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Stiles knows that he was kind of a nightmare when he was Toby’s age. A cute, well-meaning monster, but a monster all the same. His father swears up and down that the end result was worth all of the frantic mall canvases and grocery store lock downs, and Stiles understands one hundred percent where he’s coming from.
Still, his cheeks heat up and his eyes screw themselves to the everything-proof utility carpet in the children’s shoe department when Toby wails and crawls under the chair, refusing to cooperate or tell his father exactly what’s wrong.
He refuses to put on a single pair of shoes; that’s pretty clear from the get-go. It’s hard to piece together exactly what brought the fit on in the first place. He was fine at home, downright cheerful for the entire car ride over, and he’d only fidgeted a little on the way into the mall. He always fidgets when they go somewhere crowded. Stiles is starting to worry. He understands that kids have fits, heaven knows the epic tantrums Ollie threw when he was younger, but there had been signs.
All it had taken was Stiles showing him a pair of shoes, and the normally-saccharine five-year-old had gone nuclear and taken a swan dive under the nearest chair. This was terrifying. Ollie looked between Stiles and Toby’s impromptu shelter like he isn’t sure if his brother is going to detonate in the middle of the store.
If he doesn't, Stiles might out of sheer embarrassment. He would go to war for his kids, if there was someone to fight, but right now it’s him versus public opinion. People are staring at them like they’re what Parents magazine is supposed to prevent, and he kind of wants to crawl under the chair next to Toby and never come out.
He’s debating exactly how much space there is available down there, no doubt looking absolutely miserable, when a familiar face comes between him and Toby’s battered old sneakers.
“Mr. S!” River chirps.
“River?” He blinks at her, and her face nearly splits in half with the force of her grin. Like anyone could forget a kid this cute.
“Yeah! That’s me. Why’s Toby under the chair?”
“Because I …” Stiles stops himself before making another stupid, deflective joke. “I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like the shoes?” He looks up as Derek, Rain, and Sky sidle up to where he’s still crouched on the floor, one tiny kids shoe in hand.
“You look like you could use a hand.”
“Possibly two. And a bag for my head.”
“It’s not that bad.” Derek smiles sympathetically, reaching down to pat his shoulder.
Stiles stands up with a sigh, half-heartedly brushing at his knees. “He doesn’t like any of them. He was so happy this morning, and he’s not usually like this. I’m really worried about him.”
“Have you tried letting him pick a pair?”
“He won’t. I tried that first. I thought for sure he’d like the converse. He loves my high tops. But no dice.”
“Mr. S?” River tugs on his hand to get his attention. “Can I try?”
“Can you try what, hon?”
“Talking to Toby.”
He looks at her with something approaching disbelief. He’s seen her slumped inward and vulnerable, so the girl beaming confidently up at him in a riot of Sanrio, beads, and tulle is a change of pace. He remembers that she’s sweet, which is exactly the kind of thing Toby responds best to.
“I think he’d like that.”
“Daddy, can I?”
“I’m not stopping you, bee. Just don’t get stuck this time, all right?”
“Roger dodger.” Just like that, River’s off like a shot. She crawls under the chair next to Toby, right where Stiles was debating jimmying his shoulders in, unrepentantly neon pink tutu ballooning out between the legs.
Derek’s smile fades a little while he watches. “Different, right?”
“Like night and day.”
“I thought she’d outgrown it or something. It turns out Jennifer wouldn’t let her wear it. Said dress up was for babies.” His brow furrows, a thunderous line of frustration, “She still is a baby. And even if… even if it wasn’t age-appropriate, I…”
“You’d never take that from a kid.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s beyond low. Did you figure out why she…?”
“No clue. She hasn’t answered my phone calls, and the people that recommended her haven’t seen her at all.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sure we’ll catch up to her eventually.” For a moment, Stiles is certain he sees Derek’s eyes flash, but it must be the overhead lighting.
He laughs anxiously. “That or an MTV special. Seriously, she’s the ultimate child care horror story.”
“I guess. I wanted to thank you again.”
“If River can get my kid out from under there, you can consider us even.”
“I really can’t. What you did… it changed a lot for us. You caught it before the damage really set in, and my kids are my kids again. You’re their hero.” He frowns, and Stiles can tell he’s blaming himself. “I don’t know if anyone else would have done what you did.”
Stiles flushes a bit, rubbing behind his ear and shifting in place. “Guess it’s the whole police brat thing. My dad’s a pretty great role model and… Look, I just couldn’t watch that happen to a bunch of kids. Ollie nearly freaked when he saw it. I mean come on. I’ve seen bad behavior. I was the poster child for ADHD, all right? Your kids are good. They don’t need to take that kind of shit from anybody.” He pauses to elbow him lightly. “I’m betting they got it from you.”
It’s Derek’s turn to blush, and that’s certainly a sight to see. “You know, I never got your phone number.”
“That’s a shame.” Stiles grins.
It takes Derek a few seconds to process as River pops out from under cover with Toby in tow, patting him delicately. She laces their chubby little fingers together and leads him over to their responsible adults. “Mr. S? Toby’s gotta tell you something.”
“I’m all ears, little man.”
“No you’re not.” River frowns, then looks at her still-sputtering father, “Daddy, no he’s not! He’s only a little bit ears. His legs are bigger, and so are his arms! And… and…!”
“It’s a figure of speech, Riv.” Stiles laughs. “Thanks for getting my Toby back. That was pretty cool of you.”
“I’m pretty cool.”
“No kidding. Just check out those rain boots. Pretty stylish, huh?”
Toby chews his bottom lip, his free hand fisting in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. “We don’t got the money, Daddy.”
“Huh?”
“Ollie said we gotta be careful because we don’t got a lot and we gotta make it last ‘til payday.” He points at a nearby price display. “That’s a big number, Daddy.”
“Oh, baby boy.” Stiles shakes his head, gathering Toby up and squeezing him tight. “I appreciate you trying to look out for me like that, but it’s okay. It’s my job to take care of you, and we’ve got enough for new school supplies.”
“Shoes aren’t school supplies.”
“But they’re important, kiddo. You can’t go to school barefoot, and your feet are getting bigger. You said your shoes pinch, didn’t you?”
“Uh huh.” Toby’s eyes are like big pitiful saucers.
Stiles feels a mix of mortification and overwhelming affection. He can’t imagine how he’d missed all of his anxiety seeping into his kids like this, but it looks like he has some serious emotional recon to do, too. “Baby, we can afford new shoes. Okay? Trust me?”
Toby nods.
“Do you want River to help you pick out some new ones?”
“Can I?” She perks up, then latches on to Toby. “You should get purple! Or aqua! That’s a kind of blue.”
Toby bobs his head like River is offering profound wisdom, and the pair of them dart off to look through kiddie converse and light-up sneakers. Ollie pokes his father in the hip, and Stiles reaches down to ruffle his hair. “I know you meant well. You wanna pick out a pair, too?”
“Mine still fit all right. Can I get new laces? They’ve got glow in the dark ones.”
“Sure thing.”
“I need new shoes, too,” Rain says, “I… uh… outgrew my last pair.”
“Big feet,” Derek drawls. “Family curse.”
Stiles doesn't even realize he’s blushing until Derek starts backpedaling violently and in technicolor.
“That’s not! I mean… Okay, maybe but... No! It’s probably more like average. It’s not like I measured, and…” He makes a useless waving motion before pushing Rain towards Ollie. “Sneakers! Go buy sneakers!”
“Oh my G-d,” Stiles mutters as the last of their mob vanishes into the racks. “So about that phone number.”
-----
Derek spends the better part of the afternoon trying not to pop claw or drop fang, because Stiles Stilinski is a fucking menace. Their children have decided in perhaps the most adorable landslide vote ever witnessed by mortal eyes that they will be shopping together for the remainder of the day, or there will be screaming.
No amount of hierarchal bullshitting is going to trump the Chain of Screaming, as Stiles likes to call it. “It’s like Christmas lights, man. One goes off? They all go off.”
“And now there are five of them.”
“Welcome back to parenthood.”
Part of Derek wants to call foul. Considering how recently he’s taken back control of his family life it’s a pretty low blow, but right now he’s happy.
Once they reach the children’s clothing department, things are deceptively mellow for a few blissful minutes before Stiles says, “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”
Derek realizes that the kids are making significantly less noise than they were before. He listens for the tell-tale breaths of his children, and- “I can’t hear them.”
“That’s the idea, yeah. You've never had to play clothing rack hide and seek? Number one cause of heart attacks in suburban moms, I swear.” Stiles rattles off the information as if this is completely normal, dropping down to lay nearly flat on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Foot check. I believe I've spotted our prey.”
“I’m going to kill them.”
“Save it for the dressing room. Fewer witnesses. Ollie! Remember how we said this wasn’t funny and that Daddy’s getting too old for this?”
“You’re not that old.”
“They don’t know that.”
They round up the children quickly. There are several points at which Stiles is sure they’re going to scatter and make this into a job for mall security, but Derek cuts them off at the pass every time. At one point, Stiles swears, Derek growls at his children and they fall in line. It’s both impressive and terrifying.
Once they amass a satisfactory pile of back to school staples, Stiles herds the lot of them toward the dressing rooms. All of them save Toby insist that they’re capable of dressing themselves, and they divide up. The mall is thankfully not all that busy, so they’re able to take up as many stalls as they like without getting the old lady stinkeye that Stiles has become so accustomed to. He’s willing to bet Derek’s never had to deal with it. His teeth are too adorable.
Stiles helps Toby get started, and he seems comfortable enough to continue on his own, grinning widely and attacking buttons like a champ. Once he’s certain things are running smoothly, Stiles goes back out to loiter in the hallway and watch Derek fidget.
About ten minutes in, Rain experiences technical difficulties, and Derek goes to give him a hand. Stiles is amazed that Rain is so willing to ask for help, given how proud he’d been the other day. He’s thinking that one over when he hears a soft whining noise from River’s stall.
By the sound of it, Derek hasn’t noticed yet. Poor thing must be trying hard to be independent like her brothers. Stiles raps gently at the door and pokes his head inside. “You need a hand, River?”
“Uh huh…” She mumbles.
“What seems to be the problem?” He shuts the door behind him and crouches in front of her. “Overalls giving you trouble?”
She nods. “I can’t do the snaps.”
“Well, that’s no problem. They’re new so they’re stiff, right?”
Another nod.
“If you like them, they’ll soften up eventually,” he soothes, fastening the snaps and straightening her clothing with gentle hands. “So you won’t need any help after you break ‘em in.”
River turns to examine herself in the mirror, and her face lights up. “I like them!”
“Me too. Are there any other snaps you want help with?”
This time she gives a swift shake of her head. “No thank you!”
“All righty then. I’m gonna be right out there. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” He holds his hand up for a tiny, adorable high five and exits the stall. Derek is already leaning against the opposite wall, staring at him.
Stiles smiles shyly. They don’t address it.
-----
By the time they finish up in the parking lot, the kids are thick as thieves and babbling amongst themselves about play dates and sleepovers to come. Stiles is surprised they haven’t superglued themselves together at the hip. Ollie and Toby had tried once.
Derek’s car is parked a few spaces down by some sort of sheer dumb luck, and all parties loiter about shamelessly. Stiles looks at the kids chasing each other around the Jeep, shrieking and laughing, and can’t help but smile. “Hey, can I see your phone?”
“Why?” Derek slips his phone out of his pocket, but doesn’t hand it over.
“To hack your Facebook and tell the world you’re sexually attracted to wheat grass.”
Derek actually pulls his phone closer to his chest.
“I’m going to give you my phone number, Derek.” He reaches out a hand expectantly, and Derek caves. Stiles’ fingers fly over the keys at a pace that is, quite frankly, terrifying.
“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”
Stiles glances up, one corner of his mouth sliding smugly upward, but his thumbs don’t even slow. “Who, me?”
“All of you. Collectively.”
“Nothing other than Saturday morning cartoons. If you wanted, we could meet up at the park or something?”
“That sounds like a plan.”
Stiles hands back the phone with a flourish, “See? No harm done.”
The screen is open to Derek’s contacts, where ??? Stilinski has completed nearly every field other than Fax Number. He rolls his eyes, “You’re seriously milking this name thing, aren’t you?”
“If I told you, I’d lose that air of mystery.”
Derek can’t help it. He has to laugh. He doesn’t want to, but he does. “We’ll see you tomorrow, around noon?”
“We’ll meet up at the front gate?”
“Got it.” Just like that, Derek wrangles his kids and moves out. Stiles watches with a silly little smile on his face. Ollie watches him watch Derek leave, and scrunches up his nose. “Today you were a little better. But you’re still kinda bad.”
“Whatever. One day, the Stilinski Skills will be your problem.”
“What skills?”
“Ha. Funny. You’re a man ahead of your age. Get in the car.”
-----
Stiles dismisses the giggling from the backseat as typical childish silliness. His kids are generally a pretty happy pair. He was blessed with children who didn’t spend their free time trying to murder each other the way so many tended to. Or was that only on tv?
He remembers a much smaller Oliver watching Toby in his crib to make sure the bad dreams couldn’t get to him. His heart still melts at the thought of it, and the memory of Ollie squirming desperately to escape the ooey gooey Stilinski hug immediately following his lisped admission.
Yeah. Stiles is pretty lucky.
The glowing feeling lasts until he’s about five minutes out of the parking lot, when the Power Rangers alert shrills through the car. He thumbs through the controls without looking and brings the phone up to his ear. “Sorry, I’m driving right now. Can -- ”
“Tell me you have my child.” Derek’s voice is only slightly panicked on the line, and there’s more giggling from the backseat. Is it him, or does the tonal quality sound…different?
“Why would I have your -- there were only two of you!”
The giggling evolves into full-blown laughter as Stiles pulls into the nearest gas station, slotting the car into park, and resting his head on the steering wheel. He puts the phone on speaker and sighs, defeated. “I swear I’m not doing this on purpose.”
“Oh, trust me. I’ve found the guilty parties already.” Derek growls. “No dessert for any of you. Ever.”
There are ‘aww’s on both ends of the line. From Stiles’ backseat, River whines, “But I told Sky to tell Daddy I was goin’ home with Mr.S!”
“That’s not how this works, princess. That’s how heart attacks happen.”
River’s eyes grow wide and attempt to take over her face, but face serious opposition from what Stiles has come to recognize as the Hale family eyebrows. “Heart attack? Daddy’s gonna have a heart attack?!”
“Oh. Oh honey, no. It’s just not nice to -- ”
“Daddy’s gonna have a heart attack?!”
“I am Satan.” Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt and scrambles out of the driver’s seat as Derek barks inquiries down the line. “Hold on, hold on. I screwed up. I have a child to hug. G-d, I suck.”
“Where are you?”
“The Shell on Third and West.” Stiles says, then yanks open the door and scoops the child in all of her pouty-faced misery into a big ‘ol Stilinski hug.
“I don’t like it when people hit Daddy!” She insists. “Don’t let Daddy’s heart hit Daddy.”
Stiles tries hard not to coo. “Okay, I’ll make sure.” He frowns at Ollie and Toby, still strapped in and feigning innocence. “I hope you’re proud of yourselves.”
Ollie holds up his index and thumb, indicating just a little and Stiles is sorry to be out of bopping range.
“All right, we’re almost there. I had to get off the highway and -- stop smiling. I can feel you smiling back there. Stop it. I’m angry at you.” Derek huffs, and Stiles can hear faint growling noises in the background.
A few minutes later Derek’s sleek black Camaro rolls into the lot, and the man climbs out and stalks toward Stiles and the four-year-old clinging to him like a frightened rhesus monkey. “River,” He rumbles. “What exactly were you trying to pull?”
Stiles is surprised when River clings harder, burying her face in his shoulder and mumbling, “Wanted to watch toons.”
“We have a tv at home, River. You can’t just stow away in people’s cars. You scared me half to death!”
River whimpers, and Stiles rubs soothing patterns against her back. “Wanted to watch with Mr.S…”
“Honey, you can watch cartoons with us any time you want, but you have to tell your Daddy first. You can’t sneak away like that. It was like -- you remember how you felt in the grocery store? You were scared, right?”
She bobs her head, her little teeth catching against his shoulder. He realizes with absent confusion that she’s teething at him. “Uh huh…”
“Well, it scares Daddy like that when he can’t find you.”
“‘m sorry.”
“I know you are, but you’ve gotta tell your Daddy, too.” He hoists River up, carefully detaching her from his hips and shoulders and passing her to her father, who accepts the clinging with a resigned grace.
“Sorry, Daddy.” She gnaws on Derek’s shoulder, too.
Derek noses at her ear, nuzzling her gently. “I know.”
“I don’t like it when you get hit, Daddy.”
“I...what?”
“Tell your heart no hitting, okay?”
“I’ll eat lots of Cheerios.”
She pulls back, scrunching her nose at her father like he’s the crazy one, and Stiles can’t help but snort.
“Okay. Provided all adolescents are back with the appropriate handlers?”
Derek nods. “We can hope.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Again, we can hope.”
“It’s a date.” Stiles smiles, then: “Not a date. A non-date. A playdate. For our children. Who will…play?”
“Sure.” Derek grins. He returns to the Camaro, deposits River in her carseat with a firm Stay, complete with hand motion, and drives off with one last fantastically nonjudgmental, perfectly-aligned smile.
With bunny teeth.
Stiles doesn’t sigh like a schoolgirl.
He also doesn’t contemplate homicide when he hears kissy noises from his seven-year-old. He climbs back into the driver’s seat and starts the engine with a vengeance.
“You did kind of okay today, but then you blew it.”
“I was not that bad.”
“‘A play date. For our children. Who will play.’ Daddy, I know that was bad. And I’m seven.”
It just wouldn’t be right to flip his child the bird.
-----
Derek Hale is in a relationship with wheatgrass.
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Laura Hale : He admitted it! Cora, you owe me 15 bucks!
Peter Hale : I never thought I’d be the one to say this, D. But there are doctors for this sort of thing.
Cora Hale : Shut up, Laura. He’s obviously been hacked.
Cora Hale : What did I say about handing over your phone?
Derek Hale : I’m going to kill him.