I'll Always Know It's From You (A Sterek Novella)

Chapter 20

Derek's POV

After about almost an hour, the stockings are finally emptied and unwrapped, wrapping paper everywhere, like the hair of a shedding animal, their contents perfectly stacked and grouped beside their owners.

Sheriff was grinning the whole time, shocked that Stiles and I went out to get stocking stuff for him, never mind actually wrap the shit and put it in there.

"Thank you guys so much, this alone means a lot to me." He said, going into the kitchen to grab some trash bags to send the used wrapping paper packing to the dumpster.

"Well the unwrapping isn't done yet! We still have perfectly pristine wrapped gifts under the tree! This was only a start, Dad." Stiles beams, his face lighting up like the Christmas tree in front of him, his hands moving enthusiastically, just so, happy.

Scrambling to stand up, Stiles untangles himself from his stocking and its contents, carefully refilling the large sock with the items, to hold space for more gifts. Moving towards the tree, Sheriff and I share a look, a joyous one, at the sight of our favorite person looking as happy as we have ever seen him. Man do we love Stiles.

Sorting the gifts by name, he's still grinning, now more at the sight of the gifts per name, three piles total. Once all the gifts are sorted, Stiles moves about, handing Sheriff and I gifts upon gifts, each wrapped with a different set of wrapping paper, indicating whose hands prepared the gifts.

Everyone having their gifts and with Stiles finally back on the loveseat beside me, his grin grows bigger, if that's even impossible, a contagious feature that infects us, as I grin at the young Stilinski, the older one grinning as well, his lines a road of memories of good times.

"Can we open these?" Stiles reminds me of a young child at Christmas, ready to rip off the pretty seasonal paper, and see the surprises beneath them.

"Yeah, why not? Who is stopping you? I'm just taking a break, my elderly fingers hurt from ripping the paper."

"You are not elderly Dad. Stop that." Stiles gives his Dad a look, his grin losing its brightness for a moment to be stern to his Dad.

Sheriff just holds his hand up in defense, motions for us to open our gifts. "Don't wait for me guys. Go right ahead."

Shrugging, Stiles looks to me, silently asking for permission.

"Open my first." Is my response, which apparently was the right one, for Stiles' grin is back, bright as ever as he searches through his pile for the tag that says: "To my love, Stiles."

Hands hovering over the package, Stiles' cheeks become flushed, his eyes re-reading the tag, his mind deciding to make his fingers gently remove the tag, and place it on his stocking.

"I'm gonna keep it." Soft, his voice is barely above a whisper, a tone my werewolf senses pick up nonetheless.

My turn to grin, my lips curling up the sides, a small laugh coming from between them, my hand gently on top of Stiles'. He looks at me, and it's like the first time I saw him: all the love he has, and I have, is right there, exposed to everyone around us and to each other, his eyes glistening, not leaving mine, as we hold each other's gazes.

"Thank you."

I playfully hit him in the shoulder. "You haven't even opened it yet, babe."

"I know, but still. I wasn't talking about the gift."

I give him a kiss, knowing his Dad is right there in front of us. After we part I put my lips to his ear. "I know." I put more space between us, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mr. Stilinski isn't where he was when I neared Stiles.