To Build a Home

Chapter 21

"Where the fuck are my keys?" Stiles grumbled as he stormed through the kitchen, Derek just stirring the honey into his first cup of coffee, eyes still ridden with sleep.

"Aren't they on the table in the hallway?"

"If I'm asking you, they're obviously not!"

"That's the last place I saw them," he shrugged, not awake enough to deal with Stressed Stiles; the only reason he was up so early on a Saturday that he didn't have work was to get Isaac off to his game by nine o'clock.

"They couldn't have just walked off by themselves!"

"Obviously," he mumbled before sipping from his coffee cup.

"Yeah, obviously," Stiles sneered, foot tapping before he began to grind his teeth in anxiety.

"Maybe Isaac took them," Derek proposed, more as a joke than anything else. Stiles had just rolled his eyes, turned, and walked out of the kitchen.

x

Nearly a minute later, the family of three stood in the middle of the living room, Isaac's hands wringing together in front of him as he focused on his feet.

"Isaac," Stiles asked sternly, "did you take Daddy's keys?"

"N-no," he answered after a pause, voice wavering.

"I was supposed to be at the book sale ten minutes ago and I need my keys. Do you know where they are?" Stiles asked with a warning tone.

Isaac blinked, eyes now glued to something behind Stiles, and bit his lip, unsure of what to say or do. His fingers flew up and into his mouth, a nervous habit that Derek had come to know as an overt sign that the child was anxious.

"Daddy is not playing around right now. Go and get my keys, Isaac," Stiles commanded, stress of the situation building up in his shoulder muscles, causing his whole body to feel tight. When his son didn't respond after a few seconds, he yelled, "Isaac!"

The four-year-old didn't even flinch and at that Derek grew nervous; the lack of movement and eye contact reminded him of the way he'd dealt with policemen pulling him out of history class his sophomore year of high school and talking in soft, empathetic tones in the hallway.

"Do you remember where you put the keys, baby?" Derek asked softly as he squatted down a few feet in front of his son. Isaac just stared past him, unwilling to respond. He stood frozen in the paw print pajamas Gampa had gotten him for Christmas, acting as if he couldn't hear what his parents were saying.

Dissociation, Derek thought as he recalled one of the pamphlets he'd read at Dr. Galler's office when they'd had to wait while she finished with a patient; "A defense mechanism in which a person separates themselves from awareness during an event," the brightly colored paper had read.

Stiles was growing impatient. "Don't you dare baby him right now!"

"Can't you just take your spare car key for now?" Derek asked, irritated.

"That would be a great idea except for the fact that my room key is on that lanyard and I have to get into my classroom, which is where I was supposed to be at eight this morning but now it's eight fifteen and I have people sitting in the parking lot waiting for me and calling my phone non-stop!"

"Isn't the janitor there?"

"I don't have time for this!" Stiles panicked, exhaling forcefully. "You have one minute to get the keys and bring them here," he directed at Isaac, his knees bending so that he could meet the child's eyes directly. "Do you understand?" he asked harshly, enunciating each word.