Ugh, possibly he is too tired to be safely having this train of thought. Look, Stiles knows he’s only an adjacent member of the pack through Scott and occasionally Derek, but really? It sucks having his nose rubbed in it. It’s times like these when he wishes the others aside from Scott and Allison would stay a little more up to date on what’s going on his life beyond how it affects them.
Two years of all that until he got a call from one of his college buddies, who knew he was looking to adopt and who had a niece in trouble, and Derek somehow missed out on it all. Two years of constant rejection, of social workers asking him when his wife will be home, of politely worded ‘I don’t think we’re the people to help you’ letters, of Scott on the phone only half-jokingly offering to ask Allison to be a surrogate for him, of his dad quietly giving up on the notion of grandkids because Stiles’ inability to hold down any kind of meaningful relationship for more than a few months is just another in a long string of his failures as a son. “ Seriously? I’ve only been trying to adopt for the past two years.” On the other hand, Derek’s a grown ass man and really shouldn’t be having whatever sort of panicked bachelor reaction this is to something which is, at its heart, pretty damn normal. Stiles would be offended, but after some twelve-odd years of this shit he’s finally figured out that that’s just what werewolves do when something freaks them the fuck out. “Since when do you have a baby?” Derek says the word ‘baby’ like most people say ‘second head’ or ‘herpes’ and he’s actually backed up against the railing on Stiles’ front porch with his arms stiff at his sides and his hands cramped into claws. This is a lack of observation on par with that one time TMZ mistook Chris Helmsworth’s newborn for a hot dog. “It’s my daughter, Derek, what did you think?” He’s been trying to be less judgmental these days, but seriously. “A cleverly disguised fog-horn.” Stiles rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his face.
“What the hell is that.” Derek stares at the blanket-swaddled lump on Stiles’ chest like she’s a skin lesion and somehow contagious. He’s been up since four in the morning with Genie’s colic or whatever and the last thing he wants to deal with is whatever it is that Derek Hale is here to hand off to him. He’s still in his shorts and Genie is still crying. Stiles answers his door unshaven and red-eyed.