Derek huffed and crossed his arms, glaring across the cars console at his uncle Peter. His uncle's advisor needed a babysitter, and his uncle offered Derek. Derek didn't like the little human children that didn't come from his family; they were too fragile and cried too easily. Plus he knew this kid had ADHD and was a happy curious child, the type Derek absolutely loathes because they asked too many questions and don't understand the concept of personal space.
As they pull up the driveway Derek notices the police car in the driveway—the only vehicle that the family has. He wishes that maybe someday he can ride in a police car—not as a criminal, but for fun. Getting out, his uncle smiles a little too sweetly at him as he pulls away. Going to the door he knocks, and the advisor—Mrs. Stilinski—opens it, inviting him in. They have a smaller house—Derek does live in a mansion with an entire pack—but Derek enjoys the warmth it brings. It reminds him of his own house in some ways, the warmth and inviting that it has.
Soon enough he's left with Stiles—that's what the child likes to go by—and the child is looking up at him with tears welling in his eyes. Derek's twelve; he shouldn't have to deal with this. "What's wrong?" Derek asks, the kid hiccups and starts sobbing.
"I want my mommy!" The kid—Stiles—manages out between sobs. "And you give mean looks! Like the teachers at school." Sighing Derek grabs the kids hand and drags him upstairs to his room. Derek never got a tour, but he's pretty sure Mrs. Stilinski knows he can find most things by scent.
"Come here." Derek commands, letting go of the boy and sitting on the single bed. He holds his hand out for the younger boy to take. It takes a few minutes before the boy hesitantly comes forwards, grabbing the offered hand to be pulled up onto the bed—he's not quite tall enough to get up by himself. "Do you want to hear a story?"
Derek stared down at the sleeping child curled up around his side, hearing the door open downstairs and Mrs. Stilinski call out softly. She came up the stairs to peek in the room as her husband fumbled with something in the kitchen.
"Was he good for you?" She asked, coming in and touching the boys head. "Stiles can be a handful."
"He was good, I told him a story and he fell asleep. I've been here the whole time." Derek said, squirming as Stiles breath tickled his neck.
"Okay, well I'll call your uncle and get him to tell your parents you're spending the night." She patted his head and left, not leaving him enough time to argue that he wanted to go home. It's why he stayed up this late in the first place. Sighing, Derek snuggled into the pillows, he didn't want to wake Stiles and have him cry again.
