"can you imagine the faces their children could make" (X)
In my headcanon the sheriff would love whatever Stiles would present him as a grandchild.
(original grandthing made by spaggel I just borrowed it)
GRANPA STILINSKI’S PRECIOUS ANGEL.
I was crying about this at work today and Spag had to send me fucking this:
"yeah, can you imagine first seeing him?"
And so, Stiles and Derek are not ready for parenthood and are totally freaked out by their weird son:
Derek’s quiet for a long time, staring blankly, before he eventually offers, “This isn’t what I expected.”
Stiles frowns down at the baby in his arms. “I know, right? They won’t take it back; I already asked.”
Derek leans over him, peering down at the weird little face. It’s unsettling how thick the baby’s eyebrows are. “Are babies born with teeth?”
"Not usually," Stiles replies. “His grody little snaggletooth is creeping me out."
"His everything is creeping me out,” Derek retorts, dropping into the chair at the side of the bed. “I’m pretty sure this is because you got possessed by that demon.”
"Aw, hell no," Stiles argues. “That thing was in me for like five minutes, tops. This thing - ” he nods toward the baby in his arms ” - you don’t absorb this kind of evil in five minutes. This is like ten years possession minimum.”
"What are we going to name him?"
"Beats me. Calling him after your dad seems kind of disrespectful to your dad, doesn’t it?"
Derek sighed heavily. “He probably would have found this hilarious. I told you my family’s cursed.” He squinted over at Stiles. “You sure it’s even a boy?”
"Dude, I’m not sure it’s even human,” Stiles replies. “Seriously, how come shit like this always happens to us?”
"Because the universe knows we’ll grin and bear it," Derek sighs again. “You sure we can’t send it back?"
"No," Stiles grumbles discontentedly, and straightens as his father steps into the room. He cradles the baby protectively to his chest; even if the thing’s weird as hell, it’s still his. “Whoa, Dad, before you pull out your gun and shoot the baby, I can promise you, with about ninety-percent certainty, that I did not give birth to a cave beast, even though it may look that way. And maybe this is our fault because Derek’s so fricken possessive of his jizz and refused to use a surrogate so we had to resort to black magic and give me a magical womb - so actually this is Derek’s fault, really - this is your grandson. Probably. We’re not too clear on the gender right now.”
The sheriff sighs, as he so often does when confronted with his son’s verbal onslaught, and holds out his hands, a silent give me the child. Stiles puckers his mouth and hands over his son and watches the sheriff’s face cycle through several emotions, ending, bewilderingly, on happiness.
"He’s beautiful,” his father croons, and Stiles looks over, bewildered, at Derek, who mouths He’s not lying. He looks just as perplexed as Stiles.
"Just wait until Melissa sees him," the sheriff says cheerfully, pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a picture.
"Yeah," Stiles agrees slowly. He’s already regretting having shown his father how to use the camera on his phone. “Just wait."
Newly Grandpa’d Stilinski show’s pictures of his most PRECIOUS OF ALL GRANDCHILDREN to who he’s interrogating so that if they look at the face of SUCH AN ANGEL they’ll confess and lead a good life.