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A Big Fucking Mess

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Peter Hale was sitting in the stands again, as he had done every Tuesday and Thursday after classes during practices, and Bobby Finstock was capital D Done with him.

“Get your hormone tainted eyes off my kid, Hale. You don't even want to know what freaky stuff he’s into, believe me. I didn't want to know but the kid's an over sharer and some things cannot be unseen.” Bobby knew Stiles was catnip for all these horny kids sniffing around for nubile twinks, and if he had to put the guard in ‘legal guardian’ then so be it, no one was going to touch his kid unless his kid wanted them to and used appropriate protection. And didn't do it on the lacrosse field. That was a hard rule. Lacrosse was sacred and no one, not even the coach's adopted son, was allowed to defile it. 

“Yes sir,” Peter grumbled, returning his attention to the book in his lap instead of fucking off like he should be doing. 

“Sure, ignore me, that’s real nice,” Bobby said, squinting at the teen as he stepped up a few steps in the stands for maximum looming. “Now why the hell are you hanging around school like a creeper? I don't need any extra teenage angst on my field."

"Excuse you,” it was hilarious how put out the kid was. He clearly thought he was suave and Grown Up, and the sad thing was all the kids he hung out with probably thought so too. Peter huffed, snapping the book he wasn’t really reading closed with a dramatic flourish. Bobby was second hand embarrassed just watching him.  “I'm not a teen anymore, and you couldn’t tell me what to do even when I was.”

"There's a teen in eighteen Hale, now get the hell out of here, you don't even go here anymore."

Peter sniffed. "I'm here to support my nephew. It's not a crime for family to watch practice is it? And little Derek needs lots of watching after."

Bobby  squinted at him, then squinted at the field where Derek Hale was running plays with Jackson Whittemore while the rest of the team heckled them from the sidelines. What the heck. Take his eyes off these damn kids for one second and its anarchy out there. Peter was obviously full of shit, especially since this whole stalking thing had been going on for so long that Bobby was starting to question his kid’s abilities of perception. Maybe Stiles needed glasses or something. But then again, maybe Peter had a point with this watching out thing. Derek certainly seemed to be pushing boundaries, throwing his weight around like a football player, eyes glowing an electric blue as he ducked under Jackson to score on him. Huh. Now there was an idea. 

“Hey Hale, your family’s freaky right? All you kids with your teenage angst and fangs and shit?”

Peter’s eyes went wide for a moment, his hand twitching on the book, leaving faint dents in the cover. Bobby rolled his eyes. So much drama with these kids.

“No don't give me that look, you all suck at hiding it but I don't give a shit as long as you all keep bringing in the trophies. We gotta beat Sundale and lord knows we couldn't do it with a team full of Greenburgs.” So true. Now that Peter had graduated their basketball team was a wash. Bobby completely despaired of them and had insisted that Derek switch to lacrosse for the sake of the school. There were just enough good, regular kids on the lacrosse team to give them a fighting chance if they added whatever nonsense was in the Hales to the mix. “I was just wondering if you guys know about other freaky shit.”

The boy was pale, stiff as a board but willing to lie through his teeth to keep his secret safe. Bobby always admired the kids who would lie right to his face without blinking. It was a good life skill, one he usually encouraged and rewarded when it didn't involve getting his disaster child the help he needed with all this magical crap that he was so desperately trying to hide. Hah. As if Bobby was born yesterday instead of trained and tested in the hellfire of the American Public School System to have his own almost psychic sense for when kids are up to no good.

The boy managed tolerably well, coulda fooled most of the teachers if only he had the luck of facing them instead of Bobby Finstock. 

“I don't know what you mean.” Peter’s voice didn't waver despite his little claw slip up. He paused, eyes flicking to his nephew for a moment before he forced himself to relax. Bobby checked the field too, but no one was listening in. Stiles was shooting them an amused look, probably thinking his adopted dad was giving Peter hell for creeping around. Peter noticed the attention too, and seemed to come to a decision. “More specifics would be nice, seeing as how I’m not a mind reader.”

oh HO. Ballsy. Keeping it cool and giving himself plausible deniability. Nice try but ain't nobody got time for that shit when Stiles had magical, completely uncontrolled mind powers that allowed him to blow up stuff just by sneezing. Bobby was getting tired of buying new light bulbs and pretending he didn't notice when objects started randomly hovering when Stiles zoned out. 

“Sparkles, lights blowing out, Harry Potter kind of shit. I just want to make sure its safe. He had a lot of bad dreams last week and it was a poltergeist the remix in our house every evening.”

“Stiles has been blowing up light bulbs?” Peter asked, worry all over his face. The kid might be a creep but he wanted Stiles to be happy at least. It was almost enough to make Bobby’s heart grow two sizes that day. But it was also gross and no one was ever going to be good enough for his boy no matter how cunning or possibly supernaturally protective they were.

“You got it, Hale. Now get me some info will you? And get out of here before you make Greenburg cry. The kid’s a nervous wreck with just one Hale around.”

Peter nodded, standing slowly. “I’ll look into it. Not that I have any idea what you’re talking about. You should probably keep your strange theories to yourself. People might think you’re crazy, or dangerous.”

Bobby waved him off impatiently. “Yeah yeah threats of bodily harm blah blah blah. Right back at you Mr. Pervert Eyes. We keep this between us. You should come over for dinner tomorrow night. Stiles is making lasagna and it’s better than sex. Should help keep your mind off certain other, not yet legal forms of sex.”

He clapped Peter on the shoulder, ignoring the kid’s flustered stuttering as he prowled back out onto the field to kick some slacker ass. Besides, Peter’s reaction would be nothing compared to Stiles’ horror when he hears his dad invited his long time crush over for dinner. Maybe he could convince Stiles to make a second batch of lasagna....

 

Chapter Text

"Daaaaaaaaaad!" A panicked thumping joined the shrieking as Stiles'  half jumped, half fell down the stares and into the living room. "Have you seen my homework folder? I took it out last night—"

"Homework's not important unless its for econ!" Bobby cut over the teen, who sputtered and flipped him off. "More importantly, have you seen my shoes? I swear I left them right here."

"See, it makes sense that I'm late," Stiles said, sniffing at his hoodie before making a face and pulling it on over his tee. "I'm a teenager. I'm supposed to do stupid stuff like sleep in and skip class."

Bobby shoved a whole slice of bread into his mouth, chewing rapidly as they both tried to grab a banana and almost ended up squashing the bunch before managing to grab one a piece. "Are you saying I'm too old for rebellion?" He demanded, scandalized.

"You're a teacher! You can't be late!"

"Neither of you are allowed to be late," John said mildly, flipping through the morning paper without even looking up. "Stiles, your homework is right here with the rest of your stuff, and your bag. Bobby, your shoes are under the chair in the hall by the closet."  He took a long sip of his coffee as the pair, with various levels of cursing and flailing, stumbled around each other and the house before rushing out the door with hurried "love you"s and "have a good day". With a contented sigh he put his now empty mug down, pondering whether he should get some weeding done today or if he should mow the lawn instead. The yard was starting to look as frazzled as most of the Stilinski-Finstock household, but he was feeling lazy. 

He checked the clock, ten minutes had passed in blissful silence, before shrugging and going back to his paper. The yard could wait. 

Almost twenty minutes after he had been left alone for the morning he heard identical rumbles of shitty car engines and the screech of tires as the fastest of the two cars slammed to a stop, no doubt claiming the only remaining driveway spot and leaving the other driver to park on the curb. The losing car must not have been that far behind though as both Stiles and Bobby banged into the house, disbelief warring with anger and betrayal crossing both faces in equal measure. 

"Welcome back," John said, not bothering to hide his smirk at all as he perused the sports section. 

"HOW COULD YOU?" Stiles shrieked as he chucked his bag across the living room, kicking his shoes off into the void of the hall way with equal fury. "MY OWN FATHER! I'M A GROWING BOY. I NEED SLEEP NOT PRANKS!"

"Dads are supposed to prank their children, especially those foolish enough not to know Saturday comes after Friday despite being alive on this planet for seventeen years. I'm surprised you haven't learned that much by now, but with a teacher like that...." John smirked at Bobby, who had followed their son, pulling at his hair which was now wilder than he had woken up with. 

"Him I understand, but how could you do this to me?? Your own loving husband?" He shook his fist at John, who took another sip of coffee, unperturbed. "You two are stuck together by blood, I'm the one you need to dote on and bribe to stick around! I can't believe you let us think it was a weekday." 

Bobby threw himself down dramatically on the sofa, grunting a bit when Stiles followed, landing on the older man's legs. "I should file for divorce. This is spousal abuse."

"You do that dear. Just remember, I had you sign that prenump and you wont get a penny out of me to fund your lazy weekend lifestyle." He flipped open the paper again as twin yells of "abuse!" were hurled at him with equal despair. It was good to be dad. 

"Ugh. I'm going back to bed. Nobody better wake me up unless the zombie apocalypse has finally started." Stiles groaned when it became clear that John had no remorse for his evil, evil actions. He moaned pathetically again for good measure, pushing up with difficulty and heading for the stairs. 

"Have a good nap, son," John called. He waited until he could hear the sound of thumping indicate Stiles was on his way up before he smirked. In a slightly raised voice, nothing too suspicious, he called over to the living room. "Honey, are you going to lay around all morning? Didn't you tell me you invited that boy over for an interrogation?" a grunt from the couch indicated Bobby was sort of alive. "What was his name again? Potter? One of the Hales, isn't he?"

There was a crash from above them, and a few drawers  by the sink sprang open of their own accord. John pretended not to see. Plausible deniability kept him employed these days. It was better not to know as long as no one was getting hurt...too badly. 

"Peter??!" Stiles screamed down from the top of the stairs. "Bobby invited Peter Hale over for a what? Daddy you can't hurt him, he's too pretty to be disappeared!"

John frowned over at the lump of Bobby on the couch. "Now why would he need to be disappeared? I thought we were just going to ask him what his intentions were toward a certain young man? Unless something has already happened, which would be very illegal and while I wouldn't want to know anything about it I would remind some people in this room that we have shovels and tarps in the garage and to remember that the freeway has cameras now so taking the back roads would be better."

Ignoring Stiles' embarrassed denials John waited until Bobby raised a hand and made a dismissive wave before he relaxed. "Hez jus comin for lasgna and talk spookstufs." Bobby garbled through the pillow he was mashing his face into. 

John nodded. Made sense to him. Anyone who wasn't stupid as rocks knew something was up with those Hales. Especially if you worked in law enforcement. There's only so many times you could be called over for reports of wild animals or children covered in blood before you caught on. 

"Daaaaaaaaaaaddddddds?" Stiles was gesticulating from half way down the stairs, hanging wildly over the edge of the banister to make sure they saw his indignation. 

"Weren't you going to make lasagna tonight?" John asked, going back to his paper. He had reinforced the rails on the stairs ages ago so he wasn't too worried. Especially after walking in on Stiles floating almost on the ceiling one night when he checked in on the boy at the end of night shift. "Do you have everything you need? Wouldn't want to feed the boyfriend substandard Italian."

"I hate you both. I'm going to the store!"

Bobby scoffed something unintelligible from his place on the couch as Stiles stomped back to the door, not seeming to notice his shoes sliding themselves back to the entryway for him to slip on. 

John sighed. "You're sure this kid can help? I don't want to stage an intervention by myself, but there's only so much I can ignore."

"Shuddap. Sleep'n. Itssaturday." Bobby said, flipping him off over the edge of the sofa.