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Uncle Peter

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“You’re how old again?” Peter asks and Derek rolls his eyes.

“I hate you,” he answers.

“Oh, let’s not revert to petty teenagers,” Peter tells his nephew, who’s 24 by the way. If anyone was wondering, since Peter did ask. He checks his phone. He’s taking the girls out prom dress shopping and he’s waiting on the confirmation text from Lydia, his not-so-secret favorite. “So talk to me before I call Laura, and she’s just started her shift at the station so she can always talk to his dad.”

Derek makes a face. It kind of sucks that his older sister works at the Sheriff’s station where the boy that he happens to be a bit in love with has a dad that works there too. Well, actually his dad is the Sheriff. Which could get Derek shot, so he sees the threat there.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Derek says grumpily. He slumps in his chair and beside him Jackson snorts. Derek tutors him in calculus and the conversations between him and his Uncle Peter never cease to make the 18 year old laugh.

“You’re kind of pathetic,” Jackson says as he works on a problem. He completely misses Derek’s glare.

“See?” Peter says, grabbing his car keys. “Even the class douche thinks you’re a sad piece of meat.”

“Where are you going?” Derek asks him, instead of responding. He’ll get him back later when the family spars in the basement gym.

“The lovely ladies need someone to give them a ride to the mall and help them with prom dresses,” Peter says with a shrug.

Jackson slams his book closed. “I’m coming. This shit doesn’t make sense anyway. I can live with a C in this class.” He gets up and tosses his coat back on, then looks at Derek. “Please tell me you’re not going to sit here and mope.”

“Dignified brooding,” Peter corrects condescendingly.

Derek growls under his breath then shoves himself away from the table. “Fine,” he says. “If everyone is ganging up on me.” Jackson and Peter share a satisfied look and nod to each other. “Oh just go, assholes.”

“I’m taking the van,” Peter says. Derek’s mother had gotten a mini-van after she’d had the twins. Good thing, since a few years later the triplets had come. Peter usually uses it to cart everyone around. It had started when Scott McCall had broken one of their windows with a lacrosse ball. Then he’d lost his inhaler and the whole family had gone out to the woods around their house to look for it. Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, had helped. That had been two years ago. Now, well, now everyone is friends. The weekends find the Hale House full of teens and his own siblings, all so much younger than him and then, of course, there’s Stiles.

He’s a whole other story.

“So you should take the Camaro and pick up whoever won’t fit,” Peter finishes as he walks out the door, Jackson behind him.

“And who might that be?” Derek asks dryly, even though he knows. He already knows, so why is he asking?

“Stiles,” Jackson says, hopping into the front seat. He grins at Derek from the window.

Peter shakes his head. “That kid is secretly my favorite,” he says, nodding to Jackson.  Actually, everyone is Peter’s favorite.  Except Derek, of course. It’d be no fun if Derek was a favorite.

“I wonder why,” Derek says gloomily.

“Oh, obviously because he reminds me of myself. And he’s perfect for Lydia,” Peter says, because he doesn’t know what shame is.

Derek face palms and walks over to his car. Really, there’s nothing else to do but drive down to the Stilinski house and pick Stiles up.

“How about this one?” Lydia asks, holding out a fuchsia dress. It sparkles and shines at the skirt and there are sequins leading up from the sleeves to the shoulders.

Peter blinks at her and says, “Sweetheart, I know that bold is in, but this is pushing it, even for you.”

Lydia frowns a bit and turns to Erica. “It is, isn’t it?” The blond girl gives a nod and Allison just stares at the monstrosity in horror. 

“This one,” Peter says, taking a mint green dress with straps that hug the shoulders and that sparkles down the bodice and shimmers about the flared skirt. “This one will bring out your eyes and it’ll go well with the shade of your hair.” He quirks his eyebrows.

Lydia takes the dress and looks it over. Erica walks about the piece of clothing, eyeing it and gives an approving nod. “I could see that,” she says.

Allison grins. “I think it’s a pretty color. And it would go good with your eyes.” She nudges Peter’s shoulder. “Because Uncle Peter has an eye for these things.”

He grins and says with false modesty, “Oh, you give me too much credit.”

But Lydia is nodding her head. “No, she’s right. This would look amazing on me.” She quirks her lips into a sassy smile and turns to where the boys are mostly hanging awkwardly on the side. “Jackson?” she says expectantly.

He snaps to it and scratches the back of his neck. “What? Um, yeah sure. That’ll look great on you babe. With the… colors. And stuff.”

Lydia frowns at him. “Just make sure you can find a tie and corsage to match this.”

Peter chuckles and Jackson throws him a glare. Beside him, Derek is trying to hide a smile, and he pats Stiles hard on the back where the other boy is trying to cover up his laugh with a choking cough.

“You good there?” Derek asks, giggles sneaking out his mouth.

“Oh yeah, I’m good thanks,” Stiles says back, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“Be nice guys,” Scott says, though he’s smiling a bit. Danny just rolls his eyes.

They go the rest of the afternoon like that, Allison and Erica looking for dresses. Allison has Peter pick one for her that’s an ivory color and Scott approves.

“Perfect for her pale skin,” Peter says, and Allison beams in approval.  On the other hand, Erica has a hard time finding one, that is, until Peter sees her eyeing a blood red gown that sweeps the floor and tightens at the waist. And Peter says, “Bold is in.”

Boyd approves when she tries it on later. Erica grins in victory.

“Now,” Peter says as they walk out of the fitting room. “The only thing you have to work on is getting him to rip it off of you.”

Erica gives a sultry smile and waves to Boyd where he’s looking at hats with Isaac. “Oh, I think I’ve got that covered.” Peter laughs. He lied. She’s his favorite kid.

At the checkout, Peter holds the girls’ purses as they pay for their dresses with bright smiles. The boys who are their dates smile back at them, totally entranced, and those left over make faces.

“Whipped,” is all Derek says.

“I wouldn’t be talking if I were you,” Peter says, nodding to where Stiles is off to the side with pictures he’d just taken at the photo-booth with Derek. The older man had been unable to say no.

Derek just grunts as Isaac and Danny chuckle quietly behind his back. They shut up when he shoots them a look though. Well, at least he has that.

“Does Derek like me?” Stiles asks him later on when they’re grabbing burgers at the local Five Guys. Peter gives the young boy an appraising look. He’s 18 and still awkward and tall. He’d been worse at 16, when they’d all been first brought together by that unlucky stroke of fate that gave Scott McCall the horrible idea to try out for lacrosse and the equally horrible idea to try and practice in the woods by the Hale House. But Stiles has grown up a bit. He seems more comfortable in his skin than he used to be and he’s gotten more handsome than he was as a kid. All in all, he’s no boy anymore.

“That’s a pointless question,” Peter says, taking a bite of his burger. “The real question you should be asking is ‘Uncle Peter, why is it taking Derek so long to get his little ass into gear and ask me out already?’” Peter makes a face at Stiles before taking another bite of his burger and saying, “Hmm. This is actually not half bad.”

Stiles makes a face and says, “Uncle Peter, why is it taking Derek so long to get his adorable ass into gear and ask me out already?” He plays around with the salad that Lydia got him and Danny.

“I see what you did there,” Peter says and shrugs. “Well, Derek is emotionally stunted for one. My sister had way too many kids and Laura and Derek are the oldest, so they got the least attention when the other little ones came in. Secondly, when Derek was sixteen, the house almost got burned down by a bitch of a woman. So he’s a bit scarred over almost losing everyone.” Peter ends the monologue with a rather loud burp. “Ooh, excuse me.”

“Solid,” Erica says from the other table, and she and Isaac high-five. Yep, still his favorite.

“Why would she want to kill you guys?” Stiles says, making the correct assumption. He’s a smart one. Then Stiles lowers his voice and says, “Is it because you guys are werewolves?”

Peter’s next burger bite falls out of his mouth when he opens it to gape at him. “Why… do you know that?” He pauses a bit and then scoops his bite off the table, smirking when Stiles grimaces. “And why am I not more surprised?”

“Derek?” Stiles says, unsure. “Told…. Me?” Peter waves at him to continue. “Okay, well, one night he climbed into my bedroom window-”

“He did what?” Peter says, scandalized.

“– like he usually does on the weekends-”

“Like he usually does? What the hell are you two getting up to?” Peter comments, making a face.

“- and all of a sudden he saw that I had gotten punched in lacrosse and his eyes turned like, bright blue and he started swearing and I just kind of sat him down and made him tell me,” Stiles finishes, like Peter hadn’t interrupted . Twice.

“When was this?”

“Sophomore year,” Stiles says plainly, eating his salad. “And she forgot the Italian dressing. Damn you, Lydia.”

“I didn’t forget,” she calls from another table where she’s sitting with Allison, Scott and Jackson. “I just didn’t put it in because it has a ton of fat in it.”

“Here,” Derek says coming to sit at the table with him and Peter. He hands Stiles a few packets of dressing. “Happy?”

Overcome,” Stiles says, batting his lashes and poking Derek in the face. “At least Derek loves me!” he shouts to Lydia. He misses Derek’s deep blush, but Peter doesn’t; he just smiles wider.

“Derek always loves you. He loves you so much there’s only room to hate us in his heart,” Erica says, teasingly. Stiles sticks his tongue out at her and then sits back correctly, tossing an arm around Derek’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry man, it’s not one-sided. I love you too,” and even Peter can hear the honesty in his words and his heart beat. Derek’s a complete idiot.

“You’re a complete idiot,” Peter says to Derek as he finishes his burger, making both boys look at him surprised. “And stop giving the family secrets away,” he admonishes, though he doesn’t really mean it. He leaves them alone at the table after that, pulling up a chair beside Lydia and rolling his eyes. “I hate it when boys are hopeless,” he says to the table at large. Jackson and Scott snort in unison and Lydia and Allison coo in understanding.

Allison nods in sympathy then, and says, “Yeah. Me too.” She pats his hand. “It’s alright though, they have us.”

Everyone’s got a date to prom except Stiles. Hell, even Isaac and Danny are going together, and Peter called that from the start.

He’s just saying. He thinks he’s a bit psychic, really.

“Ask him,” Peter says over the weekend. He’s planning a camping trip with the monsters he calls The Pack, since it’s so much easier than referring to them all by name. Why is he planning a trip? Because they all just watched the Blair Witch Project and it is going to freak the hell out of some of them. So it’s worth it.

Stiles looks up from the camping gear he’s helping to pack, the only one Peter has let in on the little secret.  Stiles makes a face and then asks Gustin, Peter’s actual nephew that’s Stiles’ age, to help him stuff the last box of tissues into one of the duffel bags.

“No,” he says. “That’s stupid. He’ll say no for some dumb reason and then I’ll have to go alone.”

“As opposed to…?” Peter asks in confusion, lowering his glasses down his nose.

“As opposed to going stag,” Stiles says.

Peter blinks at him. “And the difference is…?” He’s sure there’s one. A petty one, but still, a difference.

“Going alone is because you can’t find anyone to go with you or no one wants to go with you. Going stag is going with no one by choice,” Gustin clarifies and Stiles high-fives him.

“Thanks for the backup man,” Stiles says with a smile.

Gustin shrugs. “No problem. I, on the other hand, actually have a date. So this is my cue to go bug Laura into letting me use her car to go do some last minute tie shopping because I can’t find one that matches her stupid purple dress.” He salutes both Peter and Stiles, then runs down the hall, screaming his sister’s name.

Peter and Stiles work in silence until Peter says, “No, but really. Ask him. You won’t be disappointed.”

“No,” Stiles sing-songs. “I’m good. It’s not gonna kill me to go alone.”

“Do you want to go alone?” Peter asks curiously.

“No!” Stiles explodes. “I wanna go with him, obviously I do! I wanna dance with him and I want everyone to stare at the really hot, shy, sweet guy I brought and wonder how the hell he ever said yes. I wanna have a good time, but with him, okay? With no one else. I just... I just want him! Is that too much to ask?”

At that moment exactly, Derek stumbles in, two of the triplets clinging to his legs, one on his shoulders. They’re laughing hysterically and Derek has a wide smile on his face as he falls to the carpet of the living room and rolls around with the babies. They’re only five years old, all three boys, and loving their big brother to pieces. Stiles looks at the adorable, heartwarming scene and drops his head into his hands, groaning. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

“I don’t know,” Peter says, staring in disbelief at the scene as well. It’s adorable. Poor Stiles. Peter vaguely has the sense that his life is a Hallmark movie. “Derek, do you think it’s too much to ask?”

Derek looks up, Bastian biting his ear, Lucian curled up in his arms, Gregory on his back. “What?” he asks, in confusion. He instinctively looks at Stiles, who just groans some more. “You okay?”

“Just wonderful,” Stiles snaps. “Now give me one of the babies before you all kill me with the cuteness.” It comes out harshly, but Lucien crawls out of Derek’s arms and climbs up onto Stiles’ lap, curling up there instead. Stiles calms. “I hate you,” he says to Peter.

Peter just rolls his eyes and gathers the bags together. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

It’s after the camping trip that Peter notices it. There’s an old bruise on Isaac’s side. He only sees it when they’re all loading into the mini-van at the end of the day and his shirt rides up. Isaac sees him staring and hurriedly tugs his shirt down, looking away.

Peter frowns and makes Danny sit up front with him. He blasts the music, waiting until everyone’s distracted before he nonchalantly says to Danny, “You being rough with the boyfriend?” There’s enough of a threat in his voice that Danny should be scared if he’s guilty. The problem is, he’s not scared, which means it’s not him.

What?” Danny whisper screams. “No! Never. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“He’s got a banged up side with a bruise the size of a fist. Making sure it’s not you,” Peter says. He doesn’t feel bad if he insulted Danny; he’s got more important things to worry about than Danny’s petulant little feelings about being accused of abuse. Like Isaac actually getting hit, for instance.

Danny is silent and a look of realization dawns on his face. “That’s why he wouldn’t let me touch him all weekend,” Danny whispers.

“You know who’s been doing it?” Peter asks. Danny shakes his head no. “Who does he live with again?”

“His dad, old Coach Lahey,” Danny says quizzically. He freezes in shock. “No way. You don’t think…?”

Peter shrugs and shoots Lydia a smile in the rearview mirror as she throws a worried glance at them. Of course she’s the only one to notice there’s something going on. Definitely his not-so-secret favorite. “My brother went to school with him. Always told me he had a temper when they were on the swim team together.” He pauses and gives Danny a dangerous smile. “We’ll see.”

He drops Isaac off last.

“Want me to pick you up early tomorrow?” It’s a Sunday; he knows these kids have nothing better to do than hang out with him.  Isaac looks momentarily stunned and then suddenly disgustingly grateful. Peter doesn’t like that look on anyone’s face, never mind this kid that he’s come to actually tolerate.

“Yeah actually,” Isaac responds. “That’d be great. Pick up Danny next?”

“Obviously,” Peter says, then watches as Isaac runs into the house, head ducked, eyes furtively glancing around. He knows that look; the look of prey, of a weaker person knowing they’re in for it. He sits outside in the car for a few minutes, but nothing happens so he lets out a sigh and drives home.

Caring. It’s so exhausting.

It’s a few weeks later and he’s got Danny and Erica in the car already when he pulls up outside the Lahey household. Derek is following him in the Camaro, Stiles in the passenger’s seat. They’re actually going to the park for the day. Peter needs some more pictures for his and Lydia’s group scrapbook, and the park is a great place for it.

He’s about to beep when he hears the sound of glass shattering and a scream he recognizes as Isaac’s from the time when Boyd threw him into the pool last summer. Peter’s out of the car in seconds, Derek meeting him by the house gate, Stiles on his heels.

“What the hell was that?” Derek asks, his voice low as Danny and Erica get out of the van and follow, confusion on their faces.

“Someone’s putting their hands on a certain puppy of ours,” Peter says with an ugly smile on his face. “Unacceptable.”

“Oh shit,” Stiles mutters and Peter hears the telltale hitch in his breath that means he’s about to have a panic attack and really, at the moment, he can’t deal with that shit. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

“Derek,” Peter snarls as he starts to walk up to the house. “Calm your boyfriend down before he keels and we have another injury to deal with. And Stiles, when you’ve got your wits about you, call your dad. We’re going to need him.” He turns to Erica and Danny. “Stay,” he says, like they’re dogs. “Good children. Now, don’t get in Uncle Peter’s way.”

With that, Peter taps into his wolf-strength and kicks the door down. Sounds of screaming come from inside the house and something else breaks. Peter’s in there in seconds, yanking Lahey off his son. He gives the man a good look in theeyes, letting his flash blue before he pulls back and punches him in the face, knocking him out cold. He’s tempted to rip the guy’s throat out, but it’d be a little hard to explain later on, so he decides against it.

He turns to find Isaac in the corner, a bruise forcing his eye shut, lip bloody. A glass plate is shattered on the floor beside him. Peter sighs. Well this is a disaster. He offers the kid a hand up then decides against it, lifting him in his arms instead.

“Not a princess,” Isaac says mutely, hiding his face in Peter’s neck.

“We can pretend for a bit. It sure suits you anyway, what with the wide eyes and all,” Peter muses, and then he shuts up because Isaac starts to cry and Sheriff Stilinski is rushing in, backup behind him. Peter nods to where Lahey is passed out and shrugs at Stilinski’s unimpressed look. “Self-defense and defense of others.”

He gets outside and Danny is on him in a matter of seconds, taking Isaac from him. Erica and Danny hover comfortingly and Peter wiggles the fingers of his right hand as they heal. Stiles joins the pile of teenagers and Derek walks up to him. He knows better than to ask.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Derek says instead, eyes on Stiles as he tries to make Isaac laugh, succeeds and beams a smile their way.

“I know. Don’t worry. Several of us are trying to rectify the problem as we speak,” Peter says back, patting his nephew on the back. “Now, let’s get the rest of those animals we call ‘friends and family’ and head home. I don’t think we’re going to the park today.” He looks up at the bright and sunny blue sky. “Looks like rain, don’t you think?”

It’s later on that evening that the Sheriff comes by the Hale House to collect his son and drop a message with the family there. Derek’s parents are cooking in the kitchen and Laura convinces Stilinski to stay for dinner. He takes off his coat, not even fighting it and sits on the couch in the large family room to watch the goings-on from a distance. 

Off to one side are Allison and Lydia, whispering about something or the other to a dark haired girl. Her name is Stacey Hale, 17 years old and fifth born of the Hale children. Stacey’s twin sister, Riley, is sitting on the floor in front of the TV with Scott and Erica, playing video games and cussing low enough so that no one can hear her as she whoops the older boy’s ass, Erica laughing. On one of the couches sits Jackson, discussing some lacrosse techniques with Gustin Hale, and sitting on the floor in front of them is Boyd, throwing in his two cents when asked. On the loveseat beside them, Danny sits with Isaac in his lap, the boys curled up around each other comfortingly, quietly. His heart aches a bit at that.

Most interesting though, is his own son. He’s sitting on the center of the carpet with Derek Hale and the three youngest Hales, Bastian, Lucien and Gregory. The two older men are playing with the little boys, letting them jump on them and attack, only to tickle them silly when they finally got their hands on them. Derek is sitting behind Stiles, Stiles in the vee of his legs, bracketed in by them, his back comfortably pressed to Derek’s chest. The kids are crawling all over and everywhere. It’s domestic and cute and what the hell, is his son dating him?

“Nope,” he hears behind him and he turns to see the third born Hale, Tammy, with her arms crossed. “I asked last week and it’s still no. Kinda getting annoying though, like really? Don’t act cute and get our hopes and expectations up, you know?”

The Sheriff laughs and then makes his way to the kitchen to help the Hale Parents and Peter Hale with dinner. It’s a large, crazy affair once they get everyone sitting down to eat. The kids are everywhere, the teens twittering about everything and nothing, Isaac the only one that’s quiet. The adults talk and discuss and by the end of it, they settle down long enough to listen to the Sheriff speak.

“He confessed,” Stilinski says and Isaac swallows hard. “After we told him what we found in the basement.” Isaac doesn’t look at anyone, and no one looks at him because they know better.

Gregory makes a face and pats Isaac’s cheek. He’s sitting on Stiles’ lap, and Stiles is sitting next to Danny, Derek on his other side, an arm around his shoulders, unconsciously pulling him closer, Lucien on his lap. “S’ok, Zac,” Gregory says. “When I gets sad, ‘iles sayses to tink of a happy ting and then, I be all happy again.” He nods solemnly, and Stiles smiles softly, Isaac matching it.

“I think that’s great advice,” Isaac says gently and Danny kisses his forehead.

“Unfortunately,” the Sheriff continues, “he’s lost custody of you. I’m afraid you either need to find someone capable to stay with you until you turn 18 or go into the system.”

“Well, he’s staying with me, obviously,” Peter says, not looking at anyone because he’s too focused on getting Bastian to stop squirming and eat his damn green beans, Jesus Christ kid. The room goes quiet and he doesn’t notice, too busy saying, “Oh you little brat, you behave for those two,” and he nods to Derek and Stiles, “but god forbid with me. Fine, leave.” He puts Bastian down and the kid runs off to God knows where, his brothers following. “Bastards.” He finally looks up. “What?”

“Really?” Isaac says hopefully. Peter lives in his own apartment downtown. He’s got an extra room, Isaac knows. Sometimes, they all bunk in there on sleepover nights.

“Yes,” Peter says slowly, like he thinks Isaac is mentally delayed. “I just said so.” He snorts and rolls his eyes.

“See?” Stiles says to Derek. “I told you he was a big softie on the inside.” He looks pleased with himself. Derek only laughs a bit, knocks his head gently against Stiles’.

“Yes you did,” he says back. “Though your dad did say capable, and let’s be honest, this is Peter we’re talking about.” Stiles laughs and chucks Derek on the chin.

“You two disgust me,” Lydia says dryly, standing up  from the table. “Thank you for the food, Mr. and Mrs. Hale, but your oldest son is pathetic and I have a test tomorrow to study for. So.” She smiles cheerily at them while Derek’s mother tries not to laugh. “Jax?” she asks sweetly and he gets up, clapping Danny on the back and nodding to Gustin before waving goodbye in general and heading out with Lydia.

They disperse after that, until Stiles and his dad are the last to go. Stiles smiles at the Hales, hugging everyone and laughing softly as Gregory wails at his leaving.

“I’mma miss you!” the five year old yells and clutches to Stiles’ pants as his big brother plucks him off. “Der, nooooo!”

“Stiles has to go home, Greg,” Derek says softly, letting the toddler use his shoulder as a pillow/tissue. “He’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you Stiles?” Derek looks at him earnestly and Sheriff Stilinski watches his son smile sweetly.

“Of course, I will,” Stiles responds with a tinkling laugh. He squeezes Derek’s arm, letting his hand slide down to the man’s wrist as he steps closer to run a hand down Gregory’s back. “Promise.” But Stiles is looking at Derek and lets his hand fall to Derek’s to give it a squeeze before he pulls back with a nod. Derek nods back and takes the crying kid away. They’re off after that, the Sheriff staring at his son as Stiles gets into the cruiser.

“Are you two-”

“Nope,” Stiles says before he can get another word out.

Well, that’s that.


Peter runs up the stairs to his apartment. Oh god what now? He’d sent Isaac upstairs with the first bags of groceries. What the hell was all of this about being robbed? All he smelled was-

“Chris, what the hell? You’re scaring my adopted puppy, come on now,” Peter scolds. Chris Argent is sitting on the couch, staring wide-eyed at Isaac, who’s holding the ketchup bottle in front of him like it’s a sword or something.

“I mean you no harm,” Chris is saying and Peter rolls his eyes, slaps his boyfriend up the head.

“Knock it off, Argent,” he says, then realizes his mistake as Isaac does a double-take.

“Like Allison Argent?” Isaac squeaks. He looks at him closely. “Oh my god, you’re her dad. I’m gonna be sick. Uncle Peter is dating Allison’s dad, excuse me.” He leaves the room in a panic and Peter sighs. He’ll have to talk to him about that later.

“You had to break in?”

“I have a key, dumbass,” Chris says, jangling the silver key around. “So, you took him in?”

Peter shrugs. “Who else was going to? And anyway, I have a soft spot for him amid all the concrete, you know?”

Chris pokes him in the stomach and smiles as Peter squirms and tries not to giggle. “You, Peter Hale, are made of soft spots.”

“You would know,” Peter snarks back. “Now help with the rest of the groceries since you scared my adopted puppy away.” It’s quick and easy, and when they’re done, Chris gets a kiss for his troubles. “Now get out of my little sorry excuse for an apartment that I still call a house.” Chris leaves and Peter says, “You can come out now.”

Isaac sheepishly walks out of the bathroom where he’d been listening the entire time. “So?”

“He divorced his wife and moved here with Allison, happy?” Peter says impatiently. Isaac smiles. “What?”

“You really like him,” he says bashfully.

Peter rolls his eyes and gets the kid in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against his hair to make it stand up. “Shut up,” Peter says with a grin, Isaac still laughing.

“What did Elmo ever do to you?” Peter asks as Derek throws the triplets stuffed toy against the wall from where he almost tripped over it in the doorway. Derek just glares at him and tosses himself dramatically onto the couch with a heaving sigh. Peter puts his phone down. He’d been texting Lydia about the limo. She’d been insistent that he take them all in the mini-van. He’s been trying to convince her that it’s a bad idea.

Needless to say, it’s a losing battle, even with Jackson on his side.

“Where’s Stiles?” Peter asks curiously. He could have sworn the brat came over a bit ago. He completely spaced out and missed him leaving.

“Out looking for a tie to match his prom date’s dress,” Derek snaps, then sobers up and buries his face in a pillow, yelling a bit.

“The triplets just went down for a nap,” Peter warns as he takes a sip of his coffee and caps-lock-yells at Lydia. “Also: yikes. Harsh.”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Derek says softly, like he’s all out of steam.

Peter is unimpressed. “Really? That’s it? You’re boy’s off with some ditchable prom date and you’re just gonna wallow in self pity? Pitiful.” He pleads, with the aid of Jackson, for Lydia to stop being so sentimental about the damn van and almost gets his T stuck down. Ugh cell phones; can’t live with ‘em, and people will never let you live-down living without ‘em. “Grow a pair, go whisk him of his feet or something romantic like that.”

There’s a pause from the couch and then Derek’s getting up, a determined look on his face. “You know what?” he says. “I think I just might do that.” Then he’s out of the room and Peter is staring at an empty couch.

“Seriously?” he yells out the living room doorway. “Good luck!” he screams. “You’re gonna need it,” he says under his breath, before texting Lydia that there is no way in hell that he is bringing that damn mini-van full of poofy-dressed girls and sharply suited up boys to their dumbass prom.

“And that’s final,” he says out loud.

Bastian sticks his head in, the hair mussed from his nap. He usually sneaks out. “Uca Pete, why you are talking to yourself?”

Peter blinks and makes grabby hands to the little kid, lifting him onto his lap. “Nothing,” he says, giving him the Elmo. “Uncle Peter cares about dumb people, that’s all.”

“Am I dumb?” Bastian asks, confused.

Peter kisses the top of his head, pressing his lips against soft baby hair in a sigh. “Very,” he says tiredly. “And I love you very much anyway.”

 Peter drives by the Argent household on his motorcycle the weekend before prom. Chris walks his bike out and joins him on the road and the two drive for hours before they stop downtown at a local burger joint. Chris holds the door open for him, and he grins a bit silly as he walks in ahead of him. He notices the kids are there a bit later when he sees Scott and Allison at a booth and Derek sitting at the bar in the back alone.

“Who’s that?” one of the teens from the area say, eyes clinging to Peter and then to Chris as he put a hand on the small of Peter’s back.

“That,” he hears Scott say, “is my uncle.” He looks to Scott who’s grimacing. “Oh my god, Allison is your dad all over Uncle Peter? No.” Allison’s eyes are wide.

“God this is like walking in on my parents doing it, and it’s worse because that’s exactly what it is,” she groans. She tosses her dad a smile.

Peter and Chris ignore them and walk over to the bar. Derek isn’t drinking anything, just staring at his full glass of beer. Chris claps him on the back and then frowns. He shoots Peter a look, who just shrugs.

“What crawled up your ass and died? I thought you were wooing,” Peter asks.

“Gonna,” Derek says. “I’m gonna do something stupid though.”

Surprise,” Peter says, looking up and off to the side, the motion full of sass.  “Do you want to talk about it?  Because we actually came for a drink, but if you want to talk about your feelings-”

“Chris,” Derek says, getting up and nodding to him, as he left the bar.

“Derek,” the other man says. He stares at Peter when his nephew is gone and Peter has always hated that look.

“What? He said he didn’t want  to talk about it,” Peter says indignantly.

Chris just sighs. “Sometimes, I wonder about you.”

“What do you do the rest of the time? Think about me naked?”

The kick to the shin he gets for that, well… yeah, he deserved it.

Peter brings them all to the prom in the minivan. Yeah. Even he saw that one coming. Chris comes along to take pictures, so the backseats are full of dresses and suits and kids sitting on each other.

“I hate you,” Jackson grumps.

“It was your girlfriend’s idea,” Peter says to him.

“Yeah, I know,” Jackson says. He pinches Lydia’s behind playfully where it is on his lap. “I was talking to her.” He earns a slap with her purse for that, but everyone is laughing in the end.

Well, except Stiles.

“Why so grumpy back there Grumpy Cat?” Chris asks playfully, trying to get the younger man to smile.

“Derek is Grumpy Cat,” Isaac says automatically then cringes when he sees Stiles’ face go stony.

“Not enough leg room,” Stiles says stiffly to Chris by way of answer.  He’s used to the Camaro’s front passenger’s seat, Peter knows. He gives a sigh.

“Killing my buzz, Stilinski,” he says to him and Chris gives him a look that says, ‘Stop helping. Your version of helping sucks’. Well then.

“Don’t spoil this for us,” Lydia says, but she’s kind about it. “Lighten up. Going stag was your idea,” she reminds.

“Yeah, I thought Derek said you had a date,” Peter quips from the front and Scott looks at Stiles in confusion.

“You had a date?” he asks dumbly, and half the car groans. Isaac and Allison have a bit too much decency for that, and besides, they probably like Scott best.

“No, Scott,” Stiles says pointedly, huffing. He looks out the window. “I just said that to see what he’d do and he didn’t care. At all.” HE sounds miserable and Peter is a bastard, so.

“Really? I thought he was gonna woo you. Was there any wooing?” he asks, pulling into the dining-hall’s parking lot. The teens pile out, the girls smoothing down their dresses, the boys fixing their ties. Danny’s tightening Isaac’s and wraps his hand around it to reel him in for a gentle kiss. Jackson and Lydia are bickering (as usual) while Scott and Allison look at each other sickeningly. Erica and Boyd look stunning and simultaneously scary and well, Stiles is squirming out of the care, looking a tad pathetic and alone.

That’s when Chris coughs slightly and points to something that Peter completely missed. He snorts in surprise. Well. He has to give the kid credit for this one.

“So no wooing yet?” he repeats to Stiles, who’s tugging at his tie angrily, muttering to himself.

“No!” the teen yells, throwing his hands up in the air. “This is no wooing! I would love some wooing, but there is none.”

“I don’t think that word means what he thinks it means,” Isaac says to Danny who chuckles.

“No wooing,” Peter says, ignoring them. “Right. Well, I think it’s gonna start now.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and stomps up to Peter, completely oblivious. “What are you talking about?” he yells as he flails. “Did I not just say that there was no-”

Peter sighs and rolls his eyes. “The Lord is testing me,” he says under his breath and Chris cracks a smile. He takes Stiles’ face in his hands and swivels it until he’s looking straight ahead, slack jawed. “Wooing,” Peter says tiredly. “Over there. See it now?”

“I – y-yeah, I see…” Stiles stutters and Peter lets him go, shoving him off in the direction of the wooing.

“Go,” Peter says. And Stiles goes.

In front of the minivan is a very familiar black Camaro. The radio from the car is blasting Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men, and leaning against the hood in a suit without a tie, the first few buttons undone, is none other than Derek Hale. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his head is ducked as Peter watches him take a deep breath.

God, what an amateur.

Stiles staggers forward, a bit dazed, and stops a few inches from Derek. He swallows hard and tries to form words, but really, Peter is sure this is the most romantic, exciting thing to ever happen to Stiles aside from finding out about werewolves. Peter doesn’t know who’s worse: his love-struck nephew or this floppy, teen with all the feelings. Stiles reeks of adoration and love. And sexual desire, ugh.

“What…” Stiles says, and now everyone is looking. About time, too.

“I came to steal you away from your prom date,” Derek says softly, honestly. He surveys the people behind Stiles as the younger boy starts to slowly smile. “Where is she, anyway?” Derek asks uncertainly.

A gorgeous stream of laughter bubbles out from Stiles and he says, “I was bullshitting you, to see if that would, I dunno, make you want me or something.” His eyes are shining and Peter is kind of afraid that Stiles is gonna start to cry. He needs a camera, stat. Speaking of which…

“Anyone getting this on camera?” he asks. “Because we need to embarrass the both of them about this in the future.”

“Got it,” Danny says, a video camera in hand. Jackson gives him a look. “What? I always come prepared.”

“Nerd,” Jackson says, and Boyd laughs.

Ahead of them, Derek is staring at Stiles. “Huh,” he’s saying.

“You uh, you gonna leave?” Stiles asks and Peter wants to hit him.

“Nope,” Derek says, reaching into the car to shut off the music. “I came to take you to prom.” He holds out his arm. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Stiles beams at him, takes his arm and smiles like a loon. “So, does this mean you-”

“Yep,” Derek says, pocketing his keys. “Which reminds me,” he says to himself. He leans down and kisses Stiles on the mouth, the others catcalling, Peter loudest of all.

“You’re worse than the kids,” Chris says, trying not to smile.

“Hell yes I am,” Peter says to him. Then he turns to the rest of the group. “Now get your asses inside and have a good time! After all, it’s not a prom if no one spikes the punch, right Jackson?”

Jackson holds up his bottle of vodka. “Duh.”

“Good doobie. You’re like a little me,” Peter says, a bit impressed. Scott makes a face as he walks by and Erica snickers.

“Let’s not get ridiculous,” Boyd says in Jackson’s defense.

“You’re right. No one could ever be as amazing as me,” Peter says. He smiles at Chris and ducks when the man tries to swat him.

“Shut up and let’s go so these kids can have some fun,” Chris says. Peter nods and then holds up a hand to wait. “What now?”

“Derek!” Peter yells, and the younger man pulls away from Stiles and looks up at Peter, a confused expression on his face. “I made sure all the kids had condoms! You’re good to go!” Derek’s face goes bright red and Stiles hides his own face in Derek’s shoulder, muttering something along the lines of, “Oh my god, I told him not to but he didn’t listen, shoved them into my pockets. I hate him. I hate you Peter, I know you’re listening.”

He cackles and then takes Chris’ hand, waving to the others as they all make their way into the hall, Chris holding the camera in his other hand and zooming in on his daughter and Scott from time to time. Peter drags them to the car and then drives off, keeping the volume on his phone up, just in case thye call or text and need something.

He’s halfway home when it hits him that his babies (no, he’s never said that out loud, shut up Chris) are all grown up and are heading off to college after this. His nephew’s gone and settled with his actual favorite, and everyone else is happily settled down with whoever the hell they went off with tonight. They’re happy, so Peter’s happy and he gets a bit choked up about it.

“Are you crying?” Chris asks, a laugh in his voice and Peter suddenly slams hard onto the breaks so that he hits his head on the window.

No,” he pouts as Chris swears and rubs his head, cussing him out. “Shut up, Chris.”