiting for them. Dani's claws are all sharp then, sinking into Stiles' skin. He winces and reaches for her, trying to extricate her as gently as possible. It isn't until he relaxes his shoulders that she relents and he's able to lower her to chest height, then thrust her out in front of him, the world's cutest, most ineffectual shield.

"Last one, I swear!" he says, taking slow steps toward the house. Derek doesn't look mad, just annoyed. Confused. Probably a little disappointed. That happens more than Stiles would like, and hurts worse now that they're adults. He'd like to think he left most of his impulsivity and recklessness behind them.

"How do you know?" Derek asks, taking Dani from Stiles and cradling her to his chest.

Stiles shrugs. "I had Jinx unplug the copy machine."

"Of course you did," Derek says, like that's a normal everyday solution to solving a mysterious appearing kitten problem. Stiles appreciates the lack of sarcasm in Derek's voice, how he passes his half-empty beer bottle to Stiles the way he always does. Stiles downs it in two long swallows and sighs.

"So, Erica was in the shop with Lucy on Friday," Stiles starts. The three of them are on their way up the stairs, hopefully to add one last kitten to their brood. "And Luce asked me for kittens. Y'know the poster Scott put up on the bulletin board?"

Derek opens the door and nods. The kittens are awake now, swarming their legs as the door closes behind them. Winnie manages to climb her way up to Derek's hip before he hisses. Startled, Dani bites the meat of his thumb, and Derek almost drops her in his attempt to get away from her tiny teeth.

Stiles catches her before she can fall too far, kisses her on her downy head, then places her on the floor so everybody can pile on top of her and welcome her to the family.

"Well, so Erica said no to a kitten, obviously."

Derek nods and sinks down to the floor. The second his ass touches tile, he has five intrepid kittens trying to climb him from twenty different directions. The soft, gentle smile on his face is the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen. And then Stiles has to ruin it by blurting out, "I think we should have kids."

Six bodies freeze all at once and then, also as one, six pairs of green eyes turn to stare at him like his brain is leaking out of his ears.

Stiles struggles to resist the urge to check, because what the fuck, mouth.

"I'm getting ahead of myself," Stiles says with a wave of his hand. Lightheaded, he drops to sit on the edge of the tub, but miscalculates and ends up cracking his head on the wall as he topples back into a sprawl. "That's just what I needed," Stiles mutters, rubbing the back of his head. "A goose egg to match my shin bruise."

"Stiles," Derek says, firm but not angry, dragging Stiles back to the point. "Lucy? Kittens?"

"Right, yes. Kittens." Stiles adjusts himself into a slightly more comfortable position and continues. "So, Luce, kitten poster, me. Erica says no, but you know I can't say no, so we go over to the Xerox machine to make a copy of the poster for her to bring home to Boyd — don't make that face at me — and I guess my mojo just—" Stiles mimes a small explosion with his hands.

"I thought that machine didn't even work," Derek says, wincing while Max works her way to the top of his head.

"It works when it wants to." Stiles thinks about it. "Aaaand I might've used a small boost to help Lucy press the button all by herself."

"Stiles—"

"Teeny tiny magical boost! The eensiest little thing!" Stiles demonstrates by holding his thumb and pointer finger bare millimeters apart.

Derek sighs. "But how does kittens equal kids?" He strokes a finger along Winnie's back and her eyes droop closed.

"I… might have been thinking about it recently," Stiles says, bouncing his legs to see how Mary reacts. It doesn't deter her from reaching his bent knees. From there, she leaps for his chest, miscalculates, and ends up bonking her head on his nose. He catches her in the cup of his palm and holds her close; the perfect excuse to avoid Derek's intent gaze.

"Stiles," Derek says, firm.

Stiles takes a minute to settle Mary in his lap. Calms her down by stroking her chin and neck. Her nose and up over the bridge. He sweeps his thumb over each eye and back down to her chin again, over and over until her purr is audible.

"I saw my dad with Mimi the other day," he finally explains. "Al brought her in to the station for something and my dad just—" he gestures with his free hand, all of the words clogged up in his throat. "I haven't seen him with the kids in a while. I guess I forgot."

What he forgot was the way his dad's eyes soften. How he seems twenty years younger again, bouncing a two year old on his knee. Playing "got your nose" and patty cake. Letting them hold his badge while he slow dances them around his office.

For a while, Stiles wasn't even sure he wanted kids; after watching what Scott and Alison and Erica and Boyd went through the first few years. But Scott and Alison are on number two now, and Erica's four months away from number three. They survived it and their kids are amazing. Jealous may not be the right word, but it's isn't 100% wrong, either.

He swallows around the lump in his throat and adds, "The day after that, it was Lucy at the shop. And I— I guess my using that extremely miniscule zing of magic just—" Stiles waves his hand at the kittens.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Derek asks.

Stiles shoots him a look. "Did I not mention how this was a very recent — one might say abrupt — realization?"

"Stiles—"

"I mean, I haven't even had time to prepare the PowerPoint!"

"You don't need a PowerPoint, Stiles."

"Go ahead, ruin all my fun," Stiles pouts.

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying, I haven't not thought about having kids."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Stiles throws Derek's words at him, trying not to sneer. Derek has been nothing but patient with Stiles bringing home almost half a dozen kittens, and then through this weird revelation of Stiles' magic pushing things along without approval. Even after years of therapy, Stiles can understand how Derek's past would make it hard to even consider expanding their family of two, let alone talk about it in complete sentences.

"It was more of an abstract thing, Stiles. The germ of an idea, not something I was ready to discuss in a concrete way yet."

"Oh."

"But we can, if you want? Discuss it?" He glances down at his lap and the pile of kittens asleep on his legs. "Though I think we should wait until these guys grow up a little, first."

"I guess we can do that," Stiles sighs, holding back a smile. Now that they're through the feelings stuff, Stiles notices his back starting to throb, and the hint of a cramp in his calf. "Come help me out of the tub?" he asks, making grabby hands and puppy eyes at Derek.

Derek gestures at his lap, then Stiles'. "I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to disturb them when they're sleeping."

"Oh, right. Of course." Careful, Stiles toes off his shoes and socks and pivots to lift his feet into the tub. He gets the gimlet eye from Mary, but she calms down once he settles against the end of the tub, using Derek's towel as a pillow. "I guess I'll just nap here for a while." With his eyes mostly closed, he chances a peek in Derek's direction, his heart full from the sweet way Derek watches the kittens sleep.

Without looking up, Derek says, "Just no magic Xerox machine babies, okay?"

Stiles smiles to himself. "I'll think about it."