Chapter Text
Peter had forgotten how tiring it was to drive with children in the car. It especially didn't help that there were little cars driving because of the snow. Entertaining them by car games was becoming hard. He did not miss it, even if the kids were his own now (and okay, he kind of missed it).
They were close to being home, and Stiles had told Peter to send the texts to the sheriff and his nephew. Stiles had said he would drive today, to give Peter a break. He just didn't want to break it to them, the brat.
To Derek: We need to talk tomorrow. Come over for dinner, John and Melissa will be there too.
To John: Can you and Melissa make it to dinner tomorrow at my place? Stiles and I need to talk to both of you.
"There, did it. Happy now?" he asked, glancing at Stiles. He was singing loudly with the kids.
"Peachy," Stiles smiled at him.
"Peachy! Peachy, peachy, peachy!" came an echo from the back.
"Luke's favorite is peaches," said Layla said, her little cousin kept yelling peachy. "Auntie Leelah made the BEST pies."
Stiles and Peter exchanged glances with each other, hoping Luke wouldn't react badly. The Matthews pack said the two children were getting better with talking about their parents. While they didn't want them to hold in emotions, or forget about them the adults definitely didn't want the the four year old to start crying in the middle of the highway in Stiles crappy Jeep.
Peter watched through the rearview mirror, with a bated breath when the boy made a face.
"Mommy? Mommy bes' pies," Luke nodded.
"Well, they might not be as good as your mom's were," Stiles said softly. "But our packmate loves baking. I'm sure he'd make you some if you'd ask him."
"You could always try and make one," Peter said.
"What? And ruin pies forever for the kid?"
"Does that mean you cook, d--" Layla cut herself off. Peter had a good idea, what she wanted to say, but didn't mention it.
When the two children found out that they were going to be adopted, Layla had stopped calling them by their names. But she had avoided saying the word "dad" for either of them. Peter was sure that Stiles had taken notice too, because after they left the Matthews Pack Luke had stopped saying their names too. Or stopped as much as he could. The kid slipped at some points and got a constipated look on his chubby face.
It almost made him look like how his nephew did at that age. He just needed the bunny teeth.
Peter was all for letting them try and figure out what worked best for them, but if it lasted longer he was going to broach the subject with Stiles.
"Stiles cooks very well. So do I, if I say so myself--"
"Of course you would, at least you're right." Stiles muttered.
"Thanks. But Stiles is the better one with sweets. Him and Boyd get into bake offs."
"Oh hush, you and Erica love it. So, pie is definitely on plan for Thanksgiving. Do you have a favorite dessert Layla?"
"Um... I don't know, they're all yummy. I like cookies, and cake, and chocolate, and the fruit thingy... what's the fruit thingy called?"
"Fruit tart?"
"YEAH! that one, that one's good, because it has all different kinds of fruit, and it's sweet."
"Then why don't I make that one?"
"Okay!"
Peter smiled down, noticing that he a had text from both Derek and John.
From Derek: Please tell me you two didn't kill anyone
To Derek: Stiles is right, you do need to learn punctuation. No, we didn't kill anyone but we'd like you to meet some people.
From John: Yeah, sure. Mel and I can head over before we go to our shift. Did everything go alright?
From John: You two didn't kill anyone?
From John: Right, Peter?
Peter snorted, shaking his head he answered a quick "no."
"What? What did they say?" Stiles asked, not really trying to look at his phone, but still making a show of it. Giggles could be heard from the back. "Wait, did they ask the thing?"
"What thing?"
"Yeah, wah thing?"
Peter shot Stiles an annoyed look, but he couldn't help soften it as his husband looked both sheepish, panicked, and uncaring. The young man was doing a better job than Peter when he wasn't watching what he said around his nephew and nieces at that age... But than again they weren't his kids.
"No, I just mentioned that we had some very special people they had to meet after we got back," he turned over to the pups.
"Us? Is it us?" Luke asked. "Are we the special people? Who we gonna mee’? Are they your pack?"
"Of course it's you, you two are very special people," Stiles said. "And you're gonna meet some of the pack--we thought maybe you'd like to meet people bit by bit before thanksgiving? Because sometimes it's a lot to meet a lot of new people. Especially because it's a big day."
"So we're gonna have dinner with Derek, our Alpha, who's my nephew, Stiles dad John, and Stiles Stepmom Mellissa."
"Is that good?" Stiles asked.
"Yeah, we can do it," Layla said.
"Luke?" Stiles asked. "Is that okay with you?"
"Um..." he said uncertain. "Are they, they gonna be there when we geh there?"
"Nah, we're gonna get some good shut eye, and the day after we get back they'll come over," Stiles said.
"Oh. Okay. We're good." Luke nodded to himself.
"What are we gonna have dinner?" Layla asked, changing subjects.
"Well, seeing as how there's probably no edible food left, besides oatmeal we can head to the store, and you two can help with the menu? How does that sound?" Peter asked, hoping they wouldn't fight over what they would pick.
"Pizza?" Luke asked, as soon as Peter was done.
"Well, we have to see what Layla thinks. Layla?"
"Pizza's good, we can make lots."
Stiles frowned, smiling a little, "What does lots mean?"
"Well pineapple, and meat lovers, and a veggie one, and one with just mushrooms, and your favorites, and the other favorites!" she said excitedly.
"Um, kid, don't think we'd finish those," Stiles said, trying not to snicker.
"We're werewolves. We eat a lot," she said solemnly.
"Yeah!" Luke piped up. "They ea’ like pigs."
"You eat like a pig!"
"Oink oink," he giggled, scrunching his nose. "Can we geh McDon’ld's cause there no edible food left?"
Peter scrunched his own nose, in distaste, but otherwise didn't say anything when Stiles answered.
"Well, as long as I can get a happy meal, too. I guess."
Cheers came from the back, and they settled for a new game of "I spy" starting the last few miles before they reached Beacon Hills.
And their new life.