Chapter Text
Anyone who knew him swore up and done he'd be a mouthy Little Brat. That was mostly true. Derek hadn't been around Stiles during much of his formative preteen years, hadn't seen him really flourish into his bratty nature. He'd been to busy with school and sports, friends his own age. Derek can remember when Stiles was a gap toothed bundle of energy that ran circles around the kids in his grade and had annoyed Cora to no end.
Being the only son of the Sheriff meant Stiles on occasion had a perfectly acceptable reason to bump into the mess of Hale children. Derek's father was the Mayor of Beacon Hills and his mother the Alpha. As a teenager Derek had been more interested in the Sheriff than his son. Law enforcement had its merits and he'd seriously considered it for a while before deciding on a history degree. At times like this he wished he paid a bit more attention to Stiles.
He's not so much a Brat anymore. He has his moments, there's no two ways about it. Stiles is a limit tester. He has a mouth on him and a stubborn defiant streak that's earned him more than one stinging bottom. But Derek has noticed that Stiles keeps falling into this young Little headspace that he can't shake. He's quieter. There's a stillness to his limbs that even Adderall can't make happen. Derek's not sure what to do about it.
As far as his family is concerned Stiles is just settling into himself. He's a Little. Classification is a spectrum just like everything else. He doesn't have to be a hard Brat just like Cora isn't a hard Master, just like Laura's husband treads the line between pet and sub. And that's fine. Stiles can be as little as he wants, as little as he feels, and Derek will be there to take care of him. Its just...it seems off. Like he's shrinking back because he's scared or anxious. Derek does what he can about that. Little's on the whole crave structure. Derek's flexible schedule and helpful family have made sure his days don't deviate much. Stiles hasn't had a panic attack in nearly a year and that was really more Deputy Haigh's fault than anything. That man's a menace.
Right now Stiles is in deep. He hasn't spoken a word all day. There've been a few slurs, things Derek can't quite make out from behind the pacifier. Whenever he tries to take it away Stiles whines and the stricken look on his face has Derek backpedaling. The Sheriff said it happens sometimes. That it happened more and more as Stiles' classmates started pairing off and settling in. Which rubs Derek the wrong way. It's not like he hasn't been a good Daddy. He is. He likes to think he is anyway. He's not always the most talkative but he's affectionate. And he's made it clear that Stiles can talk to him about anything, for as long as he wants. The problem is that Stiles will talk about anything and everything but his headspace. Which is why Derek is doing this. Because he loves Stiles. Very much. So he's going to be an adult and a good Daddy and consult another Domme. Even if he'd rather chew off his own arm like an animal than do it.
Derek glares down at his phone on the counter top. From the table Stiles sends him a curious little glance, then focuses intently back on his coloring book. It's full of National Geographic covers. A gift from Lydia. Derek huffs, quieter this time, and picks up his phone. It rings three times and Derek has to fight the raging urge to hang up. He can actually feel the superior look on Lydia's face.
"Derek, hello."
"Lydia." At her name Stiles begins fidgeting in his chair. It's the first non-passive reaction Derek's gotten out of him all day and already the wound to his pride is healing. He slides into the chair next to Stiles and idly picks up a dark colored crayon.
"Formal call or business?"
"Hm." Derek leans his elbow heavily on the table and turns himself more towards the coloring book. "I was thinking you could visit Stiles." Despite the underlying tension Derek can't help but smile. Stiles is beaming from behind his pacifier, crayons scattered and forgotten around him.
"Of course. But let's be honest Derek, why do you want me to visit?"
Derek can hear her moving through the phone, twirling a pen by the sounds of it. She's probably marking out her calendar. At the moment she's a professional, training up newbies and domming subs who've gone too long without. Derek's not sure how she does it. He couldn't imagine bringing people into his life, being intimate with them, and then letting them loose in the space of a breath. "So Stiles can see you. So we can talk. Its not like I have a wealth of friends around here." She hums at him and scratches something out. Derek lets the crayon roll onto the table and lets his palm rest heavy and warm on Stiles' leg.
"I can come by later?"
Derek shakes his head. Beside him Stiles is staring down at his hand with his brow furrowed and his teeth clenched tight around the bulb of his pacifier. "Tomorrow maybe."
"Fine, fine. Let me talk to him."
Derek taps Stiles' cheek and holds out his phone. For a moment he wonders if he'll have to hold it to his ear for him but Stiles eagerly takes it. The pacifier is still firm in his mouth but he's making pleased noises regardless. He's not tuned into what she's saying. It'd be rude really. She knows him well. Grew up with him, dommed him when he needed it. She wasn't a Mommy but she had a soft spot for Stiles a mile wide.
You could begin courting a sub when they were sixteen if parents gave consent. Derek had barely been back from college a day when he ran into Stiles at the store. He'd been lounging in cart while his friend Scott, a switch and a puppy if Derek ever saw one, pushed him around. Derek waved at them in passing and went to turn down another aisle when a grape hit him in the back of the head. The look on Scott's face when he realized what Stiles had done was nothing short of hilarious. The panic had rolled off him in waves. It didn't take more than a week afterwards for Derek to approach the Sheriff for permission to court him.
Now Stiles was eighteen and staying with Derek permanently. Couples involving Littles rarely collared. Instead most of them exchanged homemade jewelry. Usually something colorful and made with beads. And until that happened Stiles' father could still end things. If he thought Stiles was being mistreated or not acclimating properly that was it. Two years of heavily chaperoned, very tiring, courting down the drain. And Derek's happiness would go down with it.
"Daddy..." Stiles is holding the phone out. Derek takes it from him and presses a kiss to his forehead. He drags his nose down to rub with Stiles' then he's brushing his scruff all across his face. It draws squirms and happy little giggles from Stiles that make Derek's heart beat faster. He tosses the phone aside and plucks Stiles from his seat. Stiles winds his arms and legs around Derek's body and buries his face into the crook of his neck. His pacifier is rolling somewhere with the crayons but that's okay because he feels bigger than he did a minute ago. He doesn't need it right now.
They end up outside. In the far corner of the backyard, just a few steps from the tree line, there's a big trampoline. It's got safety nets and at Derek's insistence there's foam pool noodles covering the springs. Besides Stiles there's only three other humans in the pack that'd end up around them anyway but once was enough. Last summer Peter's youngest caught her arm in a spring and the pinch left her with a pulsing blood blister that lasted far too long. It hadn't deterred Stiles in the slightest.
With the trampoline in sight Stiles wriggled and strained to get out of his Daddy's grasp. He hadn't been on it in so long. Despite his squirming Derek kept a hold on him. He waited until they were up against the rim of the trampoline to let him go. Stiles took off like a shot through the net, rolling up onto his knees and then bouncing into a crouch. Then the ground was warping under him and he fell to the side in time to see Derek climbing in too. "Catapult." Stiles grinned wickedly and plopped down in the middle of the trampoline, legs crossed. From the edge Derek raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. "I don't know."
"Catapult. Catapult. Please. Pleeeaaaaaseeeeeee. Catapult me!" Stiles rocked back and forth on his butt, eager to have Derek play with him. Usually the trampoline was reserved to tire Stiles out so he typically went in solo. The adults almost never joined in and the kids didn't really have enough coordination to send someone as big as Stiles flying. He rocked up onto his knees and bounced once. To his frustration it didn't upend Derek at all. "Please Daddy. I never get to do it anymore. Never."
That is a gross exaggeration. Stiles had Malia out here just last week. She'd even encouraged him to do tricks. The fact that the night hadn't ended in a broken bone was a small miracle. But he gave in anyway. It was nice to see Stiles eager to do something for a change, even if it could result in some bruises. Derek stood to his full height and jumped as high as he could. He watched as Stiles fell back on his butt, face alight with excitement. It only took a few jumps for the momentum to carry and before long Stiles was being bounced into the air. He'd wound himself up like a little pill bug and was giggling like mad every time he flew up.
They staid out until Stiles rolled in the air and came down hard on his nose. No blood, but it was enough send his eyes watering. It was time to lunch anyways. Derek pulled him out and shoved him toward the house. Stiles took off but circled back in an awkward lope. "We can have fries? Alpha bought microwave fries. I know she did." He's practically vibrating with energy, not having actually bounced on the trampoline at all. Microwave anything is suppose to be a once in a while treat. He'd already made Stiles chocolate chip pancakes today.
"No Stiles."
"But I know she did! She did! They're in the--" Derek gives Stiles a quick swat to the bottom, just a warning. When Stiles gets that look on his face it usually leads to a full on rant. Which almost always ends in a spanking. Or lines. Or soap if he gets wound up on the right subject. "Daddy I want--"
Derek stops and cups the back of Stiles' neck. He waits patiently for his heartbeat to wind down and lets Stiles get the chance to focus. Derek has his stern face on and he knows Stiles knows what that means. "I said no. You had chocolate with breakfast. No fries at lunch. Do you want to ask for something else nicely or do you want to spend lunch with a sore bottom?"
Stiles' mouth clicks shut but his face is still set and angry. His heartbeat has always been a little fast, a side effect of the Adderall, but it's just a touch more. Derek can't tell if Stiles wants to work himself into a tantrum for the hell of it or if it has something to do with his regression. "Can I have apple juice?"
"I think we can manage that." Derek lets his hand slide away from Stiles' neck and pulls the boy to his side. There's a sullen little hunch to his step but Derek ignores it. Stiles isn't a Brat for no reason. Once in the house he guides Stiles to the bathroom. "Wash up, then lunch. No playing around Stiles." He leaves him too it and heads to the kitchen.
The crayons have been straightened up. The pacifier has been cleaned off and it's sitting on the counter next to a bowl of fruit. It smells like Laura's husband's been through. He never could stand a mess in the kitchen. Derek keeps an ear on Stiles, listening for running water, and pulls out stuff for lunch. A turkey and cheese sandwich, light mayo, cut into triangles for Stiles. He tosses a few carrot sticks and grapes onto the plate to round it out and makes himself a monster of a sandwich. His mother would probably scold him for not setting a better example but he has to get what he wants sometimes. By the time he's done making his own Stiles is sitting at the table, his upper body sprawled across it, the back legs of his chair up and teetering.
"Down Stiles. Now." The chair hits the floor with a thunk. Derek chooses to ignore the pout. He just wants to have a good day. He slides Stiles his plate and goes back for a sippy cup of apple juice. It's his favorite, purple with a little cartoon Hawkeye on its front. Allison gave it to him when he moved into the Hale house. Stiles takes it from him happily, content to hold it curled to his chest while he ate messily with his free hand. Stiles always went in circles with his food. A bite of sandwich, a grape, a carrot stick. Between that and the constant chatter Derek isn't sure where he finds the time to breathe.
"Allison should be Hawkeye for Halloween because there is a girl Hawkeye and she's that good. She did...she did the thing from Avengers. It was like a trick. She looked at Scott the whole time and she shot and it hit and it went right in the middle and she wasn't even looking." Breath. Carrot stick. "And then Scott can be Coulson 'cause he's got a suit and everything and Allison likes it when he combs his hair. And they can come with me trick or treating and I don't know who I want to be yet. But I'm going to be somebody. Somebody awesome." Breath. Sandwich.
"Why not Black Widow?"
Stiles' mouth goes slack for a minute and Derek's almost sure he's going to dribble some turkey onto his shirt. "Cause Allision uses arrows."
Derek smiles and reaches across the table to tap on Stiles' chin. "I meant Scott. Why can't Scott be Black Widow?" Derek knows they barely touched it in the movies but Hawkeye and Black Widow have been a Switch 'are they or aren't they' couple for as long as Derek can remember. It's perfect for Allison and Scott really. Even if Scott doesn't have the disposition to pull off a good Widow it'd be funny at the very least to see him in the costume.
Stiles ducks his head and rubs the rim of his sippy cup on his bottom lip. "But he's a boy."
Derek chuckles. "So? It's Halloween. Lot's of people wear crazy things on Halloween."
"So is okay for Halloween?" Stiles is starting to slur again. He's looking up at Derek with curious eyes. But Derek can scent the wariness.
"Sure. You can be whatever you want for Halloween."
"Halloween."
"Yeah." Derek furrows his brow and plucks the sippy cup from Stiles' hands. And just like that Stiles is back to the quite Little he was that morning. He still eats in the same circle but he's slower. Derek knows he won't have to clean up crumbs or bits of chewed carrot. He feels like an asshole and he's not quite sure why.
* * *
Morning in the Hale house is something of a mess. Talia is always the first awake without fail. The children and Stiles follow shortly after. Then the teenagers who want to hog the mirror and are all furious that the children had the nerve to use up the hot water and leave toothpaste on the counter. For the most part the parents hang back and wait for the growling to stop before even attempting to get ready for their day. More than once Derek fantasized about getting his own place.
This morning Stiles slid quietly out of bed, snagged a sippy cup of chocolate milk from Talia, then dove back into bed with Derek with a battle cry. If he were human he'd worry for the safety of his testicles. Stiles is somehow all angles and bone. "Morning daddy."
"Mornin'." Derek growls lightly and turns, tipping Stiles with him and pinning him. For a few minutes there's just the two of them breathing quietly and enjoying Derek's sleep warm body. Then Laura's little monster Bher is screeching and streaking down the hall waking everyone else in the house. Derek just groans and sinks further into the bed, making Stiles 'oof'.
"Lydia's coming today?"
"Before lunch I think. Are you going to be good today?"
"I'll try."
Derek wants to roll his eyes. Stiles and 'try' have a bountiful and crazy history. He doesn't feel too worried though. If there's one thing Stiles wants in life it's quality time with Lydia Martin. If that means he has to reign himself in and behave for a whole day then by god Derek might get a peaceful morning. Maybe. "Let's go. We can help Alpha make breakfast." Derek stretches and rolls back enough for Stiles to squirm away. He rolls out of bed himself, hair rumpled and clothes skewed. From the corner of his eye he sees Stiles swallow his pill and drown it with milk before bolting.
Ahead of him Stiles bounds down the hall, tumbling into the sleepy members of the pack trying to force their way into the bathroom. Derek shuffles past them all, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the gut from Cora. He allowed himself a minute to wake up at the base of the stairs, his hands braced on the wall and banister. In the kitchen he could hear Stiles going a mile a minute while his mother hummed along. Four children of her own and a house full to the brim with squabbling pack had given her more patience than Derek could imagine.
They were making omelets and hash browns. Talia had graciously allowed Stiles to stir the eggs. Derek rounded the counter to accept a hand across the back of his neck from his mother, then he crowded Stiles into the counter. Despite having seen him coming Stiles still jolts and nearly elbows his milk off the island. "Careful." Derek stills the teetering cup and buries his nose in Stile's hair.
"I'm always careful. Other people aren't." Stiles huffed very matter of factly but calmed himself regardless. Talia sent Derek a grateful smile and turned to the pans on the stove. There was already a heap of vegetables sweating in one skillet and at least two pounds of meat browning in another. "Anyways Daddy says Lydia gets to come see me today. And whenever she comes to see me she's got something for me like that coloring book. I like the pictures but I don't have all the right colors so maybe she'll bring me new crayons. Or, or, maybe she has a new shirt. I've got almost all the Avengers now. I just need Hulk now cause the one I use to have doesn't fit right anymore and--" He cut off mid sentence as Derek's hand clamped over his mouth.
"Lydia doesn't have to bring you something. And if she does bring you something you say thank you." Derek could actually feel Stiles rolling his eyes. He pulls back and swats him on the butt before moving to the stove to help his mother. He brings the eggs with him. If they were left with Stiles any longer they wouldn't be salvageable.
The pack wanders in in clumps. Bher and Laura are first. She actually managed to get pants on him this morning. It's got to be record timing. Stiles flings himself into the table next to them. "Lydia's coming to see me today and--" Laura nods along and splits her attention between Stiles and Bher. It's no easy task. Neither of them do well with being ignored.
"How wounded is your pride I wonder?"
Derek tisks and bumps his mother with his hip. "She knows him. Whatever's bothering him...its not just him regressing. If he wants to be littler that's fine. But he's not just younger he's anxious. And I have no idea why."
Talia nods wisely and stirs the vegetables in front of her. "You could ask him outright."
"It'd be easier to pull out his teeth." As different as the two of them could be, sharing feelings ranked low on their priority list. The love was there and most of the time that got them through. But Stiles had a horrible habit of ignoring a problem like it'd eventually go away. Like the first time he had an accident at night and hid the evidence from his father until he worked himself into a massive panic attack. And Derek tended to bottle things up then unleash all of his pent up emotion in a rigorous workout session that nearly drove him into the ground. All without coming forward about anything.
His pack had always taken his stunted nature in stride. The only time he'd really tried to branch out was in high school and more often than not it ended up seeming awkward and brutish. After the mishap with Paige he nearly swore of courting all together. But after two years with Stiles things just felt right. It was worth the hit to his pride to try and get him the help he needed. If he couldn't get Stiles to feel comfortable in their relationship then he didn't deserve to call himself his Daddy.
Breakfast was rowdy. Malia and Stiles got into a little argument that ended with her kicking over his chair. Peter had to drag her away by the scruff of her neck. Which was the cue for Peter's boys, Jarrett and Elias to start acting up. The Bher got loose somewhere under the table. Cora was still growling about what he'd done to her ankles. It was nothing short of a blessing when Lydia came up the drive. While it did nothing to stem the chaos in the dining room it did give Derek a valid reason to bail on the total disaster that was his pack before nine am.
Derek left Stiles snuffling on the living room couch with some cartoons. He was hoping he'd get a few private minutes with her before Stiles took notice and got clingy. "Lydia."
Lydia rolled her eyes and stepped quietly into the foyer. She kept herself out of sight of the living room and dining room, strategically using Derek as a shield. "He's being quiet?"
"He's done it before?"
Lydia pursed her lips. "You know it's polite to answer a question before asking another. But yes. He's had these little episodes before. What brought on the newest one?"
Derek crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall. His screaming family was for once working to his advantage, keeping Stiles from hearing their little chat. "Halloween maybe. Or the costumes."
"Did he ask to wear a skirt?"
"He...what?" Derek frowned and slid closer to Lydia. "Has he asked to before?"
Lydia rolled her eyes, again. The longer he spent with her the more he grasped why Cora despised her so much. They were just enough alike to grate nerves. "He never asks. But he's wanted to since he was a kid."
"Then why not just ask me?"
"Because he doesn't want to be a little girl Derek. He just wants to wear skirts sometimes."
Derek thunks his head back against the wall then pushes away to peek in on Stiles. He's absorbed in his show. He recognizes the little girl in the animal sweater but he can't place the name. Most cartoons run together for him, too much unnecessary noise and color. "So what should I do?"
"Buy him a skirt." Lydia strides past him and flicks her hair in his face. "Obviously." Farther away from the noise in the dining room Stiles was able to make out the click of her heels. He tried and failed to leap over the back of the couch to greet her. Instead he flopped over the back and rolled gracelessly onto his feet, nearly head-butting her.
"Lydia!"
She deftly avoided his flailing limbs and lead him back to the couch. The two of them got swept up into their own little world, something about a cipher on his cartoon. Was all the fuss really about a skirt? Derek couldn't recall ever telling Stiles he couldn't dress how he wanted. Stiles spent most of his high school career a mess of colors that really shouldn't have gone together. He'd even bought Stiles a pair of orange and blue plaid rain boots. He'd let Stiles wear them to an important pack summit. He couldn't recall ever giving Stiles the indication that skirts weren't okay or that it would make him more of a girl. Derek huffed and ran upstairs to change.
He comes back downstairs more slowly. Stiles is burrowed into Lydia's side, sucked deep into his show. There's a few more kids scattered around now. Malia is eyeing them all from the kitchen over her cold breakfast. Not wanting to earn her wrath he swings away from the kitchen and leans down over the back of the couch. For a second he just nuzzles the side of Stiles' face, let's his stubble catch and tickle his sensitive skin. "I have to go to the store. Behave for Ms. Lydia or there will be consequences."
Stiles gives him a snarky salute and tucks himself back against Lydia. Derek tweaks his ear in warning and draws himself away before his family can ambush him with a load of errands. As he's sliding into the Toyota he spies Cora through the kitchen window scowling at him. If he doesn't get a text in two minutes about buying cereal he'll gnaw off his own foot. He gets the text before he's out of the woods and doesn't even bother looking at it. Distantly he feels sorry for whatever sub gets stuck with her. He'll probably end up running to the store all hours of the night and day because Cora's lazy when it comes to anything other than working out.
Statistically there are roughly the same amount of female and male Littles in the world. As far as marketing as concerned Littles were girls, or very interested in sissification. Derek can't count the number of times he'd seen something he'd desperately wanted to get for Stiles if only it wasn't in a glaringly offensive shade of pink. The kind of pink that hurt his eyes. Stiles tended to stick around the six to eight age range unless he was having one of his moods so he hadn't had to scour for too much. Younger minded Littles tended towards onesies and footed pajamas. Stiles was perfectly happy to wear mis-matched socks and robot print sleep pants with one of Daddy's shirts.
So Derek didn't feel too bad about being completely overwhelmed in the Little Girls section of the store. There was taffeta and chiffon everywhere. He wasn't really sure what Stiles would be interested in. Derek wanted to have at least one skirt in hand when he talked with Stiles about how he dressed and expressed himself. With his luck he'd stick his foot in his mouth or sit down and not be able to form words. At least if he had a skirt he could show Stiles he was okay with it.
"New Daddy?"
Derek raised his brows and stared at the sales girl. He hadn't even heard her sneak up. When she shrank into herself, curling her shoulders in and turning just so to the side, Derek blinked and ran his fingers across the rack. "No. I've had Stiles for two years now. Almost three." The skirts in front of him are stiff and pleated. He's not sure he can see Stiles in them.
"Could I ask some questions? To get a better idea of what you want."
Derek nods and turns away from the skirts. It's easier to focus of her if he's not staring down neons and sequins.
"Is this for fun or punishment?"
"No, neither. I wouldn't do that to him. We have a no humiliation clause. This is...he's been quiet. Anxious. An old friend said he'd always wanted to wear skirts but..."
"Does he ever use female pronouns? Maybe use his sheets as dresses?"
"No. It's all been standard Little boy behavior."
"Age range?"
"Six to eight usually. Sometimes three or four."
The sales girl twists up her lips in thought, scrunching her nose, and scans here eyes over the racks. Derek stands quietly in front of her, feeling like a looming creep. "Okay I think I've got it." She gestures for him to follow, taking him past the more structured cuts and fashionable skirts to a wall of fluffy something. "These are simple scrunch skirts. Basically a bunch of fabric squeezed onto a small amount of elastic. The fabric is sheer but heavily layered and soft to the touch. It sounds like your Little just wants something comfortable. These should be long enough and light enough to play in too." Derek pulls one off the rack. It looks like a wad of super soft mesh. He smooth's his fingers through it and eyes the length. It would fall just about the knee and plum out just a little.
Derek brings home one in every color they had. On impulse he picked up two hoodies to go with it. One that had floppy fennec fox ears on the hood and one in a raspberry pink with a plaid heart stitched on the back. He hoped Lydia was right about all this. He'd feel like an ass returning it all. He honked the horn from the driveway and waited at the trunk of his car. Bher came barreling down the porch and lawn with a roar, Laura and her husband Mitch following at a stroll. Derek braced himself for Bher to throw himself into his legs but instead the little boy ran a lap around the car and tried to climb onto the hood.
While Mitch valiantly tries to coax Bher down Laura comes up and bumps hips with Derek. "I want to have a private talk with Stiles."
"So go up to the playroom. We'll keep everyone downstairs." Bher gives a dramatic wail and slides down the hood into his father's arms. Mitch staggers back and groans, pretending Bher has slain him or something. Laura rolls her eyes at them and nudges Derek aside to look into the trunk. "I'll even sit on Malia if you think it'll help. So what'd you get him anyway? Don't you think he has enough clothes?"
"Lydia said Stiles wants to wear skirts. I don't want him to think I'm not okay with that."
Laura coos at him but dutifully keeps her hands away from the bags. Then she's herding her family back inside. Derek counts to ten before gathering up his stuff and heading in. True to her word Laura has everyone downstairs somewhere. Stiles and Malia are play wrestling on the living room rug while Lydia referees. He manages to slip upstairs unnoticed. Probably only because Malia has the tip of Stiles' ear clamped between her teeth while she growls.
Privacy is a fast and loose word in a werewolf house. There's only so much sound proofing you can put into a house plausibly. In the basement there's the adult scene equipment. Everyone keeps their own personal toys in their rooms but downstairs there's furniture and enough concrete separating you from the living room to make things private. The attic is the playroom. It wasn't made for Stiles. The attic had been the playroom for as long as Derek could remember. In the left corner farthest from the window there's a cluster of glow in the dark stick on stars from Cora's astronaut phase. There's a bench under the window filled with children's encyclopedia's that belonged to Derek. All over there were toys and tidbits that had belonged to the whole family at some point. But now there's stuff for Stiles too.
Derek tucks the bags next to a low plastic play table covered in old paint and glitter that will never come off. He takes a minute to compose himself and think of what to say. He nods to himself and jogs downstairs. Stiles is on top of Malia now, sitting cross legged on the middle of her back. Lydia looks wholly unimpressed with whatever turn of events lead to this. "Stiles. Stiles I need to see you upstairs."
Stiles huffs and rolls off of Malia in the most inconvenient way possible, with plenty of jabbing elbows. "I should say goodbye to Lydia?"
"Go ahead. But be quick." Derek leans on the bannister while Stiles rambles to Lydia. He doesn't want to rush anything but he's also not sure how long everyone will be content to stay downstairs. The kids at least will get restless. "Stiles, quickly please."
He huffs and gives Lydia a lingering hug. Since he'd moved into the Hale house he'd seen less and less of his friends from before. The move was only partially to blame. It was natural for friends with different classifications to drift apart after graduation. As Stiles makes his way over Derek is sure to cup his hand around the back of Stiles' neck. He rubs his thumb under the lobe of his ear leads the boy upstairs.
Instead of tearing into the playroom Stiles tucks himself to Derek's side and brings his fingers up to his lips. "I'm in trouble?"
"No. No I just wanted to talk." He pushes Stiles to sit at the play table and circles around to sit in front of him. "You've been Little lately. More Little. Littler."
Stiles squirms in front of him and tucks his hands under his legs to keep from chewing on them. "I know."
"Stiles...Stiles I'm your Daddy now. And Daddy's take care of their little ones no matter how old they get, or how young they feel." Derek reaches across the table and tugs on Stiles' arm until he can pull one free. He takes his hand and catches his eye. "If you want to be littler that's fine. You just be you and Daddy will worry about the rest okay."
"Okay." Stiles doesn't sound entirely convinced but he's not visibly looking for ways out of the conversation either. He counts it as a win.
"And I got you something today." Derek squeezes his hand one last time before reaching down and pulling the first skirt out of the bag. It's pastel pink. For a second Derek wonders if he should have gone with something darker, to ease Stiles into it but it's too late now. He fans it out across the table and waits for a reaction.
Across the table Stiles' mouth falls open. With a hesitant hand Stiles reaches for it, running his fingers over the bottom edge of the skirt. His eyes flick up to meet Derek's. At the encouraging nod Stiles grabs a handful of the fabric and bunches it up, pulling it close to his face and rubbing it on his cheek. Its something he does when he feels very young. The Sheriff said he'd been a tactile toddler, not trusting anything unless he'd rubbed it across his skin first. "Mine?"
Derek upended the bag, completely covering the table in piles of soft fabric. "These are all for you."
"Not a girl."
"No. Definitely not a girl. You're a Stiles. And Stiles should wear what makes him happy."
"Is girl clothes."
"It's Stiles clothes. If they belong to you they're yours." Derek sifts through the skirts and plucks out the hoodies then lays them out for Stiles to see. "I won't ever make fun of you for wearing what you want. It doesn't make you a girl." Derek frowns and stares down at the table top. "Unless you want to be. That's okay too. What makes you happy...that's what's important to me. Daddy isn't always good at saying what he feels but that's okay too. Wait..." Derek takes a deep breath. He's not really sure where to go from here.
"'M not a girl. 'M a boy." Stiles has his serious face on. He's still clutching the skirt in his fist.
"Okay. You're still my little boy. That's good." Derek clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. "I love you Stiles. No matter what you want to wear okay. You shouldn't worry about what other people think because I think it's okay and I'm your Daddy. If someone else has a problem with it I'll handle it. You just get to be you okay."
For a minute they just stare at each other over a pile of colorful skirts. Then Stiles is shooting out of his chair so quickly it clatters to the floor. Derek's fingers twitch to steady him but there's no need. Stiles yanks down his pants and kicks them away, nearly landing on his butt in the process. Then he's hopping into the skirt and twisting it into position. When he's done he grins from ear to ear and puts his hands on his hips, snapping them back and forth to make the fabric swish. His shirt is stuck in the elastic near his left hand and he's got on one long sock and one short but he looks so damn happy.
"I look good Daddy?"
"You look amazing."