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Time turner

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Cuteness overload, fluff
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It's a bright, sunny Sunday in early June, and Derek Hale is relaxing. He's dragged the couch in front of the loft window and spread himself out in the warm afternoon sunlight. Now he's dozing in what some might like to call a catnap and what others, if they wanted to get their heads bitten off, might call a puppy-nap. Point is, he's finally got a day to himself to just rest and be, so of course it's got to be ruined.
His phone rings. Derek surfaces from his nap with a tired grunt and slaps out a hand, snatching his phone off the floor. "What?"
"Uh," Scott says on the other end of the line. "We've got a problem."
"We have a problem?" Derek asks pointedly, "or you have a problem and you're about to make it my problem?"
"Uh," Scott says again, sounding embarrassed. "I - hold on." His voice drops to a murmur for a moment and Derek frowns, wondering who he's talking to. Stiles. probably. Weren't the two of them going camping this week? Derek strains to hear, but sound doesn't travel over the phone like it does live. "Sorry," Scott says, suddenly loud again. "Look, we're just coming into town. Can we come straight to you?"
"Fine," Derek sighs. "Let's get this over with."
-
Scott comes barreling into the loft fifteen minutes later. At first glance, Derek thinks he's alone - until he notices the little boy clinging to Scott's back, chin tucked over his shoulder. Derek, who is halfway to his feet, freezes as he takes in the small face, the buzzed hair, the bright brown eyes. "That's Stiles," he says accusingly.
"That's me!" Stiles says cheerfully, and Derek stares. His voice is high, childish - he can't be more than six years old. He's got a tooth missing. "Are you from the future too?"
Derek looks at Scott, who shrugs. "I told him we're from the future. It's true, technically."
"Uh huh," Derek says, utterly unimpressed. "And tell me how the fuck this happened."
"You're not supposed to swear," Stiles says, sliding off Scott's back, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft noise. Now that Derek can see all of him, he can see Stiles is dressed only in an adult size t-shirt, which hangs down to his knobby knees. "My dad says only criminals swear."
"Guess that makes me a criminal," Derek says grumpily, and Stiles' dark eyes go wide.
"Cool!" he exclaims, and trots over to the window to peer outside, stretching up on his toes so he can see through the grimy glass.
Derek looks over at Scott, his jaw clenching. "Well?"
Scott sighs. "There was a witch," he says. "Maybe a wizard? Some old dude. We were camping, you know, and we came across this cabin. He doesn't like having guests, I guess." Scott gives Derek a hopeful smile. "It's better than some of the alternatives, right? He could have been turned into a cat."
"I hate cats," Derek says moodily, glancing over to look at Stiles, who's drawing a smiley face in the dirt on the window. "And I hate kids."
"Cool," Scott says unfeelingly. "He's got to stay here, you know."
"What?" Derek snaps. "Why?"
"He can't stay with me!" Scott exclaims. "My mom will know who he is in a second, and she'll be pissed - we weren't supposed to go camping!"
"Sounds like it serves you right, then!" Derek retorts.
Scott heaves a sigh. "Look, it's only temporary, I'm sure, but Deaton's out of town until Tuesday, and since Stiles is the one who does all the research - "
"I get it," Derek says heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Fine, but you have to go get him some clothes. My neighbors already want to report me to the landlord. I'm not having a half-naked child running around."
"Bathroom," Stiles says from behind him, as if on cue. Derek turns with a scowl to see him dancing from foot to foot a few feet behind him. "Can I use your bathroom please?"
Derek frowns and points. Stiles goes skipping off and Derek turns back to Scott. "What are you going to tell the sheriff?"
Scott grins. "I've got Stiles' phone. I'll just text him and tell him that Stiles is spending a couple of days at my house."
"And how is that only Stiles ended up a kid?" Derek asks pointedly, and Scott's face goes red.
"He jumped in front of me," Scott mutters.
"What a hero," Derek says sarcastically, and Scott's face flushes deeper, but he doesn't rise, shoving his hands in his pockets, turning when Stiles reemerges from the bathroom.
"Hey, buddy," Scott says to Stiles. "You cool with staying here with Derek while I run out to get some things?"
Stiles regards Derek solemnly. "Why can't I see my dad?"
"I told you," Scott says patiently, "he's out of town and wants us to look after you for a few days, all right?'
Stiles looks at him for a long moment before nodding. "Okay," he agrees, and wanders over to the couch.
"You do realize that makes us sound like kidnappers," Derek says to Scott, who shrugs.
"What else are we going to do? I'll run out and get him some clothes. D'you think you can keep him entertained?"
"Oh, yes," Derek says sarcastically, gesturing around at his mostly barren apartment. "I've got a thousand ways to keep a kid busy."
Scott grins at him, unperturbed. "Glad to hear it. I'll be back soon." He heads for the loft door, calling over his shoulder, "See you in a little while, Stiles!"
"Bye Scott!" Stiles hollers, flopping himself over the back of the couch. Scott waves and the door closes and then it's just Stiles and Derek regarding each other.
Derek breaks first. "How old are you?" he asks.
"Five!" Stiles says cheerfully. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-three," Derek says uncomfortably. Jesus, Stiles is so fucking young. Derek can barely remember what being a teen was like, let alone being five.
"That's old," Stiles cackles. "You're almost as old as my dad."
Derek scowls and says, "I'm not old. Do you want something to eat?"
"Yes!" Stiles cries, excited, and flops off the couch, scrambling to his feet to follow Derek into the kitchen. Derek pauses in front of the cabinets. He doesn't really have a ton of food, and there's not a ton to snack on. He finds a half-eaten bag of Doritos shoved behind a box of granola. He doesn't remember buying it; it's probably a leftover from the last pack meeting.
The kitchen's gone quiet. Derek glances around and spots Stiles on the floor, crawling into one of the cabinets. Derek grabs him around the waist, hauling him out backwards. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Exploring," Stiles says, giggling as Derek sets him on the counter and shoves the bag of chips into his hands. "Oooh! Mom wouldn't buy these!" Derek leans against the counter next to him and rubs a hand over his face as Stiles crunches down on handfuls of chips, swinging his legs and banging his heels against the cabinets.
Scott comes back forty minutes later, a couple of bags from Walmart clutched his his hand. Derek keeps Stiles entertained with Netflix, letting him choose a show to watch (Goosebumps; Stiles says excitedly, "Mom never let me watch this!"). He flies off the couch when Scott comes in, though, scrambling over Derek to get to the floor. One of his flailing feet catches Derek in the ribs and he makes sure to glare at Scott, because this is his fault. Scott doesn't notice; he's kneeling on the floor to show Stiles the Spiderman shirt he found, and Stiles looks like he might piss himself in excitement. Derek glowers. He better fucking not.
Scott hangs around all afternoon and into the evening. Derek can't stop himself from rolling his eyes at the way the two of them interact; their conversations go exactly how they normally do, which only confirms his previous suspicions that both of them were just kids in teenager's clothing.
"Derek!" Stiles exclaims, dragging his attention away from his book and over to the couch, where Stiles and Scott were kneeling by the coffee table. "Come play with us!"
Derek narrows his eyes at the table, where there's a game of Trouble set out. Scott must have bought it. "No," he says.
"Come on!" Stiles wheedles, and Scott laughs, joining in. "Yeah, c'mon, Derek. What else are you going to do with your evening?"
Derek scowls, but somehow finds himself kneeling on the floor, knees burning on the cold concrete, playing board games with a teenager and a five-year-old boy. He doesn't even win any. It shouldn't come as a surprise that Stiles was a ruthless little fiend even as a kid.
Stiles' energy drops as the day wears on. Derek can feel his tiredness like a jittering around the edges of his body. Scott leaves around six and Derek makes a simple dinner of rice and chicken, which Stiles picks at unenthusiastically. "My dad's a better cook than you," Stiles tells Derek, who shrugs, not offended. He doesn't need to prove himself to a five-year-old.
They settle back onto the couch after dinner for more Goosebumps, and Derek tilts his head back, letting his mind wander. He listens to Stiles for a moment, listens to the way he can't sit still for more than thirty seconds, always shifting, listens to the rabbit-quick noise of his heart beat. It's vaguely reassuring - reminds him of being with his family, movie nights in the living room sandwiched on the couch between Laura and Cora, horrified at the way his mom sits on his dad's lap.
He doesn't hate kids like he told Scott. He had to babysit Cora more times than he could count, and there was a myriad of young cousins he was somehow always roped into taking care of (and Laura somehow always managed to get out of it). Stiles isn't much of a bother, even when he's a teenager and loud-mouthed. Derek's used to a loud family.
A shrill scream wakes him, jolting him upright in a panic. His first reaction is to whip his head around for Stiles, but the boy is asleep next to him, sunk so deep into the cushions of the couch that he looks like he's growing out of it. The screaming's coming from Derek's laptop, where the show is still playing, and Derek closes it with a sigh. It's late already, almost midnight.
He rises from the couch, careful not to wake Stiles, and gets ready for bed. When he's brushed his teeth and washed his face and changed into a pair of sweatpants, Derek pulls a spare blanket from the closet and gently drapes it over Stiles, who snuffles into the couch. He's sucking on his thumb and Derek catalogues the image away to be used as blackmail in the future. He does his night walk around the edge of the apartment, checking windows and doors before he sinks into bed, drifting into a quiet, dreamless slumber.
-
It's still dark when Derek's awoken yet again, this time by a tapping on his arm. He opens his eyes blearily, lost, for a moment, in the darkness, before his gaze focuses on Stiles standing by the side of his bed, his round cheeks flushed. He smells strongly of anxiety and fear.
"What is it?" Derek asks, and his voice would have come out sharp if it hadn't been dulled by sleep.
"I had a bad dream." Stiles whispers, his dark eyes going watery. "Can I sleep with you?"    
Derek sighs softly, sitting up in bed. He pushes back the covers and scoots over a few feet, waiting until Stiles has wormed his way into the sheets before pulling the comforter over him.
"Keep your feet to yourself," Derek warns him. Stiles nods sleepily, eyes already drooping shut as he brings his thumb up to his mouth and turns into the pillow. Derek lays stiffly on his back for a while, listening to Stiles' wheezy breathing before his own breathing slows and he drifts back off into sleep.
-
In the morning, Derek wakes to find himself at the edge of the bed. Stiles starfishes across the rest of the mattress, still a little boy with long, skinny legs and bony corners. Derek's pretty sure the Stiles he's used to is still waiting on one last growth spurt that's going to shoot him past all the rest of them except maybe Isaac.
Derek sits up with a quiet sigh and heads for the bathroom. He's not sure if he should call the rest of the pack. It's not like any of them can really do anything to help, but they'd probably want to know that one of their friends had been magically turned back into a kid. He probably would, he supposes. He sends a group text when he gets out of the shower (fyi: stiles turned into child, working on a fix.) and steps out of the bathroom to see Stiles crouching on the couch, watching something on Derek's laptop. Derek narrows his eyes and steps closer - some kind of horror movie. Stiles jumps when Derek leans past him and shuts the lid of the laptop. He smells guilty.
"No more bad dreams," Derek says.
"I'm not allowed to watch scary movies," Stiles says moodily, picking at his pajama pants, which have little Batman and Robins all over them. "Dad says I have an overactive imagination."
"You do," Derek agrees. "Breakfast?"
Stiles grins, bright and sunny and slightly toothless, and follows him into the kitchen. Derek rummages through the cupboards. "Granola?" he offers, but Stiles makes a disgusted face. "Hm."
Derek's got flour and eggs and milk, so he makes pancakes instead. There's no maple syrup, but he has chocolate chips, for some reason, and Stiles chows down happily enough. Derek can't watch him eat; he consumes his food like a starving man, open-mouthed and messy. Derek's pretty sure fifty percent of the pancakes end up down the front of his shirt, not inside him. Stiles is not impressed when Derek tells him to go take a shower; he hunches down in his seat like he thinks that'll increase his weight, but Derek goes into the bathroom, turns on the water, walks back to Stiles, picks him up under the armpits, and dumps him in the bathtub. He's howling at the start of it, but giggling by the end, plucking at his wet clothes and snorting as Derek towels him off roughly.
"I fell in the lake once," Stiles informs Derek, only his head peeping out of the towel cocoon Derek's wrapped him in. "With all my clothes on."
"Huh," Derek says, sitting back on his heels. He's wondering if he should be worried at the easy way he's fallen into this adult mode, or how utterly casual he feels, taking care of Stiles like he's his own kid. Derek wouldn't mind kids, someday. He tells himself that there's nothing else they can do about the situation, and it's not like Stiles is old enough to take care of himself. It's good practice, anyway. For the future.
"Is Scott coming over today?" Stiles asks hopefully, trailing behind Derek as he leaves the bathroom, searching out the bags of clothes Scott bought for Stiles.
"He's working," Derek replies. "Maybe later."
"Oh." Stiles pouts.
Derek glances over at him, encased in the huge towel. It almost hits the floor. "How long have you known Scott?"
"He's in my kindergarten class!" Stiles says enthusiastically. "We were both Batman for Halloween."
"What do you think of the future Scott?"
"He's cool," Stiles says. The towel ripples, like he's trying to gesture wildly. "He's got a tattoo and a scary face!"
"Scary face?"
"Like this!" Stiles bares his teeth in a grimace. "I saw it," he adds smugly. "The old man in the woods ran away, but I didn't."
Derek realizes that Scott must have wolfed out when they were attacked. Funny how Stiles seems to roll with it, just like he had when Scott was first turned. He wonders if Stiles will remember this little trip to the future when he's older. Maybe that's why he's so unsurprised by all the weird shit that starts happening around him, even if it's just a vague sense it's happened before.
"Do you have a scary face?" Stiles asks him curiously. "Is that why you and Scott are friends?"
"I do," Derek tells him, not bothering to fight the second question.
Stiles' eyes light up. "Can I see? Can I see? Please?"
"Are you going to get scared?"
Stiles shakes his head so forcefully that Derek can feel water from his hair splash against his cheek. "No! I promise!"
Derek nods and closes his eyes, rolling his neck as he reaches for the wolf. He can smell Stiles, soap and pancakes, a little bit of fear, but a lot of curiosity.
"Whoa," Stiles says reverently, and Derek opens his eyes. Stiles takes a couple of steps forward, dropping the towel, his wet clothes clinging to his skinny frame. "You have red eyes too! Are there different colors?" Stiles small hands come up without warning, patting against Derek's face, and it's all he can do to keep from jerking his head back in surprise.
"I - yes," Derek tells him. "Alphas have red eyes."
"Cool," Stiles breathes. "Are you a superhero?" His eyes go wide. "Are you Wolverine?"
Derek snorts and lets the shift fade, leaving him plain-faced and human. "No," he says, handing Stiles an armful of clothing. "Go get dressed."
-
Derek brings Stiles to the park because he doesn't know what else to do, and the sugary breakfast seemed to have been a mistake because Stiles was literally bouncing off the furniture. It isn't like it's hard to wrangle him - Derek can easily tuck him under one arm - but he's exhausting. He checks his phone for any word from Scott, but all he's got is a slew of texts from Isaac and Lydia. Neither of them seem worried - Lydia demands to see Stiles because "she could use a good laugh." Derek ignores them - for the time being, at least - and gets Stiles into a pair of sneakers and out the door.
Stiles is psyched to be at the park; once they hit the grass he's off, streaking across the park toward the playground. Derek follows slowly, his hands in his pockets. It's not the nicest day; cool and overcast and occasionally spitting with rain, but it's probably a good thing. He doesn't know if it's a good idea, bringing Stiles outside. What if someone recognizes him? That's where the weather comes into his favor; the park's mostly deserted. There's only a few other kids playing on the swing set and Stiles has already joined them, already fast friends in the way only small children can be. He won't remember their names two hours from now.
Derek settles onto a bench at the edge of the playground, half of his attention on Stiles, the other half paying attention to their surroundings, always on the alert for trouble. There's nothing in this park, though, just people walking their dogs, going for a jog, parents pushing kids in strollers. It feels normal. Derek relaxes a little; he likes normal.
Stiles wanders over to the bench eventually, clambering up beside Derek, smelling of health and good cheer. "I'm hungry," he tells Derek, who raises his eyebrows.
"Sound like a problem."
"Derek," Stiles pleads, pulling at his arm. "I'm gonna die."
Derek snorts and gets to his feet. "I guess we can't have that."
He takes them grocery shopping, but he goes to a store several towns over just in case. Stiles hangs on to the front of the cart, feet braced against the bottom rack, grinning all over his mole-spotted face. Derek lets him get what he wants; Stiles is only going to be with him for a few days anyway, and every time he asks for something, he prefaces it with, "Mom never bought this!" like it's the greatest injustice in his short existence. Derek figures a little indulgence won't hurt.
-
Scott, Lydia, Allison, and Isaac walk in in the middle of a meltdown. Derek's got Stiles under the armpits, held in the air while Stiles tries to hit and kick at him. He's not exactly sure what caused this tantrum; all he knows is that they came back from the grocery store, had a sedate lunch, and Stiles settled down with a Transformers coloring book Derek bought him at the store. Things were quiet for a long time - too quiet; Derek had looked up from his book after a while to find Stiles drawing not in the coloring book, but right on the concrete floor of the loft. All right, so maybe Stiles had started shrieking when Derek plucked him off the floor, but he wouldn't stop drawing, not even when Derek was standing over him telling him not to. And now he's writhing around like a demon, yelling at the top of his lungs about how much Derek sucks and how he wants his dad, his face all blotchy-red and tear-stained, when the rest of the pack walks in.
"This is your fault!" Derek immediately snarls in Scott's direction.
Stiles twists around to see who Derek's talking to and it's like a light switch flipped; he smiles hugely and exclaims, "Scott!" Derek sets him down with great relief and watches bitterly as Stiles runs over to Scott and throws his arms around Scott's legs. "I missed you!"
"Oh my god," Allison says softly, pressing a hand to her cheek. "He's so cute." Next to her, Lydia's already got her phone out, taking picture after picture. Isaac's got tears of mirth in his eyes.
"He is not cute," Derek says irritably, glaring down at his floor. There's a drawing of a house and a sun and what looks like Stiles' best impression of Derek's beta shift. It makes him look like a leper. His fangs are big enough to puncture tires. "He drew on my floor."
"Congrats on making a five-year-old cry," Lydia says, not looking up from her phone. "You've confirmed my suspicion that you'd be the worst father in the world."
Derek frowns at her, offended. He thinks he's been doing a pretty good job up until this point. It's not his fault they walked in at the absolute worst moment.
"Come on," Scott says lightly. "Stiles, you want to make some friends?" Stiles peels his head away from Scott's side and nods. Scott grins and points. "That's Allison, and Isaac, and Lydia."
"Lydia," Stiles breathes, his cheeks going bright pink. He carefully shuffles around to Scott's other side, putting some distance between himself and Lydia. Derek hears him say, in that whisper-scream only little kids seem to be able to perfect, "She pushed me into a puddle at recess."
"I remember that," Lydia tells Isaac, brightening. "He stepped on my shoes."
"She's really pretty," Stiles tells Scott hoarsely. Lydia beams and Derek rolls his eyes.
He finds himself on the edge of the group, which is not unusual, but it stings a bit this time. Stiles is clearly in his element, loving the attention being lavished on him and Derek watches him, a little bitter. It's childish, but he's the one that's been taking care of Stiles, even if it was just for a day. He refuses to admit to himself that he wants to be the one that Stiles goes to.
The pack plays a board game with Stiles while Derek sits on his bed and reads, seething quietly. Stiles is between Allison and Lydia on the couch, looking smug as he rolls a pair of dice. Derek grits his teeth.
Time wears on and the pack gets distracted, chatting and laughing about their summer vacations. Derek can hear Stiles trying to get Isaac to take his turn, but Isaac's laughing about something Scott said. Stiles must give up, because a couple of minutes later he's standing by the side of the bed, playing with the hem of his t-shirt.
"Derek?" Stiles asks quietly.
Derek doesn't look up from his book. "Yes?"
Stiles shifts around, rocking on his feet. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
"Are you?"
"And I'm sorry for drawing on the floor."
Derek looks at him then. "All right. Thanks for apologizing."
Stiles smiles hesitantly. "Can I sit with you?"
Derek nods and Stiles climbs onto the bed, ducking under Derek's arm and slumping against his side. "What are you reading?"
Derek looks across the room to the pack arranged around the couch, but none of them are paying them any attention. "Harry Potter," he says quietly, his cheeks going warm.
"Mom said she'd read me that," Stiles says, "before she - " He cuts himself off, suddenly smelling like misery.
Derek gets it then, the way Stiles always talks about his mother in the past tense. He lifts his hand, hesitantly running his fingers across Stiles' soft hair. "You want me to read it to you?"
Stiles nods and leans his weight more firmly against Derek's side, sliding his thumb into his mouth. Derek takes a deep, slow breath, and begins.
-
When he wakes, the loft is purple with fading light. The pack is gone and Stiles is sitting on the floor coloring again - in the book this time. He twists around Derek sits up, a smile on his face. "Look!" he says, holding up the book. "I drew you Harry Potter!"
Derek looks at the rough figure for a long moment before he nods. "Well done."
"Scott said to tell you that he sent you a picture," Stiles says primly, turning back to his coloring.
Derek groans quietly and reaches for his phone. There's a message from Lydia, not Scott. I intend to hold this over your head forever, it says, and when he clicks on the attachment there's a picture of him and Stiles curled together on the bed, fast asleep. Harry Potter's on Derek's stomach, clearly visible. His stomach clenches at the sight. It almost seems unfair; a tease at what the future could be. He's starting to lose track of what he wants more - children, or more time alone with Stiles.
"Derek?" Stiles says from the floor. "I'm hungry."
Derek puts his phone down with a sigh. "How does macaroni and cheese sound?"
-
Monday slips by.
Derek takes Stiles to the park again. It's a beautiful day, hot and clear. There are a lot more people around and Derek somehow finds himself in the middle of a group of women offering him parenting advice after he gets into a conversation with one of them and accidentally tells her that Stiles' mom is dead. When some of the single moms start not-so-inconspicuously hitting on him, Derek makes a run for it, snatching Stiles up and carrying him across the park as he giggles in Derek's ear.
In the afternoon, Derek drives them to the preserve because Stiles spent an hour after lunch laying on the floor and whining about how hot he was. There's a swimming hole deep in the woods that his mom used to take them to as kids and Stiles dives in with glee. Derek texts the pack. Isaac and Allison show up and they spend an enjoyable afternoon taking turns throwing Stiles into the water. He shrieks with laughter when Derek takes his hands and Isaac takes his legs and they swing him out over the surface, limbs flailing as he hits the water. Derek can't even pretend that he's not enjoying himself, and he doesn't really care who knows it.
It's hard for Derek not to be a little gruff that evening. He's taking Stiles to the vet first thing in the morning, and once he's back in his teenage form, Derek's going to be alone again. He knows he's being silly, knows Stiles has only been with him three days, but that's all it's taken to show Derek just how lonely he is. The pack doesn't really come over if there's nothing supernatural going on, and it's not like Derek encourages them, but maybe he should. Relaxing at the pond today had been fun. Even Isaac had said so.
-
Derek wakes up in the middle of the night to Stiles crawling under the sheets next to him, sobbing. "What's wrong?" Derek asks immediately.
"I miss my mom," Stiles cries, his skinny body shaking. "I want my dad."
"You'll see your dad tomorrow," Derek promises, running a slow hand up and down Stiles' back. Stiles hiccups softly, eyelids drooping as he calms. Derek takes a quiet breath and tells him, "I miss my mom too."
Stiles looks at him sleepily through tear-clumped eyelashes. "Where is she?"
"She died," Derek says quietly. "And so did my dad, and my brothers and sisters. I think about them every day."
Stiles is silent for a long moment before he asks, "Did they have scary faces too?" Derek nods. "Can I see yours again?"
Derek shifts. Stiles giggles softly and pats him on the head like a dog before he flips over and sinks into sleep. Derek lays awake for a while, watching the way Stiles' skinny chest rises and falls as he breathes evenly in slumber.
-
Stiles is exceedingly cheerful the next morning, sloshing his Captain Crunch around everywhere and humming to himself, happy in the knowledge he's going to see his dad soon. Derek can't share the same sentiment; his chest already feels empty.
Derek's not paying much attention to anything when he drives Stiles to the animal clinic, which is probably why he gets pulled over. He swears, ignoring the way Stiles laughs, and bites back another curse when he sees Stiles' father getting out of the cruiser behind him. Just another fifteen minutes and they could have gotten through this entire situation without the sheriff being any the wiser. Of course this would happen.
The sheriff knows about werewolves now, but that doesn't mean he likes Derek any better. If anything, it means he trusts him less. Seeing his de-aged son in the back of Derek's car is not going to endear him to Stiles' father any more.
"Mr. Hale," the sheriff says casually, leaning down to look in the window. Derek stiffens. "Do you - "
"Dad!" Stiles says happily from the backseat. The sheriff freezes, his head craning around to stare at the little boy in the back. Stiles waves frantically, beaming widely.
"Jesus," the sheriff breathes, and twists back to glare at Derek. "What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything," Derek says, offended. "He and Scott went camping and he got cursed."
"Cursed," the sheriff repeats. "Jesus."
"Dad," Stiles interrupts. He's unbuckled himself and climbed over the center console, pushing between Derek and the steering wheel. "Dad, Derek has a scary face! Have you seen it? And he let me have Gushers."
"Did he," the sheriff says, narrowing his eyes at Derek, who sinks low in his seat. "Come here for a moment, son."
Derek unlocks the door so Stiles can scramble out, wrapping his arms around his dad's legs. "Dad, you look so old!" is all Derek hears before he tunes them out, watching the sheriff lift Stiles in his arms and walk toward the cruiser. He just wants to get this over with so he can deal with the empty space in his chest in solitude.
The sheriff walks back over to his car eventually, leaving Stiles kicking his heels on the hood of the cruiser. He leans down to talk to Derek. Derek can smell salt tears on him and feels unaccountably guilty. "So what are you going to do about him?"
"Deaton's going to take a look at him," Derek replies. "He may be able to reverse this immediately."
The sheriff glances over at his son. "All right," he says, then hesitates. Derek wants to drive off; he doesn't want to hear whatever sentimental thing he's about to say, but it happens anyway. "This was a hard time for both of us. My wife passed away just before he started school and it was - difficult. He seems like he's happy right now, though. So thanks for taking care of him."
"You're welcome," Derek says stiffly, not meeting his eyes.
The sheriff straightens with a sigh and walks away, returning with Stiles a moment later. "You drive slow," he tells Derek, opening the back door so Stiles can climb in. "I should ticket you for not having a car seat, but I'll settle for having a teenager again."
Derek nods politely and drives off. Scott's waiting outside the clinic and Stiles makes a delighted noise when he sees him, scrambling out the back before Derek's even got his seatbelt off. He watches Stiles run to Scott and debates leaving; he's not needed any more. Even if Deaton can't turn Stiles back immediately, the sheriff can take him home now. But Scott catches his eye and waves as if to say, aren't you coming? And Derek is, following them inside to satisfy his own morbid curiosity about what Deaton's going to say.
It's surprising simple. Stiles sits on the metal examination table and swings his legs while Deaton circles him once, twice, before nodding. "It's a very simple charm," he tells Scott and Derek. "I can mix up a remedy in a few minutes."
"Is something wrong with me?" Stiles asks, worried.
Scott shakes his head with a grin and says, "We're just going to give you a little boost."
Stiles brightens immediately. "Am I gonna become a superhero? Am I going to be fast like the Flash?"
"Sure," Scott snorts, and Stiles beams excitedly.
Deaton emerges from the back with a cup of dark liquid that's steaming faintly. Derek's nostrils flare at the smell of anise and wheat. He passes the cup to Stiles, who takes a sip and makes a face. "It tastes like Dad's grown-up drinks," he complains.
"You want to be a superhero, don't you?" asks Scott. "You have to drink it all."
Stiles scowls but forces down the rest of the drink. He hiccups and yawns, face going slack.
"One of you should probably get him home," Deaton says. "You've got about fifteen minutes before he starts growing, and those clothes aren't going to last long."
"I'll take him," Scott says immediately, scooping Stiles off the table. Derek bites back a scowl. He shouldn't be angry; his role here is complete. Still, it hurts when Stiles yawns, his arms around Scott's neck, and says, "Derek? Will you read me more Harry Potter later?"
Scott swings his head around to look at Derek, something alarmingly close to pity on his face. Derek exhales forcefully and says, "Yes."
Stiles smiles, then appears to drop into sleep, his heart beat steady. Scott leaves and Derek follows him out the door. He drives home and collapses onto the couch, suddenly feeling as though he's a thousand years old. There's a board game still set up on the coffee table and he swipes it onto the floor. It doesn't make him feel any better; he just gets angrier. He flips onto his other side, face to the couch cushions, and takes a very resentful nap.
-
He's picking the pieces of the board game up off the floor some hours later when there's a knock on the door to the loft. Derek straightens, dumps the pieces back in their box, and opens the door to find Stiles standing there, seventeen again. "Hi," Derek says suspiciously.
"Hey," Stiles replies, sounding a little uncomfortable. "Uh. I just wanted to stop by and say thanks."
"You're welcome," Derek says guardedly. There's a long pause before he adds, "You remember everything."
Stiles winces and Derek's heart sinks. "Yeah," he sighs. "I'm sorry about all that - throwing tantrums and whatever. Thanks for putting up with me."
"It wasn't a problem," Derek tells him stiffly. "You should be more careful in the future."
"You're probably right," Stiles agrees, the corners of his mouth twisting. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Well."
Derek watches him stand there, twisting slightly from side to side. He doesn't seem particularly eager to leave, and Derek doesn't want to read into it, but - "You want to come in?"
Stiles grins brightly. "Sure. You got any more Gushers?"
Derek smiles faintly. "I'll see what I can find."

By; grimm