Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The soft buzzing of Peter Hale’s cell phone on his nightstand stirred him awake. He blindly reached out, fumbling for a moment as he searched for the device, then finally grabbed it and squinted bleary eyes at the bright screen.

Noah.

“You know I love our late night calls, Darling,” Peter answered in a whisper. “Though Christopher really needs his beauty sleep—and if we wake him, I’ll be the one having to suffer through looking at those bags under his eyes all day.”

“Peter, I—” Noah choked out, the panicky strain in his voice sending icy alarm jolting through Peter’s body. He sat upright as the remnants of exhaustion vanished from him in an instant.

The sudden motion startled Christopher awake, as well, who sat up and leaned in close to the phone.

“Noah, are you alright?” Peter asked.

“No, I—I can’t—” Noah sobbed, and Peter’s mind stalled for a moment as he comprehended the sound. He’d heard Noah cry before—tears often came with the bruises that his father used to leave all over Noah and his mother every time he got home from the bar—but he’d never heard anything like the heart-wrenching sob that had just left him. “I can’t breathe—I can’t do this.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter questioned, making sure to keep his voice calm and steady. His own concern wouldn’t help the situation, no matter what was going on. “Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“The preserve. At the old spot—you remember?”

“Of course,” Peter told him as he quickly got out of bed and rushed over to the closet to grab a sweater, a pair of jeans, and his boots. “I’m coming—should I bring Christopher?”

“Yeah,” Noah hiccupped. “Please.”

Peter snapped his fingers urgently in Christopher’s direction and motioned for him to get up—and he raced to throw clothes on, as well.

“We’re coming,” Peter assured him again. “Should we bring anything? Are you hurt?”

“No, it’s… I’m not… It’s Claudia.”

Derek tilted his head a bit as he heard footsteps in the hallway on his uncles’ side of the house. The clock on his wall, illuminated by the dull glow of his bedside lamp, said it was past two in the morning, so this was far too late for anyone to be bustling around. He crept out of bed and cracked his door open just an inch, so he could listen more clearly. He could only catch a few words here and there— “preserve”, “cry”, “Noah”—but that was more than enough to set Derek’s wolf on edge.

Was something wrong with Noah? Or, more pressingly, was something wrong with Stiles ? His stomach pinched uncomfortably at the notion, but he knew in his chest that the boy was okay. He wasn’t sure how exactly—maybe it was an anchor thing, or possibly his packbonds—but he always knew when there was something wrong with Stiles.

He softly shut his door as he heard his uncles’ open, but he continued listening as they rushed to the grand staircase that connected the two sides of the manor’s second floor, and flew out the front door. Why were they so urgent?  Something had to be wrong with Noah, right? That was the only thing that made sense.

Derek glanced back at his clock and winced, because he had to leave for school in five hours. This was definitely not the time for an impromptu trek through the woods to the Stilinski house. He shouldn’t have been awake at all, but there was something so relaxing about the dark, calm silence of nighttime—it felt wasteful to sleep through it. Nevertheless, he knew he’d be cursing himself in the morning while on his way to Beacon Hills Middle School, feeling like a zombie.

Despite making the decision to attempt sleep, Derek found himself pulling on his nearest pair of sneakers. Deep down, he knew there was no point in trying to get rest when his wolf was wound up with the possibility that something was wrong at the Stilinski house. After pulling on his favorite red sweater with the white strings, he slinked out of his room and down the stairs. 

The cool night breeze blew against his face as he stepped out onto the porch, overtaking his senses with the comforting scents of soil, tree bark, and the animals that called those woods home just as he did. He was jealous of them, sometimes—because Peter and Chris rarely let him sleep outside.

He leaped over the stairs and landed on all fours, enjoying the way the cold dirt and damp grass felt under his palms and between his fingers. After taking a deep breath, he looked up at the bright, welcoming moon and allowed his eyes to shine golden in greeting. His claws lengthened and dug into the earth, and he took a moment to adjust to the way his senses suddenly dialed up as his wolf came to the forefront of his mind. He could smell the plants more clearly—the flowers blooming just past the edge of his lawn and the sharper scent of the grass blades that had broken under his shoes. He caught the trail of a rabbit that had passed by the manor recently and nearly had the urge to follow it—but he was out there for a reason.

He had to check on Stiles.

As soon as Peter and Christopher reached the familiar clearing in the preserve, they found Noah sitting on the ground, leaning against the fallen tree trunk they so often used as a bench when they were teenagers. His breathing was ragged and his short hair was sticking up in odd directions, as if he’d been pulling on it.

“Hi,” Christopher said gently as he sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Noah immediately turned into the embrace and buried his face against Christopher’s shoulder as another sob wracked through his body. Peter took Noah’s other side, rubbing his upper back consolingly.

“You’re okay,” Peter told him, his chest aching at the hints of raw angst that trickled through their packbond. “Just breathe, Noah.”

Noah jerkily shook his head as he shifted to straighten up a bit. “Claudia—”

“Breathe,” Peter urged. “We have all night and you hyperventilating and passing out won’t fix anything.”

Noah closed his eyes and pulled in a deep, shaky breath, before slowly blowing it out. He did this several times, before his eyelids slid open again and he looked out at the trees, unfocused.

“You know how she’s been acting… weird. For the past year or so, she’s been off, y’know?”

Peter nodded so that he’d continue.

“I finally got her to go to the doctor,” he said, his voice sounding eerily monotonous and detached. “Frontotemporal dementia. Her brain is shrinking… well, it’s dying. She’s dying. Gods, she’s dying.”

Peter and Christopher shared a pained look and shifted in closer to Noah, who just stared aimlessly out into the night as if he couldn’t quite process the words that were coming out of his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispered.

“Did they say anything could be done?” Christopher asked.

“No. It’s progressing quickly—they said life expectancy was a year... a year and half, if we're lucky,” Noah told them, fresh tears pooling in his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. How am I…What about…”

Peter gripped the nape of his neck and squeezed reassuringly, his wolf coaxing his thumb to move up and down in a scenting gesture.

“How am I gonna do this alone? I mean, Stiles.”

“Noah Jonathan, listen,” Peter said sternly. When Noah made no move to look, Peter reached out to softly grip his jaw and turn his head towards him. Noah’s bloodshot eyes met his, and Peter continued, “You are not alone. Not as a person and not as a parent. You’re pack, which means you don’t ever get to be alone, even if you wanted to. You’ve got Christopher and I through thick and thin—you know that. And Stiles has been raised alongside our pups since the day he was born—that child will never have the chance to feel lonely in his entire life.”

“If you need anything from us, we’re here,” Christopher added. “Just drop Stiles off at our house whenever you need to—when you’re at work, when you need to spend time with Claudia, whenever.”

“My son shouldn’t be your responsibility to raise—you already babysit him every other day as is,” Noah said weakly, his breath still hitching every so often. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I can’t just pass my kid off—you already got Derek and Cora that way.”

“First of all, watching our godson is not babysitting,” Peter corrected. “He’s a pack pup. Besides, as godfathers, it’s literally in our job description to step in when extra hands are needed.”

“Peter’s wolf would keep Stiles within arm’s reach at all times, if he could,” Christopher said, sending a soft smile to Peter. It was true—Peter’s wolf preferred all of his pups in the den, where he knew they were safe. 

“And secondly,” Peter said, “again, you are part of a pack. Werewolf packs practice communal child rearing—which I know you know by now, considering you have wrestled our pups into enough baths and changed enough diapers to unarguably be considered a third parenting figure.”

“We don’t mind stepping up a bit more to help out when you’re struggling,” Christopher stressed. “This isn’t about you passing your kid off—you need help for the time being. You can’t leave him unattended and your wife needs significantly more of your attention now.”

Noah nodded defeatedly. “Thank you.”

“He’ll be okay,” Peter said, “You both will be.”

Derek reached the edge of the preserve much faster than he would’ve liked to. If he could run through the woods at night for the rest of his life, he would never get tired of it. He paused as he caught his breath, and gripped onto Stiles’ packbond to anchor himself as he pushed his wolf back. It took almost three minutes to get his shift to recede all the way, and then he took off at a jog through the quiet streets.

When he made it to the Stilinski residence, he didn’t hesitate to leap up and grab onto the edge of the roof. He easily pulled himself up and crawled over to Stiles’ window—which was left open a few inches.

Why did he just keep his window open? Anyone could come in!

Derek tried to slide it open further as quietly as he could, but Stiles immediately sprang up out of bed and threw his pillow towards the window. Derek flinched and fell backwards onto the roof tiles—his claws helpfully popping out at the last second to dig into the roofing before he’d accidentally slipped off. He knew from past experience that the lawn and bushes below were not as cushioning as they appeared, so he was quite relieved when he realized that he wasn’t falling.

“Der!” Stiles hissed, appearing at the window with a worried expression. “You scared the heck outta me!”

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled as he carefully got to his feet again.

“Don’t just stand out there like a creeper—get in here!” Stiles motioned dramatically for Derek to climb in, so he did. “Are you crazy ? You can’t just sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry.”

“You already said that.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Derek wasn’t sure what exactly was going on with Noah, so he figured it would be best not to mention it. “Your window was open.”

“So?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Derek told him. It wasn’t really an answer to his question, but it was true.

“Are you excited for Easter?” Stiles changed the topic as he headed over to his bed again with Derek following close behind. “It’s only two weeks away.” 

Derek shrugged. He liked hard boiled eggs and candy was cool, but Easter wasn’t exactly the biggest deal to him.

“Well, I'm excited. It’s a whole day full of candy .”

“Yikes,” Derek said, a teasing smile at his lips. “You, plus candy?”

“A match made in Heaven,” Stiles sighed dreamily. After a few seconds, he said, “We should probably sleep.”

Derek nodded.

“Okay, don’t steal the blankets or you’ll have to sleep on the floor like a bad dog.”

“You’re not funny, Stiles.” Derek rolled his eyes as he kicked his shoes off onto the floor and crawled under the blanket.

“I’m super funny.”

“Not really.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out, then pulled Derek to lay down with him. Derek had taken the pillow, so he curled into his side and rested his head on the werewolf's chest instead.

“Goodnight, Der.”

Derek closed his eyes and shushed him.

“Okay, rude.”

“Sleep, Mischief.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sleeping .”

Stiles definitely wasn't sleeping. Derek knew, because he was trying to use his breathing and heartbeat to relax himself enough to (hopefully) be able to sleep after he had (stupidly) let his wolf out, but it kept speeding up and slowing down as the boy was doubtlessly thinking about anything and everything. At one point, he even let out a soft giggle and Derek used the arm that was pinned underneath Stiles to flick the center of his back. 

A small yelp, followed by a “Sorry; I’m sleeping,” was mumbled, and this time, he really did seem to manage quieting his mind. No more moving or giggling. Steady breathing. Calm, rhythmic heartbeat. The scent of warm sugar and cinnamon in such close proximity to Derek that he could practically taste it.

Derek’s wolf lasted less than a minute after Stiles had fallen asleep, to quiet down and relax enough for him to drift off, as well.

Chapter Text

For once, the Hales’ living room wasn’t bustling with small feet and loud noises. Derek and Stiles were seated on the couch, and the only sounds interrupting Derek’s peace and quiet were those from the television—which was about halfway through The Sandlot— and the soft squeaking of Stiles’ teeth grinding against the silicone straw he was chewing on.

Derek tensed as he heard the quick pattering of one of the pups approaching the living room at a speed his wolf wasn’t too keen about. Cora rounded the corner in a flash and pounced onto the couch—the momentum throwing her into Derek’s personal space as she nearly crashed into him.

“Yikes, sorry!” she squeaked as she shifted backwards and sat on the next cushion further from Derek. “Hiya, Der.”

Derek jerked his head upwards once in acknowledgement, then raised a curious eyebrow. She was obviously eager about something .

“You’re going to high school soon,” she started. “So… does that mean you’re gonna play a sport? Allison and I were wondering, since Laura is in volleyball. And of course, I’m gonna play a sport when I’m older, too—and I bet Malia, too! Maybe basketball or soccer or—well, I don’t really know yet. I’ve got a few years to figure it out.”

Derek hadn’t thought all that much about playing sports—which actually surprised him a bit, considering how involved Laura was with volleyball. She’d played all four years of high school and was going to Cal State Beacon Hills in the fall to play for their team on a scholarship. He also knew that his uncles and Noah had played basketball in high school, so Derek wasn’t sure if they assumed he would be going the same route. He knew his mother wouldn’t care either way.

Joining a sport could be fun. Derek enjoyed being active and maybe it would even count as enough socialization that Laura would stop pestering him about making friends. He knew he’d physically be able to make a team, but he wasn’t all that confident in his control. It couldn’t be a high-contact sport, like basketball or lacrosse. Possibly something that wouldn’t involve people touching him, like—

“You like baseball!” Stiles exclaimed, nudging Derek’s side with his elbow. “My dad played baseball when he was in high school—y’know that?”

“I thought he played basketball with Uncle Peter and Uncle Chris?” Cora questioned.

“He did both,” Derek filled in, recalling the late night reminiscing that he’d overheard on countless nights over the years, when his uncles and Noah would sit around the living room with alcohol and old year books.

“You should totally play baseball!” Cora said. “We could all come watch your games. I bet Jackson would even come. It would be way cooler than having to sit through stupid volleyball matches.”

“Mom never even makes us go to those,” Derek reasoned.

“I had to go to one before Uncle Peter said I didn’t have to, and it was the worst. Seriously. I almost died.”

“You only think they’re stupid because you don’t understand the game,” Laura accused from the entryway, her arms crossed over her chest and her chin up. “It’s not the game’s fault that you didn’t get it.”

“I know the rules!” Cora growled.

“Whatever.” Laura rolled her eyes as she leaned against the wall of the entryway. “So, Derek, you're thinking about joining a sport?”

Derek shrugged noncommittally.

“Well, there’s soccer, basketball, lacrosse, swim team,” she listed. “Though personally, I think you’d look great in the cheerleader uniform.”

Derek flipped her off with both hands, and Stiles and Cora devolved into a fit of giggles that coaxed a small smile out of Laura, as well.

“Later, losers,” Laura dismissed herself as she headed towards the stairs and out of sight.

“You’ll get major cool brother points if you play baseball,” Cora told him.

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered what it would be like to be a part of something like that. It didn’t seem too bad in theory. “Maybe.”

“Awesome!” Stiles fist pumped the air triumphantly. “The coolest points, dude.”

“Great—so now that that’s all figured out, I’m stealing Stiles,” Cora announced, shooting a grin at the boy sitting on the other side of Derek.

“That means you gotta get lost, Mr. Almost-High-Schooler,” Stiles told him, using his foot to force Derek towards the edge of the couch. As soon as Derek stood up, Cora slid over to take his previous spot.

Derek reached down to briefly ruffle his hands through both of their hairs, before pushing their heads backwards into the couch cushions.

“Go away!” Cora laughed.

Once he’d made it up the stairs to his bedroom and closed the door, he walked over to the large mirror mounted above his desk. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it towards his laundry hamper, then looked over his torso thoughtfully. If he was going to play a sport, he would probably have to start working out, like Laura did. He wasn’t chubby by any means, but he was… soft. There was no muscle definition or firmness or anything that would suggest he was even remotely athletic. Showing up to tryouts with a body that had obviously spent the last fourteen years in bed was not really the vibe Derek wanted for his high school self—especially considering how fit Laura had always looked.

So, he needed to start working out. This was fine—Derek could definitely get behind being more athletic. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure what Laura did to work out. Push ups? Pull ups? Sit ups? He was pretty sure she ran every day, too—but there was no way he was waking up as early as she did just to jog around the preserve. Maybe he could run at night, when he would be able to shift. Then again, Peter and Chris probably wouldn’t approve of that unless they ran with him—which was definitely not an option. 

Figuring he could start with sit ups, he laid down on the carpet and crossed his arms into an ‘x’ over his upper chest, with each of his hands holding onto his shoulders. The first few sit ups were fine, and Derek was pretty sure he was made for working out. He liked the warmth blooming in his abdomen and he felt stronger each time he reached a sitting position. 

By the fiftieth, that sentiment was long gone—and he was pretty sure he was about to die. His stomach was burning, there was a slight tremble throughout his entire body, and the lightheadedness was suggesting to him that he’d somehow forgotten to keep breathing at some point.

His werewolf endurance was nowhere near as impressive as he thought it would be. How the hell did Laura do this every day?

Deciding that he’d probably done enough core for the day, he shakily pushed himself up onto his feet. He flexed his arms and found that they weren’t sore, which meant it was time for pull ups. For a moment, Derek realized that he didn’t have a pull up bar—but this issue was quickly resolved when he spotted the promising ledge of his walk-in closet’s door frame. He jumped up and grabbed ahold of it. It wasn’t particularly comfortable for his fingers, but it would work fine. 

He was so focused on pushing through the exhausting burn and strain wracking through his entire body, that he didn’t hear anyone coming towards his door until it was thrown open.

“Shit!” Derek hissed as his hands slipped off the ledge and he plummeted down onto his back in a painful thump . Once he’d managed to get air back into his lungs, he groaned at the throbbing in the back of his head—though it was quickly ebbing away. At least his werewolf perks were good for something. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

Derek turned to throw a glare at him. “ Knock, maybe?”

Stiles scoffed and entered further into the room to sit on Derek’s bed. “I don’t remember you knocking any of the times you’ve crawled in through my window.”

“Close your window, then,” Derek suggested as he sat up with a wince.

“Nah, I like the way it brings the wolves in.” Stiles winked playfully at him. “So, you’re working out? Trying to be a muscle wolf now?”

Derek growled under his breath as he fled into his closet, out of Stiles’ sight.

“Aw, are you embarrassed?” Stiles cooed.

“Shut up.”

“It’s cool to work out!” Stiles tried to assure him. “Super cool. My dad even does it. Peter and Chris, too, y’know.”

Derek rested his forehead against the wall and sighed. He definitely didn’t want Stiles to know he was starting to work out—and really, this was the first day, so who even knew how long it’d last?—for many reasons. The main one, though, was that Stiles talked. To everyone. The very last thing Derek needed in his life was for the pack to find out and want to do something completely weird and mortifying like workout with him. Laura sometimes went on runs with Chris and he really didn’t want to join that.

There were a limited number of activities that Derek would be willing to do with his pack, and that would never be one of them.

At the small table on the front porch of the Hale manor, Peter and Christopher were making their way through two bottles of wine—one marked with a white sticker to indicate its aconite lacing, and the other regular. Peter gazed out at the tree line, while his husband was in the middle of a crossword puzzle that Peter had already mentally solved during Christopher’s bathroom break a bit earlier. 

“I’m completely ravenous,” Peter complained, the side of his shoe tapping lazily against Christopher’s ankle, where their legs were hooked together. “If we don’t start dinner soon, I’m going hunting.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“You, always,” Peter purred as he reached across the table to run his hand lightly up Christopher’s arm. “You run and I’ll catch you.”

Christopher squinted at him in a valiant attempt to appear exasperated, but Peter knew better. One of the beauties of being mated meant that Peter could always feel the wisps of his lover’s emotions that trickled through their packbond—and Christopher Argent Hale was not only amused, but also a bit interested in Peter’s proposition.

“For dinner, ” he stressed.

“My statement stands.”

“What about barbecue?”

Peter traced his finger over the stubble along his own jaw for a moment, before agreeing, “That could be good. Do we have burger patties?”

“Noah can get them on his way over,” Christopher said as he pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the table. He clicked on his Favorites tab, which included Peter, Noah, and Derek.

The line only rang twice on speaker, before Noah answered, “My spawn driving you crazy or do you miss me?”

Christopher smiled. “We always miss you.”

“It’s mutual,” Noah chuckled. “What’s up?”

“Peter wants to barbecue for us tonight, but we need you to grab burgers on the way over.”

“Thank the Gods!” Noah cheered. “I could really use one of Peter’s burgers.”

“I won’t disappoint, then,” Peter promised.

It only took twenty minutes for Noah to arrive at the manor, but they’d lost another hour of the day to enjoying the bottle of expensive whiskey that Christopher had brought out onto the lawn—so the sun was already setting by the time Peter had even touched the barbecue.

“How are the pups?” Noah asked as he poured a generous amount of amber liquid over the ice in his glass for the second time that evening. “Was Stiles good?”

“They were all fine,” Peter answered. “Stiles distracted Cora long enough for me to make a work call, and then disappeared upstairs to play videogames with Derek.”

“Sounds about right.” Noah nodded, grinning. The ice clinked against the sides of his glass as he swirled the whiskey around a few times, before taking a large sip. “Who do you think is gonna be the one to walk down the aisle? I feel like it’ll be Stiles.”

“What do you mean?” Peter looked over at him hesitantly. He and Christopher had never explicitly acknowledged Stiles and Derek’s mate bond with Noah, since the strong suspicion still wasn’t confirmed by Derek—though Peter was pretty certain that they were right.

“Derek and Stiles,” Noah clarified. “I mean, the kid’s got Derek wrapped around his finger—but I can’t imagine him getting him to walk. Then again, I don’t know if Stiles could manage to get all the way to the altar without tripping. Maybe they should both just start up there.”

“Wait, you know?” Christopher asked amusedly.

“That they’re mates?’ Noah asked, his eyebrows pinching together as he looked between Peter and Christopher. “I thought this was common knowledge? They innately understand each other, they anchor each other, they take care of each other—Hell, they even stood up to Talia together that one time! I figured we all knew, but we weren’t talking about it because we didn’t wanna freak them out or something?”

“Oh, Noah,” Peter burst into laughter. “It brings me a very special kind of joy that you were able to get to the conclusion on your own—when you neither live here or have enhanced senses—yet our mighty alpha had to be informed. By a human, who couldn’t even use chemosignals or packbonds to piece it together, no less.”

“Chris told her?” Noah raised his eyebrows. “How’d that go?”

“Yeah, it was several years ago,” Christopher said.

“She tried to insinuate that Derek had… vile intentions towards Stiles,” Peter whispered through clenched teeth, before shaking his head in annoyance. “Because clearly, she wouldn’t know her own son from a random stranger off the street.”

“That’s ridiculous—that’s not how mate bonds work,” Noah huffed. “What the hell gave her the impression that Derek would ever hurt Stiles? He totally adores the kid.”

“She’s never cared enough to do any research on the mate front, since it doesn’t directly affect her or Laura,” Peter explained. “You know how she is.”

“So what did you even say to her, Chris?”

“Well, I seriously considered taking up hunting again,” he replied, his voice taking on a menacing edge as he thought back to the conversation. “Then I made it clear that if she ever made any groundless, disgusting accusations like that again, she would regret it. She hasn’t mentioned it since.”

“Hey, I’ll second that.” Noah toasted his empty glass in the air. “I’m not too shabby with a gun and I’ve got a healthy supply of wolfsbane bullets, if she wants to go after my son or his mate.”

“Noah, please tell my stupid husband that I’m right in my belief that we should just take her out of the picture for the best of the pack,” Peter said, looking pointedly at Christopher.

“We are not killing our Alpha, Peter,” Christopher sternly told him for what must have been the thousandth time over the years.

Peter never stopped hoping he’d hear a different answer one day.

Chapter Text

Noah was startled awake as his bed abruptly jolted with Stiles’ weight jumping onto it. He squinted against the bright light streaming in through the window, to look at his son—who was practically vibrating with excitement. He was fully dressed in a pair of jeans that looked relatively clean, a green flannel, and a pale yellow shirt that had miraculously remained stainless since they’d bought it a week prior.

“Happy Easter!” Stiles smiled brightly. “C’mon, guys, we’ve gotta go!”

“Is it really seven already?” Noah groaned, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He could’ve sworn he’d fallen asleep twenty minutes ago.

“Yes! I’ve been waiting to wake you up for a whole entire hour!” Stiles stressed. “I was so bored that I even brushed my hair.”

Considering his hair was less than an inch long, Noah didn’t really really think it was nearly as strenuous as Stiles was insinuating.

“Okay, son,” Noah said as he pushed himself up into a seated position. When Stiles was younger, he had tried waking his parents up on holidays before the sun had even risen—so Noah had to appreciate the couple extra hours their seven o’clock rule granted him. “Mom and I need a second to wake up, so go do something that isn’t staring at us.”

“Like how many seconds?” Stiles whined. “We gotta get to the pack house to see what the Easter bunny brought!”

Stiles had written the Easter bunny a letter years ago, redirecting him to leave his eggs and baskets of treats at the Hale manor instead of the Stilinski residence, since he preferred celebrating with the pack. It took Peter, Chris, and Noah almost an hour to decipher the piece of juice-stained construction paper with messy crayon drawings and exactly zero legible words on it, but they managed—and it had been that way ever since.

Noah was fully in support of going to the manor, since it meant that Peter could deal with hiding everything, and Chris would make an amazing breakfast. Not to mention, Noah couldn’t think of a single place he preferred being, than with his best friends and the pups.

“Hello?” Stiles asked, when Noah didn’t respond right away.

“Sorry, I was just trying to remember when you offered to drive us there,” Noah said.

Stiles’ nose scrunched up in confusion. “I’m not driving.”

“Then, I don’t know why you’re rushing me.”

Stiles’ eyes rolled so hard that his head followed the motion, and Noah couldn’t help but chuckle at his Peter-esque antics.

“Bye,” Noah told him as he gently moved his foot over to push Stiles towards the edge of the bed.

“Rude!” Stiles yelped as he tipped off onto the carpeted floor. “Five minutes, and then you gotta be ready, okay?”

“Ten,” Noah countered.

“Three.”

“Well hold on there, son, that’s not how that works,” Noah argued, shaking his head. “You’re supposed to meet me in the middle, not go even lower.”

“Fine,” Stiles sighed, before smirking. “The middle of ten is five.”

“Go.”

Stiles waved five fingers and fixed Noah with a very pointed look as he walked backwards out of the room.

Once he was gone, Noah turned to Claudia—who hadn’t yet bothered to open her eyes that morning. He reached down and brushed her dark hair out of her face. 

“Good morning,” he said softly.

“It doesn’t feel like morning,” Claudia grumbled. “I feel like I hardly slept a wink.”

“Don’t worry—Chris will have enough coffee going to caffeinate half of Beacon Hills.”

Claudia sucked her lower lip into her mouth to chew on for a moment, before saying, “I don’t think I’m going to go.”

Noah’s eyebrows lowered as he tried to judge if she was pulling his leg. “It’s Easter.”

“I know, I just…” she trailed off. “I don’t think I can deal with it this morning. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, Stiles would hate for you to miss it,” he reasoned. “And so would I.”

“Really, Noah?” She rolled over, away from him. “Guilt tripping me, huh? How wonderful of you.”

“Guilt tripping?” Noah asked. “I’m not guilt tripping you—I’m letting you know that you would be missed, if you stayed home.”

“God, is it a crime to want a few more hours of sleep?”

Noah dragged his hand down his face, until he rested it loosely over his mouth. “Claudia, it’s just the… the sickness . It makes you tired—you know that. The doctors said that was expected, but you gotta… I’m sure if you just get up and get some coffee in you, you’ll—”

“No, Noah!” she hissed, throwing a glare over her shoulder at him. “I don’t want to deal with Hales today. I don’t want to listen to their whole house of kids screaming. I don’t want to pretend that some magical bunny left hard boiled eggs around the freezing woods this early in the morning. I don’t want to deal with all the...the energy and loudness and the ADHD Mieczyław will be spewing everywhere all day—I, I just can’t handle that today, Noah. I’m too tired to deal with it.”

“Okay,” Noah bitterly relented, while rolling out of bed. As he moved quickly around the room, finding a half-decent outfit to wear, he made sure to keep his teeth clenched so no words would slip out. He knew it wasn’t Claudia’s fault—he knew that it was just the dementia—but he still felt rage bubbling up in his chest. This was one of her last Easters with Stiles, with Noah , and she was refusing to get out of bed for a couple hours. He wanted to chastise her, but he knew he couldn’t—it wouldn’t be fair to blame her for her condition. But then, who was there to be upset with?

It had taken closer to fifteen minutes than five, but Stiles managed to drag his father to the car with minimal physical force. His mom couldn’t come because she wasn’t feeling well, but that was okay. Stiles knew she didn’t like the Hales too much, so she usually stayed home anyways. She thought the pups were too “loud and rowdy”, which Stiles was pretty sure was because of the time Malia had run into her while stealing Jackson’s paint palette, and got paint all over Claudia’s favorite white dress. Noah told him that wasn’t the reason, but her face was almost as red as the paint, so Stiles wasn’t convinced.

Peter was already waiting on the porch when they pulled into the driveway of the Hale manor. The car hadn’t even parked yet, before Stiles threw his door open and sprinted towards him. 

“Happy Easter!” Stiles shrieked as he barreled into Peter’s outstretched arms. Peter chuckled warmly and Stiles felt the vibrations from where his face was tucked into the side of Peter’s throat. He always smelled earthy, like the creek that ran through the preserve. Stiles had asked his teacher what wet rock smell was called and she said petrichor, which was one of the weirdest words he’d ever heard. It was fitting for Peter Hale.

He liked smelling people when he hugged them, because everyone’s scents were a little different. He’d sniffed his mom one time—she smelled kinda like Stiles’ favorite ranch corn nuts—and she said he probably shouldn’t do that to the kids at school. But, he’d already hugged Scotty, Isaac, and Theo, so… it was too late for that advice. 

“Happy Easter, Miecz,” Peter said softly. 

Stiles pulled away and told him, “You sound sleepy, still.”

“I’ll survive,” Peter sighed. “But good luck getting everyone else up, because Christopher had to pull me out of bed by my ear.”

“I also had to threaten him!” Chris called from within the house, and Stiles laughed.

“I’ll go get Derek,” Stiles offered as he stepped around Peter to enter the house and quietly run up the staircase.

The manor was silent, which wasn’t abnormal for the Hales. The only ones who were crazy enough to get up with the sun were Chris and Allison, while Jackson and the wolves were (rather stereotypically) creatures of the night. Stiles didn’t usually see any of them until at least ten o’clock—which was probably good, because they were not morning people. The hostility in the air before lunchtime was palpable.

Stiles stepped lightly as he made the left at the top of the stairs and crept over to Derek’s bedroom door. He tried to be as silent as possible while slipping into the room, since he didn’t really want to wake Talia or Laura, who were also in this wing of the house. Someone else could get Cora—Stiles rarely ventured that far down the hall on this side. He tended to stick to Peter and Chris’ side, or sometimes up on the third floor where all the toys and art supplies were kept.

Derek, as usual, was hidden under the massive pile of pillows and blankets that were kept on his bed, shielded from the sunlight sneaking in through his window. Stiles crawled up onto the bed and gently pulled the blankets off of his face. Derek’s eyebrows twitched towards each other at the sudden exposure to the world, but his features relaxed again as Stiles brushed two fingertips down his forehead and between his eyes, tracing the sturdy cartilage of his nose. 

Stiles had discovered early in life that waking Derek up in the morning worked best when it was a very calm experience. Ripping the blankets off of him or assaulting him with pillows resulted in a very grumpy werewolf for the rest of the day—and everyone knew Stiles was to blame when that happened.

“Happy Easter,” Stiles whispered.

Derek’s nostrils twitched as he took in Stiles’ scent, then reluctantly opened one eye to look up at the boy. He didn’t look as eager to be awake as Stiles did, but the softness in his green eyes overshadowed the slight scowl on his lips, so Stiles knew he wasn’t truly upset.

“Are you ready for the egg hunt?” Stiles prompted.

Derek grunted and closed his eye, so Stiles tapped his nose a few times until he had to open them again to glare at him.

“No,” Derek said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“You mean yes?”

"Ten minutes."

“No minutes,” Stiles argued, sick of having to wait on all the lazy bums in his life. He just wanted candy—was that too much to ask?

“Mischief,” Derek groaned, bordering a childish whine.

“Yes, my sleepy wolf?”

Derek tried to roll away from him, but Stiles quickly pulled him back and coaxed him up into a sitting position—which earned him the quiet rumbling of a growl. Typical Derek: all eyebrows, glares, and growls. His hair was sticking up in all directions, like those cartoon people who got electrocuted, or when Malia rubbed a balloon on Jackson’s head during their last birthday party.

“Nice hair.”

Derek reached up and attempted to flatten it down with his hands, but it simply sprang back up into chaos.

“Yep, you fixed it,” Stiles lied. “Good job.”

Derek rolled his eyes and pushed Stiles off his bed onto the floor—which was rudely the second time this had happened to Stiles that morning—before standing up and heading towards his dresser with his feet dragging lazily on the carpet.

As soon as Peter and Noah came into the kitchen, Chris handed the latter a steaming cup of coffee with honey in it. When they were younger, Chris had thought that Noah only needing some honey as sweetener was disgusting, but it made more sense as they got older. He was pretty sure that if he put all the milk and sugar in his own coffee that he used to as a teenager, he would puke.

“I love you,” Noah said, his face earnest in the way only a very tired, caffeine-deprived person could be. 

“His coffee is a godsend,” Peter agreed. “Though I love him a little less now, since he didn’t make me a cup.”

“You already had one!” Chris reasoned.

“If you still see the bags under my eyes, then I obviously need more.”

“Those bags can go away?” Noah whispered to Chris.

“Not in like five years,” Chris responded.

As the two of them broke out into laughter, Peter swatted them both upside the heads.

“I despise you both,” Peter grumbled, as he walked over to the coffee machine.

Once their giggles had died out, Chris cleared his throat and looked towards Noah. “So, no Claudia this morning?”

“She, uh,” Noah said, scratching the back of his head. “She was too tired, apparently.”

“Yes, well, she also dislikes werewolves,” Peter reasoned as he poured coffee into his mug. “And our Easter is pretty wolfy.”

Claudia was a kind and intelligent woman, who got on quite well with Chris’ personality—but she, like many others in Beacon Hills, preferred to stay away from the supernatural. She’d spoken to Chris a few times when they were younger, about how it made her nervous and a bit uncomfortable to be around, and he couldn’t blame her in the slightest. Werewolves were dangerous. It was odd how love could skew things like fear. Twenty years ago, Chris would’ve sworn he’d never associate with them outside of hunting and treaty negotiations. Then he married one and was raising three.

“Yeah,” Noah sighed as he sat down at the table where Allison was coloring with her large red headphones over her ears. She looked up at him and smiled, so he threw a wink and a half-attempted grin her way. “It sucks that she’s missing Easter, though.”

“Easter is just a day,” Chris said as he clapped his hand down on Noah’s shoulder. “Stiles will have fun with the pups and you’ll get to spend your day helping Peter and I corral them all during their sugar highs.”

“Stiles can make memories with her on her better days,” Peter told him. “You and Stiles will have a good day regardless, so if she’s more comfortable being home today… then maybe that’s for the best.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Noah said.

The rules of the annual Easter Egg Hunt were simple: they would split into teams, each with one human and one blindfolded werewolf, and they’d work together to locate the hidden egg. Then, whichever team found the most eggs would get to choose what was made for breakfast.

Derek had a solid suspicion that the egg hunt was his uncles’ subtle way of incorporating the pups’ wolf senses training into the holiday celebration, but whatever.

Malia and Jackson linked arms and shared a sinister smirk as soon as they stepped onto the front lawn, their shared competitiveness making them the perfect team every year. Since Derek refused to be blindfolded with anyone else, Stiles was always his partner—leaving Allison and Cora as the final team, which was fine by them. The girls had always been joined at the hip.

“Alright, blindfolds on,” Chris instructed as he took a seat at the porch table.

Derek tied the black cloth around his head, completely stripping him of one of his most vital senses. His heart rate sped up slightly as he listened to his family moving and shifting around him—because despite logically knowing and smelling that it was just them, his wolf couldn’t be positive that they weren’t potentially-dangerous outsiders.

Despite what some of the Hales undoubtedly believed, Derek never tried to be difficult. Giving up his eyesight made him vulnerable to attackers, which his wolf was very much against. If his anchor wasn’t with him, he couldn’t hold his shift back for more than a few seconds—so the egg hunt’s teams had really been permanently set since they were all young. He probably wouldn’t even be doing the egg hunt anymore, if there weren’t an odd number of pups. But alas, there he was.

As soon as his anxiety began to rise, he felt a cold hand grasp his. Derek took a deep breath, letting his wolf relax into the scent of cinnamon and safety, then nodded.

Stiles noticed everything in a five mile radius of himself, so Derek was confident that he’d be able to alert him to any kind of danger. Most likely by recklessly running towards it as loudly as possible and trying to get himself killed, because Stiles’ one purpose in life was to stress Derek the hell out.

It really was just Derek’s luck that his wolf would choose this disaster child as his anchor.

“Go!” Peter announced.

Stiles pulled Derek towards the treeline a bit faster than he was comfortable with, but he trusted Stiles. The kid was a handful, but he knew when and where to play around—and making Derek run into things like rocks or trees while not being able to see was not the time. The rest of the pups weren’t as well-versed in that understanding, which is another reason Derek would never let them lead him while blindfolded.

They walked around for a minute, Stiles’ hand still firmly clasped in his as he yanked him away from obstacles every other second, before Derek caught the scent of a nearby egg.

Derek pointed in the direction of the scent trail.

“I don’t see it.”

“Go look.”

“Alone?” Stiles asked incredulously. “You just want me to have to crawl into that bush and get spiders on me.”

Derek sighed, because of course Stiles was going to make him go into the stupid bush with him. He was expecting it, when Stiles tugged him down onto the ground. They crawled across the dirt and twigs for about thirty seconds, before Derek stopped.

“Is there even a bush?”

“The woods have bushes—you’ve seen them.”

“If there’s no bush, I’m gonna rip your head off.”

“There totally is!”

As soon as Stiles' heartbeat quickened, Derek ripped his blindfold off—finding the egg sitting by the base of a tree trunk a few yards away. Not under a bush.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, turning towards him as his eyes flared. “You’re dead.”

Stiles squealed through a peal of laughter as he scrambled to his feet and took off. Derek chased close behind, letting his beta shift take over as he hunted him down. Stiles ran faster, but there was no fear in his scent—Stiles loved when the werewolves shifted.

They didn’t win the egg hunt, but Malia and Jackson had good taste in breakfast, so… Derek thought it was a pretty good Easter.

Chapter Text

The sun was setting over the roof of the Stilinski house, and Derek was beginning to wonder when Stiles would give up his stupid goal of becoming a skater. Apparently, some of the kids at school were boasting about how cool skating was, and Stiles—clumsy, breakable, completely uncoordinated Stiles—decided he was going to learn how to.

Stiles managed to stay on the skateboard for a full three seconds, before it slipped out from under him and he fell backwards onto his tailbone for the seventh time that afternoon. Derek winced at the sharp pang of pain that shot through their packbond as Stiles groaned and rolled onto his stomach, his forehead resting against the faded asphalt of the street.

Derek quickly got up and went over to help Stiles up before he got himself run over by a car. He grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up onto his feet, then let him go. Stiles immediately sagged and stumbled a bit, his back obviously complaining at the weight of holding himself up. Derek took hold of his arm again to slightly lift and alleviate some of the strain.

His wolf alerted at the scent of blood coming from the multiple scrapes Stiles had acquired on his elbows, knees, and palms—and an involuntary growl slipped out of his chest as he looked him over.

“I’m fine, Der,” Stiles assured him, lightly shaking off his hold and slowly reaching up to stretch out his sore back. “You’re just… you just gotta, ugh, ow.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow, unsure of how the hell Stiles failing at skating was his fault. This whole notion of being a skater was stupid—it only resulted in Stiles getting hurt.

“You gotta quit looking at me,” Stiles said. “Seriously! If you don’t look at me and make me all nervous, then I know I’ll get the hang of it soon.”

“Ten minutes,” Derek allowed as he mentally pushed his wolf back before it decided to drag Stiles into the house. He had the irrational urge to break the skateboard, but he refrained. Stiles would be pissed and Derek didn’t want to have to listen to him yell.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

Derek snarled, his upper lip curling slightly to bare a hint of his blunt front teeth.

“You already know that I’m not scared of you, Derek Sebastian, so what are you doing? You want me to show you my teeth, too?” Stiles snarked, putting his hands on his hips. “We can just stand here in the street and show our teeth at each other like a couple of weirdos until you give up and let me do this, if that’s what you want. You know I’m gonna do this either way. So, go sit your little wolf butt back down in the grass and don’t watch me anymore.”

Derek genuinely considered the idea of manhandling him inside—since he obviously wouldn’t be able to overpower a werewolf and he was being a pain in the ass, as usual—but he ultimately just returned to the lawn and sat down. While Stiles continued to practice, Derek watched the way the grass threaded through his fingers as he ran his hand over it.

Once the sun had disappeared and the area was illuminated by the street lights along the road, Derek figured it was about time to call it a night. But then, he heard the rough sound of the wheels rolling across the pavement for three seconds, then five, then…

Derek looked up in surprise to see that Stiles was skating . 

Stiles stayed on the board for a full nine seconds, before it slowed to a stop and he stepped off, looking over at Derek with a mixture of shock and pride written all over his face. He picked up the skateboard and ran towards him, tossing it onto the lawn a half-second before barreling directly into the sitting teenager. The impact sent them both rolling for a moment, until Derek got his bearings and sat them both up. 

“I’m a skater!” Stiles hugged him tighter than any kid as scrawny as him should’ve been able to. “Did you see that? I did it! You saw, right? I really did it!”

“You did,” Derek chuckled. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said against his shoulder. A few seconds passed while Stiles’ heart rate and breathing slowed back to their normal paces, before he pulled away and gave him a stern look. “Hey, you shouldn’t have seen it! You weren’t supposed to be looking.”

Derek shook his head at Stiles and his mood swings, then pushed him off, sending him falling backwards into the grass.

When Noah came home, he was greeted by the amazing smell of food. Lasagna, if he had to guess. Claudia hadn’t attempted to cook all that much in the last few months, so Noah was a bit curious as he headed towards the kitchen.

He smiled when he found Stiles sitting on the counter, his heels repeatedly kicking back on the cabinets as he watched Derek mix a salad. Derek’s shoulders tensed slightly at his presence, but relaxed again when he turned to face him. Noah somewhat assumed that he’d be less wary of people as he got older, but he still refused to turn his back on any of the pack, most times. It wasn’t a big deal, of course—whatever made Derek feel comfortable was fine. 

“Salad, huh?” Noah acknowledged.

Derek nodded in Stiles’ direction, which was unsurprising. Stiles had been learning about the importance of healthy foods from school and made the executive decision that everyone in his family would start living a healthier lifestyle. It was probably a good thing, but Noah wasn’t a fan of the notion.

“Staying for dinner, son?” Noah asked Derek, as he grabbed a beer from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.

“Of course he is,” Stiles answered for him. “We’re starting the second Percy Jackson book tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Noah said. “I’m gonna get showered and then I’ll… well, maybe I’ll come back down. Not sure if I’m hungry, if we’re just having rabbit food.”

“There’s lasagna, too,” Derek assured him.

“Vegetarian lasagna!” Stiles boasted.

“Wonderful,” Noah sighed as he left the kitchen. “Lasagna is good, at least.”

“And the salad is good!” Stiles reminded him.

“Boy, do I love lasagna.”

“Dad!” Stiles shouted, but Noah was already halfway up the stairs.

As bedtime for the pups approached, Peter made his way up to the third floor. The doors to the spare rooms were closed and quiet, as always, but the spacious entertainment space was bustling with activity.

Jackson was at his easel, painting what Peter assumed was a moon. There were only so many things that resembled white blobs on dark backgrounds, after all. Malia and Cora were seated on the couch, shouting at the Nintendo DS Cora was intensely playing—and Peter was slightly concerned that it might end up in pieces soon. Toys were, unfortunately, not generally built to withstand werewolf frustration. Allison was seated behind Malia, her fingers tangled in her sister’s brown hair.

“I’m practicing braids, Daddy,” Allison chirped, so Peter walked over to admire her hard work.

Malia’s hair was in an absolute mess of knots that Peter knew would take half a bottle of detangler to sort out later that night, and would likely get him clawed when he’d unintentionally pull strands of it. But, it was in a vaguely braid-like shape, so he told her, “That’s lovely, Sweetheart. You’re getting so good at those.”

Allison beamed and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before announcing, “You know what time it is, I need all of you to be brushing your teeth in ten minutes.”

“But I’m not tired,” Jackson complained.

“I didn’t ask, but thank you for sharing,” Peter returned, ruffling his son’s hair as he passed him on the way towards the stairs.

Derek relaxed into the mound of pillows he’d propped against the headboard of Stiles’ bed, listening to the calming flutter of the book pages he was fanning with his thumb. Within a few minutes, Stiles limped into the room with his wet hair plastered to his forehead, dripping water down the sides of his face. Apparently soaking his pillowcase and the shoulders of his pajama top was better than drying his hair with a towel. He was clad in a Batman t-shirt and a pair of Spider-Man shorts—which was a comic book crime , and Derek had to wonder who the hell taught Stiles how to dress himself.

“You’re hurt,” Derek noticed, catching the faint scent of pain emanating from him.

“The ground beat me up, remember?” Stiles winced as he got into the bed beside Derek. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not.”

Stiles moved Derek’s arm to give him some room to lay down, and rested his head against Derek’s chest. “Everything is definitely broken, Der, I’m serious.”

“You’ll live,” Derek dismissed as he opened the book to the first page.

He began reading aloud, but the dull ache radiating through the packbond was distracting. As he reached the second page, he moved his hand to Stiles’ upper arm. Black lines appeared on the back of his hand and climbed up his forearm, and Stiles slumped heavier against him with a relieved sigh. The tenderness settled into Derek’s own muscles, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Stiles was acting like it was. He was always so dramatic.

By the time he’d pulled enough pain to no longer smell it in the air, he noticed that Stiles had fallen asleep.

So much for reading.

For several minutes, he absentmindedly ran his fingers through Stiles’ soaked hair as he looked around the room at the framed photographs and superhero posters hung on the walls—several of which were stolen from Derek’s own walls over the years, but he never called him out on it. Most of the pictures were of Stiles and the pups—snuggling, wrestling, covered in the messy art projects they loved making—but there were several of himself and Stiles, as well. The one nearest the bed was of Derek giving him a piggyback ride through the woods, and Derek had a copy of it on his own desk at the manor.

Once he was certain that Stiles wouldn’t be stirred awake by the movement of Derek slipping out of the bed, he carefully did so without jostling the boy too much. Then, he walked over to the window and dragged his fingertips along the wooden sill, before climbing out into the night.

Peter rhythmically tapped his fingers against the table top as he and Christopher waited on the porch for Derek to return home. It would be easiest to speak with him outside, away from all the prying ears within the manor. They’d debated on when to tell him about Claudia’s condition, but Noah had said he would be telling Stiles soon, so they figured a heads up for their nephew would be best.

They didn’t have to wait long, before Peter spotted a pair of golden eyes shining at them from the edge of the woods, where Derek was crouched on all fours. Since Peter wasn’t certain of how present Derek’s human side was at the moment, he stood and subtly placed himself in front of Christopher’s chair. He trusted Derek, of course, but his wolf was always wary of shifted werewolves around his very human, vulnerable mate—and Derek’s struggles with control didn’t help the concern.

The two glowing orbs disappeared and Derek’s shadowed figure rose as he got to his feet and stepped onto the lawn. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts, then made his way towards them a bit faster. Just before reaching them, he paused and sniffed the air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked suspiciously.

“We just wanted to speak with you about something, if you have a second,” Peter said, motioning towards his abandoned chair.

Derek crept up the steps and leaned against the column instead of taking the offered seat, so Peter reclaimed it for himself.

“There isn’t a great way to say this, but Claudia is sick,” Christopher told him. “She has a very serious condition that is stripping her of, well, what makes her herself. Her memories, her personality, her sanity. Unfortunately, it’s terminal, and progressing somewhat quickly.”

Derek looked between the two men as his eyebrows lowered. “She’s dying?”

“Yes,” Peter confirmed solemnly. “We wanted to tell you before Noah talked to Stiles about it, so that you’ll be prepared if he goes to you for comfort. 

Derek clenched his fists as his eyes flickered golden again, and he looked out at the trees, as if contemplating taking off back into them. His breathing grew more rapid, and Peter recognized the scent of panic beginning to roll off of him.

“Stiles will be fine,” Peter assured him.

“No,” Derek argued.

“Yes, he will. He has the pack and we will all be there for him. Of course, nobody expects you to help him through this alone, but he will likely want you around, since he tends to favor you,” Peter said. “If it ever becomes too much for you to handle, or—”

“It won’t,” Derek cut him off. “I’ll help.”

“We know.” Christopher gave a brief smile. “We just wanted to be clear that this isn’t your responsibility. You can always send Stiles our way, if you need to. It can be difficult to comfort someone you care about, but Stiles is fortunate enough to have multiple people to lean on.”

Derek nodded, but the determination setting in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t willing to consider handing Stiles over to anyone else, which wasn’t surprising.

“When’s Noah telling him?”

“After his birthday next week,” Peter said.

Derek’s jaw shifted a bit as he chewed the inside of his bottom lip. “What’s it called? The condition.”

“Frontotemporal Dementia,” Christopher answered.

Derek disappeared into the manor without another word, and Peter heard him sprinting up the stairs towards his bedroom—probably to research the condition.

“That went well,” Peter noted.

“That’s because nothing has happened yet, and he barely knows Claudia,” Christopher pointed out. “Once Stiles is actually affected, it’ll be more difficult for him.”

“I’m aware,” Peter sighed. “We shall see.”

Chapter Text

Stiles squinted against the bright sunlight pouring into his room and nearly opted to bury himself under his blankets to get a few more minutes of precious sleep—but then he remembered something vitally important about the day.

“I’m nine!” Stiles gasped, bolting upright. He clambered out of bed, managing by some sort of miracle to make it to his feet without getting tangled up in his blankets, and rushed out of his bedroom towards the bathroom across the hall. He skidded to a stop in front of the large mirror above the sink and stared at his reflection for several long seconds, before a grin broke out across his face.

“I got taller now that I’m nine!”

“Good morning, birthday boy,” Noah said, appearing in the doorway. He was wearing the plaid pajama set that Stiles thought would look much better in blue than red—but apparently his dad wanted to impersonate Santa Claus or something.

“Look, I grew!”

Noah chuckled and shook his head. “Not so sure that’s how it works, kiddo.”

“You know werewolves exist, but you don’t think growing is possible?”

Noah paused, before saying, “I really wish I could argue that.”

“What time are we going to the pack house?”

“Well, I just got off the phone with Peter. It looks like they’re all waiting on you, so whenever you’re ready.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Stiles squawked, knocking the ceramic toothbrush holder over in his haste to grab his toothbrush. Noah’s hand shot out to stop it from rolling off the counter, while Stiles frantically squirted toothpaste onto the bristles and shoved it into his mouth. “I thought they’d still be asleep! Jeez, Dad, you gotta tell me these things.”

“I literally just came in here.”

Stiles spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, before asking, “Is mom coming?”

“Uh, she… we’re gonna come back and have a birthday dinner with her tonight,” Noah told him, while dragging his hands down his face. “The Hales are a little much for her right now.”

“She’s been tired a lot,” Stiles commented before he could stop himself.

She’d been acting weird for awhile, now. Stiles was pretty sure the ‘tired’ started about six months prior. First, she was just more quiet and took more naps than usual. Then she stopped leaving the house. Lately, it seemed like she couldn’t even leave her bedroom. Stiles had wanted to bring it up with Noah, but if his dad wasn’t saying anything yet, then it was probably on purpose.

“Yeah,” Noah confirmed, ruffling Stiles’ hair. “Let’s go see the pack, huh?”

Stiles nodded. “Maybe put on some different clothes. I love you, but I can’t go anywhere with Plaid Santa.”

“You’re such a brat.”

Stiles all but busted the door down when they’d reached the Hale manor. 

“My favorite godson, here to brighten my day,” Peter greeted.

“Do you have another one that I don’t know about?” Stiles raised his eyebrow at him.

Peter gasped. “You mean Sammy?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, before hugging Peter. He rubbed his cheek once against the man’s, while Peter ran his hand down the back of Stiles’ head in return.

If Noah felt good about one parenting choice he’d made, it was raising Stiles with the pack. Stiles thrived more in the pack community than even Talia did—always making sure to include everyone and scent the wolves at every given chance. He really was destined to be the perfect mate for a werewolf. Hell, he’d make a perfect werewolf—but Noah wasn’t quite ready to face the idea of anyone biting his son.

“You’re definitely taller today,” Peter lied, and Stiles pulled away to throw a cocky smirk over at Noah.

“I told you.”

Leave it to Peter to play into ridiculousness.

Derek huffed amusedly from the living room, slightly startling Noah, who hadn’t realized he was even downstairs.

Stiles squinted at him. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Mhm.”

“Still short,” Derek remarked.

“I will fight you.”

Derek raised his arms out to his sides and waved Stiles towards him, welcoming the challenge.

Before Stiles could make the stupid decision to attempt taking on a teenage werewolf, Malia’s excited voice echoed down from the stairs. “Stiles!”

“Mal!” he yelled back enthusiastically.

She flew down the stairs in a blur and grabbed him into a hug, before lifting him up off the ground and scenting his face and neck with an enthusiasm that bordered on aggression.

“Human,” Derek reminded, a slight growl laced into the word.

Malia instantly loosened her grip and set him gently back onto his feet. “Whoops, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles giggled, after sucking in a breath. “Derek thinks I’m more breakable than I am.”

“Oh!” Malia remembered. “I was supposed to come tell you that Cora and Allie are finishing your birthday present. I helped a little, but they made me stop touching it because I’m too messy.”

Stiles took her hands in his and smiled down at the glitter, dried glue, and small blue construction paper scraps stuck to them.

“Messy isn’t always bad,” Stiles said. “I know I’ll love it!”

“Do I get hugs, or am I making your birthday breakfast for free?” Chris stepped into the entryway from the kitchen, and Stiles jumped up to throw his arms around his neck. Chris easily caught him and said, “Happy birthday, Stiles.”

“Thanks!”

Noah watched Stiles leave Chris and skip over towards Derek, who was obviously trying his hardest to look bothered by the way Stiles yanked him down into a hug—yet he still proceeded to scent the child, nonetheless. Noah wouldn’t use the word soft to describe Derek, except for when he was around Stiles. It warmed his heart. Once again, he found himself saddened by the fact that Claudia never found comfort in the pack. It was the best thing that ever happened to Noah.

“You okay?” Chris asked as he put his arm over Noah’s shoulders.

“Just thinking.”

“That can be dangerous,” Peter teased.

“Sometimes,” Noah agreed. “I’m just glad that we didn’t kill each other in high school.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” Peter said, smiling fondly. “You were faster than you looked and Christopher had a gun.”

“I had several guns, actually,” Chris amended. 

It didn’t smell like Chris had started breakfast, so Derek figured they had some time before food would be ready. Standing around with the adults didn’t seem all that fun, so he looked over at Stiles—who was luckily already watching him—and nodded towards the stairs. Stiles headed up and Derek followed after him.

Stiles made a beeline for the stereo sitting on the middle shelf of Derek’s bookcase and hummed thoughtfully as he looked through the cloth CD case. “Radiohead or Cranberries?”

“Don’t care.” Derek lightly kicked the door shut behind him, before leaping onto his bed and arranging the blankets to sit more comfortably.

“You don’t care or you’re just letting me pick?” Stiles questioned knowingly.

It was definitely the latter. Derek had preferences, of course, but it was typically easiest to allow Stiles to choose what he wanted. That way, Derek wouldn’t have to listen to the complaining or the explanations about why Stiles’ choice would’ve been better. Plus, a happy Stiles was always better than a bored Stiles.

“Just pick,” Derek told him.

Stiles smiled as he put the CD into the stereo. “Such a softie wolf.”

“I will throw you out my window.”

“You love me too much.”

Yes. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Stiles pressed a button and Creep by Radiohead filled the room. As the music started, Stiles began to sway back and forth on his feet. He turned to Derek with a faux seriousness and serenaded, “When you were here before...couldn’t look you in the eye.” 

Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his antics, but Stiles somehow took it as encouragement to walk towards him. He scooted away a little as Stiles got closer to the bed.

“You’re just like an angel,” Stiles sang, putting his knee up on the mattress as he began climbing onto it. “Your skin makes me cry.”

“Shut up,” Derek laughed.

“You float like a feather,” Stiles continued, dramatically throwing himself across Derek’s lap as he sang into his fist as if it were a microphone. With the other hand, he reached up and attempted to touch Derek’s cheek—but Derek swatted it away before it made contact. “In a beautiful world.”

“Get off.”

“I wish I was special. You’re so f— ah!” Stiles’ singing was abruptly cut off by a yelp as Derek tossed him off of his lap and onto the ground.

For a few seconds, Derek was able to enjoy the music without Stiles’ painfully-terrible singing contribution. But then—

“But I’m a creeeep!” Stiles all but shouted, jumping back up onto the bed. “I’m a weirdo!”

Derek snorted. “Understatement.”

Stiles was a hyperactive human with werewolf behaviors and absolutely no sense of self-preservation—who had no qualms about standing up to alphas, wrestling with werewolves, or befriending the pack’s most aggressive and reclusive member. Weird, to say the very least.

Stiles had the audacity to look scandalized for a moment, as if he could even try to contest the accusation, before holding up his fist to Derek’s face. Derek shook his head and pushed the hand away, because there was no way in hell that he was singing into a pretend microphone. Stiles just brought it back towards his mouth and gave him a silly, hopeful smile—and those damn pleading eyes that somehow always drew out a yes from just about anyone he used them on.

The kid had to be magic or something.

“Derek!” he urged. “You gotta sing, so I can play the instruments!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Derek.”

“No.”

“Derek!”

Those freaking eyes.

“I wanna have control,” Derek grumbled out the tune with a very put-out expression on his face. “I want a perfect body.”

“Yeah, muscle wolf!” Stiles cheered, spastically moving his hands as if he were drumming along to the beat with a pair of drumsticks.

“I want a perfect soul,” Derek sang, his frown melting at the corner into a lopsided grin. “I want you to notice.”

The two of them took turns singing the verses until the song ended and Stiles burst out laughing as he leaned into Derek’s side.

“I don’t know about you, Der, but if you’re asking me—”

“I’m not.”

Stiles punched Derek’s shoulder. “We sounded exactly like Radiohead.”

“Yeah,” Derek said monotonously. They definitely sounded nothing like Radiohead. “Especially your drumming.”

“I’m so glad you think so, too. I wasn’t gonna say anything, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but my drum skills were definitely the best part of our concert.”

As Christopher placed the last of the bacon on the serving plate, he said, “Someone should call the pups down.”

“But it’s so peaceful,” Peter reasoned, hugging Christopher from behind and brushing his nose over the nape of his neck.

“Do we have to summon the demons?” Noah asked, as he stole grapes from the bowl sitting in the center of the table.

“Breakfast!” Christopher bellowed towards the entryway, making Peter flinch away from him with a wince. 

“I hate you with every fiber of my being,” Peter seethed.

“Remind me to cry about that later.”

Peter reached down to pinch Christopher’s ass through his jeans, and Christopher let out a surprised yelp as he spun around to gape at him.

“Excuse you, Mr. Hale.”

“Literally, ew,” Laura said as she pointedly avoided looking at them on her way to the table.

Jackson came in next, grimacing at his parents’ blatant flirting. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

Within a few minutes, all of the pups had made it downstairs and were dishing heaps of food onto their plates as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.

“I know we’re supposed to wait until after breakfast for presents—but I just have to give this to you now!” Allison said excitedly, putting a 3-photograph frame on the table in front of Stiles. It was black and decorated with blue paper shapes and an obscene amount of glitter. Three pictures of Stiles with the girls were already set up in the slots. “We made it for you! Well, Papa bought the frame and printed the pictures out—but Cora and I decorated! And Malia helped a little, too.”

Cora grinned proudly. “Happy birthday, Stiles!”

“Wow, thank you!” Stiles ran his fingers gently across the frame. “I’m gonna put this on my wall as soon as I get home!”

“That’s an impressive present, girls—you did a great job,” Noah told them as he looked over at the gift.

“Thank you,” Allison responded.

“I think we should eat the cake with breakfast,” Malia suggested.

“Yes!” Cora and Stiles shouted, pumping their fists into the air.

“Cake after dinner,” Christopher told them.

“I’m absolutely positive that it’s a horrible idea, but I do think cake sounds wonderful,” Peter admitted.

Christopher raised an eyebrow at him. “You want to give them cake for breakfast?”

“It’s early, so they have plenty of time to run off the sugar,” Noah reasoned. “Plus, it leaves more of this delicious breakfast for us, so I’m not seeing a whole lot of downsides.”

“Wait.” Cora looked confusedly between the three men. “Does that mean yes?”

Christopher shrugged. “Apparently, I’ve been outvoted.”

Stiles scrambled out of his chair and towards the cake perched on the counter, but Cora snagged his elbow and pulled him back before he could get too close.

“You’ll drop it,” she told him.

“So?” Stiles asked. “If we eat it fast, it’ll count as the five second rule.”

“Why does it even matter if it falls on the ground?” Malia wondered. “We aren’t gonna die from some dirt—even the humans.”

“Unless someone is going to throw the cake on the floor, this conversation is pointless. But if that’s the plan, I wanna record it,” Laura said.

Cora ignored her as she carefully brought the cake to the table—but before Peter could suggest getting a knife, the pups dug into it with their forks.

“Sure, why not?” Peter sighed. “Serving utensils are overrated, anyway. As are candles. And table manners. All things of the past.”

“It’s like they were raised by wolves,” Noah teased, earning a half-hearted glare from Peter.

As Stiles went to shovel a large bite into his chocolate-covered mouth, he was splattered in the cheek with a glob of cake and blue frosting. Cora busted out in laughter, her fork still raised after having been used as a catapult.

“You caked me!” Stiles accused, mischief gleaming brightly in his eyes.

Malia giggled. “Happy birthday to your face!”

Stiles grabbed a fistful of the dessert and threw it at Malia, hitting her right in the nose.

“So stupid,” Jackson commented as he watched the disaster unfold.

Malia squinted at her brother, before taking two handfuls of cake and tackling Jackson off of his chair. She straddled his stomach to hold him down on the tile while smearing cake all over his face and neck as he hollered.

Cora shouted excitedly as she grabbed more cake and lobbed it in Stiles’ direction—but he caught it midair and flung it back at her. She lunged forward to wrestle him down onto the floor beside the twins in a complete mess, both of them using their hands to completely cover the other in chocolate.

“How did this happen?” Laura asked, her eyes wide as she watched the pups. “It was like fifteen seconds.”

“It’s like mud wrestling, but with cake,” Noah noted thoughtfully.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” Christopher claimed.

“Nose goes!” Peter said as he put his index finger to the tip of his nose. Noah quickly did the same, with Laura and Derek following suit.

“How old are you people?” Christopher scoffed at Peter and Noah. “You can touch your noses all you want, but this sticky, sugary disaster is all your  faults. You voted cake for breakfast.”

“I thought they were going to eat it!” Peter reasoned. “How was I supposed to know that we’ve raised uncivilized animals?” 

Christopher shook his head dismissively. “Have fun with that.”

Chapter Text

Once the chaos of the cake shenanigans came to an end, the pups were covered head-to-toe in chocolate and frosting.

“They are not walking upstairs like that,” Peter said, eying them in disgust. “We should just hose them off outside.”

“No!” Cora objected. “That water is freezing .”

“Well, how else are you gonna get to the bathrooms to shower? Because I'll tell you right now, you are not ruining my floors over some cold water.”

“We could put them in garbage bags,” Noah suggested. “That’ll cover their bodies enough for us to carry them up and toss them into the bathrooms.”

“That’s a lot of steps to carry them up,” Chris protested, but he still grabbed a few garbage bags from the cabinet under the sink.

“I’ll take Malia,” Noah volunteered, taking one of the bags from Chris.

“Of course you would take the smallest one,” Peter grumbled as he shook open his bag and held it out for Jackson to step into.

“You’re a werewolf, Peter,” Chris pointed out. “Us humans don’t want to hear you or your enhanced strength complain.”

Stiles smiled widely at Derek, who was already getting up from the table to get a bag.

“If you get any of that on me, I’m dropping you down the stairs,” Derek told him as he knelt down and held the plastic bag out for Stiles to step into.

“Then who would read comic books with you?” Stiles asked, knowing full well that Derek would throw himself down all the stairs in the manor before he let Stiles fall.

“I’ll put Cora in the bathroom on Talia’s side,” Chris dictated as he picked the girl up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Peter, put Jackson in the hallway bathroom on our side. Noah, Malia can use Peter and I’s shower.”

“I’ll take Stiles to the third floor,” Derek said.

“We can switch, if you want,” Peter offered, but Derek shook his head.

Stiles squeaked as Derek lifted him up bridal style and walked towards the stairs. Going up was mildly concerning, because Stiles had tripped on the stairs enough to know that it was very possible to do so, but they made it up to the third floor without incident.

Derek didn’t even seem too winded, when he set him down on the bathroom floor. The working out must’ve been going well.

“Shower,” Derek told him, before leaving towards the stairs again.

Stiles was impressively thorough in cleaning the cake from his body for the first five minutes, before the boredom set in. It was taking far too long and it was his birthday —so if he found some frosting behind his ears later, then who cared? It didn’t matter. Besides, his dad would probably make him shower again before bed anyway, since he was still gonna be playing with the pups until it was time to go home.

He didn’t realize until he’d already dried off, that he didn’t have any clean clothes. How was he supposed to know that he’d need to bring some? It wasn’t his fault that Cora attacked him with his birthday cake. He was just about to put the dirty ones back on and deal with the lecture from Peter, when someone knocked.

Stiles wrapped the towel around his body to cover himself, before opening the door.

“Jackson?” Stiles realized.

“No, the tooth fairy,” Jackson deadpanned. He held out a pile of neatly-folded clothes. “If you hurt these, you’re dead.”

As Stiles took them, he asked, “Did Peter or Derek make you give them to me?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I’m not giving them to you—you’re borrowing them. And no, I just don’t wanna see you running around naked.”

“I wasn’t gonna be naked,” Stiles argued. “I was gonna wear my dirty clothes.”

“Ugh, like that’s any better.”

“Well, it is my birthday,” Stiles mused. “Maybe I should just wear my birthday suit.”

A traitorous chuckle broke through Jackson’s annoyed composure before he could stop it, and Stiles grinned triumphantly. 

“Just put them on,” Jackson snapped, before leaving back down the hallway.

Wearing a polo was odd, considering Stiles didn’t own many things that weren’t graphic t-shirts or flannels, but it fit him well enough. As he looked in the mirror, he felt like he was copying Peter’s style, which made him smile. Fancy.

Once Stiles was fully dressed, he hurried back downstairs. Laura was nowhere to be seen—probably having returned to her or her mother’s room—but the pups and Derek were all lounging around the living room, while the parents were in the kitchen. Chris was spraying cleaner on the kitchen floor and chair legs, while Peter and Noah scrubbed the mess off of them. They were whispering and laughing, but Stiles couldn’t quite hear what they were talking about, so he turned his attention back to the living room.

He sat beside Derek on the couch, and the teenager set a small, black velvet pouch in his lap. The pouch had a drawstring, which Stiles loosened. When he tipped the bag, a necklace dumped out into the palm of his hand. Stiles examined it in awe, his eyes affectionately roaming over the silver triskelion pendant attached to the black cord.

“The pack symbol,” Stiles said, before biting his lip and looking over at Derek. “Thank you, Der!”

Derek took the necklace from him and fixed it around Stiles’ neck for him. Once the clasp was fastened, he ran his thumb over the symbol and dropped it under the collar of the polo. Stiles put his hand over it, pressing the cool metal more firmly against his chest.

As soon as Noah and Stiles reached the Stilinski house, Stiles went straight for the kitchen with the tupperware of mangled leftover cake that he was adamant on bringing home for later. Noah figured the intention was to share with Claudia, but it didn’t look nearly as appetizing as it had when it was still intact, so… it was likely just going to be for Stiles. He doubted his son would have much of a problem with that.

Noah threw his car keys on the kitchen counter as he noticed Stiles still standing in front of the refrigerator, looking in at something.

“What’s up, son?”

Stiles pulled a box of tissues and a roll of toilet paper out of the fridge and showed Noah, concern etched into his forehead. “She does this a lot. Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong with her?”

Noah stared at the bathroom items for a moment, before looking down at his feet while trying to conceal the anxiety and sadness bubbling up inside of him. He had no idea how to breach the topic with Stiles, and he’d thought he had a few more days to figure it out.

“Why don’t you go get showered?” Noah proposed.

“And then you’ll tell me?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you in your room.”

Stiles hesitated, as if he planned to argue, then simply nodded and shut the refrigerator door. Without another word, he left the kitchen.

Noah let out a shaky breath once he was alone and pinched the bridge of his nose. How the hell was he supposed to approach this conversation? And why did it have to be on Stiles’ birthday,  of all days? He would try to make the kid wait, but he knew it would be no use. If Stiles wanted to know something, he was going to find out—and Noah didn’t think it was fair to flat out deny him of the knowledge, when he was directly asking for it.

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the top cabinet and poured it into a glass as he thought back to all the parenting websites he and Peter had read regarding talking to kids about terminal illnesses. They didn’t prepare him nearly as much as he’d hoped they would. Most of the articles suggested telling the child over the course of several days—but the likelihood that Stiles would allow for that was slim to none. 

As the last of the liquid burned down his throat, he felt his nerves settle a bit. The sooner Stiles knew, the sooner he could start emotionally preparing, right? Fuck if Noah knew. Hiding in the kitchen wouldn’t make it any less painful, so he set the glass in the sink and started for Stiles’ room.

When he made it up the stairs, he saw Stiles already waiting for him in bed. He probably wasn’t clean, since showers that were less than five minutes were usually just standing in the water and then getting out—but oh well. 

Before he could go to him, Claudia slid by and entered the room.

“Happy birthday, Miecio,” she said brightly as she sat on the foot of his bed. “Did you have fun with the Hales?”

“Yeah, we cake wrestled,” Stiles told her, grinning. He reached into his pajama shirt and pulled out a necklace that Noah instantly recognized as the triskelion. “And Derek gave me this.”

“Wow,” Claudia feigned happiness, but her tone fell flat. “That’s really something, darling.”

Stiles dropped it back under his shirt. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s getting pretty late,” Claudia said, looking at the dark window. “I think it’s time for both of us to get some sleep, huh?”

Stiles smiled and nodded once, then leaned forward as Claudia pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Good night, baby,” she whispered against his head, before pulling back and standing up. She brushed Noah’s shoulder affectionately as she left the room, and he took a deep breath as he walked in.

“Are you gonna tell me now?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Noah said as he sat beside him on the bed. “So, you’ve noticed that Mom has been acting a bit…”

“Weird,” Stiles supplied. “Like putting random things in the fridge and sleeping all the time. Also, I forgot to tell you that I found the box of cheerios under my bathroom sink last week.”

Noah nodded slowly. “Right. Well, she, uh… she went to the doctor a little while back—and they told her that her brain was sick. It’s called frontotemporal dementia, which is a big word that basically means her sickness is making her brain stop working the way it’s supposed to.”

“Sick?” Stiles tipped his head to the side like a puppy. “Does she need to take medicine or something? Can she give it to us if she sneezes on us?”

Noah clasped his own hands together in his lap and ran his thumb over his knuckles soothingly. “No, it’s not that kinda sickness. We can’t catch it—so it’s still okay to hug her and everything. But, it isn’t going to go away. She’ll keep getting… more weird. It might be a little challenging, but… ah, scratch that, kid—it’s gonna be hard. It might feel a little scary sometimes when Mom does things that don’t make sense, but you can always come to me or go to the pack house, okay? If you have any questions or feelings that you want to talk about, you can always talk to any of us about them.”

Stiles leaned back against his headboard as he looked warily at Noah. “That sounds like… is she… the doctors can’t fix it?”

“No,” Noah said, his throat pinching as he watched tears pool in his son’s large brown eyes. “But Mom’s doing everything she can to stay as healthy as possible right now.”

“She’s dying?” he asked bluntly.

“I think we should take a break for the night—”

“Dad, tell me,” Stiles demanded.

“Yeah,” Noah divulged. “Not right now, but… like I said earlier, her sickness is making her brain stop working. Your body can’t live without your brain, so… when her sickness gets worse, her body will stop working, and it’ll be time for her to… to cross over to the spirit realm. She doesn’t want to leave us, you gotta know that—I mean, she loves you and I more than anything.”

Noah’s heart ached as Stiles’ breathing sped up and the first tear slipped down his cheek.

“I don’t want her to die,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “I don’t—I don’t want her to go away.”

“Stiles, listen to me, it’s going to be okay.”

“No, no it won’t!” Stiles argued. “I won’t have a mom anymore—that’s not okay! I can’t… what about the laundry? Mom always does the laundry, because you make all the white clothes pink. And-and nighttime snuggles! She’s been too tired. Now she’s always gonna be too tired? I never ever get snuggles again? Or pierogi! You don’t know how to make it right and I don’t, either—and it’s my favorite. She can’t just…”

Noah shifted to hug Stiles, but Stiles quickly pushed his arm away and scooted into the corner of the bed, where the two walls joined. A sob wracked through his small body as he stared down at the Star Wars comforter bunched in his lap.

“I do know how to do the laundry, and I can come in here to give you snuggles whenever you want,” Noah told him gently. “She’s not dying right now, Stiles—she can still teach us how to make pierogi. We can do it together this weekend, if you want. We have all the ingredients for it.”

“It won’t be the same,” Stiles cried. His arms came up to hug himself and Noah had to refrain from reaching out again, since his son obviously didn’t want to be touched at the moment. Noah knew better than to push Stiles' boundaries—he was entitled to handling the news however he needed to.

“It will be okay,” Noah repeated. “We have a big family that loves us and your mom will look out for us even after she’s gone.”

Stiles buried his face in his hands and whimpered, “She can’t die.”

Noah subtly wiped his thumbs under his own eyes, removing the tears that had escaped before Stiles could notice them. 

A quiet tap on the window drew Noah’s attention, and he found Derek crouched outside, looking in at Stiles.

“Come in,” Noah told him, and Derek immediately slid the window open and slipped into the room with practiced ease. He sat near Stiles, close enough for the boy to sway a bit as the mattress dipped, but not quite touching him.

“Hi,” Derek greeted.

“My m-mom is dying.”

Derek nodded and slowly reached out towards Stiles’ hair. He paused there, until Stiles tipped his head forward for Derek to brush his fingers through.

“If you have any questions for me, just let me know,” Noah said as he stood up. Stiles needed time to process the revelation, and he seemed much more receptive to comfort from his mate, than Noah—so he figured it would be best to give them some space. “I love you.”

When Stiles didn’t respond, Noah swiftly left the room and headed towards the stairs. He had barely made it to the third step, before his legs gave out and he dropped down to sit on the stairs. He quickly clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sob that tried to break free, and leaned his head against the wall.

Stiles felt as if every breath he was taking was too short, and it was causing a deep ache to build in his chest. His brain felt like it was throbbing in his ears and his body was trembling in a way he’d never experienced before.

“What’s h-happen-ing to m-me?” he gasped, his arms firmly locked around his ribs to keep himself from falling apart.

“You need to breathe, Mischief,” Derek told him, continuing to run his fingers through the boy’s hair.

Stiles knew the touch should’ve felt comforting, but he could hardly feel it at all. The only thing he could focus on was the hurt and fear that was ringing through every part of his body, and the suffocating squeeze in his chest.

“I-I can’t!”

“Copy me,” Derek instructed.

Stiles watched him through blurred vision as Derek raised his arms up above his head and inhaled a deep breath, before slowly lowering them as he exhaled. Derek nodded his encouragement, then did it again. 

On the third time, Stiles attempted to do it with him. His limbs were shaky and his breath hitched every few seconds as his diaphragm spasmed, but he felt the panic ebbing away with every exhale. His breaths managed to fill his lungs a bit more each time.

After fifteen reps, Stiles found himself in an oddly muted state. The feelings that seemed suffocating only a few moments before suddenly felt far away. Actually, everything did. For the first time in his life, his mind was void of its usual plethora of thoughts and he wasn’t all that aware of his surroundings.

On the sixteenth exhale, he collapsed forward onto Derek’s shoulder, who easily caught him and held him tightly with one hand on his back and the other firmly on the nape of his neck. 

“You’re okay,” Derek whispered against the side of his hair, and Stiles was inclined to believe him. The hands on his body felt anchoring, as if they were keeping him from floating away or dissolving into the haze that he was in.

“How did she get sick?” Stiles asked numbly.

“It just happens to some people,” Derek answered. “It’s nobody’s fault and nobody could’ve prevented it—it just happens.”

“Is it gonna happen to Dad?”

“It shouldn’t. It’s pretty rare.”

Stiles turned his face to nose at the base of Derek’s neck, inhaling his woodsy scent. He could never tell if the distinct notes of pine and dirt were natural, or if Derek just spent too much time outside, but they were comforting. “What will happen to him? He’s gonna be so sad, too.”

“It’s okay to be sad. It doesn’t mean you’ll be sad forever. You will be okay, Stiles—and so will your dad,” Derek told him, as he reached between them to tap on the hard necklace through his shirt. “You’ve got the pack.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, his eyes lowering as he let the steadiness of Derek’s breathing lull him towards sleep. “Stay?”

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

Gentle kisses against Peter’s skin coaxed him awake, as they trailed from the nape of his neck across the back of his shoulder. Christopher’s familiar hand slid up his thigh to linger over his hip for a moment, drawing a soft hum from Peter, before continuing up his torso and settling on his chest.

“G’morning,” Peter mumbled as he tipped back slightly to look over at his husband.

“Morning,” Christopher responded softly, before leaning down to run his tongue lightly over Peter’s bottom lip.

Peter shook his head and turned his face away. “I need to brush my teeth.”

“I’ve survived worse than bad breath.”

“You also need to brush yours,” Peter told him, burying his face in his satin pillowcase as Christopher tried to chase his mouth.

“You’ve survived worse, too,” Christopher said, before swiftly tugging Peter over onto his back and straddling his hips. His fingers brushed over the coarse hair along Peter’s jaw, and Peter’s hands ran up Christopher’s thighs.

“I— mmh,” Peter moaned as Christopher shifted his hips to grind down against him. The bastard always knew how to get his way—Peter was only a man, after all. A man with the hottest husband to ever walk the earth. “I suppose I’ll probably live.”

“I thought so,” Christopher chuckled.

Peter pushed himself up onto his elbow and met Christopher in a hungry kiss, his wolf perking up at the thought of claiming his mate for the first time in nearly two weeks. Peter absolutely loved being a father—it truly was his favorite part of waking up every day—but those pups absolutely slaughtered the once impressive sex life he once had. 

Just as Christopher began kissing down Peter’s throat and pulling at the waistband of his boxers, there was a knock on their bedroom door. Peter clenched his teeth, listening to the faint, impatient tapping of Talia fiddling with her nails, and wondered why the fuck he had to have this horrible, cock-blocking woman as a sister. 

“Ignore it,” Peter whispered.

Christopher’s beard gently scratched the sensitive skin just under Peter’s navel as he looked up to raise an eyebrow at him.

Peter’s hips twitched upwards and he hissed, “It’s just my sister—keep going.”

“Right.” Christopher amusedly rolled his eyes as he sat back up onto his knees, crushing Peter’s hopes and dreams. “Just our Alpha.”

“You know I can hear you guys,” Talia called through the door, agitation almost as heavy in her tone as the egotism.

Christopher attempted to move off of Peter, but his hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Later,” Christopher promised, bringing Peter’s hand up to press a kiss against his knuckles before detaching his grip from him.

As Christopher walked over to open the door, Peter unabashedly ogled the way his back muscles moved under his skin. How the hell the man got more defined as he aged was one of the great mysteries of the world, but Peter was highly appreciative. He must have done something extraordinarily good in another life to deserve Christopher, because it certainly wasn’t anything he'd done in this life.

“Satomi will be over shortly to discuss an important matter, and I need you both downstairs looking presentable before she gets here,” Talia announced.

Peter dropped his head backwards against his pillow. “You couldn’t have just said that through the door? Or a text.”

Talia ignored him as she said, “She’ll be here in an hour.”

“We’ll be ready,” Christopher assured her. Talia nodded and hurried back down the hall, probably to annoy and criticize everyone else in the manor. After closing the door, he said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

Peter looked over at him and smirked. “I could join you?”

“Well, it is your shower, too.” Christopher smiled coyly as he walked over to their shared bathroom.

That was all the encouragement Peter needed, to kick his blankets off and jump out of bed as if the house was on fire. 

Derek was just about to reach the front door, when he became distinctly aware of footsteps coming quickly down the stairs behind him. His wolf tensed and Derek spun around and braced his back foot more solidly on the floor, his fingertips prickling with the urge to shift. As his mother came into view, his eyes quickly swept over her, looking for any signs of hostility. His nose flared as he caught the scent of anxiety seeping into her base scent, which only further alarmed his wolf.

The alpha is scared. Danger?

“Where are you going?” she snapped.

“Stilinskis’.”

She shook her head. “You can’t—not today.”

“Why?” Derek asked. He could feel the grief ringing in Stiles’ packbond and his wolf had been urging him to comfort the boy since the second he woke up that morning. Noah had to work that day, so Stiles was alone—Derek needed to go there.

“Alpha Ito is coming over soon and I need you to be present.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. What was the point of sticking around just because another alpha was visiting? He wasn’t part of his pack’s council, or even fit to be an heir to one of the council roles, so he really had no responsibilities in this situation. As long as his mother, Laura, and his uncles were present, it should’ve been fine. He didn’t even know her, so he seriously doubted she would even notice his absence.

His mother must have smelled his annoyance, because her face tightened and she forced a harsh exhale through her nose, before explaining, “You’re my son, and you need to prioritize being around for pack-related interactions like this, instead of hanging out with a nine year old.”

“Stiles’ mom is dying."

“I’m aware about Claudia, and that is just awful, but—” Talia shook her head and took a steading breath. “It’s great that you’re trying to be there for your friend, Derek, but you need to be here for your pack today. When an outside alpha comes, the entire pack must appear united and sturdy when they welcome them into the territory. Satomi’s pack has been allied with ours since before I was even born, and we are much safer and stronger with that connection.”

Derek bit his lip to prevent himself from reasoning that Stiles was part of his pack, because it would only further his mother’s stress—and he really didn’t want to deal with her trying to lecture him. He’d woken up fifteen minutes ago and there was only so much he could handle so early in the afternoon. Losing his control and challenging Talia would be a terrible idea when Alpha Ito was on her way.

“Why don’t you go sit with your sister, so we don’t have to track you down?” Talia suggested as she motioned towards the living room, where Cora was lounging on the couch.

Derek moved around his mother, his feet hitting the ground a bit more firmly than usual—but Talia didn’t try to call out his stomping. Derek really might’ve just walked out, if she had.

“I’m gonna ask Uncle Peter if we can go to the diner after this,” Cora told him as he sat down on the couch. “I think if we play nice during the alpha’s visit, he’ll say yes. If I don’t get a milkshake after having to wear this stupid dress, I’m gonna… actually, I’ll just go to the diner, anyway.”

“How’re you gonna pay for it?”

“Dine and dash.” Cora shrugged. She was going to get arrested one day. “Wanna come?”

Derek nodded. Stiles probably needed food, anyway—so he could order him something and bring it to him.

A loud flurry of steps coming down the stairs announced the twins. Jackson came into the living room with an raised chin and a proud grin on his face. His hair was carefully styled and Derek was pretty sure he was wearing a new button-up shirt, because he’d never seen it before. Malia was glowering down at her sundress, which was the same light green shade as her brother’s. Her vexation hung heavy in the air, and both Derek and Cora’s noses crinkled with the smell.

“Laura made me wear a dress,” Malia growled, her hands in tight fists at her sides.

“Join the club,” Cora sighed as she slumped down into the cushions and slid a bit to put her head near Derek’s shoulder. He shifted towards her, allowing her to rest against him. “I hate everything.”

“You guys are being stupid.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Laura was just trying to make you look good for once, instead of like wild animals.”

“You wanna see a wild animal, Jax?” Malia threatened, her eyes glowing as she looked over at him.

“I look fine in shorts,” Cora argued.

“Well, better than Malia,” Jackson agreed. “She always has dirt all over her.”

“Not all the time!” Malia exclaimed. “You act like I never take showers.”

“Do you?”

“You know I do!” Malia shoved Jackson and he stumbled backwards into Laura, who was just entering the room.

“Knock it off!” Laura snapped, brushing a curly tendril of her dark hair from her face. Derek thought she looked like she was attending a funeral, with her black dress and matching heeled boots. If he didn’t know she was taking this alpha visit as seriously as Talia was, he’d have wondered if she was mourning the death of their afternoon like the rest of them.

“Derek, why the hell are you dressed like that? You’re supposed to look nice.”

Derek looked down at his outfit and didn’t see the issue. He was wearing a clean black Henley with thumb holes in the sleeves, a pair of white distressed jeans, and red high top skate shoes. “Should I put on bracelets? Curl my hair?”

Laura looked up at the ceiling in annoyance. “Why do you always have to be like that?”

“Why do you always have to have a stick up your butt?” Cora challenged.

Derek flicked his eyebrows up and shot a smirk at Laura, who huffed out, “Whatever.”

“Dresses are stupid,” Malia said, still staring daggers at her lap. “How am I even supposed to play outside in this?”

“You don’t—you’ll get it all dirty,” Jackson told her.

As Peter and Christopher came downstairs, Peter wanted nothing more than to either retreat back up to their bedroom or run out the front door. He entertained the idea for a moment, wondering if Talia would actually go as far as to chase him into the woods and drag him back, or if he’d be able to escape. Unfortunately, he figured the odds were likely against him. Besides, he couldn’t leave the pups with Talia while she was on a temperamental rampage.

“What took you so long?” Talia asked once the men reached the entryway.

“My sincerest apologies, Alpha. We would’ve been down sooner, but I was adamantly against it,” Peter snarked with a smile. “It took a few minutes for Christopher to drag me out of the bedroom.”

Talia crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“You look like a lumberjack—you couldn’t have shaved?”

“Definitely not,” Peter said. “It gets me laid.”

Talia’s lips twitched as if she were revving up to lecture him, but she fortunately decided that prepping the pups was a better use of the remaining time they had.

“I need everyone to be on their best behaviors,” Talia said, looking around at the pack. “Peter, don’t be a smart mouth. Derek, no scowling or growling. Malia and Cora, just… Just don’t.”

“She means don’t be children,” Peter told the pups. “Smile very stiffly, as if you’re in pain. Thinking about what she’s made you wear or the fact that your day has been dictated for you will likely do the trick. Don’t allow any amount of happiness to show, which probably won’t be difficult to manage. Oh, and don’t make a sound.”

“Can you be helpful for once?” Talia ground out.

“I’d like to argue that I’m actually the second most helpful adult in this house, behind my husband.”

Talia took a step towards him, her eyes shining red. “This really isn’t the day for you to be in a mood, Peter.”

Peter’s wolf cowered, and he instinctively looked to the side to bare his neck as her anger filled his senses.

“This is pointless,” Christopher cut in. “Kids, and Peter, use your manners when Alpha Ito is around—and do your best to make her feel welcome. Pretend you’d like to be here, please.”

“Fine, I’ll behave from here on out,” Peter relented. “For today, I mean.”

“I’d really appreciate it,” Talia said. “Your attitude gets old pretty quickly.”

“I’m only in a mood because you stole a morning from me that I think—actually, I know— would’ve been exceedingly better than this.”

Talia sneered in disgust and Peter gave her a cocky smile, as Christopher looked down at the floor in a poor attempt to hide his amusement.

“She’s here,” Derek quietly announced, looking towards the window.

Peter listened carefully, and sure enough, caught the very faint sound of a car approaching.

“Best behavior,” Talia reminded them as the car pulled into the driveway.

Gods forbid Satomi saw that Talia’s pack wasn’t picture perfect.

Before the visiting alpha even had the chance to knock, Talia opened the door with an award-winning smile—like a creep that was waiting anxiously in the entryway. Embarrassing, to say the least.

“Satomi,” Talia greeted. “How wonderful to see you again. Please, come in.”

“Likewise, dear,” Satomi returned cordially, as she stepped into the manor. She glanced side to side, taking in the living room and kitchen. “You know, I don’t think I’ve been here since Roland was the Hale Alpha—but it’s like nothing has changed.”

Peter wasn’t sure if it was meant as a casual observation or a subtle judgment, but Peter was using it as his excuse to redecorate the entire house at the soonest given chance, as he’d been desperate to do for years. Maybe now, Talia would allow him to clear the evidence of their parents’ painfully pathetic interior design skills.

“Yes, it’s been quite some time,” Talia said as she shut the door behind her. “We’re so pleased to have you.”

It was almost unnerving to see his sister laying on the politeness and hospitality so thickly. He’d never seen her want someone’s approval so badly—and he almost wanted to photograph the awkward, stiff way she was holding herself.

“I believe you’ve met my Alpha Heir, Laura, when she was shadowing me at the last Summit.” Talia motioned towards Laura, who proudly stepped forward.

“It’s nice to see you again, Alpha Ito,” Laura said amiably.

“And you, Laura.” Satomi nodded. She looked over to the men, and acknowledged, “Peter, Chris.”

“Satomi, you look ravishing, as always,” Peter complimented. “How is it that you look younger and more rejuvenated every time I see you? Please, share your secrets. I had to pluck out a gray hair the other day and it nearly ruined me.”

“Always such a charmer, Peter Hale,” she laughed. “Careful with this one, Chris. He’ll steal everyone’s hearts.”

“Don’t I know it,” Christopher sighed, throwing an affectionate glance at his husband.

“These are our miscreants—I mean the pups,” Peter teased, as he directed her attention to the living room, where the kids were standing. Talia scowled at him, which only made his smile wider. “Mr. Teenager is Derek, then Cora, Allison, and the twins: Malia and Jackson.”

“You’re a handsome bunch,” Satomi said, addressing each of them with a polite grin. “I wish I could spend more time socializing—but, unfortunately, I am here for a reason. Perhaps we could go into your office, Talia?”

“Of course! Would you like anything to drink before we get to business? Tea?”

“You know, I would love some—and I actually brought a lovely blend made with reishi mushrooms for us,” Satomi announced, brandishing a small box that smelled rather unpleasant. “It's good for healing and the immune system.”

“I’ll get it started, then. Maybe Chris and Peter can make some coffee, too,” Talia suggested, pointedly looking at Peter and nodding her head towards the kitchen.

Damn, he was in trouble.

Satomi entered further into the living room as the rest of the adults and Laura went into the kitchen, which Derek hadn’t been expecting. To his knowledge, alphas weren’t typically left alone with another pack’s pups.

She was small—about a head shorter than Derek—but her presence made her feel much larger and more powerful. Derek took a half-step backwards as his wolf crept closer to his consciousness, ready for a possible attack. She stopped a couple of feet away from him, so she wasn’t entirely in his space—but she was blocking his exit.

“You must be quite patient, with so many siblings,” she said to him, her voice gentle in an obvious attempt to be soothing. She must’ve smelled the anxiety building in him. It was a fruitless effort—no amount of affability was going to settle his wolf, while he was trapped in his living room with an outside alpha. Especially considering that he was the oldest, which meant he would be expected to protect the pups, if anything were to happen.

Logically, he knew that wouldn’t be an issue. Satomi was known to be kind and compassionate, and Derek seriously doubted that she would switch her demeanor with the adults in the kitchen nearby. Unfortunately, his wolf did not understand logic all that well.

“Oh, we aren’t his siblings,” Jackson corrected, taking the attention away from Derek. “Well, Laura and Cora are. Allison and Malia are my sisters.”

Satomi nodded. “Well that makes much more sense. I could have sworn Talia had more than one child. Forgive my mistake.”

“We like to pretend that Cora and Derek are actually our siblings and Jackson is Auntie Talia’s,” Allison said. “We don’t want Jackson because he’s awful, and he likes Auntie Talia and Laura more, anyway.”

“I would love to not be your brother,” Jackson snapped. “You’re so annoying, it makes me want to rip your heads off. I bet Derek wouldn’t even wanna be your brother, anyway.”

“He only hates us on days that end in y,” Cora chortled.

“That’s every day,” Jackson pointed out.

Allison looked at her younger brother with more judgment on her face than Derek had ever even seen on Peter’s. “Duh, Jackson. That was literally the whole joke.”

“Well, it was a dumb joke—nobody even laughed except you.”

“That’s because everyone was too busy being worried about your brain,” Cora gibed.

“Hey, at least he can read,” Malia defended him. “You still have Dad and Papa tell you words with more than a few letters.”

Cora took a step towards her and Derek growled lowly, his eyes roving sternly over the pups. The instantly quieted, to Derek’s relief. He really didn’t want to get in trouble later for letting them fight in front of the alpha.

“Oh, don’t stop them on my account,” Satomi chuckled as she reached out in an attempt to pat his arm. Without thinking, he flinched away from her and his eyes flared in her direction. He took a step backwards and mentally gripped Stiles’ packbond in a desperate effort to push his wolf back before he shifted.

“He doesn’t like to be touched,” Jackson quickly said.

“Yeah, he has a thing about personal space and stuff—he doesn’t let anyone get too close or touch him without his permission,” Allison explained. “Even us.”

“Only Stiles,” Malia amended. “He’s his anchor, so he can be in his space without asking. But that’s it.”

Derek’s eyes returned to their normal green, and he breathed out slowly as his muscles relaxed.

“He’s kinda weird—he also doesn’t really talk much,” Jackson said.

“He’s talking a lot more now, though,” Malia reasoned.

“That was completely my fault, Derek, and I apologize,” Alpha Ito said sincerely. “I wasn’t aware.”

“No, I—I’m sorry,” Derek tried, but Satomi held her hand up to stop him.

“It is nobody’s right to touch others without their permission. I only assumed because werewolves—especially born—are generally more tactile in nature. It’s completely fine to not share that characteristic, so you shouldn’t be apologizing. I’ll make sure to keep it in mind for our future encounters.”

Derek paused, unsure of how to answer. He hadn’t expected an alpha to apologize to him for his weirdness. She hadn’t even done anything wrong—there was no way for her to know. Yet, she still apologized? It didn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry that took so long, Satomi,” Talia said, appearing in the entryway. “I put the tea in the office, so we can go in now.”

“Perfect,” Satomi chirped, following Talia.

Peter was rather annoyed that Talia was too busy chastising him for them to actually make any coffee, because he was exhausted. He’d slept enough the night before, but there was nothing like being around his sister to zap away any bit of energy he had.

He and Christopher stood against the wall of the office, behind Talia, while Satomi was seated across from her on the other side of the large wooden desk. 

“I apologize for leaving you with the pups,” Talia said as she brought the cup of tea to her lips. “You know children—they can be quite a handful sometimes.  I hope they weren’t too much of a bother.”

“They were perfect,” Satomi assured her, but Peter caught the tint of amusement in her eyes.

“Let me guess: the twins versus the girls?” Peter asked, knowing full well what his pups were like.

“It took all of three seconds.”

“I’m so sorry,” Talia practically whined, embarrassment and annoyance seeping into the air around her.

“Stop apologizing for your pups being children.” Satomi waved her off. “I wish my pack was half as lively as the bunch in that living room. I wouldn’t even need cable.”

“No, but you’d definitely need wine,” Christopher joked. “Once you’re half a bottle in, they are much more entertaining than cable.”

“It’s even better to feed them sugar and throw them into the woods to run wild,” Peter told her. “It’s amazing how quickly civilized kids can devolve into animals—both literally and figuratively.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she laughed. “I hope I can get the chance to see it someday soon.”

“You’re always welcome to stop by and watch the chaos unfold,” Talia invited.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, before her face solemnly fell. The atmosphere fell with the despondency blooming in her scent, and Peter’s wolf stirred uneasily as he wondered what could have affected the alpha so devastatingly. “Now, for the reason I’m here. It’s with a heavy heart that I must inform you all that the Talbot pack now runs with the Goddess of the moon.”

“What?” Talia gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Peter felt a bit stunned, as if a cold bucket of water was thrown over his head. “They’ve passed? All of them?”

The Talbot pack was another allied pack to the Hales for generations—Peter was quite close with many of them while he was growing up. It was common for allied packs to be in contact with each other, but the Talbots were eager to spend time with their allies much more frequently and intimately than was usual. He was pretty sure he’d gotten Christmas cards from them for as long as he’d been alive. They were some of the friendliest people Peter had ever met.

Satomi nodded dejectedly. “Early last night, their pack house was encircled with mountain ash and set aflame. The entire pack, except for two pups, were burned alive. I’ve taken the children, Brett and Lorilee, into my own pack—since they had no remaining relatives.”

“Who would’ve done something like that?” Talia asked.

“Hunters,” Peter answered bitterly, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“The use of mountain ash makes that the most likely scenario,” Christopher agreed.

“I wanted to warn you, so that you could keep an eye out for any unusual activity,” Satomi said. “As of right now, we have no idea who’s responsible. There are several hunting families in the state, considering the larger supernatural presence on this coast. We need to be very aware and careful, while there are potentially hunters who have deviated from the code in our county.”

“Of course,” Talia sighed, wringing her hands in her lap. “We’ll let you know if we see or hear anything.”

“How are Brett and Lorilee?” Peter wondered, his heart aching at the thought of the poor children having to live through the decimation of their entire pack. From pictures he’d seen, the pups looked about the same age as his own.

“Shaken and disconsolate.” Satomi shook her head sadly. “But, we are providing as much comfort as we can, of course. I was actually hoping I could possibly bring them here sometime in the near future to play with your pups? I’m afraid my pack is severely lacking in children, and I seriously doubt that the teenagers will enjoy playing with them as often as they’ll need. You understand how teenagers are—I’m sure Derek wouldn’t like spending all of his free time with the children.”

“His mate is actually nine, and the girls’ best friend—so Derek ends up being dragged out to spend time with them much more often than he’d probably like to, otherwise,” Christopher revealed. “He can’t say no to Stiles.”

“Nobody can say no to Stiles. Those eyes?” Peter scoffed. “Dangerous.”

“Wow, that’s remarkable that Derek has found his mate so young. You must be so happy for him.” Satomi smiled. “I heard a bit about Stiles from the pups—that Derek isn’t as guarded with him? It's really great that he has someone he feels comfortable with.”

“We’re working on his speaking and territorial issues, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Talia commented. “We’re hopeful that he’ll come to find a better balance with his wolf at some point, and not have to rely so heavily on Stiles.”

Peter tensed at her use of we, considering she was the only one hoping that Derek would change. Nobody else cared in the slightest—certainly not Christopher or himself. She had always had the annoying habit of speaking for him, and he hated it no less now than when he was a child.

“For his own peace, I hope he finds that balance, as well,” Satomi agreed. “However, I don’t see the importance behind pushing him to allow people to touch him or be in his space whenever they please. He should have the right to decline physical contact, as his body is his own. As for speaking, he appears to have survived this long without being a social butterfly.”

Peter grinned smugly as Talia sat back in her chair, looking a bit like a scolded child. Finally, someone she respected had agreed that she should back off of Derek—and Peter hoped that it would be enough for her to leave the poor boy alone from here on out.

If not, Peter and Noah were more than ready and willing to get Talia off his back. They would just have to figure out how to get Christopher on board.

Satomi clapped her hands together once in finality, efficiently ending their meeting and rising to her feet. “You’ll forgive me, if I head home so soon? I can’t justify leaving the new pups without an alpha at a time like this, just because I’d like to socialize.”

“No worries at all.” Talia stood as well.

“And bring Brett and Lorilee over—I know the pups would love a couple more playmates,” Christopher told her.

“Yes, certainly,” Satomi said. “I hope to meet Stiles next time.”

“I’m sure you will,” Talia said, a bit tightly. “He practically lives here most days.”

Not enough, in Peter’s opinion—though he supposed Noah had to have some time with the boy, too.

“Well, it was such a pleasure seeing you all again,” Satomi dismissed, then headed for the door with Talia.

Peter had taken all of two steps into the living room, when Cora rushed out, “Uncle Peter, we’re starving to death and I think we should go to the diner, because we did a good job with Alpha Ito—and Derek agrees with me, too.”

Derek thought it was a bit rude to group him in with her proposal when he hadn’t really agreed to be part of it, but whatever.

“And I wore a dress!” Malia added in dismay.

“You did, sweetheart, and you look lovely,” Peter told her. “You can go take it off now, if you’d like.”

Derek had never seen Malia run as fast as she did then, flying out of the room and up the stairs.

“Careful on the stairs, Mal!” Chris shouted from the kitchen, and Peter chuckled.

“So, can we go to the diner?” Cora pressed.

“Tomorrow,” Peter answered. When Cora opened her mouth—presumedly to argue—Peter continued, “I have far too much work to do today, but we can go tomorrow. That is, if you pups finish your school work, which Papa says you’ve been slacking on this week.”

“Ugh,” Jackson groaned, hanging his head. “I hate school.”

“I’m going to the Stilinskis’,” Derek announced. His homework was done—but even if it wasn’t, he would’ve left through his bedroom window.

“I wanna go!” Allison exclaimed. “Daddy, please— Stiles needs us!”

Derek hesitantly threw a look at Peter, who said, “We told them about Claudia, and they know not to bring it up.”

“Unless Stiles does first, and wants to talk about it,” Allison recited. “We’ll just snuggle him—I promise!”

“Can we?” Cora asked.

“That’s up to Derek,” Peter said, looking at him earnestly. “You absolutely do not have to take them with you tonight, if you want some alone time with Stiles. I’m alright with them going, but you’re more than welcome to say no. I can take them over another time.”

Derek shrugged. Stiles would probably enjoy having more support, and Derek rarely minded the pups coming places with him. “That’s fine.”

“We’re seeing Stiles?” Malia asked excitedly, practically falling down the stairs in her haste to get back to the living room. She skidded to a stop beside Peter, panting a bit as she caught her breath, then patted her stomach to draw attention to the stonewash overalls she’d put on. “No more dress!”

Peter chuckled, stroking her hair. “And just as beautiful.”

As soon as Derek opened the door to the Stilinski house, the girls sprinted into the house and up the stairs in a flurry of excitement.

“They’re so crazy.” Jackson shook his head, and Derek nodded. The girls were a lot sometimes—though Derek supposed that was necessary to be friends with someone like Stiles. If he weren’t Derek’s anchor, Derek probably wouldn’t have had the energy to keep up with the kid.

Derek and Jackson made their way up to Stiles’ bedroom at a leisurely pace. When they’d finally reached it, Derek’s nose crinkled at the bitter scent of sadness that was so potent in the air that he could taste it. He was almost envious of the way Jackson was able to walk in and sit at the desk, completely unaware of the choking chemosignals.

Stiles was laying in bed, with Malia practically laying on top of him, and Allison and Cora clinging to either side of him. They looked like one giant mess of limbs and hair—which made Derek’s skin itch. He couldn’t imagine touching people like that, let alone finding comfort in it. Though, Stiles was leaning his head against Malia’s and the scent in the air was beginning to mellow out a bit, so it must’ve liked it.

“Have you eaten?” Derek asked, to which Stiles shook his head.

“You should make food,” Jackson told Derek.

Derek took a moment to curse his uncle for rejecting the diner idea, before heading back downstairs. If there wasn’t anything he could make within ten minutes, he would order a pizza. There was no way he had enough energy to cook after having to socialize already. 

His ransacking of the pantry resulted in finding a toothbrush, a stapler, and three slightly-crushed boxes of mac n cheese—which he was considering a win. He’d just put the pot of water on the stove, when the house phone rang loudly.

He very strongly debated on just ignoring it, but figured that it was probably rude or something. It could’ve been an emergency.

“Stilinski residence,” he answered monotonously.

“Oh, good—I’m glad you’re there,” Noah said. “How’s Stiles?”

“Sad, but the girls are puppy piling in his bed,” Derek said. “I’m making mac n cheese.”

“Okay, awesome, thank you. I’m gonna try to get off my shift early today, so I’ll hopefully be home within an hour to help you with the pups.”

“Okay. I’ll make a salad, then.”

Noah groaned dramatically and Derek smirked, before hanging up the phone.

Chapter Text

Stiles wasn’t sure what time it was, but it didn’t matter all that much. He didn’t have any commitments that day—and frankly, he didn’t plan on moving from his bed, even if he had.

From where he was hidden underneath his blanket, he heard the window slide open with a soft thud . A second later, there was a dip in the mattress by his head—which would have startled him, if he wasn’t so used to Derek’s odd ability to move around silently. He was the only person he’d ever encountered who could seemingly turn off the sound of his footsteps. Ninja wolf.

“I don’t wanna hang out today, Derek,” Stiles mumbled, but was promptly ignored as Derek shifted the blankets to cover his lap.

“Did the pups mention yesterday that we met another alpha?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “I wasn’t really listening to them. I was thinking about… other things.”

“Well, Alpha Ito came to the manor. Her pack is allied with ours, so they’re like… friends with us, kinda, I guess.”

A worn patch of the blanket allowed just enough light through for Stiles to see the gray skinny jeans Derek was wearing, and Stiles reached out to play with the small strings coming from the rip along his thigh.

“I think my mom almost killed Uncle Peter.”

“Your mom always wants to kill your uncle.”

“Yeah, but she was super weird,” Derek said. “I think Alpha Ito freaked her out.”

“Was she scary?”

“No. She was… I don’t know—I think I like her.”

Stiles nodded, his forehead rubbing against Derek’s outer thigh. After a few quiet moments, the blanket was pulled off of Stiles’ face, and Stiles quickly buried his eyes into Derek’s jeans to shield them from the harsh light of the room.

“Why?” he whined.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles sighed. “I just… I don't wanna get up today.”

“You can’t stay in bed all day, Stiles.”

“Watch me.”

“No, I mean… staying in bed won’t fix anything,” Derek told him softly. “It won’t help your mom’s sickness, or your sadness. We don’t have to leave the house today, if you don’t want to, but you gotta get up. We can watch a movie downstairs or play a game… or you can come to the diner with the pack tonight.”

Stiles groaned dejectedly as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “I just… I want to help. I want to help her, but I don’t know how. I can’t do anything.”

“Well, Roscoe’s dirty,” Derek said thoughtfully. 

“What?” Stiles asked confusedly.

“Roscoe, your mom’s Jeep.”

“No, I know what Roscoe is.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “What about it?”

“It’s dirty,” Derek repeated unhelpfully.

“So?”

“So, you could clean it,” Derek suggested. “That would help, right?”

A slow smile stretched across Stiles’ face for the first time in a couple days. He could clean Roscoe! His mom loved that Jeep more than anything. It wasn’t driven a whole lot recently, but it was still covered in dirt and leaves—and his mom wasn’t in the best state to clean it, so… it was perfect!

“You’ll help?” Stiles asked.

“I’ll watch.”

Derek really should have known that watching wasn’t an option.

It had started with simply being asked to carry the bucket of soapy water outside—which he agreed to, since Stiles was a scrawny child with smaller biceps than Malia, and Derek would’ve been genuinely surprised if the kid was able to do it by himself. Then, very quickly, it became apparent that Derek was vital to the car washing plan. Stiles was not only wimpy, but also short, and therefore couldn’t even reach halfway up the Jeep. So, when Stiles asked him for assistance, how was he supposed to say no? It wasn’t like Stiles could do it alone, and the kid was about three seconds away from attempting to stand on the tire to reach higher—and Derek was not about to let him slip off and break his head.

So, despite not wearing the proper attire for getting wet—since light gray jeans apparently turned transparent when drenched, showing the entire street his patterned succulent boxers—he ended up right there beside Stiles. Because Stiles needed help. And this whole thing was Derek’s idiotic idea.

Noah had come out of the house just as they were finishing, clad in his work uniform, and gave an impressed whistle. “Good work, boys. Roscoe’s never looked better.”

“It was Derek’s idea,” Stiles praised.

“Derek has great ideas.” Noah winked at Derek and held his fist out towards him. The Stilinskis’ innate disposition for affection rivaled even born werewolves’, but Noah never crossed Derek’s personal space boundaries, no matter how often he quite obviously wanted to hug him. Maybe Noah was just a good man, maybe it was because the littering of small scars Derek had left all over him when he was a toddler taught him enough of a lesson—but either way, Derek was grateful. He fist-bumped him and Noah smiled. “So, what are the plans for tonight?”

“We’re going to the diner,” Stiles told him.

“I shouldn’t have asked. Now I’m jealous,” Noah sighed. He kissed the top of Stiles’ head and nodded in Derek’s direction, before heading towards his car. “I’ll be at work, hating the world.”

Stiles giggled as he went back to scrubbing the Jeep’s bumper. 

After five more minutes, Derek was more than ready to go home. His jeans were starting to chafe, the light breeze was chilling the clothes stuck to his body, and he was starving. He wasn’t even sure how he and Stiles had gotten so wet, but they both looked like they’d just dumped the soapy water all over themselves instead of on the Jeep. Car washing sucked—Derek should’ve just stolen the stupid Jeep and taken it through the local drive-thru car wash. He didn’t exactly have a driver’s permit, yet, but he was sure that it couldn’t have been too difficult.

Derek grabbed the hose from the side of the house and turned it on, spraying the soap off of the vehicle as quickly as he could, so they could get out of there already.

“Hey!” Stiles yelped. “You sprayed me!”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him and deliberately pointed the hose in his direction, before squeezing the handle to turn it on again.

“Derek!” he shouted as he shielded his face from the stream. When the water persisted, Stiles let out a warrior cry and ran at Derek with flailing limbs. He tackled Derek to the ground and wrestled the hose from his grasp, and Derek had just enough time to put his hands up to cover his ears before the spray was turned on him.

Stiles wielded the hose like a weapon, yelling victoriously as he moved the stream in jerky movements to thoroughly soak the few remaining dry spots on Derek. Derek laughed as he rolled around on the lawn in a half-assed attempt to get away from the attack—though he figured he was at least getting the soap off of his body, this way.

After a minute or two, Stiles dropped the hose and collapsed onto the grass beside Derek to catch his breath. Derek sat up and shook his head back and forth, flinging water droplets from the tips of his dark hair.

Stiles pushed him. “Bad dog.”

Derek snarled playfully and flashed his eyes at him, since nobody was around.

“Wanna go home?” Derek asked, then froze. Home? Sometimes he forgot that Stiles didn’t actually live with them, since he was there so often. Was it weird to call it home? Did Stiles not see it that way? Was Derek discrediting the Stilinski house by saying that? “I mean, like… the pack house.”

“Hale Manor is my home, too, Der—stop freaking out.” Stiles rolled his eyes as he sat up. “But yeah, let’s go.”

Derek nodded. “Do you wanna change?”

“Nah—if you’re walking home wet, I will, too.”

By the time they got to the pack house, their clothes had dried a bit. Not completely, but enough to stop actively dripping, at least. Derek kicked his shoes off and left them on the porch, knowing Peter would have their asses if they tracked dirty, wet shoe prints into the house. Once Stiles had followed suit, they entered.

“Hey, Stiles,” Cora said, before they’d even made it into view.

“Hi,” Stiles called.

As soon as they reached the open space between the living room and kitchen, Peter noticed, “You boys are very wet.”

“We washed my mom’s Jeep,” Stiles explained, creeping towards him with an impish smile.

“That was very nice of you,” Peter said as he set his newspaper down and eyed the boy with strong apprehension. “You should get changed.”

“But I haven’t even hugged you yet.”

“Stiles,” he warned, his body tensing slightly in preparation to bolt. “Stiles, no.”

“Stiles, yes,” Stiles corrected, before lunging towards him.

The table slid forward an inch as Peter pushed away from it, nearly falling onto the floor in his haste to scramble to his feet. Stiles chased him around the table twice, before Peter’s eyes zeroed in on the entryway. He made a dash for it, but Derek sidestepped in a flash to catch him in a tight embrace, preventing him from escaping.

Peter froze and utter shock seeped into his scent. The sharp smell made Derek’s wolf antsy, but before he could let go, Stiles slammed into Peter from behind—effectively squishing him between the two very wet bodies.

“This is uncle abuse!” Peter complained, his scent turning much sweeter and happier as he got over his surprise at Derek’s physical action. Derek’s wolf settled a bit, and he felt content to stay in the embrace.

Stiles laughed maniacally as he rubbed his hair into Peter’s back. “Gotcha!”

“Christopher!” Peter cried out. “Help me!”

Seconds later, Chris was downstairs and chuckling warmly at the scene.

Peter gaped at him in mock outrage. “I’m being attacked, and you’re laughing?”

“I assume you probably deserved it.”

“I—” Peter sputtered for a moment. “I will remember this moment.”

Derek and Stiles finally let him go, mischievous grins mirrored on their faces as Peter looked down at his damp clothes in dismay.

“I can’t believe I was assaulted in my own home, by two of my most trusted packmates,” he said, shaking his head—but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“With love,” Stiles laughed.

“With hose water,” Peter specified, his nose wrinkled. “Like barbarians.”

“You can smell that it’s hose water?” Allison wondered from beside Chris.

“Yes, only hose water smells this stale.”

Derek shrugged. “At least it wasn’t chlorine.”

“Stiles!” Malia called from the living room. “Hurry up and change so you can watch Transformers with me and Cora!”

“I’m being called,” Stiles sighed blithely.

“C’mon, I have some sweatpants and a hoodie you can borrow,” Allison told him, heading towards the stairs.

Stiles walked past Chris and ran his hand up his forearm in lieu of a greeting, before following after Allison.

Derek wondered if Stiles unintentionally used werewolf mannerisms with other humans, since it seemed so natural for him to do. Kids at his school must’ve thought Stiles was very odd.

“When are we going to the diner?” Derek asked as he pulled his shirt off and threw it into the laundry room. His pants felt heavy and constricting, but he’d change them when he reached his room.

“In about an hour?” Chris proposed. “Is that fine?”

Derek hummed in agreement as he grabbed a white Gatorade from the refrigerator. Chris came up beside him to reach for a beer from the same shelf, and Derek caught a glimpse of the black triskelion on his inner wrist.

“I want my tattoo.”

“I wouldn’t be overly excited about it—it’s not a fun process for us werewolves,” Peter said. “We have to get tattoos burned into our skin for them to stay. It’s excruciating—fire is not as lovely as it looks.”

Derek rolled his eyes, because he already knew that. But, pain for a few minutes in exchange for a lifelong tattoo? Totally worth it.

“Graduate first, and then we can revisit the tattoo,” Chris said.

“Why that long?” It wasn’t like Derek would regret it—he just wanted the pack symbol.

“Because it’s not a fun process for me, either,” Chris told him. “I nearly threw up when I had to blowtorch Peter’s ankle, and I’m really not in a rush to do it again to my nephew. Everything about it is horrible and makes me feel like I’m torturing you—which I basically am.”

“It’s not torture, if I want it,” Derek reasoned. 

“Until you’re an adult and can actually give me your consent to burn something into your skin, I’m not doing it,” Chris told him, finality heavy in his tone.

“Laura got hers before her seventeenth wolf moon,” Derek pointed out. “She was like my age.”

“I didn’t do Laura’s—your mother did,” Chris pointed out. “You are more than welcome to ask her to do it for you, if you’d like. I believe you need to be an adult first, and Peter agrees with me.”

Derek sighed disappointedly. “I’ll wait.”

“Where do you want it?” Peter wondered as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips.

Derek turned to the side and reached a hand over his shoulder to tap his upper back. Hence, the reason he needed Chris to do the tattoo—his wolf would absolutely not allow Talia to be at his back without losing control, even if Stiles were there. 

“That’ll look good.”

Chris nodded his agreement, then crept over to peer through the entryway into the living room, where Stiles and Cora were curled up with each other on the couch.

“He seems to be doing alright, huh?” Chris whispered. “All things considered.”

“He was kinda sad earlier,” Derek said softly, also moving to the side a bit so he could see into the living room. He was distantly aware that his uncles were talking, but his focus had shifted to the pups. Well, not his focus—his wolf’s.

He watched Cora’s hand running up and down Stiles’ back while he leaned against her shoulder, her cheek nuzzling on the top of his head.

Scenting him .

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as he watched the other wolf covering Stiles in her scent, marking him— claiming him.

Mine!

“Derek?” Peter called, drawing his attention. As soon as he’d broken the stare, he realized just how close his wolf had gotten without him noticing. His heart was racing and he had to clench his fists to hide his growing claws as his golden eyes reflected back at him in the microwave door.

What the hell was that? Sure, his control was shit, but why would the pups have triggered his shift?

“I’m fine,” Derek said, his voice rumbling a bit with his wolf’s presence.

“Are you sure?”

Soft, quick steps headed towards the kitchen, then Stiles entered—bringing the scent of cinnamon and spearmint wafting in with him.

Wrong. He smelled like the other beta. 

“You good, Der?” Stiles asked, gently running his hand down Derek’s forearm to loosely hang around his wrist. The agitation didn’t completely melt away, but Derek’s wolf calmed just enough for Derek to focus on finding his packbond with Stiles and anchoring himself.

“My wolf got, like, weird,” Derek tried to explain. And possessive, which wasn’t completely abnormal—but it didn’t usually care if his pack touched Stiles.

“Your wolf gets weird a lot.” Stiles smiled reassuringly.

Derek nodded. “Just don’t... don't go in my room right now. Your scent is…” Wrong.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles laughed. “I never go in there after the girls get their stink on me.”

“I don’t stink, Stiles!” Cora argued as she ran into the kitchen.

Derek’s wolf inched closer as the irritating scent of the beta became stronger with her presence, but it immediately backed down as Stiles squeezed his wrist tightly and rubbed circles into his skin with his thumb.

Derek's eyes widened as he looked down at the boy as if he’d grown an extra head—because what? Did he know that Cora was riling his wolf? Sure, they were talking about her scent—but they’d always had an understanding that Derek didn’t want the pups’ scents in his den. The only difference today was that Derek’s wolf was more aggressively opposed to it, but how the hell did Stiles know that?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Stiles questioned. “You’re, like, super stiff.”

Maybe Derek was just overthinking. Stiles could’ve just coincidentally grabbed his wrist, right? It didn’t make sense otherwise.

“Gonna shower.” Derek nodded towards the entryway, before slipping out of Stiles’ hold and hurriedly leaving the kitchen.

The other beta’s scent— Cora’s scent—disappeared once he was in his room, and he took a moment to slowly pull in several deep breaths. He put his hand over his chest as his mind fully cleared, and whispered, “What the hell was that?”

His wolf wasn’t going to answer, of course—but Derek really wished it would, because he’d never seen his sister as an outside beta before, and he really didn’t think that was a great development.

The large booth with wrap-around seating in the corner of the Beacon Hills Diner was practically reserved for the Hales. Not only because they ate there more often than any other family in town—but also since not many families had as many members to seat. Stiles wasn’t sure why such a huge booth even existed, since most groups opted for the smaller booths—but it worked out well for the pack.

A teenage boy, who was definitely not the waitress who had taken their order a few minutes prior, brought their food and drinks to their table. Stiles had never met him before, so he must’ve been a new hire. He had sandy curls that fell down his forehead into bright blue eyes—though they were slightly dulled by the dark bags underneath them. As he leaned over to set the items down, Stiles thought he might’ve seen some faint bruising along his neck—but it just as likely could’ve been shadows from the raised collar of his uniform. 

“Hey, my name is Camden—I’ll be taking over for Lexi,” he cheerfully introduced himself. His eyes quickly glanced around the Hales, before settling on Derek. His tight, polite smile melted into something more genuine. “Oh, hey, Derek.”

Derek lifted two fingers in a motion that fell somewhere between a wave and a salute—and it was awkward enough for Stiles to get second hand embarrassment. His poor little antisocial wolf.

“You guys know each other?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, we have English and History together,” Camden answered. “Is this your family?”

“Uh, yeah,” Derek said.

“And I’m his Stiles—I basically follow him around and bother him, because my dad is best friends with his uncles and they all forced our families together since we were born.”

“Hey, family friends are definitely part of the crew,” Camden laughed, then looked back at Derek. “It’s super cool that you have a big family, dude.”

Derek shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well, I’ve gotta get back to it—but it was really awesome getting to talk to you, buddy,” Camden said amiably, before he headed off to another table.

“Look at you socializing, Der!” Stiles congratulated him, as he grabbed a few curly fries from the side of his plate. He stuffed them into his mouth and said, “Ah, so goo—I mean, ‘m so proud o’ you.”

Derek playfully flicked the side of his head and Stiles elbowed him. 

“Summer is just around the corner,” Peter brought up. “Are you guys excited?”

“Totally—only one more year of homeschool and then I can be around people who aren’t pack!” Cora said. "I'm getting tired of you guys."

“Okay, rude,” Allison grumbled, shooting her a glare.

“Derek’s going to high school soon,” Stiles pointed out. “That’s cool.”

“He’s gonna try out for the baseball team, right, Der?” Cora eagerly prompted.

“Really?” Chris’ eyebrows raised as he looked over to Derek with a smile. “That’s awesome, kiddo!”

“Maybe.”

“He’s even working out,” Stiles announced, smirking at Derek—who clenched his jaw as his cheeks took on a pinker tone. Just to tease him further, Stiles put his hand on his arm to feel his bicep—which, dang. He’d definitely been working out a lot more than just that one time Stiles had caught him. His arm was literally hard, though that might have also been because of how tense he was. “Look at this muscle wolf over here!”

“I will kill you,” Derek threatened under his breath as he swatted Stiles’ hand away.

“Well, I’m partial to basketball myself, but we haven’t had a baseball player in the family yet,” Peter said. “Except Noah, of course. I’m sure he’d be thrilled, if you went that path.”

“I think lacrosse looks cool,” Jackson noted. “I wanna play that when I’m in high school.”

“I would definitely die in any sport I tried to play, but I’m gonna play something, anyway,” Stiles told the table. The Hales laughed, while Jackson simply nodded his agreement. Well, Stiles couldn’t play lacrosse—Jackson would be the one to kill him, for sure.

Stiles was about halfway through his strawberry milkshake, when his eyes wandered over to Derek’s chocolate one. Stiles liked chocolate. His longing stare must’ve been pretty obvious, because Derek pushed the drink towards him with an eyebrow raised. Stiles didn’t need any further encouragement. He slid his own in Derek’s direction, before eagerly sucking in a mouthful of the chocolatey goodness. Derek seemed just as on board with switching, as he greedily downed the rest of Stiles’ strawberry milkshake.

After Chris washed the last bite of his sandwich down with a sip of lemonade, he said, “We should grab Noah something before we leave—I’m sure he’s hungry.”

“He’s the worst at remembering to bring food to work,” Peter agreed. “I think he had a sandwich yesterday, so maybe a burger?”

“That sandwich looked amazing—we need to ask where he bought that.”

Malia snorted. “He showed you his sandwich?” 

“Yes, he sent me a picture of it,” Peter told her.

“Wait, my dad sends you pictures of his food?" Stiles asked. "Why?”

“Because it looked delicious,” Peter said simply. “I would’ve sent it to him, too.”

Stiles’ parental figures got weirder every single day, but he wouldn’t want them any other way.

“Okay, so a burger. Maybe a milkshake, too,” Chris mused. “Strawberry or vanilla?”

“Strawberry—never ask me that again,” Peter sneered. “I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. Wait until I tell Noah that you tried to get him vanilla, like a psychopath.”

Chris chuckled. “Okay, I’m going to go order and pay at the front.”

“I’ll come with,” Peter said, sliding out of his seat to follow. He looked back at the kids and told them, “Meet us outside. Derek’s in charge.”

“Duh, Dad.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Derek’s the oldest.”

“Don’t duh me, child of mine,” Peter said.

“Yeah—he brought you into this world and he can take you out of it,” Malia reasoned. “Plus, he’s a Left Hand—so he’s trained to do it.”

“Quiet,” Derek reminded them, since humans didn’t have Left Hands—which Stiles thought was really boring. He couldn’t imagine not having a pack.

It only took a few minutes without parental supervision for the pups to devour the remainder of their meals in a frenzy of concerningly large bites and a profound lack of table manners that would’ve had Peter putting them all up for adoption. After Jackson took his last bite, Derek stood up—and the rest of the pups followed suit, ready to leave the diner with full bellies and messy faces.

They’d made it halfway to the door, when Stiles heard the obnoxious sound of Brian O’Malley’s voice.

“Finally find some friends, Stilinski?” he sneered, walking up to the group with his brother Justin at his side.

“How much did you have to pay them to spend time with you?” Justin asked.

“Unlike you, people don’t be my friend just to get my money,” Stiles said. Not the Stilinskis really had money—but if it was a competition, then he knew the Hales were winning. 

Brian’s eyebrows pulled together angrily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means people wanna be my friend, but they pretend to be yours.”

“You should shut up, Stilinski,” Justin suggested, squaring his shoulders as he stepped towards Stiles.

“I’m not so good at that, O’Malley,” Stiles returned, closing the gap between them without a second thought.

Justin pushed Stiles away, and Stiles fully intended to lunge at the idiot for a proper diner brawl as soon as he regained his footing—but Malia was faster than him.

“Keep your hands to yourself, unless you wanna lose them,” Malia threatened.

Brian’s lip curled as he looked down at Malia. “Stilinski, you should tell your girlfriend to back off.”

“And to brush that rat nest out of her hair,” Justin added.

Malia clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m not his girlfriend!”

“Fine, then I’ll tell you,” Brian said, before roughly shoving Malia backwards. Stiles quickly hugged her from behind and held her tightly—hoping that she wouldn’t do something seriously problematic, like shift in public. 

Before anyone could figure out how to deescalate the situation, Jackson surged forward and punched Brian directly in the face—and the boy’s head snapped back with the sickening crunch of his nose under Jackson’s knuckles. Stiles’ mouth dropped open as he watched Brian stumble down onto the floor, clutching his bleeding face. Justin took a swing at Jackson, but the latter was used to dodging werewolves, so he easily ducked out of the way and tackled Justin to the ground.

Derek rushed to step in, grabbing Jackson firmly by his nape and upper arm, while hissing, “Seriously?”

“What’s your damage, dude?” Justin shouted, as he tried to comfort his brother.

Brian looked at his red hands and cried, “You broke my nose!”

“If you touch my sister again, I’ll rip it off your freaking face,” Jackson promised, as Derek dragged him outside.

Stiles and the girls chased after them, avoiding eye contact with all the shocked diner patrons as they escaped outside.

“Please tell me that I didn’t just hear you break a kid’s nose,” Peter said to Jackson, who was still in Derek’s grip—though he’d jerked his arm free as soon as they’d made it outside, so he was only being held by the back of the neck.

“They were being dic— mean to Stiles,” Derek said. “Malia got involved.”

“They pushed her, so I punched them,” Jackson recounted remorselessly. 

Chris slowly scratched his beard, before saying, “You shouldn’t punch people to—”

“They shoved her, hard.” Jackson cut him off. “Stiles, too! It’s their own fault that they made a stupid decision—I’m not gonna let people touch my pack. They’re lucky Malia didn’t do it first! She would’ve broken their entire faces.”

“What they did was wrong, but—” Chris tried, just to be interrupted again.

“If they weren’t kids, I would’ve hit them,” Derek defended, releasing Jackson’s neck.

Jackson looked over his shoulder at Derek and grinned. “And since I’m also a kid, I did it. And I’d do it again.”

Chris glanced at Peter, who shrugged carelessly as he brought his fingers up in a poor attempt to hide what Stiles was pretty sure was a proud smile.

“Okay,” Chris sighed, shaking his head. “We’ll talk about this more at home.”

“Is he in trouble?” Malia asked, a challenging glint in her eyes.

“No, but we’re going to collectively, as a family, discuss alternative ways to defend each other that don’t involve breaking things.”

“Breaking people,” Peter clarified, sending a wink at Jackson. He held the bag of food up and said, “I’m going to run by and drop this off to Noah, so I’ll meet you all at the house.”

Chris nodded as he led everyone else towards the parked SUV.

Chapter Text

Stiles was lucky that he was friends with Scott McCall, because Scotty was one of those gifted humans who had a good sense of direction and could remember the route home from school. It wasn’t usual for Stiles to walk home—if Peter knew he was doing it that afternoon, he’d be getting picked up off the side of the road within minutes—but Stiles thought it would be fun. Mrs. McCall had to work until five o’clock that night, and Noah said Scott could spend that time at the Stilinski house—so what better way to get there than an adventure?

The trip took them nearly an hour, mostly because Stiles had to stop and inspect every ant and roly-poly they came across on the sidewalk, but they made it, eventually.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Stiles suggested as he let them into the house. “I can grab some snacks and we can hang out upstairs.”

“Sure!” Scott chirped.

“Sick! My movie case is on my dresser—you can go up and look through it, if you want. I’ll be up in a second.”

“Sounds good, dude,” Scott agreed, heading for the stairs.

Stiles grabbed a half-empty container of grapes and two bottles of water from the refrigerator, then shoved a couple handfuls of granola bars from the pantry into his pockets. Those were enough snacks, right? Probably.

He made it halfway up the stairs, before noticing that Scott was seated on the top step, his face almost comically red as he hugged his backpack to his chest.

“Uh, you good?”

‘That’s your room, right?” Scott pointed to the closed door a couple feet away and Stiles nodded slowly. “There are like… girls in there.”

“Girls?” Stiles asked, squinting at the door. Why the heck were there girls in his room?

“Yeah, dude—like three of them.”

Three girls. Stiles realized that he definitely knew three girls who had full access to his house and were very willing to make themselves at home in his room, regardless of him being there.

“It’s the Hales,” Stiles announced, leading the way into the room.

Cora was spinning around in his computer chair, staring at the ceiling, while Allison and Malia were propped up in his bedding, playing video games.

“Your friend is weird,” Cora said, as she let the chair slow to a stop. “He came in, then ran out like a tomato.”

Malia snickered. “Yeah, I think he’s scared of us.”

“I’m not…” Scott tried to deny, but he paused as Allison looked over at him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk. He audibly gulped, before admitting, “I am. I’m definitely scared of girls.”

“At least you’re honest, my guy,” Cora praised. “And smart—girls can be terrifying.”

“Especially Hale girls,” Malia boasted.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “They aren’t, like, girls. They’re my pa—my parents’ friends’ kids. Family, basically.”

Cora scoffed and shook her head, clearly unimpressed by his near slip up—but in his defense, his pack and human lives very rarely unexpectedly merged like this.

“I’m Allison—it’s nice to meet you,” Allison introduced herself, setting the controller down so that she could offer her hand to Scott. Scott hesitantly took it and Stiles was forced to watch the most awkward handshake he’d ever witnessed.

“Scotty,” Scott said. “I mean Scott —well, I mean, you can just—whatever you wanna call me is good.”

Allison broke into a fit of giggles that seemed to release some of the tension in Scott’s shoulders as he also laughed.

“I’m Cora, and that disaster next to Allie is Malia,” Cora added. Malia grabbed the nearest pillow and lobbed it at Cora, but she easily caught it. Cora’s eyebrows furrowed and she sniffed the fabric, before looking over at Stiles. “Is this Derek’s?”

Stiles squawked as he quickly yanked the pillow away from her, then threw it into his closet behind him and shut the door. “Anyway, this is Scott. He’s my friend from school and he has asthma—so don’t scare him too much or he might literally die.”

“It’s not that bad,” Scott mumbled.

“We literally just existed,” Cora said.

“I’m gonna get a squirt bottle and whenever Cora is a brat, just spray her,” Stiles told Scott. He was mostly joking, but he also wondered why Peter and Chris didn’t do that with him and the pups when they were little. It could’ve been pretty effective.

“You could try that.” Cora smirked wickedly. “You would lose a few important parts of your body, but you could try it.”

“I’m sorry—they’re barely housetrained,” Stiles sighed.

Allison scoffed. “As if you’re any better!”

“He’s not as freaked out anymore,” Malia announced, smiling at Scott. She held her hand out to him and said, “C’mere.”

Scott yelped as Malia tugged him onto the bed and manhandled him into sitting between her and Allison. Scott was still for a moment, as if trying to figure out what had just happened to him, but soon relaxed as Malia and Allison leaned against him. Stiles had never thought about how much Scott would enjoy puppy piles, but he really was made for it. He was such a snuggler—Stiles wasn’t sure how Scott even managed to survive this long without one.

“So, what movie are we watching?” Cora asked, joining everyone on the bed.

“Madagascar,” Stiles answered as he put the disc into the DVD player.

Malia grinned excitedly. “I love that movie!”

“Me, too,” Scott agreed.

Upon opening the door to the Stilinski house, Noah noticed something rather alarming: silence. He was pretty certain that Stiles and Scott were supposed to be there, and quiet was not something either of them were good at—especially not when they were together.

Noah walked briskly up the stairs until he reached Stiles’ door, then opened it just enough to poke his head in. Instead of finding the two boys he’d expected, he was met with the sight of five children piled into Stiles’ bed. Walking into puppy piles wasn’t all that surprising—though it was times like this when Noah was reminded that Stiles was going to need a bigger bed soon. The pups were growing—much too quickly, in Noah’s opinion—and the way they were crammed together like sardines while trying to fit on the mattress didn’t look too comfortable. 

It was getting late, so Noah figured it was probably his responsibility to feed the children.

“You guys want pizza?”

He received several incoherent mumbles from the children, as they were way too engrossed in the movie they were watching to offer him proper responses, but he was pretty sure they were on board with the idea. 

“Honey, is that you?” Claudia called from down the hall, and Noah grinned to himself as he closed Stiles’ door and headed towards the master bedroom.

“The one and only,” Noah responded as he entered his room. Claudia was seated on their bed, painting her toenails a rich shade of red. “That color looks good on you.”

“Mm,” she hummed, sending him a warm smile. “I thought so, too.”

He watched her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the adorable way she held the tip of her tongue between her teeth whenever she concentrated. He used to poke it, just to annoy her—and earned many smacks over the years for it.

“I’m ordering pizza,” he told her. “Probably gonna invite some people over.”

“You mean the Hales?”

“And Melissa McCall—you know, Scott’s mom.”

“Melissa is a wonderful woman,” Claudia allowed. “A much better influence than Chris and Peter.”

“Oh, don’t rope Chris into Peter and I’s shenanigans,” Noah teased. “He’s at least ten percent better than us.”

Claudia snorted. “Credit where credit is due, I suppose.”

“Will I see you downstairs?”

“Of course,” Claudia assured him. “I need to talk to Melissa about bringing Scott over to spend the holidays with us next month. It’s just them, you know. They deserve more family for Christmas.”

Noah’s smile faltered as he looked down at the buttons on his uniform and began unfastening them. “Christmas, huh?”

“We don’t have to,” Claudia said, twisting the nail polish brush back into the bottle. “I just figured it wouldn’t matter, considering how often we share holidays with the Hales.”

“No, yeah, it’s a great idea,” Noah said quickly. “I just, uh… I lost track of time, I guess. Didn’t realize it was so soon.”

“Time is funny like that.”

“It really is.”

Claudia refocused her attention on her nails while Noah finished getting changed into more comfortable clothes.

“See you down there,” he said over his shoulder as he headed out of the room. He found Melissa’s contact on his phone and called as he trotted down the stairs.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Melissa,” he greeted. “Sorry for calling while you’re at work—I probably should’ve waited.”

“Oh, I’m just saving lives,” she sighed. “No biggie.”

Noah chuckled and shook his head. “I was planning on ordering pizza and thought I would ask if I could steal you and Scott for dinner tonight? I’m also inviting a couple of my friends, since half of their children are already here at the house.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No intrusion at all,” he said as he reached the kitchen. He opened the alcohol cabinet and grabbed two bottles of red wine, one bottle of red aconite-laced wine, and a whiskey bottle. “I have food, alcohol, and some games.”

“That actually sounds awesome! Yeah, I’ll head over right after my shift.”

“Great. See you then.”

Noah hung up the call and pressed Peter’s contact, before holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he poured some of the whiskey into a glass.

“Have my children broken your house yet?” Peter answered.

“Not that I know of.”

“Good—I’ve taught them well.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Come over for dinner.”

“Are you asking me out, Deputy?” Peter purred silkily. “If so, I think you can do much better than that.”

“There’ll be lots of pizza… maybe even a Hawaiian, if you wear that blue shirt I like,” Noah teased. 

“The one that brings out my gorgeous eyes?” Peter asked. “That’s doable.”

Noah swallowed the amber liquid in his glass, before continuing, “I was thinking some garlic bread and caesar salad.”

Peter hummed. “You’ve piqued my interest. Go on.”

“Wine. Chess. You know, I just got some new playing cards for poker.”

“No poker!” Chris called in the background.

“Perfect!” Peter ignored him. “Christopher and I will be over soon.”

“That would get your gambling wolf ass over here,” Noah laughed.

“You should’ve led with it, Sweetheart—how long have you known me?”

“Too long.”

“You wound me.”

“Give me the phone,” Chris said, before there was a shuffling on the line. “Should we bring anything?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t trust you to make a salad, so I’ll take care of that.”

“Ouch. Can I make the garlic bread?”

“No, you can’t cook for shit. I'll bring the stuff for that, as well.”

“Rude, but fair,” Noah allowed.

“Have you seen my blue shirt?” Peter’s voice distantly asked.

“It was hanging in the closet with all five hundred of your other shirts, last time I saw it.”

“I didn’t ask for your sass, Christopher.”

“Melissa will be coming, too,” Noah told them. “Scott’s mom.”

“Okay,” Chris said. “Oh, and I think Derek’s on his way to you. He took off after sparring with Peter a few minutes ago.”

“Sounds good.”

By the time Derek managed to walk all the way to the Stilinski house, he was ready to just collapse on the front lawn. 

Training with Peter was always fun, but it was brutal. If anyone in the pack could fight, it was Peter—which was both amazing and horrible. On the bright side, it meant he encouraged Derek to let his control slip a bit, because he could handle his wolf more than the others could. Derek spent so much of his life keeping such tight reins on his wolf that it was exhilarating to let loose sometimes. On the other hand, Peter did not hold back when knocking him on his ass. Derek was learning a lot about fighting—and Peter even told him that he could tell he was improving after every sparring session—but he repeatedly got his ass handed to him on a silver platter every round.

It turned out that grass was not as soft as it looked, when being thrown down on the ground by a werewolf.

Derek looked up at the edge of the roof for several long seconds, mentally preparing himself for the fact that his arm muscles might not comply with pulling him up. If he fell, he decided he’d just lay there for a bit. Someone would come out and find him eventually, right?

Jumping up and grabbing hold of the edge wasn’t too awful, but his arms shook pathetically as he grunted and shimmied his way onto the roof in a very graceless way that he hoped none of the neighbors witnessed. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to slide back off onto the ground, he rolled onto his back and threw his arms out to the sides to catch his breath. 

Fuck everything—why couldn’t Stiles’ room be on the first floor? There was an unused bedroom down there, Derek had seen it several times, so it was honestly just rude at that point that Stiles chose to be upstairs.

“That you, Der?” Stiles called out, his voice flitting through the open window.

Derek groaned dramatically in response, but couldn’t help smiling when he heard Stiles laugh. With a sigh, he flipped over and crawled up to the window. He paused there, not recognizing the boy that was sitting in the middle of a very cramped puppy pile with his family.

Did Malia kidnap someone?

“Get in here, creeper wolf—we’re watching Madagascar.” Stiles beckoned him over, so Derek slipped through the window. Stiles shifted over a bit, but Derek just sat on the floor beside the bed. Stiles reached out with one hand and twisted Derek’s sweater strings around his fingers. He wasn’t sure if Stiles was just stimming or trying to make him feel included, but he was just grateful that he wasn’t being dragged into the bed with all of them.

“Oh, this is Scott!” Stiles suddenly gasped, apparently realizing that Derek hadn’t met the human. Cora reached over and smacked Stiles’ leg, so the boy continued in a whisper, “My friend from school—you remember? I told you about him.”

Scott leaned forward and gave Derek a bright, lopsided smile. “Hi!”

“This is Derek,” Stiles told him.

“Oh, yeah—your teenager best friend,” Scott realized. “Nice to meet ya, dude!”

“If you guys don’t shut up, I swear to the Gods that I will throw you all out the window,” Cora hissed, shooting a glare at Scott and Stiles.

The room fell silent.

Peter didn’t bother knocking when he and Christopher walked up to the Stilinski house—what was the point of having a key, if they still had to wait to be let in? As soon as the front door was opened, Peter noticed a new scent permeating the home—something warm and smokey, yet oddly sterile at the same time. Like a hospital.

As soon as they reached the kitchen, Peter found who the new scent belonged to: a woman about their age with dark curls and amiable brown eyes, who was seated at the table. She was clad in a worn pair of hospital scrubs, so Peter assumed that she was a nurse.

“Oh, hey,” Noah noticed them. “Melissa, this is Peter and Chris Hale, who I mentioned were coming.”

“Whatever slander he’s spewed about us, I assure you he’s a liar,” Peter said.

“Noted,” she laughed. “What about the positives?”

“Those are probably false, too,” Christopher reasoned as he placed the groceries they’d picked up on their way over on the counter.

“I must say, you’re gorgeous,” Peter complimented Melissa with a charming smile. “I mean really, what’s your skincare routine?”

“Down, puppy,” Christopher teased, pushing Peter aside to hold his hand out to Melissa. “I apologize for him—we don’t let him leave the house often.”

Peter threw a glare at Christopher, who he really thought was above dog jokes by now.

“So, you’re his keeper?” Melissa asked, her eyes shining amusedly.

“Unfortunately, I was tricked. The job description said husband, but there was a fine print.”

“Ah—easy to miss with rose-colored glasses.”

“As most things are.”

Peter looked between the two of them with a scandalized look on his face. “I… ugh, I can’t even—Christopher, I want a divorce.”

Christopher waved him off. “Denied.”

“Maybe if you didn’t flirt with everything that moved, he wouldn’t have to keep a collar on you,” Noah reasoned.

If those idiots kept up with the dog jokes, Peter might consider biting one of them.

“Are you jealous?” Peter winked at him.

“Jealous?” Noah chuckled. “Of you or Chris?”

Peter smirked, before asking, “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” Noah said. “The answer is absolutely, to both.”

As Christopher took a seat at the table, Peter made his way over to the fridge in search of the wine. He took two bottles out, one regular and one aconite-laced, then poured everyone generous glasses.

“So,” Melissa said as he handed her one, “Do you guys have kids?”

“We’re up to our ears in them,” Christopher answered. “A teenager, and four about Stiles’ age.”

“Gosh, I can’t imagine the… liveliness that must be in your household.” She shook her head. “I feel like I have my hands full with Scott sometimes—and he’s a total angel.”

“Same,” Noah agreed.

Peter scoffed. “Noah, your child is a mischievous little imp.”

“Well, he has the nickname for a reason.”

“Do you know what Stiles did to me the other day, Melissa?” Peter swirled his wine around his glass, before taking a sip. “He and Derek—the aforementioned teenager—decided to get completely soaked with hose water and not only enter my home, but ambush me in my own kitchen as I tried to read the paper.

“They hugged him to get him wet, too,” Christopher elaborated.

“I was attacked and that asshole over there” —Peter pointed at his husband— “had the unhelpful audacity to laugh at my predicament.”

Melissa laughed mirthfully, before asking, “So, you guys are close with Stiles?”

“Very—he’s our godson,” Christopher told her. “We steal him every chance we get.”

A few firm knocks at the front door signaled the arrival of the pizza, and Christopher hadn’t even managed to get up from his chair, before Peter heard the hoard of children upstairs scramble into the hallway.

“Pi-zza, pi-zza, pi-zza!” Stiles, Scott, and Malia chanted excitedly as they descended the stairs and came running up the hallway towards the kitchen. They were practically vibrating as Christopher went to retrieve the food. Cora and Allison were a bit more composed, though they were eagerly shifting side to side. Melissa probably thought he was starving his pups, with how desperate they were for food. 

Derek discreetly slinked into the kitchen and hovered by the refrigerator, away from the chaotic pups and the adults at the table.

Christopher set the stack of boxes on the table and Noah quickly lifted the lids to check the various toppings, before handing Malia and Stiles each a box. “Get outta here.”

“Fooood!” Stiles yelled victoriously, as he led the swarm of pups towards the front of the house, so they could disappear back upstairs again.

“How are you holding up?” Christopher asked Derek, who was grabbing several water bottles from the refrigerator.

Derek rolled his eyes exasperatedly and shrugged, before slipping out of the kitchen.

“Your oldest?” Melissa guessed.

“Yeah, that’s Derek,” Peter confirmed. “He’s not much of a talker, but he’s a great kid.”

“Smart as a whip—his reading comprehension is at college level, and he hasn’t even started high school yet,” Christopher said proudly.

“That’s amazing.” Melissa grabbed a piece of pizza and set it on her paper plate. “And he doesn’t mind hanging out with the little kids?”

“He and Stiles are inseparable—always have been,” Noah told her. “He manages to make sure Stiles doesn’t do anything too stupid or reckless, and he’s been helping out a lot with the whole… y’know, Claudia.”

Melissa gave a soft, sympathetic smile as she put her hand on Noah’s forearm. “I’m glad Stiles has someone he lets help him. Support systems are so important, and it seems like you both have a great one.”

“Yeah, we’re very lucky,” Noah agreed, sending an appreciative look towards Peter.

“I take full credit,” Peter claimed. If he’d never lost control and nearly mauled Noah in the locker room at the beginning of their junior year, then they never would’ve become best friends. “I refused to give him the option regarding joining my family or not. I pulled him in and never let go.”

“I’m pretty sure I had a hand in it, too,” Christopher argued. “I mean, I’m the one who gave Claudia the shovel talk.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Peter found himself thinking back to high school. It was a bit surreal that Derek would be a freshman soon. He remembered rushing home after basketball practice with Noah to wrangle the little monster into baths—which was one of the most difficult things Peter had ever faced, right behind trying to force him into clothes. Peter didn’t even feel all that bad about Derek spending his first couple years in diapers and shredded t-shirts, because that pup had a lot more fight in him than Peter and Noah did. Luckily, they had mostly managed to get him clothing-trained by the time Christopher came around.

“Okay”—Peter held up his hand to pull himself away from his memories and back to the situation at hand— “if someone doesn’t pass me a box of pizza, I’m going to go absolutely feral.”

Christopher kicked him under the table and Noah pinched the bridge of his nose as he covered his laughter with his palm.

Melissa handed over a box as she innocently said, “Wouldn’t want that.”

“No, we would not,” Christopher clipped, shaking his head.

Derek couldn’t help but cringe as he watched Malia shove a piece of pizza into her small mouth. Red sauce covered her cheeks and strands of her dark hair were stuck in it like glue, but she didn’t seem phased in the slightest.

“Mal, you’re gross,” Cora voiced.

“And you’re stupid,” she mumbled around the food spilling out of her mouth. 

Derek didn’t understand how she lacked any sense of table manners. Sure, she was a bit closer to her wolf than the other pups—but Derek was inarguably even more tied to his own, yet he could chew with his mouth shut and didn’t wear all of his food on his face.

“Hold on,” Allison sighed, moving behind Malia and taking the hair tie out of her own messy braid. She grimaced as she pulled Malia’s hair back, getting the pizza sauce on her hands in the process, but began twisting the strands into the start of a braid, nonetheless. Her fingers moved much more methodically than the fumbling she’d been doing weeks earlier, which was impressive. The braiding wasn’t flawless, but it was definitely a braid.

Scott scooted closer to look at Malia’s hair and Allison smiled bashfully under his attention. 

“That’s super good,” he told her.

Derek raised his eyebrows, knowing damn well the adoration in Scott’s voice wasn’t over the shitshow hairstyle.

Allison pursed her lips in an attempt to hide her smile, but her dimples gave her away. “Thanks, Scott.”

Puppy love. Gross.

Chapter Text

When Stiles was still sitting in front of the school by the time Melissa came to pick up Scott—which was over half an hour after class was let out—he figured he should ask for a ride home. He didn’t mind waiting, really, but most of the kids had already left and Peter didn’t like him being one of the last ones there. Stiles was pretty sure if he was kidnapped, they would let him go—he’d been told enough times that his incessant talking was overwhelmingly irritating. 

He would’ve called Peter, but he knew that would mean going to the pack house—which was fine, but he wanted to show his dad the picture he drew in class that day. He was pretty sure it was his best work ever and it was gonna look awesome on the fridge!

“Of course I can drive you, honey,” Melissa told him before he’d even finished asking.

“Told you,” Scott said as he crawled into the back seat and motioned for Stiles to get in after him.

“He’s probably just running late,” Stiles explained, buckling his seat belt. “Sometimes his work keeps him later than normal.”

Melissa sighed. “I know the struggle.”

“Stiles, it’s summer!” Scott cheered, shaking Stiles’ arm. “We don’t have to go back to stupid school for so long!”

“I know—and we’re gonna hang out lots!”

“Maybe the Hales can hang out with us again sometime?” Scott suggested, his tanned cheeks taking on a pinkish tint. “They were cool.”

Stiles snorted. “I don’t know if cool is the right word.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of the Stilinski house and Melissa looked over her shoulder at Stiles. “It looks like your dad’s car is here, but do you want me to go in with you to make sure? Or you’re more than welcome to come to our house—we’re having grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.”

“With sourdough bread—your favorite!” Scott added.

“It’s okay,” Stiles assured them as he got out of the car. “I can just walk to your house if nobody is home. It’s only like one street over.”

“Okay. We’ll keep an ear out for the door, then, just in case.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McCall!” Stiles grinned, before shutting the door and running towards the porch.

After letting himself into the house, he looked to the right and found his dad passed out across the couch. He was laying on his stomach with one arm hanging off the side, loosely holding the neck of a half-empty whiskey bottle. Stiles knelt down and slipped the bottle from his hand, setting it upright so that it wouldn’t tip over and spill on the carpet. His mom would be very upset if she came downstairs to find a stain.

“Dad?” he whispered, but Noah didn’t so much as twitch. His face was flushed, like he was overheated or had been crying—but there was no evidence of tears. Stiles knew that alcohol made people tired sometimes—his mother had told him something to that effect after a few glasses of wine—so he was probably just taking a nap after a tough day at work. Stiles had never had a job, but it must’ve been exhausting. He sometimes needed a nap after school, too.

Since Noah was asleep, Stiles figured he should go check on Claudia. If she was asleep, too, he was thinking about just going over to Scott’s house. He did like grilled cheese sandwiches. As he walked down the hallway, he noticed that his parents’ bedroom door was slightly ajar. He tentatively pushed it open and peered in to find the room in chaos.

The sky blue sheets that were usually covering the mattress were missing, leaving it bare. A large pile of shoes were haphazardly thrown onto the bed, littering the mattress with specks of dark mud that Stiles assumed fell from the bottoms of his dad’s several pairs of boots. Looking around, he noticed that their shoe bin was nowhere to be seen, and half of the contents of their closet were strewn about the floor in messy piles.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, watching as Claudia rummaged through a box of miscellaneous items on the floor.

“Oh, just some organizing,” she sighed airily. “There’s too much clutter in this room—it’s suffocating.”

Stiles was pretty sure that the room looked significantly better before the ‘organizing’, but he didn’t tell her. He noticed the stack of picture frames that were usually lined up along their dresser were in a stack by the bathroom door and her jewelry box had been taken apart.

“The shoes shouldn’t be on the bed,” he said gently, his nose wrinkling as he looked at the dirty mattress. “Where’s the shoe bin?”

“I threw it away.” She waved her hand distractedly. “I didn’t like how it looked. I’ll have to get a new one.”

“Okay,” he allowed, “so what are you gonna do with the shoes until then?”

She blew a forceful breath out through her nose and fixed Stiles with a peeved look. “I don’t know, Mietek. I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s getting super gross, though. Shouldn’t you get the new bin or whatever before trying to reorganize?”

“Stiles, please just stop,” she said. “I know what I’m trying to do and you’re messing it up and confusing me, okay? It’s a work in progress and I really don’t need you waltzing in here and throwing off my plans. Just… just go start dinner for me, yeah?”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She’d never let shoes on the bed—let alone muddy shoes.

“What am I supposed to make?”

“I don’t know—spaghetti. Just fill a pot with water from the sink and turn the dial on high. You’re plenty old enough.”

Stiles nodded, and after a final glance around the room, left.

As Peter looked at the inflamed, tender skin on the back of Malia’s shoulder, he wondered why his twins always ended up rough-housing in the preserve, instead of the perfectly good grass lawn they had.

“How many splinters am I going to have to extract from you two before you realize that there are better places to play?” Peter said under his breath as he sat on the kitchen chair and tugged Malia backwards to stand between his legs.

“Splinters don’t— argh!” Malia’s sentence was cut off by a loud snarl as Peter made a painful failed attempt to grab the tiny tip of the splinter. Her claws shot out and sunk into his thighs, drawing a growl out of his own chest as his eyes glowed electric blue.

Derek snickered from across the table, where he was watching in blatant amusement.

“That looks fun,” Christopher noted as he walked into the kitchen, clearly fighting to keep the smile off his face when he glanced down at the situation.

“The most,” Peter grumbled, mourning the loss of one of his favorite pairs of pants. It really was unfair how difficult blood was to get out of clothing.

Derek reached his hand across the table with his palm up, and Malia looked over at it. Peter grunted softly as Malia suddenly extracted her claws and placed her hand in Derek’s. Almost immediately, her features shifted back to human as she relaxed.

“Thanks, Der,” she sighed as she watched the black lines trail up his arm and disappear.

The house phone on the counter rang, and Derek tensed as if ready to bolt away from the noise.

“Hale residence, Chris speaking.”

“It’s me,” Stiles’ voice came through the phone. Peter looked over at Christopher in confusion, as it was rather odd for Stiles to be calling on days he was with his dad.

“Hey, Kiddo. You alright?” Christopher asked.

“Yeah, but I was using the stove and like...I think something’s wrong.”

Derek straightened in alarm, and looked towards the entryway.

“Why are you using the stove? Where’s Noah?”

“He’s sleeping, and I’m trying to make spaghetti. The water isn’t boiling though and the stove is, like...clicking? And it’s making the kitchen smell really weird.”

“Stiles, listen—you need to turn off the stove right now and open the windows,” Christopher instructed, his voice calm, but firm.

“Why?”

“That smell is probably gas and you shouldn’t be breathing it in.”

“Gas?”

“Are you opening the windows?"

“Yeah, I am.”

“If there’s no flame and the stove is clicking, it means it’s releasing gas.”

“It’s supposed to light on fire?”

“Yes, that’s how it heats things up.”

“Your stove doesn’t do that.”

“Ours is electric—it’s different.”

“Oh.”

Peter waved his hand to get Christopher’s attention, then mouthed ‘go get him’ while motioning towards the entryway. Derek seemed to agree with this, as he got up and started heading out.

“Derek and I are going to come pick you up, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Open the front door while you’re waiting,” Christopher ignored him, then hung up the phone and set it back in its holster.

“Why is Noah sleeping in the middle of the afternoon, while Stiles is cooking? Who picked him up from school?” Peter asked, his voice bordering on a growl. “If there’s no one actively watching Stiles, he’s supposed to be here.”

“I know,” Christopher said as he left the room.

“Can you get this stupid thing out of me yet?” Malia whined, pulling Peter’s attention back to the splinter.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” he said as he tried again at aiming the tweezers correctly to be able to grab the splinter. He doubled his efforts this time around, hoping to avoid Malia’s claws. Once was enough for the day. Finally, he managed to pull it out, and she immediately sagged in relief as her body healed itself now that the object was removed.

“You okay now?” Jackson asked from the entryway.

“Yeah.” Malia lifted her shoulder up and down a few times as if to test if it was still painful. “Next time, it’s your turn to get a splinter.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Malia grinned—then hurriedly left the kitchen, pulling Jackson with her towards the front door.

Peter wanted to be surprised that his daughter was going back to the exact activity that gave her the injury in the first place—but he wasn’t, in the slightest. Nasty splinters be damned, Malia Hale wouldn’t be deterred from spending every waking moment in the woods by anything.

At least if Jackson did end up getting the next splinter, there would be a lot less claws for Peter to deal with.

When Derek and his uncle pulled up to the Stilinski house, Stiles was leaning against the front door frame. It somewhat calmed Derek’s wolf that he wasn’t inside, breathing in the gas—but he still wanted to drag Stiles away from the house immediately.

As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Derek was jogging up the front yard to the younger boy, who was smiling sheepishly at him.

“I know I smell like the gas—sorry,” he mumbled. “I won’t touch you, if you don’t want me to.”

It was true—Stiles did smell like the gas. Derek’s wolf wasn’t overly happy about the scent overpowering his natural warm sugar and cinnamon smell, but he still reached down to brush his fingers through Stiles’ hair nonetheless. Stiles gave a small smile and leaned into the hand lingering on the side of his neck, a soft hum vibrating through him—which Derek was pretty sure was supposed to mimic the way wolves rumbled sometimes when they were happy. It wasn’t purring, though, as Stiles loved to call it.

Gods, he was an odd human. How was Stiles ever supposed to have a life apart from the pack, when he was worse at being a human than Derek?

“Where’s Noah?” Chris asked, joining the boys on the porch.

Stiles led the way back in the house, which nearly drew a whine from Derek’s wolf. Stiles really shouldn’t have been going back into the gas-filled house. The three of them made their way over to the living room couch, where Noah was passed out and smelling like he’d taken a bath in whiskey—the scent even overpowering the gas.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chris said under his breath. Louder, he turned to Stiles and told him, “Don’t touch the stove unless there’s a grownup in the kitchen with you, okay?”

“Well Mom said—”

“Even then, okay? This is serious—you could have been hurt. If your mom wants food made, she needs to take care of that herself.”

Stiles looked down at the floor, his toes flexing in the carpet. “Okay. I thought I could do it, but I was wrong.”

Derek instinctively pulled him into his side. “Nobody’s mad.”

“Of course not,” Chris said, ruffling Stiles’ hair. “We just don’t want you to get hurt, because we all love you very much.”

“I know. I love you guys, too.” Stiles gave a lopsided smile. “I won’t touch the stove anymore without help.”

“That’s all I ask,” Chris said, before poking him playfully in the chest. “Plus, of course, that you do your school work and keep your bedroom clean, and—”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, Dad, jeez.”

Derek’s nose was getting increasingly irritated by the lingering scent of the gas, so he gently tugged on Stiles’ sleeve and nodded towards the front door.

“The gas?” Stiles guessed, scrunching up his nose.

Derek realized that the boy was copying him, and forced his own face to relax. He hadn’t even realized he was doing that with his nose—how stupid.

Without waiting for a response, Stiles announced, “We should go—the gas is bothering Derek.”

Chris nodded, heading towards the front of the house. “I’m thinking of making either pork chops or gnocchi for dinner. Or possibly both. If you’re in a cooking mood, you’re welcome to help me.”

“I think I’m all done cooking today,” Stiles declined. “I’ll just read with Derek until it’s ready and then I can help set the table or something.”

“Works for me.”

It wasn’t until Chris was locking up the house with his copy of the house key, that Stiles asked, “What about Dad? We’re just leaving him?”

“He’s fine,” Derek told him shortly, using his grip on Stiles’ sleeve to drag him towards the car.

After making sure the bedroom door was shut behind him, Christopher quietly said, “I’m concerned.”

Peter quickly sat up from his sprawled out position on their bed, having been waiting to talk about Stiles since Christopher had left the house.

“We’re lucky the only thing that happened was the gas—he could’ve lit the entire kitchen on fire.” Christopher sat on his desk against the wall, his thumb rubbing anxiously at his eyebrow. “Hell, he could’ve lit himself on fire. I wouldn’t even trust Stiles to make toast alone, with the lack of attention span and complete disregard for personal safety that child has.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Noah was drunk off his ass, passed out on the couch.”

“At three in the afternoon?” Peter asked. “How did Stiles even get home from school today?”

“He said Melissa gave him a ride, since no one showed up.”

“You’re joking,” Peter said through clenched teeth. “Why wouldn’t… Why didn’t Stiles call us? There has to be school phones in the office for this situation.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s” —the words caught in the back of his throat for a moment, not quite wanting to come out into reality— “...developing a problem?”

Alcoholic was too loaded of a word for Peter to dare say it—and never one he wanted to associate with Noah, considering the bullshit they’d had to go through with Noah’s father as teenagers, but… Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the extra glasses of liquor Noah had been drinking at recent hangouts, or the way he could smell beer on his breath on days when they weren’t drinking together. He knew Noah was going through a hard time—completely understandably—but there were lines Peter couldn’t risk Noah crossing. Jeopardizing Stiles’ safety was one of those.

“I don’t know,” Christopher said. “We need to be more present right now, regardless. For both of them. With Claudia’s illness, there just… needs to be more hands on deck, and that’s our responsibility as their family.”

“I agree.” Peter nodded. “I also think we need to get Stiles a cell phone, in case this situation happens again. He’s not supposed to be left alone with Claudia, as she’s not a stable adult—and I’m broadening that to include drunk Noah.”

“I’ll get the phone tomorrow and put him on our plan.”

Chapter Text

Over the years, Derek had come to intrinsically associate the Fourth of July with three things: 

1—Stiles’ ridiculous insistence on wearing themed outfits, despite the fact that nobody in their right minds thought the country was truly worthy of being so celebrated.

2—Peter’s extraordinary barbecue skills.

3—Sparklers, otherwise known as the biggest unnecessary fire hazard that his idiotic pack should not mess with in the middle of the woods. Unfortunately, it appeared that Derek held the only brain cell and nobody listened to him because apparently, speaking up against sparklers was both unpatriotic and a joy-killer.

Now, Derek wasn’t the biggest fan of these things, but he’d come to accept them as an unavoidable part of the Fourth of July—so they were comfortable to him. However, Alpha Ito bringing some of her pack to the den to partake in the celebrations? That was not something Derek was comfortable with, and he would really have preferred that his parents refrained from green-lighting the idea. He didn’t understand why their packs were spending time together anyway—it wasn’t like they were particularly close. Sure, they were technically ‘sister packs’ and held land in the same territories, but that didn’t mean they needed to hang out.

Derek tried to focus on letting his stress seep out with the layer of sweat forming on his skin, as he repeatedly pulled himself up with his grip on the bar he’d installed in the doorway of his closet. It might’ve worked a bit better, if he didn’t feel Stiles’ eyes burning a hole in his back, from where he was sitting on the bed, watching. He dropped down to the ground and turned around with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Stiles jumped slightly at the sudden attention, causing his hands to fumble with the book he was holding—and Derek frowned in annoyance as he watched it drop onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. 

“What?” Stiles innocently asked, as if he hadn’t just bent several pages of Derek’s book and likely damaged the corners of the hard cover.

“Stop staring.”

“I was reading.”

Derek rolled his eyes, because this stupid child—who was dressed in the ugliest pair of blue shorts Derek had ever seen, a white shirt, and a red flannel that was missing three buttons—was still trying to lie to werewolves, despite being raised alongside them.

The unmistakable sound of a car pulling up the driveway caught Derek’s attention and he looked over Stiles’ head to peer out the window. Sure enough, Alpha Ito’s vehicle was rolling to a stop, and the car doors flew open to spill out two children who looked like they were going to give Derek a headache.

“They’re here?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded, a groan leaving his throat as he fell sideways onto his bed. He didn’t want to deal with people—especially other werewolves. It was such an unnecessary stress for his wolf.

“Are you ready to go say hi?” Stiles prompted, enthusiastically shaking Derek’s shoulder. Seeing as Stiles didn’t smell nearly as excited as his body language was suggesting, Derek assumed he was trying to pump him up or something. It wasn’t working. “Here, Der, I have something for you so you can look more festive!”

“Yay,” Derek said monotonously, earning a brief glare from the boy.

Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of release paper with two white stickers on it. “One for you and one for me. Oh, don’t give me those grumpy eyebrows—it’s just a tiny star.”

Derek took the sticker from Stiles’ outstretched finger and pushed it onto the right strap of his navy blue tank top, before giving a grin that bordered on a sneer. Stiles didn’t bother addressing his annoyance, as he put his own sticker on his outer cheekbone, just to the left of his eye.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Stupid.”

Stiles snickered and lightly hit Derek’s stomach. “Shut up.”

To Derek’s dismay, Stiles then slid off the bed and pulled Derek to his feet by the hand. Before he could come up with a reason to stay in the room, Stiles had dragged him down the stairs and to the front porch.

The pups Derek had seen from the window appeared very similar in age, and couldn’t have been older than Cora and Allison. Likely younger, if he had to guess. The girl had shoulder-length platinum blonde hair with bangs, while the boy had an almost hedgehog-like mess of dirty blonde spikes. There was an uncanny resemblance between the two, with their matching piercing blue eyes and delicate features—so Derek assumed they were siblings. Possibly even twins.

There was a teenage girl standing beside Alpha Ito, as well, who had a lightly-tanned complexion that contrasted nicely with her dark eyes and the thick waves that framed her face. She had a raw beauty about her that Derek could appreciate, and he’d be lying if he said the confidence she exuded as she looked over the Hales wasn’t at least slightly intimidating. She looked like she belonged on television, rather than in Derek’s front yard.

While Derek was busy sizing up the newcomers, Stiles took it upon himself to unfalteringly waltz right up to them. With a jolt of alarm, Derek hurriedly followed after the boy to keep him within arm’s reach, his eyes trained closely on the Alpha for any signs of hostility. It was considered very impolite for a beta to address an alpha first—especially a child —and if they did, they were supposed to bow their head in respect. Stiles knew this just as well as the Hale pups, since he received the same lessons on pack relations, but did he adhere to these teachings? Of course not, because he needed to give Derek a heart attack at least once a day.

“Hello, Alpha Ito,” Stiles greeted, his voice sounding oddly formal in a way Derek hadn’t heard before. Then, as if this wasn’t reckless enough, Stiles held his hand out to her. Derek nearly reached for him to yank him backwards, because touching an alpha wasn’t something betas were supposed to do unprompted, but Alpha Ito remained calm. “I’m Stiles Stilinski. I wasn’t here last time you came, but Derek really liked you. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alpha Ito looked down at his outstretched hand for a moment, before a subtle smile twitched at her lips and she shook his hand twice. Her grip loosened, as if she were about to let go—but then she tensed and her eyes flared red, the sudden scent of confusion rolling off of her in waves.

Derek immediately snagged Stiles’s flannel and pulled him backwards against him, putting his left arm over his chest in a halfway embrace that kept him close, while the claws in his right hand lengthened in preparation of a possible attack. Alpha Ito didn’t appear aggressive, per se, but Derek’s wolf didn’t like the way her eyes were still shining.

Finally, she tore her attention away from Stiles to glance at Derek—and her eyes dimmed back to their natural brown. “I apologize—my wolf seems to be in an odd mood today. I hope I didn’t scare you, child.”

“Oh, you didn’t scare me,” Stiles assured her as he soothingly pet Derek’s arm that was over his chest. “Derek’s wolf is in odd moods most times, so I’m used to it. And I know you’re not mad, because I’m good at knowing stuff like that. I can tell if someone is a good person, you know—and I can feel that you are. I like you, Alpha Ito.”

“The feeling is mutual, Stiles Stilinski,” she said, a warm smile forming on her face. She looked back at Derek and told him, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Derek. You’ve got quite the anchor here. Very… bold.”

Derek nodded, letting his nails retract into blunt tips. Stiles was a lot of things. Bold, yes. Stupid, usually. Reckless and stressful—every second of his life.

“Well, I suppose I should introduce my betas that accompanied me today,” Alpha Ito said. “This young lady is Sabrina De León, who was born into my pack. And these are the twins that have joined us recently, Brett and Lorilee Talbot.”

“You can call me Lori,” the little girl voiced softly.

“Welcome to our den,” Talia said, smiling tightly at the pups. Her gaze didn’t linger long, as she quickly turned to Laura and introduced, “This is my Alpha Heir, Laura, and those are my other two children, Derek and Cora. My nieces, Allison and Malia, are there, along with my nephew, Jackson.”

“So, who’s Stiles?” Sabrina asked, giving the boy a once over. “He’s not a Hale.”

“He’s the godson of my mate and I,” Peter told her. “His father is a very dear friend of ours.”

Lori’s eyebrows furrowed curiously as she looked at Stiles. “A human outsider?”

“It’s a bit uncommon, we know,” Talia said quickly, her hands clasped in front of her. “Derek still struggles with his control and Stiles is his anchor. He has to be around most days to keep the peace,” —she gave an uncomfortable chuckle— “so he’s become pack-adjacent over the years.”

A low growl rumbled in Derek’s chest as his packbond with Stiles burned brighter at the notion that he wasn’t truly pack.

“And we love him and enjoy his presence, in addition to his assistance with Derek,” Peter added pointedly, shooting a glare at Talia. “There’s a certain je ne sais quoi in his sarcastic, pain in the ass personality, which makes the house function better.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is charming,” Stiles tried.

Peter hummed thoughtfully, before dismissing, “It definitely isn’t that.”

Allison and Cora laughed, while Jackson just shook his head with an amused smile on his face.

“Hey, Talbots, you play Super Mario Kart?” Malia asked suddenly.

“I’m a king at it,” Brett boasted, and Malia gave him a predatory grin with far too many teeth to be considered friendly.

“Let’s go, then!”

Brett followed her towards the house with Lori right on his heels.

“She’s about to take your crown, dude,” Jackson warned him.

“Maybe in her dreams.”

Once the four of them were inside, Stiles asked no one in particular, “Is it, like, a thing for werewolves to have twins a lot?”

“Yes, for born wolves,” Alpha Ito answered. “They’re much more common to have multiples than bitten wolves or humans. About one in five pregnancies result in multiples.”

“Woah,” Stiles breathed, raising his eyebrows as he looked up at Derek. “Can you imagine if you had a twin?”

“I like to think that I had a twin, but then I absorbed it into my body because there could only be one of us to make it out alive,” Cora spoke up, a wicked smile on her face. What the hell was wrong with Derek’s sister? “It makes me feel powerful.”

“Cora, darling, are we going to need to get you into therapy for fantasizing about fetal cannibalism?” Peter teased. “Because I’m not sure what that suggests about my parenting, but I don’t think I like it.” 

Talia’s nostrils flared as she looked towards Peter with an anger that made Derek want to take a step away from her, but Peter wasn’t paying attention to her in the slightest. Derek would never understand how people were able to take their eyes off of those in their vicinity—especially alphas, who could kill them in an instant. Derek couldn’t imagine turning his back on werewolves. He’d feel hunted.

“C’mon, Stiles,” Cora said, grabbing his arm and pulling him free from Derek’s hold. “The twins have partnered up, so us singletons are left to entertain ourselves.”

“We’re the cool ones, anyway,” Allison said from a few feet away.

“Christopher and Noah are inside, trying to figure out how to make some sort of dessert,” Peter told Alpha Ito. “Shall we move the party to them, so they don’t feel inclined to abandon their task?”

“Of course,” she agreed. “I’d love to meet Noah.”

Once the adults had made their way into the house, only Derek and Sabrina were left standing in the lawn.

“Derek, right?” Sabrina checked. Once he nodded, she continued, “Satomi said that you don’t like being touched, or something? Is that like, with everyone? Or just outsiders?”

He hesitantly took a step backwards, his eyes glancing down at her feet to make sure she wasn’t trying to approach him. “Everyone.”

“Not the human, though.”

“Stiles,” Derek reminded, then shook his head. Pack, anchor, safe. “My wolf likes him.”

She huffed in amusement. “Well, I’ve eaten chicken wings that were more threatening than him. He’s so skinny and short and human.”

Derek’s teeth clenched at the way she nearly spit the last word, as if his species made him something beneath her. “He’s my anchor.”

“So he’s like, what? An emotional support human?” she asked, examining her coral nail polish. “That’s kinda weird. My pack maintains control through mantras and our packbonds.”

“It’s the same,” Derek told her. “Just, the packbond I have with him, and his scent.”

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “You have a packbond with him? Your alpha said he was just adjacent.”

“She’s wrong,” he sneered. “She doesn’t speak for the whole pack.”

“She’s your alpha,” Sabrina said slowly, as if she’d never heard something so ludicrous. “If she doesn’t speak for your pack, who does?”

Derek faltered a moment, before repeating, “He is pack.”

Sabrina hummed, nodding as if she were filing the information in her mind. “Anyway, what grade are you in?”

“Freshman.”

“Oh, sick.” She perked up. “I’m going into sophomore year. Are you going to Beacon Hills High? That’s where I’m going. Maybe we’ll see each other around or something?”

She subtly shifted a bit closer as she spoke, as if inching towards him while talking would make his wolf less aware that she was invading his space. He took a step back to replace the distance between them, but she followed him—and Derek growled, his upper lip curling a bit to flash his teeth.

“I’m not gonna attack you,” —she rolled her eyes— “I just don’t get why we need like a whole six feet between us. It’s weird to stand so far apart while talking—nobody does this.”

Her potent annoyance was permeating the air around them, and his wolf stirred in his chest.

“Hey, grumpywolf!” Stiles’ voice called out from the direction of the porch. Derek’s head turned slightly to listen as his footsteps approached, but he didn’t dare look away from the other werewolf. “Put those flashlights in your face away—there’s a bigger problem.”

Derek tensed a bit just before Stiles lightly collided with his side, gripping his arm and drawing his attention down to the boy. As Derek made eye contact with him, the gold faded from his irises. He hadn’t even realized his eyes had flared in the first place.

“Der, listen, it’s freakin’ cold out here,” Stiles said seriously. “You know what that means? It means I’m freezing. Probably to death.”

“You’re wearing a jacket,” Sabrina pointed out. “And it’s literally summer.”

“Good observation skills, Sabrina. A-plus.” Stiles gave her finger guns, complete with pew-pew sound effects, then looked back at Derek. “It looks like the only two options we have are for me to attach myself to your wolfy heater self for the rest of the time we’re outside, or I need another sweater.”

Derek relaxed a bit as he recognized the options Stiles was offering him: a companion to help him socially navigate and maintain control, or an excuse to escape to his den for a bit. Knowing Sabrina wouldn’t dare harm Stiles while she was in another pack’s territory, Derek opted for the latter. He gave Stiles an appreciative smile, then swept his hand down the back of his neck—before retreating into the house as quickly as he could.

People were exhausting and stressful and Derek hated them.

“So,” Stiles started awkwardly, once he and the rather peeved teenage girl were alone. “How are you?”

Sabrina’s eye twitched like a cartoon character, before she asked, “Why didn’t you just go get the jacket?”

“I’m lazy.”

“So you just boss him around and he does it? I thought you were the pet human—but it looks like you’ve made him the pet. Figures.” Sabrina shook her head. “Humans love to think of wolves as dogs.”

“No way!” Stiles laughed. Derek, his pet? “I’m totally the pet, dude. Derek has to feed me a lot, and has to give me blankets and sweaters because I’m always cold... he has to entertain me and read to me, he has to deal with me moving all the time and making loud noises—”

“Don't you have parents or something?”

“My dad gave me to Derek for Christmas one year and now I’m his,” Stiles told her in faux seriousness. 

Sabrina’s eyes flicked back and forth between his for a moment, as if she were trying to figure out whether or not he was joking.

“If I don’t get these things, I’ll just die,” Stiles continued. “It’s not easy to have a Stiles as a pet, but Derek does a great job.”

“I’ve had practice,” Derek said, announcing his presence as he came out of the house with a black hoodie in hand. “You started following me around when you were a toddler.”

Derek threw the sweater on Stiles’ head and the younger boy flailed around as he put it on. Once his arms were in the right holes and the hood was up over his head, he realized it was much warmer than he anticipated. Stupid summer heat, trying to make him melt to death.

Stiles forced out a satisfactory sigh and hugged himself, his hands running up and down his arms. “Much better.”

“Great, now you can leave,” Sabrina told him.

Derek tensed, but Stiles could tell that he wasn’t afraid of him leaving—he was angry. Maybe it was odd that he could feel things like that. Sometimes he thought he could do it with people he was touching—like the girls and his dad—but he always could feel Derek. It was almost like the feelings were his own, except in his skin, instead of in his heart. 

“Fine,” Stiles relented. “I’ll leave you crazy teenagers alone. But, listen here: no touching. Derek isn’t allowed to date people until high school, okay? I will tell on you guys if I see any sort of funny business—It will be awful and embarrassing and I will laugh at you. I’ll be watching.”

Stiles made a ‘v’ shape with his fingers and pointed at his eyes, then towards the both of them as he squinted. Derek huffed out a laugh and swatted at his head, but Stiles ducked out of the way and gave him a shit-eating grin as he headed back to Cora and Allison, who were sitting at the base of a nearby tree.

Introducing Satomi to Noah went well, but Peter hadn’t been concerned about it. After all, Noah had a knack for making good impressions. It was the only way he’d gotten any sort of respect in the sheriff’s department. If they knew how much of a delinquent Noah Stilinski truly was at heart, he never would have become a deputy.

“If you don’t mind a bit of storytelling, Noah, how did you end up in a werewolf den?” Satomi asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “It’s impressive—humans don’t often infiltrate with much success.”

“Well, I don’t know if I would consider it an infiltration.” Noah chuckled good naturedly. “I just so happened to stop by the school locker room while Peter was experiencing a lapse in his control. After a brave fight—”

“Oh, please—there was no brave fight.” Peter snorted. “You threw your dirty clothes at me and the stench literally knocked my wolf back into a controllable space. It was quite traumatic for me, actually.”

Noah gaped at him and pointed his finger accusingly. “You’re a liar, Peter Hale.”

“I’ve heard several versions of this story,” Christopher interrupted them, before Peter could retort. “This happened when they were fifteen, and I’m still not completely sure which version is the truth.”

Satomi’s eyes glanced amusedly between Noah and Peter. “I’m sure it was a valiant battle, and both boys were nothing but admirable.”

“Of course we were,” Peter confirmed, sending a wink towards Noah, who shot a playful glare back in return.

“Tea, Satomi?” Talia offered, handing the woman a steaming cup.

“Thank you, dear.” Satomi accepted it, then looked to Christopher. “And how did you join the mix?”

“Peter and Noah’s shenanigans nearly got me kicked off the basketball team.”

“Peter liked to pick fights with Chris—I just broke it up before any blood hit the court, and the coach roped me in with them,” Noah amended.

“We quit the team the following year, anyway.” Peter waved them off. “Derek took up far too much time—and he kicked our backsides more than Coach ever could.”

“Has he always had the sensory struggles he has now?” Satomi wondered, before quickly adding, “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“He used to be a bit more accepting of affection as a toddler,” Peter said, a small grin forming at the momentary resurgence of a far away memory of Derek’s small face buried in Peter’s neck while he slept, drool soaking the collar of his shirt. “Though he’d always been prone to outbursts. One moment, he wanted a hug—and the next, you’d be in need of stitches. Learning to read his body language was quite crucial in navigating his tactile tolerance.”

“He never meant to lash out,” Noah defended. “His wolf would just get very overstimulated very quickly, and he’d react like he was in danger. And a few stitches here and there just meant some cool scars.”

“That was back when the rest of the pack was still together,” Laura recalled. “None of the humans were supposed to touch him—but Noah and Chris just risked it all, like crazy people.”

“Well, it’s no mystery where Stiles got his lack of survival instincts from,” Peter reasoned.

“I remember when Stiles was like four and he ran up into Derek’s room without a care in the world,” Laura said, a disbelieving smile flitting across her face. “I thought he was dead —I mean, my heart literally stopped beating for a second!”

“Laura, could you help me with this charcuterie board?” Talia called tightly, and Laura quickly stood from the table to join her at the counter.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Sabrina asked, her attention roaming over Derek in a way that made his skin crawl. “You look like you work out. You a gym rat? Or an athlete? I could definitely see you as an athlete.”

“I’m, uh,” —Derek loosely crossed his arms over his chest and shifted backwards a few inches— “I should go check on the den. The pups or my uncles, or… yeah.”

Before she could question him, he made a beeline for the front door. As soon as he stepped into the house, Peter was entering the entryway from the kitchen with a teasing smirk on his face.

“Sabrina seems interested in you,” he said playfully.

Peter chuckled at Derek’s scowl and moved his hand towards the teen’s shoulder. Derek leaned subtly into the touch, and Peter gave him a brief squeeze, before letting go.

“I can’t say I’m much of a fan, either,” he disclosed quietly. “But, it’s only for a few hours, right?”

They moved into the living room just in time to see the checkered finish line come into view on the television, and Malia and Brett’s racers were practically tied for first place. Just as Malia was about to take the win, Brett threw his hand out and knocked Malia’s controller to the side, sending her car veering to the left—allowing him to cross the line first.

The room held a collective breath for about three seconds, before Malia let out an enraged scream and tackled Brett off the couch and onto the ground.

“Beat him up, Mal!” Jackson cheered enthusiastically.

Before Derek even thought to intervene, Lori leapt up and made a move towards Malia as her claws lengthened—and Jackson used the couch cushion as a trampoline to fling himself forward into her, sending them both tumbling down hard.

“For the love of the Gods,” Peter hissed as he rushed towards the brawl, and Derek followed his lead.

Just as Peter grabbed Brett’s shirt and yanked him backwards, Derek firmly gripped the back of Malia’s neck and wrapped his other arm around her waist to lift her into the air. She viciously kicked towards Brett in a last-ditch effort to injure, but Peter had already dragged him to safety.

Once Malia stopped thrashing, Derek set her feet back on the ground, but kept his hand on her nape to make sure she wouldn’t be able to attack the other pup again. Then with his newly freed hand, he snagged Jackson by the arm and pulled him up.

Lori didn’t need any encouragement to stand down—as soon as she was free of Jackson, she scrambled backwards towards her brother.

“Enough!” Derek snarled to the room, and he felt Malia relax slightly in his grip.

“He started it,” Malia reasoned through clenched teeth.

“Well, we're finishing it,” Peter told her.

Brett’s shift receded and Peter let go of his clothing, which Brett immediately went about straightening out.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Brett grumbled as he looked at his bloody arm, where a deep claw mark was stitching itself back together.

“I’ll show you.” Peter led him away, and Lori followed.

Derek let go of the twins and they both turned to look at him as if they were about to argue their case—but his raised eyebrow made their words die in their throat. 

“They’re guests,” Derek stated, and the pups’ eyes lowered to the ground.

“He cheated,” Malia mumbled.

“You assaulted him.”

Malia’s nose scrunched up in confusion. “Salt?”

“Attacked.”

“He scratched me, too!” She lifted the hem of her shirt a bit to show where her side was smeared with blood.

“Just cheat on the next game,” Derek said under his breath. “Don’t fight people over that.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Derek looked at Jackson. “You, too.” 

“Lori tried to jump into the fight,” Jackson pointed out calmly. “It would be two against one, which is unfair and rude. I’d do it again.”

Derek sighly, unable to really argue with that logic. “Whatever.”

The twins returned to the couch as Derek glanced out the window, and he noticed in alarm that Sabrina was no longer in the front yard. He listened for the heartbeats and breathing among those on the first floor, but only counted the adults and four pups—which meant she had to be upstairs.

His wolf surged to the forefront of his mind as he sprinted for the stairs and towards his bedroom, where he easily caught her floral scent heading down the hall on the left, towards his room.

He skidded to a stop in his doorway, where he found her seated on his bed, flipping through one of his books as if she belonged there.

“You’re not an athlete—you’re a reader, huh?” She said absentmindedly. “I wouldn’t have thought.”

Derek grabbed onto his doorway, his claws crunching their way into the wood in a desperate attempt to prevent his wolf from charging towards her.

What the hell was she doing in his den? In his nest? Intruder!

“Get. Out,” Derek rasped, every ounce of his willpower focused on repressing his enraged wolf. “Now!”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” Sabrina reasoned easily, as if she wasn’t aware of the danger she was in. She carelessly tossed the book onto his pillow and stood, but made no move to leave the room. “Y’know, since you clearly have no communication skills. It’s like talking to a wall.”

“Leave!” Derek demanded again, as she ran her fingers over the edge of a partially-opened dresser drawer. 

She pulled out a blue graphic tee shirt that read ‘free sarcasm’ across the front in chunky white letters. “Is this Stiles’?”

Derek’s hands slipped from the door as he watched her scent Stiles’ clothes, as if she could—as if he was hers! In two strides, he’d bounded across the room and gripped her wrist tightly. Before she could respond, he swung her around to throw her into the wall beside the doorway. Her shift quickly overtook her features and she bared her fangs and loudly snarled at him, letting the shirt drop to the floor as she lowered herself into a defensive crouch.

Sudden footsteps on the stairs made Derek hesitate, alarming thoughts of her pack and an ensuing fight flashing through his quickly-muddling mind. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t focus on any coherent thought in particular. Everything felt fuzzy, or cloudy, or something. He’d never felt so detached before, and the last inklings of his human side realized in a panic that his wolf was taking over whether he liked it or not. 

“Derek!” a voice called out, and Derek tensed. The intruder? No, too young. Her packmate? “Der?”

The spiced scent of cinnamon cut through the fog in his head and Stiles’ presence briefly washed over him like a wave of relief—but it was immediately followed by the horrifying realization that he was placing himself between Derek and the intruder.

He couldn’t protect Stiles in this position. The wolf—the angry, disrespectful, dangerous wolf—was only a foot from the pup, who had his arms outstretched towards them both in a placating manner. He was speaking, but Derek couldn’t hear him over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating wildly. The few words he could pick up were unintelligible, almost like he was speaking a different language that Derek couldn’t decipher.

Derek focused on his scent, latching onto it like a lifeline as he slowly crept closer to the boy. If he could get ahold of him, he could move him. He could protect him if he would just move. Derek took a deep breath, trying his best to filter out the scent of the other wolf as he tried to inhale his anchor’s scent enough so he could taste it. 

“—Sabrina, you—not in here—he can’t—” Stiles said urgently, and it was only annoying Derek further that he couldn’t focus on his words long enough to understand them.

He suddenly noticed the group of werewolves hovering anxiously outside of his room and growled threateningly as he took a small step backwards towards his bed, knowing that they’d effectively trapped him in his den. They were speaking as well, but he didn’t care what anyone was saying anymore—he couldn’t risk trying to push his wolf back enough to understand them. If they were going to attack him, he needed his wolf.

His vision was tainted gold and distorted—the immediate threats in his vicinity overly-focused and the rest of his surroundings blurred. As his eyes moved between the intruder and the pack outside his door, things seemed to move at slightly different rates, and it made him more on-edge, more angry, more ready to fight.

The pup shifted slightly back towards Derek as the intruder stepped forward threateningly—and before Derek could gauge her next move, the wolf roughly grabbed the pup’s arm and pushed him out of the way so that she’d have access to Derek.

Everything seemed to slow down as Derek processed the pained yelp the pup— Stiles —let out as his back hit the edge of the desk and he dropped to his knees with a groan. The intruder froze, staring wide-eyed at Stiles as she apparently realized what she’d done—but Derek reacted before she had the chance to.

He fiercely grabbed her by the neck, his claws digging into her skin as he slammed her head back against the wall with enough force that he could feel the reverberation in the floorboards under their feet. He wanted to main her, kill her, rip her throat out for hurting his anchor—and her fearful whimpering fell on completely deaf ears as warm blood began to drip down his fingers.

She began to plead with him—but the furious, lethal, overwhelmingly protective urges boiling up in his chest funneled their way into a loud, monumental roar only inches from her face. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes plummet to the floor as her shift immediately reverted back to human and a tear slipped down her cheek.

She was scared—she should be! She came into his den, challenged him, and injured a pup. His anchor!

A sharp pain shot through the back of his skull as an object connected with his head, and it broke his attention away from her for just long enough for him to hear someone shout his name. Not someone, his anchor. Stiles.

“Derek, listen to me!” Stiles’ stressed, and Derek suddenly became very aware of the incessant tugging in his packbond with Stiles. “Listen to me, okay? Let go of her.”

Derek growled, but Stiles only cut him off with another firm, “Derek.”

As much as his wolf wanted to tear this intruder apart, he forced himself to reluctantly release her neck—and watched as she scrambled out of the den and into the safety of the group in his doorway.

“Derek,” Stiles said, softer this time. “Come here.”

Derek wasn’t about to turn his back on the wolves, so he turned to the side and spared a quick glance at Stiles—who was holding his hand out to Derek and beckoning him closer. He instinctively moved towards him without debate, his wolf understanding that his anchor needed him, and sunk down to the ground beside him. Stiles confidently took his face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth under Derek’s eyes—focusing him, calming him, scenting him, grounding him. Derek sniffed the inside of his wrist—finding hints of pain that made his wolf whine. He quickly leaned towards his neck and the wolves in the hallway tensed, but Stiles simply bared his throat for him as he began snuffling along his skin to see how strong the scents of pain still were. He could dully feel it in their packbond, but it didn’t seem too severe. 

“I’m okay,” Stiles assured him. “My wolf saved me, and it was awesome . I’m good now, though—so I’d like my Derek back. It’s safe to come back now.”

“S—See,” Derek forced out, looking pointedly at Stiles’ side. Stiles leaned forward and tugged the back of his shirt up to show a two-inch faintly purpling line across the back of his ribs that would undoubtedly bruise more over the next couple hours.

Derek’s clawed hand pressed gently against the skin and black lines trailed up his arm until the pain was entirely welcomed into his own body instead.

“You didn’t have to take it, you dork,” Stiles chuckled, straightening back up. “It’s just a bruise—I get them all the time. Learning to skateboard was way worse—you remember that? Why did you even let me try? You should have broken the board or something. I mean, It’s not like I woulda been able to stay mad at you long.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Derek let Stiles’ scent seep into his skin and calm his wolf enough for his mind to begin clearing up. He recognized the scents of the people in the hallway as belonging to his uncles, Noah, his mother, and Alpha Ito. Not threats. 

Stiles pulled him into a tight hug and began petting his hair, and Derek allowed himself to relax more this time now that he knew he wasn’t in immediate danger. With his head on straighter, he could tell that the whole ordeal had stressed Stiles out almost as much as it did him, so maybe the contact was for them both.

He couldn’t believe he’d lost control so severely. He’d had the visiting Alpha’s beta by the throat! He could’ve killed her—he almost did! Oh Gods, Alpha Ito was going to kill him. 

“It’s okay, Der,” Stiles softly assured him. Then he spoke louder, towards the group of adults. “So, is dinner almost ready? Because I’m starving —and I think Derek and Sabrina are, too. I mean, I don’t know about anyone else, but I think they seemed a little hangry a second ago.”

It happened very rarely, but there were times when even Peter Hale felt at a complete loss of what to do in a situation. As he stared at his reckless godson and trembling nephew on the floor, his mind attempted to make sense of what the fuck had just happened. Stiles had thrown himself in the middle of a werewolf fight, Derek had completely lost control and very nearly could have started a pack war by killing Satomi’s beta, and Peter thought he was going to be the very first werewolf to ever die from a heart attack.

And now, as if the air wasn’t still thick with fear and anger, and the silence among the group in the hallway wasn’t heavy enough that even breathing felt wrong, Stiles was asking about dinner.

Finally, Satomi carefully voiced, “I am so deeply sorry for Sabrina’s behavior.”

Peter had initially assumed she was speaking to Talia, but was pleasantly surprised to find that the apology was directed towards the boys in Derek’s room.

“Well, nobody died, so” —Stiles shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to pet Derek’s hair— “everything’s fine. I mean, it’s rude to go into people’s rooms without them saying it’s okay, but we all gotta learn somehow. My dad says the best way to learn is if something happens that will make you definitely not wanna do it again, like getting a little hurt or throwing up, or y’know. Anyway, I think this is probably good for learning, right?”

Peter was almost floored by the simplicity Stiles was seeing the situation from—especially because he could’ve gotten his head torn from his shoulders for being so painfully stupid in standing between them. He was torn between wanting to shake the boy and hug him.

“I can’t argue with Noah’s logic,” Satomi said, a hint of amusement clinging to her words. She looked over to Peter and Christopher and her eyebrow twitched upwards. “I completely understand if not, but… do you think the evening may be salvageable?”

The thought of the night continuing as planned was so absurd that Peter couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath in disbelief. He’d never heard of a fight breaking out among two packs and proceeding to enjoy the rest of the evening together—but everything was fine, wasn’t it? Derek’s heart rate was slowing, Sabrina’s tears had dried, and he could hear the two sets of twins in the middle of a Mario Kart match in the living room.

“Peter makes the best burgers,” Stiles prompted.

“I do,” Peter agreed. “It’s one of my best skills.”

Stiles began quietly chanting, “Make them! Make them! Make them!” as he fist pumped the air.

“I’m aware that Sabrina instigated this… incident…so, it’s up to you, if we stay,” Satomi said, looking between Talia, Christopher, and Peter.

“Well, I don’t know what we’d do with so many burger patties,” Christopher reasoned, “It would be a waste, I think.”

“Plus, we’ve got sparklers!” Stiles added excitedly. “We gotta to them in the driveway, though, so we don’t start a fire.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay, Satomi,” Talia told her. “If Derek wasn’t so—”

“If Sabrina respected his boundaries, I think you mean,” Satomi firmly corrected. “Then we wouldn’t have had this unfortunate altercation. I agree, and I’ll be speaking with her about her behavior at length once we return home.”

Peter clapped his hands together. “I’ll start dinner, then.”

“Would you like some help?” Satomi offered. “I’m a professional at cutting lettuce and tomatoes.”

“I’d never turn down extra hands in the kitchen.”

“Let’s move this downstairs then, yes?” Satomi suggested. “There’s no reason to be standing around here.”

Once they made their way down to the entryway, Christopher suggested to Talia, “I think we could use some fresh air after that, and make sure everything is set up for the barbecue and sparklers.”

“I can help,” Noah offered, and the two men ushered Talia, Laura, and Sabrina out into the front yard so that Peter and Satomi had the kitchen to themselves.

“Stiles is interesting,” Satomi said as she grabbed the bag of tomatoes from the fridge and took them to the sink. “That was a far from simple situation and he mediated it with more confidence and calmness than most people even years older would have been able to.”

“Confidence.” Peter scoffed, shaking his head. “More like a death wish. He’s going to cause me heart failure.”

“He’d make an excellent Right Hand. Being able to keep a level head and putting his packmates above his own safety in order to solve an issue… it’s impressive. And Derek, my Gods—I’ve never heard a beta roar like that.”

She was right. Peter had been shocked when Derek forced Sabrina’s submission. The roar called out to his own wolf in a way he hadn’t expected his nephew to be capable of. If it were directed at him, he honestly wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to hold his shift.

“They’re an impressive pair,” Peter agreed.

“They’re a formidable pair,” Satomi amended. “It makes me wonder if Talia chose the wrong Heir to train. They would have made a spectacular Hale Alpha and Alpha Mate. Then again, it’s impossible to know who Derek would have been were he in Laura’s shoes, what with the different parenting and all.”

Peter smiled, something akin to pride swelling in his chest as she acknowledged Derek as his and Christopher’s. Talia would be livid if she had heard, but he was glad that Satomi saw through her bullshit. 

They worked in silence for the next few minutes as they prepared the food, until Satomi turned to him and said almost hesitantly, “I have to ask—has Stiles ever shown any indications of not being human?”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed and he abandoned his chopping to look at her. “Not human?”

“When he shook my hand earlier, I felt… something. It was odd—almost like an energy. It brought my wolf to the forefront in a way I hadn’t experienced before. It wasn’t a lapse in control, per say—more like his energy reached out and connected to my Alpha spark directly.”

“Stiles?” Peter double checked in disbelief. He’d been with the child since he was born and there had never been any mysterious energy he’d picked up on when he touched him. “Are you certain?”

“As sure as I am that my wolf exists at all.”

“He’s never presented as anything supernatural, to my knowledge.”

“How odd.” She hummed thoughtfully. “His eyes haven’t flashed in front of you?”

“His eyes?”

“They glowed completely white,” she revealed. “As if there was no pupil, no iris—just...energy.”

Peter thought she should have led with that.

Chapter Text

The sun shining in from the car window was nearly blinding Stiles, but he couldn’t risk tearing his eyes away from the outside. His parents had told him they were going on an adventure “wherever the car takes us” and that could really mean anything. Sometimes, it meant the park. Last time, the car took him to get two shots at the doctor’s office—and he was not risking that again. No way, his eyes were staying vigilant to make sure they weren’t going to the doctor.

If they ended up there, he was not above making a break for it and running towards the Preserve.

The car pulled into the Baskin-Robbins parking lot and Stiles squealed as he excitedly fumbled to get his seatbelt unbuckled. He managed to get it off just before his mom opened his door and he practically fell out of the car in his haste.

“The ice cream isn’t going anywhere, Miecio,” she assured him as she offered her hand.

Usually, he’d argue that he was too big to be holding hands with his mom, but… well, there wasn’t mud on the bed this morning and Stiles was pretty happy about that. His dad was, too—hence the sudden ice cream adventure. He didn’t smell like whiskey today, either.

Stiles took her hand and the three of them walked into the ice cream shop. As soon as the glass counters came into view, he pulled her towards them excitedly.

His dad ruffled Stiles’ shaggy hair as he walked up beside them. “What do you want, Son?” 

After debating for a few moments, Stiles decided, “Wild n’ Reckless Sherbet in a cone, please!”

“I’m not surprised by that in the slightest,” Noah chuckled.

“Oh, hush, Noah.” Claudia swatted his arm. “I’d like a cup of Very Berry Strawberry, please.”

As soon as they’d paid, they moved to the end of the counter to wait for their order as a boy about Stiles’ age and who Stiles assumed was his older sister stepped up to look at the flavors.

“What do you want, Theo?” she asked him. “I’m probably gonna get the mint chocolate chip one.”

“I d-don’t know,” he answered softly.

“Just pick something,” she told him shortly. “It’s ice cream—it shouldn’t be this hard.”

“I’m t-trying.”

She sighed exasperatedly and turned away from him as she told the cashier her order, and Stiles took the opportunity to step over to Theo.

“Do you like fruity stuff?” he asked him. 

Theo nodded timidly, his green eyes wide as he stared at Stiles as if he’d never spoken to a stranger in his life.

“I like the Wild n’ Reckless Sherbet. That’s what I got this time. I also really like the Raspberry Sorbet, which I think I’m gonna get next time I come, because it sounds really good now. If you like fruity ice cream, you should definitely try one of those,” Stiles suggested. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Theo,” he said, then added, “Thanks.”

“No problem, dude!”

“Miecio, your ice cream,” Claudia called, holding the beloved frozen dessert out to him—which he greedily snatched from her hand and practically shoved into his mouth in an instant.

“So, how has school been?” Claudia asked him, once they’d found a table to sit at.

“Boring, but at least it’s summer,” Stiles said, before sucking some of the ice cream into his mouth. “Scott’s cool, though. He’s really nice. It’ll be a lot more fun when the Hales get to come to sixth grade with me in a few years, though.”

“I’m sure that will be very hectic,” Claudia said. “The poor teachers who happen to get a class with you kids in it…”

“I am a blessing, Mama,” Stiles argued. “Those teachers will be blessed.”

“Yes, my dear, you are.”

“If blessing is another word for pain in the butt, definitely,” Noah agreed.

“How rude,” Stiles grumbled, but his feigned annoyance was ruined by the smile on his face. He knew just as much as his parents how much of a handful he was—and it was mostly intentional.

“You know what sounds good?” Noah proposed. “Olive Garden. That’s my vote for dinner.”

“Mmm, that sounds amazing,” Claudia agreed, then looked down at Stiles. “What do you think?”

Olive Garden was not Stiles’ favorite—he was more of a diner person. Curly fries and milkshakes all the way! But his parents seemed pretty excited by the idea, so he said, “I think you guys should go.”

“Us?” Noah raised his eyebrows. “And you’ll just spend the night in Baskin-Robbins?”

Stiles hadn’t actually thought about that, but it sounded awesome and he was not opposed to it in the slightest.

“I can see those wheels turning, Son,” Noah chuckled, nudging him under the table with his foot. “We aren’t leaving you here.”

“Okay, then I can call Derek,” Stiles suggested, holding up his silver flip phone. “He’d come.”

“Oh, we can’t just pass you off to Derek whenever we want to go on a date,” Claudia reasoned. “It’s fine, Mischief. We can be romantic on our own time—I’m sure we’ll live.”

“No,” Stiles insisted as he looked for Derek’s contact. He glanced up for a moment to wiggle his eyebrows and say, “You guys should be romantic today.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t know about this, Stiles. Derek is a teenager, he’s not going to want to babysit all the time.”

“It’s not babysitting,” Stiles dismissed her. “He’s not even getting paid. He just loves me.”

His mom looked like she was about to argue a bit more, but Stiles pressed Call ‘My Grumpy Wolf’ and put the phone to his ear.

Derek was prowling through the Preserve, allowing his wolf close enough to the surface to listen for the sounds of the hidden pups. Hide and Seek was one of his favorite games, because it let him hunt and he didn’t have to touch anybody. 

After a few moments, he heard the faint rustle of a shoe shifting in the crunchy leaves nearby and took off running towards it. Within seconds, he was crouching in the middle of a small clearing, scanning the surrounding trees and sniffing the air.

Honeysuckle. It must be one of the twins. 

Derek followed the familiar scent trail and tried to find an undernote to the scent. Both twins carried a strong honeysuckle base, but Malia also had hints of peony, while Jackson had—

Petrichor!

Derek could hear Jackson’s heart beating wildly from behind the tree trunk ahead of him and a predatory grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, exposing his sharpened canines. He moved stealthily towards the tree, but just as he got near enough to pounce, his phone rang out like an ice pick straight into Derek’s eardrum. He grimaced and slammed the heels of his palms against his ears, desperately trying to push his wolf back enough to lower his ears’ sensitivity.

Jackson came out from behind the tree with a smug expression, because he technically hadn’t been found, and the game was obviously over now since the only people who ever called Derek were his uncles or Stiles—either of which would mean leaving the Preserve.

Derek hesitantly uncovered one ear and fished the phone from his pocket. “What?”

“Hey, Der,” Stiles chirped. “Wanna hang out?”

What Derek wanted to do was rip his head off for deafening him in the middle of a hunt.

“Where?” he asked tightly.

“Baskin Robbins—I’m here already.”

“I have the pups.”

“Okay...well, they like ice cream.”

“So, bring them?”

“Jackson, too?” Stiles groaned. Derek rolled his eyes, not even bothering to answer. “Yeah, whatever. But if he’s a butthead, I’m putting ice cream down his shirt.”

Derek heard Claudia chastising him, so he just cut in with a “Bye,” and hung up.

“I heard him say ice cream. Are we getting ice cream?” Jackson asked eagerly. “You didn’t even answer him!”

“I did,” Derek argued. He literally had a whole conversation about bringing the pups and everything. 

“What if Stiles thinks we’re not coming and leaves?”

“He knows.”

“We’re getting ice cream?” Malia asked as she ran up to the clearing.

Jackson shrugged. “Apparently.” 

Malia excitedly fist pumped the air and then threw her head back to howl, which was quickly answered by Cora’s own about half a mile away.

It took about thirty minutes for the Hales to walk through the doors of Baskin-Robbins.

They had barely stepped inside, when Derek was nearly smacked in the face by Stiles aggressively waving his hand at them. Derek caught the hand and slid his grip down to brush his fingertips over Stiles’ inner forearm in greeting. 

“Okay, you guys can go now,” Stiles told his parents.

Noah scoffed and said, “Wow, I feel the love.”

“Derek, are you sure we can leave Stiles with you?” Claudia asked, reaching out to touch his upper arm—but he subtly shied away from her hand by stepping closer to Noah’s side of the table.  She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but she didn’t move to touch him again, which he was grateful for. “You seem to have a lot on your plate already and we really don’t have to go out tonight.”

Stiles groaned and leaned back in his chair.

“It’s fine,” Derek told her. The whole point of him dragging all the pups there was because Stiles asked him to come—why would he just randomly change his mind?

“I’m sure we could pay you or something—”

“It’s not like that,” Derek rejected. He wasn’t babysitting—this wasn’t a job. Being around Stiles was just about the only time that Derek didn't have to keep a constant monitor on his wolf—it was a nice break.

“He actually likes me around, believe it or not,” Stiles said.

Noah stood up and went to clap Derek on the shoulder, pausing a moment before the touch came to allow Derek to move away, but he didn’t. He squeezed his shoulder and shook him lightly, saying, “Derek, you know the drill. If Stiles gets too annoying, just throw him in the nearest dumpster.”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed, offended.

Derek smirked. “Will do.” 

“Alright,” Claudia relented as she stood as well. “Text us if you need anything, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know.” Stiles pushed his parents towards the door. “Go be romantic now.”

Once Noah and Claudia were gone, Stiles pulled Derek over to the glass counters, where the pups were peering in at all the flavors.

“Do you want to buy me ice cream?” Stiles smiled sweetly up at him.

“You had some.”

“I don’t see any in my hands right now, though.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the boy, then huffed and motioned towards the cashier.

“Hi, Miss,” Stiles said politely.

She grinned. “Hello.” 

“Can I have a scoop of Raspberry Sorbet in a cup, please?”

“Sure thing.” She typed the order into the computer, then looked at Derek expectantly.

Derek realized that he hadn’t even looked at the flavors yet and his heart rate sped up as he looked frantically at the tubs of ice cream through the glass. “Uh...chocolate.”

“Okay, well we have several different kinds of chocolate,” she said, then began listing them.

What the fuck? Why were there so many chocolate options? 

“He’ll take Chocolate Fudge in a cup,” Stiles supplied helpfully.

The cashier looked at Derek for confirmation and he nodded.

“Okay, and any more ice creams in this order?” she asked.

“Four more,” Stiles said as he left Derek’s side to go stand behind Cora, wrapping his arms around her and hooking his chin over her shoulder while she looked at the flavors.

“What did you get?” she asked him.

“Wild n’ Reckless Sherbet was really good.”

“Can I have that in a cone?” Cora ordered.

Stiles looked over at Allison and asked, “What do you want?”

“Uh...Cotton Candy in a cone, please.”

Jackson nudged his sister. “Do you know what you want, Mal?” 

“I’m thinking maybe the Peanut Butter n’ Chocolate.”

“Okay, then how about I get the Pineapple Coconut and we share?” Jackson suggested.

“Perfect.”

“Thanks, Der,” Stiles said as Derek handed the cashier his credit card.

Once they were seated back at the table that the Stilinskis had occupied, Derek found a spoonful of Raspberry Sorbet being held in front of his face. 

“Try it—it’s amazing,” Stiles encouraged.

Derek opened his mouth and Stiles put the spoon in. He nodded in approval as he held the sweet, fruity taste in his mouth for a bit, before finally swallowing as it liquified on his tongue. He wished real raspberries tasted like that—then he could just eat fruit to satisfy his sweet tooth, instead of having to buy candy bars at the gas station by his school. He took a bite of his own ice cream and noticed that it mixed deliciously with the remaining taste of Stiles' ice cream.

Raspberries and chocolate—who knew?

He noticed Stiles staring pointedly at his ice cream and offered him a spoonful.

“Mm, it tastes good with the raspberry,” Stiles commented.

“Guess what Malia did,” Cora said, drawing Stiles’ attention.

“What?”

Jackson told him, “She asked Dad to invite the Talbots on the camping trip.”

“I thought you guys got in a fight with them?” Stiles said confusedly.

“Brett said they never went camping before!” Malia reasoned. “Plus, if he tries to fight me again, I’ll just drown him in the lake.”

“You can’t just say that,” Derek hissed, but they could all see the amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Malia shrugged remorselessly. “Jackson would help me, too.”

“I never said that,” he pointed out.

“You’re my person—you gotta help me drown people. If it’s my problem, it’s your problem!” Malia said, leaning into her brother.

Jackson chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. “You know I would.”

“Your hair is getting so long, Stiles.” Allison noticed, reaching out to brush it out of his face. He leaned a bit into her touch and she brushed her thumb over his cheek before pulling her hand away. 

“Mama hasn’t cut it in awhile, because...well, she just doesn’t have time to.” Stiles shrugged, a slightly sour scent tingeing the air around him as he pulled at his hair. Derek knew that he meant Claudia wasn’t having many lucid enough days lately, but he wasn’t going to call him out on it. Stiles quickly rushed out, “I kinda like it, though! Except when it pokes me in the eyes—that’s a little annoying.”

“Can I braid it?” Allison asked him. 

“Uh, yeah!” Stiles nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never had braids before.”

Allison grinned and went to hand her ice cream to Malia to hold, but quickly changed her mind and gave it to Jackson instead.

She moved behind Stiles and gently tipped his head back to begin carding her fingers through his hair, untangling any stray knots in her path. She snagged a particularly strong one and Stiles’ head was tugged back further allowing them to look at each other upside down.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

Stiles giggled around the spoon in his mouth. “Make me pretty.” 

Allison nodded as she adjusted his head to the right place she wanted him, then began separating his hair into two sections. 

Derek was almost impressed as he watched her braid. She was definitely getting faster and more skilled at it. The first braid was finished within a minute and she took the elastic hair tie out of her own hair to tie it off at the bottom. The second one was just as fast as the first and Stiles was left with two fairly neat dutch braids running across the upper sides of his head. Most of his hair was successfully secured back, apart from a few shorter, wispy strands that stubbornly stayed to frame his face.

“Thanks, Allie—I love them,” Stiles told the girl as she retrieved her ice cream from Jackson.

Derek took the mangled plastic spoon—which was bent completely out of shape with teeth imprints and splintered edges—from Stiles’ mouth and set it on the table, then stuck his own into the boy's ice cream scoop as a replacement. 

“How do I look?” Stiles asked Derek as he reached up to touch the braids.

Derek swatted his hands away from his hair so that he could actually see them. After staring thoughtfully for several long seconds, he opened his mouth to make a joke about him looking stupid—but the words got stuck in his throat. Stiles’ scent was so warm and sweet, and his face was practically beaming with pride at his new hairstyle, so Derek instead told him, “They look good.”

It wasn’t a lie—he thought Stiles looked a lot better with braids than Cora did.

Stiles laughed, then mimed dramatically sweeping his hair over his shoulder with his eyes closed, and Derek pushed his head gently.

Chapter Text

Derek relaxed into the feeling of his hair gently catching against the raised bark of the tree trunk he was leaning against, the subtle sounds of nature surrounding him, and the warm morning breeze against his face. A moment of serenity before the chaos that he knew would inevitably be filling the rest of their camping trip.

“How do you think putting up the tents is going?” Stiles wondered from where he was sprawled out on the ground, head in Derek’s lap as he occupied himself with weaving the plastic strings of a blue and green lanyard stick he was halfway through.

Derek tilted his head as he listened carefully to pick up the sounds from the campsite.

“Whose got the long pole?” Chris asked.

“Me,” Noah answered. When he was met with silence, he added, “Oh, you meant for the tent. Nevermind, then.”

Peter and Noah devolved into a bout of snickering, which was cut short by a frenzied shuffling that Derek assumed was the two of them avoiding being hit by Chris.

“Are you kidding me?” Chris admonished, and Derek could practically feel the glare he was doubtlessly sporting. “Get the damn long pole, so we can put this tent up and head to the lake.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to camping in tents,” Peter groaned.

“I can’t believe you’re so useless outside—you’re supposed to be a wolf .”  

“Christopher, I’m rich. Why would I ever need to sleep outside?”

“He’s a house dog,” Noah teased. “You can’t shame him too hard or he might pee on the carpet.”

“Screw you, Noah, you cocky son of a—”

“Jesus—just get the long pole!” Chris snapped. “If I have to go over there and get it myself, I’ll be using it to beat you both.”

“Kinky,” Noah and Peter chorused, then broke into another fit of hysterics.

Having heard more than he wanted to, Derek turned his attention back to Stiles and told him, “Not well.”

“What if we have to sleep with no tent?”

“They’ll figure it out.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, as if he wasn’t so confident in their ability. Derek couldn’t blame him.

“This is gonna be for you,” Stiles told him, wiggling the lanyard. “It’s for when you drive a car.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna drive a car soon! In, like, a year or something, right? You can put this on your keys for good luck. You’re gonna need a lotta good luck with all those crazy drivers out there, y’know.”

Derek ran a hand through Stiles’ hair as his mind wandered back to a few years prior, when some idiot on her cell phone nearly ran Stiles over. Where would Derek be now, if he hadn’t been there to save him? Without an anchor, he wasn’t so sure. With a nauseating twist of his stomach, he realized that he would probably have blood on his hands, if the confrontation with Sabrina was what happens when his control slips.

Stiles looked up at him with squinted, searching eyes. “You okay?”

“How do you do that?” Derek blurted out, perhaps sounding a bit harsher than he should have. But it was weird, okay? He didn’t understand how Stiles always seemed to know how he was feeling, as soon as he felt it himself. He couldn’t smell chemosignals or feel the packbond or hear his heart rate—so he shouldn’t have been able to know that Derek’s mood had soured.

“Do what?”

“You always know.”

“How do you know about me?”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“My wolf knows. But you shouldn’t be able to feel it.”

“Why not?”

Derek opened his mouth, but closed it again when he realized he wasn’t sure how to voice what he was thinking.

Stiles scoffed and returned his attention back to the lanyard. “Then why are you even asking, if you don’t know?”

Derek decided to drop the question and began running his fingers through Stiles’ hair instead. “Your hair’s soft.”

“There’s conditioner in my shampoo!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly. “Does yours have that?”

“Mine are different,” Derek told him. “One is shampoo, one is conditioner.”

Stiles reached up and Derek dipped his head a bit to allow Stiles to card his hand through the front. As Stiles’ hand moved down the side of his head to gently scratch behind his ear, Derek wanted to make a remark about not being a dog—but to his mortification, a soft rumbling erupted in his chest.

“You’re purring.”

“I’m not,” Derek grumbled, forcing the sound to cease. Wolves didn’t purr.

“Oh, don’t stop, ya big softie wolf.” Stiles laughed. “I like the purring—it feels happy.”

Derek rolled his eyes and swatted Stiles’ hand away. 

It took nearly an hour for the campsite to be deemed decent enough for their lake excursion, but Noah, Peter, and Chris did manage it. Derek wasn’t entirely convinced that the tents would hold up all night, but that would be an issue to deal with later. At the moment, the only thing he was concerned about was how ridiculously, suffocatingly hot it was, and how amazing the cold lake water could feel.

Considering they were still about ten minutes from the water and Derek’s nose was already being assaulted by the disgusting scents of the lake, he really hoped it was going to be worth it.

“I don’t know about this,” Stiles said tentatively, as he took hold of Derek’s arm. The extra warmth seeping into Derek’s skin was unpleasant, but he wasn’t about to push him off. Small sacrifices.

“About what?” Cora asked from beside him. “Camping or swimming?”

“The lake,” he clarified. “I mean, what if there’s, like, monsters? Like the Loch Ness Monster?”

Lori clutched onto Brett’s hand as she decided, “I’m not going in.”

“I’ll stay out with you, if you want,” Brett offered, a reassuring grin on his face.

“The Loch Ness monster is not in the Beacon Hills Lake,” Chris assured the pups.

“Of course not—it’s in Loch Ness,” Peter reasoned. “This lake would have a different water monster.”

Noah swatted Peter’s shoulder and fixed him with a stern look.

“What?”

Chris shook his head in annoyance. “There are no water monsters.”

“That’s a bold declaration,” Peter said.

Chris raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve come across a water monster?” 

“No, but just because I haven’t happened to run into one personally, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. How terribly egocentric of a mindset you have.”

“Me?” Chris scoffed. “I’m the egocentric one?”

Noah sighed and tutted in mock disappointment. “I’ve gotta say, I expected better of you.” 

“It’s hot,” Jackson whined, fanning himself—and probably saving Noah and Peter from Chris, who looked on the verge of smacking them both. “I’m literally cooking.”

Malia leaned towards him and ran her nose along the side of his neck, and he scrunched his shoulder up as he pushed her away.

“You don’t even smell like you’re cooking,” Malia dismissed his concern.

“He’s right,” Noah seemed to realize. “Everyone who can burn needs sunblock as soon as we get to the lake, or this trip is going to turn not-so-fun very quickly.”

“I hate sunblock!” Stiles pouted.

“That’s unfortunate for you,” Peter deadpanned. “You, Allison, Jackson, Christopher, and your dad are all going to be wearing lots of it.”

“I’m a grown man—you can’t tell me what to do,” Noah argued.

Peter smirked. “You wanna bet?” 

“Says last night’s—” Chris started saying under his breath, but Peter quickly clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Fine, Christopher will make you, then.”

“I’d like to see him try. I happen to be a trained Beacon Hills Deputy, so— ah!” Noah yelped as he narrowly avoided being grabbed by Chris by skirting around a tree.

Derek grimaced as he looked between his uncles and Noah. The pups were too young to think much about whatever the hell was happening, but Derek was nearly fifteen and he was pretty sure he was actively being traumatized.

Peter gave a long-suffering sigh. “Why am I the only adult on this trip?” 

Chris laughed loudly, mockingly, and said, “God forbid you’re ever the only adult chaperone."

“Yeah, someone needs to be watching you,” Noah said.

“Put your sunblock on, so I can drown you in the lake.”

“You’d miss me too much.”

Peter nudged Noah with his shoulder and told him, “You think far too highly of yourself, darling.”

A squeeze at Derek’s forearm drew his attention down to Stiles, who was staring up at him.

“You okay? You feel...weird.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“You—” Stiles started to repeat, but got distracted by Malia falling hard on the ground in front of him. “That’s not how you walk.”

“Jackson tripped me!” Malia accused angrily as she pushed herself back up onto her feet, then grabbed her twin by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a tree. He quickly shoved her away from himself and dusted his clothing off with an annoyed huff.

“You guys,” Allison reprimanded half-heartedly. “Don’t kill each other.”

“I mean, I don’t think we really need Jackson,” Cora reasoned.

“If I drown Cora, will she heal?” Jackson asked the adults.

Chris looked up to the sky, as if asking for patience or guidance. “Let’s not find out, okay?”

By the time they reached the lake, the pups were shouting excitedly—their issues between each other long forgotten in their eagerness to swim. They all began stripping down to their swimsuits, tossing their clothes haphazardly along the beach—apart from Jackson, who folded his outfit neatly on top of a rock.

“Derek, do you want to help Stiles with sunblock, or should I?” Peter asked. When Derek held his hand out, Peter tossed him a white tube of lotion.

Stiles glared with squinted eyes and a downturned mouth as Derek poured a generous amount of sunblock into his palm.

“I’m okay with getting sunburned,” Stiles said.

Derek didn’t bother responding as he placed the bottle between his own knees and rubbed his hands together, before motioning for Stiles to come closer. Stiles dragged his feet as he slowly made his way over, until Derek was able to grab his arm and impatiently yank him the rest of the way closer. Before Stiles could try to get out of it, Derek began rubbing the lotion into his cheeks and forehead. He made small, sweeping motions down his nose and over his eyelids, carefully avoiding his eyes.

“I hate this,” Stiles grumbled once his face was painted completely white.

“Cry about it,” Derek deadpanned as he wiped his fingers over Stiles’ lips, coating them in the lotion. Stiles squawked and stumbled away, repeatedly spitting into the sand.

“What the heck, Derek?” he exclaimed as he wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his black rash guard. “That was so rude to me!”

If he wasn’t being so annoying, Derek wouldn’t have put sunblock in his mouth, so really, it was Stiles’ own fault. He pointed back to the sand in front of him and Stiles trudged back over.

“If you get it in my mouth again, I’m putting it in your mouth.” 

“Couldn’t reach me. Now shut up and let me do this.”

Stiles pursed his lips, then told him, “I’m going to be tall like you one day.”

“Good luck.”

Once Stiles’ face and ears were done, he slid his hands down Stiles’ neck—and the boy tipped his head back to give him better access.

“You’re purring again,” Stiles pointed out.

“I don’t purr,” Derek snapped as he pushed his wolf back. He wasn’t purring.

Derek made sure to cover Stiles about an inch past the start of the rash guard, which he knew he wouldn’t be taking off. Stiles had always been oddly uncomfortable with being shirtless around people other than Derek, which didn’t make much sense to him. It was just skin, just a body, and the concept of modesty was never something Derek really understood—but he did understand boundaries, so he never made any comments about it. 

“Okay,” Derek said once he was drenched in the lotion. “Now wait.”

“It’s gonna take ten years for this to soak in—you literally painted me with it.”

Derek touched his own face with the tip of his finger and slowly ran it down his cheek, like a falling tear. Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, and Derek mimicked it like the child he apparently was.

***

Noah peeled his shirt over his head and discarded it alongside where Chris had thrown his, while Peter placed his folded clothes beside Jackson’s. He watched as all the pups stood along the edge of the water, dipping their toes in.

“So, how are we doing this?”

“Swimming?” Peter asked. “I could’ve sworn you knew how.”

“Smartass, I meant— Jesus!” Noah gasped as cold hands suddenly ran from his shoulders down his back. It took all of three seconds for him to realize that it wasn’t the hands that were cold—which he distinctly recognized as Chris’ by the rough calluses—it was the sunblock being smeared on him. “I meant with keeping an eye on the pups.”

“It’s not too deep by the shore, so we should just have them stay in that area. There’s us three adults, plus Derek—so I think we can keep an eye on everyone.” Peter shrugged. “And if one goes missing, then we'll have a lower grocery bill and I can pick up less cases at work.”

“You’re terrible,” Chris chuckled. “We all know Derek is going to be glued to Stiles the entire time, so we’re good on that front. The Talbots apparently aren’t going in. Noah, you can keep an eye on Malia and Jackson, and I’ll stay near Cora and Allie, since they’ll pair off together. Peter, keep watch for the lake monster.”

“You’re going to be sorry when one does rise from the depths of the lake to attack us.”

“Stop talking like that,” Cora snapped from a few yards away.

“I’ll eat it!” Malia volunteered. 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “What if it eats you first?”

“Then I’ve got claws,” Malia reasoned, stretching out her fingers as her nails shifted. “I’ll just eat it from the inside and tear my way out.”

“On that troubling note,” Chris mumbled, handing Noah the bottle of sunblock, “will you do me, so we can get this show on the road?”

“Any day,” Noah told him as he poured a decent amount of lotion into his hand, then smeared it over Chris’ back.

After ten minutes of the adults trying to express the importance of letting the sunblock soak in before jumping in the water, and the pups really not giving a single shit about it, they finally entered the water—which was way too cold for Noah’s liking.

Peter and Chris were immediately grabbed by Allison and Cora, who dragged them into the lake without sparing them a single second to adjust to the temperature. Noah couldn’t help but laugh at the way they hissed, tensed, and waddled more with every climbing inch of water up their legs.

“Demon!” Peter growled.

Cora cackled menacingly. “We suffer together!”

“That’s what pack is,” Allison declared.

“Very misunderstood interpretation of pack,” Peter said through clenched teeth.

Noah looked over to find his son, who had climbed Derek’s body and clung to his back like an ambitious koala, holding his legs up as high as possible to avoid the water that Derek was wading into.

Once they’d made it out a short ways, Derek attempted to grab at Stiles, but couldn’t get a good grip with the way the boy was wiggling. Apparently giving up that route, Derek reached over his shoulder and fisted his hand in the back of Stiles’ rash guard—then pulled him over his shoulder and dunked him into the water with a large splash.

When Stiles breached the surface, hair hanging down over his eyes like a dark sheet, he shouted, “Derek!”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him and waited for Stiles to fix his hair and stop his frantic sputtering. “Done?”

Stiles opened his mouth and took a deep breath, seemingly ready to yell some more, but then he paused. “Huh. Y’know, it’s actually not so bad.”

“Mhm.”

Stiles dipped his face into the water, then spit a stream of liquid at Derek—who grimaced at him with the most disgusted face Noah had ever seen him make. And he’d been the one to feed Derek beets for the first time as a toddler, which was really saying something.

“Not in your mouth!”

“It’s just water.”

“You can’t smell it?”

Noah recalled Peter complaining about the smell when they used to go there as teenagers, but it never bothered him or Chris too much. One of the few perks of being human, he supposed.

“Come on, Noah!” Malia urged as she trudged out of the water towards him, leaving Jackson shivering in the lake. “You’re so slow!” 

Noah eyed her warily, having half a mind to run back up the beach away from her before she could touch him. The frigid water was only up to his knees, and he was absolutely certain that he didn’t want any kind of hugs or splashing from the sopping wet girl—who definitely would do those things just to torture him.

“I’m going at my own pace,” he told her.

“Your pace is for snails!” Malia grabbed his hand, which was the coldest he’d ever felt a werewolf’s skin to be. “It’s more colder if you go slow—you gotta just do it.” 

“It’s either ‘more cold’ or ‘colder’, sweetheart,” Peter called out. “Pick one or the other.”

It was borderline ridiculous how weak he was in comparison to the scrawny child hauling him towards the water with only one hand. She was merciless as she tugged him into the lake, his complaints and pleas falling on deaf ears until he was waist-deep in it.

“Now dunk,” she instructed.

Noah squinted his eyes at her and frowned. “You’re insane.”

“I’ll even do it with you!”

“That doesn’t make it less cold.”

“Noah,” she whined.

“Why aren’t you making Jackson do it?” Noah realized, nodding towards the boy standing only a few feet from the shoreline. “He’s barely in the water at all.”

“If I make him come in, will you dunk?”

“You strike a hard bargain,” Noah sighed. “Will you pull me back to the sand if I freeze and pass out from hypothermia?”

“Yes—it’s a deal,” she agreed, then took off towards her twin like a bullet. 

When had she become such a fast swimmer? She belonged on a team.

“MALIA!” Jackson screamed as Malia lifted him off of his feet and slung him over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“We’re going!” Malia squealed, running back into the water until she was deep enough to throw herself forward and submerge them both.

Jackson broke the surface with flying arms and sputtered shouting, but Malia only laughed.

“Now you!” she reminded Noah.

Unfortunately, Noah was a man of his word—so he had to follow through with his end of the deal. He hopped a few times to hype himself up, then pulled his legs up and let himself sink down into the lake. After several extremely long seconds, the tension thankfully began to leave his body as it acclimated.

The moment he came back up, he was greeted by Malia’s smug grin. 

“You’re better now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Noah admitted.

“Good job getting him into the water, honey,” Chris said as he waded over to stand beside him. 

“We need to teach her not to use her werewolf abilities for evil.”

“Good and Evil are relative,” Chris reasoned.

Noah was pretty sure dragging people into freezing water fell definitively into the pure evil category.

Allison and Cora shrieked cheerfully as they splashed each other—and Peter quickly moved away from them with a rather disgruntled expression.

“Your pups are splashing around like psychos,” Peter told Chris as he approached.

“We’re all psychos—we’re Hales!” Malia said. “Well, Noah and Stiles are basically Hales.”

“Man, you befriend some weirdo with glowing eyes and suddenly you’re grouped in with their crazy family forever,” Noah teased.

Chris snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“You both say that as if you’d be able to live without the pack in your pockets,” Peter said, his raised eyebrow conveying that he knew damn well that joining the Hale pack was the best thing either of them ever did.

“Hey, Jax,” Malia whispered loudly to her twin. He swam a bit closer to her, and she snagged his hand to pull him the rest of the way. “I bet we could beat the girls in a splash war.”

“I hate splashing.”

“C’mon!” Malia urged. “I know we could beat them!”

“How do you even win a splash war?”

“Let’s find out!”

Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, before a mischievous smirk found its way onto his face. “Fine, let’s do it.”

“Don’t drown anyone,” Noah told them sternly, and Malia gave him thumbs up and a wink so remarkably Peter that he couldn’t help but laugh.

When it was just the three of them, Peter voiced, “I brought playing cards.”

“I could get behind some poker,” Noah agreed, clapping his hands together. “I’m not playing money, though—not against you.”

“I married a damn cheat,” Chris said.

“It isn’t my fault that I can hear your heartbeats. In fact, it’s rather speciesist of you to—”

Noah took a swipe at his head, and Peter ducked away with a cocky grin and hands raised in surrender.

“It is your fault that you listen.”

“Maybe it’s your own faults that you both keep playing with a werewolf, despite knowing how it’ll end,” Peter reasoned. “Do you happen to know the definition of insanity?”

“Not all werewolves are assholes who use their abilities to cheat,” Chris said.

“No, only the fun ones.”

Peter winced as the pups’ squealing grew louder, their splash war rising to a passion bordering on violence—before Allison screamed surrender and the twins cheered victoriously.

“Why did you give up?” Cora growled.

Allison clutched at her heaving chest. “I need a break!”

“No take-backs!” Jackson told her.

Noah smiled fondly as he watched them, recalling a time when they were barely learning to share toys, let alone successfully play together—and now, they’d progressed to trying to drown each other. They were growing up so quickly.

Malia’s attention shot towards the beach, and Noah assumed one of the twins must have said something he couldn’t hear. Then, she squeezed Jackson’s shoulder and swam towards the shore. 

Lori was preoccupied with crafting a misshapen sand castle, but Brett watched with apprehension as Malia approached. When she neared them, she crouched playfully and flicked her claws out. Brett’s face lit up and he gave her a fanged smile as his eyes glowed a bright orange. He pounced, and they both fell into the water. 

Noah was mildly concerned as they thrashed around, but despite the excessive splashing and snarling, neither pup seemed actively set on harming the other. In a move which honestly impressed Noah, Malia managed to flip Brett over her shoulder, throw him down on his stomach, and press her teeth into the side of his neck. Brett immediately sagged, accepting the defeat, and Malia threw her head back to let out a triumphant howl.

“I don’t love that she’s wrestling with boys already, but I’m extremely proud that she’s winning,” Peter commented.

“I’ll be making sure she knows how to kick any guy’s ass—wolf or not,” Chris promised, then shot a playful look at Noah. “And by the time she starts dating, you’ll be the Sheriff, and you can bust the dates with your squad car.”

“What dates? You and I are gonna be cleaning our guns on the front porch when the guy comes to pick her up,” Noah corrected. “They won’t get to the date part.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “And I’ll have to sneak her out the back, because she needs to have normal teenage experiences without you two overprotective, boring old men intervening.”

“I would prefer she didn’t have the teenage experiences we had,” Chris said.

Peter sighed wistfully. “I do miss sneaking out to get drunk and high every weekend in the middle of the preserve.”

“And raiding the gas station at ungodly hours to satisfy the munchies,” Noah added.

“Yes, those are the exact things I don’t want Malia doing,” Chris told them. “Is it too much to hope that our kids just focus on school and refrain from wreaking havoc on the town?”

“Have you met them?” Noah shook his head. “We’re gonna have our hands full.”

***

It was dark when they made it back to the campsite.

It took all of five minutes for the adults to disappear into the largest tent with talk of cards and using ranch corn nuts as poker chips. Meanwhile, Derek was left to figure out the fire pit. He had sent both sets of twins off to find graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows from the food chests, while Stiles and Allison were tasked with retrieving the steel rods—allowing Derek and Cora a few minutes of blessed silence to get the fire started. Out of all of his siblings, he appreciated that Cora was the most like him in that way. They both welcomed the quiet and didn’t bother to fill it unless necessary.

Miraculously, Stiles managed to make it all the way back to Derek without skewering himself on the metal sticks, and the rest of the pups did not lose track of their missions and get lost in the woods. Derek wouldn’t have minded having to look for them, but he didn’t love the idea of postponing s’mores.

“Well, we survived the lake monsters,” Allison said as she ripped open the bag of marshmallows. “Another win for the Hales.”

Cora rolled her eyes with her entire head. “There were never any lake monsters. You guys were just scaredy cats, as usual.”

“You don’t know that!” Lori pouted. “There could’ve been.”

“No, they would’ve eaten us.”

“They could’ve been nice monsters,” Allison reasoned, looking at her cousin pointedly.

Cora scoffed. “Monsters aren’t nice.”

“Well, some people would probably think you’re a monster,” Stiles reasoned. 

“Exactly.” Cora flicked her fingers out, letting her claws elongate and glisten in the moonlight. “I’m not nice.”

“Okay, killer,” Derek teased, and Cora shot him a glare.

Stiles stabbed a marshmallow and thrust it directly into the heart of the flames, causing it to quickly catch fire.

“MwahahAHAHAHA!” Stiles gave his best impression of a maniacal laugh as he held the torch into the night sky above his head.

Derek snatched the metal stick and blew the flame out, leaving a half-melted, charred mess slowly sliding down it. Before Derek could even suggest trying again, Stiles squished two graham crackers onto either side of it, and Derek cringed at the strong scent of burnt sugar.

“It’s perfect!” Stiles told him. “Put that sour face away.”

Derek thought he might have nightmares about the atrocity he let Stiles smear off that stick into his s’more. He knew he’d have nightmares, though, when he watched him shove nearly the whole thing into his mouth in one go, and the marshmallow crunched.

“How does that keep you calm?” Cora asked Derek as she grimaced at his anchor, who was actively trying to fit the last little bit of the s’more into his mouth.

Derek shrugged. He’d wondered the same thing for most of his life, and had yet to find an answer.

“It’s probably because Stiles smells so good,” Malia supplied.

And that was honestly the most likely explanation, because he did smell amazing and Derek was pretty sure that his scent was what actually pushed his wolf back the fastest.

By the time the embers died out, everyone had eaten at least three too many s’mores and were bordering on the possibility of being sick. Most of the pups had crawled off to their tents to pass out in nauseated comas, while the other half didn’t even make it that far. Malia and Jackson had opted to just lay on the dirt ground with their eyes closed, groaning softly and holding their stomachs.

Derek was growing increasingly concerned that he was either going to explode or see all of those s’mores again—and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t taste as great coming up as they did going down.

“I’m gonna walk,” Derek told Stiles, who was leaning against his side.

Stiles stood with him and said, “I’ll come.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to?”

Derek shrugged, which Stiles took as a yes.

As they moved aimlessly through the preserve, Stiles rattled off the reasons he was excited for the upcoming school year—including, but not limited to, seeing Scott every day, reading new books, and getting closer to middle school. They eventually came to a clearing where the trees thinned and the night sky became visible. Stiles’ words died out as he stared slack-mouthed at the black, star-spattered sky.

"They’re so bright,” Stiles said in awe.

"No lights out here.”

“They’re pretty.”

Derek nodded his agreement.

When Stiles made no move to continue their walk, Derek shrugged off his sweater and laid it out on the ground like a blanket, in an area with relatively few rocks and sticks. After tugging Stiles down beside him, they laid there for a while—long enough that Derek might’ve thought Stiles had fallen asleep, if it weren’t for his breathing and heart rate giving him away.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” Stiles whispered.

Derek turned his head towards the boy, whose eyes were slid just out of focus, as if he were gazing up at the sky as a whole, instead of looking at any of the bright stars in particular. “In the preserve?”

Stiles sighed, and his scent took on a sharper edge that made Derek’s wolf stir anxiously under his skin. He nudged him with his elbow.

“My mom is...not my mom? She’s different, and I...I don’t,” Stiles tried to say, but couldn’t seem to articulate the feeling.

“She’s sick,” Derek said.

“She’s dying,” Stiles corrected, then added under his breath, “and I’m scared.”

Derek shifted to slip his arm behind Stiles’ neck and scoop him towards him. Stiles put his arm around Derek’s torso and nuzzled his face into his chest as he clung to him.

“You’ll be okay, Mischief,” Derek assured him softly. “I promise.”

“Are you gonna forget me?”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re going to high school soon,” Stiles explained. “High schoolers get girlfriends and go to parties and do teenager things. They don’t hang out with lame nine-year-olds.”

Derek was pretty sure middle schoolers like he'd been the past three years didn’t hang out with nine-year-olds, either. But then again, “I’m not normal. I can’t just…” not have you around. You’re my best friend and my pack. “You’re my anchor.” 

“Can you promise?”

“That’s stupid—you know you're my anchor.”

“No, I mean...can you promise that you won’t leave me? My dad is being...weird. And my mom is dying. And if you left, too...can you just promise?”

Derek wanted to tell him that he was an idiot for even thinking that he would ever leave him, but he instead said, “I promise.”

Stiles nodded against him. “And if you ever try to break that promise, I will beat your werewolf butt with a bat.”

Derek chuckled and shook his head. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

Beacon Hills High School was exactly the same as the middle school down the street. Sure, the lockers were painted a different color, the campus was a bit bigger, and there were more vending machines - but Derek really didn’t care about any of that.

There were still the same overwhelming scents of cheap perfume and cologne applied way too generously, teenagers with poor hygiene and ever-changing, muddled hormones, and whiffs of alcohol and marijuana that were stashed in a few of the backpacks and lockers. 

The hallways were just as loud. Lockers slammed, books and papers clattered to the floor, pencils and pens clanged around in plastic cases within backpacks, and students’ screeching voices echoed through the school. It set his teeth on edge.

The bells were even worse - why couldn’t they just flash lights or something to signal the passing period?

Luckily, Derek’s first class happened to be right next to the entrance of the school, so he didn’t have to stay in the busy hallway for long. He entered the classroom and glanced around at the several empty desks littered about the room, each topped with a white paper. He eyed the desks in the back for a moment, where the teacher would be less likely to notice him, but his wolf opted for the one closest to the door - which meant the front row.

He slung his backpack from his shoulder onto the ground and slid into the desk, praying that the teacher wouldn’t take his seat location as excitement or willingness to participate. He looked over the paper on his desk and found it to be a syllabus.

“Hello, class. My name is Mr. Curtis and this is Freshman English,” a tired-looking, middle-aged man greeted them. He picked up a dry-erase marker and wrote his name on the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. “While our latecomers are finding seats, I want the rest of you to start looking over that syllabus on your desks which outlines this semester.”

Derek felt his chest ease a bit after seeing that most of the grading scale came from reading comprehension tests and essays. He was good at those. His eighth grade english teacher had prioritized discussion and he was lucky that middle school didn’t really count Fs, or he would’ve been held back. Talking wasn’t his strong suit - especially not in front of the entire class.

He hadn’t noticed just how close the desks were to each other in the cramped classroom until a girl with dark hair pulled back in a messy braid sat in the one beside him, bringing with her a faint smell of chocolate and raspberries. He wasn’t sure if it was a natural scent or maybe a lingering smell from her soap - but at least it wasn’t so strong as to tickle his nose. 

Derek angled himself towards her slightly, his wolf uneasy with his vulnerable side being exposed to the stranger. The problem with humans was that their interpretation of body language was stupid. They didn’t think about things like needing to protect their backs or sides - they tended to assume that facing someone meant you were interested in talking to them. Derek wasn’t even looking at the girl, yet she still turned her attention on him.

Since this person was practically staring at him, he finally met her gaze. She had playful brown eyes that were remarkably bright considering how dark they were. Underneath one of them, there was a mole that contrasted nicely against the pale skin over her cheekbone. Now that he was paying closer attention, he was pretty sure the raspberry scent was the smear of glittery lip gloss over her plump lips that were quirked up in a small smile.

“So...are you planning on introducing yourself, or should we just keep staring?” she asked, her tone bordering on teasing.

“Derek,” he told her.

“Well, hello, Derek.” Paige smiled and held her hand out towards him. “I’m Paige.”

Derek eyed her hand hesitantly, his stomach twisting as he tapped his fingers against his thigh anxiously. If he touched her, her scent would be on him for the rest of the day - not to mention his scent would be on her. He didn’t want to claim this girl he’d just met, and he definitely didn’t want her to claim him. Why did humans always want to touch strangers so much? It made no sense! But if he didn’t shake her hand, that would be rude, right?

He hated people.

“You’re right - shaking hands is for old people.” Paige retracted her hand, the smile still shining on her face. Her chemo signals remained light and friendly, despite the small tinge of embarrassment. No anger, though, which Derek was relieved to find. She went on to say, “I was with my grandparents over the summer, so they must have rubbed off on me. If I start saying ‘back in my day’, you should probably switch seats - I’ll be too late to be saved at that point.”

Derek surprised himself by letting out an amused huff.

Mr. Curtis began talking and Derek tried to focus on what he was saying - he really did - but Paige kept throwing him fond glances throughout the lecture and Derek couldn’t help but look over and feel a rush of something tingly in his stomach whenever he felt her attention on him. He liked it more than he liked Mr. Curtis’ voice, so...he just hoped that most of what the teacher was talking about was the syllabus. Otherwise, he was starting off this course on a bad note.

The bell finally rang, causing Derek to wince and clench his teeth. He quickly grabbed the paper from his desk and rushed out of the classroom before the sea of students filled the hallway. His next class was close by, so he probably would have made it at least halfway there before the chaos - but then he heard Paige call his name and he stopped.

“Here,” she told him as she all but ran to catch up with him. He took a step back, unsure of how close she was trying to come, but she graciously stopped a good distance away. She handed him a folded piece of notebook paper.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he opened it, then shot up upon seeing that it was a phone number. By the time he looked up again, she was gone in the mass of teenagers.

How the hell had he gotten a girl’s number? He’d only said his name!

He pocketed the paper and was about to start towards his second period class, when someone slammed into him from behind. He stumbled forward, then spun around in alarm to find Camden Lahey putting his hands up in a placating manner.

“Woah, Derek, hey, man - that was totally my bad,” Camden said, face still flushed from laughing. The happy chemosignals radiating from him relaxed Derek enough to lower his heart rate so he could unclench his fists. “Actually, you know what? It was Jordan’s bad! He knows he’s supposed to watch where I’m going for me because I’m so shit at paying attention. Hell, I run into just about everything in my path and end up looking like a fucking bruised dalmation at swim practices. Not the hottest look, but oh well.”

Derek briefly noticed the way Camden’s heartbeat sped up slightly, but was more concerned with trying to figure out if what Camden had just said was supposed to be an apology. Was he supposed to respond to it? It felt more like he was teasing his friend, but he was looking at Derek, so…

“It’s fine,” he ended up saying.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Camden’s friend realized. “I’m Jordan Parrish.”

Derek nodded his head towards him in lieu of a verbal greeting, but Jordan didn’t seem to mind. He was taller than Derek, but had a very soft demeanor and a pure, childish smile. 

He reminded Derek of a Pup.

“Hey, I was actually thinking,” Camden said. “Would you wanna sit with Jordan and I at lunch? I mean, it’s not that you don’t pull off the mysterious loner look really well - you totally do - but I think I overheard you that day at the diner talking about trying out for the baseball team, and Jordan is, too. I thought maybe we could hang out.”

Derek shrugged, not really sure why everyone was trying to talk to him all of the sudden. He’d made it all the way through middle school without people trying to go out of their way to include him - what was even going on?

“Awesome!” Camden grinned. “Do you have a phone, so I can shoot you a text when we find a spot?”

Derek took his phone from his backpack and handed it to Camden, who immediately grabbed it with wide eyes as he flipped it open and ghosted his fingers over the buttons. “Woah, a Motorola Razr... this just hit the store! I’m saving up for one, but damn...that’s super cool.”

Derek shrugged again, because he wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t even chosen the phone - his uncles just handed it to him and he wasn’t overly concerned with what the model was. He would’ve been fine with anything - it wasn’t like he ever talked to anyone outside of the pack, anyway.

Camden called his cell phone from Derek’s to get the number, then handed it back.

“See you at lunch, man,” Jordan told him.

Stiles was impressed with himself.

He’d been in possession of the newest X-Men comic for a total of four hours, and had refrained from opening it. He hadn’t even peeked at the first page!

The problem was that his reading partner, a certain Derek Hale, was taking forever to get his werewolf butt in Stiles’ room. He had eaten, taken a shower, and spent extra time finding matching pajamas, and Derek was still not there.

Stiles took out his cell phone and sent him another text asking where he was. He was going to use up all of his texts for the month, and it was all Derek’s fault.

Derek responded almost instantly: I’m coming.

“Not fast enough,” Stiles grumbled to himself.

“Shut up,” Derek’s voice startled Stiles. The boy nearly flung the comic book at the figure climbing in through his window, before he realized that it was Derek. 

“You took ten years!”

“I had to run here!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Stiles taunted. 

Derek pulled off his sweater and chucked it at Stiles’ head, and the boy laughed as he caught it seconds before it would’ve hit his face. Stiles scooted over while Derek kicked off his shoes and slid under the covers beside him. As soon as Derek was situated, Stiles tucked himself against his side under his arm.

“Mmm, heater wolf,” Stiles hummed, snuggling into the unnatural warmth that radiated from werewolves. Derek pulled him in close and rubbed his arm, used to the way Stiles was always freezing. 

But imagine if Stiles wasn’t cold all the time! Then he’d probably overheat during cuddles, which would suck .

Derek tensed slightly and began sniffing at Stiles’ hair and neck and Stiles looked up at him confusedly.

“I showered!”

“Scott.” Derek’s eyes flashed briefly, before he looked away. 

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles realized. He took Derek’s hand and began playing with his fingers distractedly. “He’s in my class. He’s a hugger. I didn’t think you’d still be able to smell him, though.”

“Not a lot.”

“You have the best sniffer - you should be proud.” Stiles booped his nose and Derek pressed his fingers into Stiles’ side, eliciting a shriek of giggles. “Hey - stop it! Look, I got this today!”

Derek picked up the comic book and looked over it’s cover, his green eyes brightening excitedly as he smiled. Stiles reached up to poke his dimple, but Derek caught his hand and held it securely, so he couldn’t try again.

Cheater.

“You have the most pokable dimples, Der, I can’t help it.”

“This just came out today,” Derek said, ignoring him.

“I know that.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Open it! It’s reading time!”

When Chris walked into his bedroom, he found a shirtless Peter sitting up in their bed, shower-damp hair falling forward as he read from a thick book in his lap. His face was freshly-shaved, which caused the defined lines of his jaw and chin to appear more prominent. He knew it would grow out to a clean, handsome stubble by the morning. 

Chris always thought Peter looked best with subtle facial hair - not completely bare, but light enough to show off his perfect facial structure that made Chris forget how to breathe sometimes.

“You worked so late - I almost had to come hunt you down,” Peter told him as he set the book on his nightstand and looked up at Chris.

“You should’ve...you could’ve helped me go through all of my emails.”

“Mmm, no thanks. Waiting in our comfortable bed was much more fun than that sounds.”

Chris chuckled as he kicked off his shoes and began stripping out of his work clothes. He contemplated showering, but he was tired and he would shower in the morning, anyway.

“Did I tell you what Satomi said last month at the barbeque?” Peter asked in a way that Chris recognized meant he full-well knew that he hadn't, and he'd been sitting on it for awhile.

“Was it about Derek trying to kill her beta?”

“Surprisingly, no. She insinuated that Stiles is some sort of energy creature.”

“A what ?” Chris snorted. “What the hell is an energy creature?”

“She said an energy reached out to her wolf when she touched him.” Peter shrugged.

“And you...think she’s onto something?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that .”

Chris pulled on a pair of sweats and looked over at him curiously. He knew his husband, and he was definitely considering whatever Satomi’s theory was.

“Baby, that’s...that’s crazy,” Chris told him. “If Stiles wasn’t human, someone would've noticed it by now. We’ve all been around him since he was born - and nobody has ever felt something like that. Why would he hide abilities from us, his pack, but show them to Satomi? It makes no sense. Not to mention, I’ve never heard of an energy creature. Magic, sure...but energy?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, rubbing his eyes with his middle finger and thumb, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just odd...Satomi is a very respected Alpha and she’s been around a lot longer than anyone I know. She seemed convinced, and I mean...there would be no reason for her to lie.”

“Maybe she was just having an off day and her control over her wolf wasn’t as great as usual. Maybe she felt her wolf stir and she mistook it as some energy thing,” Chris proposed.

Yes, it seemed unlikely - but not as unlikely as Stiles being an energy creature . What did that even mean? Chris had grown up knowing the Argent bestiary as well as he knew his name, then memorized the Hale bestiary as soon as he’d gotten his hands on it. He’d never heard of anything like that before.

“She said his eyes were glowing when she felt it.”

Peter was relaxed against the headboard of their bed and looking at him with complete honesty in his features, so Chris was pretty sure he wasn't being pranked. But, seriously?

“His eyes were glowing ?” Chris double-checked, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

“Yeah, the whole thing. No pupil, no iris...just light. That’s what she recalled, anyway.”

Satomi was crazy. There was no way in hell that their godson was...whatever she was describing. She must have just been having a moment or something. She was old, after all...and in a different Alpha’s territory with new pups - she was probably stressed.

“Let’s put a pin in that for now. If Stiles ever starts showing any indications of being supernatural, we can revisit it.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Peter sighed, then looked over at Chris with the beginnings of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “You know, it’s only nine and I’m not tired.”

Chris shook his head. “Is that so?”

“It is. And now that you’ve stopped my planned conversation about our godson potentially being an awesome unknown creature, I’m at a loss for what we should do.”

Chris approached the bed and crawled under the blanket beside his husband. “You could continue reading and I could go to sleep, because I’m tired.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me.”

“I’ve definitely been trying for a while now, but you’ve proved it rather difficult.”

“I have a counter proposition for you.”

“About me killing you?” Chris cocked a mocking eyebrow.

“No, about you sleeping.” He used a claw to trace the outline of Peter’s mating bite on Chris’ shoulder, and it took everything in him to continue looking unphased as a spark of lust began building in his stomach the way it always did when Peter’s claws touched him. “What if we shed these clothes and you didn’t sleep?”

Chris’ eyes flickered down to Peter’s lips thoughtfully and said, “Not sure if it’s worth it. Can I have a preview of what I’d be agreeing to?”

Peter’s blue eyes flashed predatorily and his tongue flicked out over the sharp point of his canine as he grabbed Chris’ shoulders and pushed him over onto his back to more easily straddle his hips. Chris suddenly felt much more awake as he watched the muscles in Peter’s abdomen flex while he slowly rolled his hips to teasingly drag his ass against Chris’ groin.

Chapter Text

Peter was sitting on the couch, sipping at his second cup of coffee, when he heard the familiar sound of Noah’s cruiser in the driveway.

“Do we have the brat this morning?” he called to his husband in the kitchen as he leaned over to the side in an attempt to see through the window without having to get up.

“No, just Stiles...Noah has work,” Christopher joked, coming into the entryway.

“Brat Jr. is good, too, I suppose,” Peter chuckled.

As soon as the door was opened, Christopher said, “You both look horrible.”

“Thanks, dear,” Noah grumbled.

Peter was about to stand and greet them, but then Stiles stumbled into the living room, feet dragging, eyes half-lidded, and sporting a gravity-defying case of bedhead. The wolf smiled fondly at the pup and held his arm out to him. Stiles practically fell into the embrace, curling up against him. His mop of hair covered his eyes as he laid his head against Peter’s chest.

“Tough morning, Miecz?”

Stiles hummed affirmatively. 

“Did you sleep poorly last night?” Peter asked him as he stroked his fingers through his hair.

“Claudia had some sort of episode,” Noah explained as he came further into the house so that Peter could see him. “She was rampaging all night - trying to throw everything away, banging around in the kitchen...the house didn’t get much sleep.”

Christopher squeezed Noah’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you two just come over here?”

“I didn’t want to just leave her,” Noah sighed.

“Well, how is this supposed to go to school in less than an hour?” Peter reasoned, looking down at the child in his arms pointedly.

“I know.” Noah rubbed his eyes. “If he’s not up to it, you can call him in sick - the school knows you.”

“Did you hear that?” Peter whispered, shaking Stiles gently. “You get to spend the day with me, which is so much more fun than school.”

Happy chemosignals radiated from Stiles as he put his arm around Peter’s stomach and hugged him.

Christopher disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds, then came back with a lidded mug of coffee for Noah. “Get out of here - you’re gonna be late for work.”

Noah’s shoulders sagged in relief and he took the mug gratefully. “I think I love you.”

Christopher smirked as he swept his hand down the back of Noah’s neck, before gently pushing him towards the door.

Peter thought it was sweet that they had adopted wolf mannerisms with each other, despite neither being a wolf. He took full credit for it.

“I’ll come get Stiles after my shift,” Noah said.

“Or you could let us steal him,” Peter proposed.

“Or you could let us steal both of you and I’ll make homemade raviolis,” Christopher amended, and Peter liked that idea better.

Noah moaned and said, “Okay fine , but I can’t stay for too long.”

Once Noah had driven off, Christopher came into the living room. “I need to get going, too.”

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.”

“I’m sure.” Christopher bent over to place a kiss atop Stiles’ head, then Peter’s lips. When he tried to pull away, Peter grabbed his collar and tugged him back for one last kiss, a bit longer than the first.

Once the man had left, Peter returned his attention back to his coffee. As he was nearing the bottom of the cup, Derek came into the living room, looking worriedly down at Stiles. He sniffed the air a few times, then relaxed a bit.

“He’s not sick,” Peter confirmed. “Just tired.”

Derek let his backpack fall from his shoulder to the ground, then held his arms out towards the boy. Peter nearly clutched onto Stiles tighter, not quite ready to end their cuddle session, but he knew that Derek wasn’t going to relent. He’d sneak in some more snuggles while his nephew was at school. 

Peter shifted Stiles so that Derek could more easily pick him up under his arms. Stiles immediately clung to the older boy, wrapping his arms and legs around him and burying his face in his neck as Derek held him tightly.

“Gonna put him in my bed,” Derek said quietly as he walked towards the stairs.

As soon as Derek had sat down at his desk, Paige asked him, “So...you didn’t text me. Was there a reason, or…? I mean, I just kinda thought we were getting along really well, but I totally get it if...God, nevermind. Just ignore me.”

A blush covered Paige’s face as she looked away from him.

The phone number.

“I forgot,” Derek told her honestly. She’d given him her number days ago, but between spending time with his pack, trying to get comfortable around Camden and Jordan, and trying out for the baseball team, it had completely slipped his mind.

“Oh,” she said, glancing back over. “Does that mean... you are? Interested, I mean?”

Was he? He liked the way she smelled… it reminded him a bit of the ice cream shop, in an odd way. She was undeniably pretty, too, with those bright eyes and glossed cupid-bow lips, stretched over straight white teeth.

He nodded and she smiled wider.

“Awesome. Do you…like food?”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at her, because...what? Of course he liked food. Didn’t everyone?

“Right - that was stupid,” Paige groaned in embarrassment. “I meant, like, would you want to get food with me? This weekend, maybe?”

“Sure,” Derek answered.

This was a date . Holy shit. He was extremely grateful that she seemed to understand that she needed to take the initiative, because Derek would have had no idea how to go about this conversation. 

“Well, I’m free all weekend, so you can just text me a time when you are, too, and we can go to the diner,” she said. “That’s okay, right? I mean, it doesn’t have to be the diner - we could go somewhere else, or -”

“Diner’s good,” Derek laughed, cutting off her ramble.

“Cool.”

Derek was seated in the grass underneath the bleachers with Jordan and Camden during their lunch break, which they had claimed as their ‘spot’. Camden was drawing something in his sketchbook and Jordan was peering through the space between the steps in the bleachers to watch a group of girls across the field.

Over the course of the week, Derek had noticed that Camden never brought lunch. Jordan usually gave him his apple and granola bar and he was always more than willing to take them - so it definitely wasn’t a personal preference. Maybe his family was financially struggling? Derek made a mental note to ask Uncle Chris to put some extra food in his lunch for next week.

“Jordan, stop being a creeper,” Camden said, not bothering to look up from the paper. “Just go talk to her or something. This is definitely not the move.”

“Which one?” Derek wondered.

“Ella Grayce,” Jordan told him, a dreamy air to his voice. “Red-haired, green-eyed angel over there.”

“He’s got it bad for redheads." 

Derek laughed. “Not my type.”

“Ooh, you’ve got a type, huh?” Camden perked up. He tossed his sketchbook to the ground and gave the wolf his attention. “Tell me more, tell me more, is it love at first sight?”

“Grease, really?” Jordan snorted.

“Do you have a girl, Hale? Or a guy - I don’t judge.”

“No,” he tried to deny.

He must not have sounded very sure of himself, since Camden practically shouted, “Holy shit - you totally do!”

Derek wrung the back of his neck uncomfortably. “A date, I guess.”

“A date on the first week of school?” Jordan asked, eyebrows raised. “Who is she?”

“Just a girl.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Camden squinted at him. “We’ll find out who stole your heart.”

Derek pushed Camden’s shoulder. “She hasn’t, dude.”

Hell, he didn’t even know Paige.

“So, if Ella isn’t your type...what is it?” Jordan asked.

Derek took a moment to think about it. What was his type? “Dark hair. No light-colored eyes...I like brown.”

“Light-eyed bitches are crazy.” Camden nodded.

“You and I have blue eyes and Derek has green,” Jordan pointed out.

“Well, I’m not a bitch,” Camden said. “If you are, then that’s your problem.”

Jordan looked like he was about to say something else, but Camden waved at Derek to keep going.

“Freckles and moles are cute.” Derek shrugged. “Especially on pale skin. Talkative.”

“Well, damn,” Camden sighed. “This isn’t good.”

Jordan and Derek looked at him curiously.

“Derek and I share a type,” he explained. “Brown eyes, pale skin, and beauty marks are my weaknesses - and Derek has about one hundred percent more sex appeal than me. He’s gonna be my own Mr. Steal-Yo-Girl, and I’m gonna be a virgin forever.”

The three of them laughed for a bit, until Derek looked down and noticed the sketchbook open to the page Camden had been working on. It was a beautiful picture of a flower drawn in blue ink. The style was a bit messy, but it still managed to look flawless - like every stray line was intentional.

Jordan followed Derek’s sightline. “Camden’s an awesome artist.” 

“Eh, it’s a hobby.” Camden waved his hand dismissively. “I like drawing, just like Derek likes working out and living on raw eggs to steal my future girls.”

Camden was an idiot. He was taller than Derek by several inches, nearly as muscular, and had blonde curls . Nobody was going to be stealing his girls.

Derek thoughtfully traced his fingers over the petals of the flower. “You should sell.”

“Maybe one day. Hey, you wanna try?” Camden offered Derek the pen. “There’s a fuck ton of pages in that thing - you should give it a shot.”

Derek flipped to the next empty page and asked, “What do I draw?”

“Draw Jordan,” Camden said. “And make sure to get his cute little elf ears.”

“I don’t have elf ears!” Jordan pouted.

Derek bit his lower lip to prevent smiling when he noticed that Jordan kinda did have elf ears. Not literally - they were rounded like a human’s - but they did thin and stick out a bit at the tips.

Chapter Text

As soon as they pulled up in front of the Stilinskis' house, Stiles clicked his seatbelt off and grabbed his backpack from the floor of the car. 

“It doesn’t look like your dad is home yet,” Peter noticed.

“He texted me,” Stiles assured him. “He’s on his way.”

“Okay, but you know the rule.” Peter turned around in his seat and raised an eyebrow expectantly at him.

“If he’s not home in thirty minutes, call you,” he recited.

“How are you so smart?” Peter smiled. “You didn’t get it from your dad, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Dad says I get my attitude from being around you.”

“That’s a good thing.”

Stiles snorted. “He doesn’t always say it like a good thing.”

“Okay, brat, get out of my car.”

Stiles snickered as he opened the door and hopped out onto the sidewalk. He jogged up to the front door and quickly opened it with his key, then turned back to wave at Peter. The man waved back and Stiles went inside, knowing he wasn’t going to leave before Stiles was in the house. 

He let the door shut loudly behind him and walked into the living room, where his mother was sitting up from her place on the couch, eyes bleary and hair a bit sleep-mussed. 

“Have a good nap?” Stiles asked her.

She turned her attention to him and her eyes widened as she looked at him in alarm. A jolt of nervousness ran through him as he wondered what she could be seeing. Looking down at himself, he didn’t see anything wrong. Surely, Peter would’ve told him.

“What?” he asked.

“How did you get in here?” She asked, her voice guarded and cold. “How did you get in my house?”

“The...front door?” Stiles furrowed his eyebrows at her.

“Is someone with you?” she questioned, glancing over his shoulder, then returning her focus to him.

She was looking at him like… like she had no idea who he was. Like he was some stranger that had come into her house.

“Mama, it’s me,” Stiles said tentatively. “It’s Mieczysław.”

When she didn’t react, he moved forward and reached for her, but she smacked his hand away. He quickly pulled his hand to his chest and took a step back. It only stung a little, but the action had shocked him enough to bring tears to his eyes. His mom had never hit him in his entire life. They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Stiles contemplated just leaving the house, but then understanding and horror suddenly flashed across her face and she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, God, Miecio - I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered. She glanced down at where he was holding the hand she’d swatted and Stiles felt a spike of alarm as he noticed tears brimming in her eyes. He’d never seen his mother cry before and it made a couple of his own tears slip down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if he was scared or sad - maybe both. It just looked wrong for his mom to cry.

“It’s okay,” he told her softly, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

“I just… I woke up and was a little confused for a second,” she explained. “I didn’t mean to scare you, or..”

“It’s fine,” he told her again, his voice stronger this time. It was fine, and he wanted her to stop crying as soon as possible.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, holding out her arms.

Stiles didn’t really feel like he wanted to hug her right then, but he went into her arms anyway, in the hopes that it would calm her. She embraced him tightly, but he couldn’t bring himself to return the gesture.

Noah let himself into the house and walked in on a very tense atmosphere that he wasn’t really expecting. Claudia was crouched down, holding onto Stiles like her life depended on it, while the boy was tapping his fingers anxiously on his thighs.

“Hey,” Noah announced his presence. 

Claudia looked at him over Stiles’ shoulder and their son eased out of her embrace to quickly come over to Noah. 

Stiles hugged him and rubbed his thumb over his forearm in greeting, then pulled back and asked, “Can I go to Scott’s house?”

“Are you okay?” Noah questioned. The skin around Stiles’ eyes was red and his face was a little botchy as if he’d been crying. He nodded, but Noah pressed, “Are you sure, Son?”

“Yeah,” Stiles assured him. “Can I go to Scott’s house?”

Noah sighed and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, just be safe.”

“Always,” Stiles told him as he hurried out the door.

Claudia sat on the couch and put her face in her hands, and Noah came to sit beside her.

“What happened?”

“I...I just blanked ,” Claudia cried. “I woke up and he was there and… Noah, I had no idea who he was for a few seconds. How is that… how is that possible ? I’m his mother .”

“You were just confused,” Noah comforted her as he rubbed her back soothingly. “Everyone gets a little confused after waking up from a nap, and coupled with your… condition… it’s okay, Claudia.”

“It’s not okay.”

No, it really wasn’t.

They sat there for a minute or two, and then Claudia said, “I’m gonna shower.”

Once she had gone upstairs, Noah scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. She didn’t remember Stiles . How much longer until a few seconds of confusion turned into a day? Turned into the norm? When would she forget Noah? And how the hell was he supposed to comfort her, when it was only going to get worse with time?

He stood and walked to the kitchen, feet dragging on the ground as he went. With any luck, Stiles would stay out long enough for him to get in a drink and a nap. He opened the fridge and reached for a beer, but opted for the half-empty whiskey bottle beside it, instead. He’d need to buy more soon.

With a quick glance at the tall stack of dishes piled in the sink, he didn’t even bother to look for a cup in the cabinet. He unscrewed the cap off the bottle and tossed it onto the counter and made a mental note to work on the dishes when he woke up.

Derek followed Paige into the diner and she led them to an open booth along the wall, where they sat opposite each other. She smelled different than she did at school - her usual raspberry and chocolate scent masked by a strong honey and lilac perfume that wafted towards Derek every time she moved. It made his nose itch a bit, but it was similar enough to the twins’ scent that it didn’t upset his wolf too much.

Her hair was also left down today, falling in perfect ringlets down her chest. It was thick and shiny, and Derek had the odd urge to touch it. Part of him wondered if maybe he would get to one day - and by the way her heart kept speeding up every time she looked at him, he was pretty sure he would. The lip gloss coating her plump lips was different, too. The clear gloss was replaced by a pink, glittery one that Derek thought might have smelled like cotton candy or something similarly sweet, judging by the very faint scent he was picking up on her.

He kinda wanted to taste it.

“You’re beautiful,” fell out of his mouth before he could think about it, and he would have felt embarrassed if it hadn’t brought a blush to her face. 

“I just… y’know, I don’t have a lot of reasons to dress up. I don’t… this isn’t something I usually do. Dating, I mean. And I figured I might as well clean up a bit, so -” Paige clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. “I’m sorry - I ramble a lot. Thank you.”

“I like it,” Derek assured her. “The rambling. It’s cute.”

“I’m glad you haven’t gotten up and left yet,” she said. “If I annoy you, you can just tell me to chill out.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

Paige nodded and they fell into silence as they looked at the menu. Were they supposed to be talking? Derek had no idea what to say. What did people talk about on first dates?

She must have picked up on his stress, because she asked, “You okay?”

He chewed his lower lip for a second, then said, “I’m not good at this.”

“Dating?”

“People.”

Paige laughed and put her face in her hands. “Honestly, me either. I don’t really have...friends? God, that sounds pathetic. I just… it’s usually just me and my cello. It’s easiest that way. I get so weird around people.”

“Me, too.” Derek relaxed enough to sit back against the seat. “You play cello?”

“Yeah, basically my whole life,” she told him. “I mean, about ten years. That’s obviously not my whole life, but I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t playing.”

Derek nodded. He liked music… maybe he’d ask to listen to her play one day.

“I heard you made the baseball team? That’s really cool.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who told you?”

“Oh, one of your friends is close with my family. Our moms were best friends in high school, so we were raised together. A few years ago, they both died in a car accident… which, it’s sad, obviously, but at least they were together, y’know? I think they would’ve wanted it that way. Our dads are still friends, though,” she explained, then winced. “That was way too heavy of a topic for a first date. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Derek told her, unsure of how else to respond.

“Just… forget I said that, okay? I’ll bring it up in a few dates and we can pretend you didn’t know.” She ran her hand through her hair nervously. “Not to say that there will definitely be future dates, obviously… I’m not trying to act like I expect that from you, or anything… I just -”

“Deal,” he cut her off. 

“Thanks.”

Derek’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out to see a message from Stiles, reading, ‘Hey are you busy?’ Figuring he was probably just bored, he slid the phone back into his pocket and turned his attention back to Paige.

“So, which friend?” he wondered.

As if on cue, Camden came up to their table and said, “Gross, Derek - Paige is the mystery girl?”

Paige rolled her eyes, “Is there a different server we could have?”

“What?” Camden gasped, clutching his chest. “You really think someone else in this place would be more trustworthy to facilitate your date?”

“Yeah, anyone.”

Camden squinted at her, before asking, “So, what are we eating on this romantic evening?”

Derek startled slightly when something brushed up the side of his calf and he realized it must have been Paige’s foot. Why was she touching him? Was she getting his attention?

“I’ll have a grilled cheese sandwich and a side of fruit with an iced tea,” she decided, then looked over at Derek. “What do you want?”

“Uh, cheeseburger and fries,” Derek told Camden. “And a coke.”

“Coming right up, Lovebirds.”

Once he left, Paige sighed, “He’s so annoying. I don’t know how you hang out with him.”

“He’s okay.” Derek shrugged. 

Derek realized she probably wasn’t trying to get his attention when her food didn’t leave his leg. It just rubbed gently up and down his calf and he wasn’t really sure what to do with it. He could feel his wolf stir at the touch, unhappy with someone in his space - but he didn’t necessarily want her to stop. It set him a bit on edge, but he also liked that she was trying to be affectionate with him. It was sweet. He decided to let it continue, since he knew his wolf was just being weird, as usual.

“Food is still cooking, but I wanted to bring out your sides to snack on in the meantime,” Camden said, swiftly setting the fries in front of Derek and the fruit in front of Paige as he passed.

“Nice,” Paige said as she stabbed a strawberry with her fork. “You’re starting baseball season really soon, right? Maybe I could come to a game.”

“I’m probably bad.”

Paige smiled and bit her lip, before saying, “I’d get to see you in a baseball uniform, though. Seems like a good deal to me.”

Derek grinned and felt his face flush. “That’d be cool.”

“Then I’ll be there.” Paige popped a grape into her mouth, then looked over at the fries he was picking at. She reached across the table and asked, “Mind if I have one?”

Derek growled and pulled the tray of fries towards himself, and Paige retracted both her hand and foot quickly. He closed his eyes and willed his wolf back as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to explain himself. He wasn’t expecting her to try to touch his food - he wasn’t prepared at all. When he knew his eyes weren’t glowing anymore, he glanced back up at her.

“Sorry,” she apologized gently.

“It’s fine… I just get weird with food.”

Gods, this was horrible. This was so far from normal - she must have thought he was crazy, which was not really the impression he wanted to put out on this date. He contemplated just giving her a fry, but his wolf tried to press forward in opposition and he discarded the idea before his control slipped again.

By some miracle, Camden returned with the food and Paige jumped into telling Derek stories from the band camp she attended last summer - awkward food aggression seemingly forgotten.

Stiles and Scott were seated on the McCall’s living room couch and Stiles was feeling pretty good. He’d beat Scott in their racing video game three times in a row, and he was just about ready to declare himself a master.

Maybe he was supposed to become a professional racer when he grew up.

“You staying for dinner, Stiles?” Ms. McCall asked, leaning over the back of the couch to look down at him and Scott. “We’re having mac n cheese.”

“Yeah, dude, you should totally stay for dinner!” Scott enthused.

“I can’t.” Stiles frowned. “Derek texted me and said he’s bringing me food. I should actually go home - he said he’d be at my house at five and that’s in a few minutes.”

“Aw, man,” Scott sighed.

“Maybe next time, huh?” Ms. McCall offered and Stiles nodded.

“Definitely next time!”

Stiles slipped off the couch and gave Scott a hug, before leaving. He had just started down the street, when he noticed a very familiar raven-haired teenager standing on the corner with a to-go box in his hand.

“Derek!” Stiles said happily, picking up his pace. “I didn’t know you were gonna come get me.”

“You weren’t at home,” Derek told him. He glanced over at the McCall house and the corner of his mouth tipped down slightly.

Oh, he was going to smell a lot like Scott. “I was gonna shower before you came.”

Derek shrugged and put his arm out. Stiles hugged him, happy that Derek didn’t mind the smell too much. Well - he could tell by his stiffness that he did mind, but at least he was still open to hugs.

“Do I hear curly fries and chicken nuggies calling my name?” Stiles asked, eyeing the box in Derek’s hand.

“No.”

Stiles reached for the box, but Derek held it out of reach. 

“Can I just peek?”

“We’re almost to your house.”

Stiles figured he was right. He could wait. 

After what felt like much longer than the five minutes it really was, they made it to the Stilinski residence. Derek used his key and motioned for Stiles to walk in first, so he did. As they passed by the living room, Stiles looked in on his dad asleep on the couch. He felt a wave of anger settle in his skin and looked up at Derek, who was glaring at his dad. Stiles was about to tell him it was fine, but then Derek put his hand on the back of his neck and guided him towards the stairs.

As soon as they were in Stiles’ bedroom, Derek kicked his shoes off and began rearranging his Batman bedding. Stiles opened his dresser drawer and found it to be empty. Since he knew Derek wouldn’t appreciate cuddling with his clothes smelling so strongly of the McCalls, he grabbed a shirt and sweats from his laundry basket that he knew weren’t too dirty and were only worn around the pack.

By the time he changed, Derek was already turning on his television and pushing play on the DVD in the player. Toy Story. Stiles climbed into bed beside Derek and took the box of food from him. He opened it and grinned at the delicious-looking curly fries and chicken tenders. 

“I love you - you know that, right?” Stiles said around a piece of chicken. “You love me, too.”

“Confident, huh?”

“You wouldn’t bring me food, if you didn’t,” Stiles reasoned.

“You’re annoying when you're hungry.” 

“Nah - your wolf likes me.” Stiles placed his hand on Derek’s chest and felt the familiar rush of warmth run over his skin as his wolf stirred. Derek’s eyes flashed golden and he looked down at Stiles in wary confusion.

The expression immediately brought back thoughts of his mother from earlier in the day and he sighed heavily. He dropped the fry he was holding back into the box and pushed it away from him.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Nothing.” Stiles leaned back against the pillows. Derek nudged him a few times until he looked back up at him. “My mom didn’t know me today when I got home.”

“Oh. You could've called Uncle Peter. He would've picked you up,” he told him.

Stiles shrugged. “She remembered after a minute.”

“Is that why you texted me?” Derek realized. “I would’ve answered, if -”

“I know.” Stiles waved him off. “It’s okay. Peter said you were with friends. I'm proud of you, Der. Look at you being sociable.” 

Derek watched him carefully for a moment, before they both turned their attention back to the movie. 

They sat there in silence for a while, until Derek said, “I made the team.”

“Baseball?” Stiles perked up.

Derek nodded. “Varsity.”

“That’s the super good one, right?”

When Derek nodded again, Stiles shook his arm excitedly, a bright smile lighting up his face.

“That’s awesome! I knew you could do it - I told you,” Stiles gushed. “I’m gonna come to all of your games, for sure. And, and when I play a sport one day, you can come to all of mine!”

“You’re too clumsy,” Derek teased.

Stiles pushed him. “You’re gonna have to come to my games, because Jackson is gonna beat me up.”

Derek growled. “He won’t.”

“Oh, I know, you protective wolf.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m just kidding - I know he likes me. I can feel it.” 

“You should ask Uncle Peter about that.”

“About what?”

“The feeling thing. That’s not normal for humans.”

“Maybe it’s an anchor thing,” Stiles proposed.

“For Jackson?”

Stiles thought about it and agreed, “Yeah, that’s weird. I can’t feel him the same as you, though. With you, I always feel how you feel. With other people, I need to touch them and think about it. Then it’s like… it covers my skin like a blanket and I just know.”

“Your eyes looked weird,” Derek said softly, giving him the guarded look from earlier. “You called my wolf a bit ago, and... they looked weird.”

“What do you mean?”

Derek pressed his lips into a line and studied him for a moment, before shaking his head. “Never mind.”

They glowed. Derek wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or maybe the reflection of the television - but it looked like… like Stiles’ eyes flared white when he touched his chest.

But… it had to be a weird light thing, right? Maybe Derek’s eyes flashing reflected in his?

Stiles shifted to lay against him and coaxed the teen’s arm to wrap around him so he could pinch and pull at his fingers as they watched the movie. At one point, Stiles slipped his nail under Derek’s and he flicked the kid’s hand away in annoyance, but Stiles just flicked him back and grabbed his hand again. He didn’t stab under his nails anymore, though.

Derek really hated Toy Story - why was this the DVD Stiles had in his player? He was bringing a different movie next time.

When the credits eventually rolled, Stiles was limp against him. Derek gently lowered the sleeping boy onto the mattress and crawled off of the bed.

He glanced around the dark room and grimaced at the scents of sweat and way too many people, coming from the overflowing laundry hamper against the wall. Gross. He grabbed the basket and carried it into the hallway towards the washing machine and dryer. Luckily, half of the dirty clothes managed to fit in one load, so it would only take two to get Stiles back to full wardrobe and he wouldn’t have to wear dirty clothes to bed.

Derek wandered downstairs and grabbed the empty whiskey bottle from the living room floor to bring into the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the mountain of dirty dishes. Spoiled food left on them assaulted his nose and he growled to no one in particular. 

What kind of shitshow was Stiles living in?

Derek hated doing dishes. He really, really did. So as far as he was concerned, Noah really owed him for washing them. He couldn’t just leave the rotting food there in the sink - it was going to start growing creatures soon. By the time he managed to empty the sink and put everything away, he was beyond pissed. He wanted nothing more than to dump the garbage can full of leftovers onto Noah to wake him up - but he didn’t. He was definitely telling his uncles about this bullshit, though.

He rotated the laundry before leaving, so Stiles would at least have some clean clothes in the dryer when he woke up, and then left through the window.

Chapter Text

It had been a few weeks since Derek had flown into the pack house in a rage, spewing more words than Peter had ever heard him use in his life to explain the disorder happening in the Stilinski house. Peter wasn’t exactly surprised to find out that Noah was neglecting to take up the duties Claudia usually did - he was always allergic to cleaning and cooking. Then, there was the drinking, of course.

And Peter hated it. He hated that he knew he and Christopher were going to have to step in, because he knew how it would go. Every time they so much as suggested that there might be a reason for concern, Noah took it as some sort of attack that warranted a full defensive lockdown and they wouldn’t see him or Stiles for a few days - which would be a problem, considering Stiles was pretty much relying on the pack to care for him at the moment.

He knew it was just the accumulation of stress, alcohol, and poor eating and sleeping habits that had his best friend so irritable - but it didn’t make it any less frustrating to deal with.

Since reasoning with the man was currently off the table, Peter and Christopher did the only thing they could think of: they stole their godson.

Peter had always had a way with words, which Noah and Christopher were always quick to point out was called a manipulator - but was it really manipulation if it wasn’t always done with malicious intent? Peter didn’t think so. Plus, they didn’t seem to have a problem with it when he would use it to get them out of tricky situations - or when he made a successful law career out of it that brought home a very decent amount of money. 

So, using his talent , he was able to successfully come up with any and every reason for Stiles to stay at the pack house most days a week, without tipping Noah off about their thoughts on how he was falling through as a parent. 

It was all around a good situation - the pack loved having Stiles around more often and Stiles was being properly cared for. Win-win.

After Peter was done getting dressed for the day, he headed to Derek’s room, where he could hear two familiar heartbeats. He knocked on the door and waited a moment before hearing his nephew grunt and Stiles translate, “You can open it!”

Peter was met with the sight of Derek clad in shorts and a tank top, a sheen layer of sweat over his skin as he did pushups in the center of his room. Stiles was laying on his back with his arms reached around behind him to wrap around Derek’s stomach to hold on as he went up and down with the teenager’s body.

“Morning.” Stiles grinned brightly at Peter.

“Good morning, Miecz,” Peter returned. “I see you’re helping Derek workout.”

The boy chirped, “Yep!” at the same time Derek grumbled, “No.”

“He’s gotta be in tip top shape for his first game tonight,” Stiles explained.

“He’ll do great, I’m sure. Now, Christopher made waffles and you both need to eat before school, so let’s wrap up the exercise for this morning.”

Derek lowered his chest down to the ground and Stiles rolled off of him.

As soon as Stiles made it to school, he was nearly tackled to the ground by Scott flinging himself at him excitedly. He pulled back and shook him a few times, then stopped and had to catch his breath.

“I shou-shouldnt’ve… hol on,” Scott panted, hand over his chest. Once his breathing evened out properly, his sunshine smile came back and he said, “I shouldn’t have ran.”

“Probably not, buddy.” Stiles patted his shoulder. 

“My birthday is this weekend!”

“I know!”

Of course Stiles knew - they’d been talking about it every day for the past month. He - well, Chris, technically - bought Scott a new LEGO set they could build together and it had taken absolutely everything in him not to tell him all about it. It was torture.

“Theo said he told his neighbor Isaac and Isaac said he’d bring his friend Matty - so now there’s gonna be five people, instead of just you, me, and Theo!” Scott told him. “The dinner’s gonna be so much fun! And Mom said we can even rent a movie. You have to help me pick one, okay? It’s gotta be super cool.”

“It will be super cool,” he assured him. “And, hey, I was thinking about it and I was wondering if you’d want me to invite the girls and Jackson?”

“The Hales?” 

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Jackson mean?”

Stiles shrugged. “Sometimes… but if he’s mean on your birthday, I’ll punch him. He’ll hit me back for sure and Derek will freak out.”

Scott looked at him like he was crazy - and heck, maybe he was. Stiles couldn’t even try to explain to him that Jackson was pack, even if he was a stupid head, and he really couldn’t explain that he was Derek’s anchor - so… yeah, whatever.

“I don't have to invite them,” Stiles added. “I just thought, if you wanted more people… they might wanna come. I kinda live with them, so it’s kinda weird if they know I’m going to a party and they aren’t invited. But if you don’t want them there, I just won’t bring it up and it would be fine. Whatever you want.”

Scott seemed to think about it for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, sure. You can ask them! The girls seemed nice when I met them at your house. Malia and Allison, for sure...Cora was a little scary, but she seemed cool.”

“Cora is the coolest - but definitely scary.”

The school bell rang and Stiles put his arm over Scott’s shoulders as they walked towards their classroom.

“Hey, guys!” Theo waved at them when they entered the room and they both took their seats at the table.

“Stiles is gonna invite some of his friends,” Scott updated him.

“Nice!” Theo nodded. “Hey, I forgot t-to ask you...wh-what's for d-dinner?”

Scott looked around the classroom - probably to make sure the teacher wasn’t looking, which she wasn’t - before sticking half of a granola bar in his mouth. That kid was always hungry.

Without bothering to chew and swallow first, he said, “I ask' my mom oo make s’ow roas'ed bees - it’s my sa'orite.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up in alarm as he nearly shrieked, “Bees?”

Scott looked just as surprised as Stiles as he adamantly shook his head.

“Scotty, I’m allergic t-to b-bees,” Theo said with concern.

“Why bees ?” Stiles pressed. “That’s disgusting, dude - what about the fuzz ?”

“I saw a chunky b-bumble b-b-bee once - is it like that?” Theo asked. “D-Do those t-taste good?”

“I’m not coming if we have to eat bees,” Stiles told him. “Can I bring my own food?”

Scott finally managed to swallow his mouthful and said, “Beef! Not bees - why would you think I said bees ?”

“Because you did say bees, dude!”

“You d-did,” Theo agreed.

“I had food in my mouth! I don’t eat bees!” Scott assured them. “We are not eating bees at my party.”

“Good - Theo’s allergic.” Stiles nodded and Theo shot an appreciative smile at him.

Stiles knew absolutely nothing about baseball, but from what he could deduce from the way the adults around him cheered when Derek ran around each of the bases, he figured his wolf was doing a good job. Laura, who had decided to come at the last minute, looked mildly impressed - so he must have been doing super awesome, actually.

About halfway through the game, Stiles noticed that there were loose strings in the pants of his jeans. The holes weren’t very large - more shredded than actual holes - but it turned out that tugging at the strings quickly changed that. He fidgeted with the outer edges of the growing holes, running his fingers over the slightly rough edges of jean and twisting the strings around his pointer fingers and pulling in opposite directions. Soon enough, he was able to fit his fingers in the holes and opened his hand to stretch it a bit more until his entire hand was in his pants legs. It was like knee pockets.

He looked up when two familiar forearms came into view and pulled his hands out of the holes. Derek had an eyebrow raised as he looked between his eyes and the ruined knees of the jeans.

“Der!” Stiles greeted excitedly, jumping up and throwing his arms around his neck.

“I’m all sweaty.” Derek tried to pull away, but Stiles held on tighter.

“I don’t care. You’re an athlete - you’re supposed to be sweaty!"

Derek straightened and hugged Stiles back as he lifted him up. Stiles buried his face in his neck and noticed that he smelled pretty good, considering he had just played a whole baseball game in the sun. A little like wet dirt, but mostly like his usual earthy pine scent.

He was set back down on his feet as two other guys approached - one of them wearing the same uniform as Derek.

“Nice job, Hale,” the no-uniform one congratulated, offering him his fist.

Derek bumped his knuckles with his own and then did the same to his teammate. He looked between his friends and the pack, who were watching their amiable interaction, and introduced, “This is Jordan and -”

“Camden,” the one without a uniform said, eying Laura appreciatively. “And who might you be?”

Laura laughed and Derek grimaced slightly.

“Laura, Derek’s sister,” she filled in.

He held a hand out towards her and she took it with an amused smile. He dipped his head and kissed her knuckle.

When he let her go, Jordan smacked his shoulder.

“I’m sorry - he’s...he’s insufferable,” Jordan sighed, shaking his head at him. “And obviously doesn’t care about the bro code.”

Camden waved him off. “Bro code is for younger sisters, dude. This is obviously a woman.”

“You don’t want her,” Derek promised. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laura demanded indignantly. 

“It means you’re intolerable,” Cora supplied, and Stiles grinned proudly. He taught her that word last week when he’d learned it.

“Peter must have rubbed off on her,” Chris chuckled.

“Oh no - I can’t be blamed for Laura,” Peter argued. “That’s the one kid that I didn’t raise. Her difficult personality is entirely on her and her mother.”

Laura scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I get it, Uncle Peter - you’re jealous of my inheritance .”

Peter bristled slightly and the air was suddenly very tense. Was he? Did Peter care about her future Alpha status? The wolves looked between two two of them uncomfortably for a moment and Stiles instinctively reached out to comfort him by touching his arm.

As soon as his hand landed on him, he felt anger settle deep in his skin and his teeth clacked as he clenched his jaw. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed a red tint in the air just around Peter’s body. It moved like liquid radiating from him and Stiles reached out with his other hand to touch it. Fury bubbled up inside of his chest so intensely that he almost screamed out in frustration.

What the heck ? Did anyone else see this?

The red began shifting into what might have been green, but Stiles yanked his hands away and stumbled back a couple of steps. The aura and negative feelings dissipated the moment he broke the skin contact and he looked down at his hands in confusion.

“Stiles?” Peter asked worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles looked around and noticed that the wolves were staring at him curiously, which led him to realize that his heart was beating loudly in his ears, probably faster than it should have been - but he was freaking out a little. What was on Peter? Why did he only see it when he was touching him? Why did he feel so angry when there was no reason to?

“Mischief?” Derek said softly and Stiles locked eyes with him. He took a couple deep breaths, letting those comforting green eyes calm him. If he panicked, Derek was going to panic - and this wasn’t the place for that.

“I’m fine,” he assured them. He wasn’t sure if his heart cooperated with the claim, but he was pretty sure that he was fine. When nobody said anything, Stiles took it upon himself to change the conversation. “So, uh, Scott’s having a birthday party this Saturday and he wanted to know if Allie, Cora, and the twins wanted to come?”

“Is there gonna be food?” Malia asked and Stiles smiled fondly at her. 

“Of course, Mal,” he assured her. Lots of slow roasted bees . “Scott loves food almost as much as you.” 

“Awesome.” She nodded, then looked up at Chris.

“You guys can go, if you want,” Chris allowed and Stiles victoriously fist-pumped the air.

“Scott McCall’s party?” Camden asked.

“Yeah, you know him?” Stiles asked. Why did Derek’s friend know Scott?

“Nah - my brother Isaac was talking about it yesterday. He’s going, apparently.”

“Isaac is your brother? That’s awesome!” Stiles told him. He hadn’t actually met Isaac yet, but Theo seemed to think he was nice. “You’re neighbors with my friend Theo Raeken, then.”

“Yeah, the Raekens live right across from us,” Camden confirmed. “He’s stoked about being invited.”

“Scott’s a weirdo, but he seems cool.” Cora shrugged.

Yeah, he was a weirdo.

Chapter Text

The sound of Derek’s phone buzzing on his nightstand pulled him to consciousness and he grunted in annoyance as he became aware of the harsh morning light filtering into the room from the window. Why was someone bothering him so early ? Stiles stirred at the noise, his hair tickling Derek’s ear since his head was tucked into the crook of his neck, but the teenager reached up to smooth it down comfortingly as he grabbed his phone with his other hand.

Paige: good morning :)

Derek: Morning.

Derek stared at the message he’d sent for a solid minute, before adding a smiley face emoticon like she did, to hopefully convey something more friendly. Not that he particularly felt friendly, since he absolutely hated mornings. The daytime was hot and loud and annoying - he really didn’t see the appeal.

Paige: what are your plans for today?

Derek: Cam and Jordan tonight.

Paige: well i’m practicing my cello. you were talking about wanting to listen the other day, so i thought i’d invite you over to my house?

He ran his fingers over the buttons as he debated. On one hand, he should be happy that she wanted him to come over, right? That wasn’t something they’d done before. On the other hand, that meant entering another territory. The places they usually frequented - the diner, the school, and occasionally the park - were neutral territories. Did he trust her enough to go into her territory? 

He realized that he was being ridiculous and groaned softly. Paige was human. She didn’t see this as a territory thing - even though it really was . He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. 

But the fact stood - whether she knew it or not - he would be going into her territory. Which was… a lot. It was kinda scary. They’d gone on several dates and he was pretty sure that she had told people that they were together, since their classmates started referring to him as her boyfriend. 

There was a possession aspect in the title that Derek found his wolf didn’t really like. Any time someone would say it, he’d feel his wolf come forward and he’d have to avert his eyes to the ground in fear of them flashing. 

It was stupid. It shouldn’t have even been an issue - but of course, his wolf was the most temperamental annoyance in the world. 

Derek: Sure. Time?

Paige: an hour?

Derek: ok.

Derek carefully turned his body to tip Stiles off of his torso onto the pillows. The boy mumbled incoherently, but quickly settled into the bedding as the teenager got up and quickly grabbed some clean clothes. On his way out of the room to shower, he made sure to pull the blanket to cover Stiles’ exposed foot.

When Derek strolled up to Paige’s house, she was sitting on the porch waiting for him.

“Bienvenido a mi casa,” she greeted. As soon as the words left her mouth, she worried her lower lip and a gentle blush tinted her cheeks. “Sorry, that was dumb.”

Derek grinned and looked over the blue two-story house, then dropped his eyes to linger on the flower beds against the front of the building. “Me gustan las flores.”

Paige glanced over at the plants and laughed, before offering him her hand. He hesitated a moment, before taking it and allowing her to lead him into the house. As he walked through the living room, he could hear Mr. Krasikev in the kitchen and noted the bitter smell of coffee slowly filling the downstairs as it brewed and dripped into the glass pot. Derek wasn’t sure how anyone could drink their coffee black - it was disgusting.

Derek was guided upstairs into a room that was covered in various shades of blues and purples. The bed was piled high with decorative pillows, which he didn’t really see the point of. He had a mountain of pillows that he nested with, but they were all real, useful pillows. He slept on them. Why have pillows that were just for decoration?

“What do you do with the pillows when you have to sleep?” he found himself asking. 

She looked at him curiously, before motioning towards her desk and saying, “I put them over there.”

What? He couldn’t wrap his head around why anyone would want pillows to just look at, but he figured that was because he couldn’t see it from her point of view. She didn’t nest - this wasn’t her den . She was human. Apparently things didn’t need to have purposes when you were human.

“You can sit on the bed, or...wherever - it doesn’t matter,” she told him as she got her cello from the corner of the room. She brought it over to a stool near the window, where there a music stand stood, already holding sheet music. 

Derek eyed the bed for a moment, but opted to stay standing. He wasn’t about to touch her bed - that was a lot more intimate than he was comfortable with. It was so odd to him how careless people were with people in their dens. Did they not need some sort of space for just themselves?

Paige leaned the cello against her legs while she took out a small dark cube and began rubbing it on the hairs of her bow. 

When she noticed Derek looking inquisitively at it, she explained, “It’s rosin.”

“What does it do?”

“It makes the bow kinda… I don’t know - sticky? The hairs need to be able to grip the cello strings and get friction for it to sound good. Otherwise it gets squeaky and scratchy… not really the sounds you want while playing music.”

“Is it real?”

She nodded. “Horse tail.”

Derek hummed in understanding. People apparently just played instruments with real hair. So weird.

As soon as Paige began playing, Derek had to try his hardest not to wince. It probably wasn’t that loud to a human, but the sounds filling the confined room felt like he was getting stabbed in the ear drum. It might have been more manageable if his wolf wasn’t so close to the surface, but he was in another territory. It made his senses way too dialed up to deal with her playing. 

He subtly moved behind her and opened the window in hopes of letting some of the sound escape. 

Once he got more acclimated to the volume, he was able to enjoy the way the notes flowed together in a gentle array of calming sounds. Paige’s eyes were shining brightly and her fingers flew over the strings like they were made for it. The usual hints of fruity raspberry were strong in her scent - she was happy. 

She was obviously in her element, the same way Derek was in the preserve.

He moved closer behind her and looked over her shoulder at the sheet music. He had no clue how she could read a bunch of dots with sticks on them - it was impressive.

“You’re distracting me."

“I’m just looking.”

“No, you’re…” she trailed off. 

Derek turned a bit to look towards her, inadvertently putting his mouth very close to her neck. He inhaled sharply when she tipped her head, exposing her throat to him in a submission he’d never experienced before. This was different than when wolves did it - or even when Stiles did it - because he knew what it meant. He may have struggled with most human mannerisms, but baring one’s throat was something primal.

He didn’t hesitate to lean in, ghosting his nose over the vulnerable skin as her scent turned almost spicy - the natural chocolate smell darkening significantly and taking on scents almost akin to cinnamon. Derek’s wolf perked at the scent and he felt his eyes flash in want, but hers were closed, so he didn’t bother attempting to reign himself in. Her breath hitched as he moved up to drag his bottom lip slowly over the helix of her ear. He nipped at it and she reached back to run her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps treading lightly up the stairs caught Derek’s attention and he hastily pulled away and leaned back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to make them return to their human green.

“What’s -?”

“Your dad’s coming,” Derek explained, his voice tight as he focused on keeping his control.

Before she could respond, the door flew open and a man a bit older than Derek’s uncles poked his head in, eyeing them suspiciously.

“This door is supposed to be open,” he said pointedly, but his eyes were playful, so Derek knew he wasn’t upset.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Dad.”

Mr. Krasikev squinted at them, before shaking his head amusedly. “I’ve got my ears on you two, so you’d better behave.”

“Dad!” she exclaimed. “Get out!”

Her father laughed as he exited the room, making sure to leave the door wide open.

“Sorry about him,” she apologized.

Derek shrugged as he forced an amiable grin on his face. He was a little busy trying to get his heart rate regulated so he wouldn’t shift, and the way the thick arousal in the air was making his head spin and sweat cling to his skin was not helping in the slightest.

He stayed by the open window as she began to practice her instrument again, focusing on the distracting scents and sounds of the outside world.

“We need teams for this mission," Stiles announced to the group of kids gathered in the backyard of the McCall house.

“Well, there’s eight of us - so at least it’s even," Allison commented.

Stiles nodded. “Let’s do two teams of four.”

“Who’s the team leaders?” Scott asked.

Stiles thought it was obvious, but apparently it wasn't. “Me and you, dude."

“But then we aren’t on the same team.” Scott pouted.

“But I would be a great leader and it’s your birthday - it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Who said you would be a great leader?” Jackson challenged.

Cora flicked his side and said, “Better than you.”

“Okay, let’s go back and forth picking, okay?" Stiles steered the conversation back on track. "You can go first, Scotty."

Scott looked around at the kids, each equipped with nerf guns, before deciding, "Theo."

“Nice!” Theo high fived him.

“I’ll take Malia," Stiles chose.

Scott smiled bashfully. “Allison.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at his friend. Then again, if the guy was gonna get a crush, at least Allison was sweet like him. Cora and Malia would both chew him up and step on him - they were little devils.

And stiles would never let them know he thought that.

“Cora.”

“That’s cheating," Jackson grumbled and Stiles smirked at him.

“That’s using my knowledge to win.”

So what if he picked both of the werewolves? It would be stupid not to.

“Uh, Jackson? You wanna be on my team?” Scott offered hesitantly.

Jackson sighed. “Sure.”

“Isaac," Stiles claimed.

“Matt.”

“Okay, awesome!" Stiles clapped his hands together. "The rules are: we can play in the backyard, the front yard, and in the house - but not in the kitchen, because Mrs. McCall is making the slow roasted bees in there.”

“Bees?” Cora asked.

“Stiles,” Scott groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“Yeah, they’re Scotty’s favorite.”

“Hm, I never thought about trying bees," Malia pondered.

“It’s not real b-bees,” Theo told her. “It’s b-b-beef.”

Malia momentarily looked mildly disappointed - which, ew - but she got over it quickly and said, “I love beef!”

When Stiles counted down and said, “Go!”, the kids dispersed in different directions.

Malia and Isaac were creeping around the side of the house, when she heard the telltale whistle of a nerf dart heading towards them. She quickly tackled Isaac into the bushes and sighed in relief when the bullet hit the side of the house instead of them.

“You just jumped on me!” Isaac complained.

Malia gaped at him. “I saved you.”

“It’s just a game - it’s not that important.”

“Isaac!” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper. “This is war .”

She suddenly became aware of footsteps running towards them and made sure her nerf gun was loaded, before popping up over the top of the bushes and shooting Jackson right in the chest.

“Rude!” Jackson complained, but he had a smile on his face.

Malia stuck her tongue out at her twin and he growled wolfishly as he charged towards her. She squeaked as he grabbed her arms and pulled her over the bush to wrestle her to the ground. 

“Isaac, help!” she laughed. She easily could’ve overpowered Jackson, but it was more fun to call out, “Teammate down!”

“I’m coming!” Isaac said heroically as he ran around the bush.

Jackson was pulled off of Malia and he and Isaac rolled around on the ground as they tried to pin each other down.

“Get him, Isaac,” Malia cheered enthusiastically as Isaac sat on Jackson and held his arms down to the ground on either side of her brother’s head. 

“You don’t look this strong,” Jackson whined, but his chemosignals were light enough that Malia knew he was having fun.

Malia was too distracted to hear the whistle until a dart hit Isaac in the side and another connected with her shoulder.

“Nooo,” she said dramatically as she fell down to the grass. “We’ve been shot.”

“Dang,” Isaac said as he fell beside Jackson.

“I got you guys!” Theo fist pumped the air as he ran up to them. 

“At least you got them and not Matt,” Jackson said.

“You don’t like him?” Isaac asked.

Jackson grimaced and shook his head. “The dude is super weird.”

“He’s kinda weird,” Theo agreed.

"You guys, it's time for dinner!" Scott yelled from the porch.

"Food!" Malia scrambled to her feet and grabbed Isaac and Jackson to haul them up as she hurried towards the front door.

"Plenty of bees to go around," Stiles told everyone as they crowded into the kitchen. "They're Mrs. McCall's specialty."

"The joke isn't even funny, Stiles!" Scott pushed his shoulder. "Just let it die."

"Like the bees you killed for us to eat?"

"Theo, our best friend trio has become only two of us," Scott said. "We aren't friends with Stiles anymore."

"Oh no - my heart. It's breaking," Stiles said monotonously as he sat at the table. "Jackson will be my new best friend."

"No," Jackson denied. "Derek can just have you more."

"So rude to me."

Stiles brushed his hair back out of his face, but huffed in annoyance when it kept falling into his eyes as he looked down at his plate. 

"You want me to braid it?" Allison offered.

Stiles readily nodded and tipped his head back so she could quickly pull his hair back into two Dutch braids and tie the off with the hair ties she always kept around her wrists. Malia was glad Stiles let her braid his hair so often - because Malia was definitely not about to sit there and let her practice on her. Her hair was just fine how it always was - down and maybe a little wild.

She was a wolf. What did they expect of her? She already didn't shift and eat random animals in front of humans... she didn't need to braid her hair, too.

Camden and Jordan weren't too deep into the preserve, so Derek didn’t have to walk long before he found them seated in a clearing, leaning against a boulder.

“Derek!” Camden greeted him. “How’s it going, man? We were waiting for you for like twenty years.”

“It was like ten minutes - Cam just has the patience of a kindergartener,” Jordan teased, earning two middle fingers from the curly-haired teenager.

“I was with Paige,” Derek told them.

Camden sat up in interest. “Ooo, Paige? How did that go?”

“Listened to her practice her cello.” Derek shrugged.

“You’re blushing!” Camden pointed at him. “Something definitely happened!”

“No.”

“Your ears are totally red, dude.”

“They might be a little red,” Jordan agreed.

Derek covered his ears and lightly kicked at Camden’s foot as he sat down across from them.

“Did you guys kiss?” Camden asked.

“No.”

“Lame.”

“Why don’t you get a girlfriend and stop living vicariously through Derek?” Jordan suggested.

Camden waved him off dismissively. “No girls at our school intrigue me.”

Jordan snorted. “You mean no girls find you intriguing.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a catch, Parrish,” Camden argued. “If Derek liked dudes, he totally would’ve picked me over Paige.”

“I do like guys,” Derek said.

“Wait, for real?” Camden asked, eyebrows raising in surprise. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for that.”

“Why?” 

“You just… don’t look like you’d like guys.”

Derek squinted at him. “What does someone who likes guys look like?”

“You, apparently.” Camden shrugged. “That’s cool, though.”

Derek thought it was odd how the norm for humans was heterosexual relationships. Most born wolves were bisexual. Of course, everyone had their preferences - but most of them at least experimented with same sex relationships at some point in their lives. Maybe it was because it was encouraged, maybe it was biological - who knew. Wolves just… didn’t care.

“I mean, I don’t really see the difference between girls and guys. You can have sex with both… you can love both. It doesn't really matter.”

“That makes sense, bro.” Camden nodded. “But what doesn’t make sense is that you picked Paige over me.”

“She’s hotter than you,” Jordan said.

“Uh, no. No, she’s not,” Camden disagreed. “And what about bros before hoes?”

“You’re the hoe,” Derek told him, earning a peal of laughter from Jordan.

Camden looked between the two of them several times, a scandalized expression on his face. Jordan reached his fist out and Derek bumped it with his own.

“So you really don’t think I’m hot?” Camden frowned. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Derek looked him over thoughtfully, before saying, “Objectively… but you’re not really my type.”

“Damn,” Camden sighed wistfully. “We could’ve been a real power couple.”

“Looks like you’ll just need to settle for her.” Jordan held up an opaque plastic vial. 

Derek’s nose scrunched up as the smell of its contents tickled his nose. He’d noticed it faintly before - but it was much stronger now that it was out of Jordan’s pocket. It was some sort of plant, he was pretty sure.

“What is that?” he asked.

Camden plucked it from Jordan’s hand and reverently said, “My girlfriend, Mary Jane.”

“Weed,” Jordan clarified.

Derek knew what weed was, of course - he’d just never smelled it. 

Camden squeezed the container and the top popped off, releasing more of the weird smell into the air.

“Jordy, you got a light?” Camden asked as he dumped the two joints into his hand. Jordan reached back into his pocket to fish out a camouflage print lighter and passed it to him.

“You ever smoked before?” Jordan asked him.

Derek shook his head as he watched Camden hold the end of the joint in the fire while sucking gently at the filter. He seriously doubted weed would work on him since he knew alcohol didn’t. Then again, he’d never tried.

“You don’t have to, obviously,” Jordan hastily assured him. “Totally your call.”

Camden blew out a puff of smoke and said, “There we go,” as he passed it to Jordan with a sense of accomplishment on his face.

Derek wasn’t quite sure what he accomplished...maybe getting it lit? The first couple times Camden exhaled, no smoke came out… so that was likely what he was happy about.

Jordan took a large hit and held it in his chest for several seconds, before slowly letting it out and slumping back against the rock. Camden took it back and did the same, smiling relaxedly as he blew the smoke into the chilly fall air. Halfway through another inhale, Jordan elbowed him, looking pointedly towards Derek.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Camden realized, smoke escaping his lips as he spoke. A brief coughing fit racked through him as he offered Derek the joint. “You wanna try?”

Derek eyed it curiously for a moment, before carefully taking it. The sun had mostly fallen behind the trees by then, so the orange glow at the end was mesmerizing against the darkness around them. The smoke trailing up smelled almost sharp and Derek was positive that his throat wasn’t going to appreciate the feeling of inhaling it - and it would likely be pointless, since it probably wouldn’t even affect him.

He brought it to his mouth anyway and inhaled, feeling it prickle and burn a bit as it entered his lungs, and he immediately coughed out the smoke.

Camden and Jordan laughed, not unkindly, and Jordan leaned over to pat his knee in consolation.

“You’ll get used to that and won’t cough as much,” he assured him.

“Try again and then give it back.”

Derek attempted it again and it was a little easier this time, since he knew what to expect. He was careful to take it in slowly and he managed to hold it in his chest for a second or two as he saw the guys had, before letting it out in a slightly less horrible coughing fit.

“There we go.” Camden clapped proudly. He put his hand out and wiggled his fingers impatiently, so Derek passed it to him.

The joint made its way through them a few times before Derek realized that it was absolutely working on him. He leaned forward to grab the joint for the fifth time and the world moved in a slowed down, airy way - nearly causing him to topple forward as his balance failed him.

“Big same, man,” Camden laughed. “Shit - you’re, like, way too far. Come over here.”

Derek crawled over to lean against the rock on Camden’s free side. As soon as he was settled, the blonde turned and put his legs over Jordan's thighs and his bunched up Jacket in Derek's lap as a pillow, before laying his head on him. 

Derek stared down at him almost in wonder, because this would usually trigger his wolf, having someone touching him. Laying on him. But for some reason - well, he assumed the reason was the weed - he didn’t really care. His wolf was near silent and it was almost relieving to feel normal for once. His hearing was limited to their clearing, where he listened to the faint crackle of the burning joint and the soft wind blowing through the branches above them. He could smell nothing except the weed-laced smoke. He felt at peace with himself and the world in a way he hadn’t really felt before.

“This is nice,” Derek commented.

“Yeah,” his friends agreed.

They continued passing the joint until it was down to the filter and then Jordan threw it back in the container.

“I wanna sleep here - I’ve never been more comfortable in my life,” Camden said.

Derek blew an amused breath out of his nose. “I’ll put ‘comfy’ on my resume.”

They all chuckled lazily, until Jordan asked, “Hey, what’s that?”

Derek’s attention was drawn to where Camden’s shirt had risen up, revealing a dark bruise on his side that was alarmingly obvious even in the dim moonlight. 

“Ah, nothing.” Camden fixed his shirt back down to cover his midriff. “Ran into something.”

Derek’s eyebrows pulled together when Camden’s heart sped up.

“Did someone do that?” he asked, thinking it looked a lot more like a deliberate hit than an accidental bump.

“Guys, chill - you know I’m a walking disaster.”

Derek and Jordan shared an uncomfortable eye contact for several seconds as they slowly pieced things together.

They were with Camden just about every second during school, and despite Camden’s claims, they’d never actually seen him be clumsy. And they definitely hadn’t seen anybody ever hit him - but he was always covered in bruises and scrapes that he blamed on himself. Plus, he almost never had any food and lit up every time Derek and Jordan would bring him lunch. If he wasn’t hurting himself, and they knew that no one at school was hurting him… the only other place he could be getting hurt was at home.

Derek wasn’t sure if Jordan was actually thinking the same thing as him - maybe it was just the weed making him feel like they were having some sort of psychic connection.

“Cam, did your dad do that?” Jordan asked as if on cue. 

The psychic connection was real - woah.

Camden tensed and sternly said, “No.”

“Are you sure?” Derek pushed.

“You’re calling me a liar?” Camden shifted to sit up and looked at them with a defensiveness that almost bordered on panic. “Saying shit about my dad like that - it’s not - it’s not your place.”

“We’re just worried, man - we care about you,” Jordan said gently.

“Well you don’t need to be worried - I’m fine,” Camden swore. “You guys are really killing my high - so are we gonna continue to grasp at offensive straws, or can we light up that second joint?”

Derek and Jordan glanced at each other again, uncertainty and concern evident in their eyes, but Jordan eventually nodded and took out the other joint.

Peter was seated in the living room, watching Ancient Aliens, when the front door opened and Derek stumbled into the house - lacking most of the stealth and grace he usually moved with. The uncoordinated sliding of his feet on the ground peaked Peter’s attention and he sniffed the air.

“Derek Sebastian Hale!” Peter called out humorously, a wide smile breaking out over his astonished face. 

Derek poked his head into the living room and raised an eyebrow. His green eyes stood out brilliantly against his red, bloodshot sclerae.

“You’re high as a kite,” Peter accused. 

“Uh,” Derek said intelligently, staring at Peter in a way that wasn’t really at him at all. His nephew was practically zoning out in the direction of his face. “I just -”

“Smoked weed.” Peter laughed and shook his head. “Christopher, get in here - we’re raising a delinquent! Bring the camera!”

“Uncle Peter,” Derek groaned, but laughed to himself as he rubbed his eyes.

“You’re being a teenager, Derek, this is a big moment for me. I’ve been waiting for this since I was a teenager.”

Christopher walked into the entryway, drying his hands on a towel, and asked, “What about a delinquent? I thought Malia and Cora were in bed already.”

“Well, we have another one now.” Peter motioned towards Derek.

Christopher hovered his hand over Derek’s shoulder and waited until the teenager leaned into the touch before properly gripping him and turning his body to face him. He looked searchingly at Derek’s face and eyes and pursed his lips to hide the smile Peter knew wanted to stretch across his mouth. 

“You’re definitely high.”

“Okay, maybe,” Derek admitted, smiling dopily. “Am I in trouble or can I go to sleep?”

“You should probably be in trouble,” Christopher said.

“But you can go to sleep,” Peter told him.

Derek gave them a thumbs up and reached up to scent Christopher’s forearm as he moved it away from himself to allow him to sluggishly head up the stairs.

Christopher turned his attention to Peter, who was still beaming on the couch. 

“You should not be encouraging drug use,” he reprimanded as he entered the living room.

“We did it when we were in high school.” Peter leaned forward to grab his husband's hands, before tugging him forward so he'd straddle his lap. Christopher lazily draped his arms over Peter’s shoulders as the wolf massaged his thumbs into his hips. “Besides, it’s not like it could hurt him. It’s just weed - and he’s a werewolf.”

“You’re a terrible influence, Peter Hale.”

“Eh, our kids are turning out fine.”

“Thanks to me.”

Peter took the man’s face in his hands and mumbled, “Probably,” against his lips.

Chapter Text

Derek, Camden, and Jordan were seated under the bleachers in their usual lunch spot, when Paige crawled in to sit beside the werewolf. 

“Gross, nobody asked you to sit with us,” Camden said, scrunching his nose in mock disgust - though his scent turned sweeter and brighter.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Nobody asked you to breathe, either, Cam. Yet, here we are.”

Camden retorted with something, but Derek wasn’t paying attention anymore. Paige had sat between him and the exit, which was making his skin crawl and his gums tingle as his fangs wanted to drop.

Trapped. Blocked exit. Cornered.

Derek scooted across the small space until he was sitting opposite Camden and Paige, so that he wasn’t in between them anymore. Jordan smiled at him, letting him know that he was welcome to sit beside him instead. It wasn’t abnormal for Derek to switch positions when he got too overwhelmed, and his two best friends never took offense when he moved away from them or didn’t allow them to touch him. He knew it was odd and must have seemed random to the humans, but they seemed to accept him and his quirks.

“Anyway,” Paige said loudly, getting Derek and Jordan’s attention and letting them know that she was done arguing with Camden. “You guys are coming tonight, right? I told Ella you were.”

“If Ella’s there, Jordan’s there,” Camden said.

Jordan sneered and flipped him off.

“Do we have to dress up?” Derek asked.

“It’s a costume party,” Paige told him, as if that were an answer - which it really wasn’t. He knew it was a costume party - he wanted to know if it was mandatory to wear a costume. Because he really didn’t want to.

Camden gaped at him. “It’s literally Halloween, man. You don’t have a costume?”

Derek shrugged. After thinking about his wardrobe for a moment, he realized, “I have something.”

Noah began stripping his uniform off as soon as he made it through the front door. He was ready for a hot shower and comfortable clothes - a second to relax before meeting up with Melissa and Chris to take the kids trick or treating. He wondered if his vampire teeth were still in his closet - that counted as dressing up, right?

Upon making it to his bedroom, he made a beeline for the closet and through the door open - and was met with an ear-piercing scream that sent him stumbling backwards in surprise.

Claudia was sitting in the back of the closet, knees pulled up and arms protectively covering her head.

“Honey?” Noah rushed forward and dropped to the ground near her.

“Noah!” she exclaimed as she frantically scrambled towards him.

She flew into his arms and he held her comfortingly, running his hands over her body gently as he tried to look for any injuries. Her eyes were wide and terrified and she was trembling - but apart from the tears staining her flushed cheeks, she appeared unharmed.

“What happened?” he asked her, using his steady police voice that tended to make victims feel more secure and able to think through their panic. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“S-someone was in here,” she whispered urgently. “They were l-looking for me.”

“Who was?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I didn’t see them.”

“You heard them?” he assumed. It was pretty ballsy for someone to break into a deputy’s house. “You say them - were there multiple people?”

“No-I-I don’t know,” she cried. “I was in the bathroom and-and I left a sweater on the bed - right there.”
She pointed towards the bedpost nearest them with a shaky finger. “When I came back out, the sweater was gone. Noah, they took it - I don’t know what for, but they did.”

Noah shut his eyes and tipped his head back as the adrenaline that had begun coursing through him dissipated with the realization that there was no threat. This wasn’t real. 

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, before softly saying, “Claudia, nobody took your sweater.”

“Noah, I swear, they -”

“Claudia,” he snapped. “Just listen to me, okay? The door was locked when I got home, so they would’ve either needed to hop the fence in the backyard to break in through the door in the kitchen, or they would’ve needed a key to lock up as they left through the front.”

“Then they’re probably still here!”

“No one is here, except you and me,” he told her, shifting away a bit to lean against the wall of the closet. 

Claudia appeared distressed, shaking her head more intensely and breathing heavier. “Then-Then they must’ve taken my house key from my purse - it’s on the nightstand, so they could’ve gotten to it easily - and used that to lock the door.”

“Honey,” Noah whispered.

“I’m not crazy,” she said, her voice cracking as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “They were… my sweater -”

“I know you’re not crazy, okay?” Noah assured her, placing his hand on her knee and stroking his thumb over the fabric soothingly. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget stuff like that.”

Claudia hid her face in her hands as she got control of her emotions, until finally taking a deep breath and pushing herself up off the ground.

“Where are you going?” he called out, getting up as well.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” she answered monotonously. 

Noah contemplated sticking around, but his feet led him out of the room. He never got a chance to fully change, so he was still in work pants and his white tank top - but he still had time. Maybe he could change once she was asleep and he wouldn’t have to figure out what to say to her.

Whoever that woman was, was not his Claudia. He didn’t know how to keep up with her - he felt like he didn’t even know her. He was angry - and he hated himself for feeling that way. God, she didn’t deserve it - it wasn’t her fault - but he was .

He made it to the kitchen and collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh. A vodka bottle was on the table - he must have left it out the last time he’d had a chance to relax. He didn’t think twice before pouring it into the glass that was still there. Last night, he’d been mixing it with sparkling water - but he was pretty sure he ran out of it. It didn’t matter. Straight vodka wasn’t as good as whiskey, but it wasn’t terrible.

Noah flinched as the front door burst open and Stiles came running in in a flurry of limbs and excitement. The man had an irrational spark of annoyance at the positive energy - because how ? How was Stiles so unaffected ? How was he so happy ?

He was glad - he was . He was grateful that Stiles either wasn’t understanding the gravity of the situation or was maybe just doing a better job at coping than Noah, but it still made him… jealous, almost. Noah wanted to have that much energy and excitement again. He wanted to be excited for Halloween - it had always been his favorite holiday. They hadn’t even decorated this year - the first time ever - and it didn’t even feel like Halloween. The days were all passing in a blur lately. He hadn’t even realized it was nearing Halloween until a week prior, when he overheard Stiles and Scott talking about it in Stiles’ room. 

Between work and Claudia, he felt like everything positive in him was slowly being sucked out. Almost like drowning, unable to take a breath through all of the problems in his life. Alcohol had the wonderful ability to fog up his head enough for those problems to seem far away.

“Dad!” Stiles yelled - and Noah flinched. He’d had a headache all day - probably because he never managed a proper night’s sleep anymore. Or maybe he’d drunk more last night than he'd planned to while watching television.

“Can you lower you voice, Son?” Noah requested.

“I think Isaac and Theo are gonna ask their parents if they can come trick or treating with us tonight, because they said that they’re parents don’t take them and Isaac’s brother can’t do it this year because he’s going to a teenager party or whatever - so they might be coming with us!” The boy's voice rose as he spoke and Noah clenched his teeth in irritation. 

“That’s great, but can you just calm down a little? We’re inside.”

As if not hearing Noah at all, Stiles rushed on, “And I don’t know what they’re gonna dress up as, because they said they don’t have costumes, so I think I might try to make something for them - and Scotty said he would look for extra things in his room, too. We’ll figure something out. Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to hel-”

“Stiles!” Noah cut him off, smacking his hand down on the tabletop. “You mother had a rough day, so she’s trying to sleep - and I haven’t had the best day either. So, when I ask you to lower your voice, can you listen to me? Would it kill you to listen for once instead of just… going . Just… be quiet for a second? Is that so hard? It really shouldn’t be.”

Stiles stared at him silently for a moment, lips locked tight. He glanced down at the glass in Noah’s hand and something dark and judgemental formed in his eyes that only fueled Noah’s annoyance.

“Are you coming tonight, or will you be drunk on the couch again?” Stiles asked, a clear challenge in his demeanor. 

“Of course I’m coming - I said I would,” Noah told him.

Stiles nodded and stepped backwards towards the exit, a resigned expression on his face. Noah reached for his arm to stop him from leaving, but his son evaded him.

“Listen,” Noah said, not wanting to end the conversation with the growing hostility between them. He’d never fought much with Stiles - and he really didn’t want to start now. Not when he was pretty sure he’d overreacted. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, okay? I’m just… stressed .”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s fine, Dad.”

“What were you saying about your friends?”

Stiles said, “Nothing,” as he turned the corner towards the stairs, out of sight.

“Mietek, don’t walk away when I’m speaking to you - you know better than that. It’s rude.”

Stiles’ face popped back into view and Noah was caught off guard by the hard anger in his eyes as he seethed, “I don’t like you when you’re drinking alcohol.” And then he was gone.

Noah leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table as he pulled at his hair.

He just needed a second to breathe. He needed the world to just stop for a second. He needed a break between dealing with tough cases all day and then coming home to the woman he married acting like a paranoid stranger. He needed to stop thinking about the fact that he was about to be a single parent, stop thinking about the fact that his wife was already dead - because that woman wasn’t her, even though he was expected to act like it was. And as he felt tears roll down his cheeks, he hated that he was crying. He didn't deserve to cry - the dementia wasn't even happening to him. Claudia was losing herself and Stiles was losing his mom and Noah… Noah just wanted a second to feel like he wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

Peter wasn’t a fan of the sticky hair gel coating his hands, but the eager grin on Cora’s face as he slicked her hair back for her greaser costume made it worth it. 

“You look so much like Dad with this makeup,” Christopher told Jackson, as he used a paint brush to turn their son’s face into what he apparently thought werewolves looked like.

“If anyone agrees with him, you’re all sleeping outside with him,” Peter said. “Paint could never imitate my beauty.”

“Your shifted face is kinda weird,” Allison teased. “I think Jax looks better than you.”

“Christopher, I don’t want to be a parent anymore - you can raise these brats on your own.”

“Sorry, Uncle Peter - no take-backs for being a parent,” Cora told him. “You signed up, so you’re stuck with us.”

“I knew I should’ve read the fine print.”

Jackson, Malia, and Allison had decided on doing a group costume together - with Jackson as the wolf, Malia as Little Red Riding Hood, and Allison as the hunter. Malia had refused to put on a dress, and instead wore a black tank top, red jeans, and a red cape - complete with a lidded wicker basket to collect candy in. Allison was outfitted in a stereotypical huntress costume, complete with a real bow that Christopher had loaned her from the arsenal in the basement.

“Okay, I think you’re done,” Peter said to Cora, after securing the last few strands into the stiff hairstyle.

She beamed and turned to Christopher. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’,” he told her, amused smile on his face.

“I got chiiills, they’re multiplyin’,” Peter sang under his breath.

Christopher laughed. “And I’m looosin’ control."

“Cause the power you’re supplin’...”

“It’s electrifyin’!”

The kids looked between the two men in confusion and Peter remembered that they’d never seen Grease. He made a mental note that they needed to watch it when they got a bit older.

“Were you guys alive when greasers were a thing?” Cora asked.

“No, but Laura and Derek’s dad looked like one, for some reason,” Peter answered. “He apparently never got the memo that they were out of style.”

“He wore leather jackets?” Allison asked. “That’s so cool.”

“I don’t think he ever left the house without a leather jacket,” Christopher said. “He was even buried in one, so he could wear it in the afterlife, too.”

“When it’s my turn to cross over to the spirit realm, I'm gonna be buried like a greaser,” Cora said determinedly. “That way I look super cool forever.”

Peter hated whenever any of them spoke about crossing over - losing any one of them would be something he wasn’t sure he could live through. He had thought for years that losing Christopher would be the worst thing imaginable - but it wasn’t. Losing a mate would be life shattering, but losing one of the pups would destroy him.

“It’s six,” Jackson spoke up. “Does that mean we’re getting Stiles now?”

“Aw,” Malia cooed, poking him in the side playfully. “Are you excited to see him?”

“No!” Jackson scoffed, his heart speeding up just slightly. “I’m just excited for candy, and we have to get him first.”

“Liar,” Malia and Cora chorused.

Jackson put his hands over his chest, as if that would help shield the sound he knew gave him away. “Stop listening to my heart all the time!”

“It’s kinda rude,” Allison agreed. 

Christopher squinted at Peter. “Exactly what I’ve been saying since I was sixteen and he doesn’t agree.”

“Using what I was born with is not rude,” Peter reasoned. “Papa is just jealous that he can’t hear mine.”

“I don’t need to hear yours - I always know when you’re lying.”

“Oh, really?”

Christopher smirked and Peter hated the way it still made his stomach flutter. 

Screw that stupid hunter for aging like a fine wine.

“If you kiss, I’ll throw up,” Cora warned them.

“ That’s rude.” Peter rolled his eyes. “One day, you’ll all be kissing people and I will remind you of how gross it is.”

Malia cringed. “Ew, I’m not kissing people.”

“Good,” Christopher said. “None of you have to ever kiss anyone.”

“I think I wanna kiss a boy someday,” Allison said thoughtfully.

“Me, too,” Jackson concurred. “It seems fun.”

“No, it doesn’t. No one is kissing boys,” Peter said firmly. “It’s illegal until you’re an adult.”

“Adult by human or werewolf culture?” Allison asked.

Peter hadn’t thought about that. For werewolves, a ceremony on the first Wolf Moon as a seventeen year old established the pup as an adult. It was the age when wolves were allowed to choose to join other packs or select a partner to bring into their pack.

“Wolf culture,” Peter allowed.

“And not a day before,” Christopher pressed. “Boys are very illegal until then.”

“Maybe I’ll kiss a girl then,” Malia decided.

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle at the ingenuity. “No kissing anyone!”

“Who would wanna kiss you ?” Jackson sneered at his twin.

Malia pushed him and they both stumbled out into the hallway, knocking each other into the walls and eventually falling to the ground in a heap, from the sounds of it. Cora and Allison followed them out to watch the altercation.

Christopher moved over to Peter and wrapped his arm loosely around his waist. “Are you sure you don’t want to take them Trick or Treating?”

Peter sighed. “I need to read through my new case file before tomorrow morning, or I would.”

“If I had known when I married you that you were going to hide in the room with a bottle of wine while I had to load the kids up on sugar, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

“You’ve been telling me this lie for so many years, and your heart still gives you away every time.”

Christopher pinched his side and Peter let out a (very manly) yelp. 

“It’s rude to listen to my heart,” the man reminded him, before pressing a kiss to his lips. “We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Peter watched his husband pull away and exit the bathroom, feeling rather annoyed with work. He could’ve been spending the night with his pack, but people just had to get themselves into shit with the law and he had to dig them out of it. Why did he have to be a lawyer?

As he walked out into the hallway, he found Derek leaving his room. His hair was neatly styled and he had on a Spider-Man hoodie that Peter had never seen him wear since he’d gotten it nearly a year ago. He wasn’t overly surprised that Derek wasn’t dressed up for Halloween - the kid was never a huge fan of pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

“Going somewhere?” Peter asked him curiously. Derek obviously hadn’t accompanied Christopher and the pups to get Stiles, so he must have had other plans.

“Party.”

“A party?” Peter raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have thought that was your scene.”

Derek shrugged. “My friends are going.”

“Camden and Jordan?”

Derek nodded, but his pulse quickened just a bit, just enough for Peter to realize that Derek was leaving out details.

Peter smirked. “Nephew, are you meeting a date there?”

“Look, I - can I just go?” Derek asked, his ears reddening. “Laura could go to parties.”

Peter raised his hands. “I have absolutely no problem with you having a social life. It’s good for you. Though, I did just tell the pups that they weren’t allowed to kiss anyone until their seventeenth Wolf Moon, so you'd better not be kissing people, Derek.”

Derek blushed. “I’m not!”  

Peter chuckled warmly and reached out, hovering his hand for a moment to give Derek the option to evade him, before gripping his shoulder and shaking him gently. “Have fun, be safe - and be home before eleven.”

“Okay.”

“If you need anything, I’ll have my phone on.”

Derek nodded, then left towards the stairs.

There was a knock at the front door of the Stilinski house and Stiles gave his Batman costume a final onceover in the bathroom mirror, before sprinting downstairs with a couple items in hand for Isaac and Theo. He passed by the kitchen on the way to the door and rolled his eyes at his father, still half in his work clothes with his head in his folded arms - asleep, most likely. Stiles wasn’t surprised, but his stomach twisted in disappointment nonetheless. 

Stiles opened the front door and was greeted by the eager faces of his pack.

“Happy Halloween!” Allison greeted.

“Woah - you guys look awesome!” Stiles told them. “You make some super cool Little Red Riding Hood characters.”

“And I didn’t even need a dress,” Malia said proudly.

Stiles agreed - her outfit looked awesome without being a dress.

“You ready for some candy, Batman?” Chris asked him.

“Always!” Stiles did a little excited dance as he stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind him. He realized that he’d left his keys in his backpack and asked Chris, “Can you lock it?”

Chris’ eyebrows furrowed. “Your dad isn’t coming?”

“He’s taking a nap,” Stiles explained shortly. “C’mon, let’s go get some candy!”

He was almost worried that Chris would debate him on his dad - which he really didn’t want to waste any more time on - but then he simply locked the door and Stiles and the pups started out onto the street.

Stiles bumped Jackson with his elbow. “You really look like Malia’s twin now, with that makeup.”

“Hey!” Malia squawked. 

“She’s jealous my wolf face is better than her shifted one.” Jackson smirked.

Malia punched him in the shoulder. “I look way cooler than that.”

“Whoever told you that was lying to you.”

“Stiles!” Scott waved enthusiastically as he made his way towards the Hale pack, flanked by Theo and Isaac. Mrs. McCall trailed a bit behind.

“Hey, guys!” Stiles waved back, rushing over to them. He handed Theo the Batman mask that came with his costume, since he didn’t really need it, and Isaac a red cape. He grinned when he realized how perfect it was, since Theo had on a cartoon bat shirt and Isaac was wearing a devil horned headband that Scott had used last Halloween. Good thing he and Scott were on the same brain wave.

“You’ve gained two more,” Chris noticed, looking at Mrs. McCall.

“Their parents aren’t very present , so… I told them they could join our group,” she explained.

“My p-parents said no more t-trick or t-t-treating since my b-big sister is t-too old now,” Theo told him, shifting his feet uncomfortably. “B-b-but Scotty said I could come, so...”

“Darn right he did - and now we’re gonna get candy ,” Stiles said, throwing his arm around Theo’s shoulders and pulling him into a side hug. He didn’t actually know Theo’s parents, but Stiles was pretty sure their entire world revolved around their daughter Tara. Which, rude . If they wanted one kid, they shouldn’t have had two. It didn’t matter anyway - Theo could be part of their little family with Scott and Isaac.

“The more the merrier,” Chris agreed, winking at Theo, who smiled.

“Let’s go - I need candy right now ,” Malia urged. 

“Me, too!” Isaac cheered, holding up a pillow case.

“Mrs. Magaña has the big candy bars - let’s go there first,” Stiles declared, leading the way.

When Derek reached the house party, Paige, Camden, and Jordan were waiting for him on the street.

“Nice hoodie,” Jordan complimented. He was wearing something similar, but with Green Lantern designs.

Derek almost cringed, but he forced a smile. Green Lantern? Out of all the characters he could’ve been…

“Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can,” Camden sang, doing jerky movements that almost resembled dancing. “Looking dope.”

“It’s from Stiles,” Derek said, grateful for the Christmas present he’d hardly worn.

“What’s a Stiles?” Paige asked.

“Family friend like you and me, but he’s a kid,” Camden explained. “His dad is best friends with Derek’s uncles - who are basically his parents.”

Derek nodded, grateful that Camden remembered who Stiles was enough to give her the rundown. For some reason, he never knew how to describe his anchor.

“Alright.” Jordan clapped his hands together. “You guys ready to party?”

“Hell yeah!” Camden fist pumped the air and headed towards the porch.

As they entered the house, Derek felt Paige slide her hand against his and intertwine their fingers. He didn’t like the way it restrained his arm - especially as they entered a new territory - but he didn’t pull away. He kept his eyes on the ground while letting Paige guide him through the mass of sweaty, drunk teenagers - afraid that they might flash as his wolf came dangerously close. Derek’s head throbbed painfully from the booming of music and laughter echoing around the house. The amount of scents in the air and people in his space made him growl lowly, but the music drowned it out.

They finally escaped into the backyard and found an empty corner by the fence to stand in. Derek wasn’t a big fan of being stuck between people and a fence - but at least he knew he could hop it, if necessary. He wasn’t trapped.

“Time for alcohol,” Camden said eagerly. “Someone come with me - I only have two hands.”

Jordan looked to Paige and she looked at Derek - who was absolutely not going back into the house, so he opted to examine the bush beside him so he could evade her eyes.

“Jordan, let’s go, you lazy ass.” Camden grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the crowd.

Overwhelmed, Derek pulled his hand from Paige’s and subconsciously wiped it on his pants, his wolf wanting to get her scent off of him. There was too much . 

Too many scents, too many sounds, too many people. 

His wolf pushed forward, causing his chest to rumble with every exhale and his sharpening claws pressed into the palms of his fisted hands. He distantly heard Paige say his name, before something - a hand, maybe - reached further into his space and he stumbled backwards to evade it, running into a wall.

Trapped. Attacker. Challenge!

“Derek,” she spoke again, and Derek looked up at her.

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open as she pulled her hand away from him.

“Your… eyes,” she said softly.

His eyes were glowing. She’d scene his eyes flare. Holy shit !

The realization that he didn’t have a handle on his control, while surrounded by half of his grade at this party, didn’t do anything to help lower his heart rate. He was shifting in public ! 

Oh Gods, oh shit, oh fuck.

He put his arm up over his face, knowing that his shift was starting to fully take over. As soon as the fabric reached his nose, he froze. 

Cinnamon.

It was faint, but it was there . Stiles must have touched it while raiding his closet recently. Derek closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, focusing on the familiar scent instead of the foreign ones around him.

Cinnamon. Warm sugar.

What else? Focus. Push the wolf back before everyone sees!

Cinnamon. Warm sugar. Vanilla.

He felt his claws recede, dulling into humanesque shapes. 

“Derek?” Paige asked hesitantly.

Derek growled, pressing the sleeve harder against his face to focus only on the scent.

Stiles. Cinnamon. Warm sugar. Vanilla. Stiles .

“Derek,” she said again, much to his frustration.

“Stop,” he forced out, voice rough.

Stiles. Cinnamon. Warm sugar. Vanilla. Stiles. Mate.

Like cold water was poured over his head, he gasped and his wolf was locked away as if it were never fighting him for dominance. 

What the heck? How… why did… what?

“Are you okay now?” Paige asked, almost timidly.

Derek nodded and said, “Crowds… stress me out.”

Why did he think that? Mate ? It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have thought that. His wolf must’ve gotten confused because Paige was talking to him, right? That was the only explanation. It was very common for wolves to refer to their partners as mates - not True Mates, like his uncles, but a loose use of the term. That must’ve been what his wolf was doing - it had to be.

“Did you miss us?” Camden announced his return, holding up two plastic cups. He handed one to Paige, while Jordan handed his extra one to Derek.

It smelled like cinnamon...whiskey?

“Fireball,” Jordan told him, noticing his confusion.

“There’s like five shots in there, so don’t pound it,” Camden told him.

Paige looked into her cup and sniffed it. “They didn’t have punch or something?”

“Of course they did - it’s a party,” Camden told her.

“But you opted for straight shots in a cup?”

Camden squinted at her. “It’s a party ”

Derek sipped at the drink and it was interesting. It tasted good - a little like cinnamon candy. Sweet in a way that appeased his sweet tooth, but… different. It made his throat and chest oddly warm, which he wasn't sure he liked. It wasn’t laced with wolfsbane - so it wouldn’t affect him. There wasn’t really a point in drinking it, but he figured that he might as well, since Jordan had gotten it for him.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?” Paige asked Derek. “Some fresh air might be nice.”

“Fresh air? We’re already outside,” Camden motioned towards the sky.

“Maybe they want some alone time, Cam,” Jordan pointed out.

“Ah,” Camden nodded, smirking at Derek. “I see you.”

“Let’s go,” Paige said, and offered him her hand. Derek eyed it hesitantly, but ended up taking it and allowing her to lead him towards the crowd again.

He wished he could just hop the fence, but that definitely wasn’t normal.

It only occurred to him again once they reached the street that Paige had seen him shift. Not fully - but she did. Would she ask about it? What would he even say? He couldn’t tell her it was the fluorescents - they were outside and he wasn’t Edward Cullen.

“Parties are overrated,” she said. “I was getting a little overwhelmed with everyone.”

Derek nodded.

Uncle Peter was right - parties were not his scene. He was never attending one again.

They aimlessly walked through the streets for awhile, making small talk and finishing their drinks. After about an hour, Paige was leaning rather heavily on him as the alcohol affected her balance. Derek wondered what it felt like to be drunk - but he would have to steal it from Uncle Peter to find out. 

They had just begun heading back towards the party when Derek’s wolf perked up at the sound of footsteps running towards them. He had a brief moment of alarm, before he caught Stiles’ scent and let go of Paige’s hand to turn in time for the boy to rush into his arms instead of his back.

“Hi, Spider-Man,” Stiles greeted happily.

Derek huffed in amusement and pushed Stiles’ hair backwards, following the movement to scent the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna get so much candy tonight, I won’t sleep for a week ” Stiles told him.

“In your dreams,” Uncle Chris called out from several yards behind, where he was standing with Melissa McCall, the pups, and several boys that must have been Stiles’ friends. He knew Scott, and he assumed the one who looked like a carbon copy of Camden was Isaac - but Derek had no idea who the other boy with them was.

“That’s Isaac with the cape and Theo is the one with a mask,” Stiles said, noticing Derek’s stare. “They’re really nice.”

Derek nodded.

Stiles hooked his finger in Derek’s belt loop and rubbed his thumb over the coarse fabric of the jeans. “I didn’t know you’d be out here tonight.”

With that, both Derek and Stiles looked over at Paige, who smiled a bit awkwardly.

When she seemed to realize that they were looking to her for an explanation, she said, “I stole him for a party with some friends.”

Stiles looked around the dimly lit street. “Well, this is a lame party.”

Derek rolled his eyes and playfully cuffed him on the back of the head. “Not here.”

Stiles snickered and pushed Derek in retaliation, then turned his attention to Paige again. “So, who’re you?”

“I’m Paige, Derek’s…” she trailed off, looking at the teenager expectantly.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked Stiles instead of addressing her question. He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence in general - let alone to Stiles, with Uncle Chris right there .

Stiles held the bag in his hand up higher and Derek’s nose flared as he caught the scent of Reese’s. He nearly reached for it, but he knew that he’d be able to sort through it later that night.

When nobody elaborated on his prior question, Stiles asked, “So, you’re Derek’s… what, exactly?”

“Girlfriend?” Paige said uncertainly, and Stiles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

The back of Derek’s neck prickled as if his wolf’s hackles had risen as he listened to Stiles’ heart beat pick up speed. It wasn’t by much, but it was enough for him to notice - since he had always been innately in tune with the boy.

Stiles’ scent turned rather complicated for Derek to decipher, which very rarely happened. There were brief, fleeting hints of anger, fear, and something else that almost seemed like jealousy, but… different. None of the scents lingered long enough for Derek to pinpoint them - and within a few seconds, his scent returned back to normal.

Stiles nodded in understanding and smiled, but there was a dullness in his eyes, as the smile didn’t quite reach them. In a tight voice, much softer than Derek usually heard him speak in, he said, “Well, I’ve gotta get back to the group. They’re all like puppies, y’know? They get sad if I’m gone for too long. Especially Jackson, since I’m his favorite.”

Malia laughed in the distance, but not loudly enough for either of the humans to hear.

“Well, it was nice meeting you…?” Paige prompted.

“Stiles,” Derek and Stiles answered at the same time. 

Derek wasn’t really sure if he was answering her or just wanting Stiles to look at him, because something was wrong . Stiles was upset and it was making Derek’s wolf very uneasy. What did he do? He was fine a minute ago, when he approached them!

“Have a fun night, Stiles,” Paige told him amiably and he shot finger guns at her as he turned away without a glance at the wolf.

A whine built up in Derek’s chest and escaped from his mouth for a moment, before he forced the sound to cut off and covered it with a cough.

Stiles was upset with him. The boy was never angry with Derek - he had no idea how to handle the situation. Derek was never really upset with Stiles, either - that was just the way they were. They were always fine. Comfortable. Were they in a fight?

Paige reached for his hand again, but Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to handle his hand being restrained while his wolf was so distressed. He tucked his hands into the large pocket in the front of his hoodie and began walking again in the direction of the party.

“So, that was Stiles, huh?” Paige asked.

He nodded.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re tense.”

Well, his wolf was about three seconds from taking control and having him chase Stiles down the street in hopes of reconciling with his anchor. He felt rejected, untethered, worried. But he couldn’t tell her that, so he said, “I’m fine.”

They walked in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, before Paige asked a little too loudly - or maybe it just felt that way - “Should I not have said I was your girlfriend? I just - sorry - I mean, I thought that was where we were. It’s fine if we aren’t, I just -”

“It’s cool,” he told her.

“Okay,” she said, letting out a relieved breath. “Stiles is super cute. He definitely adores you.”

Derek shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he would use the word adore, but whatever.

“He was raised with you and your siblings, right? Does he feel like another little brother?”

Derek shook his head. He definitely didn’t see Stiles as a sibling - he wasn’t nearly as annoying enough. He was just… pack. “Like a friend, kinda.”

“That’s nice,” Paige said. “Cam and I were raised around each other, but he doesn’t feel like I imagine a sibling would. More like… an itch that I’m not allowed to scratch because it would upset our parents, so I’m just doomed to be annoyed by it forever. I mean, like… I can’t cut him off. He’s not really someone I would normally be friends with, but we don’t have all that much of a choice, y’know? Sorry - this was a weird analogy.”

Derek laughed. “I get it.”

They turned the corner onto the street of the party and Camden and Jordan were standing on the front lawn, waiting for them.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Paige mumbled.

“You guys took a million years on your walk,” Camden complained.

Derek smirked. “You missed us?” 

“Well, Jordan’s cute, but he doesn’t have the hot, broody thing you do - so you’re nicer to look at,” Camden teased, winking playfully at Derek. “Now c’mon, I need more alcohol in me.”

Peter was just finishing his work for the night, when Christopher came into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

“Noah didn’t come,” he sighed.

Peter set his file on the nightstand as he asked, “What?”

“Stiles didn’t really want to talk about it, so I didn’t push,” Christopher told him as he began stripping off his clothes. “I think he was drunk.”

“He wasn’t drunk when I talked to him when he was leaving work. He said he was going with you guys tonight.”

“Well, he didn’t.”

Peter shook his head and leaned back against the headboard. “When do you think we should step in? He’s missing events - this is getting ridiculous.”

“Peter, it’s not our place. Neither of us have any experience in losing our spouse - he’s not going to listen to us. He’s stubborn, it would only -”

“It is our place, as his friends,” Peter pointed out. “And I don’t care if he’s stubborn - we can’t let him throw his life away. Claudia isn’t even dead yet - he shouldn’t be spiraling this hard.”

“Look, he’s still going to work. He’s still… he’s not violent or anything. He just seems to be sleeping a lot - and that’s not that bad.”

“Seriously? Not taking care of his son isn’t that bad ?”

“It’s shitty, but Stiles is being cared for. He’s here almost every night - he’s in Derek’s room right now. Noah will pull himself together, okay? If other aspects of his life start slipping, then we should get involved. But I think we just need to support him right now, rather than calling him out on his issues. He’ll take it as an attack - you know that.”

Peter did know that, but he wasn’t overly concerned. What was Noah going to do - fight him? He didn’t see the point in remaining uninvolved. “Wouldn’t you want Noah stepping in if it were me dying and you were becoming an alcoholic?”

Christopher crawled into bed beside him. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine losing you - but I’m sure that I’d be just as bad if I did.”

“You’d do that to the kids?”

“If I knew they had a stable environment to keep them safe and cared for - I - I don’t know. I think I’d want to numb the pain. But all I’m saying is that Stiles is safe. He’s fed, he’s clean, he’s cared for. I think Noah deserves a second to sort himself out.”

Peter disagreed, but he knew when to pick his battles. He let it go, for now. “Derek is on a date.”

“A date ? Do you know who it is?”

“Not at the moment, but I plan to find out.” It was Peter’s job after all, to know who his pack was interacting with. “They’re out at a party right now.”

“I honestly didn’t think this would be an issue for him, with how antisocial he’s always been. I mean, I was shocked enough that he’d made a couple friends this year - but dating ?”

“It’s surprising,” Peter agreed. “It won’t last long with him having a mate, though.”

“Have you ever known a mated wolf to date others?”

Peter nodded, a soft grin forming on his lips as he thought back to his childhood. “Illyana dated a lot of people throughout her teenage years, but the relationships were always very short. She used to say her wolf rejected everyone. We all thought she was just being picky—until she met Deucalion and they just clicked . We'd never seen mates before.”

“I remember being grossed out at how they always looked at each other,” Christopher chuckled. “Like they were in their own little intensely lovey world. Do we look at each other like that?”

“No, I would never look at you that way,” Peter assured him, knowing damn well he and his husband were worse. His sister looked at Deucalion like she adored him - he looked at Christopher as if he put the moon in the sky and the beauty in the world. Honestly disgusting.

Christopher lightly swatted at his chest and Peter caught his hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles.

“How do you think Stiles will feel with Derek dating?” Christopher wondered.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I think he feels the mate bond.”

“Humans aren’t supposed to feel it. I don’t.”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t think he’s human.”

“Jesus, are we back at the energy creature theory?”

“It’s not impossible! I can’t think of any other reason that Stiles would be so in tune with Derek all the time. And you remember what I told you about the baseball game - when Stiles touched me, I felt something. Some sort of connection, like Satomi mentioned. My wolf reacted to it and I think he felt my anger or something… I mean, you saw the way he freaked out and let go of me. You can’t think that’s normal.”

“How would he be something if Noah and Claudia are human? We’ve spent so much time around Noah - there’s no way we could’ve missed the fact that he wasn’t human. And Claudia… you know her. She’s never been all that accepting of the supernatural. She’s never even wanted a part in it - she didn’t want Noah or Stiles to be a part of it, at first.”

“As much as I wish I did, I don’t have all the answers. Stiles could very well be something that we’ve never come across. For both Satomi and I to have odd experiences with him… it has to be something.”

“Okay, fine,” Christopher laughed. “Okay, so Stiles is an energy creature. Fine. What does that mean for the mate bond, if he can feel it?”

“Since they haven’t actually mated , it shouldn’t be all that bad. He might be jealous, but his wolf… or, I guess whatever he is, shouldn’t feel rejected , per se. We should just keep an eye on him and make sure he’s fine." Peter shrugged. After thinking on it for a moment, he added, "Derek shouldn’t have to wait around for Stiles to turn eighteen eventually - that would make Derek alone until he’s twenty-four. He deserves to have normal growing up experiences before then.”

Stiles didn’t like Paige and he didn’t understand why Derek needed a girlfriend. She was human - that was dangerous . It wasn’t like him and his dad - they were pack . Stiles was born into the pack. Paige? Paige was an outsider - and outsiders didn’t belong around the pack. Didn’t belong around Derek .

Since when was Derek comfortable enough with people to have a girlfriend, anyway? He thought he was only comfortable around him - and maybe those boys he’d met at the baseball game - but who the heck was Paige ? Did they kiss? That would be weird… could Derek even be that comfortable with an outsider?

They wouldn’t get married - Stiles could tell - so there was no point in him even dating her.

Stiles glanced up as the door opened and Derek entered the room. He motioned towards the end of the bed for Derek to sit and help him sort through his candy haul. He’d already started the three piles: chocolate, fruity, and Derek’s.

As soon as Derek sat on the bed, a familiar scent hit Stiles and his stomach clenched as he looked up at him in alarm. Why did Derek smell like whiskey ? Was he drinking ?

“What?” the teenager asked him, noticing his discomfort.

“You were drinking,” Stiles accused.

“Only a little.”

“You smell like…” Like Dad. “Whiskey.”

Derek seemed to hear the silent words, as a look of understanding filled his eyes. Stiles hated it a little. “I can’t get drunk - it wasn’t laced with wolfsbane. I only did it to look normal. I promise, Mischief, I’m not drunk.”

Stiles knew that, but he still didn’t like it. “What’s so great about alcohol, anyway?”

Derek shrugged. “People just… like it, I guess.”

“I hate it.”

Derek nodded. “I know.”

They sorted about half of the candy, before Derek began moving the piles onto his desk.

“We aren’t done!” Stiles complained.

“We’ll finish tomorrow,” Derek told him. “Get changed.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but slid off the bed and grabbed pajamas from his drawer in Derek’s dresser. By the time his costume was thrown in the general direction of the dirty clothes hamper and he was dressed in a pair of sweats and a long sleeved shirt, Derek was already in bed. 

“How do you change so fast?” Stiles asked, crawling up into the bed beside him.

Derek chuckled, pulling the boy into his side as they got situated. “If I change fast, I don’t have to be in the locker room for very long.”

Stiles didn’t really understand, but he nodded anyway. “Was the alcohol why your wolf felt all crazy tonight?”

He was pretty sure Derek had lost control at some point that night, but he hadn't brought it up - so maybe he was wrong. The wolf had Stiles feeling antsy all night, so he couldn't imagine Derek felt any better.

“No, it was… it was a lot of things. The party, mostly. There were a lot of people.”

Stiles wondered if it was because of Paige. There was no way his wolf liked her the way it liked Stiles. He could feel it even now, much more restless than usual. It was keeping Derek’s body tense, as if ready for an attack. It was obviously upset by the night, and Stiles was almost happy about it. Maybe Derek wouldn’t go to a party next Halloween and he could come trick or treating instead.

He placed his hand on Derek’s chest and smiled as he felt the wolf settle under his palm. It was almost like he was touching it - a feeling akin to petting its fur - but… different . Because he knew he wasn’t touching it, yet it responded similarly. If he closed his eyes, he could practically feel it pressing into his hand, returning the affection.

Derek sank into the pillows as his body relaxed. “It always responds to you so fast.”

“It’s my wolf,” Stiles said simply, because it undeniably was.

Chapter Text

Stiles and Malia were about halfway finished with the masterpiece they were drawing in the dirt with sticks, when Alpha Ito’s car pulled into the Hale driveway. Malia immediately dropped her stick and started over towards the car as Brett and Lori hopped out of the back seat and smiled amicably at her.

“You ready for a Mario Kart rematch, Hale?” Brett challenged.

“Heck yeah,” Malia cheered, before turning to Alpha Ito and subtly baring her neck. “Hello, Alpha Ito.”

“Good morning,” she returned.

Malia and the twins then sprinted towards the house, leaving Stiles with the Alpha.

“I’m afraid my betas have taken your play partner from you,” Alpha Ito said, rather unapologetically. Stiles thought she seemed more amused than anything.

He shrugged. “Malia’s kinda wild—she just comes and goes whenever she feels like it.”

“I see.”

They stood there in silence for several long moments, before Stiles said, “I have a question.”

“And what would that be, child?”

“Do you know any mantras?”

“Mantras?” Alpha Ito hummed thoughtfully. “Are you struggling with your control, or is this for Derek?”

“No, it’s for me—but I’m not struggling with control… I’m not a werewolf,” Stiles said. “I wanna get a tattoo of a mantra one day because I think it would be super cool, but I don’t like the one Ms. Hale uses. 'Alpha, Beta, Omega' is kinda lame.”

“Thinking about tattoos already?”

“I’m gonna get a lot when I’m a grown up,” he told her proudly. “And probably earrings, too—those are super cool.”

Alpha Ito nodded. “The mantra my pack uses is ‘Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth’.”

“What does that mean?”

“The truth cannot be hidden,” Satomi answered simply.

“Well, duh .” Stiles rolled his eyes, before tensing as he realized that he was speaking to an Alpha . “I’m sorry—that was super rude. I meant, like, what does it mean for real ?”

“I suppose it could mean whatever you want it to,” she said. “Though for me, it means that werewolves are violent creatures who eventually will not be able to control themselves.”

Stiles cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. “Your mantra is just… saying that werewolves are violent creatures?”

“Aren’t we all?” she reasoned. “There’s no point in denying it. People—wolf or other—are violent. It’s important to acknowledge that truth and work towards refraining from acting on it. Understanding that we are capable of bad things, but controlling ourselves, is the difference between us and monsters.”

Stiles had never thought about it that way. He knew that some people didn’t like werewolves because they thought they were monsters—which was why it had to be a secret, even from Scott—but he never thought about what made monsters. Maybe it wasn’t just how someone was born. Maybe monsters didn’t always come with teeth and claws. He thought it probably made things worse, thinking about it this way—because that meant anyone could be a monster.

“I like that,” he decided. 

“As do I.”

It would definitely make a cooler tattoo than Ms. Hale’s.

“Can I ask you another question?” he inquired.

“You may.”

“How do you be a good alpha?”

Alpha Ito’s eyebrows raised and she hummed contemplatively. “Interesting question. What did Talia say?”

“I didn’t ask her. I don’t think she’s a good Alpha.”

“And why is that?”

“She doesn’t care,” Stiles said confidently. He didn’t know all that much about being an alpha—he was nine years old and not a werewolf—but he was positive that caring was a requirement. “She doesn’t spend any time with the pack, except for Laura. Sometimes Jackson, if he’s following Laura around—but that’s it. She doesn’t know any of the rest of the pack. She just bosses them around and none of them like her. I mean, they haven’t said it, but I can tell.”

Alpha Ito looked out at the trees, watching the branches sway gently in the cold November breeze. Stiles always loved Fall and Winter—it was usually way too hot in the Summer. 

“There is no single correct way to be a good alpha,” she told him. “Talia believes she is, just as her father believed he was—just as you seem to believe I am.”

“But that’s the difference!” Stiles flailed his arms in her direction. “I think you’re a good alpha because your betas seem to like and respect you. That’s not how it is with Ms. Hale. If you’re the only one who thinks you’re a good alpha, then you probably aren’t. How good you are should depend on how your pack feels about you—they’re the ones you’re supposed to be leading.”

Alpha Ito chucked and nodded. “I’m impressed that you’ve thought so much about this.”

“She’s not very nice to Derek, which is also why I don’t really like her. She thinks he’s weird—but everyone likes him way more than they like her. He would be a better alpha than her for sure.”

The woman looked at him with an indecipherable expression for several seconds, and Stiles wasn’t really sure if he’d said something wrong or made her think. Was he supposed to say something else, or would that make the situation worse? 

“You know, Stiles,” she said finally, much to his relief. “There was a saying that someone told me a long time ago, and it’s stuck with me every day that I’ve been an alpha.”

“What was it?”

“It goes, ‘The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.’ In my opinion, an alpha should never look at themselves as more important than the betas in their pack. An alpha’s life is worth no more than a beta’s—no more than an omega’s . Everyone has a place in this world, a role to play. People to influence, events to put into motion. An alpha does not make a strong pack, the wolves that come together in unison do. There’s no one more powerful than someone who is loved, since those are the people who have others willing to stand beside them.”

“Okay...the strength of the wolf is the pack… so every wolf is strong, if they have the pack to protect them,” Stiles reiterated as he processed the saying. “Even though the alpha is technically stronger, no wolf is strong on their own.”

“An alpha whose pack does not follow them is still an omega.”

“That makes sense.” Stiles nodded. “Basically, don’t think you’re the best just because you’re in charge… and spend time with your pack. That seems easy.” 

“It should be,” Alpha Ito agreed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go speak with the adults.”

“Thanks for answering my questions,” Stiles told her.

“Thank you for asking them.”

He was a little shocked—nobody had ever thanked him for asking questions before. By the time he mentally recovered, Alpha Ito had already disappeared into the house. 

“The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack,” he whispered to himself, hoping that he’d remember it. Maybe he’d get that tattooed.

“Stiles!” Allison shouted from the porch, grabbing his attention. “Come hang out in Cora’s room with us. She won’t let me paint her nails—will you?”

“Can you just paint my toenails while I play videogames with Cora?”

“Totally!” she chirped, before running back into the house. 

Stiles followed after her, ready for his pedicure.

As he passed through the entryway, he saw the twins in the living room, aggressively playing the Wii, and the adults talking about something in the kitchen with very serious expressions. He wondered what they were talking about—it was probably why Alpha Ito had come over today. He was pretty certain it wasn't planned.

“What color do you want?” Allison asked him once he was seated on Cora’s bed, removing his shoes and socks with his toes.

“Uh, green.”

“Coming right up!” Allison hurried across the hall to her room and Stiles heard the clinking of glass nail polish bottles as she rummaged through them.

“If you leave your nasty socks in my room, I’ll shove ‘em in your mouth while you sleep,” Cora threatened.

He gave her a shit-eating grin. “Derek wouldn’t let you.”

Cora elbowed him playfully and shot him a faux glare. “Looks like I better do it before you go in his room, then, huh?”

"You could try," he taunted, before letting out a shriek and nearly falling off the bed as she leaped at him.

“Another fire?” Peter asked. If Chris didn’t know Peter better than he knew himself, he might’ve mistaken his tone for something between surprise and inconvenience, instead of the concern it really was.

“This one was relatively close, as well. We need to stay vigilant in paying attention to who we associate with,” Satomi told them gravely.

“Were there any survivors?” Laura asked.

“One beta, according to Alpha Finch. She’s taken him into her pack.”

“He was taken into the Primal Pack?” Talia recognized, negative judgment clear in her voice.

“Alpha Finch was the closest pack to his, so yes. They held bordering territories.”

“The Talbots weren’t just a one-off then,” Peter said. “Packs are specifically being targeted and murdered.”

“It appears so.”

“And we have no idea who might be behind it?” Chris asked.

“It would be ridiculous to assume anything other than hunters,” Talia pointed out. “There aren’t a lot of other groups willing to murder packs for existing.”

“Hunters don’t usually kill by house fire—and most are code abiding.”

“Coming from the family you did, do you genuinely believe that?” Satomi wondered.

“Gerard is the only hunter I’ve known to be code breaking,” Chris said. “I do believe that the majority take it seriously.”

“Then this must have been Gerard or one of his friends, because it was very clearly a carefully-orchestrated attack. The house had underground tunnels like this one, which were relatively unknown to outsiders. They were all lined with mountain ash and wolfsbane gas bombs were thrown into the tunnels, where they were trapped.”

“Sounds like reconnaissance would’ve been needed,” Peter pointed out. “How would they have done that without the wolves smelling them around the house?”

“The surviving beta mentioned that he believed it could have been one of his older brother’s friends. He often had them over, so their scent wouldn’t have been unusual near and in the den.”

Laura frowned. “A friend? Hunters would act like that?”

“To get close to you for information? Absolutely,” Peter told her bitterly.

“Not all of them,” Chris found himself defending. His father was a bad seed, but he knew for a fact that there were many good hunters, just as he was. Those who only wanted to help keep people safe. Being part of a wolf pack meant that those people were always spoken about as if they were nonexistent, which he didn't appreciate.

“Enough of them, apparently,” Satomi argued. “Not all werewolves struggle with control, but enough of them do that mantras are in common use.”

Chris couldn’t dispute that, so he stayed silent.

“We need to be very aware, then. Being careful of outsiders might be a good idea for a while,” Talia declared. “Thank you, Satomi, for bringing it to our attention. I trust if you hear anything else, you’ll let us know?”

“Of course—and I expect the same of you.”

If there were codeless hunters running around Northern California setting house fires, this could be a very big problem.

Chapter Text

Chris was just finishing the dishes from breakfast, when the phone rang. 

“Do you want me to answer it?” Laura offered as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“I’ve got it,” he told her, drying his hands on a hand towel on his way over to the phone. When he reached it, he picked it up and answered, “Hale Residence, Chris speaking.”

“Good morning, Chris,” a deep, familiar voice greeted. 

“Deuc?” Chris asked, though he didn’t need to. He’d spent enough time around the man to recognize his voice - enough intoxicated nights with Peter and Noah in high school, trying to mimic his accent.

What was the protocol when randomly being contacted by a psychotic ex-packmate?

“I just wanted to get in touch and wish my nephew a happy birthday,” Deucalion told him. 

“Derek’s asleep, but I’ll pass along the message.” Chris had no intentions of doing so, but there was no point in starting an argument. “What else are you calling for?”

“Must there be an ulterior reason?”

“Considering the pack hasn’t heard from you in a decade, I assume there is.”

There was a silence for a long, drawn out moment, before Deucalion asked, “How is she?”

Chris’ eye twitched and he clenched his jaw as he answered through his teeth, “Not your concern.” 

“Isn’t she?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You don’t even know her - you have no right to ask.”

“She’s my daughter - that gives me every right.”

“Blood aside, she’s my daughter,” Chris argued. “Peter and I raised her alongside our own. She has no idea who you are.”

“Which I’m interested in changing.”

Chris clutched the phone in his hand tighter, anger boiling inside of him at the thought of Deucalion around their pack again. “She doesn’t need someone like you in her life.”

“Shouldn’t that be her decision?”

“She’s ten!”

“And that means she doesn’t have a right to know her father?”

“It means she’s not old enough to understand the implications of associating with you, Deuc. Until she’s old enough to know what you’ve done, she’s not old enough to choose to want you around.”

“Chris -”

“This is non negotiable.”

Deucalion sighed, long and heavy. “How unfortunate.”

A soft click indicated that the wolf had hung up, and Chris all but slammed the phone down. 

Fuck. They had enough problems with Claudia and Noah and the local fires - and now they had to worry about Deucalion showing up?

Chris looked up as Peter came into the kitchen. He didn’t appear overtly alarmed, but Chris recognized by the subtle tightness around his mouth and eyes that he knew something was wrong.

“We just got a call from an old friend.”

“Was it Kate or Gerard?” Peter asked flippantly as he looked over the newspaper on the table for anything interesting. “We still haven’t received our wedding gift - though I suppose it’s better late than never.”

“It was Deuc.” As soon as the name left Chris’ lips, Peter tensed and snapped his attention towards his husband, trepidation now clear in his eyes. “He asked about Cora.”

“Why now?” Peter asked, coming over to Chris and leaning against the counter beside him.

“I don’t know.”

“Did he,” Peter started, but took a moment to seemingly collect his thoughts before continuing, “Did he say he wanted her?”

“He’s not taking our kid,” Chris assured him.

Peter rubbed a hand slowly down his face, before settling his fist under his chin to rest against. “From a legal standpoint, he could. It’s not like we could reason with the court that he killed his betas in a psycho need for power - thus making him an unfit parent. He could easily win over a courtroom - he’s wealthy, he’s charming, he’s -”

“Is your teenage crush on him coming back?” Chris teased, trying to calm his husband. Peter shot him a glare, so he figured it didn’t really work all that well. “We can argue that she’s been raised by us - and Talia is here. Mothers almost always end up winning custody battles against random absent fathers. You know this - you’re just stressing out.”

Peter nodded, knowing he was right. “What if he talks to her somehow? Tells her that he’s her dad and -”

“He’d have to enter the territory - and if he does, then we’ll drive him out before he gets anywhere near her.”

“We need to tell her about him, Christopher,” Peter said. “Just in case, Cora needs to know that he’s not a good man and she shouldn’t speak to him.”

Chris nodded. “Do you think he’d hurt her?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I mean, I knew him for many years… and I never would have thought he’d do the things he did. I don’t know who he is anymore. And if he was willing to slaughter his entire pack, then… What if Cora’s the last link or something? She would, by blood, be a beta of his. His pup. It would give him power, if he were to kill her. We can’t risk that. She needs to know to run the other direction if she sees him.”

“We’ll talk to her.”

Most of the household was awake by the time Stiles was sent upstairs to get Derek up. 

Stiles turned the mood ring in his hand over several times between his fingers as he entered the room and climbed onto the bed. Derek wasn’t quite awake, but Stiles smiled as he saw his nostrils twitch, taking in his scent and promptly relaxing further into his pillow when his wolf dismissed the boy as a threat. Stiles reached over and carded a hand through his dark hair.

“Happy birthday, Der,” he whispered.

Derek gave a soft noise of acknowledgement, but made no moves to open his eyes - or even unbury his face.

After finding his hand in the blankets, Stiles pulled it out and slid the mood ring over his middle finger, smiling when it fit snugly in place. The light green color quickly darkened to a deep blue. 

“Wha-ding?” Derek mumbled groggily.

“Seeing if your present fit,” Stiles answered. “It does.”

Derek finally turned his face just enough to expose one eye and look at the ring. A soft rumble formed in his chest as his thumb brushed over the silver moon phases wrapped around the band and Stiles was glad that he liked it. When he saw it in the store, he just knew he had to get it for his wolf.

Derek shifted underneath the blankets and Stiles almost thought he was thinking about getting up - but then an arm reached out from the blankets and tugged Stiles into the warm nest of bedding, tucking him against Derek's side.

“You’re supposed to wake up,” Stiles laughed, but didn't make any attempts at breaking free from the embrace. He wasn't complaining. Derek just squeezed him tighter with his one arm, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Or we could just lay here, I guess.”

“Mhmm,” Derek hummed, snuggling further into his pillow.

He supposed it was Derek’s birthday - so he was allowed to sleep half the day away, if he wanted.

It was past noon by the time Peter finally heard Derek and Stiles descending the stairs, so he felt justified when he called out, “It lives!”

As soon as the boys entered the living room, Derek sent him a playful glare and Peter winked at him. If he couldn’t bother his nephew, he had no interest in being an uncle.

“How’s it feel being fifteen?” Christopher asked him as the teenager walked over to where he was standing. “You look older.”

Derek snorted. “By a day?”

“Well, you were born just before three in the morning - so by about ten hours.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Peter asked his husband.

“I know I am.”

“Mhm.”

Christopher held an arm out towards Derek and the boy leaned in to give him a brief hug, before pulling away.

If Allison wasn’t already curled up against Peter’s side, holding him down on the couch, he might’ve tried to get a hug out of Derek, too. Those were few and far between, after all. 

“It’s freezing,” Stiles complained as he hurried over to the couch and took his place tucked into Peter’s other side.

“It’s almost winter,” Derek reasoned, snagging a blanket off the back of the armchair near him and tossing it in their direction.

“Yes, warmth,” Allison sighed, helping Stiles situate it over the both of them.

“I love having wolves around,” Stiles said happily. “So toasty.”

“That’s the only reason I keep Peter around, too,” Christopher agreed. “Excellent heater.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “I can think of a few other reasons you’ve mentioned.”

“Ew,” Derek said under his breath, before announcing, “I’m going out with Paige, so I’ll be home later for dinner.”

“Paige?” Christopher inquired.

“His girlfriend,” Stiles filled in. Peter was mildly surprised that Stiles knew about her - but then again, he wasn’t sure Derek was capable of hiding anything from Stiles.

“Wait, what?” Jackson perked up. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Since when?” Allison asked. 

“I gotta go,” Derek ignored them, giving a wave in the general direction of the living room as he headed out the front door.

The pups immediately turned to Stiles, who raised his eyebrows at them. “What?”

“Who’s Paige?” Cora asked.

“His girlfriend,” Stiles said, a bitter edge to his tone. “I just said that.”

“But who is she?” Cora pressed. “Is she pretty? Is she nice? Is she -”

“I barely know her!” Stiles exclaimed. “Stop asking me.”

Peter felt an odd sense of anger rise up in his stomach and he looked down at Stiles, knowing those feelings definitely weren’t coming from himself. He certainly didn’t care who Derek was seeing. Stiles seemed completely unaware of the emotion sharing, which was very interesting. It was definitely his anger, though - he was quite obviously not a fan of Paige.

“Why don’t you guys go play outside?” Peter suggested, trying to save his godson from the pups’ prying.

“Yeah!” Malia agreed, grabbing Jackson on her way towards the entryway. Cora followed after them, and Peter gently nudged Allison up, who luckily got the hint and left. 

Just as Peter had hoped, Stiles didn’t move.

“Stiles, can I ask you an odd question?”

Stiles looked up at him. “Sure.”

“Have you ever noticed anything… extra, about you? Like an energy, perhaps?”

“Peter,” Christopher said sternly, shaking his head. Peter elected to ignore him, since this was a relatively important matter.

Stiles thought for a moment, before answering, “Not really.”

“You always know how Derek’s feeling. Since you were little, you’ve always known,” Peter pointed out. “How do you do that?”

“I just know it.” Stiles shrugged. “I feel it.”

“Can you always?”

“With Derek, yeah. But with everyone else, I have to touch them.”

Stiles busied himself with picking at the strings of the blanket, while Peter looked at him curiously. Stiles didn’t seem to understand how abnormal it was. People didn’t just feel others' emotions, like that. Then again - if he had never known any differently, then maybe it wasn’t all that odd to him.

“Can you tell how I feel right now?” He asked.

“You feel fine right now, but were scared when I first sat with you,” Stiles said. “Why were you scared?”

“I wouldn’t say I was scared,” Peter denied, but Stiles fixed him with a very unimpressed look, so he amended, “but I might’ve been a little nervous.”

“Why?”

Peter smiled and brushed his hair backwards out of his face, putting enough pressure to pull his head back against the couch cushion with the motion and force him to look up at him. “Nothing for you to worry about, little one.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise - it’s just boring grown up stuff.”

Stiles squinted his eyes at him a moment, but finally relented and grinned. “Fine. I’m gonna go outside.”

Peter released his head and told him, “Have fun.”

Stiles got up and raced out of the room towards the front yard.

Christopher threw an arm up in annoyance at Peter. “Why would you do that?”

“He’s an empath, Christopher - that’s extraordinary!” Peter said. “There are so few creatures who can naturally accomplish tactile empathy, and he happens to be one.”

“How is that even possible? Noah definitely would have told us if he was an empath.”

Peter agreed. Noah wouldn’t have kept something like that from them all these years. “Could’ve been Claudia, though I doubt it with how uncomfortable she is with the supernatural. Perhaps a grandparent?”

“What does empathy have to do with the energy stuff, though?” Christopher wondered. 

“I’m not sure - but the more pieces of the puzzle we have, the sooner we’ll figure it out.”

Derek smiled as he approached the mall, where Paige was waiting for him on a bench near the entrance.

“Happy birthday!” she said excitedly, practically jumping to her feet and hurrying towards him. She immediately pulled him into a hug and he stiffened slightly, but willed himself to relax a bit and pat her back a couple times in acknowledgement. She smelled different - maybe a new shampoo. It had hints of pine and was reminiscent of the woods. He liked it. 

When Paige finally pulled back, she handed him a lumpy, wrapped package. They made their way back over to the bench and Derek carefully tore open the paper to reveal black leather. Upon taking it out and letting the fabric fall open, he realized it was a nice leather jacket. He carefully ran his fingers over it, tracing the pockets and zipper.

“Do you like it?” she asked tentatively.

Derek nodded. “It’s really cool.”

He’d never owned something like it - it almost made him irrationally nervous to put it on. What if he scratched it or something?

“Let me see how it looks,” she urged, so Derek put his arms through the sleeves and pulled it on. It fit nicely on his shoulders and didn’t hug his arms too tightly, which he appreciated. It was odd wearing something that smelled so unlike him, but he knew the only way to fix the scent would be to wear it.

Derek gave a lopsided grin and raised an eyebrow as he put his arms out to the side, awaiting her response. 

“You look hot,” Paige admitted, a blush dusting her pale face. She bit her lower lip in an attempt to hide a smile, then ducked her head to the side as she looked up at him through thick lashes. She was beautiful. The mole just under her eye looked almost… elegant, in a way. Her hair was pulled back in two braids, with small jewels in it - which Derek assumed were some sort of twist-in hair clips. Allison had some that she put in her braids sometimes.

Derek held his hand out to her and she took it, lacing their fingers together.

“Ice cream?” he suggested, knowing that Baskin Robbins was just beside the mall. Ice cream sounded both delicious and fitting for his birthday. He could definitely go for some chocolate.

“Sure,” she agreed easily.

Derek was grateful for his new jacket when they entered Baskin Robbins - because the building was freezing . He recalled it being a much welcomed change of temperature when he’d come in summer, but now it was just as cold as outside. 

“Welcome in, what can I get you kids?” a man asked from behind the counter. It was relatively empty - probably because it was a little too cold for ice cream. Whatever.

Paige looked to Derek and motioned for him to order first, so he thought back to what Stiles had ordered for him a couple months prior and said, “Chocolate Fudge.”

“Cone or cup?”

“Cup, please.”

“And you, Miss?”

She looked over the flavors for a few moments, before ordering some pineapple thing - which Derek was pretty sure one of the twins got last time. They got their ice cream quickly and Paige led them back outside to eat them.

“So, what are your plans for today?” she asked. 

Derek shrugged. “Dinner with my pa - parents .”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Paige said, seemingly not picking up on his slip. Thank the Gods. “You don’t talk about your parents often.”

“I,” Derek said, trying to figure out what to say. He didn’t talk about them because one was never really around and the other was dead. “I meant my uncles. They raised me.”

Paige nodded. “Are they good cooks? My dad is just terrible at making food.”

“They’re great,” Derek told her. “My uncle Peter barbecues, but Uncle Chris cooks more. He could be a chef.”

“Wow - I’m jealous.”

Derek noticed that Paige had been leading him towards the edge of the preserve, which was across the parking lot from Baskin Robbins. He wasn’t really sure why they were heading there, but he wasn’t complaining. It was much more comfortable there for him, after all.

“This is really good,” she said, eying her ice cream cone approvingly. She offered it towards him and asked, “Do you wanna try it?”

Derek shook his head. “I, uh… have a thing. With food.”

“Right,” she said. “I remember you not really wanting me touching your food back during our first date - which is totally fine, obviously! I just didn’t know that you also didn’t want to touch other people’s food. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her.

Derek noticed a bit of ice cream on the corner of her mouth and huffed out a short laugh.

“What?” she asked.

He pointed at his own cheek, but her furrowed eyebrows told him that she wasn’t understanding, so he reached over and wiped the ice cream off with his thumb. As soon as he did, he was hit with the spicy smell of arousal and his breath caught in his throat. 

“Thanks,” she breathed, her pupils dilating as she looked at him.

Derek was mildly aware of his heart rate speeding up, but was much more concerned with the way her scent was so strong in his nose, clouding up any other thoughts that didn't revolve around this moment. He hadn’t realized that he was moving towards her until she was already in his space, and her hand gently touched his chest. Her fingers left a tingly trail in his skin as she slowly slid her hand down his torso. 

When she got to the hem of his jacket, she toyed with the zipper for a moment, before asking, “Can I kiss you?”

Derek glanced down at her lips, which were shinier than they were a moment ago - she must have wet them. He’d never kissed anyone before, but her lips looked enticingly soft and she smelled delicious, so it was a very short debate in his head before he nodded.

Paige used her hold on his jacket to gently tug him down to meet her, and then rose up on her toes the last inch to close the gap between them. The kiss was chaste and gentle, just a soft press of their lips. A second passed, and then she pulled back just slightly to ask, “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered - voices seeming way too loud for the moment. They were so close and the woods were so quiet, as if letting them have their moment. 

At the confirmation, Paige leaned up to kiss him again - this time a bit deeper than the last. Her lips parted just barely, coaxing his to follow suit. It felt wetter, but not in a bad way. Her scent was still heady with arousal, but when she was so close, he could also pick out other scents - like excitement and nervousness. Derek felt her tongue come out and brush over his bottom lip. He opened for her a bit further, and she let out a low, breathy sound into his mouth that completely shut Derek’s thinking process down as she licked into his mouth. 

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit - they were kissing. Like, real kissing. 

Derek’s free hand came up to rest over her hip and she pressed herself further against him. He became distinctly aware of the feeling of her breasts against his chest and he moaned softly, because this was… this was a lot and he did not expect this today. They hadn’t even kissed before two minutes ago, and now - and now she was coaxing his hand upwards and he very readily moved it up to feel the side of her bra through her thin shirt.

Suddenly, he became very aware of how close his wolf had gotten and he alarmingly noticed the prickling feeling of his claws beginning to grow. 

No no no - not right now !

He tried to ignore it and will his wolf down, but the situation just became worse when her hand slinked up his arm towards his neck and a soft warning growl erupted in his chest.

She pulled back and he snapped his eyes shut, knowing that they were definitely gold because his wolf was very unhappy now. He could feel it just under his skin, trying to force him to shift and protect himself against the person that was going for his throat.

He tried to rationally tell himself that it was just Paige, and she wasn’t going to harm him - but his wolf was seething with a constant stream of threat, fight, protect yourself, along with the overwhelming feeling that he should not be there. He itched to run as far away from Paige as he could, which was infuriating, because Gods - she was pretty and nice and smelled so good! Why was his wolf trying to ruin this for him?

“Are you alright?” she asked uncertainly. “Sorry if that was too much, I just… I liked it.”

“I did, too,” he told her, his wolf slowly receding as he took a couple steps backwards. “Seriously, that was - awesome. And I wanna do it again, sometime, if that’s… if you want that.”

Paige smiled and nodded. “I do.”

“Great.” Derek’s wolf had not completely ruined this, then. A birthday miracle. “I need to go back… dinner’s probably soon.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Happy birthday,” she told him.

And man, it really was a great birthday.

Stiles was on the couch with Cora seated between his legs, playing videogames. Apart from the occasional growl of, “If you rip any more of my hair out, I’ll rip your throat out,” she was being a pretty good sport about being Stiles’ practice dummy for learning how to braid hair. Allison was beside him, showing him the technique on Malia, who was also engrossed in the videogame on the living room television. Jackson stood behind the couch, watching Stiles’ attempts and occasionally reaching over his shoulder to adjust his fingers.

“If you’re such an expert, why aren’t you teaching this?” Stiles finally asked, after the tenth time that Jackson had critiqued him.

“I’m not an expert - I’m just watching Allie do it and it’s easy,” he sneered. 

“Then you can come try it,” Stiles invited, patting the cushion beside him.

Jackson walked around the couch and sat down, readily taking over the left side of Cora’s hair and getting to work on a braid. Stiles went back to trying to tackle the right side.

He had nearly managed about half of one, when Derek walked through the front door and Stiles dropped the hair in surprise.

Derek was wearing a leather jacket , and Stiles only realized that he’d said, “Wow” out loud because Cora sniggered at him. He was almost embarrassed, but not quite - because Derek looked so cool and deserved a wow. 

“Uh, birthday present.” Derek scratched the back of his neck as his ears turned a bit pink from the attention. 

“You look like a greaser,” Cora told him. “I love it.”

Peter whistled and nodded in approval. “Lookin good, kiddo.”

“Are you hungry?” Chris asked from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Starving,” Derek said eagerly.

Chapter Text

Upon walking into the kitchen, Stiles froze and dropped his backpack. His dad was sprawled out on the tile floor, a glass whiskey bottle shattered with its contents spilled out in a large puddle.

“D-Dad?” he called out, voice bordering on hysterical. He rushed to the man’s side and put his hands on either side of his lax face. Was he breathing?

Stiles tapped his finger in the whiskey to wet it and put the finger in front of his mouth, then sagged in relief when he felt air blow gently against it.

He was alive. Thank the Gods.

Stiles tried shaking him, but he was unphased, so he quickly got a cup of water from the sink and poured it over his face. Noah jumped awake, cursing and wiping the droplets from his eyes.

“What the fuck ?!” he exclaimed angrily. 

Now that Stiles’ worry had ebbed away since the man was up and speaking, his concern quickly turned to rage. “You weren’t waking up!”

“I can wake up whenever I damn well feel like it - I don’t need you drowning me!”

“You were on the kitchen floor.”

“I was sleeping.”

“On the kitchen floor !”

Stiles glared at his dad, whose eyes were still a bit glassy - from the alcohol or sleep, he wasn’t sure. He wanted to hit the man. He wanted to beat him with his backpack. He was mad , because whoever this person was, was not his dad - and it was the alcohol’s fault. And Noah was choosing alcohol over being his dad.

“You need to mind your place, Mieczysław,” Noah seethed.

“You need to stop drinking.”

“Go to your room.”

“Dad -”

“ Go to your room or I’ll escort you there.”

Stiles clutched the plastic cup in his hand for a moment, before throwing caution to the wind and lobbing it at his father’s head. Noah’s coordination was too delayed to block it and he got a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched it bounce off his cheekbone and fall to the ground. It was probably because Stiles was so surprised about what he’d just done, that he didn’t notice the way Noah’s face grew a few shades redder and his arm moved over his torso, before the back of the man’s fist swung hard and collided with Stiles’ chest. Stiles fell backwards onto the ground with a force that knocked the wind out of him, and he laid there for a moment gasping as he tried to refill his lungs. 

It was only after he could breathe again, that he felt the stinging in his back and shoulders, the liquid soaking through his shirt, and the overwhelming stench of whiskey burning his nose.

“Oh, my Gods,” Noah said shakily, his hands hovering near Stiles, but not quite touching him. “I’m… I’m so sorry, I -”

Stiles sat up and said, “You’re not.”

His dad looked like he was the one who’d gotten hit, eyes tearing up and body trembling. “Miecio, I didn’t mean to do that - I just…”

“You’re drunk. Like always.”

“You just… you freaked me out when you poured the water on me and then I got angry and I-I wasn’t thinking. I just… I’m so sorry, okay? Are you okay? Are you hurt, or - I mean -”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, sitting up slowly. His back was stinging and burning with every breath, as it stretched the cut skin just slightly.

“Let me see,” Noah pleaded, crawling forwards and trying to get a look, but Stiles scrambled up and backed away, eyes furious. He wanted to throw more things at his dad, but he didn’t think his back would appreciate all the movement it would take - so he opted to leave the kitchen instead. 

“Stiles!” Noah called, following after him - but Stiles took off running out the front door and down the street.

“Leave me alone!” Stiles yelled, when he heard his father’s footsteps following him.

“Where are you going? Just - Jesus , just come back!”

“I’m going home!” Stiles screamed, his vision blurring with tears as he sprinted towards the direction of the Hale house. 

Peter flinched at the loud bang of the front door being thrown open. He stood from the couch and was about to ask what was going on, but froze when he caught the alarming scent of blood and whiskey. 

Stiles rushed into the living room and barreled into Peter’s stomach, body wracked with sobs as he clutched onto him. Peter instinctively placed his hand on the back of his neck and felt the wetness soaked into the back of Stiles’ shirt - which was torn in a few places and blotchily stained red. 

"What...What happened?”

“I hate him!” Stiles said, though it was muffled a bit against Peter's abdomen.

Peter felt his fangs prickling at his gums as he asked, “Did your dad do this?”

Stiles fisted his hands tighter into his clothes and it was all the confirmation Peter needed. 

Laura came in from the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed as she took in the scene. “What's going on?”

“Go get Christopher,” Peter told her.

“But what -”

“ Go ,” Peter demanded, his eyes flashing blue. She nodded and ran upstairs.

“Miecz, sweetheart, I need to take your shirt off,” Peter said as softly as he could manage. 

Stiles released his grip on Peter and nodded as he turned around. The man grabbed hold of the shirt and ripped it open, gently removing the fabric from his body.

On one hand, the cuts were mostly shallow - and even with Peter’s wolf enhancing his vision, he couldn’t see any lingering glass pieces. The wounds were probably bleeding more because Stiles had evidently been moving them a lot as he ran. 

On the other hand, Peter was going to kill Noah.

“Stiles?” Christopher called out as he ran down the stairs. He rounded the corner into the living room and looked over the boy with a remarkably composed expression, considering the anger and fear rolling off of him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answered. 

Christopher knelt down and ghosted his fingers over Stiles’ chest with a hard set in his jaw. “Noah hit you?”

“He was sleeping on the kitchen floor and I couldn’t wake him up, so I-I got water and poured it, and I just -”

“Kiddo,” Christopher said, taking the boy’s hands in his. “It doesn’t matter what you did - you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Did he hit you?”

Stiles nodded. “He knocked me down and the whiskey bottle was already smashed… I fell in it.”

“Can I see?”

Stiles turned his back towards Christopher and Peter finally saw the bruise forming on the right side of Stiles’ chest.

Son of a bitch.

“He doesn’t need stitches,” Christopher determined. “We should clean these up, though.”

“Can I stay here?” Stiles asked.

“Of course,” Peter told him earnestly. “This is your home - you know that. You always have a place here.”

The phone rang in the kitchen and Peter saw Laura go to answer.

“Hale residence, Laura speaking,” she said. “Yeah, he’s here. He’s -”

“Hang up the phone, Laura,” Peter instructed.

“It’s Noah… he’s wondering -”

“ Laura .”

The phone clicked back into the wall mount without another word, and Peter had to take several steadying breaths so he wouldn’t lose his control and storm over to Noah’s house before making sure Stiles was situated.

Derek knew that something was wrong - the anger surging through his packbond with Stiles had upset his wolf so badly that he nearly shifted in front of Camden and Jordan, who he was hanging out with in the woods. He was about to make up some sort of excuse to go check on Stiles, when his cell phone rang.

It was Laura, which made his stomach twist violently - because she never called him.

“Hello?” he answered immediately.

“Dude, you gotta get here,” she said, her voice tight in a way he didn’t usually hear. “Like, right now .”

“What happened?”

“Stiles just ran through the door a few minutes ago, crying and covered in whiskey. His back was pretty nicked up - Uncle Chris is cleaning the wounds in the bathroom and Uncle Peter looks like he’s about to go fucking feral.”

Derek didn’t bother saying anything to his friends before sprinting towards his house. He shut his phone and shoved it into his pocket as he ran, allowing his wolf close enough to help him move as quickly as possible through the trees.

It didn’t take long for Derek to reach the paved driveway, where he found Noah getting out of his car and heading towards the porch.

“You hurt him,” Derek accused viciously, his fangs dropping and eyes burning molten gold as he approached him. 

Noah turned towards him and put his hands out placatingly. “It was an accident.”

As soon as the confirmation left his lips, Derek roared loudly and lunged at him. He roughly grabbed Noah’s upper arm, claws extended and sinking into his flesh, and swung him against his car. Derek tightened his grip, making Noah yell out - but it wasn’t enough. Derek wanted to hurt him. Actually, he wanted to kill him - and his wolf was backing the decision up full-heartedly.

Kill him! He hurt Stiles. Tear his throat out!

“He threw something at me and I-I lashed out,” Noah frantically tried to explain.

Derek clenched the fist that wasn’t holding the man, growling as his claws dug into his palm. He needed to reclaim a little bit of control, because he couldn’t kill him - it would ruin Stiles. This was going to be his only parent soon.

The front door opened and Derek distantly heard Uncle Peter call out his name, but it was quickly overshadowed by the beastial snarl that ripped through Derek’s throat as Noah continued his attempt at calming Derek.

“He’s okay, he’s -”

Before his uncle could reach him, he punched Noah in the face - with just enough control to avoid breaking his jaw. Noah fell to the ground, clutching his cheek as Uncle Peter’s arms firmly wrapped around Derek’s torso, hauling him backwards as he tried to kick at Noah, but missing him by an inch. Derek’s arms were forcefully crossed over his chest, his clawed hands restrained against his shoulders. Uncle Peter was stronger than him, so he didn't bother fighting too much.

“Derek,” Uncle Peter said sternly. “You need to calm down.”

“He hurt him!”

“I know, and I’ll take care of it,” he assured him. “That’s my job - to protect my pack. Yours is to go check on Stiles.”

Stiles. Hurt. Protect.

Derek’s wolf refocused it’s attention and allowed Derek’s fangs and claws to recede so that Uncle Peter would let him go. As soon as he was free, he flew into the house and up the stairs, following Stiles’ scent. 

“Derek!” Stiles exclaimed from the bathroom when he saw him in the mirror. He was straddling the toilet lid as Uncle Chris blotted at the small cuts littering his entire upper back and shoulders with a wet cloth. Derek wished he’d landed another punch to Noah before he was caught.

“Hey, Mischief,” he said, entering the bathroom and running his hand through Stiles’ hair. In the mirror, Derek noticed that Noah’s blood coated his other hand from where he'd grabbed his arm, so he kept it behind him, out of the boy’s sight. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna take a shower after Chris is done looking for glass, and then I kinda wanna nap.”

“I could use a nap, too,” Derek told him. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, but his wolf wasn’t about to let Stiles out of his sight while he was injured. 

Peter hadn’t said anything as Noah picked himself off the ground, rubbing tenderly at his jaw. There were a lot of things he wanted to do and say, but he figured it was best to wait for Christopher - since he admittedly didn’t have as much control over his temper as he usually did. 

“I need to see him,” Noah finally said. 

“No,” Peter said shortly. 

“He’s my son.”

“Well, you’re doing a real shitty job at being his dad.”

Noah’s eye twitched and he let his hand drop into a fist at his side. “This was an accident - and it’s never happened before.”

“First time for everything, though, right?”

Before Noah could respond, Christopher came out of the house and joined them in the front yard. 

“What the hell, Noah?” he asked, voice closer to a demand than a question.

“I need to see Stiles.”

“You need to get your drinking problem under control - that's what you need to do.”

“I don’t have a drinking problem.”

Peter scoffed. “Are you serious ?”

“Yes, I am,” Noah told them. “A drinking problem would suggest something impacting my daily life - and it isn’t.”

“Well, you knew you were supposed to have Stiles today, yet you were drunk - so I’m not sure how that doesn’t fall into the ‘impacting your life’ category,” Peter reasoned.

“I’m sober right now - I wasn’t drunk when he got home.”

“That actually makes what happened even worse, then,” Peter pointed out. “So when was it that you unceremoniously passed out drunk on your kitchen floor, only to wake up and punch your son into broken glass?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Noah,” Christopher stepped in. “Your house is a mess, you’re drunk or on your way there every time we see you - no matter the hour - and judging by the bags under your eyes, you haven’t been sleeping. This isn’t having your life under control in the slightest.”

“I’m fine,” Noah insisted, but Peter heard the uptick in his heartbeat.

“You should let us help you,” Christopher said. "Drinking won't solve your problems."

“You can’t help,” Noah laughed bitterly. “The woman in my house isn’t my wife - and it’s hard to look at her most days. And sometimes she seems almost normal - but then she’ll flip a switch and she’s… hell, honestly, I don’t even know if I remember what normal was. Days where I don’t find milk in the pantry and rocks in the fridge are good days. There’s a tissue box on her nightstand that she gets ridiculously protective over and I’m not allowed to touch it - and I don’t know if there’s something in it, or if she’s just…”

Christopher reached out to grip Noah’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard. If everything that made Peter himself was deteriorating in front of me every day, I know I’d struggle. I’d drop the ball, too, okay? We aren’t trying to judge you, Noah - we’re trying to help you.”

“We’re trying to help Stiles ,” Peter added. 

“Well we're okay .”

“No, you’re not!” Peter took a step towards Noah, but Christopher pulled him back by his shirt. 

“Peter,” Christopher warned, but Peter ignored him. Christopher’s idiotic philosophy about helping the situation by helping Noah was bullshit - it got Stiles hurt. Peter wanted to step in weeks ago, but Christopher wanted to wait - and Peter was done with that route.

“I get that it’s hard,” Peter spit. “But you don’t get to stop being a father because you don’t know how to deal with your wife. That’s not how it works. That’s not Stiles’ fault and he should be allowed to worry about losing his mother - not trying to mask any kind of emotions to try to save your feelings, so he doesn’t have to pick your drunk ass up off the ground.”

“I’ve never made him feel like he couldn’t talk to me,” Noah argued. “He seems to be doing okay.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you.” Peter pushed Christopher’s hand away, not appreciating being held back, and moved towards Noah while pointing back at the house over his shoulder. “Stiles is fine because he has a pack that takes care of him. Feeds him, makes sure he showers and brushes his teeth, gives him clean clothes to wear. That’s us , picking up your slack while you deny that you have a problem.”

“I never asked you to do that - you did it all on your own.” Noah took a step forward as well, further closing the distance between him and Peter. “And if you’re just gonna do those things to have something to hold against me, then maybe Stiles shouldn’t be going over to the pack house as often.”

Peter growled dangerously and Christopher was at his side in an instant, ready to grab him again. 

“I strongly recommend that you don’t threaten to take Stiles from his pack, unless you want to find yourself in a custody battle that you won’t win,” Peter advised, miraculously pushing the animalesque hints from his voice enough to sound in control. He kept his eyes locked on Noah’s, making sure that the man knew it wasn’t an empty threat. Peter was a very skilled attorney and was highly respected in the community -  if it came down to it, he could take Stiles. “I love you very much - I have for many years - but the pups are always first, and I will ruin a friendship before I allow Stiles to be uncared for in a potentially dangerous household.”

“I think we need to calm down,” Christopher suggested. 

“What is it going to take, Noah?” Peter seethed. “What’s going to have to happen for you to admit you have a problem and fix it ? It obviously isn’t hurting your son - so, what is it? What’ll be the breaking point in this fantasy where you think you have it under control?”

Noah didn’t bother answering as he defeatedly looked down at his shoes and shook his head. He leaned against the parked car and scrubbed at the uninjured side of his face with his hand, and Peter saw the tear roll down his cheek. He knew he’d gotten through to him, but Peter knew Noah - and he knew he’d need to drive the stake through.

“Are you going to need to see your father staring back at you in the mirror?”

Noah’s wide, glassy eyes snapped up to his, his lips pursed and nose scrunched up in indignation. “I’m not him.”

“He started out by drinking his weight, too, don’t you remember?” Peter instigated. “Don’t you remember how you swore you’d never lean on alcohol because you were terrified you’d end up like that? Where’s that fear now, Noah? Now that you have a reason to drink, it’s fine ?”

Noah pointed a trembling finger at him. “I remember a lot about my father that was a lot worse than drinking - and you damn well know it.” 

“I know he started as a haunted, mopey drunk, and it turned violent. I know that it was a process that your mother and you almost didn’t notice until it was bad. Until he really snapped.”

“You need to shut your damn mouth.”

“Because you know I'm right?”

“I’ve never touched Stiles,” Noah told him, almost desperately. “He’s never even been spanked - I made sure of it. I would never hit him.”

“Until tonight,” Peter reminded him.

“It was an accident,” Noah said. “It won’t happen again, okay? I swear, it won’t.”

“I sincerely hope not,” Peter said. “Because you might have stopped me from killing your dad when I came to help you pick the glass shards out of your body after he threw you through the coffee table… but you can be damn sure that you’ll regret it if I ever see Stiles even close to how he came to us tonight. I’m a Left Hand and protecting my pack is and will always be my top priority over anything.”

Noah flinched as hurt flashed over his features and grief emanated from him. “Are you really threatening to kill me, Peter?”

It was a question he’d never thought he’d hear from Noah - and the words alone made his throat tighten and his stomach drop. How the fuck had they gotten there?

“No,” he admitted - because he wasn’t sure he could ever kill Noah. It would rip his heart out. “But I’m Stiles’ godfather and he’s a pup of the Hale pack. So I want it clear that if you don’t get it together, I’m taking him.”

“Okay,” Noah relented softly, before opening his car door and sliding into the front seat.

Once the car was out of sight, Peter’s knees suddenly felt weak and he thought he might collapse. He lowered himself to the ground and put his face in his hands, his wolf feeling a tumultuous mixture of protective and devastated in his chest. 

“That got heated,” Christopher sighed, crouching down beside him. “I don’t think you should’ve brought up his dad - it could’ve really worsened things and it wasn’t your place.”

“My place?” Peter sneered derisively. “I’m his best friend, Christopher. I comforted him through his breakdowns and panic attacks. I sat with him when his mom was in the hospital every other month. I came and pounded on the door to distract that jackass Mr. Stilinski from beating his mom into a pulp when Noah would call and tell me what was happening - before he threw himself into the fight, and then I was the one that patched him up afterwards every time. And he still gave his son that asshole’s nickname… so yeah, I’m concerned that he isn’t remembering. Because I remember how horrible it was and I remember that Noah specified that it wasn’t always like that. He was a drunk first. So forgive me for wanting to bring that back into his head before his drinking problem has the time to manifest and this one accident turns into a reoccurrence.”

Christopher nodded and Peter took another deep, steadying breath. He was closer with Noah than Christopher was - he’d known him longer. It was Noah and him against the world before Christopher ever came around, so Peter really didn’t feel like his husband had any right to step in between them in this matter.

"Why is everything falling apart?" Peter asked weakly - to whom, he wasn't sure. The universe, maybe. 

"When it rains, it pours," Christopher recited as he pulled Peter into his arms and let the wolf bury his face in his neck.

Chapter Text

Derek had about five seconds of silence upon waking up, before Stiles noticed that he was no longer asleep.

“G’morning,” Stiles said, as he rolled halfway onto Derek’s chest and looked down at him. His hair flopped into his face and he huffed annoyedly as he tucked it back behind his ears again. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Derek grunted. 

“Were you named after the crab in The Little Mermaid?”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Sebastian, the crab.”

Derek rolled his eyes and pushed Stiles off of him, sending him rolling back to the other side of the bed in a fit of giggles. He suddenly realized that he actually didn’t know Stiles’ middle name. It had somehow never come up.

“What’s yours?”

Stiles gaped at him. “You don’t know my middle name?”

Derek shrugged. “Up until this exact second, I didn’t care. But now I care a little bit, so you may as well tell me.”

“It’s Hale.”

“Wait, what?” Derek sat up and looked at him in surprise. “Your name is Mieczysław Hale Stilinski?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Stiles sat up and flailed his arms out to the sides. “I don’t know, Derek - I wasn’t there when they picked it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Derek realized. “Jackson’s middle name is Noah. They probably did Hale because Christopher Peter would’ve been too long.”

Stiles grimaced. “And Mieczysław Christopher Peter Stilinski is literally the worst name ever.”

“True.”

Derek heard the sound of the footsteps coming towards his room and immediately recognized it as Uncle Chris - he always stepped lightly and walked with purpose. Probably something he’d picked up from his hunter training.

Stiles perked up at the knock on the door, calling out, “You can open it!”

Uncle Chris pushed the door open and leaned in the doorway. He was dressed in jeans and a blue flannel already, which wasn’t all that surprising. He had the weird habit of getting showered and dressed way too early.

“Peter and I are in the mood for some diner food,” he told them. “You guys coming?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Stiles scrambled out of the bed and nearly fell on the floor, before regaining his balance at the last second. “I need some curly fries.”

Uncle Chris laughed warmly and nodded. “Get dressed, then. We’ll be downstairs.”

The horde of pups all but fell out of the car as soon as Chris parked in the Beacon Hills Diner parking lot. He wasn’t sure what it was about the diner that made it so popular - the food was average and the staff were mostly underpaid teenagers, but it was a Beacon Hills steeple. Chris used to end up there most evenings after school with Noah and Peter, and if the pups’ obsession with it was anything to go by, it seemed his kids were going to waste all their future paychecks there, as well. It was part of the culture in their relatively secluded city.

Their usual table was empty, waiting for them. Malia and Jackson quickly slid to the back of the rounded bench, followed by Cora and Allison on either side of them.

“I call end!” Chris claimed, before Peter had the chance to sit down. One end was always taken by Derek, so either Chris or Peter always ended up squished in the back with the pups. It wasn’t going to be Chris today, though!

“You beat me by a hair,” Peter grumbled as he scooted down the seat to sit beside Cora. 

Stiles took his other side, while Derek sat at the end and Chris did the same.

“Can I get pie?” Malia asked.

“Not for dinner,” Chris told her.

“Maybe after,” Peter whispered, sending a wink at her.

He always spoiled them.

“Christmas is soon,” Stiles said excitedly, leaning into Derek’s side while the teenager rested his arm over the back of the seat behind Stiles. “I think I have everyone’s Christmas present, except Allie’s.”

The waiter came to their table for a brief second, just long enough to ask, “Usuals?”, then was on his way back to the kitchen.

Maybe they did come there too often.

“I have yours already - I think you’re gonna like it,” Allison boasted. “I’m done with all my presents.”

“I forgot people get presents.” Malia put her face in her hands and sighed. “I haven’t even started thinking about what to get anyone.”

“How did you forget about presents ?” Jackson asked, scandalized. “That’s the best part of Christmas!”

“Christmas is about family, stupid.” Allison sneered at him.

“Allie, be nice,” Peter chastised. “And technically, it’s about Jesus’ birth.”

“We don’t even believe in Jesus - we’re werewolves,” Malia reasoned. “Why do we celebrate it?”

“Presents,” Jackson said.

“And family,” Chris added, glancing over at Allison, who looked rather proud of herself. “We don’t celebrate it for the same reasons, but it’s still a fun day to eat cookies and spend time together. And, of course, presents are always fun.”

“I need to go to the store,” Malia said, looking between Peter and Chris expectantly.

“I’ll help you, honey,” Chris told her. “I still need to get a couple things - you can come with me tomorrow.”

“Derek Hale, my guy,” a voice called out enthusiastically, drawing the table’s attention to the teenager with curly blonde hair approaching their table. Chris recognized him as one of Derek’s friends. “I didn’t know you were coming this afternoon. If you waited like thirty minutes, I could’ve served you guys.”

“I know how often you wash your hands, Cam - I’ll pass,” Derek teased, an easy smirk on his face. 

“Hey, screw you,” Cam told him, gently hitting Derek’s shoulder. His eyes moved to Stiles, who was staring up at him. Cam offered his fist out to him. “Sup, little man.”

To Chris’ surprise, Derek didn’t even tense at the intrusion to his and Stiles’ space. Stiles knocked his knuckles against Cam’s and smiled.

“I’m gonna go tell Jared to get your food to you guys before you’re eighty,” Cam said to excuse himself, before heading to the kitchen.

“I like Camden,” Stiles decided.

Derek nodded. “Me, too.”

Within a minute or two, their waiter was delivering their food to them. Chris grimaced slightly when Malia unceremoniously tore into her cheeseburger, while Peter bit his lower lip to stifle a smile. 

“Your genes,” Chris mumbled, to which Peter kicked him under the table.

“You’re a disaster, Mal,” Jackson sighed, handing her a napkin for the mess smeared across her cheeks. “Get it together.”

“Not mah fault isso good,” she said through a mouthful.

“People are gonna stare at you if you always eat like an animal,” Allison told her.

“Well, then people should focus on their own food and not poke their ugly noses in her business,” Jackson defended. 

Derek was picking at the carrots on Stiles’ plate, since they all knew he wasn’t going to eat them, while Stiles was helping him with his curly fries. Chris could’ve sworn that he only looked away for a second, but somehow Stiles’ fries had disappeared from his plate. 

Suddenly, Derek sniffed the air and turned his head to look at a man and teenage girl who’d just entered the diner. Stiles noticed and looked over his shoulder, before rolling his eyes and stealing Derek’s milkshake.

The girl and her father sat at a table nearby and she happened to look their way for a moment, recognition immediately filling her warm brown eyes. She had long, dark hair that framed her pale face and a beauty mark just under her eye. 

Chris knew it had to be Paige.

Paige got up from her seat and came towards their table a bit hesitantly. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Derek returned. “Camden just got here, too.”

She glanced back towards the kitchen and said, “Now we just need Jordan and the whole squad is here.”

Derek stared at her in puppylike adoration for several seconds, before seemingly becoming aware that his family still existed. He introduced, “This is Paige.”

“The girlfriend?” Jackson asked, looking her over.

“You’re really pretty,” Allison complimented.

Paige smiled bashfully. “Thank you - so are you. I love your dress.”

“Thanks. I’m Allison,” she told her. “These are my siblings: Jackson, Malia, Cora - and you already know Derek, obviously. And that’s Stiles, our friend. And these are our parents.”

“Hi,” Paige said, eyes hovering over each of them for a moment in greeting.

Stiles reached around to snag another few fries off of Derek’s plate and Paige followed the movement. The corners of her mouth tipped slightly down and she stuck her nose up a bit, before looking away. It was subtle, but Chris could tell when someone was jealous. Wolves were jealous creatures by nature - he’d seen a lot of it over the years.

Derek must not share food with her, which was unsurprising. 

Paige wrung her hands in front of herself nervously. “So, uh, Derek… the winter concert is happening tonight at seven at the school. Cam and Jordan said they were coming, but you didn’t respond, so… are you? You don’t have to, of course - I was just wondering, because I -”

“Yeah,” Derek answered.

“We have family night tonight,” Peter reminded him pointedly. It was the night of the full moon - there was no way Derek should’ve been going out.

Derek shrugged. “I can miss one.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Peter pressed.

“Yeah,” Derek assured him. He turned back to Paige. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, awesome. If you’re sure,” Paige said brightly. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Did you notice how remarkably similar Paige looks to Stiles?” Peter asked as soon as he and Christopher entered their bedroom. “I mean, really - they could be siblings.”

Christopher shook his head as he kicked his shoes off. “I hope not - we’ve got enough problems without Derek dating Noah’s long lost daughter.”

“Very true,” Peter agreed. “Though, Derek has to be on the verge of realizing the mate bond. There’s no way he doesn’t look at her and see Stiles - it’s uncanny.”

“We have bigger things to focus on, Peter,” Christopher reminded him, and Peter sighed. 

He didn’t want to talk to Cora about Deucalion, but they’d put it off for far too long already.

“I’ll go get her,” Christopher said, before leaving the bedroom. Peter sat on the bed and got comfortable under the blankets as he waited.

A few moments later, Cora came into the room with Christopher, smelling of curiosity.

“What’d you wanna talk about?” she asked, crawling up onto the bed. Christopher followed suit.

Peter had thought about this a million times over the years, but he still had no idea how to bring it up. He thought she’d be older when he would have to.

“You know your dad wasn’t Jericho,” he started.

She nodded. “That was Laura and Derek’s dad.”

“Right,” he said. “Your dad’s name was Deucalion.”

“What’s with these cool names?” she asked. “Jericho? Deucalion? With names like those, how did we get stuck with names like Laura and Cora?”

Peter laughed and shook his head. “I’ve thought the same thing. My brothers are named Callum and Anson - I got Peter.”

“Yeah, you got it the worst.” Cora smirked playfully - just like him. He’d inadvertently taught her so well. “So… why are you telling me about Deucalion?”

Peter looked to Christopher.

“Deucalion used to be part of the Hale pack,” Christopher said. “He was an Alpha, so he had his own pack as well - but he spent a lot of time with us. He was mated to Peter’s older sister Illyana for several years, before a really awful... incident happened and Illyana unfortunately passed away. He also lost his eyesight in the accident, so he’s blind. It was really hard on him.”

Peter thought that was a very nice way to say that Gerard Argent ambushed them and murdered Illyana, along with a handful of Deucalion’s betas.

“If he was my uncle, how was he my dad?” Cora asked. “I thought you guys couldn’t date anyone else or something, because you’re mates?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Peter told her. “It’s hard to explain, but it doesn’t really matter right now. There was a point in time, after Illyana’s departure from our realm, that he and your mother… were close. But losing a mate is horrible. It's supposed to be the worst pain imaginable. It can make you go crazy. After the accident, Deucalion… he went just about as crazy as you can go.”

“That’s why he’s not around?”

“We don’t want him around,” Peter told her seriously. “He’s dangerous and he’s not a good man. He was once, but not anymore.”

Cora nodded. “Okay, but why are you telling me this? I mean, thanks, I guess? But I don’t know him. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. I have my mom right down the hall and I don’t even know her - so I kinda think parents are overrated.”

Christopher smiled as he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “They are.”

Peter reached into the bottom drawer of his nightstand and retrieved a picture frame. He looked over the young, smiling faces of his prior pack for a moment - he never really bothered looking at it often. It always made him miss those simpler times, back before the Hale pack split up. 

He showed her the picture and pointed out the people. “These are your uncles, Callum and Anson. They live in New York now. And that’s -”

“Aunt Illyana?” Cora guessed, finger brushing over the beaming face of a teenage girl with an unruly pixie cut.

“She was a lot like you, oddly enough,” Peter realized. He grinned softly as fond memories of her filled his mind. He was closest to her, out of all of his siblings. “Tough, snarky, playful - she even liked leather jackets.”

“A lot like you, too,” Christopher told Peter.

“I may have picked up a thing or two from her personality as I was growing up - but I’m much more awesome.”

Cora snorted. “If she was like me, then I don’t think that’s true. I'm way cooler than you.”

Peter put his hand over his chest. “You wound me. My own niece.”

Cora chuckled. Her finger moved over just slightly to sit below the face of a man, who had his arms around Illyana.

“This is him? Deucalion?”

“Yes,” Christopher said. “That’s him.”

“We have the same ears,” she noticed.

“You have his eye shape, too,” Peter added. “But your coloring is all Illyana. You’ve got that dark Hale hair and tanned skin.”

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on yet?”

“He might be coming to Beacon Hills at some point,” Christopher told her carefully. “And we wanted to make sure you knew what he looked like, so you can stay away from him.”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she looked between the two of them warily. “Is he trying to find me?”

“We just wanted you to know in case he ever comes around. Like we said, he was pack before. We don’t know if he’d ever try to be again or something - that’s all,” Peter told her. He couldn’t say no - she would hear the lie. “We were thinking about him recently and I knew I’d sleep better if you knew to stay away from guys that look like that man. Help me out and say you’ll be careful?”

Cora took his forearm and rubbed her thumb against his inner wrist a few times to scent him. “Yeah, yeah, I guess . I know you need your beauty sleep.”

Dinner at the Hale house was always good - Peter and Chris were expert chefs, in Stiles’ professional opinion - but it was especially good the night of the full moon. Mostly because it was more of a feast than an average dinner. There were plates and bowls full of different types of meat, potatoes, and bread. The vegetables were left on the counter because only Chris would eat them on nights like this - veggies didn’t satisfy the wolves.

Malia and Cora sat at the far end of the table, away from Jackson, Allison, and Stiles. They were usually pretty good with their control in calm situations like dinner, but Chris and Peter always wanted to sit between them and the humans just in case. Peter was impressive to Stiles, since he always seemed to have control of his wolf. Maybe it was just because Stiles was used to Derek, but it seemed like quite the feat.

As soon as Stiles thought about Derek, an anxious, stirring feeling formed in his chest like a frenzied adrenaline spike. He’d felt it enough times to know that it was his connection to Derek’s wolf, which… wasn’t great. Because he was out with Paige.

“Derek’s wolf just took control,” Stiles announced, putting his hand over his chest in an attempt to soothe the uncomfortable feeling.

“He’s shifted?” Chris asked, setting his fork down and scooting his chair back. 

Stiles nodded. “I can feel it, the wolf. It’s in charge.”

Peter cursed and moved to get up, but Stiles put his hand out to touch his arm and stop him. 

“He’s coming here,” Stiles said.

“You’re sure?” Peter asked, seriousness heavy in his eyes. “Because if he’s still at the school, then I need to go. He could hurt people.”

Stiles was mildly annoyed, because he knew that. He knew Derek’s control issues better than anyone - Peter didn’t need to look at him like he didn’t know Derek’s shifting would be dangerous. 

“I’m sure,” Stiles assured him. “His wolf always wants me, and he knows I’m here, so he’s coming. Besides, he wouldn’t want to be at the school with all the smells and sounds - he would go to the woods.”

Chris and Peter shared an uncertain look with each other, as if still debating on going out to find him. Maybe it was the anxious feeling spreading to his stomach, but Stiles was getting increasingly frustrated. He pushed his chair backwards and started for the door.

“Stiles, wait,” Peter called after him as he followed close behind.

“Just stay here,” Stiles told him. “I’m gonna call Derek.”

“What do you mean?”

What? How was ‘calling Derek’ not self explanatory?

Stiles shrugged. “I mean I’m gonna call him.”

Peter hung back on the porch, while Stiles skipped down the steps and to the edge of the yard. He couldn’t see or hear Derek yet, but that wasn’t all that surprising. He was human, after all.

Stiles took a deep breath, before yelling out a long, “DERRREK!”

“Calling his name like a dog may not work, since you aren’t calling Derek - you’re calling his wolf,” Peter reasoned.

“It doesn’t really matter.” Stiles waved him off. “His wolf knows I mean him and he’ll recognize my voice.”

Peter seemed rather skeptical as he opened his mouth again - probably to argue - but then his head whipped to the side as he looked out into the trees.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“He’s coming, isn’t he?”

Peter nodded, a soft grin on his face. “You’re great with him - I don’t know how you do that.”

“Allison says I’m special,” Stiles said proudly. “I like to think of myself as a werewolf tamer.”

Soon enough, he could hear the rustling sounds of sticks and leaves crunching under someone’s feet as they ran, just before Derek burst through the treeline, eyes glowing bright orange as he barrelled towards him. There was a brief moment where Stiles wondered if he was about to be completely trampled, but then Derek dropped down to his knees on a slide that looked painful, stopping right in front of Stiles. 

Stiles brushed his fingers down the sides of Derek’s face and the wolf closed his eyes, his chest rumbling through every heavy exhale as he began to calm down. Stiles took to playing with his wild mess of hair when Derek tipped forward, burying his face in Stiles’ stomach. Scenting his shirt, breathing in his smell, listening to his heartbeat. 

"The sounds," Derek hoarsely tried to explain. "Smells, I couldn't -"

“Going out on a full moon was stupid,” Stiles told him. “Having a girlfriend is cool, but not if it puts you or the pack in danger, dude. You can’t risk hurting people or shifting in public, just because you want to hang out with her.”

“I know."

“Good.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Stiles picked random pieces of nature out of his hair while watching the moon, and Derek relaxed against him. 

“Do you wanna run with Peter and the girls?” Stiles asked. “I think they’re going soon - Peter said after dinner. Or if you’re hungry, there’s a lotta food. Or we could just go to bed.”

“Bed.”

“Yes!” Stiles cheered. “I was hoping you’d say that, because I’m freezing and I need a heater to sleep. That’s you, in case you were confused. You’re the heater.”

“It’s December and you’re not even wearing a jacket.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really worried about a jacket when I had to come out here and call your wolf butt home.”

Derek snorted in amusement as he stood up and placed his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, steering him back towards the house.

Chapter Text

Derek and Jordan were already waiting in front of the school, when Camden trudged towards them from the bike rack, feet dragging lazily with each step.

“All in favor of ditching today?” Camden proposed.

Jordan rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

“I’m serious!” Camden pressed. “If I have to sit through Curtis’ boring ass lecture right now, I won’t make it. I’ll literally keel over right in the middle of English class.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Jordan told him.

“Derek, buddy, my best friend,” Camden tried, a pleading smile on his face. “Ditch with me.”

Derek snorted. “My uncles will literally hunt me down and drag my ass back to school.”

There were downsides to having a werewolf and a hunter as parental figures. There was nowhere he could hide that they wouldn’t find him and ground him for the entirety of winter break.

“Ugh,” Camden groaned. “Fine. Fine . Let’s go, then, I guess.”

The three boys talked as they made their way to their class - but they collectively froze as soon as they entered.

“Well, that’s not Curtis,” Camden said under his breath.

This was true. Behind Mr. Curtis’ desk, stood a tall woman with strong features and flowing blonde hair that fell in perfect waves down her back. Derek almost questioned if she was a teacher at all, since blood red lips and tight dresses weren’t exactly the picture he’d come to associate with teachers.

“Good morning, everyone,” she greeted with a clear, confident voice. It was almost off-putting, how her sturdy presence seemed to fill the room, despite being the newcomer among them. Somehow, Derek felt like he’d walked into her territory.

There were a few polite responses, but most of the class was still half-asleep as they fell into their chairs. First periods were never big on participation.

“Alright,” she drawled, looking over each of the students. When she met Derek’s eye, she paused. It was brief - not long enough to really be noticed, but long enough for her to flash him a catlike smile that almost felt… playful? Maybe not quite, but something akin to that. Derek wasn’t sure what to make of it. Before he could even think about it, her eyes had drifted off to take in the rest of the room. “My name is Ms. Daaé, and I’ll be taking care of your class for the rest of the year. Mr. Curtis unfortunately had a fall last night and will be unable to return until next fall - but I will try my best to fill his shoes.”

“Are you French?” Camden asked. “Daaé sounds French.”

“I am,” she confirmed, “Mr…?”

“Camden Lahey, Ma’am,” he introduced.

“Mr. Lahey,” she acknowledged. “In the future, I’ll expect you to raise your hand, if you’d like to speak. I may be a substitute, but I’m not a pushover. Let that be a warning to all of you. I’ll admit that I run a tight ship - but if everyone follows class rules and common decencies, then we should all get along very well.”

Paige raised her hand and Ms. Daaé nodded towards her.

“Hi, I’m Paige,” she said. “I was just wondering if you were going to be following the same course outline as Mr. Curtis gave us - or if you’ll be changing it, since you’re here until the end of the year?”

“I don’t want to change too much - I know how offsetting it is to suddenly have a new teacher to get used to. So, I’ll look over the course outline a bit more over this winter break and I’ll let you guys know if I’m changing anything the first day back, alright?”

“Thank you.”

Ms. Daaé nodded and clapped her hands together as she began walking slowly down the aisles between the rows of desks that filled the room. “Okay, let’s get out our books and take a look at last night’s reading. The last chapter, if I read the class plan correctly.”

Derek took his book from his backpack and flipped it open to the correct page - then quickly reviewed the annotations that filled the margins, elaborating on the highlighted areas of text. Suddenly, the overwhelming scent of lavender washed over him and the back of his neck prickled as his wolf became very aware of the new teacher entering his space. He shifted sideways in his chair so that his back wasn’t to her and glanced up, finding her looking at his book with shining blue eyes. 

“Excellent annotations,” she softly complimented, while everyone was busy taking their books out. “You really take your readings seriously - that’s not so common at your age. You like to read?”

Derek nodded.

She smiled. “Me, too. May I see it for a moment?”

Derek didn’t really want her to touch it, since he didn’t know her and really didn’t want her scent clinging to the pages - but he forced himself to hand it over.

“I highly suggest that you all make your copies of the text look like Mr. Hale’s,” Ms. Daaé announced to the class, holding the book open for the students to see. “It not only will help your reading comprehension, but it also might be helpful if I choose to let you use your book on quizzes in the future. If I start seeing more of you taking it this seriously, then I might even let you have it open during the exam.”

Excited murmuring immediately filled the room, along with the frantic clicks and scritches of pens hurriedly making notes in their books.

“Thanks, Derek,” Ms. Daaé said as she handed the book back. He tried to take it, but she held on for an extra beat or two, making an eye contact with him that his wolf was interpreting as a possible challenge, before finally releasing it. After another brief smile, she returned towards the front of the class. “Now, who would like to give us a summary of the chapter?”

Noah had been in the bathroom for too long - though he wasn’t sure exactly how long. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man in the mirror, who looked a bit haggard. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days - but despite the fact that he never liked facial hair on himself, he couldn’t bring himself to get the razor from the cabinet. There were bruises under his puffy eyes and his skin looked disturbingly dull. 

A glass of whiskey was sitting on the counter - where it had been since he came into the bathroom. It was still full - he hadn’t even managed a sip before catching himself in the mirror. His loose tank top exposed two scars: the jagged line across the side of his chest, where his father had thrown him through a glass table - and the new splotch of still-healing skin that would doubtlessly form into a scar, from Derek’s thumb claw when he’d grabbed him. He knew he had four matching ones on his tricep. 

It felt like it meant something - having the scars so close in proximity. 

He thought back to what he’d told Stiles the month prior and heard his father’s same words echoing in his memories.

“Jesus, Noah - calm down,” his father sneered dismissively.

“You hurt her!” he’d yelled back, fists clenched as if he thought he would stand a chance against him. He wouldn’t - he never did.

“And it was an accident.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It’s whatever the hell I said it was - now go to your room before the next accident’s yours.”

“I hate you,” Noah told him honestly. He was his dad, sure, but there were no feelings for him left outside of anger and contempt.

Noah gripped the edge of the sink tightly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Noah said it was an accident, didn’t he? He’d swore it - but was it? Was it an accident? 

Of course it was - he would never hurt Stiles. He loved him. 

But then again, Noah’s mother used to swear that his father loved her, too.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. ”

He couldn’t turn into his father. He couldn’t . Stiles deserved better than that.

Noah poured the alcohol down the drain and set the glass back on the counter with a bit more force than necessary - but it was a statement. It was a turning point. He couldn’t continue drinking his life away. He’d already missed nearly a month of Stiles’ life while he’d been living with the Hales - he couldn’t miss any more.

“Honey?” Claudia called from the bedroom. “Are you almost ready? We need to leave for my parents’ house soon!”

Noah turned the sink on and splashed water on his face to calm down.

“Your mother called me,” Noah lied. “She said she needed to reschedule.”

“Oh,” she said disappointedly. She would’ve been more disappointed if she’d remembered that her mother had died two years ago.

If someone were to call Peter Hale nosey, he might agree. But was it really his fault when high school baseball was so boring and his nephew’s girlfriend was sitting just a little ways away? He just wanted to know who the girl hanging around Derek was - sue him. He’d win, anyway.

Paige and Camden were seated on the lower benches of the bleachers, closest to the field, while Derek and Jordan were out playing with the team. It was the last game of the season, so the small crowd was rather attentive and eager. Except for Paige, Camden, and Peter - who had the better sense to know that baseball was stupid.

But alas, that was what Derek wanted to do - so he would support him. To his face, anyway.

Camden took a large bag of Sour Patch kids from his backpack and opened them - which immediately got Paige’s attention. She reached for the bag, but he swatted her hand away. Paige gaped at him, scandalized. They argued over the candy for a few more moments, before Paige attempted to grab it again - and he proceeded to smack her hand a second time. 

Paige playfully punched his chest and his entire body seized up - arms tightening at his sides and shoulders tensing almost violently. When she grabbed for the bag again, he gave it up as if it had burned him. The girl didn’t seem to notice the odd reaction, too focused on her candy victory. Or maybe this was a normal response for him, and she didn’t think anything of it.

Peter found it odd. He turned to bring it up to Chris, but Stiles was looking up at him.

“Why have you been staring at them so long?” he asked. “Don’t be a creeper wolf.”

Peter chuckled. “I want to know who my nephew is dating.”

“Oh,” Stiles sighed, unimpressed. “It doesn’t matter - they won’t be together very long.”

“You’re so sure?”

“Yeah.” Stiles pointed at Paige and Camden, then said, “They totally have crushes on each other - but I don’t think they know it yet.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully as he watched the two teenagers flip each other off. “I can’t argue that.”

It was unfortunate, but it wasn’t like Derek would truly be able to pursue anything with her, anyway - since he already had a mate.

“Why did Derek have to play this stupid sport?” Malia complained, leaning against Jackson. “All they do is run around in a circle and try to hit a ball - it’s boring .”

Like father, like daughter, apparently.

“He should’ve played lacrosse - that sport looks fun,” Jackson said.

Stiles rolled his eyes at them. “He couldn’t do sports that would make him touch people a lot. Besides, he likes it - and it isn’t that boring.”

His heart stuttered, the little liar.

“I like baseball,” Chris said offhandedly. “Maybe I should’ve played that in high school, instead.”

Well, at least their kids took after the sane father, instead of the baseball lover . 

“Rude,” Peter told him. “Then you wouldn't have met Noah and I in basketball.”

“Oh, the horror,” he replied sarcastically.

“You can sleep on the couch, if you keep that up.”

“You’d never make it through the night alone.”

He was probably right. Oh well - Peter supposed he’d have to keep him around.

Chapter Text

“How many more years do you think we’ll get to do this?” Peter whispered, carefully tweaking the position of a present under the Christmas tree. Not that his children would notice its placement any further than simply seeing that the gift existed - but he liked when things looked nice.

Elaborate, glittering decorations covered most of the living room, but the only part of it all that the pups would be paying attention to in the morning were the five large boxes labeled with swirly lettering, spelling ‘Santa’. Derek wasn’t under the impression that Santa was real any longer - but he also didn’t complain about pretending, when he continued getting extra presents.

“I have no idea.” Christopher bit into one of the cookies that was left out on a reindeer plate on the coffee table. “My parents never did this stuff.”

“Sometimes I forget how much your childhood sucked,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I believed in it all when I was younger. I mean, I figured Santa was probably some sort of supernatural. With what some creatures are capable of, it didn’t seem all that outlandish to me. After my parents died, Callum kept it up until I was older.”

“When did he tell you?”

“Right before I went to public school,” Peter recalled. “I was extremely upset - my own brother had been reading my letters to Santa for years. I was so embarrassed.”

“Why were you embarrassed?” Christopher laughed.

“Because I would always illustrate my letters. I used to be quite the artist back then - terrible skills, but exceptional belief in myself.”

“Why have I never seen any of your art?”

Peter snorted. “Because I don’t want you to divorce me.”

“Do you still have any of it?”

“Gods, no.” 

“Damn,” Christopher sighed. After a moment, he said, “Public school is so soon - that means maybe two Christmases for Allie and Cora. And there’s no way they’ll keep it a secret from the rest of them once they find out.”

Peter frowned and shook his head. “Two Christmases… I hate that.”

“They’re growing up too quickly.”

“I wish they’d stop. I mean, Derek is almost an adult .”

Christopher waved off the idea. “Oh, don’t put that on him.”

“He’s fifteen,” Peter pressed. “In a couple years, we’ll be celebrating his Seventeenth Wolf Moon - which is… terrifying.”

“Because it’ll make you really old, or because he won’t be a pup anymore?”

Peter fixed him with an annoyed look. “That and he could potentially leave.”

“He’s not gonna leave us - we have Stiles.”

“Another reason to be grateful for our little Mischief,” Peter agreed.

Christopher nodded, then glanced warily at his husband. “Speaking of...have you spoken to Noah?”

Peter’s demeanor changed in an instant, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing at the bow on Derek’s present as if it had done something truly horrible.

“Yes, he’s coming over for lunch,” he reported monotonously. 

Apart from the brief text Peter had sent to invite him over for Christmas lunch, they hadn’t spoken in over a month. It was odd - they hadn’t gone more than a few days without communicating since the day they’d become friends. It felt wrong.

Noah had pulled away after their argument - hopefully to figure himself out. Or maybe he was angry at Peter for drawing the connection between him and his father - but Peter stayed firmly rooted in the belief that he was right. Should he have pulled the verbal punch a bit? Maybe. But Noah hurt Stiles and, in Peter’s opinion, there was nothing that would be considered ‘too far’ when scaring Noah into sobriety.

Stiles couldn’t lose his father. Peter couldn’t lose Noah.

“And you’re gonna play nice, right?” Christopher asked. “We don’t need any explosive arguments on Christmas.”

“Not if I catch even the slightest whiff of alcohol on him.”

“Peter, you have to remember that this is going to be a process for him. His lifestyle isn’t going to change overnight.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I will refrain from starting anything… in the name of holiday spirit, or whatever.”

“Thank you.”

Christopher picked a small bow from one of the presents with his name on it, then threw it playfully at Peter.

Peter turned towards him, a scandalized look on his face. He snagged a piece of silver tinsel from one of the branches on the tree, and tossed it onto Christopher’s hair.

“Are we five?” Peter asked, grinning amusedly.

In answer, Christopher took a chocolate chip cookie from the plate and threw that at Peter, as well.

“Asshole - you got chocolate on my shirt!” Peter accused in a whisper-yell, before lunging towards his husband, who frantically scrambled up from his place on the floor and took off for the kitchen.

He was no match for werewolf speed, of course - and was quickly captured by Peter’s strong hands on his hips, tugging him backwards. Christopher spun around in the embrace and gasped into the kiss Peter swooped in for.

Peter hummed as Christopher pushed him back against the edge of the counter. He nipped it at the wolf’s lower lip until Peter allowed him to lick into his mouth hungrily. His tongue tasted like cookies.

Footsteps entered the kitchen and Peter broke the kiss to look over at their intruder, panting breathlessly.

“Please don’t scar me - that’s all I want for Christmas,” Laura requested, hands covering her eyes. “If anyone is naked, I’m gonna need therapy.”

“We’re clothed,” Christopher assured her.

“Unfortunately,” Peter added solemnly. 

Stupid niece, interrupting them.

Laura peeked out between two fingers, before dropping her hands. She made a valiant effort at appearing bothered, but the soft fondness in her eyes gave her away. “You guys are gross.”

“Why are you even awake?” Peter asked.

Laura shrugged as she opened the container of Christmas cookies that was sitting on the counter. “I’m an adult - I don’t have a bedtime.”

“Well, considering the pups will be waking us up in only a few hours, I’m going to bed,” Christopher said. “Don’t forget to put the lid on that when you’re done - and don’t eat them all.”

“I know,” she told him around a mouthful. “G’night.”

Stiles was suddenly yanked from his sleep by strong hands shaking him roughly. His eyes flew open in alarm, but he was not met with an alarmed packmate, as he had assumed - it was just a very excited Malia. Her hair was sticking up in all directions, like an electrified cartoon character, and nearly all of her teeth were showing from how wide her smile was. Stiles was pretty sure he could see her molars.

“It’s Christmas!” she shrieked, making Stiles wince. It was so early - too early for loud noises.

He sat up and pet her hair in acknowledgement as he tried to turn his brain on.

Sleeping in Malia’s bed was almost guaranteed to ensure no sleep. She moved and kicked and snuggled so much . And Stiles loved her - he really did - but he also loved sleep sometimes. And not being woken up with so much force.

“You look dead,” Jackson remarked from the doorway, where he was leaning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He wasn’t looking so great himself - Malia likely went and woke him up, as well.

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled.

There was a thump from down the hall and Jackson leaned back to look. He snorted in amusement and moved further into Malia’s room to allow space for the girls.

Stiles saw Allison first, as she came into view hunched over and dragging something - which happened to be Cora. Cora was laying on her back, shielding her eyes with her arms, while Allison was dragging her by her feet.

“I got her,” Allison reported proudly.

“I’m sleeping here,” Cora mumbled.

Jackson shook his head and grabbed her arms, then pulled her up to a standing position. 

“You think this will stop me from sleeping?” Cora asked, before slumping onto Jackson and putting her face in his neck while leaning all her weight on him. He grunted in annoyance, but put his arms around her to keep her up regardless.

“You’re a thousand pounds,” was the only complaint he had.

Jackson could pretend that he hated his siblings all he wanted - but Stiles knew he was actually a snuggly Hale, like the rest of them.

“Stiles, you gotta go get Derek,” Malia told him. “You’re the only one allowed in there, so go.”

Stiles groaned as he was pushed from the bed. 

Was he excited about Christmas? Of course. But he would also be excited if he woke up in an hour or two. Werewolves weren’t supposed to be morning people - this was ridiculous.

Stiles trudged into Derek’s room and crawled up into the bed. Derek made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a ‘woof’ but Stiles figured he’d allow it to slide as a huff. He would put the dog jokes off for another few hours, in the name of Christmas Spirit.

“I’m supposed to get you,” Stiles explained softly as he nestled snugly into the blankets.

Derek’s voice was rough from sleep, when he asked, “Then why’d you lay down?”

Stiles hummed, burying his face in Derek’s neck. He liked his morning voice - it was kinda raspy and deeper and made Stiles feel warm. 

“Mischief,” Derek prompted.

“Shh, they can’t get us in here,” Stiles explained. “I’m too tired.”

Derek laughed sleepily and put his arm around Stiles.

“Stiles!” Allison exclaimed from the doorway.

“I can’t come to the phone right now,” he replied. “Please leave a message and I’ll call you back when the sun is up.”

“This isn’t a phone call,” Cora pointed out, still leaning heavily on Jackson. “And if I’m awake - you’re awake.”

“Beeeeep.”

“Derek, get him and let’s go ,” Malia instructed, crossing her arms over her chest.

In a move that Stiles wasn’t entirely sure of how it worked, Derek rolled over the top of him without putting any weight on him, then somehow lifted him up over his shoulder as he stood.

“What in the heck was that move?” Stiles wined petulantly, as they moved farther from the warm bed.

“The get-Stiles-out-of-bed move, obviously,” Jackson said.

“Thank you, oh helpful one,” Stiles sneered.

The pups practically fell down the stairs in their haste to get to the living room. By the time Derek made it down, Stiles still hanging limply over his shoulder, there was already a crowd jumping around the tree.

“I see you’ve caught something,” Peter said as he joined them, steaming cup of coffee in hand. “Is it alive?”

“No,” Derek and Stiles answered at the same time.

“Wanna trade?” Peter offered, holding out the coffee.

Derek nodded and took the mug as he flopped Stiles into Peter’s arms.

“I am too big for this,” Stiles complained. “You guys can’t just toss me around - I’m nine!”

“You’re small for your age,” Derek pointed out. “And you weigh less than Malia.”

“Well that’s rude to me.”

Peter hugged Stiles and kissed the side of his head, before putting him down.

“Malia isn’t bigger than me,” Stiles grumbled as he went over to the tree to join the pups in staring at the gift boxes.

“He’s definitely lighter than Malia,” Peter agreed.

“He’ll grow.” Derek shrugged. “Probably.”

Peter clapped him on the shoulder, before joining Chris on the couch.

Derek sniffed the coffee, which very clearly had a large amount of milk and cinnamon in it, and smiled. It was for him the whole time - he was the only one that liked cinnamon in his coffee. Plus, Peter and Chris drank theirs so dark . Gross.

“This one's for you, Der,” Stiles said, tapping the top of a large green present. “It says your name.”

Derek sat in the armchair beside his present and placed his coffee on the small end table at his right. 

“Okay, does everyone have their presents?” Chris asked as he opened the screen on a camcorder. 

They were such saps, always wanting to record things like this. They all had memories - it's not like they would forget Christmas.

“Derek, open yours, so we can open ours!” Malia urged.

There was a pecking order for Christmas morning - the oldest got to open their present first, then they worked their way down to the youngest. Malia and Jackson were, of course, the youngest. Neither of them were in favor of the order.

Derek didn’t bother trying to untie the intricately wrapped ribbon and paper. He flicked the claws out on one hand and tore through the top - careful not to push into the box too much. He didn’t want to harm the gift.

“What a savage,” Stiles sighed, shaking his head. Derek flashed his eyes at him playfully and Stiles laughed.

He opened the box and his eyebrows shot up his forehead as he looked at the metal contraption with knobs at the sides and a full set of circular keys sticking up.

“Do you know what that is?” Peter asked him once it was out of the box.

Derek nodded, a smile growing on his face. “Typewriter.”

“I didn’t even know they made those anymore!” Stiles said, his eyes wide as he crawled over to take a better look at it. “Dude, that’s so cool! Santa got you a typewriter !”

“I know,” Derek chuckled, feeling over the keys carefully. He wasn’t sure what to type, but he wanted to type something . “Thanks, Santa.”

“I want Santa to bring me a typewriter - that looks awesome,” Chris said, to which Peter elbowed him softly with an amused grin.

“You’re too old,” Peter told him.

“Yeah, Papa - you and Dad are like a hundred years old,” Malia agreed.

“I’d say pushing two hundred!” Laura added from the kitchen, where Derek could hear her and his mom eating breakfast.

“I’d say I’m taking back all of the presents I bought you ungrateful brats,” Peter teased.

“No!” Jackson hugged his box to his chest protectively. “You only look like thirty.”

“You’re supposed to say twenty-five at most,” Chris suggested.

“Uhhh.” Jackson thought about it for a moment, before deciding, “I don’t know about that.”

Malia burst into a fit of giggles at Peter’s mouth hanging open.

“Maybe twenty-eight,” Stiles offered.

“No, thirty,” Cora argued.

“That’s it - Christopher, help me gather the presents. We’re done here.” Peter moved to stand up, but Chris pulled him back down.

"I'm next," Allison reminded them, beginning her fight with the wrappings. 

Derek thought it would suck to not have claws.

It was nearing noon when Peter heard the familiar sound of Noah’s car pulling into the driveway, and his grip tightened on the glass of sparkling cider in his hand.

Derek eyed him for a moment, before taking the glass from Peter and nodding towards the front door.

Peter wasn’t entirely sure if he was saying ‘you can do this’ or ‘go check out if he’s safe to have around Stiles’ - but Peter took it as encouragement either way. He quickly headed out the front door and made it onto the porch as Noah was getting out of his car. He pushed the front door closed as he walked further out to greet him, his stomach twisting a bit nauseatingly.

He was afraid to sniff the air, in case he’d smell alcohol. What if he did? What should he say?

“Hey,” Noah said softly. He put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked on his feet. 

“Hi,” Peter returned. “You made it.”

“It’s Christmas.” Noah shrugged. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Peter nodded. He hadn’t spent a Christmas without Noah in almost fifteen years - and even if they were in a rocky place, he and his wolf felt relief in his presence. The whole pack was there now.

Noah sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face a few times, before storming towards Peter and enveloping him in a hug. Peter immediately returned the embrace and inhaled deeply at his shoulder. His shirt was clean - the fabric smelled strongly of detergent. He was doing laundry again.

“Before you smell anything, I had a beer last night,” Noah confessed. “But that’s it recently - I haven’t touched anything harder in almost a week.”

“Okay,” Peter allowed. Sure enough, he didn’t smell any traces of whiskey or vodka. It was a nice change.

“It’s a process and… I’m trying,” Noah continued, pulling away. “And I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you like a child, but I just… I couldn’t talk to you when I was still drinking after… after what you said.”

“I won’t apologize for it.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. You were… you were right, Peter.”

Peter put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“How’s Stiles?”

“He got an obscene amount of comic books from Santa and I think he’s plotting to steal Derek’s new typewriter.”

Noah chuckled. “Sounds about right. Derek better stand his ground against him or that kid will walk all over him.”

“I don’t think it’s likely that he’ll ever learn to tell Stiles no when he really wants something,” Peter said, guiding him towards the front door. “I don’t think any of us are that strong-willed.”

“He’s a force to be reckoned with,” Noah agreed.

As soon as they entered the house, they were swarmed by the pups.

Stiles tugged Noah down into a hug, and Peter smiled as the father and son embraced each other. Even though Noah had been less than great lately, it was obvious that Stiles missed him. Peter hoped that Noah could get his life together soon, so he could have his son back.

Peter wasn’t about to release Stiles into his care a second before he was confident in his safety, though.

“Merry Christmas, Noah!” Malia chirped, rubbing her hand on his head to scent him.

“We haven’t seen you in a long time - your hair is longer,” Cora noted.

“Yours is, too,” he said. “You think we need haircuts?”

“I think the long hair looks good,” Allison told him.

“It used to be almost to his shoulders in high school,” Peter recalled.

“Yeah, we shouldn’t revisit that time,” Noah nearly pleaded.

“He had to put it in a ponytail for basketball,” Christopher added.

“You had a ponytail?” Stiles asked excitedly. “That’s awesome!”

“It wasn’t awesome.”

“I thought it was pretty cool,” Christopher offered. “Gerard wouldn’t let me grow out my hair - I was always jealous of you and Peter’s hair.”

“Are you serious?” Peter asked. “Love, you should do it now. Live your life.”

“No way,” Christopher laughed. 

“I’ll braid it for you!” Allison said excitedly.

“No one’s growing their hair out, except Noah,” Christopher declared.

“I’m too old for this - I’ll get a haircut this week.”

“Are we gonna keep talking about hair all day, or are we gonna eat ?” Malia asked, clearly over the pointless conversation. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Jackson said.

“And your stomach is growling, so you are, too.”

Noah readily headed for the kitchen, and the rest of the pack joined him.

“Okay, sit down,” Christopher instructed. “Dad and I will bring everything to the table.”

“Why am I being grouped with the pups?” Noah complained. “Can I help with anything?”

Christopher winked at him playfully. “No, you get to sit there and look pretty.”

“Oh, I’m good at that.”

Peter took a grape from the bowl on the counter and threw it at Noah.

Chapter Text

Derek was pulled to consciousness by the feeling of small teeth nipping at his shoulder. He tensed for a moment, but relaxed again as he determined that the only scent in the room was Stiles, who was leaning on his back. There was a pointy elbow digging uncomfortably into his shoulder blade - but Derek was pretty sure he could sleep through it if he tried hard enough.

When Derek didn’t acknowledge him, Stiles clamped down a bit harder.

“Why,” he grunted, inflectionless.

“Wake up already, sleepy wolf.”

“No.”

Stiles bit him again, closer to his neck this time, and his wolf perked up curiously. Excitement brewed in his stomach, rather than the typical anger that would come from a potential threat. 

“Why are you biting me?”

“Because I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten years and you wouldn’t - so I’m trying to make your wolf wake up instead.”

It was definitely awake and ready to play, his fingertips and gums prickling as he had the urge to shift - but Derek was not ready to be awake yet. It was so early .

“You’re so dramatic,” Derek mumbled. “It hasn’t been ten years.”

Instead of replying, Stiles nipped at the side of his neck and Derek’s wolf surged forward that last bit to force his shift. He rolled over, squishing Stiles in the process - which elicited a squeal from him. Stiles pushed him off and Derek got to his knees just in time for Stiles to tackle him backwards and sit on his stomach, baring his human teeth as threateningly as he could manage.

“Are you awake now?” Stiles asked him.

Derek’s eyes shined brightly as he bared his fangs in return, a growl vibrating in his chest as he responded, “No.”

They devolved into aimless rough housing after that, Derek mostly just trying to keep them from falling onto the floor while fending off the bite attempts - and maybe gently delivering a few of his own. He was almost annoyed at how much Stiles didn’t fear werewolf teeth - laughing in response to the bites that could easily kill him.

Stiles and his lack of self-preservation instincts would be the death of Derek - he was absolutely certain.

When Derek could tell that Stiles’ breathing was starting to get more labored, he relented and allowed the boy to push him down onto his stomach as he draped himself over his back - much like the position they’d started in. Derek contemplated going back to sleep.

Then, Stiles latched his teeth over the muscle where his neck and shoulder met - and the effect washed through him like a tidal wave as the boy’s teeth pressed down. Derek’s head lolled to the side and a sigh fell off his lips as his body went limp, sinking further into the bed as his wolf instinctually submitted. A rumble built up in his chest, happy and relaxed and safe in a way he’d never felt before in his life - in a way he honestly never thought was possible. His wolf zeroed in on Stiles, as if nothing in the rest of the house mattered - as if there couldn’t possibly be a threat while the boy was there. Stiles’ fast heartbeat rang in his ears, the warm, comforting scent of cinnamon and sugar was so intense that he could almost taste it, and the heavy weight on his back was like a blanket, keeping him secured to the mattress.

Derek was content with never moving again.

But then Stiles pulled back, releasing his neck as he teasingly accused, “You’re purring again!”

Derek’s euphoria ebbed away and he pushed himself up onto his forearms as he shook his head to clear it faster.

What the hell was that ?

He didn’t have much time to think about it, before his uncle Chris was shouting, “Breakfast!” from downstairs.

“Ooh,” Stiles said eagerly. “You coming?”

“Not hungry,” Derek declined.

“What time is the lunch?” Stiles asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

“At lunchtime,” Jackson replied.

Stiles slid down in his chair to attempt to kick him under the table, but Jackson scooted backwards just in time.

“Boys,” Christopher reprimanded, an amused smile on his face.

“Jackson isn’t wrong ,” Malia reasoned.

Stiles gaped at her. “You’re taking his side?”

“He’s my person. We’re twins - we’ve gotta stick together.”

“Well, I agree that Jackson didn’t answer at all,” Allison voiced.

“Well, the only people who know aren’t answering,” Cora pointed out, looking over at Peter.

“Ms. McCall said she’d be bringing the boys over around noon,” Peter announced. “Which means rooms need to be cleaned right after breakfast is finished.”

There was a collective groan at the table.

“Is Derek still asleep?” Christopher asked Stiles.

“No, he just didn’t want breakfast,” he answered, before shoveling another forkful into his mouth. He bit down and froze, eyes growing wide and mouth dropping open again immediately. 

Peter sat up straighter in alarm. He could still hear him breathing, so he wasn’t choking.

“What is it?” Peter questioned.

Stiles spit the food out onto his plate and practically fell out of his chair in his haste to sprint to the bathroom. Peter got up and quickly followed.

He found Stiles leaned over the bathroom counter, mouth wide open as he looked in the mirror.

“Are you alright?”

“My tooth!”

“It… hurts?”

“It’s wiggly !” Stiles revealed, eyes filled with mild panic.

Peter didn’t understand - Stiles had lost teeth before. He’d never been concerned about it in the past.

“Baby teeth are supposed to fall out - you know that.”

“But it’s my molar !” he said. “It’s not skinny like the rest - it shouldn’t be able to wiggle .”

Peter chuckled. “Stiles, even molars have to come out.”

“ How is it gonna come out? It’s so fat.”

“It’ll be fine - I promise.”

Stiles squinted at Peter as if he wasn’t fully grasping the severity of the situation. “How am I supposed to eat ?”

“Chew on the other side.”

“And what if the other side gets a wiggly one, too?”

Peter put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and guided him out of the bathroom. “Then we’ll cross that bridge if it comes up.”

As Stiles rejoined the pack at the table, Peter heard footsteps on the stairs. Derek came into view, dressed in torn up jeans and his leather jacket.

“Are you going out?” Peter asked.

“Not this second, but...” Derek shrugged.

“You’re not sticking around for lunch? We’re making osso bucco,” Peter said. “Well, I am - I’m not letting Christopher’s Frenchness ruin it.”

“I feel like France and Italy are, like, the same.”

Peter scoffed. “You’re half Italian and my parents are rolling in their graves hearing you say that.”

Derek rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine, I take it back.”

“Good,” Peter said, then added much quieter, “And just for the record, Italians are much better than French idiots like Christopher.”

“I’m half-French!” Malia shouted.

“Not you, honey,” Peter assured her, while silently nodding in contradiction for Derek to see.

“Der!” Stiles called from the kitchen. “I have a wiggly molar.”

“I hope the other side doesn’t get one, too - then you won’t be able to eat.”

“I know!” Stiles shrieked, and Peter swatted at Derek’s shoulder as the teenager laughed.

What a brat - Peter had no idea where he learned it from.

When too many sets of feet came sprinting up the driveway - Derek was pretty sure it was three - he slinked off into the kitchen. The pups could spend all afternoon with the outsiders, but Derek really had no intention of stepping foot in the living room, where they were all supposed to hang out. Too many different scents, too many people. He recognized them, of course - he’d have to be oblivious to not know Stiles’ only three friends outside of the pack. But he didn’t know them, so he didn’t like them.

Malia raced downstairs with Stiles and the pups on her heels, and Derek watched in amusement as she stopped in the entryway, but everyone else failed to get the memo - running into her and sending them all hurdling into the front door with a series of thumps .

Chris shut his eyes and sighed. “Are you guys fine?”

“Yeah!” Malia grunted. “I got squished.”

“Malia is much more squishy than she looks,” Stiles reported, rolling off of her.

“Allison is a lot more bony than she looks,” Jackson complained with a strained voice, as he pushed his sister off of himself.

“You’re bony, too,” Allison shot back, rubbing her side.

“I didn’t have anyone to break my fall,” Cora pointed out, rubbing tenderly at the back of her head.

“You also didn’t have anyone fall on you,” Malia said.

“Tushy,” Cora mumbled.

“Touche,” Peter corrected, offering her a hand. He pulled her to her feet. “Excellent use of the word, though, Darling.”

There was a hesitant knock at the door and Stiles excitedly scrambled to his feet - apparently remembering that there were people on the porch. He threw the door open and was met with the entryway filled with piercing squeals that made Derek flinch and back away.

Why did they have to be so loud ? 

Derek grabbed a white gatorade from the fridge, before sitting at the table with Chris, who was reading the morning newspaper. His uncle wordlessly separated the comic page from the rest and passed it to him. He wasn’t sure why adults read the newspaper - everything except the comics was so boring . They had a television - they could just watch the news, if they needed to. Newspapers were a waste of paper. Except the comics page.

“Let’s watch a movie until lunch is ready,” Stiles declared.

“What movie?” Scott asked. 

“Star Wars!”

“No,” every single child in the living room firmly said in unison - and Derek briefly wondered how often Stiles forced people to watch it with him. It played in Derek’s den often enough, but that was because it was one of Derek’s favorite series, too. He was the one who introduced Stiles to it, after all.

“You guys suck,” Stiles grumbled. “Fine - what about… Night at the Museum?” 

“I love that one!” Isaac approved.

“Me, too - do that one,” Cora agreed.

“Okay, you guys sit on the couch and I’ll put it on,” Stiles directed.

“Puppy pile!” Malia exclaimed.

“I’m not puppy piling with you guys,” Jackson immediately said.

Allison scoffed. “You never do - you hate us.”

“It’s too hot and you’re all annoying.”

“Just do it with one person, then - you can’t be alone all the time, Jax,” Malia urged. “Isaac, go sit with him on his cushion.”

“To be young and have seating arrangements be such a big deal,” Peter said quietly from his place at the stove. The kitchen already smelled amazing and Derek was starting to regret that he had skipped breakfast. He’d be leaving to meet Paige for an early dinner - she’d called it a Linner, which was weird - soon though, so he’d have to survive until then.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott said. “Do you want me to sit on the ground, so you can play with my hair? My mom made me start using conditioner , so my hair is like, super soft now.”

“Oh really? That’s—” Stiles started. Derek wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up from the table, but he suddenly found himself in the entryway, hovering on the edge of the living room. Stiles made eye contact with him and smiled amusedly, before shaking his head. “That’s okay, Scotty - Derek likes sitting there. You can sit with me on the couch.”

Stiles pushed play on the DVD player and hurried over to the couch, fitting himself snuggly between Malia and Scott. He patted his knee, looking encouragingly at Derek - and the wolf had a brief moment of annoyance at being called like a dog. Nevertheless, Derek took his place in front of Stiles and leaned back between the boy’s legs. 

Just as the opening scene began to play, Stiles’ hand pushed into his hair and his blunt nails scratched soothingly over his scalp.

The half hour he had left before he needed to go meet Paige didn’t seem so far away anymore.

The ‘Linner’ was fine - but Derek could admit to himself that the diner food couldn't compare to his uncle’s osso bucco. He hoped there would be left overs at home and those annoying kids hadn’t eaten it all. Like many of their dates, it wasn’t long until they wandered towards the preserve. Maybe it was because it was one of the only quiet places in town, or maybe it was because Derek was his most comfortable there. 

“I can’t believe you aren’t freaked out by the woods at night,” Paige said, as she walked beside him through the trees. “There could be animals out here.”

Derek shrugged. “There are.”

“So what’s your plan if they get hungry? You gonna fight them?”

“I could,” Derek reasoned. He was the biggest predator in these words - he really wasn’t all that concerned. “I like it out here.”

“Well, if we go any further in, I won’t be able to see,” she reasoned, stopping.

Derek thought it must have been terrible to be a human, who had such limited ability. How did humans even survive , when they were rendered blind at a certain hour of night? 

Paige held her hand out and he stepped forward to take it, then allowed her to guide him over to a nearby boulder sticking out of the ground. She gently pushed him towards it, so he sat down and looked up at her. She had a pretty smile on her face as her dark eyes skirted over his features affectionately. 

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, and he nodded.

She brought her knee up on the outside of his thigh in order to lean on the rock, but didn’t do the same with the other side. Derek was glad, since he was pretty sure his wolf would’ve been against being trapped underneath her and the night would’ve ended on a much less fun note. 

Paige smiled softly at him and moved to gently cradle his face. Derek raised his head as she leaned down, meeting her in a chaste kiss. Their lips touched once, twice - then she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Derek’s hands went to her hips and her scent quickly turned sharper, spicier, as her heart rate sped up. His wolf zoned in on the smell - it was warm, but tickled his nose a bit.

Like cinnamon.

He loved it.

She parted her lips a bit wider - a clear invitation, which Derek eagerly took by slipping his tongue into her mouth. She responded in turn, thoroughly exploring and tasting him. When he tried to pull back to take a breath, she grabbed his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled him back - awakening his wolf, who crept closer to the surface at the primal behavior. He growled into her mouth as her fingers fisted in the hair at the base of his neck. She lowered her other hand to gently guide him from her hip down to her tights-clad thigh, and he confidently slid up the back of her leg under her skirt - eliciting a small gasp from the girl.

He wasn’t quite sure whose heart was beating wildly in his ears - all he could focus on was the intoxicating scent filling his nose, growing heavier and spicier as he reached her ass and squeezed possessively. He could almost taste it, as he licked passionately into her warm mouth.

Gods, he loved cinnamon. It reminded him of Christmas and pack and safety - like the scent permeating his bedding and clinging to the furniture in his den, like mate , like Stiles .

Like Stiles .

Like mate .

Derek froze, the arousal that had been stirring in his gut vanishing as his wolf surged to the forefront of his mind. He yanked his clawed hands away from Paige as if he’d been burned and slipped out from under her, causing her to fall forward onto the boulder.

“Derek,” she said warily, confusion and light traces of fear filling the air as she stared at him with wide eyes. 

He knew that his own eyes were glowing gold, but he was too busy examining her familiar features to care too much. She’d obviously seen - it was too late to backtrack now. He studied her brown, curious eyes - glanced down at the beauty marks under her eye and sprinkling down her neck - at her soft, pale skin. The lingering scent of cinnamon now burned his nose, because everything was suddenly so fucking obvious . 

Paige reminded him of Stiles. She reminded his wolf of Stiles.

Mate. Mine. Anchor. Stiles. Mate .

Derek couldn’t breathe - maybe because of the tightness seizing his chest, or maybe because he didn’t want to keep smelling Paige. Her core scents were becoming clearer - chocolate and raspberries. His wolf had blocked them out before to focus on the scent it really craved.

“Derek?” Paige tried again, creeping closer to him. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t,” Derek choked out, stumbling backwards into a tree. “We can’t - we’re done - I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

Derek didn’t offer any further explanation before taking off into the woods. It was dark now - Paige couldn’t follow blindly. He was panting, each inhale fighting its way through the growing lump in his throat, and each exhale coming out as a growl. When he couldn’t hear her anymore, he collapsed down to the ground, dried leaves crunching under his knees. His shirt was too tight, so he easily dragged his claws through it and tossed the torn fabric away from him. It didn’t help him breathe any easier, but the cool night air against his skin was a bit soothing. 

Stiles was his mate. Of course he was - Derek was so stupid ! His wolf had known this whole time. It was why he could come into his den, why he could touch him, why he could anchor him so easily. It was why Derek had always felt the need to care for him. He’d fed him, dressed him, tended to his injuries. He’d been his shoulder to cry on, he’d entertained him. They slept in the same bed together on a regular basis, all tangled up in each other. They were inseparable.

Derek thought he might throw up. 

Stiles was a child . Not even double digits yet! He relied on him - Derek had been practically raising him since he was a toddler! And what did that mean? If his wolf had known the kid was his mate, was he like… grooming him? Raising him to rely on Derek, to need Derek? Teaching Stiles how to anchor him, how to fit in with his pack, how to run with the wolves? Was his wolf trying to shape the perfect mate?

No - Stiles just was the perfect mate. Right? Derek wouldn’t have been shaping him. They just were codependent - that wasn’t a conscious decision. But mate . Stiles was so much younger than him. Did that make him some sort of pedophile or something? He knew he’d never thought about Stiles that way - not on purpose, at least. But then Paige… he’d thought about Paige sexually a lot - and she could’ve been Stiles’ fucking sister. Now that he was really thinking about it, she looked so similar to Stiles. She smelled similar. Derek couldn’t be with Stiles right now, so he found someone to essentially imitate him - so what the hell did that mean? Did it mean he actually did have gross thoughts about Stiles?

No - he’d never hurt him. Ever. He knew that with complete certainty. 

It didn’t really make him feel any better. He still felt dirty.

He needed to distance himself from Stiles a bit. Not pull away completely - but maybe… try to be less codependent or something. He didn’t know. He needed to go home. He needed a shower.

When Derek got his shift back under control, he went jogging towards his house - which wasn’t too far away. He’d already run halfway there when escaping Paige.

As soon as he stepped into the house, his wolf immediately zeroed in on the familiar quick heartbeat and playful bout of laughter filling the living room. He looked over and found Stiles and his friend - Theo? - rolling around on the ground, wrestling, while the pups and a couple non-packmates cheered them on from the couch. 

Anger surged in Derek’s chest as he watched their skin rub together, knowing Stiles would smell so much like the outsider as soon as they parted. Stiles grabbed Theo and rolled them a couple times, before quickly throwing his leg over the boy and straddling his stomach. He firmly pinned his arms down to the ground and shouted, “Gotcha!”

A growl escaped Derek’s throat and Stiles’ head snapped up to look at him, eyes wide and concerned. Before Derek could react, a strong hand grabbed his nape and pulled him quickly towards the stairs, out of sight of the living room.

“What the hell , Derek?” Peter asked him urgently, looking over his bare torso as he dragged him up the staircase. “You’re shifted.”

Derek realized that he was shifted - and shut his eyes as he tried to reign his wolf in a bit. 

“Should I get Stiles?”

“ No ,” Derek growled, eyes flying open to meet Peter’s. “No.”

Once they reached Peter’s room, Derek shook free. He took several deep breaths, until he knew that his features were back to normal. He was fine.

“What happened?” Peter asked. “You’re bleeding - were you attacked?”

Derek looked down at the few streaks of blood trailing from his chest to halfway down his stomach. Claw marks, from when he’d ripped his shirt off. He hadn’t realized he’d cut himself.

He shook his head. “I did it.”

“You… scratched yourself?”

“I broke up with Paige.”

Peter nodded slowly. “How do you feel about that?”

“Like I just had to pass up on a relationship with a really awesome girl, because my wolf has a thing for a child ,” Derek seethed. 

Peter sighed as he sat on the bed. “So you realized, then?”

“You knew?”

“We all know.” Peter shrugged. “Me, Christopher, Noah, your mother. Most of the pups.” 

Derek’s eyebrows pinched together and his lip curled angrily. “And you didn’t think to tell me ?”

“It didn’t matter right now. You had time to connect the pieces on your own.”

“It does matter! He’s practically a baby !”

“Why does his age matter?”

Derek scoffed, because what the fuck ?

“Derek, have you ever thought about Stiles sexually?”

“No!”

“Exactly,” Peter said easily. “Because the main drives of a mate are to love, provide and protect. It’s not inherently sexual. It’s not romantic. You would never hurt him, Derek, you can’t . Your wolf wouldn’t allow it. The age difference is irrelevant.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Did you really not know?” Peter challenged, eyes boring into him as if he were seeing into his soul. “Or did you just not want to entertain the possibility, because it scared you?”

Derek glared for several seconds, because he didn’t have anything to say. Did he know? Maybe. He wasn’t stupid - he knew it wasn’t just a packbond or an anchor thing. They had emotional bleed-throughs that shouldn’t have been possible. But mate … that was a big deal. Derek didn’t know how to feel about it.

“I’m taking a shower,” Derek said dismissively, before leaving the room. 

He rushed to his den and slammed the door behind him. He felt the need to scrub his skin off, as if he could wash away the anxiety and guilt clinging to him. Derek had just grabbed a change of clothes, when his bedroom door gently opened. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked, leaning on the doorframe.

Derek looked at those warm brown eyes and moles and felt sick. “I’m fine.”

“You seem -”

“I said I’m fine ,” Derek snapped. “Just… go away.”

“What?” Stiles asked, a short, disbelieving laugh falling from his mouth. “You never kick me out of your den.”

“First time for everything.”

Stiles entered further into the room. “Derek, what’s wrong? You’re acting -”

“Leave!” Derek roared, his eyes gold and teeth lengthening as he took a step towards him. 

Stiles froze, and Derek’s wolf grew restless under his skin - upset at his mate’s sad, confused chemosignals filling the room. 

“There are human outsiders downstairs and you aren’t in control,” Stiles said calmly. He held out his hand. “Let me anchor you.”

“I don’t want you in here,” Derek told him. It was a lie, and the wolfish whine that tried to slip out of his throat at the hurt look on Stiles’ face nearly choked him - but he managed to hold it back. He couldn’t be around Stiles right then - he needed to think. He needed to shower. Stiles needed to leave. “Go play with your friends or the pups or whatever - just get out. ”

Stiles turned on his heel and left, slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls.

Derek let the lupine cry come out this time, as he fell into his bed and buried himself in his blankets.

Chapter Text

In the week that Derek had been isolating himself in his room, the warm, rich bond connecting him to Stiles had become all he could focus on - despite his best efforts to ignore it. The mess of tempestuous emotions ringing through it from both ends was setting Derek dangerously on edge, in a constant state of tense hypervigilance. His wolf was agitated and wild, trying to claw out of Derek’s skin and take over. To do what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe run to Stiles, maybe hunt something.

Derek couldn’t remember feeling so volatile in his entire life - which was really saying something, all things considered.

He spent most of the time in his den in beta shift, since the effort to keep his features composed was too draining. Everything felt so wrong . His nest was too cold and lacked the scents that made it feel safe and like his. The faint lingering of cinnamon and vanilla in his sheets was fading quickly and it made it feel less like his bed. There was no mess of books on the floor, no stray graphic t-shirts flung haphazardly onto doorknobs and dressers. His den was so empty and Derek and his wolf hated it.

He wanted to run, to hunt, to sink his teeth and claws into something and settle the unease vibrating in his muscles. He did not want to go to school, but winter break had to end at some point.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to go to school when Derek had to spend half an hour in front of the bathroom mirror willing his shift away - but he was there, nonetheless. He needed to learn to function without depending on a nine year old for something as simple as keeping his wolf at bay for a few hours. There was no threat, nothing prompting his shift - he should’ve been fine.

Except he wasn’t fine, at all. He knew girls wore too much perfume, but it didn’t usually choke him the way it did when he walked through the front doors of the school. The sharp chemicals tickled his nose, tasted bitter on his tongue, and burned his throat. Every slam of a locker door felt like a punch to the head. So many shoes clacking on the ground, too many grating voices holding loud conversations. He couldn’t be there. He needed to leave, he couldn’t—

“Derek,” his name was called softly from beside him and he turned to see Paige, who was looking up at him warily. “Can we talk?”

Derek shook his head, because he really wasn’t sure how to explain anything that was going on and he couldn’t think clearly enough to even try.

“Look, it’s fine that you broke up with me - I’m honestly a lot more concerned about the fact that your eyes glowed and you grew claws and fangs ,” she said under her breath. “And you left me in the woods, at night , by myself. So I think you owe me a few minutes to talk about whatever that was.”

He did owe her that. She deserved to know the truth. She was a great person and Derek really liked her, but . But this was complicated. And someone nearby was smacking their gum in a way that put Derek’s teeth on edge. He couldn’t have this conversation right then.

“We have class,” he ground out, then made a quick beeline into his first period classroom.

“Hello, Derek,” Ms. Daaé greeted him as he walked in, her hand brushing across his shoulder and upper back. He immediately twisted away from her, his wolf’s hackles rising at the foreign touch near his neck. She looked at him with concern etched into her features, though it didn’t quite carry into her scent. “Are you alright?”

“He gets a little jumpy when he doesn’t sleep well,” Paige told her, entering behind him. Derek nodded at the excuse and all but ran to his desk. As Paige sat beside him, she subtly mouthed, ‘Are you okay?’

No. No, he wasn’t.

Stiles was seated at a picnic table near the black top at recess, tracing his finger along the rough grains in the wood, when his friends ran over and clambered onto the attached benches with a series of thuds.

“You okay, buddy?” Scott asked him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You’re acting weird today.”

“Yeah, you’re all sad,” Isaac added.

“I just have… bad feelings today,” Stiles mumbled, feeling the turbulent bond he shared with Derek pulsing erratically. There were so many different feelings passing through Derek and Stiles was feeling them more and more as the week trudged on. He wasn’t really sure why Derek was so freaking angry and guilty, but he really hated it.

More importantly, though, he could feel Derek’s wolf. It was so, so close to the surface today, thrashing and irritated and ready to take control. He didn’t know the last time Derek’s control was so terrible outside of a full moon - and it had just been getting worse each day. He was going to hurt someone - or someone was going to see him lose control and hurt him . It was really starting to stress Stiles out. He wasn’t sure what to do, when Derek wouldn’t even talk to him. 

He’d tried everything - going to his door, calling him, texting him. No response. Nothing . He was seriously considering getting a baseball bat and just bursting into his room to knock some sense into that stupid wolf if this went on much longer.

“W-Well, my p-parents are gonna b-be gone t-tod-day b-" —Theo frustratedly took a few deep breaths through his nose— "because my sister has a d-dance recital kinda far away. They w-won’t b-be home until late t-tonight."

“Yeah, and I said maybe we could go over and eat junk food and watch movies,” Scott proposed, looking to Stiles. “I know we were gonna hang out at my house today, but that might be more fun.”

It did sound fun, but Stiles wasn’t really in the mood.

“It’s okay, Scotty - I kinda wanna go see my mom today, actually. I haven’t seen her in awhile, since I’ve been living with the Hales. You should go to Theo’s and eat extra junk food for me, though.”

“Are they your family?” Isaac asked curiously. “I thought they were just your friends, but you don’t live with friends.”

“You probably could live with friends,” Stiles reasoned. “But yeah, they’re my family. Also, I think my dad has a crush on my godfathers… and I think they have a crush on him, too.”

“That’s w-weird,” Theo said.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, the words filling him with indignation. “Gay isn’t weird.”

“No, no,” he quickly corrected. “I mean it’s w-weird b-b-because, like… there’s three of them. And aren’t they all married already?”

“Oh,” Stiles understood, the anger quickly dissipating. “Yeah, that’s a little weird.”

“W-Wait, Isaac, d-do you w-wanna come over t-to my house and hang out w-with Scott and I?” Theo asked.

Isaac scratched the back of his neck and looked down at the table as he said, “Uh, no. My dad wouldn’t let me.”

“D-D-Dang,” Theo sighed. “Maybe next t-time. And then St-Stiles could come, t-too!”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Stiles agreed. 

Derek had made it halfway through the school day without shifting, which was honestly a feat he wasn’t sure he was going to accomplish. He could confidently say that he was doing pretty decently - up until he was walking across the field at lunch and a boy ran into him, knocking his shoulder hard against Derek’s and sending a jolt of pain through his arm.

His wolf surged forward with a snarl, and Derek spun around, eyes locking on the boy’s back as he continued running away. The urge to chase the fleeing attacker filled his mind as his nose locked onto the scent, his claws lengthened, and his eyes shone excitedly at the prospect of a hunt. 

He took a step forward, about to give into the instinct, when someone cut in front of him. 

Attacker? Prey? Paige.

“Derek, you’re... shifted,” she hissed urgently. She reached for his arm, but he growled and bared his fangs at her, and she yanked her hand back. 

Derek watched her as she looked around frantically, his wolf unsure of exactly what was going on. The guy was getting away, but the scent of anxiety rolling off of the girl was tickling his nose and making him lose his lock on his prey. It was frustrating, and he didn’t understand why she kept positioning herself in front of him when he tried to go around her.

“Derek,” she said again with a stern edge. “You can’t be shifted here. Someone will see you. Follow me, okay? Follow me.”

She moved out of his way, but kept her eyes locked on his and part of him - the sliver of control that was still hanging by a thread in the back of his mind - pushed him to listen to her. He was shifted. In broad daylight. At school. 

He followed her towards a hulk of metal - seats? bleachers - until she ducked into an opening underneath them. He crouched down, finding three people in the cave. Paige and two males - Camden and Jordan . School pack. Not a threat. School pack .

Derek got to his knees and crawled into the cave, staying near the opening and placing his back against the metal. 

“ Jesus - what the -” Camden flailed in alarm, his eyes wide and scent turning bitter in fear. 

“Shut up!” Paige told him. “It’s Derek.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Camden said. “But what’s…”

“You’re a werewolf,” Jordan realized. “Holy shit, you’re literally a werewolf. I knew this town was weird!”

“Me, too - but I didn’t… expect this," Camden breathed.

Paige rolled her eyes. “He talks about scents and sniffs things way too much for a human - you’re an idiot if you didn’t think something was weird.”

“His eyes flash gold sometimes, too,” Jordan pointed out.

Derek relaxed a bit when the scents turned lighter and sweeter as the pack settled after the revelation. He wasn’t following the conversation entirely, since his wolf’s attention kept being drawn to the creatures he could hear skittering around in the field, so he was a little startled when a small pebble hit his thigh.

“Derek?” Camden called. “Why are you shifted?”

“Someone ran into him,” Paige said. “His control has been weird all day. Actually, since we broke up last week. I think something’s wrong.”

“What usually keeps your control… controlled?” Jordan asked.

Control? Anchor. Mate . Stiles.

“ Stiles ,” Derek huffed, the word slurred a bit through his fangs. “We're fighting.”

Paige’s mouth parted in understanding. “Stiles helps you keep your control? That’s why you’re so close to him - he grounds you?”

“Anchor.”

“Anchor.” Paige nodded. “But you’re fighting?”

Derek shrugged as his mate bond ached uncomfortably. Mate was mad at him. He was a bad mate for ignoring him. He was failing.

“I fight with my brother all the time and it doesn’t even matter,” Camden told him. “If you bring him curly fries or something, he’ll forget about whatever fight you’re having.”

Yes! Provide for mate. Bring him food. Mate will be happy.

“You really need to get anchored though - because you can’t have wolf face at school, dude,” Jordan told him. “Just… think about Stiles or something. Do you have a picture or something on your phone?”

A picture wasn’t going to fix anything. He couldn’t smell a picture.

Then Derek remembered the backpack attached to his back and slung it off onto the ground. He ran a claw over the zip chain for a second, before slicing through the fabric at the top of the bag. He was pretty sure someone tried to say something, but he wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. He sniffed incessantly as he clumsily ruffled through his backpack, searching for the faint hint of cinnamon. He found his red sweatshirt at the bottom of the bag and pulled it out, sending his books falling to the ground and causing a slight tear at the bottom of the jacket. It didn’t matter.

He pressed the soft fabric to his face, snuffling as he tried to find the strongest points of faded scent - finally coming to pause at the inside of the underarm. He sagged as he focused on the smell of sweat, cinnamon, and sweet sugar. With every exhale, he felt his wolf creeping back.

It wasn’t enough. His head was clearing a bit, but his shift was still very firmly in place. He was so fucked. He was going to have to call his uncle or something. If the scent wasn’t letting his humanity regain control, what other option was there?

Then Derek’s eyes flew open as he remembered: pain makes you human.

He let go of the jacket with one hand and held it over the dirt, before sinking his claws into his palm. He whined into the fabric, pain ringing up his hand and forearm as his skin tried to heal itself around his sharp nails.

“ Agh, what the fuck ?” Camden complained, his voice high and pitchy.

“Derek, are you -” Paige tried.

“Pain... makes you human,” Derek said through clenched teeth, trying to focus on the sting in his palm, the comforting scent in his nose, and the strong bond in his chest. 

After about thirty seconds, Derek felt his shift ebb away and the claws retracted from his skin as they reverted to blunt human nails. Success! Kind of. His secret was blown to three outsiders now.

Derek leaned back against the metal and sighed exhaustedly. He needed a nap.

“So… that was fun,” Camden said offhandedly.

Derek couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. “I… yeah.”

“You’re a werewolf,” Paige muttered, almost as if trying to process it. “You’re literally… a werewolf.”

There was no point in denying it, so he agreed, “Yeah.”

“Is your hand fine?” she asked.

Derek nodded and showed them his bloody palm, no injury in sight.

“Okay, great - let’s not do that again,” Camden said. “I almost threw up. So, you need to make up with Stiles.”

Stiles . 

Derek groaned and put his face in his clean hand. “I don’t wanna talk about Stiles.”

“He’s nine - what kinda fight could you have possibly gotten into?” Jordan wondered.

“It’s…” terrible, embarrassing, complicated “...a wolf thing. I just realized something… about him , and it… I don’t know.”

“Does he know about your wolfiness?” Camden questioned. 

“Yeah, he’s part of my pack. He’s one of the pups. I mean, he’s human - but… that’s just, like, what the kids in my family are called. He’s basically a Hale - he’s known since he was born.”

“So is your whole family like you?” Jordan asked.

Derek shook his head. “Not everyone, but some.”

“That’s dope,” Camden said, grinning.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Derek urged. “I mean it, guys - anyone. I was supposed to be being careful, because there’s been some stuff going on recently with hunters targeting werewolf packs. If you tell anyone, it could be really bad. Like really bad.”

“Obviously, man - your secret’s safe with us,” Camden assured him, and Paige and Jordan nodded their agreement. “I have a lot of questions, though.”

Derek really didn’t want to answer them, but he figured he’d give them one or two answers before telling them to fuck off.

“Me, too,” Paige said. “Do all werewolves shift uncontrollably without their anchor?”

“Not usually.” Derek was just weird. “I’m... a feral risk. It means my wolf side is stronger than it should be. It’s why I don’t really like being touched or having people behind me or sharing food. I don’t know how to explain it to humans, but it’s like I have really strong instincts that make a lot of little things like those be triggers for my shift. My wolf thinks things are threats when they aren’t. Most werewolves don’t have problems like those - at least, not outside the full moon.”

“So that’s real, then? The whole full moon thing?” Camden asked.

“Kinda… it just makes our inner wolves more prominent. You can usually still control it, though.”

“With an anchor,” Paige filled in.

“Yeah. Family, a person, a strong emotion. Focusing on it helps keep you tethered to your humanity.”

“Why is Stiles yours, instead of one of your actual family members?” Camden wondered.

Derek clenched his teeth to stop himself from saying that Stiles was actual family. “I don’t wanna talk about him right now.”

“Okay, well what about…” Camden continued, and Derek prayed that the bell for lunch ending would go off soon.

As Stiles rode up to the Stilinski house on his bicycle, he noticed that his dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He didn’t really expect it to be, but he still felt a pang of disappointment that he wouldn’t get to see him. He tossed his bike haphazardly into the front yard before hurrying towards the front door as he fished the key from his backpack.

Letting himself in felt odd - it didn’t come with the welcoming scents of food cooking or the loud, boisterous energy of a family loudly bustling about. It was nothing like the Hale house, and it felt a little surreal stepping into such a quiet place. It didn’t feel as much like home as he once thought it felt.

“Mom?” he called as he slowly made his way up the stairs. He would usually take them two at a time, but something about breaking the silence with his loud footsteps seemed too out of place.

There was still no answer by the time he reached the second floor, so he called out again, “Mama, you home?”

It wasn’t until he was nearing his parents’ bedroom that he heard faint, unintelligible whispering. As he got closer, he noticed the frantic edge in the woman’s voice - and he quickly headed towards the open bathroom door.

He skidded to a stop with wide eyes as he took in the sight in front of him. His mom was seated on the toilet lid, her hair a mess and bags under her eyes, as she dragged a steak knife from the kitchen across her skin, leaving a bleeding slit in its wake.

His mouth opened and closed several times, before he shrieked, “What are you doing ?”

“I have to… I have to get it out,” she mumbled distractedly, attention locked on her leg. “The tracker - it has to come out before they come.”

“Nobody’s coming,” he told her carefully, stepping further into the bathroom. “You’re safe - there’s no tracker in -”

“I know there is,” she snapped, her fist tightening around the knife handle as she shot him a glare. “I can feel it.”

“You’re sick,” he whispered.

“You’re with them ,” she sneered, her eyes squinting in suspicion. “You’re here to take me!”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “What?”

“ Get out! ” she screeched, standing up. Stiles felt a little queasy as he saw the drops of blood steadily dripping down towards her knee. 

“Give me the knife,” Stiles told her sternly, but his voice quivered a bit. He couldn’t just leave her there with a weapon - she was already hurting herself! “ Please , just give it to me.”

He probably should’ve been looking at the weapon, but his eyes were stuck on the dizzying red stream now soaking into her slipper just a second too long. He didn’t see her hand swinging towards him until it was too late to back up. He threw his left arm over his chest protectively and grit his teeth at the sharp, searing pain that ripped through the side of his forearm.

She cut him. She cut him.

His mother seemed to be just as shocked as she stared at the injury with trembling hands. Stiles took the opportunity to grab her wrist with his right hand and slammed it into the edge of the counter, making her drop the knife with a pained shout. As he held onto her tightly, he felt anger and panic swell up inside his chest like a balloon, pressing against his lungs and climbing up his throat. 

“What the hell are you?” she asked fearfully, trying to tug her arm back. Stiles looked up and saw the air around her vibrating like a transparent static on the television, gray with blotches of red around the edges. It reminded him of the liquid red that encompassed Peter at the baseball game a couple months ago. She tried to pull her arm free again, but Stiles tightened his grip. “Let go of me, demon!”

Stiles saw her reach for the ceramic toothbrush holder and let go just in time to stumble backwards out of reach. As soon as their skin contact broke, the choking feeling of fear and anger dissipated - along with the static aura.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, chucking the toothbrush holder at him. He ducked out of the bathroom just as it shattered on the doorframe, and rushed down the stairs.

By the time he’d gotten outside, he was calling the sheriff’s station.

“Beacon Hills Sheriff St-”

“I need help at 129 Woodbine Lane,” he interrupted her, a bit winded as he ran down the street.

“You said 129 Woodbine Lane?” she repeated. “Is this Stiles?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “My mom is sick - frontotemporal dementia - and she has these… delusions , I think they’re called. She thinks a tracker or something is in her leg. She’s trying to cut it out and she’s talking crazy.”

“Okay, I’m sending your mom some help right now,” she said calmly. “You said she has a knife?”

“Yeah, she has a knife.”

“Are you hurt?”

Stiles looked down at the cut on his arm, which was dripping blood. He didn’t think it was too deep, but it was stinging and his arm felt like it was on fire.

“No,” he lied. “I ran out.”

“And where are you now?”

“I’m going to my godfathers’ house,” he said, slowing to a walk as he rounded the corner onto another street.

“You mean Hale Manor, right? In the preserve.”

“Mhm.”

“Would you like me to send your father there now?”

“No,” he declined, throat feeling a bit tight. “Just send people to my mom.”

“I already have.”

Stiles hung up the phone and collapsed onto the curb, burying his face in his hands and taking a shaky breath. Within a minute, his phone lit up with a call from his dad, but he let it ring out. He didn’t wanna talk to him - he was mad. He was mad at him for drinking. He was mad that his mom was left alone to… to be crazy . He was mad that his mom was crazy. Sick, whatever. It was stupid. It was wrong. It was unfair . He didn’t even know who that woman was. 

He’d never seen her look at him that way before. Like a monster. Could she see that aura, too? Did she know he could see it? What was it?

His phone rang again and he declined the call, before clicking on Peter’s contact.

“Hello?” he answered quickly.

At the sound of his voice, a tension in Stiles’ chest released and a sob broke free of his chest. His eyes welled with tears and he twisted his fingers into his hair.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Peter asked worriedly.

“Can you - can you pick me up?” Stiles asked wetly.

“Of course - from Scott’s house?”

“No, I’m not - not at -” Stiles hiccupped, as his abdomen spasmed. 

“Breathe, Miecz,” he told him soothingly. “Are you in any danger?”

“No.”

“Then just breathe for a few seconds, okay? Close your eyes and take ten slow, deep breaths - and then you can tell me where you are.”

“Okay,” Stiles whispered. He did as instructed, getting his breathing under control. By the tenth exhale, he felt calmer. When he opened his eyes, tears no longer blurred his vision. “ Okay. ”

“Alright, where are you?”

“I lied and didn’t go to Scotty’s house,” he admitted. “I went to see my mom - but she was… not right. She, uh… she was cutting her leg. And I tried to get the knife from her, but then she freaked out and - and she cut my arm. I called the police, but I told them she didn’t hurt me because I’m fine - I am - but… but can you please just come? I’m near the house on the sidewalk.”

“I’m already in the car,” Peter assured him. “Are you sure your arm is alright?”

“It hurts, but the bleeding stopped, mostly.”

“Just stay on the phone with me - I’m coming.”

“Okay.”

It was lucky for the inhabitants of Beacon Hills that there wasn’t much traffic - because Peter was not opposed to bulldozing his way through people as he headed towards the Stilinski house at twenty miles above the speed limit.

When he found Stiles seated on the curb, he threw the car into park and practically launched himself at the boy.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, crouching down in front of Stiles and gently taking his injured arm. Black lines climbed up his arm as he pulled the sharp, ringing pain from him. The cut was relatively shallow - he didn’t need stitches, thank the Gods.

“I’m okay,” Stiles said softly. “I wanna go home.”

Peter nodded and cradled his small face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that covered his glistening, flushed cheeks. “Let’s go, then.”

The ride back to the pack house was quiet. Stiles was obviously shaken and smelled of enough conflicting emotions that Peter’s wolf felt unsettled underneath his skin. Peter wanted to go introduce Claudia to his own set of knives - dementia be damned. He was pissed. Claudia needed to be in a hospital, with a trained staff ready to deal with her outbursts. He’d be talking to Noah about it as soon as Stiles was taken care of.

As soon as they reached the driveway, the pups came running out onto the front lawn.

“Stiles!” Malia called, all but ripping his door off in her rush to check him over. “You’re hurt - are you okay?”

“It’s just a scratch,” he told her as he slid out of his seat and was pulled into a hug. 

“That’s a gnarly scratch,” Cora observed, picking up his arm to get a better look.

“Which is why I will be taking him in to clean it,” Peter said as he got out. He circled around the vehicle and guided Stiles towards the house with his hands on his shoulders.

“Do you wanna play with us after?” Allison asked Stiles.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I feel like playing.”

“What about a puppy pile on the couch?” Jackson suggested. 

Everyone froze and looked over at him in shock. Peter raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if he’d heard his son correctly.

“You hate puppy piles,” Stiles spoke for everyone.

“Do you want to or not?” he snapped defensively, and Stiles smiled.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Whatever, I guess,” Jackson sighed. “I’ll find a movie.”

“Cora, Allie - help me get blankets,” Malia instructed, running towards the porch with the two girls right behind her.

“Do we have to clean it?” Stiles complained when Peter steered him into the bathroom. “I think it’s fine.”

“I disagree.”

Peter turned the sink on and put Stiles’ arm under the stream, nose crinkling at the pink tint in the water running off of the boy. Stiles rested his head on the counter and sighed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. 

“Are you alright?” Peter asked him.

“I already told you - I’m fine,” Stiles mumbled. 

Quick footsteps headed towards the bathroom and Peter over his shoulder to find Jackson holding out the first aid kit from the kitchen. 

“I put on Little Mermaid,” Jackson announced as Peter took the kit. “The girls are making a mess in the living room with blankets and stuff.”

“I’ll be out soon,” Stiles told him.

Jackson nodded. “You better be, or I’m starting the movie without you.”

“Then get out so your dad can focus,” Stiles suggested, a half-hearted smirk on his face.

Jackson rolled his eyes and shut the bathroom door behind him as he turned to head back towards the living room. He’d barely made it three steps before nearly getting run over by Derek, who was sprinting towards the stairs.

“Stiles is in the bathroom with Dad,” Jackson told him.

Derek hesitated on the bottom step, nostrils flaring as he took in the scent. “He’s hurt?”

“He’s got a gross cut on his arm and he seems sad or something. You should go talk to him, so his moodiness doesn’t ruin the movie.”

Derek’s eyes lingered in the direction of the bathroom for a long moment, before he started up the stairs again.

“Why are you being so weird?” Jackson asked him. “Is this really about the mate thing still?”

Derek froze. “What?”

“I heard Laura and Aunt Talia talking about how you’re being weird because of the mate thing with Stiles,” Jackson explained. “You aren’t talking to him and it’s making everything super awkward, because you’re both in bad moods. I don’t really like Stiles, but it was way better when you were talking to him.”

“Mind your own business, Jackson,” Derek sneered.

Jackson scoffed. “How is the pack not my business ?”

“Because you don’t even get it.”

“I get that you’re being ridiculous and it’s stressing everyone out.”

Derek spun around, eyes glowing gold as he stared down at him. “You’re not a werewolf, Jackson. You can’t understand instincts or pack bonds or anchors or m-mates. Just leave it .”

“I might not be a werewolf, but even the werewolves in this pack think you’re being stupid. Laura and Aunt Talia—”

“I don’t give a shit what either of them think.”

“You’ve never cared what anyone thinks, except Stiles—and now you’re pretending not to care about him, either.”

The muscles in Derek’s jaw flexed in annoyance, before he ground out, “Have fun crying about it with the other little kids who don’t understand anything.”

“Have fun being alone ,” Jackson shot back as Derek stormed up the stairs.

Jackson was about to head back towards the living room, when Stiles came out of the bathroom.

“Was that Derek?” he asked, his face falling a bit more. The frown etched on his usually-playful face and the dimness in his eyes was unsettling to Jackson. Sure, the energy was always annoying - but it was better than this.

“The movie’s on,” Jackson said in lieu of answering. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” Stiles told him, looking up the stairs. 

Jackson shrugged. “Whatever.”

Stiles was mad. Or maybe he was sad or maybe he was hurt. 

Derek had to know that he was injured - he had to smell the blood. Right? He had to feel how upset Stiles was through the pack bond - he had to. Yet he didn’t even check on him. He didn’t even peek in the bathroom!

How could he just… not care? Why was this tantrum he was throwing more important than Stiles ? Derek was fifteen years old, but he was acting like a toddler! It was ridiculous!

Stiles’ footsteps grew more firm as his steps turned to stomps, heading towards Derek’s bedroom. He wanted to punch that stupid werewolf. He wanted to take the books off of the bookshelf and just throw them all at Derek’s big fat head. He wanted to yell at him. Tell him how he needed to get over whatever he was dealing with. They were supposed to be best friends - and best friends shouldn’t just ignore each other when they had a problem. More than that, they were pack .

When he made it to Derek’s door, he reached for the doorknob - but just as he was about to touch the metal, he paused. The last time he was in there, Derek told him to leave. Was he even allowed in there anymore? Sure, Derek was being stupid - but was it fair to go into his den uninvited? Stiles didn’t have a right to the bedroom - it wasn’t his. It was Derek’s space. 

He contemplated knocking, but would Derek even answer? Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Stiles felt tears brim in his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day, as he retracted his hand and moved away from the door. 

“Are you sure you're alright, little one?” Peter asked softly from the top of the stairs.

“Derek’s stupid,” Stiles replied, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

Peter nodded as he walked towards the boy. “He’ll be back to normal soon. Teenagers are emotional and dramatic.”

When Peter touched Stiles' shoulder, he looked up at his godfather and noticed the calm, bluish aura surrounding him like water. As soon as he made eye contact with Peter, the wolf’s eyes widened a bit and flared brightly. Stiles touched his own chest as his pack bond with Peter surged with energy.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he whispered. 

“That’s okay,” Peter told him, his eyes fading back to normal.

“He’s really upset,” Stiles said, looking back at Derek’s door. “Angry, confused, sad. I can feel it.”

“I know.” Peter squeezed Stiles' shoulder. “I was thinking about making some hot chocolate. Would you like some?”

“Do we have marshmallows?”

Peter chuckled warmly and steered him towards the stairs. 

“Of course we do.”

Chapter Text

Derek found himself in the woods - the Preserve, he was pretty sure. It was dark, even with his wolf eyes, but he could hear something in the shadows between the trees. Something breathing, something growling.

A predator. A werewolf.

His wolf’s hackles rose as he got the eerie sense that he was being stalked. He couldn’t smell the werewolf, but he could hear the way the sticks and leaves shifted under its feet as it followed him.

After some time - he couldn’t be sure how much, exactly - he noticed that he was alone. He was no longer being watched, but the unease hadn’t lessened at all. He felt like he was waiting for something to happen, and it set him on edge.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice echoed from beyond the shadows, and Derek’s breath hitched in his chest. “Derek, where are you?”

Stiles was out there, at night, with an unknown werewolf lurking about.

Derek was about to answer, when he heard the animalistic movement of the werewolf in the distance - and it sounded like it was headed in the direction that Stiles’ voice had come from. He took off at a sprint on all fours, following the faint sounds of the werewolf and his mate. His hearing seemed muffled, though, as if he were underwater. 

“Derek!” Stiles screamed, and Derek snarled loudly as he spotted two red eyes headed towards him.

The impact knocked him onto his back, but he swiftly rolled to his feet in time to dodge the swipe aimed for his throat. He couldn’t quite see his attacker’s face, but he was male and twice the size of Derek. He didn’t feel scared, though - not when he could hear that Stiles was still nearby. Losing the fight wasn’t an option - because if he did, then Stiles wouldn’t stand a chance against this beast.

A shrill sound - maybe a squeal, maybe a scream - pulled Derek almost violently back into his room, where he laid in the mess of shreds his bedding had turned into. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, his entire body was damp and sticky, and his shadowed room looked a bit distorted through his wolf’s eyes. He rolled out of bed and stumbled towards his door, needing to leave . He couldn’t stay there in the stuffy, shadowed room - he needed to run . He needed the comfort of the dirt under his feet and the scent of the trees. He needed to hunt .

He still wasn’t entirely sure if he was being hunted or not.  He felt disoriented and out of control - his wolf still gnashing and clawing under the surface of his psyche. 

Derek’s clawed hand trembled as he scrambled for his doorknob, leaving several scratches in the paint on his door before he managed to open it. The beat of his heart in his ears distracted him from the sound of footsteps quickly approaching, so he wasn’t prepared for the creature that slammed into his side when he stepped out into the hallway.

The wolf from the dream! Attacking him! It was in his home!

His control flickered away for a moment as he spun around, snarling viciously as he slashed his claws across the intruder’s face. Just as fast as it had slipped, a high-pitched scream pulled him right back to his senses.

“Allison!” Jackson’s frantic voice shouted as he came rushing out of his room. He dropped to his knees and pulled her against his chest, angling his back to Derek as he shielded her - but Derek could still smell the alarming amount of blood as it steadily dripped onto the floorboards.

What had he done?

His stomach dropped and he felt dizzy as he looked down at the scarlet liquid coating his claws, nearly choking on the amount of fear and pain in the air.

He clawed Allison .

The shame nearly shocked him out of his control lapse - but then he was roughly grabbed and shoved against the wall with a cold, sharp knife pressed against his throat. His eyes flared brighter at the scent of wolfsbane and the way it burned his skin where it was threatening to cut him.

Chris bared his teeth as he glared at him, as if he were the animal - and Derek instinctively showed his fangs in return. His eyes left the hunter to watch as Cora pulled Allison into the bathroom and Malia stood defensively in front of Jackson. The distrust in his siblings’ eyes as they carefully watched him made his wolf cower and whine. His pack was scared of him. He’d hurt them.

“Allison?” Peter’s voice called as he flew up the stairs. 

“She’s in the bathroom,” Christopher seethed.

Derek made eye contact with Peter and couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped him. He was sorry, he was ashamed, he was scared - but he had no idea how to voice that. And Peter was so protective of the pups… he must’ve hated Derek now. Derek wouldn’t blame him.

“Let him go,” Peter told Chris.

“He’s feral.”

“You know he isn’t,” Peter argued. “Let him go.”

“He’s not in control.”

“You’re holding a poisoned knife to his throat - I would be shifted, too.” Peter stared intently at the side of Chris’ face in a way Derek had never seen before. There was a hesitancy and wariness that Derek never would’ve guessed could be in Peter’s eyes when looking at his mate. It somehow made Derek feel more aware of the weapon in Chris’ hand. When Chris didn’t move, Peter stressed, “ Christopher .”

“He just cut Allison’s face—”

“Then go check on her.”

Slow footsteps approached and Derek’s eyes darted to find Stiles, who was staring at him with much softer eyes than he deserved.

“Go in the bathroom with the pups,” Chris told him, but Stiles ignored the instruction as he continued towards them.

“Derek, are you okay?”

Chris looked over at him and shouted, “ Stiles !”

Derek growled at the aggressive tone and gripped Chris’ forearm with his claws - not breaking skin, but a clear warning nonetheless. The knife tilted a bit, sending a sharp sting into his skin, and he’d barely had time to hiss at the burning sensation before Peter grabbed onto Chris’ shoulder with his own claws.

“Let. Him. Go,” Peter demanded, the lethal edge of his left hand training clear in his voice. “He won’t hurt Stiles.”

“What’s going on?” Talia asked, she and Laura apparently deciding that the situation was dire enough to come out of her bedroom. 

“We’re handling it,” Peter said shortly.

Derek’s eyes flickered golden as he tracked the way the alpha and alpha heir were quickly approaching his mate while he was restrained. His wolf began to rise up again as he felt that he and Stiles might’ve been in danger. Neither of the women liked Stiles - and he couldn’t protect the boy while Chris was holding the knife to his throat. He needed to get Chris off of him, needed to get Talia and Laura away from Stiles, needed—

“Chris, let go,” Stiles said urgently, moving to take another step towards them.

Talia reached out and grabbed onto Stiles’ arm to stop him, and Derek felt rage burn through his chest. She was touching Stiles. Keeping him from coming to Derek. In a flash, Derek used his free hand to shove at Chris’ stomach, sending him forcefully into the opposite wall. The knife had slipped and Derek was mildly aware of a throbbing pain in his neck, but he was much more focused on Talia’s hand on his mate and the challenging red in her irises.

“Talia, let go of me,” Stiles said, trying to tug his arm away.

“Derek, you need to calm down,” Talia said calmly, ignoring the boy. It made Derek’s blood boil.

Derek stalked forward, ready to rip the alpha’s hand clean off, if she didn’t let go of his mate. She gave a warning growl, but it didn’t phase Derek in the slightest. He wasn’t afraid of her and he had no interest in backing down to her wolf.

“Laura, take Stiles elsewhere,” Talia instructed, trying to pass her his arm like he was theirs. He wasn’t - he was Derek’s .

A possessive, demanding roar tore through him as his sister grabbed Stiles, and she immediately let go as if his skin had burned her. She shut her eyes and tilted her head, baring her neck to Derek. He nearly went to move towards Talia, who was staring at him in alarm - but then the scent of cinnamon and vanilla was wafted into his face as Stiles’ hands pressed his hands firmly against the skin on his chest. 

“Derek Sebastian Hale, enough !” Stiles shouted, and Derek’s attention dropped down to the stern expression on his mate’s face. Without looking away, Stiles said, “Talia and Laura, go away. You’re not helping. I don’t understand how you still don’t know how Derek works - or else you wouldn’t have grabbed onto me like that. Just go right now, before he tries to fight you or something stupid.”

Derek didn’t dare break the eye contact that Stiles was holding with him, but he could hear Talia and Laura retreating down the hall. Stiles’ hands moved from his chest down to take his hands, and then began guiding him towards the stairs. He went easily, allowing Stiles to take him to the downstairs bathroom and push him against the sink.

“Wash your hands,” Stiles told him as he shut the door, closing them both in together.

Derek listened, scrubbing the red from his fingers and watching it circle down the drain. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, once he got his fangs to recede. 

Stiles didn’t respond. Derek didn’t really expect him to.

When his hands were clean, he dried them on his sweatpants and sat on the toilet seat. Stiles’ scent was very concentrated in the bathroom, since it was such a small space, and Derek’s wolf relished in the feeling of being near him. Despite the whole ordeal that had happened upstairs, his wolf hadn’t felt so relaxed in weeks.

“Are you fine?” Stiles finally asked him, though he didn’t look at him. His eyes were trained on the hand towel that he was fidgeting with, pulling at the loose strings and unraveling the damaged sections.

“Yeah.”

Stiles nodded, before admitting, “I’m mad at you.”

“I know.”

Without another word, Stiles left the bathroom. Derek grabbed the towel from the counter and buried his face in it, clinging to the last whiffs of him in an attempt to retain his control.

For several long seconds, Peter couldn’t move. The scents of fear, anger, and wolfsbane were heavy in the air - and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the armed hunter standing there in the hallway. Christopher was panting slightly and repositioning the hilt of his dagger in his palm, his eyes stonelike and cold in a way that Peter had never seen them look within the walls of their home.

When Christopher finally looked over to meet his gaze, Peter had to look away. He wasn’t sure how to process the fact that his husband had used a poisoned knife against their child, and he had more pressing issues to attend to. He’d worry about Christopher later.

Peter rushed over to the bathroom, where Allison was sitting on the toilet seat as Jackson pressed a washcloth to her cheek. Cora and Malia were grimacing as black lines climbed up their arms from where they each held one of Allison’s hands, and Peter’s chest filled with a bittersweet sense of pride as he watched his pups take care of each other.

“Thank you, girls - I can take it from here,” Peter said, softly tapping their shoulders so that they’d let go. He immediately put his hand on Allison’s other tear-streaked cheek and pulled a bit more of her pain. “Jackson, can I see it?”

Jackson carefully lifted the red-stained cloth from Allison’s face and Peter had to clench his jaw to keep from growling or possibly throwing up. Two deep gashes were torn through her cheek from just beside her ear to a couple inches from the corner of her mouth, and a third one traced the line of her jaw.

“She needs stitches,” Christopher said from the doorway - and it was good that he could keep his voice level in this situation, because Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to. There was always a risk when mixing humans and wolves - but knowing and seeing it were different. 

“W-What are we g-gonna say?” Allison asked wetly, her words slightly slurred as she tried not to move her face.

“Animal attack,” Christopher grunted. “We can figure out the details in the car.”

“I’m coming,” Malia said. “I can pull her pain.”

“I’m going, too,” Jackson unsurprisingly added. He’d follow his twin anywhere.

“Be careful not to take too much, Malia,” Peter warned. “It’s dangerous for you.”

“I can do it,” Malia told him firmly.

Talia cleared her throat from outside the door and Peter sighed exasperatedly. 

“ What? ” he snapped.

“Are you going to talk to Derek or should I?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“You do have such a way with ferals.”

Peter shut his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Ferals . Peter knew who she was talking about - he’d noticed just how much Derek had looked like Jericho, too. Of course he did - it made his stomach churn and his skin prickle.

“I’ll talk to him,” Peter repeated.

With a last glance towards Allison, he exited the bathroom - making sure to bump Talia’s shoulder with his own on the way out. She infuriated him like no other. The audacity of that woman to blame Peter for her own failures!

Peter knocked on the bathroom door, before pushing it open. Derek was seated on the toilet lid with his face covered by a hand towel. At least his hands were clean - Peter didn’t want to have to buy new towels for the bathroom just yet.

“Is Allison okay?” Derek asked, his voice sounding tight.

She wasn’t, but Peter didn’t think it would help anything to say that, so he told him, “She will be.”

A sob wracked through Derek’s body and Peter dropped down to his knees so they’d be more on the same level.

“Derek,” he said gently, placing his hand on Derek’s nape.

“Do you hate me?” he asked brokenly, and Peter felt it like a stab to the heart.

“No,” he assured him, pulling the towel away from his face. “Derek, I could never hate you.”

Derek sniffed and looked at him with tear-filled green eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Peter leaned forward to bump Derek’s forehead with his own, and Derek practically fell off of toilet seat to collapse into a hug. Peter held him tightly, matching the desperate strength that Derek was clinging to him with.

“You need to make up with Stiles,” Peter said sternly. “You can’t be anchorless and there’s no real reason for you to be risking your control like this. Being scared is no excuse for endangering your pack or yourself.”

“I know.”

Peter pulled away to make eye contact with him, needing Derek to understand. “You can’t risk this, Derek. You can’t let yourself get…” feral.

There was only one way to deal with a feral werewolf, and Peter didn’t think he could kill Derek. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to recover from that. Actually, he knew he wouldn’t. 

“I’ll stop rejecting the bond,” Derek promised. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good.” Peter ruffled his sweaty hair and managed to keep the cringe internal. There was nothing worse than cold, wet hair. “Claudia is being transferred to a long term care facility tomorrow afternoon. Stiles could probably use some company.”

“I’ll be there.”

It was lucky that Noah was well-liked at the Sheriff’s Station, because he figured most people would be in trouble for suddenly leaving their post midway through a shift. After he received the call from Chris, he’d barely remembered to alert the station that there was a family emergency, before high-tailing it to the hospital a bit faster than he probably should have. 

He’d known that Derek was struggling with control since realizing the mate bond with Stiles - but he didn’t think it was this bad. Chris had sent him a picture of the gashes and he was glad he hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Maybe it was about time that he spoke to Stiles about trying to tackle whatever fight they were having. Hell, maybe if Noah himself talked to Derek about the bond, it could help.

As soon as he walked into the hospital, Melissa led him back to Allison’s room. He was listed as one of her emergency contacts and a family member, so it wasn’t really against the rules.

Allison looked so small in the hospital bed - it broke Noah’s heart. Her breathing was a bit erratic from crying, and the skin around her eyes was red and puffy. Chris sat beside her bed, holding her hand, and Jackson clung to his side like he was glued there. Malia was standing away from them, her back pressed against the wall by the door. She looked ready to cry, or maybe to run. Maybe both.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?” Noah offered her his hand. She looked at it for a few moments, before shakily taking it and squeezing a bit tighter than comfortable - but Noah wasn’t about to complain. 

He led her out of the room and down the hall towards the vending machine he knew was there from all the times his father had landed him in that very hospital when he was younger. That was the thing about simple towns like Beacon Hills - they didn’t change. He’d walked the same halls, with the same art, to the same vending machine, since he was smaller than Malia.

“He should’ve hurt me,” Malia voiced, and Noah stopped in his tracks to look down at her. 

“Don’t you dare say that,” he told her, squatting down to her level and gently guiding her face to look at him. “ Nobody should’ve gotten hurt.”

“But I could heal,” she reasoned. “It’s not fair that it was Allie - it should’ve been me. I should’ve been there faster. I could’ve heard that he wasn’t in control and—”

“Malia, it’s not your fault. Just because you can heal, doesn’t mean you should always need to take the hit. Your dads would’ve been just as upset to see you injured.”

“I shouldn’t be crying,” she mumbled as fat tears rolled down her face. “I didn’t even get hurt.”

“I think seeing someone you love get hurt is definitely a valid reason to cry,” Noah assured her. “It’s okay to cry when things are scary or sad.”

Malia glanced down the hall and winced, before throwing herself into Noah’s arm and burying her face in his neck. She fisted her hands into the back of his shirt and whispered, “I can hear her crying.”

Noah just held her tighter.

Peter didn’t look up from his book when he heard the bathroom door open, the scents of shampoo and body wash spilling into the room with the remaining steam. He hadn’t spoken to Christopher since that morning - he wasn’t really sure what to say. Something , probably. An uneasiness had been stirring in Peter’s stomach all day.

“The silent treatment seems very juvenile for you, Peter,” Christopher remarked as he sat on the edge of their bed.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Peter said, finally snapping his book closed and tossing it onto the bedside table. “I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck that was earlier.”

“You mean Derek giving Allison permanent scars across her face because he lost control?”

“Don’t play stupid - it’s not a good look on you,” Peter told him. “You held a knife against his throat.”

Christopher scoffed and shook his head. “He was acting feral - what was I supposed to do?”

“He’s our pup !” Peter hissed. “He’s our first - the reason we even knew we wanted to be parents at all!”

“And he clawed one of our other pups, Peter.”

“Believe me, I’m aware.” Peter had always been nervous about having human children, for this exact reason. Humans weren’t safe among wolves - and ones born into packs never even got a choice in the matter. “You think I’m happy about my baby girl getting hurt?”

“I would hope not, but you seem much more concerned with how I handled Derek.”

“You used your wolfsbane-laced knife - and I know you had other safer options.”

“I needed to get the situation under control.”

“That situation was our pup,” Peter reminded him. 

“I wouldn’t have hurt him,” Christopher said - and Peter could have sworn that he heard the slightest blip in his heart rate, but he couldn’t be sure.

Peter clenched his teeth, fighting the tightness in his throat and the agitated pacing of his wolf under his skin as he looked at his mate. “Are you certain about that?”

Christopher’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line as the air around them took on the sharp scent of anger. “You don’t trust me? Seriously - after everything we’ve been through - you don’t trust me?”

“You were hunting,” Peter said, voicing what had been making him sick since the moment he’d seen that spark of lethal adrenaline in his eyes. “You were hunting Derek.”

“No, I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Peter cut him off.

Christopher looked away, eyes fixing on the gun cabinet in the closet. “I was protecting my children from a dangerous, out of control werewolf in the best way I knew how to.”

“How do you change diapers and wrestle into baths and help with wiggly teeth and… how do you raise someone who trusts you and then hold a poisoned knife to them?”

“ You married a werewolf hunter, Peter!” Christopher exclaimed. “Whether you believe me or not, I wouldn’t have hurt him - but I have absolutely no qualms about making threats and scaring some sense into him to get his head back on straight. He’s fifteen - my dad was doing a lot worse to me by then.”

“You’re not Gerard and Derek isn’t you. He’s so much softer than you. We let him be soft. We’ve never been aggressive with him - he’s never seen you like that. Christopher, he thinks you hate him.”

“He should know—”

“He doesn’t . You scared him.”

“I was trying to.”

“You scared me ,” Peter admitted in a whisper.

Christopher sighed defeatedly, his shoulders sagging as he dropped his head down into his hands. 

Chapter Text

After zipping up his Doc Martens and slinging his red hoodie over his shoulder, Derek was ready to talk to Stiles. He wasn’t quite sure what to say or how to fix the situation he’d put them in - but he had to figure something out. He needed to reconnect with his anchor, and truth be told, he really missed Stiles. It felt so wrong to lay in a bed where Stiles’ scent was fading more and more each day. 

Derek headed out of his bedroom and towards the stairs, but came to an abrupt stop as soon as he noticed Chris coming up. At his presence, Derek’s wolf stirred uncomfortably under his skin and the back of his neck prickled.

“Are you going to the hospital to see Stiles?” Chris asked him.

Derek nodded shortly, and Chris copied the motion.

“Well, give the kid a hug for me, yeah?”

Derek nodded again, the tingling in his gums making him pretty sure that he was about to have a mouthful of fangs if he didn’t get outside soon. His wolf had never had such an adverse reaction to Chris before, so Derek wasn’t really sure what to do about it.

Chris seemed to catch onto the fact that Derek wasn’t about to have a conversation with him, and made his way down the hall towards the bedroom he shared with Peter - leaving Derek to hurry down the stairs and rush out the front door.

The residents of Beacon Hills very rarely wandered around the preserve, so he didn’t expect to run into anyone on his relatively short walk towards the long-term care facility. He’d heard that humans thought the woods were eerie or something, which Derek would never understand. Though, he figured the world felt much scarier as a fragile human.

So, he hadn’t expected to catch the familiar scent of a woman’s perfume about halfway through his trek. Once he got closer and was able to pick up the natural floral hints in the scent, he recognized it as being Ms. Daaé.

What was she doing in the middle of the preserve?

When he eventually made it to the small clearing she was seated in, he paused. She’d never struck him as the type to meditate in the woods, but there she was. Her hair fell in loose curls down her back, and she was wearing a white sundress with a plunging neckline that made Derek quickly avert his eyes with a blush tinting his cheeks.

“Hello, Derek,” she greeted him. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Ms. Daaé.”

“Please, call me Katherine when we’re not in school,” she said flippantly. “I’m hardly a teacher out here, anyway. I’d bet you know far more than me in this area.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The preserve,” she specified. “Your family lives in these woods, don’t they? That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. I’m sure you’ve practically grown up out in nature.”

“I guess.” Derek shrugged.

“Come, sit with me.” She patted the ground beside her invitingly.

“I’m actually—”

“Haven’t you ever heard to stop and smell the roses? Things happen in the blink of an eye and you’ll miss them, if you’re always in such a rush. You should learn to cherish what’s around you.”

Derek wasn’t sure how to get out of the situation without coming across as rude, so he hesitantly made his way over to sit beside her. His wolf really didn’t like her perfume - it tickled his nose.

“I’m sorry about Paige. I was so surprised that you broke up - you really were the cutest couple.”

“Uh, yeah,” Derek said awkwardly. “It’s fine, though.”

“It must have been difficult - first breakups always are,” Ms. Daaé placed her hand securely on his shoulder. He nearly shook her off, but held himself back. She was just comforting him. “Though, men as handsome as you shouldn’t let some teenage girl bend them too far out of shape. The world shouldn’t have to go without your smile, just because a girl didn’t recognize how lucky she was to be with you.”

“It was my fault,” he dismissed.

“Oh, baby, I doubt it.” Her hand slipped slowly down his arm to rest on his forearm, where her thumb began rubbing against his shirt sleeve. He had to suppress the growl his wolf wanted to force out at the scenting gesture. She was human - she didn’t know any better. “Girls can be so manipulative - believe me, I know. I’ve never met a girl who didn’t twist things to make her come out as the angel. With a pretty face, you can get people to believe just about anything. It’s disgusting, and I’m sorry you went through that. You deserve so much better, Derek. I mean it.”

Ms. Daaé watched her own hand thoughtfully, as it stroked his arm, then looked up at him through her dark eyelashes in a way that made Derek’s skin crawl. He couldn’t wrap his head around whatever the hell was going on, because she couldn’t be flirting with him… right? He had to be misreading the situation - it wasn’t like he was an expert in human social interactions.

“Anyway, enough with the heavy,” she said cheerfully, turning her attention to the trees surrounding them. “I just love nature - don’t you?”

Derek cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“I’m more of a night person, to be honest with you - but I have to admit: the daytime has its upsides. I just love how green it is out here. Green is my favorite color.”

“Mine, too.”

“You know, only two percent of people have green eyes,” Ms. Daaé told him, her hand swiftly falling down to interlock her fingers with Derek’s. “Another reason why you’re so special.”

Alarm shot through Derek’s body like lightning as his wolf rushed forward, disliking the way his hand was being restrained by someone he didn’t particularly want touching him. He snapped his eyes shut as he felt them flare and tried to take a calming breath - which proved to be a mistake, as it just pulled more of her scent into his lungs and further riled his wolf.

“I gotta go,” he slurred, hints of a growl seeping into his voice.

“So soon?”

Derek nodded, but didn’t dare try speaking again. He pulled his hand free, ignoring the way she tried to tighten her grip, and twisted quickly to roll up onto his feet and take several steps backwards, away from her.

“Well, thank you for spending a moment with me. I was having a rough morning and you really helped. You have a very comforting aura about you, Mr. Hale.”

Derek didn’t bother answering as he took off into the woods towards the hospital. 

What the hell had just happened?

When Derek walked into the hospital room, armed with a bag of curly fries and a strawberry milkshake, he found Stiles seated in one of the worn out chairs along the wall. Claudia was asleep, which Derek was glad about - considering he wasn’t really sure what he would’ve said to her if they were all going to be sitting in the room conversing together. He’d never really been all that close with her, and after the stunts she’d pulled with Stiles over the past year… Derek wasn’t eager to socialize with her.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted him as he sat down the book he was reading.

Derek walked over to him and draped the red sweatshirt over his head as he plopped down in the seat beside him. Stiles pulled the hoodie off his head and into his lap, leaving his hair a complete mess on top of his head. Derek almost wanted to try smoothing it down, since the static from the fabric was causing it to float.

“I’ve been stupid lately,” Derek told him.

“You have,” Stiles agreed.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles eyed the food and asked, “Are those for me?”

Derek nodded and handed them to him.

“Maybe I’ll think about accepting your apology, then,” Stiles mused as he opened the bag.

Such a brat.

Stiles waited until he was about halfway through his fries to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean with that stuff that happened yesterday,” Stiles specified. “Have you talked to Chris?”

“Kinda.”

“That was some crazy stuff. Were you scared?”

“I know why he did it.” Derek shrugged. “He was protecting the pups - he did the right thing.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“I’m fine,” Derek repeated. “I wasn’t the one who got hurt.”

Stiles nodded, before handing him one of his curly fries. Derek smiled softly as he took it.

Derek was just about to crawl into bed for the night, when his phone buzzed loudly on his nightstand. He grabbed it on the second ring, not wanting it to wake his family up, and found Camden’s name lighting up the screen.

“Hey,” Derek answered.

“Der!” Camden exclaimed, a giddiness in his voice that made Derek smile, as well. “Get your ass out here - we’re at the end of your driveway.”

“What?” Derek knelt on his bed to peer out his window, where he found the yellow glow of headlights shining out from behind the trees, the car just out of view. “Why?”

“To hang out, obviously. Let’s go, Derek!”

“ Now?” Derek asked, looking over at his digital alarm clock. “Dude, it’s almost ten.”

“Yeah, yeah - I can read the time. Grandma Paige even snuck out, so you have no excuse!”

There was a muffled thump on the line that Derek assumed was Paige smacking Camden. He listened to what sounded like some sort of scuffle, before the movement settled and Paige’s voice came through.

“They did not drag me out of my house on a school night just for you to wanna sleep early, Derek Hale. Come suffer with me right now.”

“What are we doing?”

“Just driving around, probably - everything’s closed this late.”

“It’s an adventure!” Camden shouted. “Live a little.”

“Shut up, dude - my pack will wake up if you keep screaming like that,” Derek chuckled. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He hung up the phone and slipped it into the pocket of his sweat pants, before quietly sliding his window open just enough to duck out onto the roof. He crept towards the ledge and leapt off, immediately falling forward into somersault to break the landing, before rolling back up onto his feet. After making sure his cell phone was still on him, he jogged down the driveway towards the car.

Jordan was in the driver’s seat with Camden beside him and Paige in the back. As he approached them, Paige opened the back door for him and he slid in.

“No shoes?” she noticed.

“I didn’t think it mattered, since we’re not really going in anywhere.”

“He’s a werewolf, Paige - he’s not afraid of a little dirt between his toes,” Camden teased. “Now drive, Jordy!”

It wasn't until they were turning onto the main road that Derek realized none of them even had their license yet, let alone a car.

“Whose car is this?” he asked them.

“Jordan stole it,” Paige said.

“Don’t say that!” Jordan complained. “I’m already stressed out enough.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You did.”

“He’s housesitting for a family in Beacon Acres this weekend, and they happened to leave their spare car keys in the kitchen,” Camden explained. “So, Jordan stole it.”

“You didn’t call it stealing when you called me and convinced me to do it!”

“Well, how are they gonna know?” Camden reasoned. “It’s not like they’re even using it! They’re in Hawaii, being shark bait - I doubt they’re thinking about their car being stolen.”

“We’re gonna get arrested,” Derek mumbled.

Paige sighed. “This makes us accomplices, huh?”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and it’ll be Stiles’ dad,” Camden suggested. “He’d probably let us off easy, right?”

“He can’t be the one to catch us!” Derek exclaimed. “Dude, he helped raise me - he’s like a third parent. He totally has grounding rights.”

“Can we stop talking about getting arrested? I don’t want a record,” Jordan whined.

“You stole a car,” Derek and Paige chorused.

“I borrowed it.”

“Where are we going, anyway?” Derek wondered.

Camden turned around in his seat to face the back and smirked at him, holding up four brand new joints. “To a random neighborhood in West Beacon to have some fun.”

“We’re getting high in public while in a stolen car,” Derek realized.

“You pulled me out of my house to commit two crimes!” Paige reached over to swat Camden upside the head.

“It’s an adventure! C’mon, you guys are liars if you try to say you’d rather be sleeping right now.”

Derek wanted to argue, but he had to agree that hanging out with them was definitely more fun than being asleep.

Eventually, they found a place to park where the streetlight was broken, so it was mostly hidden from view. If nobody paid close attention, they’d probably be fine. Jordan shut the car off and they were plunged into darkness. Derek assumed the humans were rendered blind until their eyes adjusted - but he could still see just fine.

“Shouldn’t we roll the windows down a bit?” Paige pointed out.

“Hotboxing is part of the adventure,” Camden dismissed her. A small flame sparked from the lighter in his hand and he lit the tip of the joint he was holding between his lips. He took a long drag, before passing it over to Jordan.

“Paige, you smoke?” Derek asked.

“Rarely.”

“She was the first person I ever got high with,” Camden revealed. 

“He coughed for like twenty minutes and almost puked in a bush.”

“Why do you gotta talk shit on me? I’ve never done anything to you.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snickered as she plucked the joint from Camden’s fingers before he could take a hit. After taking a pull, she handed it over to Derek.

“Y’know, I’ve actually been thinking,” Camden started as he lit up a second joint.

Paige snorted. “That’s never good.”

“Shut up,” Camden sneered. “I was thinking about how Derek isn’t straight.”

Paige looked to Derek. “You’re not?”

“Oh, shit - I didn’t mean to out you,” Camden whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Derek assured him. “It’s not really a personal thing to me - that’s just how my culture is. Sexuality isn’t much of a factor in the supernatural world, but especially for werewolves. Your inner wolf just connects with whoever it… vibes with, I guess? I don’t know how to explain it. But basically, everyone just gets with whoever they want and nobody worries much about sexuality labels.”

Paige seemed to ponder it for a moment, before nodding. “Interesting.”

“Right, so about the culture thing,” Camden continued. “I was thinking about how in our culture, everyone is assumed straight until specified otherwise. Y’know? So it got me wondering if I’m totally straight, or if I just assumed I must be, because I know I like girls and the norm is to be straight.”

“You think you might like guys?” Jordan questioned.

“I have no idea.”

“Do you wanna kiss them?” Paige asked.

“Well, I’ve never done that - so I’m kinda curious.”

Derek brought the joint to his lips and shook his head. “Not it.”

Camden looked over at Jordan and playfully wiggled his eyebrows. Derek’s mind was getting a bit fuzzy at that point, so he didn’t really register what was going on until Jordan had already dragged Camden over by the collar of his hoodie and pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss.

“Woah,” Derek breathed, watching the interaction. He wasn’t particularly attracted to either of them - but he was pretty damn high, watching two guys make out in a stolen car. It was an experience.

After a while - Derek thought it was a lot longer than necessary, but he also didn’t feel like time was moving correctly - they parted.

“Well, damn,” Camden said, his chest heaving as he got his breath back.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Gay?”

“Maybe a little,” Camden admitted, a lazy grin on his face. “I still prefer girls, I think - but I would definitely be on board for hitting Jungle sometime.”

“I’m definitely straight,” Jordan chuckled. 

“Well, you’re welcome for being the experiment to solidify your sexuality.”

Jordan took another drag from the joint he was sharing with Camden. “You’re a dork.”

“Wait, guys - do you hear that?” Paige asked, suddenly on alert. She looked out the foggy back window of the car, but it was too difficult to see anything between the smoke in the air and the condensation on the glass. “I think I hear a police siren.”