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Chapter Text

“It was an accident,” Stiles says. “Derek, it's not even bad, I swear.”

But there are—claw marks on Stiles' shoulder. Still bleeding.

There's more blood drying into his suit. Soaking into the collar of his starched white shirt.

And his heartbeat is going a thousand miles an hour.

“It's not Eli's fault,” Stiles says, and Derek goes deaf, for a while. Stiles is still talking, rambling, excusing all of it. Derek just breathes, and pulls pain.

It takes too long to remember that human bleeding doesn't stop on its own. And then—Derek's speeding through the hotel room.

Bandages. And—disinfectant, isn't that—There should be a first aid kit somewhere.

“I should've just found a band-aid or something,” Stiles says. “Or asked one of the million people we know who were around. I just... Eli wouldn't wanna be a funny anecdote.”

That brings Derek's voice back. “How is this funny? He hurt you.”

“See, this is why I didn't wanna tell you,” Stiles says, and Derek stares at him. “Until after the wedding, at least. So I could actually explain, without our whole extended werewolf family catching everything.”

Well, they're alone now. “So explain.”

Anger hasn't been an anchor in a while. But Stiles smells like blood right now.

Like blood, and pain, and fear, and panic. Like something attacked him.

“You haven't been this bad at reading my emotions in years,” Stiles says, and Derek takes a deep breath. “That's not—this little, whatever,” gesturing at his shoulder, “and the feelings? Totally different things.”

Maybe. It's not—exactly the same as fear. Now that Derek's thinking more clearly.

No. It's worry.

“It was an accident,” Stiles says. “But... you didn't see his face. Like this is gonna haunt him forever.”

It's getting easier. Taking deeper breaths of Stiles, blocking out the blood.

And of course that's the first thing on Stiles' mind. Eli's been struggling as it is with learning control. And if Stiles got hurt helping him, of course he's gonna be horrified.

Scared of himself. The wolf side, everything he could possibly do without meaning to.

And Stiles is human. Fragile, somehow still bleeding from hours ago.

“No, that's my fault,” Stiles says. “I pick at scabs, you know? I don't even realize that I'm doing it half the time, until...”

He gestures at the blood on his shirt. Still soaking through the fabric, bright red where it hasn't dried almost brown.

“It wouldn't be anywhere near this visible. I just...” More guilt ebbs into Stiles scent, changing it to something a lot like smoke. “I can't stop thinking about the look on his face.”

“He seemed fine to me,” Derek says. “When I found you two. ”

“Yeah, he's good at being fine,” Stiles says. “Kids really do pick up everything, huh? I know what I saw.”

And once Stiles latches onto a thread, it's all he can think about.

“He's like me, you know?” he says. “How I was with my dad. If I thought I hurt him? I'd never be able to talk about it. I'd just be sure that I was, I don't know. Unforgivable.”

“Cora won't let him think that,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “He'd never want her to know. He's gonna have a million witty distractions. Or spend the whole time avoiding her, and just entertaining the kids. He might not even realize he's hiding it, after a while. At least not until he's alone.”

And it's not a choice. Not really.

Not with Stiles this sure.

“We can take a raincheck on the honeymoon,” Derek says, and Stiles' scent spills over with relief. Fresh air, fresh water. “Family's more important.”

“I'll make it up to you,” Stiles says. “I'll... Oh my god, Eli.”

Already reaching out for him. Derek breathes him, carefully braces his shoulder.

“We'll treat this first,” he says, and Stiles nods.

“Make it a little less horrifying for him. Yeah.”

And just help it heal, as much as possible. Derek makes a call to the front desk.

Stiles texts Cora while Derek cleans the blood off his shoulder. Can we pick Eli up early? I just got insanely homesick.

Isn't it your honeymoon? Cora sends back, and Stiles says, I'm a sensitive guy, what can I say. I got too used to being around my kid.

Only you, Stiles, Cora replies, and then, He's watching Frozen with Mellie and Jackson right now.

THAT'S a name jumpscare, Stiles says. Jackson HALE's way too sweet to associate with a Whittemore.

I don't care who you knew a million years ago, Cora says. It's a family name. Get used to it.

“She does care,” Stiles says. “Deeply. Deep down.”

Derek pats his bandaged shoulder reassuringly. Stiles winces a little, and Derek takes the pain from him. “Of course she does.”

And at first, Eli's horrified to see him. “Dad. I didn't mean... Is everything okay? You and Stiles,” he adds, and of course Stiles was right about it. Eli's voice is shaking even saying his name.

“Stiles is fine,” Derek says, but Eli only stares past him. Trying to scan for his dad's heartbeat.

But finding it racing doesn't do much to settle him down.

“Why isn't he with you?” Eli says, and Derek really should have thought of that. Before the urgency of Eli scared took over, brought him running.

“He's catching up,” Derek says. “He just walks at a different speed sometimes.”

“But he's hurt,” Eli says. “He's... Dad, I...”

“Fine, I'm fine,” Stiles says, when Derek doubles back, takes the stitch from his side. “No patchke-ing necessary, I just want my kid right now. Eli?”

Eli freezes at the name. Says, “I didn't realize. I swear, I didn't mean...”

“No one's blaming you,” Derek says, and a tear spills down Eli's face.

“Oh no no no no no, Eli,” Stiles says, stricken. “I just wanted to see you. Hold you, really. I just forgot that Cora's house has the world's single-longest front yard.”

She likes running. And Braeden likes privacy, and doesn't mind the walk.

Stiles has some mixed feelings. Mostly mutterings about werewolf speed.

But it's nice to take it slow sometimes.

“Easy for you to say, it's not your default setting,” Stiles said, when Derek mentioned it. “It's a nice vacation for you. Slo-mo walking.”

Never mind that Derek walks at Stiles' speed all the time.

But it's trickier for emergencies. For moments like this, where a second of Eli crying alone is a nightmare.

“It's taking me way too long to move right now,” Stiles says. “Eli, oh my god. I really, really need to hug you, can you come to me?”

Reaching, again, and even teary eyes must see how desperate Stiles is.

Eli's already a steady blur, speeding toward him.

“Does it hurt?” Eli says, carefully touching Stiles' bandaged shoulder. “I could take the pain...”

“No,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “It doesn't hurt. I swear.”

He's a good liar. But Eli's barely comforted.

“Why can't I take the pain, then?” he says. “Or... try to, at least. If there's nothing there, I won't be able to take it, anyway.”

Stiles is clearly rubbing off on him.

“Kids don't do that for parents,” Derek says. And Eli looks up at him.

It's been a journey, switching to Dad. But Derek has a few tricks of his own by now.

And no teenager wants his parents to lay down the law more than this one.

He still calls Stiles Stiles when they're both around. He tried Papa once and changed his mind immediately. It's the most he's blushed in a while.

But they're both his dads. I'll ask my dads about it. He stands a little taller the second it leaves his mouth.

And the last thing Stiles would ever want is Eli thinking he's responsible for—pain management.

No. It only goes one way.

“It's okay, baby,” Stiles says, and Eli shudders into Stiles' shirt. “It was an accident. And I saw, you caught it, instantly, even though I know how bad it scared you. Do you know how crazy impressive that is, at your age? My hands shake at the best of times.”

He always finds the right way to frame things. Derek's constantly amazed.

“I keep seeing it,” Eli says. His voice is very quiet. “My—claws, digging into you. Over and over.”

“Hey, no,” Stiles says. “That's not what happened. That's not, I think I just got too close at a bad time. And look, hey, happy ending!” he adds, waving his ringed hand demonstratively. Waggling his fingers, Eli rolling teary eyes. “There's always at least one thing that goes wrong, at a wedding. This was nothing, the cake could've been wrong.”

Stiles does have very strong feelings about cake. “There's some left over, I think.”

“Very happy ending,” Stiles says, and Derek says nothing at all. There's a certain amount of stoicism required, raising a teenager.

But Eli sees it on his face anyway. “That is so gross.”

And Stiles says, “I've trained this family too well. I'm sorry, Eli.”

“Apology not accepted,” Eli says. “This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Please go back on your honeymoon, right now.”

“Well if it means that much to you,” Stiles says, and Eli says, “It really, really does. Oh my god. I need bleach for my brain.”

He really is a teenager.

“Well, I can ask Cora,” Stiles says, and from the front room, Cora says, “Heard the whole thing! Go.”

“Werewolves,” Stiles grumbles, as Eli delivers the message, and Derek takes Stiles by his good shoulder and guides him back to the car.

High school’s a big adjustment for Eli. Switching to English full-time is just the start of it. People know his family, here. Know what happened to the Hale house.

So of course Eli goes back there. Derek should’ve known. He should’ve known he’d find his kid in the lot where the house was, devastated.

“It’s just nothing,” he says, and his voice is a low whisper. His face is dark, his head down. And of course he doesn't wanna see what the space isn't so clearly. “You can’t even tell that there was a fire here anymore.”

“We can tell,” Derek says, and Eli breathes in sharp. “Our family knows. We remember what happened.”

Lately, Stiles has been having dreams about it.

“He’s really not mad at me?” Eli says, and Derek says, “At you? He could never be mad at you.”

Eli shudders, and Derek puts a hand to his shoulder. Draws him closer when Eli sinks against his shirt, sniffling.

“Stiles would never,” Derek says, and Eli breathes in shakily. “And I would never be mad at you. It was an accident.”

“It’s giving him nightmares,” Eli says. “I heard him scream.”

He shouldn't have heard that. But that’s not why it happened, at all.

“We didn’t always have—the easiest time here,” Derek says. His little brother sniffling against him, his amazing teenager. The life that’s been handed to him, when he never, never deserved it. “Stiles didn’t. But it has nothing to do with you, Eli. Nothing. I don’t know if he ever would’ve been ready to come back here if not for this family.”

Eli’s gone even quieter. “But I’m the one who asked to go to school here, so…”

If there’s something Stilinski-Hales have no shortage of, it’s self-loathing. Derek shakes his head.

“It was Stiles’ decision to come back with us. He had one bad night. That’s all. There’s a lot of good here for him too.”

It's the truth. Even if it's hard sometimes, Stiles knows he left family here.

It's just gonna take some time for him to find his place again.

“Trust me,” Derek says, and braces Eli closer as he shudders. “No one’s prouder to be your dad. No one more than Stiles and me.”

Eli goes quiet for a few seconds. Something sly and very familiar filling his face.

“Well yeah,” he says. “No one else is my dad.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. He’s gonna be more and more outnumbered, the way this is going. Their kid may be all Hale genetically, but half his personality is clearly Mirosław Stilinski.

“You know what I mean,” he says, and Eli swipes at his eyes.

He really is taking after both of them.

“Nice,” Stiles says, when Derek tells him this. “That’s my most defining attribute, huh? Covert crying.”

“It’s one of them,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs.

“I need to get a family that hasn’t seen me have a mental breakdown.”

“The de la Rozas, maybe,” Derek says, and Stiles hums. “Or Cora and Braeden.”

“The twins!” Stiles says. “Mellie and non-evil Jackson. Fresh first impression meat.”

But it's good, Eli seeing that side of Stiles. Someone who can be—raw, and vulnerable, without getting angry.

“Your memories of me are failing you more by the day,” Stiles says. “I’ve been plenty angry.”

Maybe. But not around Eli.

And not when it wasn’t constructive. You need that anger, sometimes.

Sometimes, it’s the only fuel you have.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles says. “My number one apologist.”

“Stilinski-Hale, I think,” Derek says, and Stiles huffs.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s traditional,” Derek says. “In Chile. Hyphenated names.”

Stiles gestures broadly at the air around them. “I don’t think we’re in Chile anymore, Toto.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “For me, then.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Stiles says, and Derek can see the pun in his eyes immediately.

“How hard would that be?”

“Stealing my line,” Stiles says, and Derek lifts him into his arms. “That really shouldn’t keep working on me.”

“You sure you want to talk right now?”

“I can multitask,” Stiles says, and nips at Derek's throat a little, scrapes his teeth a bit on Derek's jaw. It takes a second for Derek to remember that he's still holding him. “I'm very talented.”

He really is.

“Too flattering,” Stiles says. “Too much of a charmer. I'm gonna propose a second time.”

“We could take a second honeymoon, at least,” Derek says. “An uninterrupted one.”

“We kind of already are, I think,” Stiles says. “I mean, you’re carrying me bridal-style.”

“Groom,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “So rigid about gender. What if I wanna be a bride sometimes?”

“Then you are one,” Derek says agreeably. “You're a beautiful bride.”

“I hate you so much,” Stiles says.

“Funny, too.”

“Well now this is turning more into emasculation,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “Was that not the idea?”

“Not at all!” Stiles says. “I just like options, you know? I like you being all strong and manly.”

Well, that's easy enough.

“Not that I don't love your sensitive side,” Stiles says, and Derek rolls his eyes. “It's the whole package, you know? Duality.”

They're definitely doing too much talking.

Derek dips in closer, gets in the way for a while.

“Wait, no," Stiles says eventually. "I've got it. Stiles style.”

It takes a second to remember anything they've been talking about.

“Instead of groom, or bride,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “Oh.”

“So you know, wordplay,” Stiles says. “Talking all over you. Flailing around, that has to be fun for you.”

It is. All of it, down to the flailing.

“Yeah? It sparks something,” Stiles says. “In the, the apex predator side of you. Werewolf side.”

“It all makes it more interesting,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “That’s not a no! Big strong alpha.”

It’s a joke. But the wolf doesn’t care about tones.

“So that’s always gonna work too, huh.”

“Looks like it,” Derek says, and kisses Stiles hard.

“Unbeatable combo!” Stiles says faintly. “Oh my god. Now we just need a wall, for a triple.”

“Oh, we’ll get to that,” Derek says, and lets a slow smirk spill out, Stiles’ eyes widening. “Eventually."

Right now, he's got something else in mind.

Chapter Text

“What time is it?” Stiles says, at around three in the morning. And even half asleep, Derek knows him a little too well.

“Summertime?” he says muzzily. The lyric's an instinct by now. And Stiles would just grab his phone if he wanted a more accurate answer.

But when Derek looks over at him, there isn't a hint of humor on Stiles’ face.

“No,” he says. He tenses when Derek touches his shoulder. “I mean, like... What year?”

“I don't think I know this one,” Derek says.

But that's when he recognizes the scent.

That part of Derek's life doesn't exist anymore. Unless Stiles has been doing more serious magic than Derek knows about. Raising the dead. Time-travel.

And whatever it is, Stiles is shaking.

It's a while before he can talk. And—there are exercises that help him through things like this. Deep breaths, and counting sights, and smells, and sounds. None of that is even a little bit comforting to him right now.

His breathing gets easier once he's back to staring through nothing at all.

“Did something happen?” Derek says. Something's wrong, that's obvious. “Did you have a nightmare?”

But even what being back here has been bringing out in Stiles doesn't look like this. That's—depression. Self-blame, self-loathing.

And if Derek just holds him, breathes with him, he comes back to himself. 

“It was real,” Stiles says. “I know what dreams feel like. It wasn't anything like a dream.”

Talking, at least, that's something. That's a place to start. “What happened?”

But that's all Stiles can say, for a while. Even looking up at Derek one more time takes a toll on him. He looks down, and a tear spills down with the movement.

And Derek can't imagine what he's going through right now.

“Do you wanna be alone?” Derek says, and Stiles stares at him. “Just for a little while. If there's something about me right now that's making it worse for you, I don't need to be...”

And then Stiles just looks—terrified.

“I'm gonna take that as a no,” Derek says, and Stiles looks impossibly relieved. Derek moves closer, carefully. “Stiles. Are you alright?”

Stiles dips his head against him. Sniffs, and tries to fold in closer. 

He’s shaking. “Do I... smell different to you?”

“You've been doing magic,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “Maybe magic has been doing me. No, it wasn't..." It takes a while for him to come back once he trails off. "I know what magic feels like, okay, it wasn't like that. It was like... I fell back in time.”

It's the most he's been able to say. And something like a joke, even if it came out automatically.

“Somewhere you've been before?” Derek says, but he already knows the answer, somehow. “A long time ago.”

Stiles shakes his head again.

“It wasn't a memory, either. It was way too real. I could...” And tears fill his eyes again. “It was crazy, it was like I could taste the air, or something. It was... It feels more like I'm in a dream now. Where everything's a million times vaguer, and your mom and your teacher have the same face.”

“Your mom was a teacher,” Derek says, but that's not important right now.

He nods.

“You're right. You do smell different.”

Stiles' breath catches as he looks up. “Like what?”

Sometimes, going numb feels like the easiest reaction. Derek doesn't say, Like my moms. Like that house, and everything that died twelve years ago.

He knows what's left now. He was just in that impossibly empty lot, for Eli. And Eli being there meant being a dad first, and comforting him, finding the right words to help him get through everything he's been hearing at school about the Hale fire, but that didn't make it any easier to stand there, breathing the nothing that's left of them now. If he shuts his eyes, he can see exactly how it was. He can almost feel it.

Their house, their family.

For a while, there's just the sound of Stiles' heartbeat, slowing back down. 

“I thought that's where I was,” Stiles says. “I just couldn't really move, or speak. But they were so alive, I could feel it. ”

Yeah. They were that way.

“How did you...” Derek says, but it doesn't matter.

“Don't do it again,” he says. “Not until we know what we're dealing with, at least.”

“I didn't do it this time,” Stiles says. “One second I was here, meaning to finally go to sleep at a normal hour...”

“Then it was a dream,” Derek says.

“Have my dreams had a smell before?” Stiles says, and on any other night, Derek would have a different answer for that. But there's nothing funny left in the world.

“No.”

“Okay, well, ma nishtana?”

This really isn't the time for Stiles to go multilingual on him. “I don't know what that means.”

“What makes this night different from any other night?”

And it's too late at night for this. It's too early in the morning.

“Eli has school in a few hours,” Derek says. Trying... to be normal, be sane, be a parent.

Not feel so entirely lost and angry, he could be sixteen again.

“Tess,” Stiles says, and Derek goes still. “Was your other mom called Tess? I knew about Talia.”

It's too much. The scent of Moms, and Stiles' eyes on him. The sympathy he's always so sure that Derek deserves.

“I can't talk about this now.”

“You never told me about her,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “Do you think that maybe there's a reason for that?”

Too harsh, too loud. Stiles' eyes widening.

And Derek's never yelled at Stiles before. Not for years, not while they were together.

He takes a long breath. Lets it out, even longer.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I shouldn't have shouted at you.”

It's not Stiles' fault. None of this, whatever it was. Derek's the one who killed her. Stiles has only helped make up for it.

It makes no sense at all lashing out at him.

“I swear,” Stiles says, and moves in closer, and the scent of Moms is so real in the room that Derek's head spins. “I swear, I didn't mean to bring this all up. I just... I don't even know what just happened.”

Magic. Or a vision. Or some new evil from the fucking Nemeton.

It's about time things started up again.

And if it is, Derek needs to be his best self if they're gonna have a hope of fighting it. Not slipping back to anger so easily.

He has a family now.

He takes a long, slow breath. Lets it out. Actually thinks for a second, takes in what's here, right in front of him.

And Stiles is shaking. There are tears on his face.

There should already be an arm around him. There should—If it is the fucking Nemeton? Something haunting Stiles, again.

“Easy,” Stiles says, as Derek draws him as close as he can. “Hey, take a breath, Derek. Human bones, remember?”

Derek nods, and relaxes his arms a little. But Stiles already looks a lot more like himself.

And—He asked Derek a question.

It just feels impossible to answer it properly.

And it's half an instinct to shake his head. Shut this down, make Stiles stop.

Half an instinct to tell him, Tess? Tess was everybody's mom.

Whatever was happening, that needed an alpha. Tess was always around to make up for it.

And it's never gonna be alright, what Derek did to her.

“You thought you heard somebody—call for her?” Derek says, instead of giving in to his earliest instincts. “My moms.”

“Wait,” Stiles says. “Moms was one person? Not both of them.”

No, not both. Mom was Talia, and Moms—

“Cora said Moms saved them,” Stiles says. “Her and Eli.”

Derek nods, and Stiles' eyes fill with tears again.

“Oh my god.”

Derek's too close to move any closer. He settles for cupping Stiles' jaw. Breathing against his forehead, closing his eyes.

“Why didn't I ever...” Stiles says, and then, “She was barely in the pictures.”

The ones Stiles found before they left. It wasn't everyone.

It was just more than Derek ever could've asked for.

“She was the one taking them, most of the time,” Derek says. “It was really important to her. Saving—memories.”

There's too much dry air in his throat. He swallows, and swallows.

“She was really beautiful,” Stiles says, and Derek's eyes prickle, and burn. “In... whatever that just was.”

“You saw her?” Derek says.

“I knew I should've been keeping tissues closer,” Stiles says, sniffling, and Derek goes and gets them. Comes back in a second, takes the same place back around him.

Pressing his cheek to Stiles' temple, shutting his eyes.

“It wasn't bad,” Stiles says. “It wasn't a bad thing. It was... I think it was Cora's birthday. Her eleventh one.”

So, just before the fire, then.

“This is gonna sound...” Stiles says, but he shakes his head. “I always explain things too much. But this is gonna sound really... I don't know how to say this normally.”

“Just say it,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “I think... She was holding me. In the...” He gestures vaguely.

“Whatever it was,” Derek says, and Stiles nods.

“And it wasn't like now, it was like I was smaller. But... held up, so I could see everyone. There were other kids, too, there was a girl... Cora's age, maybe? Or a little younger. And she had a brother, or I felt like he was her brother. They kept giving each other these funny looks whenever anything happened.”

“Mackenzie,” Derek says. “That would be Mackenzie. And probably Jack, they were twins.”

“Mack and Jack?” Stiles says, and Derek lets out a shocked laugh. “So the rhyming really did run in your family, huh.”

Derek’s never even thought about it like that before.

They called her Kenzie, most of the time.

“Jack and Kenzie,” Stiles says, and all the humor's gone again. “Oh my god.”

It's heavy. So heavy, it takes Derek a while to realize what Stiles just said.

Takes checking for pain, and dropping his head to breathe against Stiles' still-bandaged shoulder.

“And let me guess,” he says. “You didn't see Eli.”

He lets Stiles think, for a while.

“No. How did you...”

But of course, Stiles is quick to catch up. To see Derek lingering there, where werewolf claws sank into Stiles' skin. To remember what that can do, in the right circumstances. Even if the situation was an accident.

“That was Eli's memory?”

“It would make sense,” Derek says. “My moms probably would've been holding him, she's the one...”

“She had him,” Stiles says, and Derek nods.

“But... from my mom, I think. It's more complicated, with werewolves. Or, it can be.”

And that's clearly inspiring too many ideas on Stiles' part.

“The more you know, huh?” he says.

“You're smirking a little too much.”

“I'm smirking a completely appropriate amount,” Stiles says. “Is it only with women? Wait. Was your moms a werewolf? Or...”

And of course that's the only thing left on his mind. Derek rolls his eyes.

“I'm guessing you know she was human.”

“Well okay,” Stiles says. “Lots to think about!”

“It's not exactly safe,” Derek says. “Especially—” He already regrets saying it before it leaves his mouth. “The... male... ones.”

“Derek Stilinski-Hale,” Stiles says. His eyes are shining. “You've been keeping secrets from me.”

“It's not exactly common, either,” Derek says.

“And you know me, I'm incredibly common.”

No. No, he's definitely not.

“I could've sworn you said you didn't wanna be emasculated.”

“I'm pretty sure I said I like options,” Stiles says. “I can't believe I even still remember that conversation.”

“I think it was pretty memorable,” Derek says. “You came up with a new name for what we were doing.”

“Please, I do that all the time,” Stiles says. “Is there a book I can read about this? Or something.”

“What To Expect When You're Expecting a miracle to happen?”

“Every day is a miracle,” Stiles says devoutly. “Come on, knower of secret werewolf knowledge. What else do you know?”

“Honestly? I shouldn't even know that much,” Derek says. “You can thank Peter for that. He always loved seeing how gullible I was.”

Stiles wilts a little.

“But I do know that—that part is true,” Derek says. “About werewolves.”

“Well now that you mentioned the source, I'm a little more skeptical.”

“My moms told me,” Derek says. “Tess. She kind of gave me... The Talk.”

It was—incredibly awkward, actually.

“As is tradition,” Stiles says. He's starting to brighten again. “Being awkward is like half of parenting, I think. Or I'm doing it wrong.”

“You're not,” Derek says. “You're... a lot like my moms, actually.”

He never realized how much, before.

“Really?” Stiles says. Tears in his eyes, again. “Both of them? Or your moms.”

“Tess,” Derek says, and something clots in his throat.

Stiles passes the tissues, and wraps his arms back around him.

There are no words, for a while.

“So your moms would've told you anyway,” Stiles says, eventually. “Without Peter.”

And of course, there's only one thing on his mind again.

“Probably not,” Derek says. “But I had to ask. Just—on the off chance, that something...”

“Peter really freaked you out, huh?” Stiles says. “Five Brand New Ways To Be A Teen Dad!”

“Something like that,” Derek says. “And—my moms didn't think any question was stupid.”

He should've told her. He should've told her, There's this teacher at my school—

It feels good, but it doesn't, and I have no idea what I'm doing, and her dad's a hunter. Her dad's a hunter, you need to run.

Her dad's a hunter, Moms, I'm sorry—

She would've known what to do, if he'd just told her. She would've fixed it, she would've saved all of them.

She burned, saving Cora and Eli from what he did.

And no matter what kind of person Derek is now, he'll never make up for it.

“You didn't know,” Stiles says. He's crying, and Derek's crying, and he just hopes Eli isn't awake to be traumatized by this, right now. On top of everything else Derek's done. “You didn't know, no, baby...”

He calls Eli that. He doesn't call Derek that.

But Moms used to call them that. All of them, when something was wrong.

“Special exception,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “If Hell is real, there's no way I'm not going there.”

“Then I'm gonna be right there with you,” Stiles says, and Derek shudders. “I told you, didn't I? About my mom.”

Not the same. It's not the same, it's not close.

“I didn't know,” Stiles says. “Like you didn't know. What's different, huh?”

A million things. Everything. He was twelve years old. He's Stiles.

“I was thirteen,” Stiles says, and Derek rolls his eyes wetly. “I should've known. My dad told me, I just didn't remember.”

“He said he told you,” Derek says. “When he was—grieving, and drunk.”

And Derek's sure he would've taken it back, if he remembered it. In the morning, when he was thinking more clearly.

He's gonna bring it up with him, if it keeps haunting Stiles like this.

It's been on his mind for long enough.

“Don't you dare,” Stiles says. “I don't even want you two interacting if it's not about his grandkid. Or a case, or Scott.”

But there's no way Stiles' dad meant to put what happened to his mom on him. Derek can't imagine throwing that out at Eli. It doesn't matter what may have led up to it.

You don't hold a child responsible for something like that.

“And she wouldn't,” Stiles says. “Your moms.”

A million retorts rise in Derek's throat immediately. A million That's differents.

He killed ten people. His moms, children.

“It wasn't ten people,” Stiles says, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Eight, then.”

“And it wasn't you,” Stiles says. “They were already planning it. You could've been in that fire.”

He should've been. It doesn't make any sense, that he wasn't.

He should've given Cora and Eli the time. Moms should've run.

“It needed to be her,” Stiles says, and Derek stares at him. “Derek. Who do you think broke the mountain ash? Just in time to let them out.”

No. No, no, no.

“Laura couldn't've done it,” Stiles says, and Derek shakes his head. “You couldn't have, Peter...” There's too much fire in Derek's throat. “We would've lost everyone.”

No. No, no.

“She never would've blamed you,” Stiles says, and it's not fair. That he thinks he knows her, now, that he can play out—how she would've reacted.

It's worse that Derek knows that he's probably right.

She never would've blamed him. Of course not.

Baby, I'm so sorry. And Derek closes his eyes before the flood can come. I'm so sorry. For everything that happened to you.

She would be too understanding. Too forgiving, too warm.

It's been so hard. And you've been so brave through all of it.

But he wasn't. He wasn't.

Not brave, not close.

I'm so glad that Eli has you, the version of Moms that his head keeps making up says. You've been an incredible dad to him.

It's sick. It's evil, believing this. Some happy, peaceful version of her, who doesn't care what he's done.

Baby, there are more of us out there.

And Derek's eyes open wide.

He shuts them again, hard. Tries to get her voice back in his head, he has to know.

Moms?

It's impossible. But—too many impossible things have already happened, around Stiles.

And Stiles is still holding him. Being—a conduit, maybe. A spark.

Moms, he says, and his eyes fill with tears again, and he's trembling. Moms, is this real?

But there isn't time to doubt it anymore.

What do you mean, that more of us are out there? Someone else is alive?

Peter can't be, Laura can't be. Moms can't, who else—

We got the children out, the Moms in his head says. Your mom and me... We agreed, we needed our babies safe.

Cora, and Eli. But Derek already knew about them.

He doesn't know what he expected. From a voice in his head, that's probably just his own subconscious.

His own guilty conscience, trying to make more excuses.

Trying to believe Stiles was part of it. Doing some kind of magic.

Well, the spell's broken now.

“Are you okay?” Stiles says, and Derek... No. No, he's definitely not.

“I need to go for a run,” he says, and Stiles nods.

“Take your phone, okay?”

He has to. He has to stay practical, and sane. He has a family now.

“I'm sorry,” he says. For a minute, Stiles was actually excited. Intrigued again, planning something.

Now he's just quiet. Swiping at drying tears as subtly as he can.

There are more of us out there.

“You really mean it?” Derek says. “About—wanting all the options.”

New light filling Stiles' face again.

“Do I want a magical werewolf baby with you? Gosh, I don't know!”

“It wouldn't be easy,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “I'm gonna cry. But happy tears, this time.”

“It's not even—guaranteed, it's not like we've been using contraception—”

“And all of the times I fucked you couldn't have helped,” Stiles says, and Derek's face goes hot. “Shut the fuck up, are you serious?”

Stiles really is getting too good at reading his expressions by now.

“I need so much more information,” Stiles says. “Like all of it. Derek Stilinski-Hale!”

It's starting to sound a little like when Derek used to be in trouble.

“Wrong, I couldn't be happier,” Stiles says. “Genuinely.”

And Derek has to kiss him. His grinning cheek, his smile.

“Is the run cancelled?”

“Was I going somewhere?” Derek says. “I don't know what I was thinking. When I have you alone?”

Rolling over him sideways, half-tackling. Pinning Stiles under him, scraping his teeth against his jaw.

“Wolf Derek wants a baby, huh,” Stiles says.

“It's just me,” Derek says. “One man. I promise.”

“One wolf-man,” Stiles says. “One wolf-man, who I can get pregnant.”

Derek is absolutely never coming back from this.

“No, you are not,” Stiles says. “Would you even want that, though? To be the one...”

Reading his face too quickly, again.

“Well that changes things,” Stiles says, and Derek says nothing at all. “And is kind of a relief, to be honest, because as magical as I'm sure the experience is...”

It's also long, and uncomfortable. And a lot safer for a werewolf to heal from.

“But that's not why you'd wanna do it,” Stiles says, and Derek shakes his head. “No. You wanna be my baby mom.”

It sounds ridiculous. And not at all, and more than Derek could ever—To sire a pack? With Stiles? To be the one—

“Whoa, hey, slow down a little,” Stiles says. “Maybe not a pack just yet. One feels like a good start!”

It does.

“Unless it's different, with werewolves,” Stiles says. “And you have a whole litter of them.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“These are genuine questions!” Stiles says. “Genuine things I need to know.”

“Right now?” Derek says, and Stiles' grin comes out again.

“I guess not right now.”

Slipping out from under him, and bowing. “Magic.”

“You have somewhere to be?” Derek says.

“Well, I can't say I fully understand werewolf physics,” Stiles says, “but I think I need to move to put a baby in you.”

It should sound—a million things. It shouldn't sound—

“Derek Stilinski-Hale,” Stiles says. “You just found that incredibly romantic, huh.”

Derek says nothing at all.

“I am learning so many things today,” Stiles says. “So many. You are wearing way too many clothes.”

It's a very solvable problem.

Chapter Text

It gets easier once they both understand what's going on. And once the scent is gone, and Derek can think again, it feels obvious. Of course it was Eli's memory. Of course Stiles struggled to explain it.

"It's not my strong suit to begin with, to be fair," Stiles says. "Conciseness. I'm more like, tangent city. Tangent-o-tropolis."

Derek shakes his head before they lose the thread again. "Still. There was a lot more happening."

He touches the claw marks on Stiles' shoulder. 

"It doesn't hurt, I swear," Stiles says, but Derek checks anyway. Keeps his hand there, and Stiles dips his chin against it, grins sideways at him. 

And Derek never should have snapped at Stiles for what he said. The sound of his own voice keeps echoing in his ears. The look on Stiles' face.

"Hey. Are you tormenting yourself with irrepressible guilt?" Stiles says, batting at him. "No tormenting."

Derek snorts, and Stiles kisses his hand. Shakes his head.

"No, that wasn't remotely satisfying," he says, and tugs Derek closer. "Oh, that's much better."

It is. The air's full of only Stiles again. More now, with Stiles all around him. 

"Cuddly bear," Stiles says, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"Not much I can do about it, then," he says. "Can I? If it's irrepressible."

"What?" Stiles says. "Oh, the guilt thing! From like thirty seconds ago. No, that's my whole point, let it out! Emotional exorcism, that's way more healthy. Than, than self-flagellating."

"Flagellating," Derek says, and Stiles says, "Beating yourself up. Like, ritualistically."

"I know what it means," Derek says.

It's still not easy. Werewolf senses are always gonna be stronger. So coming back from that, as a human, has to feel—

“Dulled,” Stiles says, the second time it happens. He's shaking, a little. Derek wraps their blankets around him. That's what you always see, in movies, when there's been a traumatic experience. Isn't it? A shock blanket, wrapped around. Derek's not sure if there's any kind of major technological difference between the metallic ones EMTs use and the ones they actually have on hand. It seems to be helping somewhat.

But he puts an arm around the blankets, anyway.

“It's... Yeah," Stiles says eventually. "It's like everything's dulled. And I'm like, half-numb.”

Like he's trapped behind a glass wall. Or the rest of the world is.

“Mountain ash,” Stiles says. “That's what mountain ash feels like, isn't it. When you're surrounded.”

And then he says, “And what dogs feel like watching stuff on a screen. That they know should smell different.”

Trust Stiles to find the light side of everything. Derek rolls his eyes. “Yes, exactly the same.”

And Stiles still hasn't said what the memory actually was, this time.

“You were there,” he says, and Derek tenses. “Oh, my god, I'm Dorothy.”

It's not funny. Derek doesn't want Stiles seeing him like that. Fifteen or sixteen, so unbelievably stupid that Derek would love nothing more than to go back there himself and punch that kid out. Throw him against a wall, throttle him until he gets that stupid smug look off his face. Until he runs off crying, and his moms finds him, and he's forced to come clean, and everything from present day vanishes completely.

Except—Stiles. He wouldn't have Stiles, if none of it happened. Maybe he'd still be in that house. Keeping his head down, too frozen by what he almost caused to ever trust himself to make a choice again.

He'd probably find some new way to fuck even that up. He'd probably—Jennifer, he'd still fall for Jennifer. He'd be sure that was different somehow, another teacher, another plot to kill his family. Stiles' dad.

“I don't wanna know,” he tells Stiles, when he thinks to say anything at all. “I don't wanna know what I...” But of course he does. He'll never be able to think about anything else if he leaves it up to his own memory of himself. “It was just Eli remembering me?”

“He was doing a puzzle,” Stiles says. “Or... I was, in a way. Without actually being the one... This is gonna sound so weird,” he adds, and then, “So, you know the whole fox demon who stuck me in the back of my own head while it went around killing people with my hands thing? This was like the much, much sweeter version of that. And with kid-you reading a book and watching me. So, also kind of like those wordless soothing videos of people doing chores for hours, you know, it was peaceful.”

“Back then? I don't remember that,” Derek says. There's a little too much relief pounding in his throat. Reading, and watching Eli. That's not so bad. “Where was everyone else?”

Stiles shrugs. “You were reading Crime & Punishment, if that helps? I keep meaning to get around to reading that.”

Derek really shouldn't've asked any follow-up questions. Because—Kate gave him some books.

I think you're a lot smarter than you realize.

“Forget it,” he says, as the sick feeling washes back over him. How—he'd been so ridiculously proud of himself. It was like a badge of honor, that he was smarter than every other idiot he went to school with. Than everyone at home, who couldn't possibly understand why it was worth reading. So obviously, they'd never understand a sophisticated relationship like the one he had. He was gonna finish it, he was gonna have a favorite translation. He was gonna make it a core part of his personality.

Except that in reality, he read the same paragraph thirty times, because his eyes kept glazing over. He picked out random quotes to reference so he wouldn't be embarrassed if Kate asked him about it. He was a liar as much as she was. He was just also probably a lot more annoying to talk to.

Stiles reads. But he doesn't need the whole world to know about it. It isn't the one thing he's clinging to, the one little bit of proof he has that there's anything interesting about him at all. There's a Captain Underpants book on their nightstand right now.

“Well yeah,” Stiles says. “ADHD rep! Dav Pilkey is awesome, I owe even slightly accepting my bizzaro brain to him.”

“I like your brain,” Derek says, which earns enough of a grin from Stiles to get him out of his head again.

“Derek Hale, you giant flirt,” Stiles says, but he catches himself this time. “Stilinski-Hale. See? It was never on purpose, it just takes me a second. Or ten minutes, or a full workday and a shower to realize. Derek Stilinski-Hale,” he says again. “You have to admit, it's a mouthful.”

And that one's too easy. Stiles' mouth drops when he catches Derek's eye.

“I can't believe I gave you an opening like that.”

Derek looks at him.

“You know, there was a time when both of those lines would've registered as nothing but completely innocent to you,” Stiles says.

Maybe. But Derek's known Stiles a little too long.

“And now it's me not hearing it,” Stiles says. “While you get all active in the eyebrow region. How the turntables, huh?”

“It's not just the eyebrow region,” Derek says. “It doesn't have to be.”

“There's no one smoother in this world,” Stiles says, and Derek smirks. “I don't think we can have a baby. We have a way-too healthy sex life.”

“I think you might have that the wrong way around,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “I'm kind of serious, actually. We barely have free time as it is. And the practical reality of having a newborn is way less sweet than the fantasy, what if we hate it? And, and hate each other for ever thinking it was a good idea.”

So Stiles has been thinking about this. Or overthinking, and panicking.

“We can... get help from Cora,” Derek says. “Or your dad, or Scott. Or a babysitter.”

“Wanted: Babysitter for a tiny werewolf,” Stiles says. “For baby Jack-Jack from The Incredibles. I actually love that scene,” he adds, and then he's too busy pulling it up on his phone to ruminate on everything that could possibly go wrong. “You know what? I take it back. I think parenting Jack-Jack would fix me.”

Chaos that demands constant improvisation. In a way, that's what Stiles lives for. What gets a smile back on his face, what gives him the drive to get up in the morning.

“We should babysit the twins more,” Stiles says. “Oh my god! Mellie and Jack-Jack. I didn't even think about that! We're related to him already.”

Cora's son is pretty quiet, though. Like Eli was at that age, even if they're not related biologically.

“Wouldn't that be a twist?” Stiles says. “If I resented our kids for not being rowdy enough. 'Why can't you be more like your brother and run and scream uncontrollably? Do I have to get you a hamster that you're not even gonna forget to feed?'”

Derek looks at him.

“Well that took a dark turn,” Stiles says. “And a little too real. R.I.P. Samuel L. Slackson. Gone but never forgotten! As much as I'd love to, trust me. Finding him's kind of a recurring nightmare. And that was just before my mom, too, so you'd think... That could've been a warning for me. His horrifying death could've actually meant something. Mom-saving hamster martyr.”

His tone is casual enough that it almost sounds like joking. Or it would, if Derek didn't know him.

But of course it's not.

Stiles looks down, and Derek touches his shoulder. Puts an arm around him, kisses his cheek.

Stiles sniffs. “That is way too sweet for what I just said.”

“Pets die,” Derek says. “And—you were distracted.”

“My one defining attribute,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “It's not.”

He's a good dad to Eli. He always was. No one had to tell him to do that, or how to do that. Derek was the one playing catch-up, for a while. Watching Stiles, and taking notes on everything that seemed to come naturally to him.

And Stiles is always gonna be the one he trusted first. Derek was just around for it.

It's only a little more equal now, years later. And them both being werewolves is a big part of it. Now that Eli's dealing with some of the struggles that can come with that, as a teenager.

“I got lucky with Eli,” Stiles says. “I got to skip all of the hard parts. It was pure unconditional love from the beginning, how's that real? He's never even said he hates me.”

“Why would he...” Derek says, and Stiles says, “Because that's like a normal part of being a teenager? Getting too cool for your parents, and hiding things, and shrugging them off when they ask you how your day was, because if you do have something going on, you just wanna unload to your friends, who won't feel the need to give you pointless advice that you're just gonna ignore, and then probably feel like shit for ignoring when everything blows up in your face.”

That's... Derek looks at him.

“I don't know if you remember this, but teenage me kind of sucked,” Stiles says. “My one saving grace is that I kind of think teenagers are supposed to. And then eventually we acquire shame, and grow up into full-fledged human beings. But our kid's an angel, so there goes that theory, and maybe I am just fundamentally terrible! Or maybe Eli's just slower to hit that stage.”

There's a lot there. “I wasn't my favorite person as a teenager either,” Derek says, “If you remember. Am I fundamentally...”

Not that he really wants to know. But Stiles says, “That's not even remotely the same.”

“Isn't it?” Derek says. Stiles snorts.

“Bested again! By one of this world's greatest minds.” Looking at him so warmly it takes a few seconds to remember to breathe. “By my favorite one, personally.”

It's a dodge, and they both know it. But it's also 4:30 AM on a school day, and they're both gonna regret not trying to get more sleep in a few hours.

“Sex, also,” Stiles says. “Raincheck on the sex, please.”

“Noted,” Derek says, and they fall asleep exactly as they're already arranged, with Derek's arms still all around him. There's really no bad position, with Stiles.

“Backwards day,” Stiles says, when they wake up again. They got a good two and a half hours, that's something. It's definitely gonna make the day easier that they're not starting tired. “Optimist Derek Hale. It's all opposites.”

But once Derek makes coffee, Stiles says, “Stilinski-Hale! That's what I meant, obviously.”

Eli's a little bleary-eyed at breakfast. Derek wouldn't think much of it, but Stiles says, “Eli, you okay?”

Eli shrugs.

“See?” Derek says. “He's a teenager after all.”

Other memories are—harder. The fire was always gonna feel like a nightmare.

“I can't believe Eli survived all that,” Stiles says. “At two years old?”

His eyes are bright, he's shaking. Like he wants to go back and rescue all of them.

It's a familiar feeling. Derek usually tries to just close his eyes.

Live in the memory, for a minute.

“I'm not sure that's gonna do it, for me,” Stiles says. “I think I really just need to go hug my kid right now.”

It's still early, not even nine AM yet. Eli probably just got to school.

“Contributing to child delinquency,” Stiles says, and tsks. “We're setting such a bad example as parents.”

But you have to bend the rules, sometimes.

They compromise on lunch time. There's a case that should distract Stiles for a few hours.

“And it just turned into the most boring thing in the world.”

But there's meds, there's music. There's a sudden relief in Stiles' eyes.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “Being functional. Amazing.”

He's always functional. It just makes it a little bit easier. Focusing. Switching between tasks.

“That sure is what it says on the ad copy!” Stiles says, but he's already back in the zone. “Missing cats, okay.”

It could just be coyotes. That's probably the simplest explanation.

“Not in the world we live in, it's not!” Stiles says. “Magic that eats cats, maybe. Cat sacrifices. Were-coyotes.”

Actually, that sounds kind of familiar.

“Cat sacrifices?” Stiles says, and Derek shakes his head.

“The twins' mom,” he says. “She might've been—maybe.”

It's getting harder to remember.

“A cat sacrificer?” Stiles says, still not getting it. “I guess that figures, for Peter.”

“A were-coyote,” Derek says. “Maybe.” Actually, he's really not sure. “Are mountain lions the same thing?”

“You're asking me?” Stiles says, but he is the one who could find out in a second, with his computer. With his phone.

“I really have to teach you how to Google,” Stiles says, but he's already doing it. “Mountain lions, mountain lions... Nope! That's a cougar. Peter was into cougars, huh?”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“A were-cougar,” Stiles says, still reading. “Well, they do eat cats, so. Put that on the list.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Derek says, and Stiles smirks.

“You know me too well.”

He goes to the case board, makes a note of it: COUGARS. Or were-cougars.

“Feels a little funny putting 'cougars' under Suspects,” Stiles says.

Derek looks at him.

“Then again, you are literally a werewolf. I forgot.”

“You forgot,” Derek says.

“Well, you're in man shape all the time...” Stiles says, and Derek says, “Unbelievable.”

“It hasn't come up in a while!” Stiles says, and Derek says, “We're trying to have a baby together.”

“Besides that,” Stiles says. “I don't know. I do magic, Scott's all regularly fuzzy, it slipped my mind.”

Scott... is very unique. He and Isaac are very unique together.

“You're so homophobic,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “Do I have to say the baby thing again?”

“They're both werewolves,” Stiles says. “Why shouldn't they make out while fuzzy?”

Because it's weird. Because—born wolves would never do something like that.

And because—Allison is involved, somehow.

“Whatever makes them happy,” Stiles says, and Derek says, “Oh please. You're dying to criticize it.”

“People change!” Stiles says. “People get weird, and free, and way less uptight. Good for them!”

“I know the real Stiles is under all that acceptance somewhere,” Derek says. “Dying to make a joke.”

“Maybe I'm just being a bigger person,” Stiles says. “Personal growth.”

“One pun, or I'm checking for wires.”

“Fine,” Stiles says.

Derek waits.

“I actually don't have one yet, can you believe it?”

“Not really,” Derek says. “No.”

“Aww, your faith in me is so encouraging,” Stiles says. “I'm sure it'll be a great one.”

“When it comes to you, at some indeterminate time.”

“Exactly,” Stiles says. “Okay, focus. Cat-napping. Do we know if they're actually eating them? Maybe they're starting a cult.”

“A cult,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “A little kitty convention.”

“They're gonna all be in some hoarder's house, you mean,” Derek says.

“Well if you wanna make it sound sad, sure.”

“I think every werewolf in town would've smelled that by now,” Derek says.

“A werewolf hoarder, then,” Stiles says. “With thicker walls.”

It's not completely impossible. Derek shrugs.

“On the board it goes!” Stiles says, and grabs a marker.

Even when they don't make progress, it's always entertaining.

But once they're Eli-bound, it all comes back again. Like no time at all passed since this morning.

Stiles really is a little too good at finding distractions. And maybe, not only for himself.

Derek's gonna have to try to remember that.

Eli makes a beeline for Stiles, as usual, but he shuts the car door a little too hard behind him, like something happened at school today. That's probably worth remembering, too.

“What are you guys doing here?” Eli says, and Stiles doesn’t even bother with words, for once. He just leans over his seat, hugs Eli hard.

“Did something happen to Cora?” Eli says, and then he's going down the list. “Or Braeden, or the twins...”

“Nothing happened to anyone,” Derek says. “Everyone's fine.”

“You don't just come to see me in the middle of the school day,” Eli says. “And Stiles was really...” And then he's somehow sure it's fatal. “Stiles?”

“Stiles is fine,” Derek says, but Eli isn't listening to him anymore.

“Because of what I did.”

“No,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “No, baby. We just missed you.”

“Stiles, especially,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “Sorry to freak you out. You know me, I’m overly emotional.”

“You’re not,” Eli says loyally, and his eyes flicker to Stiles’ shoulder. “Is it still bad? Did it get worse?”

“No,” Stiles says, but Eli doesn’t really believe him. “No, there's just a super tiny hint that's left of it. But human bodies are weird like that. We keep memorabilia of every little... And I swear, it doesn't hurt at all.”

“Can Dad check? Dad,” Eli says, anxiously, and Derek reaches for Stiles just to reassure him.

“There's nothing there to take, Eli. I promise.”

“But then,” Eli says, and then, “Stiles smells like he was crying.”

Well, the cat's out of the bag now. Metaphorically speaking.

“It's kind of—complicated,” Derek says, and Eli's eyes widen.

“Did you two have a fight?”

No, no.

“I should've just told you the second I saw you,” Stiles says, and Eli moves closer to him again.

“Are you gonna go back to Santiago?”

“What?” Stiles says. “Who's... I don't even know a guy with that name.”

“Chile, he means,” Derek says. It's incredible how fast a Stilinski-Hale conversation can spiral into something totally unpredictable. “He thinks you're going back to Chile alone.”

“And you're not,” Eli says. Sudden tears in his eyes. “I'm coming with you.”

Derek takes a deep breath. “No one is going to Chile.”

“Why would I be going to Chile?” Stiles says, impressively lost. “And no shit you're both coming with me, if I go anywhere. Hale-Stilinski family forever, have I not said that enough? No take-backs.”

It's amazing how quickly that undoes the panic. Stiles reaches over, pulls Eli close again.

“You don't even know how attached I am to you guys. Nobody's leaving anybody.”

“But you said,” Eli says, and anxiety fills his face again. “You were crying, and you said... that you should've just told me why.”

“I really should've!” Stiles says. “I don't even know how it's possible, but I think you really inherited half of my brain. Everything's okay, baby,” he says, and Eli shudders into Stiles' collar. “Including my shoulder, everything's incredible. It's just kind of hard to explain. Or we're a family of bad explainers, that's another option. That's, that's definitely possible.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “Right. The thing I was saying...”

“How is your shoulder incredible?” Eli says, understandably skeptical. “What does that even mean?”

“Stiles saw something,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “That's it, thank you. And it really is incredible, I'm not remotely kidding.”

“I think you've built it up enough at this point,” Derek says, and Eli says, “Your shoulder is incredible, because...”

“Right, sorry,” Stiles says. “No, I really do have it this time. Eli,” he says, and Eli stills. “Do you know about how... Werewolf memories, and I have no idea why it works like this...”

“Werewolf claws hold memories,” Derek translates, before Stiles can get caught on a new topic. “So Stiles has some of your memories now. Of the house, before.”

“He's an incredibly concise guy, your dad,” Stiles says. “Cuts right to the core of it.”

Eli looks at them both for a few seconds.

“Stiles got my memories,” he says. “That's all?”

“Not all your memories, don't worry,” Stiles says. “But like... some of the formative ones. I got Cora's eleventh birthday, a little while ago, and at the time, I didn't really...”

“I don't remember Cora's birthday,” Eli says. “Eleven? How old is she now?”

“I don't think you yourself can remember that far back,” Derek says. “But—it was in your claws. Somehow.”

“What was so special about Cora turning eleven?” Eli says. “Besides being special to her, I mean.”

But he looks a little sorry for saying it. “I mean, birthdays are always nice, I guess. And I like Cora, I'm not saying... You're sure that she's okay?”

Looking at Derek, again, studying his face.

“And Braeden, and everyone.”

“I would've told you,” Derek says. “I promise, Eli. If anything bad ever happens, we're gonna tell you immediately. And that means if we don't say something immediately, you never have to think that that's what's happening. Stiles?”

“You've literally never had a better idea in your life,” Stiles says, and Derek preens a little. A reasonable amount, before he goes back to being present, and parent-ly.

And... Eli's not the only one picking up things from Stiles. Just as Stiles takes over the parenting reins seamlessly.

“I swear,” he says. “I never want you to worry just because it's taking me a million years to explain something totally mundane.”

It's almost awful how much that reassures Eli. But mostly, it's good for everyone.

The air in the car is already a lot lighter.

“But you were crying,” Eli says, eventually. “About the birthday memory? Or a different one.”

He's too sharp, Eli. A little too ready to join the detective agency.

It's probably just a matter of time.

“I saw... the whole family,” Stiles says, and that's close enough. Close enough to the truth, for now. “Everyone we lost. I'm really sorry,” he says, as Eli looks down. “I think... that birthday? It was probably the last big get-together in that house, before...”

“Before it was gone,” Eli says.

And there's nothing left to explain now. Nothing, just Stiles saying, “There's way too much car between me and my kid right now.”

Derek nods. He goes to unlock Stiles’ door, but Stiles is already fumble-climbing into the back seat, Eli blurring sideways to accommodate him.

“Much better,” Stiles says when he’s upright again, Eli crumpling a little against his jacket, breathing in Stiles’ steady family scent. “More cars need to be built with hugging in mind.”

Eli's already pulling back again. But Derek knows all the little tricks by now. The sniffing, the looking anywhere but at anything in particular. Or only staring at something completely random, really hard.

And rolling his eyes, when anyone so much as looks at him. Shrugging, like maybe that’ll make it suddenly not matter.

And Stiles knows what all that adds up to better than anyone. How they're too close to Eli's school for him to do more than try to regain his composure.

“It’s lunch time, right?” he says, and Eli nods. “We can drive around a little. Anywhere more scenic around here?”

Private, he means. Derek’s already got a route in mind.

“I loved getting to see them,” Stiles tells Eli, and his voice is Tess-soft. “Your moms, and everybody. Even if it’s sad… I love knowing your family.”

“Ours,” Eli says, and Stiles says, “Have I mentioned how much I love this kid?”

Ruffling at his hair, and Eli rolls his eyes.

“You know what else?” Stiles says. “I kind of love how my shoulder looks right now. Actually? I think I’m gonna get a tattoo of it, when it’s gone.”

“Really,” Eli says, and Stiles says, “Four raised new moons? It’s kind of a perfect Stilinski-Hale symbol, I think. Isn’t it? Me, your dad, you, Cora… And it’s how I’m getting to know everyone who should’ve made it here with us.”

It wouldn’t work if he didn’t really believe it. Eli’s eyes flicker over Stiles’ face.

“I already feel so much closer to you guys,” Stiles says. “You gave me that, you know? I didn’t even know about Kenzie or Jack until I saw them in your memory.”

“I can’t even remember what the house looked like,” Eli says. “Besides what I know from pictures. How is it in my claws?”

“One more mystery to add to the board,” Stiles says, and Eli swipes at his eyes, nods. “We’ll solve ‘em all eventually.”

“It shouldn’t take long,” Derek says. “With you two on the case?”

“Oh, you bet,” Stiles says. “We’re professionals. No job too small.”

“That’s Encyclopedia Brown,” Eli says.

“Well sure, it was,” Stiles says. “Until the trademark expired, and we snatched it up. No take-backs! That’s, that’s settled law.”

Eli’s heartbeat is gradually getting more even. And his breaths are coming a little easier now.

“Where is my mind?” Stiles says. “It’s lunch time. Eli, you hungry?”

“There’s a pizza place not far from here,” Derek says. “And… a Chinese one.”

“Dad’s gonna want egg rolls,” Eli says, and Derek goes hot.

“I can pick some up while you and Stiles wait in line.”

“And Stiles is gonna want,” Eli says, and thinks. “A cherry cheese knish. Or a potato one.”

“That’s getting a little scary,” Stiles says. “Are you sure you don’t secretly have psychic powers? Because it would not surprise me at all if you do.”

“Cora’s gonna want General Tso’s,” Eli says. “Four-chilis spicy. And fried wontons.”

“We’ll figure out that part later,” Derek says. “What do you want?”

Eli thinks for a while. “I think I’m gonna look at the menu first. And the cases, and everything. And if it smells like old oil, I’ll just get Chinese with you.”

“The real Michelin guide,” Stiles says. “My culinary hero. It’s fresh french fries or bust.”

“What does ‘or bust’ mean?” Eli says. “I know what it means in context, but…”

“You know what?” Stiles says, as Derek sinks into the warm hum of family and greenery and fresh air all around him. “I have no idea. Let’s look it up.”