Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

22nd December

Stiles has stared down the barrel of a gun before.

Stiles has been possessed by a Nogitsune.

Stiles has killed demons.

Stiles has tried to buy Christmas presents the night before Christmas.

Stiles has fought creatures who had somehow escaped the darkest pits of Hell.

Not a single one of his various near death experiences compares to what he’s going through right now.

Aka attempting to navigate JFK all by himself with two toddlers a few days before Christmas.

As Teo starts whining again, he finds himself thinking fondly to those days were he was busy running for his life while homicidal wolves and hunters tried to kill him.

Life was so easy, back then.

Not that he doesn’t love his daughters, mind you. He loves them. He adores them.

The idea of anything ever happening to them or them ever being hurt or sad makes him want to commit unspeakable crimes.

This does not change the fact that he’s already sick and tired of the pitying looks he has been getting since the second he had checked in, or that the idea of the - albeit short - plane ride ahead doesn’t make him feel like breaking out in hives.

“Tata!” Ellie whines, pulling at his sleeves. “Tata, down!”

His head hurts already.

Once more, he finds himself cursing the girls’ father.

Alek had promised he’d help him, that he wouldn’t put him in a situation like this.

Then again, there are a lot of things that Alek has promised him that didn’t pan out.

The hurt over that... entire situation has long  since passed, thankfully – not that there had been much of it, to begin with. Still, the bitterness remains, alongside the annoyance the man continues to cause him.

“Come on,” he says, freeing both of them. “Want to help me get grandpa’s gift?”

The mention of his father is thankfully enough to distract them, and both girls look at him hopefully, eyes wide.

“P’sent?” 

“For grandpa,” he says. “Shall we get him a Toblorone?”

Stiles has never gotten the obsession with that particular chocolate, but every time he goes through an airport, his father demands some.

Something about it being a staple.

The duty free store he steps in is thankfully not particularly big nor particularly busy, so he can let the girls run around as they ‘help’ him find what he needs.

If he manages to exhaust them and get them to eat something, he should be able to keep them calm and put them to sleep during the plane ride.

They are usually good plane riders, but the past few months have been... challenging.

Even though Alek is a... decent - if generally absent - father, and Andrea is a much better grandmother than she is former-technically-not-mother-in-law, and Asia and he have never had any problem, a new half sibling is... a lot.

And not necessarily easy to explain to a pair of toddlers.

Stiles does genuinely like Asia – Alek’s new perfect girlfriend-probably-fiancé-by-the-end-of-the-Christmas-season. She has always been perfectly nice to Stiles, and had been genuinely sorry about being a technical homewrecker.

Was it not for his evil not-mother-in-law, they probably could have made it work. 

But Andrea exists - unfortunately for everyone who was not Alek - and Stiles refuses to let his werewolf daughters too close to such a... traditional former alpha mate.

He does not need that in his life.

“Tata, look!” 

“You found it,” he says, smiling down at the girls – who are each holding one bar of Toblorone. “Good job! High fives!”

He knows better than to take the bars from them, instead picking up an extra one and directing them towards the cashier. 

Ellie is not a particularly big fan of chocolate, but god forbid Teo has something she doesn’t.

“Well, hello there,” the cashier says, beaming at the two girls. “What have you got there?”

“P’sent,” Ellie says, giving her bar over.

“For grandpa.”

“Fo’ Gampa!”

“Wow,” she says, scanning and putting them into a bag. “Your grandpa is so lucky to have such sweet and helpful granddaughters!”

“The luckiest,” Stiles agrees. “Could I have three bags?”

“Of course,” she says, pulling them out to scan. “Do you need–”

“Stiles?”

Stiles is, fortunately or unfortunately, not a common name.

In all of his years in both Beacon Hills and outside of it, Stiles has never run into someone who had the same name as him.

And Stiles knows that voice.

Stiles recognises that voice.

Stiles would recognise that voice anywhere, anytime.

Even though it makes no sense for him to be hearing that voice now, or here.

He turns around though, because, as he said, he'd know that voice anywhere.

He knows what he'll see when he turns around.

He’s still not ready to see Derek Hale standing behind him when he turns around.

Because of course it's Derek.

Derek Hale.

The Derek Hale.

The only Derek Hale he knows (has ever known? will ever know?).

That Derek Hale.

Standing in front of him.

Staring at him.

Looking as surprised to see him as Stiles feels.

What the fuck?

+++

The years have been kind to Derek.

It’s not like he’s changed. Physically, he looks the same as the last time Stiles saw him.

His beard is trimmed the same way he always keeps it, and his hair is only a little longer than Stiles is used to see him wearing.

His face looks... softer, however. 

That permanent scowl that Stiles has gotten used to is gone. His eyes are brighter, less haunted than they used to be. There are no bags under his eyes.

His trademark leather jacket has been swapped with a long and comfortable coat.

He’s even wearing a soft looking scarf.

He looks like the Derek Stiles has always wished he was. Like the Derek Stiles had imagined he’d be if he wasn’t busy running for his life.

Settled, he thinks.

“Wow,” he says, once they are outside the store. Stiles is not quite sure of how they made it out. He’s actually not sure that he has even paid for the chocolate.

Derek’s fault.

He appears in front of him, and Stiles turns right back in a teenage spaz.

“It’s been...”

“Eight years,” Derek says, still looking at Stiles with that almost awed expression. Like he’s happy to see him.

Uh. He probably is.

“More or less,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe... What are you doing here?”

“I was–”

“Tata,” Teo says, pulling at his trousers with an impatient expression on her face. “Tata, To’one?”

“Not now,” Stiles says, double-checking that neither of them has managed to open it just yet. “It’s a present for grandpa, remember?” She pouts, clearly gearing up for a loud disagreement, but Stiles had expected this. “We can have some snazzy snackies, instead, for before the flight.”

Of course this immediately takes their attention away from the chocolate.

“‘Nazzy ‘nacky?”

“Yum yum!”

“Yum yum,” Stiles agrees, eyeing the various seats around. The store was across from their boarding gate, and he’d prefer not to be too far from it just in case. The only thing worse than traversing an airport with two toddlers is doing all that just to somehow miss your plane. “Oh, there. Go, go, go!”

He glances over at Derek as the girls rush to the indicated seats, who is thankfully still standing beside him.

He looks completely bemused, and again Stiles recalls how long it’s been.

Eight freaking years.

“Want to–”

“Yeah,” Derek says, quickly nodding. “You’re going back to Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah. You as well?”

“Peter says he needs me to come down. Nothing supernatural,” he adds when he sees the change in Stiles’ expression. 

“Jordan would have said something,” Stiles says, but he can’t deny his heart definitely skipped a beat at those words. 

It might have been eight years, but the conditioning is still hard to shake.

“Jordan Parrish,” he clarifies, at Derek’s blank look. “You know – the deputy who is also a Hellhound and survives being burned alive?” He shrugs. “He’s the Sheriff, now. Dad’s stepped down.”

“Daddy?” Teo asks, Ellie also looking up hopefully.

“Oh– no, sorry, baby,” he says, cringing slightly. “I was just telling Derek about my dad – grandpa. Oh.” He glances between Derek and the twins. “Derek, these are my daughters: Eleanora and Teodora. Ellie, Teo, this is tata’s friend – Derek.”

“In to'ies?” Ellie asks, while Teo studies the man curiously.

“Just like in the stories,” Stiles says, pulling off his backpack. Derek’s eyebrow raise, at which Stiles rolls his eyes. Good to know that reading eyebrows is a skill that one doesn’t lose, at least. “What? I don’t know that many wolf friendly fairy tales, and Evil Andrea doesn’t like to share.”

Again, surprise. 

“I didn’t realise...” He glances at the twins, who’s attentions has now been diverted to Stiles and the contents of his bag. His eyes flash - red, Stiles notes - and the girls look immediately delighted. “Their mother is a wolf?”

There is a Tone to his words. Not one Stiles can actually make out, but there is definitely a tone.

Stiles’ ears are primed to read the Tone, because there have been several Tones from friends and family the moment the secret W-word was uttered.

However, “Not mother,” he says, pulling out the small Tupperware from the bag. “Their father.”

A pause, as Stiles pulls out the wet wipes from his bag.

“They look like you.”

Eight years ago, Stiles could have been able to tell you if this was Derek’s toneless-but-accusing tone of voice or if it was his toneless-but-confused tone of voice.

He can’t tell anymore, and that actually does manage to upset him a little.

“I would sure hope so after all the trouble I went through to bring them into the world,” he scoffs, as he quickly wipes both of the girls’ hands. “Clean hands?”

“Clean, clean,” they call back, raising up their palms for inspection.

“That’s my girls,” he says, finally opening the Tupperware and placing it between them. 

He’s quite proud of this particular rendition of the snazzy snacks. The strawberries have been cut into hearts, the apples are little bunnies in a bed of mini carrots, the grapes and (seedless) cherries are hungry little caterpillars, and he has made an attempt to turn the orange into a cat (possibly unsuccessfully).

Which is probably as wasted on the girls as Andrea insists, but who cares what she says.

If it was up to her, the girls would probably eat nothing but boring meat sandwiches and barely any fruit because ‘wolves are carnivorous, Mieczyslaw’.

“You made that?” Derek asks. He’s pointing at the fruits. “My mom always made the apples into swans.”

“Wait, really?” Stiles says, immediately delighted. He can just picture baby Derek and his bunny teeth carefully tearing apart a little apple swan, and why is such a vicious visual actually adorable? “I saw those on Pinterest, but it didn’t make any sense to me. Can you make those?”

Derek shakes his head, but he doesn’t shut down the way he used to back in the day, whenever Talia (or Laura, or anyone else who died in the fire) was mentioned.

Now, what Stiles sees in his expression is mostly fondness tinted with some nostalgia.

“Cora might know,” he says. “Or maybe Peter.”

A raised eyebrow.

“... Peter.”

“You’d be surprised,” Derek says, and he chuckles. He chuckles, which is a sound Stiles had previously been unaware he could make. “He has a varied and confusing skillset.”

The last time Stiles had seen Derek, he was getting into the stupid soccer mom car he had swapped the Camaro for.

Stiles had been exhausted following months of being possessed by a Nogitsune, but finally – finally sleeping through the night.

He hadn’t said goodbye.

He had to have known Stiles was wide awake and watching him from the window of the loft, but he had pretended not to.

He had put the meagre belongings he had with him and shoved them in the Toyota in the early hours of the morning.

He had paused for a few seconds with a hand on the handle, of the car, staring at something with a faraway gaze.

Stiles hadn’t called out. He hadn’t said anything, had barely even breathed as he watched him.

Derek hadn’t turned around. He hadn’t said anything either, and eventually stepped into the car.

Stiles had watched the car reverse out of its parking spot and driving off until his sight had become too blurry for him to make anything else out.

He was pretty sure that, had he said anything, had he called out, Derek would have gotten right back out of the car.

He would have returned to the loft and stayed right beside him, would have stayed through the next disaster, and the next after, and the next, and the next.

He might have left every now and again if Cora asked him to, but he wouldn’t have left.

He would have stayed in Beacon Hills.

Stayed with them, with the pack, until Beacon Hills killed him too.

Stiles knows this.

Derek probably knows this too.

“Apple?” Teo offers, handing Derek a half chewed piece of fruit.

Derek’s nose twists, but before Stiles can excuse him, he actually does accept, with an easy smile for the girl.

“Thank you, Ellie.”

“Teo,” Stiles and Teo say at the same time, him amused and her pouting. “I Teo. Her Ellie. Her.”

“Oh, sorry,” Derek says, nodding exaggeratedly. “You’re Teo. And who’s Ellie?”

“I’m Ellie,” Ellie says, offering him a grape. “Worm?” 

“Grape,” Stiles corrects, as Derek accepts that too. He even pretends to put the apple slice to his mouth – which has the unfortunate side effect of causing the two girls to try and offer him even more fruit.

Derek doesn’t even look horrified, though. He accepts the offerings with good humour, making happy sounds that just manage to elate the girls even more.

“I’m glad you got out,” Stiles says, after a few more moments of silent observation.

Derek glances at him, and while his smile shrinks, it’s equally as real and as honest as before.

“I’m glad you got out too.”

Stiles waits until the plane has taken off to take out his phone.

Teo had fallen asleep as soon as he had strapped her in, while Ellie had tried to keep her eyes open through the ‘cartoon’ – the safety briefing. She had ended up nodding off a few moments after Stiles had given her her pacifier.

There was a missed call from Asia and three messages, three unread messages from Alek, and two missed calls from the Devil. Who had also left voicemails, because god forbid Stiles did not receive her threats.

asia: sending you and the girls all the love ♡

asia: hope it wasn’t super stressful? let me know if you need me to shout at alek or smth

asia: have a safe flight babe, love ya ♡

Stiles knew that many people doubted him when he said so, but he truly had no bad feelings towards Asia Newton.

He might have been a little hurt at the very beginning, when Alek had introduced her to him and he had realised what she meant. Who wouldn’t have been? Especially while he was pregnant and very hormonal emotional? 

She was a tall, skinny, busty and leggy blonde who looked like she would have given Lydia a run for her money in High School, who he first met while at home in his pyjamas, having just gotten done crying over a Disney movie, with crumbs all over him.

He was almost 100% sure Andrea had orchestrated the whole first meeting, even though every one, to this day, denied the notion.

But the girl – who was, of course, a good three years younger than him – had been incredibly sweet from the beginning. She had apologised with real tears from the second she had been introduced, and look. Stiles’ life might have calmed down, in recent years, but his bullshit sense – his ‘ability to get in trouble and give his poor father white hair’, his dad called it – hadn’t decreased in strength.

Asia might have come into his life through morally scandalous means, but she was a good person who had technically been put into a situation she had not wanted to partake in at all.

And so, despite Andrea’s constant attempts at putting the two of them against each other, they had become quite good friends.

The same could not be said for the man they shared.

Alek: sti, I’m so srry I totes forgot that I packed the girls’ gifts and their now here with us 😭

Alek: i made a quick order on amazon to send to ur dads but idk if theyll get ther in time im so srry 😭

Alek: really sorry bby lmk when you guys are stateside so i can call

Did Stiles hate Alek?

Not necessarily, and definitely not because of Asia.

He had loved the man for a very long time. They had met in Columbia, and despite his mother’s best attempts, they had cared for each other a lot.

They had loved each other.

Stiles had brought him to Beacon Hills.

There had been talks of marriage.

Alek was an idiot, and his relationship with his mother was definitely on the wrong side of co-dependent (and if Stiles could say this, with his own apparently questionable relationship with his father, it said something), but he was not a horrible person.

He loved the twins, and he loved Stiles.

When he was around, he was an amazing and very attentive father.

Stiles was pretty sure that, had it been just up to him, Asia and Alek, they could have made the entire thing work.

But it wasn’t.

Because wherever Alek went, his mother followed (too closely for it to be healthy).

As expected, the voicemail left by the dear Andrea Wiotr was nothing but a long rant in Polish about how disappointed she was by his choice to take her granddaughters to Beacon Hills instead of letting them come to Poland with them – an invitation, that she had pointedly not offered him. Apparently he did not understand how packs worked, and it was disrespectful of him to behave as he was.

The second message was her being very offended about him supposedly ignoring her and avoiding her calls, and how she was going to be speaking to dearest Aleksander about this behaviour of his.

Stiles’ eyes hurt by how much he had been rolling them throughout the voicemail.

Mrs Andrea Wiotr.

Aleksander’s mother, and widow to the late Antoni Wiotr, former Alpha of the Wiotr pack.

The pack emigrated to the US sometime during the second World War, and remained a steady if not particularly strong pack since.

They had two children, Aleksander and Anastasia. Anastasia had received the alpha spark upon her father’s death, something that Andrea clearly did not approve of.

Or maybe it was the fact that her daughter’s mate turned out to be a human with a name beginning with a non ‘A’ letter of the alphabet that she did not approve of?

It had definitely been one of the main things she had disapproved of in relation to Stiles.

She had also very much disapproved of his latent spark, and of the fact that he was a man and thus, technically, not able to give her son any heirs.

Let’s just say that the only time she had shown Stiles something anywhere close to approval was when she had found out he was carrying her grandchildren. That approval had lasted up until the children were safely out of him.

She was an old woman obsessed with tradition and who was a bit of a werewolf supremacist.

She only spoke in Polish in the house or when talking to her children, grandchildren or Stiles. She only referred to the girls with the middle names she had picked for them (anybody had a guess to the first letter of said middle names?), and continuously undermined Stiles’ parenting choices when it came to them.

If it was up to her, Stiles wouldn’t even have custody of the girls, and they would be raised by her – or maybe, she would give them to Asia, for her to raise alongside her son.

She had disapproved of Alek’s relationship with Stiles from the beginning – and really, Stiles should have known he was walking into something messed up the second he had heard Alek calling her ‘Mamusia’ at his grown age – and had made no attempt to hide her disdain for him.

Alek had protected him from the worst of it, but that just meant Andrea had become more clever in her attempts.

Let’s just say when Alek had found his mate in a woman, werewolf born and raised, who was respectful and had a name beginning with the letter ‘A’, she had nearly cried tears of joy. She had even chosen to overlook the fact that, unlike Stiles, Asia had 0 Polish in her family tree.

And then Asia gave her a grand son , and allowed him to be named Antoni jr?

Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that a wedding had been thrown and he had just not been invited.

“Sir?”

Stiles glances away from his phone to the airplane stewardess standing next to Teo, a confused expression on his face.

“Yes?”

“A gentleman in first class – a Mr Hale – asked me to give you this and your choice in snacks,” she says, offering him a can of soda. “On him.”

There are a few people sitting close enough to hear this exchange, and Stiles can’t help but flush slightly.

He’s not sure of why.

Derek had probably heard the torrent of words in Andrea’s voicemail message – earphones are nothing against werewolf hearing, he had found – and felt for him.

You wouldn't need to understand the language to know nothing Andrea was saying to him was polite. 

It still makes his cheek redden.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the soda and putting his phone down. “Tell Derek– uh, Mr Hale, thanks.”

“No problem,” she says, with that big customer service smile that always creeps Stiles out. How can anyone be comfortable with something that looks so unnatural and uncanny valley? Nobody is ever glad to help a customer with any sort of bullshit. “Mr Hale also said to let you know we have red vines.”

That... that does stop Stiles for a second.

Because it’s been eight years.

It’s been eight freaking years.

And sure, he must have eaten some red vines during the course of their not-really-relationship, and maybe Stiles even said how much he loved them, but...

It’s been eight years.

And yet, Derek still remembers that.

Out of all the things he could remember and choose to forget, Derek remembers Stiles’ soda of choice, and he remembers his favourite candy.

He must nod to the stewardess or something, but honestly his mind is already thousand of miles away.

Derek still remembers him, he realises. Not just remember, no: Derek still knows him.

He’s not sure why this realisation makes his heart hurt the way he does.

He blames it on the soda.

Stiles' not necessarily that surprised at finding Derek waiting for him as they disembark from the plane.

Neither of the girls wants to walk, still too tired and sleepy, so he doesn’t question it and just thanks the man when he offers to help him carry Ellie.

He’s not even surprised when, by the time they have checked out and grabbed Stiles’ bags and buggy, they end up in the same car directed towards Beacon Hills.

He remembers saying something about saving the plants, but it’s bullshit and they both know it.

With Ellie asleep in her car seat, and Teo content to entertain herself for the time being, sitting side by side with Derek in the front seat is... comfortable.

It reminds him of all the times he and Derek ended up together in the jeep, Stiles driving away or towards dangers, while Derek tried not to die beside him.

As if thinking something along those same lines, Derek asks, “What happened to the jeep?”

“Died,” Stiles says, with a mournful sigh. “She made it to the last day of term, and then refused to start ever again. It’s still in the garage at home – its final resting space.”

Derek snorts. “That thing was held together by duct tape and prayers.”

“That is no way to speak to your lord and saviour,” Stiles says, shooting him a glare. “I am 100% sure she still has your blood in her seats – which is, by the way, no way to treat a lady.”

“A lady?”

“Roscoe is of noble birth,” Stiles says. “I have drawn up a family tree and everything.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Stiles winks at him. “Because you know me too well.”

He's not sure he's joking or not.

He probably isn't.

“Is this your first time back in Beacon Hills?” Derek then asks. “Since you left?”

“Not really,” Stiles says, shooting a quick look to the back. “Teo, hands to yourself, let your sister sleep.” Teo’s pout is hidden by the pacifier still in her mouth, but Stiles just knows it’s still there. He glances back at Derek, who’s still watching him. “I have come back a couple of times, for the holidays and whatnot – never stayed long, though. I brought Alek to meet dad once, and the girls down twice before, though usually dad will come up to New Rochelle to see us.” He shrugs. “Never wanted to risk getting sucked into it again, you know.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, finally glancing away. “I came back the next summer, and then the next year, when Scott called to say he needed some help.”

“We must have just missed each other,” Stiles realises, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Lydia and I decided to stop the ‘who’s going to be Valedictorian’ discourse by deciding to both graduate early. I think Danny ended up as Valedictorian, in the end.”

He doesn’t say anything about the whole ‘Scott called to say he needed some help’. Scott would have told Derek why Stiles wasn’t there to save the day, and Stiles has nothing to add to that.

“You and Lydia?”

Stiles nods, still not looking at him.

“After Erica, and Boyd, and Allison... We just couldn’t do it anymore,” he admits. “We did not want to sit back and see which one of us was going to die or almost die next. Lydia said she didn’t want to have to scream out my or Scott’s name next. I... had my own issues. So we got out as soon as we could. She went to Princeton, and I went to Columbia, and did not go back unless we had to.”

“And you and Lydia...?”

Stiles turns around, and is confused until he understands Derek’s eyebrow’s furrow.

“Oh, no way. I mean, we’re still friends, and we love each other, but no. I was not in love in her anymore – hadn’t been in love with her since the end of Sophomore year, really.” He shakes his head, smiling a little. “At that point we were just... you know, pack. Jackson ended in New Jersey for university too, and Danny made it to MIT, so we just created our own ‘Beacon Hills survivors’ groupchat.”

Derek understands perfectly. “You guys were your own pack.”

He doesn’t ask, and knowing Derek, he probably never would. 

So Stiles explains.

“I love Scott. I’ll always love Scott. But well... neither of us really got over the fact that I was possessed and Scott didn’t notice. For different reasons, but still. In the end, I came to peace with the fact that while we’re no longer best friends, we will always be brothers. I think – I hope – he has, too.” He shrugs. “The rest of the ‘pack’, well. I left, Scott stayed. I didn’t really give them much choice. We’re still friendly, and I’ll always care about them, but they’re not pack – not to me. You know?”

“I do,” Derek says, nodding. “New Rochelle, uh?”

“Alek’s family lives there,” Stiles explains. “So it made sense to move there after we graduated.”

“... Alek?” 

The question is tentative, and once more Derek is not looking at him.

“Uh, yeah. Aleksander Wiotr, of the Wiotr pack,” he explains, trying not to squirm in his seat. He doesn’t know why he feels suddenly embarrassed and awkward (okay, he does, but he refuses to acknowledge it). “He’s the girls’ father. Other father. We dated, for a while, but then he met his mate.”

“What.”

Stiles squints at the road in front of him, pretending to be engrossed in the beautiful scenery in front of him.

“Yeah. We were both at Columbia together, and he immediately clocked me as being in the known. We were together for four years, and then he met Asia – another werewolf. They apparently knew they were each other’s mates at first sight, or something equally nauseatingly romantic.” He rolls his eyes. “The whole thing is actually less awkward than you’d imagine. Asia and I get along pretty well. The dearest not-teściowa - aka the witch he calls mommy - and I do not, however.”

“Oh,” Derek says. Stiles does not look at him, but he can feel Derek’s eyes on him. “Is he... their alpha, too?”

“No,” Stiles says. “His sister is the alpha of the pack, Anastasia. She’s nice enough, I guess. I don’t really spend much time with her.” He finally glances at Derek. “How about you?”

Derek frowns. “What about me?”

“The alpha spark,” he explains, smirking at the look of surprise on the wolf’s face. “Your eyes flashed red when you realised the girls are also werewolves.”

Derek snorts, but there is a smile on his lips. “Of course you noticed that immediately.” He leans further into the chair, now appearing a little more comfortable than he had before. “For a while Cora and I remained in Medellín - that’s in Colombia. We moved back to New York a few years later, when I randomly got my alpha spark back. I still don’t know how or why,” he admits. “I was just folding clothes and Cora said my eyes flashed red. 

“Isaac turned up a week later saying he felt ‘drawn’ back. We got a couple of other unaffiliated betas since, and are now a pack of six – seven, if we count Peter.”

“So are you like a true alpha, now?” Stiles asks, trying to keep any opinion he has on the topic of ‘true alphas’ to himself. Though, he supposes, if there’s someone who should have been worthy of being a true alpha, Derek is definitely that person.

“I don’t think so,” Derek says. “Nothing we looked up made sense, nor did it fit what Deaton had said when it happened to Scott. And it wasn’t something I wanted to advertise in a city like New York, so my resources were very limited.”

“New York,” Stiles says, and now his tone is more wistful than before. “You were literally a few stops away from me. I can’t believe we managed to live in the same State for years and never ran into each other.”

What would have happened, had they ran into each other?

It’s not like Stiles couldn’t have found Derek, had he been looking for him. He could have figured out a way to get his phone number, if he tried hard enough.

Between him, Danny and Lydia, they probably could have done so without having to ask anyone.

But Stiles hadn’t. He hadn’t looked for him, and hadn’t tried to make it easy for anyone who might have been looking for him to find him.

Loving Alek or not, he has a feeling their relationship would have imploded, had Stiles and Derek met each other again.

Because at the end of the day, Stiles is still that boy who had spotted Derek Hale in the woods at sixteen years old, and lost the ability to breathe for a good fifteen seconds.

And he’s still that boy who stood at the window of Derek’s loft and watched him drive away, unable to speak and unable to stop the tears from filling his eyes.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “All along.”

They don’t speak much, after that.

Chapter Text

23rd December

“Co tam, Sti!”

“Aleksander.”

“Wait, what did I do?” Alek asks, sounding immediately less chirpy than before. “Why am I suddenly Aleksander, why are you mad at me? I’m sorry?”

“I’m rolling my eyes at you,” Stiles says, while studying the rotisserie chicken in front of him. “I hope you can feel it.”

“I can, and I’m so so sorry about whatever I did to cause this. On my knees begging for forgiveness and everything. Please don’t be mad at me?”

“You don’t even know what I’m mad about.”

“Whatever it is, I know I’m guilty and I’m so sorry,” he says, and Stiles can just picture how big his eyes must look right now. He can definitely sense the strength of his pout through the phone. “Super duper sorry, babycheeks.”

“Idiot,” Stiles says, finally finding what he’s looking for. “What do you want, Alek?”

“Why do I suddenly miss the days where you were calling me ‘baby daddy’? That’s not normal, is it? Tell you what, call me that one more time and we'll go from there."

“I will end this call if you don't-”

“I really am sorry about the whole mess with the Christmas presents,” Alek says, finally sounding a little more serious. “And about Poland. I guess I thought we were going to convince you to come with us, eventually, and I just packed the gifts alongside everything. And then by the time you said you weren’t coming, I just... forgot.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t coming,” Stiles corrects, shoving the chicken in his half full cart. “I just wasn’t invited . Remember that part?”

“I–”

“Your mother made it perfectly clear that she was offering to pay for tickets for Teo and Ellie only. And she made it just as clear that she was going to be sharing her room with them. I was not a part of any of those plans, and I am not about to leave my daughters out of my sights for almost a month – not even if they’re with you. And even if you said it was okay for me to tag along, she and I both know I could have never afforded the price of the ticket or of everything else.”

Because Wicked Mother of the North would have blanched at the idea of paying for Stiles’ anything, Stiles would have never accepted any charity directed at him from his ex or from Asia, and he would have never asked to borrow money from anyone, especially for something like a holiday in Poland.

He had his hands full with his lease coming to an end soon and trying to figure out how exactly he was going to afford the raising rent in New Rochelle by himself – seen as Alek and Asia had moved in together before Antoni Jr was born, found themselves a cute little brownstone near the witch's house – or the general price of living and of raising children in modern day America.

A holiday in Poland was not something he could justify to himself, especially not now.

“Look,” Alek says, sighing a little. “I know mamusia can be a little... harsh.” That's not the word Stiles would have used, and Alek knows that. “But... she’s my mother. You know? I can’t... She’s already lost my dad. Anya and her don’t get along. She really only has me.”

Stiles does not answer, continuing to push his cart one handed. 

He understands, of course. If there is something he understands, it’s loving a parent – loving a mother – even when she does stuff that could be considered... somewhat abusive.

His first two attempts at therapy had imploded the second the therapist had tried to tell him that his relationship with his mother following her dementia had been abusive and highly problematic.

He understands complicated relationships with one’s parents, and that’s why he has never tried to put himself between mother and son, or ever tried to make Alek choose between the two of them.

“That does not mean I have to like her constant attempts at undermining me and making me feel like shit.”

“Of course not,” Alek says, and Stiles can just picture the way his hair is flopping around as he nods. “Definitely not. I’ll talk to her.”

“Please don’t. She’ll find a way to blame me for that, and I don’t need that.” Garlic he recalls, making a quick u-turn and nearly slamming into a young man walking behind him. “Oh, sorry. Why did you call anyway?”

“Oh, I wanted to say hi to the girls. Are they awake? Your dad around?”

“Grocery run, left the girls home with dad,” Stiles explains. “They were napping when I stepped out – need to stock up for Christmas eve and Christmas proper.”

“Aw, bummer. Give me a call when they wake up? Haven’t heard their voices in a while.”

Stiles very maturely does not say ‘and who’s fault is that’, because he is mature and grown and everything.

Also, because he knows what the answer was.

“How’s Junior?” he asks instead. “Asia said he didn’t sleep at all last night?”

He listens with half an ear as Alek gives him a dramatized summary of what had happened the night before and how much everyone around helped, from his mother to the various relatives he has, and how welcoming the atmosphere was, and how safe it was, and gorgeous, and–

“Alek.”

“I did not say anything,” he says, in a tone that implies the complete opposite. “I just think you’d love living here. It's so peaceful and wonderful and amazing-”

"I'm not moving to Poland."

"Could you consider moving to Poland? As an option? For me?"

"For you?"

"Okay, scratch that. For... Asia and Antoni?"

Stiles scoffs. "Actually manage to convince Houston Texas Barbie, and I might actually consider it. If, you know, she doesn't pull a Medea and end all of you over the suggestion."

"I... don't know what that means. But I'm sure Asia would love Poland too! All of us would. Wouldn't you love being with all of us? A family? Together and all? Ohana means family?"

“I don’t need– Fuck !”

“Sti?! Stiles. Stiles, are you okay? Stiles?! Sti, what happened–?”

“You know, you don’t need to revert to stupid traditions just because we happen to be back in this stupid town,” Stiles says, glaring at the man in front of him.

Derek does not even pretend to be sorry. In fact, he looks almost smug as he holds a jar of tomato sauce in his hand.

Asshole.

“Sti? Stiles Stilinski, if you don’t answer this phone right now–”

“I’m fine, Alek,” he says, bringing the phone back to his ear while continuing to glare at Derek. “I scared myself.” Another much stronger glare. 

Derek still does not appear necessarily cowed.

“Are you sure? You sounded like–”

“Look, I have shopping to do,” he interrupts. “I’ll check the time and get the girls to call you later, okay? Or you can call later.”

“Fine, okay. You’re sure you’re–”

“Alek.”

“Okay,” he says, chuckling slightly. “You can't blame me for caring about the safety of my gorgeous baby mama."

"You're annoying," Stiles says, and he doesn't smile - not even a little bit.

"And you adore me. Love you- no wait. Buziaczki!”

Fine, he might smile a little. But it's a really small smile, it hardly even counts.

"Oby Ci fiut odpadł, dupku."

Stiles ends the call, definitely not smiling at the shocked gasp plus cackle combo he gets from Alek.

Then he remembers Derek, and his eyes narrow at the man as he points his index finger at him. “You are a massive dick.”

“It’s nice to see that certain things never change,” Derek says, eyeing the contents of Stiles’ cart. “What’s all this?”

“Lunch, dinner, and Christmas preparations. What are you doing here? I swear in all of the years I’ve known you, this is the first time I see you in a grocery store. I didn’t even know you knew what they were.” 

Derek frowns a little. “That can’t be true.”

“Sure can, buddy. I notice stuff like this. I’m a noticer. I'm always noticing. I would have genuinely believed you only ate animals you chased down yourself in the woods if you didn’t use to order so much take outs when I... showed up at the loft.”

The Nogitsune subtext is obvious, but they easily ignore it.

“I’ve never been a particularly good cook,” Derek defends. “I mean I can make the basics, but it’s much easier to order out. Isaac preferred the take outs too.”

“Isaac would have eaten toxic waste if you put it on a plate and offered it to him,” Stiles points out.

Seriously. Every werewolf he knew had a bad case of dark hole stomach, but Isaac? It probably had something to do with his dad being a piece of shit, but that kid ate everything you offered. You couldn’t do the ‘offering just to be polite’ thing with Isaac, because he would take whatever was given to him.

... Yeah it probably had to do with Coach Lahey.

He glances back at the pasta and the tomato sauce in Derek's hands, and immediately makes a decision.

“Come have lunch with us,” he says, taking the offensive items out of Derek's hands. “I’m making spaghetti with meatballs, and you don’t have to be anywhere just yet, do you?”

“I’m still waiting on Peter,” Derek says, looking a little uncertain. “Are you sure? You’re with your dad and your girls, I wouldn’t want to—“

“When have you ever seen me offering to do things I don’t want to do?” Stiles asks, grabbing Derek's wrist with one hand. When he pulls him along, Derek comes easily. “I have grown, but not that much.”

“You’ve matured,” Derek says. When Stiles glances at him in question, he shrugs nonchalantly— but the reddening of the tips of his ears give him away. “You might still be you, but you’re less... I don’t know, self centred than you were in high school. Less obsessive. Less juvenile.”

“I can still be pretty juvenile.”

“I’m sure you can,” Derek says. “But you’ve learnt when to do so and when not to be. Stiles,” he adds, when Stiles continues to frown. “It’s a compliment . We’ve all changed.”

Stiles consider this — considers Derek once more.

It’s true, is the thing.

Beyond the superficial changes Stiles noticed at the airport, it’s clear that Derek is no longer the man he was, no longer the person Stiles remembers.

There’s an ease that didn't use to be there in his movements, now. An openness in his eyes, and a smile on his face that comes so much easily than it ever did back then.

He jokes. He teases. He’s everything Stiles has always known he was.

It’s like that summer they spent together, looking for Boyd and Erica, but without the cloud of anxiety that loomed over them the entire period.

It’s... something.

+++

“Tata!”

“Hello, my beautiful,” Stiles says, placing the bags on the kitchen table so that he can pick up Ellie. “I missed you! Have you been good for grandpa?”

“Good,” she promises, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Miss you.”

“You did? That’s so sweet, you’re gonna give me cavities,” he croons, pressing kisses all over her cheeks to make her giggle. “Where is your sister?”

“Right here,” John Stilinski says, walking into the kitchen. He has Teo in his arms, but his attention is on who Stiles brought with him. “Derek. I didn’t know you were back in town?”

“De’ek plane,” Teo says, because apparently Stiles raised snitches . 

John’s eyebrows raise. “On the plane with you?”

“We met at the airport,” Derek explains, sort of shifting from foot to foot. “At JFK. And we were both coming back to Beacon Hills, so...”

“Uh,” John says, finally releasing Teo when she nearly elbows his nose. Once she is on the ground and makes a beeline for Stiles, he puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, a surprisingly kind smile on his face. “Good to have you back, son. We definitely missed having you around.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, pushing the bags away from Ellie’s prying hands without even looking at her. “Why didn’t I get that? You would think you would be elated at having your own son back, too.”

“Nope,” John says, grabbing a giggling Teo and placing her on his shoulder. “I only tolerate you because you come with these two.”

“Usurped by my own flesh and bones,” Stiles ‘sighs’, a hand on his forehead. “Derek, can you believe this?”

“Easily,” the wolf says, because apparently Stiles is surrounded by traitors. He even laughs at Stiles’ offense, the ass, and Stiles is totally not melted by the sound.

Before this, he could have counted on two hands the amount of times he heard Derek laugh.

It’s good to see the sound is as nice as he rememberes.

“Disrespect left and right,” Stiles grumbles, shaking his head. “Now disappear, I need to finish lunch before the two monsters in their tummies awaken.” He pulls Ellie away from her attempt at scaling the kitchen table, pushing her in Derek’s direction instead. “Ellie, Teo, why don’t you guys go show Derek and grandpa your toys? I’m sure they’d love to see them.”

The girl take the bait, with Ellie rushing to grab Derek’s hand to take him to the kitchen.

Derek actually looks curious instead of the amount of terrified someone should be when confronted with a potential speech from someone who is directly related to Stiles.

Stiles almost feels sorry for what he’s about to go through; right until, of course, he remembers how many younger cousins Derek had before the fire.

Then it’s less funny.

He had already gotten started on lunch before he had realised his father’s cupboards were mostly empty, so it doesn’t take him long to get everything ready. He puts the stuff he’s going to use for Christmas lunch in the fridge, and the rest of the meats in the freezer. The bread goes in the cupboards, the veggies with them,.

By the time he’s done putting everything away, the meatballs are soft, the tomato sauce piping hot and the spaghetti well cooked.

When he was sixteen, he had ideas of what his life would look like at twenty six.

He liked to imagine himself working alongside his father at the police station. Lydia would have been his wife, and she would have been working at a science slash maths lab just outside of Beacon Hills – maybe one she founded, too.

He and Scott would be living next to each other, and they would have exactly one child each, a girl for Scott and a boy for him.

His father would have still been Sheriff, Beacon Hills would have still been the boring but familiar town it was, and they would live their happily ever after in town.

And then Scott had been bitten by a werewolf, and Stiles’ life had changed completely.

Now Stiles lived on the opposite end of the US while his father lived alone in Beacon Hills. He had two daughters and no partner raising them with him. Lydia was in a committed relationship with someone she refused to name, and Stiles was actually rooting for them because whoever it was made her smile. On top of that, Lydia and he were actually friends , even though they did not live close to each other and did not get together all that often.

He had not spoken to Scott face to face in literal years, and it didn’t even hurt anymore.

He spoke to Jackson Whittemore all the time, more often than he used to speak to Scott during his last year living in Beacon Hills, and their conversations were completely friendly and civilized.

He was literally friends with the 'bully' High School clique he had spent years judging (Lydia, Jackson, and Danny).

He was a full time writer, and had a website dedicated to helping other packs with dealing with supernatural beings/pests and hunters. 

Was it the life he had always dreamed of? No.

But when he moves to the door of the kitchen and watches his girls and Derek working together to build ‘the tallest towe’, he can’t help but think it’s almost perfect. 

It makes him happy.

Derek glances at him when he hears the photo shutter, a judging expression on his face, and Stiles just sticks his tongue out at him as he starts sending the picture out to his friends.

... He really turned into one of those parents, uh?

[Beacon Hills survivors]

stiles shared two pictures

lyds🎀 liked the picture you shared

lyds🎀: my amazing and super clever goddaughters

lyds🎀: give them a kiss from me, and tell them I miss them

jax liked the pictures you shared

danny liked the pictures you shared

danny: aw, cute

jax: we get it your kids are

jax: wait

jax: IS THAT FUCKING DEREK HALE?!

lyds🎀, danny and jax are typing...

“Lunch time,” Stiles says, putting his phone back in his pocket as it starts buzzing with incoming text messages. “Everybody go wash your hands. Derek–”

“On it,” the wolf says, poking Ellie in the stomach to break her concentration and make her laugh. “Who’s going to show me where and how to wash my hands?”

Both girls are immediately on it, and Stiles watches a little amused as they take him by each hand and pull him along, Derek half bent forward to keep with them.

It's adorable.  

A throat is cleared, and Stiles snaps out of the whatever trance Derek's put him in.

“Is there something we should be talking about?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, pointedly turning away from his father. “We talk often enough. In fact, I’m thinking we should be talking less. It reeks of co-dependency. What’s the point of that saying, anyway? If I had something to say, I’d just say it. You wouldn’t need to ask me to say it. If you needed–”

“Stiles.”

One would think that after years of suffering through it, Stiles would now be immune to his father’s ‘Stiles’ in B-minor (which translated to something like ‘stop talking, I’m trying to have a hashtag Serious Conversation, here’).

It would be a wrong assumption to make, however.

Stiles sighs, picking up the kitchen knives as he fiddles with the girls’ plates. 

“There’s nothing to say,” he insists. “We met at the airport. Saw him for the first time in eight years. It was weird, in a good way. The end.”

“You met at the airport, shared a flight home–”

“He was in first class.”

“Shared a car to Beacon Hills–”

“We both care about the environment.”

“And then you invited him to have lunch over at our house less than twenty four hours later.” John looks at him incredibly judgingly. “And there is nothing going on?”

“I told you, there has never been anything going on between Derek and I,” Stiles says, sighing again.

He does not know where his father’s conviction even comes from.

Derek and he had spent the littlest amount of time together possible in front of the then Sheriff, had barely even spoken. Derek had been nothing even close to inappropriate towards Stiles, outside or behind closed doors, something teenage Stiles had resented very much.

Sure, there had always been that something... unspoken, between the two of them.

That potential, that feeling of ‘what if’.

But Stiles had been seventeen, and then Derek had left, and Stiles had left his dreams in his teenage bedroom.

Except now he was back in his childhood home and Derek was there too.

“I saw your face the day he left Beacon Hills,” John says, and the teasing edge is gone. When Stiles glances at him, he’s looking extremely earnest. “It was not nothing.”

“Wash!”

“You have?” Stiles asks, wiping whatever expression from his face and replacing it with a smile. “Show me your hands.”

Three pairs of hands are placed under his eyes for inspection.

“Clean clean,” Ellie says, waving them around.

“Clean clean,” Derek echoes, in an incredibly serious tone of voice.

“Good job,” Stiles says, shooting Derek a look, before reaching for Teo, who immediately tries to wiggle away from his attempts at putting her bib on.

She can’t, though, because she’s a baby who’s only just learned she can use her fingers to grab and push things.

Ellie is a little more dexterous, though, which is why Stiles has his feeding time routine down to a science, at this point.

While Teo fails at pulling the bib off, he picks up Ellie and distracts her by blowing a raspberry on her stomach. As she breaks off in giggles, he places her on the high chair and kisses her cheek as he locks her inside the chair one handed.

Only once she’s secured does he bring out the bib, placing it around her neck as she tries to unlock herself.

Then, before she can realise his duplicity and demand him to be imprisoned for this clear breach of trust, he places her plate in front of her.

Because she's a baby, and babies don't know the meaning of multitasking, she foregoes the cutlery and reaches for the food with her bare hands, everything else forgotten.

Once Stiles sees her start on her food, he picks up a less combative Teo and straps her in as well, and hands her her own plate.

“Wow.”

Stiles glances up, suddenly remembering that he’s not alone in the kitchen.

“I had cousins,” Derek continues, still looking very awed. “None of them ever got settled this quickly.”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles says, trying to look completely nonchalant (from the way his cheeks are heating, he feels like he’s failing). “I’ve had practice, and today’s an easy day.”

“Aleksander’s still not helping around?” John asks, as he picks up a plate and starts piling food for himself. His eyes are filled with disapproval.

“He’s got a newborn in a whole nother part of town,” Stiles points out.

“Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not,” Stiles says, frowning. “I’m just saying, he doesn’t live with us. He can hardly help out if he’s not even in the same part of town.”

“Mhm,” John says, but he’s clearly not happy about any of it. He shakes his head as he offers Derek the bowl of spaghetti. “You know what advice I was glad I never had to give him before he went off to college, Derek?”

“Uh...”

“Dad.”

“It was, ‘don’t let some asshole with a fancy haircut get you pregnant’,” John says, ignoring Stiles’ groan. “I told him not to get anyone pregnant, but I thought I didn’t need to warn him about getting pregnant.”

“You love your granddaughters, and I finished university first,” Stiles says, ignoring the panicked expression on Derek’s face. “And how was I meant to know it could happen?”

“I just wish you would have picked someone who is not Aleksander. I never liked that boy.”

“You raved about him after I brought him to meet you,” Stiles says, unimpressed. “You said he was a very polite and respectful young man.”

John makes a noise of disapproval. “Never liked his hair,” he says, shaking his head. “Too blond. Too long.”

Again, Stiles just rolls his eyes at his father’s assessment, and turns his attention to Derek.

“Ignoring... all of that, how are Cora and Isaac doing? And the rest of your pack?”

Derek easily takes the bait.

He tells Stiles about the newest members of the pack: Michelle, Keith and Sabrina.

Michelle and Keith are apparently siblings, both born werewolves, while Sabrina is Keith's human fiancé. 

Michelle had ended up befriending Cora and Isaac both during college, and by the time she had officially met Derek, she had already felt like pack.

And where Michelle went, apparently so did the happy couple.

Nowadays, Cora runs a self defence workshop in New York with Sabrina part time, and Isaac is jumping from relationship to relationship while completing the final qualifications necessary for him to become a child psychologist.

Stiles finds this very on brand for both of them.

Derek, on the other hand, runs an auto repair shop, which Stiles is pleasantly surprised by.

He knows the man has a shiny NYU History degree that he had packed away when everything first started, and had always entertained this idea that one day he’d see Derek in fancy suit and glasses, telling students about civil disobedience and why the suffragette movement was never about women just white women.

He finds the idea of Derek covered in motor oil and wearing only a tank top as he talks car... stuff almost as mesmerizing.

He changes the topic back to himself before Derek can notice just how enticing he finds that idea, especially with his daughters and his father around.

Instead, he tells him about Lydia and him spending almost the entire first summer in the North East trying to ‘find themselves’ — heavily redacting everything due to the presence of his parental figure at the table. Sure, John Stilinski might claim that he was ‘cool’ now, and that Stiles being a parent himself meant that he could no longer ground him, but there were just some things you did not tell your former-Sheriff-still-a-cop father.

He tells him of how terrifying starting a whole school by himself while Lydia was doing the same hours away was, but how it was less terrifying than the thought of having to go back to Beacon Hills.

About the supernatural creatures that he had quickly noticed and that had quickly noticed him, and how he ended up in another almost pack months after having left.

Just this time there was no self imposed ‘we need to save New York’ idea, and for the most part only college related shanenigans.

He tells him about how Lydia and he kept into close contact despite the new friendships, and how Danny was added to their group the second he made it on the East side.

How his relationship with Jackson came easily without the Beacon Hills shaped reasons for their rivalry between them, and how nowadays he feels genuinely comfortable calling the man one of his best friends.

It’s fascinating, hearing how different Dereks life is now, and telling him of how much is own has changed.

They probably would have spent even longer talking, but eventually Ellie and Teo are both done with their lunches and demand to be freed from their prison.

Derek then decides he will do the washing up since Stiles cooked, and before Stiles can even formulate a disagreement, he finds himself in the living room with the girls, his father nowhere to be found, and Derek elbows deep in the sink.

And well.

Stiles has never necessarily liked doing the dishes.

“Book?”

Teo is standing in front of Stiles, holding one of those books his dad had bought for them for their birthday.

“Sure,” Stiles says, making himself more comfortable on the blanket on the floor. Teo settles right next to him, head on his chest, while Ellie wiggles until she manages to lay on top of him.

“No, Teo book,” the girl says, as soon as Stiles reaches for it. “Teo book read.”

“No, Tata read!” Ellie says, nearly headbutting his chin when she lifts her head.

“No-oh! Teo book!”

“Tata–”

“Teo reads first,” Stiles says, patting Ellie’s head to get her to lay back on his chest. “And then Tata reads a different book. Okay?” At her grumble of dissatisfaction, he pokes her side. “Come on, girliepop, fair’s fair.”

“‘Liepop,” she echoes, giggling and squirming in his hold.

“Tata,” Teo says reproachfully. “Book read. Shh.”

“Shh,” Stiles repeats, zipping his mouth shut and miming throwing away the key.

Ellie giggles again, but Teo is apparently very serious about book reading time.

“App’e,” she says, pointing at what Stiles is still convinced is a pear, no matter what the illustrator and writer claim. “O’nge. P-ch. ‘Nana.” She frowns at the next picture, looking up at Stiles dubiously. 

“Papaya.”

“‘Yaya,” she repeats, Ellie whispering the same. “Wiwi?”

“Kiwi.”

“‘Wiwi,” she ‘corrects’. “Fik. G’ape. Me’n.”

“Melon.”

“Me’on. Nenom.”

“Lemon.”

“Tata, shh,” she says, looking at him in betrayal. “Teo book.”

Stiles does, letting the girl butcher the rest of the book as she tries to name the various fruits and vegetables on it.

By the time she’s done, Stiles is pretty sure he’s forgotten the real names of half of that stuff.

“Tata now,” Ellie says when Teo closes the book. “Tata book?”

“Sure,” he says, picking up a different book, ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’.

Teo quickly decides she’s more interested in the various toys still left around the room, so Stiles focuses on reading for Ellie, who appears pretty comfortable where she is laying on his chest, and shows no interest in moving.

By the time he’s done reading, Ellie's eyes are predictably closed.

And Derek is standing at the kitchen door.

“Hey,” he says, smiling up at the man. “Sorry, didn’t realise you were done.”

Derek just shakes his head, not moving from where he stands.

He is looking at Stiles in a way he can’t quite decipher, like he did back in the day when he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to do so.

There’s something else in that look, though. Something very new, that wasn’t there back then.

Stiles ends up looking away first, when the tower Teo had been making crashes to the (carpeted) ground.

“Oops,” she says, still holding a piece of it. “Oopsie daisy.”

“Oopsie daisy,” Stiles repeats, shifting Ellie in his arms to stop his back from dying. “Be careful.”

She just hums without replying, already trying to rebuild.

“Fatherhood looks good on you,” Derek ends up saying. When Stiles glances up, he’s still looking at him, though the ‘look’ has shifted into something a little more familiar. He’s smiling, his soft private smile, eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. “You’re good.”

“I... thank you,” he says, after a moment. “Really, thank you. Raising twins is hard enough without having both of them being werewolves and an evil not-mother-in-law on your shoulder telling you everything you’re doing is wrong and how she wants to take the kids from you.”

“She–”

“She can’t,” Stiles says, waving him off. “She has no leg to stand on, and if she does something like that, it might really break her relationship with Alek. He’s a mama’s boy, but he does love his daughters. And he cares about me, I guess.”

“Good,” Derek says, though his eyebrows are furrowed just a little. Stiles wonders if it’s at the mention of Alek. He just as quickly pushes the idea away, because the relationship between him and Alek is nothing Derek cares about. “Still. Everything I’ve seen tells me you’re an amazing parent. And everything we’ve been through tells me you will handle their werewolf-ness as well as anything.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” Stiles says, trying not to sound completely self deprecating. His therapist and he have worked on it. “You have only just found out I have kids.”

“I know you,” Derek says.

Like it’s that simple.

Stiles supposes that, at the end of the day, it really is.

Chapter Text

24th December

One of the things Stiles hates the most about Beacon Hills is its lack of snow.

Most specifically, its lack of snow around Christmas time.

How was someone meant to enjoy a nice hot chocolate after making a cute snowman and a fun snow angel if there was no snow to speak of?

Then again it is practically impossible to go anywhere in New Rochelle - or New York in general - when it snowed, so...

Plus, the last time he had been in Beacon Hills and it had started to snow, things had been... less than positive all around.

And anyway, this did not mean that winter in Beacon Hills did not get really cold at times.

“Gloves?”

“G’oves!”

“Scarf?”

“Scaff!”

“Boots?”

“Bootsh!”

“Coat?”

“Coat!”

Stiles inspects the two figures in front of him with a very critical eye for a second longer before nodding in approval.

“Very well, soldiers,” he says, opening the door. “Remember: no running.”

They might be very tiny and have short legs, but previous experiences have showcases an ability to run off that Stiles blames completely on the werewolves in his teenage-dom. If he hadn’t had to run for his life so often, his running genes would have never developed so much, he was sure of this.

Thankfully, the park he’s heading towards is not that far from his house.

When he was younger, his mother would take him there after she came back from work, to get him to burn off all of his energy before dinner so that he slept more soundly at night.

The place hasn’t changed at all.

It’s one of the best and worst things about Beacon Hills, in his opinion.

No matter how much something changed in the town, nothing really changed.

It was both reassuring and incredibly jarring.

There are only a couple of other children around, all older than the girls, so Stiles finds the nearest empty seat with a clear view of them and their brightly coloured Miraculous Ladybug jackets (a gift from Danny).

The upside of having werewolf children? They are sturdy, and do not get hurt easily.

The downside? They still got hurt. And while Beacon Hills prided itself for being a ‘see nothing, say nothing’ town when it came to the supernatural (Stiles still couldn’t believe how much he and the pack had gotten away with, growing up. Some of the adults in town really needed some CPS visits, and the school should have probably long since shut down), he still did not want to explain why his daughters' skinned knee was healing right before their eyes.

Also, they were very good at hiding and escaping.

The last time–

He frowns at the incoming call to his phone, and then rolls his eyes when he sees who's attempting to contact him.

“Cześć?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Sti,” Asia complains, whining a little. “I’m embracing the Polish language. You’re supposed to support me.”

“Says who?”

“Junior.”

“Damn you,” Stiles says, trying not to laugh. “Using the one member of your family that I actually happen to like.”

“Nobody can stand against my lovely child, or tell him no,” she says, sounding very smug. “How are you doing? How are the girls?”

“I’m alright,” he says. “Dad’s happy to have me around, and he’s even taken some leave from work to stay with us and whatnot. The girls are having fun too, I think. They slept just fine, ate fine, and are now taking turns on the slide and possibly befriending another kid on the playground.”

“Good,” Asia says, and she sounds like she means it, too. “Very dobry." Stiles tries his best not to laugh. "I was a little worried when I realised you were going to be all by yourself in New York for Christmas. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You weren’t subtle at all. Though I did appreciate the tree you put up.”

“No problem, babe. I care about you – sister baby mamas, right?”

“You know, the longer we use that term, the more comfortable I become with it,” Stiles says, nose twisting slightly. “I feel like I should discover something about myself soon.”

“I think you will be discovering things about yourself until the day you die,” she says, sounding like she’s laughing. “And after you’ve died, your friend Lydia will contact me with about a hundred more things that we forgot to mention before.”

See? It’s hard to hate Asia.

She’s just... nice. 

For no reason other than she wants to be and she can be.

“How are you doing, though?” He asks. “How’s Poland?”

Andrea in New York is one thing.

Andrea in Poland is probably something else entirely.

“Permission to share an unskippable ad?”

Stiles tuts, raising a finger in warning when Ellie makes to jump off the slide. She pouts at him, but sits back down.

“Sharing an undisclosed ad is against the terms and conditions,” he says. “But fine. Do go on.”

“Białystok is the place for you,” she starts, in an overly cheery voice. “The air is fresh out of the mountains, with a hint of sea breeze from the faraway coast. The people are kind and helpful, not rude and obnoxious like in America. There is no crime, and there are no rats. The young men and young women respect their parents and their elders. Everyone just cares–”

“I cannot take you seriously.”

“I cannot take me seriously,” she says, tone going back to normal too. “I promised I would try to sell it to you, though, so you know."

"Hard to do that when you’re not convinced yourself,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Who put you up to it?”

“Alek,” she says, and he can hear her rolling her eyes. “Who was 100% put up to it by Andrea.”

“You’re not convinced.”

“I’m American,” she says, huffing. “Houston, Texas, baby, born and raised. Can you imagine me living happily ever after in Poland?”

“Hey, I’ve never actually been to Poland either,” he points out. “All I know about it comes from my parents’ stories and the pictures I found on Google.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were raised there - well, here. You’re so fluent – more fluent than Alek, according to Anya.”

“His pitch to convince you and to convince you to convince me?”

“I'm getting a headache.”

"Welcome to the club." Stiles says, huffing. “My mom was around all the 'no sabo' kids growing up, and when she had me she decided she couldn't allow me to ever forget my roots. And my pra-babcia only ever spoke Polish.”

“What's the Polish equivalent of 'no sabo' kid? And pr-... uh?”

“Pra-babcia,” he repeats. “My great grandma. And I think it would be something like, 'nie rozumiem' kid?”

“You met your great grandma? Wow.”

“More like she outlived her son, and then outlived granddaughter.” Stiles stands up when it looks like Teo is about to lose her footing on the seesaw, but she regains it quickly and returns to what she was doing. “She lived all of her life in Poland. I never met her, but she used to call almost every week on Sunday to chat with me. She did not speak a lick of English, so if I wanted to speak to her, I had no choice but to speak Polish.” A pause. “She died during my junior year of High School.”

Stiles hadn’t realised for weeks because she only called ever called him on his cell (the Gajos and the Stilinskis only ever got along when it came to Stiles; they did not speak or interact, otherways), and he had spent those same weeks being possessed.

It still ate at him that she probably died without ever knowing the reason ‘little Mischief’ stopped talking to her.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Stiles actually turns to look at the phone, baffled.

“... Did you just Zuko me?”

“In my defence, I’m not very good at emotions.”

“Valid,” he says, cause god knows he’s never been any good at making anyone feel better either. “Point is I’ve never been to Poland, and I doubt I’m ready to move to a whole new country. I doubt I want to do that.”

“You and me both,” she says. “I mean, holidays here? It would be fun. Antoni would love it, and so would the girls, and you. But I need the smog and random subway crazies to live.”

“Got you. When are you going to tell your man?”

“Once we get back,” Asia says, sounding decided. “We can do that together.”

“... Together?”

“Sti,” she says, cajoling. “Our children are half siblings. We couldn’t divide them, could we? It’s in both our best interests to keep them together. How can they control the future three branches of government if they’re apart?”

“And people say I’m dramatic.”

“I’m just very good at hiding it,” she says, sounding all sorts of smug. “Text you time and date? We can meet at your place?”

Stiles has a moment of panic, trying to figure out the best way to answer that, but unfortunately Asia is like a missile honed on a target.

“Stiles.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Your lease is up in like a month or less,” Asia says, and she sounds concerned. He can hear her moving around... wherever she is, probably moving away from any possibly prying ears. “What are you thinking? Are you staying in Beacon Hills?”

“Fuck no,” Stiles says, frowning when he notices two figures drawing nearer to the seesaw Ellie and Teo are currently sharing. He’s just about to stand and go their way when the male figure turns to wave at him and he recognises Derek.

And... is that Kira?

“Stiles.”

“Look,” he says, waving at the excited dark haired girl before focusing back on the call. “I was teasing you earlier, but no matter my feelings for Andrea I wouldn’t just take the girls away from Alek. He is their father. And they are Antoni’s step siblings. So you don’t need to worry–”

“I’m not worried about you moving states away or what not,” Asia says, affronted. “I’m worried about you, Sti. You don’t usually leave stuff up to chance like that.” A pause. “Is it money? Cause I could—”

“It’s not money,” he says, even though it kind of is. “I mean, I can’t afford the place we’re staying at without Alek, that’s obvious, but I’m not necessarily attached to that place.”

When they had signed the lease, they had thought it would be the perfect place for a new start for the two of them.

A happily ever after.

When Stiles had realised he was carrying and stopped panicking, he had daydreamed about his future children growing older in that little brownstone, their walls covered in their family’s milestones and whatnot.

Then Asia had happened, and Antoni, and Alek had moved away, and Stiles had shelved away the dreams.

Was it sad? Sure, but no more sad than other things he had gone through in life.

At the end of the day, it was a home of dreams, a house of memories he did not need anymore.

Similarly, he could not imagine himself living in Beacon Hills – not any time soon, not with Scott as the alpha of the territory and the people he held closest in his heart so uninterested in moving back into that cursed town.

He could barely manage to walk through a normal hospital most days – he would never be able to step foot into Beacon Hills Memorial. 

He couldn’t raise the girls there.

But he couldn’t do what Asia and Alek wanted and move even closer to them, move closer to Andrea. That woman was crazy, and rude, and Stiles was not going to be the battered Reddit person who ended up writing an AITA thread and then destroying the entire family unit.

“I just haven’t found the right place,” he ends up saying, sighing. “I don’t plan on moving far away or anything, but just... I need my own space. You know?”

“I know. But,” she starts and that’s one thing he really likes about Asia. She never says she agrees with something unless she actually does agree. “If you can’t find something by the time the lease is up, you have to move in with us until you do. I don’t care how uncomfortable this makes any of us: pack keeps pack safe. All right?”

“Fine.”

“Nu-uh, pretty boy: say it.”

He rolls his eyes, but he does speak. “If I don’t find a place by the time my lease is up, I’ll move in with you and make things as uncomfortable for you and Alek as possible, and that’s a threat.”

“Good, and brave of you to think we just won’t ask you to join us in bed.”

“Asia!”

She just cackles in response, ending the call from her side.

Stiles shakes his head trying not to laugh, as he pockets his phone.

“That little–”

“Stiles!” he hears, right before Kira throws herself at him and nearly knocks him off his feet.

Stiles has always liked Kira.

She's funny, and she's nice — which really was a breath of fresh air considering the group they had been in (it really was just assholes 1 to 5 plus Kira and Scott).

She liked comics and had a lot of geo locked supernatural information ready to share.

And she made Scott happy, which at the time had been important to him.

At the same time, he hadn’t really known Kira.

They hadn’t spent much time together, just the two of them, not the way Allison and he had. And part of him had always blamed her mother a little about the whole Nogitsune mess.

Still, he had liked her, and she had liked him.

“Oh my god, Stiles,” she says, beaming as she finally stops squeezing him to death. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming to Beacon Hills!”

“It was very last minute,” he admits. “Felt like I needed to see my dad.”

“Does this have anything to do with you deleting almost every picture with that guy I met last time you were in town off your Instagram?” She asks, all wide eyed innocence that might have fooled him in High School but doesn’t anymore.

“You’re nosy.”

“I’m curious,” she corrects, shrugging non-apologetically. “If–”

“My!” comes Teo’s voice, as Kira is (unsuccessfully) pushed away from Stiles. The girl stands between them, a frown on her face as she stops what she probably saw as a too prolonged contact between the two of them. “My tata.”

“Alright, jealous jelly bean,” Stiles says, picking her up in his arms while she continues to frown at an amused Kira. Ellie is chatting possible nonsense to Derek not too far away as they approach, the older werewolf looking surprisingly engaged. “Sorry. They’re at that age.”

What age that might be, Stiles doesn’t know. He just knows that if he refers to a nebulous ‘age’ to explain away his daughters' oddities, 9 times out of 10 the other person will just nod without asking for any further clarification.

The one time out of ten had yet to happen, but Lydia said it was important to always leave room for the exception to the rule and/or reasonable doubt.

“Don’t worry,” Kira predictably says, looking at Teo in fascination. “Who’s this?”

“This is Teo,” he says, tickling under her chin to get her to laugh. “And that’s Ellie. They are 22 months.”

“So cute,” she says, smiling at the girl. “I can’t believe you’re a dad, now. You’re the first one of us to have kids, that’s crazy.”

“Who did you think it’d be?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, sitting beside him on the bench as he fiddles with the diaper bag on the pushchair. “Somehow I always imagined Scott would be the first one with a baby.”

“You know what? I can see it.” He glances at her. “With you or with Malia?” At her look of surprise, he shrugs, smirking. “You’re not the only one with Instagram and the ability to research slash stalk. Congrats to you and Malia, by the way. I’ve been waiting for the two of you to get together.”

“Really?” Derek asks, stopping in front of them and watching amused as Ellie tries to climb Stiles like a jungle gym. “I didn’t see it coming.”

“Oh, please,” Stiles says, helping the girl up and immediately handing her water bottle. Ellie’s orange, while Teo’s yellow because Stiles has read more than enough on ‘pink and purple daughters’ and is not about to perpetuate that shit anywhere. “Their energy was particularly queer all around.”

“And you would know about queer energy,” Kira says, with a smirk.

Stiles sniffs. “I happen to exist in queer spaces. I’ve been known to hold space for the lyrics of defying gravity before.”

That makes Kira start laughing, while Derek stares at the two of them like he suspects them to be drunk or high. Which, of course, makes Stiles start laughing.

Kira does not end up staying long.

After a while, she says she has to go collect something from her mother, and after a brief conversation with Derek Stiles doesn’t overhear, she’s gone.

Leaving Stiles and Derek alone on the playground (with, you know, the twins. And the various other children. And the various other children’s parents. So not necessarily alone, but still).

“I didn’t know you were friends with Kira.”

“She’s nice,” Derek says, shrugging. “I went to see Peter, and she and Malia were there. We ended up leaving together, and she decided to let me know every piece of drama I have missed since I was last in town.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently between Scott, Malia and Kira, all the oldest members of Scott’s pack have at one point or another dated each other, which is something the so called ‘puppy pack’ is currently betting on.”

Stiles frowns, eyes fixed on the girls now playing in the sand pit. “What’s the puppy pack?”

“I think you met Liam Dunbar?” Stiles nods. “Yeah, Scott ended up with more betas in Liam’s same year group, and the oldest members of the pack call them puppy pack.” 

“... Wow.” Stiles shudders at the thought, and then his eyes widen. “Holy crap, that’s basically the same thing you did, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? We were all sophomores. Is it an alpha thing or what? A wolf thing? Do you all just instinctually go for the teenagers at the peak of their puberty?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Aw,” Stiles says, putting a hand on his chest. “It’s so cool to see that certain things just never change. You used the same tone and everything, I missed you saying those three special words.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, sounding almost fond as he does.

Stiles shrugs, winking at him. “See? Certain things just never change.”

Their lapse into silence is broken by the sudden buzzing of his phone in his hands.

His lock screen – a picture of Ellie and Teo holding hands and smiling at the camera in matching outfits provided by Jackson Whittemore a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving – lights up, showing a new notification from Andrea.

He doesn’t even bother seeing what the woman wants, rolling his eyes and putting his phone away.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, crossing his arms and getting more comfortable on the bench. “Evil not-mother in law doing her evil not-mother in law things.”

“That’s...”

“Alek’s mother,” he explains. “The girls’ sweet babcia. I don’t know what she wants, but I know whatever it is will just annoy me. She's an all time champion in all things 'piss Stiles the fuck off' but in Polish - for diversity points, or something.”

“Aleksander’s not helping?”

Stiles does glance at Derek at this, but the wolf is not looking at him. His eyes are fixed on the girls as they seem to have started a game of tag with a random older boy on the playground.

“Yeah. I mean, no.” Stiles’ nose twists. “She’s his mother. I have a certain level of understanding that I give him based on this. But she has a nasty habit of pushing in areas I would prefer she kept her hands to herself.”

“Like moving to Poland?” This time, Stiles stares at him until Derek does, reluctantly, turn to glance at him. He only looks a little bit guilty. “I couldn’t help overhearing you on the phone, earlier. Your lease is expiring and they want you to move to Poland?”

“You know, people usually bother to at least pretend they weren’t eavesdropping on others’ private conversations.”

“You’re surrounded by werewolves more often than you’re not,” Derek points out. “I’m sure privacy a myth to you, by now.”

“Hardy har-har,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. He should probably be getting ready to head back home. He’d get them in a hot bath, hopefully convince them that taking a nap was a great idea, and then see if everything was going to be ready for Christmas breakfast and Christmas lunch tomorrow morning.

Possibly also call and shout at Alek if the gifts for the girls hadn’t arrived yet.

That’d be nice.

“I’m not moving to Poland,” he says, after a few more seconds. “Asia’s not planning on moving either. Momzilla and her lamb of a son are considering it, but unless they wanna move without the five us and possibly without their alpha, they’re not going to do it.” He pats his phone. “She’s still probably going to be super annoying about it either way. It’s in her nature to do everything in her power to torture me.”

“Why doesn’t she like you?”

“I’m not good enough for her son.”

“That’s bullshit,” Derek says, voice surprisingly harsh. When Stiles turns to look at him, startled by his tone, the wolf is basically glaring at him. “You are more than enough. If anything, it’s him who’s not enough for you.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know you,” Derek says. His eyebrows are doing that little dance they used to do whenever he was trying to make sure you really heard and understood whatever it was he was trying to say. “That’s all I need to know.”

It’s...

“Yeah, well,” Stiles stammers, shaking his head slightly.

This is... not good.

The problem with Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski and that weird non-thing thing they used to have is that there was never a conclusion to it.

It wasn’t like Stiles ever got over Derek Hale.

His feelings for Derek never truly disappeared – because they never had reason to disappear.

Had Stiles loved Alek? 

Yeah, sure. He had been there at the right place at the right time, and falling for him had been easy. Caring for him and having him care for Stiles in turn had been fun. 

Simple.

But there was a reason Stiles had been in more pain and discomfort about the pregnancy than he had been about being basically declared ‘not good enough’ by Alek’s wolf.

There was a reason that even though his dream of a domestic happily ever after with the father of his daughters had disintegrated before his very own eyes, Stiles had barely shed any tears over it – simply picked himself up and got on with his life.

Had Derek shown up at any point during those eight years and looked at Stiles, any dream he might have had in regards to Alek would have shattered.

Had Derek been around, during the end of his junior year? Stiles might have stayed in Beacon Hills (or, at the very least, moved to wherever Derek’s pack was, if given half the chance).

He had always thought that his dreams and thoughts of Derek had been coloured by nostalgia and by the fact that he had been his true first love (because gods knew his feelings for Lydia had been a lot of things, but not necessarily love).

Scott had eventually gotten over Allison.

Stiles had expected the same to be true for him.

But while Allison had died and Scott had the (dubious) closure of holding her in his arms as she told him goodbye and proclaimed her love for him, Stiles had never had the chance.

Derek had just... left.

And it was good. It was what he deserved. It was his right.

But, in a way, Stiles’ feelings had remained festering despite the wide open door.

Like a box that Stiles had forgotten to close, and now that he had Derek in his life again, was overflowing yet again.

It’s a problem.

It should be a problem.

“My lease is up soon,” he ends up saying. “Don’t remember the date for sure. I could renew it, but the rent is crazy. I’m not that successful of a writer, and the only reason I used to be able to afford that place is that I used to do 50-50 on rent with Alek. He kept up with it even after he moved out, but he obviously wouldn’t want or need to do this if I decide to renew. It’d mean that only my name is on the lease.

“Asia and Alek want me to move into one of the apartments and houses close to their place. The prices are still kind of high in that area, but it’s not like I couldn’t afford it. 

“Unfortunately, that is also what Momzilla would want, and I’m loath to give her anything she wants. Hence,” he taps the phone.

Derek frowns, following him as he stands up. 

“How long do you have to decide?”

“I have not given concerned parties any concrete information lest they attempt to use it against me, but I have given myself until the end of the Christmas period to decide. Don’t need that stress on top of everything else when I came here to relax to begin with. Hey, Thing One and Thing Two!”

Derek doesn’t say anything, continuing to look thoughtful as both girls blatantly ignore him.

Which of course leads to Stiles having to ‘chase’ them around the playground in order to capture them.

“What?” he asks, when Derek just stares at him when he manages to get them both, one under each of his arms. “Never seen these kind of weights before? They are custom made.”

He makes a show of lifting each side up like they are really weights, which makes the already giggly girls laugh even more.

Stiles nods in approval.

“Very good weights. You don’t find these at any gym.”

“Tata!” Teo protests, between giggles. “No weights.”

“Are you sure? Then why are you so heavy?”

“No heavy!”

“I don’t know,” Stiles say, pretending to drop them and making them shriek. “I keep almost– woah! Almost drop– oh-oh-oh! Dropping you!”

It’s easy to get them both in the pushchair as exhausted as they are by the running and laughing, which Stiles hopes will translate in an easy bath and nap.

Maybe he’d even get some writing done, before having to focus on the Christmas meals.

“Hey,” he says, glancing at Derek once he has made sure Ellie is not attempting to escape. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

The werewolf has been standing there the whole time, going from looking thoughtful to quietly observing Stiles and the girls.

Stiles has no idea what’s going on in his head, and for once he doesn’t bother asking.

See? Growth.

It only took like eight years.

“Tomorrow? Nothing, why?”

“Dude,” Stiles says, unlocking the back wheels. “It’s Christmas. Aren’t you and Peter...?”

“I don’t know what Peter’s doing,” Derek says. “But Malia and Kira will be celebrating with their pack, I expect. I’ll probably be going through the documents Peter and Deaton need me to renew and sign, I guess.”

“Dude, no way. It’s Christmas!”  

Derek just stares at him.

“You can’t do nothing on Christmas! You have to do fun stuff on Christmas, not boring stuff! Ellie, what are you doing for Christmas?”

“Umm, p’snts?”

“And yummy!” Teo adds. “And t’ee!”

Stiles points at the two girls. “See? You have to have presents, and eat yummy food, and have a tree.”

“That is not what they said.”

“Just say you don’t understand toddler and go.”

Derek shakes his head, and then shrugs. “I’ve never really been one for Christmas. I mean, I’m a werewolf.”

“Being a werewolf doesn’t mean not believing in Santa or the magic of the capitalist funded pagan holiday supposedly celebrating the birth of Christ,” Stiles says. “Alek always celebrated Christmas.”

“I’m not Aleksander,” Derek says, and there is definitely a note of distaste in Derek’s voice when he says this.

Stiles should probably feel a little bad about ruining the man’s reputation and good name with a man he’s never met, but he doesn’t particularly feel sorry.

“Whatever,” he very intelligently says back. “Still, there’s no way I’m letting you be bored at home on Christmas day. You’re coming to lunch.”

A raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” Stiles says, proceeding to start forward. Derek, predictably, falls into step with him. “Consider this your formal invitation to spend Christmas day with the Stilinskis.”

“Stiles–”

“No, it’s not an intrusion. Yes, my father will be fine with it and with having you. Yes, the girls won’t mind having you – I think they like you already, which is not a surprise: they love everybody, and you’re very lovable. No, I will not take a no for an answer. Yes–”

“I get it,” Derek says, a huff that’s not quite a laugh. “I can’t say no. So, I will be there.”

“See?” Stiles says. “Things are so much easier for everyone involved when people do everything I say without protesting too much.”

“People call that a dictatorship, Stiles.”

“Sounds festive.”

It’s probably not a great idea.

In fact, there is a fairly large chance that this will end up in real tears and very real heartbreak – Stiles’ tears and heartbreak.

They might have had a not-thing thing back when Stiles was in High School, but things change.

People change.

Stiles himself is proof of this.

But the smile on Derek’s face is blinding and breath-taking despite its size, and it turns out that sixteen years old and twenty five years old Stiles have one thing in common: they would do virtually anything to get a smile on Derek’s face.

Chapter Text

25th December

When Stiles was a child, Christmas used to be a big affair.

Claudia Stilinski had always loved holidays and celebrations. It didn’t matter if it was Christmas, or Easter, or a birthday, or a made up ‘going back to school soon’ celebration: she always went all out.

She would decorate every part of the house and the living rooms in the ‘correct’ color scheme. She would dress up herself and Stiles, and force John to also dress-up, even if he was going to be working for the holidays.

It was fantastic.

After her death, the Stilinskis did not continue the tradition.

His father always managed to find a way to work on the holidays, and Stiles did not like decorating a house to host a celebration for one.

Most of the time, their Christmas lunches consisted of sandwiches advertised as ‘Christmas sandwiches’ from grocery stores, or whatever Mama McCall cooked when she bullied Stiles into attending the McCall Christmases.

It might be a cliché thing to say, but fatherhood has made him understand the need for celebration.

After all, what other occasion would he have to deck the house in bright colours and have the girls in matching dresses they’d have little reason to wear otherwise?

His mother had clearly been onto something.

“Are you sure that’s not enough pictures?” 

“Enough pictures?” Stiles echoes, not turning around or stopping. “Look at how adorable they look. There will never be enough pictures of this true Christmas miracle.”

“That sounds blasphemous.”

“You sound blasphemous.” Stiles clicks another picture as Teo waves at the camera. Both girls are wearing Christmas tartan dresses with white lace prints on the sleeves and the neckline, matching white stockings and black shoes. They look identical save for the green and red bows Lydia has included with the dresses. “And you’re telling me you don’t want some of these printed so that you can plaster them on the fridge, on your desk at work, and on whatever other surface you might have available?”

“Now don’t be hasty, son,” John says.

Stiles gives him a look . “Did you know that Jordan Parrish has my number and has been known to send me pictures of your desk? Seriously, dad. It looks like a shrine.”

“I will not apologise for that,” John says, moving to sit with the girls. “I miss you when you’re not around. All of you.”

Stiles makes a general approving hum as he starts sending Lydia and the others the pictures, but his stomach does a little flip at the words.

It’s one of the thing he hates the most about his ‘new’ life, honestly.

The distance – physical distance – between himself and his father.

When he left, it was because Stiles felt like Beacon Hills was a noose wrapped around his neck and he was walking blindfolded on a stage. The entire town had been suffocating, and even though it appeared like no one knew he was in any way linked to the Nogitsune, Stiles knew.

He couldn’t look at his hands without seeing Allison’s blood on them.

He couldn’t look at any wooden floor without seeing Boyd’s dying figure as it slumped to the ground.

He couldn’t see any blonde head of hair without remembering Erica, and imagining what her final moments would have been like.

He even mourned Aiden, and he hadn’t even liked Aiden.

It was like there was a cloud of death that was stationary over the town. A cloud that promised that you would either die in the town, or kill someone.

Stiles had already killed several someones. 

He hadn’t wanted to die.

Leaving Scott behind had been... complicated. Their ‘break-up’ had been in its early stages, and the wound of betrayal that they tried so hard to ignore had been raw and festering.

It had hurt.

Leaving his father?

It had been an agony.

They were all the other had left. Stiles had promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to make sure he didn’t lose his father like he had lost his mother, but how could he do that if he left?

At the same time, how could he do that if he had to force his father to lock him up, or if he died?

He had had to leave.

It had been the only way to survive that he saw.

That did not mean it had been easy.

Even with his father encouraging the leave, even with the man basically forcing Stiles out of the door and into Lydia’s car, eyes dry and joy physically audible... it had not been easy.

His father had been as steadfast in getting Stiles out of the town as he had been about remaining in Beacon Hills himself. Nothing Stiles said about New York or the NYPD had convinced the man to move out with him.

So they had ended up splitting.

Stiles in the North East, and John Stilinski in the South West.

And because once you left, it was very hard to ever come back, they only ended up seeing each other a couple of times a year.

Going from Stiles in his father’s way even when he shouldn’t be to ‘couple of times a year’ had been an adjustment.

His father said it was all right with him. He was always incredibly proud of Stiles and his achievements, big and small. He had all of Stiles' books on the various shelves at home and at work. He printed out every single picture of himself and the girls that Stiles sent. He was no longer Sheriff of Beacon Hills, and nowadays actually took leave and the holidays to travel and see him.

He missed him, though, that was clear. And Stiles missed him too.

Just not enough to move back, because they were both Stilinskis, and they were both very stubborn people.

Stiles clears his throat, pausing the photoshoot in order to send some pictures to Lydia.

[stiles, lyds🎀]

stiles  has shared 12 pictures

lyds🎀: look at my beautiful nieces...

lyds🎀: my pookie bears...

lyds🎀: I told you the outfit would look ADORABLE on them

lyds🎀: don’t ever doubt me again.

me: I shant, I owe u my life

lyds🎀: and don’t you forget it.

Stiles snorts, but before he can type another response the doorbell rings.

“I got it,” he immediately says, jumping to his feet before his father can move and making his way to the door.

He does not miss his father muttering something possibly very impolite to the girls, but as he has matured in the past few years, Stiles chooses to ignore it (but he will not forget it, mind you).

In fact, he’s so mature that he does not even wilt when he opens the door and he sees the Amazon delivery driver in front of him, looking annoyed and holding several packages in his hands.

“Stilinski?”

“Yep,” he says, accepting the two boxes. At least Alek had come through. “Do I need to–”

“Nope,” the man says, snapping a picture of Stiles with the package without even waiting for him to be ready, and walking away. “Have a nice holiday!”

“You too!”

“I doubt that.”

“Jesus Christ!” Stiles shouts, nearly dropping the packages right there and then.

Derek catches them before they can drop, abusing his werewolf powers for the task and looking awfully smug as he does that.

“It is his birthday, yes.”

“You suck,” Stiles says, glaring at the man, who had apparently been standing to the side, just out of sight of Stiles and the door. “I thought therapy fixed your stalker and creeper habits.”

“Therapy only fixes things that were wrong to begin with,” Derek says, smirking. “Going to invite me inside?”

“I’m actually thinking of letting you freeze to death, now,” Stiles says, even as he steps back to let him in. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

The wolf doesn’t say anything, though he does continue to look awfully smug as he steps into the house.

His expression changes into one of awe the further into the house he goes, and he looks definitely impressed by the time he gets into the living room.

“Wow.”

“He gets it from his mother,” John says, nodding in his direction. “Hey, Derek. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Sheriff,” Derek says, his words drowned by the girls’ immediate joy at finding him in the room.

"Not the Sheriff." 

Derek probably doesn't even hear him, looking genuinely - and adorably - surprised by the twins' reactions, which Stiles finds odd. Isn’t it obvious by now that if a person has the surname Stilinski they will automatically have a soft spot for Derek Hale? 

“P’sent?” Ellie asks, watching the boxes in Derek’s arms with hungry little eyes.

Which, was Stiles hallucinating or have they doubled in amount?

“Derek,” he says, when he notices that several items do not have the standard Amazon package look. “Did you–”

“It’s Christmas,” he says, shrugging as he deposits the presents under the tree. “Tradition, right?”

“You’re a guest,” Stiles says, though he can’t help but be a little curious himself. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging. “I wanted to.”

Stiles can’t really say anything to that without sounding like a giant hypocrite, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he sits down on the couch as his father goes into the kitchen, and watches as Derek hands a package each to Ellie and to Teo.

The boxes have their names on them, and Stiles is a little surprised to see that Derek has handed it to the right girl without even second guessing himself.

Asia and Evil Not-Mother in law have known the twins since they were born, and they still sometimes need a second to figure out who is who. They still get it wrong, sometimes, especially on the days in which they are dressed similarly or the same.

The only difference between them right now is the colour of the bow in their hair.

And yet, without Stiles having to tell him who's who, Derek has easily recognised them.

Uh.

“Tata, open,” Teo 'asks', shoving the box in his face. 

“What do we say?”

“Open p’ease?”

“Good job,” Stiles says, carefully opening the box as Derek starts doing the same for Ellie.

Very domestic, says the part of him that will forever be that teenage boy who saw Derek Hale in the woods and though ‘fuck me, please’.

Shut the fuck up, says the part of him that is grown. But also yeah, very domestic.

Inside the boxes are two little kid instant cameras, different colours. 

Ellie’s is orange, while Teo’s is yellow.

Oh.

“Is it okay?” 

Stiles glances up to find Derek staring at him with some concern as the girls immediately start ‘taking pictures’ of everything.

“I didn’t put the batteries in just in case, and I wasn’t sure what you’re okay with them having or not having–”

“What did you– the colours. When did you...?”

“Oh,” Derek says, expression clearing up. “Their water bottles, yesterday.”

Stiles stares at him for probably longer than he should, but Derek does not seem to mind now that it's clear Stiles has nothing against the gift per se.

He just stares back (because if there's something Derek Hale knows how to do, it's staring).

Eventually, Stiles is the one to look away first, clearing his throat.

“Girls, what do we say to uncle Derek?”

“Than' you!” 

“Uncle Derek?” 

There is a Tone, and Stiles can feel his eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up.

“Yep,” he says. He continues to refuse to look up. John thankfully chooses that moment to walk back in, a tray in his hands with three mugs and two sippy cups of hot chocolate, so Stiles takes his time opening Alek’s gifts instead of having to look at Derek.

Inside of the Amazon boxes are two plushies: one Charmander and one Squirtle.

Stiles has a vision of the girls crying and arguing over who got who in the future, and mentally makes himself a reminder to pick up some Advil as soon as possible.

Teo grabs Charmander while Ellie picks up Squirtle, but Stiles knows better than to hope they will continue to stick to this choice.

Alek should too, honestly.

“That from Alek?” John asks, handing Stiles his mug of hot chocolate. 

“Yep. Though, in his defence they are last minutes gifts because he accidentally packed the ones he originally got them and flew them to Poland.”

Stiles has better hope for those, because he’s 100% sure Asia had something to do with them, and he can trust Asia.

“Mh,” John says, not looking particularly enthused.

“This one is for you, Sheriff,” Derek then says, pulling a smaller box from the little gift bag he had apparently been hiding in his coat. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” John says, sounding surprised. “Derek, you shouldn’t have. I didn’t–”

“You let me crash your Christmas day,” Derek says, shrugging. “And let me spend it with you and your family. That’s gift enough.”

“That was Stiles.”

“I counted it as a ‘gift from the Stilinskis',” Derek says.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, eyeing the two small boxes in the bag that Derek has handed him.

One has an ‘open me later’ tag on it. The other is beautifully wrapped in gold and reds, with Stiles’ name on top.

Stiles picks up the second small box.

“I have something for you as well,” Stiles says, pointing at an unopened small box under the tree. “The blue gift is for you.”

“Oh,” Derek says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Thank you.”

Stiles is too busy unwrapping his present to bother responding.

The box inside screams luxury. It’s dark cobalt blue, with the name of the store written at the top in neat flowery cursive.

It reads 'Bijoux de Famille', in what Stiles is pretty sure is real silver.

It’s not from anywhere in Beacon Hills.

Stiles hasn't really been back in Beacon Hills in years, but he's still aware of the fact that if an expensive jewellery store were to open in town, it would open on the main street.

And there were no jewellery stores on the main street.

Which means... which means what exactly?

Derek’s eyes are fixed on his own package as he carefully and tidily takes the paper apart, and his dad is helping the girl open another of their Christmas presents.

Stiles swallows, a little nervous all of a sudden.

He opens the box.

The necklace inside of it is gorgeous.

The chain is sterling silver, with a small tag attached to it to prove its origin. Stiles does not know much about jewellery crafting, but it looks really beautiful.

As does the beautiful pendant hanging on the chain. 

A pendant that is a thin equally silver rectangular tag, with a ruby red triskelion drawn on top of it.

It’s stunning.

It’s also very clearly custom made, and there is no way in Hell, no matter how rich he is, that Derek has gotten it made overnight.

It’s too perfect, too delicate, too thoughtful for it.

For once, Stiles’ mind is completely and utterly blank as he stares at the piece.

He doubts he could try forming a word if he tried.

“Do you like it?”

Derek is watching him carefully, the little wolf keychain Stiles had picked up that morning when he had gone to get some drinks already attached to his keys.

It looks so dumb compared to what Derek got him.

Stiles can only nod.

“Do you–”

Stiles hands it back to him before Derek can finish his sentence.

The wolf takes the necklace and slowly, almost religiously, leans forward.

It would be far easier for him to move behind Stiles and put the necklace on him that way, but Stiles doesn’t say that.

He keeps his eyes fixed on Derek, as Derek gets so close they are basically breathing on each other and locks the necklace in place.

Only then does Derek look away from him, tracing the chain with a finger and then pressing the little pendant against his neck.

Stiles’ heart is going so fast, he can probably feel it.

Derek’s eyes go to Stiles’ again and there it is again. 

That fucking look.

Stiles, who has clearly been rendered stupid by this entire experience, continues to remain silent, even as something smug passes over Derek’s face and the werewolf moves away.  

“Looks good on you,” he says.

Stiles opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Says nothing.

“Alek’s calling,” John says, breaking whatever spell has clearly been cast over Stiles.

He has Stiles’ iPad in his hands, and Alek’s dumb face is flashing over the screen.

Stiles almost tells his dad to just hang up, block and report him.

Then he remembers he’s an adult, and just sighs.

“Stalker,” he mutters, even as he takes the tablet and clicks the answer button. 

Aleksander, Asia, Antoni (Jr) and Momzilla appear on the screen, a Christmas filter over them as they call out, “Wesołych Świąt!”

“Wesołych Świąt,” Stiles says, placing the iPad on the couch. “Ellie, Teo, come look who’s here!”

“Daddy!”

“Och, moje księżniczki!” Alek calls, waving as the two of them crowd the screen. “Oh, my darlings! I’ve missed you so much!”

“Daddy, look,” Teo says, shoving the Squirtle on the screen. “P’sent!”

“Come on,” Stiles says, pulling them a little away from the screen and ignoring their immediate complaints. “If you’re too close, Daddy can’t see you.”

Something drags against the floor, but before he can figure out what, Ellie elbows him in the nose as she tries to squirm and whine her way out of his arms.

“Oh good,” Alek says, beaming and also moving back. “You got the gifts! Do you like it, babies?”

“Teo, come sit with grandpa,” John says, taking the squirming toddler from Stiles and nodding at his thank you. “Andrea, Alek, Asia. Hey, Antoni. Wesołych Świąt.”

“John, cześć,” Andrea says, nodding at him before she gives Stiles a very displeased look. “Źle ją trzymasz i przez to płacze i jęczy.”

“Hey, did Lydia get them those adorable dresses?” Asia asks before Stiles can open his mouth. “They are adorable!”

“I thought so too,” Alek says, quickly. “Send me pictures, I need a new collage for my lock screen.”

“Może użyj ich, żeby photoshopować nasze świąteczne kartki, skoro Stiles postanowił samolubnie zabrać je z powrotem do Beacon Hills.”

Stiles’ eye twitches just a tiny bit.

“Oh, come on Andrea,” John intervenes. “Don’t I deserve to see my granddaughters too?”

Her nose twists, but she doesn’t say anything to that, thankfully.

“Sti, babe, did you see your gift?” Alek asks, his face literally screaming ‘let it go, please for the love of god let it go’ at him. Something else drags loudly against the floor. “I also accidentally brought your gift over, but I saw this and thought you’d like it.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get the chance to,” Stiles says, eyeing the boxes under the tree. Derek, who has been standing there in the back, hands it over. “Thanks.”

“Wait, who’s there?” Asia asks, leaning forward and trying to see.

“De’ek!”

“Derek,” Stiles corrects, focusing on the box instead of looking at the screen. “He’s a, uh... family friend.”

“Czemu ten Twój ‘przyjaciel rodziny’ spędza święta z moimi wnuczkami? Kim on jest?”

“Derek, say hi,” John says, completely ignoring the old woman.

Derek awkwardly moves forward, leaning in Stiles’ space as he waves.

“Hi,” he says. “Nice to meet you. Derek Hale.”

“Hale?” Andrea asks, sounding a little surprised. “Jest synem Talia Hale?”

“Yep,” Stiles says, still not looking up. "He also does not speak Polish."

“Nie próbuj być dowcipny,” she says, before eyeing Derek thoughtfully for a moment. “I knew Talia. She was a good alpha. You should meet my daughter.”

“Mamusia!” Alek says, Stiles also glancing up to glare at her because what the fuck?

“I mean for an alliance,” the woman says, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t try to break your sister and her husband up.”

Stiles strongly doubts that.

In fact, he has more fingers than things he believes Andrea wouldn't do to fuck him over.

“Mieczysław, myślałam, że rodzina Hale wyjechali z Beacon Hills," she then says, looking back to Stiles. "SKłamałeś?”

“Oczywiście, że nie,” Stiles says, wincing when his nail catches on the paper tape. Derek wordlessly takes the box from him. He flicks out a claw, dragging it over the tape to open it in one go, ignoring the little Christmas paper completely. “Wrócił z powodów rodzinnych, więc zaprosiliśmy go do nas bo nie ma tu jego watahy. Dziękuję – I mean, thank you.”

“No problem,” Derek says, retracting the claw before Ellie can touch it. As soon as her hand moves away, he makes it appear again, finally getting her to stop squirming as she gasps in delight at this ‘new game’.

“Wait,” Stiles says, eyes lighting up as he realises what’s inside the box. He looks up at Alek. “How did you...”

The man had been staring at Derek with a slight frown on his face, but he quickly lights up when he sees Stiles’ expression.

“Yep,” he says, grinning. “I originally got you the Apple Watch you’ve been leaving hints that you really want, but I was going through Amazon to get the girls something, and I saw it and it reminded me of that wallet you saw when we went to Miami beach. Am I the best baby daddy in the world or what?”

“You’re all right,” Stiles says, though he’s smiling as he pulls out the wallet. “Thanks, Alexolotl.”

Alek sends him a kiss, and that’s when Stiles realises that the ‘something being dragged on the floor’ is actually the rumbling sound of Derek’s growling.

Stiles does not turn around or physically react at all, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen.

He does sit more comfortably, back touching the arm Derek has touching the ground behind him as he hopes nobody else can hear it or has figured out what the sound is.

Because, what the fuck?!

“We got your gifts too,” Asia says, showing him the earrings she’s currently wearing. “These are so gorgeous, Sti. Thank you so much.”

“Yeah,” Alek says, looking around quickly. “I put them away already, but babe, the watch? I’m in love.”

Derek’s growl is lower than before, but still audible enough that Ellie and Teo both turn to look at him in confusion.

Stiles’ eyes remain trained on the screen, as Alek continues, oblivious. “And mom loved her brand new scarf. Didn’t you, mamusia?”

She does not look happy about it, but she does nod.

“Wybrałeś dobre kolory.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The conversation moves on to gifts, then, which prompts the girls to give their father a little show and tell of all of the gifts they had received.

Derek’s arm remains firm against his back during the entire time.

asia: alek just asked me if I noticed the necklace you were wearing

asia: asked me if you have always had it

asia: i don’t think andrea was paying enough attention to notice it, but what do you want me to say

Stiles is standing on the porch, debating how to answer her when Derek steps outside.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just moves to stand not too far from Stiles, also leaning against the railing.

For a few moment, neither of them speaks. The majority of the occupants of the Stilinski house have fallen to post Christmas lunch food related coma, and the streets of Beacon Hills are predictably empty – everyone probably celebrating their Christmas their own way.

“I think I prefer Christmas in New York,” Stiles ends up saying, after a few more minutes of quiet. 

“I like being stuck at home as it snows outside, with a mug of chocolate in my hands and the heat cracked up at the maximum,” he explains. “Also my neighbour always brings over some gingerbread cookies freshly baked that are ‘as sweet as I am’.”

“Who’s your neighbour?”

Stiles side eyes him, but despite his comment, Derek manages to look remarkably unruffled and unperturbed.

He’s sending all sort of mixed signals Stiles’ way.

“A fifty years old mother of two who loves her husband a lot,” he says, in the driest tone possible. 

Derek’s lips twitch, before his expression returns to normal.

“What did she say about your ex boyfriend?”

This time, Stiles turns to face him full-on, arms crossed around his chest and eyes fixed on his figure.

“You don’t like Aleksander.”

He doesn’t even bother pretending.

“I don’t,” he says.

Derek has never been one for false platitudes, but still.

“You don't even know him.”

“I know enough,” Derek says. “And I’ve seen all I need to see.”

“We’re still friends, you know,” Stiles says, still observing Derek carefully. “He’s still the father of my daughters. He cares about me and I car–” His lips twists only just so, but the growl that slips past his lips is still loud. “Yeah, that? What is that!”

Derek’s nose twists. But instead of answering Stiles’ very reasonable question, he points at his pocket.

“Now is later.”

“What?”

“Later,” Derek repeats, nodding at his pocket again.

Stiles stares at him, still completely confused. Apparently, while Derek has learnt the value of words and how helpful they can be in day to day life, he still preferred going back to growls and few words sentences when he was interacting with Stiles.

He isn't sure if he should be touched or offended by this.

Before he can figure it out, however, Derek sighs like Stiles is the one being difficult, and moves forward.

He ignores Stiles’ yelp when his hand goes to his side, but the touch does not linger.

Derek fishes out the second small box he had put in the giftbag for Stiles, the one with the ‘open me later’ tag on top, and oh.

Later.

Now is later.

“There are so many other and much easier ways you could have used to explain,” Stiles complains, as the object is deposited in his open hands.

“You could have gotten it the first time,” Derek says. “But you were... distracted.”

Stiles shoots him a dirty look. “You know exactly what you’re doing and what you’ve done.”

He has the audacity to smirk.

Stiles rolls his eyes, focusing back on the box in his hands.

It’s as big as the one with the necklace Stiles is doing a very good job at ignoring, but this feels a little heavier. It’s also not wrapped, and the brown box it’s inside does not mean much to Stiles.

When he glances up, Derek is watching him very intensely.

Stiles looks back down.

Then, he opens the box.

Inside of it, is a key.

A single key, with a standard red leather keychain attached to it.

There is nothing on the leather or the key explaining what it’s supposed to be or what’s it supposed to open.

“Okay,” Stiles says, after a few more seconds of inspecting the key and finding nothing in way of explanation. He glances back at Derek, brows furrowed. “I got nothing. What is this supposed to open?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never been gifted a key before?”

“No? I mean, Alek,” a scoff at the name that Stiles pointedly ignores, “Gifted me a key in our last year of university, but that’s different. We were dating, and it was his way to–”

Stiles pauses.

He looks at the key in his palm.

He looks at Derek, who is continuing to watch him impassively.

Back to the key.

Surely not.

Surely he’s not picking up what he thinks Derek’s putting down.

Right? That’d be crazy. That’d be–

“The Hale family has always had property,” Derek says, because holy shit, he is saying what Stiles thinks he’s saying. “All over California, and all over the US. When we moved to New York and it was just Cora and I, we just moved into the apartment Laura and I used to share.

“But then Isaac turned up, and Michelle, Keith and Sabrina... We needed a bigger place. We needed somewhere the pack would feel safe and comfortable, while also having their own space.”

Stiles continues to stare at him.

Derek glances into the quiet road in front oft he house.

“There’s this gated community,” he continues. “It’s made up almost entirely of supernatural creatures and people in the known. My neighbours are a family of kelpies. Isaac’s got his own place. Keith and Sabrina are living together. Cora and Michelle moved in together recently.”

He looks back at Stiles.

“I live alone. I’m the alpha, and I ended up with the bigger place. But Michelle’s place is still available.”

Stiles stares back at him, failing to blink.

Because there is no way.

There is no way he finally saw Derek three days ago, after eight years of not seeing him, and despite how different their lives are now, despite the different places in lives they are both at, Derek is asking him to... move in.

To possibly move in.

Or move in the same neighbourhood – fucking gated community? – and pay him rent?

“It’s a lot,” he acknowledges. His eyes fix on the necklace around his neck, and Stiles doesn’t move – barely even breathes – as Derek’s thumb touches the pendant. His eyes then meet Stiles’ again. “Think about it. I leave Beacon Hills on Friday.”

Stiles blinks.

Derek's lips lift in a smile, and for a second, when he leans in, Stiles is convinced the man is going to kiss him.

He even stops breathing, stop blinking - if he could stop his heart, he would, but the thing decides instead to go as fast as it possibly can.

Derek's lips don't go for his.

Instead, they press against the base of Stiles' neck right over the spot the pendant is laying against.

The wolf's nose presses against the hollow of his neck as the kiss lingers, and Stiles can only gasp, the phone and key in each hands the only reason he doesn't reach for him in some way.

It feels like Derek remains in that position for seconds and centuries at the same time, but eventually he leans back.

His expression is... intensely unreadable, as he squeezes Stiles’ shoulder, and walks away.

Stiles remains where he is, trying to breathe normally until Derek disappears in the woods.

And then for a little longer, too.

In fact, he stays there for long enough that his father – who had apparently not been as asleep as Stiles had first thought – ends up stepping up to him moments later.

“You okay?”

Wordlessly, Stiles lifts the key in his hands.

John Stilinski is two things, at the end of the day: former Sheriff of Beacon Hills, and Stiles Stilinski’s father.

He did not need words to understand his son.

“You cannot be surprised by this.” Stiles turns to stare at him in disbelief, but the man just shrugs. “Stiles. I told you how completely out of his mind he was during the whole Nogitsune business already. He was beside himself – didn’t sleep for days, I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says, and hello voice. Thank you for coming back to him. “We’re friends. We’ve been friends.”

“Stiles, he threatened Chris Argent for you,” John says.

“Really good friends.”

The man stares at him, frowning. “I’m not sure I get what you’re trying to say. You can’t genuinely tell me you never realised he has feelings for you.” When Stiles starts to splutter in an attempt to respond, John rolls his eyes. “Relax. I didn’t arrest him then, and I’m not going to do so now. But you know he cared for you. Perhaps even lo–”

“He never,” Stiles interrupts, and stops. Tries to find the specific words he needs. “It wasn’t like that. There was... fine, there was something between us. But it wasn’t... it wasn’t real. It was never solid. It was like, all our lives there was this something between us, this possibility. But we couldn’t...” Stiles sighed. “There was never time.”

“And now there is.”

“Uh, no, there isn’t,” Stiles says, hands going up to the air. “Dad, we are two completely different people now. Derek didn’t throw me into a wall once. He didn’t even threaten me at all. He doesn’t scowl, or glare, or refuse to communicate or wear shirts or any of the shit that I knew him for. He’s different.”

“Good or bad different?” John asks. “Because Stiles, you’ve changed too.”

“See? That’s my point!” Stiles turns on the spot, not even sure of what he’s trying to do or say right now. “My life revolves around two children Derek doesn’t even know. I don’t do the whole binge research thing any longer. I don’t run in the woods at night or tie werewolves to radiators on the full moon. We haven’t known each other in eight years. He doesn’t know this new me. I don’t know the new him.”

“And yet you fell back into each other’s lives like you never left,” John says. “You just fit like you always have.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Stiles protests. “We haven’t even had the chance to get mad at each other, yet. And knowing us–”

“Which version of this ‘us’?”

Stiles glares. “Dad.”

The former Sheriff smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m not saying that you don’t need to think about it, and I’m not saying that you should or shouldn’t move in with Derek Hale. But you once came home crying your eyes out and telling me how glad you were that he left Beacon Hills, and then proceeded to not smile again until you and Lydia announced you were graduating early.” He squeezes his shoulder. “You moaned and whined about that wallet for months after Miami, and bring it up every time you see a wallet. You were complaining about it when I showed you the new wallet the force got me. And yet, you have been so preoccupied with a necklace we both know Derek did not buy in the last twenty four hours that you haven’t even taken the wallet out of the box.

“Think about that.”

With that, he leaves, going back inside.

Stiles remains outside.

Chapter Text

26th December

“So let me get this straight,” Lydia says.

She’s sitting criss-cross apple sauce on her laptop chair, contorted in a way that even Stiles struggles to see as comfortable. Her laptop is open on the desk in front of her but has long since gone into sleep mode.

Jackson is ‘next to her’ on the screen. He’s apparently 'eating' his brunch, but there's a general lack of eating going on, his expression is full of judgement, and his eyes are fixed on the screen.

Danny, on the other hand, is all tucked into his bed, only his head peeking out of the blankets (though he does not look any less judging).

“What straight?” Danny asks. "There is no straight person in this conversation."

Lydia ignores him, continuing to stare at Stiles - somehow. Well, she is looking at the camera, but Stiles feels like her eyes are fixed on him in particular, and considering this is Lydia? He can’t even be sure he’s wrong.

“You meet Derek Hale at JFK following eight years of not seeing each other,” she starts. “The last time you saw each other, the two of you were giving a performance worthy of any third arc break-up trope in rom coms.”

“Okay, that’s not–”

“During those eight years of separation,” she continues, ignoring him, “You went and made yourself the type of family that would make an AI generated Twitter Republican weep.”

“The woke nuclear family,” Danny says. “Neurodivergent loser dad, DILF male mom, boy daughters, and who’s the woke dog?”

Stiles adds a scoop of baby formula in the bottles he’s preparing, eyes narrowed. “Is it werewolf-phobic if I say Andrea?”

“Derek went on and lived his life somehow off the radar while also being in New York,” Lydia continues, lips pursed. “Something I somehow missed despite having Cora on Instagram. He also went and got himself an alpha spark something we... did not know about?”

This time, she’s clearly staring at Jackson.

“I didn’t know he was an alpha,” the beta says, after a deliberately long sip from his mug. “I felt something of a pull which I’m now realising might have been him becoming alpha, but back then I thought it was just...” He shrugs, looking away from the screen. “You know, you guys.”

“Aw.”

“Oh my god, Jax–”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, glaring. His face is very red. “Lydia, let’s continue dragging Stiles, please?”

"Uh, no, this isn’t–”

“Derek became an alpha,” Lydia says, because if there’s one thing she loves doing, it's embarrassing and torturing Stiles. Who doesn’t have to make it easier for her, so he turns away from the camera, focusing on the bottles in front of him and on pouring the hot water from the kettle into each of the bottles. “Moved to New York. At some point during the time between his arrival at JFK and leaving Beacon Hills eight years ago, he had a necklace commissioned for Stiles specifically.”

Okay, he sort of has to look at her for this.

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Lydia again ignores him.

“From the moment they spotted each other at the airport – someone add another point in favour of 'holiday specific romcom shenanigans' – they two of them became basically attached at the hip.

“They drove back to Beacon Hills together, in the same car,” she adds, before he can protest. “The second Stiles left the house to go grocery shopping he spotted Derek, and invited him for a meal at his house. Stiles goes out with the girls and Derek and Kira ‘randomly’ appear, and Stiles invites him to spend Christmas with his family in what is a clearly very cosy small private affair.”

“That is not–”

“Despite having only met them three days prior, Derek is immediately able to tell the twins apart – something almost everyone else still struggles with. Not only that, but he figures Stiles’ colour theory thing without needing to be told about it, because he has been paying attention to Stiles and his children both. He gives Stiles a special necklace that he must have been carrying with him for at the very least several days - if not years - a necklace that has a triskele...”

“Aka the Hale family symbol,” Danny adds.

“In a ruby red that is...”

“The same exact shade of that one hoodie Stiles was obsessed with wearing in High School,” Jackson says.

Which, “There is no way,” Stiles says, pausing mid bottle shake to inspect the necklace. Sure, the triskele is red, but there is no way it’s the same exact shade of red. “You can’t possible remember or be able to tell that.”

“Stiles, you followed werewolves in the woods wearing a jumper that was the exact same shade of red as Derek’s alpha eyes,” Jackson says, unimpressed. “I’m sorry, were we supposed to not notice that?”

“Why do you think Peter made so many little Red Riding Hood jokes?” Lydia asks. “And why do you think Derek never asked you to take it off?”

“You were barely around when Derek was alpha,” Stiles protests. He picks up the bottle again, shaking it to mix properly. “You can’t possibly know what Derek asked or didn’t ask.”

“I know you,” she points out. “And you would have moaned until the end of time, if he had, but done as asked. But you never did, ergo – he never complained.”

Stiles pointedly did not look at his phone, focusing instead on adding enough bottled water in the baby bottles. 

“On top of this,” Lydia says, “Derek decides to showcase some very clear signs of jealousy during the entire video call with your baby daddy by growling every time a sign of affection was shared between you and him.”

This time, Stiles does not say anything.

He has tried to find an alternative excuse for Derek’s behaviour, he has. It has, however, proven impossible to do so.

It had been jealousy. Just plain and simple jealousy.

“And then the second gift he gave you was a symbolic key to his home – meaning he’s asking you to move in with him. Which he followed with some pretty significant nuzzling and scent marking that is clearly just another way for him to declare you his. Jackson?"

"Correct," the wolf says. His nose twists. "Kind of ridiculous and embarrassing, but unfortunately correct."

"Shut up and eat your food," Stiles snaps, flipping him off and decidedly not turning red.

Lydia leans back on the chair, raising a hand imperiously. “Danny, if you would?”

“In the case of Derek Hale and his feelings towards Stiles Stilinski, the verdict is...” Danny clears his throat. “He’s so into you... he can barely breathe... and all he wanna do, is to fall in deep...”

“It can’t be this simple,” Stiles says, a little frustrated. He closes the teat on the bottle and then caps it off, moving everything else away from the counter. “We... there was never a relationship between the two of us–”

“Wrong,” all three say, at the same time.

“There wasn’t!”

“Stiles,” Jackson says, unimpressed. “I saw you guys around each other the least out of the three of us, and even I know Derek wanted that cookie so effing bad.”

“That’s... He would have never!”

“Oh, he would have never,” Lydia agrees. “He used to be so repressed he would have made a catholic priest look adventurous and bold. That doesn’t mean he didn’t want you, though.”

“Dude,” Danny adds. “He came back to Beacon Hills the summer after you and Lydia left, and you were the only one thing he asked about.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“You guys have never in your life been subtle,” he says, scoffing. “Scott was sitting next to me in class when he randomly said, loud enough for me and probably other people to hear, something along the lines of, ‘Stiles and Lydia left the pack and they have left Beacon Hills. They said they are done with this’. I turn my head to the window, lowkey wondering if he's finally lost it, and what do I see? I see Derek fucking Hale standing in the treeline like the creep he’s always been, staring at him through the window.”

This is news to Stiles, and he does pause to pick up his phone to look directly at Danny.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You act like you’ve been shot every time Derek Hale is mentioned.”

“I do not!”

The looks on the other three’s face clearly disagrees with him, but Stiles refuses to entertain this. Because, well... it’s not true. It’s not.

“Also, if he wanted to find you, he could have,” Danny continues, after a moment of silence. “And if you wanted to find him, you could have. I wasn’t going to mess up your relationship with your loser former boyfriend just because of the fact that you guys have been in love with each other for years.”

“That’s not–”

“Werewolves mate for life,” Jackson interrupts. He’s finally done with his breakfast slash lunch, and he’s apparently decided that Stiles is worthy of his full attention. “Once they find that person, once they find that one being that is most compatible with them and decide they want them? It’s forever, Stiles.

“You might have been the king of research back then, but I lived in a real werewolf pack, in London. They made sense of a lot of shit that I saw back in Beacon Hills but that I never processed or never understood.

“From the moment he met you, Derek would have decided you were it for him. You were... the one.”

Jackson and his relationship might not have started on the best of terms, but it's different, now.

They are friends, and Jackson cares about him.

They still enjoy antagonising each other, because at heart they are both assholes, but they know the limit, now. They know how to not go too far with a joke.

Point is, Jackson wouldn’t lie about this; he wouldn’t lie about any of it, especially not to Stiles’ face.

It doesn’t make things any clearer, though.

“He hated me, in the beginning,” he reminds him. “You guys might have seen... whatever it is you’ve seen that convinced you that Derek might... but you weren’t there from the beginning. He hated me, back then.”

“Can you blame him?” Jackson asks, one eyebrow raised. “His sister had just died, there was a wild alpha in Beacon Hills and a brand new stubborn as hell untrained bitten beta, and the Argents - who he had last seen burning his family alive - were back in town. And then he meets a sixteen years old boy - who he soon finds out is the son of the town Sheriff - who he recognises as his perfect match on sight and who's besties with the aforementioned new beta. Only for said boy to accuse him of having murdered his own sister days later.” Jackson shrugs. “Like Lydia said, he was crazy repressed, and he basically had the whole world conspiring against him. And you were an ass in High School.”

“Fuck you, I was a delight.”

“You were cruel, mean,” Jackson starts.

“Creepy and obsessed,” Lydia adds.

“Annoying and overbearing,” Danny says.

“And–”

“Okay,” Stiles interrupts, glaring at them. “We get it, I was a nightmare.”

“Exactly,” Jackson says, sounding way too cheerful in Stiles’ opinion. “You were a nightmare Derek had only just met, and yet his wolf was shouting at him that you were compatible and would be perfect for each other. Can you imagine how he must have felt?”

Stiles can.

He can imagine it all too well.

The whole literature on werewolf mates is sparse, confusing and unclear. Some texts seem to imply that fate and magic and destiny are at work when it comes to that, that you meet them and you immediately know, while some other things he's read seem to imply that it's nothing but a possibility, something you can decide to pursue or not.

In general, it's supposed to be something only certain supernatural creatures - like wolves and other shifters - are able to recognise and understand.

Stiles doesn’t necessarily believe in fate in this particular sense, no. But ever since Alek and Asia, part of him had almost started to hope that it was some sort of pre-destined nonsense.

If it was a choice, a possibility, then it meant that Alek had left him over something he couldn’t even know for sure was certain.

Over a possibility.

It meant that Alek had scented Asia, and decided she was worth more to him than Stiles and their unborn children.

He did not feel anything other than basic fondness for him, nowadays, but that didn’t mean he’d like finding out that he had been discarded so easily.

On the other hand, if what Jackson was saying was true...

If Derek had truly somehow 'imprinted' - for lack of better words, and Stiles kind of hated that Twilight might have gotten anything right - on Stiles the first time he had seen him in the woods, and been... What? Been looking for him ever since?

What did that mean?

What did that change?

“As far as Derek is concerned, you’re probably it, Stiles,” Jackson continues. “Even if he tried to push you away, even if he got in relationships with other people, it's always going to be you, in the end.”

“He left.” Stiles finishes wiping the counter ad throws the tower over the sink, brows furrowed. “He left, and so did I, and he never looked for me. Just to randomly show up now and ask me to move in with him? That’s insane. Right? It’s insane ”

“We obviously don’t know what he and Scott discussed in detail, but if he thought you were done with the werewolf shit forever, he wouldn’t have come after you,” Jackson reasons. Because Jackson can be smart when he wants to be, and always uses that against Stiles’ own intellect, like the bastard he is. “You let him go, because you knew that he needed to get away from Beacon Hills. You didn’t reach out to him following that, for that same reason. Why are you surprised that, when he finds out you got out, he does the same?” Stiles opens his mouth to protest, and Jackson continues before he can. “He loves you, has always loved you. If you needed a life that did not revolve around wolves, he was willing to give you that. If he sees you in another pack, with werewolf daughters, and a clear link to the supernatural, however...” He points to the necklace Stiles’ fingers are fiddling with. “He’ll make his move. He’s not going to risk losing you again, not if he can help it.”

“Cute,” Danny says.

“Creepy,” Lydia corrects.

“Insane,” Stiles repeats. “This... this is all crazy. I mean, I have children! You guys know them, you love them and they love you. I have a life. A family... of sorts. It’s weird, but it does work, and it works for me. I can’t just... I can’t just uproot everything for a situationship what-if from eight years ago!”

“A situationship what-if from eight years ago would be whatever you had with Malia,” Lydia points out. “You have been in love with Derek Hale since we were in Beacon Hills. You fell in love one argument and one shove at a time, and he fell in love with you probably even before that. Letting him go, letting him leave Beacon Hills almost broke you: I know this, because I was there, and I had to help collect your broken pieces afterwards.

“He’s always been the one that got away, for you. He’s always been that one love for you. And god knows you’ve always been the same for him.”

“I–”

“You said no to Asia like this,” Lydia says, snapping her fingers together. “You said no to Andrea even faster. You tell us how against you are Alek’s options as soon as he even hints at them them. And yet, while you continue telling us that it’s insane, that you shouldn’t do it, you’ve yet to give us or Derek a simple ‘no, I will not move in’.” She crosses her arms, a raised eyebrow. “What does that tell you?”

Stiles is ‘saved’ from answering that by the soft crying sounds on the baby monitor.

He doesn’t end the call – putting an earphone in his ear and turning off his camera – head in a tizzy as he climbs upstairs, barely listening as the other three continue chatting about him.

Ellie is half awake, crying to herself while Teo continues to sleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil and nervous energy in the room and in the house.

She doesn’t stop crying when she sees him, but she does lift her arms for him.

“Hey, tentacle monster,” Stiles says, picking her up and pulling her out of the cot. “What’s with the tears this early in the morning?”

She does not respond, only shoving her snotty face in his neck and sniffling even as she scents him.

“I get you,” Stiles says, sighing. He shifts her on one side, and then uses his free hand to grab the diaper bag from the corner of the room, before leaving the room again. “The world is confusing and it’s too early in the morning for anyone to try and make sense of it, isn’t it? You know what, you’re right. We should all be allowed to start the day in tears and just wait for someone or something to fix it. Do you think a diaper change is going to make things worse or better? Cause I have a feeling it’s going to make the tears situation worse, but then you will feel much better.”

The second he puts her down on the couch, Ellie’s cries grow louder, which he can only hope won’t wake Teo or his father.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, heart clenching slightly at how red her face has already become. He had always found crying children stressful and more than a little annoying, but nobody had warned him of the effect of his own children’s cries on him. The government did not even know what sort of weapon they could have on their hands. “I know, the cold air is treacherous and fuelled by pain, and you just want the world to make sense and werewolves to stop being confusing. I get you, girl.”

“I think that’s just you,” Danny says.

Stiles ignores him.

“I agree, pretty girl. If werewolves were able to use the phone or open their mouths and make simple conversation, the world would make so much more sense.” He throws the used nappy towards the bin, missing. “They could have fixed everything by simply talking to me, couldn’t they have. ‘Hey Stiles, I saw you in the woods and my wolf thinks you look very fine. However, you’re kind of young and your dad’s the Sheriff, and I have Argent related trauma: how about we link up the summer after you turn eighteen and see where we can go from there?’ See, that would have made sense. That would have worked and made things less confusing for yours truly. But is that what Derek did?” He closes her onesie and lifts Ellie back in his arms, wiping her tears with his sleeves and letting her cuddle close. “No, that’s not what Derek did. Derek thought all those words were a waste of time, so he got in a car, ditched his phone, did not memorise my phone number and disappeared off the face of the Earth. Because that’s so much easier.”

“I didn’t really want to get involved with your shitshow, back in Sophomore and Junior year, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of it,” Danny suddenly says before Stiles can really go in on his rant. Because he never likes letting Stiles get a chance to be dramatic, the bully that he is. “But that didn’t mean I didn’t see and notice stuff. Because I did. And it did not take a genius to notice that, by the time he lost Boyd and Erica, Derek was ready to do... pretty much anything for you. Anything you asked, he would have done. You can’t tell me you did not notice that.”

“Of course he did,” Lydia says. Stiles knows she’s rolling her eyes at him. “Why do you think he never asked Derek to come back even though it broke his heart? Why do you think he didn't stop him for leaving? He knew Derek would have stayed.”

“So Stiles knows the hold he has over Derek - a hold that can only be love - and Stiles loves Derek,” Jackson summarises. “So what exactly is the problem, then?”

“Stiles’ not used to getting what he wants,” Lydia says. Ellie perks up slightly when Stiles picks up her bottle, her sniffles quieting. “He’s not used to not having to sacrifice his happiness, not used to not having to make some sort of sacrifice. He doesn’t understand that sometimes life is just... that simple. That happily ever afters sometimes come true eight years later with no reason.”

Danny and Jackson both hum in a way that makes Stiles want to flip them off, but Lydia’s words have put a knot in his throat he can’t quite swallow down.

Ellie takes the bottle from his hands the seconds he removes the lid, and stares at him as she starts drinking.

Stiles watches her back.

"I think this was very helpful and successful," Danny says. "We helped a lot."

"I agree. We should be getting paid for stuff like this, we're extremely good at it."

"Should we start a podcast?"

"Every time a man considers starting a podcast instead of just going to therapy, an angel loses its wings," Lydia says.

“You're rude."

"I am,” she agrees. “Now, guess who’s jealous of Adele?”

Stiles runs into Scott in front of the former Hale House.

It’s not there anymore, mind you.

The house was torn down sometime during their Junior year, and it appears that it was never rebuilt following that.

But it turns out that Stiles never asked Derek where he's staying, and when he thinks Derek Hale, this is where his legs take him.

Considering the fact that, as far as he knows, Scott still lives in Beacon Hills, it’s not so surprising to run into him. 

It still is.

He looks, like everyone Stiles sees in town, both the same and older. He hasn't grown in stature or in built, but the years of living in Beacon Hills have definitely done a number on him, between the moustache he's currently sporting and the claw shaped scar going from his jaw bone to halfway down his neck.

“Stiles,” he says, sounding as surprised to see him as Stiles is. After another second, his lips lift in a smile. “Dude. Hey. How are you doing?”

Stiles’ smile is not as uncomfortable as he thought it might be, nor any less real. 

“Hey, Scotty.”

Just a smidge awkward, though.

Normally (or rather, eight years ago), seeing each other for the first time in a while would necessitate a long hug where they both tried to squeeze one another to death.

Seeing each other for the first time in over seven years ends with an awkward hovering between a hand shake and half hug that has them both wincing and then laughing.

“Liam did mention seeing you,” Scott says, looking at him up and down. “At the grocery store. You look good.”

“Oh, did he?” Stiles asks, thinking back to three days ago (Jesus, was it only that long ago?). The only thing he can remember from that day at the store is Derek, embarrassingly enough. “Didn't notice him, sorry. You look good, too. Love the moustache, very wolfman.”

“Thanks,” Scott says, touching it a little self consciously. “Jade and I are having something of a challenge regarding... nevermind." Then, noticing Stiles' look of confusion, "Jade’s my fiance.”

“Oh, you’re engaged?” Stiles beams at him. “Congrats, dude. Happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Scott says, with the same ‘aw shucks’ expression he used to rock back in High School. His cheeks are flushed. “You haven’t met her yet, have you? When you’re free, you should come by. I know she’d love to put a name to the face. How long are you staying?”

“Not sure,” Stiles admits, glancing behind Scott. “Depends on how a certain conversation goes, I think. But yeah, I’d love to meet her, man.”

“And I’d love to meet your girls,” Scott says. “Eleanor and Teo, right?”

“Eleanora," he corrects. "Well, they just go by Ellie and Teo, really. And they’d love to meet you, I’m sure. They’ve heard a lot about you.”

Scott actually looks surprised and ecstatic. “They have?”

“Dude,” Stiles says, amused. “You’re like two thirds of my life. Of course I told them all about Scott McCall.”

There's a moment of silence following that, where Scott looks at him in awe and Stiles just looks back at him.

There's so many words unspoken between them, words that can never be explained, and sentences that died very long ago.

Sometimes, Stiles wishes he could walk across the emptiness between them.

Most of the time, he realises it's better to wave from his side of the canyon.

“Yeah,” Scott eventually says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’d love that.” Then, he glances back towards the remains of the house, and smiles once more at Stiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now go and get them, tiger. It’s been long enough.”

Uh.

Apparently neither of them have been anywhere are subtle as they thought they were in regards to their whole... relationship thing.

Stiles just smiles and nods, and then watches as Scott continues forward, until he disappears into the trees.

Then, he continues to advance.

Derek emerges from the trees as soon as Stiles steps into the clearing where the house used to be, looking like he had been expecting him to show up.

He probably had, the little bastard.

“Beacon Hills has been Hale land for centuries,” Derek explains, as Stiles comes to stand next to him. “Will be Hale land so long as there are Hales around. It reacted to a Hale alpha arriving strongly enough for Scott to notice.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. He isn't particularly sure of how else he is meant to respond. He hasn’t been wondering about why Scott was around.

He's been far too focused on what he wanted to say to worry about that.

“Peter wants to rebuild,” Derek then says, when Stiles remains quiet. He is looking at the spot where the house used to be, now nothing but well kept grass and remains. “Needed my signature.”

“Are you–”

“No.” A pause. “At least, not yet. It’s probably safe to do so now, but I don’t think I’m ready.” 

Stiles nods, crossing his arms around his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ready either. I’m okay with coming to visit, and walking around Beacon Hills alone or with the girls. But I always put a ring of mountain ash around the house when I leave, and I don’t even let my dad go anywhere in town with the two of them if I’m not also there.” He shakes his head. “Beacon Hills is statistically safer than New York, and I still have an easier time letting Lydia, Danny, Jax, or Alek out with them there than I do my own father – former Sheriff of this town – in Beacon Hills.” He glares at Derek. “You need to stop growling every time I so much as mention Alek.”

Derek scoffs, glancing away, but Stiles moves until he’s standing in front of him again.

“I don’t care if you like him or not. You don’t have to be his friend or whatever, but he’s still the father of my daughters. He’s still half of their DNA, and he loves them. He cares for them. He sucks at a lot of things, but loving them is what he does best, and so long as he treats them well and with love, he will remain in their lives. Which means he will remain in my life. And you have to respect that, Derek. Clear?”

He’s watching Stiles closely now, eyes boring into his.

Stiles has no idea of what he’s looking for.

But after a few more seconds, he nods.

Stiles swallows, and he ends up breaking the eye contact first. “I’m not... I’m twenty five,” he eventually says. “I’m turning twenty six. I have a job, and I have two daughters, and I have bills, and all of that adult crap. I have different priorities now. I’m not that boy you met in the woods all those years ago. I’m not even the guy who watched you drive away in your stupid soccer mom car.” He meets Derek’s eyes again. “You get that, right? I’m not who you know, who you remember.”

“You’ll always be the Stiles I know,” Derek says. His hand moves until its cradling his right cheek, soft and warm and steady. “Who you've become is important. The changes you went through to become that person is important. Everything about your life and how it changed is important, and it matters to me. I will spend every single moment getting to learn any version of you you become.”

Stiles’ cheek feels cold when Derek lets go, but his fingers don’t go too far. They trace the column of his throat and the necklace, stopping over his chest, over his heart.

“You’re still the boy I tried for weeks to convince myself was not right for me, and who stole my heart one threat and crass joke at a time. You’re still the person who held me in a swimming pool for three hours when I didn’t even fully trust you because you cared, and who looked me in the eyes and called the kanima an abomination.”

Stiles wonders how his heart feels against Derek’s fingers, because god knows it feels like its about to break out of his ribcage and chest.

“I fell in love with you that night,” Derek says, his eyes not moving from Stiles’. “I had tried for months to convince myself you and I were not compatible, but after that? I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. I fell for you even though I knew it wasn’t right, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

“I came back to Beacon Hills the summer after you turned eighteen,” he continues. Stiles is not too sure Derek hasn’t turned into a witch-werewolf hybrid of some sort, because he feels completely unable to look anywhere but his eyes, and that has to be some sort of witchcraft, right? “I didn’t want to be the creep who showed up on your birthday like I had been counting down, so I waited.”

“But I was gone.”

“You were gone,” Derek agrees. “And hearing from Scott and his pack, you and Lydia had left the pack and the supernatural world at large behind.”

“You could have asked my dad where I was,” Stiles says. “You could have tried to track me down.”

“I love you,” Derek says, and it’s impressive that Stiles’ legs don’t give up from right under him. He feels faint. “And if you needed to stay out of the supernatural world, I was going to respect that. I wasn’t going to drag you back because of my feelings.”

Stiles touches the necklace around his neck, the question clear in his eyes.

Derek’s smile is heart wrenching. “I still hoped you’d find your way back to me. I carried it with me from the moment I got it done.”

“And that was...”

“On my way to Cora,” Derek says, like he really does want to see Stiles faint. “After you let me go, after the Nogitsune.”

“Oh.” Stiles says. 

What else is he fucking meant to say, at this point?

What else is meant to say following the realisation that Stiles had let Derek go because he cared about him, and before he even made it to his sister, Derek had gotten a necklace commissioned specifically for him?

Is there anything he can say?

"I have..." Stiles tries, but the words stay locked in his throat.

"Anything you have, I can handle," Derek says, and god his eyes are intense. "Anything that's making you doubt, I can deal with. I know your life is complex now. I've read your book."

That's news to Stiles.

"You have?"

"I looked you up after you mentioned being a writer," Derek says. "I ordered the first two ones, and finished the first. You dedicated it to Boyd, Erica, and Allison."

He had.

His second book had been dedicated to his mother and to Talia Hale.

His third book, to Laura.

He's still working on the fourth.

"I know how much Beacon Hills took from you," Derek continues, when Stiles doesn't say anything else. "I know how much Mrs Andrea Wiotr's words really weigh on you, and how lonely you've felt at times, with the people you consider family so far away from you."

He has Stiles' face between both hands now, and Stiles is physically unable to do anything but breathe and stare at him.

"Let me your family. Let me be part of you and your daughter's family, in any way you would let me. Let me shoulder some of the weight you carry. Let me protect you from what you can't - from what you won't - protect yourself from. Let me take care of you. Let me be with you. Let me be your rock, your anchor, your anything." His head leans against Stiles'. "Let me be yours as you've always been mine."

There are so many reasons Stiles should be saying no. So many ways for this entire thing to go wrong, so many reasons why none of this is safe or healthy or responsible.

He doesn't even know where Derek lives in New York.

“Stiles is not used to getting his happily ever after,” Lydia said.

She is right.

Mostly, though, Stiles is not used to having the possibility of a happily ever after offered to him.

He wants it.

Hasn't he earned it?

Derek's lips press against his lips, in a feather light and barely there kiss.

"Let me be yours," he repeats. "Please."

Stiles has never heard him so close to begging before. 

“Okay,” he says. Derek’s eyes fill with hope, and so close, they look like they're shining. Even though Stiles' heart has not calmed down in the slightest, this sight makes it easier for him to speak again. “Okay,” he repeats. “Let’s try.”

When Derek kisses him this time, it feels like coming home.

It feels like a happily ever after.