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She’s got curly pigtails wrapped in bright pink bows and a lime green tutu over her striped stockings. She’s smiling bright, Converse covered feet shuffling awkwardly on the pavement as her mom babbles on about why she needs Stiles to babysit. Her cheeks are round with baby fat as she continues to smile at Stiles.
Stiles cringes. He knows that smile. He knows it like he knows the back of his own hand. It’s the evilest smile in all of Beacon Hills. And it’s attached to her, little Paisley Mae Matthews. She’s only six but she’s still stuck in that terrible twos stage. Stiles has helped taken care of her since she was a year old, ever since her mom came knocking frantically on the Stilinski’s front door at the crack of dawn and asked if Stiles could babysit because there was an emergency at work.
Of course, Stiles being the most awesome person to ever exist, agreed and Paisley was handed over to him and a baby bag was shoved in his hand, her mom quickly telling him that his own mom would know what to do if he needed anything. After that she came to him once a week, asking if he would babysit, and he’s done it for the past five years, never once missing the weekly standing appointment.
Until werewolves that is. Today is the first time he’s looked after the little girl in the past few months since all this supernatural stuff went down. He feels guilty that he’s had to blow off Ms. Matthews several times, but what’s he supposed to tell her? Oh sorry I can’t today, there’s a hunter after my best friend who’s a werewolf and I have to go save his ass once again. Yeah, no.
But today he has time off from his double life of fighting off giant lizards and hunters that want to kill all his friends on a daily basis and dealing with a sour wolf that has no clue what he’s doing. It’s also spring break so he has a few days so he has absolutely nothing to do until someone decides to go crazy and he’s needed.
“I’ll be back around eight to pick her up. Thank you so much for doing this, Stiles,” Ms. Matthews says quickly. She’s always in such a rush; Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen her slow down and relax. He shrugs like it’s no big deal and holds his hand out for Paisley, albeit a bit reluctantly. The little girl takes it, still smiling at him, and gives her mom a sweet wave, then swings her backpack higher over shoulder.
“It’s no problem, Ms. Matthews. We’ll see you later.” Stiles watches as she gets in her car and, waving, pulls away from the curb.
Paisley kicks his ankle lightly and starts swinging their joined hands back and forth. Stiles reluctantly looks down at her. “We’re gonna have so much fun, Mr. Stiles!” She lets go of his hand, skips to the front door, and promptly slams it shut.
Stiles groans. This is going to be the longest day ever.
*
Paisley grins. Stiles glares.
“Paisley, you untie me right now!”
She shakes her head, pig tails flying out around her. The ribbons are gone, effectively tied around his wrists, and one pig tail is crooked. Stiles wiggles his hands around unsuccessfully getting the ribbons loose. He supposes he can’t really blame anyone but himself for getting into this situation. He was the one who decided to play Cops and Robbers with an evil six year old. And now he’s gone and gotten himself tied to the staircase with bright pink ribbons, hands behind his back so he can’t get free.
Paisley has been grinning like the Cheshire cat since she caught her robber. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips. “I gotcha, Mr. Stiles!” she crows and throws her hands up in the air victoriously. She does a little dance, her untied shoes nearly tripping her up.
“Paisley Mae Matthews! You untie me right now!”
“Nuh-uh.” She smiles again and blows him a kiss before skipping off into the kitchen. Slumping against the staircase, Stiles grumbles and gives up on trying to get free.
He listens as Paisley rummages around in the refrigerator. He knows she won’t find anything because he forgot to go grocery shopping last night; he’d already planned on taking her with him after her mom left but then she went and “arrested” him.
After the door slams closed there’s a scuffle of shoes and the legs of a step stool sliding across the linoleum. Stiles figures she’s trying to get to the cabinets. He’s proven right when he hears a loud huff and shoes slapping hard on the kitchen floor. In an instant she’s standing in the doorway, her smile gone and replaced by a scowl.
A six year old should not look that menacing.
Stiles winces, already knowing what’s coming. Paisley opens her mouth, takes in a deep breath, and screams. He groans and bangs the back of his head against the staircase, willing it to stop. She once did this for five minutes straight. It was the longest five minutes of his life.
“Paisley!” he shouts. She screams louder, this time adding a foot stomp to the mix. That’s new.
Finally Stiles decides to just sit there until she decides she’s finished or until she’s blue in the face and has to stop. He hears another thump, thinking it’s just her stomping her feet again, but then something much bigger and louder is crashing down the stairs and when Stiles twists himself around to look he sees that it’s Derek.
Derek.
“Derek, wha—“
Derek’s wide-eyed and has a slightly frantic look about him. He looks from Stiles tied up and Paisley screaming and suddenly Stiles’ bonds are being cut loose in one quick motion. Paisley’s screaming goes from intentional to frightened in just a second.
“Dude, what even?” Stiles splutters, rubbing his wrists. He hurries down the steps where Paisley clings to his legs tightly.
Derek’s expression turns sour in an instant. “I heard screaming and thought something was wrong.” He glares at Stiles, and ah there we go, that Stiles is used to.
“We’re fine. We played cops and robbers and she tied me to the stairs and—did you come through the window again?! Geeze! What is it with you werewo—people and the aversion to doors?” Stiles pries Paisley off his leg but keeps one hand on the girl’s shoulder. “What are you doing here anyways?”
Derek huffs. “I need you to do some research for me.” Stiles rolls his eyes and throws his free hand up in the air, giving a huff of his own.
“Well not today buddy! I’m busy,” he says, pointing at Paisley. Derek switches his glare to Paisley. She stares back, big green eyes widening slightly.
“But—“
“Nope,” Stiles interrupts. “I’m babysitting. And unless you want to look after her yourself then—“ Stiles stops. He grins, an idea hitting him suddenly. “How about this? I’ll do your research tonight if, and only if, you watch Paisley while I go grocery shopping.”
Stiles’ grin gets bigger at the expression of horror on Derek’s face. He shakes his head while backing up the stairs, nearly stumbling over his feet. Stiles rolls his eyes.
“Oh come on, Derek! I do things for you guys all the time. If you want your damn research you’ll do this for me!” Stiles points a finger at Derek who just scowls.
Paisley gasps next to him. “Mr. Stiles, you said a dirty word! I’m tellin’ my momma!” Stiles thumps her shoulder. She pouts and kicks him in the shin in retaliation. “I’m tellin’ on you for that, too.”
“Oh please, I’d like to see you try.” Stiles turns to her and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Fine!”
Stiles is about to respond when a throat clearing interrupts his train of thought. He looks to the stairs to see Derek, eyebrow raised, staring at them. Stiles sighs, ready to beg if he has to; just a couple of hours of freedom, that’s all he wants.
He opts for pulling a Scott by poking his bottom lip out just enough and making his eyes big and watery. It’s worked on his dad a few times, why shouldn’t it work on Derek? Derek’s just a giant puppy in disguise anyway.
Derek sighs like it’s the most difficult task in the world Stiles is giving him; which, given the history with Paisley, it just might be the most difficult task in the world. Or at least in Beacon Hills. Stiles shouts in triumph and does a quick little dance right there on the spot.
“Yes! I won’t be gone long, promise. Just…don’t let her eat anything she’s not supposed to and don’t let her out of the house without you and don’t,” Stiles pauses, thinking for a moment. “Actually, just don’t let her do anything until I get back. Otherwise you won’t make it out alive.” Stiles is already mostly out the front door. Derek’s glaring his best glare and Paisley is already back to her normal self and poking him in the side. “Oh! And please don’t growl at her. Or go all…ya know on her. I have to give her back to her mom in one piece tonight.”
He’s out and slamming the door behind him before Derek can even respond.
*
The grocery shopping doesn’t take as long as Stiles thought it would. He was gone barely over an hour and was back with a jeep full of bags that needed to be taken in. He stares thoughtfully at the bags before deciding he’ll take the cold stuff in first and get Derek to bring in the rest.
He’s grabbing the last bag of cold things when he hears a scream. He sprints inside, almost losing the bags, and skids to a halt in the kitchen but there’s nobody in there. He drops the bags onto the table countertops and hurries to the living room. But when he gets there he stops and just….stares.
It was obviously Paisley who screamed if the way her hands are on her hips and her foot’s tapping are anything to go by. She’s got a tiara on her head and her pig tails are practically falling out by now. Stiles watches as she picks up a crayon and slaps it on the coffee table in front of where Derek’s sitting, glaring and huffing through his nose.
This ought to be good.
“You can’t color Cinderella’s hair pink, Mr. Derek!” She points to the yellow crayon she’d put down in front of him indignantly.
“Why not?! She’s a girl so her hair can be pink!” Derek argues. Stiles clamps his mouth shut to keep from laughing. He wants, no needs, to see where this goes.
“Just ‘cause she’s a girl doesn’t mean her hair can be colored pink! Gosh!” She huffs and rolls her eyes before plopping back down next to him and pushing the yellow crayon closer to him. When he tries to take the pink back, Paisley snatches it away so fast that Derek doesn’t even have the time to react. “Boys,” she grumbles and tosses the pink crayon into the crayon box.
Stiles stifles his laugh as best he can.
Stiles watches as Derek picks up the yellow crayon and continues coloring, glancing at Paisley every so often. When she catches Derek looking she makes a shooing motion with her hand and points to the picture. Derek rolls his eyes.
There’s a few seconds of silence. But then Paisley huffs again, puts down her blue crayon, and gets on her knees. She crowds into Derek’s space, puts her tiny hands on his cheeks (Stiles may or may not have a mild heart attack at this, because it’s Derek and Derek’s anger management has never been the best), and, squishing his cheeks together, says in the most serious voice Stiles has ever heard, “You know, Mr. Derek, your face is going to get stuck like that. So pucker up buttercup and get to colorin’!”
She lets go and plops down to continue coloring. Derek actually looks shocked, maybe a little baffled, and Stiles softens a bit at that. Paisley thumps Derek on the forehead to get his attention. Derek’s mouth tilts up in the smallest smile and he takes his yellow crayon and finishes coloring Cinderella’s hair.
Stiles sighs. At that Derek whips around, a glare taking over his features. Stiles flaps his hands in a dismissive gesture and backs out of the room to finish getting the groceries. Derek’s coloring. There’s no way he’s going to interrupt that for groceries.
*
The groceries are all brought in and put away, and by the time Stiles is done Paisley has wandered into the kitchen, huffing and puffing that she’s hungry and when can we eat lunch, Mr. Stiles? Stiles hands her a snack until it’s time for lunch. She takes it eagerly, putting down the picture in her hand so she can eat the pack of chips.
Once she’s out of the room Stiles takes the picture and examines it. It’s a pretty average picture for a six year old. Your basic crayon drawing of a house with a stick family standing outside, the biggest smiles on their faces. Stiles smiles at that. He’s about to put it down when he notices crayon outlines on the back of the paper.
He flips it over and his heart may or may not melt a little in a totally manly way, thank you very much. On the back is another drawing of a house, in bright blue crayon, and next to it is stick figures of Stiles, Derek, and Paisley. There’s pink hearts everywhere and green grass and an orange sky and it’s all so sweet that Stiles kind of wants to cry.
“What’s that?”
Stiles jumps and the paper flutters to the ground. He scoops it up quickly before Derek can see. “Nothing. Just a drawing Paisley did.” He shrugs and folds the drawing up so he can put it in his pocket. “So, uh, thanks, you know, for watching her.”
Stiles shuffles his feet awkwardly. Derek shrugs and he gets that sour look on his face like it’s absolutely killing him to be nice.
Stiles figures it probably is.
*
By the time eight p.m. rolls around Stiles is ready to possibly murder someone. Or maybe throw himself out a window, or off the roof. Whichever’s quicker.
After lunch Paisley decided she did not want to take nap, that she was too old to take a nap, would never take naps ever again. So Stiles took away her toys and made her sit there, which only resulted in the screaming thing again.
Stiles let her scream while Derek yelled at Stiles to shut her up or else he would rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth, and Stiles just rolled his eyes and reprimanded him for word usage around a six year old. After that it continued to go downhill.
Now Stiles is impatiently staring at the door, willing Paisley’s mom to knock within the next few seconds. When it doesn’t work he sighs and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Paisley makes a face at him where he’s got her pinned under his arm on the couch. Derek is on the other side of her, ears covered, and eyes closed. He looks like he’s in extreme pain.
Paisley pokes Derek. Derek growls, actually growls, and Stiles fears not for the first time tonight that he’s going to go all werewolf on a little girl. “Derek,” Stiles snaps and reaches over to punch Derek’s shoulder.
“Don’t be so mean, Mr. Derek,” Paisley grumbles. “Remember, your face is gonna get stuck like that!” she reminds him and promptly sticks her tongue out at Derek. Stiles grins, remembering the picture in his pocket, and thinks that Paisley really does like Derek. In her own way, of course.
“Yeah, Mr. Derek, your face is gonna get stuck like that.” Stiles dodges the swat aimed at the back of his head. Derek purses his lips and his eyebrows draw together.
Stiles glances at the clock on the cable box. It’s almost twenty after eight. He inwardly groans that Paisley’s mom hasn’t arrived when she said she would.
“Mr. Stiles, when is momma coming to pick me up?”
Stiles looks down at the little girl. She looks sleepy and worn out after a day of being evil.
“She was supposed to be here at eight, but it looks like it might be a little while longer. So you’re stuck with me kiddo.” He smiles brightly and Paisley rolls her eyes.
“Can we watch cartoons?” she asks. Stiles grabs the remote and turns the television on, flipping fast through the channels until he finds cartoons suitable for a kid her age. He finally settles with something on the Disney channel.
There’s silence for several minutes, the show droning on and on. Stiles would turn it off or change the channel but he doesn’t want to suffer the wrath of Paisley any more than he has already, so he tries his best to block out the noise.
He glances over at Derek. He looks just as uncomfortable as Stiles is with watching the Disney channel. Stiles holds back a grin, but Derek catches him looking and flashes Stiles a pair of sharp canines. Stiles points to Paisley, still smiling, and Derek’s fangs retract. Instead he reaches across Paisley and punches Stiles in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Stiles mouths, rubbing at his shoulder. That’ll definitely bruise by morning.
“Mr. Stiles,” Paisley says loudly.
“Yes, Paisley?”
“Are you and Mr. Derek boyfriends?”
Stiles nearly chokes on his own saliva. He definitely doesn’t miss Derek’s sharp intake of breath.
“Wh-what?! Why…why would you ask that?”
Paisley looks between the two of them, a tiny eyebrow raised high on her forehead. She crosses her arms and pins Stiles with a look that would put his dad’s interrogation face to shame. He quickly looks to Derek who is pointedly ignoring the conversation.
“Well you guys obviously like each other. Just like this boy at daycare, he pulls my pigtails and pokes fun at my drawings, but momma says he only does it because he likes me. You two keep hitting each other and making faces at each other, so you like each other.” Paisley takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Sometimes Stiles thinks she could rival him at his most talkative moments. “Obviously.”
“Uh…”
Stiles isn’t sure how to dignify that with a response. He supposes it could be true, but really, he thought he’d gotten over that little crush a long time ago. Besides, Derek doesn’t even trust Stiles. Why would he think of Stiles as anything more than a silly, ADD ridden, boy?
He’s about to answer when there’s a loud knock at the door. Paisley squirms to get away so Stiles releases her. She grabs her backpack, leans back over the couch to give Stiles a quick peck on the cheek, then stops and looks at Derek. Derek’s not looking at either of them. Paisley gets this determined look on her face and jumps on the couch. She hops over to Derek, gives him the biggest smooch on the cheek, pats it, then jumps down and runs to the front door.
Stiles gapes at Derek.
“Are you coming, Mr. Stiles?!”
Stiles shoots Derek a smile before getting up and meeting Paisley at the door. He unlocks it and Paisley runs straight into her mom’s legs, hugging them tightly.
Ms. Matthews babbles on about why she was so late and thanks Stiles a million times for watching Paisley. When she’s finished Paisley gives Stiles a wave and a smile. “Love you, Mr. Stiles! Bye!” She kicks at his ankle lightly.
“Yeah, yeah, kiddo. See you next time,” he says. He’s about to close the door when he remembers the picture in his pocket. “Oh! Paisley, you almost forgot your picture.” He takes it out and holds it out to her, but she pushes his hand back and shakes her head.
“You keep it. I’ve got plenty.” She shrugs. “Besides, you and Mr. Derek need something to put on the refrig’rator.” At her mom’s startled look, Stiles quickly steps back inside and waves them off, saying goodbye the entire time. But after the door is closed he vaguely hears Paisley shout “Don’t let his face get stuck like that!”
He laughs loudly and spins around to head upstairs, but Derek’s standing there and he’s watching Stiles intently. Stiles tries his hardest to stop laughing but one look at Derek’s sour face and he’s doubling over, hands on his knees, the laughter making his sides hurt.
Derek is suddenly grabbing him by the collar of his plaid shirt and hauling him up the stairs. Stiles just keeps laughing.
“Shut up,” Derek grumbles and unceremoniously pushes Stiles into the bedroom.
Stiles flops down in his computer chair, laughter dying down but the grin still on his face.
Derek glares.
“Don’t be such a sour wolf.”