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The first time Stiles got the notion that something was no longer truly normal was when he did the Sunday laundry and found that he had to iron one of his dad’s better dress shirts. The moment he pulled it out of the washing machine—and he made a mental note to make sure none of those shirts ended up in the regular laundry again—Stiles started to wonder.

 

It had been years since his father had last had a date, and now here there was proof that there was obviously someone in his dad’s life.

 

This would require investigation, one that would hopefully not turn out to include Supernatural creatures trying to kill either him or his father. Or, you know, any of his friends. Or his jeep. Or his favorite shirts—why was it always the shirts?

 

Stiles made sure to leave the shirt pressed and ready on top of the small pile of other dress shirts his dad owned, and if he had synced a slightly illegal program on his computer with his dad’s phone GPS and his planner then that was no one’s business but his.

 

———————

 

So he did more than sync. Sue him. A little following around wouldn’t hurt anyone. Might even save his dad, if it turned out his father managed to go the Derek route and date a psychopath.

 

On Friday evening, his dad had a time crossed out in his planner without a note or explanation as to why he did so, which simply screamed date-night.

 

Also, one pair of slacks and a dress shirt was missing, his dress shoes were gone and pretty much every single tie had apparently been tried on.

 

His dad was nervous for this date. As nervous as he had been whenever he and Claudia had decided to have a date night. His parents had never stopped being that awkward, loving, first time out couple together. And now it seemed like his dad was going down that road again, falling in love—Stilinski men fell in love hard whenever they did—dating, oh god doing to do no don’t go thinking that.

 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Stiles focused back on looking through his temporarily misappropriated goggles from where he was lying down on the roof opposite of the bistro where his father was sitting, chatting with a man whose face was mostly hidden behind a pillar.

 

Cursing to himself, Stiles was about to stand up and find a better angle, when the man leaned forward slightly, finally moving into Stiles’ line of view.

 

The binoculars fell to the ground of the roof, slipping out of Stiles’ slack grip as his mouth dropped open.

 

Motherfucker.

 

————————

 

“Allison! Allison!”

 

Stiles jogged to catch up with his best friend’s definitely-never-on-again-Scott-McCall ex-girlfriend. The girl paused from where she had been about to get into her car, looking up to stare as Stiles came to a panting stop before her, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, mouth gaping open unattractively as he tried to get as much fresh air into his lungs as he could.

 

“Stiles?” Allison barely kept her mouth from twitching up in amusement at seeing the teen gasping for breath. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I…I need to…oh god my lungs…”

 

Waving Allison off when she tried to heave him up, Stiles straightened by himself, muttering something about needing to get back into running track.

 

“I was wondering whether I could ask you something.”

 

“Sure,” Allison put the bag she had been holding in her truck before closing the door to give Stiles her full attention, “what did you want to talk about?”

 

“In your car, maybe? More privacy.”

 

At those words, Allison took a closer look at Stiles, and saw him glancing between her and the house behind her, eyebrows and fingers twitching in what she recognized as his nervous ticks.

 

“Does this have to do with my dad?”

 

Stiles shot her a glance and nodded, pulling open the passenger door of her car without waiting her to invite him to join her. Shrugging at her somewhat-friend’s odd behavior, Allison decided that if the boy was going to attack her—in her own car no less—she’d be able to take him down in a matter of seconds.

 

Track wasn’t the only thing Stiles needed to do, seriously. How that boy survived tangling with the Supernatural, she really had no idea.

 

“Did you know your dad is dating again?”

 

Straight to the point it is. Wait what?

 

“My dad? Dating? Really?” Now Allison was gaping at Stiles, jaw slack in shock. Stiles nodded excitedly at her look, as if agreeing with every single micro expression she was showing.

 

“Yes! Yes he is! I saw him last night in that little bistro, Italiano, downtown.”

 

“What…why were you there?” Is what Allison decided on saying after another shocked minute of silence.

 

At that, Stiles rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a sheepish look on his face.

 

“Cause I followed my dad.”

 

Allison would have liked to be able to say that she got what Stiles wasn’t saying immediately, but in reality it took her almost a full minute to understand.

 

She gaped at him again.

 

Our fathers are dating?!

 

“I know right! I didn’t even know my dad was bisexual, for Christ’s sake!”

 

“Me neither!”

 

“So…what are we going to do about it?”

Stiles found a knife at his throat, a very nice, very sharp knife, held by a very scary Argent woman.

 

“Ho, wait, no, that’s not what I meant!” Stiles babbled immediately, throwing up his hands and knocking them painfully against the ceiling of her car.

 

“Then what did you mean?”

 

The knife wasn’t immediately tucked away.

 

“I mean, obviously we need to support them, but they clearly don’t want us to know yet because I had to follow my dad to figure it out! But this is Beacon Hills, Allison, there’s danger everywhere, and your dad was dressed for a date, not for a possible attack by Supernatural creatures, and your dad might be a Hunter, but my dad isn’t trained to fight Supernaturals.”

 

The knife was tucked away again, and Stiles took a deep, relaxing breath.

 

“You…want them to stop dating for their own safety?”

 

“No! Absolute—look, look, just let me—” Stiles cut himself off, digging for the phone in his pocket and pulling up the pictures he had taken the night before, trusting the small device at Allison.

 

Taking it, Allison found she actually had to take a minute to realize that yes, she was staring at her father, laughing and smiling, holding Sheriff Stilinski’s hand on the table they were seated at. The Sheriff’s smile was probably just as wide, real and happy as her father’s, a flush of happiness that she recognized from Stiles high on his cheeks.

 

“They look…so happy. They look—”

 

“They look in love.” Stiles finished softly, and Allison found that she could only nod.

 

Because that is exactly what they looked like.

 

And Allison hadn’t seen that look on her father’s face since her grandmother died and Gerard took up the reigns—when she was seven. When her mother had lost all her joy and most of her emotions, when her dad had started to lock himself in his office and drown himself in either work, or doing homework with her.

 

“What’s your plan?”

 

Stiles smiled.

 

“My dad is a Stilinski, Allison. When we fall in love, we give our hearts away, we give everything we have. I thought I would never see my dad smile like that again after my mum passed away. I never thought I’d see him nervous before a night out ever again. We are going to be their chaperone's, Allison. We are going to make damn well sure that not a single goddamn creature interrupts their dates, pack or not.”

 

Stiles’ smile grew teeth, and Allison’s expression copied his.

 

“You’re going to have to start running track again.”

 

“And you’re going to have to start tracking your dad’s GPS and planner. But for now, I know they are going on a date tomorrow, to Mae’s.”

 

“Bring your bat.”

 

—————————

 

“It’s a good thing you contacted me.” Allison sing-songed as she reclaimed one of her arrows from the Omega’s neck.

 

“Yea yea.” Stiles muttered from where he was wiping down his bat, wincing as a couple of bloody pieces fell to the ground. “Ew, I think that was brain matter.”

 

“That’s not important, how is the date?”

 

Putting his bat to the side—not like it was gonna get any cleaner than it already was—Stiles peaked around the corner so he could look at where Mae’s sat at the other side of the street. A quick look revealed that his dad and Argent were still sitting at their table, and that Argent was—

 

“Oh god I’m going to marry your dad.”

 

Allison looked up from where she was sawing the Omega into itty bitty tiny bits to make for easy removal, raising an amused eyebrow at Stiles’ impressed look.

 

“He just gave my dad his own ‘you can jumpstart a 747 with this’ taser! I know my dad has been contemplating nicking one of those for himself. Bit of an odd courting present though…”

 

“It shows that my dad knows your dad can take care of himself, and he’s giving him tools that might help keep him safe. It’s a bit unconventional, but considering your enthusiasm, your dad appreciated the present, right?”

 

There was silence. Allison looked up with a frown when she hadn’t yet gotten an answer, and saw Stiles gaping with a flush high on his cheeks.

 

“What?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Stiles visibly shook himself, before seemingly only just noticing he was still looking around the corner and pulling back until he was once again hidden in the shadows of the alley.

 

“I—uh, I’m fairly sure my dad loved the present. Considering they just went for a full French kiss.”

 

“What?!”

 

Allison pushed Stiles to the side so that she could take a peak, and she managed to just catch the tail-end of the kiss, probably a new kiss, as the two men slowly parted, both lingering for a long moment as if they were going to go in for another kiss.

 

She found herself slightly disappointed when they didn’t, and pulled back.

 

“That was one hell of a kiss.” Allison muttered, and Stiles just nodded silently.

 

“We should get back to this, leave them to their date.”

 

“Yea,” Stiles agreed, “we should.”

 

So naturally, for the rest of the date, one of them was looking around the corner at Mae’s. Dates needed to be documented alright? Especially if they were going to be really serious—and considering that kiss and the way they looked at each other—Stiles needed all the visual evidence.

 

Stiles and Allison might be making an ‘our dads are dating, this is so cute’ photo album.

 

———————

 

“A Wendigo?!”

 

Stiles just grunted as he brought his bat back down again, finally caving in the skull of the Wendigo and causing the creature to stop trashing around.

 

Scott let a fucking Wendigo live?!”

 

Another grunt as Stiles hit the Wendigo just once more, this time out of frustration. This bitch had almost made it through the back door of the restaurant, had almost actually ruined a date, and that was just not done.

 

“Scott’s an idiot.” He muttered as he started dismembering the very dead creature.

 

Allison hissed her agreement even as she knelt down next to him in order to help, having patched up the small bite wound on her side that was probably going to scar.

 

“I’ve got this, Stiles. Get to the other side of the street and take some damn pictures.”

 

“Aye aye captain.” Stiles saluted with a grin, before he was off to do just that.

 

———————

 

“Are these dates like a magnet or something?”

 

They were dismembering two bodies this time, though neither of them were quite sure how they were going to get rid of weird ass goop monsters just yet. Maybe burn them?

 

“Fucking well seems like it. At least Beacon Hills’ residents have never been safer.”

 

It seemed as if Allison and Stiles had been taking out threats before they could truly become threats, or before Scott would get off his ass and do something about the threats, ever since they started monitoring the dates.

 

All because a Hunter dating was apparently attractive for Supernatural trouble.

 

“My dad had better not fuck this up.” Allison grumbled, stuffing the last of the goop monster in a black plastic bag.

 

“Your dad owes me like ten new hoodies.” Stiles agreed, dumping two bags in the back of the unregistered truck they had been using ever since they realized nearly every date ended up with a Supernatural encounter.

 

“We’ll go shopping with my dad’s credit card tomorrow, it’s not a date night.”

 

“That’d be awesome, thanks. At least I’m getting some muscles now.” Stiles muttered with a poke to his abdomen. It wasn’t like he had a six-pack or anything, but his core muscles, arms and legs were definitely starting to tighten and show more definition.

 

“You are pretty amazing with a machete.” Allison acknowledged. “To be honest, you are crazy efficient with unconventional weapons. Maybe we should try having you use a whip next.”

 

———————

 

“This whip is awesome!”

 

Allison stood to the side, gaping as Stiles managed to wrap the end of the wolfsbane soaked whip made out of linked metal around the Omega’s neck, slicing through the flesh and severing his spinal cord with a sharp pull.

 

Forget efficient, Stiles was becoming goddamn scary with unconventional weapons.

 

Allison was very glad they were on the same side.

 

And hey, Stiles had just taken out the threat very early on in the date, so they might even get some extra cute pictures today, as long as no other creature interrupted them.

 

————————

 

“Next time,” Allison hissed, “we are going to wait outside of the cinema.”

 

Stiles winced, casting a look at the bottles of bleach that were a fixture in their murder disposal truck, seeming to be contemplating drinking one of them.

 

“To be fair, how was I supposed to know my dad would blo—”

 

I don’t want to remember!”

 

“…You sure I can’t drink some of that bleach?”

 

You took fucking pictures!”

 

“Yea, they’re going in the album, under the title ‘traumatizing your children’.”

 

“…Fair enough.”

 

—————————

 

“And what are you two doing here?”

 

Stiles and Allison both cursed out loud while jabbing their chosen weapons behind them, both hearing a pained grunt as the baseball bat hit soft flesh and the knife sank into a meaty thigh.

 

They turned around.

 

“Oh my god Peter, a little warning?!”

 

The Werewolf grunted as he pulled the—thankfully not poisoned—knife out of his thigh, letting it fall to the roof as soon as it was out.

 

“Yes, well,” Peter muttered, “I didn’t exactly expect to get stabbed.”

 

“You did sneak up on us.” Was Allison’s deadpan reaction even as she turned around, camera clicking once more as she focused it on the upscale restaurant on the opposite street.

 

Great, so it was up to Stiles to make conversation.

 

Or…he could not. Yes, excellent idea. Stiles turned around as well, turning his back to Peter.

 

“What are you two doing?”

 

If only the Werewolf could take a hint.

 

With a sigh, Stiles turned back to face Peter. There wasn’t anything malicious in his voice at all, and his body language was as open as it had ever been.

 

“We could use some Wolfy backup.” Stiles said, turning towards Allison a little.

 

“We’ve been doing well enough by ourselves.” Allison didn’t even look up. Rude.

 

“Ally, my back is scabbed to all hell, and I know your side isn’t doing much better. Why do the Wendigos always go for your side anyway?”

 

Allison didn’t answer for a moment, before she finally put down the camera with a sigh.

 

“But it’s Peter, Stiles. He’d try to charm his way into a threesome, probably.”

 

Before Stiles could answer that particular comment, Peter spoke up, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.

 

“You are not my type, little Huntress, no worries.”

 

Stiles looked a little disturbed when he noticed that Peter did not include him in that sentence. It clearly hadn’t skipped Allison’s notice either, but she just looked done with the Werewolf.

 

“I wasn’t talking about us. I was talking about them.” Turning around, Allison pointed over the side of the roof to the restaurant.

 

Curious, Peter crouched down between the two, eyes turning Supernatural blue as he focused in on the window. A slow grin took up his face when he saw who exactly Allison was pointing to.

 

“Christopher and the Sheriff? Oh~la~la!”

 

Stiles whimpered a little when he saw the appreciation in Peter’s eyes.

 

“My dad has a name, you know.”

 

“We don’t, actually.” Allison shrugged at Stiles frown. “Everyone calls him Sheriff or Stilinski. Literally no one uses his first name.”

 

“Your darling daddy doesn’t talk about his lover during family dinners, Huntress?”

 

For some reason, that made Allison and Stiles grin at one another before turning to Peter with identical mischievous looks on their faces.

 

“They don’t know we know they’re dating. We’ve been shadowing them to make sure no one interrupts their dates.”

 

“And they do,” Allison continued, “they always get almost interrupted. Omegas, Wendigos, Witches, Goop monsters, Sirens, you name it, it’s been trying to interrupt our dads’ dates.”

 

“And that is just not done.”

 

“Oh.” Realization hit Peter like a sledgehammer, and he couldn’t keep the surprise from showing on his face. “You two have been fighting every threat to Beacon Hills these past months.”

 

“We could use some help.” Stiles said to Allison by way of answer, and the girl just sighed.

 

“We could. But he’s Peter.”

 

“So we make it a rule he can’t date either Chris or my dad—Noah, by the way.”

 

“And what if I date both of them?” Peter interrupted, grinning at the horrified looks he was being shot.

 

“A rule.” Allison nodded, and both of them turned resolute looks on Peter.

 

None of them said anything for a long moment. The two teenagers were just staring at Peter as if they were waiting for an answer, while Peter was contemplating if trying to bed the Hunter and the Sheriff would be worth getting maimed by their kids. Probably not.

 

“Call me whenever you two go out.” Peter decided. “And I’ll see whether I have time to join you. But I want to know their reactions when they realize their kids have been stalking them.”

 

“Chaperoning, the word you’re looking for is chaperoning.”

 

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

 

“We are so going to regret this.”

 

——————

 

“That’s…an impressive amount of bleach.”

 

Stiles and Allison looked up from where they were scrubbing the blood out of the back of their latest murder truck. They had to abandon the first one when they realized the flooring had literally been soaking up blood and even Stiles’ miracle bleach mix hadn’t been able to get rid of it.

 

Peter was standing behind them, having finished dumping the body parts on top of the Nemeton where—because the tree stump’s magic was nice like that—it took a hot minute for the parts to disintegrate and get absorbed by the stump.

 

“Bleach, herbs and magic mix. I can’t keep buying new pants every time some monster decides to bleed on me. They’re a lot more expensive than hoodies.”

 

It was fairly impressive, Peter would agree, how Stiles managed to get covered nearly head to toe with blood and organs every single time they killed a creature, while Allison had seemingly made it an art to not get even a single drop of blood on her. Peter himself mostly ended up with bloodied hands and forearms from sticking his claws through some being’s chest, but his clothes survived 9 out of 10 times.

 

Allison had found Gerard’s personal credit card though, so weekly shopping trips for Stiles were now a thing.

 

They had a permanent 25% discount for red hoodies at the mall just for Stiles.

 

Peter hadn’t even known that was possible.

 

———————

 

“So I was thinking,” Stiles spoke up as he shattered the it’s not a Vampire, Stiles, it’s an Umpir’s kneecaps with a swing of his titanium baseball bat, which now had a layer of silver that barely had time to harden before being put to good use, “that a spring wedding would be nice.”

 

Oh God it was going to be one of those conversations. Peter’s next hit caved in the skull of another Umpir, splattering brain matter all over Stiles. Oops.

 

It was a testament of how used Stiles was to being covered in various body parts that he just wiped the worst out of his eyes and continued going to town on his Umpir.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Allison grunted from where she was desecrating a couple of graves, because apparently the coffins needed to be burned before the Umpirs would stop healing and die with their sacred box of dead and polished wood. “It’s going to be a summer wedding, obviously.”

 

“What about winter?” Peter made the mistake of adding his thoughts to the conversation, only to get two glares for his trouble. “Never mind, I’ll just keep on hitting things.”

 

“He’s new.” Allison decided, and Peter hadn’t felt like such a ‘newbie’—Stiles’ words obviously—in a very long time. He felt that he should feel insulted.

 

“Dude,” Stiles aimed at Peter even as he turned the flamethrower he had created with a lighter, two cans of hair spray, copious amounts of ductape and couple pieces of gum on the first uncovered coffin, “our dads both had winter weddings already, so that’s not going to happen.”

 

“Ah, understandable.” The Umpir who had been buried in that first grave burned with his coffin, leaving only one standing. Mostly. With his head still caved in. “And don’t call me dude.”

 

“Sure.” Stiles grinned as he set the second and last coffin on fire. “Dude.”

 

“I should just kill you and be done with it.”

 

Both Allison and Stiles snorted in amusement as they watched the Umpir catch fire out of seemingly nowhere, the creature stumbling around blindly for a moment before it turned into a little pile of ash. They both knew Peter didn’t mean it, this was the most fun the Werewolf had in years.

 

Damn him, but he was starting to like these brats.

 

———————

 

Oi, Peter, get the fuck over here! Ally and I can hold him off for a couple of minutes, but we’re dead otherwise!”

 

Peter cursed as Stiles’ voice came over his phone’s speaker, and he pressed the gas pedal down a bit more. So far, the two had been able to keep everything that was thrown at them at bay before messily killing them. The fact that the one time Peter hadn’t been able to immediately join them on their date night shenanigans the two of them were attacked by something that could overwhelm them, bothered Peter.

 

If something managed to kill one of those brats, he was going to kill the entire pack for their uselessness.

 

“Give me two minutes Stiles, what are you dealing with?”

 

More like a minute and a half…or a minute if he went a little faster and blasted through that red light. If a goddamn Hydra—granted, it had been a juvenile one, but still—hadn’t been able to stop those two, what could?

 

It’s a fucking Alpha, Peter!

 

Peter broke every traffic law in existence and almost clipped a passerby.

 

Good news? He got there on time.

 

Bad news? He totaled his car by slamming it into the Alpha Werewolf, managing to smack him away just in time before the Werewolf could have buried his claws in Stiles’ soft belly.

 

“He’s weakened by the wolfsbane we put in him,” Allison shouted over the noise of her guns firing what looked like non-wolfsbane bullets, “but we ran out of anything with wolfsbane!”

 

“The inconsiderate dick broke my whip!” Stiles sounded more offended by that than by almost being impaled on Alpha claws.

 

Grunting in acknowledgment that he had heard their words, Peter wrestled the Alpha away from where it had been about to jump Allison, slamming the Were’s head into the already cracked wall of the alley. He got a kick to the kidney in retaliation, one that was exceptionally strong considering the fact his body was riddled with wolfsbane bullet holes and marks from Stiles’ beloved soaked whip.

 

Allison’s normal bullets were only slowing the Were down a little, but it was when Stiles managed to shatter a kneecap for a hot second with his hastily recovered baseball bat, that Peter saw his chance.

 

He had been about to put the wolf into a lock so that either Allison or Stiles could kill him, when both shouted at the same time: “Kill him, Peter!”

 

Unlike any other Werewolf who might have hesitated before killing an Alpha, Peter immediately let his claws rip through the throat of the already healing Alpha. And he ripped. Again and again, until his claws hit the Werewolf’s spinal cord, life having left the Alpha around five slashes ago.

 

He didn’t have to wait for the power of an Alpha to start coursing through him, because it seemed to embrace him as if he was coming home, the feeling of pure power a warm and welcome embrace, pushing the growing possibility of becoming an Omega to the side as—Peter’s head snapped towards Allison and Stiles.

 

Whom were both standing silently in the alley, heads canted back and a bit to the side carefully, baring their throats to the new Alpha, their new Alpha.

 

As an almost Omega, Peter hadn’t realized that two new pack bonds had been sluggishly attempting to form, but now he could feel the tentative tendrils of fledgling pack bonds binding him in the loosest sense to the Hunter and the Spark. And there they were, willingly baring their necks to a new and possibly on the edge of feral Alpha.

 

They didn’t see him move as Peter suddenly stood in front of them, red eyes blazing down at them with fondness in his eyes.

 

Allison was the first who felt teeth closing around her neck, and she made certain to hold still as the sharp fangs pressed into her neck, only just not breaking skin. Neither moved for a couple of moments, until Peter finally moved away again slowly, turning his head to the right so he could repeat his actions with Stiles.

 

This simple action of acknowledging the pack bonds and allowing them to finally fully form started a deep, satisfactory purr from deep within Peter’s chest, and neither human were surprised when they were pulled into a bruising hug, purring Alpha wolfed out hunched over them, and very dead previous Alpha only a couple of feet away.

 

“You two could have taken him.” Peter finally muttered around his teeth, wonder in his voice as he leaned back a little so that he could look at the two pseudo-siblings.

 

They shrugged at the same time.

 

“We could have. I still had my machete, Allison still had a couple of clips and coated knives left. But we decided weeks ago that Beacon Hills needed a new Alpha, and we trust you. So when the opportunity presented itself…” Stiles trailed off with a shrug and a grin, and was pulled back into a hug.

 

Across the street, Chris and Noah were laughing and exchanging soft kisses over their dessert, blissfully unaware of the fact that they could have easily ended up as wolf chowder tonight.

 

————————

 

Six months.

 

Six months.

 

It took their fathers six fucking months before they decided to tell Allison and Stiles they were dating. Well, that is probably what the two men were going to tell them at the surprise dinner at the Argents that the Sheriff and his son were invited to.

 

The moment Allison texted Stiles—three seconds before his dad told him—Stiles had the album packed in his bag, sent off a text to Peter to inform his Alpha where the lot of them would be for tonight, and was in the car before his dad could call up to him that it was time to leave for the third time.

 

“Ohh, is that a new tie, dad?”

 

Stiles knew that was a new tie, Chris had given it to his father a couple of dates ago. And thus, the blush that appeared on his father’s face did not surprise him in the least.

 

“It looks nice, kinda expensive but definitely nice.”

 

Oh his dad was gone. That smile and far away look spoke clearly of his love for papa Argent.

 

Oh yes. He was going to have to call Chris that.

 

Stiles was hilarious.

 

“Thanks kiddo, it was an—indulgence.”

 

Bullcrap, but Stiles wasn’t going to call his dad out on the lie.

 

They arrived at the Argent home in another five minutes, and his dad parked the jeep—because Stiles had managed to convince his father to leave the cruiser behind for once—besides Chris’ SUV.

 

The front door opened to show Chris with Allison just a step behind him. She and Stiles exchanged a quick look, and promptly decided that they’d let their dads have a moment, a moment both clearly needed as Christopher fucking Argent was looking uncomfortable and unsure.

 

“Hey Mr. Argent!” Stiles grinned before pressing past the man inside the house, and starting up a conversation with Allison, letting her pull him through to the dining room. That should give the men a minute to calm each other down, and gave Stiles ample time to pull the album out of his bag and place it against the inside of the table leg besides his chair.

 

Most of the dinner was spent in relative silence, the usual questions being asked and conversation was overall just this side of awkward. Any unease that had left the two older men after their private greeting at the front door had come back in full force by the time Allison had placed a delicious stir fry and a couple of medium rare steaks on the table.

 

If the men hadn’t told them before dessert, they would have to do it themse—

 

“Noah and I,” oh thank God they didn’t have to do it themselves, Stiles was not subtle in any way, “wanted to talk to the both of you about something.”

 

A long moment of silence, before both Stiles and Allison leaned forward, raising their eyebrows in unison as Chris seemed to just…lose his words. A movement of Noah’s arm told the teens that their fathers were holding hands beneath the table.

 

Exchanging a quick look, they leaned back again to give them a little more space. There would be no hurrying them, especially as the men seemed to have so much difficulty telling them. Did they really think that either of them were going to react negatively?

 

“We—” Chris cut himself off again, glancing at Noah.

 

Who decided to go the Stiles route and just rip off the band-aid.

 

“Chris and I have been dating for a couple of months.”

 

Chris shot Noah a dry look, making the Sheriff shrug lightly at him. It was going to come out tonight, and Chris’ approach of stalling wasn’t exactly working.

 

Realizing their kids hadn’t yet answered, they turned as one to glance across the table, only to see Stiles fiddling with a black book he had magicked out of nowhere, exchanging looks with Allison. At the end of what seemed like an entire silent conversation, Stiles grinned at Allison’s eye roll and turned to Chris.

 

“Mr. Argent, I’m going to be blunt. You hurt my dad, and I’ll show you just what the Internet can teach someone about torture techniques.” Stiles informed the man pleasantly, before holding out the black book towards Chris, who took it with a confused smile.

 

“Sheriff,” Allison added in her own two cents, “you hurt my dad, I’ll turn you into a cold case.”

 

“Other than that,” Stiles started, before they finished in unison with mischievous grins, “congratulations!”

 

“Now open that book.”

 

“God Stiles, tact! It’s a thing. I’ve been teaching you.”

 

“Hmm, what? Sorry, I lost my hearing there for a second, couldn’t hear you.”

 

“Moron.”

 

Chris and Noah stared. They hadn’t known that their kids were as close as they seemed to be, throwing insults around with smiles that showed neither meant a thing by it.

 

Glancing down at the book Stiles had practically thrust into his hands, Chris placed it between his and Noah’s plates before cracking it open.

 

And they both just stared for a moment.

 

There, in the middle of the first page was a photo that was clearly taken through a window from a higher angle, showing them sitting at a table in Italiano, one of their favorite bistros. Flicking the page, and another and another and—Chris and Noah looked at each other with wonder in their eyes as they realized just exactly what they were looking at.

 

A photo album of their dates, with the names of the restaurants (parks, cinemas, cafes, shooting range, book stores) written beneath each picture besides the date of their dates. The pictures started on their second date, and as far as they could see, not one of their dates were missed. There were so many pictures. There were pictures of moments the two of them would have loved to have a picture of, pictures that were clearly taken by someone inside the restaurant—by request of Allison and Stiles, waiters would be all too happy to take pictures of the happy couple for them.

 

There was a—oh God—page at the end titled ‘traumatizing your children’ that had one dark picture and text beneath it in all capitals that said ‘NEVER AGAIN, MY EYES, THEY BURN’ before Allison’s loopy handwriting below that read ‘never again entering a cinema on a date ever again, we learned our lesson’.

 

Chris flipped back a couple of pages to safer, lovely date pictures, both his and Noah’s cheeks burning bright red.

 

But when they looked down at the page they had flipped to, Noah couldn’t help but grip Chris’ hand a little tighter, smile curling his lips. It was a picture of one of their private dates, a simple one behind the Argent house where Chris had surprised him with a picnic spread out on an old-fashioned checkered blanket.

 

The entire night had been something out of a cheesy romance movie, but the silent conversation, the shared kisses beneath the stars, the quiet warmth of the night had made it one of Noah’s personal favorite dates.

 

“How?” Chris whispered to the kids, even though he was still looking down at the album, stroking along one of the picnic pictures.

 

“I found one of your dress shirts in the laundry after your first date, dad.” Stiles said, sounding completely serious and sincere, knowing that right now, a lackadaisical attitude wouldn’t be appreciated in the least. “Then I saw that you had tried on every single one of your ties, and I knew you were nervous. You’re a nervous dater, dad, you’ve always been. I remember when you and mum would go out on a date, and even though you had been married for years, you would still try on at least four different outfits before settling on one. So I tracked your GPS. And after that date at Italiano, I approached Allison.”

 

“The thing is, your dates turned out to be magnets for the Supernatural.” Allison picked up the story, putting a small red book on the table and flipping to the first page, before turning it to show the men a picture of a very dead Omega Werewolf. “And if there is one thing Stiles and I agreed on, its that your dates shouldn’t be interrupted.”

 

“You can call us aggressive supporters of an Argent-Stilinski household.” Stiles concluded with a shrug, grinning at their stunned fathers.

 

“Does this mean I can serve dessert now?” Peter asked, poking his head out from the entrance of the kitchen, pulling curses from everyone at the table. Without waiting for a response, Peter walked inside the dining room with a plate of home-made tiramisu, showing teeth in a grin even as he placed the plate down in the middle of the table, moving to clean the left-overs from the main course off of the table.

 

He looked like a very dangerous housewife with his pink apron and dishtowel thrown over his left shoulder. As he moved to take the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, he took a quick moment to scent mark Allison and Stiles, flashing red eyes at the two fathers, before disappearing from the room for a moment.

 

“Ah,” Allison shrugged sheepishly at her father’s raised eyebrow, “that’s another conversation we need to have.”

 

“Yes, I do believe it is.” Chris deadpanned, even as he kept on looking down at the album Noah was paging through slowly. Whatever caused Peter to become an Alpha again, and whatever caused him to get close to the kids, didn’t seem to have harmed either of them in any way, so Chris would be patient for an answer, just this once.

 

It helped that he had Noah to temper him and calm him down. He squeezed his partner’s hand, getting a soft smile and a squeeze back.

 

It would be fine.