Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4045666.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Original_Child_Character(s), Original_Hale_Character(s), basically
      everyone
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Werewolves_Are_Known, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics,
      MMA, Everyone_Is_Alive, Omega_Stiles_Stilinski, FTM_Stiles_Stilinski,
      Widow!Stiles, Alpha_Derek_Hale, Fighter_Derek, Uncle!Derek, Dysfunctional
      Family, but_still, Family, Children, Sexual_Content, Mating_Cycles/In
      Heat, Mpreg, Drinking, Drunkenness, Drugs, Smoking, Tattoos, Cage_Fights,
      Blood_and_Violence, Feral_Behavior, Trans_Character, Genderfluid
      Character, Past_Relationship(s), past_original_character_death, Grief/
      Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Panic_Attacks, Self-Harm, Past_Underage, Feels,
      Fluff, Angst, Slow_Build, Butterflies
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-31 Completed: 2016-04-03 Chapters: 32/32 Words: 90475
****** Bloodsport (Brothers) ******
by NARKOTIKA
Summary
     “Uncle Derek, swans only have one partner their whole life,” Junior
     explains as Derek pulls on his clothes. “If their partner dies, they
     can pass away from a broken heart, you know.” Derek looks down at the
     kid through the mirror as he brushes his teeth. He spits into the
     sink. “Wolves also mate for life, Uncle Derek. And Mommy’s not a swan
     or a wolf, but he’s an omega, and sometimes I think he gets so sad
     that Daddy’s not here anymore that one day he might not wake up.”
     -0-
     In which Derek is an ex-fighter, ex-con, ex-brother. And then Stiles
     and his rambunctious sons crash into his world and make everything a
     helluva lot more awesome.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
     Bloodsport_-_Raleigh_Ritchie
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When Derek finally answers the incessant knocking at the door the last thing he
expects to see is a kid looking up at him from under an afro big enough to have
its own zip code. Derek blinks against the harsh daylight, a migraine beating a
steady tattoo inside his skull.
"Who?" Isaac mumbles from his slumped position under the coffee table. The beta
risks a sniff but gets only a surge of nausea in return for his efforts. Derek
rests his head against the doorjamb, puzzling out the kid's scent over his
agonizing hangover. He smells safe in an odd way. He's a young alpha, tanned
skin, hazel eyes, steady gaze trained on Derek.
"Girl Scout?" Eric asks, rolling off a pile of what was probably a kitchen
chair less than eight hours ago.
"I'm not a Girl Scout," the kid says. "I'm kind of comprised of about a quarter
of your gene pool."
Derek blinks. "Huh?"
"I'm your nephew."
Eric bolts upright, scrambling to join Derek, who promptly sobers up, in the
door frame.
"Wait," Derek replies. "You're what?"
"Your nephew," the kid repeats.
There's a moment of quiet where Derek stands stock still in equal measures of
disbelief and annoyance at the audacity this kid has to pull such a prank,
until his nose properly awakens and twitches at the largely diluted, yet
painfully familiar scent of wet forest floor and crisp nutmeg.
"Dude," Eric mutters, eyes focused on a figure walking up into the yard, "it is
not a Girl Scout."
It's an omega.
Once that translates through, Derek can't look away.
The omega is beautiful, undoubtedly, but severely out of place between the
brutalized dummy, chainmail fence, and dried patches of grass fading into dirt.
He's holding the hand of another little boy, this one a beta, balancing a box
labeled simply with a big 'X' in one arm. Whatever's inside the box smells of
ash, and Derek's fangs are popping before his brain can register the graveness
of the situation.
"Derek!" Scott comes bounding into the yard, arms full of more boxes. "Chill
out, man, this is Stiles."
Derek can't breathe. "Stiles," the alpha echoes, mouth going dry. "Stiles
Stiles?"
"Peter's been trying to call you. He's left you tons of messages, dude," Scott
continues, shoving his way through the door, placing the boxes in the foyer.
"Stiles is moving in."
"I'm sorry, I swear I just heard you say, 'Stiles is moving in.'" Eric is out
in the yard chatting it up with the omega, looking the epitome of a guy who
bangs chicks breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He doesn't look a thing like the guy
who got hammered the night before and blacked out in a heap of splinters. Derek
turns to Scott. "This is not happening."
"Take it up with Peter, man, I'm just the delivery guy," Scott steps over the
mangled chair and wanders into the kitchen in search of a beer.
"Christ, I don't even know where to start, I mean—he's got kids, Scott-"
"And they're our own flesh and blood. Does that not mean anything to you?"
"Shut the fuck up, Scott, I-"
In the yard, the alpha kid is holding the hand of his younger brother as they
sit in the yellow grass looking for bugs. Derek's chest suddenly aches.
"Peter needs this from you, Derek. Mom needs this. Not forever, but for now."
Scott takes a swig from his beer. "Xander-”
"No," Derek says, turning away from the window, eyes squeezing shut. Scott
leaves it. Several pairs of feet shuffle along the floorboards as they make
their way into the kitchen. Derek looks up and meets amber eyes.
"I'm Stiles," the omega says, hand out. Derek looks at him, at his pale
shoulders, his dotted cheeks. He looks at the humble ring on the omega's left
hand. And shakes it.
"Derek," he gruffly replies. He turns and leaves the kitchen, Scott's beer in
hand.
 
***
 
Scott assists Stiles and the kids as they settle in, helping move the boxes
into the empty room down the hall. There's enough space in the house for each
of them to live in their own space, but there's only one other bed besides
Derek's, queen-sized, that they'll have to make due with.
"He would've wanted it to be you. Not some shady apartment complex," Scott
remarks before he leaves. "He was our brother, Derek. Do this for him."
"Are you forgetting that he hid his wife and kids away from us? The first time
we hear anything of him in years, and he's a burnt, barely recognizable
carcass-"
"Fine. You can stay bitter and resentful. But don't forget that his wife is now
a widow. And if that's still not enough for you, remember that his kids are now
fatherless. Try and recall what that's like."
Derek recalls alright. Boy, does he recall.
Again that night he drinks himself to sleep.
 
***
 
It's been a week, and each morning Derek wakes face to face with Stiles' eldest
son, Derek's—nephew.
"Uncle Derek," the kid greets. Something weird keeps happening in Derek's chest
at those words. "You still haven't asked me my name, Uncle Derek." Derek huffs
when the little alpha doesn't just spit it out.
"What's your name?" Derek yawns.
"Junior. Alexander Hale Junior," the boy answers. Derek immediately tenses,
staring back at his nephew's obliviousness. "Uncle Derek, swans only have one
partner their whole life," Junior explains as Derek pulls on his clothes. "If
their partner dies, they can pass away from a broken heart, you know." Derek
looks down at the kid through the mirror as he brushes his teeth. He spits into
the sink. "Wolves also mate for life, Uncle Derek. And Mommy's not a swan or a
wolf, but he's an omega, and sometimes I think he gets so sad that Daddy's not
here anymore that one day he might not wake up."
Junior stops in the middle of the hallway and Derek tenses, as if bracing
himself for some sort of nuclear bomb to go off. But Junior just stands there,
like he can't decide which feeling to give into more—his sadness or his
longing. After a moment, Derek crouches down in front of the little alpha. The
boy looks up.
"Your mother isn't going to die, Junior," Derek says. "And certainly not from a
broken heart. You know how I know?" Junior shakes his head. "Because moms are
the strongest people in the world, kid. More than any beta, any alpha,
moms—your mom, especially as an omega—are the strongest. Besides, who says he
needs an alpha? He's got you."
Junior grins and something inside Derek shifts in that moment, rearranges
itself and locks in tight within him. Derek walks Junior to the breakfast table
and then heads for the front door, but not before catching a glimpse of the
most beautiful smile gracing the lips of the most beautiful omega.
Derek passes on drinking himself to sleep that night.
Chapter End Notes
     Hello, my little blueberries!
     First off, for the diehard fans out there, be warned that there are
     instances in which I will prioritize storytelling over accuracy in
     regards to how actual MMA works. This fic is inspired by the show
     Kingdom as well as the movies Brothers and Southpaw, if you want to
     check those out.
     Omegas in this universe are gender fluid and anatomically structured
     as such, meaning they are a basic combination of both male and female
     features. Androgyny is a thing. Stiles in particular happens to have
     a more outwardly female anatomy and uses mostly male pronouns (hence
     the trans tag). Omegas are a minority. Click here for a helpful
     graphic.
     As of this moment Erica is now known to you as Eric and he is a dude
     because I thought that'd be fun. Also, Isaac is his twin. Xander is
     canon Derek's age (roughly 20-24).
     Come hang out with me on Tumblr!
     Be well, all of you!
***** Chapter 2 *****
"What do you think she's gonna say?" Laura asks, head cradled in her hands.
"When we tell her? God, what'll she say?"
The heavy aroma of salt hangs in the air. Derek's nose twitches. He extracts
the burning cigarette dangling from Laura's fingers and takes a drag, tilting
his head toward the cracked window, blowing a stream of smoke out against the
glass. Laura starts laughing. Softly at first, like an achy sob, and then
maniacally, shoulders shaking, voice rising.
"'Laura,'" his sister mimics their mother's voice, grinning madly. She surges
away from the couch, snatching up her keys, taking great, meaningful strides
towards the door. She swings it open, letting the blaring daylight in. "'Take
care of it.'"
She walks out and disappears into the sun.
 
***
 
Since it's summer, the kids are around all day, which is equal parts exhausting
and annoying. Derek liked his bachelor lifestyle to a point. Instead of peace
and quiet he now wakes up to the sting of cold feet and silent, burning, six-
year-old stares. When Stiles goes in to work at the diner he always takes the
kids with him, so it's not like Derek's privacy is completely curbed. He's
twenty-six, unmated, was living alone in a house that's admittedly a few rooms
too big for him and just him. But he didn't in a million years expect a
prepackaged family to be dumped into his lap, let alone one forged by his own
brother.
One thing he and Xander always had in common were their taste in partners. And
Xander really hit the jackpot with Stiles. The omega is stunning. He's
nurturing, kind, patient, and really just everything Derek isn't.
Derek notices the way Stiles steers his kids out of Derek's way, making himself
scarce, leaving behind only small hints that he's ever really there—a stray
dishtowel, a jacket, his two sons sprawled out across Derek's cool kitchen
tiles to escape the California heat. Derek notices how Stiles tries not to
leave his kids alone in a room with Derek, tries not to keep his back turned
for too long. Derek notices the omega's eyes on him, making sure he doesn't
make a wrong move, doesn't step out of line, doesn't spring into action at
every turn to maim or murder his children. Derek notices how exhausting all of
Stiles' over-cautiousness seems to be, weighing the omega down with each
passing day. Derek notices how little Stiles sleeps, how Junior doesn't really
sleep at all. Derek notices how Stiles' anguished scent re-layers itself every
time he catches his sons rummaging through that mysterious box, like reopening
a fatal wound.
Stiles walks in with Sammy, his three-year-old, on his hip, rubbing the
sleepiness of his afternoon nap from his eyes. He takes a seat on the sofa,
placing Sammy down in front of his toy truck. Derek shifts his eyes back to the
TV and resumes his game while Junior crawls over and deposits himself between
Stiles' legs. "Pogonophobia is the fear of beards, Uncle Derek," Junior tells
him, eyeing the monster of a bush on his uncle's face. "I think I have it."
"No such thing," Derek answers as Stiles begins braiding Junior's frizzy hair
in tight rows against his scalp. "Besides," Derek continues, "You're a wolf.
Wolves don't get Pogo-whatever."
Junior ponders this for a moment before asking, "Do you ever get scared you'll
get Alzheimer's disease?"
"Not specifically Alzheimer's," Derek replies. "Wouldn't matter anyway. Wolves
can't get that, either." He continues flicking his thumbs over his controller,
glancing at the kid. "Not gonna lie, though. I've had my bouts of
hypochondria."
"What's that?"
Derek dies on the screen. "Thinking you have diseases that you don't really
have."
"Oh my God." Junior looks appropriately panic-stricken. "I have that."
"Hey, Moonpie, was I not clear about WebMD?" Stiles ties off the last braid and
drops a kiss on Junior's head. "Go put a shirt on, we're leaving in a bit."
Junior runs out the room, leaving Stiles and Derek to stew in tense silence,
Sammy playing quietly a few feet away, swerving his truck back and forth. Derek
wants to continue his game, wants to force his eyes back to the television, but
he just has to address the nagging at the forefront of his brain. "Stiles," he
starts, the omega going ever so subtly rigid. "What the fuck?"
Stiles stares at him for a moment and then blinks. "Excuse me?"
"What. The fuck. Are you doing?" Derek sets his controller to the side, turning
to face the omega. He glances at Sammy. "They're my brother's children. I'm not
gonna fucking slaughter them or whatever it is you're thinking."
Stiles gapes at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "All due respect,
but I don't fucking know you, and neither do my kids."
"That's ridiculous. I'm their uncle. I would never do anything to hurt them."
"Well, my apologies if your bruised alpha ego is threatened by me caring about
my children."
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "Are we gonna have a problem?"
"Scott told me everything. You're a felon, Derek. It's gonna be hard for me to
like you. But trust you? With my children? Yeah, that's not happening anytime
soon." He gathers Sammy up and briskly leaves the room, meeting Junior in the
hall. The slam of the front door comes a minute later.
Derek doesn't really move again until Stiles and the kids return home a couple
hours later. The smell of macaroni and cheese lures him into the kitchen where
he sheepishly takes a seat at the table. When the kids are full and Stiles is
busy wiping Sammy's face, Derek cuts Junior off halfway through another one of
his rants, saying, "You know how to tell when someone's lying?"
Junior tilts his head. "Uh-huh. Daddy was better at it, though. I could never
hide anything from him." Derek clenches his fists against his thighs under the
table. Stiles lets Sammy leave the table and begins taking the dirty dishes to
the sink. "Wanna practice right now?" Derek asks. Junior beams, nodding.
"Alright, listen to my heartbeat. Make sure it sounds steady. You hear a tick,
you call me out, okay? Ready?"
"Go!"
Derek chuckles. "Okay. My favorite color is...purple."
"Liar!"
"Huh. Well, my favorite song is Bohemian Rhapsody."
"No, it's not!"
"Interesting," Derek says, eyes on the back of Stiles' neck as he stands at the
sink. "You know, I was your age when your dad first taught me how to throw a
punch." The omega pauses mid-scrub.
"No way!"
"Yep. He was my first teacher. And he always protected me. Even when I wasn't a
very good little brother to him." Stiles braces himself against the counter.
"Junior, you know I'd never do anything to hurt you or your brother, right?"
Junior hastily bobs his head. "Of course, Uncle Derek!"
"Listen to my heart, kid. Really listen," Derek says. He pauses, and then, "I
will never hurt you. I will always protect you. You already mean more to me
than I ever thought possible." Derek looks away from Stiles to lean into his
nephew. "Was I lying?"
Junior inclines his head, grinning. He pats Derek's cheek. "Nope!" He scrambles
out of his chair and leaves the room to go join Sammy.
What's left is the sound of Stiles scouring the dirty dishes under the running
water as Derek watches on, refusing to go about his business. He leans back in
his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, steady gaze tracing the line of
the omega's back through his thin shirt. "Junior is definitely something," he
finally says.
"Stubborn is what he is," Stiles replies, a hint of a smile in his voice as he
places a bowl in the dish rack. The omega's scent suddenly spikes, that
underlying hint of distress and heartache rising to the surface again,
breaching the wall of calm he's steadily put up. Derek expects it when Stiles
next opens his mouth. "They're a lot alike in that way."
Derek sees it. Junior's inherited so many of his mannerisms and movements from
Xander. Even the simplest gestures: the way he takes a breath before he speaks,
setting his jaw, awkwardly ducking his head to avoid too much eye contact.
So much like Xander that it hurts.
Stiles leaves Derek and Junior alone in front of the TV before bedtime. He
returns with cowboy pajamas after a half hour. It's not much. But it's
something.
 
***
 
"How do we choose the box to bury our brother in?" Laura glares down at the
array of caskets.
Derek doesn't give a shit. It's a fucking box. Xander is fucking dead. What's
it matter? It's not like he would've given a shit, either.
"There's no wrong option,” he manages after a moment, turning away from the
displays. "You just choose."
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Derek is no prude. "Prude" is the last word he would use to describe himself.
In fact, he's the opposite of a prude; utterly shameless, callous—hardened.
Derek isn't blind. He recognizes it, the evident contrast between Stiles and
himself. He's an angry, bitter man, he knows this. Where Stiles is tender and
warm, Derek is sullen and belligerent. Where Stiles is soft and sensitive,
Derek is hard, sharp edges and cuttingly fierce resentment. Stiles is faultless
where Derek is destructive and savage. Stiles is everything good in this
deplorable fucking world and Derek is nothing but neurotic, detrimental poison.
Derek knows this.
He knows this with his miserable hangovers and splintered kitchen chairs. He
knows this with his cabinet full of hard liquor, his incarceration, his dead
fucking brother. He knows this, with every speck of ink upon his skin, forever
branded into his being, across his tan frame, crawling up his arms, down his
wrist, where a lone wolf is etched along the darkness of the forest—he knows
this.
But.
Derek also knows that if anyone could make him feel like a prude, it would be
Stiles.
Who is bent over the sink, up on on his toes, wrestling his hand down the
drain, making his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin where a
cute little butterfly tattoo glares back at Derek from between the dimples on
the small of the omega's back. And Derek just can't look away because,
hello—Stiles has a tattoo.
It's not like it's that inconceivable. But not in a thousand years did Derek
think he would ever see anything of the sort upon Stiles' skin. And of all
things, a butterfly? Derek tries to refrain from calling it a tramp stamp
because it has to be a mistake, a drunken blunder of some sort.
Or maybe Derek's just an asshole and the tattoo is completely intentional. With
some sort of witty hidden meaning behind it, probably.
Then again, who the fuck is Derek to draw conclusions?
The placement is cliché as fuck, yet strangely odd considering its subtlety and
size, and for what it's worth, despite its conventionality, it is one of the
most stupefying features that Stiles possesses to date.
Derek is caught so off guard. He stands there like a creep, longer than should
be acceptable even by creeper standards, eyes glued to that spot above Stiles'
waistband. The blood is rushing to his cheeks, roaring in his ears, the world
moving so slowly that he doesn't hear the little huffs of frustration at first.
Then Derek smells the omega's distress and his gaze snaps back up, his feet
pushing him forward. Stiles quickly pulls his hand out of the drain, eyes
darting to Derek, and the alpha can see that they're pricked with tears.
"My ring," Stiles says shakily, looking ever so slightly ashamed. "I don't know
what happened, I was just putting away the dishes. I always take it off, and I
was just putting it back on, but it slipped and now-"
"I'll get it," Derek gruffly interrupts. He swings open the cabinets below the
sink, taking a bowl from the dish rack with him as he sticks his head under the
counter. With the twist of a pipe, water dribbles down into the dish and then
there's the plop of a ring. After the pipe is twisted back in place, Derek runs
the ring under the faucet, dries it off, takes Stiles' left hand and slides it
back up his finger.
And then Derek is suddenly, painfully aware of what he's just done and the
omega in front of him is so equally stunned by his actions that neither of them
move away from each other for a good, long moment. But of course they do,
tensely carrying on like what just happened didn't, in fact, just happen.
Dinner that night is awkward to say the least. Derek probably makes everything
worse by letting his mind wander to the secret on the small of Stiles' back. He
can't help his palms from sweating or his face from heating up every time he
thinks about it, and it's killing him.
Why does Stiles have it? Why does Derek give a fuck? It's just a tattoo. Derek
has lots of them! He keeps telling himself that he doesn't get why a dumb
butterfly is even occupying any space in his brain, but that's a complete lie.
Derek knows. He's knows because it's Stiles. And that half a heartbeat in the
kitchen, where he slid that ring onto the omega's finger like it was the most
natural thing he'd ever done, like he'd had lifetimes of practice doing it—that
had been like a dream. Like he was in another world, where putting that ring
onto that hand was the only thing he lived for.
Absurd.
Complete delusion.
Stiles is not his. He's not Xander's either for that matter, not anymore.
But that damn tattoo.
It's sure making Derek feel like a prude.
 
***
 
Derek's grown used to the faded scent of Xander. It still aches, but it's
routine. Most mornings Stiles wakes up smelling of him and the alpha can't help
but wonder if he hides one of Xander's shirts under his pillow or just wears
one to sleep. Derek is sure to shut those thoughts down real quick.
He can't help but think of that box Stiles was carrying with him when the omega
first moved in. It's probably full of Xander, of all that was left of him after
the fire, whatever they could salvage. Derek remembers all of Xander's belts
and medals and trophies. Were they all gone? If Derek opened that box, would he
recognize anything in it? Would he find anything discernible? Anything that
held even the tiniest trace of meaning from Xander's life before?
Derek shakes his head.
Xander left for a reason. He probably left all that behind, too. He hid his
wife and kids, vanished off the face of the Earth. Derek would be surprised if
he came across anything of familial value.
Derek has to remind himself.
Xander made a new family. One he prized much more.
 
 ***
 
"One more!"
"Baby," Stiles says patiently. "I've already read you three more than I
intended to. It's time to sleep now."
"Mommy, we've discussed this. I'm plagued with insomnia!"
"Junior." Derek hears Stiles sigh. "It's not insomnia if you just don't want to
sleep. Please, try shutting your eyes. I'm right here. Just close your eyes."
Four more books and a myriad of goodnight kisses later, Junior has yawned
himself into a hesitant sleep. Derek listens to Stiles place several last
kisses before he's shutting the door and wandering into the kitchen. The omega
gives a small gasp of surprise when he finds Derek there, nursing a beer in the
low light. The alpha makes a mental note to not downplay his presence so much.
"Finally went down," Stiles mutters, opening up the fridge and, to Derek's
surprise, snatches up his own beer. The wolf averts his eyes as Stiles throat
works, taking multiple gulps like he's just crawled through a desert. He nearly
looks like he has.
"And Sammy?"
"Out like a light, as always." Stiles grins. "I got lucky with that one."
A silence falls over them. When Stiles is done with his beer, Derek slips over
to take it from him, and he doesn't know if it's the alcohol, or the quiet, or
just how soft and warm Stiles seems against the persistent dusk setting the
cupboards aglow, but Derek is suddenly touching him. He just wanted to dump
their beers, to let Stiles get back to his kids, but instead he's sliding his
fingers past the bottle in the omega's hand, pressing his thumb along the
gentle slope of Stiles' wrist, feeling the uptick of the pulse under his touch-
"Mommy."
Stiles darts away, leaving his bottle on the counter as he retreats towards a
snuffling Junior in the entryway.
"Hey, Moonpie. Awake already? It's been two seconds." Stiles affectionately
runs a hand over his son's head and takes his hand. Derek tunes out as the
omega leads Junior back to bed. It's nothing new. Junior hasn't slept properly
since the very first night. Derek doesn't really need to question why.
He thinks about what happened in the kitchen. He brushes his teeth, pulls off
his clothes, dumps himself into bed, and he thinks.
About the kitchen.
About Stiles.
And Stiles' jumping pulse. And soft skin. And the warm line of his wrist. And
the milky length of his neck. And, of course, that glimpse of a gold band
hanging from the thin chain around said neck.
Derek thinks about the ring he slid up Stiles' finger.
Derek thinks about the ring on Stiles' necklace.
Derek doesn't need to think too hard to realize who used to wear it.
 
***
 
"-omething even a little, I gotta hold onto it real tight," Junior finishes.
Derek removes the pillow from his head and rolls over to face his nephew.
"What," Derek grumbles, "on God's holy Earth are you talking about this early
in the goddamn morning?"
Junior snuggles closer. "You were talkin' in your sleep. About butterflies,
Uncle Derek. And Mommy told me about his butterfly. Listen, Uncle Derek. Mommy
got his butterfly because he believes in love. And love is like butterflies
because butterflies are hard to catch the same way love is hard to find, so he
told me, if I love something even a little, I gotta hold onto it tight."
Derek huffs. "And he had to get a tattoo to send that message?"
"Oh, no, Uncle Derek, that's 'cause of Daddy! And Daddy laughed 'cause after a
while Mommy didn't love butterflies as much. Mommy calls it 'a chapter of his
life that's helped shape him into who he is', which really just means 'phase'.
I don't think I believe in 'phases' though, Uncle Derek. Butterflies are too
awesome to be trapped in a limited time frame."
Derek slowly smiles into his pillow.
The sound of Stiles padding down the hall can be heard after a couple minutes.
The omega comes to stand in Derek's doorway. After a moment he turns and heads
back the way he came. Derek looks down at a sleeping Junior tucked up against
him under the sheets. He swiftly joins his nephew in slumber.
Chapter End Notes
     So sorry for the delay in updates. My computer is crapping out on me,
     so I'm hoping to buy a new laptop ASAP—my first Mac maybe? (God,
     hopefully)—but seriously the timing for all this could not be worse.
     All I want is to make some quality fanfic! Is that too much to ask
     for?!
     On another note, thank you all so much for your kind words and
     amazing support! Ya'll make me feel so giggly and shit, it's
     absolutely crazy.
     More to come!
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Every time Stiles walks into the room, it blindsides Derek how beautiful he is.
"My God," Laura blurts. "He's gorgeous."
Evidently, Derek isn't the only one who notices this.
Stiles is in the kitchen making some sort of pastry or other with the kids,
which is all cute and stuff, yeah, but Derek is really starting to get fed up
with all the blatant ogling going on.
For starters, Eric is paying way too many not-so-casual visits to the fridge,
and Isaac keeps dying on the screen because he's an easily distracted nineteen-
year-old beta who pretty much blushes at the sight of bare ankles. Boyd, God
bless him, wouldn't know subtlety if it backhanded him across the face, so he's
camped out in the kitchen with the kids, helping along the process of filling
Derek's house with the aroma of vanilla and chocolate. His nostrils haven't
stopped flaring and he's wearing a goddamn floral apron. Derek can spy the
hearts in the beta's eyes from a room away. Boyd is hooked in and strapped on
tight, that's for sure.
Derek's simply gonna have to get used to Stiles having that kind of effect on
people. And just as he thinks his mood couldn't be spoiled any further, Jackson
shows up and makes him change his mind.
He's on the phone when he walks in. Pulling his shades off, he stops short,
brows drawn together, and abruptly hangs up, letting his nose lead him into the
kitchen. Derek watches the slideshow of expressions cross his cousin's
face—first just shock, then confusion, followed by disarmed delight. Like the
rest of them, Jackson looks as if he's stumbled upon an angel. Eric easily
directs him back to the couch while he's trapped in his trance-like state.
Derek bristles, eyes glued to the TV, thumbs smashing his game controller.
Jackson—Jackson who never gives two shits about anyone but himself, Jackson who
can't be bothered to acknowledge or respect anyone else's existence, Jackson
who'd mate himself if such a thing were possible, Jackson—has found someone to
fall in love with other than his own reflection. And that makes Derek want to
punch a hole through the fucking wall. He forces himself not to dissect why
that is.
From their place on the sofa, Jackson and the twins observe the goings on of
the kitchen while Derek exhausts himself trying not to strangle each and every
one of them. Instead he tries to focus on his game, but Laura's completely
annihilating him, and his body keeps betraying him, allowing the scene
unfolding only a room away to draw his gaze back in, ears pricking to catch
every sentence.
"Mommy, hurtin' th' eggs," Sammy protests, a sharp frown on his face as Stiles
whisks away.
"It's called beating them, and you should be grateful, Sammy. The unborn are
sacrificing themselves for our culinary pleasure," Junior says. "Many are not
blessed with the privilege of having ever tasted the perfection that are
moonpies." Sammy giggles, unfazed by whatever gibberish Junior just diced him.
"Mommy calls us moonpies 'cause we're the sweetest," Junior informs Boyd.
"You'll see. They're the best! Now come help me with the marshmallows."
Stiles sends everyone home with at least half a dozen of the pastries and still
there's lots left over. Derek forces himself to stop popping them like pills.
He's gained some weight since Stiles moved in four weeks ago, tapering off his
strict diet, continuing to throw back more beers than are probably sane. It's
not his fault Stiles makes everything taste good.
Laura and Jackson are the last ones there, and much to Derek's delight the
latter takes off first. Something about too many small people and sticky hands.
"Peter mentioned he might drop by on Sunday," Laura says as Derek walks her to
her car. "He's probably just got some things to work out with Stiles and then
he'll be out of your hair. Please, don't fuck anything up. Just let him do his
thing, and he'll be gone before noon. You know what, why don't I just come
over, too, that way I can keep an eye on you, and then there'll be less of a
chance-"
"Laura," Derek interrupts, pulling the car door open for her. "I'll be fine.
Stop worrying." She looks at him for a moment, scanning his indifferent
expression, taking in his slightly rigid posture, and she suddenly deflates,
leaning over the door.
She cups Derek's cheek. "I love you, brother."
Derek stays out on the sidewalk long after she's driven off.
 
***
 
"What's got you so sour-faced, brother?"
Derek glares at Xander as he shoves off  his gloves and unwraps his hands.
"None of your business." Xander lets Derek stumble out of his gear and storm
out of the cage.
The sun shines obnoxiously bright as Derek strides out of the gym. He fumbles
with the lock around his bike, huffing in annoyance, hands too damn shaky. Just
as he's about to kick out in exasperation, Xander appears, hauling him up, and
takes over, kneeling by Derek's bike, flicking a sharp nail out and snapping
the lock clean off.
"The hell, Xander!" Derek bellows.
Xander turns to face him. "Well, you can get away faster now."
"I'm not running away," Derek snaps.
Xander raises a brow. "Did I say running?"
"I'm just...frustrated," Derek mumbles.
"No shit," Xander chuckles. He leans back against the bike rack. "Why?"
"Why else? My ground work is crap, my strikes are weak, and don't even get me
started on my clinch—I suck at this!"
A lopsided grin spreads over Xander's face and he leans forward to brace his
hands on Derek's shoulders. "No. You're still learning. You'retwelve. What's
important is that you don't give up." Derek remains looking unconvinced.
"Otherwise," Xander tacks on. "You'll never be better than me."
Derek scrunches up his nose at that. "I never said I'm giving up," he mutters
petulantly.
Xander laughs, ruffles Derek's hair, rests his brother's forehead against his
own. "I know you won't, brother. You're stronger than that."
 
*** 
 
Derek knows the box has been opened before he's even crossed the yard. He stops
dead in his tracks, nostrils flaring as he's blasted with a tidal wave of
Xander's scent. It nearly knocks him off his feet, and before he can think
twice, his fangs are popping, his claws are pricked, and he has to dig them
into his thighs just so he can balance himself.
With careful, measured strides Derek manages to reach the porch, and then he
has to stop again, brace a hand against the doorframe so he can poise himself.
Through the duskiness of the glass door he can spot Stiles sitting cross-legged
on the living room floor, Sammy perched in his lap, drowsy after his earlier
sugar-high. Junior is tucked close against them, head lolling over his mother's
arm as Stiles cautiously pulls a raggedy old book out of the box. It's obvious
just how much damage the thing has gone through; the spine is broken, the
corners are singed, and the covers are discolored beyond recognition,
completely smudged with ash. Stiles uses the softest of touches as he cradles
the book, holds it like he holds his children, and it makes it all the harder
for Derek to return inside without feeling like he's completely losing it.
He watches as Stiles gently opens the hardback and then to Derek's confusion,
the boys stick their noses in along the seam of the book, close their eyes, and
take a big inhale. Stiles just chuckles and Derek assumes it's nothing new,
although he can't help but grimace at the thought of how rank the stench of
fire must be within those sooty pages. At the center of the book, Stiles pulls
out a small stack of photographs.
"I looked like a soggy tomato," Junior says matter-of-factly.
"Well, you were the cutest tomato in that entire hospital," Stiles says, fondly
squeezing Junior's side.
"Weh'm I?" Sammy pipes up.
"You're not born yet, Sammy," Junior supplies, urging Stiles to move more
quickly through the images.
"That's right, Sammy," Stiles says. "Daddy and I had Junior, then we got
married, and then we had you."
"Okay," Sammy agrees easily, tiredly rubbing at his eyes.
Stiles resumes flipping through the pictures. "There's my handsome man." He
taps the photo. "You hated that little suit so much, I remember Daddy took you
right back home because you were kicking up such a fuss. Oh, and there you are
in Daddy's sneakers; he would let you stumble around in those shoes all day if
I didn't say anything. And there you and Daddy are at-"
"Weh'm I?" Sammy asks again.
"You weren't born yet, remember?" Stiles reminds him, smoothing a hand over his
brow.
"Wha' not?" Sammy gets this grumpy crease between his brows.
"Well, Mommy and Daddy wanted to make sure everything was gonna be perfect for
when you came."
"Okay."
"Okay," Stiles returns, kissing the top of his head. "I think it's sleepy time
now."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Derek watches as Stiles gathers Sammy up and disappears down the hall.
"Uncle Derek," Junior says, coming up and pressing a hand to the glass between
them. "Aren't you coming to bed, Uncle Derek?" He reaches for the knob and
swings the door open. Derek goes tense and he stands there for a gut-wrenching
moment, trying to push forward, to come inside, to stop allowing the reek of
scorched forest floor to dictate his every move. All he wants is to turn tail,
to avoid any more pain, to make Xander's scent disappear so he can stop
shattering inside every time he fucking breathes. It's not fair. It's not fair
that it smells like he's been here. It's not fair that there's so little of him
left. Derek regards the brush of Junior's hand closing around his own, those
bright eyes peering upward, and for the thousandth time he falls apart because
all he sees is Xander looking back at him.
"Uncle Derek?"
"Yeah," he chokes out, stepping over the threshold. "Yeah, I'm coming."
Sammy's already tucked in when Junior and Derek join them. Stiles looks
momentarily surprised as Junior hauls Derek along and settles him on the floor
next to Stiles in preparation for bedtime rituals. Junior slides in next to
Sammy and snuggles down.
"Alright," Stiles says. "We gotta keep it short, so what's it gonna be
tonight?"
"Daddy," Sammy mutters. Derek braces himself for a tantrum of some sort but
Stiles just smiles and begins.
"Once upon a time, when Daddy was a great fighter and Mommy's name was trouble,
Daddy punched Mommy in the face." The boys giggle. "It was an accident, but
Mommy was having none of it, so Mommy punched Daddy right back. Daddy was very
surprised, as you can imagine. He probably never expected that to happen, so he
started laughing, and then Mommy hated him even more! So I kicked him in his
shin and stomped away. But the next day, Daddy was waiting for Mommy at the
same spot where we punched each other. Mommy didn't want to hear what Daddy had
to say because he was just a giant-lookin' goof. But eventually, Mommy started
believing that Daddy was sincerely sorry for what he had done. So we went down
to the grocery store, and Daddy bought us some moonpies, and by the end of the
day he had fallen in love with me."
"Oh, Daddy," Sammy sighs.
"That's right," Stiles replies, planting a kiss on each of their foreheads.
"Oh, Daddy."
Junior intercepts Stiles' hand halfway to shutting off the lamp. "Wait, Mommy.
Do Seed Guy."
"See' Guy!" Sammy pouts.
"What's a Seed Guy?" Derek asks.
"Oh, it's a story I've been telling them," Stiles says, settling back down.
"You know, about how they got here. How does it go?"
Junior clears his throat. "Mommy and Daddy were young and loved each other a
lot and they were gonna get married, but wanted me so very, very much that they
couldn't wait another day."
"So Daddy gave me seeds so that I could plant Junior in my tummy."
"And they had to take extra good care to rub Mommy's tummy until it grew and
grew and grew, for nine whole months!"
"And then my little Junior was born." Stiles brushes his fingers over Junior's
face.
"And so that's how Daddy became the Seed Guy," Junior finishes.
"Wuh' bou' me?" Sammy asks.
"You, too, Sammy," Stiles says, re-tucking the covers in around him. "Daddy and
Mommy were a little more patient with you because we waited to make sure we had
everything we needed. Daddy had to look extra hard to find you, but when he
did, we planted you right in my tummy, and you started growing real fast, just
like Junior did."
"Okay," Sammy yawns.
"Okay," Stiles says, dropping one last kiss on his forehead. "I love you,
Moonpie."
"Love you."
"I love you, Junior."
"Love you. Love you, Uncle Derek."
"Love you, too."
It surprises Derek that there was no hesitation. By the looks of it, Stiles is
surprised, too. Junior grins and curls around Sammy under the blanket. Stiles
switches the lamp off and the room plunges into darkness.
  
***
 
The next morning, Derek is awake before Stiles, which is a great feat in his
books. Then again, everyone seems to be awake before Stiles is this morning.
Derek follows the hushed voices into the living room, where Junior is sliding a
DVD into Derek's old DVD player. The TV remains blue as Junior crawls back to
Sammy and folds them under a fuzzy blanket. The screen flickers and suddenly
cuts to a zoom-in of Stiles. Derek distantly wonders who on Earth is filming as
the camera pans out to present a heavily pregnant Stiles holding a much younger
Junior on his hip. They're laughing at something off-camera and Derek's about
to turn away for a much needed mug of coffee when he hears it-
"Daddy!"
On the screen, Junior wiggles out of Stiles' hold and goes running toward
Xander, who meets him halfway and envelops him in a tight hug. Junior squeals,
looking so completely full of joy. Xander makes his way over to Stiles, where
he kneels and runs his hand over the omega's protruding belly. Stiles rests his
own above Xander's, lets his fingers run through his husband's hair as he
smiles down upon his alpha. Junior plants a kiss on his mother's tummy and
Xander laughs, following suit. He looks up at Stiles, and there's a certain
warmth in his eyes that Derek's never seen before. He looks at Stiles, and
Stiles looks at him, and they, just—they look in love.
"Any day now, huh?" Xander jokes.
Derek's heart aches.
Xander closes his eyes and kisses Stiles' bump again. "We can't wait to meet
you, Sammy. Don't keep us waiting."
"See, Sammy," Junior says now, as the scene on the television continues
unfolding. "You might not remember it, but you were there."
"Okay," Sammy says. He sighs and rests his little head against Junior's
shoulder.
Derek takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he's standing
right behind the boys. For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, Derek
surprises himself.
He takes a seat.
And let's himself remember his brother.
Chapter End Notes
     Bruh.
     Dat Season 5 doe.
     I totally kinda stole that flashback scene between Derek and Xander
     from Scott and Liam's cute little convo about controlling the shift
     in 5.01.
     Sorry about Sammy's dialogue, I suck at writing three-year-old
     speech, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
     Happy belated 4th of July!
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     Ayyyooo–
     A lot of you wanted me to put some faces to the names, so allow me to
     introduce you to Xander, Junior, and Sammy.
     I have a diehard crush on Theo James and at first I was imagining him
     as Xander, but I decided to switch it up because why not, lol.
     I am hereby finished with abusing the link embedding.
     But first.
     Have some Derek Hale.
     Okay, I'm done.
     Enjoy!
     P.S. Any thoughts on switching POVs?
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Stiles."
Not now.
"Stiles."
Go away.
"Stiles, baby."
"Uuuughh, what is it?"
When he receives no reply, Stiles huffs grumpily and flops over, squinting
against the harsh morning light. There's a large hand on his rounded belly, a
hot exhale against his neck. "I hate you," Stiles mutters, burrowing against
the warm chest at his side.
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm."
"Huh. Well, I love you."
Stiles tilts his face up and kisses the stupid smile hovering in front of him.
"Happy anniversary," he whispers. "Please fuck off now?"
Xander throws his head back and laughs.
 
***
 
Alexander Hale used to be the reason Stiles would get up in the morning. Now
he's the reason Stiles stays in bed.
Stiles knows he's young. Too young, to already be a mother, to have a dead
husband, to have even been married. It's why it gets harder to forget himself
and put his kids first. It's why half the time he feels helpless and the other
half he forces himself numb, so that he can get through the day, to survive.
It's why he waits until he knows he can't hold it in any longer to fall apart,
when being a mother means you never really can, that you have to keep it
together, at least for your children's sake. It's why he can't bear the thought
of failing his sons any further, not after the fire, not after they were forced
to grow up so fast, not after waking up far too late into the afternoon three
months later to find Junior's first ever letter to him had read: Dear Mommy,
please stop crying in the shower. Sincerely, I can hear you.
And then Derek happened.
Derek Hale is not a man that resembles his brother very much at all. In fact,
the first time Stiles saw Derek, he would never have been able to tell that the
alpha was related to Stiles' husband. It took time to notice the similarities
between them, but it eventually became quite obvious to Stiles; the way Derek
holds himself, the way his brows communicate all he needs anyone to understand,
his eye color.
Oddly enough, that last one flew right over Stiles' head. It aches in an
unnerving way, to see his dead husband reflected in Derek's features, evenly
looking right back at him in a way Xander never did. It's things like that that
separate Xander from his brother. Derek is the polar opposite of a morning
riser, a queer, quiet alpha more in touch with his wolf than anything else, a
stilted communicator, an angst-stricken ticking time bomb of a man-baby. An
alcoholic.
Derek was once in prison. However hesitant Scott was to tell him, Stiles
eventually managed to wrangle that piece of information out of him. He vouched
for Derek, as did Peter and the rest of them, and Stiles really didn't have
many options (absolutely none, in fact), so there he and his boys were, nearly
an entire year later, knocking on Derek's door.
If Stiles was to tell the truth, he'd say he hated Derek Hale the moment they
met. He'd say Derek was a resentful, bitter alpha who would die a slow,
meaningless death, all alone and full of regret. He'd say Derek was everything
he despised in a man. He'd say he was fearful, most of all. For his children.
For himself. For the unknown, the future, the danger of living with a fucking
convict, despite said convict being Xander's brother.
Sometimes Stiles dies a little inside. When it becomes all the plainer to see,
that Xander and Derek are each other's flesh and blood, that they share
something deeper than shaving habits and unelicited scowling.
Sometimes.
It's like they have the same face, mostly. The way they smell, it's the same.
It's family to Stiles. Then the words that come out of the alpha’s mouth,
they're like lashes from a whip that just tear him apart every time Derek
fucking speaks.
Now, they sit. On creaky, old lawn chairs, nursing cold beers, out in the sad
excuse Derek calls a yard. Junior is hanging off the end of one too many
sparklers, chasing after Sammy as red, white, and blue fireworks light up the
sky from a couple blocks over, down by the pier. For just a moment, Xander
fades to the back of Stiles' mind and all he can think about is how much he's
missed the sound of his boys' laughter echoing in the night. Across the yard,
Derek drunkenly wrestles with Boyd. There's already blood on their bare skin,
sweat dripping from their foreheads, and Stiles finds himself grinning at their
antics. He curls up further in his chair, pressing the cool glass of his beer
against his hot cheek. Junior runs up and attaches himself to Derek's leg and
the elder alpha freezes, awkwardly patting his nephew's head, getting this look
on his face like he's unsure if shaking Junior off like a bug would be
inappropriate conduct.
"You're not like him at all," Stiles whispers. He isn’t sure if he's talking
about Xander, or the man he had made up Derek to be in his head, but it's as
close to an apology as he can manage without telling the alpha that he's sorry
he ever saw Xander's dimples on Derek's dumb man-baby face.
 
***
 
"Are you gonna die?"
Xander looks up from peeling a band-aid out of its wrapping. Junior quietly
sits there on the first step of their front porch, big eyes glossy from his
scraped knee, keenly trained on his father. Stiles sits beside him, running a
soothing hand over their son's back.
"Well," Xander says carefully. "Everyone dies eventually, kiddo. But not for a
long, long time."
"What if you die an' I'm still here?"
"Well, then you'll be all grown up. And you won't need me anymore." Xander
gently attaches the band-aid to Junior's boo-boo and drops a kiss on it for
good measure.
Junior's still teary-eyed when Xander looks up. "Daddy," he says. "I think I'll
always need you." He wraps his little arms around Xander's neck. Stiles meets
Xande's eyes over their son's shoulder and neither of them really know how to
respond, so Stiles just watches on as Xander holds Junior all the tighter.
 
***
 
Peter shows up as scheduled on Sunday, just a short while after breakfast.
Derek is no where to be found. He's been gone since before sunrise, a pretty
early wakeup considering he's more like a block of granite in the morning than
actual blocks of granite are. The kids are watching cartoons in the living room
as Stiles pours Peter a mug of coffee.
"The boys seem to like it here," Peter says.
Stiles sits across from him. "They've been great. They get along well with
Derek. Can't really complain," Stiles replies.
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Stiles," Peter sighs. "How are you doing?"
"I could be worse."
Peter appraises the omega for half a moment before continuing, "Well, I just
wanted to drop by and see how things have been moving along. I’m glad that
you’re managing. It'd be nice to hear from you again soon."
"Of course."
Stiles stands in front of the sink as Peter shows himself out. When he looks
out the window, Peter is climbing into his flashy black car and gunning off.
He dumps the untouched coffee down the drain.
 
***
 
"Fuck, Xander-"
"What is it? What is it, Stiles, what do you need?"
"Xander, please-"
"It's okay. It's okay, baby, I've got you. I'm gonna make you feel so good. I'm
gonna fuck you so hard. It's okay. I'm gonna give you everything."
Xander makes Stiles come twice before they fall across the bed, dead-tired.
Stiles doesn't fail to notice how Xander's warm hand protectively curves across
his middle.
He smiles, closes his eyes, and embraces sleep.
 
***
 
"We don't kill them, Sammy."
"Dey no good! Cweepy! Mommy no like dem!"
"Well, maybe spiders feel the same way about humans, but they don't go around
killing us."
"Unc' Der'k!"
"Watch."
Derek quickly places a glass cup over the spider. He drags the cup across the
table, the spider with it, swiftly maneuvering it onto the flat cover of a
book, lodging the spider between in a temporary containment. Sammy holds the
door open for Derek as the alpha carries the spider out to the porch. He places
the book down, nodding Sammy over.
"Lift the cup, Sammy."
"Wha' iv it comes ba' donight an' twighs to ead me!"
"What if I promise you it won't?"
"Dat's on you, Unc' Der'k!" Sammy lifts the cup and dodges behind Derek's leg
with a squeal as the spider scampers off. Sammy peeks out and gives a sigh of
relief. He returns the cup to Derek. "You take doo many tances, Unc' Der'k!"
Again that night, Junior puts up a fight before bedtime. Stiles is tired. And
not just tired as in he could use a nap tired—he means tired, like, sleeping
for a week, ten cups of coffee, dead husband tired. And to a point, Junior's
right. When they lay down to rest at night, it's rarely ever to sleep, but more
for the inevitable quiet and companionable insomnia. Junior understands the
fire to a certain extent, but Sammy, well. Sammy still asks about their father.
Sammy still wonders where he is.
A few hours later, Stiles and Derek sit in front of the TV watching Seinfeld
reruns, enjoying the cool breeze floating in through one of the open windows.
At the beginning of the commercial break Derek's hand is laying limp on the
sofa between them, Stiles' at his own side. By the time the show is back on,
Derek's fingers have found their way across the distance between them, over to
the ring on Stiles' finger. At the first touch, Stiles snatches his hand away.
Derek doesn't look fazed, just keeps that cold, indifferent expression playing
across his features.
"Where were you all morning?" Stiles blurts, the first thing that comes to
mind, feeling like it's the only appropriate question after the alpha's
impromptu absence. His voice comes out stronger than he feels. For a heartbeat,
Derek just stares at him. Then he's moving his gaze back to the television and
Stiles is left trying to gauge his reaction. He promptly heads to bed when
Derek continues to ignore him, mood gone sour.
Stiles stares at the bathtub as he brushes his teeth. He looks away, looks
back, looks away again, refusing to meet his own eyes in the mirror the entire
time.
Screw it.
He runs the bath, locks the door, strips, and sinks into the warm water. Not
five minutes later, he's dunking his head under, finally letting the deep,
bone-rattling sobs escape him, and he doesn't come up for air until his lungs
start burning, tears flowing with the water from the achingly concrete pain,
steadily, surely being consumed by the tangible feeling that he just might
drown.
Chapter End Notes
     You're all so sweet it's nauseating, ugh.
     In the meantime, enjoy some more Xander.
     More?
     More??
     More.
     Yus.
     ╰(*´︶`*)╯
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Chapter Warnings:
     -Cora bae being not so bae
     -I love you
     Have fun!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"You are a fuckstain on the Hale name."
"Don't talk to your brother like that," Talia asserts, pinching the bridge of
her nose.
"That would require him to act like my brother."Cora's face is a dangerous
shade of red, her jaw clenched, breath coming harshly through her nose."Look at
you," she sneers. "Just—fucking—look at you!"
Derek's fangs don't recede. He just glares coldly back at her, flashes his
eyes. Jackson remains silent in the corner of the room, Laura next to him. Cora
steps up into Derek's space, pokes him hard in the chest.
"Who am I looking at, Derek? Huh? Who the fuck am I supposed to be looking at?"
When Derek continues to remain silent, Cora shoves him. Shoves him again. Until
there's nowhere for him to further be backed into, the framed awards and medals
hanging from Talia's office wall rattling with the force of Cora's anger.
"The Derek Hale that I know is not the person standing in front of me. So where
in the fuck is he?"Derek's eyes are distant. Dull. His wolf is the one looking
back at her, and Cora knows it. Derek knows it. They all fucking know it, but
she persists, refuses to give in to the obvious fact that he's not even there.
For a moment her gaze softens, pleading. "Where are you, Derek? Where have you
gone?" The fog lifts, light returning to his eyes for half a second before
going blank again. Cora's own well with tears and her voice comes shakily,
desperate, "Where's my brother? Where are you? Derek, where are you?
Please,Derek!"
Derek places a hand on her shoulder, a wave of complete misery washing over
him, making him hesitate, however fleeting the emotion is. He pushes her back a
step, the bones in his face creaking as he clenches his jaw, comes off the
wall, and with one last look, makes his way to the door. He forces himself to
shut out his sister's waning cries.
Scott is propped up against the bike rack when Derek exits the gym. The alpha
looks right away, hates that bike rack more than he hates himself right now.
"Where're you going?" Scott asks, hands shoved into his pockets, looking out
across the street. He laughs quietly when Derek says nothing. "Yeah. Say no
more, big guy." He looks at Derek then, no determination in his face, not like
Cora, just resolution. Defeat. "Am I ever gonna see you again?"
No answer.
Scott purses his lips, slowly, softly nods his head. He comes forward, and
Derek can see now, in this lighting, where the sun glares at them over the tops
of all the buildings, cuts through the alleyways, that he's holding back his
tears with a stubbornly fierce refusal to accept that they are even there.
Derek feels himself rumble out a quiet chuckle, barely a huff of breath. Scott
watches him with his watery, big, brown eyes and Derek can't help but place his
hand on the other alpha's head, bring their foreheads together, a gesture so
painfully familiar that his chest aches with it, his heart shattering into a
thousand molecular pieces all over again.
Derek closes his eyes, breathes in.
"We'll always be brothers," he breathes out.
Scott doesn't look so sure.
 
***
 
"We need to go to the store," Stiles says, sadly gazing into the refrigerator.
"I just went," Derek offhandedly replies, downing the last of his protein
shake.
"This isn't food, Derek, this is punishment." Stiles throws the kale on the
shelf one last dirty look and then snaps the fridge shut. He grabs his keys off
the counter. "Boys! Come put your shoes on, we're going to the store!"
Junior comes running into the kitchen, Sammy in tow. "Happy birthday, Uncle
Derek!"
Stiles looks at the alpha, eyebrows raised, and crosses his arms over his
chest. "It's your birthday?"
"It is," Derek grumpily admits, turning his eyes on his nephews. "Although, I
can't imagine how that bit of information has been acquired."
"Well, then, you can come with us, help decide what we make tonight. It can be
a birthday dinner," Stiles says, helping Sammy into his little sneakers.
"No." Junior's smile flips so fast Derek's heart stutters. "That's okay. I
mean, I'd rather not."
"Derek." The alpha meets Stiles' bright eyes, struck by the downright normality
of seeing the omega and his boys standing there in Derek's foyer, hand in hand,
about to step out. He can't help but wonder how it was for Xander. If he was
ever used to waving his family goodbye, greeting them at the door, in the
kitchen, in the morning, at the end of the day. Was it just another part of his
life? Does someone truly ever get used to something like that? Holding someone
so dear, that seeing them off could never be considered ordinary? Is it
possible to love so much? In that being gone from them for even a moment would
be physically painful every time they're not with you? "Come with us," Stiles
insists, no more than a whisper, standing there in a damn sundress, hair a
mess, the epitome of cute.

Derek goes with them.
Inside the grocery store, Junior and Sammy immediately run off, but Stiles
doesn't seem particularly worried, so Derek remains equally indifferent,
leaning against the shopping cart, using his forearms to steer it as Stiles
plucks items off the shelves and places them inside.
"Do you have anything in mind?" the omega asks as he fills a plastic bag with
peaches.
"Not really."
Stiles dumps off the bag and moves onto the apples. "Well, what sounds good to
you right now?"
"Um. Chicken and rice?"
Stiles purses his lips. "You don't have a favorite food or something?"
"No."
The omega abruptly rounds on him, disbelieving. Then he just looks sad for
Derek. "You know food can actually be enjoyed, right? It's not, like, just a
form of sustenance."
Derek opens his mouth to respond, but is quickly interrupted by a flashy,
brunette beta turning the corner and barreling towards them in her clicking,
sparkly heels. "Stiles! Oh, God, hi! It's so good to see you!"
"Hi, Jennifer," Stiles greets her, a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes
finding its way onto his face.
"Oh, how are you, sweetheart? Are you doing good? How are the boys? You know,
Tara's here with me, she's been asking all about you. We don't see you around
anymore, it's such a shame. And who's this?"
It takes Derek a moment to realize she's looking right at him. "Derek Hale," he
speaks up, bending across the shopping cart to shake her hand.
"Wha-Hale? Wow. I cannot see the resemblance, if I'm being honest," Jennifer
laughs unattractively, turning her burning gaze back on Stiles. Derek feels
himself involuntarily shift closer to him. "Stiles, it'd be so great if we
could start hanging out again, and I, like, totally understand that you're
going through some, you know, stuff, but we so miss having you around, and, I
mean, you must be pretty lonely now, with Xander being gone-"
Derek grits his teeth, averts his eyes, immediately tuning out, because Jesus
fucking Christ, this woman has no tact whatsoever. Stiles seems to have
encountered his fair share of bitchy gossipers with how quickly he manages to
shut down the conversation, directing their cart back into traffic, hastily
away from the catty beta. The omega quickly busies himself with reading the
back of a cream cheese container, quietly humming, no sign of the last minute
having had any effect on him. He doesn't smell particularly distressed, or at
least no more than usual. Derek glares at Jennifer and her friend as they wait
in line at the cash register.
"He sounds different," Jennifer gripes with obvious distaste, flipping her hair
over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose.
He sounds like his husband died,Derek thinks. What did you expect?
The alpha looks away at the soft brush of a hand on his arm. He meets Stiles'
gentle gaze. "Don't worry about them. Why don't you finish deciding what you'd
like for dinner?"
Derek clenches his jaw. "How can you just take their bullshit?"
Stiles tosses the cream cheese into the shopping cart and looks like he's about
to continue down the aisle when he pauses, appraises Derek for half a
heartbeat, then says, like it's the simplest thing in the world, "Not
everything is a battle, Derek." A genuine smile forms on his face. "It's not
like they deserve my fists, anyway." Derek stupidly stands there, something
weird happening in his chest, as he watches Stiles amble along down to where
the rest of the cheeses are located beside the freezer section.
"Uncle Derek!" Junior plows into his leg, momentarily jolting him out of his
stupor. "Are you okay, Uncle Derek? What's wrong with you? Why does your heart
sound like that? Are you having a heart attack? Should I get Mommy? Oh, no,
Uncle Derek-"
"Junior," Derek interrupts. "Not having a heart attack." The little alpha
furrows his brows at Derek, fisting the material of his uncle's jeans. He turns
his head and spots his mother at the other end of the aisle in the midst of
comparing two different brands. The crease between his brows deepens.
A beta suddenly pops up beside Stiles. "I see you're buying tofu," he says.
"Must be vegetarian. I know this great vegan restaurant–"
"I'm not vegetarian," Stiles says without looking up from the packages in his
hands.
"In that case," the beta barrels on, undeterred. "I know this great steakhouse-
"
"Mommy!"
"Hey, buddy. What do we have here?" The beta's mouth hangs open as Stiles bends
to Sammy's level. "You know the deal, my man. You can pick one." Sammy looks
stubbornly resistant at that, but with the raise of an eyebrow from Stiles he's
quick to thrust forth the candy of his preference. "Good choice," Stiles winks
at him, and Sammy runs off to return the other sweets to their shelves. The
beta is still persistently present when Stiles stands, and the omega looks him
over, like, Why the fuck are you still here? Junior chooses this moment to run
over and latch onto his mother. Derek follows with the shopping cart, just a
few paces behind. One solid look at the beta and the guy's running off with his
tail between his legs.
"Have you decided?" Stiles asks Derek, handing the tofu to Junior so he can
drop it into their cart. He raises his eyebrows when the alpha once again
shakes his head. Luckily, Derek is saved from being forced to determine what
their dinner will be because Stiles is off, Junior hot on his heels, as the
omega expertly begins piling ingredients into the cart. There's a sharp twinkle
in his eye when he turns back to Derek, guiding their cart to the register. "I
think you're gonna like what I've got in mind," he says, grinning.
The kitchen is thrown into a good amount of chaos that night, Stiles slaving
over the stove as the boys run back and forth trying to assist him. Derek is
banished to the living room, placed in front of the TV so he can be surprised
when he joins them. It's kind of silly, considering he can scent out familiar
ingredients, try to figure out any common aromas that may give the surprise
away. The real surprise is that he can't. But there's something oddly
comforting in the scents, something warm and reminiscent.
"Take a seat," Stiles urges, all smiles, as he waves Derek to the table. "This
is for you, but don't be fooled, you're not the only one that's starving."
It's not just dinner. This isn't just a dinner. This is more than just a
motherfucking dinner.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes. "Stiles-"
"Derek," Stiles stops him, puts a hand on his arm, pulls him to his seat.
Derek is speechless, doesn't know what he can possibly say, sits his ass down
as Stiles directs him, lets Stiles pour his drink, fill his plate. They're all
waiting, Derek realizes a minute in. For him. He looks at each of them, brows
drawn together.
"Derek," Stiles reaches over the table, places his hand over the alpha's.
"Happy birthday."
Derek eats.
And eats.
And can't stop himself from being reminded of that dumb Pixar movie the boys
have relentlessly watched since moving in, the one with the rat and the French,
pale as fuck food critic, and Derek feels—well. He doesn't really know how he
feels, because here is this home-cooked meal, here are his nephews, here Stiles
is—in his pretty dress and his flushed cheeks—here he fucking is.
But all Derek can taste is his mother's secret recipe, Laura sneaking her peas
under her napkin, Xander tossing his head back as he laughs, because Derek—
Derek is in love.
 
 ***
 
Blood.
So much fucking blood.
All over his hands.
In his mouth.
Dripping. From his fucking beard.
"Ladies and gentlemen, once again, our unconquered champion, the undefeated,
the almighty, Southpaaawwww!"
The crowd is deafening, just white noise, bloodthirsty, savage
spectators—sadistic, wolves and humans alike. Derek falls to his knees, and for
a moment the battered body laying limp in front of him is more than another
victory, more than just evidence of his unrivaled power. It's an almost-corpse.
Another human fucking being.
Outside of the cage, a beta sits composed in his crisp, charcoal suit, legs
crossed, looking almost bored from his seat in the front row. His eyes gaze
coldly back at Derek, a small, satisfied smirk posed on his smug face.
Derek clenches his fists, feels his claws penetrate skin, tissue, fucking
marrow.
He throws his head back and howls.
 
***
 
"Premature ventricular contractions."
Derek inhales deeply as he adjusts his grip on the barbell. Junior sits on the
porch steps as he observes his uncle's workout.
"English, kid," Derek grits, settling the bar back into its hold.
"The other day. When we were at the supermarket," Junior explains, hopping up
to follow the elder alpha into the house. "After that, too. Whenever you look
at Mommy. Your heart skips a beat, Uncle Derek."
Junior slams into his back as Derek comes to a halt, frozen midway through
wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Uncle Derek?" Junior tugs at his basketball shorts. "Uncle Derek? What's
wrong?"
Derek forces himself to look at his nephew and is met with Xander's bold eyes,
sees Xander's furrowed brows, takes in Xander's tense confusion. "Nothing." He
smiles, forces his heart rate to remain steady. "Nothing's wrong."
Stiles calls them in for lunch.
Derek's medical condition is not brought up again.
 
***
  
The raid happens mid-fight.
Derek is still dribbling blood; it's smattered across his torso, his face,
hanging off the ends of his lashes. His opponent's hair is locked tight in his
fist, his teeth sinking into the other's flesh, when suddenly there's flashing
lights, an uproar of shouts and commanding voices, wild bedlam, and then a
blinding pain is shot up into his chest, repeatedly, and he's falling face
forward onto the mat.
"Derek Hale," comes a very firm, very distant voice, accompanied by the
unmistakable clink of handcuffs. "You are under arrest for aggravated assault
by means of illegal were fighting. You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have
the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an
attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"
Derek understands.
He understands that he just hit lower than rock fucking bottom.
 
***
 
At bedtime, Junior is more stubborn than usual. Sammy already conked out hours
ago, and Stiles looks about ready to fall into bed himself. As a last resort,
the omega guides Junior into the kitchen, settles him into a chair, Derek
across from him, per request.
Not five minutes later Stiles returns to the table with two mugs. "And here's
some warm milk for my little Moonpie, and...for a grown man."
Derek is pretty sure he falls asleep before Junior does.
 
***
 
"What're you staring at?" Derek gruffly asks from the passenger seat.
"I haven't seen your face in four years," Laura calmly responds. "I'd like to
look a little."
Derek's throat tightens. I've missed you, he thinks.I'm sorry.
"The light's green," he says instead.
Laura smiles, shakes her head at him like he hasn't changed a bit.
You don't know how much I have.
 
***
 
Derek doesn't know what possesses him to open up the box.
It's a split-second decision, between snapping the cap off his beer and booting
up the Xbox. A half-hour later he's sitting there on the floor, back against
the coffee table as he flips through yet another stack of photographs. They're
mostly just pictures of Junior and Sammy from birth until now. Further toward
the bottom of the box he reaches photos of Stiles and Xander without the kids,
fewer than the rest, but still plenty. Not for the first time Derek has to
pause and process how young Stiles is. He looks barely out of high school in
the oldest photos, with fluffy cheeks, body still on the skinnier side. Derek
manages to get through half of one of those stacks before he has to put the box
aside, take a steady breath. A label on one of the disks catches his eye and he
curiously pulls it out, slides it into the DVD player.
The TV lights up and the first thing he sees as the camera steadies is Stiles
holding a tiny Sammy in his arms, fondly cooing down at him, Junior talking a
mile a minute at his side, tirelessly poking at his baby brother's squishy
cheek. There's a steady stream of buzzing resonating from the background that
drowns out an unrecognizable, instructive voice and a second, much more
familiar one.
"Done?" Stiles asks, eyes focused on the behind the scenes, and Junior
instantly races around whoever is filming, the camera following him over to
Xander, who sits upright on a black chair, snickering as Junior crawls up onto
his lap to inspect his father's forearm.
"You like it?" Xander smiles down at him. Junior furiously nods his head yes,
prompting a booming laugh out of Xander. The alpha curls his free arm around
Stiles, pulls him and Sammy closer so they can get a look at the finished
piece, too.
"Over here!" a female voice behind the camera calls. "Let's see how it turned
out."
Xander fully extends his arm for the lens, displaying his tattoo sleeve of a
forest. Derek unconsciously runs his fingers over his own, so achingly similar
to Xander's, forces away the memory of his eighteenth birthday when they had
gone into the shop together to get them done.
"Now, let's get a comparison," the woman behind the camera says, holding up a
small, wrinkled piece of paper beside Xander's arm. On his sleeve, the message
is indistinguishable. Written in Junior's lopsided, choppy scrawl are the words
Daddy I love youinked across his father's arm, right above the dark, crooked
tips of several pine trees identical to Derek's own.
Junior grins up at the camera as Xander tilts his head back so Stiles can plant
a kiss on his mouth. "I wan' one, too!" Junior announces. Stiles giggles
against Xander's lips.
The film cuts out with a flash of red hair and the camera jostling as Junior
lunges for it.
Derek doesn't know how long he sits there watching the blue screen that
follows. To say the least, it's unexpected when the TV flickers back to life.
Stiles is perched upon a window seat in a pale dress, much like the one he wore
the day they went to the grocery store. Behind him, equally pale, white
curtains gently lift and flow with a faint breeze. A soft smile graces Stiles'
lips as his eyes gaze lovingly down at the person behind the camera, and Derek
knows it's Xander, without question. The camera pans, displaying the length of
Stiles' legs as he slowly guides a cream colored sock up his calf and over his
knee. There's an obvious sensuality to it, Derek knows, has known it since the
first inauspicious second of this hidden cut of the film. Xander's large hand
finds its way toward Stiles' foot, cradles it for a moment, as if it were a
small, fragile bird, then lowly breathes, "Again." Stiles smirks knowingly,
rolls the stocking back down, and begins anew.
Xander's breath comes heavily behind the camera, and it should bother Derek, it
should, this is his fucking brother, for God's sake, this is Stiles—beautiful,
otherworldly, forbidden, Stiles-
Stiles rises, lazily advances toward the camera, comes to stand between
Xander's legs, cheeks stained pink, skin glowing against the soft light coming
in through the glass panes behind him. He steers Xander's hand, the camera,
under his arm, where the mirror can reflect his milky shoulders. The omega
slips his thumbs under the skinny straps of his dress, slowly dips them down
his arms, gradually displaying the white of his back to the camera. Derek holds
his breath, counts one, two, three freckles down the length of Stiles' spine
before that damn butterfly is revealed, Xander's heated gaze reflects back at
him, and he has to slam his thumb down onto the eject button to preserve his
own fucking sanity.
He sits there, erection rapidly flagging.
And tries not to think about what would have happened if his dead brother's
face had not startled him back to reality at the moment it did.
 
***
 
"So, what? You're just gonna disappear?" Cora laughs manically, and Derek
cringes at how identical it sounds to Laura's. It sucks that a trait so
miserable is the one shared between sisters. "Just like Xander, aren't you, you
piece of shit?"
Derek's feels himself go numb at that. Cora doesn't look guilty, like she
regrets saying it. Derek realizes in that moment that she truly wantsto hurt
him. Cora. His baby sister. Sweet little Cora, so happy and carefree, now hard-
bitten and cold. Unforgiving.It's because of me, Derek thinks.I made her this
way. Coming to terms with that only steels his resolve.
"Derek!" she shrieks as he turns his back on her for the second time. "Derek!
Derek! You're no fuckingbrother of mine! You hear me? Derek! Derek!"
 
***
 
The park was Derek's idea. They had arrived right after lunch, but now the sun
is slowly creeping lower in the sky, and everyone is hungry and cranky and
bushed. Junior brought along a big, red, elbow-looking thing, and he's thrown
it around several times, but to no avail.
"Hey, Moonpie," Stiles calls. "It's been fifteen minutes. I don't think the
boomerang is coming back."
"It has to! That's its only job!"Junior huffs and runs to retrieve it again.
Derek hands off a dozing Sammy to Stiles.
"Can I give it a try?" he asks Junior, and the little alpha passes it to him
without hesitation. Derek feels the weight of it in his palm for a moment,
adjusts his grip, takes up a wide stance like he would if he were throwing a
football, and hurls it,over everyone's heads, straight across the field, and
into the dark of the woods.
"What was that?" Stiles whisper-shouts.
"How am I supposed to get it back now?" Junior cries.
"Easy," Derek replies. "That's what your nose is for."
It takes them ten minutes to find the boomerang. Junior gets frustrated several
times, but his stubbornness wins out in the end. The look of triumph on his
face when he locates their target is one that has Derek uncontrollably beaming
back at his nephew.
"Why don't we eat out tonight?" Stiles proposes as he later helps Junior up
into the Jeep. "What do you think, Uncle Derek?"
"Sounds good," the alpha responds, buckling Sammy in next to his brother. "What
about you, lil' guy? French fries sound good? Or maybe pizza?"
"Di'saur," Sammy mumbles, tiredly booping Derek on the nose with his toy T-Rex.
"Pizza it is," Derek announces, sliding into the passenger seat. "Wanna know
what your dad's favorite dinosaur was?"
Junior perks up.
"He loved pterodactyls because, and I quote, 'They are the closest this Earth
has ever come to knowing dragons.'" He glances back at the boys, and Junior is
widely grinning, while Sammy remains somber and quiet. Derek thinks to ask
what's wrong, but soon the little beta goes back to playing with his toy, and
so Derek leaves it.
They end up going to Mama Saucy's, the diner where Stiles works, and they're
quickly seated at a table near the bustling kitchen. It's Derek's first time
here, and the staff treat Stiles and the boys with a warming familiarity not
immediately extended toward him.
"Hey, guys!" a pretty blonde swiftly rounds the booth and props her elbow up
against the wooden panel, a huge smile plastered onto her face. "I see we've
got a new member tonight. My name's Heather," she introduces herself, and in
the same breath a look of realization passes over her. "Oh, you must be Derek!"
"Guilty," he responds flatly.
"Well, it's nice to finally meet you." She shoots him another bright smile and
takes out her notepad. "So! Are we thinking the usuals, or...?"
"I wan'a go 'ome," Sammy grumbles.
Stiles runs a hand over his back. "We just got here, buddy. Aren't you hungry?"
"No."
"Hm. Well, I think you are. We haven't eaten anything since lunch!"
"No 'ungry! I don' wan'a ead! 'Ome! I wan'a go 'ome!" Sammy cries, and everyone
is taken aback.
"Sweetheart, what's gotten into you? I know you're hungry. Why don't you order
whatever you like?"
"Nonono! I don' wan'a! No!"
"I'll just come back in a minute," Heather says, taking a step back, but Stiles
holds up a hand.
"No," he stops her. "We'll order now. What do you guys want?"
In the silence that follows the air only grows thicker with tension.
Then Sammy whispers, "Daddy," and the look on Stiles' face is one Derek will
never forget.
Sammy sobs the entire ride home, continuing to sniffle as Derek carries him
inside, head lolling against the alpha's shoulder. He falls asleep clutching
Derek's collar, tear stains smeared across the fabric. Junior snuggles up to
his brother under the blanket, lulled by Sammy's deep, worn out breaths. It's
doubtful that he's even slightly tired, but for a change, he seems more anxious
to stay in bed with Sammy than run around evading sleep.
Stiles is aggressively scrubbing down the counters when Derek finds him. He
leans against the doorframe, ever the ninja, but Stiles has grown accustomed to
his silent appearances, and it shows now, in the sudden stiffness in his
shoulders, the additional aggression put into his scouring. It takes less than
a minute before he's rounding on Derek with a daunting wrath, and then, just as
quickly, dejection. Derek's eyes follow the omega as he slowly crosses the
kitchen, approaches the alpha, and comes to a stop at the opposite end of the
doorway. He leans against the frame, tilts his head back as if to reabsorb the
steady on-come of tears. "He misses his father," Stiles finally whispers.
"And he's upset because I'm the reason."
"No." Stiles looks at him then, heart jumping, breath coming tightly, and it
feels like the distance between them ceases to exist. "He's just scared he'll
lose you, too."
 
***
 
"Get out of the car, Derek. You've wasted enough of my time."
"I've been through hell because of you."
"Oh, don't exaggerate, you were more than willing. You knew the consequences.
What, you think I manipulated you? Took advantage of you? You're a big boy,
Derek."
"I was grieving."
"Your brother wasn't dead."
"And now he is. I was a fool, and my brother's dead, and you don't fucking own
me. Not anymore." He guns the engine, takes in the sight of the gym, his
sanctuary, his home. "Your ass is safe, you know that, so leave me the fuck out
of all this. I don't want it anymore, none of it."
"Don't be so sure, Derek. You're a wolf."
"Yeah." He throws his eyes forward to the dark of the road, lit by the
streetlights and nothing more. "And I've paid the price."
Chapter End Notes
     This fic now includes 'Graphic Depictions of Violence'! Please heed
     the warning and proceed with caution. Be safe!
     Xander's Tattoos:
     1, 2, 3, 4
     Derek's Tattoos:
     1, 2, 3, 4
     Hope you liked this one!
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     *forever apologizes for the lateness*
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh my God!"
Derek tries to maintain his focus on the tight heat around him, on the euphoria
of the moment, on the fucking, but it's an arduous task with this bitch wailing
into his fucking ear like a siren denied one too many shipwrecks. He throws her
further up against the stall, cups his hand over her loose mouth, and starts
slamming up into her, finishing her, following close behind. There's no time
for prattle, no time for her to get too attached, no space for awkwardness or
further association. She comes, he comes. Derek is already out the door.
The house is empty, as Derek planned for it to be, so he heads straight for the
shower. He scrubs the stench of perfume and sex and other from his skin until
it's nothing but Derek again. Scott brings takeout in the evening and Stiles
fusses over how much hair he has to braid as he attempts to wrangle Junior and
Sammy together so he can get their enormous poofs latched down. It's almost
enough to distract Derek from what Scott just said.
"You what?"
"I think you should get back in the cage," Scott says, chopsticks already in
hand, slurping up his chow mein like he's just mentioning the weather.
Derek chokes.
"Jesus, breathe, man, is it that crazy?"
"Yes."
Scott does that sad puppy thing with his eyes and drags his chair across the
linoleum, closer to Derek. He glances back toward the living room, where the
boys have finally settled at Stiles' feet, eyes keen on the television as their
mother's fingers deftly work away on their curls. Scott's eyes return to
Derek's and they suddenly shift, gain a sense of earnestness to them. "I know
it's crazy. I know, Derek." He tilts his head a fraction of an inch, further
placating his brother. "The same way I know the only thing you miss more than
Xander is fighting."
  
*** 
 
"Mom's gonna fucking freak," Derek muses, peeling the corner of the gauze back
to peek at his fresh tattoo.
"Yeah? What's she gonna do about it?" Xander snorts.
"Shit, if I know."
Laura grins, squinting against a light that isn't there. "Mom can't make you do
shit. No more." She raises her beer. "To eighteen." Their glasses clink. "To my
brother!"  The partygoers in the yard put their drinks in the air. "To Derek
fuckin' Hale!" A cheer goes up. Laura toddles to Derek, then turns away,
wasted, too young to be so full of anger, too fucking pissed too early in the
night, but Derek doesn't have the heart to deal with her, not on his own
birthday.
"Eighteen—eighteen," Xander slurs, slinging his arm over Derek's shoulders.
Derek elbows him. "Jealous?"
Xander chuckles, cups his hand around the back of Derek's nape so that his nose
smooshes into the side of his brother's face. Derek loves wasted Xander.
"Yeah," he garbles. "Jealous that you've got such a cool older brother." 
Derek wants to think up something quick and witty to counter with, but all he
can do is grin and reply, "I couldn't imagine anyone who wouldn't be."
 
***
 
Derek is missing in action for the next six days. He spends his time getting
shitfaced. Working out and eating are an afterthought. He just doesn't want the
pain. He crashes at Boyd's place until he's tossed over to the twins.
For some reason he decides showing up Sunday morning at the ass crack of dawn
with bane still on his breath is a good idea. Derek doesn't know whether to be
surprised or not when he finds Stiles up watching Xander play with baby
Junior's facial pudge, squishing the kid's poor face this way and that up on
the television. Maybe Derek's hallucinating, he honestly can't tell at this
point. The Stiles on the TV continuously smacks Xander's hands away and his
annoyance is certainly justified—Junior could've been seriously deformed,
because whatever is going on on that screen is fucking terrifying-
"Have you been drinking?"
Derek's eyes dart over to real-life Stiles, snuggled under a blanket on the
sofa. The alpha's mouth goes dry. "Recently?" his inquiry is delayed, voice
scratchy, culpable.
The throw slips out from Stiles' white-knuckled grip, falling away from his
shoulders, and Derek reins in the shudder that wants to course through him at
the way the omega's pale skin is unveiled, wants—wants—so he looks away. Stiles
gently rises. "Yes, recently, Derek. Jesus. You-" He takes a breath. "Are you
high, too?"
Derek has an excuse on the tip of his tongue, has a bank full of lies folded
neatly in his pocket, but he takes one look at the utter disappointment in
Stiles' slumped shoulders, glances at the crumpled tissues on the floor, at his
red-rimmed eyes—how could Derek not scent out the distress, the ghosts of
tears? How could he miss the blatant evidence of Stiles' grief, the aching
rhythm of his heart? There's something striking about the look in the omega's
eyes, the dual Please, say no and the Please, prove me wrong alongside the I
can smell it all over you.Something about the tilt to his head. He's a
beautiful and lonely piece of art, lovely but unattainable. And Derek is so, so
sorry he has to fuck everything up, he's so fucking sorry that he's probably
dashed any hope of what could have come of he and Stiles, of what they have
steadily built together, however small. Whatever trust or compassion Stiles was
starting to feel towards him has more than likely just been tossed out the
window. Stiles was a sure ray of light emerging from behind the clouds, and
Derek knows he's now made him all the more unreachable.
"Yeah," the alpha says, throat gone dry. "I'm sorry."
Stiles nods, eyes already locked on his exit route, twists his lips to the side
in a way that makes Derek want to-
Nope.
The omega shuts off the TV and takes his leave, cautiously, deliberately, backs
off to where his children are sleeping soundly a room away, takes slow, soft
steps like he would if Derek were an animal being released from captivity, fed
back to the wild, as if Derek is a fucking beast.
But.
He fucking is.
Isn't he?
 
***
 
The height of the full moon has passed, and the morning sun is steadily rising,
peaking through the branches, its bright, white light bursting between the
leaves. Derek doesn't want to shake the proximity of his wolf away. He loves it
when it's this close to the surface, when what he and his wolf want line up
more than they ever do.
"Yo," -Xander greets, ruffling the dark mop of hair on Derek's head, plopping
down next to him at the edge of the field. Xander is sixteen now. He has more
control than ever. He feels one with his wolf. He's content. Derek can't wait
until he's old enough to feel settled. To feel complete and whole andright.
"Whatcha thinking 'bout, bud?" Xander questions.
The younger sighs, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers. "Being
Derek," he grouses like it's the worst. 
Xander cackles, tackling him into a headlock until they're both huffing for
breath at each other's side, spread-eagle under the canopy of oaks. His
brilliant eyes shine all the brighter as he tells his little brother, "What a
nice thing to be."
   
***
 
When Derek wakes it's past noon and the house is empty.
He picks up his phone after an hour of miserable attempts of trying to not puke
up the last of his guts.
"Brotheeeerrr-"
"I'll fight."
"Fuck yeah! I fucking love you!" Scott whoops.
"Scott," Derek says. "I have one condition."
  
***
 
"I'm here with the undisputed winner, the Were's Middleweight Champion of the
world, Alexander Hale. First of all, congratulations on another amazing fight.
This now makes your seventeenth career win. Give me your thoughts." The
interviewer holds the microphone towards Xander as the fighter pants, breath
not yet caught up with him. His entire torso is mottled with his opponent's
blood, his eye swollen, cheekbone bruised and bloody all the way down along his
jaw, and despite the fact that he should be straightening out two of his teeth,
now jutting out at a gruesome angle, he's got his winning smile painted across
his face, his eyes shining with mirth.
"This is unbelievable, man, the crazy never stops. I'm so thankful for my
family, so thankful," Xander says, the crowd roaring, as he turns halfway from
the mic to face them. "Thank you, guys, for being along for the ride. My head
coach, my manager, Talia Hale, I love you, Mom. My sisters, Laura, Cora, you're
my angels. Scott, bro, you keep doin' you. Liam, you're my fuckin' rock, buddy,
and you should be in fuckin' bed." The crowd laughs as he turns back and points
his finger at the camera. "And finally, my brother, my best friend, Derek. This
guy is catching up to me hard and fast, man, so watch out. He's gonna be bigger
and better. He's gonna be everything."
"Now, Derek made his fighting debut back in '05 at only sixteen years old, then
going on to make his WUFC debut in October of 2008. Can we assume that he'll
one day be battling you for the belt?"
Xander waves Derek over, who breaks away from the family huddle and slips under
Xander's sweaty arm, leans in towards the mic, smirking, and says, "Damn right
you can."
The crowd absolutely loses it, and the interviewer's voice is lost in the white
noise. "Xander, congratulations on defending your title. Derek, we look forward
to the day it'll be you up here."
After the quiet of the locker room, after the conference, after the after-
party, after the high has died down and everyone is either passed out drunk or
in bed already or heading back to their hotel rooms, Xander decides to blow off
his own celebration as well.
"Leaving?" Derek asks.
Xander slows his steps. "Yeah. The face healed over nicely, but I'm pretty achy
still." He waves a cab down. "Gotta say, you ain't the only one that's got a
mean left hook. "
"Watch it," Derek warns, fists up, hiding behind a half-smile. Xander knocks
his hands away, shaking his head with a small laugh.
He rests his hand on the hood of the cab, ready to hop in. "You good?"
"Yeah, man," Derek says, shoving his own into his pockets, a gesture that gives
him right away. "Just—it's the whole me inheriting your title thing. Whatever.
It's stupid."
"Derek." Xander braces a hand on his shoulder and suddenly he's twelve again
and too anxious, too hard on himself, too much of a fighter and not enough of a
kid. "Listen to me. Mom wants the title. We give her that. But we fight for us.
You hear me? We fight because we love it, because we're family, because it's
what brothers do. Don't worry about the rest of it. I love you. You're gonna be
great. No matter what." He cradles Derek's face in his hands, brings their
foreheads together. "We'll always be brothers," Xander says, easy as breathing.
They come apart with dopey grins and Xander turns towards his taxi. "I'll see
you soon, yeah?" he throws over his shoulder.
"See you soon."
Derek doesn't see him soon.
In fact, Derek never sees him again.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm so, so sorry for the delay. My grandfather recently passed away
     and we were quite close, so I've pretty much been a grief-stricken
     mess for the last couple of weeks. I'm gradually feeling better and
     more clear-headed, and all your feedback means the world to me. I go
     back and read your comments when I'm feeling down and they never
     cease to bring a smile to my face:-) Apologies for not getting around
     to replying to everyone, but I do read and enjoy every last one of
     your remarks!
     I go back to school this week, so I can't guarantee timely updates
     (not that I've been doing a great job so far, lol). This started as
     just a fun little summer project, and now it feels like my baby, so
     never fear—I'm not abandoning it! But I do need to focus myself in
     other places right now.
     Thank you all for being so patient and understanding!
     All my love ♥
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Scream_(James_Blake_Cover)_-_Daniel_Caesar
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Oh my fucking God!"
Stiles cradles his throbbing fist, doubled over in agony.
"Jesus, are you okay?" The alpha reaches for him, but Stiles pulls back,
stumbling in his haste to backtrack out of the mouth of the alley. Stupid,
stupid, stupid—what kind of omega risks taking shortcuts in wee hours of the
morning? Certainly not Stiles Stilinski. So he's back, back, backspacing,
hightailing out of there.
"Don't come any closer!" he shouts, fumbling for the wolfsbane spray on his
keychain. "I'll use it! Just try me!"
"I'm not gonna hurt you," the alpha tries to placate, holding his hands up in a
gesture meant to prove he means no harm. Stiles chokes out a laugh, pointing
his finger at his bloody nose. "I'm sorry," the alpha says. "I didn't mean to
fucking—shit—it was an accident, I swear-" He runs his hands over his head in
an agitated manner, tilting his head back to curse at the lazy kindling of
morning light jutting out over the miles of beach right across the street.
"Look, you caught me off guard, it was just instinct-"
"Socking people in the face is instinct? What the fuck! My face is my fucking
job, you douchecanoe!" Stiles yells. "And now my fucking hand is probably
broken! What's your face made out of, fucking rock? Goddamn wolves!" The
alpha's lips tilt up into a smirk and Stiles fails to level out the rate of his
heart as it picks up when those pale brown eyes light up with knowing. Stiles
swallows, frowning, and the moment the man steps forward, he kicks out, foot
connecting with something he hopes is a limb. He doesn't stick around to hear
the alpha's grunt of annoyance, followed by another string of curses. On the
other side of the street, he turns back to measure the damage he's inflicted
only to be disappointed. He shouldn't have hoped.
The alpha has no trace of pain on his face, just that stupid grin and those
bright eyes, leaning against the brick wall of the alley, hands tucked into his
pockets, shins unscathed.
"It was just instinct!" Stiles shouts, hoping he'll sound unfazed and sassy,
but instead it just comes out like an apology, startling awake the homeless man
folded up against the lamppost a few feet away. He tucks into his coat, still
cradling his hand. When a funny little smile finds it's way onto his face, his
bleeding nose picks up, the blood running down onto his teeth. He must make
quite the sight. The alpha laughs, a display that makes Stiles' breath catch,
his ears burn, and not because of the cold.
"You're cute!" the alpha returns, no shame in his bluntness. Stiles turns on
his heel, eyes trained on the path ahead, refusing to look back. He doesn't
breathe properly until his back is pressed up against his closed front door,
chest rising and falling in a manner so foreign to him he feels like he might
just be having a panic attack.
He shakes his head.
Fucking wolves.
  
***
 
"Wow, look at us," comes that deep, scratchy voice. Stiles tenses. "Like ships
in the night."
"Are you stalking me?" Stiles turns with his butterfly knife held up. The alpha
from yesterday is casually leaning against the wall again, smiling like he's
not within range of a weapon Stiles won't hesitate to gut him with.
"That's adorable. First the bane spray, now whipping out your little knife."
Stiles scowls. "If anyone's close enough for you to use that, you're already
dead, little omega," the alpha informs him, moving around Stiles to stroll down
the rest of the alley.
"You didn't answer my question," Stiles says, following the man from a
distance. The alpha turns, drawing his duffle bag further up his shoulder.
He doesn't answer, just gestures to the gym entrance to the right, where in
big, black letters the name 'Reign' is sprawled above the entry. Stiles has
walked down this alley more times than he cares to count, but he's never taken
too much notice of the gym. Home is on the left. And gyms are for meatheads.
"Are you stalkingme?" the alpha asks, turning his gaze on Stiles.
The omega rolls his eyes, lowering his knife. "Of course not," he mumbles and
starts walking off.
"Hey, wait!" The alpha runs after him. "My God, you've got some spunk for such
a tiny thing."
"I'm not tiny, you're just abnormally massive," Stiles bites back, spinning
around to face the annoying alpha. "And if you're not a murderer or something,
maybe you should go inside. Who gets up this fucking early just to work out?
You're fucking crazy."
The alpha laughs and that weird feeling in Stiles' chest fills to the brim with
warmth. The man juts his thumb over his shoulder, where behind one of the glass
panels his face is printed across dozens of copies of the gym's advertising
flyers, glued from floor to ceiling on the window. If Stiles wasn't blushing
before, he definitely is now.
"So? You're some bigshot boxer or something?"
"Or something," he laughs, leaning into Stiles before pulling back, hand going
up to rub at the back of his neck.
"Oh my God, are you embarrassed?" Stiles finds himself laughing and the alpha
looks at him like he's the fucking moon. The omega clears his throat, peeking
in through the windows to distract his racing heart. Inside, there are other
alphas, mostly, beating the shit out of punching bags, out of other training
equipment, out of each other. Stiles unconsciously runs the pad of his thumb
over the bandage on his bruised nose.
"Sorry about that," the alpha says, almost a whisper. "Um. How old are you?"
He's running his eyes over Stiles' face, and the omega knows he's probably
rethinking this conversation. The light bursting out from the gym is doing
nothing to conceal Stiles' fluffy cheeks, his skinny, pubescent limbs, his flat
chest.
"None of your business," he snaps, eyes darting back to the gym.
"Why're you out this early?" the alpha asks, stepping closer. Stiles winces as
a beta gets grappled to the ground by an enormous alpha, face gone red from
exertion, unable to even slam his hand down onto the mat to tap out.
"What's it to you?" Stiles returns offhandedly, feeling his face flush. He
fidgets with the zipper on his jacket.
"Nothing, probably," the alpha says easily, shrugging his big shoulders. "But I
care."
"You don't fucking know me," Stiles laughs, returning his attention back to the
man in front of him. It's barely six in the morning, the sky still dark,
streets still largely empty save for the drunks and the junkies and the
homeless. It's a Monday morning. Everyone needs to be somewhere come daylight,
Stiles included, if he can even spare school a second thought. "You don't know
me," Stiles repeats, quieter this time, studying the scuff marks on his old
Chuck Taylors. The alpha takes a step forward, tilts his head down so the omega
meets his eyes.
"I'd like to," he tells Stiles, earnest and gentle, and Stiles feels the warmth
rise past his chest, up his neck, enveloping him in its glow. He looks up,
takes in the scruff on the man's face, the brackets around his mouth that tell
the story of too much laughter, the way his lips always seem to be quirked into
a small smile.
"Okay," Stiles hears himself say.
The alpha beams. "What's your name?"
"Stiles."
"Stiles," he breathes, like it's all he'll ever need to know.
The omega takes the hand that's offered to him and they shake.
"I'm Xander."
  
***
 
Stiles wakes to the feel of lips against his own.
"What time is it?" he mumbles, arms lazily reaching up to wrap around broad
shoulders.
"Three in the a.m.," Xander answers. Stiles can feel the alpha's sly grin
against his own.
"You're so stupid," he pouts, slowly blinking his eyes open. "Can't even get
some sleep on my birthday?"
"Becauseit's your birthday." Xander chuckles when Stiles stops kissing him.
"Because I wanted be the first one to love you on this day."
Stiles feels his heart seize up. "You love me?"
Xander's large, warm hands run over him, reassuring. "I love you, Stiles," he
says, going back in for another kiss. Stiles bites down. "I say I love you and
you bite me?"
"The light's not on," Stiles cries. "I wanted to at least be able to see you
when you said it for the first time!"
Xander laughs, leaning over to switch on the bedside lamp. The room lights up
in a soft glow, and Stiles immediately searches out Xander's eyes. He cradles
the alpha's face in his hands, runs his thumbs over his stubbled cheeks, the
spot where he bit his alpha's lip. He lets Xander kiss him.
My alpha.
"I love you," Xander says, their foreheads pressed together.
"I love you," Stiles replies, tears in the corners of his eyes. Xander kisses
them away.
Xander doesn't rise as usual at five-thirty, like the mad man he is, the first
time Stiles has witnessed such a thing. Instead the alpha shushes him back into
the cradle of his arms, tucked into his warmth, lulling the omega back to sleep
with the steady beating of his heart beneath Stiles' cheek.
As Stiles drifts off, only one thought remains:he loves me, he loves me, he
loves me.
 
***
 
"He's perfect," Xander whispers from his place on the floor, chin resting on
his arms where they're perched on the side of the mattress. He hasn't stopped
saying so, and Stiles hasn't stopped smiling. "I want to eat him," the alpha
says, tracing one large finger over Junior's pink, little feet. Stiles tries to
hold back his laugh, afraid to dislodge Junior from where he's peacefully
suckling at his mother's breast. He's on his side, facing Xander, their hands
latched under his pillow, Junior tucked up against Stiles on his side as well.
Stiles traces the back of his finger over Junior's cheek, absolutely
mesmerized.
When the kid has had his fill, Xander pounces, cradles his son, so tiny in his
too-large hands. "You're gonna spoil him so much," Stiles says, slipping the
strap of his dress back up his shoulder. Xander barely hears him. All he sees
is his son.
Once Xander is finished burping Junior they return back to bed, where Stiles is
lightly dozing. Xander cuddles up close to Stiles, Junior snuggled down between
their chests. "You're gonna love it," he says.
"What?" Stiles mumbles, opening one eye to see that Xander is actually talking
to Junior.
Xander kisses him, then their son, taking his time to run his nose along
Junior's hairline, breathing in like he can't get enough. His fingers tighten
around Stiles' under the pillow. He whispers, "The world."
 
*** 
 
"Stiles."
"No, Xander."
"Stiles."
"This is what I hate most about you."
"Stiles."
Stiles flops over, eyes squinting against the light breaking in between the
curtains. He looks at Xander.
"Oh my God."
"Lamby."
"Oh my God."
"Stiles-"
"Oh my God!" he whisper-shouts, propping himself up on one elbow. Xander kisses
him to shut him up.
"Stiles," the alpha starts again, pulling away to lift the little box in his
hand closer for Stiles to see. "I love you more than is humanly possible."
"That's 'cause you're not human, baby," Stiles rambles, eyes wide, mouth
hanging open—how is he even speaking?
The corners of Xander's eyes wrinkle as he grins. He snorts, tucking in close
to the omega in his bed, so near that Stiles feels the warmth of his breath. He
takes Stiles' hand. "Stiles, I love you. I love you and I will always love you.
You, me, Junior, and every other kid I put in you, I love you all, until I
die."
"And after?"
"Forever," he sighs into Stiles' mouth. "Always." He slips the ring onto
Stiles' finger. "I love you."
"I love you."
Xander pulls Stiles into himself, retreats into his fiancé's soft chest,
kissing everywhere he can reach, breath ragged and fervent, coming in bursts
across the omega's skin. When he pulls back, eyes closed, parallel tear tracks
running down his cheeks, Stiles kisses each lid, then his alpha's forehead. He
takes Xander's hand, pulls it down to his abdomen, places it warm and
protective over his belly. "Guess you were so nervous you didn't notice," he
chuckles. "Go on," he says, smiling down at Xander's stunned expression. "Take
a whiff."
Xander burrows into Stiles, nudges his nose along the place where his second
child grows. "You're everything," he cries softly. "You're my everything."
 
***
 
He blinks.
When did Sammy come in?
Stiles just put him down a half hour ago.
He's stumbling over the shoes by the front door, reaching for the dangling
sleeves of the coats on the rack on the wall despite the copy ofFerdinand the
Bull clutched tightly in his hand.
Stiles can't get up. He's just too tired now.
"Da-dy! Da-dy!"
His heart clenches, but Stiles can barely feel it. Maybe it never stopped?
Maybe it will always be a shriveled up organ, endlessly pumping blood through
his body. But what's he need a heart for if he'll always be numb?
Sammy loops the cuffs of two of the jackets around each other, trying to tie
them together. Stiles recognizes the red one, his own. On second glance, he
notices the other is Xander's. Sammy finishes knotting them with his chubby
fingers, sitting back to enjoy his handiwork. The sleeves of their jackets are
bound at the wrists. An image of Xander holding his hand flashes through
Stiles' mind. He closes his eyes.
"Co'm 'ome soo', Da-dy," Sammy says. "I wan' you da re'd me mo'r boo'ks."
Stiles opens his eyes.
The tears don't come.
He has none left.
Chapter End Notes
     You are all so, so lovely. Thank you for your kindness,
     understanding, and support.
     Love you all.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     There's a pun in this chapter, lmao.
     Enjoy!
Derek meets Lydia Martin on a Wednesday.
The first thing he notices is that she's an alpha.
The second thing he notices is that she smells heavily of Stiles.
The third thing he notices is the fist headed straight for his nose.
"Woah, woah, what the fuck?" He barely manages to dodge the blow. "Who the fuck
are you?"
"You've got a lot of nerve, Derek Hale," the little alpha snaps, shoving her
way inside. She makes her way into the kitchen, heels clicking, tossing her
perfectly coiffed locks over one shoulder.
"Explain," Derek growls, slamming the door shut. His nostrils are flared,
taking in that sweet, familiar scent wafting off her. It's the only reason he
hasn't lunged for her throat yet.
She sighs, put out by his irritated demeanor, as if she hasn't just nearly
knocked his head back with a sucker punch, invited herself into his home, and
helped herself to a juice box meant for the boys. "Put some pants on, will
you?" she gripes.
"Fuck you. Explain."
She raises one perfect, full brow as she sucks on her straw. Derek growls
louder because apparently she's hard of hearing.
"Jesus, you're a nut," she mutters, leaning back against the counter, sizing
him up with a critical gaze. Her eyes snap back to attention after a moment of
assessment. "I'm here on Stiles' behalf," she finally says.
"Stiles sent you?"
"Let me rephrase. I've come of my own volition because I'm an excellent friend
and an even better aunt. You, Derek Hale, are a piece of work, it seems."
"When is he coming back?"
"You'll have to discuss that with him, although, for obvious reasons, he hasn't
exactly been motivated in returning your calls. I'm here to tell you that there
is no one who knows Stiles as well as me, not even Stiles, and I know he's
still upset, but he wants things to be okay. He's got two kids to worry about,
Derek, he doesn't need a third. You need to get your fucking shit together."
"Who the fuck are you, telling me this? Get the fuck out."
"He's my best friend, Derek."
"You fuck all your best friends?"
Derek hears her jaw click as she clenches her teeth. "Stiles is by far the best
person I know. Do anything to him and I promise I will break off your legs,
shove them up your ass, and staple your balls to your forehead."
"Done?"
"Absolutely." She tosses her juice box in the bin, eyes never leaving his. "My
name is Lydia Martin. You'll be seeing a lot more of me."
"Let's hope not."
"Get sober, you fucking prick." She shows herself to the door. "One last
thing." She turns to face Derek, her hand on the knob. A flash of something
akin to sympathy passes over her face and just as quickly vanishes.
"Don't fall in love with him," she says.
And then it's just Derek, standing there in the middle of the hallway in
nothing but his boxers.
Too late.
  
***
  
"Jab! Jab! Jab! All the way, c'mon, jab!" Derek ducks the incoming throw,
powers back up and pitches forward again, throwing his full weight through his
fists, straight down the middle of the punching mitts on Peter's hands. Back
and forth, back and forth- "Jab! Jab! Attaboy!" Peter pulls back, bouncing on
his feet, grinning.
"Derek! I swear if I come up there and see that you're not wearing your
mouthpiece, you're going to be on the elliptical for the rest of the day!"
Derek dives for the mouthguard case in the corner and pops it into his mouth,
leaping back to the center of the cage just as Talia Hale rounds the row of
punching bags with a stone-cold glower on her face.
"Well?" She crosses her arms over her chest. Derek flashes a big smile at her,
showing off his mouthguard.
"Huh." She glances down at his hands. "Where are your boxing gloves?"
"Fuck," Derek mutters, fists creaking as he clenches around the wraps on his
hands. "I forgot them at home. I'm sorry, I was in a rush."
"Derek." Talia shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How many
fucking times?" She turns away, heading back toward her office. "Scott! Get
your brother some fucking gloves!" Derek watches Scott scramble off one of the
mats down at the foot of the hexagon to do her bidding.
"I'm gonna go have a chat with your mom," Peter says, sliding off his mitts.
"Work on some more cardio before Xander gets here. Get started on the ropes,
I'll be back in a bit."
Derek takes a brief water break and throws a towel over his head. Scott hurries
back with a pair of gloves and joins Derek down by the steps of the cage.
"Mom's pissy," he says, overgrown fluffy hair sweeping down into his eyes as he
ties and reties his judo belt. "You think it's 'cause of Xander?"
"Knowing her, could be any number of things." Derek tosses the towel and
stands. "How was practice?"
"Good," Scott says, rushing ahead of Derek to loop the rope around the leg of a
workout bench. "Yukimura Sensei complimented my throws today. I'm getting a lot
better."
"Yeah?" Derek snorts, eyeing Scott's skinny frame as he hands him his phone
with the timer set. He takes position a handful of yards back from the mirror,
rolling his shoulders, and then  starts with opposite waves, watching his
biceps flexing, tightening in the reflection, sweat glistening under the light
as he ripples the weight of the ropes in alternate beats as fast as he can.
"I think I wanna start weight training," Scott says. "Xander was super buff
when he was my age. I'm gonna be so strong. I'm gonna be stronger than him."
Derek snorts, choking on his own breath. He pulls back, letting the ropes go
slack.
"What? You don't think I can do it? I can do it!" Scott crosses his arms as
Derek catches his breath. "I'm gonna be buffer than Xander by the time I debut.
You'll see, and then you'll be sorry for ever doubting me."
"Definitely. You'll show me," Derek says, ruffling Scott's hair.
"Show you what?"
"Derek doesn't think I'll ever be as buff as you," Scott tells Xander as the
elder alpha tosses his gym bag on the bench.
"Yeah?" Xander grins and raises a brow. "Well, 13-year-old Derek Hale wasn't
exactly putting on any useful weight." He casts Derek a pointed glance. "Look
at him now."
"Yeah, yeah," Derek mutters, rolling into the cage. He smacks the mat. "You
just gonna talk all day?"
"Such a jackass," Xander chuckles, stretching out his hamstrings. He jumps up
and down a few times, rolls his neck and shakes his arms out, then springs into
the cage after Derek. "Watch and learn, Scottie."
"Beat his ass, Xander!" Scott hollers, rattling the cage fence. "I'm gonna be
buff! Suck on that, Derek!"
"Oh! Are we all teaming up on Derek? Fuck you, Derek!" Laura shouts as she
tears through the gym, running in last night's heels towards Talia's office.
Derek gets one glimpse of his mother's expression turning dark as Laura walks
in, taking in the hungover state of her daughter. Then he's being flipped onto
his back.
"Eyes on the prize, little brother," Xander trills.
"If Mom saw that she'd have your ass, Magic Hands," Derek barks back. He's
smiling though, and when he meets Scott's glare it only grows bigger. "Xander's
getting old, Scott," he says, bouncing around the perimeter of the hexagon as
he waits for their brother to finish stretching. "And one day I'm gonna surpass
him. And then one day after that, after I've had a nice, long reign, you're
gonna surpass me. But until then-" he crouches down to be closer to Scott's
level "-I get to tease you all I want."
"Hey!" Scott protests, and Xander laughs as Derek returns his attention.
"He's gonna be a mean one someday," Derek says, crouching.
"Nah," Xander replies, arms wide, palms out. "Scott will always be Scott."
Derek grins at that.
And then they're off.
 
***
  
Derek takes a breath. "Be my manager."
Laura blinks, then turns and smacks Scott upside the head. "What the fuck,
Scott?"
"I know we were gonna have a proper talk and whatever, but it just felt like
right time to say it."
"Over Ming-Ming's?" Laura smacks him again. "Seriously. Okay, Derek, first of
all, this is exciting news and I'm very proud and happy for you. Second, yes, I
will be your manager, are you kidding?" She throws her arms around him,
squeezing him tight. "I won't let you down, I swear it! Have you started
training yet?"
Derek and Scott exchange a look. "About that-"
"Mom," Scott blurts. "Derek wants Mom to train him."
Laura sits back. "Are you fucking with me?" He's not. "Derek, has it slipped
your mind that you and Mom aren't exactly on speaking terms? You dissed
everything she stood for and then went and got locked up for it. This is
already tough as it is, I mean, it's gonna take a fucking while to build
yourself back up—you haven't been in the game for six years! And you know how
fucking batshit Mom is!"
"Laura," Derek sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know all this. I've
got a plan. I need you to trust me. I trust you."
She looks at him, then at Scott, then him again. "I trust you, too," she says
at last, pulling out a pack of smokes from her bag. Scott grimaces as Laura
lights one up. Derek extends his hand, gesturing for one. "Uh-uh." Laura
quietly begins to laugh, a throaty, painful-sounding sort of thing that Derek
for the life of him can't recognize as the one that his beautiful sister once
had. "No more for you," Laura says, tucking the pack away. "Southpaw is back."
 
***
  
"I have a right to know who he is," Xander says, calm and quiet.
"Why?" Talia cries. "Have I not been enough for you? Have I not done everything
in my power to make sure you'd never feel the need to have him around?"
"Mom, please, just—you have to understand-"
"Your father," she spits out, "doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve how
forgiving and goodyou are, Alexander. He bailed from the very beginning. Where
is he now, huh? If he cared he would be here."
"I have to meet him, Mom." Derek hears a chair harshly skid back as Xander
stands and he cringes at the hell Mom will surely unleash on Xander—except it
never comes. "I need to do this for myself," Xander says. Derek hears movement,
the rustling of clothes and the familiar sound of Xander's duffle bag zipping
closed. "I'll finally understand the other half of who I am."
"Baby," Talia says, voice softening. "I'm gonna tell you who you are. You are
Alexander Darius Hale. You are a son, a brother, a fighter and a lover. You
were born onto this Earth to achieve great things. You don't need that man to
know who you are. You don't need him."
Xander lets out a breath and Derek tucks himself deeper under his comforter as
his brother's heavy footfalls migrate further down the hall, shortly followed
by Talia's. He has to strain to hear them as they move to the other end of the
house.
"I may not need to know him," Xander says. "But I really fucking want to." Then
there's the slam of the front door, a muffled curse bursting out of Talia, and
Derek can't help but wonder that if it hadn't been for the overwhelming uptick
in her pulse, he would forever believe that his mother has no heart.
  
***
 
Stiles and the kids return a few days after Lydia's little visit. The boys are
ecstatic, attaching themselves to Derek's legs on sight and not letting up for
a good ten minutes. Stiles has a smile on his face, but Derek can smell his
anxiety. He excuses himself to get started on dinner and that's when Derek
intervenes.
"Why don't you and the boys put a movie on? I'll whip something up," he says.
Stiles takes on an expression of surprise, but concedes. Dinner itself,
however, is undoubtedly the most shocking part of the evening. Derek has
managed to stack a tray full of steaks, and then he has to spend the first five
minutes of the meal cutting one up for Junior as Stiles cuts another for
Sammy. 
"How're you liking that asparagus, Junior?" he asks.
"I was never liking it. I only eat it for the nutrients."
"Smart kid." Derek nods his head in approval.
Then, at seeing Derek wolf down two thick slabs of rib eye, the boys get
motivated to finish their food as well, leaving the table with full bellies and
droopy eyes. Derek runs the dishwasher as Stiles gives the kids a bath. He's
summoned at bedtime to read the last round of books.
"Why did we go away?" Junior immediately asks once Stiles leaves for a bathroom
break.
Derek lowers the pop-up in his hands. "I guess to stay with your Aunt Lydia."
"Mommy cried a lot. I thought he was getting happier."
Derek rubs the back of his neck. "It happens. But you're back now. And your mom
is going to be okay."
Junior gazes up at Derek from where he's folded around a sleeping Sammy. "Did
you make Mommy sad?"
Derek puts the book down on the nightstand and lets his eyes meet Junior's
after a moment. "Remember when I told you I'd never hurt you and Sammy?" Junior
nods. "I would never do anything to hurt your mom."
Junior nods again, eyes clear and bright, even in the low light. "We'll see,
Uncle Derek," he says, closing his eyes and snuggling down.
Stiles returns just as Derek flicks on the nightlight. He places a kiss on each
of his sons' foreheads and then follows Derek out. Then they're standing there
in front of the closed door together not moving.
"I'm sorry," Derek starts, but Stiles holds out his hand.
"I like it here, Derek," Stiles says, barely over a whisper. "My sons like it
here." He looks at the alpha, then. "You're a grown man. I won't tell you how
to live your life. But if you enjoy having us here just as much as we do, then
please, just...understand that I can't take any chances. What kind of a parent
would I be if I let my kids suffer because of my bad choices? That's not the
kind of mother I want to be."
Derek takes in the bags under Stiles' eyes, the tired slump in his shoulders.
He tucks his fists into his pockets to restrain himself from brushing the
omega's soft cheek. "You don't have anything to worry about," he says, a small
smile finding its way onto his face. "That isn't the kind of mother you are."
The smile quickly disappears. "Trust me. I would know."
 
 ***
  
"Aren't you afraid?"
Derek slowly turns his head. There's a timid beta sitting on a bench closest to
the furthest row of lockers. Poor sucker. He'll be dead sooner than later. If
he's lucky.
"Afraid of what?" Derek grunts.
"Of losing yourself," the beta says, wringing his hands. The man leaning
against the door swings it open with a snort and a shake of his head. He
straightens out the lapels of his suit, turning to Derek with a raised brow,
tapping at the flashy watch on his wrist.
Derek rises from his bench, rolling out the kinks in his stiff shoulders. He
doesn't spare the beta a second glance as he makes his way forward, letting the
roars of the crowd outside finally settle in his bones, rattle his being. He
steps up into the cage and lets the wolf come out to play. The man in the suit
takes a seat in the front row, like he has every time the past several fights.
Derek's eyes bleed red at just the thought of him and he can feel it every
second he gives in to his wolf, more and more: is he afraid of losing himself?
"That's what I'm hoping for," he growls.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Derek meets Dr. Alan Deaton when he's ten. There's nothing particularly special
about the man. He's bald and black and not that tall. He's also Xander's
biological father.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Derek," the doctor says, voice smooth but
quiet, gaze steady. "Xander told me about you. Says you're gonna be a fighter
someday."
"Yes, sir," Derek replies, stepping back to let them into the house.
"Where's Mom?" Xander asks, peeking out into kitchen.
"She said she had to go out."
Dr. Deaton hums and looks down at his shoes. "I guess I'll have to come back
another time then," he says.
"No, Dad," Xander protests and Derek stiffens, his eyes on the doctor
narrowing. "She can't keep doing this," Xander mutters. "We said we'd handle it
outside of court." He takes the manilla folder from the doctor's hands. "I'll
make sure she gets this. I'll sit down with her and we'll go over it together.
She'll sign it."
The next time Derek sees Dr. Deaton is a month later, after Mom finally signs
those stupid papers and all the people dressed in fancy suits carrying
briefcases and repeatedly using words like 'custody' stop showing up to the
house.
"I'm not going anywhere," Xander tells him later. "I'm still your brother. Some
days I'll be with Dr. Deaton, but I'll always come back home. Nothing's really
changing. I've just got a dad now."
Derek nods his head like he gets it but all he really wants is to scream at
Xander for abandoning him. "You like your dad?" he asks instead.
Xander smiles. "I like him a lot. You'll like him, too. Trust me."
"Maybe." Derek wrinkles his nose.
"Maybe, then," Xander laughs, throwing an arm over Derek's shoulders.
Talia's sitting alone in the kitchen when they walk in. She's staring out the
window, a mug of something gone cold in her stiff hands. Derek walks over and
hugs her. He feels her hand come up to smooth the hair back from his face.
When he looks up her tired eyes are watching Xander.
And when he turns, Xander is gone.
 
***
 
"This is fucking crazy," Laura says for the billionth time as they pull up to
the gym. Derek's heart clenches when he sees the sign. Reign. Everything comes
flooding back to him, every memory and every emotion. He's finally home again.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Scott says, slamming the car door shut. "Derek-"
"Let's get this the fuck over with," Derek interrupts him.
They walk in, Laura and Scott at his flanks like they're some sort of posse.
Immediately Derek is recognized, people dropping their weights and ditching the
mats to come over and greet him.
"Hey! Hey!" A chill runs down Derek's spine. "Is the ice cream man here? Get
back to work!"
The tide of people return to their workouts and Derek sees Talia the moment she
sees him.
She's up by the cage, leaning against the open door. Derek tries to steady his
heart as she turns back to—Jesus, is that Cora? "Cut the sodium, load up on the
carbs, I'll see you tomorrow," Talia directs her daughter, eyes never straying
from Derek. "If you don't make weight I won't hesitate to hand you over to
Peter." She steps down from the hexagon, meeting Derek halfway. "Heard you got
out," is the first thing she says to her son.
"A fucking year ago," Laura mutters and Talia throws her a scorching glare.
"Yeah," Derek says. "I got out."
"You fuck that up yet?"
"Mom." Scott shoots her a pleading look.
"It's different now," Derek says. "I'm not causing problems."
Talia tilts her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. "The fuck are you
doing here, Derek?"
"Office," Laura announces, leading the way. "We can have this conversation in
your office."
Derek keeps his eyes on Cora as they steer past the cage. Scott sympathetically
pats him on the back and heads into the office. Talia folds herself neatly into
the chair behind her desk. "Tell me where your head's at, Derek," she says,
sighing like she's got better places to be than here, talking to—seeing—her son
for the first time in ages.
"Is that Cora in the cage?" Derek asks.
"She's just finishing up camp," Laura tells him softly. "She's got a fight in
Newport."
Derek clenches his jaw, eyes roaming over the pictures on the wall, the frames
taking up every surface, searching for the one where he's holding his baby
brother—and finds it. He looks away. "And Liam? How's Liam doing?"
"He's good," Talia says. "But I don't want to fucking talk about Liam. Let's
talk about you, showing up here after five years-"
"That's hardly fucking fair," Laura intervenes, throwing her hands up in
exasperation. "Mom, Derek's going to fight."
Talia's brows dart up. She crosses her arms. "Well, this is an interesting
development. And what makes you think I'd ever want to pick up the phone for
you again?"
"You won't. I'm managing him," Laura says, mirroring her mother's posture.
Talia laughs. "You're gonna manage him? Jesus fucking Christ, Laura."
"Will you train me?" Derek barks out before Laura can rouse their mother's
temper any further, remembering now why he was so sick of Talia to begin with.
Talia looks at him long and hard, disbelieving, then stands and comes around
the desk to perch herself on the edge. "Give me one good reason why I should."
"We need the publicity," Laura says. "The gym's not doing good." Talia's stance
tenses, but she continues listening. "The shit list keeps growing, even when
it's not that hard to stay off it—just paying the money and honoring the
contract that every single person signs. We're not asking for a lot of money,
Mom, we're asking for what people owe us. And it's not enough anymore. If we
keep going like this we'll be closed in eight, maybe nine months." Talia
maintains her calm surface. "We need Derek," Laura finishes.
"That's your plan?" Talia challenges. "Derek is unreliable." She doesn't even
spare him a glance. "You can't hitch a gym to a liability, Laura. In the first
place, you're only here because your sister wants you here. And now you bring
me this?"
Laura chuckles, but it's empty and sad. "Thanks for looking out for me, Mom."
"Looking out? I've got promoters that still won't call me back because of him!"
Laura throws her hands up. "You're impossible!" She turns on her heel and
marches out.
"Scott," Talia sighs. "Would you give Derek and I a moment alone?" Scott waits
for Derek's okay before following after Laura. Then it's just Derek and Talia.
She takes a moment to appraise him. Derek supposes if they were like any other
family they'd have hugged by now or something. But the Hales have never been
like other families.
"Why do you want to fight?" Talia finally asks.
Derek takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Why? Same reason he always has.
It's release. It's freedom. It's all he's ever known. It's Xander, a voice in
the back of his mind whispers. "I don't know," he lies. "I just know that I
have to."
Talia thinks on that, slowly nodding her head. She looks to her wall of
photographs, walking away from the desk to stand before it and admire. Derek
refuses to let himself do the same. He needs to be strong, and those pictures
will only make him ache—break.
"Can you make me understand, Derek?" Talia runs her fingers over a small frame
at her eye-level. She moves to the side and Derek catches one glimpse of
Xander's big smile before he's looking away again.
"I gave in to my wolf," he says, clenching around the arms of his chair,
anchoring himself through the heaviness in his feet.
"Please," Talia scoffs. "You were the least feral of us all. You never wanted
anything to do with your wolf." Not for the first time, Derek laughs on the
inside at hearing her words. His own mother could never know him so little.
"And now we know why," he mutters, glaring straight ahead at the trophy case on
the far wall.
"Was it-" Talia clears her throat, swallows down the shakiness in her voice "-
some sort of...cry for help?"
"No," Derek answers, and it's no lie. Derek didn't want to be helped. He still
doesn't, not really. Help has never been an option. Talia looks at him long and
hard and he recedes further into himself as the seconds tick by.
"Good," she says at last. "And now your idiotic choices have led you here."
"I know," Derek replies, shaking his head. "I was stupid."
Talia rounds on him. "You couldn't afford to be stupid!" Derek lowers his
head. Still a fucking coward when it comes to her. "Just tell me it was a
mistake," Talia says, and Derek tries to ignore the sadness in her plea.
"It was a mistake."
"Promise me it'll never happen again."
"Okay." He stands.
She comes away from the wall. "I want to hear you say it."
"I promise," Derek says. "It will never happen again."
Talia nods, back straightening. "Monday. Six o'clock. Be here." And then she's
going back behind her desk without a second glance in Derek's direction.
"Oh, God." Laura stubs out her cigarette as Derek meets her outside. "Give me
good news."
Derek shrugs. "I start Monday."
"Shut up!" Laura tackles him into a hug, laughing into his ear. "Oh my God!
Derek!" She pulls away. "We have to tell Scott!" She darts back inside just as
Cora walks out through the half-mast garage gate, gym back slung over a
shoulder, keys in hand.
"Cora," Derek breathes, and his own voice sounds so foreign to himself he
falters in his tracks. It's unreal, seeing his little sister, already fighting,
all grown, a young woman, a true Hale, when the last time he saw her she was
barely tall enough to ride a roller coaster, hardly strong enough to carry her
own schoolbooks around all day, not nearly old enough to process so much pain
at once. She had always been mature. She didn't need to be, but she was. She
was too young and too mature and Derek left. "Wow," he says. Cora crosses her
arms, posture screaming not to come close. "Look at you. What happened?"
"Five fucking years happened," she frigidly retorts.
Derek tucks his hands into his pockets. "I was only locked up for four," he
says stupidly.
Cora raises a brow. "Guess that makes it even worse then, huh? Where were you
the rest of the time? Couldn't be bothered to drop by?"
Derek hangs his head, searching for words, gaining none, but she's slipping
away, too fast and too painfully, each second he doesn't fix this-
"Fuck off, Derek," Cora says, eyes cold and cutting. "I don't have anything to
say to you. Stay out of my way." Derek gapes as she takes her leave.
"Derek!" Scott shouts from inside, and Derek turns towards the entrance.
"Derek, this is amazing! Wait, what's wrong?" He looks over Derek's shoulder,
spots Cora pulling out of the lot, and Derek doesn't have to look at his
brother's face because he smells the pity before he sees it.
"I'm gonna walk home," he says, starting down the sidewalk as Laura comes out.
"Derek-"
"I'm walking."
Laura curses.
Scott lets him go.
And Derek hates himself for being the one who made Cora bitter.
Because that was one thing she'd never been.
 
*** 
 
Derek adores his older brother.
"Let's be fighters like Mom," he suggests one day.
Xander laughs because that's something Xander does a lot, smile and laugh. He
also likes to grab at Derek’s cheeks and press their foreheads together like
he's trying to mind meld with him. It's nice.
Derek's wolf is calm when he's with Xander. It feels warm inside, like a little
bundle of sunshine is in his tummy.
Derek will be eight years old in a week. Mom says in a couple years he can be a
fighter like her. Xander is going to be one, too. One day they'll be fighters
together.
It will be perfect.
Derek can't wait.
 
***
 
"Cora seems—grownup."
Laura pauses with a cheek full of fries. She slowly chews, then takes her time
to sip from her Coke. "She's learning to live with disappointment," she says
once she swallows, picking up her burger. "It's a Hale trait."
Derek nods. "She's okay, right?"
Laura looks at him, takes a huge bite out of her burger, pondering as she
chews. "She's okay," Laura tells him, wiping ketchup from the corner of her
mouth. "We're all okay, I guess. But, you know. Mom."
Derek nods again.
He'll take that. He'll take okay over miserable. He'll take it any day.
"Is she happy?" Derek asks.
Laura sips her soda again, brows furrowing. She looks across the table at her
brother. She shakes her head.
Derek nods ever so slowly.
"Eat, Derek," Laura softly urges, taking up her burger again. "Don't want you
passing out before you even get to the gym. Monday'll be here before you know
it."
Derek looks down at his food.
Monday can't come soon enough.
 
***
  
"It's kind of hard for me to imagine Mom like that. Like, nice.And in love."
Dr. Deaton chortles, wistful and nostalgic. "Your mother was beautiful,” he
surmises. Derek  wants to ask him what happened to all that beauty. Xander
holds back a laugh.
"Do you ever wish you could go back? To being in love again?"
A crease forms between Deaton's brows. "It'd certainly be nice. Talia was
wonderful." He pauses, scratching his chin. Xander grimaces. "But I wouldn't
have had Xander."
Xander looks at him.
"Now, I have Xander." He smiles at his son.
Derek looks away. A sick feeling settles in his stomach. "You're a good dad,"
he says to Deaton, hiding behind a neutral scent, putting on a smile for
Xander's sake. He's almost eighteen. He shouldn't have to keep this charade up
anymore, he shouldn't even give a shit—it's worth no one's time. But Derek
should also have known better. This is Xander. His brother, his best friend,
his other half.
"C'mere," Xander whispers, and after a moment of reluctance, Derek collapses
into the elder alpha. Xander holds him tight. "I'm with you. You hear me? I'm
with you. I'm here." Derek bites back tears.
He feels like he's on fire. He doesn't sleep. He hurts.
When Xander comes knocking on the door, Derek turns him away.
When his wolf slips through, clawing its way out, snapping and snarling at the
last vulnerable bits in his heart, Derek welcomes it with pricking canines and
deadly claws of his own.
And when he finally loses control, he embraces the nothingness with open arms
and twin tear tracks running down his face.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"I'm seeing your mom today," Stiles mentions as he runs the washer. "Also, I've
come to the conclusion that dryer lint is the cremated remains of all the
missing socks."
Derek's pacing comes to a still in the middle of the hall. He sticks his head
in through the doorway to look at the omega, eyes narrowed and untrusting.
"What?" Stiles questions, pulling the clothes from the dryer and tossing them
into the hamper on his hip. "Oh, the Talia thing. Right. I met her before.
She's definitely intense, but, I mean, she's not Satan."
Derek huffs, crossing his arms, and leans against the doorframe. "Well, what
does she want to talk about?"
Stiles straightens, fumbling to close the lid of the machine. Derek leans over
and does it for him, purposely using his bulk to block the exit. The omega
sighs and meets his eyes. "She's offering me a job at the gym," he says.
Derek leans away, unsure if he heard correctly. "A job?"
"Yes, Derek, a job," Stiles reiterates. "I'm not exactly flush right now. It's
a good idea. They recently lost their receptionist and they need someone to
fill the spot."
"So-" Derek grasps for words, aiming for subtly "-you?"
Stiles raises a brow, insulted. "What? I can't work a front desk because my
place is waiting on people at a fucking diner? 'Cause I'm just not worth
thirteen bucks an hour, right?" He shoves his way past Derek.
"Stiles, that's not what I meant and you know it," the alpha objects. "I
just—I'm surprised, okay? But I'm glad."
"Yeah, well, please, contain your enthusiasm."
"Look, I'm sorry." Derek rubs a hand over his face. "I hope you get the job."
Stiles eyes him sulkily, a pout on his face as he buries himself beneath the
toasty-warm clothes from the hamper. "Thanks."
"Well." Derek balls a fist into his pocket, runs a hand over the back of his
neck as he admires the floor. "Will I see you before?"
"Um-" Stiles curses as he catches sight of the clock, jumps up from the bed,
leaving the pile of clothes behind "-I don’t know. I'm taking the boys to go
check out some open houses later, so..."
Derek blinks. "What's wrong with my house?"
Stiles looks up at him, pausing abruptly in his rush to adjust his hair and
clothes. He drops his hands back to his sides, half-shrugs, weakly, like it'd
soften the blow. "You knew we weren’t gonna live here forever."
"I-" Derek swallows, then more quietly: "I do now." Stiles looks like he wants
to say something else, but decides against it. He spares Derek one last look
over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hall and out the front door,
leaving Derek completely alone in the house for the first time in a long time.
 
***
 
Derek really shouldn't be eavesdropping. He should just finish his shake and go
find his gloves and wraps and other shit he hasn't spared a second glance in a
while. He should be preparing for Monday.
"You didn't like any of the showings," Lydia states plainly. "The boys hated
them, too."
"I know," Derek hears Stiles answer. "I just don’t want to live out of a
suitcase anymore."
Lydia laughs. "So unpack," she tells the omega.
Derek turns away. He's too much of a coward to wait and hear Stiles' reply.
  
***
  
"How'd it go?" Derek asks, not five minutes since Stiles and the kids have come
through the door.
The omega flips on the TV for the boys, then joins Derek in the kitchen. He
grabs a beer from the fridge and offers one to the alpha. "Congratulate me," he
says, grinning, as he twists the cap off with the end of his shirt.
Derek finds himself smiling. "Congratulations," he obeys. They clink their
glasses together, and Derek watches the omega over the tilt of his bottle as
they drink in celebration.
Stiles got the job.
"What exactly is the deal between you and Talia?" Stiles asks after dinner,
once the boys are in bed and they've busied themselves with washing the dishes.
Derek looks up from drying off a plate with the towel, caught off guard by
Stiles' inquiry. He swallows and returns his gaze to the task at hand. "Let's
just say she wasn't exactly much of a mom," he says. Stiles quirks a brow, not
disbelieving, but genuinely curious. Derek half expected the omega to dismiss
his words like most other people do, telling him he's imagined things, that
Talia just wants what's best for him.
"I'm sure she loves you very much," Stiles says softly.
"Love is irrelevant."
Stiles shrugs. "People have different ways of showing it."
"My mother," Derek starts, placing the plate in the dishrack, "is no saint. She
loves me, sure. Maybe. But she was never my mother, not when I needed her to
be, not when I begged for it. She's not like you." Derek sees Stiles' fingers
pause, sud-covered sponge clutched tightly in his hand. "She's never been
anything but selfish," Derek continues. "I was a fighter before I even knew
what it meant to be one. While other kids were still playing freeze tag and
eating grilled cheeses, I was dieting and being tossed into a cage to spar with
people twice my size, weight, and age. I was in the fifth grade when I had to
learn how to take a punch from my mother. Only it wasn't child abuse when it
was for the good of my career."
"You love fighting," the omega says simply.
"I love fighting," Derek agrees. "But not for the reasons my mother wanted me
to." Stiles finishes rinsing off and takes the dry dishtowel from Derek's
offered hand. The alpha leans back against the edge of the sink. "Talia could
build you up higher than you've ever felt before," he remarks, remembering the
pride and confidence she always put in him, but the memory, warm and soft in
the pit of his stomach, is quickly reduced to nausea. "She also knew how to
tear you down and make you feel like the biggest piece of shit ever. As far as
I know, mothers don't do that to their children." Stiles takes on a new scent,
a mixture of that familiar sadness and something else Derek can't identify. The
alpha wants to look at him, to see what's written in his features, to trace
every edge and curve of the omega's face, even if just with his eyes.
He doesn't.
"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," Stiles says. "And your father?"
If Stiles was a wolf, he would be able to smell the sour spike in Derek's
scent, the anger and the hatred in addition to the utter contempt written
across his face. "I don't have a father," the alpha shortly responds. "If I
did, he would be here, no?"
Stiles fiddles with the towel in his hands, begins wiping down the countertops.
"I guess only you can decide that," the omega says, wringing his hands. "I
would do anything to see my father again." He gazes out the window, watching
the soft glow of the yard under the ever-fading light of the dusk. "He's dead."
Derek's brow furrows. "I'm sorry," he says, and nothing else. Pain like that
doesn't disappear with petty condolences.
"I knew when I said goodbye to him that it wasn't goodbye forever," Stiles says
softly, sadly, but his heart is steady, scent warm and constant. Derek wonders
how long ago it was. He wonders if the pain of it has faded even a little. "I
knew I'd see him again," Stiles whispers, a tightness rising in his voice,
making him swallow. He turns his watery eyes up at Derek, a knife to the
alpha's gut. "And when I see him again, he won't be in pain anymore."
Derek wants to reach out, wants to grab Stiles close and hold him safe and
never let go. Derek wants lots of things. Sometimes he feels like he can have
it all.
But not Stiles.
No.
Derek will never have Stiles.
And Stiles—Stiles will never not hurt.
  
***
 
"My father," Derek starts, and Stiles looks up from his book, "is a fucking
drunk." He folds his hands together to keep from fisting his pants. "He's not
dead. But I wish he was." Stiles looks away and Derek sees the tick in his jaw.
"I know that's insensitive. I know I sound cruel." The omega doesn't meet his
gaze. "My family-" he nearly scoffs at the word "-is fucked up, Stiles."
"At least you have a family," the omega lowly retorts, eyes
shooting towards him, scathing. "I had a mother. Dead. I had a father. Dead. I
had a husband. Dead-"
Derek breathes in deeply, focuses on drawing air into his lungs so he doesn't
choke on the tightness in his throat, the pulsing ache that's sinking and
spreading through his chest. "That gym, this job—Reign—will hurt you-"
Stiles slams his book shut and hurriedly stands, takes great, furious strides
out of the room, leaving the stench of his own misery to suffocate Derek in his
wake. He turns at the last moment with a devasting look leveled right at Derek.
"That's what Talia told me about you," he says.
And then he leaves.
  
***
 
"What do you think of this one?" Stiles slides the paper across the coffee
table, pointing to an apartment in the ad section, but Junior barely even
spares it a glance before he goes back to coloring. Stiles sighs, slumping back
against the sofa. Derek passes Junior a red crayon, silently relieved each time
Stiles' enthusiasm is met with disinterest.
"Mommy," Junior says without looking up from his drawing. "I think we're
exactly where we're supposed to be." Derek meets Stiles' eyes over Junior's
head and then the omega is crawling over and wrapping his arms around his son,
pulling him into his lap with an attack of kisses to the little alpha's face.
He doesn't let go until it's time to wake Sammy from his nap. When he returns,
settling Sammy next to his brother, he casually begins flipping through a
furniture catalog as he hums softly to himself.
"Hey, boys," he says, and they both look up. "I think I've got something you
may like." He flips the magazine around and presents the opened page to them.
Derek eyes sharply dart up from it to meet Stiles'.
Sammy remains unconcerned, but Junior's brows draw together as he tries to put
the pieces together. "Mommy?"
"I think it's time you slept in your own bed again. A room to call your own.
How 'bout it, Moonpie?"
It takes a moment, but then Junior is jumping up, a broad smile on his face as
he lunges at Stiles, arms tightly latching around his mother's neck. Sammy
scowls, crawls over and deposits himself in Stiles' lap and nuzzles his face
into the omega's soft chest. Stiles laughs, holding them both close. Junior
reaches for Derek, pulls him in and wraps his other arm around his uncle's
neck. Stiles slowly rests his head on the alpha's shoulder, their sides flush
against each other. Derek takes a moment to return the hug, and when he does,
it feels like coming home.
  
***
 
"How about the bus?" Stiles asks as he spoons off another one of his meatballs
to Junior's plate. The kid's appetite is growing by the day.
Now that Stiles and the kids are going to be a permanent fixture in Derek's
home, they decided the boys really needed to move into one of the extra rooms.
The only problem was the lack of furniture, and so here they are, spending
their Saturday at an Ikea, eating Swedish meatballs and preparing themselves
for the inevitable maze they'll have to wander in order to find an affordable
bedroom set for two boys under ten.
"I can't ride the bus," Junior sighs dejectedly. "Homeless people wipe their
hands on my hair."
Stiles looks properly horrified for half a second, then reigns it in. "Homeless
people love your hair, that's why. They're sad because they wish they had hair
like yours."
"I don't know, Mommy. Some homeless people seem really happy."
"Well, we gotta think of something, kiddo," he says, brushing the flyaway curls
from Junior's temples. "Uncle Derek and I are gonna have to start getting up
early for work, so I don't know if I'll be able to drive you in the morning
when school starts, and Aunt Lydia can only come over so often."
"That's okay. I don't want to go to school anyway. The teachers are stupid, the
kids are stupid. Christopher Columbus was a murderer. Mr. Harris didn't know
how to count. I don't have ADHD and I'm not autistic, I just prefer daydreaming
because everyone at school is stupid and I hate them."
Stiles sighs, puts his elbow on the back of Junior's chair and rests his chin
in his palm. "You're killin' me, kid."
"You know," Derek starts, pushing his empty plate aside and reclining in his
chair, "I dropped out of school when I was fifteen." Derek watches Stiles'
fingers pause their trek across Junior's forehead. "Homeschooled for about a
year and then quit all together. Never got my diploma. Didn't ever even bother
with a GED. If I had to do anything other than fight, I wouldn't be living that
comfortably. Education is important, Junior. Lucky for you, it's a breeze. I
know it sucks, but just hang in there. You'll thank yourself one day."
Derek helps Sammy onto his lap and pulls the blueberry cake closer for him.
"One day you won't have to deal with these idiots. You'll get to go to the
school you want for college, choose the classes you like. It pays off in the
end." Stiles finishes pushing the olives out of his salad and to the corner of
his plate. Derek forks them up, making the omega grimace. Junior grins at him.
He pulls the cake away from Sammy before he can shove the last of it into his
mouth.
"Why don't you and your brother go play for a bit?" Stiles nods towards the
little play area in the center of the cafeteria. "Then we can go pick out your
bed."
Sammy nods eagerly, eyes glued to a colorful abacus, a look on his face like
How could I have missed that? Junior runs after his brother and Derek absently
monitors the exits, making a quick scan of the crowd, adjusting his chair so
that his back is to the wall, subtly scenting the air, grabbing the edge of
Stiles' seat and dragging him across the distance between them so that both of
their backs aren't out in the open. He looks over when Stiles titters. The
omega quickly shovels a forkful of cake into his mouth.
"What?" Derek questions.
Stiles smiles broadly, a dazzling, bright beam that lights up his whole face.
"You're not even aware of it, are you?" Derek furrows his brows. "Relax,"
Stiles says. "We're at an Ikea. They're fine." He turns his gaze back on the
kids and resumes his annihilation of the cake. Derek feels warmth bloom in his
chest.
Once Stiles finishes pouting about his finished pastry, they gather up the kids
and make their way out of the cafe. "Ready?" Stiles asks, hand joined with
Sammy's, Junior at Derek's side. Derek forgot how much of a zoo this place is.
There's too many damn people. Too much damn furniture, even for a furniture
store. "What do you think of that one?" Stiles points to a dark, wooden single
bed, all smooth, angular edges. Sammy shakes his head. The little beta does,
however, find a stuffed wolf that he proceeds to hold tight in his arms and
focus all his attention onto. "Any of these?" Stiles asks as they come to a
stop in front of a row of bunk beds. Junior hates every last one of them. This
goes on until they loop back to where they started, the boys tearing off to
inspect the very first bed they checked out not ten minutes ago. It's a plain,
honey-colored single with gaps in the headboard and a low frame. It's also
under a hundred bucks.
"Mommy," Junior decrees. "This. This is the one."
"Dude." Stiles grins, heart fluttering, and then the omega is laughing,
scooping Sammy up and flopping onto the mattress, pulling Junior in with his
other arm. An employee scowls at them as the bed creaks under Sammy's bouncing.
Stiles takes a moment to catch his breath. "Now let's go test out some
mattresses," he says. Derek groans.
"This way," the omega pulls on Derek's arm, but it's like playing tug of war
with a boulder, futile and entirely too adorable when it's Stiles doing it.
They've loaded up the buggy with textiles and lighting accessories and two
acutely selected single mattresses, along with varying boxes containing parts
for bedroom storage—basically everything other than the beds. Derek can
honestly admit that a lot more effort goes into assembling a kids' room than
that of a grown man who lived behind bars for four years without the privacy of
locked doors or bathroom stalls, without the luxury of proper bedding or things
like curtains and rugs.
Derek's handwriting has never been neat, but even he can tell that Stiles is
pointing them in the wrong direction. "Excuse me," Stiles calls over a worker.
"Could we get some help?" Derek debates whether he should grab another cart in
fear of the current one overflowing while Stiles and the attendant search up
the bed they're looking for in the system. In the end, the decision is taken
out of his hands when they're guided to the appropriate aisle and he has to
haul himself forward with the boys latched onto his legs. He lifts two of the
long boxes and carefully places them in the buggy as the scrawny beta girl
watches on with unhidden admiration. Stiles extracts Junior and Sammy from
Derek's ankles, quick to load them up into the cart, then turns to thank the
attendant.
"My pleasure!" the girl responds, all dimples and cheeky smiles. "You've got a
beautiful family." In the moment that follows, Derek is thankful that Stiles
lacks the ability to hear the thundering of his heartbeat and the slight catch
in his breath. The omega smiles back at the girl, thanks her again, and guides
Derek by the elbow out of the aisle just as the underlayer of misery in his
scent spikes. The boys quiet down as they watch their mother quickly assist the
cashier in scanning all the items in their cart, double-checking everything,
fidgeting with his clothes, then smoothing them down unconsciously, over and
over. The cashier not-so-subtly inhales and throws Derek a dirty look as the
alpha pulls out his wallet.
"Derek, no-"
"I want to," is all the alpha says in reply. "I've got more money than I know
what to do with." Stiles looks on the verge of tears. "Why don't you go pull up
the Jeep?" Derek gently suggests. "Take the kids. Buckle them in. I'll meet you
in the loading zone." Stiles looks toward the ceiling as if it'll carry all the
answers. He nods his head after a moment, holding out his hands, and the boys
quickly jump up and clasp on. Sammy hugs his new plush friend goodbye and
presents it to Derek, and then they're heading out to the parking lot.
Derek finishes the purchases, swiping his card, takes one look at the soft-
pawed wolf sitting abandoned on the conveyor belt before throwing it in with
the rest of the items. He tosses it into the cart and hauls ass to the loading
dock.
Back behind the wheel, Derek notices Stiles' distress has settled for the most
part. The omega utters a quiet, lengthy thank-you before promptly passing out
against the passenger window, curled up in his seat like he's trying to
disappear. The kids have conked out, too, heads lolling back in their booster
seats, and Derek huffs out a soft chuckle. Like mother like sons. They wake as
Derek pulls up to the house, stealthily slithering out of their seat belts and
buckles before he can swing open the door and lift them down. Stiles doesn't
stir, even as Derek shuts the door on its creaky hinges. The alpha sighs,
reaches in, and scoops the omega up. Sammy and Junior open the front door for
him, trailing behind as he locates Stiles' room and gingerly deposits him in
bed. He hesitates half a beat before slipping the scuffed Chuck Taylors off the
omega's feet, pulling the sheet over him.
Junior stands with Sammy on the curbside as Derek unloads the boxes from the
Jeep. The alpha pauses to search through the backseat. "Here we are," he says,
the stuffed wolf manifesting from behind him. He bestows it to a giggling,
clapping Sammy, who reaches for it with impatient, grabby hands.
"What're you gonna name him?" Junior asks.
"Chomby!" Sammy exclaims.
"You mean Chompy? Like biting?" Junior laughs.
"Chomby," Sammy repeats, hugging the wolf close.
Junior pets the wolf’s head. "It's perfect, Sammy."
"I've got an idea," Derek says. "How would you two like to help me build
everything we bought?" The boys eagerly nod, eyeing up the boxes. "Here's the
thing, though." Derek crouches before them. "We are on a top-priority stealth
mission. We gotta be quiet. And we gotta surprise your mom. Sound good?"
Turns out, stealth isn't exactly his nephews' strong suit. Halfway through,
Stiles wakes to the hammering Derek has had to put forth for the beds. He ends
up relocating outside to finish that up while Sammy keeps Stiles occupied,
eventually forcing his mother back into slumber.
Derek adjusts the last of the furniture in place. Junior and Sammy force Stiles
to cover his eyes as they lead him down the hall and into their new room. Derek
holds his breath as Stiles moves his hands away. His eyes grow wide, shining,
flitting over every inch of the place, and from across the room he mouths words
Derek cannot for the life of him make out. He guesses he’s so distracted by the
omega's lips that he forgets to read them. He's smiling, the biggest,
brightest, most beautiful thing Derek has ever seen.
Stiles may have been the one to decide to stick around and settle in, but he
made the wanderer, the runaway, the nomad in Derek build this home in this
house.
Stiles made Derek an uncle.
Stiles made Derek stay.
Chapter End Notes
     To give you guys more of an idea of Talia's character, she is
     inspired by Ronda Rousey's mom (AKA AnnMaria De Mars), who is very
     intense and kindapossiblymaybe too intense? Everyone is going to be a
     bit of a bitch before things really start making sense. Hope you guys
     will stick around to see it play out.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     This one's short, but I was feeling inspired after watching UFC193.
     I'd like to believe that I've become a true MMA junkie.
     And to think it all started with a Sterek plot bunny. Ah, life is
     good.
     Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"I lost everything. I lost my job, my friends, my future. I knew I had a
problem. So I, uh, came to my first Ferals Anonymous meeting. I got me a
sponsor, showed up every week, stayed on track. I got married. Met the missus
at a yoga class, meditation and shit. Now we got a kid on the way. Three years,
man, it's crazy. Makes me scared, though. I don't know what I'd do if I let
myself go again. It's not just me I gotta worry about anymore."
"Thank you, Donovan, for a wonderful share," the chairperson says in his
neutral, calming tone. "Would anyone else like to have a turn?" Derek keeps
still, hands folded politely in his lap. "Anyone?" The chairperson makes a slow
scan of the group, eyes coming to a stop on the alpha. "Would you like to
share, Derek?"
Derek meets the man's gaze, briefly presses his lips together before standing.
Everyone in the rows in front turn in their chairs to face him.
"I'm Derek and I'm a recovered feral."
"Hi, Derek," the group chorales.
He clears his throat. "Um, I’ve been in recovery for almost four years now." He
awkwardly pauses, searching for more to say, and the group spares him a small
applause. "Thanks. I had to figure my shit out pretty early on. I went to my
first FA meeting when I was seventeen. I dealt with it pretty soon because I
didn’t wanna wait. I knew it would just get worse. I, uh, felt pretty solid
after I reigned my wolf in. I stopped coming to as many meetings, but then a
couple years later I didn't feel so solid anymore and ended up relapsing, so…"
He lets out a tight breath, clenching his fists against jeans.
"I have this mother," he divulges, spits it out. "She's the fucking worst. She
wasn't great at the whole parenting thing. I have a feral father. He drinks and
gets fucked up and pops in and out of my life when it's convenient for him. I
had five siblings, then I had four. My brother disappeared off the face of
the planet. He was one of the only things keeping me together. He was there one
day, gone the next, no explanation, no goodbye. He was just gone. I didn't know
how to cope without him, so I went feral. It wasn’t 'relapse' the way I
imagined it. I just felt...numb. I liked knowing that I didn't have to feel
anything. Got into some shady shit, fucked my life up for good. I was
incarcerated for four years. Joined the FA program in state. Been keeping my
peace since then."
Silence reigns until the chairperson speaks up again. "Thank you for sharing,
Derek," he says, expression a mask of indifference. "Great job today,
everyone."
After the meeting, Derek helps himself to a cup of coffee on his way out. It's
piping hot and the worst thing he's tasted, but he downs it like a shot,
letting it ground him as it scalds his tongue and the back of his throat. He
tosses the styrofoam cup in the bin and steps outside, drawing the attention of
the dark-haired beta from earlier, Donovan.
"Bro," the kid addresses him. "Sorry about your bro." He trails after Derek as
the alpha jangles his keys at his side, marching towards his car. "He never
turn up?"
"He turned up, alright," Derek mutters. He meets the beta's gaze over the hood
of the Camaro. "Dead."
The kid's eyes go wide. "And you didn't...go rabid again?"
Derek's hand twitches, keys still collectively clanging. "No," he responds. I
owed him that much. He slides behind the wheel, slams the door shut, hurriedly
pulls out of the parking lot, hands shaking, and doesn't lend the kid a second
glance in his rearview mirror.
 
***
 
"The title fight, Derek."
Talia is visibly seething. She paces, red rising in her face as she stews in
the shitstorm Derek has procured her.
"This was it. This was fucking it! Your chance to be on top, and you fucked it
up! What is the fucking matter with you?"
All those years, all that buildup, all the talk of taking over the dynasty, of
surpassing Xander, of a new reign for the Hales—gone.
Derek is exhausted. His wolf claws and snaps at his insides, possessing his
every thought and emotion, not pausing its assault on his sanity even once
since Xander's disappearance.
There were no scent trails. No extended investigation. No "foul play". It's as
if Alexander Hale never existed.
"Your brother cost me his title," Talia barks, slamming her hand down on the
table. "And now you, too." She looks at her son, and Derek barely sees anything
he recognizes as he looks back at her. He doubts it's his wolf's doing. It
doesn't matter how many sons she loses—Talia will always be Talia.
"Have you thought about what this is doing to me? To the gym? My top two
fighters dropping out? It's not just about you! How am I supposed to get Cora
signed? How am I supposed to get Scott any fights? You've ruined their chances,
Derek! You don't wanna fight? Fine. Fuck off. But I won't let you drag the rest
of this family down with you!"
Derek feels light. The wolf suddenly stops ripping him apart. It's like a
weight has been lifted, unburdening him for the first time in months. His nail
beds itch, his gums ache, and suddenly, Derek is so very aware of where his
wolf has gone.
The problem was never about giving in. It was only a matter of time, he
supposes.
"You know this isn't what Xander would want," Talia says, unshed tears in the
corners of her eyes.
"Xander's good as dead, Mom," Derek replies. "He doesn't really want anything."
He turns, leaves, and feels himself becoming everything he never wanted to be.
 
***
 
"We got a locker set up for you," Talia says. "Go get changed." She turns her
attention to the omega at Derek's side. "Stiles, you can just hang out for a
bit. Laura will help you settle in as soon as she gets here." Derek waits
patiently until Stiles meets his gaze, the latter proceeding to roll his eyes,
permitting a small smile to slip, jerking his head in no particular direction,
a gesture meant to send the alpha on his way.
Derek stands in front of the bench, bag still in hand, staring at the strip of
tape pasted across his locker. Southpaw, it reads, written in thick black
marker. He drops his bag down on the bench, lets his eyes settle on the locker
next to his. Magic Hands. He shuts his eyes, turns his back to the wall and
begins stripping. His hands tremble as he wraps them, his knee jiggles as he
sits, posture ramrod straight, calm, collected, yet so overly agitated he could
vomit. He throws punches at the air, plants his fists up in a block, loosens
his joints and muscles as he twists his torso, focuses on his footwork. He
stands still, eyes closed, and takes a deep breath.
The first jab knocks him so off balance he stumbles back. "Hands up," Talia
barks, widening her stance. She throws another punch, knocking Derek back
again, but he pitches forward against the momentum, going in for a double leg
takedown. Talia dodges his grip, retreats as Derek chases her ankles, smashing
her back against the cage so that she's trapped by Derek's bulk, but he's only
managed to latch onto one leg, her stance still solid as she loops a firm arm
under and around his, easing the strain on her knee. She coaches him through
the grapple—"Watch my foot. Move your head, move your head"—and rounds on him,
reversing their positions, escaping from his grasp and releasing a quick barage
of strikes to his face. Derek manages to weakly throw his hands up and block
them, slings a punch of his own, too slow and too flimsy, and then Talia is
giving him a taste of his own medicine and lunging at his legs, latching her
arms around the backs of his thighs. He goes in for her arm and just as he
thinks he's trapped her in a clinch, Talia falls into a backward roll, tossing
Derek over and onto his back, where she maneuvers their linked arms against
him, trapping his elbow up by his cheek, holding tight, closing in on a
chokehold as she bears her way down in a side sprawl across the tarp. "Come on.
Breathe. Relaxrelaxrelax. What's there? What's there, Derek?"
He taps out.
Fuck. "Fuck!" 
"Shut it off," Talia tells Stiles, rounding the cage towards the omega so that
he can hear her over the sound of Derek's roar as he repeatedly smashes his
fists into the mat. The omega quickly lowers his phone.
"I'm fucking exhausted!" Derek yells, his whole body rising and falling,
gulping in air. "I've got no flexibility, no flow at all!"
"You've been away from the game for five years," Laura says, swinging open the
cage door to throw a towel at his face.
"Bullshit, Laura, I know you're worried, too. You think I don't notice why the
gym is empty? Mom doesn't even want Stiles to film me, I fucking suck so much.
I don't have it anymore."
"This is all you've got," Talia snaps. "Now go put your fuckin' mouthguard on
before I knock your fuckin' teeth out of your skull. Can't believe I still have
to tell you that."
Back in the locker room, Derek paces, panting, wiping the sweat from his face
and neck. He hears the door swing open as he rifles through his bag for his
mouthpiece. "What," he barks, rounding on Stiles, who is quick to scowl at the
alpha, displeased. "I-" Derek lowers himself onto the bench, anger momentarily
deflating. "Sorry. I'm just-"
"I know," Stiles says. "I get it." Derek drags the towel down his face, sighing
into it. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself." Derek looks up at him. "Trust
the process." He offers a smile to the alpha. When neither of them look away,
he clears his throat, shuffles in place. "Also, you smell like eighth grade
kids who haven't learned how to use deodorant yet, so I'm gonna return to my
post." It takes him three tries to realize the door says pulland not push, then
he's muttering curses on his way out, and Derek just has to crack a smile.
"Kiss my feet and sing me praises in the street because I, Laura mothafuckin'
Hale, have landed you a contract with WUFC," Laura announces not two weeks
later, bursting into the house like a tornado, snatching up all things edible
in her immediate vicinity as she makes her way over to the couch and plops
down. "We've got a meeting with Chris next Monday-" she snaps open a Coke "-and
I am telling you, they are digging the comeback story we've got going on. We
are going to sell and they are going to love it." Derek can't stop staring at
her, his brows rising so far up they've nearly reached his hairline. Sammy pats
them back down into place, smoothing them out like they're pet caterpillars. 
The contract is a whole new weight to bear. It brings him that much closer to
his first fight, and slowly, slowly, painstakingly, Derek is learning to be a
fighter again. Talia is relentless and Derek is so fucking keyed up by the end
of the summer that everyone can see his meltdown coming from a mile away.
"Don't forget, you need me!" he bellows at Talia, tearing off his gloves, his
wraps, banging the cage door open, spiraling out of control.
"Did I say we're fucking done?" Talia shouts.
"Oh, so you tell me when I'm done? Huh? You set my times, you plan my meals,
you live my life!"
"You think I'm doing this for myself? I'm helping you, you fucking jackass!"
"Jiu-jitsu: six days a week! Boxing: four days a week! Judo: four days a week!
Wrestling: three days a week! Muay Thai, Taekwondo, Karate, Crossfit,
kickboxing, yoga, swimming, cardio, weight training, split training, weight
cutting, weight gain, fucking Wushu!" he shouts back at her. And then all that
anger he's kept hidden, simmering quietly inside him, comes bubbling up and
over. "I couldn't choose my own fucking hairstyle without you worrying about
traction! I couldn't ever eat what I wanted! I couldn't choose my own friends—I
barely even had any friends! The schedule was already planned out three hundred
sixty-five days without my own will! From cradle to grave, my life was already
made up!"
"And it all ended up being in vain, huh? It didn't end up going how any of us
expected, did it? Xander fucked you up," Talia snaps, making Derek turn halfway
across the mats to round on her.
"You don't get to say his name," Derek says, voice low and dangerous. "You
don't get to fucking talk about him."
"Then what about me?" Laura pipes up. "You listen to me and you get pissed off
at me, and that's all! That's it! And we never talk about Xander, because you
don't wanna talk about Xander."
"Fuck you, both," Derek says.
Talia slowly, softly starts to laugh, nodding her head, beginning to turn back
towards her office, and then her fist is crunching Derek's nose as she slams it
right across his face.
Derek trips back, catches himself, and lunges back at her, throwing punches
with intent to mirror his injury on her smug, smiling face. He lands one, then
has to dodge Talia's attempt at a takedown, throwing half his weight, using a
leg to trip her. She saves herself from the clinch, rearing back at Derek with
a kick and an uppercut. He just evades it, backing up and putting space between
him and his coach, taking up his familiar Southpaw stance, right foot forward,
jabbing at Talia with his right hand, and just as her eyes widen, Derek strikes
with a left hook, knocking her back.
The gym is silent save their sharp inhales for air, chests rising and falling
in tandem, as Derek watches Talia as she remains on her knees and she gazes
back up at him with that same spark of pride in her eyes that Derek lived for
as a child. A trickle of blood escapes her nose. A grin forms on her bloody
lips.
"Chris," Laura says, phone to her hear. "Set up the press conference."
Derek feels himself grin back at his mother. He hears Laura chuckle.
"My boy is ready."
 
***
 
The beta is dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, but the slacks are old and
worn, the shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar. He smells of alcohol, of
too much cologne, of women Derek can't recognize and doesn't care to.
"It will destroy you," he says, eyes glazed over, canines receding, growing,
receding, low growls reverberating from his throat, making him shrink back
against the wall like he's unaware that it's coming from him.
"That's what Mom used to tell me about you," Derek responds, staring down at
the sharp points of his nails.
"Get angry."
Derek looks up.
"Get angry, Derek," the beta says again. "There's no other way you'll make it
through."
He would know. With his nonexistent control, his addictions, his ability to
make Derek wish he never knew his father.
So Derek listens. And his anger, it becomes something.
A monster.
Chapter End Notes
     1) If you haven't figured it out yet, Ferals Anonymous is a play-on
     of Alcoholics Anonymous.
     2) OMFG I GOT THAT KNOCKOUT ON REPLAY DAAYYYYUUUUMMMMM
     #PrayForRondaRousey and her fall from grace lmao she ded
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     A belated Thanksgiving gift.
     Personally, I feel it's a bullshit holiday. But, hey—food with a side
     of ignorance and deeply offensive, unnecessary comments.
     Gotta love family.
     Chapter warnings are in the end notes to avoid spoilers.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Derek."
It's fucking hot. It's humid as fuck. There's not enough fucking air.
"Derek," the voice says again.
There's a cool hand on Derek's cheek, running over his forehead. Derek turns in
to it. He barely manages to open his tired eyes, seeking out more of that
coolness, the smoothness, the tender touch of his savior. He can't get his
tongue to move, but he sees now, in the dimness of early morning, that it's
Stiles, gently gazing down at Derek, smoothing his hair back from his face,
soothing the heat and the hurt. The mattress dips as Stiles draws near,
bringing his face in close to Derek's, softly shushing the alpha's attempts to
speak, to understand. There's something off here, but Derek can't put his
finger on it, doesn't care to.
Stiles moves his hand away and Derek whimpers, but the omega only quiets him
again, smiling softly like everything is perfect. He swings a leg over Derek's
hips and then the alpha is being straddled, and for the first time he notices
the raging hard-on between his legs, now throbbing under Stiles' beautiful
form, and Derek absently grinds up into the warmth, wants to bury himself in
Stiles' wet heat.
Suddenly Stiles is naked, all fair skin and tiny, freckled secrets. Derek is
staring, fucking gawking, in his dazed state, at the naked flesh before him,
but everything is hazy and it feels like he's been roofied. He's too unaware,
too blindsided, but that cool hand is back on his face, a godsend of relief,
and Stiles is whispering to him, words Derek can't make out, and then-
"Touch me," he hears. "Touch me, Derek." It's Stiles' voice, but different,
somehow, like it's echoing. "Derek," Stiles says again, louder, and Derek wants
to cover his ears. "Derek. Derek. Derek!"
He jolts upright, vision clearing as he gasps in air, searching out the dark
room, finding Stiles at his side, cool hands still running over Derek's face,
easing him back down into the mattress.
He's still hard as fuck, erection tenting his basketball shorts, and he's
drenched in sweat, torso glinting as Stiles flicks on the lamp by the bed.
Derek jerks his head towards the omega, taking in his pajamas, his concerned
gaze. "Wh-"
"You're in rut," Stiles tells him, planting a wet washcloth on Derek's
forehead. "It hasn't been long. I came in maybe ten minutes ago? You've got a
fever, so you need to take some ibuprofen." He shakes two pills out of a bottle
and hands it to Derek, who places it on his tongue, about to throw it back dry
before Stiles cups the back of Derek's head and tilts it forward, bringing a
glass of water to his lips.
"I don't-I didn't remember," Derek says, voice croaky, trying to adjust the
sheets over his lower half, his dick still so hard Derek thinks it could cut
diamonds. "I'm a fuckin' idiot."
"Hey," Stiles lightly chides, placing the water back on the nightstand. He
keeps running his hand over Derek's face, takes the cloth and dabs the beads of
sweat away, along his hairline, below his ears, over his chest and neck. "It'll
pass," he murmurs, combing his fingers through Derek's hair. "You're okay."
Derek falls back asleep pretty soon after that, and when he wakes up again the
fever is gone. He's still sporting a semi as he runs the shower, hopping in
before it warms up in hopes that it will kill the last of his warm, dozy state
of arousal.
"Uncle Derek smells funny today," Junior says, spooning up his Fruity Pebbles.
"Uncle Derek is having grown-up problems," Derek sighs, vigorously toweling off
his wet hair, pouring his shake into his bottle. He hears a loud squeak emit
from behind him, then the shrill screeching of a chair against the tiled floor,
making him turn, towel still rubbing at his hair as he takes in a bent-over
Stiles clutching at his toe. A sudden stench of pain emanates from the omega
and without a second thought, Derek is striding over and scooping him up,
sliding Stiles into a chair at the table. Derek retrieves a bag of peas from
the freezer, taking notice of how Stiles averts his eyes from his bare torso as
he bends and snatches the omega's ankle up, placing it on a second chair.
Junior shoots his hands out, and Derek sees the black tendrils spreading up his
little arms miliseconds too late.
"Junior!" Stiles shouts, dislodging the peas from his foot as he jerks Junior
back, holding his son away by his skinny forearms. "What did I say about taking
pain? Huh? What did I tell you?" Sammy lowers his head, his lip wobbling. Derek
has never heard Stiles snap at his kids, not like this. Junior looks downright
startled, eyes wide, staring back at his mother. "Oh, Junior," Stiles cries,
hugging him close, only to pull back in the same second to look into Junior's
eyes as he speaks. "I can handle pain myself, Moonpie," he says, softly this
time, rubbing his hands up and down Junior's arms like it will make the
darkness in the little alpha's veins fade faster. "But I can't bear yours,"
Stiles whispers, cupping Junior's face in his hands. "That would hurt me the
most."
Stiles waves Derek off ten minutes later, still coddling Junior as the elder
alpha takes his leave. Derek spends most of the morning working on cardio, his
rut only adding to his usual frustration, distracting him and slowing him down.
He's worked nonstop for months, building himself up for his first fight. His
camp started three weeks ago, and he can't afford to lose track of his endgame,
not now. Talia sends him home early, and when he arrives back at the house,
he's a little more than surprised at what he finds.
"Derek!" Laura comes running out of the house. "Happy Turkey Day!"
"It's Thanksgiving?"
Laura rolls her eyes. "Still sucking at dates, I see. Jesus. Yes! It's
Thanksgiving. It's Thanksgiving and I've got a big ol' ham in the oven because,
you know, fuck turkeys. But it's Turkey Day! Yay! Now come help me with
this ice."
The afternoon unravels in equal states of dizzying chaos and absolute
nonchalance. Boyd joins Derek out in the yard for a beer, relaxing back into
one of the lawn chairs. They greet each other with a slight nod of their heads,
turning their attention back to the people filing in and out and around the
house. Stiles looks exasperated, keeping an eye on Laura handling Junior and
Sammy—"Auntie Laura, what's a margarita?"—while he tries not to burn anything
on the stovetop—"It's like a snow cone of bad decisions." Cora snorts as she
walks into the yard, startling Derek, but Laura waves her over without the
younger alpha even acknowledging her brother's presence. Boyd flinches on
Derek's behalf.
Eric and Isaac arrive soon after, hauling plastic bags full of Ming-Ming's with
proud grins on their faces, only for Laura to shoot them a grievous frown,
about to launch into a shrill lecture. Stiles is thrilled, however. He manages
to calm things down, taking the twins back to the kitchen with him just as
Lydia shows up.
"Derek," she shortly addresses him.
"Lydia," he evenly shoots back, barely even looking at her.
Junior runs out to greet her, Sammy hot on his heels, and like that, Derek is
saved from the redhead's biting wrath. 
"Auntie Laura's making cool drinks," Junior informs Lydia, guiding her by the
hand over to the other alpha, who, already tipsy, stands before a throne of
assorted alcohol at the head of the table.
"So, first, we start off with raspberry vodka and blueberry vodka, a bit like
Liam and Scott, 'cause they're both dopey berries-" she shoots her brothers a
smile "-and then we add some rum, 'cause it packs a wicked punch like Cora-
" Cora raises her glass to that, hurrying over to help Kira, who stumbles her
way up the path and into the house, arms weighed down by grocery bags "-Then
some apple juice, like Derek—fuckin' pointless on a night out-" Derek would
roll his eyes, but he could give less of a fuck what she says "-And then the
raspberries—me—a refreshing break from the rest of the madness." Laura tops off
her glass, pours one for Lydia, hands Sammy and Junior some Capri Suns, and
they throw them back like they're at some fucking bar.
Stiles comes out to join them then, greeting Lydia with a hug that makes
Derek's fists clench against the arms of his lawn chair. At the same time,
Jackson pulls up to the curb in his Porsche, and out pops Allison Argent and
Theo fucking Raeken right along with him.
"Ah, familia!" Theo interrupts. "It is so good to see all of you!"
Everyone flatly stares at him, turning back to their drinks and conversations
without a word in his direction. Allison nearly runs away from his
embarrassment, enveloping herself in Scott's arms.
Theo suddenly pauses in his tracks, holding his arm out against Jackson's chest
as he shifts his shades down the bridge of his nose.
"Who. Is. This?"
He marches over to Stiles and Derek is suddenly alert. "You are a very
beautiful, young omega," Theo drawls, coming to stand before Stiles. "I don't
mean that to be sexually disrespectful, it's just that that is the only thing I
know about you right now." He reaches for Stiles' hand, lifting it to his lips,
leaving a kiss on the omega's knuckles. Derek wants to put a dent in Theo's
fucking face, and he's half a heartbeat away from making his dreams come true
when Stiles snatches his hand away, grimacing, and wipes the back of it against
the waist of his dress. He turns and walks away without a word. Things become
slightly more entertaining for Derek from there on.
 
***
 
Derek hasn't been around kids very long. But he had always noticed that when a
child runs around and falls over, there's typically a five-second window. A
window in which they don't cry straight away. There's a gap in which the whole
world stops. And it's just the child working out what's happening. And Derek
has always thought that if you leave them there, they'll work it out. They'll
become functioning human beings. And parents just don't let them. Parents go,
'Oh, no!' And that's when the kid goes, 'Shit, I'm dying'-
But Stiles, Derek has noticed—Stiles has the correct child injury procedure
down pat.
Like now.
He doesn't react. At the most, he's winced and gone ohhh. Junior frowns down at
his knee from where he's kneeling on the floor, rubbing at where it hurts.
Derek heard the bang from outside, running into the house at the first wave of
pain emanating from the little alpha. Derek looks to Stiles, who calmly makes
his way over to Junior to assess his panic level and severity of the injury.
Once Stiles sees that Junior's not dying, he looks him in the eye and asks,
"You okay?" Junior nods, teary-eyed. Then Stiles asks, "Are we gonna need to
cut it off?" Junior giggles, still slightly teary, and Stiles does some
sympathetic back-patting. "When you're going to be dumb..."
"You gotta be tough," Junior finishes.
"What's your Aunt Lydia up to?" Stiles inquires, rocking him back and forth.
"She's drinking fun water with Auntie Laura."
Derek peeks out the window, and sure enough, Laura and Lydia are a hammered,
giggling mess, clinking vodka shots across the table. Junior quickly grows
bored, so Stiles lets the sad, little bug down off his lap and back out to the
yard.
Theo ambles his way into the kitchen just as Stiles announces that the oven is
dead.
"Oven's not working. Laura's possessed. Classic Thanksgiving," Liam mutters,
taking his leave, passing by Theo, who's admiring both Stiles' backside from
the doorway and himself in the hallway mirror.
"This is crazy!" Theo suddenly exclaims. "I don't know whether to look at my
own reflection or you!" He draws closer. "That's how beautiful you are."
Stiles looks genuinely confused. "I'm sorry, are you still actually flirting
with me?"
"Oh, no, no, I'm full on hitting on you." Theo throws the omega a dashing smile
that does nothing to dissolve the crease between Stiles' brows.
"Yeah," Stiles responds, drawing it out like Theo is mentally unwell. "Well,
um, I'm kind of seeing anybody else."
Theo's smile disappears so fast Derek almost laughs. Sammy runs in and Derek
smells the juice on his shirt before Stiles sees it. The little beta pauses to
peer up at Theo, making grabby hands. Theo wrinkles his nose, backing up
against the counter. "What? Who are you? Who is this fucking infant?" Stiles
rolls his eyes, snatching Sammy up and heading for the bathroom. Theo turns to
Derek, straightening out his blazer. "Derek fuckin' Hale," he chuckles. "You
are rockin' the white picket fence, bro."
"Don't bro me," Derek says, lifting the uncooked ham out of the oven, thumping
the tray down on the counter.
Theo assesses him for a moment, glancing out the window to where the boys are
now helping Stiles and the twins set the table. "He yours?"
Derek hesitates half a moment, then shakes his head. "Xander's," he says. He
treats himself to another beer, leaving an appalled Theo behind in the kitchen
for Jackson to find. The beta spends the better part of the evening throwing
back shots like he's trying to catch up with Laura.
"Theo, no matter how drunk you get, Stiles is still going to be Xander's
widow," Jackson says, helping himself to Lydia's guac, making eyes at her as he
does so.
"Stiles?" Theo petulantly mumbles.
"Stiles," Jackson repeats. "You're down about it."
"What do you mean 'down about it'?" Theo turns to his friend. "Jackson, there
are plenty of things to be 'down about'. The refugee crisis. Institutional
racism. Donald Trump's existence isn't very good. Stiles is Xander's widow—I'm
over it!" Derek cannot roll his eyes harder.
"Heyyyy, party people," Malia greets, sliding onto the bench. "And Satan," she
says, sparing Theo half a glance. She turns to Laura. "Sorry I'm late or
whatever. I got your text, if you can even call it that, I mean, it was
basically ten rows of the turkey leg emoji. Anyway, I got a fucking turkey,
even though I had to drive all the way to fucking Koreatown to get possibly the
last one in all of L.A.—stuffed, glazed, ready to go—and I brought us a treat."
She holds up a brand new bottle of Jack Daniel's.
"Wife!" Theo addresses her.
"Soon-to-be ex," Jackson corrects, smirking at his sister, and Malia kicks him
under the table.
Scott starts flagging everyone down, signaling the start of the meal. The table
fills up, Stiles, Liam, and Cora joining last as they bring out all the food.
Scott remains standing as everyone settles in. "Please raise your Capris to the
sun," he announces, and everybody lifts their drinks. "It's exciting to see all
of us together. Years have split us apart, circumstances have procured
difficulties, but in the end, we've found our way back to each other." Derek
clenches his fist against his thigh. "We lost a Hale," Scott says, voice more
solid than Derek's would have been. "But also gained three." He points his
juice in Stiles and the boys' direction. "To family."
"To family!"
"Started from the bottom, now we're here," Junior declares. "Hot diggity and
amen."
"Amen!"
Derek fills to the brim with warmth, and not because of his ever-persistent
rut, though the low buzz of his sexual frustration makes him more ballsy than
not.
When he catches Stiles’ eye across the table, he has zero intention of
releasing it, and all he can think is: I'm thankful for this turkey you.
 
***
 
"It's important to hold onto your virtues," Malia lectures, ever the preacher.
And the choir is fucking tired of her non-stop shit.
"Honestly," Liam interrupts her, "the only thing I'm really trying to hold onto
is my first boob. And this turkey tastes like ass, Malia."
"You're a little shit," Malia snaps, nearly knocking her whiskey over.
"Bitch-" Liam slams his fork down "-I might be."
"Did you know that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift
away from each other?" Junior asks, loud enough to tear Malia's attention away
from her cousin. "Also, dolphins have been witnessed torturing porpoises to
death just for fun."
"Whoa, Rain Man," Laura says. "How'd you know all that?"
"Discovery Channel," Junior replies, tiredly rubbing his eyes. "The devil
reminds me of those dolphins."
Kira chokes on her beef broccoli.
"What did I say about calling Auntie Malia the devil?" Cora whispers to Junior.
Junior giggles. "That it's offensive to the devil."
Malia looks just about ready to fling the whole goddamn table over. She forgoes
her glass, chugging straight from the bottle of Jack. "There isn't a decent
thought in your nasty little mind!" she spits at Cora, who just grins,
shrugging.
"Not gonna deny it," Cora concedes, helping Sammy out of his seat.
"I don' like da turk'y, either," Sammy  whispers to Stiles.
"Hey," Stiles mildly admonishes. "Apologize."
Sammy turns to Malia. "Sorry I don' like yo' bad cook'ng."
Malia shoves a shrimp into her mouth, scowling for all it's worth.
"Move away from the criminal, baby," Lydia drunkenly slurs, waving Junior apart
from Derek.
"Lydia," Stiles rebukes.
Liam excuses himself from the table, taking Junior and Sammy by the hands.
"'M no' tired," Sammy objects.
"Okay," Liam says. "Well, no one said anything about sleeping. We'll just go
brush our teeth."
"Why? They're gonna fall out anyway," Junior counters.
Liam laughs, leading them up the porch. "You may be a smartass, but I have been
a smartass longer. We're brushing our teeth."
"How's school going for the kiddo?" Scott asks Stiles.
The omega shrugs. "Honestly, he's never liked it. So much has happened, though,
I just...can't help but worry."
"You know, Derek dropped out of school," Laura garbles. "Right around the point
when the scales tipped and he went from 'good kid with problems' to 'problem
kid'."
"Shut your fucking mouth, Laura," Eric snaps at her.
"You're shit-faced," Isaac states.
"Since when is it a crime for a Hale to drink?" Laura laughs.
"You smell like a fucking distillery," Derek growls.
"So," Theo says, eyes on Stiles. "Sorry that Xander's dead." Stiles looks only
slightly surprised at Theo's inept airheadedness this time around. "Now," Theo
continues. "I'd like to know this story: Xander and Stiles." And maybe it's
because Stiles has had more to drink than usual, or maybe he feels the need to
fill the remaining tension in the air with an anecdote, but he's suddenly
telling the story of Xander and Stiles, and Derek hadn't realized how much he
wanted to know it until now.
"I was fairly new to Venice," Stiles says, a smile finding its way to his lips
as his eyes cloud with the memory playing back in his mind. "I had moved here
with my dad. He was sick, and we needed to relocate to L.A. to get him the best
care. Things were...okay. I wasn't doing too well on my own. When I met Xander,
things got better for a while. I, uh, had no idea who he was when we met.
Hadn't a clue about fighting or anything that goes with it. I was a minor,
so...we had to keep us a secret. Things got complicated when I got pregnant. My
dad couldn't take care of me, and, um...Let's just say foster care was the last
place I wanted to find myself. Omegas don't exactly survive long in the
system." He pauses to gather himself. "Xander saved me," he says. "We ran away.
I had Junior and he took care of us. We came back to Venice when I was eighteen
and got married. Had Sammy. My dad, though, died pretty suddenly. We ended up
moving back to Beacon Hills, my hometown. Then the fire happened." He stops
there, his grief throbbing in the air like a lethal pulse.
"So Xander leaves his family and starts a new one," Cora affirms, like their
brother's choice can be so simplified.
"He didn't want to leave," Stiles tries.
"Yeah, well, I feel pretty left," Cora shoots back, hands beginning to shake
with anger. "And if we're here to get honest, well, then, I've fucking
arrived." She rounds on Derek. "Where did you go?" She's seething now,
clenching her fists like she's about to wolf out. "Where did you go, Derek?
Where did you go? Answer me!"
"I don't owe you a fucking explanation, Cora," Derek growls.
Cora pushes back from the table, the dishes rattling. "Why the fuck not? I
suffered because of you and Xander! You fucking abandoned me!"
Derek glares down at his plate. "We're family."
Cora laughs, and Derek wants to shield his ears against its harshness. "You
don't get to use that word," Cora bites. "You don't get to say 'family' like it
fixes everything."
"Family means a lot more than you think it does," Derek tells her. "It doesn't
just stop when you leave. It's always there. But I'm not sorry I left. I'm not
sorry for trying to take care of myself."
Cora turns away from him then, done waiting for whatever it was she was
expecting to hear from him.
"I'm sorry Xander hurt you," Derek says. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry you
hate me. More than anything, Cora, I'm so fucking sorry that you can't see past
your own pain to truly recognize mine."
"Are you still a Hale? Your last name, I mean, technically speaking? You know,
because Xander is dead?" Theo whispers to Stiles, and everyone looks back at
the beta incredulously, even Jackson.
"Can we get through one fucking conversation without you reminding me that my
goddamn husband is dead?"
"I can't believe my heart used to race for this fuckbucket," Malia mutters.
"What did I say wrong? Who could I have possibly offended?" Theo is a drunken
fucking mess, genuinely wondering.
"Show of hands," Cora says, raising her own, and every other hand at the table
goes up.
Theo shuts himself up after that.
"I only trust one man right now," Malia grouses to herself. "Say hello, Jack."
She rocks the bottle like a baby in her arms. 
"Stiles, how old were you when you had Junior?" Kira asks. "If you don't mind
answering, I mean."
"Sixteen."
"Sixteen?" Laura blurts. "You should've been feeling butterflies, not a baby
kicking!"
"Should've been learning to drive a car, not hoping one would hit him," Lydia
tacks on, head lolling, unaware of the stares, hiccuping between laughs.
Slow tears, Derek notices, come from the corners of the eyes. They build up,
determined, roll to the side, and wait for the weight of themselves to pull
down. But there are tears that people have no control over. These tears do not
bother with the steady accumulation, they fall straight from the middle of the
lids, and they fall in tandem, together, one per cheek. He's seeing them now,
on Stiles' pretty, pale face, racing to the ground.
Before Derek can react, the omega is jolting up from the table and running into
the house. Allison follows soon after him.
"Lydia Martin, you are a cruel drunk," Jackson tells her, disrupting the
silence. He leans across the table toward the alpha. "Can I get your number?"
Derek stands. "Leave," he says, low and ominous. Everyone at the table just
looks at him. "All of you—leave."
"Der-"
"You'll fucking leave," he roars, striding towards the house.
"We all lost Xander," Jackson says all of a sudden.
Derek stops. He slowly turns.
"What did you say?"
"Derek, we all lost Xand-"
Derek is punching Jackson in the face, knocking the beta to the ground. He
bends over his cousin, snarling, lifting him by the collar as everybody jumps
to action, arguing over each other. "You don't know about real loss 'cause it
only happens when you've loved somebody more than you love yourself," Derek
growls, throws Jackson one last disgusted look, dumping him back into the dirt.
Something seems to settle between them when the Hale siblings finally
close their mouths, but Derek can't tell if it’s a bridge or a wall. What Derek
can tell is that they all look a lot less together than he first realized.
"Derek, you're my brother," Laura says. "I love you. But you are a great, big
bag of dicks."
"Maybe you should lower your expectations," he replies.
Laura doesn't look drunk. She doesn't look sad. She doesn't look anything. She
just gives it to him plainly: "I can't lower them any further."
Derek turns and walks back into his house, passing Allison and Liam on his way
to Stiles' room, but what he finds is Stiles lying in Derek's bed, in Derek's
room.
And that's when he realizes, anger has turned him inside out. There's a certain
satisfaction in bitterness. He courts it. It stands outside, and Derek invites
it in. And the truth is, the only person Derek really wants to talk to about
Alexander Hale's death is Alexander Hale.
But maybe.
Maybe.
He just might talk to Stiles instead.
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter Warnings:
     -Lydia drunkenly "outs" Stiles without his consent, implying a past
     suicidal thought of his.
     -Past underage elements are briefly mentioned.
     I am thankful for everyone who enjoys my fic. I am thankful for
     Sterek. And above all else, I am thankful for pie.
     Gobblegobble, motherfuckers.
     *turkey leg emoji*
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     You_Are_My_Sunshine_-_The_Civil_Wars
     Chapter warnings in the end notes!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Before Xander died, Stiles loved chocolate.
Now even the smell makes him sick.
And, presently, he swears, rolling over onto his side, trying and failing to
push the comforter back from his heaving chest, wherever that heady, horrible
stench is permeating from, Stiles will figure it out. And he will chuck that
fucking chocolate out the fucking window when he finds it.
If he can manage to haul himself out of bed anytime soon.
"Mommy?"
Stiles immerses his nose into his pillow, turning his face away from the soft
pitter patter of feet against the floorboards, hiding his watery eyes from the
rich overload of smells pouring through the open door. There's a moment in
which all is quiet, and Stiles lets out a breath.
"Mommy!"
Stiles jerks his head up, oxygen rushing into his lungs as he gasps in the cool
air.
"Mommy, you okay?" Sammy tugs at the sheets pouring off the mattress, trying to
pull himself up onto the bed.
"Yeah, Moonpie," Stiles says, wiping a hand over his face. "Where's Junior?"
"Food," Sammy simply answers, worming his way over Stiles' legs, under his arm,
curling up against the omega's side. He wiggles some more, like a puppy
circling to get comfortable, plops down finally, sinks his face into the crook
of Stiles' neck, sighs, and drifts off. Stiles thanks God for the billionth
time for making Sammy the heaviest sleeper known to man.
Junior pops his head in a short while later, balancing his plastic plate of
Pop-Tarts and Batman cup of milk with extreme effort. They eat in silence,
taking turns sipping from the cup. When they finish, Junior snuggles down on
Stiles' other side, burying his face against the soft stretch of his mother's
neck, absently scenting his way into a state of floaty almost-sleep, his little
body slumping down into the warm cradle of the mattress.
They sleep in for a good hour and then Stiles forces himself out of bed. He's
pouring himself some orange juice, growing more anxious of that chocolatey
aroma in the air, when Derek strides through the door, panting and sneaker-
clad, shirt hanging from the waistband of his shorts.
He halts in his tracks, staring at Stiles, halfway through pulling the
headphones from his ears. His eyes are comically wide, nostrils flaring. Stiles
opens his mouth, about to ask, when Derek is suddenly right in front of him,
his hand wrapping around Stiles' wrist, and a dizzying jolt tears through the
omega.
"When was the last time?" Derek asks, voice deeper than usual.
"Before Xander," Stiles says, softly, mouth running dry.
Derek keeps looking at him. He slowly nods. "I need to shower," he states,
swallowing, and walks out.
Stiles hugs his wrist to himself, the alpha's fleeting hold feeling like a hot
brand. The omega squeezes his eyes shut, pressing himself back against the
counter. When Derek touched him, it stirred something that had been dead in him
for months.
The whole idea of sex had burned out, gone to ashes right along with Xander.
Stiles had stopped remembering it even existed. He'd forgotten what it was like
to want that, forgotten how it felt for a pair of dark eyes to trace his body,
a pair of large, solid hands to actually do it. He'd been numb until Derek's
fingers on the thin skin of his wrist reminded him of that heat, jolting him
back into that hunger.
He counts back the days, runs the possibilities through his head, takes into
account his increased appetite, the boys feeling more tactile, him feeling more
tactile, the sudden stink of chocolate  tingling his nose, rushing to his
brain, possessing his every breath. But—it's been months.
Don'tpanicdon'tpanicdon'tpanic-
He can't do this. Not without Xander, he can't, he's not ready, it's too soon,
he doesn't even know if he'd ever want to again-
On Sunday, Stiles goes into heat.
  
***
                                      εїз
The first time Stiles takes off his clothes in front of Xander, he slides the
white fabric of his shirt off his shoulders, baring the ridged rows of scars
that run down his soft inner arms. Xander doesn't just glance, only having
ever referenced them indirectly, but this time he studies them,like he wants to
reach out and touch, so Stiles takes his hand and presses it to the pale
ladders of his flesh and for every rung he's left upon himself and healed,
Xander finds another reason to call him beautiful.
"Can I-"
"You can do anything," Stiles breathes, and he shivers as Xander's hands move
over his body.
Naked and sweating, when the rest of their clothes are strewn all over the
floor and Stiles finally has his legs spread, gasping for Xander to hurry, to
stop teasing, and the alpha crawls over his body, letting his weight cover the
omega, Stiles wants nothing more than to be filled by him yesterday. Xander
wants to be careful, wants to go slow, to make things perfect, but Stiles has
never been one for perfection, so he folds his knees further in, tucks his
ankles over the backs of Xander's thighs, and draws the alpha inside him.
He flinches involuntarily, but it's Xander who tenses and panics. "Sorry! Did I
hurt you? I didn't mean to-" Stiles kisses him to shut him up. "Only for a
second," he assures, wrapping his arms around Xander's neck, kissing the corner
of his mouth, his stubbly cheek. "Only for a second." And he realizes that it's
true. The flash of pain has dissipated into pleasure, and that pleasure is so
far beyond any pain could ever be—all the sadness, all the loneliness, all the
heartache and misery and motherfucking pain—so much so, that Stiles can't even
remember what it's like. With Xander, Stiles forgets what depression even is.
"You read me like tea leaves, Alexander Hale," he whispers later, in the dark
and the quiet, the alpha's strong, steady heart beating beneath his ear. Xander
doesn't stir, but after a moment he's turning his head against the pillow to
face Stiles, his strong arms folding around the omega, pulling him closer. He
doesn't speak, but he lifts Stiles' hand, placing it against his own cheek,
practically purring like a cat as he sags into Stiles' palm. Then, with the
warmest look in his eyes and the tenderest of touches, Xander tilts his head
down a fraction of an inch, shuts his eyes, and places the softest of kisses
upon Stiles' scars.
I love you, Stiles thinks.
But he'll keep that to himself for now.
                                      εїз
***
 
Derek takes the kids out for the day so Stiles can relax. The omega bides his
time in pajamas and socks, playing back the tapes in the box. He's horny as
fuck, but he's also sad as hell.
This is his first heat without Xander. He's only ever had one without his
alpha, before they had met, when he was fourteen, and that one was more of a
pseudo heat than anything, just Stiles gaining weight for a week or so and
humping his pillow through the night during the worst of it.
He hasn’t felt his husband for so many months. He'd moved in with a near-
stranger, he'd held the hand of a ghost, he'd kissed its lips, and now, without
thought, he's reached out to touch the empty space that Xander should be
filling.
"I love you, Xander," he whispers, shutting his eyes against the world,
gritting his teeth. "But I hate missing you...all the fucking time."
He opens his eyes again and there his husband is, on the TV screen, filming
Stiles' sleeping form. He kneels by the bed, setting the camera down on the
nightstand, focusing it on them. There's a cheeky smile on his face as he
pounces on Stiles, startling him awake, wrapping around him like an octopus,
making Stiles laugh until he cries.
Stiles closes his eyes, remembers the exact moment like it was yesterday. The
way Xander liked to dip his nose down along the tender parts of his neck,
running his stubble over it until Stiles' skin flushed. The way he'd try to
kiss away the cold from the tips of Stiles' ears, seemingly the only part of
his body that'd never catch the memo. Or the way he'd whisper promises into
Stiles' ear, about marrying him one day, of them having a big family, because
that was all Xander had ever known and all Stiles had ever wanted.
He has to stop the video when he hears Xander's voice repeating over and
over, I love you, I love you, Stiles, I love you.
He crawls into bed, forgoing lunch, though neither of his appetites have ceased
their efforts. Stiles is so frustrated, so pent up, and he knows he needs the
relief, however momentary, however unsatisfying.
So he closes his eyes, slowly shedding his sweats and his socks until he's
lying atop the sheets in nothing but his underwear and his shirt. He thinks
about Xander's eyes, dark, warm, always so sharp, so knowing. He imagines
Xander's big hands, firm and steady, feeling all over his body, sure touches
that always made Stiles come apart. He touches himself, runs his hands over his
stomach, up his chest, imagining Xander's weight over him, how solid and strong
his every muscle would feel, and how hard his cock would be, how obvious it
always was to both of them that he's holding back, how Stiles could bring him
to his knees with just one look. He lowers his hand further, further, down
under the band of his shorts, down, down, until he's touching himself, where
he's already crazy wet, and up slightly, to his sensitive, little nub, and he
rubs himself, fast and unforgiving and without time to let his mind stray,
because Xander is here, Xander is with him, Xander is touching him, loving him-
He cries out his alpha's name as he comes, squeezing his eyes shut, fisting the
comforter, riding it out with his back arched off the bed until he's left empty
and hollow again.
He pulls his hand out of his shorts and curls up onto his side, staring blankly
at the wall. The first tear comes and he barely notices. The second tear comes.
And they keep coming. And Stiles doesn't feel the full weight of his sobs until
the pillow under his cheek becomes startlingly wet, his croaky weeps echoing
raggedly back at him, and the pain in his chest constricts his every inhale so
painfully that he can no longer lie to himself.
Stiles is having a panic attack.
 
***
                                      εїз
Stiles is back from a hospital visit to see his father, lying across his bed,
and Xander has been buzzing the apartment non-stop for the last five minutes.
"Stiles! Open the fucking door, Stiles!"
Stiles takes to the stairs, retreating down to where Xander stands outside the
gate, thumb still jamming against the buzzer. Xander abandons it to press as
close as possible to the gate, staring at Stiles between the metal bars.
"What is this, Stiles? What the fuck are you doing?" He's holding up a creased
strip club flyer with Stiles' scantily clad body sprawled across it.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Kid, I can see you!" Xander yells, slamming his fist against the gate,
rattling it, balling the flyer up, glaring down at Stiles' naked arms, and the
omega hugs them to himself. "I see you! I can fucking see you, Stiles! Don't
lie to me."
Stiles hesitates a moment, then opens the gate. He says nothing, just leads
them back up to his room. They exchange no words as they lie back against his
bed. Xander is breathing heavily, eyes on Stiles, always on Stiles, waiting.
The omega is the one who leans forward. He's on his knees in front of Xander,
grasping the collar of his shirt, pulling the alpha close to him. Xander is
clearly as startled by this as Stiles himself is, but he allows himself to be
drawn in. Their mouths meet and Stiles moves even closer still until he is
sitting on Xander’s lap. He takes Xander’s hands from his waist and places them
on his breasts, desperate to see if he can save himself from his bondage with
the razor blades hidden under his bed. Pictures of his father start writhing
beneath his closed lids, competing for attention with the image he holds of
Xander’s face. A tidal wave of emotion builds, threatening to engulf him. He is
suddenly back in his room with the man that's never left. "I can't," he chokes,
pushing Xander away. "I can't." He slams his hands over his ears, attempting to
drown out the dreadful sounds of his father’s wheezing. He falls back across
the bed, wheels away from Xander, fumbles in his pocket for the blade that he
always keeps there.
But just as he's preparing to slice, to end the nightmare, Xander's hand clamps
down on his. The alpha pulls him down on the bed again roughly. "No," he
growls. He's shaking his head. "Not here. Not now. Not with me around."
"I have to." Stiles is gasping. "Just let me do it!"
"Fine. You can cut yourself, but you have to do it in front of me."
Stiles doesn't flinch as he draws a thin, sharp slit into his flesh. He stares
at Xander, aware that although he is still clothed, he's completely bare before
him. It hurts. It hurts badly, and within seconds the pain is swirling through
him like an opiate, completely crowding out everything else.
"Oh my god. Oh my god!" Now Xander is the one who is thrown into a panic. "Stop
it! I can't watch!" He grabs the razor and flings it across the room, grabs
Stiles' arm and stares at the blood, grabs him and crushes him close.
Stiles is so close that once again he's sitting in Xander's lap. He's so close
that they might as well be sharing the same breath. "You won't let yourself
feel anything but pain?" Xander holds him more tightly than Stiles would have
thought possible.
He watches with half closed lids as Xander wipes the blood on his arm with his
shirt. Now that he's numbed himself, he'd like nothing more than to stay there
with him, like this, forever, to stay there like that, for as long as he
possibly can.
"I'm sorry." He tries to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry to be putting you
through this."
"Stiles, you haven't put me through anything."
"You're mad at me."
"I'm mad at you because I love you!" Xander shouts, large eyes staring at
Stiles, shiny under the lamplight. "I love you and you're fucking killing
yourself!"
Stiles jerks back like he's been hit. He'd never revealed so much of himself to
anyone. His secret—just his and Xander's—now lays wholly uncovered, every inch
of it, and Stiles can't form the words to deny it, can't choke the lies down
his own throat anymore. All he can do is shake his head, chest heaving with the
sobs that escape him, gasping, "I know, I know, I know."
Xander looks close to tears himself. He pulls Stiles into his chest again,
enveloping the omega in his arms, as if to hide him from the world. "Don't cry,
please don't cry," he murmurs into Stiles' hair, kissing away the wetness on
his cheeks. "I love you, we'll fix this, I promise, just please don't cry
anymore."
If Stiles let himself, he'd down a bottle of pills, sink to the bottom of a
tub, and let himself fill to the brim with cold, cold water.
If Stiles let himself, he'd drown in a world of pain.
                                      εїз
***
 
Stiles calls up the diner on Monday to cancel his shift. He phones Talia
afterward, profusely apologizing for a solid twenty minutes before the alpha
finally lets him go. Truth be told, he feels okay enough to go to work, but
emotionally, he thinks it'd be better to save all the customers the risk of him
breaking down into tears. He angrily wipes at his face. On the bright side, he
gets to pick up Sammy and spend some time with him before rushing to get
Junior.
"Hey, baby, how was school?" Stiles asks, helping Junior up into the Jeep.
"I met a dog today and it taught me how to die." The little alpha unwraps a
Jolly Rancher for Sammy.
Stiles looks back at him. "Why was there a dog at school?"
"There's a girl in my class called Caitlin. She needs the dog to help her
because she can't see. She looks like a tree frog."
"That's not a very nice thing to say," Stiles tells him.
Junior grins. "I like tree frogs."
Stiles stashes that bit of information away for now. They spend the better part
of the afternoon watching SpongeBob, Stiles hugging his sons close at his sides
on the sofa, pillowing his cheek against their heads, running his nose over
their hair, breathing them in.
He briefly wonders what it feels like, a mother's love. He never really had a
chance to remember it. And after Stiles' mother passed, his father fell sick.
Sometimes he would forget which decade or half of his lifetime it was. Stiles
will never forget the first time his dad called him "Claudia". Asked him when
they were leaving to go eat. Stiles dug up a picture of his young mother later
that day. He could barely blame it on the illness.
"Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Stiles looks down at Junior with a funny smile. "I am grown up, Moonpie."
Junior gives him a look.
"Well," Stiles says. "That's a very Junior question."
"That's a very Mommy answer," the munchkin replies.
Stiles laughs. "Well, I don't know, kiddo. Guess I never really thought too
much about what I want."
Junior frowns.
"Well, what do you want to be?" Stiles asks him, kissing away Junior's scowl.
"I want to be a fighter like Daddy and Uncle Derek," he says, and Stiles' heart
stops in his chest. "Or a mortician."
"Why a mortician?"
"I liked the way that Grandpa was dressed at his funeral." Stiles swallows.
"And if I'm a mortician, when someone in our family dies, then I can take care
of their body. Also, the internet says that morticians make $54,000 a year."
"Sounds amazing." Stiles cups his cheeks. "Just promise me you'll watch out for
zombies, okay?"
Junior giggles. "I promise."
 
***
 
Stiles is hunched over the toilet, puking his guts out. When he returns to bed,
laying back down next to Xander, the alpha leans over his tummy, puts his mouth
up against Stiles' bellybutton.
"You're grounded," he says to Stiles' flat abdomen. "Go to your womb." He looks
up at Stiles, the biggest grin on his face, and the omega bursts out into a
laugh. He rushes back to the bathroom when he almost pees himself.
"How're you feeling?" Xander asks now, nine months and a beachball-sized belly
later.
"Fucking pregnant," Stiles flatly responds, curled up on his side in a hospital
gown, Xander pressed up to the bed, one hand holding Stiles', the other on his
belly, sneakily trying to take his pain every time the contractions hit.
Eight hours later, Stiles gives one last excruciating push before falling back
into his pillow, his body half numb, half on fire.
"Oh my God! Oh my God, baby, we made a person!"
Stiles is too exhausted to move, but he manages to weakly wave Xander over,
forcing himself to look up past his fatigue. He's crying before he sees his
baby. He has no words, just holds his arms out, and Xander places Junior into
them, against Stiles' chest, and Stiles distantly hears his alpha's own cries,
as they gaze down at their son, all Xander and Stiles, beautiful—perfect.
They remain in the hospital the rest of the day and that night, then get ready
to leave in the morning. 
"All right, Daddy crushed this swaddle." Xander lifts little Junior out of the
bassinet. "He's not getting out of this thing till high school."
"Our little baby burrito," Stiles murmurs as he takes Junior from Xander.
"You're the tastiest treat of them all, yes you are." He places a kiss on
Junior's nose.
"Oh, hey, I gotta take care of the birth certificate." Xander swings Stiles'
overnight bag over his shoulder. "We sure about this?"
Stiles nods without looking up. "Alexander Derek Hale." He smiles. "My little
Moonpie."
 
***
                                      εїз
"Can I-" Derek pauses to regather his thoughts. "Can I ask you what Lydia
meant? The other day?"
Stiles taps his pen to his lips.
He tells Derek he was lost, once. He says he did things, and he did them
because they helped him survive himself. "I was looking for a reason to stay
alive," he says. "And somewhere along the way, I found one." He briefly shuts
his eyes and sees Xander, holding Sammy over his shoulder, a giggling Junior at
his side.
"I found three."
                                      εїз
***
 
"Wife!" Xander shouts. "I've got a surprise!"
Stiles gawks at the deathtrap sitting in their driveway. "I did not have your
two children so you could die and leave me to raise them." He latches Junior
into his car seat and hauls himself up behind the wheel of the Jeep. He throws
the motorcycle the dirtiest of looks, points at it, then at Xander. "Sammy will
be up in twenty minutes. You will be there when he wakes. And when I return,
you are taking this thing back where it came from." He swears he sees Xander
petulantly stomp his foot in the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the garage.
"Hey, Junior, kiddo, you gotta chill, okay?" Junior squirms in the shopping
cart seat, not ten minutes into grocery shopping. "People are not liking the
screaming." Junior prevails, his tantrum escalating into spaghetti packages
being thrown overboard. "This is not a good look, dude," Stiles says, a
warning.
"I don't have a grandma!" Junior cries, and the old lady by the deli looks
away.
"Oh, sweetheart," Stiles tries to console him. "She died a long time ago."
"No!"
"Moonpie," Stiles sighs. "You never even met her."
"And now I never will!"
Stiles abandons the shopping cart when he feels his own grief rise to the
surface. He carries Junior out of the grocery store and they sit out on a
bench. They cry together until they're all cried out, and when they head back
inside the first thing they go after is a box of moonpies.
 
***
                                     εїз 
Stiles can't sleep, so he indulges himself with one more video than usual.
On the screen he's just pulling back the sheets, Xander walking into their old
bedroom to help him out from under the covers. Stiles goes for his pill
container like clockwork, popping Sunday's section open. Junior crawls into
their bed as Stiles places the blue pill on his tongue, sticking it out for
Xander to see, and then the alpha hands him his water, letting him swallow.
Junior quietly watches, takes a blue M&M out of its wrapper and throws it back
like a pro, smiling up at his mother.
Stiles closes his eyes now, remembering. The next day he had woken up to find
an M&M in each one of the slots in his pill container. "Mommy, you love
chocolate and it makes you happy, so I put it with your happy medicine so you
can be really happy," Junior had reasoned.
Stiles switches the TV off and goes to check on Junior a while later, and it's
no surprise when he finds him awake. He takes a seat by Junior's bed, tucking
the covers in around him, brushing his fingers over Junior's forehead.
"Will you sing me Daddy's song?" Junior whispers.
Stiles smiles, sadly.
"Okay," he whispers back. And softly, so as not to wake Sammy, he begins to
sing.
                                      εїз
***
 
"I didn' mean to!" Sammy looks on the verge of tears.
"That's okay," Stiles reassures him. "We just have to be more careful next
time, right?"
Sammy nods, lip wobbling.
"But I bet they're feeling pretty hurt, so why don't we apologize to them?"
Stiles gestures down at the mess of grapes on the carpet.
Sammy picks one up. "'M sowwy," he says to it, placing it back in the dish. He
picks another one up. "'M sowwy." And Stiles watches him apologize to each
individual grape until they're all safely back in the bowl. "'M sowwy, Mommy,"
Sammy says. Stiles sweeps him up into a hug.
"It's okay, baby. I know it was an accident," he says. "Let's go see what Daddy
and Junior are up to, hm?"
In the master bathroom, Xander stands at the sink, shaving cream all over his
face, Junior perched on the stool next to him, making a foamy mess on his own.
Stiles panics for half a moment before seeing a spoon in Junior's hand and not
an identical razor to Xander's. Xander swipes the razor over his cheek, Junior
seriously following suit, spooning the shaving cream down the side of his face.
Sammy hides his face against Stiles' shoulder, giggling.
That night, Xander settles in for bedtime between the boys' beds. Stiles
finishes the last book as he comes in, right on time. Xander places a kiss on
Junior's cheek, then Sammy's, tucking them in further. His little burritos.
Stiles holds his hand, rests his cheek against Xander's shoulder as his husband
begins to sing their sons to sleep.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away
Please don't take my sunshine away
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter Warnings:
     Implications/references to (past) depression, self-harm, and suicidal
     thoughts are included in this chapter. Triggery sections will have a
     butterfly (εїз) placed before and after them. Be safe!
     Thing #1:
     I’ve gone back and done some light editing in Chapter 2 in which I
     had previously implied that Junior is disabled. I hadn’t really
     planned that one through and have thus scrapped it out. I feel that
     it would have made the plot too heavy and, frankly, I had completely
     forgot about it until it was pointed out to me a little while ago.
     Apologies for those of you that were wondering where the hell I was
     going with that one. I am still learning as I go. Planning is
     definitely not my forte. I’d like to write about characters that are
     disabled in the future, but I don’t think this story is appropriate
     for such subject matter that deserves proper storytelling and
     attention that I would not otherwise have been able to deliver in
     this fic. Thanks for putting up with my all-over-the-place-ness. I am
     far from perfect.
     Thing #2:
     I have no idea how birth certificates work lmao
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Main card?"
"Main card."
"But-"
"I know." Laura smiles. "Look." She hands Derek her phone and his eyes scan
over the email in disbelief, past where the fight incidentals are emboldened,
past his opponent's name, past the purse, the win bonus, the bout location and
date and division, scrolling to the bottom where the official fight card is
attached, and there, Derek sees for himself, his own name, listed under the
main bouts.
"I thought you said you couldn't get me past the prelims," Derek says, looking
up from the phone.
"One of the guys pulled out," Laura says. "Torn ACL. Chris needed a
replacement." She's more than slightly smug. "Had to snatch it up while I
could."
Derek distantly hears himself laugh. What he knows is that he's wrapping his
arms around Laura, pulling her into a hug, and she's hugging him back. It's the
most contact they've had in a while, and for once it doesn't feel forced or
painful or like too much. For once, it feels just right.
 
***
 
"Where's Dad?"
"Not here," Talia replies shortly, tucking the comforter around Derek for the
third time.
"Why?"
Talia looks at him, and the scowl on her face momentarily disappears. She opens
her mouth again and Derek expects more of the same cold, hostile answers, some
barely held together coverup or blatant, uncaring lie. Instead she says, "I
don't know." It's the most honest she's been since Dad started disappearing.
"Is he ever coming home?"
Talia threads her fingers through Derek's hair. "I don't know."
She sings to him for the last time, tired, broken, but still beautiful.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Derek decides he'll never ask about Dad again. And when he closes his eyes, and
his mother pillows her head against her arms, softly crying into them, he
pretends to be fast asleep.
 
*** 
 
"'M all outuh stick'rs," Sammy sulks, eyes glossy, though the only thing
visible, as he dejectedly gazes up at Derek.
"You're all out of face," Derek tells him, peeling a fairy from Sammy's nose.
The kid's leaning back into Derek, head lolling in the crook of the alpha's
elbow, fatigued and dreary, and though he's running at an oddly high
temperature, it's obviously not enough to hinder his mission to cover his
entire face in stickers as they wait up for Stiles.
"What are you doing, man?" Junior mutters, immersed in the Hitler documentary
they've been watching since dinner.
"Isn't it past their bedtime?" Malia taps away on her phone.
"Haven't you heard, Aunt Malia? Awake is the new sleep." Junior rubs at his
eyes. "Uncle Derek, I have to tell you I'm disappointed. These animal cracker
cookies are bogus. The giraffes taste just like the elephants. No wonder Mommy
doesn't want me eating them. What a sham."
"This kid is fucking weird," Malia says.
"He's not that weird," Laura defends.
Malia tucks her phone away as Stiles' Jeep pulls up outside. "He has an empty
jar in his room labeled 'fire spirit'."
"It's not empty," Junior seriously corrects without looking away from his
program.
Derek is tempted to laugh but holds it back in favor of savoring how disturbed
Malia suddenly looks. Stiles walks in and takes in the creeped out expression
plastered across her face and manages to break Malia out of her stupor, sending
the beta jumping up from the couch.
"Never ask me to babysit again."
Stiles chuckles, rolling his eyes, sliding off his hoodie, and passes her to
get to Sammy. "Hi, baby. You okay?" Sammy shakes his head, suddenly ten times
more dopey. He reaches out for Stiles and Derek slips him into the omega's
arms. "Moonpie," Stiles says to Sammy, "did Auntie Malia pick you up early from
school today?"
"No."
"Case closed," Malia quips, hastily slipping into her boots, looking like a
deer in the headlights.
"We didn' go," Sammy says, just as Malia's hand connects with the doorknob.
Stiles raises his brows at her. "Case opened."
"He ended up being sick anyway!"
"Bye, Malia!" Laura opens the door for her, practically shoving her onto the
porch, following her out to escort her to her car.
Stiles is already busy pouring some medicine into a dixie cup by the time Derek
has shambled his way over. He holds the cup out to Sammy, who's perched on the
counter. "Drink it."
Sammy pouts, crossing his arms. "'M no' d'inkin' dat."
"Mary Poppins swore by it."
"Mary Poppins-" Junior interjects matter-of-factly "-also danced with cartoon
penguins." Stiles shoots him a look. "Don't you want to dance with penguins,
Sammy?" Junior adds. Sammy considers this, then holds out his hands with a
sigh. He downs every drop and is rewarded with being carried all the way to bed
without lifting a finger.
When Stiles begins singing that night, it's completely unexpected. Not five
words in, Derek is holding back memories he's buried deep, so, so deep down
within him, that he has to turn away from the content faces of his nephews and
the hushed beauty of Stiles' voice to glare at the wall. The last time he had
heard this song he had been standing outside an eight-year-old Liam's closed
bedroom door, listening to Talia sing him back to sleep after a nightmare. It
was one of the few moments that Derek ever heard anything even slightly
maternal in her voice. The singing was a spectacle within itself, daunting in
its rarity, delectable in its motherly cadence.
Stiles is looking at him and Derek nods his head instinctively. "I'll be right
back," Stiles says, to the boys more than to him, getting up from his kneeled
position between their beds.
"Uncle Derek, did you always want to be a fighter?" Junior asks.
Derek thinks back to being eighteen and dumb, thinks back to sixteen, to
fourteen, to twelve. All he remembers is fighting, like breathing. It's always
just happened. He goes back further, to being eight and fresh to the cage,
seeing his father arrive at the gym in his uniform-
"I wanted to be a police officer, once," he says, remembering for the first
time in ages. "My dad was a cop. I thought he was the coolest."
"What happened?"
Derek clenches his jaw. "Turns out he wasn't as cool as I thought. Sometimes
even the good guys let you down."
"Oh," Junior replies, quieter, Sammy dozing off across from him. "I think I
should be a heart doctor. That way I can fix all the broken hearts. That way
I’ll be able to fix Mommy's."
Derek chucks his chin playfully. "Sounds like a plan."
“Speaking of plans," Junior murmurs several rounds of Captain Underpants later,
eyes fluttering, fighting sleep, Stiles already dozing against the side of
Sammy's bed, "I've updated my zombie apocalypse plan to include you."
Derek's mouth pulls up at one side. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to
Junior's forehead. "I'm honored," he tells the little alpha. He switches the
lamp off, waking Stiles and following the omega out to the hall.
"He has made you his bitch." Stiles laughs to himself, plopping down onto the
couch. "He thinks the world of you," he rephrases five minutes later, picking
at a loose thread on his sleeve.
He shouldn't, Derek thinks, and says nothing.
 
***
 
When his control was at its worst, Derek would drink.
He'd learned to pass it off. He made weight and followed the rules and avoided
the drugs and kept fighting and he drank. With his siblings. With his sponsors.
With himself. Derek drank because it made everything fuzzy, out of focus, less
real. It wasn't that he was happier, but he no longer gave a damn about whether
he was happy or not. And shortly after he came to terms with that, he did start
in on the drugs.
"Are you better now?" Liam asks. He's become a big boy, shot up like a
beanstalk, the promise of strong muscle clinging to his toned limbs.
"I'm not good," Derek says honestly. "But I was worse." He forces himself to
keep from scratching at his beard, a nervous tic he developed while he was
doing time, and instead looks at his youngest brother, still so trusting, so
ready to forgive. Definitely more so than Cora.
"I missed you," Liam says, grinning. "There's a lot I gotta tell you."
"I bet, kid."
"I'm not a kid anymore, Derek."
"Sure you're not."
How could he let himself fucking miss that?
 
***
 
"I talked to Jackson," Laura says. "He's still pissed that you hit him. I told
him you were sorry."
"I'm not," Derek responds.
"I know." Laura snorts. "No one's ever sorry for hitting Jackson."
 
***
 
He'd paid the price.
He'd ruined what little love he had with his family.
He'd lost years of memories and moments.
He'd faced the consequences.
Hadn't he?
China could envy the Great Wall Derek Hale had built around himself, and now
he's looking down over the ledge praying for it to just crumble down. He put it
there. And he doesn't know how to make it disappear.
"You've got to let shit go, Derek," Boyd tells him, two months into parole and
a failed drug test later.
"Yeah," Derek says.
But it won't let me go.
A week out, Derek gets a call.
He drives so fast he barely remembers getting to Beacon Hills.
There's an audience.
There's damage control.
There's an omega and two children.
There's a house on fire.
 
*** 
 
"The MMA world has missed seeing the Hale name in the headlines and we haven't
heard anything of Mr. Southpaw since he was the number one middleweight
championship contender." Scott scrambles for the TV remote, bumping the volume
up. "Mason," the brunette commentator addresses the man on her left. "With a
possible trip to the title fight, what do you think about the future of Derek
Hale?"
"Well, Tracy, for such a modest, obscure gym, Reign has a great camp, but I
don't think Derek should be there in the first place. He should've gone
international, joined a larger gym—and we're all thinking it here—he should've
gotten himself together and been fighting three to four fights a year as a
professional in the Were's Ultimate Fighting Championship."
"What do you think his WUFC career will look like?"
"A few wins won't be a cure-all for Derek Hale's derailed professional fighting
career. The fact of the matter is that he's not thewunderkind anymore. Six
years ago the WUFC had this kid set up for his first—the—title fight of his
career, and what happens? The guy pulls a total Lindsay Lohan and drops off the
face of the earth to get into illegal fighting! Where does that land him? You
guessed it—prison. For four years! Now, we do know his older brother, the
legendary Alexander Hale also fell off the map a time before him, ultimately
passing up his alpha's middleweight claim after thirteen title defenses—the
longest winning streak in WUFC history, and after nearly seven years, it was
brought to the light that the one and only Magic Hands Hale tragically passed
away in a house fire.
"So it's understandable that Derek would be rattled by all this, I mean, the
guy's been through a lot, but, frankly, the disappearing act got old the first
time around. And now Derek Hale is finally resurfacing, not at Jackson's MMA,
not at the American Kickboxing Academy, but at some tiny gym in Venice,
California run by none other than his own mother and retired five-time alpha's
welterweight champion, Talia Hale. Not to mention the rest of the Hale clan,
who are well on their way to taking back their empire.
"Derek's career is looking mediocre at best. I'm astonished at how quickly he
has managed to get a contract—and with theWUFC, at that. Of course, we're
talking about the Hales here. If not for their talent, then the name alone
would lead their way to the money, no questions asked. But if I'm Chris Argent,
then I can honestly say, Tracy, I don't want an Alexander Hale lite-"
Laura jumps up. "Okay! Shut it off! Shut the fucking thing off-"
But Derek is already storming out before he can put his fist through the
fucking wall.
 
***
   
"He was married," Laura says, hands still shaking. "He had a wife. He had kids.
Derek, are you listening? He had a family. Hehasa family, Derek."
Derek shoves his hands over his ears. He knows. He knows. He fucking knows.
Smoke. So much fucking smoke.
He knows.
"Stiles."
He knows.
"Stiles."
He knows.
"Derek!"
"What! What is it, Laura?! What the fuck is it?"
"Xander's wife."
He knows.
"His name is Stiles."
 
***
 
"Xander was the first to teach you how to fight," Stiles says, not a question.
"He hit me." Derek shrugs. "I learned to hit him back." He looks up from
unwrapping his hands.
"That's it?" Stiles asks. "You're not gonna make a story of it? Not gonna
indulge me even a little?"
"What do you mean?"
Stiles rolls his eyes. "You know about...me. Kind of. And I still know nothing
about you."
"That's what my Wikipedia page is for."
"Why is it so hard for you to trust people?"
Why is it so hard for people to keep a fucking promise?
"What? You want me to indulge you? Tell you my life story? To dig it all up,
tell you who I am and what I've done? Share with you the grittiest, nastiest,
most disgustingly savage pieces that make up Derek fucking Hale? Well here's my
story: I hit rock bottom. Countless times. And each time, God threw me a
shovel. So I continued to dig. The fucking end."
"I remember you, you know."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Derek busies himself with shoving his
shit back into his gym bag.
"I know you do, Derek. I was with Junior and Sammy, and all of a sudden, there
you were, fucking off into the house like you couldn't even see that it was on
fire. I didn't know who you were. I didn't really care, I mean, shock, PTSD,
whatever you want to call it, I was out of it, and Xander was probably—dead
already. But you were there."
"Leave it, Stiles."
"Derek. If you couldn't save my husband, then no one could have. It wasn't your
fault."
Derek whips around, slamming his locker shut with a loud, echoing crack as he
turns to face Stiles, wraps hanging loosely from his hands, fists clenched so
tight he can feel his angry heart pulsing against the skin of his wrists. "I've
heard that my whole life."
Stiles steps forward, not like a cautious zookeeper, not like Derek is some
threat called in by animal control. He approaches Derek like he trusts him.
"But you haven't heard it from me," he says, standing right before the alpha.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might care about you?"
"You don't know me well enough to care about me."
"Let me clue you in on something, Derek." He's but a few feet away from the
alpha, close enough for Derek to reach out and touch his arm or hold his hand
or draw close enough to feel the electric heat that'd rise between their
proximity. Stiles draws in a breath, piercing Derek with eyes that absorb all
light, reflecting none. "Just because you hate yourself doesn't mean that I
have to hate you.”
"You don't know me."
Stiles smirks. "So teach me."
And despite twenty-seven years worth of suppressed emotion and social
ineptitude, Derek does. It sounds weird to hear himself talk so much. Normally
he only says a few words at a time. Stiles looks riveted and Derek assumes the
omega has never imagined that he would have much of a story, no debilitating
baggage—not like Stiles, at least. Until this moment, Derek was just the
brother-in-law, the uncle to Stiles' children. He didn't have reasons for
anything. He was grumpy and glum and socially awkward. That was all.
But he's finally talking.
And as he starts talking, he starts changing.
Chapter End Notes
     Forgot to mention Liam is 13ish (not 15/16) in this fic. Superman
     throwback_for_reference.
     Check out Chapter 1 to see the banner I made! Yay! I was gifted
     Photoshop as an early birthday present and decided to put it to work
     over the weekend, so hope you guys like it.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Let_It_Shine_-_CMX
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek loves fighting. He loves absolutely everything about it. But the one
thing he has always loathed from the very depths of his being, the price he
must pay for fighting, has been the inevitable waves of press coverage. The
interviews, the promos, the conferences, the articles, the smack talk—it's all
fucking bullshit to him. What he cares about is being in the cage. And despite
knowing this, despite having several opportunities to bring it up, Laura, like
the oh-so-wonderful manager she is, decides to ambush Derek with a sit-down
interview and photoshoot nearly two weeks out from his fight.
So here he is, tucked into a pair of slacks and a fitted dress shirt, sleeves
rolled up his forearms because, first of all, fuck Laura, and second of all,
fuck Laura, he'll keep his fucking beard no matter how many times she threatens
him.
"It's been about six years since we've seen you compete in the octagon," Danny,
the interviewer addresses Derek. "What has that downtime been like for you?"
"Well, I definitely wouldn't call it downtime. I was in prison. Not exactly a
vacation. Honestly, fighting hadn't really been a major concern the last couple
years. I'd been focused on personal matters, trying to get myself together,
straighten my life out." He glances toward Laura, who's positioned behind the
cameraman, eyes intent, chewing on her thumbnail. She gives him a nod. "My
brother," he tells Danny, "was...an enormous influence in my life. When he
disappeared, I just didn't know how to handle it. Without him, I lost sight of
how happy fighting made me. I-" he swallows "-I'd fight, and...I just wasn't
there. Because he wasn't there."
"Of course, Alexander, still recognized as one of the greatest MMA fighters to
this day, had a major influence on your fighting style, as well as your mental
game, I imagine, but I'd like to hear more about your mother. What has your
relationship with her been like since returning to fighting, in terms of
training?"
"She's still tough as hell—always has been, always will be. She got me to the
octagon as the youngest fighter ever, got Xander a title as the youngest
fighter ever. She knows how I fight, knows what I need when I need it. Six
years is nothing. She's got me better than ever."
"I can't get over that. Six years. How has it been making this huge transition
back into fighting?"
"Not easy," Derek laughs. "Not easy at all. But this is what I do. It's what
I've always done. My camp is amazing, my trainers are amazing. I'm working with
people who've gotten me places no one's ever gone. And they're sure as hell
getting me there again."
"Once a fighter always a fighter, huh?" Danny flashes a white a smile.
"Without a doubt."
Least to say, as much as Derek hates the press, he's got to give it to Laura,
because once the interview is released and the early birds have spread this
juicy, juicy worm, everyone is talking about Derek "Southpaw" Hale.
 
***
 
"In what world would she be okay with this?"
"In a world where none of us get beat up for a living and all of us are
normal."
"Doubtful."
"Exactly. All the more reason to try it."
"Your logic is astounding." Derek gestures for the bottle. "Hand it over."
Laura widely grins as he uncaps the bane-laced Jack and starts to chug it back,
pulling away a split second later to cough it back out, choking on the burn.
Laura's straight up laughing now, doubling over just as Derek straightens up.
He's seconds away from lunging at her. "You're such a piece of-"
"Finish that sentence," Laura warns, though the smile remains on her face. She
wipes the wetness from the corners of her eyes, attempting deep breaths to calm
the last of her snickers.
"I hate drinking," Derek decides, shoving the bottle back at her.
"No, you don't," Laura tells him. "You just need time to get used to it. And
build up your tolerance."
"I'll pass."
Laura slaps her hands down against his cheeks, squishing his still-round face.
"I've got just the thing, brother." She disappears back into the fridge and
pulls out a bottle full of some bright pink brew. "Wine cooler," she explains,
popping it open and offering it up.
Derek hesitates, but it looks innocent enough. He goes for it.
"Well?" Laura twists open her own.
Derek just takes another swig instead of answering.
"Of course." Laura slings an arm over his shoulders. "My own little brother.
The one I will forever share my rainbow stash with."
"I'm fifteen. I'll learn to like the real stuff-"
"Shhhh, my sweet baby goose." She clinks their glasses together. "Just enjoy
it."
Derek holds back a laugh. And does.
Because she's right.
Somehow, Laura is always right.
 
***
 
A smirking beta makes his entrance, approaching Laura with his arms wide. "I
have been looking forward to this," he says, taking off his shades, sizing
Derek up and down like the investment he is. "Yes. Yes, yes! You taste that,
ladies and gentlemen?" he addresses the whole gym. "That is the taste of a true
comeback! Derek Hale-" he walks onto the canvas, ignoring the staff's
complaints as he approaches the fighter "-it is a true honor to meet you. Brett
Talbot. Your knight in shining Reebok." He claps Derek on the back. "We're
going to do great things together, my friend." Derek grunts in reply, wanting
to just have this all over with.
"Really?" Laura all but spits out. "This is the rep they send us?"
"Now, now, let's keep things civil," Allison says as she joins them. "The
lighting's good to go, so you can head over and get your shots, Derek." She
pulls Laura aside as Derek walks onto the set. The cameraman directs Derek
against the backdrop, leveling out quick, simple instructions, efficient,
though tedious. Derek strikes the familiar poses—a couple with his arms
crossed, a few with his fists up, but mostly just him puffing his chest out,
posture ramrod straight with his arms at his sides as he menacingly stares the
camera down. Not once does he smile.
"FOX and Reebok are Eiffel towering the fuck out of us as it is," he hears
Laura quip.
Allison chuckles. She turns to Laura with dimpled cheeks and a genuine smile.
"It has just not been the same without you, Laura Hale," she says, stepping
back to take a call with a shake of her head.
After the headshots, the photographer, Matthew—"Just call me Matt"—Daehler
shadows Derek as he trains, a constant bug on the alpha's shoulder. He retreats
to the cage for some sparring in hopes that the beta will mind the fence.
Eventually, however, Derek has to return to his conditioning, lifting when he
grows tired of roping, roping when he gets tired of lifting, and
always, always, is this little fucking pest right inside his personal bubble.
"A little space, please," Derek calmly requests the first time, poised beneath
his weights, nonetheless tense, but Matt doesn't budge, just keeps snapping
away, angling his dumb camera this way and that, as if he didn't even hear. "A
little bit of space, please, man," Derek says again, grits his teeth as he
loses focus, still lifting, counting through his reps, trying to block out the
clicking of the camera lens, the way Matt pushes closer, if anything. "Move
back, please-" Derek huffs under the strain of the weights, working his triceps
at an angle over his head "-Please, I'm working, please, man." Matt draws
nearer, Derek sees him take that motherfucking step towards him, and Derek just
fucking-
"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? I asked you fucking
nicely-"
Derek snatches the camera from the cowering beta's hands and fucking pitches it
at the wall. There's a satisfying crunch as it crumbles apart as it connects,
but Derek doesn't get to savor it because he's yanking Matt up by the collar of
his shirt, blood boiling with the intent to make him keep his fucking distance-
Stiles is there.
Not pressed up against the wall like Matt's workers or with his hands up,
trying to placate, like Laura and Scott, but just...there. Arms at his sides,
head slightly tilted like he's confused more than anything else. It gives Derek
a solid moment of clarity, a split second in which he breathes in the scent of
the omega and it's enough to bring him back, body going lax. Laura slots
herself between Derek and Matt, shoving her brother back, making his eyes snap
back to her.
"Pick up his fucking camera," she says lowly, not a request.
Derek glares at Matt over her shoulder, takes a moment to gather himself, then
retrieves what's left of the camera. The gym is silent, everyone watching
Derek's each move. He approaches Matt, unaggressively, calmly. The beta looks
ready to shit himself. Dumb fuck.
Derek spits on the fucking camera, tosses it at Matt, and takes his leave, a
strange smile forming on his face.
 
***
 
"It's not fair."
"I know it's not." Laura sighs into her hand. "But it is what it is."
"Why aren't you angry?"
"What good does that do?"
Derek's brows draw together, bushy in all their pre-pubescent glory, casting a
dark shadow over his eyes against the dim glow of the nightlight in the corner
of the room. "Well, what good is not having a dad?"
Laura draws the sheet over their heads, jostling her knobby knees and elbows
against Derek's, tangling their toes under the thin covers of his twin bed. A
way for them to hope Mom won't hear. "I'll tell you something, Derek. Sometimes
some families aren't meant to have dads. Ours is no good. It's better if he's
not around."
Derek's eyes water. "It's not fair. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not
fair," he cries into Laura's skinny arms. She cuddles him close for a while.
"We don't need a dad, Derek. We have each other. We'll always have each other."
 
***
 
Stiles is in a pissy mood over the weekend, constantly muttering to himself
around the house, but Derek only ever catches snippets of words, mostly things
like dumb drunk and backstabbing and redheaded demon. It's enough for Derek to
draw a conclusion.
"You still giving Lydia the cold shoulder?" he asks through another round of
"Buzzed Go Fish", named after Stiles emptying out the wine coolers Laura leaves
behind, the same ones Derek has refused to drink—and can't drink, right now,
anyway—since he grew out of them so many years ago.
"Absolutely," Stiles says, sliding Derek a match.
"It'll eat you up. Do you have any sevens?"
"I'll take that risk. Go fish."
Derek lowers his hand. "What, so you can end up like me? Don't fucking do this
to yourself. What she did was uncool, I get that. But she cares about you. She
knows she fucked up."
Stiles nods his head, considering, then jolts up from the coffee table,
gathering the empty bottles. "You know what?" He points the butt of one at
Derek. "That's not enough." He shrugs, breath coming tightly. "You just don't
do that to someone you love." He retreats to the kitchen.
Derek tosses his cards down, wiping his hands over his face. He looks back at
Stiles and finds something that was until now foreign and misconstrued,
irrelevant to how Derek felt, so he didn't understand. But he gets it. How
could he not? He gets it better than anyone. Because pain, like
love—like loss—lingers in your blood forever. And in that, healing is
unbearable.
 
***
 
"What?" Laura blinks.
"Xander," Derek repeats, feeling his lips form his brother's name, hearing it,
but not yet comprehending, not wholly, not completely grasping that-
"Dead?" Laura's eyes are wide, unshed with tears, forehead wrinkling with the
sickening desperation to understand. "What do you mean dead? What do you mean?"
Derek opens his mouth, no words coming out. He tries again, tries to find his
voice, but it's like there's a rope tied around his throat, like an anchor is
sinking down into his stomach.
"Derek? Derek, what do you mean? What happened? Derek!"
Laura is crying. Derek is looking at her, into her eyes, and she's crying,
hands clamped around his, shaking. She's on her knees, a quivering, gasping,
gutting image of heartbreak and grief, crying, crying, crying,
loud, shuttering, shattering sobs, and Derek feels nothing.
He squeezes his sister's hand, swallowing, and finally finds his voice.
"Laura."
She blinks up at him, searching forsomething.
"Do you have a cigarette?"
 
***
 
Derek raps his knuckles against Laura's office door, rubbing the grogginess
from his eyes. "What's this?" He takes in the stacks of bills on his sister's
desk.
"This," Laura says, straightening out the last stack, "is what happens when
Derek Hale is resurrected. Here, take this-" she hands him a thick band of
fifties "-and you can just go buy me a boat."
"So you can get shitfaced and fall out of it? Genius." Derek relaxes back into
the couch, drawing his hood down over his eyes.
"Ready for your cut?"
"Is he ready for excessive dehydration and inhuman amounts of sweat to spill
out of his pores?" Stiles asks, strolling in to drop a heaving manilla folder
onto Laura's desk, making the alpha clamber to hold down the piles of money
sprawled across the surface. "I'd say nah."
Derek snorts, forcing himself to his feet.
"Let it begin, hombres." Laura waves them out.
"Stiles!" Talia shouts from the cage, and the omega scrambles out the door.
"How're the boys?" Scott asks, joining Derek inside the locker room. "They
coming to the fight?"
"Dunno."
Scott looks surprised. "They're not coming?"
"I haven't asked."
"Well, Allison's bringing the Reebok guy again tomorrow along with the tickets.
You've got until then." He tosses Derek a sauna suit. "In the meantime, we need
to get you nice and near-dead."
Derek forgot how much he hated cutting weight.
He's got his wrists and ankles bound with duct tape so as not to let any of the
excruciating heat under all his layers to escape. He's sweating so heavily he's
got constant streams just pouring down his face and neck. He starts with the
jump rope, then the bike, then back to jumping rope, on and off, repeatedly,
until Talia sends him to the sauna.
Scott joins him, his driver's license at the ready, swiping the rivulets of
sweat from Derek's bare shoulders, his arms, from his hairline, down his neck.
He stays there with Derek, pouring sweat himself, yet completely unaware,
totally focused on helping his brother manage the heat and the pain.
"Scott," Derek croaks, placing a sweaty palm over his head. "I love you,
brother."
Scott looks like the puppy he is, a large smile spreading across his face,
lighting up with just those four words. He presses his forehead against
Derek's, still grinning and sopping wet. "I know."
 
***
 
"You're a good brother," Xander says, voice gone raspy from lack of water.
Derek slides his card down over the slope of Xander's shoulder, sweeping the
sweat away. "The best," he answers, sixteen years old and at peak cockiness.
Xander turns slightly to face him, serious. "If anything ever happened to you,
I'd kill myself."
Derek stares back at his brother for a moment. "That's fucking dark."
Xander grins, relaxing back down onto the bench of the sauna. "I would take a
shitload of bane-laced pills and I would just drift off to sleep. In the woods.
Or on a sea cliff. And I would just be one with nature. Peaceful. I'd never
blow my brains out. I wouldn't wanna leave a mess in some fuckin’ room that you
couldn't stand to go in ever again."
"I appreciate that. It's a small  fuckin' house."
Xander snorts. "Still can't believe Mom let you move in with me."
"It'sbecauseit's you. If it was Laura, well, we both know Laura. Our sister
Laura, I mean, you know the one."
"Precisely."  Xander peeks one eye open, leans down slightly, stopping Derek
from swiping over his skin again. "I'm really proud to be your brother."
Derek taps their foreheads together. "As you should be."
 
***
 
All the way up to the fight, the nerves had been nonexistent.
Derek is calm, collected, ever the silent, broody alpha every MMA fan knows him
to be. He knows he's ready, his camp knows he's ready, the entire world, at
this point, knows that Derek Hale is ready.
It's all led to this point. His hard work, his devotion, his will and drive and
utter need for this—it's all here, never strayed.
"I've gotta say," Stiles interrupts his thoughts, walking into the locker room,
snapping Derek out of his daze. "I'm pretty bummed I didn't get an invite."
Derek remains seated on the bench, stunned into silence.
"I talked to Lydia," Stiles says, approaching, fidgeting with his fingers. "You
were right, for the most part. She's my best friend."
Derek remains silent, just nodding. He's about to fucking fight, and here
Stiles is. Perfect.
"I'm being dumb for coming in here, I know, I just-" he breaks off, seemingly
unsure with where he was going with any of this "-I guess I just don't know."
He stands mere feet from Derek, searching for the right words. "Xander told me
about your tradition. What'd you'd do before every fight."
Derek stares down at his gloves, clenching his fists.
Stiles draws near, so near that he's almost standing between Derek's legs. His
fingers reach up to brush the silver arrowhead hanging from Derek's neck. Ever
so slowly, he reaches for the chain and draws it up over Derek's head, placing
it over his own, letting the pendant fall flat against his sternum.
"Go ahead," Stiles whispers, slotting himself into the space between Derek's
legs now, gently placing his hands against Derek's shoulders, fingers slightly
tightening. Derek meets his gaze, one of trust and sureness and warmth, and so
Derek leans forward, presses his lips to the arrowhead, and savors the brush of
warm, soft skin beneath his touch, relishes every inhale and exhale Stiles
takes while he's here in Derek's arms, the excited pounding of his heart just a
breath away. "You don't scare me, Derek Hale," Stiles tells him, words that
ring pure and true.
Derek licks his chapped lips and finds all the purpose he's ever needed right
here in front of him. "No?"
Stiles shakes his head and Derek can't help but smile.
"Well, you scare me."
Chapter End Notes
     May the force be with us.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     Monster_-_Jacob_Banks
See the end of the chapter for more notes
He's had his pep talk, he's done his walkout, he's gone through commission,
he's had his body check—cup, petroleum, mouthpiece, the whole nine yards—he's
ready, he's ready, he's ready.
His mind is in a haze. There's lights, bright, so bright, and noise, lots of
it, just so much fucking noise, but he can't hear or see any of it, he's
blinded, deafened, yet it's whited out, and his senses are suddenly too much,
too quickly, too strong, and he doesn't want any part of it, he can't go back
to that stress and that overload and that utter hell of emotions-
He's being announced. He's in his corner of the cage, gloves on, blood rushing
through his body, loud in his ears, punching his own shoulders loose, waking
his muscles from their tense, taught stiffness, habitual, going through the
motions like so many times before, and he's being announced, and the ref's
directing him to touch gloves with his opponent, and he's back in his corner,
and the ref's asking them if they're ready, and he's throwing his hands up, and
it all looks to Derek like slow motion, because he's about to fucking-
"Fight!"
There's panic. That's all that Derek is registering, the fact that his breath
is coming tightly and his ears are suddenly flooded with the noise of the
entire stadium, deafening him beyond sense, drawing him out of his own body,
like he's looking at some other man getting the shit beat out of him.
There's so much pain—endless.
He's already on the ground, taking jab after jab to his ribs, only because he's
managed to hold up his hands in front of his face long enough to block the
better part of those attacks. The fatigue is setting in quickly however, and he
can see Laura's pained face screaming something from the side of the cage,
anguished, heartbreaking, like so many other times he's seen it, and Derek is
ready, he's ready to tap out, because he can't stand that look, can't stand to
see it ever again, not on anyone-
The round is up.
 
***
 
"I can't believe this is happening," Derek moans, pressing his face further
into the crook of his arm. The needles of the tattoo gun continue working the
skin on his back, neverending, dreadful, though Derek can say he's felt far
worse.
"It's almost done," Xander reassures him, still standing with his back to the
mirror, shirt off, trying to catch the right angle so he can admire the freshly
scorched tattoo on his own back, a triquetra to match his brother's triskele.
From straight on, it looks to Derek like a wolf just as much as trinity knot,
an illusion he assumes was intended. But Derek doesn't linger too long on that
thought in fear that it's just the wolf in his head messing with him. "The
worst part is yet to come," Xander tells him.
Derek tenses again just imagining the burn room. The final step before the
tattoo stays forever. It smells rank just walking by it, like burnt flesh and
the lingering hint of smoke. When you're a wolf, the searing process is
supposedly the worst part of getting a tattoo, but Derek can honestly admit he
might not even be conscious by the time he gets to it. The needle is irritating
as hell as it is.
He surprises himself, however. He manages a full eight seconds before he's
knocking out, Xander's deep voice echoing into the hollows of Derek's mind as
the pain overtakes him. When he wakes again Xander is sitting in the corner of
the room, shirt back on, chatting away with Marin.
"Look who's awake," she teases, helping Derek ease himself up.
"How's it look?" is the first thing Derek inquires, twisting his head over one
shoulder to get a look in the mirror.
"You like it?" Xander asks, eyes appraising.
It's perfect. "It's perfect."
"Great," Marin says. "Now don't come back until you're actually eighteen."
"Don't be like that, Marin," Xander playfully whines, pouncing on her before
she can slip away. He locks his arms around her torso in a bear hug until she's
hanging in his hold like a ragdoll. "Do we get the family discount?"
"Not if you don't let go of me." She shakes her head as they head out to the
front of the shop. "Happy birthday, Derek," she says, pulling him into a hug.
"Enjoy your gift. Take care of yourself."
Xander goes in for a hug next, letting it linger. "Have you talked to Dad
lately?"
"You know I haven't. Alan only ever has the time of day for you." Marin smiles
as she pulls away, but it's sad. "It's part of the deal when it comes to being
his sister."
Xander lands a kiss on her cheek. "I'll see you soon."
The atmosphere around Derek and Xander is oddly tense the rest of the evening,
completely different from how it was going into the shop.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" Xander finally asks, uncapping a
beer, coming to stand in the doorway as Derek starts up another round of Call
of Duty.
Derek glances up at his brother, brows drawing together, steadying his heart.
"No."
Xander snaps suddenly, marching over to switch of the TV, eyes glowing red, a
side of him he never directs at Derek. "You're gonna sit there and lie to my
face?"
Derek swallows. "What are you talking about?"
"You didn't pass out when Marin was searing you. You wolfed out."
Derek's heart drops.
 
***
 
He's back in his corner, Talia kneeling in front of him, trying to squeeze into
the little space she can to enter Derek's line of vision. The cutman is
treating the minimal swelling rising up on his face, though his wolf healing is
handling the better part of his wounds. Talia is still trying to snap him out
of his daze, utterly failing. Derek is back at the center of the cage again,
too soon, and he's finally done panicking when he gets taken down not ten
seconds later, coming to terms with his utter failure. An elbow to the face. A
knee to his ribs. Another knee to his side hard enough that he should wince,
but Derek is in too much pain to notice a little more. He just wants it to end.
"You're no Hale," his opponent sneers just as Derek wrangles his way out of the
other's hold and the second round is up. "You're no fucking Hale!"
 
***
 
"So are you gonna explain that me? How, as the supposedly most tame of us, most
collected, in-control Hale, you went completely feral in less than ten
seconds?"
Derek is glued to the couch, frozen, trying for words, failing.
"Derek," Xander sighs, the normal green of his eyes pouring back into his
vision. He approaches the sofa, slowly sinks down into it next to his little
brother. "Derek, talk to me."
"I'm handling it."
"Fuck!" Xander jolts back up, clutching at his head. "Fuck! Fuck!"
"Xander-"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Xander is in Derek's face, yanking him up by the
collar of his shirt. "You should've fucking told me! You should've fucking-"
Derek chokes on the wave of regret pouring off of Xander as he hugs Derek
close, squeezes his arms so tight around his brother that their ribs grind
together with every gasp and exhale, every breath they let escape, every
sniffle into each other's shoulders. Xander pulls back to hold Derek's face in
his hands, to meet his eyes.
"You're my brother, Derek. You tell me these things."
"You'd hate me. You'd hate me if I told you why-"
"Never," Xander swears, a crushed, fractured promise. "Never, Derek."
Derek searches Xander's eyes, clings to the love and hope and trust he finds
there, and—"I can't."
"Derek," Xander urges, tightening his grip. "Derek, please-"
Derek yanks his head away, turns from Xander to escape.
"What? Is it Mom? Is it the fighting?"
"Just stop," Derek pleads, snatching up his keys, hand on the doorknob. He's
halfway across the yard when Xander tackles him from behind and into the grass.
 
***
 
Talia barks at the ref from outside the cage, calling Derek's opponent out on
his shit.
"Alexander was a little bitch!" the huffing fighter needles. "You're a little
bitch!" He's jolting up from the stool in his corner. "And I'll fuck your
bitchas soon as I'm finished with you!"
Derek tenses.
"Warning," the ref finally cuts in, placing a hand on the goading alpha's
chest, forcing him back.
"I've seen your omega!" The alpha's team tries to shut him up, to sit him back
down before the ref can call the fight. "And I'm gonna take him! I'm gonna take
your little family from you, Derek Hale!"
Talia is visibly seething as she crouches in front of Derek, just her this
time, no Scott with ice, no Laura with water, no cutman. Just her. She says
nothing at first, just grabs his chin and yanks it towards her so Derek can see
the dark anger brewing in her eyes.
"He said your brother's name, Derek. He talked about Stiles and your nephews.
You just gonna let him speak about your family like that?"
Derek feels the familiar shadow of his wolf rising up inside him, the anger, so
hot and mindless and perfect, creeping up from the dark, hidden depths inside
him. His skin burns with it, his pulse rising.
"What're you gonna do to this piece of shit?" Talia presses. "What're you gonna
do, Derek Hale?"
"I'm gonna beat this bitch back into his mother's cunt."
 
***
 
"What the fuck?!" Derek huffs from under Xander's hold. The elder alpha has
always been the better wrestler. Derek throws his elbow in the general
direction of Xander's face, but he's too outraged, too out of control,
unfocused. "Get the fuck off me! Get off me, Xander!"
Xander tightens his hold in response, latching his legs further around Derek's,
arm tightening around Derek's throat. "It'll kill you," he grits. "It'll kill
you. And that'll kill me. Fuck,Derek!"
"Fuck you," Derek barks back, aiming his blows at Xander's side this time,
managing to escape in the split second that Xander loosens his hold. Derek
rounds out of Xander's arms, twisting his body to catch Xander's arm back,
pushing his face down into the dirt.
"It's me, isn't it?"
Derek hesitates, giving Xander an opening to grapple his arm back under Derek's
shoulder, another back around Derek's neck, to lock Derek into a position too
tight to wrestle out of, too dangerously angled for Derek to just risk snapping
his own neck. Derek can feel Xander's heavy breathing against his ear, broken,
though because of exertion or his desperate, aching need to understand, Derek
can't tell. "You're angry, right? Is that it? You hate me?" Derek uselessly
writhes, just wants to escape Xander's grip, Xander's questions, Xander's pain.
"You're angry that I have Deaton, that I'm not exactly like you—that you're not
just like me-"
"I'm not angry at you, I'm jealous!" Derek snarls, finally ripping out of
Xander's hold. "I'm jealous of you! I'm jealous of every person who has a dad
that actually fucking cares!"
 
***
 
The stunned look on the bastard's face is more satisfying than the crunch of
Derek's fist against his nose. The guy may be big. He may have a reach
advantage and height on Derek. But Derek has anger. Derek has rage.
The atmosphere of the entire arena changes in half a breath. Gone is the
disappointed, balking boos and roars of the bewildered crowd. Their confusion
has dissolved into shrieks of disbelief and uncontrolled excitement, the
emotion utterly, undeniably palpable, but Derek is unaware because all he knows
is that this alpha, this wolf, this spent, beaten down mess of a fighter
opposite him in the octagon, now knows Derek Hale's wrath.
Derek feels his wolf, so familiar, so comforting. In every kick, in every jab,
it's Derek and the wolf, as one, as they always should have been, as it's meant
to be. The other alpha is exhausted, weary from the previous rounds, pulling
his big, lumbering weight around with him as he tries to avoid Derek's attacks.
Neither of them take to the ground. That's fine by Derek.
 
***
 
The air stills between the brothers, it seems. They're looking at each other as
if for the first time in ages. It's different. It'll forever be different now,
with everything that's just transpired, everything that's been said, with all
of it laid bare as day one again.
"I want what you have," Derek admits quietly, refusing to meet Xander's eyes.
"I want Mom not to want more. I want a dad—arealfucking dad. I'm being torn
apart. I just want to be free of this pain."
Xander crawls over, drops down into the dirt next to  Derek. They lay there
like that, no words spoken, until the sky goes all dark and their faces are lit
only by the glow of the streetlights out by the road.
"What're you thinking about?" Derek whispers finally, bracing himself, eyes on
the stars.
Xander sighs. "Being Xander."
Derek can't help it. He laughs, thinking back to when they were younger, laying
out in the field by the woods just like this, the same words shared under the
calm of the sky, the quiet of the night. He turns to his brother, but Xander's
expression doesn't hold the same relief his does.
"I'm not always such a nice thing to be," Xander whispers back to Derek, a
secret. Xander turns his eyes back to the sky, and nothing more is said. But
their hands brush against each other, and Xander doesn't move his away. So
neither does Derek. And that's how he knows they'll be okay.
 
***
 
He can feel every bit of it in his veins, the fight—the victory.
His execution, right as the last minute of the round arrives, comes in the form
of a high kick to the face, knocking Kincaid "the Kid" Segers onto his back,
out cold.
The crowd goes ballistic.
 
***
 
"Daddy would have let me!"
Stiles looks like he's been hit by a freight train. Derek thinks he should
leave, should silently just dissolve into the background, but it's kind of
difficult with his only exit being where Stiles is standing. So he's stuck
here, a month into housing a stranger, practically, and said stranger's two
kids, caught between mother and son, watching their fight unravel.
Stiles is a practically a kid himself, Derek notes not for the first time. It's
a wonder how he's survived this long. The world is brutal and cruel. Derek
doesn't want to think any harder on it.
But late at night, when Derek can hear Stiles nodding off, his voice hushed,
calm, not exactly content, but so obviously in love with his children, lulling
them to sleep, Derek knows he's everything a mother should be.
"I'm sorry for hurting your feelings, Mommy," Junior apologizes. "Do you hate
me now?"
Stiles says nothing at first, and Derek tilts his head, confused. He sets his
beer down on the counter, eyes focused on the shadows outside the window,
listening in.
"I don't hate you," Stiles says, and though his voice remains smooth,
undeterred almost, Derek can hear the small crack in his breath, the blow of
having ever let Junior think anything otherwise. "Listen to me, Junior. My
feelings for you are not conditional. I don't lose patience with you. I don't
punish you. I just love you. You're my heart. I love you. Okay?"
The sheets ruffle and Derek assumes there's a hug. "Okay," Junior sniffles.
Derek stares out at the darkness a while longer. He closes his eyes and feels
the grass. He closes his eyes and smells Xander's remorse. He closes his eyes
and sees every time Xander lied to his face instead of telling Derek about
Stiles. Derek always thought Xander was perfect. That he was a good man, a good
son, a good brother. And he was, maybe, for the most part. But maybe Xander was
right, too. Maybe being Xander wasn't so great.
So this is where Derek finds himself. Not jealous. But angry. Finally. Angry.
Angry, like Xander had said he was. Angry at Xander because he was right.
Because if Xander was a good brother, he'd have told Derek. He'd have trusted
Derek, like Derek trusted him. Derek is angry because if Xander had been the
perfect brother Derek always thought him to be, maybe, just maybe, he'd still
be alive.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry for the wait, I can't believe I haven't updated since last
     year!
     *badumtss*
     Hope you've all enjoyed the holidays, I know I have. Finally got
     around to updating the tags and I'm, as always, so overwhelmed by the
     support I get for this fic. Y'ALL ARE AMAZING, POINT BLANK PERIOD
     UNGH.
     Here's what I had in mind for Xander's back tattoo.
     More is on its way!
     *pops confetti*
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     What_Is_Love_-_Jaymes_Young
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Uncle Derek is a Moonpie."
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Is he now?"
"Yes." Junior focuses, continues lining the front yard of his gingerbread
house with gumdrops. "Uncle Derek is strong and good and he loves us very
much." He looks up at Stiles. "He is definitely a Moonpie, Mommy."
Stiles snickers, spooning up a glob of icing from its container. "So, Isaac,"
he says, startling the quiet beta. "Any plans for Christmas?"
"Lighting my menorah."
Eric stifles a laugh at the surprised look on Stiles' face. "He's just fucking
with you. Hanukkah already ended."
"I didn't know you guys were Jewish," Stiles says, icing lining his lip, and he
sits up. A sudden pang shoots through his chest. "My mother was Jewish."
Isaac gets this look of shame on his face. "Sorry. I was just being dumb, I
didn't-"
"No, no, no," Stiles reassures him. "I mean, you couldn't have known. It's a
non-issue, dude, I'll get over it." He laughs it off, but he knows everyone can
hear the ramping up of his heart rate as he continues to sit there uselessly
stirring his icing, trying to catch hold of the blur of memories snapping
around in his head. "So-" he turns to Scott, makes sure to breathe calmly,
evenly "-what's Christmas usually like for you guys?"
"Putting it nicely, Christmas has never been about Christmas," Scott tells him.
"It's about Mom."
Stiles frowns. "Sucks to say I'm not exactly surprised."
"Yeah," Scott sighs dejectedly, sticking another chocolate covered pretzel to
the roof of the gingerbread house. "We got used to it pretty early on."
"Well, have you ever thought of having your own Christmas?"
"Absolutely not," Laura yelps. "I may be a sinner, but missing Christmas with
Mom would be equivalent to signing, sealing, and delivering my own death
warrant to Satan himself." She snatches the icing from Stiles' hand. "Pfft.
Have our own Christmas, he says."
"What'd you do for Christmas?" Kira asks Stiles, smearing another layer of
icing over the gingerbread roof to provide Scott some much-needed adhesive.
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek again, this time to distract himself from
getting lost in the darker spiral of memories always lurking in the recesses of
his mind. "Nothing special, really," he says, fiddling with the hem of his
shirt. "It was always just Xander and I. And the kids. We'd order in on
Christmas Eve, watch some Christmas movies, make some cookies, some Moonpies.
Then Xander and I'd sneak into the boys' room at midnight and let them open one
gift each. In the morning they'd open the rest, and then we'd drive down to
visit my dad." Stiles nibbles on a pretzel. He doesn't look up to see, but he
can feel the silence cut into the room like a knife.
Later, when everyone's gone home, he approaches the kitchen with determination
set in his bones, ready to pull out the ingredients and set to work because
he'll be damned if he lets himself ruin Christmas. And Talia will most likely
give him the cold shoulder if he shows up empty-handed tomorrow.
"Stiles?" Derek calls out from the foyer that night.
"Moonpie!" Stiles greets him, bearing a plate of pure deliciousness.
Derek raises a brow and does that weird thing with his jaw that just isn't cute
on him the way it was on Xander-
Shit.
"So I see," Derek says, dropping his keys down onto the table.
"And so you are," Stiles says, cheekily grinning. Junior and Sammy light up in
a fit of giggles.
Stiles thinks back to Derek when he's finally in bed, ready for sleep to take
him. He refuses to cry. He sees Xander. Everywhere. Surely it's killing him.
I won't love a ghost for the rest of my life, he promises himself.
It's a perfect lie.
 
***
 
"Is he embarrassed of you?" Lydia asks. "Is that what it is? Is he ashamed?"
Stiles looks stunned, dropping the plate into the sink to come and sit across
from her at the breakfast table. "Why would you say something like that?"
"You deserve someone who can introduce you to their family. You deserve someone
who doesn't have to constantly fear being seen with you. My God, he's a grown
man, Stiles, you don't need to do this to yourself."
"I'm not doing anything to myself." He jolts up from the table. "You don't know
what you're talking about."
"Stiles, you're making a mistake," Lydia cries, following after the omega as he
attempts to storm out of her sight. "This only ends one way!"
Stiles rounds on her in the middle of the hall, chest heaving with the sudden
surge of anger rising up from within him. When he speaks, his voice is smooth
and menacing, "You know, you think you're protecting me, but you're really
not." He backs away from her. "You're not protecting me from a goddamn thing."
 
***
 
Stiles pulls the maroon dress over his head, smoothing the fabric down over his
torso, averting his gaze from the stretch marks he knows line the span of his
hips as he draws the length of it down his body. Looking in the mirror, he's
surprised at himself. He likes what he sees. The dress itself is nothing
special, but it's fancier than anything he's worn in a long while. And he feels
good in it.
When he's finished getting ready and steps into the kitchen to load up the
moonpies, Stiles instead walks in on some sort of pissing contest in which said
moonpies are getting scarfed down at a disturbing pace by Theo and Scott. He
pauses midstride, mouth gaping in horror. Jackson takes notice of him first,
wide eyes reflecting Stiles', raking up and down the omega's form as he tries
to gather himself. "What the fuck?" Stiles squawks, rushing to the table to
save the remaining pastries. "Guys."
Scott and Theo jump up from their chairs, ties thrown over their shoulders, the
sleeves of their dress shirts rolled up, mouths and hands a marshmallowy,
chocolatey mess.
"So embarassing," Junior mutters, sighing into his hand at Cora's side. Sammy
looks delighted on the other hand, Laura mirroring his huge smile.
"Talia's gonna have my neck," Stiles groans, too annoyed to pay attention to
Theo and Jackson's confused, gawking stares.
"Caliente," Theo crows, sweeping his eyes over Stiles' form. "Honey," he says,
licking the sugar from his lips, "Call me Moses, 'cause I'm gonna part you like
the Red Sea."
Stiles flails away from Theo's utter airheadedness. "Do I really need to spell
it out for you?"
Theo licks some chocolate off his thumb. "You're cute when you get mad."
Stiles' frown deepens. "Bite me," he frigidly retorts.
Theo grins. "It'd be my pleasure."
Derek walks in, then, tie loosely draped around his neck, buttoning up the
cuffs of his shirt. He pauses in the doorway, briefly glancing at the mess,
eyes falling onto Stiles. He clears his throat before speaking up. "We'll meet
you guys there."
Scott turns to Stiles. "Sorry about the-" he gestures towards the table,
forehead creasing in guilt. "Ming-Ming's on me next time, okay?"
"Well, what am I gonna do now?" Stiles asks after Scott takes off.
"Don't worry," Derek reassures him, their elbows brushing as he comes to help
clear the table. "We'll figure something out."
"And that something would be?" Theo questions, just waiting to swoop in and
save the day.
"Well, we've got an old bottle of fuck you in the cabinet," Derek informs him
and Stiles smacks his arm, snickering.
"I bet it tastes like jailyard sex and daddy issues," Theo sneers, pouting his
lower lip in mock sympathy.
"Careful, Theo," Derek warns. "You're currently the only thing in my sight."
"And you?" Theo faces Cora. "Get anything for Mommy?"
"Nothing but my negative attitude and sparkling personality," she cheerily
answers, flipping him the bird.
"Enough!" Laura throws her hands up. "There'll be plenty of time to insult one
another over dinner."
"Theo Raeken and his broskis will fucking eat Christmas," Theo seethes as
Jackson yanks him out of the house by his tie.
Laura wipes a hand over her face. "God, Buddha, Vishnu, whoever's on duty up
there, please make this good." She turns, Cora in tow, and takes her leave.
Stiles is left to wipe down the table and clear the plates, the last of the
moonpies crumbling apart, gone to waste. "We'll pick something up on the way,"
Derek tells him, swooping Sammy up to go put on their shoes.
"Unc' Der'k, I wan' many, many 'ousands uh' gween people f'om his'ry 'imes."
"He means money," Junior says as Stiles helps him into his coat.
"Well, who has to get you these gifts?" Derek asks, fumbling with his tie in
the mirror. Stiles can't stand his bungling and intervenes, just as clumsily,
yet significantly more swiftly, managing to sort it into place, straightening
it out. Derek slides on his own coat, kneeling in front of Sammy to help the
little beta out with his zipper.
"I' give you a hin', Unc' Der'k.” Sammy leans in, cupping a hand around his
mouth as he whispers into Derek's ear: "San'a Claus."
"Mommy, you look nice," Junior tells him on the way out the door. "Uncle Derek,
doesn't Mommy look nice?"
Derek holds the door open, eyes roaming over Stiles for half a heartbeat before
meeting his gaze. "Definitely."
 
***
 
Xander presses his palm over Stiles' abdomen, massaging up and down, lining his
lips up against Stiles' bellybutton as he urges the little guys he's just
dumped into Stiles' body to "Swim up! Swim up!"
Stiles can't help but laugh. He runs his hand over Xander's head, closing his
eyes, blissfully content.
When he gets on the phone with Lydia, his giddiness is hard to miss. "If I
sneeze, cough, have a stomachache—anything that could remotely be a symptom, he
screams, 'You're pregnant!' He leaves notes on the mirror that just say
'pregnant.'" Stiles hasn't stopped smiling all day. He was in such a good mood
he decided to treat himself to curly fries earlier, taking Junior along for the
ride down to the burger joint he'd always sit in at with his dad. "I just can't
wait to know," Stiles says, absently running a hand over his middle, hoping a
little miracle has already come to exist in there.
"I wish I could visit more," Lydia says from her end. "I miss you. I know how
much this means to you."
"I miss you, too," Stiles whispers, the weight of how alone he really is
settling inside. "Junior's grown a lot since you last saw him," he says to
change the subject.
Three weeks later, the pregnancy test comes back positive and Stiles thinks he
can't be happier. The ultrasound confirms it a month out.
"He's cute," Xander says, eyes glued to the monitor.
"He's a blob," Stiles replies, but he knows in his heart Xander is right. Their
blob is the freaking cutest.
"You think it's a boy?" the technician asks, swiping the wand over Stiles'
belly.
"Father's intuition," Stiles tells her, rolling his eyes at Xander,
uncontrollably smiling.
He watches his husband for a moment. He's got that same expression he had on at
their very first ultrasound when Stiles was pregnant with Junior. It's the same
one he wore when Junior had kicked for the first time. "Xander! Quick!" Stiles
had moaned, belly rounded, Junior's little foot jamming itself up against his
bladder. He had taken Xander's hand and pressed it to the spot where their
little one was saying hello.
"Holy shit!" Xander had excitedly gasped. "Do it again!"
Stiles laughed at him. "It's not exactly something I can control."
And when Sammy finally arrives, Stiles feels happiness so great and
overwhelming and perfect that he knows Lydia was wrong, so, so very wrong about
how things would turn out. "I love you," he whispers to his little love,
cradling him close, unaware of the rest of the world as he holds Sammy for the
first time. "I love you, oh, I love you, I love you."
He visits his father that same week, unable to wait, like the little kid he
only ever briefly got to be, wanting so desperately to tell his dad about what
he made. Xander doesn't put up much of a fight.
"Dad," Stiles says, already tearing up as he sits next to the hospital bed.
"Daddy, there's something I want to show you."
He holds Sammy in his arms, cradling him at an angle so his dad can see. The
look on his father's face is the same as the one Xander wears. Stiles knows
then, even if he forgets, even when he suffers, his dad loves him. His dad is
proud of him. He knows because that's how Xander looks at his sons. He knows
because that's how his father has always looked at him.
 
***
 
"You're Uncle Derek's mom," is how Junior greets Talia. "I can tell. You're
angry like him."
Stiles' heart drops into his stomach. "Junior-"
"I'm not angry," Talia says plainly, stating it like a fact.
"That's what Uncle Derek says." Junior tilts his head, a smile forming on his
face like Talia's just made a joke.
The upside to this Christmas dinner is that it's actually a holiday party.
There's people pouring in and out of every crevice of Talia's house, giving
Stiles the time to make an excuse and break for it, leaving Talia behind to
attend to her fancy guests.
"Nice job, Derek," Theo snidely remarks, raising his glass of champagne to the
broken gingerbread house on the kitchen island, the same one Stiles picked out
when they stopped by a Walmart on the way over. Least to say, it didn't exactly
survive the car ride. Theo plucks up a gumdrop, tossing it into his mouth as he
smirks at Derek. "Does this remind you of your broken home?"
"Fuck a cactus, Theo," Laura barks on her way to the liquor cabinet.
"Your language is fucking atrocious, Laura," Theo says. Oh, the irony.
Laura tosses back a shot of Grey Goose as Stiles helps the boys up into the
kitchen chairs. "Yeah, well, you can just crawl back up into your mother's womb
and abort yourself, Theo."
Stiles slams his ears down over Sammy's ears. "Laura."
"What? They've heard worse." She pours herself another round.
"Laura, come on, no," Derek finally intervenes as Theo disappears into the
crowd. "You can't be getting hammered."
"This is called Christmas spirit, brother." Laura pulls herself away from
him. "Which means spirits. As in booze."
"Where's my Grampa?" Junior asks all of a sudden.
"He went out for a drink with a friend," Laura tells him.
Junior scowls. "When?"
"About twenty years ago." Laura tosses her drink back. She frowns at Derek.
He raises his brows at her. "What? What have I done?"
"Nothing. You've just got this sad, unmarried uncle thing going on. It's
depressing."
"Laura, please, please, don't start."
"I met your mom," Junior says, helping himself to the broken gingerbread house,
biting into one of the four walls. "She's nice. Why don't you like her?"
"Oh, I don't know," Laura grouses. "Maybe because she's a miserable, angry
person?"
Junior munches on a handful of M&M's. "Hm. Sounds familiar."
Stiles manages to dodge Talia for the better part of the evening, tossing up
conversation where he can, avoiding conflict with any Hale who has a drink in
their hand, and fending off aggressive alphas who can't take a hint.
"Getting married so young sounds a lot like leaving a party at nine-thirty,"
Gabe or Gavin or Garrett or whatever his fucking name is is saying.
"Yeah. You know, when my husband and I had our first child I was afraid of
missing the party. But then I realized that we were the party. They were the
only party I wanted to be at. Meanwhile everyone else wakes up alone and hung
over."
The guy gets this trapped look on his face, Theo arriving just in time, and
unbelievable as the words sound put together, Stiles is thankful.
"I was enjoying that conversation," Stiles dryly remarks as Theo steals him
away.
The beta offers a flute of champagne. "You know what else I think you enjoy?
Me."
Stiles is so done with Theo he can't help but laugh at the insanity that is his
existence. "Theo, your inner child needs to grow an outer man."
"Stiles, just face it. Our chemistry is undeniable."
"You know what else is undeniable? The pain my fist will cause you when I slam
it into your face. Fuck off, dude."
"That's adorable!" Theo titters as Stiles storms off.
He finds Junior and Sammy sitting out on the patio with Derek, half-finished
plates of food in front of them. Sammy is the only one still scarfing anything
down. "Moonpie, you can't eat dessert if you're full," Stiles says to Sammy as
he joins them.
"'S'okay, Mommy," Sammy says. "Dinn'r goes in muh belly-" he points at his
tummy "-bu' desser' goes in muh hear't." He drops his fork into his plate, hand
over his chest. Stiles grins, about to get up to retrieve some cake, but Cora
suddenly arrives, a plate in each hand. Junior quickly clears his area, fork at
the ready.
"What do we say?" Stiles uncaps a water bottle.
"Thanks, bitch."
Stiles chokes. "I've taught you so well," Cora says to Junior, actual warmth in
her voice. She runs a hand lovingly over Junior's head and returns inside.
Stiles leans forward across the table. "Never again," he says sternly,
unblinking. Junior sheepishly nods his head and shoves a forkful of cake into
his mouth. Derek actually laughs.
 
***
 
"Baby, please."
"No!" Sammy shoves the suit off the bed. "No! NO!"
Stiles rests his head in his arms for a moment, takes just a second to breathe,
just a second to gather himself.
"Baby, we're going to see Daddy today. We're going to say goodbye. Don't you
want to look nice for him?"
"Don' wan'a," Sammy mumbles into the bedsheets.
Stiles looks down at his lap, spreads his hand over the black skirt of his
dress. "Okay." He gathers Sammy into his arms, cradles his face close to the
hollow of his neck. "Okay." They stay like that for a moment and then Stiles
stands, lifting Sammy with him. He walks to the closet door. "Moonpie," he
murmurs. "Come out now. It's okay, baby." Junior peeks out, opens the door
wider and steps back into the room. Stiles smiles down at him, sad. "It's gonna
be okay." Junior takes his hand and they walk out, Stiles in his black dress,
the boys in their pajamas, funeral suits left behind.

***
 
"How about a sailing trip?" Derek suggests to Liam. "Just me and you."
Liam looks ecstatic, smile zipping across his face, ear to ear.
"Actually, he can't go with you," Cora cuts in. "'Cause Liam gets really bad
sea sickness. Which everyone who knows him knows. But, you know, let's just
forget that it's basically like you're a stranger." Shit. Stiles must've
overestimated Cora's bane tolerance because she sounds nearly as full of rage
as Laura is five drinks in.
Derek looks at her. "Cora-"
"Stop! Liam doesn’t know you! I don't even know you! You don't know anything
about me! You can't just waltz in here after all this time and act like
everything is fine and just, like, buy us a burger and offer Liam a crappy
boating trip and, oh, everything's just gonna be fine again, you know, and I
guess it works. I guess it works on everybody but me. I guess I'm the only
person that has a problem with it, but I'm sorry I can't forget the fact that
because you were in prisonyou couldn't come to Liam's birthdays, and you
couldn't take Scott out all the times that you promised that you would, and you
were not there for me when I really needed you, and so I have trouble believing
that you've changed because I've heard it all before and I'm sorry, but I look
at you and I just see the same loser who let me down."
Talia chooses this moment to stand by the grand piano, glass raised for a
speech. "Derek," she starts, and Stiles feels the alpha tense at his side.
"It's been a long journey, but you've finally found your way back to us again.
Your absence has made you no less of a Hale. Welcome home, my son, and to all
my children, I cherish you very much. Now, I'd like to take the time to thank
everyone who's joined us here tonight, it's been absolutely magical. Reign is
on the come up and will soon be back on the map, thanks to all if you." She
lulls her speech at this moment, coaxing the crowd into applause. She gestures
for Peter to take over.
"Reign is doing so well, in fact," he drawls, "that we've recently made the
decision to sign on additional fighters, one, including, none other than our
very own, Theo Raeken." Another round of applause. Stiles sees Laura snatch a
bottle from the last ice bucket across the room, glaring daggers at her mother.
"Merry Christmas!" Talia cheers.
"It's about to be," Stiles hears Liam curse as Derek chases after a tearful
Cora.
Stiles gathers up Sammy and Junior, helping them into their coats. When they
step outside, Cora and Derek are just getting into it.
"It took Xander dying to bring you back home. And only after you served time!
So where were you before that?"
"I'm your brother," Derek says.
"You were. You lost that privilege when you decided to leave."
"I lost someone I loved."
"Join the fucking club, Derek!" She gasps in, a draft of cold air blowing past
them, shifting the loose hair away from her face. "Where were you when things
were falling apart? Where were you when I was falling apart?"
"I'm here now."
"Well, I'm not falling apart anymore." She clenches her jaw, shrugs. "I'm
already broken as fuck, okay? I'm fucked up."
Derek sighs, looking to the sky for answers. The Hales steadily file outside to
watch the Christmas blowup. "I know you don't trust me," Derek says. "I know
you want to punish me. And I get it. I want to punish myself. I have no way to
prove myself to you or anyone. But,Christ, this passive aggressive bullshit and
these horrible fucking fights—it'skilling me, Cora. I may have been a shitty
brother, but I am your shitty brother. I need my family back. Okay? Please."
Cora looks on, expressionless, cheeks flushing from the cold or her anger,
Stiles can't tell. "The more you apologize, the less I forgive you," she says.
"You call yourself a fighter? You've never fought for anything in your life.
All you do is run. You died in that fire too, Derek. Xander and you both."
Laura steps in, then, throwing her cigarette over her shoulder at Theo. "She
didn't mean that," she tells Derek, softly.
Derek stares at Cora. "You know what?" And Stiles swears he can see the image
Derek has held of his little sister crumble and disappear right before
everyone's eyes. Like he's finally realized that the soft-hearted one doesn't
live inside her anymore. "Yes, she did."
"Well, Christmas is fucking ruined," Jackson gripes.
"Don't ever say that," Theo snaps, tapping out Laura's cigarette. "Christmas is
un-ruinable. It's got twice the resistance of any normal holiday."
Sammy runs down the driveway and into Derek's arms. Stiles follows, hand in
hand with Junior as they make towards the alpha. Cora just stares, eyes
flicking from Derek to Stiles, every aspect of her body language breathing
hatred. She turns and heads back up the driveway without a backward glance.
"Let's go home," Junior says, face pressed against Derek's thigh. Stiles
doesn't ask which home he means. The word means only one place now.
 
***

On his eighth week of widowhood, Stiles decides to stop hovering his thumb over
Xander's name. He's so drunk he doesn't know what's going on, hasn't spoken to
Xander in over a thousand hours. He presses call and gets nothing but a two-
toned beep followed by an automated, I'm sorry, the cellular customer you are
trying to reach is no longer available.
He throws his phone across the room.
No longer available.
 
***
 
No words are exchanged after the boys are put to bed. Stiles quietly kneels in
the middle of the hall, dragging Xander's box out in front of him. Derek joins
him. It doesn't take a lot to convince the alpha, simply a tired look his way
and no walls put up.
"He just left, you know that?" Derek stares at the wolf on his arm. "He was
there one day and then the next...he was just gone."
Stiles sets the album in his lap to the side, tilts his head back against the
wall. Derek looks exhausted when Stiles glances at him again.
Stiles reaches for him, to hug him, and Derek shudders, and something seems to
break inside him. Derek begins to cry, really cry, but quietly. They cry
together, their shoulders shaking and shuddering with the weight of all of it.
They cry like that for a long time.
Deep into the night, after their lips have chapped and their voices have worn
themselves thin, Stiles starts rummaging through the box, searching out that
one photograph. "A little while before the fire, Xander and I started watching
Star Wars with the boys, and I know what you're thinking-" Stiles cuts off to
deprecatingly laugh at his past self "-What kind of parents were we, showing
that to a three-year-old? Well, Sammy chose to see what he wanted to see, and
Junior loved it so much he wanted to watch the entire series over and over." He
finally stops rifling through the stack in his hand and pulls out a photo, one
with a corner charred off. He shows it to Derek. "It was perfect."
Derek doesn't take the picture from him, just gazes down at Xander with that
same look he gets when he sees any picture of his brother, something filled
with equal measures of contrition and awe. Stiles smiles down at Sammy's funny
little Boba Fett tattooed onto the cuff of Xander's wrist.
"He promised he'd take them to see the new one." Stiles slides the photo back
into the stack, taking his time to return the lid over the top of the box. He
leans back into the wall, legs out in front of him, parallel to Derek's.
"Junior hasn't even brought it up. I asked him once, and he looked guilty. Like
he wasn't sure if it's okay to be happy about it." Stiles swallows. "I
think...if a six-year-old can find happiness again..." He looks at Derek. "I
can, too, right?"
Derek licks his lips before he speaks. "You're asking the wrong guy. I'm not
exactly the best example for healthy grieving." Stiles wants to laugh at the
absurdity of the alpha’s timing. Derek Hale, attempting comic relief? It makes
something oddly warm and comforting rush through him all of a sudden.
Stiles reaches out and touches the back of Derek's neck. Derek jerks forward,
the slightest motion, but the omega doesn't take his hand away. He lets it rest
there, stroking Derek's hair, and then he cups the back of the alpha's head,
moves it toward himself, and kisses Derek. Tentatively at first, and then Derek
starts kissing him back, and they're kissing each other. Derek's lips are warm
and needy. He needs Stiles. Stiles' mind goes pure blinding white, and the only
thought he has is, I'm kissing Derek Hale, and he's kissing me back.
Xander is dead, and he is kissing Derek.
Chapter End Notes
     ha
     haha
     HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Notes
     Xander's_Boba_Fett_tattoo_from_last_chapter_lmao
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles is the one to break away. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice raw and
scratchy.
"For what?" Derek rasps out, still processing what just happened, heart
pounding out of his chest.
"It can't happen like this," Stiles says, pained, and Derek just wants to kiss
him again, if only to take to make him not sound like that. "I do think about
you," Stiles whispers. "You know that. I just can't-" Stiles balls his hand up,
presses his knuckles to his lips. "Can you...Can you just be here with me?"
He's looking at Derek with an indescribable look, so full of need for someone
that won't disappear on him, so fucking tired. Derek nods, clicking his jaw
shut as he pulls Stiles back into his side, wrapping his arms around the omega.
They fall asleep like that, slumped against each other, backed up against the
wall, tear tracks steadily drying against their cheeks.
 
***
  
Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. The more Derek hears that name the more he hates it.
"What do you want to do?" Scott asks. "What did he say he wants to do?"
"He hasn't reached out to us since meeting up with Mom," Laura says. "I think
we should contact him again, try to convince him to move back here."
"Why?" Derek refuses to hide the irritation in his voice. "Why do you care?"
Laura's brows draw together. "Maybe he's better off without us. Maybe Xander
was right to keep him away."
"Don't be fucking stupid," Laura snaps. "I'm going to talk to Peter. Stiles
won't be able to turn down free housing, he's got two kids, yet barely two
cents to his name."
Derek snags her by the arm on her way out, pulling her back to meet her eyes
head-on. "What are you doing, Laura?"
She yanks her arm away. "He's all alone," she says. "And you know that's not
right."
 
***
 
"I would like to write Santa a strongly worded letter concerning my Christmas
present," Junior declares, mere seconds into tearing off the wrapping from his
third gift.
"Sorry, bud," Derek says, taking a seat on the sofa. "I'm pretty sure he's on
vacation till next Christmas."
"Touché."
"Do you even know what that means?" Stiles asks as he joins them by the tree.
"Nope," Junior says. "Just seemed like the right word to say."
"Okay, well, let's take a look." Stiles combs a hand through his wet hair as he
takes a seat next to the boys, and Derek tries to not let his gaze linger too
long because even the way Stiles runs that towel over his head knocks Derek the
fuck out. When Stiles' eyes land on whatever's inside the little box in
Junior's lap, he's snatching it away, jumping back to his feet, and rounding on
Theo. "What's this?" He thrusts the package in the beta's face. "Did you give
my kids baby brass knuckles?"
"No," Theo says, an unpromising smile forming on his face. "I had baby brass
knuckles made for your kids. You're welcome."
Stiles remains still, eyes comically wide. "I can't believe what I'm hearing.
They're children."
"Yes. Fuck trophies. I'm aware what they are, Stiles. They came out of you and
stuff."
"Look," Stiles bites out under his breath, shoving the box back into Theo's
hands. "All offense intended, you represent everything I despise in this world.
Get these things out of my sight." He turns without another word, the venom in
his voice gone, the scowl on his face disappearing, as he sits back down to
supervise the rest of the present-opening, all giggles and smiles returned to
his beautiful face.
Junior crawls over to Sammy and plops down beside him, grabbing his cheeks.
"Sammy," he says, pausing his brother's hands mid-tear. "Look at me. Look at
me. I love you. I love you.”
"'Kay," Sammy happily replies, ripping the lid off the box in his lap. "Look!
Look!"
"Merry Christmas, Sammy," Junior says, helping him put on the tiara. "You look
really cool."
"Ugh, Derek, do you have any ibuprofen or Tylenol or like, horse tranquilizer?
My head is killing me," Laura says, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Scottie,
get me a beer, would you?" she calls to the kitchen.
"We're about to have breakfast," Derek tells her, getting up.
"And a piece of toast!" she throws over her shoulder.
Scott loads up the table with the greasiest, most carb-infested breakfast Derek
has laid his eyes on in a while, and within moments everyone is having at it.
Stiles pulls Junior's plate away at one point so the little alpha can finish
working on the food already in his mouth. "Baby, slow down, no one's gonna take
your food away."
And the waffles are no laughing matter. Neither is the syrup. "Keep your dirty
little hands to your dirty little selves," Theo gripes, pushing back from the
table, plate held over his head as he tries to escape the oncoming messes.
Derek wanders outside a bit later, a plate of the last pieces of bacon in hand.
He takes a seat next to Laura, right there on the first step of the porch,
placing it down between them.
"Breakfast of champions," Laura mutters, saluting her drink at him. She tips it
back, takes a drag from her cigarette. She laughs.
God, Derek hates that fucking laugh.
 
***
 
"You sure know how to leave someone high and dry," is the first thing Laura
says when she drops by. Her first visit since the funeral. She's hedging around
what she really wants to say, letting it marinate, taking her time to light up
a cigarette, to size Derek up. "So this is how it's gonna be?"
"Why are you here?"
"I'm here to figure out what's going through that fucking head of yours," she
barks, tossing her cigarette and pushing past Derek, slipping inside. "I'm
here, Derek, because the last thing I want is for you to end up back behind
bars." She deflates, suddenly, shaking her head. "Because I can't lose you.
What you're doing, it's selfish. You can't keep hiding. I need you."
"Well, I can't be what you need." What Derek really wants to say:I'm sorry, but
I love you too much to talk about this right now.
Laura nods, showing herself back out. "Be careful how far you push me away,
Derek," she says, slipping her shades onto her face. "I may end up liking it
there." She shuts the door.
 
***
 
"This is me and Uncle Derek in the park," Junior explains, picking up the black
crayon again.
"You've really captured his inner hobo," Laura admires, squinting up at Derek
to take in his beard. "Any plans for the new year?"
Junior nods, concentrating on filling in Derek's bushy brows. "I will see a
unicorn and I will follow it down the road to love."
"Baby, why're you talking like a fortune cookie?" Stiles teases as he joins
them, dropping a kiss on Junior's head. "And do tell more about this unicorn."
“Caitlin from school likes unicorns. And Lady Gaga. She can't see, even though
her eyes look normal. They remind me of the big pile of dirt in our yard." He
smiles to himself, finally boxing the black crayon to Derek's relief. "I like
that." Laura grins uncontrollably and Stiles just shakes his head, smiling.
Stiles takes his leave a half hour later, heading off to his afternoon shift at
the diner, promising to return with cake in celebration of the New Year.
"Boy, is Mommy in for a surprise," Junior mumbles at Derek's side that night,
taking in the waves of people pouring through the front gate into the yard.
"Tell me about it," Derek says, shuffling them back inside. He tracks down
Laura, who, unsurprisingly, is already corking open half of Derek's liquor
cabinet. "What the hell is this?"
"Brother!" she greets him, waving him over. "The New Year is but a few hours
away! Won't you lend your sister a helping hand in opening some of this
marvelous Absolut?"
"Laura, what the fuck are you thinking? I said a few people. Don't you think
you should've run this by me? Stiles will be coming home any minute."
"Derek, here-" she hands him a shot "-take this nice, strong dose of chillax,
and you'll be okay-"
"Laura," he snaps, slamming the shot glass back down onto the counter. "You
have zero regard for anyone else. You don't invite people over, you don't take
my booze, and you don't throw enormous New Year's parties in your brother's
home just because you feel like getting fucked up."
Laura stares at him, solo cup dangling loosely in her hand. She sets it down.
"Excuse me for wanting to have a good time."
"Are you fucking dumb? Laura," he exhales her name, but it does nothing to ease
the blow, "you need help."
Laura snaps, slamming her drink back down, coming around the counter to jab her
finger in Derek's face. "You don't fucking talk to me like that."
"This is my house," Derek snarls. He points out the window. "Those are my
upside lawn chairs. I will talk to you any way that I want."
Laura storms off, leaving the liquor behind. "Enjoy your party, Derek."
"Moonpie," Derek hears in the hall, "why is there a dude sitting on our couch
who looks like he can bench press two Uncle Dereks?"
"Auntie Laura invited him," Junior says. "She also invited all the other
people."
Derek rounds the corner, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Stiles, I'm
sorry, I don't know what she was thinking-"
"It's fine," Stiles says, shrugging. "I couldn't bring cake, so we might as
well join the fun where we can, hm?"
Derek blinks. "Uh, yeah. Right." He swings Sammy up into his arms. "You sure?"
Stiles smiles. "I'm sure."
"Ah!" Theo walks through the door, combing a hand through his hair. "Just the
omega I was looking for." He goes in for a hug and Stiles sidesteps, grimacing,
making Derek snort. "So, listen, the pizza guy's here and I only have hundreds,
so..." he trails off, smirking at Stiles.
"You weren't invited," Cora says, joining them.
Theo shrugs, eyes never straying from Stiles. "Never stopped me before."
"Shut up! Shut up!" Laura stands on the picnic table, struggling to stand
straight in her heels. "It has come to my attention that some of you are not
welcome party material! So I'd like to take this time to announce that we don't
need idiots, good-for-nothings, meth heads, or—what's your name?"
"Beth," the poor girl by the keg answers.
"Or Beth! Fuck off, Beth." Laura stiffly lets herself down. Everyone goes back
to their partying, whether uncaring of Laura's little speech altogether, or
just uncaring of taking her seriously, Derek isn't exactly surprised either
way.
 
***
 
"You're only making it worse for yourself," Laura says. "Numbing the pain does
nothing. You're still gonna feel it. Maybe not now, but you will."
Derek ignores her, flicking his claws out. In, out, in, out. He grins down at
them.
"Derek," Laura cries, so obviously wanting to reach for him, but so scared that
the man she's looking at isn't her brother. "Derek, please. Please, don't do
this." She draws closer, eyes suddenly widening, and Derek pauses. She inhales,
gaze fixating on Derek anew. "It's him, isn't it?" Derek says nothing.
"Thatfucker. He's done this to you!"
"You're wrong," Derek says. "I've done this to myself."
 
***
 
Theo's death has been requested more than three times in less than an hour and
Jackson starts freaking out when he suddenly disappears. Derek, turned off by
the haze of scents in the air, traces their target down via disturbed facial
expressions, locating Theo in the kitchen with company.
"The human body has two hundred six bones," Junior tells Scott, directing him
to stir faster.
Theo grins savagely. "I have two hundred and seven when I'm with your mom."
Eric makes a gagging noise.
"With all due respect—which is none," Stiles says, turning to Theo to shove a
tray of the first batch of moonpies into his empty hands. "If you keep running
your mouth, I'm gonna lose it." Theo slides the tray into the oven, starts up
the timer, then chooses this moment to take his shirt off.
Stiles sighs, and Allison gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. "Why did you
just take your shirt off?"
Theo props his elbow up against the doorframe, not-so-subtly flexing. "Because
the world deserves to see the madness that is my upper torso." Sammy giggles,
skipping over to smack Theo with doughy hands. "No! No!" Theo evades the little
beta. "Get off me, you uncouth brat!" Least to say, his cries for help are
properly ignored for the rest of the baking process.
"One day, Theo," Cora says, "I will wear you as a jacket.”
"Okay, do not flatter me. Or insult me. Or whatever it is you're doing." His
eyes trail after Stiles, who marches Junior and Sammy out the kitchen to wash
up. "Isn't he stunning?" Theo sighs.
Boyd sips at his beer. "Certainly looks good walking away from you," he says as
he heads outside with Cora.
"People!" Laura shouts, walking in with her cup held high over her head. "Less
chitchat, more alcohol abuse!"
"What are you on?" Isaac teases her as Stiles re-enters.
Laura raises her finger at the beta. "Cocaine."
Stiles pauses, and Lydia hurries over to take Sammy and Junior into the other
room for a bit. "Cocaine? The drug?"
Laura laughs. "Cocaine, the social lubricant."
Stiles' eyes grow wide, looking at Derek, then back to Laura. "Is that you
talking or the liquor?"
"Sweetheart, she is the liquor," Jackson says, taking his leave with a
sympathetic shrug.
Derek grabs Laura by her wrist, yanking her towards the door. "You brought
drugs here?"
"Please tell me you're not being serious," Stiles whisper-shouts, pacing back
and forth across the porch. "Laura, my kids are here!" he cries. "How could you
think this is okay?"
Laura gets a confused look on her face. She's stepping backwards, stumbling
down the steps, and then she's turning pale and hurling into the bushes.
 
***
 
"What do you want me to do? Look at him, Laura," Talia says, not even
pretending to lower her voice. Derek glares at them through the glass of her
office window. "He's no good."
"He's not fucking merchandise, Mom," Laura says. "We're losing him."
"Oh, he's gone. He islonggone." Talia rounds her desk. "And you haven't exactly
been helping."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Oh, you know exactly what I am talking about. Maybe if you were actually
around instead of getting high all the fucking time we wouldn't be in this
little situation right now. Don't even get me started, Laura, you're the
biggest fucking mess I've gotta deal with right after him."
"No, you know what? It's not that," Laura laughs, voice grating on Derek's
ears. "You just hate me for quitting fighting. And choosing an education.
College, Mom. You hate me for going to school and trying to help make this gym
survive. You know that we wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me. I am this
gym. I hold this place up. I make things work. I always have. And I have only
ever done your bidding, I've done everything you've ever asked of me, and yet
you treat me like I am less than the dirt under your fucking shoes." Her chest
heaves, pulling back from where she's gotten up close into Talia's face. "And
you know what? I'd still do anything for you."
Derek's chest loosens, the constant knot at the back of his throat, in the pit
of his stomach slackening at Laura's pain, making him want to take his claws
and rake them over Talia's neck. Laura's soft cries echo through him, begging
for release, for comfort, for her brother, but Derek can barely feel it. She's
already a ghost inside him.
"So, can you just be, I don't know,nicefor a minute, to me?" Laura asks through
her tears. "Can you be amom? A normal, kind, regular mom, just for few seconds
to me, please? I'm asking here, really asking, because I need it. I need my
mom." She's begging, desperate, wildly motioning at Derek. "And he's your
fucking son."
Talia's shoulders soften. She moves towards Laura, wraps her into her arms,
meeting Derek's eyes through the glass, and Derek has never felt like it's been
more of a lie.
 
***
 
"I saw Boyd making out with Cora," Isaac reports.
Eric snaps his head towards his brother. "What? When? Where?"
Isaac squirms. "That's inappropriate, I'm assuming on the mouth."
Cora walks in a second later, hair frazzled, smirking at Eric, who looks on the
verge of tears. He storms out, Isaac chasing after him, leaving Laura alone
with her siblings. "I can't believe you're quarantining me," she says, head
lolling back against the couch, running her hands compulsively back and forth
over the afghan. "This is bulllllllllshit. Nowhere in the bible does it say
'thou shalt not take ecstasy'."
"Ecstasy?!"
Cora drops down into the armchair across from Laura. "Jesus was obviously not
given an itemized list of your sins before he died for them."
"Why do I get the feeling that you're gonna criticize me at full force?" she
asks, looking at Stiles.
"S'not just a feeling," Theo mutters, shirt still nowhere in sight, teetering
into view.
"Theo, shut the fuck up," Cora barks.
"You said tonight was about having fun with friends," Laura says, eyes unable
to focus, like she's seeing things. "You're my friend, my siblings are my
friends. Theo's my friend when he's on ecstasy." She gestures at the beta.
Everyone looks at Theo, who stumbles to a halting stop in the middle of the
room, eyes falling onto Derek.
"Derek?" he slurs. "What are you doing here?"
"I fucking live here," Derek says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turns
back to Laura. "This can't happen ever again. You can't be doing this."
"What is this, an intervention?"
Theo starts crying all of a sudden, falling to his knees, pushing his head into
Stiles' lap. "I still care about you after I nut," he sobs. Stiles shoves him
away, eyes centered on Laura with a frightening heat behind them. He storms
away before he can unleash his fury, and Derek is just about ready to tell
everyone off and out of his house when in the next moment, Cora is jolting up
from her seat and dragging Theo by his collar out the door and into the yard,
everyone following after her. Everyone in the yard pushes back, forming a
crowd, thirsty to spectate.
"I'm not afraid to hit a girl!" Theo shouts.
"Neither am I," Cora replies, and before Derek can intervene, she's pulling her
fist back and slamming it straight across Theo's face.
Everyone is still, waiting for Theo to get up from where he's been knocked
straight onto his back. "My entire career just flashed before my eyes," Theo
whispers. "It was very impressive."
The crowd nearly groans, some of them wandering back to their drinks and games.
Cora kneels by Theo's head. "Is your ass jealous of the shit that comes out of
your mouth?"
"I AM RELEVANT," Theo laments, and then the waterworks are back.
"You people are the worst," some guy says, throwing his cup at Theo.
"Yeah?" Laura returns, pushing past Derek, flipping the guy off. "Well, we're
the best kind of worst people!"
Derek feels cool fingers brush up against his, and he looks down to find
Stiles' hand there, fingers lacing themselves between his own. His eyes meet
whiskey-brown, his breath coming shortly. He's confused at first, doesn't
understand why Stiles would want to hold his hand when his fingers are so long,
when really all they are is tough skin and sharp knuckles, calloused and rough.
But he's more than happy to let the omega do so if it means seeing him smile.
He doesn't look back as he steps into the house again, closing the door behind
him. Stiles leads him to the boys' room, where they're playing with their new
presents, oblivious to the wickedness of the outside world. Stiles pulls Derek
down with him to the floor, Junior and Sammy running in circles as midnight
draws closer. The fireworks from the pier go off seconds too early, the boys
jumping up and down at the display of colors lighting up outside their window
as the clock strikes twelve. Stiles rests his cheek against Derek's shoulder,
the warm line of his side pressing into the alpha's. "Happy New Year, Moonpie,"
Stiles whispers up at him.
Derek's heart might beat out of his chest at how right those words feeling
coming from Stiles' lips, and the last thing he wants is to trip over his own
tongue and ruin this, so he just quietly replies, "Happy New Year." And they
continue to sit, fingers tangled together, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
 
***
  
"I told you I never wanted to see you again."
"Look," his father says, blocking his way. "I get it. I get why you hate me. I
deserve it. But I want you to know how sorry I am. I need you to know that."
Derek blinks at the beta, almost laughing. "Sorry?" He is laughing now. "You're
sorry?" He slams the man up against the wall, remembering to keep his claws in
check, to tamp his anger down just a fraction. "You fucked me up once already.
You made me believe that I'm just like you." He's disgusted with himself, even
now. "I'm nothing like you."
"Derek," Rafael grits out, gasping against the arm Derek has pressed against
his windpipe. "I'm your father."
"No," Derek growls, images of his father's face outside that cage he called his
kingdom flashing behind his eyes, the thrum of energy his wolf thrives for
pressing up against Derek's ribs, howling for a fight. "You're nothing." He
releases his grip, stepping back, shaking the ghost of blood from his skin,
forcing the shadow of his wolf back inside. "Tell Peter I'm done. I'm never
coming back. I won't hurt the people I love anymore."
"What am I supposed to do, then?"
"What you've always done. Run. Hide. Either way, he owns you."
"And you'll let him? You won't help me? Your mother's turned you against me."
"You've done that all on your own." Derek can't bear to look at the man before
him any longer.
"I never wanted this for you."
"Yeah, well, you didn't try to protect me from it, either, did you?" Rafael
says nothing. "You think I'd help you? After you stood by and watched me become
everything I ever hated? You watched me turn into you. You watched as your own
son was put in a cage, night after night, hurtingpeople, almost killing them,
and you did nothing!" Derek breathes in, chest aching. "You watched Peter, my
own uncle, the man I thought you weren't, the man that stayed when you didn't-
" Derek breaks off, swallowing the bile in the back of his throat. "You watched
as he groomed me into a monster. And you didn't stop him."
Rafael shakes, head moving back and forth, claws pinching Derek's arms where
he's held tight, fangs making his lips bleed. He's not himself. Derek can
barely remember a time he ever was.
"You can say you're sorry all you want. It means nothing. You're not a good
husband," Derek says, moving away, leaving Rafael to slump against the wall and
collapse under himself, huddling into a ball like a savage creature. "You're
not a good father." Derek doesn't think twice about leaving him there,
crumbling into the unmistakable beast he is. "You're not a good person, Dad."
 
***     
     
"You've changed," is how Derek starts, the party dispersed, yard a mess, sanity
finally returning to his sister's mind.
"Well, I couldn't stay a sperm forever, could I?" Laura jokes, reaching for her
pack of cigarettes.
Derek drops the trash bag in his hands, taking a moment to watch Laura light
one up, get herself comfortable, not a care in the world. He kinda fucking
hates her right now. "You are so lucky that drugs are going to kill you before
I do."
Laura pulls the cigarette away from her mouth. "Are you still fucking milking
this?"
Derek doesn't say anything, but he's angry. Suddenly, exceptionally,
exceedingly—he's angry. Because here is this omega who is all soft touches and
open arms and kind words who doesn't want Derek to be alone. Here is a wife, a
mother, who wants to give Derek someone to have as an outlet, as a source of
gentleness and care. And that is definitely not something Derek is meant to
have. And then there's Laura. Laura, who fucks everything up and doesn't know
how to notbe fucked up. "For someone whose worst nightmare is to be like Mom,"
Derek says to her, "you sure are good at it."
Laura looks pale, brows drawn together, not in anger, not completely, but in
that familiar state of denial and guilt, her ugly frown carving years into her
face, years that Derek has been so in and out of that he's unsure when they
first appeared. "It may be our parents' fault for making us who we are," he
tells her, because he can't do this now. She's not wholly sober, never really
is, and Derek is too damn tired of waiting around for her to be. "But it's no
one's fault but your own for staying that way."
She says nothing, but as Derek stands watching her, he realizes how truly hard
it is to see someone you love change right before your eyes. And then Derek
hates himself. Because he'd done exactly that, more times than should be
bearable.
He doesn't wait to see how she gets home, just turns back towards the house and
heads inside, clean-up forgotten.
"Hey," Kira says on her way out of the kitchen. "Isaac and I are taking off.
Scott's helping Allison with Theo." Derek peeks into the living room and sure
enough, there Scott and Allison are, heaving a passed out, half-naked Theo up
onto the couch. 
Isaac replaces Derek's hand on the door. "Yeah. Good luck with that." He
winces. "Did you see Eric by chance? Actually, I don't care." Allison follows
him and Kira out, leaving Scott with Derek.
"Sorry," Scott says, pointing his thumb back at Theo's sprawled out form.
"That's kinda your problem till the morning." Derek nods, joining him out on
the porch. Scott turns to him with a look Derek can't put his finger on. "I'm
proud of you," he says.
Derek is momentarily stunned, and he lets out a laugh without meaning to.
"You're proud of me?"
Scott smiles, but he's still serious, carefully watching Derek. "I know what
you've done for me. My whole fuckin' life. You've taken a lot of shit so I
didn't have to." He hugs Derek. "I'll never forget that." When he pulls back,
his face says it all, and Derek's heart clenches in his chest. "You need to be
strong for her," the younger says.
"Why?" is all Derek can think to ask.
Scott shrugs, like it should be obvious to Derek. "Because she was strong for
you."
Derek is still thinking about what Scott said as he tucks the boys in. "Are you
and Auntie Laura fighting, Uncle Derek?"
Derek furrows his brows, clearing his throat. "Well, I think...sometimes you
need to be really careful with your trust in people. Because disappointment is
a very real thing.”
"No," Sammy says, and Stiles rests his head on his son's little tummy.
"Sammy's right. It doesn't work like that," Junior says. "Daddy always said
that you have to trust people first, because if you don’t believe in them, they
will never be able to prove you right.”
"Your dad knew a lot," Derek says, helpless to the smile that wants to appear.
"Yeah. Daddy taught me everything, Uncle Derek. Except how to live without
him."
Derek smoothes a hand over Junior's head, traces his thumb back and forth over
his temple. "You're not alone, buddy." He presses a kiss there.
Stiles drags him back down the hall once they've switched the lights out, hand
clasping with Derek's again, drawing the alpha into his room, onto his bed.
Derek can smell his nervousness, the slight tang of worry, faintly wafting from
his skin, can hear the fast beat of Stiles' heart carrying through the mattress
to the alpha's ear. It would be so easy for Derek's lips to span the inches
between their mouths. He thinks he can hear the hope in Stiles' heartbeat: kiss
me kiss me kiss me. Normally Derek is good at sensing others' feelings, but
with Stiles, everything he thinks he knows is clouded by what he wants.
Derek tilts his head to the side and looks at him, and Stiles stares back at
him for a moment, a soft noise escaping his lips before he reaches out his hand
and covers Derek's eyes. "Sometimes it hurts to look at you," he whispers.
"Close your eyes," Derek tells the omega. Stiles does, and Derek pulls Stiles'
hand away, comes up close so they're face-to-face and Derek can feel Sties'
warm breath on his cheek. They wrap their legs around each other. Derek is
overcome with this sudden need to keep him close always.
"Do you think it will always be like this?" Stiles asks him.
"How else would it be?"
Derek doesn't know who closes the distance first, but one moment their breaths
are separate and in the next they're sharing the same one. They kiss and they
kiss and they kiss, and Derek's entire body ignites.
He's not stupid. He feels the pain in his brother's passing, he knows what
Xander was to Stiles, God, he knows. He hears the name, whispered into the
darkness when Stiles should be fast asleep, mumbled into a pillow or cried out
in the middle of some nightmare. And when Stiles traces the tattoo on Derek's
back with his fingers, Derek can feel that the lines and shapes Stiles draws
are not simple and continuous, too angular and complex for the triskele that's
actually there. "Stiles," Derek says, drawing his mouth back, holding Stiles
away by the crown of his collarbone, crestfallen. "I think that when you kiss
me, you're still kissing someone else."
Stiles hesitates a moment too long, and Derek pulls completely away, rising
from the mattress. "Derek! Derek!" Stiles calls, chasing after him across the
yard. "Derek, don't leave!"
Derek finds the nearest dive bar. It's decrepit and devoid of the partying
crowds every other one is most likely filled with. He gets hammered, haunted by
the taste of Stiles' lips. And he drowns himself to numb the breath that so
stubbornly stayed when he left.
 
***
 
"Don't be like that, Derek," Peter says, exasperated, like he's dealing with a
petulant child. "You've had a nice, little vacation, but it's time for you to
come back now. I need my star fighter."
Derek fiddles with his lighter, flipping it around in his hands. "Peter," he
says, blinking before looking at his uncle. "Go to hell." Derek  doesn't wait
to see what his reaction is. He just leaves.
 
***
 
"I can't believe Cora attacked Theo with her golden fist and only managed to be
the second craziest person last night," Malia says, rubbing warmth into her
hands as she follows Derek into the house. "I was gonna bring you all a book I
found while I was in New York. It's called 'How to Stop Being Bitter and
Angry'. I'll drop it off later." Derek refrains from strangling her. "In other
news, I'm only one phase away from finally being a divorcee."
"Congrats. What's the plan?"
"The plan is simple, like my piece of shit ex. But unlike my piece of shit ex,
this plan just might work." She wrinkles her nose as they round the corner and
come to a stop across from the sofa. "Said plan will include said piece of shit
signing the final agreement if it's the last thing I do." They stare at Theo's
snoring, half-dead form in mutual disgust for a moment.
"What was he like when you dated?"
"He was a dick but I fucking loved it."
"Ew." Derek smacks Theo. He does it again. "Dick, wake up."
"Not now," Theo groans, and Derek smacks him one more time.
"Wake the fuck up," Malia snaps, rubbing at her forehead. Theo jolts upwards,
squinting against the morning light, shocked out of sleep by Malia's
unimpressed, impatient shadow hovering over him.
"You remember your wife," Derek says. "And that you don't live here."
"And to think that up on that alter you were the one to say that you'd take
care of me." Malia throws Theo's shirt at his face.
"I also said 'till death do us part'."
Malia hands him a couple of pills. "Oh, so now you remember taking that oath?"
"I took a lot of things." He throws them back dry, making a face.
Malia doesn't pretend to be gentle as she shoves him out the door and into the
backseat of her car. "I hope you work things out with your sister real soon.
She's spiraling like crazy."
Derek shrugs.
"Insanity runs in our family, Derek," Malia says as she slides behind the
wheel. "It practically gallops!" She pulls away, and Derek is ready to head
back inside for some more sleep when Laura's car appears. Derek doesn't know if
he's ready for round two so soon.
She says nothing at first, standing awkwardly, like she's feeling vulnerable.
Derek would laugh at that if it weren't true. "I'm so sorry, Derek," she says
finally, tears already brimming. "I'm sorry I fucked up again."
Derek kicks his shoe at the dirt, pursing his lips. "Yeah, well, at least
you're consistent.
Laura laughs it off, but Derek knows he's struck a nerve. "He wouldn't want us
to fight," she says.
"Well, he wouldn't exactly be shocked."
"Xander-"
"I don't want to talk about him, Laura."
"I was there when hurricane Xander hit. I know the fucking damage, Derek.
You're not the only one who cares about him, you miserable asshole."
"I don't care." He's moving back, everything inside him screaming to retreat.
"That's a lie, Derek." Laura is quick to make chase, and somehow she's managed
to turn the conversation around, onto Derek. "I know you. Even if you didn't
come to his funeral, or never visit his grave, you still care. You know it
scares you."
He's rounding on her. "I lost my brother, don't tell me what you think I know!"
"I do know. I lost Xander, too. I'm worried about Stiles, too. But I don't get
to worry about Stiles because I'm busy worrying about you."
"I never asked you to do that."
"Right. 'Cause you don't ask me to do anything anymore."
Maybe because in the end, he's just a man with too much hurt in his heart.
Maybe because his father is dirt and his mother is no mother and Cora spits his
words back at him and Laura squanders however many second chances everyone
gives her and Xander is fucking dead. Maybe because Derek is just a guy who's
fucked in the head and has a hole inside him that chews away more of his heart
every passing second of every fucking day.
"I'd slit my own throat to bring him back, Derek."
Maybe because that wouldn't be the worst thing.
 
***
 
He's sorry Xander is dead and he's alive. He should have driven faster, or just
talked to his brother, or tracked him down sooner, or died with him. He should
have listened instead of talked. He could have done something. Anything.
"You know," Laura finally snaps, angry at last, bitter at Derek's self-
loathing. "Some of us are still alive." But Derek can't bring himself to care.
So this is where Xander has left them, living between hurting and healing, with
so much to forgive—but Derek doesn't know how to forget.
 
***
 
Stiles takes the empty space at Derek's side once Laura has disappeared again,
drawing his knees up to his chest as they sit on the first step of the porch,
the chill of the early morning doing nothing to sway either of them back
inside.
"You come out here because you need someone or because you need me?" Derek
asks, eyes on the side of Stiles' face. "Tell me," he urges, more softly.
"Please."
"I love him," Stiles says. "Xander. I love him. Present tense. And I...feel
something with you, and that feels like betrayal." His heartbeat is loud in
Derek's ears, overpowering the echo of his own.
Derek rests his hand between them, lets his pinky brush over Stiles'. He licks
his lips before speaking. "It feels like a first step."
Stiles meets his eyes, so hopeful, so ready. It's not a look that says I want
more, but a look that says I want this. Their hearts race as they watch each
other from their separate sides of the stoop for one, two, three seconds.
Then they meet in the middle.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you all so, so much for your awesome comments and kudos! I'm
     overwhelmed by the response I've gotten and that so many people love
     what I've written—the feeling just never gets old! I haven't been
     able to reply to any of you, however, because my finals are coming up
     soon and I've been focused on that, but I also didn't want to keep
     you guys hanging, so I hope this update was to your liking. Tune in
     next Sunday for chapter 20!
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings in the end notes!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles doesn't particularly like working for Talia Hale. Nor does he especially
enjoy the company of Reign's pretentious patrons, though few and far between.
One client in particular, however, is drawing Stiles extremely close to his
limit.
"I get that you're on the clock," Theo says, still standing idle as Stiles
retrieves the weights from the ground and lugs them back onto their respective
racks. "Therefore I will gladly pay for your time." He pulls a twenty out from
his back pocket.
"What the fuck do you want, Theo?" Stiles ignores the wad of cash in favor of
racing back to his desk to retrieve the ringing phone.
Theo looks somewhat hesitant as he searches for a place to start. If Stiles
wasn't getting railed by the man on the other end of the line, he'd probably be
more amused by Theo's struggle for propriety rather than utterly disdaining it.
"I...may have done some regrettable things the other night," Theo begins. "I
wanted to apologize."
Stiles stares for a moment, disbelieving. "Good."
Theo holds up a finger. "Let me finish. I wanted to. But then I realized I'm
not sorry."
Stiles internally groans, throwing his hands up.
"I'll have you know," Theo continues, undeterred, "my desire for you cannot be
curbed. So you really ought to relax and trust in the power of our overwhelming
sexual chemistry because one day, I will kiss you with the force of a thousand
waterfalls, Stiles, and you will love it."
Stiles blinks, murmurs a quick goodbye into the receiver and hangs up the
phone. "I am not impressed," he says to Theo.
"I disagree." Theo reaches for Stiles' hands and Stiles smacks him away. "To
quit this pursuit would not only be a crime against humanity, but an offense to
my own self-respect and manhood, and that will not happen. Though, please do
keep in mind, I am still technically a married man."
Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're married," he scoffs. "So am I."
Theo's brows draw together. "No, that's confusing. He's dead." Stiles is a
heartbeat away from tackling Theo over the desk, when, of course, Laura has to
arrive. Theo waves her off. "Not now, skank, Stiles and I are in the middle of
something."
Laura brushes past him, dropping a tall cup of Starbucks down in front of
Stiles. She turns to Theo. "First of all, your truck is blocking my parking
spot. Second, your presence is blocking my piece of mind. Did you not read the
wonderful warning sign out there? 'Violaters will be skull-fucked.' Yeah.
Dismissed." She faces Stiles. "You should know, I'm having a huge fight with
Derek."
Rubbing a hand over his face, Stiles lets out a sigh. "Laura, I'm too busy and
too angry at you to mediate. Both of you can fuck right off."
Laura blinks back at him in surprise. "Look, I get why you're angry, but we
need to keep things civil. Derek's next fight is only two months away. I can't
do my job if he won't even talk to me."
"I guess that's your problem, then."
"Stiles, please."
Stiles purses his lips. "Fine." He rounds the desk and hands the coffee back to
her, entering into her personal space so she can see how dead serious he is
when he next opens his mouth. "But if you ever put my kids through something
like that again, I will never forgive you." He places a file under his arm and
leaves Laura and Theo in the lobby, staring after him.
 
*** 
                                      εїз
Stiles shoves his way past Xander, pulling his hoodie on. "It's either work my
ass off or offer my ass up. Either way, I need to pay rent, Xander. I need the
water running. I need my dad to be okay. This is my reality, why is it so hard
for you to understand that?"
"Because you're just a fucking kid!" Xander is breathing hard, holding Stiles
by the arms, remembering only seconds too late the row of cuts that exist
there. He pulls back, looking utterly pained though Stiles is the one feeling
the bite of the fabric against his flesh.
Stiles steps back, refusing to cry in this moment, especially when he's so
angry. "If I'm such a kid, why are you still here?" Xander pauses, so obviously
trying to hold himself back, to restrain himself from snatching Stiles up and
locking him away from every evil that exists. His mouth moves, but he says
nothing in the end. His eyes are begging, begging Stiles not to walk out the
door. "I thought so," Stiles mutters.
"I'll pay you," Xander says, voice cracking. "I'll pay you, just don't do this
anymore. Please, I'll give you the money, so you can stop fucking doing this."
Stiles stares at him. "I don't want your money, Xander."
"Stiles, stop being a stubborn jackass for two seconds and listen to me-"
"No, you listen to me," Stiles tells him, swinging open the door. "Stop wasting
your time on a dumb fucking kid." He steps outside, goosebumps rising in the
cool night air, his arms aching with it. "You're only gonna be disappointed." 
                                      εїз
***
                                      εїз
"Go on," Stiles presses. Sammy and Junior frown at each other but obey. They
hold hands, albeit stubbornly, and stare at each other, refusing to budge
beyond that. "I've got all night," Stiles says, relaxing back into the couch.
Sammy is the first to give up, sighing heavily. "'M sowwy fo' pullin' yo'
hair," he mutters. "I luh' you."
Junior sighs in return. "I'm sorry for pushing you, Sammy. I love you." They
hug.
Stiles proudly grins. "Now, Junior, you can split the cookie." Junior does.
"Sammy, you can choose your piece first." Sammy chooses. "There. Now enjoy
that, 'cause it's bath time soon." The boys groan.
"Chomby has to stay dry," Derek reasons, pulling Sammy's shirt over his head
later. "Wolves don't like getting wet."
Sammy ponders this. "Is that why I like ba'time?"
Derek snorts. "Maybe." 
"Meredith Walker called you a busboy," Junior tells Stiles, frowning down at
his toes.
Stiles helps him into the tub. "Meredith Walker said that?"
"Yeah," Junior says as Stiles tilts his head back to wet his hair. "It really
hurt my feelings."
Derek places Sammy's bucket of toys in the water, kneeling next to Stiles.
"Hm." Stiles lathers his hands with shampoo, squinting at the tiles lining the
shower wall as he thinks of how to answer Junior. "Well, first of all, even if
I was a busboy, so what? There's no shame in that. You understand?" Junior nods
and Stiles begins working his hands through the little alpha's curls. "Hard
work is hard work. It's honest and just as valuable as the next job. So the
next time Meredith Walker says something like that, you tell her she really
ought to meet me before she decides to open her big mouth again." He can feel
Derek grinning as he regains his composure. "Head back," he says to Junior,
ignoring the smirking alpha.
Junior scoops up a handful of bubbles and swipes it across Sammy's forehead.
"Simbaaa," he murmurs, and Sammy giggles. Stiles passes Derek the shampoo with
a smile.
"And then God created Saturn, and He liked it, so He put a ring on it." Stiles
is seriously running out of ideas.
"One more," Junior insists, yawning.
Derek switches on the nightlight and sets Chomby up nice and cozy under the
covers, right next to a dozing Sammy.
"I'm dead, kid," Stiles says. "It's time to count sheep."
"I'm sorry I hurt Sammy today," Junior whispers as Stiles plants one last kiss
on his forehead.
Stiles pulls the covers up to Junior's chin. "I know you are, baby." He traces
the pad of his thumb over Junior's temple. "There's not a thing you could ever
do that I would not forgive."
After a beer or two, Stiles and Derek decide to switch off the Xbox in favor of
catching up on some late-night reruns. They talk little, dead tired, though the
clock reads little more than nine o'clock. When they do speak, it's never about
how their elbows always seem to be touching, or the way their fingers tend to
stray and abandon all sense of personal space.
"You were young," Derek says plainly.
"But it was real." Stiles smiles, though it feels barely-there. "I know what
people'd think. That I was just a baby, growing up too fast, and that Xander
was the bad guy because of it, that he was corrupting me." He folds his knee
under himself to keep from fidgeting. "And maybe they were right. They were
right about some of it. But I wasn't...cradle-robbed. I'd already been growing
up too fast for my own good. For as long as I could remember. Xander
just...fell into my lap halfway through it all, I guess." Stiles wrings his
hands over and over, forces them still each time he becomes aware of it. "I was
young. I am, I know that. I know things now that I didn't know before, and,
yeah, I was too young to begin with, too fucked up, had too much baggage, all
of that, I know. But I also know that meeting Xander, marrying him, it was
never a mistake. My kids, getting to be happy—I'd do it all again."
Derek glances down at Stiles' bare arms, averts his eyes quickly. "Baggage as
in-" he gestures towards Stiles' scars.
Stiles laughs, but it's depreciating. "As in this." He shrugs his arms out,
letting the light catch the ridged rows of flesh, proving that however shrunken
and pale they've grown over time, they'll probably always be there. Derek
doesn't look at them. His eyes trace the planes of Stiles' face instead. "As
in-" Stiles clears his throat "-my mother, my father. Underage stripping." He
grimaces. "All of that."
Derek lets his hand drift closer, the warm line of his leg pressing further
against Stiles'. "Why?"
Stiles inclines his head. "Why did I strip?" He lets out a breath. The scars on
his arms throb with buried memories as he searches for a place to start, tries
to find the moment in time where responsibility really kicked in for him,
preparing him for the Shakespearean tragedy of a life that'd be laid before
him.
"I was ten-ish and I had outgrown a lot of my clothes, so my dad had taken us
to a Goodwill so I could get some new ones. I begged him for this book about
butterflies I saw and he bought it even though we didn't have the money. In the
car I found a hundred-dollar bill folded in one of the pockets of the clothes
and kept quiet all the way to the grocery store, trying to figure out how many
moonpies I could buy including tax. Then I saw him counting his money and
putting stuff back, so I told him what I’d found.” Stiles bites his lip,
composes himself through the sting of his recollection.
"You were a good kid," Derek says, folding his hand over Stiles'. "I would've
forgotten to include tax.”
Stiles feels a brief smile break out onto his face. "Things went even further
downhill from that point. My mother had already been gone for a while. I was
barely eight years old when she passed away. We were doing okay, me and my dad.
We had each other, and that was enough. And when he got sick, things were still
okay. We carried on. Until he had to be hospitalized." Stiles grips the armrest
of the couch. "That's when I knew I had to do something. 'Cause that's what you
do for family." His eyes are focused on something over Derek's shoulder,
holding back the tears that want to dam. "You do anything. Even when it kills
you, you do it. Because letting them die would kill you anyway."
When Stiles looks back at Derek, the alpha has his jaw clenched, breathing
deeply through his nose. "I miss mine, too. My parents," he says. "Everything
is different now. It wasn't always like this. We used to be happy."
Stiles is suddenly angry. How could Derek say such a thing when his parents are
still well and breathing? How could he ever compare what he has to what Stiles
has lost? "It's different," Stiles says, turning away from Derek to gather
their empty bottles.
"Of course it's different. My parents choose to be the way they are." The alpha
stares down at his lap. "You always knew your parents loved you."
                                     εїз 
***
                                      εїз
"It's just one cut," Stiles reassures, backing out of Xander's reach, pulling
the sleeve of his hoodie back up his arm as he returns to the chopping board.
"Yeah." Xander glares across the room. "Just one. And then just another. Just
one more. Just one more until you die, right?"
Stiles bites his lip. Does Xander really want him to answer that? "I'm not
trying to kill myself," he whispers.I'm trying to make this shit stop, he
doesn't add.
"I just think...we don’t understand each other right now," Xander says, turning
a brand new razor over in his hands. "But that's going to change tonight. I'm
going to be able to feel what you feel." Stiles inhales sharply, dropping the
knife in his hand, jolting forward. Xander doesn't flinch, but he's towering
over Stiles, and though he's not holding the razor out of reach, the look in
his eyes implies what he wants. Stiles slowly back up, hands finding purchase
on the counter to steady himself. "And you," Xander continues. "You can feel
what I feel."
The first slice is slow and methodical, a clean, horizontal slash over the soft
inside of Xander's lower arm. Stiles wants to look away, wants to grab that
razor and throw it out of Xander's reach, like Xander had done for him, but he
can do nothing other than stay put, eyes fixed on the red welling up from the
fresh gash marring Xander's flesh. The second slice comes quicker than the
first, as does the third, and the fourth, Xander's strokes becoming desperate,
uncoordinated, and by the time his arm looks like a slashed up, raw, bloody
mess, trails of red dripping to the tile floor, he's closing back up again,
skin knitting together once more, like he hadn't been brutalizing himself
nearly five seconds ago just so he could open Stiles' fucking eyes.
Stiles gasps in air, hadn't known he'd even been holding it, feels the stinging
of tears on his cheeks, the heaving of his chest for the first time. He runs
from the kitchen, desperate to erase the image of Xander's blood from his mind.
He feels arms around him, before he knows it, Xander's warm chest curling up
behind him, the alpha enveloping Stiles in his embrace. Stiles turns to face
him, presses his nose up against the warm crook of Xander's shoulder, breathing
him in. "I don't want him to die," Stiles cries. "I can't lose him."
Xander says nothing for the next while, just lets Stiles slowly quell his sobs,
occasionally using his shirt to wipe the snot away from Stiles' face.
"You're angry," Stiles says, an observation, all cried out, cheek resting
against the alpha's chest.
Xander breathes in. "Yes."
"At me?"
"Not at you. At myself."
Stiles tilts his head back to meet Xander's eyes. "Why?"
Xander brushes a loving hand over Stiles' cheek, cups his face. "Because I
don't know how to help you." He presses his lips to Stiles' temple, folding the
omega further into his arms. "I can't save you, Stiles," he quietly admits. "It
means nothing if you don't want to save yourself."
                                      εїз
***
 
Laura and Derek are still on edge around each other a few days out from his
next fight. They have to board the plane to Japan in less than twenty-four
hours and Stiles has been running back and forth, tying up loose ends, planning
out last minute interviews and press releases, rolling over and letting Talia
berate him for not doing it all fast enough. As the co-owner of Reign, Peter
will be filling in for Talia, but Stiles is really being put to the test
because he's clearly going to be the one handling everything in the coming
week. So, right now, the last thing he needs is Malia walking in without a care
in the world, stirring shit up.
"I brought you something," she greets Laura, handing the alpha a rehab brochure
as she turns to Derek. "Theo won his fight in Santa Fe."
They watch Laura storm away to the nearest trashcan. "Is that why Mom's been
worse than usual?" Derek asks.
"To you? Yeah," Scott says. "Get used to it, big guy. The sun now shines from
Theo's asshole and it is blinding."
"Sorry," Malia says. "Lotta last-minute pressure, I know. Thought you should
know. Also-" she turns back to a red-faced Laura "-Talia gave your ticket to a
promoter she's trying to lock down for Cora, so I hope you can find some way to
manage your fighter from halfway across the globe."
"Mom is a fucking maniac," Laura seethes, beginning to pace in anger. "How did
I ever manage to escape that woman's wretched womb? She's Satan."
Malia nods her head, glancing down at her phone. "She's definitely moody-”
"She's Satan!" Laura roars. Stiles remembers to be thankful that they close the
gym when Derek comes in to train. An audience would not be helpful at the
moment. "She has been Satan in more than one instance, Malia, you've been
there."
Malia pockets her phone. "So?"
Laura's eyes widen as she clutches at her hair. "Satan isn't even her final
form!" She wanders back into her office, muttering to herself the whole way
there.
Malia turns to Derek again. "Have you handled that?" Derek shakes his head. "I
don't exactly blame her for being so fucked up."
"What do you know?" Derek begins unwinding his wraps, shaking his head.
Malia crosses her arms. "I know that what you said to Jackson on Thanksgiving
was uncalled for. I know that you're really fucking suffering because Xander
meant everything to you. But everybody's got dead people, Derek." Stiles
briefly wonders if she's speaking about her mother, who no one ever talks
about, whose only existence seems to be within a few of the pictures hanging
from Talia's office wall. Malia pauses to twist her mouth to the side, tilting
her head as her brows draw together in a moment of sadness, an emotion Stiles
has never quite seen rest upon her fearless face. She comes back to herself in
the same heartbeat. "Doesn't mean you can make everybody else dead along the
way."
 
***
                                      εїз
"I'm not crazy."
"I wasn't suggesting that you were." Xander unloads several boxes of Ming-
Ming's. "Your brain is an organ, Stiles. It can require medical attention, too.
Sometimes you just need a little help."
Stiles fiddles with his chopsticks. "Isn't that kind of...I don't know,
cheating?" Xander glances at him. "I just thought I was stronger than that, I
guess."
Xander pulls out the chair next to Stiles' and seats himself, facing the omega.
"If your leg was broken, would you keep walking on it? No. It's the same thing.
Here," Xander says, pulling out a marker. "I read about this online. Basically,
instead of hurting yourself, you can try drawing something pretty where you
want to cut." Stiles snorts as Xander takes his hand, pulling him closer. He
draws a cartoonish butterfly over the older scars on the outside of Stiles'
arm, taking the time to fill in the proper areas, adding antennas and all.
"It's not the worst idea. Plus, you get cool temporary tattoos."
Stiles looks down at the smiley face on the butterfly, raising a brow at
Xander. "'Cool', you said?" Xander kisses him quiet.
                                      εїз
***
 
"It's a twelve-hour flight, Laura," Derek says, dropping his duffle down into
the pile of suitcases in the back of Allison's Tahoe. "My cut starts to
tomorrow and you're still gonna be in L.A. Mom will be there, she'll handle
shit. And you're still gonna get your cut of the fight, so stop freaking out."
Laura sidesteps Scott as he lugs more baggage into to the car. "It's not about
the money and you know it, Derek. Mom's fucked me over, and I'm not gonna let
her keep shitting all over me."
Derek pauses midway through loading up his last bag. "This isn't about you," he
says to her. "Laura-" he throws his hands up, like he could not make it more
clear "-This. Is not. About you."
"I'm gonna be there," Laura says, following Derek back up to the house. "I will
be there. And I'm gonna manage the fuck out of you, Derek."
"Why should I trust you?" Derek turns to face her on the porch. "Why should I
trust anything you say?"
Laura stops, stands still on the steps. "Because you always have." She doesn't
wait for his acknowledgment, heading back down to the curb before Derek can
deny it.
Stiles hands Derek the last bag, and Junior and Sammy latch onto his legs. "Do
you have to go, Uncle Derek?" Junior drones, tilting his head back so that
Derek can see his eyes better over the pile of curls on his head. Derek
chuckles, hauling Sammy and Junior up with both arms, making the boys shriek
and giggle.
"I'll be back before you know it," the alpha promises, planting a kiss on each
of their cheeks. He lets them down to go wave goodbye to the others. When he
turns to face Stiles again, the omega can feel the skip in his own heartbeat.
Without a word, Derek lowers his head, letting Stiles slide the silver
arrowhead from around his neck to place it over his own. The alpha bends
further, places a kiss on the pendant, breath warm against Stiles skin, making
a shiver course through him, head to toe, and Derek laughs under his breath. He
doesn't step back. Stiles closes the distance, winding his arms around the
alpha's waist, pressing his ear to the place where he can hear the beating of
Derek's heart matching his own. Derek's arms wind around him, warm and heavy, a
comfort, however short-lived.
"Be safe," Stiles tells him, stepping back again.
"I will," Derek promises.
 
*** 
 
"You sure about this?" Stiles squeezes Xander's hand as the alpha presses a
kiss to his knuckles.
"I'm sure." Stiles sharply inhales as the buzzing of the needle starts up. The
pain is not what he expected, but he knows it'll be worth it when it's all over
and done.
"It's very cute," Xander reassures him every few minutes, kissing his shoulder,
brushing his lips over the stripes on his arms, all healed over and untouched
for what has felt like forever. "It's lovely."
"It's a bitch."
"You'd better not regret this," Xander says under his breath and Stiles
squeezes his hand again.
"I won't." He tilts his head to the side so Xander can meet his eyes. "I
won't."
 
***
 
"Ladies and gentlemen, our referee has called a stop to this contest at twenty-
five seconds of round number one, declaring the winner by TKO, Derek 'Southpaw'
Hale!" the announcer bellows, the crowd erupting into cheers. "Derek, when the
lights shine bright you come through with the biggest win of the night!" he
shouts over the clamor of the masses. "Congratulations on the victory! Can you
describe what's going through your head right now?"
Stiles watches steadily, heart in his throat, refusing to even blink. Junior
and Sammy crawl up further to the TV, eyes just as wide. They watch as Derek
places a gloved hand on the microphone, eyes scanning the crowd. "Domo arigato-
" he begins, and the stadium explodes into applause and cheers again, the
camera panning to the faces of the people "-gozaimasu, Nihon. Thank you very
much, Japan. I want to thank my friends and my family. But before them, I'd
like to thank three very special people waiting for me back in Venice." Stiles
feels something strange yet so very warm and undeniable go all through him.
Nothing has felt this right in a long while.
"If you were here," Derek says, looking into the camera, "I would be home."
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter Warnings:
     There is some talk about Stiles' self-harm, mostly in the flashbacks.
     These sections will be marked off with a butterfly: εїз
     The_octagon_interview_that_inspired_Derek's.
     Thought I'd gift you guys a bonus update, so be sure to check out
     Chapter 21!
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Notes
     Harveston_Lake_-_Johnny_Rain
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Talia quits pacing, throwing her hands up. "I saw an opportunity to help Cora
and I took it. Is that really so wrong?"
"It is when you're risking my fucking fight," Derek says, shoving his shit into
his bag. "You can hate it all you want, but Laura is my manager. That was her
ticket, this was my fight, and you had no right to turn around and use it to
your own advantage."
Talia places her hands on her hips, watching as Derek scrambles about the room,
hastily packing. "For someone who's trying to get back into his little sister's
good books, that is quite a selfish thing to say."
Derek actually laughs. The more shit she spews, the more asinine she seems to
become. "You know what? I don't care what you think. Cora knows right from
wrong, something you've never understood."
"I'm her mother."
Derek rounds on her. "You're my mother, too." He'd remind her not to forget it,
but she'd done just that more than enough times. He zips his bag up and throws
it over his shoulder, passing Talia on his way out of the hotel room.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Derek doesn't glance back. "Home."
 
***
 
"No, Uncle Derek," Junior stops him, placing a hand on Derek's arm. "If you're
gonna eat gummy bears, you have to eat two at once so they don't die alone.
It's only right."
"Where to first?" Stiles asks, Sammy holding onto his hand as he reads off the
zoo directory. "Wanna start with the aquarium?"
Sammy squeals, bouncing up and down with uncontained excitement. "Nemo! Nemo!
Dory!"
Derek holds out the bag in his hand and Junior helps himself to two gummy bears
every few tanks as they head further towards the shark exhibit. "You think this
glass holds up alright?" Derek asks, aiming to get a rise out of Stiles.
"Are you trying to make me paranoid?"
They take a good lot of pictures, Sammy mostly mashing his face and hands up
against the glass to Stiles' obvious distress. Junior hangs back for the most
part, strolling leisurely at Derek's side as they wander a few paces ahead.
"I think I have bipolar disorder, Mommy," Junior reports when they stop for
lunch.
Stiles frowns down at him. "Oh, sweetheart, why would you think that?"
"I looked right at the shark," Junior explains, and Derek can see the wheels
turning in his head. "And I felt nothing."
Stiles kneels down to his level. "I'm positive that means that you're just
incredibly brave."
Junior takes a breath. "Bipolar disorder: emotional ups and downs,
hyperactivity, agitation, anxiety, hypochondria, insomnia, loss of interest
and-or pleasure, lack of sexual drive."
"Okay, do I need to start limiting your internet time?" Stiles stands again,
handing Junior off to Derek. "I want you to have fun, baby. Don't worry about
anything, okay? You're perfectly healthy. Wanna help Uncle Derek choose our
lunch? Sammy and I will be right here." They take a seat at an open picnic
table. "And no soda!" he calls as Derek leads them to the lunch booth.
"You just had to ask for the deep-fried turkey," the elder alpha mutters on
their way back to the table.
"I'm just a kid, Uncle Derek," Junior smartly replies, cheekily grinning up at
him. "Maybe you should stop indulging me." Derek sighs. Junior's just got him
wrapped around his little finger.
Stiles seems to revel in this fact just as much as Junior. "You're not really
the bad boy everyone thinks you are," he says as they wind their way up a dirt
path to the butterfly pavilion, grinning against the slowly dimming sunlight as
a piggybacking Sammy rides high up on Derek's shoulders.
Derek stops in his tracks. "Do I need to prove it to you?" He steps up onto the
green field by the path, nodding down at the sign pegged into the lawn that
reads 'keep off grass', and Stiles' laugh in response is more beautiful than
all the times Derek has ever heard it. 
Derek lets Sammy down from his shoulders at the entrance of the exhibit, where
he and Junior are quickly whisked off into a children's tour by an overzealous
employee wearing a pair of antennas on her head. Stiles points out another sign
on their way in, grinning as he follows the kids' group. 'Please do not touch
the butterflies', it reads. 'Let the butterflies touch you.' Derek shakes his
head, trailing after Stiles, and can't help but remember how the same rule
applies to strip clubs.
And while he stands a few paces back, he takes into account the smaller details
that make Stiles up, like the way his hips move underneath the fabric of his
sundress, or how his hair radiates a lighter shade each time they step out of
the shadows and back under the bright sunlight streaming in through the glass
panes of the butterfly house. Little things that would have otherwise gone
unnoticed, popping into Derek's head like a stream of photographs, all taken
from different angles, all making up one larger picture. The way the
butterflies drift around them, the contrast of shadows and light, the blush on
Stiles' cheeks as the omega turns to nod Derek onward—when had he slowed down?
Or the way the lilting canopies cast a mystery in each turn and twist of the
pathway, making Derek's heart thud louder and louder in his chest, begging for
a touch, for just one touch before their cover is gone, before the magic
withers, before Stiles is too far out of reach for Derek to just-
Stiles turns slowly, still a distance ahead, rays of light casting a halo
around him like he's fucking heaven sent, eyes shining back at Derek, and it's
like staring into the sun itself. Derek briefly wonders if his smile is as big
as Stiles'. Maybe as big. But not as beautiful. Fuck butterflies. Derek is
stepping forward.I feel this whole fucking zoo when I'm with you. He draws
closer, closer, closer until he's close enough to see the flecks of brilliant
amber in Stiles' irises looking back at him. And then they're just standing
there, looking at each other, chests rising and falling, saying nothing,
nothing, nothing. But it's the kind of nothing that means wonderful things. The
kind of nothing that needs no words, that knows anyway, that means just
that—nothing. But this is Stiles. This is Stiles and Derek. And so this
nothing, in this moment in time, with just a look and glance and a sharp inhale
of the air between them, this nothing means absolutely everything.
 
***
 
If Derek knows anything about fish tanks, it's that there are always going to
be haughty, self-righteous ones swimming around without a care, and then
there's going to be that one dorky, sweet-looking one in the corner.
That’s the one the boys make them bring home.
"This is Sparta," Junior tells the gift shop cashier. "He's going to be the
happiest fish ever."
 
***
 
Derek carries a sleeping Junior into the house, Stiles following right behind
with a passed out Sammy. They put them right to bed, helping them into their
pajamas even as they loll back against their pillows, completely beat. Stiles
installs Sparta in a clean glass bowl that Derek didn't know he even had, right
between the window and the bright red, potted succulent. Derek watches the
omega trail about the kitchen, mumbling something about beer and leftover Ming-
Ming's, but Derek is too caught up in the fact that the magic from earlier
hasn't yet faded, not one bit. He can't think properly, can't speak. But he
won't stand here doing nothing, not like he's done every night for months.
Their hearts are beating loud, so loud the neighbors probably think they're
fucking when Derek is just trying to find the nerve to touch Stiles' face.
So Derek draws himself close, wraps his hand around the handle of the fridge,
right above the omega's, pushing it closed. He props his other hand up against
the cool surface, holding his weight as he bends to breathe in more of Stiles'
lovely scent, nose dipping down to the omega's nape, running along the crest of
his pink ear, lips hovering, so close—so close—not touching, not yet, but he's
holding his breath, they both are, and Stiles visibly shudders as Derek finally
gives in, brushing his knuckles down the gentle slope of the omega's bare back,
his eyes catching the splatter of beauty marks lining Stiles' spine, watching
the flesh rise and pebble under his touch, so sensitive, so ready. 
He brushes his fingers over the pale, raised lines on the tender flesh of
Stiles' arm, memories of deep, purposeful wounds that should've been lethal.
Derek stares at them, but they are like words in a foreign language. They mean
nothing to him other than what they obviously are—scars. Scars that will remain
scars, if Derek can help it.
He tilts his head down further, so captivated by that collarbone, the hidden
freckles, so many, he now sees, the flush rising up from beneath the white of
that dress, up past that small, soft chest, the distinct line of clavicle, that
precious dip before the neck falls upward—up, up, up it rises, over that
precious paleness, staining Stiles' cheeks, so warm and good and right that
Derek has to place his lips, so softly, almost regrettably, on the curve of the
omega's shoulder, leaving a kiss, then another further in, and again another,
and another, where that shoulder meets that neck, the curve of that neck, right
at that corner where that neck meets jaw, softly, slowly—and a gasp, so small,
so reigned in, escapes Stiles' own lips, spurring Derek on, letting him gently
turn the omega, and Stiles finally—finally—faces Derek, closing the space
between his back and the refrigerator as the alpha backs him up, hardly a
breath's distance between them.
Derek is a large, constant wall of muscle, not blocking him in, no, if Stiles
wanted he could effortlessly slip right away, and Derek knows this is more than
enough of a sign, more than a hiccup in judgment, because the omega doesn't
slip away and he doesn't smell an ounce like hesitation. Stiles' eyes rise up
Derek's body, equal amounts shy and sure, and when he finally looks beyond
Derek's mouth, head tilting back, lips begging to be kissed, gaze locking with
the alpha's, Derek can do nothing other than oblige.
He lays his hand on Stiles' shoulder, and softly, gently, it begins traveling
down the curve of the omega's back, blindly, with a runaway stroking motion, to
the curve of his waist. There—his other hand, soft, so softly touching, running
his knuckles gently against Stiles' cheek. He turns his palm forward, cradles
the side of Stiles' face, the pad of his thumb brushing sideways, and Derek
brings his body closer, tilts his head down further, runs his gaze over Stiles'
face for the thousandth time, the omega slowly, slowly letting his eyes fall
shut, and then, at last, Derek kisses him.
And kisses him.
And kisses him.
And it feels like forever has gone by before he's pulling his mouth back,
rearing the ache in him that whispers to kiss Stiles senseless, to touch him
always, to make Stiles his everything in every way he can think of.
Stiles, ever so slowly, reopens his eyes, his chest gently rising and falling,
heartbeat a loud roar in Derek's ears, breath coming brokenly. And there
Derek's hand is again, spanning the width of Stiles' back, sinking lower,
feeling the heat of Stiles beneath the cotton of the dress, dipping down, down
into butterfly territory, even further, slowly—softly, softly, it strokes the
curve of Stiles' flank, a blind, instinctive caress. Stiles rests his hand on
Derek's forearm, shockingly cool against the alpha's hot, hot skin, and it
grips him, pulls him so close, that last inch of space disappearing, Derek's
body flush with Stiles', and the omega guides Derek's hand down his neck, over
his shoulder, to the thin, flimsy strap of his dress, direction in his eyes,
though he's effectively handing Derek the reigns.
So Derek takes them.
Very slowly and gently, Derek undresses Stiles. He leans forward and kisses him
again, and Stiles kisses him back with more fervor than he had before, hands
finding purchase on Derek's arms, on his shoulders, his face, and they stand
there kissing and kissing between the fridge and the counter, with the goose
bumps rising and the sun setting and the warmth all around them and it feels
like the nicest thing in the world, Stiles' hands running slowly up into
Derek's dark hair and down over his thick shoulders and along his strong arms
and around to his brawny back, holding Derek's alpha body against his own,
letting Derek slip the straps of his dress off his shoulders, pulling them down
his arms, down, slowly, down, until Stiles' body spasms and slackens and Derek
cups the omega's small, cold breasts in his hands and feels the hard pearls of
Stiles' nipples, like tiny secrets, against his calloused palms. He feels the
gradual winding down of Stiles' dying heart and can see a pinkish tinge
blossoming on his cheeks-
"Derek," Stiles gasps, clutching tightly to the alpha. "Touch me."
Derek has imagined Stiles saying those words a thousand times in a thousand
ways, but not a single one of them could ever come close to or prepare him for
how real and wonderful it actually sounds leaving Stiles' mouth, and, God, it
makes him hard, so fucking hard. Derek just wants to fucking taste him. And
feel him shake.
Then they're kissing again, bruising and breathtaking this time, and Derek is
lifting Stiles at the waist, folding the omega's legs around him. Derek turns
and deposits him right there on the countertop, puts his hands under Stiles'
knees and maneuvers him carefully so that his bottom rests on the edge of the
surface. Derek runs his hands, so hot on Stiles' coolness, up the omega's
thighs, under his dress, over his waist, kissing, kissing, kissing him so hard
and so long he hopes he'll be able to compete with his own anatomy when he
finally gets to that—and Derek slips his fingers underneath the worn elastic of
the omega's little shorts that are strung across the points of his hips, slips
them down until they're hanging from his ankle and softly draws apart those
knees and tears off his own shirt, negotiates that fucking zipper on his
crotch, shoves down these goddamned jeans, letting his hard length spring free,
aggressively erect and thick and ready, so very ready, and Stiles is, too,
Derek could smell it from the very beginning, how wet he is, becoming even more
so by the second, and so Derek kisses Stiles once more, pushes the hem of the
omega's dress up his thighs until it pools at his waist, and this part—this is
exactly as he imagined it—rosy and so very beautiful—and so Derek takes hold of
Stiles' milky thigh, slips a hand around his waist to pull the omega closer,
pressing him in with his palm, warm and flat against that hidden butterfly, and
sinks into Stiles like a fucking pile driver.
The cry into his ear along with the sudden clutch Stiles bears down on him
raises the hairs on the back of Derek's neck, sending him slamming forward,
back up into Stiles' tight, wet heat, again and again. Stiles hides his face in
Derek's neck, trying to hold back his gasps as Derek runs his hands over the
omega's body, letting his tongue trail the line of his neck, his mouth wander
down to Stiles' flushing chest, reddening any visible skin he can get to even
further with each prickle of his beard. He can't look away from the place he
and Stiles are connected, where he disappears into the omega's body over and
over, hitting a spot inside of Stiles that sends endless bouts of shivers up
his spine, throwing the omega into desperate attempts of tilting his hips up
into the motion, making him whine under his breath. Stiles whimpers as Derek
focuses on that spot again, rocking his hips, steadying his thrusts and aiming
like it's an argument.
Stiles throws his head back on one particularly powerful thrust, nails scraping
down Derek's back as his cunt grips the alpha's hot, large cock. "Stiles, God,"
Derek pants into the omega's neck.
Stiles' pussy keeps throbbing around Derek's dick, so, so wet, making Derek
press in deep, and Stiles fucking wails, biting down onto Derek's shoulder as
he rolls his pelvis, arms still strung around the alpha's neck, holding him
tight, close. "Derek," he breathes, cupping Derek's face, the alpha's forehead
pressed into his neck. "Derek," he says again, voice pitched higher, and Derek
snaps his hips harder, so close, giving it to Stiles right where he needs it,
and something inside the omega tips over.
Stiles' back arches off the counter, open-mouthed as he orgasms, clenching down
around Derek's cock, pulling Derek in, in, and Derek shivers, holding Stiles'
hips in a bruising grip as he comes into the omega's throbbing pussy.
He falls forward, palms slamming down onto the countertop on either side of
Stiles' breathless figure. He stares down at the omega as he catches his own
breath, leaning downward to press his lips to Stiles' heart. Stiles curls his
hands through Derek's hair, holds him there for a moment. When they part, the
magic ebbs.
Derek pulls the straps of Stiles' dress back up his shoulders for him, pulls
the hem back down. Stiles hands Derek his shirt with a wavering smile.
He walks Stiles to his room, where the omega hesitates in the doorway before
lifting up onto his tiptoes to press a kiss to Derek's scraggly cheek. "Good
night," he whispers before shutting the door. Derek swallows, staring at the
white of the wooden door for one, two, three seconds before he's turning toward
his own room.
Before he's halfway down the hall, he hears Stiles' quick, shuffling feet
against the floorboards and then the omega is swinging his door wide open
again, stepping back out, and running into Derek's arms. Stiles kisses him,
fingers curling around his ears, trying to pull Derek closer, lips soft and
warm and right. Derek lifts Stiles at the waist and the omega wraps his legs
around Derek's middle. Derek backs them up to Stiles' room again. He steps over
the threshold, smiling into the kiss, and closes the door.
Chapter End Notes
     lmao i'm bad (◡‿◡✿)
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
     Finals are over. Kill me.
     As always, thank you for such lovely feedback and positivity!
     *group hugs*
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"How about 'The Black Wolf'?"
Xander rolls his eyes at Laura. "No."
"Alexander 'The Great'," she says.
"That dude was a savage, Laura. Hard,hardno." He turns to Derek, unwinding his
wraps. "Any ideas?"
Derek thinks on it. Xander's pretty good at boxing from what he can tell.
Though Derek's still got lots to learn, only a year into it himself.
Xander nudges him. "Nothing? You're the smart one here."
"I'm nine."
"Irrelevant." Xander raises a brow, waiting.
"'Magic Hands'," Derek blurts, and Laura cracks up.
"I like it." Xander smiles, nudging him again. "'Magic Hands' it is."
 
***
 
"Ethan and Aiden Carver, our newest additions," Laura tells Derek, shaking her
head as she watches the twins shadowbox in the cage. "How does she not
understand the meaning of pacing? Why do I even fucking bother?"
"What'd you call me in for?" Derek questions impatiently.
Laura turns away from her office window. "Deucalion's pulling out."
Derek snaps his head toward her. "What?"
"He talked to Chris this morning. It's already done." She rubs her forehead.
"But before you freak out, don't." She looks like she's bracing herself for the
next piece of news. "Ennis Wade is the fill-in," she says, and Derek curses. "I
know what you're thinking, but it'll be fine-"
"That fucker has no business calling himself a fighter. He's an animal."
"Then what does that make you?"
Derek pauses, taken aback by her sudden jab.
"I'm being honest, Derek. In that respect, you're no better than him."
"I'm nothing like him."
"No?"
"He fought on the streets because he loves hurting people, I did it because-"
"Because what, Derek? Huh?"
Derek shakes his head. "You haven't seen the shit he's done, Laura. He's a
fucking monster."
Laura swings open the door for him, pulling out her phone. "And monsters look
under their beds for the Hales."
 
***
 
Cora stares, not exactly angry like she always is, not frustrated or confused.
She justs contemplates him, trying to understand. And the closer she moves to a
conclusion in her mind, the more furrowed her features draw, and then—there.
There it is. The look Derek has been waiting for.
"Stop looking at me like I'm some kind of monster," he growls, watching a tear
silently slip down her cheek. 
"Derek," she says, her voice breaking as the handcuffs on Derek's wrists rattle
with the effort it takes to keep his wolf under control. "You are a monster."
 
***
 
"What about a magician?"
"'Magician' is just another word for 'liar'." Junior looks at the bruised apple
slice in his bowl and frowns. "Who did this to you?" he murmurs to it.
Stiles stops pacing and finally decides to spill the surprise. "Well, since
it's your birthday, how about we watch Star Wars?"
Junior looks up at him, then looks at Derek, and back at Stiles. "Really?"
Stiles nods, grinning. "You excited?"
The little alpha says nothing at first, then promptly bursts into tears.
"Oh, Moonpie, what's the matter?" Stiles gathers him into a hug, pulling him
onto his lap.
"I'm-" Junior hiccups "-so happy!" he cries, pressing his face into the crook
of Stiles' neck. Derek chuckles, and Stiles throws him a look.
They sit down to map out the finer details after Junior has calmed down again.
Stiles seems to be on top of things, forming a plan that includes a trip to the
pier and ending in an evening of watching Episode VII with promises of cake and
jello and, of course, moonpies. "You got any friends you want to invite?" Derek
asks, and Stiles tenses.
"Daddy always said to find the toughest kid on the playground and make friends
with them," Junior says. "You are definitely the toughest kid on this
playground, Uncle Derek, and so far it's been pretty cool being your friend."
Derek just looks at him, trying to find words, and Stiles reaches over and
places a hand on his knee. "You're pretty cool yourself," Derek tells Junior,
though the ominous feeling at the back of his mind lingers as Stiles gathers
Junior up for bed.
When the day finally arrives, Derek doesn't know if he's ready to handle what's
to come. Junior and Sammy are already a hyper mess by the time they head out to
meet everyone down at the pier.
"All aboard the carousel!" Laura announces, assisting Stiles in helping Junior
and Sammy onto the horses, Scott and everyone else hopping up onto the rest of
the open seats.
"Got room for one more?"
Derek turns to the sound of that grating voice. "What are you doing here,
Theo?"
The beta smirks, eyes looking past Derek. "Why, I'm here to eat cotton candy
and steal your omega, Derek Hale."
Derek would correct him, but he chooses instead to let his actions speak for
himself, hauling the beta off by the douchey collar of his douchey shirt.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, am I intruding?" Theo sarcastically remarks, letting himself
be dragged away. "I don't mean to be that guy. I wouldn't want to take anything
from you."
Derek slams Theo up against the closest wall. "What could you possibly take
away from me?" None of it's mine, he doesn't add. Theo smirks again and Derek
pauses, pressing him back hard.
"Look, Derek, you know me, I'm no pacifist-"
"Good. Then you won't mind if I pass a fist across your face?" Theo hesitates
and this time Derek is the one that smirks. "Forgot who you're fucking with,
did you?" Derek lets his claws spring out, a warning. "Now I'll say this only
once," he growls, leaning in close. "Nothing is going on between me and
Stiles."
Theo nods, pulse racing, and Derek releases him, turning away. "You can't keep
lying, Derek!" Theo yells after him. "I see the way you look at him!"
Derek returns within earshot of the group, picking up on Junior's fact of the
hour as they all hop off the merry-go-round. "Statistically, you are more
likely to be killed by a champagne cork than by a poisonous spider," Junior
tells Jackson, who looks as unimpressed as he usually does.
"Fuckin' riveting," he mutters.
Junior hurries over to Derek, hand out for the elder alpha to hold it.
"How was it?" Derek asks.
Junior doesn't answer for a moment, distracted by the twinkling lights and food
stands. "Sir, there's flies making love in your hot dog machine," he informs
the worker behind the fried foods stand, and Derek has to hold back a laugh.
Once he's been situated with his hot dog, Junior speaks up. "I think I want to
find me a new friend," he says. "What do you say, Uncle Derek?"
Derek looks down at Junior, surprised. "I'd love to help you out," he says.
"But I'm, uh, not really sure how to go about these things. I mean, it's not
like you can just knock on someone's door and ask them to be your friend."
Junior tilts his head back to meet Derek's eyes. "Why not? That's how I got
you."
"Well played, little man," Laura tells him, snatching him up for the next ride,
and Derek is left standing there once more, staring after the little alpha,
wondering exactly when it was that he'd managed to wheedle his way into Derek's
heart.
 
***
 
"You can't disappear again, Derek," Scott tells him. "It'll ruin us for good."
"He's dead. Xander is dead." He meets Scott's eyes. "I lost my brother. I lost
my best friend. I lost the one person who never stopped caring, not once, since
he came into my life."
Scott's jaw clenches and Derek just wants him to be gone. "Don't you dare use
the Xander card on me," he says lowly.
Derek glares at him.
Scott jolts up, suddenly, visibly, seething. "I lost Xander, too. We all
did—all of us—and I could use the Xander card just like you." He breathes out
his anger, minutely relaxing. "But I won't. Because I'd like to think I'm a
good brother."
He leaves before Derek can say goodbye again.
 
***
  
"I will do a lot of things, Uncle Derek," Junior says, "but admitting I'm cold
to Mommy when he told me to bring a jacket is not one of them." Derek rolls his
eyes, amused, and cranks up the heater. Stiles says the last of his goodbyes,
plopping down into the passenger seat, and turns to Junior and Sammy in the
back.
"Who's excited for some Star Wars?"
The boys scream, filling the car ride home with the most obnoxious bout of
cheers Derek has had to put up with since their trip to the beach last week.
Junior gets emotional again when they pull up to the house, tears brimming.
"I'm not ready. I can't handle the awesome," he laments, flopping back onto the
lawn like he's been shot. "I am now demonstrating passive resistance."
Derek sighs, shutting the car door, making his way over to Junior's limp figure
to haul him up like a sack of flour. "And I am now demonstrating that this was
pointless."
"Boys!" Stiles calls from inside. Derek deposits Junior on the sofa, directing
him and Sammy to wash up while Stiles gets everything ready, unloading the cake
from the fridge as the sound of several cars pull up outside.
Kira helps Stiles light the cake as Junior and Sammy are kept busy in the
living room, and then Stiles enters, cake in his arms, singing the birthday
song, and everyone joins in. Derek watches as Junior closes his eyes, making a
wish, and then blows out the candles.
"I love you, Moonpie," he hears Stiles whisper into Junior's hair. "I love you
with all my heart."
Derek hears the sound of another car pull up outside, and he glances out the
window.
Laura jolts up at the same moment he does, beating him out to the yard.
He stands still, rooted to the porch, the dormant traces of resentment building
up inside him.
Laura finds her voice before Derek does.
"...Dad?" 
Chapter End Notes
     Since I haven't been able to get back to those of you who have asked,
     here is a lovely graphic that will hopefully give you a better
     understanding of Stiles' anatomy and such (no copyright
     intended—kudos to the original artists). I'm pretty shit when it
     comes to explaining things so if there's still any confusion, please
     don't hesitate to ask.
     Hope you liked this one, though it's a filler update of sorts.
     Prepare yourselves for heavy angst!
     "Gender is between the ears
     Attraction is between the hearts.
     Sex is between the legs."
***** Chapter 23 *****
Chapter Notes
     I_Don't_Feel_It_Anymore_-_William_Fitzsimmons
"Derek, please, wait-"
"What did I tell you? What did I fucking tell you?" Laura just manages to stop
Derek's fist from flying. "I warned you, you piece of shit-"
"Derek!" Laura places a hand on his chest, standing between her brother and her
father. "Enough." She turns to Rafael. "Explain yourself."
Rafael shortly nods, standing his ground as Derek continues to glare at him. "I
need to have a word with my son."
"Fuck you-"
Laura holds her hands up again. "Derek-"
"Just five minutes, Derek," Rafael says, glancing over to the porch where
everyone has gathered. "Privately."
Derek grits his teeth, his claws itching to come out, nailbeds prickling, his
gums aching. Just looking at Rafael brings forth the anger he thought he had
fought down so well for so long. Stupidly, he nods his head and leads the way
to the nearest bar. Nobody but Rafael follows.
Rafael turns to him as soon as they're out of earshot of the house, stepping
into an alley. "I get how much you hate me-"
"Do you?"
"I know you're upset-"
"I'm really not. I just don't need trash in my life." Rafael steps back,
running his hands through his hair, and for the first time Derek notices the
return of meat to his father's bones, his kempt hair and clean clothes. "You're
not feral."
Rafael looks at Derek, swallowing. "No."
Derek laughs. "Is that what this is? You finally picking yourself up? Have you
come to beg for forgiveness?"
"I'm here because I snitched on Peter."
Derek stares, flinching back. "You what?" Rafael doesn't answer, and Derek's
heart pounds away in his chest. "This whole time?" Is that why you left?
"No," Rafael tells him. The brief glimmer of hope shrivels up and quickly rots
away inside of Derek. "I went feral. Peter lured me in. But he couldn't keep
me." Rafael pauses, waiting for a punch or a shove or something, but Derek does
not of that. He's too tired for this shit now. "I was supposed to be locked up
for eight years," Rafael says. "They let me off early for only one reason."
Derek rubs a hand over his face.
"I wanted to make up for never being around. I wanted to hurt Peter for what he
did."
"To you."
"To you, Derek." Rafael steps forward and Derek moves out of his reach. Rafael
purses his lips. "You need to testify."
Derek is walking away, done with listening, done with humouring his father.
He's fucking done.
"Derek." Rafael reaches for him, and Derek rounds back, finally acting out,
shoving Rafael up against the brick wall like he'd done the last time they
spoke. "He'll finally be gone, Derek. He's getting what he deserves. Just put
your anger aside for one moment and think, Derek, this is for you-"
"No-" Derek pushes himself away, grounding down the wolf inside him, hands
balling into fists, clenching and unclenching. He looks at Rafael. "This is for
you, and it has always been for you. Don't you dare think that it's ever been
for anyone else. I told you I'm done." He backs away. "I'm done. With all of
it."
Rafael doesn't try to stop him this time, straightening out his collar, combing
a hand through his hair as he walks toward the mouth of the alley. He stops
there, facing Derek. "He knew."
Derek tenses, brows drawing together.
"That doctor your mother fucked," Rafael says, dusting off imaginary lint from
his shoulder. "He knew where Xander was." Derek's control escapes him for a
moment, his claws pricking free, slicing his palms as he fists his hands at his
sides. "He knew the entire time. Xander told him everything." Rafael slips his
keys out of his pocket. "He told him about the omega. About Beacon Hills. About
the kids-" Derek is growling uncontrollably, veins flooding with utter hatred
towards the man standing before him, and Rafael doesn't smirk in response so
much as he attempts a pitying smile. "He never told you," he says, tilting his
head and shaking it as he watches the cars whizzing by on the street. "But he
told Deaton."
Derek doesn't notice when Rafael finally leaves, just knows that there's blood
dripping from his palms and a familiar ember of all that he'd hope to forget
flooding the pit of his stomach. He walks home blindly, doesn't respond when
Scott meets him out in the yard or when Laura tries to stop him in the hallway
or when Liam searches his face for answers and finds nothing but a blank stare.
He doesn't stop until he's reached the bathroom, standing at the sink, watching
the water stain red as he holds his bloody palms under the faucet.
"Derek?" Stiles is there, placing a hand on his forearm, eyes wide and
concerned. He turns the water off once Derek's cuts heal, sitting him down on
the edge of the tub. He doesn't say anything, and Derek focuses on the
disconcerting lack of babbling. He runs a comforting hand through Derek's hair
and cups his face. "Wanna watch some Star Wars?"
Derek doesn't laugh, not like he would have, but he wraps his arms around the
omega's middle, pulling him close so he can bury his face there, and softly
nods, breathing in until his lungs are full of nothing but Stiles.
 
***
 
"I want to make it on my own," Scott says. "I don't want the Hale name giving
me an advantage."
Derek continues shadow boxing, bouncing around on his feet, jabbing at the air
in front of him. "That's a dumb argument," he says, and he can feel Scott's
confusion from outside the cage.
"What's the big deal? I'm an amateur. I'm doing it for my career. It's just a
name, Derek. I'm still a Hale."
Derek shakes his head, jabbing harder, dodging an imaginary blow. "It's a
stupid excuse. You're a great fighter, whatever name you have. If anything,
making yourself a McCall is the amateur thing to do."
"I don't buy it," Scott says. "What's wrong with accepting the fact that I'm
not entirely Hale?"
"I don't know." Derek jabs again, three times in quick succession, ending with
a left cut. "Maybe you'll decide not to be one altogether."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's happened before, Scott," Derek snaps, rounding on him, and he
sees the comprehension slowly pass over his brother's face. "Because maybe I
was supposed to go see a fight with Dad, and maybe I just sat out on the porch
and waited for him all night and he never showed up, and maybe he decided not
to show up for a long, long time after that. I mean, if you love someone, if
you really love someone, why would you keep them waiting? Why would you keep
them waiting?" Derek fists his hair, catching his breath. He turns back to
Scott, crouching down by the side of the cage. "You wonder why I can't stand
the thought of you keeping his name?" He stands again, gesturing at
himself. "This is why."
 
***

"That piece of shit," Talia snarls, pacing back and forth in front of the
coffee table.
Laura rolls her eyes. "Yet every time he came crawling back you let him put
another baby in you."
Derek rubs an exhausted hand over his face, mind spinning in circles from the
sheer number of times these two have gone back and forth, biting and bitching
at each other.
"Why don't you show yourself out, sweetheart? You know where the door is,"
Talia tells Laura, her scathing glare contradicting her soft, steady voice.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. I mean, Dad's not feral anymore. This is major
news, Boss." Talia pauses her pacing to cross her arms and concentrate on her
glowering. "And to top that little surprise off, apparently Deaton knew
Xander's whereabouts the entire goddamn time."
Derek's expression turns disturbingly calm, and then he pivots and puts his
fist through the plaster wall.
"Very well put," Laura says dryly, while her brother stands and blinks at the
hole he just made.
"Uncle Derek?"
They all freeze, turning to see Junior standing in the doorway, little brows
drawn together, frowning at the drywall dust covering Derek's fist.
Derek moves forward to reassure him that everything's okay, but Junior steps
back, the scent of his confusion and upset permeating the room. Before Derek
can react, he's running back down the hall, a door slamming closed behind him.
"Derek." He turns back to Laura. "What did Dad want?"
"I already told you," Derek murmurs.
"He never shows up unless he wants something."
"Oh, he got what he wanted."
Laura raises her brows, waiting. "And what would that be?"
"To hurt us again." He meets her eyes. "To remind us that our brother is dead.
And that he couldn't care less."
 
***
 
Laura lights up her third cigarette as Derek sips from his beer. "You're
wasting your life away," she says at last. "You're giving up."
"I'm not feral," Derek replies. "I've done my time. I'm going to the meetings.
What more could you want?"
"I want you to be happy, Derek."
"Yeah, well, easier said than fucking done." He grips his bottle tighter. "Just
let me be."
"You don't give up just because things get hard." He doesn't respond, and Laura
growls low, frustrated. "You're a coward."
Derek shakes his head, grinning deprecatingly. "No. I'm just a good old
fashioned drunk like our father never stuck around to raise me to be."
 
***
 
He doesn't know what's going through his head when he walks out the door and
begins wandering the streets.
He finds himself in a bar. 
He doesn't know how long he stays.
He doesn't think to cut himself off until it's been dark out for hours and he's
the last one there, the bartender pestering him to get his ass up and go home.
After several long rings, he hears Stiles' groggy voice on the other end of the
line. "Hello?"
Derek rests his forehead against the phonebox. "Stiles."
"Derek?"
"I know it's...one in the morning-"
"Three." He hears some rustling, like Stiles is pulling back the covers. "It's
three in the morning, Derek."
Derek rubs his forehead, pinching his eyes shut as he tries to stop swaying in
place. "I had a couple drinks. Turns out...I don't have my wallet."
There's a full moment of silence in which Derek continues swaying, thinking
Stiles has hung up, when he hears, "Which bar?" and he lets out a breath he
didn't know he was holding.
"How much does he owe you?" Stiles asks as soon as he walks in. He doesn't even
look at Derek.
"Forty and two broken glasses." The bartender dodges Derek's wandering hand.
"Just let me touch it, Jared," Derek whines, trying to bop the kid's nose.
"C'mon. Just once. Stiles, look at it. Look at it, Stiles, it's like a full
moon-"
"Derek, it's three in the morning and I have two little boys sleeping in the
back of my Jeep in a fucking parking lot," Stiles snaps. "You think you're
funny?" He turns on his heel and marches back out the bar without a backward
glance.
Derek slumps onto the sofa as soon as he walks through the door, listening to
Stiles shuffle Sammy and Junior back to bed. He passes out before he can think
to apologize.

***
 
"Derek, how do you feel about yourself?" the psychiatrist asks.
Derek doesn't answer. Everything is too raw and too real. Prison reminds him of
high school. He copes by imagining that he's just finishing his education. The
white walls and echoing halls are just a downside of being a student.
"Do you ever hate yourself, Derek?"
Does he ever hate himself?
"I hate myself pretty often." He tilts his face back, attempting to smile at
the same time. "Pretty fuckin' often."
 
***
 
Derek wakes up with the most dreadful of hangovers. He contemplates helping
himself to the liquor cabinet or shooting up to erase the pain. He shakes his
head out of those stupid thoughts and ends up clutching it, migraine worse than
before.
The boys make a solid amount of noise before they head out to school, more so
than usual, Derek thinks. He drags himself into the kitchen, squinting against
the daylight. 
Sammy sits at the table eating his cereal, Junior reclined on the countertop,
head tilted back into the sink as Stiles washes out the suds from his curls.
"Mo'ning, Unc' Der'k," Sammy greets him, and Derek takes a seat across from
him, rubbing his temple.
Stiles glances up for a brief moment, toweling off Junior's hair. He turns his
gaze away just as quickly, shuffling Junior and Sammy around for the next
fifteen minutes, packing their things and walking them out to the bus.
"Showerhead's broken," is all he says when he returns to the kitchen. He pulls
a chair up to the sink, motioning for Derek to sit.
Derek slowly approaches and settles into the chair, pulling his shirt over his
head. He says nothing, headache persisting as Stiles begins massaging his scalp
under the water, shampooing his hair with nimble fingers. He opens his eyes as
Stiles rinses the lather out, fingers gently combing through Derek's locks.
"I'm sorry," Derek murmurs when he realizes Stiles just won't meet his gaze.
The omega ignores him, shutting off the water and tossing a towel at Derek's
face, turning to leave.
"Stiles." Derek trails after him, water dripping onto his bare shoulders.
"Stiles-"
Stiles is kissing him. He has his hands pulling Derek close, body pressing up
against the alpha's, desperately opening his mouth up for Derek to just respond
already and kiss him back just as urgently.
Derek doesn't question it. He returns the kiss, savoring those soft, warm lips
beneath his. He runs his hands over the omega, cradling his warm waist, pulling
Stiles close against him. He tugs at Stiles' dress, pulling the hem up, letting
his hands roam over his soft hips, down over the pale tiger stripes lining
Stiles' lower belly. Stiles tries to pull his hand away, but Derek just kisses
him harder, pulling them down right there, down to the hardwood floor of the
hallway, lowering Stiles onto his back so Derek can graze his lips over the
place that twice grew round with child, the place where it makes Stiles flinch
away self-consciously every time Derek brushes the pads of his thumbs over the
marks bolting across the omega's hipbones.
None of these can make me love you any less.
Derek loses his breath the moment those words enter his mind. They reverberate
within him, like a song, a poem, spiraling down into the very depths of him, so
utterly true that it hurts.
He loves Stiles.
As he pulls Stiles on top of him, feeling every inch of warm skin he can.
He loves Stiles.
As Stiles crawls up over Derek's face and lowers himself, drawing his skirt
around the alpha's head like a tent. Like his children do when they want to
exclude the outside world.
He loves Stiles.
As Stiles sits right down on Derek's scruffy beard, his knees by the alpha's
ears, bruising against the hardwood, his hands flat out on the floor in front
of him, like he's getting ready to be fucked from behind, but instead Derek's
hot breath is ghosting over his wet center from below, nose trailing along the
soft inside of his thigh before it nudges against Stiles' sensitive little bud,
and in the next moment Derek has his mouth and tongue ravishing Stiles' wet
cunt, producing the grunts and moans of a starving man, eating the omega out
like his every breath depends on it.
He loves Stiles. 
"You're so pretty down here," he whispers against the omega's ear, once he's
slotted himself back between Stiles' legs, fingering his pink pussy with
unhindered focus, lacing their hands together as he teases Stiles' clenching
hole with the head of his cock before sliding home in one smooth movement.
He loves Stiles.
"God, Derek-"
If only Stiles loved him.
 
***
 
"Shirt off, arms out," the gangly parole officer directs, camera held up and
ready.
Derek hears the intake of breath, the momentary shock at seeing the ink
covering Derek's skin—the triskele, the forests, the lone wolf.
"My God." He clears his throat. "You sure you're not part of a gang?"
Derek doesn't respond, not sure if it's supposed to be a joke, but it makes him
want to disappear because it really does feel like it sometimes.
"I'd never get one. Could never commit to something that long."  The flash goes
off. "Turn."
The officer eyes the silver arrowhead hanging from Derek's neck. He holds the
camera up and takes the second picture. This time around he says nothing.
Derek runs his hand over the arrowhead that night, holds it over his heart.
He ruminates:Still sentimental after all this shit? Could be Cora's voice. Or
Talia's. Derek has plenty of tones to fall back on for self-loathing.

***
 
"I'm not feral," Derek says, only a month and half out from his next fight.
Laura softly shakes her head, tapping her pen against her lips. "I know you're
not feral. You disappear when you're feral."
Derek stiffens, avoiding her gaze, and she curses. Never has Derek wanted her
to know him any less than she does now.
She drops her pen, lifting her hand to cover her mouth. "Oh, Derek."
He storms out, slamming her office door open, hauling his bag with him as he
flees to the parking lot.
"Derek! Derek!" Laura gives chase, her voice breaking, all the weeks of built
up passive aggression and tamped down anger momentarily dissipating. "You can
get help," she tells him, rounding the Camaro as Derek slides into the driver's
seat. "Derek, you need help."
"Don't we all?" he coldly retorts, glaring up at her, and she recoils.
Derek shakes his head, pushing down the heat in his belly, the anger in his
gut. He peels away from the curb without another word.
He can't focus on what he's eating, what he's watching, what anyone is saying,
doesn't hear Stiles calling for him to hurry up as they approach the grocery
store.
"Use the force, ma'am," Junior tells the old lady wheeling her way up to the
automatic doors, swinging his hand up just as they slide open for her. He looks
back at Derek, giggling as Stiles takes him and Sammy by the hand, heading
inside.
Derek slows, coming to a complete stop in front of the doors, standing still
for so long that they slide closed once more. He stares down at his hands, at
his claws, seeing the blood on his palms, and wonders when exactly it was that
he had let his wolf slip through again.
He takes a step back, brows drawing together, breath coming tightly. He takes
another step back, and another, another, until he's full-on retreating to the
car, hunching over his hands to hide them. He curses when he realizes Stiles
has the keys, curses at the blood dripping to the pavement, curses at his
reflection in the car door mirror, flinching back when he's met with menacing
red eyes and sharp, deadly fangs. He curses at the scent of Stiles and the boys
engulfing his every sense, hoping it'll bring him back, that it'll snap him out
of this. He curses at his luck. Because just when he thinks everything is going
to be okay again, it all falls apart.
He straightens up, fisting his claws back into his palms, whining under his
breath as the monster in the window stares back at him.
He curses up at the darkening sky, at the half moon, at his lack of control. He
curses at the wolf inside him, and the wolf curses back.
What do I do?
What do I do?
What do I do?
In the end, Derek Hale does what he does best.
He disappears.
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
     Visions_-_Ritual
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When he listens to the voicemail, Derek has a difficult time registering the
news he's just been delivered. Playing it back several times over doesn't help.
His breaths catch in his throat, his chest constricting. He puts his phone to
his ear again.
-need to be here. You need to be here, Derek. It's Junior-
He sprints to the Camaro faster than he can think, his head flooding with the
memory of the last time he had been too late. The bane weighs heavy in his
veins still, his blood rushing with the heat of the baiting wolf inside him,
and Derek swallows past his canines, shaking his head to rid himself of the
numbing haze over his cognizance.
He doesn't remember pulling up to the hospital, or racing to find the right
room, or seeing Laura or Scott or Cora or the rest of them milling around and
waiting as he rushes down the white hallway and up to the door standing between
him and all that matters.
"Sir, immediate family only-"
He doesn't care.
"Sir-"
His throat tightens as he peers into the room. Junior lays in the middle of the
hospital bed, dozy-looking and out of it, curled up with Sammy, chest gently
rising and falling as Stiles strokes his cheek.
"Don't tell Mommy," Junior whispers up at his mother, Stiles silently smiling,
and Derek takes in the IV drip his little arm is hooked up to.
"Sir, may I know your relation to the patient?" the nurse presses on.
Derek just looks at her and feels utterly empty. He doesn't know how to fix
this. He doesn't know how to make things okay again. He doesn't know what he's
supposed to say.
My life is in that bed.
"Sir?"
God, let me stay.
 
***
 
Stiles smoothes the hair back from Derek's temple, soothingly scratches his
fingers through Derek's beard, a mindless, wonderful, runaway motion. He keeps
his leg sprawled over Derek's, his cheek resting on the alpha's shoulder.
"You think I'm a monster?" Derek hears himself ask, and he tenses, doesn't know
why he let it slip out.
Stiles furrows his brows, pausing, then just as quickly as he had stopped,
returns to stroking his fingers through Derek's hair. "I don't think you're a
monster," he whispers. "I just think sometimes you forget that it's okay to be
human."
Derek gazes down at the omega, warmth building like a tidal wave inside his
heart.
"You deserve good things. You deserve to be happier than you are," Stiles tells
him, no trace of a lie in his words, and Derek drinks in every syllable like he
drinks in everything Stiles says. "You deserve more, Derek. And-" Stiles peers
away, cheeks subtly pinkening "-you deserve love."
Derek waits for Stiles to look up again, but the omega never does. Instead he
presses his lips to Derek's chest and turns over to face the wall, heart
hammering away, and they're both left there knowing that Derek can hear it just
as well as Stiles feels it, the air between them echoing with silent words
Derek hopes to one day usher out in a single breath.
 
***
 
He feels Scott come up and place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.
"What happened?" Scott hesitates to answer and Derek turns to face him. "What
the fuck happened, Scott?"
The younger alpha drops his hand, shaking his head, forehead creasing as his
frown deepens. "He got into a fight."
Derek swallows tightly.
"He's been getting into trouble at school. Guess the older kids didn't like him
bragging about you." It's a weak attempt at lightening the mood, just serves to
make Derek want to roll up deeper into himself. "His arm was broken in two
places and it healed wrong. We tried calling you."
Derek grits his teeth.
"We tried to tell you, Derek." Scott's brown eyes peer up at his brother, still
young, still hopeful, but sad. Sadder than Derek remembers them ever being. "I
wish you'd let us help you," he murmurs, and he looks away. "I wish you'd
choose to stay."
 
***
 
"If anything ever happened to the boys, I'd never forgive myself," Derek says,
table cleared, Junior and Sammy tucked in a room away.
Stiles looks up at him, head tilted. He closes the space between them, coming
to stand before Derek, eyes large and honest as he slowly laces their fingers
together.
"If anything happens to you, Derek," he says, wrapping the alpha's arms around
himself, placing his cheek over Derek's heart. "I won't forgive you."
  
***
 
Stiles fiddles with the balled up tissue in his hand, voice hushed as the boys
sleep inside the room. Derek hovers near the door, the bane not even beginning
to wear off, clouding around in his mind.
"I found him just in time," Liam says, swollen lip healed over, the cut on his
forehead slowly disappearing. "I made sure I got their names. Kicked their dumb
fourth-grade asses, too." Stiles remains silent. "I should've protected him
better. I should've been there sooner, then maybe-"
"It wasn't your fault, Liam," Stiles finally says, softly shaking his head.
"What happened to the other boy?"
"He ran," Liam says quietly.
"And Junior didn't."
"No."
That's when Stiles breaks down and cries. "Why didn't he run, Liam? Why didn't
he just run?"
"Because he's Junior," Derek hears himself say, and Stiles sobs harder as Laura
calls Liam away. Derek feels someone pass by, looking over, but to them Stiles
is just another person crying in a hospital. He sits beside Stiles, resting his
forearms on his thighs as he leans forward, hands tightly folded together,
aching to reach over and pull Stiles into his arms, to comfort him. He hates
watching the tears falling down Stiles' face. "I love Junior," he whispers,
voice rough, blinking back tears of his own. "I love that kid."
Stiles continues crying, softly, and only stops once his nose is a shade
pinker, his eyes puffy and red, and Derek is the last one there, everyone else
gone home.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Stiles finally asks, voice hoarse.
Derek doesn't answer, bane sizzling in his fingertips, hissing like demons,
calling for his claws to escape, for him to be free of his confining human
skin.
Stiles stands, waves of frustration and relief rolling off of him in equal
measure. "I thought something terrible happened to you," he says, voice
fractured, a thready whisper.
"Something terrible did happen to me," Derek says, head spinning, heart
breaking all over again, and he looks back at Stiles. "I fell in love with my
brother's wife."
Stiles stands dangerously still, heart rate steady, staring up at Derek, and
his beautiful eyes brim with tears once more. Derek doesn't think to wonder the
words that just escaped him until the omega is turning away again and
retreating back into the hospital room without a word.
Derek stands, heart racing, every neuron inside him gasping for the wolf's
escape, and Derek feels like he's choking as he forces himself toward the door,
wants to follow Stiles inside, wants to see Junior, wants to be there, be with
them, be the man they want him to be.
His eyes catch the medical file by the door, and Derek has to do a double-take,
bracing a hand on the wall as he reads out the name recorded there: Alexander
Derek Hale, Jr.
And then Derek is stumbling, running away, far from where Stiles softly begins
singing to his son, far from these bleached walls and paralyzing lights. Derek
is running, running, running—to a place he doesn't know, to a place where he
can forget, to a place where the name of his brother would be nothing but that.
A name.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away
Chapter End Notes
     Happy Valentine's Day, my loves! Sorry for the lack of smut:( But
     Derek's intoxicated ass finally spilled the beans! Yay! Also, whoever
     catches the scene I borrowed/integrated in this chapter gets a
     moonpie. (Hint: it's from my favorite book rn)
     Next update is some time mid-week to make up for this short one. Let
     me know what you think!
***** Chapter 25 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey, remember when I promised a mid-week update like two weeks ago?
     Well, guess who's a fucking liar!
     Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles hasn't really let himself think of his father in a long time, but he's
kind of stuck doing it now, what with the hospital room's shattering
familiarity and the ghost of memories he can't go on avoiding.
He feels it when he gets that haunted look on his face, like he suspects that
he's walked right into a trap and he's just waiting for it to snap shut. Stiles
wants to tell himself off, to force his mind away from those dark thoughts, has
to keep reminding himself that Junior is okay, that he won't be taken, too.
It kills him, kills him seeing Junior hurt, laying in this hospital bed, where
everyone Stiles has ever loved has ended up. He hates seeing Junior so quiet,
so still, not speaking a word, not eating, refusing to meet Stiles' eyes. He
hates that he's made Junior think that he needs to be strong for him.
"Junior, look at me," Stiles whispers, forcing his voice into a mask of calm
and strength he doesn't feel at all. "Please, look at me."
Junior turns his head slightly, gripping Stiles hand a little tighter, and lets
his gaze follow the line of Stiles' arm up to his face.
Stiles chews the inside of his cheek. "Moonpie?"
Junior just shakes his head, the slightest movement, but remains quiet.
Stiles cups Junior's cheek, forcing their eyes to meet. "Something's wrong,
Junior," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over Junior's temple. "Something bad
happened to you. Something terrible." Junior says nothing. "You don't have to
protect me from it. You don't lie about it to me." Stiles leans forward, and
the calm in his chest shrivels up, his throat tightening with the sting of
tears rearing their untimely heads. "Junior? You understand? You feel sad, you
feel upset, you feel angry—whatever it is—you don't hide it from me." Junior's
lip quivers and Stiles leans all the way forward, wrapping Junior into his arms
at the side of the bed, as far as the IV allows, pressing frantic, relieved
kisses into Junior's hair, all over his forehead, tears falling down his face.
"You give it to me. You give it to me, Junior, you let me share it. I love you.
What happens to you happens to me."
They stay like that for a long time, curled up together, Junior softly
sniffling, Stiles stopping only a lengthy time after that. Stiles thinks of his
father, the hazy memory of his mother. And that makes him all the sadder.
And Stiles guesses that by now he should know enough about loss to realize that
no matter how long you ignore it, no matter how fast you try to move on and
forget, you never really stop missing someone, not completely. And that's what
grief is, he guesses—learning to navigate life around the huge gaping hole of
bone-deep absences. And he'll never not remember.
And maybe that's why Derek always runs and why Stiles clings to things that
kill him. Maybe they're just too fucked up and have been too fucked over to
know the difference between love and healing, and maybe, just maybe, the jagged
holes in them are so huge that they might not ever close up again. And maybe
they both understand that, understand that the pieces can be stitched back
together, patched over, but that they will always be there, always in them, in
a way no one else seems to get.
Because people talk about healing and moving on, like it's just another rung in
the ladder, and it's not. It's not.
They are the living proof—Derek, who never forgets ash and smoke and loss, in
the same way Stiles will probably never forget bleach and hospital and gone,
gone and never coming back.
 
***
 
"They should replace hospital gowns with ponchos," Junior says as Stiles helps
him into his normal clothes.
"Why ponchos?" Laura asks, sipping from her coffee.
Junior shoves his healed arm through a sleeve. "Because they're kinda similar.
Also, no one is sad when they wear a poncho."
Lydia takes hold of Sammy's hand, guiding them out the door, and says, "Now is
not the time to quote Doctor Who, Laura."
Laura ignores her and grins down at Junior. "Nice thinking, Rain Man. If we're
gonna die, let's die looking like a Peruvian folk band."
Stiles would smile, but being here is still too startling, too real. Lydia's
been nothing but helpful and Laura is...around, but Stiles doesn't really know
if it's a good idea for her to be. He refuses to let go of Junior's hand until
they've reached the Jeep in the parking lot, where Stiles waves Laura off after
a good minute of reassuring her that they'll be fine. She doesn't bring up
Derek.
But Lydia does. Back at home, once the boys are in bed and he and Lydia are the
kitchen, resting on top of the cool tiles, backed up against the cupboards.
Lydia holds him, his head resting against her shoulder, her fingers combing
through his hair. He closes his eyes, takes a breath. "I can't think about it
right now."
"You can't ignore it, either."
"He confessed to me, Lydia," he tells her, defensive almost.
Lydia clicks her tongue, softly shaking her head. "You and I both know that's a
cop-out." She's quick to hold him in place before he can jolt up and make a run
for it. "You know that's not fair. And you can get pissed at me for saying it,
but you need to hear it, Stiles. Yes, he may have been the one to confess to
you, and he may have been drunk and high and God knows what else, but we are
talking about Derek Hale here, and Derek Hale never says shit he doesn't mean,
and so yes, he may have confessed to you, but there is only one reason he felt
like that was an option." She huffs out a breath against his forehead. "And you
know that's the truth," she whispers.
Stiles does pull away this time. "Well, my mistake, then," he says, hauling
himself up.
Lydia stands at the same time, grabbing his wrist, and he looks back at her.
"That is not you making a mistake, that is not you cheating on Xander, that is
you-" she pauses to gather her patience, lowering her voice. "Stiles, the
problem isn't just that Derek's in love with you. The real problem—for you,
anyway—is that you're in love with him."
Stiles freezes, blood running cold, breath trapped against the knot forming in
his throat. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Lydia laughs. "Except that I do." She inclines her head, nodding to herself
like she's completely figured it out. "I see the way you look at him, Stiles,
and I know. Because you used to look at Xander that way."
"I-" Stiles presses his fingers to his lips, squeezing his eyes shut against
her words. He runs a hand over his head, through his hair. "I don't love Derek.
I can't."
"It's not you fucking up. It's not you making a mistake. It's you being in
love." Lydia pulls him back into her arms, and he collapses into her, holding
on for dear life. "You love him, Stiles," Lydia says. "You love Derek."
 
***
 
Stiles slides behind the front desk just as Talia makes her way toward the
entrance, suited up in track gear, headphones looped around her neck. "Going
for a run?" he asks her, pulling his jacket off.
Talia spares him a glance, returning her attention to her phone. "No," she
says, and Stiles feels the sarcasm coming from a mile away. "I'm playing the
part of a jogger in the school play."
Stiles bites down the comebacks swelling up on his tongue, choosing to keep his
job rather than indulging her. "Well, did you stretch? Stretching can prevent
over thirty percent of all injuries." He logs into the desktop and absently
begins reviewing the calendar.
"Wow," Talia surmises, whipping her hair up into a ponytail. "Running advice
and unexpected grandchildren. What don't you provide?"
Stiles sighs, all thought of how badly he needs this job flying out the window.
He's reached his limit.
He looks up from the computer, folding his hands in front of him to level
himself as he calmly responds. "You know, I've been thinking, but you don't
look a day over forty."
Talia pauses, taken aback.
"Which means...to have children that are all so grown up already, you'd have to
have been pretty young when you had them." Stiles lets a quiet smile slip.
"Kind of reminds me of myself." He places his hand back over the mouse, smile
just as quickly vanishing. "But that's none of my business," he says, returning
his attention to the monitor. "Oh, and if you were ever thinking of paying your
grandson a visit, you know, considering he was in the hospital just a week ago,
well, don't. I don't need you convincing him that he's meant to be a fighter.
You've already fucked up your own kids. I don't need you fucking up mine."
Talia considers him for a moment. "Where's Derek?" she asks, completely
ignoring everything he just said.
Stiles jerks back, brows drawing together. She can't be serious. He doesn't
even know how to respond.
"So no one knows," Talia says, crossing her arms, smiling up at the ceiling. "I
warned you, didn't I? I told you he's no good."
Stiles scowls, grits his teeth. "He's a good person. Better than you could ever
hope to be."
Talia raises a brow at him, grinning like it's some sick joke. "It kills you,
doesn't it?"
Stiles says nothing, and she begins to laugh.
"That stupid boy," she chides, shaking her head. "I should've never given him
someone to love." Stiles looks away, cheeks burning, heart clenching in his
chest, and he hates the woman standing in front of him, he hates her. He hates
her for being such a miserable person, for rubbing it off onto her children,
for making them so fucked in the head. He hates that she sees right through
him. "Monsters eat people, Stiles, don't you know?" Talia slips her headphones
on, backing out of the foyer. "It's what we do."
 
***
 
Stiles startles awake to the sound of someone slipping through the side door.
He jolts out of bed, heart hammering, padding his way to the kitchen in his
pajamas.
"Derek?" he calls out from the hall.
"Better." Theo is standing there, elbow propped up against the counter. "Me."
Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Is knocking too hard for you?
Is it too hard to make a fist and bang it against the door? Or ring the bell?
Or just come through the front door like a normal person?"
"I don't use front anything," Theo says. He winks.
Stiles blinks at him. "What do you want?"
"Silly question. We both know what I want."
"Theo, it's six in the morning on a Sunday. Don't make me get a restraining
order."
Theo shakes his head, scratching his lip with his thumb. "Stiles, what do you
want?" Stiles blinks at him, and Theo pulls closer, rounding the counter. "What
do you want? If not me, then what are you looking for? Tell me."
Stiles can feel his mouth moving, but no words come out. He looks away, images
of the last year flashing through his mind. Thinking of the last month, just
him and the kids living here, something—someone—always missing, leaves him
feeling cold, and so he holds his arms out, deciding to finally be honest with
himself. "I want love."
Theo looks at him. He scoffs. "Love? Who needs love? If you'd just give me a
chance maybe you'd realize how pointless it is."
Stiles withdraws, regretting having even indulged the beta. "I'm not doing this
with you anymore. Go home, Theo."
"You and I both know that love is for children," Theo says, voice a low timber,
serious. "We're adults. Compatibility is for adults."
"Compatibility is for your Bluetooth and your car," Stiles tells him. "Only
they get along just fine, and as far as I know, your car never makes your
Bluetooth feel like shit."
Theo sighs, leaning back against the counter, eyes on the fishbowl. "Fair
point." Stiles swings the door open for him. "Know this, Stiles: your rejection
will go down as one of the most significant bummers of my lifetime."
Theo passes him and steps back outside, and Stiles stands there with a hand on
the knob, ready to slam the door on this asshole's face. "What about your
divorce?" he asks.
Theo shrugs. "Meh."
Stiles surprises himself by smiling. This stupid fuck.
"Well." Theo turns his car keys over in his hand. "Whoever receives the
privilege of falling face-first into feelings with you," he says, "they're one
lucky bastard."
"Careful, Theo, or I might actually start to think that you care," Stiles says.
Theo twists his mouth to the side, tilting his head. "I'm just saying that you
deserve better, Stiles." He shrugs, sighing, and steps back up the pathway,
eyes scanning over the house before meeting Stiles'. "He'll never be able to
give you what you want."
Stiles shuts the door before Theo can say anything else.
 
***
 
"Sweetheart, don't play with that." Stiles pulls Sammy's hands back from the
heart model for the third time.
"Mommy's right, Sammy," Junior says, propped up on the exam table as they wait
for his checkup. He sighs, staring out the window. "It's impossible to put back
together."
 
***
 
Derek stumbles through the front door at four in the morning, five days out
from his fight, shitfaced and stoned.
Stiles braces himself, standing in his doorway as Derek comes teetering into
view. "I didn't want to believe it," he says.
Derek can barely walk, supporting his weight with a hand on the wall as he
struggles to carry himself down the hallway. "What'd you fucking think?" He
sways in place. "Where the fuck'd you think I was?"
"I don't know," Stiles says, swallowing. He can't stand to see Derek like this,
but he's too angry to spare him any pity. "I figured...that you needed time.
Space. Just a moment to take a breather, and that once you'd gotten what you
needed you'd come home."
Derek pauses and blinks at him. "Home?"
Stiles' stomach drops. "Yeah. Back to us." His mouth twitches. "Back to me."
Derek appraises him, slowly scraping closer until Stiles has to turn his face
away from reek of alcohol wafting off him. "Where's your husband?" Derek rasps
darkly, looming over Stiles.
Stiles swallows down the bile in the back of his throat, shoves down the worry,
the anger, everything. "Derek, you don't know what you're saying. You're drunk-
"
"Well, I'm not fucking blind, Stiles!" Derek's voice booms through the hall,
and Stiles freezes, wide eyes staring up at the alpha. Derek lowers his head
again, brows furrowing like he's trying to piece it all together as he speaks.
"I am here. I am real. I am flesh and blood." Stiles closes his eyes against
Derek's harshness, resentment rising from inside him, and he presses himself
against the wall, holding back tears of frustration.
Derek's eyes wander over his face, drinking Stiles in. He's looking at Stiles
the way he always does, in that way that makes Stiles' heart pound faster, the
way that takes his breath away. Then Derek is pressing forward, resting his
forehead against the wall by Stiles' head. "I can't feel my face," the alpha
says.
Well, I can't feel my heart.
 
***
 
"Are we just never going to talk about it?"
Derek looks up from his stretching. He takes a moment to come join Stiles in
front of the view, admiring the Melbourne cityscape for a moment before taking
a seat at the little breakfast table. "I'm sorry," he says, and Stiles waits.
"I'm sorry for putting you in such a shitty position." Stiles waits some more.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you the other night. I don't remember much, but...I
know I was cruel."
Stiles looks at Derek then, really looks at him. How stupid could he be? Of
course they're never going to talk about it. Because Derek doesn't even know
what it is.
Maybe Lydia was wrong. Maybe Derek does slip up and say shit he doesn't mean.
Why else would he forget something as important as telling Stiles he loves him?
"I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Derek doesn't look at him. "I'm
sorry," he says, for all the wrong reasons.
Stiles turns away from the window, heading for the door. "Be sorry for a lot of
other stuff first."
Chapter End Notes
     Super sorry for the delayed update. Life's been pretty hectic.
     To give you guys a general time frame, I'm hoping to wrap this bitch
     up before it gets to thirty chapters. Let's not count on it 100%,
     though, because who's to fucking say when I end this angsty hot
     pocket of sadness and pain? It's honestly out of my hands at this
     point, so Jesus take the wheel, take these goddamn brakes, just take
     the whole fucking ship from me because I need Derek and Stiles to
     figure their shit out about as much as my readers need it at this
     point.
     Laying my exhausted head down to sleep now.
     *sobbing emoji*
     Love alla yous.
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
     Drowning_-_The_Eden_Project
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek glares across the sea of people, fists up as he poses for the flashing
cameras, Ennis Wade opposite him, sharing the stage on his left. He indulges
the crowd no longer than a handful of seconds, turning away from his opponent
without a cursory nod or look in the other alpha's direction, striding off the
stage as soon as the itch of restlessness grows unbearable, the fanfare in the
room overwhelming him beyond his control. He's hungry, tired. Preparing for the
weigh-ins in the last forty-eight hours has been nothing but unmerciful,
especially with the way he's lost track of his training and diet in the last
month. It's not the first time he's thinking that Laura should just call off
the fight for him.
The next twenty-four hours are no better. His wolf is batty, his mother sullen
and silent, which in itself is admittedly too strange not to worry over, but
Derek's got other things weighing on his mind.
"I want to know what the game plan is," he tells Talia.
She says nothing at first, watching him silently observe the view from the
hotel room, hoodie drawn over his head as he sips his water, rehydrating.
"Let us worry about that," she murmurs after a moment.
Derek clenches his hand around the armrest. "I can't do this. We're all
thinking it."
Talia stands, walking over to block Derek's view. "You can," she says, then
more lowly: "You will."
Derek looks up at her. He stands, straightening himself out, looming over her,
and she pauses, shrinks back slightly. She forgets that he's just as much an
alpha as she is. Remember that, his wolf sings.
"I can't fight," he repeats, glaring through her, anger slowly rising up inside
him. "How am I supposed to fight? How am I supposed to fight like this?"
Whatever this is goes unspoken, but the tension in the room says it all.
Talia remains undeterred. "I want you focused. Relaxed."
Laura rolls her eyes. "Well, he's about to be pissed and leaving, so you'd
better start talking. God knows we need to hear something."
"I don't know!" Talia throws her hands up in defeat, laughing. "I have no
fucking idea what we're going to do." She takes a seat again, rubbing her
forehead.
Derek walks past her, walks past Laura, his feet moving with a mind of their
own, and he keeps walking until he's out the door and in the hall, walking as
far as he can think to go.
This time, no one tries to stop him.
 
***
 
He finds himself in the hotel bar and it nearly makes him fucking laugh.
He doesn't want to think of the fight in the evening, and so he drinks. He
doesn't want to think of his mother or Laura, waiting upstairs in his hotel
room, trying to find a way to save his ass when it's clear they no longer can,
and so he drinks. Derek doesn't want to think about the fact that he's fucked
it up real good this time, taken a bat to whatever he's managed to make of
himself in the last year and beaten it to a pulp. And so he drinks.
Derek doesn't want to think about Stiles—Stiles, who has expected nothing and
received even less than that. And so Derek drinks. He drinks to forget what
little memory has surfaced of the night of his return, the night he drunkenly
found his way back home—Back to me, Stiles had said—where Derek had spat
bitter, jealous things at the omega, and before that, finding his and Xander's
name side by side on Junior's medical file—Junior, Alexander Derek Hale, his
brother's son, his nephew, carrying his name. He drinks to forget the
heartbreak written into Stiles' pale complexion, the disappointment that
resided there when Derek let his wolf get the best of him for the thousandth
time.
"Derek?"
He turns his head and gulps back the last of his drink, letting the burn down
the back of his throat ground him. "What the fuck are you doing here, Deaton?"
 
***
 
"Another drink for my friend here," Derek tells the bartender, wiggling his
glass in the air, bane beginning to kick in, and Deaton opens his mouth once
more.
"Derek-"
"How long has it been?" Derek asks, pointing his glass in the doctor's
direction. "Five years? Six!" He chuckles to himself, throws back the rest of
his drink. "Before the whole Xander debacle," Derek recalls, squinting as if to
remember better. "You'd come by for dinner. With-" Derek hiccups "-your son!"
He laughs again. "You didn't come to Xander's fight, but you came for dinner!
Good ol' Deaton." Derek calls for the bartender again. "And only a few days
later, both father and son disappeared without a trace, never to be heard from
again."
"Derek," Deaton begins again, ever patient, and Derek senses that age-old
annoyance he'd always felt in his childhood resurface, the other man's
composure throwing him off. "It's a big night for you."
Derek laughs into his glass.
"Xander would be proud of you."
Derek turns slowly, eyes narrowing as he takes in the man across from him.
"What is this?"
Deaton's brows furrow. "What is what?"
"Why are you sitting here, in a bar with me, four hours out from a fight I have
no chance of winning, telling me how proud my brother would be of me, after you
let him die?"
Deaton tenses, confusion written all over his face. "What-"
"You could have told me," Derek says, slamming his drink down, startling the
girl at the other end of the bar, but he pays no attention to her, nor to the
fact that he's risen into Deaton's face, chest heaving, the wolf just under the
surface. "You knew where my brother was. You knew the entire fucking time."
Deaton's eyes widen with understanding, mouth falling open. "And you chose not
to say a damn thing. You chose not to say a damn thing and now he's dead. You
chose not to fucking tell me."
Derek's harsh breaths fill the air between them, and then Deaton says, "I
didn't choose not to tell you, Derek. Xander did. Xander chose not to tell
you."
It's a hit to Derek's gut, cutting and deep, a knife in the heart, words he's
been denying from the beginning. "Why are you here?" he chokes out, drink
forgotten. He's drunk and still remembering, the worst thing for him to be.
"Why are you here now?"
Deaton looks confused. "You invited me." Derek pauses. "Didn't you?" Deaton
asks. "Peter was the one that reached out to me. He said-"
Everything else out of Deaton's mouth is lost to Derek, words fading out,
vision clouding over.
All he knows now is anger.
 
***
 
Malia is the last one into the locker room. She arrives bearing a manilla
folder and a wild grin on her face. "Tonight," she announces, "no one is going
home to their significant other because I no longer have one."
Derek should be happy for her. He hates Theo as much as the next Hale sibling.
But he's too focused on the heat under his skin and the ghost of blood on his
tongue.
Stiles stands in front of him, the room empty, buzzing in his ears as he leans
forward by habit, eyes on the silver arrowhead.
He pauses, sees the gold band hanging from the other chain around Stiles' neck.
"Derek?"
His eyes fall to Stiles' hand. He reaches forward, brings it up to his face,
forcing himself to take in the wedding ring still resting on the omega's
finger.
He releases Stiles' hand, standing.
He leaves without kissing the arrowhead, damning the ritual.
He's going to lose anyway.
 
***
 
"His fucking face, Mom-"
"I know," Talia barks at Laura, sending her back out of the cage. She kneels in
front of Derek. He can barely see her through his good eye, the other one
bruised and swollen, useless. He feels his lip bleeding, split down the middle,
dripping to his chin. His nose is broken, he can feel it healing all wrong,
probably in more than one place, and he can see it in Talia's face, how badly
his is messed up. He can barely stand, legs shaking, falling over just sitting
there on the stool.
"Mom-" he gasps. Fuck, his fucking ribs are crushed. He can barely breathe
through the pain, and he clutches at her. "Mom-"
Talia is there, cradling his bloody face, hugging his head close to her as
Derek wheezes. "Okay, okay, it's okay. Okay. Alright. Alright, you're okay."
Laura calls the fight.
 
***
 
Derek doesn't hear the end of it. Not from Talia, later, not from Chris, not
from the media.
And when he finally gets home a week and a half after everyone else, he's
greeted with a drunk Stiles when he walks through the door.
"Southpaw! You're home! I looked that up when I first heard it." Stiles
giggles, snorting. "They call you that 'cause your dick curves to the left,
huh?" He keeps laughing. He laughs until he has to run to the bathroom and
vomit up all the untouched wine coolers Laura had left in the fridge.
Derek puts him to bed, can't help but sit and watch for a few moments. He wakes
up in the same position and hurries out before Stiles' alarm can go off.
 
***
 
"I told you, didn't I? I told you Peter's gonna get what he deserves." Rafael
laughs to himself, smug from hearing about Peter's ploy to send Derek into a
feral rampage. "He lured Deaton halfway across the globe just so he could try
to set you off and use you again." He looks sick with obsession. "And he has no
idea what's coming." Rafael turns to Derek, eyes bright with malicious intent
of his own. "Tell me you'll testify. Tell me you'll help me end this."
Derek cracks his neck, putting out his cigarette.
"Derek, please, listen to me-"
"No." Derek spins back on the beta, eyes bleeding red. "This time, I do the
talking, you do the bleeding."
Rafael holds his hands up, curls away. "Derek, Derek! Okay! You're right-"
"No." Derek yanks Rafael forward by the collar, smirking. "I'm left." He lifts
his left fist and slams it across Rafael's face.
 
***
 
"I had no idea," Talia says quietly, hands in her lap.
"That's kind of the point," Derek replies, watching Laura walk the last of the
police to the foyer. "That's how illegal fighting rings usually work." He
evenly looks back at her and she flinches at his cool disregard. "I'm sure
you've got a lot on your plate right now. You probably need to make some calls,
bribe some people to keep Peter's arrest on the hush. I'll get out of your
hair." He rises, aiming for the exit.
"Derek-" Talia pulls him back, hand on his shoulder. She looks guilty, like she
wants to hug him or offer some sort of comfort, but she just stands there,
mouth opening and closing like a fish as she tries to find words that come so
easily to normal mothers. But she's not a normal mother and Derek needs no
comfort. He's dealt with this fine all on his own until now.
"Don't," is all he says, backing away from her. "Don't try to be a mother now."
Chapter End Notes
     Derek's manpain got the best of me once again. I'm confident that
     I'll be able to update the next chapter quickly. I just hate leaving
     you guys with a week's worth of angst to broil over. I hope this one
     wasn't too confusing!
     Edit: Lmfao—there's some confusion. So to give some clarification
     (and I'm pulling this straight from Wikipedia), 'southpaw' "is a
     boxing term that designates the stance where the boxer has his right
     hand and right foot forward, leading with right jabs, and following
     with a left cross right hook". It's basically like calling someone a
     lefty, thus Stiles' drunken joke. Rafael will show up again and be
     further explained. I may start introducing a change in POVs mid-
     chapter for the next couple of updates just because it's starting to
     be a real struggle for me to convey what's happening every chapter
     from only one person's view if you get my feel. Again, sorry for the
     confusion. Things will get better, but I just need to push through
     these next few updates. Hang in there!
***** Chapter 27 *****
Chapter Notes
     I_Found_-_Amber_Run
     Heads up: there will be a POV switch.
     Enjoy!
When Stiles was new to the city, he had made two friends. One was, of course,
Lydia Martin. The other was Jordan Parrish.
Jordan was eighteen and just as new to the city as Stiles. He had high hopes of
becoming a cop, had the will of a lion, tenacious as he was. Like Xander, he
latched onto Stiles like a leech and refused to let go. Stiles learned to be
glad for that. Jordan was a good friend.
He feels guilty now, sitting in a booth across from the deputy as the seconds
of his break tick by before he has to return to his shift. Once Jordan finally
received his badge, Stiles had to learn to be careful. Running away from foster
care didn't exactly help their friendship. It's moments like this that Stiles
feels those painful pangs of regret, the ones that remind him of how little he
had to begin with, how he had to give all of it up.
"I think you should leave," Jordan says, hands folded on the tabletop. "I don't
know why you've stuck around as long as you have, if I'm being honest."
Stiles twists his mouth to the side, staring out the window. "It's not that
easy."
Jordan sighs, then goes quiet, contemplating Stiles for a moment. "He's
dangerous."
Stiles snorts, shaking his head. "He's impulsive. He's reckless. He's not
dangerous."
Jordan leans across the table, forcing their eyes to meet. "He's putting you at
risk."
"And how would he be doing that?"
"He's making you reckless."
Stiles stares back at Jordan, throat tightening. He looks away.
"I'm just trying to look out for you, Stiles."
"I know," Stiles whispers, returning his gaze to the window. "I know."
 
***
 
"Stiles, I need you to watch the gym," Talia says before Stiles has even made
it behind his desk, hurriedly throwing her coat on as she heads for the door.
"I have the meeting with Peter today. Laura will be in around noon."
"I didn't schedule you any meetings for today," Stiles says, pulling up the
calendar on the desktop. "Isn't Peter going with Cora to her Pamona fight?"
Talia pauses to look at Stiles like he's grown two heads. Then she grows pale,
brows pinching together. "Oh, Stiles."
Stiles tenses and Talia runs a hand over her head, taking a breath. "Fuck. No
one fucking told you?"
"What is it?"
"Peter was arrested."
Stiles waits, breath caught in his lungs. When Talia doesn't continue, Stiles
stands, pushing away from the desk to begin pacing back and forth, nerves
running through his limbs, shaking him. "For what?"
Talia hesitates.
"For what?"
"Illegal fighting." She doesn't meet Stiles' eyes. "He was making money off it.
He was luring ferals in." Her voice breaks. "He's the one that took Derek away
from us."
Stiles can't think straight. He lowers himself back into his chair, forcing
himself to breathe before he chokes on his own anxiety. It's just as quickly
overtaken by anger. "You didn't know." Not a question.
"No," Talia says, and then she looks up, understanding. "Stiles, no, I had
noidea-"
"Who else? Who knew?"
"No one. None of us knew, Stiles-" her breath catches suddenly, as if she
realizes how untrue the statement is in the same moment Stiles does.
"But he did," Stiles gasps around the realization, and he covers his face with
his hands. "Derek knew."
And that's all Stiles thinks about the rest of the day. He waits for Derek to
come home late at night, like he has for weeks, hoping, praying that he'll wake
up from this bad dream, that Derek will walk through the door. But Derek never
does. He never does until Stiles gives up. And then he's there, reeking of
clothes that haven't been washed, of alcohol and bane, but he seems sober, or
at least more so than he'd been all the times before.
And he looks like a fucking wreck. Guilty. Sleep deprived. Haunted.
"You knew?" Stiles wastes no time. He doesn't know how long Derek will decide
to stick around. "You knew what a monster he was and you didn't do anything?"
Derek licks his chapped lips, lifting a placating hand. "I get that you're
upset-"
"I am ripped apart!" Stiles can't control the anguish inside him, the
frustrated tears. It seems like everytime Derek shows up he can't help but cry.
"Stiles, I was feral. I didn't care about anyone. I didn't know you then-"
"I stayed with him for months. With my kids, Derek! They could've gotten hurt!
They could have-" he sharply inhales, trying to get ahold of his breathing,
gather his calm, hurls away the darker thoughts of what could have happened.
"You were the only one that knew about the blood on Peter's hands. And you did
nothing."
Derek sighs, gazing down at him, and the dim lighting in the room casts shadows
upon the alpha's weary face, adding years. "I did. After. When I learned to be
okay again." Derek steps forward. "I took care of you."
Stiles grits his teeth, fury returned tenfold, and he holds nothing back now,
getting up into Derek's face. "I don't need you to take care of me! I take care
of myself! That's what I do! Why can’t you understand that?"
"Because I fucking love you, Stiles!"
Stiles is punching Derek straight in the face, a quick reflex, mostly from that
place of utter rage. The satisfaction of seeing the surprise whip across
Derek's face is lost to the sudden plumes of pain emanating from Stiles' hand.
"Oh my fucking God!"
"Jesus," Derek barks, cheek unscathed, and he closes the last of the distance
to leech the pain from Stiles' stinging knuckles. "Are you okay?"
"How dare you say you love me!" Stiles pulls away, holding his hand to himself,
cheeks damp.
"I was being honest."
"Don't be honest," Stiles snaps. "Be a grown-up."
"And what constitutes being a fucking grown-up?"
"It's easy. You keep your emotions inside, you control your urges, and you
ignore the feeling called love because it fucks you up."
Derek says nothing, and all that remains is the heaving of their chests and
their harsh breaths filling the room. It's all out there now. No missed
chances, no drunken confessing, no blacking out. It's real. It's Derek's
vulnerability, unblinking, unbreathing, and Stiles' torment of being so fucking
torn.
"You're so messed up," is the last thing Derek says before he leaves again.
Stiles doesn't sleep. He feels sick, foreign to his own skin, like he's going
mad. And the next morning, Stiles realizes what it is, crashing over him like a
tidal wave, the familiar heat, the sizzling burn of anxiety making the hairs on
his neck stand on end, sending his breaths into a state of disarray, coming too
short and too fast and not enough. His heart is no better, so loud in his own
ears. He fleetingly wonders how loud it is to Junior and Sammy, if they're more
freaked out by that or the ragged gasps barely escaping Stiles’ lungs. It's
like a cord is being wrapped around his neck, like his head is going to fall
off his shoulders, like he's going to die. In his head, Stiles knows. He's
choking, choking, choking—but he knows, he's choking on nothing.
"Mommy's okay," he exhales, clutching at his chest, holding himself up against
the wall. "Mommy's okay." He slumps against it, falls to his knees, and he
distantly hears the panicked cries of his children as he doubles over in agony.
Someone's calling his name. He hears it, distantly though, even when the hands
wrap around his forearms, even as he's being dragged into the comfort of a
solid chest, even as his ear is pressed into said chest and everything else
whites out as the strong, steady beat of Derek's heart echoes down into the
very depths of him, rattling Stiles, slowly, slowly, back into taking calmer,
deeper breaths. The noise of the world comes rushing back to him all at once,
making him so acutely aware of his gasps sounding like sobs as he clings to
Derek like he's drowning.
"I'm sorry," Derek whispers into his hair. "I'm so sorry."
But as sorry as Derek is, it will never make what he's done okay.
 
===============================================================================
 
Derek hates Jordan Parrish the second he meets him.
He's nosy. He's a cop, so it's justified to an extent, but he's not here as a
cop, he's here as Stiles' friend. Derek wants to leave. The room is stuffy with
two alphas silently stewing in unspoken animosity towards one another as they
wait for Stiles to get home.
"What's your fucking deal, man?" Parrish looks genuinely puzzled. Derek doesn't
dignify him with an answer, leaving them with another minute of silence. "You
can't erase his past," Parrish says quietly. "Whatever he feels for you, he'll
never un-feel for Xander."
Derek would react, but it's nothing he doesn't already know.
 
***
 
"It's no secret that we don't like each other, Derek," Lydia says. "But I'm
going to tell you this: Stiles feels something for you."
Derek sips his beer. "He punched me in the face."
Lydia snorts. "Have you learned nothing?”
"He can't even look at me without seeing Xander."
Lydia slowly sets her drink down on the bar. "You think Stiles can't stand you
because he's Xander's widow? No, you idiot, he can't stand you because you
could have kept your shit together. You could have done something, as a friend,
as the uncle to his children, as a good fucking person, and you didn't." Lydia
shakes her head. "Just admit it, Derek."
"God—I want him, Lydia, okay? Is that what you want to hear from me? Is that
what you want me to admit? I met him, and I wanted him, because when I'm near
him it feels like enough, okay? I have tried. I have tried every day since it
happened and I still want it, I want to stay here and fucking disappear. But
when I'm near him, God, Lydia, it is enough."
Lydia considers him for a moment. She finishes her drink and leaves a twenty
behind for the bartender. "If it was enough, you wouldn't be here in the first
place."
 
***
 
Derek wishes he'd stop disappearing. He wishes he'd stop wanting to. He's an
addict, hooked on the numbness and nonexistence of every horrible thing that's
ever happened to him. But he's sick of it. He's sick of himself.
So is Stiles. Derek doesn't understand why he's still here. Everyone leaves
sooner or later, if Derek pushes them away long enough. But Stiles is still
here, still waiting, always waiting, angry, pained, but waiting. It kills
Derek, loving Stiles. It fucking kills him. It's killing him.
"Fuck you," Stiles finally snaps one night, gripping Derek by his shirt. "Fuck
you and your acts of charity. You know, we were getting along with everything
just fine, and then you happen. We were fine before you, I was fine before you!
Who the hell do you think you are, bringing me here andandand—making me love
you? I love you, Derek! And it makes me so sick!"
Derek hears it reverberating inside him, the same three words, over and over.
Stiles loves him. Stiles loves him. Stiles loves him. And Derek loves Stiles.
But Derek wishes, in the sudden quiet, in the concealing blackness, with this
wild creature in his arms, that their definitions of it weren't so different.
"Not the way that I want to be loved," he whispers, tired. "So either you have
me or you don't. There's no more in between, Stiles. And if I'm telling the
whole truth, no matter who gets hurt, it goes like this—I am in love with you.
But you...are in love with him."
Stiles breathes against him, unblinking, unshed tears glossy against his pretty
eyes.
"You may care about me, Stiles. You may even need me." Derek swallows. "But you
don't love me." He pulls away. "And I may just deserve someone that does."
 
***
 
"Derek," Lydia says. "Just because he doesn't love you the way you want him to
love you, doesn't mean he doesn't love you with everything he is."
 
***
 
"You're one of the good guys, Uncle Derek," Junior tells him, the only one
awake besides Derek, curled up against the alpha. "Mommy calls them Moonpies.
You don't think you are, but you are. It's why Mommy loves you. And me and
Sammy. Daddy was one, too. It's why Mommy loves him."
 
***
 
Derek runs.
He runs for hours and days. He loses chunks of time, misses important human
information, and forgets Xander's face for a little while along with it. He
misses Stiles. He misses the kids. But he doesn't miss the pain. He fights
himself, loses more and more control over his claws and canines and shifts. He
drops to the ground next to a tree and stares down at the water. Xander's eyes
look back at him, dull and lifeless, losing meaning every second this side of
death.
Derek closes his eyes and sees a boy, and he tries to reach out and touch, he
tries, but it's a losing game.
But sometimes.
That boy touches Derek.
Where there's an entire abandoned shed somewhere inside him labeled Xander.
Where he holds Derek like he's trying to keep all of his pieces together. Where
he makes Derek understand that this is how he is broken.
Where Derek looks at him and he'll make light go all through every fiber of
Derek's being.
One day he falls for this boy. And this boy touches him with his fingers. And
he burns hopes in Derek's skin. And it hurts when Derek looks at him. And it
hurts when Derek doesn't. And it feels like someone has cut Derek open with a
jagged piece of glass.
Stiles, who isn't made for this earth.
Stiles, who has already known more loss than most do in a lifetime.
Stiles-
Who Derek loves so much that he forgets what hating himself feels like. 
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
     Never_Gonna_Change_-_Broods
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When Stiles first met Derek Hale, he wasn't sure what to make of the man.
Derek was quiet, imposing, and rude to a certain point, careless with his
words, sloppy with his lifestyle. Stiles had made up his mind from the very
beginning that he'd try to find another place as soon as possible. Scott and
Laura were being hospitable, he got that, with the whole Peter thing, but who
were they kidding? He's nothing but a stranger to them, barely related. And
Derek was obviously bothered by their presence as much as Stiles was bothered
by his.
But as time went by and the kids settled, and their life settled, and time
settled, Stiles started settling as well. And what Stiles learned from the
start was that Derek needed somebody to hold him together and love him and make
him think, and, well, fuck that responsibility, Stiles thought. Stiles was
already looking after his kids and himself, he didn't have time for Derek.
Derek was a full-time job and Stiles was only looking for part-time, or—and
here's a crazy thought—maybe he wanted someone to take care of him for once.
Maybe he was tired of constantly being everyone's support system.
And he gave in. He gave in and he made Derek need him, and a part of him, a
small, small part, thinks he may need Derek a little bit, too, and knowing that
makes Derek's suffering all the more painful to bear. Stiles doesn't think
Derek just leaves when he walks out the door or gives into his wolf more each
day, no, Derek isn't leaving. Derek is running. And what Stiles can't figure
out is whether Derek is running towards something he wants, or if he's running
away from something he's afraid to want.
Stiles doesn't know when hearing Xander's name started feeling less painful or
when thinking about having someone to hold him and kiss him and love him, he'd
always imagine Derek filling that space. Maybe it should sicken him. Maybe he
should feel more disloyal. His husband's brother.
He didn't expect it at all when he first met Derek. He never expected that he
could have a broken heart and love with it too—if ever again—so much so that
sometimes it doesn't feel broken at all.
 
***
 
Lydia doesn't want him making rash decisions. She's always been the levelheaded
one through shit like this. "Stiles," she tells him, pausing his hand as he
runs his fingers over Xander's old T-shirt again. "You need to break up with
your husband." Stiles looks at her, and he briefly wonders what she sees as she
looks back at him. "You haven't yet. You've been in a long distance
relationship with him for almost two years," she says, squeezing his hand. "Is
it any wonder you feel like you're doing him wrong? Like you're cheating? In
your mind you are. You'd been together all this time and then-" she makes a
sudden movement, not a snap, but something close to it "-Boom. Derek."
Stiles makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. "I know," he says.
So he tells Xander. As he sits out on the beach, late to work, too tired to
care, the boys already dropped off at school. He stares out at the water, feels
the cool breeze, closes his eyes and breathes in the salty ocean air. "Xander,"
he begins, heart pounding, twisting the ring hanging from the chain around his
neck, "I met someone." He licks his chapped lips. "He's an emotional wreck. A
fucking feral. He's broody and short-tempered and sullen." Stiles runs his
fingers through the sand. "I shouldn't love him," he whispers. "But I do."
A seagull squawks overhead. "I love him because he is strong. Despite every
shitty thing that's happened to him, he's always managed to find his way back.
He's strong and smart and very brave. And he's full of love." Stiles smiles.
"You wouldn't think it, but he really is. He's so full of love that it hurts.
It hurts him sometimes. It kills him." Stiles swallows.
"But I wanted to thank you." Stiles smiles again, feels the goodbye washing
over him, a weight lifting. "You made me...so, so happy. So thank you. Thank
you." He stands, dusting the sand from his clothes. He stares out at the water
a moment longer. "You gave me two beautiful children. You showed me true love,
how happy I could be." The waves lazily lap at the shore. "And I think it's
time for me to be happy again."
And Stiles knows he's right as he pulls the necklace from over his head,
placing Xander's ring safely into his sock drawer later that night. He wasn't
sure if he'd be ready, but he's glad he finally is. 
He slides off his wedding ring, too. 
 
***
 
Another week passes.
And another.
Derek's absences grow longer each time. Stiles worries. Are you eating? Are you
getting rest? Stiles wants to ask him. Do you know how long I'd wait for you? I
don't.
"Studies show it's unhealthy for a fetus to be exposed to a stressful
environment," Junior rattles out amongst other facts over dinner.
He repeats it again to Lydia a few days later. "Studies?" Lydia chucks his
chin. "You're seven. Read a comic book."
Another week.
Another week.
Derek is shaking him awake.
"Wh-"
Derek is kissing him.
Stiles is so startled at first he does nothing. Then he regains his senses and
begins pushing the alpha away. "I haven't seen you-"
"I know."
"It's been so long-"
"I know."
"Where have you-Why haven't you-"
"I know."
"Derek-"
"I know."
And perhaps it's the fact that Derek is here, finally, really here, right in
front of him that Stiles latches on tight and begins kissing Derek back, as if
to stick them so close together that the only way Derek could leave again were
if he'd be willing enough to take Stiles with him.
The piles of blankets discarded with urgency tell their story now, the clothes
strewn across the floor, the shouldered thrusts and rolling motions warming the
mattress, where Stiles and Derek connect in their heat, a speck of warmth in a
world of dark and cold. It makes Stiles shudder, and Derek just pushes forward,
hooks Stiles' ankles over his shoulders, bending him in half as they
desperately rock against each other, panicked, stricken, unstable—every form of
fleeting.
Stiles can't bear the look in Derek's eyes so he turns his head to the side,
gasps into the pillow. His heart rapidly pounds, clenching, aching, and he
suddenly wishes for Derek to be gone again, to be gone so he can go back to
missing him and not hating him like hates him right now.
"Look at me," Derek growls, thrusting deep, so deep Stiles knows tomorrow he's
going to ache. Ache in a good way. Ache like he's ached for weeks. An ache he
savors. An ache, when it starts to fade, he'll crave having back. But the one
ache he wishes would disappear still stubbornly lingers, doesn't budge an inch.
"Look at me, goddamn it," Derek bites out and, even still coming, getting his
fix, feeling the drug that is Derek course through his veins, every bone in his
body, every gasp that escapes him, every atom that Stiles is made of, knows
this is the last time.
He doesn't want to fuck Derek goodbye—that's the trouble—he wants to kiss him
goodnight, knowing that they'll both be there in the morning. For once, he
wants to have his heart rest easy.
He knows that Xander is still part of him, that Xander still lives inside him,
same as his mother and father—every person he's ever loved, keeping them
alive—and it's just so fucking difficult with so many people between them, even
though most of them only exist as ghosts—in his head, in his heart, in his
lungs. He knows that Derek can probably taste every single one of them when
they kiss, and perhaps it will always be that way, with their past being the
only thing standing in their way.
The creaking floorboards, the whispers of Derek's footsteps, come back to bed
now. Stiles is afraid to shut his eyes. He knows what will happen as soon as he
does. "You can't keep coming back like this," he whispers into the dark. He
knows Derek can hear him from the other side of the bed. "It hurts too much."
 
*** 
 
"I miss Uncle Derek," Junior says as Stiles tucks him in. Sammy softly nods
from his bed, eyes closed. "Why won't he come home, Mommy?"
Stiles holds his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the covers as he sits by
Sammy's bedside. "I don't know, Moonpie," he answers honestly. "What do you
think?"
Junior shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. Stiles leans over to switch off the
night lamp. "I think Uncle Derek's in love with you," he quietly says, and
Stiles' heart jumps in his chest. Junior doesn't look at him. "I like pigeons,
Mommy."
"Yeah?" Stiles feels his nose burn with the effort it takes to hold back the
tears.
"Yeah. They're free to leave, but they choose stay." Junior does look at him
then. "Will Uncle Derek stay?"
Stiles leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead. He switches the light
off. He ignores the strange feeling of Derek not being here with him to do it.
"I don't know, Moonpie." He lays right there on the cold floor between his
sons. He doesn't sleep.
 
***
 
Stiles doesn't know what it is exactly that tells him, but apparently Cora
feels it, too. The exact moment that Derek relapses into a complete feral. She
looks like she's biked all the way over, hair a mess, half her jacket falling
away from her torso as she stumbles out onto the back porch, facing the woods.
The look on her face is one Stiles will never forget.
"No," she murmurs, shaking her head. "No. No. No. Not again. No! Derek!"She
hurls herself off the deck. "Derek!" She shouts it again, "Derek! I know you're
out there! Derek! Derek! Remember who you are? Derek!" Shaking, Cora keeps
shouting Derek's name to the empty, frigid woods, until she stumbles and
catches herself just before falling.
Stiles presses his fingers to his lips as tears run down his cheeks.
He watches Cora scream herself hoarse, the neighbors yelling out their windows
for her to shut up, but she ignores them. The sun just begins peeking out over
the horizon as Cora finally falls to her knees, stooped down in the dewy grass,
staring at the treeline. Stiles can hear her sobs all the way from the porch.
He says nothing, but watches, waiting.
They eat breakfast in silence.
It isn't until later that Stiles realizes that they hadn't exchanged a single
word.
 
===============================================================================
 
That's where Stiles finds him. The treeline. And not for the first time, Derek
grieves for the omega. Derek isn't sorry that he met Stiles. He's sorry Stiles
met him. I can't take that I've hurt you when all I want to do is protect you,
he thinks, looking at the beauty before him. "I warned you. I told you we were
fucked up, didn't I? I told you we'd destroy you. We are poison."
How could you ever want me?
"Don't go." Stiles doesn't move forward, doesn't know how to treat a wolf
that's completely taken over, doesn't know who he's really talking to. "They're
scared," he whispers. The boys.
"What about you?" Derek asks. "Are you scared?"
Stiles shakes his head, not saying no, but pleading. "Derek, don't do this-"
"I don't want to be like this, Stiles!" Derek snaps, wolf prowling, growling
under his skin, showing its ugly face through Derek's canines, his claws. "I'm
not the good guy, remember? I'm the selfish one! I take what I want—I do what I
want! I lie to my family, I ruin my brother, I fall in love with his wife, I
don't do the right thing!"
Stiles shakes his head again, and Derek hates the hope he sees in the omega's
eyes. He hates it because all he'll do is crush it. "You don't understand,"
Stiles says, like he's about to say something else, but Derek stops him.
"I do," Derek snarls. "I do understand. When you're reminded of him, or hear
his name, or see his face in your children, I understand that you share a past
with Xander that I know nothing about. I understand, Stiles." Derek's breath
catches, his wolf whining in the same moment. "I understand and I love you
anyway."
"No," Stiles says, straightening up suddenly. "I love you." Stiles closes the
space between them, anger etched into his features, severe and foreign. "I have
told you I love you. You don't trust anything unless you've strangled it to the
ground, and that's why you brush it off and you don't think I'm capable of
feeling the way I do and you make me feel so small for even trying to tell you,
and I love you, Derek, I love you, but you-" he's crying now "-You love your
anger. You don't have room in your heart for anything else." He settles into
his sadness, a sigh of defeat that breaks Derek's heart. "And I can't be the
only reason you keep coming back. I can't be that for you." He steps away, and
Derek's wolf whines inside him, cries for his mate. "I won't be the only thing
that keeps you human."
Derek is rooted to the spot, a cornered, caged animal.
"I am tired of crying. I am tired of being sad. I am tired of feeling like shit
and being treated like shit and I'm tired of being tired of everything. I can
forgive a lot of things. I didn't know how many things until now, but it turns
out, it's a lot." Stiles spares him a moment before saying, "What I can't do is
let myself love someone I can't trust." Derek folds back, flinching. "I can't
be with someone if every time they walk out the door I don't know if I'm ever
gonna see them again," Stiles says, voice breaking, like it kills him to say it
as much as it kills Derek to hear it. He says nothing more, frustrated tears
staining his cheeks, that hope, that stubborn fucking hope—still there.
"Oh, Derek," Stiles murmurs, lifting a hand to cup Derek's cheek, ignoring the
monster he surely sees, seeing neither beast nor man, just Derek. "You don't
deserve this," he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, closing his
eyes, letting the last of his tears fall. "You don't deserve this life."
Derek savors the cool of the omega's palm against his rugged face, refuses to
blink, memorizes every line and slope of Stiles' face, every color in those
eyes, everything they tell him, before he pulls himself away. "No," he says.
"The only thing I don't deserve is you."
He loves Stiles, with every cell in his body, Derek loves him. And it's because
Derek loves him that he can't be selfish with him.
This time, Stiles doesn't hesitate. He tears his eyes away from Derek,
retreating back into the house and shutting the door, and the next morning,
when Derek lays eyes on the empty fishbowl, he knows Stiles finally did the
leaving before he could be left.
Chapter End Notes
     Fucking fight me.
***** Chapter 29 *****
Chapter Notes
     This_Time_-_Jarryd_James
See the end of the chapter for more notes
So it comes to this: Derek would have lost him either way.
If Stiles hadn't saved himself, Derek would have lost him to the wolf. And now
the wolf pumps it's poison through Derek's veins, and he loses Stiles like
Derek loses everything he loves.
I won't let this be our goodbye.
But it's never really been up to him, has it?
 
***
 
Beacon Hills is not a place Derek thought Xander would be.
He's going ten miles over the speed limit, heart in his throat as he swerves
through traffic, searching the street names for the right one. He makes a sharp
turn, hears the sirens and assumes they're for him, sees the smoking house at
the end of the cul-de-sac and knows they're for Xander.
"Sir, you can't-"
He doesn't even bother switching the car off, shoves his way past the first
line of cops, through the vigilant crowd, dives under the tape and makes a run
for the charred door faster than he's done anything in his life.
He catches one glimpse of an omega with wide eyes staring after him. There are
two little boys loaded into the back of an ambulance. Derek doesn't need to
look again to know what this is.
The smoke flooding his lungs and the burn of the flames licking his flesh do
nothing to deter him as he enters the burning house, set on finding his
brother.

***
 
Lydia carries out the last box, loading it up into the trunk of her car. She
turns her keys over in her hands, sizing Derek up as he stands back from the
curb, blank expression cast upon his face. "I told you not to fall in love with
him." She dips her head like she understands, staring out over Derek's
shoulder, lost in her own recollection.
She drives away without another word, taking the last traces of Stiles with
her.
  
***
 
"What are you doing here?" Xander croaks from across the room, leg trapped
under a fallen plank, flames ablaze around them. After a momentary flash of
shock at seeing his brother, Derek rushes over, ducking his head at the last
minute to avoid a chunk of ceiling as it falls overhead.
He says nothing, goes straight for Xander's sprawled out body without a word,
trying to haul the wood off Xander's trapped leg, and Xander cries out in pain.
His voice tapers out into a fit of coughs and wheezing. He catches Derek's
eyes, softly shaking his head. "It's okay."
"No." Derek uses his full weight to topple the plank over, finally freeing
Xander's leg. What he sees when he lays his eyes on Xander's bottom half makes
him look away, crawling over to his brother's upper torso to help bear his
weight, sliding Xander's arm around his neck and lifting.
Xander cries out again, and his heart pounds away in Derek's ears, too weak,
fading by the second as Derek begins dragging them back to the front of the
house.
Another chunk of ceiling falls, setting the kitchen completely ablaze, igniting
something so quick that Derek has no time to react before he and Xander are
being thrown through a wall, debris toppling down over them.

***
 
Cora looks haggard. She doesn't speak, refuses to even look at him. "God, Cora,
what do you want from me?" He rubs a tired hand over his face, aching for a
run, a moment to let his wolf do the talking, but he owes her this much. "What
do you want?"
She says nothing.
"Cora-"
"I want you to grow up," she snaps, dark, steadfast gaze seeing right through
him. "What did you think, that you could just live off your fight money
forever, prancing around in a dream world with Stiles?" She shakes her head,
managing to laugh without smiling. "Stiles may have been the one to walk away,
Derek, but you're the one that left. Xander's gone. You're Xander now. Start
acting like an adult or you're going to lose everything for good." She's
breathing heavily, eyes flitting all over his face. "Do you have any idea what
it did to me when you left?"
Derek stares back at her wild, angry eyes.
"Do you have a single fucking clue?" She visibly swallows, holding her emotions
back. "Everyone leaves," Cora spits out, eyes shining with unshed tears, but
Derek barely feels the force of her anger, barely feels anything. "Why does
everyone fucking leave?" She glares at Derek through her tears. "Dad left us,
then Xander left, you left—and now you're leaving again. How is that fair to
me? How is that okay?"
Derek looks at her and sees himself. "It's not," he tells her honestly. "It's
not fair." His palms sweat under the table, claws piercing the skin of his
knees as he fists his jeans. "I have to leave." Cora flinches back,
disbelieving eyes following him as he rises from his seat. "I'll only hurt you
again," Derek quietly admits, more for himself than for her.
Cora shakes her head, staring up at him, lips pressed firmly together. "If you
leave, Derek," she says steadily, "you'd be doing the one thing that would hurt
me."
Derek looks away from her.
"I won't lose you both," Cora says, voice breaking. "I can't."
Derek keeps his eyes on the window. "I'm sorry it has to be this way."
Cora jolts away from the table, gathering her things in a rush, plumes of
bitter, bitter hatred wafting off her.
"I'm sorry."
"You said that already," Cora snaps, voice biting, meeting his gaze, standing
but a few feet between Derek and the door. "Do me a favor and just save it.
Don't make it any worse for Liam. Save Scott the heartache. And don't tell me
you'll call. 'Cause then we'll get our hopes up. Call us if you want to. Don't
call if you don't. Just don't make promises you can't keep, Derek."
She looks at him one last time before standing.
"You didn't die in that fire, Derek."
She leaves without waiting for his reply.
 
***
 
Derek sees Xander's mouth moving from where he lays a few feet away, head
turned in Derek's direction, face covered in soot and grime and sweat, tear
tracks running down his cheeks. At once, all sound rushes back to him, flooding
his head with the crackle of the fire, the creaking of the crumbling house, the
muffled whines that escape his brother's throat as he tries to catch Derek's
attention.
"Derek!"
He tries to move, only to cry out in agony, arm bent at an odd angle, his leg
feeling so shattered that it's numb at this point. He can barely move his neck.
"Derek! Can you move?"
Xander wheezes, collapses into another fit of coughing, and Derek cringes,
can't stand the sound of all this fucking smoke tearing at Xander's weakening
lungs.
Derek forces himself onto his side, cries out again as he bears down onto his
bad arm for a moment, grits his teeth as he crawls his way to his brother. He
collapses at the last moment, breath leaving his lungs in a rush, smoke finding
its way in, and he gasps out, feeling the effects of the toxins in the air
catching hold of him.
Xander lifts a shaking hand, folds it over Derek's head, feeling the dark
strands of hair under his fingers for a moment before bringing their foreheads
together. "It's okay," he chokes out, gripping Derek tightly, keeping them
close, and he says it again, "It's okay. It's okay."
He's crying, and Derek cries, too, because this is it. He falls onto his back
beside his brother, letting the noxious air rush into his lungs. "What're you
thinking about?"
Xander wheezes once more and Derek rolls his head slightly, sees that's he's
laughing at the same time. Xander turns to him, runs his eyes over Derek's
face. "Us."
Derek's throat closes up, and not just because of the poison he now breathes
in. This can't be it. This can't be how it ends. There's so much more he wants
to ask, so much that hasn't been said.
Have you been good?
Have you been happy?
Did it kill you to leave me behind?
And it's like Xander knows, because he smiles suddenly, bright, full of light
and love, unconditional. And as they lay back, watching each other, waiting for
death, Xander says softly, with the last of his breath, "Tell them I love
them."
Derek closes his eyes, darkness falling over him, and hears their heartbeats
synchronize, beating, beating, beating, softly, slowly, slowly, and
then—nothing.
 
*** 
 
"Is-" Scott pauses, staring down at his shoes, and he begins again: "Is there
even a little chance that you might come back from this?"
Derek looks at his brother, takes in the stubbornly crooked set of his jaw, how
big he's grown, his mature alpha scent. He thinks of Cora's words.
"You're not a kid anymore, Scott. I won't lie to you."
 
***

As Derek comes to, all he knows is pain. His eyes flutter open to a blinding
light, and he flinches away from it.
"Welcome back," a voice above him says.
Derek blinks. "Where was I?" he mutters, vision slowly clearing, the room
settling around him. No. Not a room-
"It's okay-"
Derek feels his hands begin shaking, his eyes searching around. "Where was I?"
"You have to relax-"
Derek stares up at the man in dark uniform, the smell of antiseptic
overwhelming, the lights around him blinding, the whirring of the ambulance
tires underfoot grating on his nerves, making him nauseous. "Where's Xander?"
he gasps out.
"You gotta stay still-"
Derek keeps searching around, eyes falling to his left, a dark, limp hand
coming to view, resting upon a cot, sticking out of a gray blanket. "Xander?"
He reaches for the hand. "Xander?"
The EMT holds him to his own cot, keeping him still, and Derek tries to push
him away, begins writhing. "You've gotta rest-"
"Xander!" Derek cries, trying to reach for his brother, feels the hot sting of
tears spring to his eyes. "Xander! No!" The technician uncaps a syringe. "No,
no! No! Stop! No! That's my brother! Xander! I can't leave him, I can't leave
him, no, God-" there's a needle in his arm, and he sees Xander's calm face,
eyes closed, chest unmoving "-No! I'm sorry, Xander, I'm sorry!" Derek falls
back, exhausted, heart ripped out of his chest, sobbing. It was like Derek had
known all along that Xander would die, that they would find his body like this,
ruined and undone, that he would be gone from them and they would never fix
what had been broken.
I'm sorry that you're gone now.
I'm sorry it's too late.
The last thing he remembers is praying for death to take him, too.
 
***
 
He stands with a towel tied around his waist, fresh out of the shower, refusing
to meet his own eyes in the mirror. He focuses on the mug on the counter, takes
note of the four toothbrushes it still holds. And when the sudden slew of
memories grow too sudden and strong, he looks away, to his left, eyes catching
the tub where all the boys' bath toys still lay messily inside.
Derek chokes on his own breath for a moment, reality setting in, his calm
breaking apart. He feels the tear slide down his cheek in the same moment his
wolf wakes up and shows itself, and Derek finally takes in his reflection,
meets his own eyes, and falls apart right there in front of the sink, feeling
his mind slip, his control completely melt away, the pain of it all consuming
him.
He hears the heartbeat in the doorway, strong and steady, echoing through the
house, making Derek’s head spin. He turns to face whoever it is, threat poised
on his tongue, but his eyes widen, losing his balance just standing there, and
he feels the rest of the tears before he feels the hand on his shoulder-
"You're supposed to be dead," he gasps out, afraid to move.
"Back by popular demand," Xander responds, grinning that same grin, flashing
those same dimples, and Derek feels like his heart has been torn out of his
fucking chest. "This isn't real," Xander says gently, smile turning sad. "You
know that."
Derek swallows, shaken. "If you're still dead, why the fuck are you here?"
Xander shrugs. "I'm here to tell you to get your shit together. Lots of ground
to cover, I get that, but maybe, I don't know, start with getting some closure
with your dad?"
Derek remains stock still, hands shaking. Where does he even begin? "I think
it's going to take more than you dying to fix years of resentment, missed
birthdays, and all the dysfunctional bullshit that comes with the territory,"
Derek says, more than slightly bitter, refusing to blink so as not to let
Xander slip away.
Xander chuckles, but Derek doesn't get the joke. "Well, what about Mom?"
"What about her?" Derek spits out. What about you?
"Derek," Xander sighs. "You can't keep holding onto your anger." He shakes his
head. "It won't bring me back."
"No," Derek agrees, nose burning, staring at his brother. "But it makes me
remember."
"Why would you want to remember?"
"Because you're part of me." His throat tightens. "Because I love you."
Xander steps forward, squeezes Derek's shoulder again, hand warm, like there's
real blood pumping under his skin, like this is really him and this is really
real. "If you love me, you'll live your fucking life," he says, like it's
laughable. "You'll forgive yourself, Derek. You'll forgive Mom and your dad."
He looks sad. "You'll forgive me."
Derek doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know how to keep Xander here longer.
There was never enough time, there's no time now. It's never been enough and it
never will be. "Remember the day I borrowed your brand new car and dented it?"
he finds himself asking. "I thought you'd kill me. But you didn't." Xander gets
an amused look on his face. "And remember that time I dragged you to Balboa
even though you said the forecast had a storm planned for us? I thought you'd
say 'I told you so'. But you didn't. My first time being designated driver, I
insisted on getting absolutely hammered, remember that? I thought you'd get
pissed or—just leave. But you didn't. And that time I pissed in the cage and
blamed it on you? I thought you'd snitch, I thought you'd yell at me. You
didn't." Derek looks at Xander, really looks at him, like he's seeing him for
the first time. But he knows this time around, he's seeing him for the last.
"There were lots of things you didn't do. But you put up with me. You loved me.
And there was so much I wanted to make up to you when you got back from
wherever you'd gone," Derek says. "But you didn't."
Xander opens his mouth, then closes it again.
"You could have told us," Derek says roughly. "You could have told me, Xander.
Why couldn't you trust me? You just left."
"I know. I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you through that." Xander
shakes his head and says, "I loved Stiles too much. I had to do what was best
for my family."
Derek feels it like a blow to the chest. "Then what am I? Was I not your
family?"
Xander looks him dead in the eye. "Always."
"I didn't realize how badly I was falling apart, because...you were leaving,
Xander. You left. I mean, my dad left, and Mom left, in her own way, and after
you, I left, I took myself away, and I could deal with that, I could find a way
to deal, because it wasn't—it wasn't you." Derek shakes his head. "I went feral
to get away, to forget everything. I thought I didn't have anything to lose.
And it really worked, Xander, it's all gone when you're the wolf, it's just
what I wanted. It's perfect. It's absolute nothing." He closes his eyes. "All
this...pain, this-" His voice fails him again, suddenly dangerously unsteady.
But he doesn't let himself stop. He opens his eyes. "-guilt. Because of what
I've done, what I've let myself become, it would—it would be gone." He stops,
rubs his hand across his face. His voice is nearly inaudible. "But that's just
what I do, isn't it, Xander? Give up and then make myself disappear?"
He forgets for a moment that Xander is even standing there, so shocked by his
own grief, his pain, how truly fucked it's all become.
"Why are you crying, Derek?"
Derek sniffs. "I'm crying because I miss you." He catches his breath. "I tried
to save you. I did. I tried to get you out. I tried to get you to breathe, and
you did, you were, but it wasn't enough, you weren't healing fast enough. You
had taken in so much of the smoke. You died crying." Derek takes a steady
breath. "I held you. You were safe. You died-" he chokes"-loved." His vision
blurs.
Xander closes the last of the distance, holds Derek's face in his large hands
as he presses their foreheads together, breath warm on Derek's cheeks. "We'll
always be brothers."
When Derek opens his eyes again, Xander is gone.
"Ah, Xander," Derek says, and his voice catches in his throat as he falls back
against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor. "Magic Hands." He's so
ashamed. For having kept Xander on the margins of his memory. He's so ashamed.
Never again, Xander. I'm done running.
He's sorry that Xander left before he ever got the real chance to say goodbye,
and tell him he loves him, and tell him how sorry he is. He's sorry life became
so screwed that neither of them knew what was going on.
Derek's sorry he'll never see him again.
I hope it's nice where you are.
I hope everything's worked out for you one way or another.
I love you, brother.
I promise I always will.
Chapter End Notes
     Oh, boy.
***** Chapter 30 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'll_Be_Good_-_Jaymes_Young
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Deaton waits patiently across from Derek, seated at the table in the gym's
little kitchen, sips at his coffee every few minutes, in no rush at all. When
it's obvious that Derek has no idea how to even begin, Deaton gently cuts
through the silence. "What happened to you, Derek?"
Derek swallows, forces his voice out. "Stiles happened."
Another minute goes by, Deaton taking his time to draw his own conclusions.
"You love him." Derek tenses, waiting for a clatter of a mug, a curse,
something. "You love that boy."
Derek keeps staring down at the table.
"I think you love him more than you can bear."
There's no judgment in Deaton's voice, just softness, and Derek wants to smile
at how much it reminds him of Xander, but another part of him, the newly opened
wound of Stiles' absence, weighs on his heart.
Deaton finishes his coffee by the end of the hour, sticks around to continue
catching up with Derek, and Derek, not for the first time, wonders why it took
him so long to reach out to the other man. He wonders why Deaton never reached
out to him. He knows, logically—Xander—but it goes slightly deeper than that.
"And your father?" Deaton asks. And when Derek says nothing: "Your mother? How
is she?"
Derek could laugh. "Well, you know her."
"True," Deaton says. "But I also know you."
Derek shifts in his seat, forces himself to meet Deaton's eyes as he says, "You
never told me why you weren't there. Why you didn't stick around." Deaton tilts
his head. "Xander had to go looking for you."
The doctor takes a moment to consider Derek's words, suddenly extremely
enraptured by the coffee ring on the table. "I was young," he finally says. "I
was scared."
"What, and Mom wasn't?"
Deaton sighs. "Fear can make a person do stupid things." He chuckles in the
next second, looking up at Derek. "So can love."
 
***
 
"The title fight?"
Talia nods, eyes locked on her computer screen.
"Why isn't Laura here to tell me that herself?" Derek asks, nerves suddenly
running high, and he sits up.
"I don't know, Derek. I don't know why Laura does anything she does." Talia
sighs, finally looking up from her desktop, rubbing the tired out of her eyes.
"Now that your little meltdown is over we can finally get back training. You're
lucky Chris is even giving you a second chance considering you've got barely a
month and half before you need to start cutting. He's got every reason to drop
you. This is it."
Derek rolls his head back, disbelieving. "Where have I heard that before?"
"Don't bitch at me, I'm getting you back on track."
"On track? To what? Where?" Derek snaps, standing up. "What's the agenda now,
Mom? Where am I going next? Where would it please you for me to go?"
Talia rises from behind her desk. "What's the fucking matter with you?"
"I was falling apart right in front of your eyes and you couldn't even see it."
Derek holds her gaze and Talia flinches. "Can I talk to my mother and not my
trainer for all of five seconds?"
Talia's jaw visibly clenches. "You think every single time that you were down
and crying on the mat I was in the corner smiling? No. It hurt me just as much.
We did what we had to do to get you here."
Derek feels his eyes go wide. "There was never any 'we'. Your word was gospel."
"Oh, so now you're a victim? When did you ever tell me that you didn't want
this?"
"When I went fucking feral!" Derek roars, chest heaving with the effort it
takes to reign in his wolf.
"You promised me that was a mistake," Talia whispers, slowly circling her desk.
"You wanted it to be a mistake. When I needed a mother you were always my
manager."
"I was your manager, I was your mother, I was your father, I was whatever I had
to be in order to take care of you!" Talia yells, eyes wild.
"You didn't take care of me, you took care of my career," Derek spits back at
her.
"And I made you a fucking champion!"
"And everyone who looked down on you would suddenly look up to you. Prove to
the world you weren't a fuck-up, right?" Derek clenches his jaw. "It was never
about me, it was always about you."
Talia lifts a hand too quickly, bringing her claws down across Derek's face.
"Don't you dare question my love for you!" she cries, realizing her mistake too
late, staring down at her own hand in horror.
Derek straightens himself, a strange calm washing over him as he feels the warm
trickles of blood trailing down his face. "You're fired."
He leaves.
 
***
 
Laura fidgets with her water bottle, screws and unscrews the cap, takes a sip.
"No one's out to hurt you, Laura," Derek says, standing across from his sister
as she sits on his sofa.
Laura smiles. "Yeah, well, no one's trying to help me, either."
Derek doesn't know what to say.
"I just wanted you to help me," Laura says, rubbing a tired hand over her face,
laughing into it, self-deprecating. "That's it. I didn't want you to change. I
didn't want you to hate me. I just wanted help." She pulls her hand away.
"That's all I've ever wanted."
"Please stop talking," Derek says, facing away from her.
"I'm sorry," Laura whispers. She starts getting up.
"Don't leave," Derek says and his shoulders collapse. His face does, too. He
hides it in his hands, and then suddenly he's just a little kid again. They
both are.
Derek turns to face Laura, and everything he loves is right there in her eyes,
the memories tangible: the school days and late nights, the cheap wine coolers
and bloody fights. She was there for the maternal absence in their lives
despite having a mother, their father's abandonment, there to hold him until he
fell asleep when it all became too much to bear alone. It was all there, and by
God, each memory was suddenly sacred, and the sun rose and set upon it. "I love
you. I love you for the same reasons that everyone loves you. Because in spite
of every single thing you've done, I can't live without you."
Laura's heartbeat echoes in Derek's ears, her tears welling up. "You raised
me," Derek tells her. "You're the voice in my head. Not Mom, not Peter, not
even Xander. You."
Laura nods and begins crying, but she also attempts a smile. Their eyes lock,
and everything stupid is washed away by their flood of tears. What's left is
love. Derek knows they'll close back up. He knows they'll be big and little
shits again. But for this bit of space and time, they flow into each other like
water. Thank you, he says silently.
They split the last Watermelon Punch out on the lawn, Derek feeling more than
subtly nostalgic and fuzzy inside, no shame in drinking straight from the pink
bottle. Laura doesn't mention the absence of Stiles' Jeep out by the curb or
how his scent, or lack thereof, is already fading.
"I can tell how you feel about him," Laura says, and she sounds shrouded at her
own intuition. "Your voice is different whenever you talk about him."
And Derek knows that Laura knows him better than he probably knows himself, so
he just nods, sips his wine cooler, and waits.
 
***
 
"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I need it." Derek watches every
movement on Cora's face, drinks in every flare up of emotion, every change in
her breath. "I do. I need you to forgive me. Because I really can't stand the
idea of you hating me forever." God, why does he have to be so shit with words?
Cora looks on for a moment, takes only a few seconds before she's interrupting
him. "I could've run, too."
Derek shakes his head, and she holds a hand up.
"I could've run, and maybe I should have. But I didn't. I stayed. I stayed
because somebody had to. And you swoop in here, you make promises to Liam and
plans with Scott and Laura thinks that's her cue to get fucked up like it's
going out of style. And then you leave. And then you swoop back in and you make
Scott think he's got his brother back again and you make Liam lose his
understanding of what promises really mean and then we have Laura laying
plastered out on some park bench in the cold night because she thinks you
finally coming home means it's her turn to disappear, and then you swoop on out
again! And you leave me pining, all, 'Derek, where's Derek?' You're just a big
swooper, that's what you are!"
Cora takes a moment to breathe, to come back into control.
"And when you fell apart, it broke my fucking heart." She grits her teeth,
tears brimming, and Derek covers her hand with his own, squeezes. "It killed
me, Derek."
Derek nods, lets them sit in the quiet for a while.
Cora sniffs. "I just-" she twitches, trying to form the right words "-I want
you to know that..."
"I know, Cora."
She looks up at her brother. He smiles.
"I know."
She crushes him to her.
 
***
 
Derek testifies in the most disgustingly nerve-wracking case he could ever hope
to be part of.
Least to say, no one will be missing Peter Hale any time soon.
 
***
 
Braeden Tandy has a coaching style that Derek can't quite wrap his head around.
She's no Talia Hale.
She's perfect.
 
***
 
"Let me tell you something, Greenberg, WUFC fighters are faced with one thing
that non-were fighters are not, which is the battle with the wolf on top of the
physical battle with their opponent, so this really is the ultimate test for
Derek Hale, absolutely unheard of in every regard, where he really needs to
prove once and for all that he's not only fighter material, but that he's got
what it takes to be the best."
Scott hovers by the TV, keeping the volume to a minimum, though it does little
to prevent Derek from hearing it from a room over, trying to find some
headspace as he begins his warm up. Cora raises a brow at him and he shakes his
head. I'm fine.
"Kali and her camp are taking a huge gamble by putting her in the cage with
Derek tonight. Friends don't let recovering alcoholic friends participate in
wine tastings. You just don't take an ex-street fighter and toss him back into
a cage the night of a full moon for your title fighter to go up against.
Just my two cents," comes Finstock's finishing report, and Derek hears Laura
tsk.
He moves to the sink, draws out his shaving cream and razor, taking one last,
long look at his beard. He's never been one for metaphors, but it seems
suitable. A new dawn and all that. He thinks of his mother, the only person who
was allowed to trim his hair so long as she could help it. Traction. But he
doesn't scoff. Instead, as he makes the first swipe, he thinks of Junior, who
so eloquently managed to inform Derek of the very real fear-of-beards
condition, Junior who latched onto Derek and grew and grew and grew, and kept
growing until he became an unstoppable, unforgettable piece of Derek's heart,
like Sammy, like Stiles. 
Derek hears every other report and analysis up until he's clean shaven, staring
at a man in the mirror who he's not sure he recognizes. Maybe that isn't the
worst thing. He lets each discouragement on the TV ground and lock him in. To
prove them wrong. He closes his eyes and imagines Stiles standing before him,
silver arrowhead hanging from his neck. To prove you right.
 
***
 
To a point they were all speaking the truth.
Derek lines himself up across from Kali Terrell for the last time, squaring his
shoulders.
The wolf howls inside.
He feels the shutter and flash of every camera in the arena go off as he swings
a left punch, making Kali lose her footing.
A moment of clarity, fighting the animal call for blood, a white beacon of
light, and time slows.
He swings a left uppercut, sending Kali flying back, knocking her out cold onto
the canvas.
He's unfolding, unfurling, grits his teeth as the fighter in him bursts
through. The crowd is on their feet, cheering madly for the new middleweight
titleholder.
Southpaw! Southpaw! Southpaw!
And he is neither wolf nor man—just Derek.
 
***
 
"Sammy asks about you," Lydia says, arms crossed. She sniffs.
"Yeah, well, he doesn't need me." Derek won't meddle where's he's not wanted.
"He's got his mother and his brother. And you."
Lydia slurps from her juice box. "He hates his new toys. Makes a fuss over
everything."
"He'll grow out of it. He'll learn to like them."
Lydia tosses her juice into the bin, sliding her shades back on. "Well, he
doesn't want any other stuffed wolves. He only wants Chomby."
Oddly enough, she doesn't bother taking the thing with her when she leaves
again.
 
***
 
Someday, maybe they'll run into each other again.
Derek knows it. Maybe he'll be older and happier and just plain better. If that
happens, that's when he'll deserve Stiles. But now, at this moment, he's glad
Stiles didn't hook his boat to Derek's because he was liable to sink them both.
Still, sometimes Derek is reminded so much of Xander that he silently has to
repeat the names of different dinosaurs just to keep himself from crying. Derek
still thinks about Junior's voice in his ear, lecturing about the history of
the earth while Stiles' fingers trace his ribcage. In the end, Derek's mind
always manages to run into some piece of him. Stiles is one of those junk
drawers, the ones full of unrelated items. He's the one with the dead
batteries, small appliance manuals, loose change, where he had his first kiss,
his go-to joke, his theories on why Thursday is the greatest day, and
everything else that Derek can't forget in no apparent order.
He'd stuck around. Until he finally left, he'd stuck around. He's the boy who
stayed. Even when he had every reason not to.
The doorbell goes off, and Derek sees empty air as he swings it open, brows
drawing together as he takes a whiff, and in the same moment-
"Down here, Uncle Derek," Junior says, lifting his floof of hair out of the way
to peek upward. "Can I come in?"
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter is a gift/prompt fill for PND, who really wanted a full-
     length Beyond the Lights au from me but instead got this brief fight
     scene between mother and son. Maybe one day I'll make a full-length
     fic of it. Sorry for sucking.
***** Chapter 31 *****
Chapter Notes
     Josephine_-_Ritual
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek stares for a good, long moment. "How did you get here?"
"I took the bus," Junior says.
"Yeah, but-" Derek furrows his brows "-you're seven. What'd you do, memorize a
map of the city for the fun of it?"
Junior gets a puzzled look on his face. "Yes. Didn't you?"
Derek's mouth drops further, still in shock. He steps back, pulling the door
further open, and Junior lets himself in. He glances out at the driveway, the
sidewalk, seeing no sign of Stiles. "Please tell me your mom knows you're
here."
"He doesn't," Junior says, and plops his little backpack down by the coatrack,
chucking his shoes off and running over to the couch, making himself at home.
Derek closes the door, sighs into his hand.
"I was three years old when Mommy was diagnosed with my brother, Uncle Derek,"
Junior says. "It was a very difficult time for me when I first heard the news."
He sighs. "But Sammy can be quite useful. He'll take care of Mommy while I'm
gone."
The door opens again and Braeden walks in, raising a brow when she sees Junior.
"You didn't tell me you were having guests."
Derek sighs again. "Trust me. This was not part of the plan when I woke up this
morning."
Braeden shows herself to the kitchen, begins loading some groceries into the
fridge. Derek turns back to Junior, pulls his phone out, thumbing through his
contacts until he reaches Stiles.
Junior flys off the couch. "Wait, Uncle Derek!"
"What is it?"
"Why did you leave?"
Derek meets Junior's bright eyes. "It's complicated."
"Do you love Mommy?"
Derek stops, heart skipping a beat. "It's complicated."
Junior frowns and crosses his arms. "That's what adults say when they don't
want to admit they don't know something." He looks away. "But I think you know,
Uncle Derek. I think you know that you love Mommy and I think Mommy loves you."
"It's not that simple, kid," Derek says, crouching down to Junior's level.
"Sometimes that's just not enough."
Junior glares into the kitchen, pouting. "Uncle Derek," he murmurs. "Have you
ever heard of the olive theory? How someone who hates olives is supposedly
destined to fall in love with someone who loves them? Well, Mommy hates olives.
And that one time at Ikea you picked them all out of his salad and ate them."
He clutches Derek's arm, holding him still. "Just—think about it, will you?
Instead of wasting your time with that girl?" He wrinkles his nose at Braeden.
"I bet she loves olives." He sternly shakes his head. "Too much olive lovin'
ain't good for nobody, Uncle Derek."
 
***
 
Derek doesn't call. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle hearing Stiles'
voice on the other end of the line. Instead he shoots the omega a text, hoping
his number hasn't changed.
Junior remains pouty, loudly slurping from his juice box as they wait for
Stiles to arrive. Braeden leaves, and Junior's scent grows more bitter by the
passing minute.
"Junior," Derek says, leaning forward. "Please don't be angry with me. Your
mom's probably worried himself sick."
The little alpha says nothing, glaring daggers up at Derek as he sucks on his
straw. When he's finished, he pushes his juice box away, folding his hands
neatly into his lap. "Mommy is the reason you got to see Daddy one last time,"
he says, staring down at his shoes.
Derek doesn't think he heard it right. "What?"
Junior looks up at him. "Mommy called you. The day Daddy died, he's the one
that called. He called you so you could say goodbye."
And suddenly the last puzzle piece slides into place, and Derek feels the
change in his breath as it all falls together, bright lights flying off in his
head.
"Uncle Derek?"
The phone call, the drive over, the reason he got to see Xander at all—it was
all because of Stiles.
 
***
 
When Derek lays eyes on Stiles, it's like he's in a dream.
The omega rushing up into the yard, taking Derek's breath away, as beautiful as
the first time Derek saw him, sinking to his knees, folding Junior into his
arms, heartbeat echoing in Derek's ears as he holds his son close.
Derek swallows, stands back and just watches, hands shyly tucked into his
pockets as Stiles frets over Junior, cupping his face, hugging him close until
he's satisfied. When he looks up at Derek, the alpha's breath catches in his
throat. Stiles murmurs something to Junior, to go wait in the Jeep, and he
turns to face Derek, eyes running over the alpha's face.
"Hi."
It takes Derek a second, quickly clearing his throat. "Hey."
Stiles can't keep his gaze focused, keeps raking his eyes over Derek,
strangely, and he catches himself as Derek clears his throat again. "It's, uh-
I just haven't seen you without a beard before."
Ah. Derek huffs.
Stiles wrings his hands, looking away. "How've you been?"
Derek nods. "Good." A beat. "You?"
A small smile. "Yeah, good. We've been good." He runs a hand down the front of
his sundress, smoothing the white fabric out, and his eyes fall on the 'for
sale' sign out front, pegged into the grass by the sidewalk. "I see you've been
busy."
Derek bites the inside of his cheek. "I was-" he runs a hand over the back of
his neck "-I was planning to sell before you moved in last year. Kinda had to
forget about it after that."
Stiles nods, twisting his lips to the side. "Congrats on your win," he says,
changing the subject, and he finally looks up. "Your hard work finally paid
off."
Derek stares down at Stiles. What are they doing? Standing here, talking like
they've never held each other, never kissed. Fuck that."I know you didn't want
to be, but you're the reason," Derek murmurs, holding Stiles' gaze, voice a low
timbre, quiet but steady. "I did it for you. The look on your face, you were so
disappointed in me. But you believed that I could do this. And you were right."
Stiles starts shaking his head. "Derek-"
"You told me once I deserved good things. And standing right in front of me is
the best thing that's ever happened to me." He hears Stiles' heartbeat quicken,
his breath catch. "Everything good in my life is because of you. The day you
walked through that door, there was no going back." Derek swallows past his
nerves, plants his feet firmly, holds his ground. "So I don't want this house,
Stiles. If I can't have you in it, then I don't want it."
Stiles says nothing, the air between them thickening with the steadfast
silence.
"Junior once told me how you used to love butterflies," Derek says. "That you
loved them a lot, but that it was just a phase."
Stiles blinks. "I loved them," he whispers, then more clearly: "I loved a lot
of things."
"Do you still love me?"
"Do you still love me?"
"That's not an answer," Derek huffs.
Stiles' eyes grow shiny, lips parted and still no words.
Derek's heart drops into the pit of his stomach. "Stiles, do you love me?" He
feels his heart breaking all over again. "Or am I just butterflies?"
There's a moment in which Derek retreats back into himself, all hope already
abandoned, every piece of his heart feeling like it's been scattered to the
wind. Like dust. Then Stiles says, "When I first got my tattoo, Xander warned
me not to regret it." He sniffs, gazing up at Derek with his clear, amber eyes.
"And I didn't." His lips tug to the side, a little smile. "I don't. I love
butterflies." He smiles fully, big and bright and beautiful. "I love you."
"Wait," Derek stops him, posture tense. "I'm warning you. If you come any
closer," he says lowly, filled with shaking emotion, gravely sedate, "I'm never
letting you go."
Stiles closes the distance without a second to spare, hurling himself into
Derek's arms, and Derek wraps them around the omega—his—and feels the clean air
rush into his lungs, the scent of his mate, savors the rightness of how
perfectly they fit against each other. He pulls away first, legs pressed
against Stiles'. He touches the omega right above the hips, just where he
curves back in, waist warm and soft. "It feels like it's been forever," Derek
hums.
"Three months," Stiles whispers, and promptly bursts into tears.
Derek grips Stiles' face, brow furrowed in concern. What's gotten into him?
He's never like this: hysterical and inconsolable. "Stiles." Stiles grabs him
violently, clinging to his neck, and Derek's arms circle Stiles' slender waist.
"What is it?" he whispers, kissing the curve of Stiles' neck, breathing in the
sweet scent.
Oh.
"How-" He sharply inhales again. "How far along?"
Stiles sniffles and peers up at Derek. "Three months."
Derek feels the tears spring to his eyes. This is real, he tells himself,
leaning down to press his lips to Stiles'. This is real, this is real, this is
real.
Plot twist: the house you're going to sell becomes your home, the people you
were forced to take in become your family, and your brother's widow becomes the
love of your life. It's taken Derek this long to encourage himself to stop
wishing for a return or a sincere apology from the people who've repeatedly
wronged him, to let Xander go and hold the hand that's here. It's taken him
this long. But he's finally where he should be.
He's finally home.
Chapter End Notes
     Hallelujah! One chapter left!
     Also, I made a Tumblr! Nothing posted yet, but come hang out with me
     (◕ᴥ◕)
     New project is in the works!
***** Chapter 32 *****
Chapter Notes
     Dear_Brother_-_Johnnie_Walker
     Here it is! Beware of time skips and POV changes.
     Here we go!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"I would like," Theo begins, eyes still on Stiles' small, just-beginning-to-
round belly, "for your baby to be born into a world where things between you
and I are okay."
Stiles raises a brow.
"So...friends?"
Stiles can practically feel Derek rolling his eyes from the kitchen. He sighs.
"Aquaintances."
"I love you."
Stiles tenses.
Theo chuckles. "Kidding."
 
***
 
"Vegas?"
"Vegas," Laura confirms.
"You coming?"
"I don't think that'd be a good idea."
Derek shrugs. "You've been sober half a year. Thought you'd want to give it a
shot. It's my first title defense."
Laura twists her mouth to the side and squints, contemplating. "I do love the
Vegas."
"I didn't know you love the Vegas," Cora wryly remarks, grinning.
Laura smiles back. "I love the Vegas. Lovethe Vegas."
"Stiles," Scott says, turning to him, "how do you feel about the Vegas?"
Stiles swallows his mouthful of curly fries. "I've never been to the Vegas."
Liam gives him a look. "I don't care if you look like you've swallowed a beach
ball," he says, plopping down next to Stiles and snatching up a fry. "The Vegas
is calling us." He pats Stiles' belly. "All of us."
 
***
 
"Her name is Josephine," Derek says quietly, helping the boys up onto the
hospital bed, making sure they don't jostle Stiles around.
Junior sniffs, musing over the scent of their newest addition, and Sammy sighs,
dreamy, staring down at the pudgy baby cradled in Stiles' arms.
"No," Sammy finally says, a whisper, and he leans down to press his nose to the
baby's cheek. "Her name is Sister."
 
***
 
"You packed me lunch?"
Derek calmly averts his eyes, trying to downplay the blush rising on his
cheeks. "Yes." He holds out the paper bag, cradling Josephine in his other arm.
"Have fun at school, Mommy," Junior says, standing with Sammy and Derek out on
the porch, waiting for him to load up and head out.
Stiles takes the paper bag from Derek with a happy sigh, slinging his backpack
further up his shoulder. "I will absolutely have all the fun," he promises
Junior. "Don't be late, okay?" He bends to hug the boys. "Bye, baby-" he pecks
Junior on the forehead "-Bye, baby-" and then Sammy. He straightens up,
planting a loud one on Josephine's round cheek. "Bye, baby." He turns to Derek,
a self-satisfied smile flickering over his lips. "Bye, baby," he whispers
happily, and presses up onto his tiptoes to kiss his alpha.
 
***
 
"Joey, enough with the dirt," Stiles chides, though he doesn't move from where
he's napping under the sun. Josephine ignores him, scooping up another handful
and giving it a curious lick. "You have reached your quota, young lady," Stiles
warns, just as Derek and the boys pull up, flying out of the car in record
time.
"Did you have fun today?" Stiles greets them, sitting up, pulling Josephine
into his lap so he can dust her hands off.
"Uncle Derek made me the most feared kid in the second grade," Junior says, a
bright smile plastered across his face.
"You're in fourth grade now," Stiles tells him, peering up as Derek joins them.
"Patience, Mom," Junior says, taking off into the house. "One grade at a time!"
  
***
 
"You sure about this?"
Stiles squints. "Are you sure?"
Derek huffs and peels off his shirt for Marin. He gets his tattoo first, then
Stiles follows.
"What about me?" Junior perks up, nudging Sammy.
"I wanna get a big one! Of Sparta!" Sammy says with a huge grin, showing off
all his missing teeth. "Right here-" He lifts up his shirt and points to the
middle of his chest.
"Like a pirate." Junior nods his head in approval. "May Sparta rest in peace."
Stiles hums, dragging it out as Marin touches up on the more sensitive areas on
his back. "When you're older."
"How old?"
"Eighteen," Stiles says through clenched teeth, trying not to pass out. "Then
you can do whatever you want."
Junior and Sammy glance over at Derek, pouting. "Eighteen," Derek repeats
sternly, holding a sleepy Josephine in his arms. He waits for Stiles to look
away and then exchanges glances with Marin, shoots the boys a certain look—a
secret. Maybe sooner.
Stiles just keeps humming and pretends to miss it.
 
*** 
   
"Mom, you're embarrassing me," Junior hisses, swatting Stiles' persistent hands
away.
"Welcome to the rest of your whole life, kiddo." Stiles pulls back once he
realizes that Junior is looking down at him.
"What?"
Stiles gapes. "Why are you so tall?"
Sammy starts snickering from further inside the house, and Junior shakes his
head. "Oh my God."
Stiles can't breathe around the sudden swell of emotion lodged in his throat.
"Mom? No, God, Mom-"
"I'm okay!" Stiles shakes his head. "No, actually, I'm not! Stop growing!"
Derek honks the horn from the driveway, and Junior adjusts his hair in the
mirror, back the way he likes it, undoing Stiles' handiwork. He pauses out on
the porch, and Stiles braces himself against the doorframe. "You got
everything?"
Junior nods.
"You gonna stop to get her some flowers or something?"
Junior snorts. "It's just a dance, Mom."
Stiles ignores him and hands Junior an extra twenty dollar bill. "Fine. Then
you can use this for whatever." He sniffs. "Or you can buy Caitlin the
flowers."
Junior keeps standing there, legs rooted to the porch. "I'm kinda scared," he
says quietly.
Stiles cups his cheek. You're in love. "So is she. So go be scared together."
He waves Junior off the porch. "I'll cry if you don't go now." Junior raises a
brow, but concedes. "You don't need to be scared of a single thing! You're
Junior Hale! You run this mother!"
 
***
 
Every single cell in the human body is replaced every seven years. That means
that the person Stiles is today has never even touched Xander. Distance has
widened and new things have grown in place, and how could he have ever been
ashamed of loving Derek Hale? Most people are lucky to have even one great love
in their life, and Stiles found two. 
And that's just the truth of it, isn't it? Stiles was in love with Xander, and
then he was dead. There was no in between. No getting over it period.
Xander had once told Stiles that he was afraid most people didn't know how to
handle Derek. What he meant by this was that he was worried that one day
someone would trip over Derek and hurt themselves. Stiles doesn't know what
brings broken people together, but maybe it was that. Maybe that's what love
is. Maybe love was staying when all the signs pointed to leaving.
He can't help but laugh. Quite a pair they made—Stiles, who refused to let
himself fall in love, and Derek, who just couldn't stop.
So, no. Death is not a breakup and time does not heal all wounds, and even
though the pain never really goes away, neither does the love. Sometimes Stiles
wonders what his life would have been like if he had never met Derek. He
wonders if his heart would still beat the same as it did after Xander and
before Derek. He wonders if he would still be compelled to doodle butterflies
and search his children's face for traces of his late husband. But he thinks
that Xander was meant to come and go for a reason, and now all these years
after the fire he is thankful that it was him. Because all of it has led them
here, brought them to this very moment.
He looks at his alpha, his daughter, his sons.
They look like you, Xander. They're tall and tan and muscular, their dark hair
curls in the same way that yours did, and their eyes are just as clear.
They are beautiful.
Absolutely.
Beautiful.
 
===============================================================================
 
"I can't believe it," Laura murmurs, holding the signed contract in her hands.
Derek softly smiles.
"Well, believe it." Talia sighs, tossing her the keys. "Reign's now officially
yours. Take good care of her."
She leaves soon after, quietly, without much of a fuss. She stops short of the
exit, turning to face her son, studying him for a moment. "You did good, kid,"
she says, and nothing more.
Stiles joins Derek out on the sidewalk once Talia's driven off, Laura filling
the space on his other side. "So," she says, facing the boys. "Partners?"
 
***
  
Junior's lounging out on the porch steps when Derek gets home, tapping away on
his phone, no shirt, hair half in a fro, half in cornrows.
"Did you piss off your mom again while he was doing your braids?" Derek asks as
he walks up.
Junior rolls his eyes, but he nods.
Derek snorts. "C'mon, man, you never talk shit to the person doing your hair.
What was it this time?"
Junior purses his lips.
"Are you serious?" Derek crosses his arms. "Another fight? In one week? Junior-
"
"I know!" Junior stands, and Derek would laugh at the way he looks, but he's
just so fucking...disappointed. "I miss my dad," Junior quietly says,
shrugging, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Derek suddenly deflates.
"Me, too," Derek murmurs. Junior wipes a hand over his face, letting Derek pull
him into a hug. "It's okay. I know, kid. I know."
Stiles finds them like that, and the frown on his face disappears. He sighs,
pinching the bridge of his nose, and walks over to cup Junior's face, dwarfed
by his son's ever-growing frame. "I'm your mother," he says. "Forgiving you is
a full-time job." He pulls Junior into his arms, and Derek can't help but think
that some things just don't change.
 
***

Stiles idly traces a finger over the secret on Derek's ribs, through the fabric
of his shirt, one of many tattoos that call his flesh home. A tiny butterfly to
remind him of giant moments. Stiles gets up to refill the popcorn bowl, and
Derek watches him leave, the film still running on the TV screen as his eyes
follow the way the omega moves—his hands, his shoulders, his hips.
Stiles may never love Derek the way he loved Xander. Derek knows that now. But
that doesn't mean Stiles loves Derek any less. Some days, Derek thinks,
sometimes, he knows. That in every life, in every universe, every single
time—it'd always be him and Stiles.
The pain comes in waves, smaller each time. He doesn't drown in it, not like
before. It's more like treading water now. Little things, here and
there. Hearing Xander's name, catching old footage of his fights, seeing him in
his children. And as cliché as it sounds, there's not a day that goes by that
Derek doesn't think of him.
And sometimes, when Derek's not too busy being angry or strong or even happy
for finally letting Xander go, he just feels sad. Because he misses his
brother.
There is no forgetting. There is no cure. There is no magic bullet. You just do
it. One day at a time.
"See something you like?" Stiles raises a brow, leaning against the frame of
the doorway, popcorn popping away in the microwave.
Derek stands, movie forgotten, and before closing the distance for a kiss, he
whispers, "Something I love."
 
===============================================================================
 
Junior has his father's eyes and his mother's smile. On his face, they are
still a family.
It's hard to imagine a time Junior didn't know Uncle Derek. A time when this
wasn't his life. Biking home from school, taking off to the gym, to his family,
to his home.
"Take me to Uncle Derek's house," he had said to the bus driver all those years
ago.
"Okay, kid, where's that?"
"Where Uncle Derek lives."
He'll never forget what that had felt like.
He locks his bike into the rack, racing through the entrance, nodding at a
bickering Malia and Jackson on the way in, rapping his knuckles against Laura's
office window. "Where's Mom at?"
"He went out to sign someone, should be back anytime now," Lydia tells him,
perched up on Laura's desk as Laura hands Liam an envelope.
"Payday?" Junior chucks off his helmet, tosses it to the sofa, just missing a
napping Sammy, who startles awake, and Liam grins back at him.
"We can buy that yacht now." Liam holds the envelope up to his nose, breathing
in.
"Bring Hayden over for dinner," Laura tells Liam offhandedly, typing away at
her computer.
Liam freezes. "What." Junior cringes, and Liam's eyes go wide as he looks
to Junior and Sammy. Sammy points at the hickey on Liam's neck and Liam smacks
a hand down over it. "I fell."
"Okay," Laura says, waving him off. "Tell her to bring pie."
Junior shakes his head, pulling off his backpack, and he waves at Cora on his
way past her boxing class, rounding into the locker room. "What're you at?"
"Eight pounds up," Scott says, hopping off the scale, toweling the sweat from
his face. "Your mom back yet?"
"No." Junior pulls open his locker, taped nickname peeling off the
top—Junior—just Junior, always. "Why?"
"Said he had something for you," Scott says on his way back out.
"What's the occasion?" is how Junior greets Stiles, just starting to stretch
himself out.
"The occasion is I love you," Stiles says, opening up the tupperware, leading
them over to his office. "And this is the last wholesome thing you'll be eating
for three days."
He hurriedly eats two of the moonpies, rolling his neck out, jumping up and
down. 
"My mom used to make these," Stiles tells him, sitting up on his desk.
Junior pauses. "You never told me that before."
Stiles shrugs. "I didn't think it was that important."
Junior stops, breathes. He hops up onto the desk, scoots next to his mom and
rests his head on Stiles' shoulder for a second. He says, "Thank you." For
everything.
"You're welcome." Stiles splits the last moonpie down the middle and hands one
half to Junior. "I love you, kid."
Junior grins around his treat. "I love you, too, Mom."   
"Where have you been?" Derek throws open the cage door.
"Fundraiser," Junior says, and Derek raises a brow, not buying it. "Seriously?"
Derek begins wrapping Junior's hands. "You can't lie to me, kid. I'm the one
who taught you how to." He waits for the truth, sliding Junior's gloves on.
"Detention," Junior says.
"For what?"
"Purposely misusing the rules of grammar." Junior throws the first punch, and
Derek dodges.
"Where's your mouthguard?"
Josephine comes running, tossing it into the cage. "You're welcome!"
Derek walks him out to the bike rack after training, scratching at the beard
he's begun growing again. "What'd your mom think?" he asks, nodding at the
gauze wrapped over Junior's arm.
"Well," Junior sighs. "He doesn't exactly think anything because...I haven't
told him yet."
Derek chuckles. "He's gonna kill me. Can't believe I took you to Marin."
"Well, that makes two of us." Junior leans back against the rack, peeling the
gauze back to take a peek at his first tattoo. A treeline, a flock of birds—the
mark of the Hale men—and: Tell them I love them. His father, forever a part of
him.
"Don't touch it." Derek braces himself next to Junior, their elbows brushing as
they watch the people pass by on the street.
"This is crazy."
Derek looks at him. "What is?"
"This." He looks up at the sign over the entrance of the gym. "Reign." He
grins. "Us." He looks at his uncle. "All of it."
Derek grins back, eyes on the passersby. "Your mother really loved him."
Junior shakes his head. "But not the way he loves you. Even as a child I saw
the difference. We all did." He snaps the lock off his bike. "Think you'll put
another baby in him?"
Derek snorts. "Keep dreaming, kid."
Junior laughs, standing again, and he shuffles in place, eyes on his shoes.
"You gonna marry him?"
A heartbeat of silence passes, and when Junior looks up at his uncle, Derek is
looking back at him. No, not at Junior, but over Junior's shoulder, inside, at
Stiles, but his gaze is funny, like he just woke up from a dream. He smells
happy.
"Anything can happen, Uncle Derek," Junior says, looking out at the strawberry
sky, and he smiles. "Anything happens all the time."
Chapter End Notes
     And that's a wrap!
     Stiles'_new_tattoo
     Junior's tattoo
     Josephine
     Closest resemblances I could find for the boys, even though the ages
     are kinda skewy, but this is the end and what is my life even:
     Sammy
     Junior
     This story was a wild ride from start to finish.
     Thankyouthankyouthankyou to everyone who has shown it some love. I've
     had the best time writing this, and I'm excited to create and share
     with you lots more of that Sterek lovin' going into the future. Come
     hit me up on Tumblr to see what I'll be working on next!

                                      ♥,
                                     Nark

                    P.S. I believe I owe you guys a recipe.
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