Archive of Our Own ^beta

He's on the field when he feels it. 

A sense of dread coils inside his stomach, spreading through his lungs and catching inside his throat. He quickly blinks, trying to focus, to pay attention, otherwise they will all be dead in a matter of mere minutes. His grip around the gun tightens, cold metal presses against the skin of his right palm and a slight scent of gunpower hits his nostrils. It helps to anchor him, somehow. This is familiar, this is what he's trained for. 

He scans the area where his team and him are hiding, quickly checking the perimeter of the old industrial farm in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Everything seems quiet, but he knows it's just an illusion. His skin pricks, the fingers of his left hand are itchy as if they want to release the pent-up energy trapped inside them. He releases a slow breath, briefly closes his eyes and then he starts to probe the air around him, going further and further until his senses intercept an invisible barrier of some sort. 

He uses his willpower to push against it, feeling its texture and examining just how thick and solid it seems to be. It’s like pushing against water in the ocean, like throwing a rock in it and watching the ruffles showing immediately after. He probes a bit more and then it's there, the throbbing feeling of plain electricity. It's a force field, a magic force field. 

He pulls back, cursing inside his head, because of course this is another supernatural mess. It seems that it’s all they get ultimately. He opens his eyes again, looks at the squad scattered behind old, rusty pick-ups and wooden platforms, then he locks eyes with Kira. Honey finds onyx and the kitsune nods after they share a silent conversation. 

Be ready, he mouths. Then he slowly advances towards the building, taking cover behind an out of service bus. He grabs a handful of mountain ash, stocked in a little leather bag fastened on his hip, and rolls the dark dust between his fingers. He counts to ten, then throws the powder in the air and murmurs something in a low voice. The mountain ash twirls and hits the invisible barrier, spreading over it like a spider web, making it visible for everyone. He raises his palm in front of him, grits his teeth and, when he feels the throbbing feeling again, he pulls hard. There’s a ripping sound, beads of sweat wet his forehead, but he doesn’t give up. He pulls again, then he abruptly closes the raised hand in a fist. The barrier breaks like glass and the illusion dissipates in front of their eyes. 

A menacing growl echoes through the air and a fucking feral leprechaun emerges from the building entrance. Its gaze locks with him and he knows they have to act fast. It all happens in slow motion, the leprechaun launches towards him with its mouth open, a row of pointed, sharp teeth ready to tear him apart. He aims his gun and shoots, bullets hitting the monster right in the chest but they only serve as distraction. The one necessary so that Kira can impale it with her katana, killing it when the blade slides through its heart. The leprechaun screams and falls heavily on the ground. The battle is over, so he motions at his team to clear the building, releasing the people the monster kidnapped. 

The mission is quickly accomplished, everyone is safe and the special FBI unit is dealing with the supernatural aspect of it. He spots Chief Diaz talking with Rafe McCall, so he walks past them and turns right towards the FBI car assigned to him. He still feels the sense of dread, feels it tugging at his very core. He takes a breath, focuses on the nausea mixing with that feeling, then reaches to the golden bond inside him and tugs. There’s no immediate response where there should be one instead. His heart starts to beat faster, pounding in his ears, he keeps tugging at the bond several times but it seems muted somehow. Anxiety spreads through his tired body. Something is wrong. Something is truly, really wrong. 

"Stiles?" Kira asks him, staring at him as if seeing a ghost, worry showing on her face. He must have paled, almost feverish in truth. Or at least he feels like it. 

"I need to go back home. I can’t reach Derek, I can’t reach my–" He stops mid-sentence, gritting his teeth again. 

A flash of recognition crosses Kira's eyes and she nods, putting her tiny hand on his shoulder. 

"Go. I'll deal with Rafe." She says before disappearing among the chaos of FBI agents a few steps away. 

Stiles clutches his chest, right in the middle of the ribcage where his heart is. He presses his fingers there, presses hard over the FBI blazer he wears. He looks around him one more time, before disappearing into the cold night. The only thought crossing his mind is a mix of save, protect, hurry. 

His destination is Beacon Hills. His home. 

-------------

When Stiles lands in Sacramento and turns the airplane mode off,  his phone pings with a cacophony of text messages. The majority of them is from Derek, Eli and, strangely enough, even Peter. He reads them all, grips the screen of his phone so hard it almost melts due to his spark being slightly out of control. The thread linking them all is just one single word: Nogitsune. His worst nightmare is back, but this time around he won't let it take away anyone's life. He tries to call Derek, Eli, his dad, but it all goes to voicemail. If Beacon Hills is isolated, with no reception at all, things are really bad. He needs to hurry. 

He doesn’t even bother to rent a car, he just walks towards the restroom area and chooses an empty stall. The smell of ozone fills the room, a buzzing energy surrounds him, making the lights flicker until they shut down, and in a blink of the eyes his body disappears through thin air, crossing a glimmering portal that closes behind him after he trepasses. The first thing he notices is the dark sky above him, it’s night and he finds himself in the middle of the preserve. 

He kneels on the ground, fingers digging into the damp soil among patches of grass, until he reaches the familiar link with mother earth. The land recognizes him, embraces him with a sense of protection and quietness, then gives him the necessary boost he needs to find his family, his pack. He is able to locate them at the edge of the preserve, trapped in the world of illusions made by the Nogitsune. 

He rolls the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing the rune tattooed on his right forearm. It represents the symbol that druids use for earth and Stiles activates it with a quick incantation. It gives him the ability to mask his steps, his approach, to be stealthy like a worewolf even if he’s not one of them. He thanks the illusionistic fog spread through the trees surrounding what appears to be a small duplicate of a mayan temple, because it helps masking his presence. 

From his hiding place, he can see his whole family tied up against pillars. Derek and Eli are facing each other, wolfsbane ropes restraining them both, his dad is instead chained behind Derek. Stiles represses a growl of his own, trying to control his magic and emotions. If he fucks up, there’s no turning back. He's prepared this time, he spent the last decade of his life training for this specific moment, for the possibility of finally having the upper hand against the monster that broke him years ago, when he was still a teenager. 

He listens to what the Nogitsune is saying, listens to all its stupid riddles until it approaches Eli. It’s when it scratches Eli's face, drawing blood even if the teen werewolf heals mere seconds later, that he acts revealing himself and his presence. 

"I have a better riddle for you." He says out loud, keeping his gaze on the Nogitsune and ignoring the surprised gasps of his family and ex-packmates. He ignores Derek's roar, Eli's whine and his dad calling his name. He knows they're scared, paralyzed by the utter fear of losing him again, possessed by an ancient fox monster that made him watch while it killed and harmed his friends using his body, his face, his hands. He can still feel the sticky stains of blood covering his palms, smell the copper scent of it in his nose, hear himself scream trapped inside his own mind. He shakes those memories away, locks them deep down, until he can focus again. He’s not longer a kid, he's not a useless, weak human anymore. He's a spark, an FBI agent. He's stronger now. 

"When two names become one? When they hypenate." Stiles slowly says, feet standing firmly planted on the ground, energy buzzing around his fingers. "For your information, it’s Eli Stilinski-Hale, you asshole. Stay the fuck away from my son."

His voice is hard, cold as ice. His face is a mask of anger, determination and desire to protect what's his. The Nogitsune tilts its head sideways, its mouth smirking with glee and interest. Stiles knows what it's thinking, the fox is trying to find a way to enter into his mind all over again. Well, too bad it's not possibile even if the monster tries. The first thing he's done years ago, after discovering the true potential of his spark, was being sure that no supernatural being could ever possess him again. That’s what the triskele stands for, curved against his right pec in pink ink so similar to his skin tone that it’s almost invisible. It’s a protection spell, for himself, for his mind, his body. For everyone and everything he lost years ago. Having the Hale symbol tattooed near his heart anchors him. 

"Stiles." The Nogitsune rasps with its hissing voice, like a snake ready to crush its prey with its poisonous coils. "My perfect host. I was waiting for you, so that we can play this game one more time." 

A humourless laugh leaves Stiles' mouth, echoing through the clearing where they are all trapped. He slowly advances towards the temple, walking past Liam and Hikari until he’s in front of them all, protecting them somehow. He closes his fists, letting his magic free. Sparks of silver energy spread through his long fingers, running over his skin and wrapping over his forearms.

"I don't think so, buddy. It's time you play my game." Stiles says in a mocking tone, a smirk showing on his own pink lips this time. He raises his right hand to the dark sky above them, uses the fog as a boost to create white lightnings. He takes his time to enjoy the feeling of pure energy running in his veins, his spark being strong and healthy, then he lowers his hand so fast the ancient monster doesn’t realize what's about to happen. The lightnings hit the Nogitsune dead on, making it scream in rage before he dissolves. 

"It's not over yet, I just borrowed us a bit of time." Stiles says, turning around to face the others. "Hey guys, missed me?" He adds in a typical Stiles voice, sarcasm showing. 

"Really, kiddo?" Noah says, shaking his head and then pointing at the chains wrapped around his wrists. 

"Oh, c'mon dad. Let me have a bit of fun. It's a bit exciting having Derek all tied up, but that's something my husband and I should discuss behind closed doors. Gotcha." He adds, winking at his sourwolf. 

"Stiles." Derek says at the same time Eli lets out an embarrassed Papa. He clicks his tongue in response, approaching his family. 

"Alright, I can’t break the chains or untie the ropes because they're an illusion. That means you all have to fight it in order to free yourselves." Stiles explains, taking a deep breath. "That motherfucker feeds on pain, chaos and sorrow so find your deepest fears and fight them." He adds, being on alert and ready to fight if the Nogitsune comes back. It's Derek who goes first, fighting his own battle of fears. 

"I'm afraid to lose you, lose our family. I'm scared of being the worst father of the world and that Eli would end up hating me and the werewolf part inside him." Derek says out loud, voice slightly breaking but determined to free himself in order to protect his family. He looks at his son, at Stiles, at Noah. They’re his pack and he can’t lose another pack again. Deep down he knows that he must have talked about his fears sooner, but he's always been scared to do it. Scared of what the outcome could be, scared of hearing Eli say that he actually hates him for giving him the werewolf genes. But apparently it’s the right thing to do now, because the ropes binding him loosen enough to set him free. He hugs Stiles close to his chest, nuzzles his nose against his husband's neck to scent mark him. Stiles fingers run through the dark hair at the back of his head, pressing him further close. The spark then tilts his head to the side, better exposing the column of his throat and showing submission. Derek licks a patch of skin there, then kisses it before taking a step back. 

"I'm right here, babe. Me and Eli and my dad, we're not going anywhere. You’re stuck with us, Sourwolf." Stiles says with fondness and reassurance. They share a knowing look, speaking a silent conversation of their own, then they face their son. 

"Okay kiddo, I know you’re scared but your dad and I are here with you. We both trust you and love you and we know you can do it." Stiles says to Eli, stroking his son's cheek and gripping his neck firmly to ground him. Derek does the same, his thick fingers running through Eli's chestnust hair in a soothing gesture, scent marking him at the same time. It brings back memories of calming a four years old Eli after a nightmare when he was little and Derek does exactly what he did then. He locks eyes with Eli and brings his son's head inside the hollow of his throat to breath the scent of home, safety, pack. 

"I don't hate you, dad." Eli says against the soft skin of his neck. "I could never hate you, I'm just scared to become a monster. You, aunt Cora, uncle Peter, have so much control when you shift and I'm scared of not be enough. What if I'm bad at it and I hurt you? You heal fast but Papa and Granpops don't heal the same way and the same thing applies to my friends because they're humans." Eli whispers, raising his head and showing teary green eyes. 

"Pup." Derek says, bringing his son inside his strong arms and releasing a purring noise, the same one his mother used to give comfort and protection. "You will never, ever be a monster. You’re a Stilinski-Hale and you inherited the best qualities from both your dad and me. You’re strong, loyal, smart, kind. These are all qualities that a monster doesn’t have. Well, we should work on not tripping over your own feet like your Papa does but it's okay." 

Eli snorts at the last part, then sniffles a bit and takes a deep breath to find his anchor. He smells the scent of earth, lavender and coffee grains. Dad, Papa and Granpops. Then he slowly raises his eyes and flashes them, their golden beta color shining bright and beautiful into the dark landscape of that world. Eli shakes the loosened ropes from his wrists and smiles at his family, staring in awe at his full sheated claws. 

One by one they all free themselves but they don’t have time to celebrate that small victory because the Onis materialize in front of them followed by Scott and Allison. Stiles' breath catches in his throat, his lungs work fast to keep sucking air. He knows about Allison's return from the dead, but seeing it with his own eyes makes him feel dizzy. He feels Derek's hand squeeze his wrist to anchor him, implicitly saying that now it's not the right time to break. They still have an ancient monster to defeat. Stiles nods in response and watches as Allison shoots arrows at Scott, hitting him right through the heart. It all seems surreal, wrong, until Hikari's protection works its magic and Scott is okay. 

Scott and him stare at each other for a few seconds, those dark eyes slightly widening in surprise before finding their focus again. Stiles takes his place at Derek's right side, Eli is on the other one. The others follow behind them, ready to fight against the Onis. Melissa, Chris and Peter make their way through the fog, together with Parrish and Malia. They're all there. It’s Derek's roar that shakes them, giving start to the fight. 

He fights side by side with Derek, working in synchronism. Derek's claws slash through the warriors while he calls for the power of the moon. Stiles' magic is like a silver bullet so when it hits the Onis, they dissolve in smoke. When there are no japanese warriors left, he turns towards the clearing. He growls out loud, noise so similar to that of a werewolf, feeling the presence of the Nogitsune. That asshole was enjoying the view, hidden somewhere where they couldn’t sense it and ready to feed in case the Onis succeeded in killing them. 

"Get ready. I can feel it." He says through gritted teeth, sweat trailing down his temple and running down the side of his face, his jaw. The hissing laugh of the Nogitsune echoes a few feet away and the monster appears on the top of the Nemeton. Derek, Eli and Scott launch at it while Stiles shouts to them. He isn’t able to stop them before they fall right through the fox's trap. He doesn’t know what happens, he only knows he's not able to feel or reach them, it’s like they've been teleported in just another realm. Another illusion of some sort, one that Stiles can’t access right now. Whatever plan the Nogitsune has, his family and Scott have to fight alone. 

This doesn’t mean giving up. He kneels on the ground again, puts his palms on the wooden bark of the Nemeton and starts chanting. He feels the white light emanating from the tree roots wrap around his body, feels its throbbing power mixing with his own, an echo of his spark. He embraces it with all of himself, opening up to that ancient, pure power and sucking it to boost his own magic. He isn’t taking it by force, the Nemeton is giving it to him as a gift. A temporary one. 

"I ask the ancient power of this land to bring its moon children back. To protect and to restore. A balance of its own." Stiles chants, his voice steady and firm, white light pulsing inside his veins, the runes on his skin shining. It’s eerily quiet for a few minutes, then Derek, Eli and Scott are back and they're grabbing the Nogitsune by its arms to prevent its escape. 

He hears Scott address Parrish, asking him to set the fox monster on fire with his Hellbound powers. Derek pushes Eli away to protect him from the imminent fire, a fire that will destroy whoever stands on its way. Honey eyes find green ones and it's in that moment that Stiles knows what Derek is about to do. He whispers a no, watches as Derek tells Scott to let go. He screams for his husband, a silent anger raging like a storm in his mind. 

"Derek." Stiles calls, stepping forward until a couple of steps separate them. His husband doesn’t let go, stays firmly planted on the bark of the tree, ready to sacrifice himself. But Stiles won't let him die like the moronic martyr he is. "Derek." He repeats with a firmer tone, voice laced with authority. Derek turns his head to watch him, follows Stiles' gaze until it lands on their son's crouched, shivering body. There are tears trailing down his beautiful human eyes, sobs shaking him and distressed whimpers escaping his throat. A call for his Alpha, for his dad. Sacrificing himself means Eli watching his father burn alive just like he watched and felt his whole family doing the same decades ago. "Derek." Stiles says a third time. "Step aside. I promise that motherfucker won't go anywhere." 

And Derek finally obeys, releases his grip on the Nogitsune and walks towards Eli, trusting his husband's instincts because Stiles clearly knows what he's doing. He trusts Stiles with his own life. He watches Scott approach the tree and he automatically growls, his own instincts taking over. Scott snarls in response, probably ready to make an idiotic move that could kill them all. 

"Enough." Stiles shouts, voice rumbling. "Save your testosterone competiotion for later." He adds before facing the Nogitsune. 

"You can’t kill me, Stiles. You already know that." The fox hisses with glee, sure of having already won. 

"You think I'm still the young, defensless kid you possessed ten years ago. Well, guess what? I'm not. There are so many flaws in your plan, but you were so sure to win that you didn’t notice them at all." Stiles says slowly, magic dancing around his fingers, making his eyes glow with an amber hue, a mirror of both Derek's alpha eyes and Eli's beta ones. "I'm Stiles Stilinski-Hale, emissary of the Hale pack, guardian of this land and Derek Hale's mate. I healed the Nemeton years ago, bringing its pureness back to life. You tried to trick an ancient tree, using it to trepass this realm and bring chaos. The Nemeton is a gate and it decides what supernatural being can cross the border. You know what that means? It means you cannot pass. And the tree is about to take its revenge." Stiles explains, orbs glowing even more while gusts of wind rise, moving the tree branches and leaves. 

"You're lying, I am invincible and powerful." The Nogitsune screams, anger lacing its words while it tries to move. It doesn’t work, its body is trapped, glued to the spot by the bark of the Nemeton. 

"Jordan, set it on fire." Stiles says, tilting his head towards the deputy and receiving a nod in response. Tongues of fire engulf the Nogitsune, their yellow and dark red colors burning the fox's body and making it scream in pain. "I ban you from this realm, you will go back where you belong. Sayonara, asshole." 

It's the last thing Stiles says before watching the Nogitsune disappear in a whirlwind of smoke and ashes. A breath escapes past his lips, his shoulders sag in relief and he retracts his magic. He turns around, while the illusionistic world crumbles and they're all in the middle of the baseball field. He stares at all the people he knows, stares at old friends and allies. It's truly over. A laugh bubbles inside his chest, followed by the oof of surprise when Eli's body collides with him. 

"Papa." His son says, hiding his face against his chest and nuzzling his forehead there. He hugs his kid tight, combing his dirty hair and enjoying the feeling of pack, their bonds thrumming with glee inside him. The golden one, his mate bond with Derek, shines bright again, giving back the sense of warmth and mine. 

"C'mere Hubbywolf." He says, opening one of his arms so that Derek can nuzzle him on the opposite side where Eli is. Derek's lips trail kisses all over his neck and jaw, alternating them with wet licks of his tongue so that Stiles smells like him. A soft rumble spreads through Derek's lungs, a content one. The three of them stay in that embrace for what feels like forever, letting go only when Noah reclaims his fair share of hugs. 

Stiles locks gaze with Peter over Noah's shoulder and he pats his dad's back before approaching the older wolf. "Glad you've not killed someone while I was away, Creeperwolf." He mutters with amusement, a matching smirk showing on Peter's face. 

"Glad you didn’t lost another toe in the field, Little Red." Peter replies with the same mockery. They stare at each other for a few seconds, then Stiles rubs his palm over the wolf's left shoulder, scent marking him. Peter does the same, aknowledging the natural instinct of smelling like pack. 

"Stiles?" Scott's voice calls him. He braces himself to face his ex best friend, it's been years since they stopped talking. At first there were phone calls and text messages, mainly during the first weeks of college when they both had to get used to their new life away from Beacon Hills. Then their interactions became less frequent, they texted only for holidays or birthdays until even those ones stopped. 

It didn't surprise Stiles back then. Scott has been his brother since kindergarten, they've always been attached to the hip, but since Allison's death and then Donovan and Theo, things became strained. They started to float away and they grew apart, so that so that when things didn’t work out with Lydia, the first person he called was Derek. The same Derek who listened to him while he poured his heart out, metaphotically bleeding after that heartbreak, while crying in pain and despair. It was Derek who brought back together the pieces of his life, one by one, with so much care and patience that at first it gave Stiles whiplash. His mind not quite catching up with the fact that the Derek Hale he met at sixteen years old, grumpy, broody, always hiding his feelings and so angry, was so much different from the Derek who was right beside him. 

They spent a lot of time together, their friendship replacing the one he had with Scott. It was weird only for the first couple of months, then it was as a switch clicked into place. It was then that his spark manifested itself full force, scaring the shit out of him until Derek's strong hands stilled his trembling ones, holding them tight in his own. They talked about it for hours after Stiles calmed down enough, Derek providing every bit of info he remembered about the topic, recovering memories from his childhood when his mother Talia was still alive. 

They figured it out together, not without mistakes and missteps but eventually they made it. Stiles' spark grew, becoming powerful and especially stable enough that he specialized to be an emissary. It was after that that things with Derek changed, their bond becoming stronger until Derek explained the concept of mates. It was Stiles that took the last step, kissing him under the moonlight after their very first date. From then on, they became a couple and one year later they got married. 

Stiles tried to call Scott, hoping to resume their friendship somehow, but the other never called him back and so he gave up completely. Derek and him moved back to Beacon Hills  permanently to be closer to family, even if Stiles' work as FBI agent meant he had to travel a lot. But they were alright, Derek became the special consultant for the Beacon Hills Police Department and their life was good. Stiles took the responsibility to heal the Nemeton and as a result the land claimed Derek back as its owner. That same night Derek woke up panting and growling, his eyes burning bright red again and his senses telling him to run towards the Nemeton. They both went into the depth of the preserve and there, crying and kicking his legs, was Eli. He was just a newborn but a wiff of his scent told Derek that he was already pack, theirs. A gift from the ancient tree to thank them and to secure the growth of the Hale bloodline. 

"Stiles?" Scott calls once more and he's brought back to the present. The other werewolf is looking at him with a mixture of curiosity but there’s also a trace of regret in his dark eyes. He realises that the man in front of him is a complete stranger now. Like someone you used to know, a memory of the past. He isn’t ready to face Scott now, not after Allison's resurrection, not after almost losing both his son and his mate. 

When Scott takes a tentative step towards him, Allison in tow followed by Lydia and Jackson, he raises his hand halting them. "Don't. Not now. Tonight my family needs me." He says with a firm voice, honey eyes catching glimpses of Eli and Derek's laughs while they celebrate. His body is sore, tired, he hasn’t slept at all in the last 24 hours and he's a mess. His long, chestnut hair are wet due to the sweat, there are smeares of dirt on his forehead and eyebrows, a soft layer of beard covers his cheeks and he feels drained. Using a lot of magic always makes him feel weak, on the verge of passing out. 

"We'll talk tomorrow." He adds, then walks to his pack and let them support his weight a little bit while they go home. 

------------

It's the middle of the night when he wakes up, Derek's arm is draped over his middle and his husband's nose is against his nape. They both fell asleep in their bed after taking a well deserved shower, with Eli's soft snores coming from his room and mixting with Noah's who is asleep in the guest room. Stiles blinks, looking at the digital clock on the bedside table. It's three a.m. in the morning, too soon to be awake, but he knows he won't be able to fall asleep again. Derek's breath tickles the skin on his neck and he feels his husband's hand push him further against his chest. 

"Are you alright?" Derek asks, voice low and sleepy in the silence of their room. Stiles takes time to really think about it, runs his thumb over the other’s hand and interlocks their fingers. 

"I don't know." He replies, turning around to be face to face with Derek. He bits his lower lip, a bit of anxiety pooling in his belly. "I've almost lost you tonight, Derek. You and Eli could both have been dead by now if I didn’t show up in time. We should talk about your sense of martyrdom, because you have a family, a pack, who counts on you. You can’t just–" He stops himself mid-rambling to blink away the sudden tears.

Derek's thumb strokes his cheek, drying the wet path left by them. A low, sad whine resounds, spreading inside the werewolf's lungs. "I'm sorry Stiles. I thought it was the only way to protect the both of you, even if I trust you with my own life." He whispers, regret and sorrow showing in his tone. 

"I know." Stiles says, putting the palm of his hand over Derek's heart to let the steady heartbeat calm him down. "I know your intentions were good but, babe, we don’t follow Scott's plans. They've always sucked so bad, I was the mind of the group back then and I still am now." 

Derek nods and brings Stiles' hand to his lips, leaving butterfly kisses on the warm, pale skin. "I promise to never do it again." He vows, leaning over to properly kiss Stiles. He missed his mate so fucking much in the last three weeks that he feared his wolf would go crazy. They kiss for awhile, savouring the moment and tasting each other. 

At one point Stiles straddles Derek's body, braketing the other’s hips with his knees. The kiss becomes bruising, hot and dirty, Derek's hands grip the meaty part of his legs so tight that Stiles is sure there'll be bruises. He doesn’t really care, he married a werewolf, an Alpha werewolf, and Derek's manhandling has always turned him on since he was sixteen. He bends forward to lick into Derek's mouth, tongue stroking the other’s teeth until they sharpen into fangs. A growl rumbles inside Derek's throat and the sharp prick of pointed claws on his torso is all the warning he gets before Derek switches position. 

Stiles finds himself trapped on the mattress, his husband's weight pinning him down and red eyes glowing in the dark. A shiver of pleasure runs through his spine and his arousal skyrockets, invading the other’s nostrils and coating the room with its sweet scent. 

"Stiles." Derek warns him, half shifted and panting. Stiles stares at him, a trace of challenge crossing his pupils and then he rolls his hips while simultaneously baring his neck. He knows he’s playing dirty, but he needs to feel Derek's presence everywhere, a  reassurance for his own mind that they’re all safe, that his mate is there with him. 

"Claim me as yours, Alpha." He says in a husky tone, squeezing Derek's ass cheeks in his hands and bringing him closer. They both hiss when their groins meet, the proof of their combined arousal tenting their pajamas pants. Derek's claws don't waste time, they slice the pieces of fabric covering their bodies and then they're both naked. 

"Mine." Derek growls, tilting Stiles head back on the pillow to expose his adam apple. A clawed hand grips the spark's jaw paying attention to not hurt him, while fangs scrape over the column of that pale neck, biting and sucking. He doesn’t draw blood but he makes sure to leave a visible claim, skin already taking a purpling shade. Stiles pants, then moans while his hips roll in search of friction. 

He's so turned on that beads of precome trail down the lenght of his dick, wetting the head and the pubic hair surrounding his groin. Derek's tongue licks a stripe in the middle of his chest, sucking his dark nipples into his mouth and teasing the hardened nubs with his teeth. Stiles' back arches on the bed, a needy whine leaves his mouth and fingers press hard over the skin of the mouthwatering ass his husband has. They start rutting against each other, the wetness of their arousal helping the slide of their dicks. Derek's right hand grabs both their boners, thumb stroking the head every time his wrist moves up. They don’t have time to go all the way, even if he wants to fuck Stiles so hard until the other passes out from pleasure, neverthless his hips stutter at the mere thought and more precome leaks from his dick, making a mess over his fingers. 

"Der.." Stiles begs, an almost sob wreacking him. Derek knows he's close, feels it by the way Stiles' heartbeat skyrockets and his balls draw up. On the next stroke he teases the slit, pressing his thumb right there and Stiles wails, coming with a string of profanities while ropes of cum land on his own chest and Derek's fist. The feeling of Stiles' nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades, drawing blood, and the scent of pure sex is what brings him over the edge too. Derek comes with a roar, thanking the soundproof walls of their room, while he adds his load to the mess they just made. 

He collapses over Stiles' body, knowing well enough that his husband is able to take his weight after years of training in the field. They pants, lungs sucking oxygen and bodies glued together. Stiles traces the red lines left by his nails on Derek's skin even if the scratches have already healed. Derek hums in response, nuzzling his sweaty forehead on the other’s jaw and receiving a small kiss on the head in return. They enjoy the aftermath a little bit, until the stickyness is too much and they have to take another shower. They both pick a pair of sweatpants, wearing them without bothering with boxers underneath, then they pad towards their kitchen for a cup of coffee. 

"Papa?" Eli says a little bit later, walking barefoot on the tiled floor. There’s a trace of discomfort on his young face, human teeth biting lips and almost drawing blood. His son fidgets, tormenting a loose thread at the bottom of the shirt he uses to sleep. Stiles notices is one of his own old t-shirts, the one he wore before leaving for the FBI mission three weeks ago. He puts his still steamy mug of coffee on the kitchen island and opens his arms. 

"C'mere, pup." He says, welcoming the weight of his growing kid against his side and placing a soft kiss on Eli's brow. "Let's sit on the porch so that we don’t wake up your grandpa. At least one member of this family needs to sleep through the whole night." He adds sitting on the wooden steps outside, Eli sticking close to him while Derek sits in the armchair behind them. 

"Kiddo, I know it’s hard to be a teenager with supernatural powers mixed with hormones, but you have to listen to what your dad says. I know you stole Roscoe again a week ago." Stiles says, watching a mix of emotions cross through his son's face. Shame, regret, sadness and embarrassment are all there and if his human self can detect them, he can’t think about what must be like to Derek. But it's not time for comfort yet, they have to let Eli explain himself using his own words first. It's a lesson after all and they both raised their kid right, teaching him to take responsibility when he does something wrong, giving him the chance to apologize and explain. 

"I'm sorry." Eli says, breathing so hard that Stiles fears an upcoming panic attack. But his kid is determined and keeps going before he has the chance to say something. "I wasn’t trying to upset dad, not on purpose I swear. It's just that you were gone again for three weeks and I couldn’t smell your scent anymore and I missed you and I couldn’t call you and–" He says, rambling and talking a mile a minute just like Stiles. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that Roscoe, his beloved jeep, is the closest thing Eli has of him when he’s away for so long on a mission. His scent is probably so saturared into the leather seats that it’s not a surprise Eli is so inclined to steal it. 

"Oh pup." Stiles whispers, hugging Eli so close and so tight that it’s almost as if they're trying to blend. He shushes his son, lets him cry and sob on his shoulder and combs his long hair the same way he's always done when he was a toddler. Eli tries to be so small now while curling inside his arms, even if he’s a grown up teenager, that Stiles' heart aches. When the sobs turn into sniffles, his son raises his head and turns around towards his other father. An high-pitched whine catches inside Eli's throat and Derek answers with a purring one, opening his own arms just like Stiles did earlier. 

Eli throws himself in his dad's strong, comforting arms and sits on his lap, hiding his face in Derek's neck. "I'm sorry dad." He keeps whispering in a broken voice, while Derek murmurs soothing words in response, tanned fingers rubbing the bared skin on Eli's neck, nape, collarbone to give their son the warmth and comfort he needs. Derek's thumb smothers a loose strand of long, chestnust hair behind Eli's ear with the same softness and love that Stiles has always seen in his father Noah when Stiles himself was younger. His dad does the same even now when his worry for Stiles is too much to bear and he needs the reassurance that his adult son is alright and safe. 

He smiles watching the wolfy habits mingling with the Stilinski ones, perfectly knowing that for today Eli will follow Derek as a shadow if the firm grip his son has on his werewolf father is proof enough. He doesn’t mind, he loves his boys so much. Instead he stares at the moon giving space to the sun, dawn starting to paint the sky with orange tones. His phone vibrates in the pocket of his faded Beacon Hills Lacrosse hoodie and he unlocks the screen to read the upcoming message. 

Old Hale house? 

The text says and Stiles knows that it’s Scott. He can’t run forever, it’s time to face the metaphorical huge elephant in the room even if it’s ten years later. He stretches the sore muscles of his back, tilting his head from side to side to clear the last remnants of his tiredness and then writes a simple reply. See you there in thirty minutes. 

"I'm going to talk to Scott, you guys better behave until I'm back. I'm watching you." He jokes, pointing his fingers at them and raising his eyebrow. He scent marks them before opening the back door, hurrying to put on a clean pair of jeans and a red shirt. He checks the pockets for his wallett, car keys and phone, then he starts the ignition and puts Roscoe on drive. 

------------

The part of the preserve where the old Hale house was is always the same. The only visible change is that there are no remnants of the burnt house, Derek gave the authorization to demolish it a few years ago. In its place there’s a commemorative grey stone with the names of all the Hales who died in the fire. Near the stone there’s a marble bench and colored flowers surround the whole area. When it's windy, their perfume twirls in the air and gives a touch of life to a place that will always bear the weight of so many deaths. 

Stiles' feet step on fallen leaves while he approaches the rock and Scott raises his head to aknowledge him. Silence fills the air while Stiles sits down near Scott on the bench, the tall trees providing shelter from the sun. Scott takes a deep breath, fingers curling around the edge of the marble bench near his own thigh. 

"I didn’t know Eli was your son nor that you married Derek." Scott says, his voice cautious but steady. 

"Well, you missed a lot of things in the last ten years Scotty." Stiles replies, kicking a small rock with the tip of his shoe and watching it tumble a few feet away. "It happens when you end up pushing people away." 

"Oh c'mon, Stiles. It's not fair and you know it. I'm not the only one who stopped calling." Scott mutters, gritting his teeth. 

"I didn’t say you were." He calmly replies, not letting his own anger and disappointment take control of his actions and words. That would not lead anywhere and Scott has always been a hothead when he wants to be. "I'm just saying that things were complicated between you and me. You stopped trusting me long before leaving for college, we both held on to the fake pretense that you didn’t flinch every time you saw my face, the same one that killed Allison. And I didn’t say a thing because it was easier to ignore the fact that we weren’t pack, brothers, anymore. I was broken, Scott. I hated myself every single day after the Nogitsune, despite people saying it wasn’t my fault, and nightmares plagued my mind every night."

He takes a breath then, uses his spark to grasp the link with the land, an echo of peace that quiets the anxiety he feels. "You didn’t even aknowledge my breakdown and I thought it was what I deserved. We left for college soon after and for awhile I had the girl of my dreams by my side, but Lydia and I... we weren’t meant to be. We broke up before the ending of the first semester and the only person who was there for me was Derek. He healed me in ways that I didn’t know possible, we took care of each other as friends first and when we confessed our feelings, that was the happiest moment of my life until Eli came into our life." 

"Stiles–" Scott tries to say, not knowing how to express his feelings.

"Let me finish. Please." Stiles says staring at the commemorative rock, the name Hale dancing in front of his eyes after staring at it for too long. "I was there when my son took his first steps, when he said Papa and Dada for the first time, when he learned how to tie his shoes. We both were, Derek and me. We love that kid so much it hurts and we have our own pack now, Scott. So if you thought for just a second that I would've let Derek die, sacrificing himself for you, you were wrong. I trained for years to defeat that monster and I had a plan. I wish you all the best and I'm so glad Alli is alive, but don't you dare putting my mate and cub on danger all over again or you won't like the outcome. You abandoned us, you abandoned this land, this city and the pack ages ago. You have no business here, Scott. Not anymore." He says, standing up and stroking the blades of grass surrounding them. 

"So that’s it? You just said what you wanted to say and it's over?" Scott shouts, stopping beside him and looking at him with regret. "I know I fucked up, Stiles, but I was hoping for a chance of making things right between us." He adds, his tough posture deflating and the old Scotty he used to know coming to the surface all over again. 

"I don't know if things will ever be okay again. I suppose it takes time and effort and we both have to want it. Think you can do that, buddy?" Stiles says, looking at the man in front of him as if seeing him for the first time. 

Scott extends his hand towards him in response, a tentative step for a fresh start of some sort. "I can." He says, tilting his head sideways while a small smile curls the corners of his mouth. Stiles grabs that hand, holding on tight and nodding.

"Sounds good." He says, a trace of understanding settling in his honey colored eyes. 

Later, when he comes back home it's the sound of laughters that welcomes him. The smell of pancakes and scrambled eggs hits his nostrils and he knows Derek must be cooking. He closes the door, kicks away his shoes and walks towards the kitchen. He leans against the threshold and stares. Eli is talking about his fiasco during the last lacrosse game, excitement lacing his voice anyway knowing that he can now use his werewolf powers for his own advantage. Derek is pointing a spatula at the kid, already planning training lessons, and Noah is subtly trying to grab some piece of bacon as if half of his family isn’t a werewolf. It's then that Derek locks eyes with him, green and honey finding each other. 

"Everything alright?" Derek asks, flipping the pancakes before they can burn. Stiles smiles in response and for the first time in the last 48 hours he feels finally at peace. 

"Yeah, everything's perfect." He says, ruffling Eli's messy hair and taking his place on Derek's right side, there where he is meant to be.