Chapter Text
“When I imagined spying on murderous, secret police werewolves with horrendous amounts of power and unknown goals I never imagined it would involve so many emoji,” Jessica said, fingers flying as she typed out a reply to the presumably emoji laced texts she had been exchanging with Aiden.
“As long as he keeps it classy, I would give him a pass,” James said, stroking his chin knowingly. “Jocks are too busy building muscle to build up their vocabulary.”
Jessica sniffed disdainfully, and kept texting.
“Back in my day it was all the rage to perfume the notes you passed to your sweethearts,” Grampy said. “Now it's all smile faces and eggplants. Quite the comedown for romance, although I guess you kids make up for it with instant replies. I once got a charming love letter from a girl only to forget to return the answer all summer due to a family road trip. By the time we returned she was rightfully mad as a hornet and hit me square in the face with a tennis racket.”
Stiles checked the group chat. It was full of eggplants and crying/barfing faces. He locked his phone and pocketed it.
“So!” He said brightly. “Where do you want to check out first? The glory of Beacon Hills awaits!”
Grampy had been the one to float the idea of going out and checking the closest thing to a walkable shopping center the city offered for those who didn't want an 80 minute drive across town to the big mall. The other adults had been only too happy to give them a list and get them out for the afternoon.
“Well, your grandma always says to do the cold shopping last, unless you enjoy drinking a bowl of ice cream like soup!”
Stiles blinked. “Fair enough, electronics first then. I need a new usb drive.”
“Uncle Aron wanted that adapter for his phone,” James piped in, leaning over his sister’s shoulder to peek at her phone screen and getting an elbow to the solar plexus for his troubles. “I, uhh…. think I’m going to hit…hit up home goods,” he wheezed, rubbing his chest and crumpling in on himself dramatically. “I forgot….to pack…..socks.”
A long pause made Stiles look up, his head swiveling around to look at cousins (James was still wheezing, Jessica hadn’t looked up from her own phone, and Julia was just looking at him with a mild expression), looked at the road (clear, nothing deadly or interesting there), and finally at Grampy (who was also looking at him with a mild expression).
The silence stretched.
‘Umm, that’s fine?” he coughed out, face heating. “Just keep your phone on and, uhh, don't buy any weed or anything?”
“Booo, you narc,” Jessica heckled, not even looking up from her phone.
“Well, if you want oregano in silly, tiny bags then by all means, do partake.” He sputtered, wriggling around in his seat to hide the residual blushing from everyone. Why was he playing mother to everyone anyway? He was beginning to see why Derek was so grumpy all the time. Not that it excused child abuse (animal abuse?) from the pack dad but yeah, it was weird.
[ TO: Zombiewolf: ]
< Im 2 young and sexy to be father to half a dozen teens.
The car lurched as Grampy hard tapped the brakes to avoid one of the maniacs zipping up and down the full parking lot like it was a Nascar event. The teens all grumbled and clutched their phones. Grampy muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely catholic. Hey, if it worked to find them a parking space Stiles wouldn’t complain.
> I think being young is a prerequisite of being a teen parent. Adult parents don’t get a special title
< F u I demand alimony . This is all your fault
“See you losers later! I have birthday money to spend!” James said, throwing a wave at them as he practically scurried off to shops unknown.
“On socks?” Julia muttered, rolling her eyes and grabbing a cart.
“Look, let’s just make this as painless as possible. We’ll split the list. You two go grab beverages and hygiene crap-uhh, stuff. Shampoo and stuff ,” Stiles said, catching himself just barely and trying to look innocent for Grampy’s sake. “I’ll grab the electronics and Grampy can start with food. We’ll meet in the middle and finish the shopping. Text me when you’re done and if we’re good we can meet up by the registers.”
He checked the time. They should be early enough to miss the crush of parents looking for dinner options.
> I’ll have you know I always wrap it before I tap it. There are no beautiful little Hales running wild, unless Derek has been a naughty boy
Stiles wrinkled his nose, grabbing his own cart and shaking his head at the thought of Peter whoring around Beacon Hills. He couldn’t imagine many saying no to the man’s advances. Not in a town like this, where bad decisions were so rampant Stiles seriously wondered if there was something in the water.
< thanks for that. Now every time I see a marginally attractive teen around town I’m going to picture Coach yelling about how condoms are only 90% effective. We need to blood test the whole town. I don’t need mini peters running around and pissing on hydrants
He found the chargers and usb drives together on a display corner and wasted no time grabbing more than he probably needed. He was of the opinion that it was better to have backups for your backups, especially when werewolves might be involved.
> I’m hurt you are still blaming me for these theoretical children but I can see why. My sexual prowess is irresistible and I’ve bedded many a woman
< *barf face*
“Oh shit!”
The abrupt clank of metal on metal jerked his attention back to the store as his phone almost hit the floor as his cart collided with an oncoming fellow shopper.
“Ah, Mr. Stilinski,” Doctor Deaton hummed, gently detangling their carts. “Good to see you, as always.”
Stiles nodded, chagrined. “Sorry, wasn't looking where I was going.”
“Hmm. Well, try to pay more attention, in the future, to your surroundings,” Deaton said, knowingly. “You don’t want anyone sneaking up on you.”
Stiles gave an exuberant nod of agreement, inwardly cringing at the dude’s put on ‘air of mystery’ as he watched the man walk right by Grampy without a second look. Dude didn’t know shit.
“And who was that?” Grampy asked, popping up on his left and dropping about five loaves of bread in the cart. “Friend of your dad’s?”
Stiles grunted noncommittally, frowning at the cart. “Did you want jam or something with all that or are we making sandwiches?” He tapped his foot, restless. Sandwiches sounded pretty good right now. Fast too. And the veggies would be good for everyone after the last few days of takeout.
He blinked, realizing he had just assumed they would all be eating together. The new Stilinski clan. His dad had actually bought extra chairs for the kitchen table the other day and they had actually started using the entryway closet to store shoes.
He shook his head. It was still weird as fuck.
“Sandwiches I think. Turkey and roast beef?”
“With avocado for sure,” Stiles agreed, casually checking that the vet had fully disappeared a few aisles down.
Grampy smiled benevolently at him, content to wait out whatever his grandson was considering.
“He’s not a friend.” Stiles wrinkled his nose at the thought. Deaton may smile a lot, but that didn’t mean he meant them well. “More like a mentor-in-law, who specializes in useless and vague consultations on ‘animal’ related issues in town.”
Grampy gave him a surprised look and Stiles shrugged.
“He’s never said anything to me about anything not Scott related. I’m pretty sure he’s never noticed anything unusual, despite whatever--” he waggled his fingers, “Juice he might have going on. Actually, I've never seen him prove he has any juice, now that I think about it.”
Stiles stopped, puzzled by this realization. “Huh. Nope. I’ve seen books, heard the cryptic warnings. But no,” he wracked his memories for any single instance of actual magic he could remember Deaton doing, and to his shock, he came up completely empty. “Deaton has never done anything solid where I could see?”
“Hmm. How interesting.” Grampy gently nudged the cart away as it came perilously close to colliding with a chips display on the end of the aisle. “It’s not impossible that this man could in fact, be simply a middle man of sorts between the pack and legitimate practitioners of the occult. We have one such individual back east, a lovely woman who runs a bookshop and dabbles in potions on the side.”
“You think so? He always insinuated that there was so much more he knew, or could do,” Stiles said, pensively. He chewed his lip.
It felt pretty dang bad back when he just thought Deaton was withholding help for mystic, magical reasons. The idea that he may have never been able to help at all but kept stringing them along like desperate minnows on a hook…
Grampy hummed again, and leaned in for a side hug.
Stiles was only slightly embarrassed that he melted into it. Stilinski’s were suckers for hugs. This was known. His dad was a great hugger, like an enthusiastic grizzly, but there was something equally nice about a soft old person hug that smelled like clean laundry and lemon tea.
“In my experience, the people who are worth knowing are those who help when they can.” Grampy said, giving him a final, gentle pat as he pulled back to pull himself together.
Stiles thought this over as they continued their shopping.
“So, what you said. If Deaton is a good guy and was capable of helping us, then he would have?”
“I would assume so. If he is a good man,” Grampy confirmed, just as simple as that.
“Right.” Stiles mulled over the possibilities. “So either he can’t help, or he won’t help. Which means he has no abilities or…”
“Or he is not someone you want on your side, as he has refused to step up and do what it takes to truly be on your side.”
Stiles nodded. “Ok. I get that. It doesn’t really change our interactions with him then, does it? Either he can’t do what he hinted he can or he won’t, so regardless, we don’t bother consulting him anymore?”
“It is of course, up to you, Stiles,” Grampy said, and Stiles wilted at the noncommittal answer, but perked up as Grampy continued. “But I must say, the logic seems sound to me. And should he prove himself in the future to be in any way more trustworthy and powerful--”
“Then that’s fixable enough. We don’t antagonize him and the bridge isn’t burned.”
Stiles felt relieved, a weight off his shoulders. It was logical, and for once he wasn’t the only one thinking and saying so. This was a consensus, a group in agreement, even if Grampy wanted him to have the last say.
“It’s not like he ever came to us about this stuff anyway, it was always more us bumbling along and grabbing desperately at anything we could find that might help.”
Grampy beamed, his old man face squishing up in approval. “You’ve done a good job so far, I am quite proud. And John says your grades have even improved since all of this excitement began!”
[TO: Group Name tbd coming to theaters this summer ]
> @ registers now
[Julia]
< k. 3 min
[James]
< I got a ride from school friend. Will meet u at house.
> remember no drugs/drinking/unprotected sex!! *eggplant*
< f u
Stiles shoved his phone back in his jeans, feeling pretty good about life. Maybe he was getting the hang of being a rabbit kind of Alpha. Or at least he was doing better than those dads who forgot their kids at the store.
Checking out was a bit of a hassle. When the girls met up with them they had easily two carts full altogether, and Stiles felt slightly dizzy when he saw the total on display.
Seeing his poorly concealed distress, Grampy gently nudged him aside and passed over his card.
“Family account,” he said, beaming at his grandson’s fish-faced surprise. “There’s still many things we need to get set up here, but a shared family account is something we’ve made a good deal of use of back east.”
“Interesting,” Stiles said reverently, brain already spinning with possibilities. A family account meant no one would be left high and dry in an emergency. And after years of struggling with just himself and his grieving father, only to be thrown head first into his friend’s supernatural issues with no backup whatsoever, there was something almost too good about the idea of an adult approved safety net.
Grampy seemed to understand he was having some sort of internal struggle, because he reached out one wrinkled hand to pat Stiles’ back gently.
“One thing at a time. That’s how Rome was built. I’m sure Aron will be happy to go over the system we have back home and see how it can be adapted here in Beacon Hills if you like.”
“I would like that so much, you have no idea.”
He got another back pat for that. “You’re a good boy, Mieche. Now, let’s get this all back before this all melts.”
One thing to be said for having family around; loading up the groceries took no time at all, and soon they were back on the road.