Sheriff Stilinski could smell the heavenly aroma of gingerbread before he even opened the front door that evening. It was a tradition that the sheriff and his son liked to uphold over the years during the Christmas season, making gingerbread houses together. Like a lot of the traditions the two men practiced for the holidays, making the scrumptious architectural treats began a few years before the death of Stiles' mother-the sheriff's wife. After her death, Stiles couldn't bear abandoning the rigid structure their family upheld during the time of the year, and the sheriff couldn't tell him no, even if the meticulous scheduling of Christmas activities and decorating depressed the man almost as much as the days surrounding the death of his wife. The holiday gave his son comfort-a safe residence-and that was enough for the sheriff. Cherish the living while they're alive was his look on life.

As he entered the kitchen from the foyer, the faint sound of Christmas songs playing throughout, he saw Stiles pulling out the tender slabs of cookie from the oven. In the same line of sight he saw Derek Hale, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching.

"So I was thinking of going for more of a Gothic theme this year," Stiles explained as he turned to place the cookie sheet on the counter. It was then that Stiles noticed his father's presence. "Dad! You're home early," he exclaimed happily. He rushed over to give his father a hug.

It was moments like these when the sheriff thought how big Stiles was getting, how fast he was growing. It seems like only yesterday that he had to kneel down to wrap his arms around the chest of his little boy. Now his little boy was becoming a grown man; sometimes if the sheriff had a long day and he was more groggy, Stiles' hugs would even hurt him, his boy was so strong. He liked to think this happened far and few between. Of course all the fondest nostalgic indulgences are of yesterday, maybe because if we allow them to be any older or farther off, then it would be more difficult to reason they happened the way we want them to be.

He pulled away from the hug and looked into the golden brown eyes of his son, taking in the sweet musk of his scent. "I can see I'm just in time," he smirked before glancing towards the direction of Derek.

"Well I wouldn't say right on time," Stiles said as he backed away towards the cooling gingerbread. "Of course we have to wait for them to cool. You don't want to work with floppy walls while burning yourself would ya?" Stiles finished as he sensed the awkward tension.

The sheriff was well aware that Derek would be over. He was okay with the exonerated felon being in his home, even left alone with his son. This time felt different. Not dubious, but refreshing.

"Oh, yeah Derek came over early, to help with the baking. He didn't have much to do in the meantime so he might as well come over, right," Stiles reasoned. Derek moved near the cookie slabs on the counter and inconspicuously inhaled the scent, trying to act natural in such a situation while concurrently blending in with the kitchen, like a chameleon.

"Yeah that's what I figured," the sheriff assured, trying not to play the overly intrusive dad card his instincts were compelling him to do. He knew his presence, while not a burden he hoped, was throwing off the balance of the room. He didn't want to make any verbal conjectures about Stiles and Derek, but he wasn't obtuse.

He backed out of the room as he spoke. "It was a rough day at the station today. I think I'm going to watch some tv or something." He smirked at the both of them before turning to leave.

20 minutes of waiting and hushed flirting later and the gingerbread was cool enough. "I'm gonna get my dad okay?" Stiles stated as he left to get him. Derek reached for him before he was out of arm's reach.

"Do me a favor? Help me not feel so...awkward?" Derek murmured, keeping head tilted down has he looked into the boy's eyes.

Stiles' guise was sympathetic. "Aw the big bad alpha is afraid of my dad," he goaded as Derek pushed him away. Stiles scrambled around Derek's arm before squeezing in a kiss on the lips.

"You're a-"

"-cutie, I know," Stiles whispered, curtailing Derek's speech.

In the living room the sheriff was on the brink of sleep when Stiles clamored in. "Dad, the stuff is ready."

He looked up at his son in his groggy state and he begins to recalls the many times he's been awoken from his chair by Stiles. All the times Stiles has woken him up to help him to bed are all one giant blur. One memory he remembers in particular is the morning his son found him asleep in the living room on Christmas morning, still in uniform. He awoke to a plate of offered sugar cookies with bites in them; the sheriff had crumbs on his chest to match.

The sheriff rubbed away the embarrassing memory of how his little boy discovered Santa was a sham and his eyes as he began to speak. "Stiles, I've been thinking. Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to make my gingerbread house...I'll let you and Derek have fun, without me there to, ya know," he implied, chuckling when he saw Stiles raise an eyebrow.

This was met with a confused expression. "Dad, but we always make gingerbread houses together."

"I know, and we will," he consoled, "but I'm tired, and I think you'll have more fun with Derek." He didn't like disappointing his son like this, but he knew it would be best this way.

"...well, if you say you're tired-and you promise we'll make one together soon, then okay," he conceded with a faint smile. "Do you want me to help you to your room?"

"No, I'm comfortable here," the sheriff assured. "Go have fun."

When he awoke the room was much darker. The sheriff checked his watch to see that it was almost 10 o'clock in the evening. He slowly eased himself out of the recliner and walked towards the kitchen, reaching out for the nearest light switch or surface. Once inside the kitchen he found it to be empty. On the kitchen table he saw two houses: one that was very neat and bare, the other one significantly more devoured and messy, candy and icing making up a lot of the debris of the destruction.

He smirked as he scooped up a bit of icing from what he knew was Stiles' house and walked towards the stairs. He couldn't help but notice the mess of icing and candy continue on the floor and walls. Before he could turn off the lights he caught sight of a note on the counter next to a Tupperware of gingerbread slabs. The sheriff picked up the note and read it.

Dad, I hope you slept well. I hope we didn't wake you. Even though it would have been nice to make houses tonight with you, I want to thank you anyways. See you in the morning hopefully.

It was short, but enough. He folded the note and put it in his pocket before reaching to shut off the lights. He also really hoped to see his son in the morning, assuming he wanted to be awake before noon to see him off for his day of work. Considering it was winter break, he didn't blame Stiles for sleeping in until the early afternoon on most days. What he was most hopeful for was not to find one Derek Hale in his home in the morning.