Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Series:
Part 16 of The Hale-Stilinski Pack
Collections:
ImWayTooDeepInThisShit, Stiles/Mieczyslaw/Mischief, Random Fics, That one stitch in my left lung, works to go back and read again because they were so good, Listen I didn’t even watch teen wolf yet here I am jeez, Mainly Sterek, Teen Wolf (TV) FFs, Sterek_my_beloves
Stats:
Published:
2023-08-17
Words:
2,177
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
97
Kudos:
5,645
Bookmarks:
707
Hits:
38,978

goodbye, you little shits

Summary:

Stiles: Excuse me? I lost my husband and children. Can I make an announcement?

Store Clerk: Sure.

Stiles: *leans into mic*

Stiles: Goodbye, you little shits.

 

OR: Stiles tries to go grocery shopping with the pack. Key word is 'tries'.

Notes:

ive been meaning to write a fic based on the quotes from my incorrectsterekquotes blog but then never did
until i read lost and found and had to put my own spin lol

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Lydia, Erica and Boyd were on the couch together, eyes fixed on the television.

Scott was in the kitchen – for reasons Stiles refused to investigate – alongside Jackson – Stiles really did not want to know.

Last he had seen, Isaac was upstairs with Allison, and Derek was in his home office.

Everyone was busy doing their own thing.

Which meant nobody was paying any attention to Stiles and what he was up to.

He took another step towards the door.

No one moved, spoke, or even blinked to indicate they had noticed him and his movements.

He turned to the box with the keys, and allowed himself a deep breath. The jingle of the keys was going to get people’s attention, which meant he had to move fast.

Thankfully, he had everything else on him, so he just had to go.

Here went nothing.

“Going for groceries,” he called out, fishing out the car keys with ease, “Borrowing the Camaro, love you, bye!”

And then he was gone.

There were only a couple steps between the key box and the door, and Stiles had already left the door open for a quick getaway.

He heard the sound of something crashing, but for once he decided that this was Derek’s house and what happened inside of it had nothing to do with him.

He threw the door open, running down the stairs and–

“How the fuck?!”

Derek glared at him from in front of the Camaro, arms crossed together.

“How did you get here so fast? I literally–” he stopped, looking at the windows of the house. And to the second floor of the building, where one window was tellingly open. He looked back at Derek, mouth agape. “Did you jump out of the window to stop me from driving your Camaro?”

Derek did not even have the sense to look embarrassed about his dramatic ways, one hand outstretched. “You’re not driving my car. Give me the keys.”

“Der-ek,” he complained, pulling the keys behind him. “I need to buy groceries, and my car is all the way back home.”

“Give me the keys.”

“If there are no groceries you will starve. The pack will starve. The Hale pack will go extinct! We will all die, Derek. To death. You will starve to death and die like– completely die. And Isaac will die. You don’t want my puppywolf to die, now, do you?”

Derek’s expression did not change. 

“Give me the keys.”

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” whined Stiles. “Be honest, do you even love me? Do you even like me? You let Erica drive your car, that one time, but me? Not. Never. Not once. Never me. Why never me, Derek? Do you not care about your mate? The so-called love of your life?”

“Give me the keys.”

“Derek.”

Derek did not blink.

“You are so fucking insufferable,” complained Stiles, slapping his keys in his hand. “Fine. You get to drive me to get groceries, but my knees are going to be facing the door the whole time, and I will not get a single thing you like.”

“It’s my card we’re using,” pointed out Derek, climbing in the driver’s seat. “I can get what I want.”

Stiles scoffed, closing his door. “You don’t even believe that.”

“I am the alpha.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” cooed Stiles, pressing a kiss on his forehead in the most patronizing move he could. “Who's the big bad alpha? You are! You– what the fuck!”

“You don’t have to scream,” complained Jackson, rubbing his ear and glaring slightly at him. “We can hear you normally.”

Stiles stared, widemouthed at the backseat passengers of the Camaro - namely Jackson, Erica, and Isaac. He looked over at Derek, who did not appear very surprised or shocked by this.

“How– when...? What the fuck.”

“You said we’re going shopping,” said Isaac, looking at him like that sentence explained everything.

It explained nothing.

It explained less than nothing.

“I said I'm going shopping, you- You were literally in there? I saw you? How did you get out? When did you get out? Why did you get out?”

“Constant vigilance,” mocked Erica, tapping her forehead.

“Don’t Mad Eye Moody me,” he said, turning to Derek as he started the car. “Woah, hold your horses. They are not coming with us.”

“Yes, we are,” said Jackson.

“No, you’re not.”

Erica smirked. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

They both smirked, and then turned to Isaac.

Which Stiles realised was a bad thing, very bad thing, he needed to stop him and them before–

“Please?” asked Isaac, looking at him hopefully.

... Ah, fuck.

“This is all your fault,” he told Derek, turning to face the front, arms crossed around his chest.

“That you’re weak for Isaac?”

“We, Sourwolf. We are weak for Isaac.”

Derek could not disagree with that.

There were rules, when Stiles went for groceries or to the mall in general. 

Stiles did not necessarily mind being considered the pack mother for a group of teenager his own age or older. He liked taking care of the people he loved, and he loved the pack.

So he did not mind taking care of them like this.

But he did mind and want to throttle them whenever they were in a place like a mall because, all of a sudden, his grown and supposedly sensible pack mates turned into untrained pups seeing the outside world for the first time.

Seriously. Stiles sort of wanted their parents to see them, just to have some smidge of support of this.

The rules of shopping malls were simple:

  1. Don’t run.
  2. Don’t stray from the shopping list.
  3. Don’t sneak unapproved items into the cart.
  4. Don’t disappear because Stiles is not a wolf, and he’s not performing spells to try and track you down in a damn mall, thank you very much.
  5. Stiles is the one in charge. Derek can put his traffic light eyes away or flash them all he wants, Stiles is in charge.

They knew the rules.

Stiles always told them the rules.

Stiles had repeated the rules before they had walked inside. 

Stiles had repeated the rules once they were inside.

His packmates were all 17, 18 or 19.

Derek was older than all of them.

And while they were not all geniuses, they were all intelligent beings capable of following simple rules and orders.

So why in the moon’s latin name did Stiles lift his head from his shopping list less than five minutes later to find that Jackson was the only person anywhere near him, holding onto a non approved item?

Seriously.

“Put that down, and where is everyone else?”

“Why? This brand is better than that one,” said Jackson, holding the lettuce with both hands.

“More expensive does not mean better,” said Stiles, taking it from him. “And the last time we got this, it went bad in days. Because Derek is a child who refuses to make anything for himself if that something involves lettuce!” he said the last part a little louder, just to make sure Derek heard him.

Which he did.

“He said ‘fuck you’,” informed him Jackson, grimacing at the contents of the cart. “Ew. Broccoli. Why?”

“Are you questioning the List, Jackson? Because I value the List more than I value you or any other pack member, Derek included.”

“Boyd included?”

Stiles looked him dead in the eyes. “Boyd included.”

“Scott?”

“Without a second thought.”

“Me?” asked Erica, approaching with a pack of–

“Most definitely, if you continue to take steps towards me and my cart while holding those heart attack inducing things.”

“Oh, come on,” protested Erica. “I have this at home all the time. They are so cheesy!”

“What you do in the safety of your own house is none of my concern, no matter how worrying it might be,” said Stiles, pushing the bag back towards her. “That’s not coming in the pack house.”

“Stiles.”

“Erica.”

“Stiles.”

“Erica.”

“Stiles.”

He stared right back at her. “Erica."

“You can be so annoying, man,” she complained, turning on her heels with the bag of freshly packaged heart attack still clasped in her hands.

“You’re welcome for my efforts to make sure you live beyond thirty! And put those damn onions, back, Whittemore!”

“I just think–”

“Don’t do that,” said Stiles, glaring around. “And where the fuck are Isaac and Derek?”

Jackson shrugged, observing a cheese that was simply too expensive to be just cheese a little too closely.

Stiles displayed excellent self control for not screaming.

"Erica is trying to convince Derek to get Fritos and he's caving."

The bulb breaking above them had nothing to do with him.

+++

“How about this,” said Stiles, a bag of cereals in his hands, trying not to throw it at Derek’s stupid face. “Who wants to play a game?”

“What game?” asked Erica, acting like she didn’t have the hazelnut ice cream Scott was allergic to behind her.

Derek was convinced that werewolves did not get allergies, but Stiles did not believe him for one second, and refused to put it to the test.

Isaac had been rescued from the produce aisle he had lost himself in, but was following a siren call only he could hear, clearly looking to escape again.

Jackson was looking at the contents of the cart with his nose twisted at the ‘poor people items’ inside of it. Items that he ate without complaint whenever Stiles or Boyd cooked, mind you.

He wanted to strangle each and everyone of them, but that would be an inappropriate thing for the son of the town Sheriff to do.

At least in public.

He noticed a woman holding her two kids on a leash, and wondered how mad the pack would get if he got them matching ones. Would they be more offended at the pets comparison or the children one?

“The first of you to find me the strawberry flavoured detergent Isaac accidentally ate last month–”

“I thought it was squash!”

“Gets to pick one item of their choice to add to the List,” he finished, looking at them with a wide smile.

Immediately, their annoyance and boredom was gone, replaced by attentiveness and unmistakable ‘wolf on the hunt’ looks.

“I won’t tell you where they keep it,” he continued. “Find it yourselves. Alright?”

“Two items,” bargained Erica.

“Sure,” said Stiles, pleasantly.

None of them – Derek included – seemed to find anything suspicious about how easily he conceded to this.

They just waited for his ‘well, go on then,’ signal, and then they were gone.

Because the pack had three braincells at any given time, and Stiles usually had two of them on him.

Which was why he managed to continue the shopping, with the card he had lifted from Derek’s wallet in the car, while the four of them continued to chase their tails and try to find an object Stiles was perfectly aware had never been sold here.

He knew, because Derek stole his detergent from his parents’ house, and Stiles was the only one in the pack with any sense when it came to shopping for household items.

Once he was finally done paying and had everything packed, he looked at the inside of the mall, debating how much he really wanted the stress of driving the four of them back home.

Especially since he had stolen Derek’s keys alongside his card – the man really trusted Stiles’ intentions behind hugs too easily. The world was harsh, and as a devout alpha mate and emissary, it was Stiles’ job to teach him better.

Which was also why, only seconds and a pitiful story (accompanied by an equally pitiful expression) later, he was standing near the entrance with one of those microphones for announcements in his hands.

The lady who had given him the items was looking at him in a mix of judgement and scepticism – probably because of Stiles’ sob story about loosing his husband and children while looking very much younger than her - but didn't stop him, moving for him to continue.

He did not particularly care.

“Hi,” he said, keeping his voice appropriately shaky. “My husband, Derek, and my babies – Jackson, Erica and Isaac – are missing. If you can hear me, darlings, I have one message for you:

“Goodbye, you little shits.”

With that, he took off, cackling maniacally while pushing his full shopping cart, the announcement lady glaring behind him.

(If Stiles had been looking behind him, he would have noticed that the lady’s glare did not last long. In fact, it lasted right until a group of four grown people – three blonds and an older man – came rushing after him, running almost supernaturally fast and calling out ‘Stiles!’ as they did so.

But he didn’t.

He did, however, get caught by Derek before he could make it to the Camaro with the keys.

He spent that ride home ignoring the alpha, knees facing the passenger door.

And if Erica had a pack of Cheetos in her hands as they drove home, well; only Scott questioned it).

Notes:

i think period pain is unconstitutional and i move to strike it from my life
please and thank you

this series is so old at this point like omg i cant even re-read it without cringing about how i wrote format/grammar and even content wise. but im always a sucker for the general concept behind the series so...
here we go again, lol

based on the popular text post! hope u guys enjoy it!

Series this work belongs to: