Chapter Text
The Hale house smelled like sawdust and fresh pine, a smell Derek still couldn’t quite believe belonged to him. He paused at the top of the stairs, letting his gaze drift across the newly rebuilt living room, taking in the exposed beams, the polished floors, and the chaos of boxes and tools still scattered around. It wasn’t perfect. Nothing ever was. But it was theirs. His pack’s home. A real home again.
It had been about half of year of pure hell and, somehow, miracles, all smashed together. The Alpha Pack had nearly destroyed them, tested every nerve, every bond, and yet here they were— alive, intact, stronger in ways Derek never thought possible. Scott had finally agreed to join his pack, Lydia had insisted on being involved as well, and Jackson… well, Jackson had sulked for the first hour before following Lydia anyway.
Derek’s jaw tightened as he thought of Peter. Reconciliation had been… messy. He was coming to terms with the fact that Peter hadn’t been in his right mind, and getting to a place where Derek could forgive and trust him again had taken everything he had—and then some. There had been anger, resentment, hesitation, raw emotions, the constant fear of being let down again. And still, he couldn’t have done any of this— the rebuilding, reorganising, keeping everyone alive— without Stiles.
Stiles. That sarcastic, chaotic, impossible human. A human who somehow carried more brains, heart, and fire than most alphas Derek had ever known. He had challenged Derek at every turn, always pushing, always questioning, never letting him settle for easy choices. Stiles had been kidnapped once along with Erica and Boyd, he was tortured for being with them. And yet, instead of running like a sane person would, Stiles had held them together, convinced them to return, and dragged Scott, Lydia, and even Jackson into the pack.
Every research night, every plan for defense, every strategy to outsmart their enemies, Stiles had been there, awake, meticulous, relentless. And when it came to rebuilding the Hale house over the summer, Stiles had somehow taken charge of more than just the labour. He had put himself in charge of organised the design, he coordinated deliveries, ensured meals were made, and somehow, it felt natural, even comfortable, not like someone else running Derek’s house, but like someone had always been meant to help shape it.
Derek shook his head slightly, the memory of Stiles’ energy washing over him like a chaotic tide. He wasn’t supposed to feel grateful. He was supposed to feel territorial. Protective. Maybe even irritated. But… no. There was something steady, reliable, almost comforting, about Stiles’ presence.
He let out a low exhale, only to have it cut short by the sudden voice downstairs.
He saw Stiles bound to the center of the living room like a caffeinated squirrel, waving his hands dramatically.
Derek groaned from the top of the stairs but didn’t move. Knowing what he knew about Stiles, he could probably guess where this was going.
Which was nowhere, cuz Stiles was just that chaotic.
“Okay, everyone,” Stiles announced, standing on top of the couch like a tiny, energetic general, “we need to talk about our glaring problem.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed, as he arched an eyebrow in suspicion. “Which problem is that, Stiles? There’s roughly seventeen going on at all times.”
“Our traditions— or, more accurately, our complete lack of them!” Stiles flailed dramatically, arms waving. “Seriously, we’ve been a pack for what… half a year? And the only thing we’ve celebrated together is surviving werewolves, nearly dying, surviving a darach, nearly dying again, and arguing about house paint. That’s not a tradition.”
Derek growled softly, but it wasn’t annoyance. Not really. “Stiles,” he called down, voice low, controlled. “We’re having a meeting.”
“Meeting?!” Stiles echoed, jumping from his makeshift perch on the couch.
Scott raised a hand. “Uh… what about last year?”, cutting off Stiles' train of thought.
"Dude, half of us were bleeding out from the whole fairy fiasco..." (pretend that happened) "...and the rest of us hadn't even joined yet and as I just said, nearly dying is NOT a tradition. That’s the problem! We’ve been so busy surviving, no one’s had fun! Which means I, your humble spark-enhanced emissary, am hereby taking charge of instituting proper holiday cheer.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Wait… proper holiday cheer?”
“Yes, Scott!” Stiles snapped, wagging a finger at him. “I have a plan. Step one: Christmas tree. Step two: Decorations. Step three: Baking cookies. Step four: Holiday lights extravaganza. Step five: Secret Santa. Step six: Optional but recommended gingerbread house competition.”
Jackson groaned, arms crossed. “And what makes you think we’re all going to follow your… gingerbread competition?”
“Oh, come on, Jackson,” Stiles said, grinning. “It’s pack bonding! You need that more than the rest of us!”
Jackson muttered something about explosions and how Stiles was a fire hazards. Which Stiles politely decided to ignore, cuz he wasn't about to let Jackson, teh resident douche-bag ruin his fun.
Erica smirked from the loveseat where she was cuddling with Boyd. “So… what exactly are you proposing?”
“Traditions!” Stiles shouted, slapping the couch cushion for emphasis. “Christmas tree decorating, a pack dinner, a gift exchange… possibly a holiday-themed pack photo shoot if you behave!”
Lydia rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “And what happens if someone refuses?”
“Refuse?” Stiles gasped, clutching his chest. “Then they will regret it for all eternity! Also, cleaning duty. Definitely cleaning duty.”
Peter, leaning in a corner, raised an eyebrow. “You really think forcing human holidays on wolves is the most pressing matter?”
Stiles froze, then smirked. “Oh, Peter. You’re so cryptic sometimes. This isn’t just about holidays. It’s about pack bonding, morale, and- uh....preventing total chaos in the kitchen.”
Isaac shifted nervously. “C-Can I help with decorations, if that’s okay?”
“Of course!” Stiles beamed at him. “You can help with the lights, maybe handle the tree. Don’t worry, I’ll supervise.”
Erica elbowed Stiles lightly. “And what about you? You’re the one organizing all this. You ever take a break?”
Stiles waved it off. “Breaks are for sane people, Catwoman. I have ADHD and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. Batman duties.”
Boyd, silent as ever, gave a small nod, sitting back and letting Stiles chatter over him. Stiles leaned down with a grin. “See? Boyd’s happy. That’s a success metric right there.”
Malia tilted her head. “This seems… fun?”
Stiles flailed a little. “Yes! Fun! And pack bonding! And slightly terrifying… but mostly fun.”
Cora snorted. “So you’re basically forcing the pack to celebrate?”
“Enthusiastically guiding you,” Stiles corrected. “Totally voluntary. Also mandatory. You get it.”
Danny and Ethan exchanged a look, already resigned to chaos. Peter just muttered something about Stiles being delightfully chaotic, while Kira quietly nodded, intrigued.
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a low growl. “Well, I'm not sure I like this idea plus I don’t… do traditions.”
“You will,” Stiles said firmly, marching up to him. “You’re Alpha, yes, but also pack family. You’re legally obligated to participate in all pack-based activities. No exceptions.”
“I didn’t sign up for this,” Derek muttered.
“You did,” Stiles said, smirking. “By choosing to live in this house with all of us. Boom. Contract signed.”
Cora snickered. “Did I ever tell you how much I like you, Stiles?”
"Not nearly enough times, Cora", he responded with an equal amount of snark to his tone.
Derek sighed, but the edge in his shoulders softened. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Stiles had a way of making everything… manageable, even when it was pure, utter chaos.
“Fine,” Derek said finally, voice tight but unwilling to yield entirely. “We’ll do Christmas. But we do it my way.”
“Your way,” Stiles said, arms crossed, brow cocked, “better include cookies. And Christmas lights. And maybe a small flamethrower for flair. Don’t worry though, I’ll handle the explosions.”
Scott groaned. “Flamethrowers… seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously,” Stiles said, grinning from ear to ear. “Now everyone grab hot cocoa. Pack meeting is officially in session.”
Derek let out a resigned growl, watching Stiles flit between members, assigning tasks, taking notes, and somehow— somehow—making the living room feel more like a home than it had in years.
Because if chaos was the price of a family… Derek decided he could live with it.