Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Stiles is in third grade and his best friend in the whole wide world is Scott McCall, and this Christmas is going to be the very best ever! Even though his dad has to work on Christmas Eve, Mom says that Scott is going to spend the night and have Christmas breakfast with them and they might even watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer before Scott's mom picks him up on her way home for work tomorrow afternoon.

So, that's why Stiles is bouncing in front of the door; boots already pulled on and jacket half-zipped when he sees Scott's mom's car pulling around the corner. Shoving a hat over his head, Stiles is half out the door when he yells up to his mom, "Scott's here! Scott's here! Scott's here!"

Mrs. McCall waves as she gets out of the car, but Stiles rushes past her into order to tackle Scott into a snowdrift. They wrestle around for a while until Scott starts to wheeze and Stiles rolls away, not even making him holler uncle because that's what you do for best friends. While they shake themselves off, Scott's mom pulls his sleeping bag and backpack out of the car, passing them to her son before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"It's not too late for Santa to put you on the naughty list," she warns, "Be good, and I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

Scott nods and gives his mom a tight hug, before telling Stiles that they should race to the front door. Then, because he's a cheater, Scott gives himself a head start and Stiles yells about how he's a loser before trying to catch up, but he's still laughing.

Later that night, when Scott starts to cry a little because it's his first Christmas without his dad, Stiles rolls off of the bed and gives him a tight hug. Then, even though a kid on his bus taught him Santa isn't real, Stiles says that they should camp out downstairs in order to wait for Old Saint Nick. Since Scott still believes in Santa, he perks up at the suggestion and Stiles decides that he won't be the one to tell Scott that Santa is fake, because that's what you do for best friends.

It's a Christmas party at Jackson's house, and Stiles knows he was only invited because the whole lacrosse team was, but he doesn't actually care. He fifteen and a freshman and at his first high school party, clutching plastic cup of eggnog that been spiked with something like it's his lifeline, because Lydia Martin is suddenly coming up to him and how does she even know who he his and-

"We're playing spin the bottle," Lydia says matter-of-factly, "And the guy to girl ratio is abysmal. C'mon."

And, yeah, Lydia is slurring her speech a little and wobbling in her heels, but that's okay with Stiles because she wants him to come play spin the bottle. Out of all the guys in the room she could have picked, she picked Stiles, and that clearly means they're soulmates, okay?

It takes a few rounds for Stiles to have his turn. Hands shaking a little, he tries to flick his wrist just right so the bottle will land on Lydia, who has bright red lipstick on and it only makes her prettier when she smiles. Then, the smile turns into laughing as the bottle passes her by and lands on Jackson, who is her boyfriend and could probably kill Stiles if he wanted. The room is full of giggles and chicken noises as Stiles gapes at the boy he meant to kiss, hating his life because he was so close to getting his chance with Lydia freaking Martin and it's not fair and-

"What's wrong, Stilinski? Never been kissed before?" Jackson calls, somehow managing to look smug even though Stiles knows he's been taking shots all night.

Bristling, Stiles does that thing where his body works faster than his brain and lunges at Jackson, curling a hand around the other boy's chin and slamming their mouths together. Jackson freezes underneath his touch, and the rest of the group goes crazy with catcalls and, as he's pulling away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Stiles' heart pounds like a jackhammer as his fast turns red and he prays that he'll forgets kissing Jackson tomorrow when he's hung over because it stupid how much he liked it.

It's the first Christmas since Derek and Scott's respective packs have made peace and, as he sits in Lydia Martin's living room surrounded by supernatural creatures in holiday sweaters, Stiles determines that his life has definitely taken a turn for the strange. Ever since she was filled in on all the werewolf drama, Lydia has made it her mission to create a single, cohesive Beacon Hills pack to keep the Alphas at bay. She's done this through two parts intimidation and one part team building skills and, if he didn't hate the week of she made them all do trust falls, Stiles would probably praise her genius.

Okay, who is he kidding? Stiles always praises Lydia's genius because she managed to turn a ragtag bunch of misfits into a proper pack without Derek or Scott realizing that it wasn't all their idea. Hell, the last time Scott complained about Derek, it was because he didn't know what to get him for Secret Santa. The whole Secret Santa thing is another one of Lydia's ideas to "make the pack stronger" and, alright, it worked pretty well because it made Stiles learn that Issac was totally into the same comics as him, and that's awesome.

"What do you think about the fruits of my labors?" Lydia asks, sitting down next to Stiles on the sofa and waving her arm airily.

Everyone eats Chinese food as they exchange their final Secret Santa gifts, bickering good-naturedly about what movie to watch once they're done. (And, okay, a couple of months ago, Stiles totally wouldn't have pinned Derek Hale as an It's A Wonderful Life guy, wow.) Trying to be smooth, Stiles stretches his arms out as he shrugs, throwing one casually behind Lydia's shoulders.

"Pretty soon, they'll be roastin' chestnuts and singing Let It Snow," Stiles says, "Only downside is that my Secret Santa bailed on me."

"Well, you know what they say about assumptions," Lydia replies, pulling something out of her pocket and dangling it over his head.

Stiles glances up and, holy shit, that is definitely mistletoe. As in, Lydia Martin is dangling mistletoe above their heads. What is the proper reaction in this situation other than the obvious and what if she's joking and what if her and Jackson weren't serious about taking a break and he uses his werewolf powers to turn Stiles into ribbons to wrap Lydia's presents in and-

And Stiles' brain shuts up right about the time that Lydia starts kissing him.

They're hunting down a rogue leprechaun because no one apparently informed the fucker about the subtle pleasures of irony. It wouldn't be so bad, really because finals were last week and his dad isn't going to be picking Stiles up from college for another two days, but does Derek really need to be playing carols as they do patrol?

"I know calendars might be beyond your level of reading skill, but Christmas is still two weeks away," Stiles snaps, feeling as if he needs to stab someone by the third time Little Drummer Boy starts up.

Derek raises an eyebrow at that but does look away from the road. "Haven't you ever heard of holiday cheer?"

"Haven't you heard that the dark anti-hero isn't supposed to be all holly jolly? It's bad for the rest of your brooding image."

The werewolf snorts at that because they're beyond the point where he even puts the effort of making up threats to counter Stiles' snark. Still, he switches the station to another station. In the passenger seat, Stiles relaxes a little until the Metallica song that was playing fads into Baby, It Cold Outside. It's the fucking Glee version too, and Stiles wants to scream, but then he notices that Derek is singing along under his breath and just stares.

Still not turning around because he has stupid werewolf powers, Derek's voice is amused. "Is it bad for my brooding image to have a favorite Christmas carol?"

And Stiles wants to say shut up, but it comes out as him singing the next verse of the song. Not because he likes the way that Derek smiles or anything, but because if he didn't sing, then Derek would be doing both parts of the duet and that would just be lame.

In retrospect, Stiles might have gone a little bit overboard, but he really wants this to be the best Christmas ever because it's the first one where he been someone's dad, and that in itself is a total head trip and that's how he winds up calling his own dad at eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve.

"When I was little, would you eat all the cookies or would you leave one with a bite mark on it? Because I want to do it the way you did, but I can't remember, and it's driving me a little bit crazy."

"Stiles, you do realize that Riley isn't even a year old? It doesn't matter what the cookies look like as long as there are presents under the tree."

"Okay, it totally matters because it's Riley's first Christmas," Stiles says, rolling his eyes even though his dad can't see it, "And your grandchild is approximately eleven months and twenty days old. Way to go on that one, Grandpa."

"Son," his dad replies, using the 'lecture voice' that Stiles has always been familiar with, "Babies don't remember their first Christmas. You'll be fine no matter what you do, okay? You're a good dad, Stiles."

And, okay, it's the fact that Stiles is sleep deprived because Riley is teething that his eyes start to water a little. 100% exhaustion caused reaction, not at all because even though he's a grown man, his dad turns him into a total softie. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot, because, y'know, you got the mug to prove you World's Greatest Dad and everything."

"I'll see you at dinner tomorrow, smartass. Try and get some sleep," Then, softer, "Leave one with a bite it in, much more dramatic."