Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey Y’all! This is a quick guide to the people of this story since Derek’s family is relatively important. I went ahead and added the Hale fam, the Stilinski Fam, the Argent fam, and the McCall fam as well as the Supernatural Unit’s agents.

Hale Family

How to read:

The parenthesis next to names lists gender, age at the start of the story(2026), and birth year in that order.

The first person on the bullet point was born as a Hale and and the second person(were applicable) married in to the Hale family. This starts with Talia and her siblings(i.e. Saul, Hannah, Talia are siblings). Saul was born a Hale and married Heather. Saul and Heather’s children are Dianna and Emmerson.

Additionally, Talia is a Hebrew name which I took and ran with when naming her siblings. Lots of biblical names in this family.

• Saul (M, 69, 1957) & Heather Hale (F, 68, 1958)
  • Willow Hale (M, 18, 2009)
  • Jasper Hale (F, 18, 2009)
  • Amanda Hale (F, 16, 2010)
  • James Hale (M, 14, 2012)
  • Kelsey Hale (F, 14, 2012)
  • Otis Hale (M, 12, 2014)
  • Hailey Oscar-Hale (F, 2, 2024)
• Dianna (F, 42, 1984) & Christopher Hale (M, 45, 1981)
• Emmerson (M, 39, 1987) & Katherine Oscar-Hale (F, 38, 1988)
• Hannah (F, 65, 1961) & Alexander Hale (M, 67, 1959)
• Markus Hale (M, Died at 16, 1988)
• Talia (F, Died at 39, 1965) & Samuel Hale (M, Died at 40, 1964)
  • Elias Hale (M, 15, 2011)
• Laura Hale (F, Died at 26, 1985)
• Derek Hale (M, 38, 1988) & Abigail Torres (F, Died at 22, 1989)
• Cora Hale (F, 34, 1992)
• Ahlai (F, Died at 36, 1968) & Micheal Hale (M, Died at 34, 1970)
  • Richard Hale (M, 14, 2012)
  • Kennedy Hale (F, 9, 2017)
  • Everett Hale (M, 7, 2019)
  • Eliud Hale (M, 5, 2021)
  • Bay Hale (F, 10, 2016)
  • Sawyer Hale (M, 10, 2016)
  • Tasha Hale (F, 6, 2020)
• Caleb Hale (M, 37, 1989)
• Mathew Hale (M, 34, 1992)
• Keith Hale (M, 33, 1993)
• Lilla Hale (F, 27, 1999)
• Draven Hale (M, Died at 5, 1999)
• Abram Hale (M, 56, 1970) 
• Elizabeth (F, 53, 1973) & Grayson Lewis-Hale (M, 54, 1972)
  • Kenan Lewis-Hale (M, 3, 2023)
  • Shepard Lewis-Hale (M, 1, 2025)
• Sofia Lewis-Hale (F, 28, 1998)
• Rory Lewis-Hale (F, 23, 2003)
• Esther (F, 52, 1974) & Justin Hale (F, 49, 1977)
• Olivia Hale (F, 23, 2003)
• Hannah Hale (F, 20, 2006)
• Reese Hale (M, 20, 2006)
• Kelley Hale (F, 20, 20206)
• Charles Hale (M, 17, 2009)
• Aurora Hale (F, 16, 2010)
• Sarah Hale (F, 15, 2011)
• Hasel Hale (F, 14, 2012)
• Peter Hale (M, 50, 1976)
• Malia Hale (F, 32, 1994)

Stilinski Family

• Noah (M, 61, 1965) & Claudia Stilinski (F, Died at 35, 1970)
• Mieczysław Stilinski (M, 31, 1995)

McCall Family

• Melissa (F, 60, 1966) & Raphael McCall (M, 61, 1965)
• Scott McCall (M, 32, 1994)

Argent Family

• Chris (M, 56, 1970) & Victoria Argent (F, Died at 45, 1975) 
• Allison Argent (F, 32, 1994)

The HS Gang

• Scott McCall (M, 32, 1994)
• Allison Argent (F, 32, 1994)
• Kira Yukimura (F, 31, 1995)
• Stiles Stilinski (M, 31, 1995)
• Malia Tate (F, 32, 1994)
• Lydia Martin (F, 31, 1995)
• Jackson Whittemore (M, 32, 1994)
• Danny Mahealani (M, 32, 1994)

FBI Supernatural Operations Unit

How to read:

The parenthesis next to names lists gender, age at the start of the story(2026), and birth year in that order. I also added additional character info under their names. Things like their ethnicity, personality traits, and things I used to help guide what I thought of their character. (Really it’s just Amana. I fell in love with the woman the second I thought of her. She’s awesome)

• FBI: Supernatural Operations Unit 
  • SSA Stiles Stilinski (M, 31, 1995)
  • SSA Allison “Alli” Argent (F, 32, 1994)
  • Jerimiah “Jerry” Giles (F, 43, 1983)
  • Karla Abaoub (F, 32, 1994)
  • 1st gen american, her family is Algerian
  • Hijabi Muslim
  • She’s tri-lingual (Arabic, French, and English)
  • Reynaldo “Rey” Agguire (M, 39, 1987)
  • Nadine Kline (F, 31, 1995)
  • Black 
  • Very pretty and not afraid to call your shit
  • Will help w/ anything you need but is going to tease you the entire time
  • Alexander Harvey (M, 37, 1989)
  • Probie 
  • Very new and nervous and vaguely freaked out
  • SSA Stiles Stilinski (M, 31, 1995)
  • SSA Allison Argent (F, 32, 1994)
  • SSA Amana Bai (F, 36, 1990)
  • Swahili and Chinese
  • Absolutely RADIATES confidence
  • Near obsessive about organization
  • Highly respected
  • Would have been in charge if Stiles didn’t transfer
  • Andrew Manas (M, 40, 1986)
  • Latino
  • Wesley Santoyo (M, 38, 1988)
  • Matthew Ortega(M, 40, 1986)
  • Megan Anderson (F, 35, 1991)
  • Clara Voss (F, 37, 1989)
  • Forensic Scientist
  • Vampire 
• Virginia
• California

Chapter Text

Should he have known better? Of course. Did he? Are you kidding? Obviously. And he learned it the hard way, too! Did he listen to that little voice in head that screamed ‘if you walk in there, you will get shot!’ No. Psss, why would Stiles ever do that? He’s an FBI Agent. He hunted and survived murderous werewolves, Kanimas, Chimeras, Darach, Oni, Nogitsune, and many, many more evil creatures of the night before graduating from high school. He had a gun now instead of a bat. What was he worried about?

BANG!

He ducked behind a corner. Right. Bad guys with guns. The bad guys also have guns now. Shit. 

Stiles took a knee, looked at his arm and growled– he blamed wolves for the reaction but it was a god Damned RENTAL! Fucking bullet grazed him and ripped his suit. Now he was bleeding all over the thing. 

The suit which, he might add, was not meant for work. Stiles had left the office and was headed to have dinner with Danny and Jackson for their anniversary dinner-party-thing. Of course now was the time when he caught sight of the suspected recruiter for the mobile fighting leaving a trail of dead bodies across the country. 

He called in for his team, giving his location, and then he’d gone in without backup because self-preservation was still a foreign concept to him. 

Stiles peaked around the corner, trying to see how many and where the lackeys were. 

He could count three on the floor– he didn’t see the recruiter. Stiles looked up, trying to see if there were more on the balcony.

The sound of a gun cocking met Stiles’s ears and he cringed, his eyes closing briefly. He should really be more aware of his surroundings after surviving Beacon Hills. Times like these made Stiles almost wish he’d said yes when Peter offered him the bite. Or when Deucalion did. Or that one alpha who decided to kidnap Stiles. Or Derek. A chill ran up his spine at the thought. Almost regretted it. 

With a sigh, he lifted his hands in surrender, his gun held tightly in his right. Stiles heard the person behind him inhale deeply. 

“McCall,” the guy growled, sounding more animal than human.

“Stilinski actually,” Stiles corrected, “but thanks for the smell check, wolfy. Glad to know eau de alpha is still strong.” 

Stiles earned a growl for his trouble that likely would have been menacing if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been growled at many a time by Derek fucking Hale. And Peter on occasion. Malia definitely growled at him. Like, a lot. He honestly couldn’t remember a time Jackson hadn’t growled at him during a conversation. Really, he was just desensitized to growling werewolves. It’s concerning how little he cared, really. It wasn’t meant to be a dig at the dude’s wolfly-hood, honest. It’s just, besides the gun, he wasn’t that scary.

The gun pressed against the back of his head and the wolf took Stiles’s gun. Apparently he’d taken Stiles’s lack of fear as a dig. Pussy. 

“Walk,” the werewolf told him through gritted teeth and Stiles actually questioned if he’d spoken his thoughts again.

Still, he obeyed because, well, there was a gun pressed to the back of his head. He stood up slowly. The gun was now pressed to the middle of his back. Which was better– don’t get him wrong– he just really wanted use of the things below that point. Stiles walked, led by the gun at his back and the new addition of a hand on his neck.

“Ya know, this is kind of nostalgic,” Stiles remarked, feeling the sharp pain of claws against his neck. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Might get a reaction you aren’t expecting. Tends to happen when you date someone who’s into leaving you scratched up. It’s a shock I was never turned on accident. I mean—”

“Shut up!”

Stiles closed his mouth as the gun pressed harder into his spine. He would have to talk in a minute. If his team came in, they needed to know he was in the way. For now, he tried to figure out the best route of escape as he was pushed along. 

Stiles saw a busted-out window to the right. It still had jagged glass around the edges but what’s one more hospital visit? As long as he doesn't end up in the morgue, he called it a success. 

Yes, the bar is that low.

Stiles was shoved onto the floor. It was disgusting even for a warehouse. There was blood splatter and mud on the floor, which was also nostalgic in a sad, fucked-up kinda way. Like, who gets high school nostalgia from what is definitely a crime scene?

Stiles got to his knees and looked around a bit more. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw painted lines on the ground. Bingo. Guess he knew where they were operating. Now he just needed to get out of there alive to tell someone.

He felt his brain running through the case at a mile a minute before stopping at its destination. “The vic’s as werewolves,” Stiles mumbled, his voice small. He was answered by silence. “Of course they are! That’s why none of the bodies had scars…”

There was a laugh from his left. “Smart pet. Too bad we can’t keep it,” a woman said and it took everything in Stiles not to groan, though his eye twitched despite his best efforts. 

He knew that voice. He hated that damn voice. He was sure she was gone after the whole Theo power-stealing fiasco but god forbid anything that happens in Beacon Hills be permanent. 

“Corinne,” Stiles said as a form of greeting.

“Hello Stiles,” she said in that evil tone of voice. Classic villain, kind of cartoony to be honest.

“I thought Theo stole your powers, what, 8 years ago,” Stiles asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

Corinna hummed, “didn’t my bitch of a daughter tell you? There was an accident. I got bit.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m really starting to wish people would stay dead.”

An arrow whizzed through the warehouse and Corinne dropped. Maybe Stiles would get his wish after all. Stiles smirked. He knew that arrow.

“Hunters,” one of the goons yelled. They ran for cover, trying to get out of the line of fire.

“Didn’t mean you,” Stiles called. “I’m glad you’re not dead anymore,” he said and he could practically feel the eye roll.

There was no reply, instead more arrows were fired at the idiots. One of them ran for Stiles and grabbed him. An arrow whizzed past, inches from hitting Stiles and the person grabbing him. He wrapped an arm around Stiles's throat. 

“Kinky,” Stiles rasped, finding it hard to breathe. 

Too bad the idiot wasn’t holding his arms. Stiles grabbed a knife off his belt and stabbed the guy in the thigh. Apparently, nobody taught him the ways of the Big Bad yet because, instead of letting go, he tightened his grip. 

Great. Okay. Fuck. 

The world was starting to go fuzzy. He only had a few seconds. Stiles twisted the knife, making a face when he felt the bloody, torn flesh rub against his finger. The guy let Stiles go, shoving him into a stack of crates. 

Stiles gasped in lungs full of air. “What,” he asked heavily, “not into fingering? Why didn’t you say pineapple?” Stiles huffed a laugh. 

He smirked when the werewolf growled at him. The wolf started stalking forward. Stiles could see the telltale signs of a particularly nasty strain of yellow wolfsbane taking effect. He was sweating profusely, his steps were heavy against the floor, serving to work the poison through his body faster. In his next step, he dropped to the floor. Nice.

Stiles grabbed his knife and pulled it out of the guy. The werewolf was shaking, not dead yet. "Enjoy Hell," Stiles patted his cheek roughly. He was crouching in the open to retrieve the knife. You’d think he’d know better by now.

Pain rushed through his system, knocking him on his ass, before Stiles heard the gun shot. 

He looked down and saw the newest hole in his suit and his stomach. Fuck. That’s not good. He watched as the bloody patch grew rapidly. That’s really not good. Stiles looked up just in time to see an arrow dive deep into the shooter’s shoulder. Serves them right. 

He put a hand over the wound, trying to apply pressure. He huffed a sharp breath. 

“Man down, here,” he yelled, trying to keep his cool. He managed to drag himself across the floor to get a little cover. Stiles pulled open his shirt to look at the damage. “Where the fuck are the others,” he huffed, his brain starting to slow down. 

A gunshot rang through the building. It was rapidly followed by more. Return fire began, breaking out into a full-blown showdown. Guess the cavalry had finally arrived. 

He looked around him and huffed a laugh. Stiles was laying on a dirty floor. He was bleeding a concerning amount, his blood mixing with remnants from previous fights. Werewolves were attacking them. They were relying on the element of surprise. Ya, definitely reminiscent of high school, just with more guns.

Stiles closed his eyes. The smell of burning wolfsbane and gun powder filled the room as shots rang out. He smiled to himself. He trusted his team. 

The rest was a blur. People running. Gunshots. Arrows flying. Blood and screams and roars… It was all unintelligible. Blood had utterly ruined Stiles’s suit. He was hardly able to apply pressure to the wound. His hands shook, growing sticky with blood. He was bleeding out. Again. He wasn’t getting that deposit back. 

He tried to pull his eyes open but he was tired. So tired. If the gang didn’t hurry, he’d be on the fast track to a dirt nap and he wasn’t sure he could stay still that long. He tried to control his breathing, slowly losing the battle against blood loss. 

When Stiles woke up in his hospital bed, he wasn’t even a little surprised. It was a regular occurrence, really.

“How was your nap,” a woman asked softly.

Stiles squinted and smiled, “Hey Alli.” 

Allison sat sideways in a chair across the room. She had a hardcover book that Stiles couldn’t quite read the cover of, not that he didn’t know what it was. 

“Painful, not gonna lie. I feel like I got nonconsensually choked by a werewolf and shot, oh wait,” he said and she smiled. “Aren’t you tired of those dirty werewolf romances yet?”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Are you going to take it easy until you heal? Or maybe stop running headfirst into the line of fire,” she asked and Stiles huffed a tight and painful laugh.

“Touche,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“You’re going to have to this time,” Allison said, looking back at her book. “You’re not allowed back until a doctor clears you.”

“You went over my head,” he asked.

“I wrote the report, they made the decision.”

Stiles takes it in. They were telling him to take a break and forcing him to listen this time. “Well, that little tif did make me kinda reminiscent of the good old days,” Stiles sighed. “Maybe a trip home wouldn’t kill me.” 

Allison laughed, closing her book. “Beacon Hills does have a tendency to do that,” she muttered.

“Hey, I survived,” Stiles said, “and I only died twice. Plus, people don‘t tend to stay dead there. Hey, do ya think Steven King ever visited?” It was hard to laugh with the fresh stitches but Stiles managed. 

It took a while for their laughter to subside. Finally, Allison asked, “when are you going?”

Stiles shook his head. “As soon as I can get out of here,” he said, glaring at the IV as if it had offended him.

She nodded. “Do you want help packing and getting to the airport?”

“Want? No. Need? Probably,” Stiles told her.

After three nurses— all of whom knew Stiles by name— read him the riot act for being a dumbass, he got an extra pudding. They told Stiles to wait until they took the stitches out to fly home. He threatened to drive and Allison smacked him in the back of the head. 

**********************

A week later, he was wandering around the airport to find his terminal, his stitches freshly removed that same day. Allison had driven him to the airport that afternoon and waved him off. The flight was almost 8 hours, exactly none of which he was excited about. To make it better, he was leaving Virginia around 2:30pm which put him in Sacramento at 7:30pm because of the time difference. Then Scott would pick him up and drive two hours to Beacon Hills. His saving grace was that the jeep was still in California so he’d have at least some sense of freedom. 

He took his seat on the plane and groaned. Oh ya, this would be really fun. He had some ibuprofen and a seat that seemed to be made to cause him pain. He couldn’t take the good meds because they knocked his ass flat. They took off and, almost instantly, a baby started crying. Now he wished he could've slept through the flight.

Stiles got off the plane and walked into the lobby. Scott was standing there like an excited puppy and practically tackled him in a hug when he saw him

“Scott, ow,” Stiles wheezed, the pain spreading through his body. Just as fast as it came, Stiles felt the pain disappear. “Oh… Okay, maybe not ow.”

Scott let go of Stiles, keeping a hand on his arm to drain some of the pain. “I haven’t seen you in a year, dude! You look good.”

“Don’t lie, Scott, it’s not very becoming of you,” Stiles huffed. “I look like shit.”

Scott cringed, “ya. You don’t smell great either.”

Stiles's face dropped into a heavy frown. “I just got off a plane, Scotty,” Scott shrugged, taking his suitcase, and Stiles sighed. “Stupid wolf senses,” he muttered.

Scott drove Stiles to Noah’s house. The moment they turned onto the street Stiles cloaked that something was off. 

“Where’s my jeep,” Stiles asked, leaning forward in his seat a little too fast.

Scott snorted a laugh. “You should ask your dad, he loves that topic.”

“What happened to my Jeep,” the question more panicked.

"Nothing the jeep hasn’t been through before. It’s currently at the mechanic,” Scott said.

When they got to the house, Scott had to stop Stiles from trying to haul his bags out of the car. Scott sent Stiles inside and carried his stuff upstairs to his room. 

Stiles walked in the door and made jazz hands– slow, pathetic jazz hands as he was very sore– at his dad. “Surprise, I’m home,” he said. He could see his dad was going to give him a bear hug so he held a hand out. He felt Chris Pratt in the Jurassic Park scene with the velociraptor. “Remember, I got shot. I’m under strict ‘handle with care’ instructions.”

“Stiles, put your hand down,” Noah told him. To his benefit, he listened. Noah gave Stiles a gentle hug, not really wanting to let go. He sighed, “I have to go to work. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Ah, man. I was planning on throwing a rager and party it up all night,” Stiles whined sarcastically. “That was the plan: get here, take meds, pass the Hell out,” he said, very much looking forward to it. 

“Good. I don’t think this town could handle any more—” Noah shook his head. He started to walk off but Stiles caught his attention before he could get far.

“By the way, why the hell is the jeep at the mechanic,” he asked. “Who hurt Roscoe?”

Noah sighed, “well, it was originally there to get fixed. That turned out to be a much bigger job than planned, it seems you went a little crazy with the ducktape.”

“In my defense, you gave me the ducktape.”

“For minor things, not to hold the whole thing together,” Noah told him and Stiles held his hands up in mock defeat. “There were a lot of parts that had to get ordered in or hunted down because of how old the thing is—”

“Roscoe is aged, not old.”

“Well, I got a call one day that your aged jeep wasn’t at the shop and they asked if I’d picked it up—”

“Someone stole my Jeep,” Stiles gawked, “and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this and it was found in under an hour. At the high school.”

“At the High school?”

Scott laughed again, trying to cover it up by clearing his throat and utterly failing.

“I’m missing some information here, why the high school,” Stiles asked.

“Because, the person who took it was Eli– the teenage kid of the shop’s owner, who also happens to be the exact same amount of trouble as you were at his age.”

“And the jeep’s still there?”

“Hopefully, unless the kid took it again,” Noah mumbled.

“Why are you leaving the jeep there if this kid keeps stealing it,” Stiles asked in disbelief. “You didn’t arrest the kid?”

Noah raised an eyebrow at him, “son, if you were arrested every time you did something stupid like that, you wouldn’t be working for the FBI. If it weren’t for our forgetting a few things, you’d probably have been in jail a few times. He’s a stupid kid, just like you were.Lord help us if he gets to be anything more like you…”

With that, Noah went off to work and Stiles was left at home. Stiles had always felt like ships passing in the night when he lived at home but it only got worse as he moved. He would go months without talking to his dad because their time zones and work schedules always conflicted. 

Stiles sighed and started the slow, painful process of heading up the stairs to his room. He walked in and flinched out of surprise. “Oh, god– Jesus,” he said, being completely startled by Scott simply existing in his room. “Ah, fuck that hurt,” Stiles winced, grabbing his stomach and sitting down slowly on his bed. 

“Are you okay man,” Scott asked, making that kicked-puppy face.

Stiles nodded and pointed at the smaller of his bags. “Give me that one. It has my meds in it.”

Scott handed Stiles the bag and went to get him a cup of water. Stiles pulled open pain pills and dumped the powder in his mouth. He quickly drank the water, cringing at the taste. He laid down slowly in his bed. He felt like shit and still had at least another thirty minutes before the meds worked.

“You aren’t supposed to do that,” Scott told him and Stiles sighed. 

“If I wasn’t supposed to, they shouldn’t make it so easy. I couldn’t take my meds before the flight because they knock me out and I would not have woken up to get off the plane,” he chuckled. “I will be dead to the world for about 8 hours when that stuff kicks in.”

**********************

Stiles woke up the next morning to a loopy feeling. He needed coffee. 

He sat up and groaned. He grabbed his Tylenol and took two. He debated staying in bed until it kicked in but the smell of bacon wafted up the stairs. Stiles followed the smell out of his room and paused at the stairs. Never had he wished more for the ability to float on a smell like a cartoon character than right then.

He grabbed the rail tightly, a hand on his stomach, as he slowly moved down the stairs. Stiles hobbled into the kitchen. For a second, he thought he’d died and actually made it to heaven. The smell of bacon and eggs and coffee filled the kitchen. 

“Morning,” he mumbled as he walked past a person at the table. He rubbed his eyes and went to the coffee pot. He glanced out the window as he picked up the mostly full pot and stopped, finally processing who he’d seen.

Allison held back a laugh. “Morning sleepyhead.”

Stiles glares at her and then out the window. “It’s noon,” he said, partially asking since he wasn’t really sure.

“It’s eleven but you were close,” Allison told him, drinking her own coffee. “Your dad went to bed as soon as he got home from work but I’m here.”

Stiles looked out the window and nodded. “Ya. Scott’s here too,” he said and Allison gave him a wide-eyed stare.

Allison and Scott had a… difficult relationship. Especially after the whole ‘Allison dying and being brought back a year later without telling anyone’ thing. Stiles only found out she was alive when he saw her at the FBI academy. She and Scott had seen each other once since she came back. There had been a lot of staring. Like a lot even for them. Then there was crying. Then yelling. Did Stiles mention this happened in his tiny ass duplex three years ago at, like, 6 pm? Cause it did. His elderly neighbors had knocked on his door the next morning to see if he’d been murdered.

“Why is Scott here,” Allison asked.

Stiles squinted at her. “He’s my best friend who I haven’t seen in a year? Is this a pop quiz, because the nurse checked. No concussion,” Stiles said, looking out the window again. “He has food, so I’m guessing he’s on a lunch break.”

“Shit,” Allison muttered, flipping her book closed heavily. 

Stiles looked at the cover and smirked. He actually thought this cover was a bit more realistic, even if they did choose the most (personally) disturbing of a werewolf’s shifts. The cover was a large black bipedal wolf standing behind a human woman. “Might not want to let him see that one,” he said, gesturing to the book entitled ‘The Alpha’s Mate’. 

Allison looked at the cover and cursed under her breath. She got up and slipped the book into her bag. She didn’t need any more awkwardness between her and Scott. She tried to go upstairs to hide out and Stiles couldn’t stop his smile. 

“What,” Allison asked in a harsh whisper.

“He already knows someone’s here. He probably heard us talking. He can definitely smell you,” Stiles said, walking to the door. He opened it to let Scott in and could see him go from happy golden retriever to distraught ex-boyfriend.

Scott didn’t look at Stiles, but rather over his shoulder. “She’s here?”

“You are not allowed to argue. I will kick you both out,” Stiles said firmly. Scott nodded and Stiles let him inside. 

Stiles followed Scott to the table and stared at the bag of food in his hand. Scott didn’t put it down, looking off towards the stairs. Stiles tried to take the bag of food but Scott was holding it tightly.

“Scott,” Stiles said, trying for his friend’s attention. “Scott, the food… Jesus, do you ever listen,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

Scott still wasn’t paying attention so Stiles took things into his own hands. He started to slowly rip the paper bag under Scott’s hand. It was slow in an effort to not dump the food, but it worked. Stiles grinned triumphantly and took a burger and fries. Just for good measure, he took Scott’s fries too. Teach him to withhold food. Scott was still oblivious as Stiles started eating. 

He eventually got sick of the new decor piece in his dining room. “Alli, would you please come get this over with so he stops acting like a statue,”  Stiles yelled, shoving more fries in his mouth.

Allison did come downstairs. After about five minutes of Scott and Allison awkwardly staring at each other, she cleared her throat. “I’m just leaving. I need to go see my dad…”

“Ya. Ya,” Scott mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sure totally. I’ll, uh, see you later?”

“Bye Scott,” Allison said, ignoring the half-question. She walked out of the house ever so slowly and drove off.

Scott sighed and sat down at the table. He looked at his hand and the torn top of the paper bag in it. He looked at Stiles and took back his food. He got his burger and looked in the bag, then at Stiles. “Dude, did you steal my fries?”

“You took too long,” Stiles said, feeling zero percent bad about it. “I was hungry,” he shrugged.

Two days passed just like that. Allison was hanging out at the house when Stiles woke up. She would leave just before Scott showed up for lunch. Scott would bring food and spend the first five minutes very solemn as the smell of Allison washed over him. After Scott left, Stiles would do paperwork for an hour before getting bored and watching tv. 

Two days. That was all the peace Stiles got before Scott was hounding him to do stuff.

“Are you actually crazy? I haven’t been cleared to spend my days walking around crime scenes and you want me to help the lacrosse team practice,” Stiles asked, looking at Scott like he was a crazy person.

“You can just stand there and tell them what to do. You don’t have to practice with them,” Scott answered. “That’s what Finstock does.”

Stiles glared at Scoot. “Oh ya, because that makes it so much better…”

“Come on. You need to be out and walking and doing stuff if you want to heal properly. I’ll take you to get your jeep before practice,” Scott told him, and there go the puppy eyes… 

**********************

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Stiles grumbled, walking towards the field. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Scott said, bumping Stiles's shoulder. When Stiles flinched, Scott apologized by placing a hand on his shoulders and pulling away some of the pain.

When he spotted them, Coach waved them over. “McCall, glad I’m not seeing you for an injury this time,” Finstock joked, shaking Scott’s hand with a grin. He looked at Stiles, giving him a once-over. “Jesus, Bilinski, You look like shit.”

“Thanks, coach,” Stiles mumbled, holding his hand out and being completely ignored.

“Come to watch your kid,” Coach asked and Stiles looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Uh, I don’t have a kid,” Stiles said slowly but it came out as a question.

Coach scoffed. “Might want to talk to those old girlfriends… Who am I kidding,” he said, laughing. “You can go work with the freshman,” he said and blew harshly on the whistle to yell at the players. 

Stiles didn’t stick around to hear about Coach’s dead grandma moving faster or whatever he would come up with next. Stiles walked over to a small group of four freshman boys that he’d been pointed to. 

Three of the freshmen were standing up and one was sitting in the grass fixing his laces. As Stiles approached, the standing freshman looked at him. He got that distinct feeling of not being where he belonged. The fourth kid must have realized his friends were staring at something and looked up. Stiles had planned to introduce himself but the boy who had been sitting down took that chance away from him.

“Holy shit! You’re Stiles Stilinski,” he said excitedly, awe playing in his big green eyes. His hair fell almost to his shoulders in a shade of brown very similar to Stiles's own. He had a few moles on his face and bunny teeth that showed in his excited smile.

Stiles looked at him, confused about how he knew who he was. “Uh… Ya?”

One of the other boys, a blonde, scoffed. “You’re the FBI guy,” he asked, venom in his voice that was very familiar. One could say it was paralyzing.

Stiles clicked his tongue. “That’s a Whittemore if I’ve ever heard one,” he sighed and the boy on the ground jumped up with a big smile.

“He is a Whittemore! How’d you know,” he asked excitedly.

“Calm the Hell down. He went to high school with Jackson,” the Whittemore boy said harshly. Very teenage-Jackson-esk of him.

The excited boy completely ignored the Whittemore kid and started talking at the speed of light. “What’s the FBI like? Do you solve a ton of murders? Or are you, like, a spy? Or do you stop mafia guys? Is it cool? Do you really get to fly all over the country? Have you shot people? What’s the coolest arrest you’ve made? Or the coolest case? Being in the FBI must be awesome!”

Stiles stared at the kid as if waiting for more. Finally, when he was sure the kid was done, he asked “what’s your name?”

“Elias but everyone calls me Eli,” he said with a crooked smile. He looked so familiar but Stiles couldn’t quite place it…

Stiles nodded. “That was my grandfather’s name,” he said calmly.

“Ah, that’s really cool! My parents got the name from one of my uncle’s old neighbors,” Eli told him, starting to ramble. “Dad said he wasn’t a great person– neither of them actually, my uncle or the other guy– but he liked the name. Not that my uncle’s dead because he’s not! Some of them are but not him. I mean– the other guy is. The one who’s name I got. So, like, I’m not technically named after him but I kind of am.”

Stiles listened to the kid ramble and looked over at Scott which made him think about something. “Wait, you said your name’s Eli? You wouldn’t happen to be the same Eli who’s dad is a mechanic, would you?”

Eli nodded happily, “ya, he has his own shop in town. He started it when we moved here.”

“So that would also make you the same Eli that keeps stealing my jeep, right,” Stiles asked and Eli turned red.

“Uh, ya. I— That was me. Not my best moments admittedly. I’m really sorry, it’s just that I really liked it and it’s just been sitting there for months– literal months– even though there’s not really anything wrong with it. Dad keeps saying he’s going to work on it when he has time but he never does and he won’t let anyone else touch it! And, you know, it’s not good for any car to just be left to sit for months because the gas and the fluids can go bad and the battery dies and other stuff that I can’t remember at the moment. But! But it’s not good to leave it like that so I’m really helping! I’m not a bad driver, either and it’s not like I really go anywhere, I just—”

“God,” Whittemore growled, “do you ever shut up?”

“Hey James,” one of the other two boys said, “Nick the dick is back,” he said, nodding his head at Whittemore.

The fourth boy– James– snorted a laugh, leaning on his stick. “Willow or Jasper,” James asked, ignoring Stiles completely, but smirking at the way Whittemore paled.

“Willow, duh. She’ll rock his ass during practice!”

Eli apparently saw Stiles's confusion and saw it in his heart to let him in the know. “That’s Nick Whittemore, like you said. That’s Rickie and James, they're my cousins. Willow is James’ older sister. She’s a senior and team captain.”

Stiles nodded, feeling more confused than before which meant it was time to do something he knew. “What positions do you normally play,” he asked. 

They ran drills similar to what Finstock used to run when Stiles and Scott played. With Rickie in the defense and James in the goal, Stiles was quick to see the two taking it easy on Eli. Deciding to test it, he had Whittemore run the drill and Rickie knocked him on his ass. Cool. Great. 

Stiles had Rickie and Whittemore switch to put Whittemore in the defensive position. This time, Eli got knocked back a few feet when he they collided. That was odd.

“Nice try, Eli Fail,” Whittemore snickered. “You landed on your ass instead of your head this time.” It wasn't quite praise but not entirely mean and Stiles felt even more confused.

Eli stood up like nothing happened and smiled. “I guess that tends to happen when you’re used to—”

“Eli,” Rickie said quickly, giving him a very familiar and well patented shut-the-hell-up stare. “Good try. You’ll get him next time.”

Eli stared at his cousin. What did he say? Eli shrugged and tightened his grip on the stick. “Can I try again?” The kid was practically bouncing– like a hyper puppy– and waiting for permission.

Stiles gave the go-ahead and Eli got a repeat of the first time. This time he didn’t get knocked back as far. Again and again, Eli went at Whittemore the same way. Stiles was starting to wonder if Eli got a kick out of the repeated abuse. The next time when Eli went at Whittemore, he tried to fake him out. It should have worked– Stiles wasn’t sure how Whittemore reacted quick enough to stop it– but Eli was knocked on his ass again. 

Eli glared up at Whittemore. In the first act of kindness Stiles had seen out of baby Whittemore, he helped Eli up with a smirk. 

“Shit, that was a good one,” he huffed, smacking Eli on the back and a big smile came back to Eli’s face.

Stiles sent the four off to get a drink. He saw Eli talking to a group of cheerleaders in the bleachers and shook his head. Stiles looked at Scott and muttered, “we weren’t that cool in high school,” nodding at Eli and the cheerleaders. Scott looked too and chuckled, shaking his head to Stiles.

Finstock had the whole team come together to run drills and figure out who would be starters. Scott and Stiles stood off to the side of the bleachers watching and talking. Stiles cringed as each of the players ran up against the girl playing defender and got shoved to the ground with ease. She didn’t even seem to break a sweat. 

Stiles was about to say something when Finstock yelled “McCall! Come show them how a captain does it!” 

Scott ran over and took a spare pair of pads and a stick. Stiles held his breath. This would be good. Werewolf versus… Stiles watched with wide eyes as Scott– alpha werewolf Scott– ran at this teenage girl with way more force than needed. Scott collided with the defender but neither moved. Scott must have put a little more in because he broke past her and threw the ball into the net. Stiles, who had moments before been expecting Scott to knock this girl back from sheer speed, stared on in surprise. Scott smiled as he looked at the high schooler and gave her a high five. 

“That’s how it’s done,” Finstock yelled, catching everyone’s attention with how loud he was. Notably, both Scott and the girl flinched. 

She must have sensitive hearing. Stiles found himself looking at the line of players, finding the four freshmen at the end of the line. He wondered…

Scott started to walk off but Finstock had him stay to help. He looked at Stiles, probably able to hear how his heart pounded, but didn’t try to get away. When the players were dismissed, Scott ran over to Stiles.

“She’s a werewolf,” Scott whispered as the team went to change.

“Jee, you don’t say,” Stiles replied snarkily. “You used extra power to get past her and you’re whispering. I never would have guessed,” he whispered back.

Stiles and Scott started to walk toward the parking lot. Stiles looked over his shoulder and saw Eli walking off with some of the cheerleaders. He also saw that little Nick Whittemore was actually having to run to catch up. 

Stiles stopped and grabbed Scott. “Scottie, the cheerleaders are walking away with dorky little Eli and leaving Nick Whittemore in the dust,” he explained in awe. “There is no way that high school has changed that much since we were here! Seriously, who is that kid?”

“Eli’s related to the cheer captain and, like, half the team,” Scott said as though it was obvious. “They’re cousins,” Scott said, pointing out the guy who had thrown an arm around Eli’s shoulders.

“Big Catholic family,” Stiles joked and Scott snickered. “Kid’s got an entire army for a family.”

“You could say that,” Scott agreed.

Chapter Text

The team was huddled when Stiles and Scott made it to the game. The two walked up to empty seats near the top of the home bleachers. Stiles had been joking about old traditions and if Coach was still as weird as he used to be.

It was the first home game of the season, which meant Coach Finstock’s Independence Day speech was given in the locker room, something that was confirmed when Scott heard the team joking about it. Some things never change. 

Now, the team discussed plans for the game and reviewed who would go where if someone were to get hurt. It was something Stiles and Scott could almost repeat from memory. 

“Did they stop putting names on the jerseys,” Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged. “The funding was cut. They can’t afford to buy new ones every year. They got team hoodies, though.”

“We never got hoodies,” Stiles mumbled.

When the team went their separate ways, Eli looked around. He was looking for someone and frowned, apparently not seeing them. What he did see was Stiles sitting up in the bleachers. He smiled and waved at him excitedly. Stiles gave a small wave back and Eli turned around.

Scott looked at Stiles sideways. “You know each other,” he joked, looking very skeptically at Stiles.

“Huh,” Stiles, turned his attention to Scott, the question still making its way from his ears to his brain. “Oh, I was helping him yesterday. Eli something,” Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know his last name. Jackson’s cousin was calling him Eli Fail,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“And you only slept with Malia until college,” Scott teased.

Stiles groaned, “oh god, not you too! Coach thought he was mine too and I really don’t need that spreading.” He shook his head, looking back at the field. “Can we not talk about it with others present,” he whispered, looking over the field.

Scott put his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying…”

“He has your number,” Stiles pointed out. “Does that mean something?”

“No but knowing who you are and looking like you might not be,” Scott teased, bumping his shoulder against Stiles. “I’m kidding. I know he’s not yours.”

When the game started, Scott leaned forward. Stiles knew Scott, which was why he knew Scott was watching some of the players much closer than the others. There were quite a few impressive shots made by Beacon Hills and Scott shook his head. Stiles saw Scott turn his head just enough that his ear was facing the field. Super-hearing. Got it.

Stiles looked at Scott like he was confused. “Do you notice something… off,” he asked.

“Like what, man,” Scott asked, looking at each of the players. He didn’t see anything too strange but they did have a pretty extreme definition of the word.

“Watch how fast they are. Look at the reflexes…” Stiles whispered. “That’s not human.”

Scott smiled. “There’s a few of ‘em on the team,” he said.

Stiles groaned. “Is Coach recruiting from Deaton’s ‘club meetings’ now,” he mumbled and Scott shook his head.

Stiles started watching closer, looking for anything that screamed werewolf. He saw the too-fast reflexes and thought about practicing with the freshman. Baby Whittemore had those inhuman reflexes. It caught Stiles as odd that three of the four freshmen were in the starting line. The team captain– Eli’s cousin– was too strong against Scott– but Scott told him about her. They were too strong, too fast, not human.

“I count four,” Stiles muttered and Scott nodded. “Captain, and those three freshmen.”

“You should watch the cheer team during half time,” Scott joked. “Big catholic family, remember?”

The team they were playing against played dirty. It was starting to piss Stiles off. It must have bothered Finstock too. He ordered Eli to be switched in without looking away from the game. The team laughed and whooped as Eli went in. The captain knocked on Eli’s helmet as she jogged past.

“He’s mad,” Scott said, sounding shocked.

“So am I,” Stiles muttered as he leaned forward, pain catching him off guard at the movement. 

He watched the game closely. Whittemore had the ball and was running toward the goal. One of the players from the other team was hot on his heels. Stiles thought he was going to die when Whittemore seemed to purposefully drop the ball. That was until Eli body-checked the shit out of the guy covering Whittemore– which was totally legal because he was near the loose ball. Whittemore seamlessly picked the ball up and launched it toward the goal. Honestly, the poor goalie had no chance as the ball made it into the net.

Stiles jumped up and cheered with the rest of the crowd. “Way to go, Eli,” Stiles yelled for good measure. Eli didn’t hear it over the crowd but Whittemore bumped him, nodding up at Stiles.

Eli made quite a few good checks during the first half of the game. A few seemed to follow that same strategy. It was reliant on the ability of his teammates to drop and pick up the ball at just the right time but he only ran the play with a certain four players. It served to confirm what Stiles thought and Scott knew. 

The other team called time and Scott sighed. He listened in, his mood growing sour. Stiles watched Scott’s reactions, trying to gauge the situation. 

“What’s up, dude,” Stiles asked when the other team broke, looking at Scott.

“The other team wised up. They’re pointing out who to avoid. Figuring out how to stop Eli.”

“So they actually know how to play and not just how to cheat?”

The game went on and, true to plan, they avoided the wolves. When Beacon Hills got the ball back, it wasn’t one of the werewolves that had the ball. The offense was closing in, one on each side. Stiles could almost see the cogs turning in Eli’s mind. The offense was about to sandwich this poor kid and there was nothing Eli could legally do. If he did nothing, though, it wouldn’t turn out well for the kid being sandwiched.

“Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Eli,” Stiles muttered, his leg bouncing nervously.

Eli checked one of the offensive players. Stiles cringed as the whistle blew. 

Eli was benched until after halftime. Eli stormed over to the bench and threw his helmet on his bag. One of the other players tried to calm him down and Eli’s temper rose. Stiles could hear him from the top of the bleachers.

“What was I supposed to do? They would have seriously hurt him,” Eli yelled. “You saw that! You know what they were planning!”

Stiles was ready to get up and go down there to try and calm down the kid when one of the cheerleaders dropped his poms to go over. He grabbed Eli by the jersey and sat him down on the bench.

“What’s he saying,” Stiles asked Scott, not taking his eyes off the pair.

Scott shook his head. “They know there are other wolves here. All I can hear is something about family…”

Stiles nodded. How big was this kid’s family? Who was this kid’s family? The mob? He went back to watching the game, sending spare looks to Eli. He looked pissed off as Hell. He could see the impatience grow as the game went on. Eli’s leg bounced, making Stiles aware of his own. Every time he’d glance at Eli, he’d have moved or shifted in some way.

Halftime rolled around and the cheerleaders went out on the field to do their thing. Stiles found himself looking around the crowd and saw Eli with a woman. He smacked Scott and nodded toward the two.

“See, not my kid. I’ve never seen that woman in my life,” Stiles said firmly.

Scott smirked. “Not your kid– he’s asking where his dad is and that’s his Aunt, not his mom.”

Eli took a gatorade from the woman and went back to the bench. The werewolves of the team kept close to him. They were protective and trying to calm him. Stiles watched them, more curious than anything else. The two boys he’d said were his cousins tried to crack jokes. The captain leaned on him, seeming to make fun of the other team. It didn’t look like it was working. That was until a tiny child toddled out to him. Eli picked the kid up and set them on his lap, hugging them close. Even so, the tension never fell from Eli’s shoulders. 

He kept looking around– looking for his dad, Stiles guessed. It didn’t seem like he was going to show. What a douche, Stiles thought, to miss your kid’s first game of the season. Stiles saw the look in Eli’s eyes when he turned to look in the bleachers, seemingly the last effort, and he looked crushed and pissed. He was sure that if you were close enough, you’d see Eli was fighting tears. 

Stiles was pissed for Eli. Stiles rarely played and his dad only missed a game with good reason. And Eli’s dad misses a damn home game early in the season where Eli got in some really good hits. The guy better be, like, a surgeon or a firefighter or a fucking superhero if he missed this. Stiles looked at his phone, pulling up the scanner app to see if there had been any calls. None. Not even a first responder had a good excuse, especially when there were paramedics and a firetruck at the game.

Eli stayed on the bench, shooing the kid off, when the third quarter started. He watched the other team start making cheap plays again. The way Eli sat, moved, grumbled, and yelled showed how mad he was getting. Something about the kid was so damn familiar but Stiles just couldn’t place it. 

Coach finally had enough and switched Eli in. He was far too ready to get back on the field. He was distracted and angry. Nothing went well if you let anger blind you, especially not in lacrosse. Eli kept an eye on the players making cheap shots, landing solid hits on them when he could. If they didn’t want to play fair, Beacon Hills would play petty. And Eli was damned good at petty.

The game ran on. Beacon Hills was up two with ten minutes left. The other team was getting more aggressive, more sly. When the ref finally started calling their bullshit, it just made them mad. 

Something was going to happen; Scott gave Stiles a look that said as much. The tension was building in the air, so thick, anyone would feel it and they must have. The bleachers were growing quiet, a sign of what was about to happen.

Stiles saw it coming. Eli should have too. 

It was like it happened in slow motion. Two defensive players on the other team flanked Eli. Stiles grabbed Scott’s arm and stood up. They hit Eli from both sides. He went down. His leg twisted one way as he went the other. Even from that far away, Stiles swore he heard the snap. There was a collective gasp from the spectators. Stiles and Scott were on the field and running to Eli as soon and as fast as they could move. 

Eli yelled. He’d hit the ground heavily. His head bounced as he landed. He pulled his leg to him, crying from the pain. The four werewolves on the team were surrounding Eli. 

And Stiles knew. It was hard not to by now.

He knew Eli wouldn’t heal like they did. He knew Eli was human. The knowledge made him sick. What kind of luck was that?

Scott was on the grass and in EMT mode without so much as a blink. A soft growl rumbled through the group as Scott got close. Eli cried from the pain. It was an all too familiar sound for the two men. 

Stiles got down on the grass, holding his side from the pain. Fuck, running hurt. “Hey, Eli,” Stiles said calmly, grabbing Eli’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Dad,” Eli whined between tears.

“No. No, it’s Stiles,” he said. Fuck, he really hated this kid’s dad at the moment. “It’ll all be okay. I got you kid. Scott’s is here too. He’s an EMT, okay? He’s going to fix you up.”

Scott looked up at the group and flashed his red eyes. It was partly to remind them he was one of them and partly to get them to back down. The teens didn’t calm down much but let Scott help. He pulled most of the pain from Eli. 

Stiles saw the relief run through Eli as the pain was taken away. He looked up at Stiles, his eyes full of panic. “Where’s my dad,” Eli asked, tears rolling down his face.

“Stiles, you have to hold him down,” Scott said seriously. Stiles listened. “This isn’t going to be pleasant for anyone.”

“What are you—” Stiles started to ask, pressing Eli’s shoulders into the ground. Scott grabbed Eli’s leg and pulled, resetting the bone. The sound was sickening. “Oh god,” Stiles rasped, his stomach churning.

Eli screamed, jerking against Stiles. He had to put his full weight in to keep Eli still. Even with Scott pulling the pain, Eli passed out. It was too much. Scott knew it would be. Stiles looked at Scott, obviously panicked. The calm on Scott’s face didn’t do much to soothe his nerves. 

“I need something to wrap his leg with,” Scott said, trying to work damage control with nothing.

Stiles muttered, “the one time when Isaac’s scarf fetish could be useful.” He frowned at his own joke. He did that when things were stressful. He was trying to keep himself calm. 

He looked at Scott and then at the small group. They were terrified. Stiles would be too. If he was right, they were born wolves– probably not Whittemore but the others… They’d never experienced injuries that stayed or needed stitches. Hell, they’d likely never experienced anything as painful as Eli was. They were kids. Not kids like Scott and Stiles were– they didn’t have to fight evil creatures on a weekly basis. They were genuine children who played sports and gossiped and hung out with friends and family. They didn’t know. They were just scared kids.

He saw one of them– the girl captain (Willow?)– dragging baby Whittemore to the side. She was the most scared, he could see it in her eyes, but she was also the angriest. He watched them and she started berating him. 

He was waiting for a punch or claws or any kind of physical violence. Not that he’d blame her but they didn’t need the werewolf thing getting out any more than it was. According to Scott, the police, some of the paramedics, and a few hospital employees all knew. They did not need the high school to find out too.

“What the fuck, Nickolas? He saves your ass and you let him get hurt,” Willow chastised, though it came out like a growl.

Baby Whittemore rolled his eyes. “I was nowhere near him! It’s not my fault Eli is the way he is,” he scoffed, throwing his hands up.

“Oh? And what way is that,” Willow asked, a dangerous laugh at the edge of her voice.

“A fucking wimp and a spaz,” Whittemore growled back. “He’s the alpha’s kid and he’s not even a werewolf!”

“Better shut your mouth before it writes a check you can’t cash,” a loud voice came from behind Stiles and he saw the male cheerleader from earlier stalking over.

“Make me,” Whittemore said, his voice laced with venom. “You won’t do shit to me without your uncle’s say so.”

“Wanna bet,” Willow hissed, grabbing him by the jersey. The cheerleader placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Eli is pack, far more than you are.”

Nick perked up, a stupid smirk covering his face. “You don’t believe that,” he laughed. “You lied.”

“Fuck you, Nick,” the boy growled and Whittemore took a half-step back. Guess he didn’t want to play with that one. “Eli is our cousin. You’re only one of us because you don’t know how to stay out of other people’s business. You’re lucky to be a part of this pack. We could have left you to figure it out alone.”

“Motherfucker,” one of the other werewolf kids growled– Rickie maybe or James?. Stiles watched as he got up. He walked over to the opposing team, to one of the kids that checked Eli and, without an ounce of hesitation, fucking punched him in the face.

It apparently caught the other’s attention because the girl ran to grab him and drug his ass away, not that he seemed to have much steam left anyway. He didn’t look angry. No, he had a smirk that read as proud. He looked at Eli and frowned, that look was fear.

The paramedics that were at the game finally managed to get their shit together enough to help. Scott helped load Eli on the stretcher and Stiles walked with Scott. He had to ask about what he heard.

“Scott, is there a new pack in town?”

“Not really new, just… returned,” Scott muttered and Stiles rolled his eyes. Was Scott taking lessons in explaining things from Deaton?

Then it hit Stiles. Returned. 

“Derek,” Stiles asked in a hissed whisper. 

Scott took a deep breath but nodded. Stiles stopped, watching Scott and another EMT take Eli in the ambulance and drive off. 

He walked off the field. Derek was back. The Hale pack was back. Stiles absently walked toward the jeep. They were here. Derek was here.

Chapter Text

Stiles sat in the jeep the next morning. He was crazy. Completely crazy. 

He looked at his phone. He had an unread text from Scott– Eli was fine and out of the hospital with a cast and a lecture from Melissa. 

Stiles groaned, laying his head on the steering wheel. He was glad Eli was okay. It just meant that there was no point in what he was about to do, not for Eli at least. 

He was fucking stupid. Why did he care? Why did it matter that Derek was back and why did he feel the need to see it for himself? It’s not like he and Derek ever really got along. All they did was fight and argue constantly. Even if they had saved each other’s lives a few times, it was all through constant bickering. But he needed to know. He needed to know if Derek was really back. He wanted to see Derek and couldn’t figure out why for the life of him.

He sat up and started the jeep. He was really doing this, huh? He backed out of his driveway and started driving. Where would Derek be? He drove by the loft, no Camaro, and the depot, no cars at all. 

He stopped at a red light and frowned. The only other place– the only one that would make sense– was Hale house. 

It was so obvious. Derek had a pack, a big pack if the number of teenage werewolves Stiles had met was anything to go by, so he’d need a big place to stay. He’d never stay at the loft with all of them. The depot might be big but there were kids in the pack that needed a real home. The house was the only place that made sense, Stiles knew that. Maybe he was trying to ignore it, his subconscious’s attempt at keeping him away. He should stay away.

The light turned green and Stiles drove, headed for the Hale house.

As he drove up what used to be an empty dirt road, he found a gravel street lined with house after house. Cars and kids outside in the evening air. They were playing and running and laughing. The closer he got to the old Hale house, the more people he saw. He parked in the driveway, watching the people who had been playing with kids and talking in the yard freeze. It didn’t exactly make him feel safe and he definitely didn’t feel welcome. 

Stiles looked at the rebuilt house. He had seen a few pictures of the house before it was burnt and it seemed like the pictures had come to life. It was a huge Tudor style house with brick accents. There was ivy starting to grow along one wall and a stone path from the driveway. Each of the other houses were built in the same style as the main one. 

When did that happen? When did any of this happen?

He got out of the jeep and heard bickering from the porch. Someone stood up, grabbed something– crutches– and started down the stairs.

“Stiles,” Eli yelled. Everyone’s attention was on him as Eli hobbled over on his crutches. His gray plaid overshirt was waving from the light breeze as he moved. “Hey! What are you doing here? Did I forget something at the game? Well, I guess I wouldn’t have forgotten it but–”

Stiles pulled his eyes away from the blue cast on Eli’s leg and cleared his throat. “Where’s Derek?”

Eli stopped. “Uhm,” he cleared his throat, flushing red. Stiles knew that look. He’d had that look plenty of times. It was embarrassment and worry. Eli was told to stop rambling a lot. “I think dad’s upstairs,” he said, looking everywhere but Stiles's face.

Stiles's stomach lurched. “Dad,” he asked, just to be sure he heard right. No. No, that… it did make sense, though. Eli looked… The eyes and the bunny teeth and— What the fuck? How had he not known? All of the familiar things about Eli fell into place.

“Yup, Derek’s my dad,” Eli confirmed and Stiles nodded. “You do want Derek Hale, right?”

“Ya,” he said, rubbing his face. “Ya. I just didn’t know you’re… Derek’s kid. I didn’t even know he had a kid.”

“Elias Samuel Hale! Get your ass inside before you catch a cold,” Cora yelled, walking around the house.

Stiles looked at her and then back to Eli. “Catch a cold,” he asked tentatively. He looked Eli over– sweats, a t-shirt, and a flannel. Catch a cold how?

Eli sighed. “It’s a touchy subject,” he muttered, glaring down at his cast as it so obviously pointed out his difference to the others. “I’m the fragile one…”

Stiles nodded. He remembered that feeling, being the fragile human. He knew what it was like to be surrounded by werewolves and Kitsune who healed from anything and everything before your eyes. He remembered being told to stay in the jeep or at the house because ‘you’re human, Stiles' and ‘we don’t want you to get hurt’. Bullshit reason after bullshit reason. He didn’t have claws or teeth but he could hold his own. For so long he was just skinny, defenseless Stiles. He was the weak human. The fragile and breakable one. Until he got tired of it.

He saw that in Eli. Stiles would be completely unsurprised if they sheltered Eli from all of that. He wondered if that was what fueled Eli’s temper at the game. If that was why he played. In lacrosse, Eli could help and protect his own like his family didn’t let him. 

Cora kept the glare in place as Eli and Stiles walked closer to the house, even if her eyes did flick between the two a little more than necessary. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the two were related.

Stiles held the door for Eli as they walked inside. The door had just closed behind them when Derek walked down the stairs and he might be the same person Stiles knew but he was completely different. 

Derek was smiling– a real smile– and Stiles caught a glimpse of where Eli’s bunny teeth came from. It looked so natural on him. It looked right, like this should have been the Derek everyone saw and not the angry, grief ridden person Stiles used to know. It made Stiles feel weird. Seeing Derek– the sourwolf– smiling and happy. He looked relaxed, calm, totally different than Stiles remembered and, yet, just the same. 

Stiles's breath caught in his throat, just staring. Time and family did Derek well. He looked good– happy even– and here Stiles was to ruin all of that. He wouldn’t blame Derek if he kicked Stiles out. 

Derek stopped mid-step when he saw Stiles. His smile fell.

“You’re back,” Stiles said, trying to keep his anxiety from rising any more. “I didn’t know…”

“I could say the same about you,” Derek said and Stiles nodded.

“Somehow,” Stiles looks at Eli, “I doubt you didn’t know…” he said, looking back at Derek. 

Derek laughed. A genuine, honest to god laugh. It wasn’t forced or sad or anything other than happy. Stiles had never heard that from Derek. He had never seen him truly happy. 

“You mean my little fanboy,” he asked, a smile breaking through as he looked at his son. 

Derek walked down the stairs and wrapped an arm around Eli. It was obvious it happened a lot from how Eli relaxed against his dad. His weight leaned into Derek and off the crutches. They both seemed to relax at the contact, something Stiles had seen a lot.

That was something about werewolves that Eli must have learned growing up with them, they were unbelievably clingy. They were touchy and cuddly with their friends and practically glued themselves to their partners and werewolves with kids– oh, don’t get him started. 

You rarely saw a werewolf toddler touch the ground in public. Even after they were too big to be carried, they were always touching one of their parents. Stiles had once worked with a family that had six kids. Until the parents trusted him, none of those kids left their parents’ arms. He could hardly think of a werewolf family he’d worked with that wasn’t clinging to each other for comfort– but trying to rectify that with the Derek he knew…

This Derek had a family. He was smiling and relaxed and acting like any other ‘wolf would, like all the shit in their past was just the past. Derek was happy. He hadn’t been that way before. 

Isaac had refused to be that close to Derek but kept barely a foot between him and Scott. Then Jackson– being the Kanima and refusing to be under someone and then leaving the country– that had to hurt. Derek used to keep Erica and Boyd at arm’s reach when he could. When he didn’t, one of the few times he let them go, they were taken and killed. Stiles always thought he kept them at a distance because of losing his family and then he lost his new pack too. 

Derek changed while he was away. Stiles wondered if they had something to do with it.

“Ya, why is that,” Stiles asked. It was something he’d been trying to understand. Why did Eli know about him?

“Cause you’re awesome,” Eli declared excitedly. “You fought supernatural creatures in high school and now you’re in the FBI and you look into supernatural creatures and stuff and you’re human,” Eli explained and Stiles's face fell.

“How do you know that,” Stiles asked seriously. “Nobody is supposed to know that.”

Eli looks at Stiles like a kicked puppy, sad and confused. “About what,” Eli asked.

“My unit! What we do,” Stiles said, louder than he needed to.

Derek’s hold on Eli tightened, pulling him closer. His crutches clattered to the floor loudly. “He won’t tell anyone,” he said harshly, glaring at Stiles. 

Stiles glared at Derek. “Why does he know? Why do you,” Stiles demanded to know.

Derek looked at Stiles like he was crazy. Maybe he was. He did just walk into a pack house and start yelling at the alpha’s kid and arguing with the alpha. “Because they talked to us when we were moving back here! Allison talked to us,” Derek grumbled. His eyebrows were furrowed and a scowl set on his lips. This was the Derek that Stiles knew. “By the way, thanks for letting me know she’s alive.”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “How was I supposed to tell you? I didn’t– nobody knew where you were,” he said in a bitter tone. “You did your whole ‘evolved wolf’ thing and fucking left without a word to any of us. The next time I saw you, I was saving your ass from an FBI raid. I put everything on the line to help you and save this shit hole town and then you disappear all over again,” Stiles yelled at him. He clenched his fists, steadying his breathing. “Screw you, Derek. I don’t know why I even bothered.” Stiles rolled his eyes and walked out of the Hale house. 

The wolves were all glaring at him as he walked away. Stiles stopped in front of the jeep and looked around at all of them. He huffed a laugh and shook his head. Sure because of course this was how it was gonna go. He got in the jeep and drove off, not bothering to look back. 

Stiles drove back to his house, practically fuming. He shouldn’t be. This was just how it was. That’s how things go between him and Derek. They start talking, one of them gets mad, and then they yell. As if it would ever change. It didn’t matter how much Derek or Stiles changed, it was always the same song and dance.

Stiles was actually starting to miss Virginia. 

He missed California when he was gone but now he just wanted to go back to his home. His duplex in a tiny subdivision off base where his elderly neighbors complained when he turned his music up over ten and he could hear the baby crying in the next house over. He missed the kids that shared a back fence with him knocking on his door to get their ball back. He missed walking outside and almost tripping over Augie, the guy across the street’s dog, laying on his front step. He missed making too much food and offering it to the single mom next door. He missed the local Girl Scout troop knocking on his door selling cookies or flower seeds. 

Always seemed to go that way, huh? You miss what you used to have and when you get it back, you miss your new life. 

It wasn’t too far different from each other. Both work and Beacon Hills had supernatural creatures of all varieties and alignments. Some were friendly, some were murderous, and some swung widely between the two based on the day– none of which was new. He was used to hanging with Scott and being attacked by everything. Hell, Peter even filled the wildly swinging from homie to homicide and sometimes it was in less than a day.

At least in Quantico, people respected him. Here, he was just Stiles. He was the human that got hurt and needed to be protected and helped every step of the way. Maybe he could convince Allison to road trip back in the jeep. It had been a while since Roscoe had done a trip like that. Not since Mexico. Not since Derek left the first time…

He parked the jeep at the house, not seeing the cruiser or Scott’s or Allison’s cars. The house was dark. He’d be alone if he went inside. 

Stiles sighed. Just like high school. Everything was seeming to be more and more like fucking high school in the most annoying ways.

He opened the door and headed into the house. “Honey, I’m home,” he mumbled into the darkness as he took off his shoes. It was the same back in Virginia. It was what almost tempted him to get a pet. He used to beg his dad for one. When he was little, he’d wanted a rat or a ferret. 

A few months back, he’d let himself think about getting a pet and had gotten on the humane society’s website. He about pissed himself laughing when he saw a chihuahua named Derek. But he knew better. He wasn’t home enough for a pet, he couldn’t even keep a plant alive. Hell, it was hard enough to keep himself alive, the pain in his side proved that.

Stiles stopped in the kitchen and made some ramen that had likely been there since the last time he visited and sat down at the table, stirring his bowl. He looked around. Somehow, it seemed more lonely here. It was funny. Stiles lived alone and his little house never felt this lonely. 

He grabbed a towel to carry the hot bowl with and went to the living room. He turned on the tv and settled on reruns of Cold Case Files. Sometimes he'd watch the show and see if there were any signs of the supernatural. Maybe he could spot some cases they could look into back in Quantico. 

When he felt sufficiently braindead from the tv, he decided to take a nap to pass the time. He set his bowl in the sink and hobbled up to his room. He picked up his bottle of prescription painkillers and looked at the label. 

He’d taken a dose of ibuprofen before he’d gone to talk to Derek– sprinting down the bleachers and across the field had not been a great idea and he was still suffering for it. It hadn’t been the six hours he was supposed to wait before taking the good painkillers but he didn’t particularly care at the moment. 

Stiles took a dose and laid down to sleep. It had been a long fucking day and it was only three in the afternoon. Between the feeling drained after seeing Derek and missing the little community he had in Virginia, he fell asleep easily once the painkillers kicked in. 

Stiles sat on his back porch, making idle conversation with his neighbor Trinity as they watched her baby play with the Stenevnson’s granddaughter. 

Mr. Graves was patiently teaching Aaron and Spencer how to train their new puppy while said puppy yapped and circled poor old Augie. 

The old dog might be going deaf but he certainly managed to land a paw on top of the puppy when it annoyed him, keeping it safely sandwiched between his leg and the ground.

The whole lot of them had come together that summer to have a cookout with the most random spread as they’d all brought their favorites. And yet, it all felt peaceful. Almost a little too good to be true. 

Stiles’s conversation was cut short by his phone ringing.

Stiles woke from a dead sleep to his phone ringing at god knows what hour. He answered without a second thought, not even bothering to sit up. 

“This is Agent Stilinski,” he said. The words were clear even from a dead sleep. He was so used to being woken up for cases, he didn’t think twice. It wasn’t until he was met with giggles and muttered mockery that he looked at who called. “Malia,” he asked.

“Hi Agent Stilinski,” she said through laughter.

Stiles sat up easily, not noticing the pain or lack there of. “Are you drunk,” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Kira’s drunk but I’m… I’m…”

“She’s gone,” Stiles heard Kira laugh in the background, yelling over music and people.

“Where are you that you two got drunk,” Stiles asked. 

“The Sinema,” Malia yelled and Stiles had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Someone told them that wolfsbane alcohol is a new trend,” she said, devolving into laughter.

Kira must have taken the phone because it was her voice that came through the phone next. “Hey Stiles,” Kira laughed. “She’s– she’s soooo drunk. She was doing shots with these guys and she drank them under the table but it’s hitting her hard.”

Stiles sighed. Every time he came home, it seemed like more and more of Beacon county was catering to the supernatural community. 

“Why are you calling me,” he asked. 

“Come drink with us! Have some fun before you go back to being mister serious FBI guy,” Kira said, sounding significantly less drunk than Malia. “I bet you could get a lot of guys if you told them you’re FBI,” she cooed suggestively. 

Stiles laughed. He could go have fun. It had been a while since he’d seen Kira and, if Malia was as drunk as it sounded, she’d need backup. “Ya… Ya, I think I will.”

“Yay! Stiles,” Malia cheered in the background. Fucking werecoyote hearing. 

Stiles hung up and got out of bed. He stretched, slight pain biting at his slide, and started to get dressed. He didn’t think about not feeling more of the pain and what it meant. 

He didn’t check the time when he got in the jeep. 

He didn’t realize the painkillers were still in full swing in his system.

He got to the club and walked in. He found Kira and Malia at the bar. It was still startling every time he saw Kira. She was the same age as Stiles but hadn’t aged a day past seventeen. She was young in appearance and would be for a very long time. The blessing and curse of the Kitsune. 

Malia was very drunk. If she wasn’t, she never would have practically tackled Stiles, hanging off of him. “Stiles! You came,” she laughed. “Bartender! One for my friend.”

“What did you just order me,” Stiles asked her, yelling to be heard out of habit. He wrapped an arm around Malia and pushed her into a chair. Positives of being a Supernatural FBI guy, he was used to dealing with unruly were-people. The Negative? He had the scars to prove it.

Kira leaned around to look at Stiles. “Considering how she said it, probably a wolfsbane vodka soda like she’s been drinking,” she yelled back and chuckled.

“Oh,” Stiles said, looking at the bartender. “I want a Jack and coke, not… not whatever she’s got.” The bartender checked Stiles's ID and took his card. Soon after, he had an open tab and his drink. 

Kira shook her head. “Like father, like son,” she teased him.

“I like fruity drinks too! I just don't feel like one,” Stiles told her, sipping his drink. 

“That’s because you are fruity,” Malia piped up.

He set his drink down but before Stiles could reply, he was being dragged to the dance floor. Kira smiled and laughed as Malia took him to the middle. She gave a thumbs up and grabbed his drink. 

Malia was dancing, enjoying the music and Stiles was doing his best awkward white boy dancing compared to her. Like, really, who taught her to dance and where did he sign up? She was stupidly attractive and her laughter was infectious. Stiles laughed and danced with her, slowly letting himself relax. It wasn’t surprising when a group of guys headed her way. 

Stiles tried not to laugh, watching the stupidly buff guys trying to grind against Malia. He knew from experience that she had a thing for scrawny guys. It was fun to watch. The guys would get closer to her and Malia would look at Stiles as she tried not to laugh. He was pretty sure the guys’ egos were severely bruised when she literally started laughing at them to their faces when they flirted with her. They called her beautiful, sexy, hot, and ask her to go home with them. She turned around and push them off, keeping decent control over her strength for the circumstance. 

“I don’t date brick walls. Fuck off,” Malia told them, probably louder than necessary but very effectively.

What Stiles did find surprising was when a guy started grinding against him. Malia winked at him and Stiles smiled. He’d hardly started his first drink but Stiles was already feeling the alcohol, which was probably why he didn’t push the guy off. He let the random guy dance with him for a few songs before going back to the bar with Kira.

She looked at him and Stiles laughed. “What? I thought you wanted me to come to have fun,” he asked.

“I did but damn! I didn’t expect that from you,” Kira said. Stiles laughed, grabbing his drink. Kira could tell he was getting tipsy off the few sips and huffed a laugh. “Did you pre-game or something?” Stiles had smelled… off when he got there but she didn’t think too much about it. She hadn’t seen him in a while and just assumed.

Stiles downed the rest of his drink– Kira cringed– and shook his head, telling her “I was asleep when you called.” She gave him a concerned look. Stiles was one drink in and acted five deep. “Relax Kira! Go dance with your girlfriend,” he said and Kira flushed.

“She’s not my girlfriend! You know Malia doesn’t really date,” Kira told him, her face turning red and not from the alcohol. “Plus, I look like a kid and I think it kinda freaks her out.” 

Stiles smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Whatever. Wanna do shots with us,” he suggested, catching the bartender’s attention.

“Stiles, I don’t think either of you should—” Kira started but Stiles didn’t let her finish before he ordered shots for them.

He handed Kira one of the slightly purple vodka shots. Kira held the shot glass and let Stiles drag her towards Malia. He gave Malia her own purplish shot. She gave a loud and very drunk thank you. Malia linked arms with Kira so they could take their shots together. Kira caught on and smiled. They both took their shots and Stiles cheered, laughing before taking his own shot. 

Kira smiled. She had been teetering on the line of tipsy and drunk. Now she was leaning towards drunk. Too much to care about the weird way Stiles was acting. Too distracted by Malia’s dancing. 

The music was blasting through the speakers. People packed onto the dance floor. It was hard to move. All they could do was dance with everyone else, letting themselves go with the crowd. The bartender cut them off. Bless Malia for managing to get guys to buy drinks before telling them to get lost. They drank. They danced. They didn’t think about any of it.

Chapter Text

Stiles was gone. 

He had smelled strange to Kira because of the medication working through him. He would understand why too if he had the consciousness of mind to remember the painkillers he’d taken. 

Really strong medication that shouldn’t have been mixed with alcohol. 

He’d have known why the alcohol seemed so strong if he could remember how serious the doctor had been about telling him not to drink alcohol with the medication. That part of his brain was gone, turned off the second alcohol and painkillers mixed.

Stiles danced with god knows how many people. They bought him drinks. They did shots. He let every reasonable part of his mind fade. He didn’t know how much time passed or where his friends were or where he was, really. He was drunk and dizzy and the world was fuzzy. He couldn’t stop laughing. 

Any last bit of coordination he had was long gone. The only thing holding him up at this point was the body behind him. Who the body was, he had no clue and didn’t really care. 

When Stiles managed to stumble into the bathroom. He had to lean against a wall so he wouldn’t fall over mid-piss. The button and zipper of his jeans gave him trouble with the lack of coordination. He laughed at himself as he moved to the sink. He looked up at himself in the mirror. 

He felt sick looking at himself but he couldn’t think straight to get over it. Stiles looked in the mirror and saw the Nogitsune looking back at him. The whites of his eyes were yellowing and had heavy bags under them. He was pale and sweaty. He looked half dead and dying. 

Fuck, he was going to throw up.

Stiles leaned forward and vomited into the sink, some of the puke splashing back onto him. He was breathing heavily and couldn’t get his heart rate back under control. Staring back into the puke filled sink made him retch again. He stood up, stumbling back. He leaned against the wall, trying to grab his phone. 

His hands shook heavily as he looked down at it. His vision was blurry and unfocused. He messed up his password multiple times. When he finally got it open he pressed his speed dial, not really sure what number he hit. He held the phone up to his ear as it rang.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Scott McCall. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.” 

Stiles audibly whimpered when he heard the recorded message. He hung up and very purposefully hit the number one on his speed dial. It rang and rang and rang.

“Stiles,” Noah Stilinski asked, answering his son’s call.

“Hey dad, I’m not fe-feeling so good. Someone needs to pick me up from Sinema…” Stiles slurred, his words were unintelligible over the phone. 

Noah froze, listening to Stiles's mess of stumbled words. “Stiles, where are you?”

“I’m at the Sinema,” Stiles mumbled, “I just said that.”

The only thing Noah could understand was the club name and he was thankful for that. “Okay. Okay, Stiles. Stay there. Don’t drink anything else, okay?”

Stiles groaned and hung up. Noah stood in the middle of the station, freaking out. He was on duty. He was the Sheriff. He couldn’t just leave! But Stiles… that was more than alcohol, he sounded drugged. What the hell was he supposed to do? That was his kid! God knows what happened or what could happen if he waited much longer.

“Sheriff,” one of the deputies– a Hale– said, “are you okay?”

Noah shook his head. “You know… You know what I heard.”

She cleared her throat. “Do you need someone to pick him up?”

Sheriff Noah looked at her. “Can you or…”

Deputy Sofia Lewis-Hale nodded. “I’ll call Derek. Stiles knows him, right? He’ll be more comfortable with someone he knows.” She pulled out her phone and called her cousin. “We’ll get him home, Sheriff. I promise.”

Derek had groaned at first when he heard Stiles's name over the phone– it was two am– but, with context, he was fully awake. He was dressed and out the door before they even told him where Stiles was.

He sped the whole way to the Sinema. He pushed past the teenager at the door and started to search for Stiles's scent. It was disgusting to breathe in. The air was laced with the smell of alcohol and sweat and cum. It was added to by the number of perfumes and colognes and smoke hanging around the people. He couldn’t smell Stiles through the smell of sex. He couldn’t hear his heartbeat over the hundreds of others. Derek felt lost, like all of his senses were stripped away. It was disorienting. 

He pushed through the crowd. He moved away from people who tried to dance with him. One was more persistent than the others. Derek’s anger was rising. He grabbed the person and started to move them.

“You’re really fucking hot,” the guy said and Derek stopped. He knew that voice.

He looked down at the guy, hearing him laughing like the world was funny. He seemed to barely know what was going on. He looked up at Derek and stole his breath. 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, cupping Stiles's face in his hands. He looked sick. He smelled like alcohol and puke and… and drugs. “Did you… Are you okay?”

Stiles laughed and leaned heavily against Derek’s chest. “You’re warm. What’s your name,” Stiles asked in a slurred voice, looking up at the very blurry shape of Derek’s face. 

Derek looked at Stiles in shock. He didn’t know who Derek was. Something in Derek’s mind preened at the idea of Stiles leaning into him and another part hated that Stiles would gravitate to other people. He forced himself to ignore the thoughts. 

“You need to leave,” Derek said louder so Stiles could hear him over the crowd. 

“Why,” Stiles asked as if it were insane.

Derek gritted his teeth. Even drunk and drugged out of his mind, Stiles argued with him. “Your meds and the alcohol are making you sick. You need to leave.”

Stiles huffed a laugh that almost knocked him over. “You’re fucking crazy,” Stiles slurred. “I’m having fun!”

“You weren’t when you called your dad,” Derek said, holding in a growl. 

“I’m not leaving,” Stiles declared, trying to pull away from Derek but couldn’t break the firm grip he had on Stiles's wrist.

“You’re leaving and going to the hospital,” Derek told him, a growl filling his chest.

“Fuck, you’re dramatic,” Stiles scoffed. “I’m great. Just need some sleep.”

“We’re leaving, now.” 

Stiles smirked, looking Derek up and down. He smirked, swaying as he tried to stand on his own. “Make me,” he laughed.

Derek gritted his teeth so hard they should have broken. A growl pulled itself from his throat– completely inhuman in nature– as he fought the red away from his eyes. “Fine,” Derek growled. He leaned forward and threw Stiles over his shoulder. 

He walked out of the club and felt Stiles shiver in the night air. 

Derek sighed and set Stiles down, leaning him against a wall. He pulled off his jacket and helped Stiles into it. He watched Stiles wrap the jacket tighter around himself, leaning his head forward to breathe in the smell. It relaxed him a bit, knowing Stiles was wrapped in his scent. 

“What’re you looking at,” Stiles mumbled, looking at Derek with a drunk smile.

He shook his head, “nothing. Let’s get you to the car. “ Derek picked Stiles up bridal style to carry him. 

Stiles leaned against Derek's chest and sighed. “You’re warm,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek felt conflicted. He didn’t know if he wanted to smile at the way Stiles relaxed against him or frown from the confusion the man was experiencing. “You said that already.”

Stiles hummed. “Smell good too,” he whispered, tucking his face against Derek’s chest, and Derek’s breathing hitched.

It was said so calmly. Derek breathed in and scrunched his nose because Stiles smelled so bad. He smelled like alcohol, puke, anxiety, and tiredness. The smell of alcohol and stomach acid burned Derek’s nose. 

The only comfort he had was that the smell of drugs had faded. If he had to guess, they were finally working their way out of Stiles’s system. He’d been filled in enough to know Stiles was on some strong painkillers. With time, he’d metabolize them, leaving him to ride out the intoxication alone.

“You’re warm,” Stiles repeated.

Derek winced at the words. Stiles was a human. He couldn’t smell the sharp stinging smell of worry or the warm sweetness of affection or the grating stench of anxiety that rolled off Derek. He was thankful for that. If Stiles was able to smell it, he’d be throwing up from the mess of overwhelming scents. Derek was halfway there himself.

He carefully set Stiles in the passenger seat of the Camaro. He buckled the seatbelt, holding his breath to avoid the contaminated smell rolling off Stiles's skin. 

“Don’t throw up in my car,” Derek said and Stiles looked at him blankly. Derek sighed and closed the passenger door. He hoped Stiles wouldn’t puke everywhere in the time it took him to get to the driver’s seat.

He opened the door and slipped into the car. He glanced at Stiles, rolling down the windows just to be safe, and started driving towards Hale house. He had to stop on the way and help Stiles open the door to puke. They kept driving and Stiles rested his head on the window sill, the cool air soothing the burn in his face.

Derek texted Sheriff Noah when they made it to Hale house. He helped Stiles inside, praying Eli wouldn’t wake up and see his hero beaten by idiocy. 

He took Stiles to the bathroom and started a bath. There was no way he was letting Stiles go to bed like that, the smell would make half the house sick. Stiles was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, slumped against the wall, and looking rather miserable. Derek sighed and flipped on the vent fan.

“Alright,” Derek sighed, pulling his jacket off of Stiles.

“Eager, aren’t ya,” Stiles hummed and Derek shook his head.

“You need a bath.” Derek looked Stiles over, figuring out where the puke smell came from. “There’s puke all down your shirt.” He picked up his jacket and held in a growl. There was puke on the lining of his jacket too.

Derek stripped Stiles of the nasty puke and alcohol-soaked clothes. Under different circumstances, pulling off Stiles's clothes in the bathroom might be a completely different and wholly more enjoyable act. As it was, Stiles was giggling and rambling. His words were so slurred, Derek had given up on trying to understand him.

With Stiles’s shirt up, he saw the cotton bandage on his side. Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. What had happened? When did it happen? He carefully pulled up the medical tape around the edges. He frowned, looking at the wound. The stitches must have been removed fairly recently. The area was still swollen and not entirely healed.

“I got another little one here,” Stiles said, pointing at a mostly healed scab on his arm. “Didn’t need stitches for this one.”

Derek shook his head, looking at the wound on his stomach. “What happened,” he asked softly, trying to remember if he had anything to cover the area.

“I got shot again,” Stiles mumbled and Derek looked at him. Again? “That's why I’m home.”

“When,” Derek asked.

Stiles huffed, his brain still not fully working. “I don’t know. Maybe, like, a few weeks ago,” he said but didn’t sound sure.

Derek was extra careful helping Stiles into the tub. He had him sit down on the stool they’d gotten for Eli and used a cup sat on the edge of the tub– one used for the toddlers bathtimes– to scoop up water and wet Stiles's hair. He squeezed some shampoo into his hand and started to scrub Stiles's hair. 

It was the first time Stiles was quiet since Derek had picked him up. He hummed as Derek scrubbed his scalp. It was strangely peaceful. Derek could tell Stiles was starting to relax as the medication started to work out of his system. He rinsed the shampoo out and the warm soapy water ran down Stiles's back, making him shiver. 

Derek moved away from the tub and Stiles whined, half asleep. “I’m getting a rag,” Derek told him, opening the cabinet under the sink. 

He pulled out a towel and a rag. He set the towel on the closed lid of the toilet and crouched by the tub again. He grabbed the bottle of body wash and squeezed some onto the rag. Derek scrubbed Stiles's back and arms, using the cup to scoop up water to rinse him off. He repeated the process, careful not to rub over the fresh wounds. He scrubbed Stiles’s legs, not sure If Stiles was sober enough to so himself. 

As he ran the rag over Stiles’s skin, he couldn’t help but notice the scars that littered his body. He was covered in them. It was terrifying and horrible and it made Derek’s stomach feel like a black hole. He wiped the cloth over them carefully, trying to remind himself that these had healed. How long had it taken? How much pain had Stiles been in? He wondered how many were from before Stiles was in the FBI. How many had been left because Stiles had been dragged into Derek’s mess? How many did Derek cause with his stupidity? How many could he have prevented? Why didn’t Stiles say anything?

“Stand up,” Derek told him softly, keeping a hand under Stiles's arm to help him. 

Stiles started to stand up. The heavy scent of tiredness rolled off of him in waves. Derek should have known what was going to happen. He should have known Stiles would slip. 

Stiles grabbed onto Derek, using him to stay upright. Derek instinctually caught him, wrapping his arms around Stiles to stop his fall. Derek sighed in relief that Stiles didn’t crack his head open on the bathroom floor, even if his shirt was now wet and sticking to him. 

He kept a hand on Stiles as he pushed him back to stand on his own two feet. Giving Stiles the rag, Derek held him steady as Stiles finished bathing himself. Derek helped him rinse off and wrapped a big towel around Stiles's waist, careful not to let it touch the gunshot wound on his stomach. Rather than risk another fall, Derek picked Stiles up out of the tub. 

He put Stiles down on the closed toilet lid, moving to look for something to wrap the wound. Luckily, he found some large gauze pad and paper tape in the closet. He set to carefully rebandaging Stiles's stomach, trying not to put pressure on the area. Stiles had to be in constant pain. Derek knew what it felt like to heal a bullet wound but he couldn’t imagine hurting like that for weeks. 

“All covered,” Derek said, smiling at Stiles.

“Thanks, buddy,” Stiles mumbled.

“Yup,” Derek said, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach. 

Derek lifted Stiles up again and carried him up the stairs to his bedroom. He sat Stiles down on the bed and went to close the door, locking it for good measure. 

“So it’s like that,” Stiles mumbled, semi-intelligible this time. 

Derek huffed a laugh. “No. It’s definitely not like that, Stiles. You are way too far out of it,” he said. 

“Derek, you wound me,” Stiles said dramatically and Derek smiled. 

“You know who I am now,” he hummed sarcastically. He opened a drawer in his dresser, looking for a pair of drawstring sweats that would somewhat fit Stiles. “That’s an improvement.”

“Uhm hum,” Stiles hummed, yawning. “Derek, the worst werewolf ever.”

Derek’s head snapped up to look at Stiles. “What,” he asked in confusion.

“A werewolf who hates physical affection and pushes his pack away, Who leaves his territory to another pack,” Stiles mumbled. “I guess you’re not all that bad anymore… You really love Eli.”

Derek looked back down at the drawer of clothes. He’d learned better, to be a better alpha, but he had been… It was his own fault his betas died and left and chosen a new alpha. It had been his fault and he had to deal with it. 

“You can wear these,” Derek mumbled, giving Stiles a pair of his sweats. “I’ll get you a shirt…”

Derek gave Stiles his clothes to wear. Stiles sat on the bed as Derek towel-dried his hair. He let Stiles sleep in his bed while Derek started their dirty clothes in the washer. He was going to sleep in the spare room next to his own but it was like he could smell Stiles through the wall, like he could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

He couldn’t stay laying in the other room. He couldn’t feel so useless. Stiles’s words echoed in his head, Derek, the worst werewolf ever.

Derek stalked around the house, peeking into each of the children’s rooms. He needed to be sure his pack was safe. He looked in Eli’s room. He counted each of the three teen boys fast asleep in the room. He moved on to the guest room next to Eli’s. Again he counted, finding the four teen girls all safely asleep, somehow all squished into the queen bed. He peeked into his cousin Rory’s room, seeing her asleep with her one-year-old and three-year-old sons tucked in close to her. 

He checked on Cora, too, just to be sure. She was asleep, having managed to kick her blankets off like when she was little. Derek pulled the blankets back over her before retreating out of the room. 

His pack was safe. 

The nerves were grinding away at Derek's resolve. He didn’t want to wake Stiles or intrude while he slept. He didn’t want to bother him but the worry was driving him insane. He decided to shower, luckily having clean clothes in the dryer to change into.

Even as the water poured over him, he worried. What if Stiles threw-up and aspirated in his sleep? What if the mixture of his medications and the alcohol was killing him and he didn’t notice? What if he had alcohol poisoning? How much pain would he be in when he woke up? What if he was freaked out about being in Derek’s house? In his bed? Wearing his clothes? What would he think when he found out Derek helped him shower?

Derek felt like banging his head against a wall. There was only so much he could do and he thought he’d done the right thing but what if he’d fucked up again? He was always fucking things up with Stiles. Derek, the worst werewolf ever.

He decided it would be best to have some kind of pain medication for Stiles when he woke up. 

Finding ibuprofen in the house was like a game. Eli was the only one who ever needed it, so where would it be? Derek didn’t want to go into the sleeping boy’s room, didn’t want to risk waking him or the other boys. It was a stroke of luck to find it in the bathroom nearest to Eli’s room. Derek went down to the kitchen and filled a glass with water and left it and medication on the bedside table for Stiles. 

He looked around, wondering what else he could do. 

Derek moved the trashcan closer to the edge of the bed and looked at Stiles. He didn’t want to risk rolling Stiles onto his side in case it woke him or caused pain, even if the wound was on the opposite side. 

Derek sat back against his dresser, just listening. He could hear Stiles’s heartbeat, even over the loud snoring. Even in his sleep his heartbeat was so fast. Stiles's heart always seemed to be racing the clock, but this was faster than normal. Did Derek really know Stiles’s normal anymore? He wondered what Stiles could be dreaming about that would make his heat rate that much faster. 

When he was a teen, his heart rate was fast when he was asleep too. He used to fall asleep when the pack would have meetings. More than once, Stiles had fallen asleep doing research and Derek had found him laying on his desk. More than once, Derek had moved Stiles from his desk to his bed. He wondered if Stiles knew or if he’d even noticed. 

Derek had to make sure Stiles was safe, even after all this time.

He wondered if Stiles knew. Did he know the importance a human could hold in a pack? Or that they could be pack? For a pack to have a human meant they were so deeply attached to that person that it broke the rules of magic. It meant that the human was so integral to the pack that they made a pack bond to a human– it shouldn’t be possible because even magic had rules. In a way, Derek still felt Stiles was part of his pack even if there was nothing left of the pack they had shared. 

Stiles's snoring stopped. His breathing stopped and cold fear ran through Derek. He stood silently listening, waiting for Stiles to breathe again. Stiles loudly sucked in air seconds later and the snoring continued. Derek sighed, hearing the way Stiles's heart rate changed with the breath. Every time Stiles's breathing stopped or his heart rate changed, Derek wanted to shake him awake, make sure he wasn’t dying or choking on vomit.

Like that, Derek fell into a restless sleep, sitting against the dresser in his room where he could see Stiles. He kept waking up from nightmares of Stiles dying and Eli finding him while Derek slept. The first time it happened, Derek moved so fast to be sure it wasn’t true– to be sure Stiles was alive and Eli was asleep– he was sure he’d woken every werewolf in the city. The smell of anxiety and worry bathed Derek. He could smell it on himself, it was so strong. 

The night was Hell. He gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs to make coffee around six am. The time didn’t phase the first wolf to rise but the emotional stench rolling off Derek and the stranger’s scent in the house kept them quiet. It drove them out of the house.

Stiles woke up in a shit load of pain. He felt the telltale lurch of his stomach and leaned over the edge of the bed. He grabbed the first thing he saw, a small trash can, and threw up. He groaned, the smell of puke filling his nostrils. Pain radiated from his wound, the effort of sitting up and throwing up not flexing and pulling the healing tissue. He felt like he got run over by a truck or wished he had been so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. 

He sat up tentatively, still feeling like he’d barf at any moment, and saw ibuprofen and a glass of water on the nightstand. He’d take that when he didn’t feel like spilling his guts. Stiles looked around and didn’t know where he was. 

Did he go home with someone? Oh, that’d be quite the shit show. He lifted the blankets and… those were not his clothes. Stiles looked around the room, still feeling sick. Where the fuck was he? Did he go home with someone? If he did, why was he dressed? Where the hell are his clothes and his phone?

The answer to all of Stiles's questions walked into the room carrying an empty ice cream bucket and two coffee mugs.

Derek walked over, set the cups on the nightstand, and took the trash can from Stiles. He gave him the ice cream bucket. “You can use this,” he muttered, taking the puke-filled trash can to the bathroom to wash it out. 

“Fuck, you really are a dad,” Stiles mumbled, half-wake.

Derek came back and set the trash can back in its proper place. He sat down on the edge of the bed and felt Stiles's forehead. He sighed and looked at the desk where the medication still sat next to the steaming cups of coffee. 

“You should take this,” Derek said, picking up the pills.

Stiles pushed himself to sit up more, wincing in pain. He held a hand out and Derek dropped the pills in his palm. Stiles popped them in his mouth and grabbed the water to help them down. He had to fight the urge to throw up. He needed to keep the pills down or they wouldn’t do anything. 

Derek handed him the coffee cup next and Stiles sighed at the warmth. He let the smell of fresh coffee fill his nose like some sort of hangover aroma therapy. It worked a little– even if it was a placebo– and his brain let his questions come to the forefront. 

“Why am I here,” Stiles mumbled, knowing Derek heard him.

“Your dad was working when you called him,” Derek said. “He was freaking out. I understand why; you sounded like you’d been drugged. I can’t imagine what he heard on the phone,” Derek’s jaw clenched. “My cousin was there and offered to have me pick you up. Your dad jumped on that offer.”

Stiles groaned. He wasn’t sure if it was because he knew how embarrassing he was drunk or the way his stomach was turning. “How bad was the damage,” Stiles asked and Derek gave him a confused look. “How much stupid shit did I say? I’m… chatty when I drink.”

“As opposed to your usual stoic nature,” Derek remarked and Stiles chuckled. 

“Hey,” Stiles smirked, “you made a joke. That would be funny if I wasn’t in serious pain.”

“If you weren’t hungover, I would help you,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Stiles grinned and leaned back. “Shit, you really are a dad, huh,” he said. Stiles thought about Eli and his smile fell. “How is he? Eli. I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

Derek scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think you could do anything to make Eli think less of you. You’re practically his idol.”

Stiles looked at Derek extremely skeptically. “Me? I’m his idol when he has all of you guys,” Stiles asked as if it were the craziest thing ever. 

Derek frowned, looking almost guilty. “Eli’s human, Stiles.”

“Ya, I figured that out about the time he didn’t magically heal on the field. The cast just made it obvious,” Stiles said, sipping the coffee and burning his mouth.

“Careful. It’s hot,” Derek mumbled, gently pushing Stiles’s arm down so the coffee wasn’t in drinking distance anymore. “He’s a human who lives with werewolves. He socializes with werewolves. He’s around us every day. The only time he gets to spend time with other humans is at school,” Derek said and Stiles could see how guilty it made Derek feel. “He used to think that something was wrong with him because he didn’t heal like the rest of us,” he explained, starting to feel sick himself. “He thought he was weak and slow and wrong just because he wasn’t like us. I let him feel that way for so long,” Derek huffed, shaking his head at himself. “Then he heard me say something about you and, I think, the alpha pack…”

“You told him about me,” Stiles whispered and Derek nodded.

“I told him about all the humans in the pack– you, Lydia, Mason– but he always gravitated towards you.” 

“Lydia’s a banshee and Mason got turned into The Beast without beauty,” Stiles muttered. “Of course, I was possessed by a thousand-year-old evil spirit that made me kill a not insignificant number of people including Scott’s ex-girlfriend… who is now my second in command.”

“I don’t think I told him about the killing people part,” Derek gave a hash laugh. “But… it’s more than that,” he mumbled, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. “I forget when it was but there was this picture of you laying around and Eli…” he gave Stiles the phone, showing him a picture, “he went as you for Halloween one year.”

The picture was of Eli. He was probably six or seven at the time. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, a buffalo plaid flannel, and a red jacket with jeans. His hair was the same messy brown, cut slightly shorter. He had a wooden baseball bat and poorly drawn-on moles.

Stiles laughed and handed the phone back. “You weren’t kidding about the fanboy thing,” he remarked.

Derek shook his head with a smile, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Your dad laughed so hard when he saw him, I thought he was going to fall over,” Derek told him, absently placing a hand on Stiles's leg and pulling the pain like he would when Eli was sick. “Eli wants to be in the FBI when he’s older. He knows he can be strong, even as a human… He’s also standing in the hallway.” Derek didn’t turn but Stiles looked at the door. 

Eli peaked around the corner. “Can I come in,” he asked quietly. Derek waved him over and he smiled. “Hi Stiles,” he said happily. “Are you feeling better? Aunt Cora said you were pretty drunk.”

“Eli,” Derek said sternly, “why aren’t you at school?”

“Maybe because we don’t have school today,” Eli said and Stiles smirked.

“Ya, come on dad. Don’t you know he has the day off,” Stiles asked sarcastically and Eli smiled. Stiles turned his full attention to Eli. “What’s the weekend look like,” he asked, patting the bed next to him.

Eli lit up and stumbled over. He left his crutches at the end of the bed, crawled in next to Stiles and snuggled up close. Which reminded Stiles that the boy had been raised by werewolves with nonexistent personal space. Stiles looked at him and Eli smiled. 

“Normally I’d try to get the guys to let me tag along for their run– they’re getting ready now– and then I’d watch them spar. Sometimes they let me join in for that too but not usually,” Eli said, trying to think of other things he’d do. “Then I might do homework or play video games until it’s time to eat– I get first dibs on food– but… that’s pretty much it.”

Stiles glanced at Derek and then back to Eli. “Do they teach you how to defend yourself?”

Eli shrugged. “I’m pretty fast when it comes to humans but not wolves. They always just say they’ll defend me if something happens.”

“Eli,” Derek said, “why don’t you—

“No, it’s okay,” Stiles interrupted him, fighting the urge to glare at him. “I’m getting to know Eli. Ya know, I’m pretty hungry. Are you hungry Eli,” Stiles asked and Eli nodded. Stiles looked at Derek, telling him to leave with his eyes.

Derek stood up and left the room. Stiles hoped he was going to make food– he wasn’t joking about being hungry.

“What else do you do? I know about lacrosse and hanging around the pack. What else,” Stiles asked. 

Eli huffed a short laugh. “What else would I do,” he asked. “All my friends are wolves and my family is here. What else do I need?”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something and then remembered how dead he should be. Or in jail. Shit, they were really dumb teenagers…. “You’re not in any clubs or other sports?”

“I run track in the off season but not other than that,” Eli said with a shrug.

“You don’t hang out with other friends from school?”

Eli shrugged, “Not that I hang out with outside of school. It’s more just people I talk to in certain classes.”

“Are you happy with that,” Stiles asked. 

He saw Eli’s smile falter for a second but his big grin came back full force. “Of course I am! I have so much to be thankful for. Why would any of that matter when I have so much here?”

Stiles frowned. Maybe Derek wasn’t as good as Stiles thought. Eli sounded like his family was all he lived for. Stiles heard the same patterns that he used to have, reminding his dad they still had each other after his mom died. It was like a mantra, something Eli had taught himself to say so his dad would feel better. 

Stiles wrapped an arm around Eli’s shoulders to pull him close. “Would you like to learn how to shoot a gun,” Stiles asked. 

“Really?”

Stiles swore Derek must have teleported to be back to them so fast. “You want to teach him what,” Derek asked and Stiles smirked. 

Stiles made eye contact with Derek. “To shoot a gun. He’ll have to learn to shoot prone or sitting for now but I’ll teach him properly when the cast comes off. Then Allison could teach him to use a bow and arrow. Hell, isn’t Chris in town,” Stiles asked. “Who better to teach little Eli how to protect himself from supernatural bad guys and hunters alike than a reformed werewolf hunter?”

Chapter Text

Eli lay on the grass in a field, Stiles sat beside him. Eli held a rifle, laying on his stomach. Downrange was a target. Stiles was on his left, giving him instructions.

“Breath slowly,” Stiles said, speaking loud enough to be heard through Eli’s earplugs. “Let your mind relax.”

Eli shook his head. “Stiles, I can’t—”

“It’s hard, I know… “ Stiles looked at Eli. He looked almost scared. Stiles sighed, trying to think through how he did it. “Focus on the target… the wind… the weight of the gun… Close your eyes. Focus on what you feel.”

Eli closed his eyes. Stiles could see Eli's breathing slow. He watched Eli’s hands steady. He relaxed and Stiles smiled. 

“When you’re ready, open your eyes and line up your sights,” he instructed. 

Eli opened his eyes. Stiles's grinned widely, seeing the determination in the boy’s eyes. The safety clicked off. Eli took a breath. He swallowed. His grip tightened and his finger moved to the trigger. He took another breath and squeezed the trigger. 

Stiles looked at the target and grinned. He bumped Eli’s shoulder. “You hit it,” he said proudly. 

Just like that, the normal Eli was back he clicked the safety back on and leaned up. He looked up at the target and smiled excitedly. “I did it,” he declared, looking at Stiles. “I hit it this time!”

“I told you you’d get it,” Stiles said. “Try again. See if you can hit closer to the outline this time.”

Eli racked the bolt to load a new round and they repeated the process. Eli went through fifty rounds and two papers. The shots he landed were sporadic at best. They picked up all the carriages they could find and put them in the box. Eli tried to stand up and Stiles grabbed him.

“Put the gun down before you get up,” Stiles said sternly. 

“Sorry, Stiles,” Eli said, turning red. He put the gun on the ground and grabbed his crutches, slowly standing up. “Can we take the papers? I want to show dad when I go home,” Eli said with a smile.

“Ya,” Stiles said, trying to get up without too much twisting. He made it to a kneeling position and looked up at Eli. “put our marker up,” he said, handing Eli a pole with an orange flag on it.

Eli put the flag up and waited as Stiles had told him. He watched as another flag went up and then a third. 

“Are you going with me,” Eli asked and Stiles shook his head. 

“I need a minute to get up. You get your paper and come back,” Stiles told him and Eli started to the target.

Eli was still using both crutches– Derek went off when he suggested using only one– on the uneven ground. He was a beacon of bright orange with the vest on. He grabbed his paper and started back. He stood by the pole and waited for Stiles.

Stiles stood up, grabbed the rifle, and made sure the chamber was clear. He grabbed their flag pole and switched them to let the others know they were vacating their place and could resume shooting. 

Stiles and Eli walked out to the head of the range. Stiles nodded at some friends as they got to the front, not really meaning to stop and talk.

“Hey, Stilinski. How you doing, man,” a man greeted Stiles, walking towards them on the path.

“Working off an injury. What about you,” Stiles said, stopping to shake his hand. 

“Just visiting family. Who’s this you have with you,” the man asked.

Stiles looked at Eli and smiled. “This is Eli. Eli, this is Special Agent Aubrey.” Eli seemed to light up at the name and Stiles laughed. 

“SSA James Aubrey? You’re part of the FBI team working with the Jeffersonian team to solve murders,” Eli said and Stiles smiled, watching the shock grow on Aubrey’s face. 

“Uh, ya…” Aubrey said, looking at Stiles. “I didn’t know you’re kid followed cases. Actually, I didn’t know you had a kid.”

“Oh, he’s not,” Stiles said quickly. “He’s a friend’s– acquaintance really– uh, his kid. I’m teaching him to shoot. He wants to be in the FBI, so ya know…” Stiles and Aubrey stood there, awkwardly staring for a while. “Uh, well… We should– we should probably go.”

“Oh, ya. Ya,” Abrey nodded. “Well, I’ll maybe see you in Quantico?”

“Sure. Ya,” Stiles nodded. “I’ll, uh, see you later.” Stiles ushered Eli past and started walking.

When they were far enough away Eli asked, “why was that so awkward?”

“He stole my curly fries on a stake-out,” Stiles mumbled. “He claims they were his.”

Eli stopped himself from laughing and nodded. “Is it that big of a deal,” he asked. “My cousins steal my food all the time.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Stiles said and Eli smiled.

Eli was quiet for a second, thinking. “Thanks for bringing me here,” Eli said as they walked out. He looked back at the sign, stopping to take a picture. He struggled to get a good picture while dealing with his crutches. 

Stiles watched him, trying not to smile. “Do you want me to take a picture of you with the sign,” he asked, holding his hand out for the phone.

Eli looked at him excitedly. “Would you? I have to show everyone I got to go to a real FBI shooting range!” He gave Stiles the phone and stood in front of the sign. 

Stiles didn’t bother telling Eli to smile. He wasn’t sure Eli had stopped smiling since he picked him up. He had taken a picture and Eli was going to ask him for another when a group of agents walked out of the range. 

They paused, looking at the excited kid then at each other, and grinned. “Mind if we photo bomb,” one yelled and Eli looked back at them with big eyes.

It was official, Eli had the coolest weekend ever. 

Stiles was actually pretty sure the picture was Eli’s new home screen picture. He wouldn’t stop talking about how cool it was or how much fun he’d had. And it all repeated when Stiles got him home.

“Dad,” Eli yelled in pure joy when the second they walked into the house. Derek was in the living room when Eli found him. “Dad, look what I did today,” he said, proudly handing Derek the target sheets. They were awful. He missed the board entirely more than he hit the paper but he was still so proud of himself for hitting the target at all. “Isn’t it cool? Stiles took me to the FBI’s practice range in Sacramento and look,” Eli said, pulling out his phone to show Derek the pictures.

The first few were of Eli standing in front of the sign for the training office. The next one was of Eli and five agents all standing seriously and in the next, the agents were holding up their badges. Derek looked at the pictures, irritation thinly veiled on his face.

“How cool is that? I even got to meet SSA James Aubrey! And Stiles knows him because they were on a steak-out together,” Eli said excitedly. “Stiles is awesome!”

“Ya, I bet,” Derek said, glaring at Stiles. “Eli, go get cleaned up and see if your aunt needs help with dinner.”

“Dad, she never lets me help. Why do I–”

“Eli,” Derek huffed. “Do what I said.” 

Eli looked at Stiles and then at his dad. Stiles gave Eli a small smirk. 

“Go ahead, Eli. Don’t make him mad. That’s my job,” Stiles joked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Derek watched Eli as he left, listening and waiting until he was upstairs. “You said you were going to show him around the FBI complex.”

“I did,” Stiles said, a sly smirk covering his face. “The shooting range is part of the complex.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What were you thinking,” Derek growled out, standing up to stare Stiles down properly– with the whole two inches of height he had over Stiles.

“That Eli should be able to protect himself?” Stiles crossed his arms, stepping towards Derek. “Just so you know, you don’t scare me, so stop trying.” He’d told Derek that before. Derek had been sitting in the backseat of Sheriff Noah’s patrol car in handcuffs the first time. Stiles had been looking at him through the metal grate, getting the same look Derek was giving him now. The difference this time was that there wasn’t anything separating them and Stiles meant it. He didn’t lie. He wasn’t scared and Derek could tell. 

“He’s a child. He doesn’t need to protect himself,” Derek said.

“Oh? Like I didn’t? Like you didn’t? Are you going to protect him?”

“Yes.”

“Like you protected your last pack? Or like you protected Beacon Hills? Letting a bunch of teenagers take the lead and die to save your family’s land,” Stiles asked. “I was fourteen when Scott got bit by your crazy ass uncle. The same crazy uncle who bit Lydia and then got her to drug half the school at a party and revive him! It was my second year of high school and every damn year after that. I regularly fought for my life. I died twice before I graduated!”

“Eli’s not you! He doesn’t have to worry about that!”

“You can’t promise that,” Stiles argued. “He’s not me but he sure as Hell isn’t you either! Or have you forgotten that he’s human? We don’t get the liberty of sitting around on our asses and being magically buff or good fighters. We have to learn and work for all of that,” he said. “And, hopefully he learns before he has to use it. God knows I didn’t.”

Derek bit his lip, shaking his head. “What do you expect me to do, Stiles? What’s the alternative? I let him fight with the betas and get investigated for abuse?”

Stiles looked at Derek like he was stupid. “You let people who know, teach.”

“Like who? You? You live in Virginia,” Derek scoffed.

“Ya, me when I’m here. Or Allison when she’s here. Or Chris Argent who lives here year-round,” Stiles scoffed. The way Derek scrunched his nose at the last name was almost comical. He took a breath, trying to slow his heart rate. “There is no excuse for Eli to be defenseless in this town.”

“Chris Argent? You want me to leave Eli alone with Chris Argent?”

“You say that like he’s a pedophile,” Stiles scoffed.

“His psychotic sister was! She also kidnapped me and killed my family! His father tried to use the kanima to kill all of us and got me to bite him. His wife almost killed Scott. Then he came back and tried to lead a revolt on the police station,” Derek said. 

“You’re one to talk about not trusting people because of their relatives. You do remember that you’re related to Peter– psycho crazy murderous werewolf Peter? Ringing any bells,” Stiles asked. “It’s not like you don’t trust people who’ve tried to kill us before. Peter tried to kill all of us at one point. Allison tried to hunt you guys. Ethan tried to kill us when he was in the alpha pack. Jackson definitely tried to kill us when he was the kanima. Perish almost killed us and I was the Nogitsune. Face it, even your allies have crossed you before!”

Derek paused, still glaring at Stiles, but was quiet. “I still don’t like Argent,” Derek shrugged stubbornly.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned. “Chris Argent helped you kill an Oni and trap the Nogitsune!” Derek shrugged. “He also helped stop the kanima and saved Scott from being a berserker. He helped fight the darach and the alpha pack. The Beast of Gevaudan? Ghost Riders– oh wait, you weren’t here for those. And he helped stop Gerard when he came back. He worked against his own family to help us, Derek!”

“Fine.”

“And another thing— wait, what,” Stiles asked.

“I said fine,” quickly adding, “but only if you’re there with them.” 

Stiles took a deep breath, fighting the urge to punch Derek because he had a feeling it would end up far too Twilight for Stiles’s liking. “That fixes nothing,” he told him. “When I leave, Eli is still going to be lost.”

“We’ll see,” Derek muttered cryptically, walking away towards the kitchen. “Stop eaves dropping, James,” he said flatly.

James, who was a freshman on the lacrosse team with Eli, peaked out from behind a corner and trudged toward the kitchen. “Hi, Stiles,” he said meekly as he walked by, pausing to look up at the ceiling. “Eli will be down soon,” he said and continued on his way.

True to word, the awkward clicking of Eli’s crutches on the stairs made him known shortly thereafter. Eli came down the stairs and saw Stiles standing, keys in hand. 

“You’re leaving,” he asked.

Stiles nodded. “Ya. You’re all about to eat dinner anyway.”

“Stay,” Eli offered happily. “There’s always way too much food. I’m sure nobody would mind.”

“I don’t know, Eli,” Stiles sighed, looking at the door. “It’s family dinner and–”

“Uncle Derek says it’s okay,” James yelled from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Eli looked frantically at Stiles. “Come on! We have to get there before the others,” he said, moving as fast as he could on his crutches. 

The dinner table was uncomfortably silent. Out of the fifteen people there, some genius– Stiles's guess was on Cora– set Stiles and Derek next to each other. Looking around the table. Stiles could tell everyone was uncomfortable. Except for Eli. Eli was about to explode if someone didn’t say something. Stiles knew that feeling. He was about to meet Eli on that, so he did it. 

“So, Eli,” Stiles said, looking the boy in the eyes. “Did you have fun today?”

Stiles's question was like the shot fired at the beginning of a race and Eli’s words were the competitors. They were out of the boy’s mouth in long trains of words before he could think them through. He talked and talked and talked. Derek had to stop him a few times so he would eat his food but gave up quickly.

Derek glared at Stiles– many of the werewolves did– but he was far too pleased with Eli’s excitement to care. He was bursting with facts and stories and anecdotes all mixed with the day’s events. He spoke quickly, speeding up at parts he really enjoyed and slowing at boring things. Spoiler, not many things were boring. He was only quiet to take a breath when he’d run out of air. 

Stiles glanced at Derek and had to choke down a laugh. God, he knew that face. That was the face Derek made when Stiles would start rambling about something. He looked lost on the topic and seemingly worried. 

He noticed how Derek would relax slightly when Eli breathed and the tension would grow again the longer he talked without taking a breath. Did Eli realize how badly he was stressing Derek out? It was funny, to be honest. Did Derek do that when Stiles rambled? No, surely not, he just prayed Stiles would shut up.

“I definitely want to be a part of the FBI’s Supernatural Operations Unit in the future,” Eli concluded his rambling and ate the food on his fork that he’d been motioning with for at least five minutes. Everyone looked at him and he swallowed his food. “That’s it.”

There was a collective breath of relief. Stiles saw Derek relax when Eli ate. He even got onto Eli for picking around the vegetables. 

“Always happy to inspire and shape young minds,” Stiles said. “Maybe we could convince worry wort here to let you go more often,” he said, glancing at Derek. 

“That would be so cool,” Eli said excitedly. “Please, dad? At least while Stiles is here? I’ll even do extra chores!”

One of the other teens laughed. “What extra chores could you do right now,” they asked and Eli thought about it.

“Dishes… laundry if you’d actually use the shoot…” Eli mumbled, tapping the empty fork against his lip. “I can babysit the little pups and help Bay, Otie, and Sawyer with homework—”

Derek cut Eli off. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, ending the conversation and sending the table back into an uncomfortable silence.

Stiles looked around the table, not recognizing half the people there. “So, who is everybody,” he asked, looking to Derek.

“Where do we start…”

**********************

Eli and Derek walked Stiles to the door. After they had said their goodbyes, Stiles couldn’t miss the opportunity to start drama. 

“Well, I’m glad you had fun today,” he said, glancing at Derek. The werewolf seemed to quickly catch on to what Stiles was about to do. “Next time, I’ll bring along a Hunter I know who can help too.” 

Eli’s eyes lit up. “Next time? We get to go again,” he said excitedly, looking at Derek.

“You have to go way more than once to be good,” Stiles shrugged.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Eli yelled, practically tackling him.

Eli’s crutches hit the ground as he hugged Stiles. Derek saw Stiles start to topple and grabbed both of them. Eli yipped in pain, his cast knocking against the doorframe. Stiles was in pain too, no werewolf senses were needed for that one. He took shaky breaths, trying not to make it obvious. Derek pulled Eli back into him, holding him up since he didn’t have the crutches. He left a hand on Stiles's arm, drawing some of the pain to take the edge off. 

Stiles looked from the hand on his arm to Derek, stepping out of reach. “Text me and let me know when you have an afternoon off. I’ll talk to Chris,” Stiles told Eli and Derek could smell the pain even if Stiles was playing it cool. 

“I don’t have your phone number,” Eli said in confusion.

“Ya, you do,” Stiles said with a smirk, turning and walking off to the jeep.

When he got in the jeep, Stiles heaved a sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut. Six months to a year of healing. He had at least another five months before he would be back to normal and there was still a chance he’d never be completely the same. He was lucky his arm was only grazed or he’d be in a whole other world of hurt. 

He looked back at Hale house. His way out of the pain was there. 

Stiles shook the thought from his head. 

It would ruin everything. It would be the end of his career. No government agency who knew would hire him and there weren’t exactly anti-discrimination laws for the supernatural. He’d miss the FBI. As it was, he’d been out of work for two weeks already. He was so fucking ready to go back, even if he was on limited duty. He missed the rain and the cool springs. 

If he got the bite, he’d have to go somewhere where nobody knew or… No. 

No, he’d stay in Beacon Hills. He’d have to– at least he felt like he would. He wouldn’t abandon Derek like the others had. He might have his big family pack but it’d still hurt.

He put the jeep in gear and drove back home. He needed to stop thinking.

Chapter Text

Stiles stood at the edge of the clearing, watching Chris and Allison teach Eli how to shoot a bow and arrow. It was going better than expected considering Eli was still in a cast but he seemed to be having fun. 

It was near comical to watch, too. Eli might be human but his every mannerism was that of a werewolf. It was funny to see Chris get freaked out by a scrawny teenage boy being just a little too close or moving too quiet. Allison and Stiles weren’t even phased after working with supernatural people and families for years. They were no strangers to the behaviors.

Allison looked back at Stiles and saw him watching on with a smile and made an excuse to wander over to him. Stiles grabbed a water bottle and held it out as she got closer.

“Enjoying yourself,” she asked, taking the bottle of water. 

“I like watching your fearless hunter father getting freaked out by little Eli,” Stiles hummed, rocking on his feet.

Allison chuckled and looked back at Eli and Chris. He was fighting a losing battle for personal space as he talked. “Ya, sometimes I forget he’s not as well versed in the ‘wolves behavior as I used to think.” 

Allison looked back at Stiles and frowned. She’d seen him growing close with Eli and the other Hales. She wondered if he’d still be able to drag himself back to Quantico with the new ties he’d made in Beacon Hills. 

"So, how's Derek taking all of this," Allison asked.

Stiles scoffed. "Oh, he's thrilled that Chris is helping out."

"Think he'll let it keep going when we leave?"

Stiles smiled and looked at her, “Allison, are you doubting my powers of persuasion?”

“I just think that even you have a limit on what you can persuade people into,” Allison told him honestly, taking another drink. 

“Then it’s a good thing he isn’t people, he’s Derek.”

She snorted a laugh. “That’s kind of my point. He doesn't trust anyone because he keeps losing everything. That is,” Allison looked at him out of the corner of her eye, “unless you have something to offer him? I have been wondering where Eli got his little obsession over you from.”

“I couldn’t possibly know what your insinuating,” he mumbled, glaring at her. Allison just rolled her eyes. “Other than making sure his kid survives whatever may come, I haven’t offered him anything.”

“So, how do you plan on convincing him?”

My irresistible charm, quick wit, and a touch of blackmail,” Stiles considered.

“Oh to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Let me know how it goes for you.”

“Nah, I’d be better off using extortion than blackmail. Not really a point when I’ve already got him convinced for every other week,” Stiles said and Allison’s eyes snapped back to him. He gave her a shit eating grin and looked back at Chris and Eli, not able to stifle his laughter. “You may want to go save your dad,” he said, nodding at the pair.

Allison sighed and walked over, tapping her dad out. She started to work with Eli, adjusting how he held the bow.

When they called it a day, Eli pulled himself into the jeep, practically bouncing with excitement. “So, where are we going now,” he asked when Stiles got in. 

Stiles started the jeep and shrugged. “How’s food sound?”

Eli nodded. “Food sounds great! Are we going to cook or order food? Dad never lets us order food. He says it’d cost an arm and a leg to feed all of us even at a fast food place. I don’t—”

Stiles listened as Eli rambled on about meals with the pack. He talked about how they always had homemade food and the vegetable garden that Derek had tried to start that died in a week because it was Eli’s job to water it and he completely forgot. He talked about how Cora was practically tyrannical when she was cooking because it all had to be done just so. Derek tried to get at least a few pack members to help. Aunt Dianna– Willow, Jasper, and James’s mom– was supposedly the best cook but would trap anyone who walked through the kitchen into helping. Stiles tried to keep up but there were so many names and people and he had no clue hoe Eli kept them all straight in his mind.

Eli talked the whole way to the restaurant. The jeep turning off seemed to effectively slow him down but Stiles waited. They were in no hurry and he was really curious about the pack anyway.

“But… where did I start this,” Eli mumbled to himself. “Oh ya, we don’t get take out. Sorry, I talk too much,” Eli apologized, rubbing the back of his neck.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “No. No, I get it. I used to be exactly like you, still am when I forget to take my meds. Did you forget yours this morning,” he asked with a smile but Eli looked confused.

“I took some ibuprofen…” Eli told him.

“But did you take your ADHD meds,” Stiles asked with a knowing smile. 

“I don’t…” Eli stopped. “I don’t have ADHD.”

Stiles’s smile fell. Now he was the one confused. “Ya, you totally do,” he said, glancing at Eli. “Come on. Surely Derek’s noticed. He was around me as a teenager and I never remembered my meds…”

Eli shook his head. “Dad says it’s normal.”

He rolled his eye. “Ya, ya. Because ‘having ADHD doesn’t make you weird’ but the issues you have because of it aren’t typical of most people! And ya, werewolves seem to have a few traits of ADHD– and Autism too for that matter– but that’s their metabolism and heightened senses and other bullshit.” Stiles looked at Eli. “Haven’t you ever wondered why sitting through class or staying focused is so much harder for you than it is for everyone else?”

“Not really,” Eli thought for a minute. “I have a system that works pretty well and most of my teachers just ignore it.”

Stiles sighed, rubbing his temple. “That is exactly what I mean. You have a system to sit through class. Most people don’t.”

“Aunt Malia said she did,” Eli said.

“Malia lived as a coyote for eight years. She spent most of her childhood and teenage years as a literal coyote living in the preserve. She was sent to Eichen House to learn how to live as a human,” Stiles told him. “She is a horrible person to compare your school life to.”

“Aunt Malia’s cool,” Eli shrugged. 

“I—” Stiles grimaced, “ya. She is pretty cool… Let’s go get food,” he said, getting out of the jeep. 

Stiles helped Eli out of the jeep, wincing as his still-healing muscles tensed. Weren’t they a pair? One had been shot and the other had his leg broken playing lacrosse. He held the door open so Eli could hobble in on his crutches. Eli sat down at a booth while Stiles ordered. 

He sat the tray of food down in front of them. Stiles licked his lips at the sight of his favorite double-bacon cheeseburger and curly fries. He missed this specific diner’s food third most about Beacon Hills. Stiles picked the burger up and went to take a bite.

“Are you sure you should be eating that? It’s dripping in grease,” Eli mumbled, looking very concerned.

Stiles paused, looking at Eli in disbelief. Was this what his dad felt like? Man, he really needed to apologize… “Dude,” Stiles said, looking Eli in the eye, “if bacon is what kills me, I win. Now eat your food.”

“Did you just quote Supernatural?”

“Yes, yes I did. Now eat,” Stiles said, digging in. He could feel Eli’s eyes on him as he ate. “What?”

“Is it good,” he asked, sounding hesitant.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “It’s bacon. And cheese. It’s awesome. Do you want to try it?”

“No, we just don’t eat bacon that much. Or pork, really,” Eli said and Stiles nodded.

When Stiles dropped Eli off at home, he slapped a piece of paper into Derek’s hand. He stood on the porch with his arms crossed as Derek unfolded the paper and read it.

“What’s this for,” Derek asked. “If this a doctor in the area that specializes in the supernatural, we already have—”

“Doctor Rosenberg is a child psychologist,” Stiles told him, “and she knows about the supernatural.”

Derek squinted at Stiles, trying to put the pieces together. “Why did you give me the number of a child psychologist? You know none of them have seen anything like—” 

“For Eli."

"He doesn't need—"

"Oh, yes, he does," Stiles argued. "I thought you'd know better or at least know ."

Derek shook his head, "What are you talking about?"

"Eli has adhd," Stiles told him. "You can't tell me you don't see that! He's always moving. He can't focus on one thing at a time. Verbal directions go in one ear and out the other. There's no organization to what or when he does things. He constantly forgets really important tasks. He goes on eight-billion tangents while telling a story. He's definitely hyper-fixated on the FBI. He learns things he likes in seconds but struggles with the simplest task if it's boring. He has about a hundred hobbies. And, in case you haven't noticed, he acts before he thinks– I half think that's a Hale thing though– and he's terrified of the others not wanting him around. That's why he tries to keep up with the wolves even if he knows he can't!"

Derek took a deep breath and sighed. "You just described yourself as a teenager."

Stiles stared at Derek with an open mouth, fucking speechless. "Stop and smell the Adderall-scented roses, asshole! I have adhd! I rarely took my meds which is why I acted exactly like Eli," he told him. “Plus, he feels severely isolated– which, seriously, are there no other humans in the pack– something you out of anyone should understand.”

“Eli is fine,” Derek said firmly. “You’re half right because it’s not a ‘Hale thing’ it’s a werewolf thing.”

“And Eli’s human,” Stiles told him. “At least talk to the kid about it. He should get the chance to decide. Plus, If he does get diagnosed with ADHD, the school has accommodations that will make life so much easier for him.”

“He’s fine. I don’t need this.”

“Glad you sound so excited about it,” Stiles said sarcastically. “Look, I have to leave tonight,” he said and Derek frowned, “so I can’t make you do anything but I think it would be good for Eli.”

“You’re leaving already?”

Stiles nodded, “Allison and I are going to hop a flight. There’s…” He sighed, shaking his head. “They called this morning and we need to get back.”

“Did you tell Eli,” Derek asked.

“Ya, we talked about it,” Stiles told him. “He has my number, so don’t think he won’t tell me if you go back on letting him work with Argent.”

Derek looked Stiles over. “You’re still healing,” he said.

“If I wait until I’m a hundred percent, I could be waiting forever.” Stiles said. He was so serious, Derek wondered how Stiles was still the same person. “My team needs me so I’m going back.”

“And do what? Hurt yourself more,” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “What do you care,” he huffed. “I’ll be on limited duty, if you must know. It’s my job. This is what I do.” He looked at Derek and, for a moment, he thought he saw genuine concern in his eyes. 

Stiles sighed, “look, I was just telling you so you didn’t think I disappeared” – like some people did . “Bye Derek.”

He stood at the door, watching Stiles leave. He looked at the piece of paper. He didn’t understand, he never had, how Stiles could irritate and insult him but still make Derek want him to stay. How could they argue and fight about everything they thought right and feel so at ease around each other. 

When he looked up, Stiles was long gone. The only sign he’d even been there was the paper and tire tracks the wind was already erasing.

“Derek,” Cora called. Derek turned to look at her, her arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Are you going to stand there and heat the whole neighborhood or close the door and stop making puppy eyes at the empty driveway?”

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, closing the door.

“It’s your electric bill, not mine,” Cora said and walked off.

**********************

When they landed in Virginia, Stiles and Allison stopped at their places to trade suitcases for their go-bags and headed to the base. Within the hour, they were on another plane, the team was headed for Lyons, Georgia and tragedy.

Stiles had found it hilarious that the department was one of the very lucky few to have a private plane, perhaps because the FBI was scared their particular brand of peculiar would get out and cause mass hysteria if they said anything on public transport.

“If you open your file, you’ll see that we’re heading to Lyons, Georgia,” Agent Alexander Harvey said, leading the case briefing. 

Stiles slumped in his chair. 

An entire school bus full of kids had been taken. 

It’s a living nightmare and enough to make anyone sick, but there’s a unit specifically task with investigating human trafficking and crimes against kids. If it was given to them, something supernatural was suspected. 

“It’s a town that has been dominated by packs moving in,” Agent Harvey continued. “As such, their school is specially equipped for the needs of the community’s children.”

“You can say werewolf, Harvey. It’s not that crazy,” Stiles told him. “We’re looking into the kidnapping of werewolves from a town filled with them.”

“Yes, uhm…” Harvey cleared his throat, “it seems that a school bus has gone missing.”

Stiles feels sick. It was one thing to read, but hearing it out loud...

He was about to question what when he flipped the page and got to the answer: the bus was on its way to one of the few schools dedicated to werewolves. That wasn’t a good sign…

“The bus had finished its pick-up route at seven twenty am and was heading to the school to drop off the students but they never made it. There was ten minutes between the last stop and the school attempting to contact the driver,” Agent Abaoub pointed out, her voice softer than usual. Allison placed a hand on Abaoub’s shoulder, offering a small bit of comfort. Cases with kids were always the hardest, especially for her since she had kids of her own.

“This was thoroughly planned,” Agent Giles said, shaking his head. “They managed to catch the bus between its last pickup and the school with seemingly no witnesses. They must have been watching for a few days to get it just right.”

“When the school was unable to contact the driver, they reported it to local PD,” Harvey added. “If everyone would flip to the third page—”

Stiles flipped the page. 

Almont, Peace - Female, Age 5, Unknown

Angevin, Jacob - Male, Age 13, Werewolf (Beta)

Angevin, Juliet - Female, Age 15, Werewolf (Beta)

Armstrong, Elsie - Female, Age 17, Werewolf (Beta)

Bacchus, Britney - Female, Age 18, Werewolf (Beta)

Becker, Alexander - Male, Age 9, Unknown

Canmore, Jensine - Female, Age 17, Werewolf (Beta)

Davis, Lane - Female, Age 14, Werewolf (Beta)

Davis, Jacob - Male, Age 17, Werewolf (Beta)

Davis, Shawn - Male, Age 17, Werewolf (Beta)

Davis, Stephan - Male, Age 14, Human

Denmark, Desdemona - Female, Age 9, Werewolf (Beta)

Hines, Emily - Female, Age 5, Werewolf (Beta)

Kamara, Isar - Female, Age 6, Unknown

Kamara, Ismael - Male, Age 7, Werewolf (Beta)

King, Dennis - Male, Age 13, Werewolf (Beta)

Lambert, Winton - Male, Age 11, Werewolf (Beta)

Nunez, Jasmine - Female, Age 16, Werewolf (Beta)

Nunez, Simon - Male, Age 10, Unknown

Poe, Shannon - Female, Age 5, Werewolf (Beta)

Roof, Luis - Male, Age 8, Werewolf (Beta)

Sayed, Jericho - Male, Age 18, Werewolf (Beta)

Stone, Henry - Male, Age 12, Werewolf (Beta)

Weaver, Natasha - Female, Age 15, Werewolf (Beta)

Windsor, Elijah - Male, Age 12, Werewolf (Beta)

Windsor, Nika - Female, Age 17, Werewolf (Beta)

Zakaria, Dahab - Female, Age 6, Unknown

Names and pictures of kids that had all been kidnapped. 

“—you will see the list of missing students,” Harvey said. “This preliminary report gives a brief overview of the missing children.”

He looked down the report, every name like a weight trying to crush him. 

Twenty-one werewolves. Five unknown. One human. Fourteen girls, thirteen boys. The oldest was eighteen and the youngest only five. 

If this was random and whoever took the kids didn’t know they were werewolves, they’d likely find a bus full of traumatized kids and at least one with icy blue eyes. That poor kid would then have to be rigorously questioned about what happened to make sure they were in the right– of course they’d be in the fucking right, the procedure was stupid– and then have manditory counseling. 

But if they knew… 

Minor girls make up twenty percent of human trafficking in the United States and women make up fifty-one percent. Depending on what they took the kids for, it didn’t look good for the boys. They’d likely be killed, sold to fighting rings, or become working slaves. 

Werewolves are a fetish among both those who know and those who don’t. There had been a recent uptick in the sex trafficking of werewolves because some people wanted werewolf children and didn’t care about the cost.

“What about the driver,” Allison asked. “I don’t see him listed.”

“They dosed him with wolfsbane and dumped him outside the school,” Agent Abaoub explained, handing Allison an open laptop to see the hospital report. “Tell me again why it’s better the world doesn’t know? If they did, he wouldn’t be waiting on an antidote to be flown in from New Mexico.”

Stiles looked over the report. “Or they could just burn it out,” he said, leaning over to look at the laptop.

“They could do what?”

“Ya, just burn the shit until it’s gone. A blowtorch works great,” Stiles shrugged, ignoring the pained and accusatory looks of his teammates.

“Peter,” Allison asked.

“Derek to Peter, actually,” Stiles said

“He said it so casually,” Agent Harvey mumbled, still fairly new to the team. “What have you been through that taking a blowtorch to a person is said so casually?”

Stiles held up a finger, “I suggested blow torching a werewolf, not a human. Very important difference, though still very painful. As for what we’ve been through, I died…  technically only once, but I did also get erased from existence for a while, which I think counts as a second death, and I was possessed by a chaos deity…” Stiles tried to remember and looked at Allison. “You definitely died-died twice though, right.”

“In less than a year,” Allison added, nodding.

“If you don’t want to tell us, it’s okay,” Harvey said. “You don’t have to lie.”

Abaoub shook her head. “We’ve all asked and that’s the story they tell every time. They won’t tell.”

“I’m serious. We’ve been dealing with supernatural bullshit since high school,” Stiles shrugged. “Ritual kidnapping and murder was a normal Tuesday for us in high school. So, ya know, blowtorch. That’s how werewolves keep tattoos, too.”

Allison hummed consideringly, “the blowtorch might work for a stab or bullet wound but, if it was delivered intravenously, they’d have to bleed him— which sucks but it’ll get the job done.”

“Always have to correct me, don’t you,” Stiles joked. “Alright, when we get there, Abaoub and Kline will meet PD, Agguire and Giles will go to the scene, Allison and Harvey will talk to the local packs and I will go to the hospital,” he announced.

Allison gave Stiles a questioning look. "You don't want to talk to the pack," she asked.

"Would love to and I will, later, but I feel as though my particular knowledge might save a man a long and painful wait," Stiles told her. "Unless you want to go to the hospital."

“Gerard spent a lot of time in Georgia, so they may not like hearing the name ‘Argent’,” she said and Stiles nodded.

“Then, I will take Harvey to the pack and you can go to the hospital. Might take a local officer with you,” Stiles suggested. “Keep face.”

When they landed in Georgia, they were met by the officers from the department that had asked for their help. 

As they got off the plane, Allison bumped Stiles’s arm and looked at the two waiting officers pointedly. “The ginger is Officer Markus Church, he’s the one I spoke to on the phone. The other is his Sargent, Thomas Haynes. He’s a piece of work,” she muttered.

“Good thing I’m used to working with difficult types,” Stiles said back in the same hushed tone. He smiled, putting on his best inter-agency-cooperation face, and he and Allison lead the team to their not-so-welcome party.

“Agent Stilinski, I assume,” Officer Church said, holding a hand out to Stiles. 

“You would be correct,” Stiles said back, shaking his hand.

“And you must be Agent Argent who I spoke with on the phone,” Officer Church said with a smile to Allison, offering a hand shake to her too. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I feel as thought I know you from how much we spoke.”

“Bureaucracy does tend to require multiple calls. It’s nice to meet you Officer Church,” Allison said. “I assume you took care of everything we discussed?”

“Of course. You should find everything in order at the precinct,” Officer Church said, looking between Stiles and Allison. “This is Sargent Haynes. Sargent, this is…”

“Agent Stilinski and Agent Argent. I can hear,” the Sargent said, shaking Stiles’s hand but not offering the same to Allison. “We do quite well on our own, so I’m sure you understand my hesitancy about your presence.”

Stiles gave a tight-lipped smile, the tension almost palpable. “I’m sure you have. We don’t mean to step on your toes, we just have a lot of experience in these particular cases.”

Allison cleared her throat and turned the attention back to Officer Church. “With only the two of you, I assume we’ll have to get the third car from the station?”

“Ah, afraid so. We don’t have the people to spare at the moment,” he said. 

Allison nodded, “Then we will all head to the station.”

The group walked to the cars at the front of the . Stiles and Church both found themselves that the driver’s door of the second car. Stiles smiled at Officer Church and held his hand out for the keys. 

“We’ll follow you back to the station,” Stiles said, not budging an inch. Eventually, Church relented and handed over the keys.

Stiles turned and looked at Allison who was at the passenger door with a pointed look. He almost didn’t notice the rest of the team playing a discrete game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who had to ride in the other car. 

“Agguire, Harvey, go,” Allison said firmly and the pair relented. 

Stiles and Allison got in the front seats of the car. Abaoub, Kline, and Giles squeezed in to the backseat.

“That guy’s an ass,” Kline mumbled and Abaoub agreed.

“ So happy we get to work with him,” Giles scoffed.

“That might be the fastest I’ve seen you three agree on not liking someone,” Allison said, shaking her head.

“Please, he wouldn’t even shake your hand. You really think we’d want to ride with him,” Agent Kline asked sarcastically.

“I feel like we threw Rey and Harvey to the tigers, though,” Agent Giles added. 

“I thought the saying was ‘thrown to the wolves’,” Abaoub asked, trying to remember how she’d learned it.

“It is, but at least they’d know what to do if it was the wolves,” Kline laughed.

When they made it to the precinct, they were led into a conference room that had been set up for them to operate out of. 

Before everyone ran in different directions, Allison spoke up. “Some further introductions are due,” she said, not missing how the sergeant rolled his eyes. “Agents Abaoub and Kline will be staying here at the station. Please get them anything they might need. Agents Agguire and Giles will go to scene where the driver was dumped. Agents Stilinski and Harvey will meet with the effected packs and I will see if I can assist at the hospital.”

“Excellent plan,” Church said with a nod. “Would you like me or another agent from our department to join you at the hospital? It would likely go a long way in getting trust from the staff.”

“You don’t have a weak stomach, do you,” Stiles asked with a smirk. “It won’t be fun experience for anyone involved.”

“I’ll go with Agent Argent,” Sargent Haynes said, shaking his head. “You go with the pair going to the crime scene.”

There were children from three different packs involved and there wasn’t a calm person to be spoken of in any of them. They were frantic and distraught and angry and wanted to look themselves. 

Every where they looked seem to be a dead end. The buses gps had been disabled, the cameras on board had local storage, not even the kids’ phones could be tracked so, either these people were smart enough to bring a signal jammer or they’d taken and ripped out the devices. Stiles’s money was on the jammer because, well, have you tried taking phones from teenagers? They’ll hide them anywhere they can so you can’t take it.

None of the packs could think of people or groups that would target them, though they all said that many new ‘wolves had been passing through the town but didn’t know much more. They’d gotten one name but quickly found it was an alias– it was the name from a previous victim whose death the unit had looked into.

They’d put the kids’ faces on the news and put out the bus number.

They were hoping it would get them calls of people who’d seen it but they risked the captures panicking.

And panic they did.

A county sheriff’s station contacted them late that evening and Stiles took the call. They read them the numbers off a bus they found abandoned. It was the right number, they confirmed it. Then came the other half of what they’d found.

They’d some of the kids. 

You could see Stiles’s face fall when they told him. Of the twenty-seven students, they found twelve. Only three were alive. They’d gotten rid of the teenagers, only taking the kids that couldn’t fight back.

They rushed to the scene as soon as they heard.

Nine kids dead, fifteen missing, three traumatized beyond belief, and so many lives destroyed. What cut the deepest was how they found them. 

They could hear a scream of panic even over the sirens when they arrived. It shook Stiles to his core. He knew the sound all too well. He ran, praying there would still be time to help but knowing there wasn’t. 

Stiles would see the scene in his nightmares. It was a massacre. 

A boy- who he learned later was only seventeen- was screaming as paramedics tried to pull him away from the bodies of two other kids. The boy was covered in blood and gore. 

As Stiles got closer, he recognized the set. The boy was trying to hold on to his brothers. One was his twin and the other was the only known human in the lot. Stiles’s stomach turned as he looked on. 

The living kid's face was bloody- his mouth was bloody- as he held his human sibling, the child covered in bite wounds. He'd tried to save him.

Before anyone could stop him, Stiles ran to the kid. He yelled at the paramedics to let go of the boy. Stiles kneeled next to the boy, getting on the kid’s level. He watched the boy crawling back to his brothers. He watched the boy carefully pulling their bodies closer, holding them in his lap.

“You did good,” Stiles whispered. “You did everything you could. You tried to save them…” 

The kid looked up at Stiles, tears running down his face. Fuck, Stiles’s eye stung with tears. He could see desperation and loneliness in the kid’s eyes, a loneliness he’d seen before. 

“Your name’s Jacob right? Jacob Davis?”

He shook his head, pure devastation covering his face as his tears left shiny, clean lines down his cheeks. “I’m Shawn,” he whined, his voice raw from his sobs. “He’s Jacob,” he whispered, looking down at his twin. His voice was quiet and broken, hardly audible.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered, wrapping an arm around the Shawn’s back. 

The boy leaned against Stiles’s shoulder, finally letting himself break. He held Shawn as he cried and screamed. It was the kind of desperate, sad sound that should never come from a child. Stiles hardly thought Shawn could ever really be a child after all he’d seen, after all he’d been through. 

He wanted to do more. He wanted to help but how could he? He hadn’t been through what Shawn had. Derek could have helped. Ethan could have helped. But Stiles? Stiles could only be there.

The coroner, an older woman with kind eyes, knelt beside them. “You can let go, baby,” she told the boy and Stiles held him tighter. “You took such good care of them. I promise I’ll take just as much care with them.”

She waited for Shawn to nod before she took his brothers from his lap. He wasn’t ready to loose them, he never would be, but at least he had that little bit of choice.

“I’m going to take them somewhere safe,” she told him, giving the boy a sad smile. 

Shawn looked at his brothers, trying to slow his tears enough to say something. “Steph needs his glasses. He gets headaches without them…”

Shawn hid his face against Stiles when she covered them with sheets. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch. He couldn’t see them taken away again. Stiles could feel the blood sticking to his shirt and skin as he held Shawn. He could feel the tears soaking his shirt. He could feel Shawn’s hot breath as he sobbed.

The coroner took a breath, looking away so her own tears didn’t show. “I’ll make sure he has his glasses,” she promised.

**********************

Stiles parked in his driveway and leaning back in his seat, feeling like death. 

He felt like screaming and crying. Every time he closed his eyes, he say those boys and felt sick. 

Cases like this made him want to quit his job to move to, like, Nebraska and become a farmer. He wanted to go home– his home , not the duplex– and crawl into bed and cry. He wanted to see his dad, hug him, be thankful to have him. He wanted to sit at the park or beach or the forest to see there was still good in the world. He wanted to forget but he couldn’t.

A school bus. A whole fucking school bus full of kids had been taken by a trafficking organization. From the cameras, they knew who they were, knew they used berserkers as guards. They left the teens. They took the little ones. He wished he didn’t know why. He wished he could do more.

Sometimes Stiles wanted to quit his job. 

Sometimes he wanted to sit at the youth center for hours talking to the kids. Sometimes he wanted to buy every kid in the children’s hospital giant stuffed animals. Sometimes he wanted to drive back to Beacon Hills and hold Eli to make sure he was alive. 

Sometimes the idea of killing every monster– human or otherwise– that he was supposed to arrest didn’t sound too bad. And sometimes… 

Sometimes the barrel of his gun seemed particularly tempting. But with his luck, he’d end up a hellhound.

Now? Now he just felt like falling over and sleeping for the foreseeable future. 

His phone started buzzing in his pocket. He looked up. He swore, if it was anything– ANYTHING– that had to do with work, he wouldn’t answer. 

He pulled the phone out of his pocket. It was Eli. Sweet, loving, happy Eli was calling him.

He wiped his face and sniffed. He cleared his throat and answered the call. “Hey buddy,” Stiles said, his voice still rough from tears. 

“I still don’t like this,” Derek's voice said, surprising Stiles.

Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to hang up the phone. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t argue with him right now. “Just… Don’t. Not today. Give the phone to Eli,” he sighed.

There was a long silence and Stiles had to check to be sure Derek hadn’t hung up. “Are you okay,” Derek whispered and Stiles felt the tears welling up again.

“Bad case,” he said blandly.  That was an understatement. “Why did you call?”

“Eli wanted to tell you about how lessons are going,” Derek said, still sounding worried. “I don’t like Eli being around Chris. I’m only doing this because I trust you,” he said and Stiles felt his stomach turn.

“And I appreciate that. I’m sure Eli does too,” Stiles said. God, if only he could tell him. What Stiles had seen, Derek would understand why this was so important. “I just need you to remember what we talked about. He’s learning how to pick up any weapon and defend himself for the same reason he needs to learn how to drive stick: in an emergency, he needs to be able do what he has to.”

Derek sighed, “Stiles, he won’t have to do any of that.”

He bet Shawn’s parents would have said the same thing. He knew his dad would have said it all those years ago. How could Derek say that so confidently with all they’d been through?

“You hope. I didn’t expect to need to know half of what I do,” Stiles said. “Can you give the phone back to Eli?”

He heard the phone being shuffled and rough mutters he could only assume were from Derek.

“Hi, Stiles,” Eli said, sounding like he was ready to burst with excitement. 

“Hey kid,” Stiles sighed, work falling away from the forefront of his mind. It wasn't gone, the hurt was never gone, but it was less. “Is he still letting you go?”

“Ya, but I had to use the whole ‘what if I get hurt and it’s something I could have avoided if Mr. Argent had taught me’,” Eli answered lightheartedly, but Stiles knew that risk was all too real. “That always works.”

“It does,” Stiles said, guilt gnawing at him. “Your dad is a huge pushover if you make him feel would do anything if it’ll help you. But, if you can avoid it, you shouldn’t say that. Your dad is really scared of you getting hurt so be careful. Don’t make me regret this, kiddo,” he said.

“Promise,” Eli nodded even though Stiles couldn’t see him. “Have you checked your mail box? Have you,” he asked excitedly. “I sent you something and it said it was delivered today! You have to look!”

Stiles huffed a laugh, pushed his hair back out of his face. “I just got home. Give me a second, I’ll look…” Stiles took the moment of motivation to get out of the car and walk up the driveway. 

His neighbor’s old dog was asleep on his steps and he leaned down to pet him on his way. He opened the mailbox by his door and saw an envelope from Beacon Hills. Stiles smiled, asking “Eli, what did you send me?”

“Open it,” he said excitedly.

Stiles put his phone on speaker and set it down so he could open the envelope. He pulled out a paper and unfolded it to see a target sheet. “Did you do this,” Stiles asked. “This has really good grouping, you’re getting pretty good.” Looking at the sheet made him proud, reminded him why this was important and how good Eli was doing.

“Right? All of them are packed together and they're only a little away from the center,” Eli said excitedly. 

He took the phone off speaker, holding to his ear as he unlocked the door. “That’d all but hit center mass for sure,” Stiles laughed.

Eli started talking about how his lessons were going and how he felt like he was getting pretty good. He told Stiles about how Derek still refused to leave him alone with Chris Argent and how proud he was, even if he hid it. Stiles gave the conversation minimal effort, mumbling his agreements and humming to encourage Eli to keep talking. Hearing Eli’s excited rambling was a small break of happiness in the shit he was digging through. 

It started to become something he looked forward to each day. Eli would call him, usually around dinner time, and talk, keeping him up to date on the happenings in Beacon Hills and in the teen’s life. Derek would correct him or add things at times– he didn’t usually take the phone but Stiles could hear his voice in the background before Eli added something to his countenance. 

Sometimes Eli would call Stiles during lunch when things happened that he thought were of note. 

They were sitting in the conference room listening to the newest list of mandated training. It was a joke. Stiles and Allison could make better training plans in their sleep. The team was sitting and eating together, making fun of the stupid training that was about a week two late as usual. 

Stiles's phone started ringing. It was almost comical to see how Stiles’s mood changed at the ringing of his phone. He stood up and answered. “Hey kiddo, what’s going on?”

The team– with the exception of Allison– watched Stiles walk out. When they were sure he was out of ear-shot, all eyes turned to her .

“Alright, we’re dying here. You have to tell us,” agent Abaoub asked, staring at Allison.

Allison looked between them. “About what,” she asked.

“About Stilinski, obviously,” Abaoub said.

“Ya, if he hasn’t told us about his kid, what else is he not telling us,” agent Agguire said, looking at his teammates. “You know the most about him, so tell us.”

Allison gawked at her teammates and started laughing.” Stiles… a kid? You think– you think,” she choked out between laughter.

“I told you she wouldn’t say anything,” agent Harvey said, rolling his eyes.

“You said she was the kid’s mom,” agent Agguire corrected, glaring at him as Allison laughed harder.

Allison’s non-answer only sparked further theories on Stiles’s secret family. They debated how old the kid was, if there was more than one, and who the kid looked like or if he might be adopted. Of course, that last of which ended up causing its own train of theories, the central one being who Stiles’s partner was.

When the Beacon Hills team pictures were sent out and Eli texted Stiles a picture of the Lacrosse team picture. Stiles was showing it to Allison and laughing at how easily they could pick out the kids of people they knew. When Stiles pointed out Eli– a name the team thought to be that of Stiles’s kid– Giles caught a look. 

He told the others about how the kid looked a lot like Stiles and the theories of Eli not being Stiles’s were left to simmer out. They didn’t need anymore proof than that. 

Stiles put a picture of Eli at the FBI training facility in Sacramento on his desk not too long after, Eli had sent him the picture with a note on the back. Between the picture, the phone calls, and the lacrosse videos Stiles showed off, they thought they had it all figured out. So, ya, Stiles totally has a teenage kid in their minds.

Weeks later, Stiles was shuffling through files trying to find signs of supernatural interference in cases for them to look into. It was hell trying to move on from the last case. They had yet to find the rest of the kids from the bus but there were no leads left to chase. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked it, smiling at the picture of Eli on his screen. He answered the call. “Hey kiddo, what’s up,” Stiles asked, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder while he opened a folder that caught his attention.

“Hey, do you live on base,” Eli asked though it was hard to hear with all the background noise.

“Uh, no? I live in Triangle” Stiles answered. “Why? Where are you? It’s hard to hear.”

“Can you send me your address again,” Eli asked, not answering any of Stiles’s questions.

Stiles set the folder down. “Ya, why do you—” he said but stopped when he heard voices on the other side of the line. He swore it was a PA system. 

“Okay! Thank you, Stiles! Bye,” Eli said quickly before he hung up.

Stiles looked at his phone in disbelief. Had Eli just… At least there seemed to be a little bit of Derek in his personality. He sent Eli his address all the same.

It was another two hours before Stiles headed home. He pulled up to his duplex and parked in his driveway, sparing a look to a taxi as it pulled onto the street but didn’t pause. It was unusual for a taxi to be there, it wasn’t a big city, even this close to base. He walked to his door, trying to ignore the strange appearance. Even so, he kept a hand on his belt as he unlocked the door.

“Stiles!”

He turned quickly to look at the taxi and the tension fell off his shoulders. Stiles huffed a laugh, looking at the open window of the car. “Eli?”

Eli opened the door and ran toward him, Derek close behind. Eli hugged Stiles and he wrapped his arms around Eli. 

Stiles sighed in relief, hugging the boy close. He didn’t realize how shaken he’d been. 

Eli might not be Stiles’s kid but he was as close as he’d ever gotten. Not seeing Eli, not being able to know for sure he was okay, when so many cases involving families and kids were filling Stiles’s work life… Being able to see Eli was like fresh air. Stiles had been drowning and now the water was draining away so he could breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming,” Stiles asked, finally letting Eli lean back but kept a hand on his arm. “I… I don’t have any food or anywhere for you to sleep…”

“We have a hotel room booked,” Derek chimed in, giving Stiles a concerned look. Of course he did. Derek could probably smell how stressed Stiles was from a mile away.

Eli pointed happily at his leg. “Look, no cast,” he said excitedly. Has it been that long? “I got it taken off and they said I should be careful and dad asked if they knew me. They also said to wait awhile before I start playing Lacrosse again but sitting the bench is killing me!”

“When did you get your cast off,” Stiles asked.

“On Wednesday,” Eli said happily. 

Stiles looked at Derek and nodded. “What were you two planning for the evening?”

Derek regretted saying they were doing nothing because, now, he was at a Dave And Busters, eating greasy cardboard pizza, and watching Eli and Stiles try to play skee ball. He regretted it more when Stiles insisted on taking Eli with him to the FBI building the next morning. 

Eli was still half asleep in the car when Stiles was driving them to the bureau building on base. At the check gate, the corporal working the base security check point looked in the car and smiled.

“Couldn’t get a babysitter for spring break,” she asked with smile.

Stiles smiled back at her. “The kid is obsessed with the FBI. He’s just gonna be here for a while before his dad picks him up.”

“You got a day pass for him,” she asked and Stiles held his phone out to show her. She marked something down on her clipboard and checked his ID. She gave him a lanyard for Eli and waved them through. 

They rode the elevator up to the third floor and walked a winding path to the unit. Stiles stopped Eli outside the door, watching the kid practically vibrate with excitement.

“Are you sure you want to be here today? You don’t seem excited at all,” Stiles teased with a smile.

“I don’t think I have ever been this excited in my entire life,” Eli said, looking up at Stiles with impossibly big eyes. 

Stiles smiled at him and ruffled Eli’s hair. “If you’re sure,” he said and pushed the door open. 

The team looked up from their desks when the door opened and watched Stiles walk in with a teenage kid. If they didn’t think Eli was Stiles’s kid before, they certainly did now. Eli has big brown doe eyes that perfectly match Stiles’s as he looked around. His long curly hair fell in his face, a far cry from Stiles’s usual short and neatly kept hair but they had seen the curls Stiles gained when his hair did grow out. As for hair color, Eli’s seemed a bit darker but still very similar. Watching them together, their smiles seemed to be near carbon copies of each other. 

When Stiles brought Eli over to introduce him to the team, they became sure this was Stiles’s kid. Seeing the kid in person showed they both had moles on their faces and freckles that otherwise dotted them. They had the same messy brown hair and were about the same height. Nothing dispelled their theories, if anything they were strengthened. 

“Hey everyone, this is Eli,” Stiles introduced with a smile, wrapping an arm around Eli’s shoulders. “He’s going to be hanging out with us today.” Eli gave an awkward wave. “Allison’s in her office but this is Agent Jerimiah Giles, Agent Karla Abaoub, Agent Reynaldo Agguire, Agent Nadine Kline, and Agent Alexander Harvey. My team.”

“Agent Stilinski, are you sure he should be here,” Kline asked nervously, closing an open file.

Stiles squinted for a second before figuring out what she meant. “Oh, he knows all about the supernatural. At least half of his family’s werewolves,” he explained.

The team shared a look meaning they’d have to discuss that fact later and add it to the ever growing number of theories about Stiles’s personal life and kid.  

Eli had, quite possibly the best day ever. He got to talk to the agents on Stiles’s team and ask them about a billion questions which they answered as best they could. They let him listen as they discussed the new training classes they had to take and the expectations for said class (they were on their best behavior and didn’t mock the class at all, even if they wanted to). 

At some point, Agent Abaoub gave him an FBI hat. 

He even got to go to the indoor range in the building. It took a little convincing but they eventually let Eli shoot at the indoor range and he impressed the rest of the team. Stiles was absolutely beaming with pride watching Eli show off.

He leaned against the wall in his office, watching Eli– who was currently sitting in the chair behind Stiles's desk and looking around like a kid in a candy shop. Stiles couldn’t even imagine the number of pictures the boy had taken now that he'd been gifted an FBI hat.

"Mr. Stilinski," whisper-yelled agent Harvey, stepping into Stiles’s office with big eyes.

"Oh boy," Stiles mumbled, smiling at the agent and waiting.

"I-there-he-it-ah-here–"

Stiles held up a hand to stop him. "One word at a time, please."

"Uh, sir," Harvey glanced back towards the elevator. "Derek Hale is in the unit," he said in a whisper.

"Oh, okay," Stiles said with a shrug.

"What?! No, The Derek Hale, the werewolf who was a murder suspect in three different cases, one of which was for mass murder and the FBI had to hunt him down. We hunted him down," Harvey explained.

Stiles nodded. "I'm aware. I was part of that raid. And he can hear you, by the way. Derek, you can come back here."

"Sir, you don’t understand!"

"I promise, you're the one not understanding," Stiles said, trying not to smile too much at the misunderstanding.

Agent Harvey went for another glance at the unit and was met with Derek only feet away. The closer Derek got, the more he stepped back into the room. Stiles was dying trying not to laugh.

When Derek was in the room, Stiles cleared his throat. "Eli, look who's here."

Eli's eyes snapped up and he smiled at Derek. "Dad, you have got to see all the cool pictures I took," he said excitedly, jumping up to show Derek.

Stiles walked Eli and Derek to the elevator with a promise of meeting them for dinner. 

As the elevator door closed, Harvey stood timidly next to him. "Derek Hale is your partner?"

Stiles looked at the guy in shock and busted out laughing. “No. God no, He’s not. He’s Eli’s dad,” he explained walking off. 

More theories were sparked that day. Theories of how Stiles and Derek had adopted Eli together and then divorced, a theory that Derek lost Eli and Stiles adopted him and was kind enough to give Derek time with Eli. There was a theory that Derek was Eli’s step-father and the opposing theory that Stiles is Eli’s step-father. Someone offered the theory that Stiles was actually a trans man and Eli was biologically his and Derek's. No minds had been settled and no bets won… Yet.

**********************

Allison walked into the lunch room and dropped a file in front of Stiles, waiting as he glared at it. 

Stiles looked her in the eyes. “If this says Darach or Kanima anywhere , I’m quitting,” he said, holding up the file.

“Good. It says Wendigo,” Allison told him, obviously tired. 

Stiles whined like a child being told it was bedtime– something he would be ecstatic about if he was told as an adult. He sadly repacked his lunch, putting it in the fridge, and walked with Allison. 

“Friend or foe,” he asked, hoping– praying– for the former.

“The answer to the San Fran grave robbings, no known kills. They’ve been subsiding off animals and corpses.”

“And the embalming fluid is making them sick so they need a plug for meat,” Stiles finished as they got to the bullpen. He’d heard it too many times. Allison nodded and he finally opened the file. “Family of three… Apartments are hard to hide their food supply in. Give them O’Malley’s number and advise them to find a home in a less densely populated area. If they stay close, O’Malley should deliver. Otherwise, we have a list.”

“There’s a list of people who supply dead bodies to be eaten,” a new agent asked.

“How else are we going to help people,” Stiles asked. 

“Well… they’re not really people are they,” the probational agent– who would soon be a gone agent– popped off.

A collective “uh oh,” came from the rest of the team, watching Allison and Stiles stare the newbie down. 

The ever-personable Stiles went cold. Calm and collected Allison looked angry.

“Say again,” Stiles asked flatly, glaring daggers.

“They aren’t human,” the newbie shrugged. “Why does it matter? If it doesn’t affect humans then, who cares?”

“That sound racist to you? It sounded racist to me. Like, some KKK-MAGA shit,” Allison said and Stiles nodded. “And what about you? If you were turned into a werewolf, do you want the government to just stop helping you? By the way, if that does happen, you will lose your job with no consideration or appeals available.”

“Well, no but—”

“So if you, as a human, are turned into a werewolf, you still deserve help,” Allison asked in disgust.

“Duh! I’m human.”

“But you wouldn’t be,” Stiles stated. “You would be a werewolf– turned, not born– but a ‘wolf all the same. So where’s the value in a life end?”

“I was born human so I should always be treated as a human!”

Stiles looked at Allison. “So since you were born a baby, you should always be a baby,” she asked.

“No, that’s stupid!”

“Because your needs changed,” Stiles agreed. “So, if you develop diabetes we shouldn’t give you insulin because you didn’t have diabetes before?”

“What,” the newbie asked.

“If your needs change, the way you are treated changes to reflect that,” Stiles said bitterly. “If you are a werewolf or a wendigo or a Kitsune, you would have different needs than humans, so we help.”

“Ya, as it turns out– if wendigos can’t find dead food, they start hunting live food,” Allison pitched in. “If you would like to be a part of that live food, be my guest. Now, pack your shit and leave,” she scoffed.

“Your transfer will be processed by the end of the day, I’ll make sure of it,” Stiles told the newbie, walking away.

Allison glared at the newbie and rolled her eyes. She went after Stiles, leaving a room of bewildered people.

“Oh, he fucked up-fucked up,” Agent Mensel whispered. “Everyone knows not to say that shit in front of Stilinski.”

Agent Kline froze and glared at the other. “Nobody else thinks like that.”

“Maybe we don’t but you can’t speak for the rest of the building,” Mensel said. “Even so, they know not to voice those opinions to him or did you forget last christmas’s blow-up?”

Allison found Stiles in his office. It was dark. He sat in the chair looking at the picture on his desk. He saw Allison walk in but didn’t look up at her.

“Stiles—”

“They can’t help it,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

“It’s how they were born,” Stiles said, more to the world than to her. “It’s like hating someone for being born a certain gender, only they have no way to change what they are.”

“ I know. ” Allison sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Are you talking about born ‘wolves or Derek,” Allison asked and Stiles glared at her. “I’m just saying…”

“Saying what,” he scoffed.

“You spent a lot of time with him while you were home,” Allison said. “You helped with his kid and you talk to both of them all the time , even at work. Hell, you got my dad to teach Eli to protect himself!” Allison waited expectantly. When she didn’t get what she was waiting for, she asked, “is there something you want to talk about?”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “I’m helping him. It’s kind of our job.”

“Our job is to protect and help supernatural individuals,” Allison said.

“And their families. Eli is family–” Stiles said, quickly adding, “he’s a werewolf’s kid. Even if he is human.”

Allison nodded. “It just seems like you’re getting pretty attached to someone we know is a flight risk.”

“Derek wouldn’t do that to his pack,” Stiles retorted.

“To the pack or to you,” she asked.

“Stop, okay? Nothing is going on,” he told her.

“I don’t have to hear your heart rate to know you just lied,” Allison said, folding her arms.

Stiles took a deep breath, glaring at her. Allison just stared back at him. He fought with himself, keeping from losing it. He ripped open the top drawer of his desk. “I’m going to the gallery,” he mumbled, pulling out his gun and sliding it into the holster on his belt. He walked past her.

“Stiles,” Allison sighed, turning to watch him. “Stiles!”

Stiles ducked into the elevator, ignoring the world around him. He leaned his head back, resting against the cold metal wall. 

Allison just kept pushing and pushing– they all had been. They asked about Eli and if Stiles was dating and if Eli was his kid or his partner’s kid… He was tired of it. Eli was just… Eli was a kid that needed support. 

And maybe… maybe some old, weird, confusing feelings had started to rise since he’d been helping Derek. 

Maybe Stiles had mentally slipped up once or twice and called Eli his kid. Maybe he did look forward to hearing from them. But so what if Stiles liked seeing how fast Eli was learning? 

Derek had even made a comment once about Eli seeming to get a better handle on his temper. Stiles, of course, had to make a comment about how a proper outlet could do that. He was surprised when Derek agreed, but he had been taking Stiles’s advice into account more often.

There was nothing between them. Stiles was mentoring Eli and Derek was listening to his suggestions but that was it! The spring break visit, the calls and texts, they were nothing! 

Eli texted Stiles his lacrosse schedule when he was cleared to play again. Stiles was looking forward to it, to hearing from them. From Eli! Not from… Maybe he did miss Derek a little, but that doesn’t mean anything!

The night of Eli’s first game back was a whole production on Stiles’s part. He’d found one of his old Beacon Hills t-shirts and made popcorn. 

He was walking back from getting a drink when the facetime on his laptop started to ring. Stiles hurried back to the couch, answering the facetime call. Stiles waved when he saw Eli’s face pop up on his screen. “Hey kid,” he said, grabbing his bowl of popcorn off the coffee table.

“Hi, Stiles,” Eli said happily. “Dad’s phone is almost dead so I said he could use mine. I have to go! Here’s dad.” Eli handed the phone off to Derek. 

“Kick some ass Eli,” one of the many Hale kids yelled, earning a glare from Derek. It did nothing. Even as their alpha, Derek had minimal control over the teens at best.

“Everyone run,” Stiles chuckled, “the big bad wolf is gonna huff and puff and blow your house down.”

Derek rolled his eyes and glared at Stiles. “Don’t encourage them,” he grumbled. “Are you eating popcorn?”

“Can you smell it through the screen,” Stiles scoffed, popping a piece into his mouth. “Makes me feel like I’m really there. Except it isn’t stale.” Derek nodded, seemingly agreeing.

Derek looked away from the phone. Stiles assumed he was watching the huddle. Derek tisked. “Coach is making Eli take it easy.”

“That’s smart,” Stiles said. “He got cleared to play yesterday. He’s probably worried about Eli breaking his leg again.”

“Bones heal stronger each time you break them,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s a lie,” he hummed. “Please say you didn’t tell Eli that,” he added quickly and Derek shook his head.

Derek mumbled, “he might break something on purpose.” 

“No joke,” Stiles sighed. “If he wasn’t your kid I’d be seriously questioning why he has so many borderline self-destructive behaviors.”

Derek gave Stiles a look that felt very accusatory. “As if your kids wouldn’t,” he protested, “hypocrite.”

Stiles bit his lip, his stomach doing that weird twisty-fluttery thing again. He had learned that talking to Derek could be fun when they weren’t at each other’s throats. They actually got along pretty well at times. It was funny to Stiles that all that they needed to get along was a kid.

“They’re putting Eli in,” Derek said and Stiles sat up, watching when Derek flipped the camera so he could see the field. 

Something that Derek had learned about Stiles was that he never shut up. Sure, he knew the guy talked a lot but he wasn’t prepped for this. Stiles talked in his sleep. He talked while he ate. Worst of all, he yelled at lacrosse games. Constantly. Almost immediately, other parents started looking at him and the pack started laughing. He always had to turned the volume down, almost completely to nothing, so only he could hear Stiles.

Coach let Eli play out the rest of the quarter but pulled him before the second quarter. Derek flipped the camera back around. Stiles saw Derek go stiff, looking toward the field.

“What? What happened,” Stiles asked.

Derek sighed. “Eli’s hurting. I can sme– I can tell,” he censored himself, remembering the sheer number of humans around him. Derek looked off to the side of the field, nodding for someone to come over.

Someone walked over and asked, “what?” Stiles had spent enough time around the family to recognize Jasper’s voice– he was the cheerleader.

“Can you take Eli this,” Derek asked, grabbing a bag to hand off. “They don’t let parents on the field.”

 “His meds are in here,” Jasper asked.

“Yes. The small pocket on the front. Icepack in the big part,” Derek said, watching the other take the bag to Eli. 

“Is he okay,” Stiles asked, starting to feel nervous, “or are you just mother hen-ing again?”

Derek nodded. “He needs to take it slower than this,” he mumbled.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “A Hale pushing himself? No way,” he said sarcastically and Derek frowned at him. “Come on, he gets that from you.”

“And you being up to your usual antics a week after being shot didn’t make an impression,” Derek scoffed.

“Okay, so maybe I had something to do with it,” Stiles conceded and Derek smirked. Stiles had intended to make some quip about it being a Hale thing but he lost the words. He rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn’t a kid, he shouldn’t get butterflies because someone smiles at him– even if they are as attractive as Derek Hale.

Chapter Text

When the BHHS lacrosse team had set up a charity game against Devenford Prep and Stiles… was on a stakeout and couldn’t stay on the phone to watch. 

It was ironic, his unit was in San Francisco and yet he still couldn’t make it to the game that was only a few hours drive away. 

He'd promised that he’d make it back to cheer Eli on at the next game, though. Still, it was rare he missed a game or a call, anything, and he felt a little guilty. He was honestly contemplating if he could manage to drive out to see them or meet half way before his flight. Would that be weird? He didn’t want it to be weird.

Stiles’s phone kept buzzing with messages from Derek about how the game was going and the occasional message from Eli. If he couldn’t watch him play, he was thankful that Derek cared enough to tell him how Eli was doing. He was doing it for Eli, not for Stiles. Derek wouldn't do that just to make Stiles feel better, he was sure of that.

Allison looked at Stiles when his phone buzzed for the hundredth time. “Is that still Derek?”

“Ya. Eli’s playing in the charity game,” Stiles told her, showing her the last message.

“I don't need to see you two flirting,” she joked. 

“Dude, we're not flirting! It's just so I know how Eli’s doing since I can't watch him play.”

Allison laughed, shaking her head. “You’re whipped.”

“I am not whipped! I don’t even like Derek,” Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes. “The only reason we put up with each other is for Eli.”

“Right. That’s why he’s texting you every five minutes right now,” Allison said.

“Eli’s playing. I’m getting updates through text,” Stiles explained.

“Okay, why do you care,” she asked. “He’s not your kid– unless you have something to share– you're not dating Derek, and you're not related to him. So why do you care?”

“I don't know, I just do.” Stiles took a sip of his coffee, glancing at his phone. Why did he care? Was this weird, having Derek text him updates while Eli played? Eli was Derek’s kid, not Stiles’s so who was he to even consider having this?

He didn’t get another text for a while. Then a while turned into five minutes which turned into ten minute with nothing.

“Do you think he got benched,” Stiles mumbled, checking his phone again.

“Maybe his phone died,” Allison suggested.

Stiles frowned, “Maybe…”

“We’re just making sure this family's placement is safe and their food supply is set. We switch out with local PD in an hour. You’ll be fine not talking to your boyfriend until then,” Allison said with a smirk, trying to keep his mind off of it.

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re friends. For Eli,” Stiles said.

Allison looked at Stiles with a proud smile. “So you are friends.”

The rest of their stakeout was uneventful. No hunters, no suspicions, no hiccups. Hell, Stiles wouldn’t have known they were any kind of supernatural, let alone wendigos, if he hadn’t been the one to set them up with O’Malley’s. 

Speaking of, he was always amazed at how discreet the company was. I mean, it’s not exactly easy delivering enough human meat to feed a family of five but you’d never know. Sure, the truck said O’Malley’s specialty meats but that’s exactly what they sold: emu, bison, kangaroo, ostrich, moose, alligator, frog, and– to those who knew how to ask– human. Best to hide your illegal operation in the middle of the legal one; and, yes, it was illegal because government bureaucrats insist on dragging their feet to help anyone but themselves. Maybe if one of them was turned… 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time between local PD taking over the watch and their flight back for Stiles to make it out to see Derek and Eli. They couldn’t even meet halfway since he couldn’t get a hold of Derek. 

He’d texted them that they were about to head out on the way to the airport. The unit was heading to the terminal when his phone finally rang. 

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw it was Derek. It calmed nerves he didn't even know he had. Derek’s phone must have died during the game and he couldn’t call until now.

“Hey Der. How was the game,” he asked but his smile quickly fell. “HE DID WHAT?"

Stiles thanked god he was still in the San Francisco airport when Derek called. He would have boarded in five minutes. One minute later and he wouldn’t have been able to get the rental car back. 

He parked shittily in the Beacon Hills hospital parking lot and ran inside. He was out of breath and his side felt like it was going to rip open when he got to the front desk. 

Not so fun fact: chronic pain tends to make the symptoms of ADHD worse and chronic pain he did indeed have after being shot, oh, four months ago.

“Eli Hale. What room,” Stiles spluttered between breaths.

The nurse looked at him like he was crazy. He probably looked the part. He was still in his suit, tie hanging loosely around his neck. He still had on his badge and gun. His hair was definitely a mess and he was freaking the hell out.

“What is your relation to the patient,” the nurse asked, one hand reaching to call security.

Stiles gulped. “I’m his– I mean, I’m—”

“He’s with me,” Derek told the nurse, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders to pull him close and Stiles sighed, leaning into him. Having Stiles there, held close to him, felt right. Knowing that at least one of his boys of them was fine made his heart hurt a little less. 

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at a patient’s chart. “He’s of close relation?”

Derek gave a fake smile to the nurse, convincing enough for her even if Stiles could have seen right through it. “I'm sure you can understand that we appreciate privacy .”

If he knew of any other way to get back there, Stiles would have called Derek out on his little lie– even if the thought brought a blush to his face.

“Fine,” the nurse sighed, “but I expect you to update this paperwork should this ever happen again.” She glared at both of them and unlocked the doors for them.

Derek thanked her and led Stiles through the doors and down the hall. 

“Is he okay? Can we go in,” Stiles asked, closing his eyes and trusting Derek to lead him along. He pressed a hand to his side, over the scar from being shot.

Derek didn’t answer, carefully taking on more of Stiles’s weight as they walked. His thumb brushed against the arm Stiles held close to his stomach. He didn’t need the smell of pain that hung around Stiles to know he was hurting. “Are you okay,” he asked, using the hand holding Stiles’s by the waist to pull the pain away. 

He cringed, feeling what Stiles dealt with, but he also felt Stiles relaxing into him so he took it without complaint. Derek held Stiles close, finding peace in his touch. 

“I'll be fine, Der. How's our kid,” Stiles asked. Your kid. He meant Derek's kid. He must be more tired than he thought.

Derek smiled, looking at how Stiles pressed against him. It was a soft, loving smile; one that showed exactly how he felt without saying it. Our kid , huh? He liked the sound of that. 

“More broken bones. They have him in a splint but we’re waiting on x-rays to know more. We can go in when you're okay. He's probably asleep," Derek told him. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Told you, I'm fine, just tired and a little achy. Nothing new,” Stiles sighed. “You don’t have to help, it’s not really that bad. I just want to make sure he's okay.”

Stiles had been awake for going on twenty hours. He’d said he was going to sleep on the plane but, well, here they were. Stiles was bathed in the smell of dizziness and fear. Derek taking his pain seemed to soothe him enough that the exhaustion could start to take over.

Derek sighed, his brows knotting together with concern. It was a bold-faced lie, he could feel the pain as he took it from Stiles. It was a fleeting feeling for him. How did Stiles manage that for long? 

They heard shoes hitting the floor– fast, angry– as a nurse hurried towards them.

“Why isn’t he healing like the rest of you,” one of the nurses helping Eli asked– more like she accused– Derek quietly. 

Her sharp voice pulled Stiles out of his half-sleep and Derek cursed under his breath. If Derek wasn't going to start an argument, Stiles was happy to do it for him.

“What happened to that boy,” she asked in the same accusatory tone.

Stiles pulled away from Derek, nearly falling over when the pain returned in full force with the movement. “Keep your voice down,” he scolded her. “Do you want the whole world to know about them? How do you even know?”

She scoffed, her appraising eyes taking him in. “I’m a nurse in Beacon Hills. How would I not know, Stilinski ,” the nurse fired back.

“Then you should know he’s human,” Stiles hissed quickly, taking a step forward so he was between Derek and the nurse. “Don’t act like this is Derek’s fault.”

“Fine,” she looked between Stiles and Derek, “but why wasn’t Derek at the game, then,” she asked.

Stiles paused, looking between her and Derek. 

“He was at the game. He was sending me updates,” Stiles told her. He was too tired for this shit.

“Really? Scott said he wasn’t there,” the nurse said and walked away. 

Stiles considered her words, turning to Derek. It took a second for his sleep-deprived brain to process the information. 

“Stiles,” Derek mumbled in concern, reaching for him. Stiles had gone quiet and that was never good. Derek didn't know if the concern was for Stiles or for what he'd say but he wanted him close again all the same.

“You weren’t there,” Stiles mumbled, stepping back, away from Derek’s reaching hand.

Derek tensed, pulling into himself. He didn’t need to say anything; that answered the question. “One of the betas on patrol smelled something in the woods and I had to go check it—”

“This is the second time he’s broken something and you weren’t there. He didn’t have either of us there,” Stiles mumbled harshly, running a hand through his hair. 

Derek watched Stiles go through emotions in seconds– confusion, shock, fear, worry– before settling on anger. Anger directed at him. 

“We agreed, Derek. One of us is going to be there at every game. I have never missed a game I said I would be at and I live on the other side of the fucking country!”

“It was one game! I have a lot of things I’m responsible for,” Derek said defensively and Stiles huffed a disbelieving laugh.

“And you think I don’t,” Stiles asked, raising his voice. “Derek, I’m the lead for an investigative unit of the FBI, I do guest lectures at training academies and universities over new research, I read in all new agents in the Unit, I help write and review training modules for the unit, and yet I still find time to talk to Eli and make it to his last three games! I live on the other side of the fucking country! It’s a five hour flight. How hard is it for you– his father– to make it to a few games when you live here,” Stiles asked, barely keeping himself from yelling.

Derek ground his teeth together, stifling a growl. He blinked back the red from his eyes, they'd win him nothing with Stiles and might even lose him ground. “I have things I have to do for my pack that humans would never understand. It’s an almost physical pull that I can’t ignore, not as the alpha,” he snapped.

“Oh really? A human like me?”

“Yes.”

“Like your son ?”

“Yes. Important things, Stiles!”

“More important than Eli?”

“Sometimes, yes!” Derek froze. No. Fuck, he didn’t mean that. He regretted the words the second they left his mouth. “I mean, not more important than him but more than one game,” he said, trying to backtrack. “I'm trying to protect him and everyone else.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “You are so fucking lucky that door is closed and he doesn’t have super hearing,” he chuckled in irritation because if he didn’t laugh, he’d lose it. “And, if those blinds weren’t open and I wouldn’t get escorted out, I would punch you so goddamned hard it would take a while to heal.” 

Stiles looked away from Derek, trying to calm down. He scoffed at himself. “And to think, I thought you'd gotten better,” Stiles said in a cold, level voice and walked into Eli’s room. 

Eli looked up at Stiles like a sad puppy. He had been given medication for the pain, that much was obvious. His eyes were red and puffy like he'd been crying but could you really fault him for it? 

He seemed to contemplate something as Stiles got closer to him. “Were you guys fighting,” he asked groggily, his throat hoarse. 

Stiles chewed his lip and nodded. “Nothing you need to worry about, though. We’re just stressed and worried. How are you feeling,” Stiles asked gently, pushing Eli’s hair out of his face. God, he was burning up.

“Was it about me,” Eli asked.

Stiles could feel his heart breaking. “Of course not. You didn’t do anything. Why would you think that?”

Eli looked out the window at Derek and Stiles looked too. He was pacing like a caged animal. 

“Because,” he mumbled. Because Derek didn’t get that upset about very many things . 

“Is it because he wasn’t there,” he asked, looking back at Stiles. “It’s okay. I don’t care. It was just a charity game and I wasn’t even supposed to play, didn't know I would till this morning. I didn’t really expect either of you to be there.”

“That’s not the point and you don’t need to come up with reasons.” Stiles told him and sighed, “did he tell you he wouldn’t be there?”

“Ya,” Eli mumbled. “He texted me so I wasn’t worried.”

Count that as a point in Derek’s favor but he was still digging himself out of a hole.

Stiles grabbed the cup of water next to the bed and held the straw so Eli could get a drink. 

“Are you feeling okay,” Stiles asked.

“I’ve had worse,” Eli said with a small smile, raising his splinted arm slightly. He looked out the window, at his dad pacing in the hall, and then back to Stiles. “He misses you when you’re gone. I do too. I wish you could visit more.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, ruffling Eli’s hair. “They gave you good pain meds, didn’t they,” he asked. “You are very out of it.”

“No, I’m not,” Eli said, looking up at Stiles in confusion.

“If you say so. I’m going to sit right there,” he nodded to a chair in the corner, “until they get your x-rays back. Once we’re out of here, I'll talk your dad into getting ice cream,” Stiles said, walking over to the chair.

“What about your flight? Don’t you have to go home,” Eli asked.

“A problem for later,” Stiles hummed, slumping down in the chair. 

Derek waited until Stiles was asleep, it didn’t even take five minutes, before he quietly walked in. He sat on the edge of Eli’s bed, resting a hand on his upper arm, and pulling Eli’s pain.

He'd take every ounce of pain if he could. If it made them Eli feel better, he'd do it without a second thought

“That’s what the drugs are for,” Eli mumbled, looking up at his dad. “Thanks…”

“You calmed down when Stiles was talking with you,” Derek said, looking over at the man asleep in the corner. 

Stiles always fell asleep in the strangest places and at weird angles. Derek smiled, shaking his head. He needed the sleep. He was always running around saving everyone else and forgot to help himself.

Maybe Stiles was right. Maybe he should have been there instead. He could have sent someone else to investigate and he could have been with his son, could have talked to Stiles more. But what could he have done that the others couldn't? Willow and Jasper both learn how to take another person's pain. Scott and the other EMT brought Eli to the hospital. But they weren’t Eli’s dad, they couldn’t fill that role. Stiles was right.

"I'm not the only one. He calms you down, too. You laugh and smile more with him. It’s a good look,” Eli joked, watching how his dad looked at Stiles. “Why don’t you tell him?”

Derek licked his lips and frowned. He looked at Eli with a sigh. “It doesn’t work like that, Eli.”

“Lier,” Eli hummed. “Nothing will ever happen if you don’t say anything, that’s what aunt Hannah told you.”

Derek started to say something but stopped, giving Eli an incredulous look. “Have you been spying on me?”

“I just overheard…”

“Eli.” 

“Why don’t you tell him?”

Derek frowned, shaking his head. He wished he could help more, do the right thing. He kept messing things up no matter how hard he tried to help. He hated that Stiles was angry at him. Derek wanted to protect him, take care of him. He tried to say it was just because of the pack before but this was different, this was more. 

“I don’t want you to lose him,” he admitted. He couldn’t do that, be that selfish. Things would always be difficult between him and Stiles and he couldn't risk Eli being forced to pick a side.

“Stiles wouldn’t leave us,” Eli said firmly. “You said he’s part of the pack.”

Derek was quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to explain. “Stiles… he’s part of my pack from before I had you,” he mumbled. It was hard to think about. There were so many things he should have done differently. “Do you remember how I told you about Erica and Boyd and Isaac?” Eli nodded and Derek sighed. “That’s the pack Stiles was a part of. Scott had his own pack and Isaac joined him. Erica and Boyd, they… They died. He’s all that’s really left tied to that pack now, but I don’t think he knows that.”

“But you still see him as pack,” Eli asked and Derek was slow to nod in agreement. “Then you really need to tell him that.”

Derek looked at his son, his little romantic. Where had he gotten that from? He held Eli’s uninjured hand and gave him a soft, tired smile. “I’ll figure it out, tell him at some point, promise.”

“Soon,” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow.

Derek huffed a laugh, a big smile– one that proved exactly where Eli got his bunny teeth– covered his face. “You sound like your aunt,” he said. “I’ll tell him when it’s time.”

When his x-rays came back, it was decided that Eli would just need a cast and he would be good to go. When the doctor had got to get the orthopedic tech, Derek woke Stiles to tell him and was met with a glare. 

Stiles didn’t talk to Derek and barely acknowledged his existence. His focus was on Eli, even as the smell of pain rolled off Stiles. 

They were both in pain. They were both hurting but too stubborn to let Derek help and it was going to drive him crazy. Eli’s arm ached as the pain meds wore off but more than that, he was worried. Stiles was tired and his side felt like it was going to reopen. He was worried and angry and Derek really wished he could sense all of it.

Stiles and Derek both stood next to Eli as he got his cast put on. He’d gone for green this time, smiling as it ached.

“At least you don’t need crutches this time,” Stiles told Eli, helping him out of the hospital and into Derek’s car.

“Ya, but I can’t do anything with my right hand,” Eli grumbled  as he sat in the passenger seat. Stiles didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. “I can’t play lacrosse. I can’t shoot a gun or bow and arrow. I can’t write—”

Derek stopped, holding his door open and ducking into look at his son. “Eli, you’re left-handed,” he said, “you couldn’t write with your right hand if you had to.”

“He plays lacrosse and shoots right-handed,” Stiles said. He looked at Derek, then to Eli. “You're not right-handed?”

“No!” Derek shook his head. “As far as I’m aware, he does everything else left-handed. He’s always played sports right-handed and everything else left-handed.” 

“Eli, dude, what the hell,” Stiles asked, trying not to laugh.

He just shrugged, “it makes more sense that way to me,” Eli mumbled.

Stiles rolled his eyes, closing Eli’s door and looking off toward the rental car. 

Derek looked too, asking, “do you want to ride with us? You can spend the night at the house and I’ll bring you back—”

“It’s a rental,” Stiles said quickly, “I need to get it back.”

“Is someone going to pick you up when you drop off the car,” Derek asked. 

Stiles didn’t answer. 

Derek closed his car door, walking around to talk to Stiles. “I know I messed up today–” Stiles scoffed and he cringed, “but… having you around makes Eli happy and I know you like spending time with him too—”

“Don’t fucking try to use Eli to guilt trip me,” Stiles said bitterly, biting the inside of his lip. “Do you want to know what I thought when I went to Eli’s first game? I thought a kid as happy as Eli would have at least one parent there to watch him play. You should have seen the look he had when he saw you weren’t there. He kept searching the crowd even after he’d been told you weren’t coming. His first game , Derek. Did they tell you he was crying for you, for his dad, when he broke his leg? That he was asking where you were?”

“That’s not fair,” Derek mumbled, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“Not fair? Derek, I was the one holding his hand when Scott reset his leg,” Stiles told him. “What were you doing?”

“I was talking to another pack! I was making sure Eli and the rest of our family and all of Beacon Hills is safe,” Derek said back. “I freaked out when I heard! I don’t know if you remember but I’m not exactly used to sports injuries being a big concern! I—”

“He’s fifteen! The human thing isn’t exactly new,” Stiles said, cutting Derek off. “Oh, and just so you know, my dad– the sheriff– dealt with all the crap of Beacon Hills– supernatural and not– but he never never missed a game even though I rarely played. So, screw you and your excuses.”

Stiles didn’t bother looking back when he walked to the car. If Derek was even half of what Stiles thought, he’d be taking care of Eli anyway. There was no point in looking back, no point in hoping…

He took the rental car back and caught a cab to the airport. He got there in time to catch a late flight. They happily put him on the flight when they saw the FBI badge that he so conveniently happened to be hanging on his jacket pocket. 

He made sure to text Eli good night and goodbye before boarding.

His luggage had been loaded on the private plane with the others and Allison had been nice enough to grab it for him. He could worry about that when he got to Virginia. For now, he needed sleep. He needed not to think about Derek or why he was so angry at him.

He slept through the entire five-hour flight without ever waking up. The only thing that woke him was when the flight attendant went through asking people to put their seatbelts on for landing. 

He walked out to his crappy car which he’d (luckily) decided to leave at the airport parking lot and went home.

He walked into his duplex like a robot. He felt like he just got fucked by the timezone change. He’d left California at nine pm on Wednesday, taken a five-and-a-half-hour flight, and landed in Virginia at two-thirty on Thursday California time– which meant it was actually five thirty am in Virginia. And he had to be back to work at seven.

He was just going through the motions. He grabbed clean clothes and walked to the bathroom. He turned on the shower. He emptied his pockets and undressed. He checked the water. He got in the shower and bathed. It was all mechanical. He didn’t need to think. Good thing, too. His mind was elsewhere. 

His mind was stuck on stupid Derek who didn’t go to his kid’s game. How Derek had to fucking tell Stiles when he was about to get on his flight. And how the asshole acted so calm at the hospital. How the stupid fucking asshole didn’t think twice about letting Stiles help. Or how the jackass pulled Stiles's pain to help him calm down. Or how he held Stiles up when he was going to fall over from lack of sleep. Or how the dickwad didn’t tell Stiles he wasn’t at the game. Or how he let Stiles look like an idiot defending him. Or how Derek SAID he had more important things to do! Or how he had the nerve to look so guilty about it all. Or how bad that look made Stiles feel for yelling at him and being mad. Or how Derek fucking offered to let Stiles stay with him to try and make up for it. Or that annoying soft look he got when Stiles yelled at him. Or how Stiles’s stomach flipped when he— 

Stiles stopped, snapping out of his mechanical trance. 

Fuck. 

He had feelings for Derek Hale.

Fuck. Fuck! Shit! Oh, god damn it! No. No. No!

He could not have feelings for that stupid, insensitive, caring, gentle, attractive, werewolf asshole! Well… that answered that. 

No! He couldn’t let himself because it would be like Lydia all over again and possibly worse. Why, you may ask? Because Derek is fucking straight! He has a kid! 

But Stiles, what if he’s bi? You’re bi.

Was he? Was Stiles bi? Because he was really starting to believe that he was some other thing where he’s only attracted to people who aren’t attracted to him… ever… in a million years. Yup, that was his type– people lightyears out of his league that would eventually leave if they were ever dumb enough to date him .

Stiles is great at positive thinking. Nobody will ever really love him . Now to dig himself out of the personal Hell he’d created for himself because there were people who did love him. 

His dad loved him. His friends– Scott, Allison, Lydia, and even Jackson at times– loved him. Was that it? Really? Wow, that’s a short list… No. No, because of Melissa and Eli— Ah, yes. The kid that Stiles had decided to play house with because he looks up to him. He’s not Stiles’s kid. He doesn’t care that much.

Stiles turned off the shower. 

Enough of that. Time to go mindlessly watch a tv show until he had to go to work so his brain would stop trying to make him hate himself. 

He got out of the shower and dried off, trying to distract himself with what show he’d watch. He got dressed and picked up his phone.

It didn’t last long. He’d barely gotten through an episode of Supernatural before his alarm to get ready for work went off. He sighed but got up and dressed, listening to the show the whole time. He’d seen the show enough times that he could practically recite each episode from memory.

So, of course, it’s that episode that starts. 

“So, uh, who's the party for,” Dean asked.

“Ben. My son.”

“Oh. You have a—” Stiles grabbed his phone, closing Netflix. 

**********************

Stiles sat in his office filling out mountains of paperwork with Allison when his phone rang. 

“Agent Stilinski speaking,” Stiles said robotically.

“Stiles,” Eli’s tired voice mumbled. 

Stiles looked at the time– six am in California. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling,” Stiles asked softly, leaning back in his chair.

“Where are you? 

“I had to fly back to Virginia last night. I’m sorry kid, but I didn’t want to wake you up,” Stiles told him and Allison looked at him with raised eyebrows. He ignored her. “I texted you, I know it’s not worth much…”

“But I thought…” Eli started, sniffing. God, that made Stiles feel like shit. “I’m okay. Dad’s been trying to help with the pain but he was so tired… I don’t think he slept last night. He was still in my room when I woke up.”

Stiles frowned. “Derek fell asleep in your room?”

“Ya,” Eli mumbled, sounding embarrassed. “I was having trouble sleeping.”

“Stiles,” Allison whispered. 

“Hold on one second, Eli,” Stiles said, standing up. “Do you need more coffee Allison? I need more coffee,” he said, grabbing their cups. 

“Stiles, come on. We need to get this done,” Allison sighed, shaking her head as Stiles walked out. “Jesus, just ask Derek out already. You already act like Eli’s dad,” she grumbled, shuffling though files.

Stiles walked to the break room and started a new pot of coffee. “Are you feeling any better now,” he asked Eli, leaning against the counter. 

“No,” he mumbled. “My arm hurts and I want to lay on the couch and watch a movie but then I’ll get ambushed by the others and they always hit my cast on accident and then they all freak out because I’m hurt…”

“I’m sorry, Eli. I wish I could help,” Stiles sighed, fixing his cup of coffee. “I have to go back to work but how about this I’ll call you on my lunch break and you can tell me all about it,” he looked at the clock and sighed, “and we can talk about what we’re going to do next weekend.”

“Next weekend?”

Stiles nodded, more to assure himself he was really going to do this. “I’m going to be back so you better figure out what you want to do,” he said.

“O-okay,” Eli said and Stiles could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Talk too you later kiddo,” Stiles said, hanging up. Oh, his wallet was going to hate him.

Stiles also hated him, it turns out. His options were to drive thirty-nine hours across the country or risk it with a one-hundred dollar one-way flight and hope he could get a return flight cheap too. Considering the fact that the junker car he had was struggling to get him to work, the cheap flight won.

He carried coffee back for him and Allison. Sighing as he sat down, looking at the files again

“What’s Eli need,” Allison asked.

Stiles sighed, shaking his head. “I didn’t say goodbye to him before I left,” he mumbled. Allison looked at him expectantly. He didn’t want to talk about it and was really hoping she’d just drop it. “Derek and I were arguing,” he added, still not giving her much.

“What about this time?”

“He wasn’t at the game when Eli got hurt even though he said he would be.”

“Why’s that your problem? He’s not your kid, so why do you care?”

Stiles shook his head, “I just do.” 

Allison snorted, “because that’s an answer.”

“Can we not talk about this?”

“I just think you’re worried for no reason but, sure, we can stop talking.”

Stiles scoffed. “You want an answer? I care because he’s a good kid. Because he looked up to me when he had a family of werewolves to look up to. Because Scott made me help with lacrosse practice while I was doped up on pain killers. Because he was hurt and needed someone. Because maybe I saw myself in him. Because I knew the sadness he was hiding when everyone tuned him out and when he had to comfort his own dad and when he felt alone surrounded by people! Pick one, Alli.” Stiles stared at her, every question and accusation he’s made against himself bubbling up again. “You really think I haven’t been asking myself why? There’s been days– weeks – where I think about how often I talk to Eli and start asking myself what the fuck I’m doing talking to a fifteen year old kid this much. And I know. I know that it’s normal, that he looks up to me and I think of him as my kid but that almost makes me feel worse because Derek is his dad, not me. I’m nothing to him and yet…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize," she mumbled. 

“Apparently a lot of people don’t,” he scoffed.

Chapter Text

Eli was annoyed and hurting when he got home. 

He was annoyed because everyone was babying him again! They didn’t let him make his own plate, or carry his own backpack, or his lunch tray. Any of them that had learned how to drain away pain kept trying to ‘help’ him. They wouldn’t leave him alone for five minutes! He was going crazy!

Uh, but to that point, he did keep knocking his cast into things– tables, chairs, doors, his own open locker door. You name it, he probably hit it. Look, he never said that he didn’t appreciate them helping with the pain but he didn’t need to be surrounded every second of the day!

Since he wasn’t able to participate in Lacrosse practice, he’d been shuffled off to be the problem of someone who wasn’t in the middle of their athletic season, of which there was exactly one person, and that was Charles, who Eli didn’t really spend time with on purpose. He loved the guy, sure, but he was so annoying! They had very different opinions on most things, didn’t have any shared interests, and Eli just really hated his taste in music, but he either rode with Charles or took the bus. 

He really considered taking the bus.  

He walked into the kitchen when they got home, not really paying attention. He needed food.

“Hi Kiddo.”

“Hi Stiles,” Eli mumbled, opening the cabinet. He heard laughing and he sighed, turning around. “What? What’s so funny?”

“We just expected more of a reaction,” Charles said, giving him that fake disinterested look.

“You can admit to enjoying things, it’s not a crime,” Eli told him, grabbing a couple granola bars out of the cabinet.

Stiles shook his head, looking at Cora. “Apparently, I just shouldn’t have come. He barely noticed.”

“Let him eat something and his brain might start working again,” she told him. 

“My brain is working fine,” Eli mumbled, taking a bite of his granola bar. His eyes flicked between the others in the room. His brain finally seemed to catch up, staring at Stiles. “STILES!”

He laughed, hugging Eli. “Took you long enough,” he teased. “How are you feeling? Other than hungry.”

“I’m going to lose it if they don’t leave me alone,” Eli grumbled, still holding onto Stiles.

“Why don’t you tell me about it while we grab some food? I’m starving,” Stiles offered.

Eli’s brows furrowed in a frown– sometimes it still surprised Stiles how much the kid looked like Derek and that expression really brought it out. “Dad might be upset if I don’t have dinner with him.”

“Well, if your dad has any opinions about it, he better tell me now,” Stiles said in a raised voice– just so it couldn’t be said he tried– and waited for stomping footstep. When he didn’t hear any Derek-like noises, he looked at Cora.

“Oh, he’s not here,” Cora scoffed. “Five bucks says he's out checking the borders or something since, ya know.” Since you’re here. Stiles knew, subtlety had never been Derek’s strong suit. 

Stiles’s smile faltered but he turned it back when he looked at Eli. “Seems like there’s no objections to me. Besides, you can still sit at the table if you don’t eat. So, shall we?”

If there was one thing both Stiles and Eli were good at, it was talking. Not holding a topic but talking for hours? They’d made three topic jumps in the time it took them to eat food at the dinner and eating took them forever because they just kept talking between bites. 

“And last week, Aunt Cora and Aunt Malia were sitting on the kitchen floor complaining about darachs so I guess something must have happened,” Eli said, shoveling more fries into his mouth.

“A Darach? Really.” he hummed, trying to remember the last time he’d heard about a darach in California. It’d been quite a while. Maybe he’d have to remind Derek to report those things… or ask Cora to do it for him. “Has there been a lot of that lately?”

Eli hummed, trying to remember, “not really. There was a ton when we moved back but now it’s usually only a few times a year. It’s weird, though. Dad says he’ll teach me more about it when he has time.”

“Like what?”

“How would I know what I don’t know?”

Stiles huffed a laugh. Sometimes he had to wonder how much Eli was really picking up from him. “What have you asked about?”

“Uh, I think it was about, like, how much mountain ash I’d need to seal off a room,” Eli shrugged. “It’s whatever, though. I kinda just wanted to know so I could keep the others from getting to the upstairs bathroom first in the morning.”

“Oh, that’s easy. As long as the line runs the full length of any doorway or window, the room’s blocked,” Stiles told him, “unless someone tries to bust through the wall. Then you’d have to line the entire outline of the room.”

“Does it also block the same space off below you? Like, if there was a basement, would part of it be blocked off? What if you were, like in the attic and the door was on the floor. Would they be able to climb up and come into the room?”

“Not that I know of but it probably depends on if you’re in a house or outside.” Stiles had to think, “because they can’t dig out of the circle but they might be able to if there’s a door. I don’t actually know…”

“Do you think it would work if you mixed mountain ash into the paint?”

“No, but now I want to find out.” 

**********************

“And a happy early birthday to Stiles,” Allison said. “To thirty-one! You’ve already taken two shots this year, so what’s one more,” she joked, and the group took their shots.

Stiles shook his head as he laughed. “Never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not until you learn to stop running into danger without backup,” Allison told him.

“Fuck all this mushy shit. Let’s dance and get drunk,” Jackson declared, Danny elbowing him in the side for it.

“For once, I agree with Jackson,” Stiles said, “I’m getting another drink,” drumming his fingers on the table before slipping off to the bar.

Jackson watched Stiles leave and then looked back to Allison. “What are the chances he hits up a guy and gets laid tonight because he’s fucking up tight and it’s getting on my nerves.”

“Unless you can find a tall, dark, and mildly growly alpha werewolf with a clumsy kid, zero to none,” Allison said sarcastically. 

“A kid? Since when is Stiles into dads,” Jackson scoffed.

“Since he went back to Beacon Hills,” Allison told him and Danny choked on his drink.

Jackson rubbed his back until Danny stopped coughing. “Please tell me it’s not Peter,” he wheezed.

Jackson stifled a laugh. “Fuck, that would be a nightmare…”

“No, Peter’s not the Hale alpha. God, why would you put that idea in my head,” Allison cringed. “No, Stiles has it bad for Derek Hale,” she told them.

“Derek has a kid,” Danny asked.

Allison smirked, nodding as she pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her texts with Stiles until she found a picture he’d sent her. She zoomed in on Eli and showed Danny. “That is Derek’s kid.”

“Holy shit. Why does he look like Stiles,” Danny asked.

Jackson leaned over to see and was taken aback. “That’s Derek’s kid for sure and Stiles’s?”

“He looks creepily similar but he's Derek's," Allison said, locking her phone and putting it back in her pocket.

“But the kid part,” Danny said. “Have you ever heard Stiles even talk about wanting kids?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Allison said, “and, get this, the kid’s fifteen. He’s a whole ass teenager. Don’t get me wrong, I met him and he’s a sweet kid but he’s fifteen. Do the math there.”

“Why are you only objecting to the kid and not Derek,” Jackson asked.

“Actually Derek’s kind of normal now,” Allison said. “I can almost understand why Stiles likes him.”

“What about Derek,” Stiles asked, walking back over with a drink in hand. His heartrate jumped at the mention of the man and Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Derek’s normal now,” Allison repeated, “or at least as normal as Beacon Hills gets.”

Stiles smiled and nodded. “Oh ya. Way better than he was before, still an ass though.”

“What, are you guys still fighting,” Allison asked. 

“No,” Stiles snipped a little too fast. "Derek's a good dude. He’s caring with his pack and just generally more chill. Whatever happened while he was gone really helped, especially having Eli. Oh, Eli is Derek’s kid. Did you know Derek had a kid,” Stiles asked.

“We heard through the grape vine,” Danny said before Jackson could throw Allison under the bus.

“Weird how much people change,” Stiles said, downing his drink. “I’m going to go dance. You guys can be boring or you can join me.”

See, there was a reason this was Stiles’s early birthday. The thing about birthdays is that there’s a sweet spot where you can go out and drink all night and be functional the next day–hungover, ya, but functional– and that spot is usually around your mid-twenties. It goes downhill after that. 

They went out on Saturday night. Stiles spent all of Sunday feeling like shit. He was dehydrated, had a killer headache, and was starving. 

It was like a noxious blast from the past to wake up with the need to run to the bathroom. Sitting on the bathroom floor, trying to decide if he was going to throw up again, he found himself wondering if this was really as far as he’d made it.

He was turning thirty-one tomorrow and he was basically in the same place he’d been at twenty-five: hungover on a Sunday, dreading going into work on Monday morning, still at the FBI, still dealing with supernatural bullshit on the daily, still alone. 

He’d spent years moving his way up the ladder at work that he hadn’t made any progress in his personal life. He was alone. Derek and Eli found their way into his thoughts and he had to laugh at himself. They weren’t here. They were really part of his life and he was little more than a fleeting thought for them. 

The laughter turned bitter and he threw up again, his stomach heaving when there was nothing left to empty out. 

He managed to get a shower and feel halfway human again. He fell back into bed, scrolling through social media. He saw the people he went to high school with, the people he was in college with, in the FBI academy with all dating and getting married and starting families and he just felt so behind. Hell, even Greenburg had a cat and Stiles didn’t even have that much!

The aching of his empty stomach finally dragged him out of bed and into the kitchen. The fact that all he had was pre-packaged ramen and cereal in the cabinet, three day old pizza in the fridge and waffles in his freezer was not helping with the whole ‘feeling like he’d stagnated’ thing. This was the fridge of a college kid or a new grad struggling to make ends meet, not of a thirty year old guy who was at a high in his career.

Allison walked in his front door, announcing “I brought food so you don’t starve to death and set a couple bags on his tiny table. 

“Why are you yelling,” Stiles mumbled and Allison snorted.

“Come eat,” she told him, pulling out two subway footlongs, a bottle of Pedialyte, and a bottle of ibuprofen. “You keep your place about as stocked as an abandoned shed so I figured you’d need some stuff.”

“I was doing just fine on my own, thank you,” Stiles mumbled, sitting at the table to devour the sandwich.  

“Ya, that’s why your pants are on backwards,” Allison hummed, pushing the Pedialyte closer to Stiles. 

**********************

Stiles and Allison had just stepped out of the elevator when his phone rang. He looked at Eli’s number popping up for facetime on the screen with a smile. It was early in the day for him to be calling, before school for the kid.

Stiles answered as he and Allison walked toward the unit. “Hey kid what’s up,” he asked.

He could hear a quiet count of one, two, three. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,” Stiles flinched, looking down to find half the Hale family singing on facetime. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR STILES! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,” they sang, finishing with laughter.

Stiles smiled, “uh, thanks guys? That’s definitely one way to start the morning,” he said. Allison was dying of laughter. “How’d you know it’s my birthday?”

“Eli,” came the resounding answer.

Eli, who had been sitting in the front row of the group, waved at the phone. “Happy birthday Stiles!”

“Thank you, kid,” Stiles chuckled. “I can’t say I’m surprised you knew but you didn’t have to do all this. I would have been happy with a text.” Might have been less embarrassed by getting the text in the middle of his office building hallway.

“What? That’s crazy,” Bay, one of the younger kids, objected. “We always call people on their birthdays. It’s a tradition!”

“Sorry we had to call so early. We had to work around everyone’s schedule,” Sofia said, already dressed in her deputy uniform. “I’m running late as it is, but I’m sure your dad will forgive me if I tell him why,” she said, slipping away from the group.

Eli got up and grabbed his phone. “Ya, we all have to get ready to leave,” he explained sadly.

“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Jasper said, leaning over Eli’s shoulder before walking away.

Cora walked over, swiping Eli’s phone and smiling at Stiles on facetime. “Happy birthday, old man. Do an extra shot for me tonight, okay?”

“Old man,” Stiles protested. “You’re older than me and it’s Monday. There will be no drinking tonight. I barely survived last night.” He muttered the last part, but Cora obviously caught it.

Allison chuckled next to him. “We went on Saturday,” she said, leaning over to wave at Cora.

“Then I guess I’ll have to drink for you. Maybe I can get mister no-fun to join me,” Cora sighed.

“I’m sure Malia would go without protest,” Stiles suggested.

Cora considered it a moment before agreeing, “you’re right and Malia is at least a fun drunk. Der gets all weepy and woe-is-me when he drinks.”

Stiles looked at Cora with amused delight. “I can’t imagine either of those things and now I need proof,” he said.

“I have videos if you want me to— Hey!”

Derek’s face came into view on the phone as Cora ranted about him being no fun. “Happy birthday but, for the love of god, stop conspiring with my sister,” he said, sounding mildly mortified. “And, because I know Eli didn’t mention it, watch for a gift coming in the mail.”

“I totally forgot,” Eli groaned loudly, taking the phone back. “It’ll be in a box. It was supposed to be there already but it got lost and it’s been a whole mess,” he huffed. “I have to go so I can get to school. Bye, Stiles!”

“Bye Eli,” Stiles laughed, hanging up.

“Don’t tell me that jumbled mess was your family,” Kline teased with a smile, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to her desk. “It’s sweet of them to do that for you. Happy birthday, Stilinski.”

“I wish my family did that,” Giles said, trying to find any distraction from the pile of paper in front of him. “Was that your kid, too? Eli, right? How is he doing?”

“Uh, Eli’s fine,” Stiles said, “but he’s not—”

“He’s in California with your partner, right? I couldn’t imagine being that far away from my little ones,” Abaoub sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Are you going to be able to visit them soon?”

“Uh… I–” Stiles felt trapped in the conversation “–not for a while…” How the Hell had they gotten here!? Why did they still think Eli was his kid? And that he was dating Derek? It wasn’t like he could deny it because he’d look like a total ass! He was trapped. 

He snuck away to his office, happy for any distraction, even if it was paper work and meetings. 

**********************

Stiles leaned against the wall outside his office, sighing in exhaustion. He looked around the unit at the team– all of them dead on their feet. How could they not be? It was nearly three in the morning and none of them had gotten any sleep. They worked a full day and went home around five like normal. 

Stiles had already changed and was talking to Eli when got a frantic call from a pack a few hours north, hunters, because who else would pick a Wednesday night to kidnap and torture a family on their way home from a funeral– werewolves or not. Sounds like a great family bonding activity, right? So the unit rushed back here and went to help. 

They’d been the only ones in the building then and were the only ones there now. 

Thank god they’d found the family– two families, really.

The parents and teen daughter were downstairs receiving first aid. 

The parents were in rough shape but, once they got the wolfsbane antidote, he figured they’d be okay in an hour or so. 

The older daughter, about sixteen if he remembered right, had gotten the electric treatment from the hunters. She was fatigued and had a few minor burns here and there. It had only taken thirty minutes or so and a lot of water for her to heal up. Harvey should be bringing her up soon. Maybe having her would help calm the little ones.

The hunters… Apparently this had been a training session. 

The two adults, the parents, had been taken into custody. They were looking at five counts of felony kidnapping, three counts of felony battery, and five counts of child endangerment. Two of those child endangerment charges were for their own kids. They’d done this shit to train their two sons how to ‘deal with the beasts’. 

They were teaching their twelve and ten year old kids to torture and kill people. Innocent people. Cases like this made Stiles really wish they could label the charges as hate crimes but, since being a supernatural being wasn’t a protected characteristic, they couldn’t. And, for that exact same reason, Stiles or any other member of the unit could lose their job if they were ever turned. 

Because the government didn’t want to recognize that they deserved the same protections as everyone else. Because they didn’t see them as equals, no matter how much they flaunted the Supernatural Operation Unit. They were nothing but a show piece…

He looked through his office window, wishing he could help more. 

The two scared little kids were wrapped in blankets and sat on the floor, curling into each other. Agent Kline sat across from them, offering them toys and snacks but the kids were too scared to move. 

She was doing exactly what she should be, talking to them calmly and telling them they were all safe, he’d be sure to tell her later. Sometimes you can’t do anything to help. Sometimes all you can do is stop it from getting worse. Not even the best training can prepare you for these situations, not when every case and every victim was so different. 

Stiles thought he’d seen every reaction: people who were in shock from the transition, people who were terrified and traumatized from their first encounter with violence, people who were numb from how many times they’d experienced it, and those in the middle. He’d seen kids that would cling to anyone kind enough to help, kids that would hide from unfamiliar people, and kids that would attack anyone who got too close. He’d seen fear, joy, anger, shock, suffering, and numbness in these children’s eyes when they saved them. He had a list of them that he’d never forget. He thought he’d seen it all and tomorrow would probably prove him wrong.

The elevator ding gave Stiles about a minute of warning before the older sister came running in, looking for her siblings, Agent Harvey tailing behind her.

“Where are my siblings,” she asked nervously, “Cristóbal! Reyna!”

“It’s okay, they're in my office. They’re safe, I promise,” Stiles told her, watching the relief wash over her.

"Oh, gracias a Dios," she mumbled.

“I’m Agent Stilinski and your name’s Josefina, right,” Stiles asked her, grabbing one of the snack bags they kept for kids and offering her a bottle of water.

She looked at the water, still unsure. “Yes,” she said, not looking Stiles in the eye.

“It’s a nice name. I had a friend in college who had the same name but we all called her Josie,” he told her, hoping she’d say anything more. “You must be starving. That healing's really nice but it takes a lot of energy,” Stiles said, showing her what all was in the snack bag. 

Josefina took the snack from him, looking each thing over like they could be poisoned. She must have found it acceptable as she took a chocolate chip granola bar out and started to eat it. 

“Why don’t I take you to your siblings,” Stiles offered, leading her to his office. 

He waited for her to finish what she was eating before opening the door. Just like he expected, her little siblings jumped up and ran to her.

“¡Jojo! Dónde estabas?"

“Dónde están mamá y papá? ¡Quiero ir a casa!"

Agent Kline smiled, standing up and walking over to Stiles. “Nobody told me they speak Spanish,” she mumbled through a smile.

“They go to public school in Virginia. They understand English, they just didn’t want to talk,” Stiles whispered back. 

“I wonder why,” Agent Agguire said teasingly, “Kline’s basically a kindergarten teacher.”

She glared at him. “Only because I have to treat you like a kindergartener,” she teased back.

Agguire rolled his eyes. “Argent says to keep them in your office. I have to take one of the hunters’ kids to the bathroom and they’ve definitely been raised with opinions. Don’t want any run-ins,” he said and walked back to the conference room where the other kids were.

“I can stay with them if you want to talk to Argent about what needs to happen on that end of this,” Kline said and Stiles nodded.

Kline went back into the room and was about to close the door when Josefina spoke up.

“Agent Stilinski,” she called, “thank you.”

Stiles smiled at her. “Any time, kid. All you have to do is reach out for help and we’ll be there,” he told her, closing the door.

He looked down the hall, waiting. He watched as agent Agguire led the younger of the two boys– Charlie– to the single stall bathroom in the office. He let the boy in and waited at the door. That bathroom was the safest option– suicide handles, vents only on the ceiling and no windows– just in case the brainwashing went deeper than they knew. 

Allison didn’t leave the conference room until Agguire had returned with the little brother. They wanted to keep an eye on them just to be safe. The boys’d just had their entire lives upturned– their parents had been arrested, they’d been dragged into the FBI, and were waiting for a social worker. The poor kids, their lives would never be the same but hopefully it could be better.

“Agent Stilinski,” Agent Harvey asked, irritation and nervousness just barely noticeable in his voice, “Why are we responsible for the hunters’ kids? They’re humans and rather foul ones at that.”

“We are responsible for overseeing their placement because they know the secrets of our world,” Stiles said. They would be the ones to find the boys a home, one that knew about the supernatural but not one where the boys would act out against the people they’d been taught to hate. “If they go to people who don’t know, they’ll be treated like kids making up an imaginary world and they won't unlearn the hate their parents taught. Remember that, they are what their parents made them. They think what their parents told them to. Don’t let their parents’ actions cloud your opinion of them.”

“I’m not. I’m judging them based on their own actions,” Harvey said, starting to get defensive. “I saw what they did to Josefine.”

Stiles looked Harvey over. He needed to learn to hide his anger better. “Her name’s Josefina and, while those boys may have done terrible things, you might want to ask yourself what their parents would have done if they disobeyed. Do you think they are kind and gentle people who just to happen to hunt, torture, and kill on the side? And even if they were, even if they were able to compartmentalize so well that the anger and violence to only this one place, those kids were in the place where thor parents them that violence out.”

“They looked the boys over. There’s no signs that they were ever abused,” Harvey said, less sure of his words now.

“You can’t learn everything in five minutes. Not all abuse leaves a physical mark and not all marks stay forever,” Stiles said harshly. 

Isaac’s dad would lock him in an old freezer. He was trapped. It was dark and cramped. He couldn’t move, couldn’t get out. He could scream and cry and beg but it did nothing. Nobody heard him. Nobody saw it. Nobody helped. Nobody knew. They didn’t know until his dad was killed.

“How do you know they didn’t yell at the boys or lock them in a closet or bathroom? How do you know they didn’t make them stand in an ice cold shower or take away their clothes or blankets or beds,” Stiles asked, each one was a memory of the shit he’d had to take kids out of going through his mind.

“I… I don’t—”

“No, you don’t,” Stiles said, not letting him finish talking. “You want to know something even scarier? These kids were raised in a household where they heard how much their parents hated ‘wolves since the day they were born. Their parents probably didn’t even need to punish them for disagreeing because those kids never knew any different.”

“I didn't think about that,” Harvey mumbled, walking off to avoid any more of the verbal dressing-down.

“Don’t you think you were a little harsh,” Allison asked from right behind Stiles, making him jump.

“Dude, don’t do that! Maybe it was a little much,” Stiles shrugged, “but he won’t forget the lesson. He’s new and won’t learn if we don’t teach. Did you get anywhere with the boys?”

Her shoulders sank, giving away her exhaustion. “Maybe a little? I mean, they don’t really understand what they are saying or why. Mason is repeating their parents and Charlie just agrees,” Allison sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “If we could just place them somewhere where they'll interact with werewolves in normal, everyday ways, they’ll be fine. They need to form opinions on their own and that takes time.”

“At least we caught it early?”

“Maybe. Let’s just hope their parents’ arrest and future court case isn’t traumatic enough to reverse that. I know better we know better than anyone what losing a loved one can do to a person,” Allison said.

It was six am when Stiles stumbled back to his house. He’d let the rest of the unit go home once the ‘wolf family had been able to go home, while he and Allison waited for Christine, the only child services agent he trusted to care for these delicate cases, to make it in. It took longer yet since they had to brief her on the concerns and needs of the two boys. Stiles had finally been able to take a nice, long shower to relax and wash off the vile words of the hunters that seemed to stick to his skin.

He tried to go to sleep. When he closed his eyes, the images of how they’d found Josefina and her family ran through his mind.

The mother, Carlita, screamed for help as she hung helplessly by the metal cuffs on her wrists. 

Josefina hung limply by her wrists, her whole body too tired from the electricity running through her to even open her eyes.

Mason, only ten, pointing a gun at Josefina. His hands shaking with his finger on the trigger.

Leon, Josefina’s father, begging them to shoot him instead. 

Cristóbal and Reyna cowering in the corner on a ratty mattress.

He couldn’t handle seeing it all over again. He couldn’t sleep. Instead, he opened Netflix if for nothing other than a distraction. He was about to start Supernatural (for the billionth time) when a text popped up. 

Eli was asking if Stiles would spend the fourth of July with them. 

Stiles smiled and looked at the time. It was seven am– four am in California. Stiles was grateful the unit had been given a day off or he’d already need to get ready for work but Eli should be asleep. He rolled his eyes and called Eli.  

“Why aren’t you asleep,” Stiles asked when the call was answered.

“He is,” came the whispered response. Every hair on Stiles’s neck raised before he even realized it was Derek. 

He hadn’t had a real conversation with Derek in weeks. Not since Eli broke his arm. He’d been ignoring him, only talking with Eli. 

It was better that way. Stiles could pretend like he didn’t have severely contradicting feelings toward Derek. On one hand, he kept missing games when Eli would get hurt, but on the other, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Stiles was pissed that Derek would miss a game without telling him so he could check in with Eli but did he really have a reason to tell Stiles? He was mad that Derek was so calm when Eli got hurt but one of them had to be. One of them? Eli isn’t Stiles’s kid.

“Screw you,” Stiles hissed. He told himself he should hang up but he couldn’t.

“He texted you when we got home hours ago,” Derek whispered. “I take it you were on a plane again,” he asked, the sympathetic tone in his voice made Stiles’s stomach flip.

“I was.” Stiles swallowed back his snide remarks. “Why do you have his phone?”

Derek sighed heavily. Stiles hated that it calmed his nerves. “Because I’m sitting in his room with him.”

Stiles felt like his breath had been taken away. Like some unseen force had sucked all of the air out of the room and left him with none. “Why?”

“Because he’s hurting,” Derek said so softly Stiles could barely hear him. “The whole house stinks of it and I just… can’t sleep when he’s hurting like this,” Stiles could hear him swallow, “I’m sitting next to his bed, making sure he doesn’t feel it.”

Stiles took a breath. He could imagine the look on Derek’s face. He must be dragging himself through the mud, blaming himself for all of it, and Stiles wasn’t helping.

“You’re a good dad, Derek,” Stiles told him. “You’re doing everything you can.”

It was quiet on the other end. Stiles was going to check that the call hadn’t been dropped when Derek finally said something. “Thank you, Stiles.”

After the Hell they’d been through pulling that all-nighter to find the kidnapped family, they’d been given a day off to recover and Stiles barely moved from his bed in that time. The furthest he got was the kitchen, not even bothering to get the mail from the porch. 

The next morning, while Stiles was getting ready to leave for work, he saw a package sitting on his doorstep. He looked at it closer before touching it– with his luck, there was a good chance it’d explode. 

Looking at the address and finding Derek and Eli’s names, he figured it must have been the gift Eli had been talking about. His stomach twisted into knots. They told him it’d be showing up. It probably got delivered while he was in bed yesterday. 

He picked the box up and carried it inside, setting it on the table. He checked the time. He should have already been driving to work. If he opened it now, he was going to be late.

Stiles used the knife on his key chain to carefully open the small box. Inside were two wrapped presents, one from Eli and one from Derek. He opened the one from Eli first. 

He picked up the book, smiling as he read the title: The Big Book of Random Knowledge. He flipped through it, reading through the sections in the table of contents, looking at a few that interested him. Stiles quickly set the book on top of the pile on his end table so he’d see it later when he had more time. 

He was going to throw the box out but saw something else inside. It was a small box, maybe a three inch square and an inch or so in height. There was a small tag on it: “from Derek”. Stiles smiled, carefully picking up the small present. 

He stared at it, not sure if he wanted to open it. God knows what it is or what he was thinking when he sent it. The two of them were constantly either arguing or laughing with no inbetween.  

He finally worked up the nerve to open it, emptying the contents into his hand: a necklace and a note.

Stiles,

     This is a protection charm. It’s meant to ward off things that could harm the person wearing it. It was made especially for you, adding to its power. This charm, if you decide to wear it, will ensure your added safety in the face of danger.

     Inside the metal charm is an assortment of herbs and an item with personal meaning– a sliver of wood from your bat– that binds it to you. 

    It was made by an emissary of an allied pack. I trust them greatly and they have been nothing less than helpful and generous, even if it was for their personal entertainment. I hope the trust I have in them gives you peace of mind in knowing it is safe.

• Derek

Stiles read and reread the note. Derek trusts them? It takes a lot of time and honesty to earn his trust– with good reason. 

He looked at the necklace, examining it. The metal charm was stippled on one side as if to look like the moon. On the other was the triskelion. He ran his finger over the engraving. It was the symbol for Derek’s pack. Why would it be on a gift for him? Maybe the emissary didn’t know it was for someone outside the pack. Even so…

Derek trusts them. He had this made for Stiles. How long did it take to make? Surely it wasn’t a cheap charm to ask for. Stiles chewed his lip as he looked down at the gift. Derek’s gift. 

Fuck, he really was falling for that growly idiot, wasn’t he?

Stiles couldn’t think about anything else. I mean, how could he? The last time he’d had a full conversation with Derek was when he ripped him a new one for missing Eli’s game and, subsequently, broken wrist but Derek still sent him this? Stiles had been a total ass and Derek still thought about keeping him safe? He could feel how his face burned red at the thought.

He was lost in thought that Derek had cared enough to get him a gift when they were arguing even while he was driving to work. Were they arguing? Or was it just Stiles? He got into the elevator and pressed the button without breaking the chain of thought. Did Derek even think about what happened? Did he care? He must care a little if he’d gotten Stiles such a gift. He held the pendant and ran his thumb over it as he thought.

The sound of a stifled snort of amusement broke Stiles out of his thoughts, he was being stared down by Allison. 

He realized that he was sitting at his desk, still flitting with the charm. Jesus, talk about being on autopilot.

“Nice necklace,” she hummed. She was trying to figure out what exactly it was. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift,” Stiles said, a little too quickly. “It’s a protection charm.”

“Oh, a gift? From who,” She teased. She didn’t need to ask, She could guess who it was from by his reaction, but it was fun to watch Stiles squirm.

He took a breath. “From Derek, actually… He said he trusts the emissary that made it for me.”

“High praise,” Allison said, sipping her coffee. She committed the symbols to memory, deciding she could look them up later.

“Ya…” Stiles mumbled, running his thumb over the triskelion on the back, “ya, it is.”

“Well, you might want to hide it. Or not,” she shrugged. “See if you can piss them off.”

“Who?”

“The hunters from our all-nighter. We have to interrogate them.”

Stiles sighed, letting the necklace fall to its proper place. “Joy. You want to try to get through to them, hunter to ex-hunter?”

Allison grimaced. “Not when they’re this kind of hunters.”

No, they weren’t the kind you bargain with. They knew that walking into the interrogation room. They also knew they were easily provoked and that they could work with.

“So, you’re Mr. Alvin Caldwell,” Stiles asked, looking over the information they had on the guy. He’d read it already but it never hurt to remind yourself. “Quite the track record you have here. Possession of illegal firearms, possession of unregistered firearms, unlawful transfer of firearms, possession of firearms by prohibited persons– that must be because of the previous charges, huh?”

“What can I say? I like my toys,” the hunter, Caldwell, said.

“Toys? Is that why your son had one,” Allison asked, her tone cold and neutral. Under the surface, she wouldn’t have minded turning off the camera and showing this loser how his own methods felt.

Caldwell looked her over. “You said you were an Argent? You should understand. Coulda swore Gerard said his grandkid died, though.”

Allison hummed, “he has a flare for the dramatics. That, it seems, you might share?”

Caldwell huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “We might share some methods but I’m not one for a spectacle, especially not riots or kanimas. I might like my fire but lighting up houses always was a bit much for me. Not for Kate though, was it,” he asked, watching for Allison’s reaction. He grew frustrated when he couldn’t get anything out of her.

Stiles didn’t let himself react, not when Allison could sit there with a fake smile while her family was hung out to dry. He swallowed back his own emotions, not letting his reaction show. 

Even so, his fingers ran over the charm.

The hunter’s eyes caught on Stiles’s necklace and he scoffed. “Guess I know why you’re fine letting them hunt us for sport. Who made you their bitch,” Caldwell sneered.

Allison covered her mouth, managing not to laugh. Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course that was what broke her. 

“You’re really trying for a reaction,” Stiles said, pointing out the behavior like you would for a child. “Hoping you’ll be able to break one of us then offer not to cry police brutality in exchange for a plea bargain? I hate to break it to you but your wife already offered to throw you under the bus if she can talk to her kids."

“She won’t do that,” Caldwell said, “and there’s no way you offer up a deal.” He was trying to seem confident but he wasn’t as good at faking as he thought.

“Except we did,” Allison said. “See, it turns out your wife would not only abandon your beliefs but turn in every hunter she knows if the alternative was never seeing or even hearing from her kids again.”

“They’re my kids too. You can’t keep them from me,” he said. “I’ll sue for visitation!”

“You can try,” Stiles scoffed. “I’m sure any family court judge would love to hear about how you kidnapped three kids, tortured one, and forced your own children to take part.”

“She helped,” he yelled, slamming his hands on the table. “You think Mary is so innocent. She’s the one who got those mongrels to pull over! She got those little brats into the van, not me. I was gonna leave them and call in an abandoned vehicle!”

“What about the teenager? Was that her idea too,” Allison asked.

“She was plenty grown or did you not notice her eyes are blue!”

Stiles frowned. “Who? Josefina?”

“The teenage brat, yes.”

“Well, her eyes are blue but that’s how she was born. If you mean when she shifts, her eyes are a beautiful golden yellow, not blue,” Stiles said, placing a picture on the table. He watched as Caldwell broke inside. “See, from the time we took her out of your basement, she couldn’t relax enough for us to see anything but golden yellow.”

“But… No, I never would have— She’s just a kid… If I had known I— I— I—” he held the picture, staring at Josefina’s golden yellow eyes. “I thought they were blue…”

Allison grabbed the picture, ripping it out of his hands. “She never hurt anyone, but you did. You hurt a lot of people, so why don’t you tell us about it?”

Chapter Text

Eli asked Stiles if they could come to visit that June. Of course, he said yes. 

Stiles thanked god he had a couple weeks notice. Standing in the doorway of the tiny office he had at one point intended to use and sighed. He knew that, under the piles of books, there was a pull-out couch, somewhere…

He picked up one of the books, looking it over. It seemed to be one of the ones he’d checked out from the public library. In Beacon Hills. Four years ago. Oops?

He sighed, putting the book back down. This was going to take a while. 

“Hey Alli,” Stiles said sweetly into the phone.

“Whatever you want me to do, it better come with cheesecake or I’m not doing it,” Allison said, tucking her phone between her shoulder and ear to grab a book off the store shelf.

“I can buy a cheesecake!”

“Not from the grocery store either,” Allison said seriously. “One of the ones from Mama's Little Bakery or I’m not doing shit.”

“Those things are like thirty bucks,” Stiles objected, “and it’s a twenty minute drive!”

“That is my price. What am I helping with anyway,” Allison asked, wandering the second-hand book store for anything that caught her eye.

“I just need a little help cleaning the spare room,” he said, looking around the room again. “So, it might be more than a little help…”

“Oh, is your dad coming to visit,” She asked, walking towards the checkout with her arm full of books.

“Someone’s coming to visit.”

“With that tone, it’s either Scott or Derek,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Stiles baulked in fake offense. “Do you really think I’m that simple?” She was right though. 

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out eventually. I need to hang up. If you order and pay, I’ll pick up the cheesecake.”

“Done, thanks Alli.”

“Cool, bye,” she said, stepping up to the counter and setting down the books. 

The cashier smiled, looking at the books as she scanned them. “Someone has an interest in runes,” she hummed.

“Just trying to figure out something I saw,” Allison said back, tapping her fingers on the counter in boredom. 

“You know,” the cashier said, catching Allison’s attention, “we just got in a book that I’ve heard, on good authority, is very accurate if you’d like?” 

Allison looked at the cashier with furrowed brows. She found herself taking in the appearance of the woman in front of her. 

She was tall but slight, her face was round with high cheekbones that gave her a natural air of elegance, charcoal black eyeliner accentuated her almond-shaped eyes and the emerald eyeshadow made the brown of her eyes take a golden hue that matched her golden nose ring and earrings. She wore a knit baggy sweater and a long skirt. Tattoos, too silver to be ink, peaked out from her sleeves. One tattoo in particular looked to be a cross with a loop at the top. She had the same warm aura as the small shop but she had a youth many of the books lacked. Still, there was something in her eyes that was wise beyond her years.

“On good authority, huh,” Allison repeated, looking the woman over again. 

“Shall I grab it for you,” the woman asked, smiling kindly but her eyes were searching for something. “I can give it to you for a good deal since I’ll be in good hands.”

“Can you do that?”

“I would hope so since it’s my store,” she said and turned to get the book. When she returned, she held a book that looked well-loved and aged. “Since you seem like someone who will take good care of this tome, perhaps only twenty dollars?”

“Are you sure,” Allison asked, her stomach dropping when she caught sight of the real price on the back of the book. 

“I wouldn't offer if I wasn’t,” she chuckled, adding it to the total when Allison nodded. 

She turned to pack away the books safely. When Allison couldn’t see, she ran her fingers over the pages delicately, opening it somewhere towards the end and slipped a thin bookmark in before closing the book and wrapping it in paper. Once all the books were safely inside the bag, she passed it to Allison and took the payment. 

Allison took her change but hesitated to leave. “I, uh, thank you. I’ll make sure to keep it safe. Just, thank you…”

“Rehema. My name is Rehema,” the woman said with a smile, “and I hope to see you back here. I love to hear a good mystery solved.”

Allison left the store, not sure of what she’d just gotten herself into. She found her car and safely tucked the books away when Stiles texted her that the cheesecake was ready to be picked up. 

With her bribe secured, Allison helped Stiles clear out his office/spare room. They started with the book and ended up with four sections: Stiles’s books, the Beacon Hills Public Library’s books, the Triangle Public Library’s books, and books they were going to get rid of some of which belonged to libraries in different states they’d had cases in).

At that point, they had papers and folders to go through. At this point, Allison had sat herself on the floor with an energy drink, eating fork-fulls of cheesecake as she sorted the papers into piles. 

“Stiles,” she yelled, holding up a folder, “this is the case folder from Arizona that I couldn’t find! Why the hell is it here?”

Stiles peaked at her from behind a stack of books. “Is there a sticky note on it?”

“Only about fifty!”

“Read the sticky notes. That’ll tell you why I had it,” he said, going back to his part of the sorting.

“Your handwriting is terrible, like a serial killer’s,” she mumbled, tossing the sticky notes inside the folder and putting it in a pile that needed to go back to the FBI office. 

By eleven pm, they were down to putting the room back together, including the books and files that actually belonged there.

They finished shortly before midnight and Allison declared she wasn’t driving home after this shit.

“Where’s the bedding for this thing,” she asked, unfolding the couch.

“In the closet, I think,” Stiles mumbled, already getting pulled back into one of his half-finished leads.

“If I open this door and something falls out or attacks me, I’m going to kill you. Just so you know,” Allison said, walking over to the closet but hesitating to open the door.

Stiles snorted. “If something in there falls, we’ll have bigger problems,” he said, more to himself.

Allison squinted at him. “I don’t like that answer,” she muttered, opening the door slowly. She stared blankly at the storage rack inside the closet. “Did you secretly become a hunter without telling me?”

“No, but I became paranoid,” Stiles said, turning in his chair to look at her. “Then again, is it really paranoia if I’m right? Sheets are on the right. They’re blue.”

Stiles left the bed in the tiny spare room set up and even pulled out an air mattress he’d kept from before he’d gotten a bed for the place, not that there was much room for it. He stocked up on food and snacks and drinks. He even remembered to avoid pork, remembering that Eli had said something about it. He grabbed popcorn and chips and soda. He also got veggies and chicken and milk just to keep some sort of a balance. 

**********************

The night that Derek and Eli got to Virginia, Stiles picked them up from the airport. Derek was visibly uncomfortable in Stiles’s p.o.s. Car. He kept side eyeing Stiles as he drove. It was like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Derek mumbled to himself, almost inspecting the car. It was less than ideal.

They decided to grab pizza and watch movies that night. Derek and Eli weren’t tired enough to sleep, not that it was that surprising. It might be ten pm in Virginia but it would only be seven pm in California.

It was weird, kind of domestic feeling. It was a good weird, though. Having Eli and Derek there felt natural. They were able to move around each other and share the small space seamlessly. It was nice. 

Sitting on the couch together to watch tv made Stiles want more time like this. More time with Derek a hair’s width away from him so Eli could lay down. More time where Derek’s body heat soaked into his skin, making a blanket worthless even in a cold room. More time watching crappy reruns and making fun of them together. He wondered if it would be like this, without the arguing, if he lived closer. Could he and Derek get by without arguing?

Stiles had to get up, get away from them, before he let himself think about it more. He went to the bathroom. It wasn't real. It never could be. He didn’t deserve them. He didn’t deserve the kind of peace that sunk bone deep, that made the rest irrelevant even if only for a short time.  

Stiles stopped into the kitchen on his way back to the couch and grabbed a can of soda out of the fridge. He closed the door, flinching as he noticed Derek standing so close. 

“Jesus Christ," Stiles grumbled, slowing his heart rate back to normal. “Scared the Hell out of me,” he sighed, going to leave but Derek blocked him. Stiles rolled his eyes and went to move past him but Derek kept blocking him. He took a deep breath and leveled Derek with a look meant for uncooperative suspects. “Move.” One word said with enough venom to rival a kanima. There wasn’t a single sign that Stiles would waver in his determination. 

“Not until we talk,” Derek said, wishing he had more of the gruff scary-alpha-werewolf demeanor from when he’d met Stiles. Not that would work on Stiles now, even if he did have it.

“Very big bad wolf of you.”

“Then talk to me,” Derek said, keeping his voice low. “I fucked up, I get it,” 

“Ya,” he scoffed, “you did.”

“You don’t think I felt back enough that Eli was hurt? You had to ignore me too? Had to hold it against me,” Derek asked.

“I’m not pissed at you because Eli got hurt, okay? I’m not even mad you weren’t there,” Stiles told him and Derek looked at him like he was crazy. 

“Then why are you mad at me,” Derek asked, starting to lose his cool. 

“Because, Derek, even after years of not seeing you, after you had a kid and rebuilt your pack, you still can’t seem to figure out how to communicate,” Stiles told him. 

Derek scoffed, “you’ve been ignoring me. Please, Stiles, tell me how the Hell I was supposed to communicate with you when you’re ignoring me?” 

“I meant before, asshole. You could have just told me you weren’t going to be there and— Why do you give a shit, anyway? Look Derek, we both know the only reason you keep me around is for Eli, so stop acting like you care,” Stiles said and tried to walk away and Derek pushed him back against the fridge.

“Derek…” Stiles huffed, grabbing Derek’s wrist that held him back, realizing he could get out if he really tried. 

He met Derek’s eyes with a glare. Stiles tried to keep heart rate under control. When it failed, he hoped Derek would take it as shock or anger and ignore the mild arousal mixed in. He didn’t let any of it show on his face.

“Would you use that god damn brain of yours,” Derek hissed, as if the fact that Stiles hadn’t figured it out was painful. Painfully obvious. It bothered him even more when he could finally get a read on Stiles’s emotions because Stiles was feeling the same things even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“What,” Stiles spat back indignantly. 

“Are you that clueless? You really think the only reason I want you around is for Eli?” he looked up. 

Stiles absent mindedly fidgeted with the pendant of his necklace, something that had become an everyday staple, and Derek’s eyes fell to Stiles’s fingers, watching him rub his thumb over the pendant. 

Looking at the pendant, it wasn’t the moon facing out either. He’d made sure Stiles had the option to hide it but he didn’t. He let the triskelion face out.

Watching how Stiles’s fingers ran over the triskelion on the necklace settled something in him and roused another. Derek could feel the red bleeding into his eyes and Stiles' grip on the pendant tightened. Stiles wore it with the triskelion on full display, with the symbol of Derek’s pack on show for anyone who looked. It made him stand a little taller, internally preening at the meaning of silent declaration. That symbol told everyone Stiles wasn’t to be touched. It meant Stiles was safer, that he was protected by the Hale name. Protected by Derek’s name. 

“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working,” Stiles told him, his heart still racing. “The big bad alpha shtick is old.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He wasn’t scared of Derek but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared of what would happen if Derek lost control.

Derek took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He only opened them again when he was sure all the red had faded, and he looked at Stiles, letting go and stepping away from him. “Stiles,” Derek licked his lips, “I want you in our lives– more than just for Eli. I’m sure you can figure out why, I’m not hiding it,” he said calmly, his eyes falling to the necklace and a smile found its way to his lips.

“Ya, because you’re a fountain of fucking answers, mister strong-silent type,” Stiles huffed, letting go of the pendant.

“That’s not who I am anymore,” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, “you know that, don’t you?” he asked, the concern clear in his voice if Stiles would just let himself hear it.

“Sure,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes, “you’re a total open book.”

“All you have to do is ask,” Derek said, looking Stiles in the eye. There was no sign of the mental walls Derek used to have, the ones he hid behind. He was trying to let Stiles in, waiting for Stiles to take that step.

“So if I ask you, you’ll tell me,” Stiles said and Derek nodded. “Then tell me what you think is so obvious.”

“If you haven’t figured it out, then you wouldn’t listen if I did,” Derek sighed.

“Not very ‘open book’ of you,” Stiles muttered.

“Not everything in a book is spelled out,” Derek said, “all the pieces are there. You have to put them together on your own. You should be good at that, you always figured out the answers before.”

Stiles frowned. Why couldn’t he figure Derek out? 

“The spare room is set up. There’s an air mattress in there if you want it. I’m going to bed,” Stiles said, walking off. He stopped to tell Eli he was headed to bed and ruffled the tired kid’s hair before going to his room. 

He didn’t go to sleep. He sat in bed half watching Supernatural and half listening for when Derek and Eli would go to bed. Only once he heard the door of the spare room open and close did he put his phone down. 

When Stiles woke up the next morning, Derek wasn’t in the living room but Eli was sitting at the table eating cereal. He wandered into the kitchen and made his own bowl before going in search of coffee.

Only, there was coffee already made. 

Derek must have made it and, based on the temperature, it was a while ago. 

“Where’s your dad,” Stiles asked, pouring a cup of the lukewarm coffee and putting it in the microwave.

“Outside,” Eli said between bites, glancing at Stiles.

Stiles frowned, grabbing his cereal and coffee to join Eli at the table.  “What could he possibly be doing outside,” he mumbled, taking a bite of cereal.

“Fixing your car,” Eli said blandly, not looking up from his food.

Stiles nearly choked on his coco puffs. “He’s doing what,” Stiles asked around a mouth full of food, putting his spoon down and walking towards the front door before Eli could answer. 

He opened the door to see the hood of his car up and Derek bent over the engine compartment with a wrench. 

Stiles glared at Derek– definitely not looking at Derek’s ass– and slipped on a pair of shoes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” Stiles asked, walking over to stand next to Derek. 

Derek didn’t bother to look at Stiles. “Eli told you, I’m working on your car,” he explained and was that a fucking smirk on his face?

Stiles was pretty sure Derek had lost his mind. “Why,” he asked, not understanding what could possibly have motivated Derek to be up and outside before seven in the morning, working on a car that doesn’t belong to him, for free.

Derek sighed and turned to look at Stiles and, holy fuck, he looked good. “It wasn’t safe. You should have had it looked at a while ago.” Aaaaand that’s the dad-voice. No longer hot… Well? 

Stiles really needed to get his shit together.

Could you blame him, though? Derek Hale was standing in his driveway in a greasy white tank top and sweats. His hair was still a mess from sleep and he definitely hadn’t shaved and he was looking at Stiles like that. 

Problems. 

Stiles had psychological problems, because why the fuck couldn’t he keep his eye on Derek’s? Why did they trail down to Derek’s pecs and how the shirt clung tightly to his muscular body. Why did they wander down to Derek’s abs, the tank top ridding up, showing teasing amounts of Derek’s skin, of the v of his hip. Why couldn’t he keep his eyes and mind from wandering. Why didn’t he look Derek in the eyes? Stiles licked his lips, trying to get his brain to cooperate, and his eyes to stop wandering. Why didn’t he look up but let his eyes wander further down—

Derek cleared his throat and Stiles looked away, anywhere else. He didn’t have to look at Derek to know that stupid fucking smirk was still firmly in place.

Stiles looked at the car, not at Derek, gesturing noncommittally to the thing. “I bought that car for twenty-five hundred dollars when I moved out here. It’s not going to be perfect,” Stiles told him, and Derek had the nerve to huff a laugh at Stiles’s inability to look him in the eyes. 

“The passenger side brake rotor was dented and the alternator was starting to die,” Derek said, grabbing a rag.

“Both of those things are easy to fix. I’m not worried,” Stiles said, watching Derek’s hands.

“When did you learn to do anything besides wrapping things in duct tape,” Derek mumbled, wiping the grease off his hands, not missing how Stiles bit his lip. And so what if Derek took the time to be sure he’s gotten everything off his hands. “The engine on the jeep was horrible.”

“I can’t believe you messed with my jeep,” Stiles grumbled, all thoughts other than defending his jeep out of mind.

“I fixed it,” Derek fired back, laying the rag on his shoulder, “four years ago at this point. In case you haven’t looked, there’s not a single piece of duct tape on it anymore.”

Stiles stood frozen in his driveway, his arms falling to his sides as he took in what Derek had said. “You fixed everything," Stiles asked, his stomach twisting and Derek nodded. “Why… Why did you do that? I didn’t– Dad said he was still getting the money together. I was going to help.”

Derek shrugged, “I wanted to,” he said, closing the hood of Stiles’s car. “It’s good to go now. Runs much better, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighed, feeling slightly ashamed, “I can’t pay you. Trying to find parts for it, they’re expensive.”

“Don’t even think about paying me,” Derek huffed as if it were hilarious. “I like doing it and it means you’re safe.” Adding ‘and Eli when he steals it’ in his head, knowing if he did say it, Stiles would use it as an excuse not to see what he meant.

Derek gave a small smile and walked back inside the house, leaving Stiles to stand there in awe of Derek’s comment. He was making sure Stiles was safe. He wanted to be sure Stiles was safe. He spent his own money to fix Stiles’s shit box of a car because he wants to keep Stiles safe.

Add that to the ever growing list of small things that had Stiles pining after an unobtainable man.

Stiles came back inside, kicking off his shoes. He could hear the shower running and saw Eli on the couch watching tv. He went to the kitchen, returning to his abandoned– and now soggy– breakfast and coffee. 

In an attempt at keeping his mind from wondering why Derek was doing so many things for him, Stiles tried to think of things they could do. He thought of the museums and memorials in the area, there were plenty this close to Quantico. 

They could go to the public pool. Do teenagers like going to the pool? Fuck if he knew. Stiles didn’t even know what other teenagers liked to do when he was a teenager! He was a little busy being part of god damned Team Save the World.

Stiles was trying to think of things they could all enjoy. Derek would basically shut down anywhere too loud or crowded. Eli can’t sit still to save his life– Stiles too, really– and Stiles was sick of being cooped up inside anyway. 

They needed something outdoors, not too many people, and plenty of room to wander… 

Basin Trail, it was perfect! They could go hiking and there were a few archery ranges nearby. Plus, Stiles could mentally make jokes, even if he didn’t say them, about it being dog friendly. It was perfect and not too far away, only about thirty minutes.

It turned out to be a great suggestion since Derek and Eli dressed to go in five minutes. Stiles looked at them like they were crazy, standing there empty handed. He pulled a backpack out of the closet and started filling water bottles and grabbing snacks for the hike. He knew full well that it wasn’t going to be a short trip with the two. Even if Derek would be fine, Stiles and Eli needed water at the minimum. 

When they had a bag of water and snacks that Stiles deemed acceptable for their hike, they were on their way. 

The car ride couldn’t possibly have passed without Stiles and Eli singing along to every song that played. Derek was smiling the whole way even when it branched into cringing territory. They even got a few laughs out of Derek along the way. 

Eli practically jumped out of the car when they parked, looking around excitedly. Stiles saw Derek’s wide smile as he got out of the car and he couldn’t look away. He could see how Derek’s shoulders shook and bit his lip to stifle laughter as Eli found the posted trail map and started pointing things out. He watched Derek wrap an arm around Eli’s shoulders and pull him in for a hug. Derek kissed the top of Eli’s head and Stiles looked away. It felt like a private moment he wasn’t supposed to see, a little bubble where Derek was just a dad with his son and not the person Stiles survived with. It was for their family of two, not Stiles.

It was hard to imagine that this Derek was the same guy he knew years ago. He was different in so many ways, most of which was because he felt safe being himself. 

Derek used to have layer after layer of brick walls keeping people out. Stiles should know; he’d tried like hell to break through those walls. The more walls Stiles broke, the more growly Derek got with him. Derek didn’t talk. He didn’t smile. And he certainly didn’t give hugs. He’d seen Derek cry but that was because he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He hadn’t wanted to cry in front of Stiles, he just couldn’t stop it.

This Derek? This Derek was happy. He smiled all the time and he laughed and he hugged his son. He showed the people around him how much he loved them and backed it up. He found his family and pulled them together into one big pack again. More than that, he took care of them, showed he loved them openly. Derek talked about issues instead of always running in head first. He stayed calm and collected when issues appeared. He listened to others’ opinions and took them into account. 

The walls Stiles was so used to contending with were practically gone.

Stiles absent mindedly fidgeted with the pendant of his necklace. He dropped it when he heard Eli yell his name. He smiled at the kid, grabbing the backpack out of the car and locking it.

“I’m right behind you,” Stiles said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Eli seemed okay with that answer and started on ahead. He made it to the trail head, edging closer to the opening in the trees.

“Eli,” Derek said warningly and Eli turned to look at his dad, “wait.”

Stiles walked up to the trail head, he looked at Derek with a tight lipped smile. “You didn't have to wait. I would have caught up.”

Derek grabbed the backpack, carefully pulling it off Stiles’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t leave you,” he said, meaning it about a lot more than a hike. Derek turned to start walking. “You coming or not,” he asked, waiting for Stiles to walk with him. 

They walked down the trail, enjoying the peace. The trees were alive with small animals running around and birds chirping. They could hear the occasional squirrel chattering as the sounds of the stream got louder. Eli wandered on ahead, leaving Stiles and Derek walking together.

Derek noticed more than once that when Stiles’s heart rate would spike for a moment or when he’d grow restless, he would reach for the pendant of the necklace. This thumb would rub over it or his finger would trace the engraving. Stiles seemed to hardly notice the habit but Derek did. 

It made him happy, knowing he’d gotten something Stiles liked and kept close. Knowing that Stiles would use Derek’s gift to ground himself, that he would trace over the triskalion, like every Hale had been taught, gave it even more meaning. 

Seeing Stiles wear his mark, his pack’s symbol pleased the more instinctual side of him. Knowing Stiles knew it was the Hale’s emblem, Derek’s emblem, and still wore it happily made his heart clench in a way he hadn’t felt in years– in fifteen years to be exact. Derek knew he must look like a doe-eyed idiot staring that way but it all just felt right in that moment. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Stiles and the way he moved the pendant in his fingers.

“You’re wearing the necklace I got you,” Derek said, feeling proud of himself for finding something Stiles liked.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “I need all the luck I can get,” he said, glancing at Derek. The gentle, caring look in Derek’s eyes surprised him. He chewed his lip, debating a thought that had run through his mind. Stiles cleared his throat, “you know, there are grey wolves in Virginia.” His eyes stayed on the greenery around them. “And Coywolves but that’s not really relevant…”

Derek smirked, “are there?” he hummed.

Stiles nodded. “Yup. Wolf dogs are also legal in Virginia. And this is an off-leash trail so, ya know, we could see one or the other…”

Derek ducked his head as he smiled. He lifted his head just enough for his eyes to meet Stiles’s. “What are you suggesting,” he asked, a humored tone to his voice.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Stiles said blandly, looking away from Derek. His heart rate steadied, not giving away anything. It served to peak Derek’s interest. “I was merely stating a few facts. What you do with those facts is up to you.”

Derek smiled. “How’d you do that?”

Stiles looked at Derek, his heart rate jumping to its typical quick pace. “Do what?”

“You lied but your heart rate stayed steady,” Derek told him. “You’ve done it a few times.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” he shrugged. “However, if I did, I might suggest that it has something to do with policing a demographic that can often hear heartbeats.” Stiles smiled at Derek and walked ahead of him.

“Dad, come look at how cool this is,” Eli yelled. 

Derek watched Stiles walk in front of him. Stiles grew more and more interesting to him by the day. He didn’t know if his heart could survive much more of this waiting game.

**********************

On the fourth of July, Stiles and Eli leaned on the porch railing, watching the chaos that is the rest of the huge Hale family. They lit off small fireworks during that day, running around with the little kids as most of the adults drank.

Stiles’s eyes kept wandering to one person in particular. Derek was playing with the littles but still seemed to be keeping an eye– or ear– on the teens. He was calm and patient as he taught the younger kids how to safely light the firecrackers but would have to stop occasionally to get onto the teens for trying to light something–or someone– on fire. 

Derek had his under-ten-over-three group on a tight hold, each one too scared to try without his help. Derek would help one kid at a time, carrying them a safe distance from the others and put down a firecracker. Stiles might have watched a little closer as Derek carried the kids around. He was a very simple man, really. Muscle? Yes please. Good with kids? Apparently he liked that too because hot damn. 

Derek would help the kid light it and pick the kid up again to slowly back away. Slowly, the kids got more comfortable lighting them off and didn’t want Derek to carry them. And so what if Stiles was a little disappointed to see Derek no longer carrying the kids around? 

“Why are they setting off fireworks if the kids’ ears are so sensitive,” Stiles asked, watching how the little ones would cover their ears.

Watching Derek smile and laugh with the little kids made Stiles smile, his stomach doing flips again. 

Derek was giving the littles high fives when they attacked. All four of the kids jumped on Derek, making him fall over and Stiles held back a laugh.

“To help desensitize them to the noise,” Eli shrugged, smiling as his dad fought off the pups. “It’s good for the pups since it happens every year. Plus, if you can handle fireworks, you can handle most loud noises.”

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t have to deal with all that,” Stiles teased and Eli gave a tight lipped smile. “So, there’s no chance that you’ll wake up a werewolf one day,” he joked.

Eli looked down at the scar on his leg. “No but… I don’t really mind anymore,” he said, smiling softly.

“Ya?”

“Ya.”

“When did you figure it out,” Stiles asked, turning to face Eli fully.

“I kinda always knew,” Eli said, turning to look at Stiles. “You can see small things in babies– extra sensitive hearing or being too rough. Toddlers tend to break everything because of the added strength. That’s when they start smelling emotions too and they get really clingy and their hearing gets really really good.” Eli looked down as he fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. “I guess dad was really freaked out when I didn’t do any of that stuff.”

“You’re his kid– his only kid– of course he freaked. I’d bet that you were the first human baby he’d ever spent a ton of time with too,” Stiles said, placing a hand on Eli’s back.

“Ya… My aunts tried to convince him to give me time– or, they did until I was twelve.”

Stiles frowned. “What changed then?”

“If you’re born a werewolf, you start shifting about the same time as you start puberty.”

Stiles scrunched his nose up, “that’s awful.”

Eli looked at him with big eyes. “That’s what I think too! Oh, the human part of you is changing completely? Let’s add shifting on full moons.”

Stiles thought for a second. “So the girls—”

“Don’t argue with the girls around the full moon ever! Like, ever ever. It all matches. It’s a scary time.”

Stiles nodded. “But… there was no chance of it happening after that?”

“A small one but it would have happened the first time I broke a bone. It definitely would happen the second. Even one of the many concussions would have done it,” Eli said and Stiles wondered if that was how he sounded talking about getting hurt. He shrugged, sighing. “I think I like being human, though.”

Stiles smiled. “Ya, me too,” he said. “It’s easier. Plus, you can’t be in the FBI if you’re a werewolf.”

Eli turned his head sharply to look at Stiles. “Really,” he asked and Stiles nodded.

“It’s a shitty rule and entirely due to higher-ups being poorly educated about it all but, for now, nobody who is any kind of reported supernatural being can be part of the FBI. I’m sure it’ll eventually change but not for a while…”

“That’s so weird,” Eli hummed.

Stiles looked around the yard as a comfortable silence fell between them. He had never seen so many people gathered for something as small as the fourth of July outside of city or school events. 

People were sitting around and half watching the kids. The adults drank and talked. The teens seemed to constantly be trying to start a fire or light someone on fire. They had, at one point, started throwing lit firecrackers at each other before they were taken away. They tried to light a pile of leaves on fire and the lighter was taken. At some point, Willow, Charlie, Jasper, and Aurora climbed a tree that the younger teen either couldn’t or wouldn’t.

The only time Stiles saw his extended family was at weddings and funerals. Even then, he hardly knew who he was related to and who was a friend. He only had four or five cousins– he couldn’t remember if aunt Mary had a third kid or not– that he’d met a grand total of once in his life. 

Somehow, it had never really set in how large the Hale family was. There were so many kids, most of which were teenagers. There were eleven teens in the whole lot of twenty kids. 

Stiles could hardly name three of his own cousins and Eli knew the name of every person here. It left a strange sense of loneliness in his stomach, knowing it really was just him and his dad. He was a little jealous that Eli had so many people that loved him so much. He would be happy with just a fraction of what the Hales had.

“How do you keep up with this many people,” Stiles mumbled.

Eli shrugged with a smile. “How can you not,” he fired back, not noticing the sadness in Stiles’s tone. “It’s all I’ve ever known. Family is everything, you know. We do everything together. Aunt Dianna jokes that we made our own village— like the whole ‘it takes a village’ thing about kids. She says that the reason everyone has a bunch of kids is because they know there’s all of us happy to help,” Eli said. “Personally, I think they have so many kids because of the Catholic thing,” he added.

“I figured it had to be something like that since there’s so many of you,” Stiles hummed and Eli agreed. 

Not long after, little Eliud– who was newly five– grabbed Eli’s hand and pulled him off to play with pop-its. In true older cousin fashion, Eli showed them how to pop the little firecrackers between their fingers. 

Stiles was watching the kids play from the porch when one of the younger Hale women walked over to him. 

She didn’t say anything at first, giving him a questioning once-over before saying a quick, “you’ll do. Come help us.”

He may not be brilliant but Stiles was smarter than to argue when he was told to help. As such, he followed her, being led inside the house and to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, looking around at the six people tucked into the kitchen all cooking food for the massive family. 

“I got another one to help,” the young woman who had enlisted Stiles’s help said, moving to wash her hands in the sink. 

“Thank you, Rory,” one of the older women– who Stiles did recognise as Dianna Hale– said. She turned around and smiled. “Oh, Stiles. How wonderful,” Dianna said with a warm smile. “Tell me dear, do you cook often?”

“Does warming up canned pasta sauce count,” Stiles joked.

Dianna gave him a concerned look. “No, it doesn't, dear. No wonder you’re so thin.”

“Tía, no puedes decir eso.", Rory said in a sharp whisper. “No sabes si alguien es sensible al tema..”

“Rory,” an older man said, pulling the attention of the room, “Entiendo lo que quieres decir, pero podrías haberlo dicho de una manera más amable. Don’t snap at your Aunt.”

Stiles didn’t know much Spanish, only catching a few words, but he knew what it looked like to get yelled at and that was definitely what was happening, otherwise he was lost. He didn’t know anyone’s name and the language switch was just making it worse. 

“Yes, papá,” Rory sighed. “Sorry, Tía.”

“Hush now, dear,” Dianna said, waving a hand at Rory. “Stiles, dear, wash your hands, grab an apron and then come over here. I’ll teach you a thing or two about cooking. I promise you that.”

Time seemed to fly and drag on at the same time as Stiles helped in the kitchen. He helped get all of the meat out of the fridges and sent it out to the grill. He helped cut and shape the rolls before putting them in the oven. He swore he did everything right but none of his rolls rose properly. He was assured this was okay since they’d be eaten before anyone noticed. 

When Dianna got to more detailed parts, she sent Stiles over to help make jalapeño poppers. He was given the very important job of cutting slices of cheese to fit inside the jalapeño halves. He helped wrap them in bacon when they’d cut and stuffed about a hundred of the things. Those were also sent to the grill and Stiles was told to use lemon juice and salt to get the jalapeño oil off his hands before helping with anything else. 

Stiles was caught up in the kitchen until all of the food was either done or finishing up. When he was released back to the yard, he found two tables set up just for food to be served on and ten tables in the yard for everyone to eat at.

When food was set out, everyone was slowly moving closer, waiting to be told to fix plates. Derek cut all their dreams short. 

“Eli and Stiles get to go first. Then the pups and then everyone else,” he said seriously, looking at a few of the younger adults who were newly excluded from the ‘pups’ portion of the order. 

Stiles and Eli walked up to the tables full of food. Eli quickly started filling his plate and Stiles… He felt near paralyzed by all the choices. 

Derek walked over and placed a hand on Stiles’s back. “Start over here. There’s chicken, beef, hotdogs… I like the chicken but it’s all good. Emmy does a great job.”

“Emmy,” Stiles said questioningly.

“My cousin Emmerson,” Derek said and Stiles nodded, adding chicken to his plate. “You should get some of the pasta salad. Uncle Grayson’s secret recipe.” Derek walked Stiles through the layout, pointing out things he thought were especially good.

When Eli and Stiles had gotten food and sat down, each of the little kids were walked through the food layout by a sibling or parent. When all of the kids had sat down, the rest of the pack descended upon the food table like a swarm of locusts. Plates were piled high with food and unceremoniously scarfed down. 

Stiles thought it was great, watching everyone enjoy food that was freshly homemade. He looked at Eli with a smile. When he looked around to see if Derek was also stuffing his face, he didn’t find him. He looked around again, this time looking up at the remains of the buffet. There Derek was, fixing a plate of food after ensuring everyone else was fed.

“Does he always eat last,” Stiles asked, wondering what could possibly be left after the mounds of food that had been taken.

Eli hummed, chewing a mouthful of food. He swallowed and looked at Stiles, “who? Dad?” Stiles nodded. “Ya, he says it’s an alpha thing. He just wants to be sure everyone gets food.”

Stiles hummed, taking another bite. When Derek started to walk over to the table, Stiles turned his eyes back to his own plate. Derek got food last so everyone else could eat. Something about that fact struck a cord with him. It was… It’s very Derek.

Derek set his plate down next to Eli, his hand resting on the back of his son’s neck. Derek paused as one of his cousins yelled his name and he talked to them. 

Stiles was surprised to see how little was on Derek’s plate. Sure, it might be a decent meal for most people but Derek wasn’t most people. Stiles looked at his own plate and all the food Derek had talked him into getting. He knew he wouldn’t finish his own plate and it had been a lot of Derek’s picks…

Stiles picked up his plate, pushing his untouched food onto Derek’s plate. In the same beat, the table’s conversations were cut off. 

“Uh.. St— Stiles..” Derek asked, his face beat red. “What’re you doing?” he asked and a snicker came from the far end of the table.

“Aww, mira cómo cuida su novio a nuestro dulce pequeño alfa,” someone snickered. 

“Creo que Der podría convertirse en un fuego artificial, está tan rojo.” That voice Stiles did recognize, that was Cora. 

An older woman’s voice chimed in, clicking her tongue, “¿Y dónde está el hombre que hace eso por ti?” Eli choked on his water at the words, coughing and laughing at the same time.

“Uh, did I do something wrong,” Stiles asked, finally looking at Derek and seeing how red he was. “Shit, sorry. I did something wrong, didn't I?”

“I– uh– no, no. Not… It’s just… Thanks,” Derek said, ducking his head and sitting down to eat. 

A few more snickers were shared among the table before conversations started to pick back up.

Eli poked his dad, leaning to say something so Stiles wouldn’t hear– “you should tell him before someone else does.”

Stiles stared at the huge plate of desert– one save especially for him since he claimed to be full after dinner– in the passenger seat of the jeep. It was nice that he could finally get in the jeep and reach over the center console with minimal pain. He was going to get in when he heard Eli calling his name.

“Stiles,” Eli yelled, running over, “you’re leaving before fireworks?”

“Ya, my dad and I always sit and watch the fireworks from the yard,” Stiles lied, not that Eli could tell. He just felt weird staying for so long, especially after whatever happened at dinner. “Can’t miss that tradition.”

“Okay,” Eli said with understanding, hugging Stiles. 

Stiles happily returned the hug. “What’s all this about,” he teased.

“In case you have to leave before I see you again,” Eli said, finally letting go. “You’re coming for Thanksgiving too, right,” he asked excitedly.

Stiles gave a nervous smile. “I don’t know, buddy. I don’t know if your dad—”

“You can come over for Thanksgiving,” Derek said before Stiles could talk himself out of it. He was only halfway to the jeep, walking calmly toward them. “Why don’t you bring Noah, too? We’ll have more than enough food,” he suggested.

Stiles looked at Derek with a tight lipped smile. “Really, it’s okay. I think Melissa and Scott were going to come over and Melissa is a woman you don’t argue with.

Derek took a breath, not missing how Stiles lied or that he didn’t hide it. “The invite is still there if you’d like to take it,” he said and Stiles gave him a half-hearted smile in return. 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Stiles said, forcing a smile. He was getting more and more confused with Derek as the day went on. He looked at Eli with a real smile, ruffling his hair. “I’m in town for the next couple of days, so let me know if there’s anything you want to do.”

Anything. 

He just had to say anything, which is why he was now walking around the mall with Derek and Eli to go back to school shopping. Of course, they decided to do so on a Saturday. A crowded as fuck Saturday. 

People kept pushing past and bumping into him. At least one person had elbowed Stiles in the side– which still wasn’t great seven months into healing from being shot. 

For the most part, it didn’t hurt too bad to move around and do everyday stuff. Extending his arm above his head still wasn’t fun and neither was getting elbowed in the side. 

He kept getting knocked into Derek– which thank fuck he wasn’t saying anything about. Not that they were saying much to each other in the first place. It seemed to be the least of Derek’s concerns as they walked. 

Everytime Stiles got shoved into him, he’d simply wrap an arm around Stiles to keep him from falling over. Stiles would eventually get his bearings and take a step or two away for personal space, only to inevitably move closer to stick with Derek and Eli. 

They’d first stopped for school supplies, getting notebooks, pencils, paper, and notecards based on the classes Eli had picked. When Stiles asked what they’d do if they were missing things or needed extras, he was met with confused stares.

“We’ll just come back for it,” Derek said, not sure why the clarification was needed. 

“Well, ya, but how do you know how much you can spend on clothes if you don’t have a set list,” Stiles asked. “I mean, what if you spend the money on clothes when you need it for school supplies?”

“What do you mean,” Eli asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. 

“He needs the new clothes and I buy what he needs. I can get more school supplies whenever he needs them,” Derek said with a shrug. He all but said ‘we don’t have to worry about the money’ and Stiles was reminded that the Hales had the money to spend.

“Right,” Stiles mumbled, “Not worried about the budget…” 

As a person who got their back to school clothes from Wal-Mart and second hand stores, occasionally splurged for something at the mall that he’d wear till it was destroyed, it was bizarre to watch Derek spending hundreds of dollars on clothes for a teenage boy who’d outgrow it all by the end of the school year, maybe even in the semester. He tried to be supportive, he really did, but the price was really getting to him even if he wasn’t paying. 

Just one more reminder of how different Stiles and Derek were. Another degree of separation, something they couldn’t understand about the other. 

The longer they walked around the mall, it only seemed to fill more. 

Stiles kept getting knocked into Derek. 

Derek’s hold on Stiles kept getting lower and longer. The first time it was an arm behind his shoulders just to catch him. By the time Stiles noticed the change, Derek’s arm was securely around his waist. 

He wondered if Derek noticed too. Then again, Derek had two shopping bags hanging on his other arm and was trying to get Eli to stay with them. He didn’t understand why it was him Derek was holding onto and not Eli to keep him from running off.

But Stiles didn’t move away this time. He just walked along with Derek’s arm around him, holding him close.

He wanted to chalk it up to clingy werewolves but it just felt different.

**********************

The next night, Stiles found himself alone again. It was just him and the same silence that he’d gotten used to as a teen. Why did it feel so heavy, now? 

He sat at the kitchen table, looking down at a sad ham and cheese sandwich and a luke-warm can of soda. The sound of his own breathing and the house settling to occupy his mind. Cars didn’t usually drive down their residential street this late in the day. Most of the kids that used to laugh and yell and play outside had grown into teens and young adults like Stiles. 

It was too quiet.

Slowly, memories started to creep into Stiles’s thoughts— calling them memories was putting it nicely. No, these were living nightmares. Children who lost their parents. Parents who lost their children. Parents that didn’t deserve their kids. Those who didn’t deserve to watch their babies fade. 

A woman’s broken cry echoed through the hospital’s hallway and Stiles flinched. 

He clenched his hand around his pen, trying not to react. 

There’s no mistaking that cry. There’s nothing like the sound of a parent finding out their child was truly gone. 

The doctor he was speaking to had the same knowing look that Stiles did. It was a sound far too often heard here.

Stiles started to leave, not ready for the report he’d have to write. He paused outside a room, the parents he’d spoken to so many times almost unrecognisable. The mother who had cursed when people offered their prayers was on her knees, her hands folded in a begging prayer.

“Not my baby. Not my baby. Not my little boy. Not Anthony. Please God, not him! Not my baby! Please please please, God, take me instead but leave my baby,” she was praying, pleading.

It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. Not when the boy had been cold when they found him. Not when his little body had been so broken. It might have been a prayer of its own that he didn’t have to feel that pain anymore.

The father, a man who had held and comforted his wife in every moment, sat in a chair. He looked off towards the wall but he wasn’t seeing anything. He was still and unmoving. He didn’t react to his wife’s cries or the nurses trying to help. 

His eyes turned to the bed, the white sheet that had covered the small body, pulled down. The little one’s skin bruised bright purple against lifeless white skin. It was sickening, knowing how hard you had you hit to leave those deep purple marks on werewolf. 

All Stiles could think was that the boy had only been ten and he’d be ten forever.

He pulled his eyes away, letting them fall to the floor as he walked through the hospital.

He walked out to the jeep before he’d realized he’d done it. He got in and drove to the one place he knew would be filled with enough noise and love to settle his mind.

The pain of his memories must have been stronger than he knew. By the time he’d taken two steps out of the jeep, Derek had come running to meet him.

“Stiles? Are you okay? Is your dad— What happened? What’s wrong,” Derek asked, his eyes filled with concern as he looked Stiles over. His hands went to Stiles’s shoulders to be sure he wouldn’t fall, one hand slowly sliding to rest on the back of Stiles’s neck. “Are you okay,” he asked again, his voice soft.

“Nothing wrong,” Stiles mumbled but it was obvious Derek didn’t believe him even if his heart had stayed steady. “Just too quiet at my dad’s. Can… can I—”

“You can stay as long as you need,” Derek assured him, walking Stiles inside.

He ended up sitting with Derek, just talking at the breakfast bar in the kitchen while Derek idly cooked. The house creaked with the sound of footsteps from somewhere upstairs. Soft laughter and muffled conversation drifted in the air. 

The sounds slowly eased his mind, pushing away the worst of his memories. Still, some lingered. Memories not brought by the emptiness but from the sound of the teenagers just being and of being here with Derek.

“It’s kinda hard to believe we were all right about Eli’s age when we had to start saving the town,” Stiles huffed with a laugh, wiping the condensation off the side of his beer Derek had offered but Stiles had yet to open. “Could you imagine putting all of that on Eli? He's just a kid…”

“You were about his age,” Derek agreed, stirring the food he had on the stove. “I let you all get dragged into my mess. As the Hale alpha, I should have—”

“But you weren't,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “Laura was and then it was Peter. It wasn’t your fault, Derek. You weren’t much older than us. None of that should have been on any of us,” he sighed, looking at Derek. “Hell, you were even younger when you lost… You would have died without our help. It wasn't your fault.”

Derek closed his eyes, taking a breath to steady himself. “Just because it wasn't my fault doesn't mean I don't feel responsible. I'm just… trying to do better this time.”

“I'd say you're doing pretty damn good this time’” Stiles said with a smile. “Hell, you even got Eli to hang out with normal kids.” Stiles had found out not long after he’d calmed down that Eli wasn’t home– that he’d actually gone to hang out with friends that weren’t just his cousins.

“One's a relative of Argent’s and one's an Emissary's kid. I wouldn't exactly call them normal,” Derek scoffed. 

Stiles laughed, “maybe normal is a bit of a stretch. It is Beacon Hills.”

There was a knock at the front door and Stiles got up from his seat at the breakfast bar.

“I'll get it,” he said, making his way over. 

Stiles opened the door and, before he could say a word, County Game Warden Sanders tisked, “why am I not surprised to see you, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Huh,” Stiles cleared his throat, standing up straighter as he was stared down by the man that had dragged Scott and him home plenty of times during his pre-teen and teen years for being in the preserve when they shouldn’t have been. “Game Warden, what can I do for you,” he asked, trying to sound like a grown man and not a nervous teenager.

“Well, I imagine you’d like to take whichever of these troublemakers belongs to you, though I think I can guess,” Warden Sanders gestured to six mud covered teens to his right– including Eli. “And you might want to explain where they got the firearm I caught them shooting cans with.”

Stiles felt Derek appear behind him and saw how Eli paled. Stiles sighed, “he’s ours,” pointing at Eli. “And if that gun is a Ruger Mark four, then it’s mine that I’ve been letting him learn with.”

Warden Sanders nodded, “It certainly was. As a favor to your father, I will release him into your custody but, rest assured, I will not be so forgiving if this happens again.”

“Thank you, Warden. It will not happen again, will it,” Derek said, directing the question to the teens and getting a chorus of ‘yes sir’s in response. “Elias, go sit at the kitchen table. Now.”

With the boy inside, Stiles followed the Warden to his van and took possession of the gun. “Thank you and… I’m so sorry,” Stiles sighed.

“I’m not all that surprised. I tend to find that the children of the troublemakers I used to drag go one of two ways,” the Warden said, making sure the other four teens were in the van before cracking a small smirk. “Let’s just say that karma got hers.”

Stiles cringed, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Warden said. He paused on the porch a moment more and cleared his throat, “don’t be too harsh on the boy. I’ve seen grown men who know and use less firearm safety than your boy,” he patted Stiles on the shoulder, “you taught him well there, just work on the rest of the responsibility.”

Stiles saw the office off and went back inside. His boy, huh?

Chapter Text

After spending more time with Derek and everything that had happened that summer, Stiles and Derek’s friendship– was it a friendship? – was different. Derek started talking to Stiles just to talk. Before, it had always been about Eli but now… 

Stiles learned a lot about Derek from just talking. He learned about how Derek and his cousins used to run rampant in the preserve as kids and how Derek liked that the new generation of the pack could do that too. 

He learned that Derek was absolutely obsessed with Jane Austen and Greek mythology, that Derek didn’t own a tv again until he moved into the rebuilt Hale house. 

Derek thought procedural crime shows were annoying at best but Eli was addicted to them, so he suffered through. 

He learned that Derek had only watched the first three seasons of Supernatural before he stopped. Stiles managed to convince Derek to finish it– possibly on the threat of a full breakdown because what the actual fuck Derek?

Sometimes Stiles would get sent a picture by both Derek and Eli just minutes apart. Things like first day of school pictures, track meet pictures, and Halloween costume pictures were sent by both of them. Having conversations over text was part of what made Stiles notice even more similarities between the two. They both had the habit of overusing commas to create nightmarish run-on sentences. They both used the exact same three emojis and no others. They both tended to send multiple short texts instead of one long one. And, most endearingly, they both took the time to text him good morning. 

Eli had even recruited Stiles to be a part of singing happy birthday to Derek with the help of a video call. 

At the end of the call, at least half of the pack took the phone to say something to him. They were treating him like he was part of the pack and it just felt so normal.

Talking to Derek became a safe haven like talking to Eli. 

They were simultaneously making work easier to deal with and harder to be at. He wanted to be there more. He wanted to spend more time with them. Derek and Eli felt safe, like it was supposed to be the three of them. Laying around the house didn’t feel as restless with them. Going on a hike on unfamiliar terrain didn’t feel as daunting with them. It just seemed right.

None of which was helping the stupid, ever growing crush on Derek or the comfortable domesticity that had seemed to seep in lately. Stiles longed to have more of those peaceful moments like they’d had that summer.

He wished for those moments even more when work seemed to drain the happiness away and expose the worst of the world.

Stiles was seriously starting to hate humans. 

He had gotten a call at two am that a CPS worker was looking to place a child into the Supernatural Operations Unit’s care based on some criteria they sent out. The poor thing was pulled from his home by CPS and shipped to the SOU based on some flagged behaviors.

The whole situation was disgusting. 

On the advice of Stiles and his team, the parents were charged with negligence, attempted murder, and a few other hefty charges. They added in some bull about how the child had passed and was resuscitated due to the parents’ abuse. Stiles wished they could have charged the parents with murder. 

To become a hellhound you have to die– meaning the kid died and the hellhound’s spirit brought him back, not the parents. 

Stiles had to wake up Allison and they drove to Oak Hill, West Virginia to pick up the kid.

When they arrived, Stiles and Allison said they’d have to make their own assessment of the child to see if it was truly their jurisdiction. It didn’t take more than a second, Allison took a picture of the boy. The picture was illegible because of a flame-like light.

Allison showed the picture to Stiles and he cringed. He’d really been wishing they were wrong. 

He walked over to the boy slowly, crouching beside him. “Hey little buddy,” Stiles said gently. “You’ve had a rough go of life, huh?” The little boy didn’t look up from the toys he was playing with. Stiles looked at Allison. 

“We should wait until we get back to talk to… his friend,” Allison said. “Somewhere where the sprinklers won’t go off,” she added.

“That’s probably best,” Stiles agreed. He looked back at the boy. “What’s your name buddy?”

“Mickey,” the boy mumbled.

“Well, Mickey, we have some pretty cool toys for you,” Stiles said, catching his attention, “but it’s a pretty long drive. Do you think you can handle that?”

The boy looked down at the toys he had been playing with and pointed at a babydoll. “Can I take this one with me?”

“We’ll have to ask but we’ll get you one of your very own if you can’t,” Stiles negotiated. 

“But I like this one,” Mickey said sadly.

“Well,” Stiles stood up, “why don’t we ask,” he said, holding a hand out to the little boy.

Mickey picked up the doll and stood up, taking Stiles’s hand. When they got the go-ahead to take Mickey and the doll, Stiles walked the kid to the van and buckled him into a carseat. The whole way back to Quantico, Stiles kept looking back at the kid even after he fell asleep.

“His name is Micah Porter Woodthorne,” Allison said, reading through the file they’d been given. She frowned down at the paper as if willing the information to change. “I guess the parents met the hellhound. Says here they were calling him ‘evil’ and ‘a devil’. They seemed almost happy to lose him.”

“Ya, well they suck,” Stiles grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

Allison grimaced. “You can say that again. The poor thing was locked in a cage before it melted.”

Stiles’s mouth felt dry. “Cage,” he asked, hoping it was an exaggeration.

“A dog kennel to be exact,” Allison told him, taking a deep breath. “He was trapped in the kennel in the basement. They're lucky,” she huffed. “The only reason the house didn't catch was because he was in the concrete basement. Signs of starvation; seems to be what started this.”

“Any other signs of abuse,” Stiles asked, dreading the possibility.

“No telling,” she said, shaking her head. “Healing factor is a double edged sword in this case.”

When they got back, the kid was still asleep in the car seat. One of the agents who had come to help started to move him. Stiles grabbed their arm to stop them, sending them for the kid's belongings. 

Stiles sat in the backseat, just watching Mickey sleep. He looked so calm. If he weren’t so thin, you’d never know what he’d been through. Stiles gently fixed what little hair the boy had, it must have thinned out when he was being starved. 

He carefully unbuckled Mickey and carried him inside,letting him sleep. 

They packed the kid and his things to the unit and let the kid sleep on the couch in Stiles’s office. 

He and Allison took shifts being awake to watch him. The kid was currently sitting in Stiles’s office playing with some toys they had borrowed from the daycare and wearing a spare FBI sweatshirt Stiles found in the storage room. He hadn’t left the little boy alone for a second, hadn’t even thought about it.

“Where do we take him to meet his friend,” Allison asked groggily.

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s sprinklers everywhere and it’ll definitely set them off. It may be best to do it outside.”

“What if the hound decides to run? Stopping it outside won’t be easy,” Allison mumbled.

Stiles hummed, leaning back in his chair. There was no easy solution. Or was there. “I’m going to sound insane when I say this,” Stiles started.

“Go for it. I think we’ve heard it all at this point.”

“The showers. Turn on the water so it steams up the room and the fire should be dampened enough to not set off the fire alarms,” Stiles suggested.

Allison smiled, “that’s really smart. But there’s no way we get away with it.”

Stiles sat up with a smirk. “Not alone, we won’t. What if we call Yasmine in forensics and get her to loop the cameras between here and there. Mark the showers as closed for cleaning and boom.”

Allison nodded, looking over at the little kid. “We may have to postpone that thought. He’s falling asleep again,” she said quietly.

Stiles smiled. “I suppose that gives us time to figure out the other half of the problem. How do we draw out the Hell hound,” he asked, standing up.

He walked over and squatted down next to the little kid. “Hey buddy,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over the little one’s arm and smiled softly. Little Mickey hardly moved, scrunching his nose as Stiles spoke to him. “Let’s move you to the couch. It’s way more comfy than the floor.”

He was careful as he lifted the little boy, trying to let him rest. He carefully laid him down on the couch, tucking a throw pillow under his head. Stiles sat beside the couch, watching Mickey sleep. He gently brushed the boy’s hair out of his face and he frowned. Stiles shrugged off his suit jacket and used it to cover the child like a blanket. 

“Stiles, are you okay,” Allison asked.

“He’s so little,” Stiles mumbled, practically feeling his heart break in his chest. “Why would this happen to someone so…”

“Innocent?”

“Ya…” Stiles frowned, tucking hair behind Mickey’s ear. “He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t ask for any of it. He’s just a kid. He should be playing outside and going to school and making friends…”

“He will, soon enough. We’ll make sure he can do all of that safely,” Allison mumbled. “That’s what we do.”

A long silence stretched on as Stiles watched little Mickey sleep. He finally seemed peaceful when he slept.

“Stiles,” Allison finally said, catching him off guard. “I have a dumb question.”

“What is it,” he mumbled in return, hardly sparing her a glance.

“Do you want kids,” Allison asked and Stiles spun around, giving her a confused look. “In the future, I mean.”

“Do you,” he asked in return, not sure how to answer.

Allison nodded with a smile. She folded her arms on the backrest of the chair. “I think about it all the time,” she confirmed. “I think about how perfect it would be to have four kids, to fill a house with love and chaos.” Stiles smirked at Allison’s comment and she shook her head at him. “You know as well as I do that it wouldn’t be our lives without chaos. I think about how I’ll teach my kids to love and be understanding of everyone. How I can make sure they don’t have to change schools every year and make sure they grow up somewhere safe. I don’t want my kids to deal with all the stuff we did.”

“Ya, but you know our kids will be the generation that has to fight the stigma around supernaturals when things go public,” Stiles said.

“Then we raise kids who can fight bad policies,” Allison said as if it were trivial and not the possible next civil rights movement. “My question is, will you have kids to stand next to mine when that day comes?”

He didn’t answer immediately, looking down at the toys spread across the floor as he thought. He thought about Josefina, Cristóbal and Reyna, about Mason and Charlie, about Shawn and how he’d held his on to brothers, about all the kids that were still missing, about Mickey asleep on his couch, about Eli and the rest of the Hale family. 

He thought about Derek and Eli. His fingers reached for the pendant of his necklace.

He thought about sleepy mornings and bedtime cuddles. He thought about hectic school mornings and scrambling to get homework done. He thought about watching Eli play lacrosse. He thought about how the Hale family ate together and spent full moons together. He thought about how they talked and sang happy birthday and how they all included him.

He thought about the mess that was Beacon Hills and all the risks.

“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled. “It’s weird, if you’d asked a year ago it would have been a definite no but now… Like, I always knew I’d be an uncle for Scott’s kids,” he rambled, missing Allison’s frown at the mention of Scott. Stiles shrugged one shoulder, “I used to dream of being with Lydia but, now, I’ll probably be the one teaching her kids how to hotwire a car or,” he sighed with a slight laugh, “fight off a thousand year old evil kitsune spirit with nothing but board game skills and sarcasm.” Stiles took a deep breath, glancing back at Mickey fast asleep on the couch. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I’m just worried bringing more kids into this world would do more harm than good.”

“Stiles,” Allison gave Stiles a smile as he looked up at her, “you’ve done so much good. Isn’t one of your desk drawers dedicated to the postcards you get from families?”

He looked back at his desk where the picture of Eli sat. “It’s complicated.”

“Why are things complicated with you and Derek,” Allison asked genuinely. 

“Why are you so insistent that something is going on between me and Derek,” Stiles asked right back.

Allison pretended to need to think about it. “Maybe because I’m your friend… and I have eyes and you’re staring at Eli’s picture as you talk about wanting kids.”

“Spending time with Eli made me realize I might want kids,” Stiles said, not sure he could admit any more of the truth than that, even to himself. 

“And Derek?” 

Stiles’s brow furrowed at the suggestion.

Allison shifted in her chair. “You do realize you’ve basically been wooing Derek by taking care of his kid. You’re acting like a second parent,” she asked. She watched as the realization hit Stiles, his eyes getting wide and mouth falling open. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled. “I’ve been… Fuck. Allison, I’m acting like Eli’s parent…”

Allison took a moment to grimace at the sheer stupidity it must have taken for this realization not to have hit until now. “Wow, Stiles. You don’t say,” she said deadpan. 

********************************

Stiles and his dad got to the Hale’s house around 11am for Thanksgiving as told but it almost seemed like they were late. The entire pack was already milling around, eating what must have been a literal mountain of sandwiches. 

As they got out of the jeep, they were greeted and welcomed by those who were hanging out out front. By the time they were halfway to the door, Derek was opening it. Eli ran past him, running up to hug Stiles.

“Hey, kiddo,” Stiles laughed, hugging Eli back. “A little excited aren’t we?”

“I’m super excited you’re here,” Eli said with a wide smile. Eli let go just enough to walk beside Stiles, keeping one arm wrapped around each other. “We’re going to watch movies and there’ll be tons of food and games!”

“That sounds great,” Stiles said, “especially the food part.”

When they got to the front porch, Derek peeled Eli off of Stiles and sent him to help set up the tables. He looked back at Noah. “Sheriff, I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, holding a hand out.

Noah shook Derek’s hand with a smile. “Thanks for the invitation and, please, call me Noah.”

Derek shook his head. “You’ve been Sheriff long enough in my mind, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to call you something different.” He looked at Stiles, ducking his head as he smiled before meeting his eyes. “There might be a fight for your time today. The pups made a fort that they're dying to show you, Dianna’s asking for help cooking, and Eli is bursting at the seams after finishing the Among the Hidden series.”

Stiles’s eyes lit up. “I love the Shadow Children books! I totally forgot they existed and they were, like, my favorites!”

“I know. And so does Eli. I think that’s why he got them,” Derek said. “Come on in. I can show you around, Sh— Noah.”

You could ask anyone you like, Stiles was not a cook. He never was. He was always too impatient for anything that took longer than ten minutes to make. He couldn’t even start to count the number of times he’d boiled all the water out of a pot trying to make spaghetti. And yet, he somehow found himself in the kitchen, making Thanksgiving dinner for the Hale pack. 

It felt weird wandering around with people he was still learning the names of when they all knew him. Dianna and Rory and Grayson he did know. They were the kitchen crew and they made him not feel like an idiot when the basics escaped him.

He was actually starting to figure out what to do. At least, he was after getting over the shock of seeing the two massive turkeys and a chicken cooking in a second grill that was brought over for the day.

“Alright,” Dianna said, stepping away from the stove to look over her list. “Tukey and chicken are on the grill. Potatoes are boiling. Stiles, you’ll be in charge of mashing them and adding the heavy whipping cream when they’re ready. Just ask if you need help, alight dear? Rory is making green bean casserole. Sweet potatoes are roasting in the oven. Corn bread is waiting to go in the oven. Eggs are boiling and I’m going to start the stuffed mushrooms if anyone wants to help. They’ll go out to the grill. The cranberry sauce is simmering and the desserts are made. Everything else is last minute.”

Stiles was pulled to help with the stuffed mushrooms. They didn’t take long before being placed in the fridge, waiting to be grilled. 

He was on mashed potato duty which was harder than he expected. Then again, he was smashing five quarts worth of potatoes.

Rory walked over to the stove, changing the setting on the oven. “Can you move for a second? I need to get the sweet potatoes out and put in the corn bread,” she mumbled.

“Yup,” Stiles said quickly, stepping back from the stove. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles was someone trying to sneak through the kitchen without getting roped into helping. He smiled to himself. Poor sap was about to get—

“Derek, how nice of you to come help,” Dianna said.

Derek looked at his cousin Dianna, a drink in his hand and closing the fridge. “Help. Right. That’s exactly what I was wanting to do,” he said blandly and Stiles rolled his eyes, the liar.

“Well, you’re just in time to start on the deviled eggs. They just finished boiling so you can peel and cut them,” Dianna said firmly. She grabbed Derek by the back of his shirt and pulled him over to the stove. “Eggs are there. There’s an egg tray by the sink and a bowl for the yolks when they're cut. The apple cider vinegar, mayo, and seasonings are in the Aldi bag on the table,” she said and went out to check on the grill.

Derek stood next to Stiles, watching him mix in the heavy whipping cream to the potatoes. “Didn’t know you liked to cook,” Derek said, picking up the pot of boiled eggs.

“Didn’t know you were stupid enough to try to get past Miss Dianna,” Stiles teased and Derek huffed a small laugh, ducking his head. 

“A man can’t even get a drink in his own house,” Derek sighed in mock hopelessness. 

Stiles smiled, putting the potato masher down and shaking out his arms. “Why do you people need so much mashed potatoes,” he groaned, looking down at the bowl. At least they were starting to finally smooth out.

Derek looked at Stiles as he peeled eggs. “We don’t eat a lot, there’s just a lot of us.”

“That’s such crap. You people eat tons of food! Maybe literally,” Stiles scoffed, still smiling.

“High metabolisms,” Derek said with a shrug. “We just need more calories. Because we burn more.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, going back to mixing the potatoes. “You must have massive stomachs, too.”

“It has its perks,” Derek hummed, putting the eggs on the platter as he peeled them.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. This was not the time or place for all the jokes he wanted to make. “Do you think these are done,” he asked, stirring the potatoes.

“Let me see,” Derek said, rinsing his hands. He grabbed a small spoon and walked over to the stove. 

Stiles felt Derek’s hand against his lower back as he dipped the spoon into the mashed potatoes. His hand was warm, still wet from the sink. Stiles could feel the water soaking into his shirt, finding it hard to focus on much else than the warm hand on his back. 

Derek ate the small bite and hummed. “They taste really good,” he complemented.

“I just did what I was told to,” Stiles said, feeling his cheeks tinge red with a slight blush.

“I think those are done,” Derek said. He sniffed and pulled the oven open slightly. “Cornbread’s done too,” he added.

His hand left Stiles’s back to get a rag and Stiles stepped back so Derek could open the oven. The back of his shirt was definitely wet, and now it was cold without Derek’s hand there. 

The green bean casserole was next to go in the oven. With the mashed potatoes done, the mac n’ cheese was started. Dianna shooed Stiles over to cut the eggs as Derek peeled them. He cut them in half and dumped the yolks into a bowl to be mixed later.

“How did you get roped into cooking,” Derek asked, his arm brushing against Stiles’s as they worked. 

“I think I volunteered myself,” Stiles said. “I don’t quite know if I volunteered or was told.”

Derek nodded. “You were volun-told. Classic Dianna,” he said. “Even when we were little, she was telling us what to do. She’s barely six years older but was always bossing me around.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “You grew up together?” He nodded. “But, then why wasn’t she in Beacon Hills when I met you? I— We thought you didn’t have any family left and now I see your family’s huge,” Stiles said. 

He’d been wondering about it for a while. Why had he never heard about Derek’s extended family until now? Where were they after the fire? Why didn’t they take Derek when they left?

Derek’s smile fell away. “That’s, uhm…” he said softly. “It was just… It was safer. Let’s not talk about that now.”

Stiles nodded, not wanting to push. 

Dianna mumbled “invítalo a salir, chico amante,” quiet enough Stiles wouldn’t hear as she walked past them to the oven. Derek looked over at her and she smiled at him, switching the green bean casserole with the sweet potato casserole piled with marshmallows. 

“What’d she say,” Stiles asked when Derek looked back at the eggs with a blush. 

“Nothing,” Derek muttered, his ear turning red. “Just something about the turkey,” he added and Dianna snorted. 

The food spread was just as overwhelming as last time, maybe even more so. There was turkey, chicken, sweet potato casserole, deviled eggs, cornbread, mashed potatoes with turkey gravy, green bean casserole, stuffed mushrooms, cranberry sauce, mac n’ cheese, stuffing, collard greens, steamed veggies, rolls, and salad. That wasn’t including desserts. There was still pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, bread pudding, banana bread, pumpkin roll, chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and multiple kinds of fudge. 

Once again, Stiles, Noah, and Eli were first to fix plates, then the kids, then the adults and Derek was last. Stiles got that feeling in his chest again, letting himself accept what he was feeling. He was falling for Derek and watching how he took care of the pack was feeding the fire. 

When Stiles had his plate, he started to go sit with Eli when an arm laced with his. He looked over to see the smiling face of one of the many– so fucking many– Hale women. 

“Stiles, you have got to come sit with us,” she said. “We’re all dying to know more about Derek. We all missed years of his life and some of us were hardly old enough to remember him from before we left.”

“Uh, okay,” Stiles said, letting himself be pulled over to one of the many tables.

“Oh, I’m Lilla by the way, Bay’s mom,” she explained. “Before he came back, I hadn’t seen Der since I was five! He used to be at our house all the time. My older brother, Caleb, used to run around with him since they’re about the same age. Der and Caleb and Emmy and Markus used to be inseparable!”

“Please,” Cora scoffed, looking up at Lilla and Stiles when they stopped at the table she was sitting at. “Those four were only inseparable because they all had dirt on each other.”

“That tends to happen when you hang out with someone all the time,” Stiles added.

“That’s enough from us. We want to know about the Derek you know,” Lilla said, pulling out a chair for Stiles.

“The Derek I know,” Stiles muttered as he sat down. “Oh boy, where to start?”

********************************

This time, Stiles didn’t leave right after they ate. He had gotten comfortable being around Dianna and Rory from cooking with them. He stayed to hang out and even got roped into playing cards. He kept losing and declared it an unfair advantage that they could all hear heart rates and such while he couldn’t. It was a poor excuse seeing as Grayson and Noah– who are fully human– were also beating Stiles game after game. 

When Derek joined, he sat next to Stiles. He was close, closer than he should be for a card game.

“Don’t look at my cards,” Stiles said aghast, tilting his hand so Derek couldn’t see.

“I don’t have cards yet, why would I look at yours,” Derek argued, smiling at the accusation. 

“Why else would you be this close,” Stiles fired back, missing how most of the table reacted to his obliviousness.  

Derek held his hands up in defeat and scooted down the bench to give Stiles room. “Have it your way,” he said.

Stiles stayed and played cards most of the evening. He laughed and talked with the pack, finally starting to figure out names but don’t ask him how they’re related, that’s still pretty fuzzy. Ah, no pun intended. 

It was funny to see how they interacted, especially how they poked fun at Derek. Stiles gathered that Derek had been quite the mess as a kid. Dianna and Esther gave him particular Hell. 

Esther was seemingly Derek’s aunt who joked about toddler-Derek having been a nudist who replaced the ‘p’ and ‘r’ sounds with ‘t’ and ‘w’ respectively. By the time she was talking about little ‘Dewek’ not being able to say his own name, ‘Dewek’ was all but trying to hide under the table. Talking about how he used to be scared of heights and thus got stuck in a tree at age nine didn’t help.

Dianna brought up the time their clothes went missing when Derek and the other boys his age were swimming at the lake in the preserve and how hard the deputies were laughing when they found the four boys making their way home in nothing but their underwear.  Noah laughed at that one, tacking on that it was not the first or last time he’d had to drag some of the Hale kids home.

Derek glared at Dianna, his face bright red. He fired back at her by talking about how she insisted on getting round glasses like Harry Potter and wore a cloak for a week the first time she read the books.

Dianna then reminded Derek of how he cried for hours after reading Flowers for Algernon when he stole it out of her bag and did it again with Of Mice and Men.

“Those stories are really fucking sad,” Derek objected.

“You cried the second time you read them for your English class,” Dianna shot back.

“Reading it once doesn’t make it not sad,” Derek argued.

Dianna scoffed. “They aren’t that sad! You’re just a crybaby!”

“I am not!”

“To Kill a Mockingbird. Romeo and Juliet. Pride and Prejudice. Derek, you cried reading Pride and Prejudice!"

“Darcy loved her and she shot down all his compliments as if they were insults and refused his first proposal,” Derek argued, very much pouting about the teasing.

“And then you turned into Darcy! Face it Derek, you’re a crier,” Dianna said.

“Der-bear, you cry when you’re drunk,” Esther said and Stiles snorted, trying not to laugh.

“Der-bear,” Stiles repeated, devolving into laughter. “I am totally calling you Der-bear now.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, mischief,” he mumbled, taking a drink of his beer.

“That could have been every single one of their nicknames,” Esther said, shaking her head.

Around six pm, those of the pack with little kids started to head out but not without complaints from the teens, of course.

It sounded like a herd of elephants running through the house with shouts of “Uncle Derek” warning of their approach. Stiles looked up in time to see the gaggle of teens— comprising Amanda, James, Kelsey, Rickie, Sarah, Hasel, and Eli— rounding the corner into the dining room.

“Uncle Derek, can we please stay over,” Amanda asked, speaking for the group.

Derek looked at Stiles and turned around to address the teens. “Did you ask your parents,” he asked.

“Our mom said it’s okay as long as we’re home for church on Sunday,” James said.

“It’s Thursday,” Stiles mumbled, looking at his phone.

Derek looked at Stiles, “It’s not unusual for them to stay a week or more during breaks.” He looked back at the kids. “Alright, that’s you three. What about the other half of you?”

“Dad said we could stay as long as we’re ready to leave by noon tomorrow to go to Gigi’s,” Sarah said.

“And I promise we’ll be ready! You won’t even have to wake us up,” Hasel added, clasping her hands together. “Please, Uncle Derek?”

Derek turned his attention to Rickie, “What’d your dad say?”

Rickie didn’t meet Derek’s eyes, “I didn’t ask,” he muttered.

“Are you supposed to go see your mom tomorrow,” Derek asked and Rickie nodded. “How long?”

“Three days…”

Derek sighed, gently taking Rickie’s arm. “You know your mom’s family loves you. They want to spend time with you just like we do.”

“Ya, but they’re weird about me being a werewolf! I’m not even allowed to talk about the pack and they get mad if I say ‘pups’ instead of ‘kids’ and it’s so loud,” he complained, Derek listening with a serious look.

“Have you told your dad about this,” Derek asked but didn’t get an answer. He nodded, giving Rickie a soft smile. “Why don’t we grab your dad and the three of us can talk about it. Would that make it easier?”

Rickie nodded, mumbling “thanks, uncle Derek.”

Derek smiled and stood up. “You guys can go set up in the living room, but you have to at least be laying down by ten and TV off by eleven.”

“Thank you, Uncle Derek,” came the reply of six excited teens that didn’t waste time in running into the living room.

Derek wrapped an arm around Rickie and went off to find the kid’s dad. Stiles was left sitting there with a smile. He really couldn’t believe how great Derek was with the kids. He’d been so gruff with them in high school and now… 

“So, Stiles,” Elizabeth, Rory’s mom, said, “have you ever thought about having kids?”

Stiles took a deep breath biting the inside of his cheek. Sure. Why not have this conversation again. “Would you believe a good friend of mine and I just had this conversation?”

********************************

Stiles walked down the hall, finally managing to slip away from the endless questioning of Derek’s family. 

God, he thought he’d never get away. He was careful not to say anything as he hid out in the hall. He walked further down the hall as a door opened and he saw Derek walk out with Caleb and Rickie. Derek caught sight of Stiles out of the side of his eye and turned to smile at his cousin.

“I’m glad we could figure it out. Let me know if I can help with anything,” he said to Caleb and reached out to pat Rickie on the shoulder. “We have to protect one of our best protectors, right?”

Caleb smiled, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders. “We’ll get it figured out, right Rickie?”

Derek started to walk Caleb and Rickie to the door but stopped next to Stiles. He wished them a good night as they left. 

He looked at Stiles and motioned for him to follow. Stiles raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

Derek closed the door to what seemed to be an office once they were both inside. Stiles watched as Derek’s calm demeanor slipped to something much more familiar.  

“Wow, I haven’t seen Sourwolf in a while. What brings you around,” Stiles teased.

“I can’t do anything to help Caleb and Rickie,” Derek sighed, collapsing onto the couch in the room.

“At least you didn’t get interrogated by five werewolves about how many kids you want and if you’re ever going to find a more family friendly job,” Stiles lamented, sitting on the couch with Derek. He at least cracked a smile, far more that Stiles ever got out of Derek before. 

“They’re like that,” Derek sighed. “They used to ask me about having kids before Eli.”

“And they left you alone after,” Stiles asked, hardly believing it.

“Considering what I went through to have him? Ya,” Derek mumbled. Stiles caught the sad tone to Derek’s voice at the comment. 

Stiles nodded, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Eli.”

Derek looked at Stiles with concern in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“What,” Stiles asked in return. “Oh, no. Everything’s fine. Nothing like that.”

Derek visibly relaxed. “Good,” he sighed. “I just– sometimes he talks to you about things he won’t talk to me about.”

“I wouldn’t take it too personally. There’s just some shit you don’t want to talk to your dad about. I mean, I couldn’t tell my dad half the shit I did in high school,” Stiles said. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about. Does it… I’m not overstepping with Eli, right? I’m not, like, backseat parenting am I?”

Derek hummed, moving closer to Stiles, “it’s not really back-seat parenting at this point, is it? More passenger-seat.” Derek looked down, smiling as he put his thoughts together. Stiles visibly paled but Derek didn’t catch it. He looked at Stiles, shaking his head. “You’re not overstepping. I’m fully capable of telling you to fuck off if you were,” Derek joked. “Eli looks up to you. Your relationship with him is different than mine and his. It’s been really good for him. Obviously, you don’t know what he was like before you came back,” Derek swallowed, “but, take my word for it, he’s doing so much better. He’s happier. I’m happier and the whole pack can tell.”

“Oh,” Stiles mumbled. He wasn’t expecting this conversation to go so smoothly. He was prepared for Derek to go off on him for crossing boundaries or not respect him. “That was easier than I thought.” 

Derek licked his lips, saying “actually, the entire pack loves you.” God, did he hope Stiles would get the hint because he was dying here. Between watching how Stiles fit so seamlessly with the pack and how Dianna and the others were pushing Derek to do something, he was going crazy.

He watched the surprise fill Stiles’s eyes. “Really?” Derek nodded. “They actually like me? Because this would be a fucked up time to lie about that because I’m finally starting to really feel comfortable here. I feel like I’ve finally started to fit in and be welcomed and I don’t think I could handle it if it’s a lie—”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, placing a hand on Stiles’s cheek and running a thumb over his cheek. 

Stiles short circuited, going quiet mid ramble. Derek must have moved closer while Stiles was rambling because he was close. So close, Stiles could feel his breath. “We all love you.”

Stiles’s mouth hung open. “I…” his voice was choked and weak. 

Derek could see Stiles go through each emotion, the scent slowly becoming overwhelming. He kept his eyes on Stiles’s, not wanting to push. He wanted this. He wanted Stiles to want this but he was willing to wait.

When Stiles didn’t settle on one emotion or another, Derek leaned back and let his hand fall from Stiles’s face. Instead, his eyes found the necklace that Stiles seemed to always wear and he smiled.

“Do you think that protection charm is helping,” Derek asked. 

“I—” Stiles’s fingers grabbed the pendant, tracing his finger over the engraving, “I don’t know. Am I supposed to feel something or…”

“It’s supposed to feel… warm,” Derek explained, trying to find the right words. “When you’re in a dangerous situation, it gives you a kind of warm sensation in your chest… It’s hard to explain.”

Stiles nodded, trying to remember if he’d felt what Derek was describing. He started to say something about it when there was a knock on the door.

“Looks like we’re being summoned,” Derek said with a half smile, standing up to answer.

Chapter Text

Being with the Hale pack for holidays became a staple. Depending on his dad’s schedule, Stiles would spend time with him. Sometimes it was early morning, sometimes it was late at night, and sometimes it was just lunch at the station.

Over the years, Christmas in the Stilinski house had slowly become another day. They’d still exchange gifts but it was done in the early morning before Noah had to head into work. This time, Stiles left for Derek’s house instead of Melissa’s but it somehow felt just as natural.

It was warm and welcoming. He didn’t feel like a stranger walking into the house even if he wasn’t exactly one of them. He was welcomed in without a second thought and nobody batted an eye at his presence. Stiles was there and it was there because, of course he was, he belonged there.

Before he could even get in the door, Stiles was being mobbed by the younger kids. Bay, Everett, Kennedy, Otis, Tasha, and Eliud had met him on the porch. Stiles smiled, kneeling down to hug the kids. It was awkward while still holding the gift bags he’d brought.

“Stiles! Santa brought you presents! He brought them here so he must have known you’d be here,” Bay yelled cheerfully. “Uncle Derek made us wait for you!”

“Santa,” Stiles asked curiously of the ten-year-old. He was a bit surprised she seemed to still believe so strongly but, then again, there were weirder things in their world. “That’s awesome, Bay! I guess that explains why there wasn’t anything at my house. I was starting to believe I was on the naughty list.” He heard a stifled laugh and looked up. His face started to tinge red. “Hi Derek,” Stiles said, taking in the sight of Derek in Grinch pajamas. “Nice pjs,” he said, noticing that the kids had matching ones.

“Oh, don’t worry. You got a set too,” Derek said with a smirk and looked at the kids. “You better get him inside before Stiles catches a cold.”

Everette looked at Derek with wide eyes. “I forgot he can get sick,” he gasped, taking Stiles’s hand. “Come inside now!”

Stiles managed to stand up as the seven-year-old pulled at him, picking little Eliud up as he did. Derek held the door open as Stiles was dragged inside and into the living room.

His eyes went wide at the sight. Presents were overflowing from the tree and spilling around the walls of the room. “Whoah,” he mumbled, putting the toddler down and just staring at all the wrapped presents.

Derek walked up next to Stiles, noticing his distressed look, and whispered “it just looks like a lot because there’s so many of us. Each person only got a few things.”

“Santa got me things, too,” Stiles asked, looking at Derek.

Derek nodded. “Santa did bring you presents, and so did a few other people. Come on, the kids are dying to open gifts,” he said, placing a hand on Stiles’s back and guiding him to sit down. 

Gifts were then sorted and given to the person they were meant for. Stiles felt guilty for only having brought a few gifts when he’d gotten at least five from under the tree.

When gifts were sorted, all eyes turned to Stiles.

“Open the checkered one first! That’s the Christmas’ Eve gift, even if it’s late.”

True toDerek’s word, the checkered present was Stiles’s very own matching Grinch pajamas. He was then made to go put on the pjs before they could continue. 

He watched as the kids all opened gifts. He wondered what Derek’s idea of ‘a few’ was since most of the kids had ten or more presents. He especially watched when Eli opened the gift Stiles had got him.

“This is awesome,” Eli said, pulling an official FBI hoodie out. “Dad, look! This is so cool! Thank you, Stiles!”

When the kids had finished opening presents, Stiles noticed that the adults had started opening gifts. 

He grabbed one of the presents he’d been given. It was from Dianna. He smiled at it, slowly pulling at the paper. Stiles ran his fingers over the front when he saw it: a binder entitled ‘Hale Cook Book’ with two recipes inside.

“Did you make this,” Stiles asked Dianna, holding up the binder. 

“No way! How come Stiles gets new recipes but I don’t,” Rory objected. “Stiles, please let me look at it! I just want to see what’s there,” she pleaded.

“Hush, Rory,” Dianna tisked. “He’ll be starting just the same as you. He’ll get the recipes as he helps make them.”

Realization set in as to what he’d been given and he frowned, shaking his head. “I can’t take this. This is a family thing,” Stiles said, holding the book out to her.

Dianna gave him a look daring him to challenge her. “It is a family thing, which is exactly why you will keep it.”

Stiles nodded, smart enough not to argue. He looked around and saw Derek pick up the gift Stiles had gotten him. He saw how Derek went from confused to laughing as he pulled things out.

“Are these movies,” Derek asked with a smile, holding up a paper list.

“I told you I’d make a list,” Stiles joked. “I even got you some to start off.”

Derek pulled movies out. “The Star Wars trilogy, The God Father, Mean Girls, The Shining, and The Dark Knight.”

“Essentials. They’re iconic,” Stiles declared. “Since you have a tv, you can finally watch them!”

“Go back to opening your presents,” Derek said, shaking his head but smiling all the same. 

Stiles smiled, grabbing a small present. This one was from Santa. He unwrapped it, shaking his head. It was a keychain baseball bat. He looked at Derek and saw him holding back laughter but not the smirk. 

The next gift he opened was from Eli. It was a memory book made for postcards.

“You mentioned how you get postcards from the people you help sometimes so I thought you might want somewhere to put them,” Eli said proudly.

Stiles carefully opened the book, “it’s amazing, Eli…” He could imagine carefully placing each picture and postcard inside to keep them safe. “It’s perfect.” 

Derek’s gift was last. He unwrapped it carefully. As the cover came into view, he looked at Derek in confusion. It was an old copy of Pride and Prejudice. He opened the book and saw a name scribbled inside. Derek’s name.

“Is this yours,” Stiles asked, slowly flipping through the pages. There were notes and annotations written inside. Some lines were highlighted and some pages had been tabbed.

“It’s yours now,” Derek said.

“This is your favorite book,” Stiles mumbled, looking at him. “Why would you give it to me?”

Derek smirked, “so you’ll actually read it. Call it incentive or guilt-tripping, but you now have my copy of my favorite book. You have to read it or you’ll feel bad.”

When all the gifts were unwrapped and all the paper was cleaned up, Stiles watched on in a mix of amusement and horror as the entire Hale family crowded together for a picture. Something, he was told, they do every year. He joked about the picture being nothing but spots of lights because of their eyes. 

He was quickly and excitedly told about the special lens on the camera that stopped that very issue.

Stiles didn’t expect Rory to grab his wrist and pull him into the picture. He was startled enough that he just smiled at the camera, unsure what else he could do.

When the picture had been taken Stiles finally took in where he was. He’d been shoved in next to Derek, who had wrapped an arm around Stiles as if it were the most natural thing.

Everyone was told to stay still while Lilla checked the picture. She set the camera up for another one and Stiles was pulled closer– purely so he wouldn’t leave, of course. No other reason. 

Stiles had Derek’s copy of his favorite book. Stiles was in the family picture. Stiles had matching pjs with the entire Hale family. Stiles got a recipe book that’s going to be filled with family recipes if he helps cook. Stiles was trusted to hold and carry the pack’s kids. Stiles is family to them. They loved Stiles and Stiles loved all of them.

Stiles helped cook again and this time he paid closer attention to what he was taught because he understood that he was being taught, not just told. 

Dianna happily checked on him, marking down what he helped make. She gave him a warm smile when he asked for instructions to be repeated. She’d place a hand on his back when she walked behind him and pat his hands proudly when he finished a dish. It wasn’t new, she’d done it last time too, but it seemed more important now. Knowing she considered him family made it all mean more.

The second Stiles stepped out of the kitchen, he was ambushed by the younger Hale kids. They promptly dragged him to the living room where they had made a blanket fort. 

“Welcome to the kingdom of Moth,” Kennedy, a nine-year-old with a lisp from a missing tooth, declared as she held up her foam sword. “Enter only if you dare.”

There was a fit of giggles from inside the fort at Kennedy’s words.

Stiles smiled, kneeling on the floor to look her in the eyes. “Why thank you brave knight,” he said, making the girl happy because he knew she was a knight, not a princess, as usual. “May I ask what dangers await me if I come in?”

Everette, Kennedy’s little brother, tugged at Stiles’s shirt. “What does await mean,” he whispered.

“I was asking what’s in front of me or what will I find if I go in,” he whispered back and the boy nodded.

“What is ahead is a mystery,” Kennedy said in a serious voice, “but it’s very warm and soft inside.”

“Oh, then I think I’ll take my chances,” Stiles told her.

“I’ll go first to make sure it’s safe for prince Everette,” Kennedy told him, lifting the blanket door and crawling in the fort.

Once she was fully inside, sitting comfortably, she said it was safe and Everette crawled in. Stiles followed, finding the source of the giggling as he was viciously attacked with pillows by Kennedy, Tasha, Everette, and Bay. He laughed, pretending to be hurt until Tasha got within reach. He grabbed the girl’s arms, holding her in front of him as a shield. This led to giggles and shrieks of the ‘monster’ attacking.

They soon tired themselves out and cut it out entirely when they were called to eat a late breakfast to tide them off till their massive dinner. 

They returned to the fort after eating, bringing Stiles with them. Everette grabbed his switch and wanted to play Mario Kart with Stiles, not knowing Stiles was the rainbow road champ and would win every other game as a result. 

The girls had grabbed Monster High and Barbie dolls to play with. They were acting out a story so dramatic that Shakespere would have approved– deaths and disappearances included. Stiles made a mental note to ask if it was normal for girls to kill off all the men or if he should be scared. 

When Everette started watching Bluey, the whole lot of them decided to watch together. They all crowded around, ending up in a pile of kids with Stiles squished under all of them. He didn’t mind though. He was happy they felt safe with him.

After a few episodes, Stiles could hear soft snores. He smiled, looking at the kids he could see and saw them fighting sleep because of the warmth of all of them piled together. Stiles yawned himself and paused the episode that was playing. He rubbed his eyes and noticed the sound of footsteps coming closer.

The blanket door of the fort was lifted and someone chuckled. “Were you kidnapped,” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles smiled, trying to look at Derek without disrupting the sleeping kids. “Only a little bit but it wasn’t too hostile,” he said. “I’m actually quite warm.”

Derek stifled a laugh, looking down as he smiled. “You have four personal space heaters so I’d be a little concerned if you weren’t. Do you need anything? Pillow? Phone? An escape route?”

“I’m okay. I think I’ll stay here,” Stiles said and, god, did he mean it. 

Not just in the blanket fort–although he didn’t plan on leaving that anytime soon– but he wanted to stay in Beacon Hills. He’d been thinking about it for a while. Each time he came back and spent time with his dad and Derek and Eli and the pack, he thought about it a little more. He always tried to pass it off as a joke to himself but then there were moments like this. Moments where his thoughts caught him off guard and what he really wanted showed. When he didn’t fight it, he knew what he wanted. He wanted to be in California. He wanted to be closer to home, not just his duplex. 

That was something else Stiles needed to address; being with the pack felt like home. It made Beacon Hills feel like home again. This shit hole of a town that did nothing but tear him apart and half-heartedly put things back to ‘normal’. By the time he left, there were so many holes where things were missing, pieces of him were missing, that not even his own house seemed like home. The only things that felt like home were the short moments spent with his dad and those were few and far in-between. But now?

Eli had gotten Stiles to care and then cared about him. Derek took care of Stiles in the silent way he always cared for the pack but more. Then he wasn’t so silent about caring. Derek and Eli showed Stiles that what he did mattered. Then the two had the nerve to make Stiles care about them! He worried about them and wanted to know how they were doing and wanted to see them and spend time with them. They made Stiles love them. Stiles loved them. Then the pack… 

The pack saw Derek being nice to Stiles and decided they liked him and wanted to know everything. The pack involved him in cooking and asked him about the Derek he knew and stories of what they had been through. They wanted to hear about how Stiles helped save the town and how the Hell he got Derek to like him. Truth was, he had no idea. And then the pack loved him. Stiles had never felt that much love before. He’d never had that many people care so much about him at once. And Stiles loved them.

The Hale family felt like home and they were in California. 

And Stiles… He didn’t like being so far away from home all the time. 

The next time Derek came back to check on Stiles, he was asleep with more kids piled on top of him than the last time he checked. He took a picture of the bunch and started to carefully unbury Stiles, passing sleeping kids off to be taken upstairs for a nap in an actual bed– or woken up depending on the kid.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, pushing Stiles’s arm to wake him up.

When Stiles finally woke up he huffed a laugh, looking up at Derek and closed his eyes again. “You know, we were all real comfy.”

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep but it’s almost three,” Derek teased. 

“In the morning?”

“In the afternoon. We aren’t going to let the kids sleep all day,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. “Most of them are gonna end up sleeping here and I don’t plan to be up all night with them.”

Stiles snorted a laugh, “aw, you're no fun,” he joked, getting up from the– surprisingly comfortable– blanket base of what used to be the fort. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day, Der-bear?”

Derek hummed, trying to ignore how Stiles used his old nickname, “the kids’ll go play with their new toys, the teens’ll hole up in one room or another to play video games and talk, and we’ll probably play cards or dominos or something until dinner gets started.”

“What about lunch?”

“We ate at eleven,” Derek said and Stiles shrugged. “Minght not be a ‘wolf but you have the appetite of one,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “There’s snacks in the kitchen.” 

And play cards they did. Cards being Uno and play meaning argue because Caleb and Emmerson were definitely passing cards to each other under the table. Of course, when someone pointed out their cheating, they only played it up as a joke and even got Stiles in on it. They may or may not have been drinking, which made it all the funnier to Emmerson and Caleb.

When Dianna declared it was time to start making the last minute things for dinner, the dining room cleared out faster than he could blink, leaving the usual suspects to help.

Stiles was covering the sweet potatoes in brown sugar when a familiar presence appeared next to him and started throwing in the marshmallows. 

“Couldn’t find anything else to do,” Stiles asked, glancing at Derek.

“I just wanted to be sure you weren’t going to accidentally poison the best part of dinner,” Derek teased.

“I was only going to add mistletoe to your portion,” Stiles mumbled.

“Lucky for me the only mistletoe in the house is artificial,” Derek said with a smirk.

“You actually have mistletoe hanging somewhere? Isn’t that, like, morbid for you guys?”

“I told you, it’s fake. I can show you where it is later,” Derek said, only taking a half a second to think about not saying the rest of the thought before doing it anyway. Rory stopped, looking at her aunt with wide eyes.

Stiles scoffed, grabbing a marshmallow from the pan and throwing it at Derek’s head, “I think you underestimated the strength of that whiskey, Derek Hale.” 

Derek laughed and threw a marshmallow back at him. “I think you’re underestimating the meaning,” and stiles threw more marshmallows, starting a tiny war.

“I think you’re both wasting my marshmallows,” Dianna said, snatching the bag from Derek. “Stop flirting in my kitchen.”

“It’s my kitchen,” Derek said.

At the same time, Stiles objected, “we’re not flirting!” 

Dianna sighed, rolling her eyes, and muttering ‘Señor, concédeme paciencia,” as she walked away.

********************************

Stiles sat at his desk, staring at the transfer form on his laptop. It should have felt like a bigger deal, more serious, but it didn’t. His mouse hovered over the submit button, but he didn’t click it. The trouble with this would be the unit. He hadn’t told any of them yet, not wanting to if his request was denied. He didn’t want to leave the unit, didn’t want to dump it all on Allison, but he didn’t want to be this far from Beacon Hills and she wouldn't want to go back. 

He took a breath. He had to talk to Allison about it first, be sure she would be okay taking over the unit. 

He started to minimize the window and an email popped up in the corner of his screen. Stiles moved his mouse to click it, hitting the submit button instead when the notification disappeared.

“Shit,” Stiles mumbled. He sighed at himself and opened his email to see what the notification was. “Shit!”

A tip came in from LEOs near Fort Lauderdale about the missing kids. 

He dropped everything and notified the team. They were packed and in the air thirty minutes later. They reviewed the case on the plane and made plans for a covert infiltration of the house the girls were supposed to be held in. 

Except, when they got there, the house was already empty.

Stiles looked around the living room. By all accounts, the kidnapped kids should have been held here. It seemed so normal. It made his stomach churn. How could something this sinister be hidden so easily? He watched as the team walked through the house, trying to figure out anything more about where they might have taken the kids. They were close to a port, too close for comfort. They could have smuggled the girls out of the country already, but it just didn’t feel right, like they were supposed to think that.

Something wasn’t adding up. 

Stiles tried to figure out what was bothering him as he walked through the house. This was the perfect place for them. It was in a decent neighborhood with low crime, the doors all locked, plenty of bedrooms, and a basement. He stopped at the open basement door. They had a basement. That was more rare in Florida. No way they’d leave this place unless they had something just as perfect lined up.

Stiles walked down the stairs, taking in each feature. It was built for holding werewolves, literally. Concrete walls and floors with no windows. Under the stairs had been walled in to form a cabinet with traces of wolfsbane– likely used to drug the girls for transport. There were chains on the walls and the accompanying deep gashes in the floor. He’d bet it was from claws, from the girls’ attempting to break free. There were discolored patches on the concrete too, blood. It’d been cleaned up well enough but not professionally. 

He kneeled down by the chains, running his fingers over the deep scratches. He couldn’t imagine how desperately they’d been trying to escape to leave those marks.

A small hand covered Stiles’s mouth as cold metal pressed to his temple. He heard the gun cock beside his ear.

“P—Please don’t fight,” a young girl’s voice whimpered in his ear, the gun shaking with her nerves. “He’ll m–m–make me do it.” She sounded terrified. 

Stiles closed his eyes as he took a breath. They were using the kids. He nodded, accepting what was happening. He was left to stare at the concrete wall, not willing to risk the kid’s life for his own.

“Put your hands up,” she told him, her voice shaking through tears. 

He listened, holding his hands up. Another girl walked in front of him. He immediately recognised her from the briefing: Lane Davis- Female, Age 14, Werewolf (Beta). She was thin, frail, and shaking like a leaf. She patted down his pockets. Lane took out his phone, wallet, and gun. She patted down his legs, taking his knives, nicking herself on one.

Stiles looked at her with wide eyes. Which one was it? Did it have wolfsbane? Had this poor girl just been sentenced to death? She whined but didn’t meet Stiles’s eyes, continuing her search. 

Someone must have given them orders, someone close. The girls searching him cringed and reached for Stiles’s belt. He swiped her hands away, quickly putting them back up as the gun dug into his temple. The girl’s hands went back to his belt, undoing it and pulling it off of him. The hand on his mouth moved as she held the belt up to his face and put the leather in his mouth, securing it, then she disappeared. 

“S–stand up,” the girl with the gun demanded through fear. He could feel how she trembled in the press of the gun. 

He didn’t argue, not wanting to put the girls in more danger. As he stood, the gun rested in the middle of his back. 

A metal click rang in the room and Stiles lost his breath.

Stiles held back tears, not letting out more than a small choked sound. He was okay. It hadn’t gone off. He hadn’t been shot. She hadn’t accidentally hurt him. The hammer had slipped but it hadn’t fired. He was one lucky son of a bitch…

Her shaking hand grabbed his arm, pulling it behind his back and reminding him that these were werewolf kids with super strength. The gun pressed harder into his back as she pulled him to turn around. He saw the other girl holding the cabinet door open and he was being led to it. 

He ducked under to walk in, hearing one of his teammates yell his name, only for all sound to be cut out as the door was closed behind them. 

It was soundproof. They could have escaped without being heard or seen. 

Lane Davis pushed along the wall until one of the boards gave way, opening into a tunnel. Inside, a man waited with an evil smirk that declared he had won.

“Hello, Agent Stilinski,” the man said, his eyes glowing blood red. Werewolf, got it. “How nice of you to join us.” He grabbed Stiles pulling him away from the young girls, shoving him against the wall face first. He grabbed both of Stiles’s wrists and bound them with rope. 

He took the gun from the smaller girl and glared at them. “Walk,” he told the girls darkly and they walked on ahead of them. 

He pulled the hidden door shut again and looked back at Stiles, grabbing his face roughly. This way, Stiles had a full view of the werewolf’s face and he knew it. This was the same person that had grabbed him the night he’d found the fighting ring. Great, because why wouldn’t those cases be linked?

“We are going to have a lot of fun,” he grinned evilly, taking a breath. “Especially since you're a little traitor. Are you just pack hopping now? Going from one to another until you get the attention you want?” His grip of Stiles’s face tightened, sharp claws threatening to break skin. “Well, guess what? You have my full attention now.”

He pulled Stiles off the wall and shoved him down the tunnel. Stiles stumbled forward but caught himself and stopped. The kids weren’t in this part of the tunnel. He could resist. Stiles turned, staring down the werewolf in front of him.

What could he do? Could he do anything? His hands were tied and the belt was still wedged between his teeth. He was blocked from the entrance and the exit was nowhere in sight. He didn’t have his gun or a knife– fuck this guy for remembering that detail. He didn’t have many options, so he took a deep breath and screamed, hoping against reason his team would hear. 

It was harder with the belt tied around his head but not impossible. He wasn’t as loud as he hoped and the man only seemed amused, slowly stalking towards Stiles. 

“Scream all you want. They won’t hear you. You won’t get away,” he said, his eyes flicking over Stiles’s shoulder.

Stiles didn’t have time to see what the man was looking at. A hand wrapped around his neck from behind, pulling him against someone. He felt a sharp pinch on his shoulder followed by burning as something was injected into him. 

He tried to fight against the person behind him but he felt weak. He could only twist and pull so much with his hands bound and being held from behind. He wanted to run but his body felt heavy. 

The man in front of him walked closer. His eyes fell to Stiles’s neck. “It’s a pretty necklace,” the man said.

Stiles inhaled as the man reached for his neck. He felt a pull, not of a hand, of a string against the back of his neck. A snap met Stiles’s ears as the hand pulled away. It felt like all the warmth left his body. He felt cold and empty. 

Stiles wanted to scream but his body wouldn’t do what he wanted. With the necklace had gone his urge to fight and his sense of safety. 

The man inspected it and inhaled, an amused chuckle leaving him. “You are a little pack hopper, aren’t you? At least I know who to send the pieces back to. Maybe I’ll pay them a visit. Have my pick of the litter. Hales are strong. Having one of them would make us a lot of money,” he noted and Stiles glared at him.

Even as the drug worked through Stiles, fire burned behind his eyes. His eyes… They were heavy. It was a familiar feeling. It wasn’t that sleep taking him but unconsciousness. The more he fought, the stronger the effect, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

********************************

Allison could hear Stiles’s phone ringing distantly somewhere in the house. He didn’t answer or silence the phone and it just kept ringing. She stepped out of the bedroom she’d been inspecting, into the hall. 

She had a bad feeling. 

“Stiles,” she called, following the sound of the ringing phone. 

Walking down the hall, her hand rested on her gun, unclipping the thumb clasp. With every second Stiles didn’t answer, leaving the phone to ring, the sense of knowing something had happened rose in her mind. 

“Stiles, are you there,” she said again, already knowing there’d be no answer. The familiar situation opened old wounds as the ringing stopped and started again. 

The worry in her voice and lack of an answer clued in her teammates. Soon, they were all stopped at the door to the basement. The door was closed. It wasn’t closed before and Stiles’s phone was definitely on the other side. 

Allison grabbed the doorknob and looked at her teammates. She pulled the door open and they slowly descended. 

They searched the basement. 

The first thing they noticed was Stiles’s belongings on the floor. They checked the room and even the cubby but there was nothing. Stiles wasn’t there. No one was. 

Stiles was gone.

“It’s like they just disappeared,” Agent Nadine Kline said, looking around.

“They might have,” Allison grumbled, pulling on gloves to look at what had been left. “Stiles and I have dealt with Darachs before and they tend to do that.”

Stiles’s phone stopped ringing, missing another call. She picked it up with the gloves and it started ringing again near instantly. She read the caller ID and sighed, answering the phone. 

“Stiles? Holly fuck, are you okay,” Derek’s frantic voice said.

“Not Stiles,” Allison answered, standing up. She looked at her curious teammates. 

Derek’s blood ran cold. He froze mid pace. “Where’s Stiles?”

“At the moment? Missing,” Allison said, the oddity of Derek’s call hitting her. “Why were you calling, Derek? Little late for your lunch time visit.”

Derek swallowed a lump in his throat, sitting down on the office couch. He felt sick, his stomach turning. There was a strange emptiness in his chest. It had settled there a few minutes ago. It didn’t take long to figure out what it could be. That’s why he called Stiles. Now he realized that his call came too late. 

He licked his lips. “Stiles took off the necklace,” he explained, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.

“He never takes that thing off,” Allison said, looking over the belongings that had been left. No necklace. 

“I know.”

“How do you know he took it off,” she asked.

“Wishful thinking,” Derek muttered, a pit growing in his stomach as he thought about the worst case scenario. “It’s charmed. I didn’t realize until he wore it… I can feel it. So, I’m hoping he took it off.”

Allison felt the same pit in her stomach. He had to have taken it off or had it taken off. “Right,” she said, looking over what had been left. Phone, keys, wallet, gun but no necklace. “You’re going to have to have a conversation about that with him if we get him back.”

“When,” Derek said firmly.

“What?”

“When you get him back. You said if,” He said, his voice dipping into a growl.

Allison sighed, “Derek, be realistic. You know what we do. It’s an if.”

Derek heard a dull thump in the background of the call.

“Argent, we found something! Looks like a hidden door,” one of the agents said.

He heard her heart rate rise, then it evened out like Stiles would make his. “I have to go. We’ll find him, I just can’t promise… what state he’ll be in when we do.”

Derek heard her hang up and he took a breath, trying not to crush the phone in anger. If he couldn’t feel the protections on Stiles’s necklace, he either wasn’t wearing it or there was nothing to protect. 

His eyes burned as the thought set in. 

Stiles could be dead and there was nothing he could do to help.

Wouldn’t he know if Stiles was dead? Wouldn’t he feel it? 

Was everything he felt just because the necklace was gone?