#froggydarren

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi there! Was wondering there any fics out that that are canon aus but Derek and Stile have like a normal dating relationship. Like one or both realizes, “hey there’s something here and I like you”. Like we’re talking romantic dates, typical dating milestones, etc. but like there still werewolf/Beacon Hills hijinks are going on in the background while they’re just trying to get to know one another better. Any suggestions are appreciated.

Hi @maeyourskiesbeblue! I think so.

Noticing by orphan_account

(1/1 I 2,203 I Teen)

After the whole thing with the pool and the kanima and the part where Stiles had kept Derek alive, Derek had some time to consider a few things. There had been a…thing between him and Stiles for weeks now, ever since the kanima had killed that mechanic. Derek had been moody for days afterwards and it took Stiles a week or more, even with heavy hints from Erica, to realize that it had been because the stupid thing had hurt Stiles. Derek had been worried about Stiles.

distractions by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)

(1/1 I 2,748 I General)

There are hunters in town. Young, ill-advised, easy targets for the pack. Still, Stiles knows that walking right into the motel they’re staying at is a recipe for disaster. Since it’s precisely what Derek seems to want to do, Stiles needs a distraction.

just my type by sterekhale

(1/1 I 8,880 I Explicit)

After another failed date, Stiles' friend sets him up with her co-worker, who she swears is "his type".

Yoda Said It Best by OKDeanna, thePurebloodPrat

(21/21 I 99,128 I Explicit)

Derek Hale knows he has a problem. Contrary to what some might believe, he isn’t stupid. He knows the Jeep has meaning to him, real meaning. The kind of meaning that he doesn’t want to think about, let alone stop and have to analyze. Except… his son keeps pushing him about it, prodding at him, and then before Derek knows it, Stiles is back in Beacon Hills, driving the one thing in the world Derek wishes he never had to set eyes on again. If Derek isn’t careful, he could open himself up to a fall, and that would affect more than just his son but also his own traitorous heart. Because with Stiles back, Derek finally has hope again, and its making him want the things he knows better than to ever crave: a home, a future, a life—love.

One-Sentence Premise: To find the happiness they both crave, a lonely stressed-out single dad and a disillusioned FBI agent must confront their shared past and accept the feelings that have always existed between them.

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - June-December 2023.

Can you believe we are almost at the end of 2023? These last six months have been quite busy for me so sadly haven't been able to read as much fic as I would have liked. But I am still here and will continue to create rec lists whenever I get the chance to read more fics. I am also rounding the word counts so please click on the links for the exact word count. :)

it doesn't have to be a snowman by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren) (1/1 | 4K | General)

The Beacon Beans coffee shop is what Stiles would refer to as a lifesaver. They supply his dose of sugar whenever he needs it, they don't ask questions, and their hot chocolate is delicious. And now they're running a snowman building competition where the grand prize would get him an entire year's worth of drinks. Really, all he needs is a partner to team up with. Only everyone else from the pack already seems to have paired up.

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by DefNotForWork (1/1 | 17K | Explicit)

“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly. The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection. “So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’ In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

Undertow by entanglednow (1/1 | 4K | Mature)

"I don't want you to die because my swirls weren't swirly enough."

Fire and Water by GreyHaven (1/1 | 2K | General)

Derek is full of unspoken words and unexpressed emotions that sear him from the inside out until finally, finally, he allows them to escape into dark ash stains that smear across the harsh white of his notebook. Or, the one in which Derek is compelled to write a story. Turns out, he's writing about Stiles. What will happen when Stiles reads it? Angst and healing and two people finding safety in each other.

eli's parents are so gross (read: in love) by ash_mcj (1/1 | 1K | Teen)

"I would’ve been here earlier, but nobody thought it would be smart to call the one person who’s intimately dealt with the Nogitsune before, so,” Stiles said bitterly as he threw his hands up. "Now I have a list of asses I gotta kick over this very avoidable fiasco. Scott’s first, since he’s the Alpha—I’m pretty sure that’s how that works. His responsibility, or whatever.” The familiar sound of Derek’s car pulling into the driveway caught Eli's attention, and he grinned. “Is Dad on your list?” “Hell yeah, Dad is on my list! Right under Scott.” “Well, he just got home, so—” Stiles didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence before stomping off in the direction of the living room—and Eli quickly scrambled to follow him, ready to eavesdrop on what was likely going to be a rather impressive and amusing lecture. [or: eli is glad that stiles is home, since derek has nearly died several times in his absence, but he really wishes they were a little less glad to see each other] -- prompt | a reunion kiss

Ashes, Ashes by ShanaStoryteller (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside. "I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying."

Love Runs Wild by DevilDoll (1/1 | 9K | Explicit)

"You've got a hickey on the back of your neck!" A Neckz 'n Throats story.

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles (1/1 | 10K | Mature)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth. The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles. Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles. Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal. He’s still not convinced any of this is real. Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it. Edited in October 2022

Stiles is My Safe Place by Star_crossed02 (5/5 | 10K | Mature)

Stiles gets bitten by Kali, and after a brief adjustment period, proceeds to co-lead the Hale Pack to defeat the Alpha Pack once and for all. OR What happens when a sassy spark-werefox starts courting an alpha sourwolf?

It feels like a perfect night (for breakfast at midnight) by princecharmingwinks (1/1 | 1K | General)

Stiles is floating on cloud nine. He is absolutely living his best life. It's a Saturday night, he's out with his friends and he's dancing like it's his birthday. Because it is! (Or it will be in 20 minutes, once midnight ticks around). And what better way to celebrate the respectful age of 22 than a night out?

princecharmingwinks special mention (My plane flying companion - I read a new chapter every time I took a new flight)

First Son, Last Chance by orphan_account (12/12 | 60K | Mature)

When First Son Stiles Stilinski, beloved public figure and the bane of his private security team, goes missing without a trace, ex-security officer Derek Hale finds himself tangled up in the world of Argent Security, a world he was forced out of when rumours abounded that he was sleeping with his charges. There's no leads, no time and no way Derek is going to rest until Stiles has been brought home safely. (Inspired by this post.)

That is all folks for 2023! Sorry again for a late addition. See you in the new year. Remember to leave kudos and comments for our wonderful writers.

[justanothersterekficgirl]

The Nearness Of You by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)

Explicit | 55k | 10/10

College is an experience that’s different for everyone. Of course, Stiles dives right into the fray. Having already made friends before he started, he’s pulled into the college’s student parliament, the nightclub at the dorms, and -- most importantly -- into a dorm room with all his friends right next doors. That includes the elusive, tall, dark, and mysterious Derek Hale. And maybe a few too many poetic descriptions that Stiles absolutely doesn’t have from Harlequin romances. They’re Isaac’s, okay, he just happens to share a room with him and Scott. And the bathroom. Which they also share with Derek, and it’s not going to be a problem at all. Featuring meddling friends and siblings, college shenanigans, fancy ballrooms, and curly fries.

[tryslora]

Hiya! I absolutely love your spreadsheet, it gives me such joy to use and I also delight in seeing it arrive every end of year (one of the best gifts!). I was wondering if you would give us a little behind the scenes? What is your process like in developing it? What makes you decide to add in a new category (love the new addition of time btw!!). I really just love it but wanted to ask about it and find out from the mind behind the magic!

Hey @candybarrnerd!

I swear, I have seen this Ask, I have just been trying to remember enough to say something useful and entertaining! Sadly, my original spreadsheets from 2012 through uhh... 2015... seem to have been lost, although I did just think of another location to check (which I shall do shortly).

HAH I found them. Cool. I do see blank spreadsheets starting immediately with 2013, but do not remember when I started to share them. Through 2016 at least, the blank sheets are dated uhhh early January. So. I feel like mid-December is a definite win now!

In 2012, my base goal was to create something to help me track my writing and tell me that I was moving forward, kind of like NaNo did in November. The spreadsheet looked super different in terms of tabs. I didn’t even have the NaNo style graph then! The Wordcount, Daily Graph, and Monthly Graph tabs look pretty much the same. I had tabs to track things I had posted as well. 

It’s almost identical in 2013--I hadn’t started tracking year to year, yet, either! However, the Monthly Totals tab has a goal, and words to goal, for the first time, along with an average/day. I’d started to notice that ups and downs were good, and started thinking about goals, but hadn’t yet made it to pledges and automating the spreadsheet.

In 2014, with the third year going, I decided I wanted to see how things matched up between the years. Especially since 2013 was such a weirdly productive year (never happened again). The first early Annual Comparison tab came in that year--no totals, just a chart that kind of showed how they matched up, along with an average.

That was also the year that the AO3 stats page first appeared, which I am pretty sure was in response to the meme that goes around. I was like. I have a place to keep that information so I can see how it changes over the years!

2015 brought in pledges! In its first form, I just wanted those NaNo style charts, and the pledges were place on that tab. It pulled numbers from wordcount, but nothing was really automated yet. But I had my pretty charts finally.

I mean seriously. These were why I made the sheet originally back in 2012 and i didn’t actually implement them until 2015!

In 2016 I realized I wanted to see the totals for each year on the Annual Comparison page. Like. that seems obvious? Yet. It took me that long...

In 2017 the spreadsheet as it is, mostly, came into being. The color coding was added due to, I think, a conversation with @froggydarren who had implemented it in their copy and showed me. I may not have shared that until 2018--keep in mind, me using something may predate sharing it by a year.

But in 2017, in my spreadsheet, I brought in the way the Monthly Totals tab looks now (without instructions) so a pledge could be set there, then it carries automagically into the Pledges tab for graphing and calculations. 

Why? I AM LAZY. I wanted it to get easier and easier to use. More instinctive to see what was working and what wasn’t. Easier to put numbers in one place and everything else be automated.

2018 continued as is. In 2019, I started adding more automation with a year end date, and being able to recalculate words to goal on the Monthly Totals page based on where we were in the year and current progress. 2020 brought in the Range/Median on the Annual Comparison tab. All of this was driven by me just... wanting to see more information. I like numbers, but mostly, I like a visual way of knowing I’m okay, even if I feel like I’m not.

Like I say: ZERO DAYS ARE OKAY.

2021 brought a few changes. For one, I started embedding instructions in the spreadsheet itself because y’know, it’s big. And confusing. And I wanted to be helpful as folks were using it! I had realized by that point that it had gained a life of its own, and that is SO AWESOME I also added the Weekly Graph tab based on a conversation in the @weekendwritingmarathon Discover server.

All 2022 brought was a refinement to the instructions provided, and 2023 of course refined those even further by creating documentation on Google Drive so I don’t have to retype everything every year (PHEW).

Time was added this year purely as a reaction to the hell that I went through in 2022. A year ago (today), my mom fell. Everything went haywire after that, taking care of my folks, and I’m just really recovering. There’s been a lot. So much. And I also had a lot of projects that were time intensive but not words.

Remember what I said about feedback? I needed to know I was moving forward. So. TIME. I can now see that hour I spent working on my author site, or critiquing, or the next @welcometophu Kickstarter coming in the summer, or any other publication things (like EDITING jeebus that takes forever).

Pretty much, every enhancement I’ve made comes down to: - it’s pretty - it’s easy to see/visual - I’m lazy and it does it for me - I need to see progress in a new way - I want to make it easier to share

So uhhh that may not have been as entertaining as you’d hoped, but I found it really interesting to look back at my first spreadsheets. I’d have to go really digging to figure out when I first started sharing it... that’s one thing I don’t know. Because I created the blank copy for myself anyway, and I think I started sharing once because I was talking about it, and someone asked, and I was like SURE HERE and posted it. And so. Here we are.

<3 Thanks for asking, and I’m really glad you like it!!!

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Froggydarren!

To Jen: Merry Christmas!  In this story I hope you find a few of your favorite things.  May your holidays be filled with love and joy, great food, relaxation, and GREAT FIC!  

Title: stepping out of body

Rating: T

Word Count: 7K

Tags: Hypothermia, Hurt/comfort, Bed sharing, Accidental baby acquisition, alternate reality, parallel universe, dreams, hallucinations, Hobrien, Tyler Hoechlin/Dylan O’Brien, swearing, sexual innuendo, kissing  

Read on AO3

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steppin out of body

Stiles is ninety-seven percent sure he’s going to die out here.

The violent shivers and chattering teeth ceased ten minutes ago, and not even the line of Derek’s werewolf heat down his right side makes any difference. It turns out the discount boots he bought last year from Bob’s Bargain Bin aren’t such a bargain; frigid water seeps through the seams, turning his toes to ice, to fire. He wiggles them regularly as they trudge through the thickening carpet of heavy snow, fearing the numbness he could easily succumb to.

Stiles isn’t stupid. He can decipher the messages his very-human body broadcasts loud and clear.

“No,” Derek commands, slapping at his cheek with a gloved hand, the impact dull and muted against his frozen skin. “Eyes open, Stiles. Stay with me. Stay with…”

Damn the Nemeton, screaming out to every worthless supernatural pain-in-Stiles’-ass. This time it called down a Chenoo, a man-eating ice giant from the Great White North. The demon slid down the west coast like an avalanche, bashing through the border, ushering in plummeting temperatures, a torrent of wind-driven snow and sleet slashing Stiles’ face like werewolf claws.  Vicious gusts of icy wind followed, slithering inside Stiles’ thin jacket to coil around his heart and crush his lungs. Stiles would have preferred it brought Kraft dinner and Molson Canadian, like a typical tourist.

A California boy born and bred, his genetic makeup lacks an adoration of arctic temperatures. He’s ill-equipped for a blizzard in November.

Even Derek’s nose glows Rudolph-red from the chill.

“You can kill a Cheeno by melting its heart with salt,” Deaton supplied earlier that afternoon, “but a few legends claim you can save the man within the monster.”

“Save a cannibal? Yeah, fuck that noise,” Stiles had said, tossing down the magazine he’d been reading and grabbing the cannister of Morton’s Iodized, slipping his feet into his crappy boots. It seemed like a good idea at the time, he and Derek against the latest monster of the week. Nothing new. But now a blanket of white makes it impossible to see ten feet in front of them, flakes floating down from the sky like errant feathers, dancing in front of his eyes like a whirl of stars. It blinds him, envelopes him. Every minute lasts an hour.

He should have taken the FBI assignment offered when he attended the academy. Memphis. It didn’t snow in Memphis. Why hadn’t he taken it? Oh yeah. Scott. His father. Derek.

The sun dips below the horizon, adding insult to injury.

Stiles can’t feel his nose anymore, or his toes. He inhales broken glass with each breath. The longer he stares into the white void, the more everything starts to feel peaceful and pointless. Stiles closes his eyes.

“Do you hear that?” Derek hisses. Stiles’ eyes snap open in time to see the breath billowing out of Derek’s windburned lips in rolling clouds of steam. “It sounds like…”

Stiles hears the violent wind rattling dry, bare branches of winter-dead trees, and the random song playing on repeat in his head. Going down with my wings on fire, guess I’ll see you in another life. He prays that in a few years, in a decidedly less stark and frozen landscape, the lyrics will blast through Roscoe’s shitty speakers, and Stiles will stop and listen, say “ah yes, that time I almost froze to death,” just another moment unfolding in the supernatural shitstorm of his life, and not the soundtrack to the end of it.

But Derek cocks his head, eyes narrowed into slits, frost clinging to his bushy black eyebrows, so Stiles tugs up the ear flaps on his hat, strains to hear past the snow’s white noise, so like a chorus of howling werewolves. Yowling, squalling, wailing…

“A baby,” Stiles gasps, voice rasping through blue-tinged lips, knees threatening to buckle in shock. Who would ever bring a baby out in this storm? He was tired, drained, and dispirited before, and now, a thin film of desperation stretches over it all like saran wrap. “I hear a baby crying.”

Derek pulls Stiles impossibly closer, abruptly turning them to the left and floundering through calf-deep snow mounds and crushing darkness. Derek blunders toward the cries with steps as uncoordinated as a newborn foal, his confident gait lost to the storm. Stiles grits his teeth and slogs on.

Mother nature pummels him into a Popsicle.

“Oh,” Stiles says some indeterminable time later, “I see something.” Up ahead, a small cabin materializes, rising from the bleak isolation like a desert mirage, windows alight with a dim glow. Every blink of his heavy eyelids brings the cabin into better focus; green tin roof, stainless steel chimney pipe puffing out grey clouds of smoke, two rickety steps leading up to a narrow porch laid with red cedar planks.  

Derek takes Stiles under the armpits and hauls him up over his left shoulder, heading toward shelter with Stiles bouncing clumsily into Derek’s back with each step. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, going statue-still.

“Wha?” Stiles mumbles toward Derek’s ass.  

A moment of hesitation. “I only hear one heartbeat.”

The desperate mewling raises in pitch. “Derek, can we please go inside? If the damn Cheeno has somehow lured us here, at least I’ll be warm when I die.”

Derek drags them both through the front door, leaving a track of icy puddles and slushy clumps of snow as they stumble over the threshold. Stiles finds himself dumped unceremoniously onto an oriental rug in front of a slowly dying fire. “Get your clothes off!” Derek barks at him as he kneels in front of the weak flames, pulling off his gloves and reaching for the stack of wood next to the stone fireplace.

Stiles always wanted to hear Derek say those words, and he’s honestly a little pissed they’re wasted on a life-or-death situation.  

Stiles isn’t capable of finesse on his best days, but his numb fingers fumble pathetically at the snaps and zippers of his clothes. Each new piece of blue and purple dappled bare skin he uncovers sets alarm bells peeling inside his skull. “Wh-wh-where is the b-b-baby?” The chattering teeth return, his neck swollen and stiff as he turns it this way and that until his gaze lands on a bassinet in the corner.

“Fire first, then I’ll get the baby,” Derek says, blowing on the growing blaze. “Take everything off. All your wet clothes.” He closes the wire mesh curtain across the hearth and stands, shedding his own clothes piece by piece as he crosses the small living space. Derek blows warm breath into his cupped hands before he reaches into the bassinet, pulling out a wiggling red blanket and clutching it gently to his bare chest. It’s a sight to behold, but Stiles can barely keep his eyes open.

Unable to stand, Stiles reaches for the corner of a quilt thrown haphazardly over a worn plaid couch, dragging it down and pulling it across the floor. Derek keeps the baby in one strong arm and hoists Stiles’ limp body onto the quilt with the other, settling down next to him on the carpet.

“Come here,” Derek says, reclining with one arm around Stiles’ shoulders, maneuvering him, so Stiles’ backside faces the fire, and Derek’s werewolf body heat blazing down Stiles’ front, the baby a warm weight on Derek’s ribs.

“The parents?” Stiles slurs, imagining the bloodbath that will ensue when an unsuspecting mother and father find two butt-naked grown men cuddling their kid.

“I can’t detect any other scents. It’s just us.”

“Hmmm.” The heat of the fire and the safety of Derek’s body make Stiles’ eyelids very heavy.

“Don’t go, Stiles,” Derek orders. “Stay with me. Please.”  For a brief moment, a white halo frames Derek’s beautiful face.  He cups Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles could swear his fingers feel like scratchy wool mittens.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles replies and promptly falls asleep.  

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

Stiles wakes with the luxurious Saturday morning feeling of having slept in with no alarm, despite early dawn light seeping into the room through sheer curtains, casting everything in soft dream-like shades of gray. He’s so warm and content he buries his face back into the plush pillow under his head, determined to retreat once again into sweet oblivion.

“You know I adore your mom, but she was wrong about this co-sleeping thing. Best decision we ever made,” murmurs a tender voice behind him. The words get emphasized with some semblance of a kiss, all hot, soft lips and tongue leaving goosebumps in their wake as they travel lazily down the back of Stiles’ neck. The easy-going morning disperses like mist as Stiles blinks open his eyes to see the tiny, angelic face of a baby–presumably the same one from the cabin–wrapped in a thin red muslin blanket and sleeping next to him. It lies in a strange contraption attached to the bed with three breathable mesh sides, atop a fitted sheet adorned with fluffy dancing sheep wearing nightcaps. As Stiles watches, the baby’s tiny bow mouth makes adorable little sucking motions.

Wait a minute.

Stiles knows he’s in trouble when the baby makes sense, but the king-sized bed he’s woken up in doesn’t.    

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Stiles has run with wolves since age sixteen and can keep a tight lid on a furiously beating heart. “Pretty sure this place did not look like this last night,” he says, words falling from his mouth in a smooth line as his stomach ties itself in knots.

A huffed laugh. “I’ll do the laundry today, I promise. Who knew a baby could go through so many clothes?”

Not me, Stiles thinks, sitting up in bed and kicking away a blue sheet. He’s wearing unfamiliar light-gray sweatpants and a maroon t-shirt. The man next to him grunts at the loss of body heat, and Stiles glances over. Yup, it’s Derek, black hair sticking up every which way like he stuck his head in a blender.  

Stiles crawls to the foot of the bed, tip-toes to the sliding glass doors leading to a balcony, and parts the curtains an inch. Pre-dawn light paints the curving facade of the U.S. Bank Tower mellow orange. Stiles has only ever seen it in movies. Free from alien encounters and earthquake damage, the staggering architecture looks like a staircase up into the pink morning clouds. He puts his hand up to the cold glass. “We’re in L.A.”

Another grunt behind him. Stiles’ head pivots back and forth between the skyline and the majestic view of Derek sprawled on his stomach, broad shoulders tapering down a smooth, naked back. He follows the line of Derek’s spine to his boxer-brief clad backside on full display. The cotton clings to every dip and curve of Derek’s perfect ass.  

“How did we get to L.A.?”

Derek’s head rises from the pillow. “Huh? Come back to bed before you wake Conor.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing.” He scrubs a hand down his face, huffs out a breath. “The bed. That wasn’t here before. Or the fancy baby crib, or your underwear, or the god-damn city of Los Angeles.”

Derek twists, sitting up in bed and rubbing crust from his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks. Then he does something so crazy Stiles thinks he just may have died out in the snow.

Derek smiles.

Not just any smile. Stiles’ has seen Derek produce some mean ones, some faux-flirtatious ones, some blood-thirsty ones, but he’s never seen one like this: huge, happy, full of white teeth. It lights up Derek’s whole face, makes his green eyes go adorably squinty.  

“No, nope, uh uh.” Stiles tries to take a step back, but his shoulders collide with the slider. What imposter wears Derek’s flawless butt and happy face? Stiles has a mini heart attack.

“Who are you?”

Now the smile falls away, leaving behind comically-wide green eyes and an arched brow. His Derek would never show this level of befuddlement. He’d school his face into an impossibly hard mask.

“Dylan,” he answers, very slowly, “I’m your husband.”

———-

Imposter-Derek’s name is Tyler, and he remains unfailingly patient and positive in the face of his husband’s epic freak out and insistence that a mythological creature in an alternative universe cursed him.  ”I should have paid more attention to Deaton when he talked about annihilating the Chenoo, but there was a fascinating article in Entertainment Weekly.”

“This better not be a ploy to get out of diaper duty,” Derek-Tyler says with a smile.  Honestly, the guy’s demeanor baffles Stiles. This level of sweetness doesn’t exist outside a candy store.  

Baby Conor wakes up with a chortling wail, demanding food and a clean butt, which Tyler supplies as Stiles does a convincing imitation of a lost puppy and follows him around.  “You’re good at this whole thing. At parenthood,” Stiles praises. The sight of Derek–or a Derek look-a-like–gently cradling a tiny infant in his massive beefcake arms, holding a warm bottle of formula in his meaty fist, makes Stiles want to swoon.  Even the greedy pig-like noises Conor makes causes a strange effervescent bubbling behind Stiles’ ribs. What in the world is happening to him? Gas? Or did he show up in this parallel universe with a uterus and a biological clock? He pulls the waistband of his sweatpants away from his torso.  Well, at least the equipment on the outside remains the same.

Stiles and Tyler get dressed, and migrate into the kitchen through a narrow hallway and spacious living room; walls painted the color of buttery suede. Books and baby toys litter the floor, framed family photographs, and baseball paraphernalia hanging on nearly every wall of their home.  Upon closer inspection, Stiles finds one of the pictures is of Tyler in a Sacramento River Cats uniform, mid-run, right arm slung back, ready to throw.  

“Dude, do you play professional ball?” Stiles asks, impressed, fingertips tracing the edges of the black wooden frame.

Tyler blushes, becomingly, one muscular arm cuddling the baby closer to his broad chest.  “Yeah. I played baseball in college and got drafted, but I injured my hamstring a few years ago. I doubt I’ll ever get called up to the major leagues. Want some water?  Juice?”

The seamless transition of conversation, the quick, subtle deflection onto Stiles and away from himself is such a Derek move it leaves Stiles dizzy, struggling for balance as he straddles two worlds.

“Water,” Stiles croaks.

Tyler opens the refrigerator, reaches for the Brita with his free hand, and at least twenty glass bottles stacked on the door shelves clink together like Christmas bells. “Uh, why do we own so much root beer?”

Tyler shrugs.  “You’re a big root beer guy.”

Huh.  Stiles can’t remember the last time he had root beer, but his mother adored root beer floats “Actually, I’ll take one of those.”  

At the kitchen table, Tyler leaned his chin into his hand, gazing at Stiles while he sips his carbonated sugar. A shaft of late-morning light catches the fizzing bubbles surging up the neck of the bottle, sending little sun sparks dancing across the wood between them.

“I don’t know how you can remain so calm in the face of all this,” Stiles says for the millionth time in the few short hours they’ve been awake.  “Does your husband typically try to convince you that he’s someone else?”

Tyler props Conor on his shoulder, gently rubbing and patting his back. “Only when we role-play.”

Root beer sprays from Stiles’ mouth in an inelegant arc, splattering all over the tabletop.  Fantastic, now his overactive brain supplies him with enough jerk-off material to last a century.  It’s just his luck to land in a universe where Derek smiles and laughs and is kinky to boot.

“But seriously, Dylan, we’ve been through worse than a little memory lapse.”  Stiles lays his head down on the wet surface, resolutely refusing to ask. He doesn’t want to know.  Knowing would mean caring. “Though I do wish you’d reconsider going to the hospital. They could run some tests and-”

Stiles holds up a hand.  “No. No tests. At least, not today.  If we wake up tomorrow and nothing has changed, then yes, I promise I’ll go to the doctor. Just…” He remembers having an MRI, the fear and panic before rolling into the claustrophobic tube, the loud clunks and bangs, of what bad news the results will bring.  Because it’s doubtful skipping universes like a pebble on a lake produces anything positive. “Not today.”

Tyler nods.  “Okay. I have an idea.  Here, hold Conor.” He passes Stiles the baby and walks into the living room, opening the doors on a TV stand and pulling out an old DVD player.  Stiles watches as he fiddles around behind the flat-screen television, plugging it in and powering it up. “I’m going to grab our wedding DVD,” Tyler says, heading toward the bedroom.

Stiles is left alone with Conor for the first time.  “Hi, little man,” Stiles whispers into the crook of the baby’s warm neck.  He smells sweet and powdery, and the unique scent kind of makes Stiles feel high.  He’s adorable and small, and fragile, and now that Stiles thinks about it for half a second, completely panic-inducing.  Who in their right mind would leave Stiles in charge of a baby?! He breaks everything. Hopefully, this Dylan guy is a bit less accident-prone than Stiles.

Tyler pops in the video, and they lay the baby on a blanket in the living room with a few toys, and Stiles gets to watch two hours of footage of himself marrying Derek.

Half-way through the reception Erica and Boyd waltz by, and Stiles sees Isaac in profile, standing at the bar laughing at something Jackson says. He desperately wants to ask, but doesn’t think he could handle it if these pack members, lost to lies and danger and that merciless bitch the Grim Reaper, are just phantom faces with different names.

“That was sweet and kind of funny,” Stiles says after listening to himself recite his vows.

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees.  “You’re pretty amazing.”

Is this who Derek would be if there’d been no Kate? No Jennifer?  No Paige? Seriously, it’s like a case of the body snatchers. Fuck Stiles’ life (but not this one! This one’s pretty perfect).

“Did it jog any memories?” Tyler asks when the TV goes black.  

Stiles hates letting down someone so earnest.  “Sorry, man.”

“It’s all right.” Tyler squeezes one of Stiles’ shoulders in a firm grip.  “I have one more idea if it’s okay with you. Then we can give it a rest until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.  But first, do you mind if I shower?”  A phantom layer of dried sweat from his trek through the snow yesterday still sticks to Stiles’ skin.  

Dylan and Tyler’s shower has soapstone walls, duel jets, a rain massage showerhead, recessed lighting, and a cedar plank ceiling.  If he ever gets home, he’s convincing Derek to build a replica of this shower, and let Stiles use it any time he wants. Derek’s trust fund should go to something other than tight pants and dark colored shirts. Something that benefits Stiles directly (since the clothes benefit his eyeballs indirectly).

After he’s dressed, Stiles leans against the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror with the corner of his damp towel. He studies his reflection—same number of moles on his cheeks, same wide amber eyes.  Fingertips poke at his cheeks, eyebrows, forehead. A hand rubs between his eyes. Why do you get to keep him in this universe, but not your own? his reflection asks.

Hushed voices filter in from the living room, and he sneaks a peek around the door jamb. A pretty middle-aged woman stands by the front door, shooting a frown at Tyler, her head tilted.  “What do you think it is?” She asks, shrugging out of her cardigan sweater and draping it over the oversized recliner. “Stress? PTSD?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies.  Wait, PTSD over what?  “If the memory loss persists, we’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.  I thought maybe seeing you would help him.”

Stiles steps into the living room, capturing their attention.  The woman isn’t familiar, he’s never seen her in his life, but he knows her face the minute she looks at him.  Stiles’ father has filled his life with love, but there’s no substitute for a mother. And that’s who this woman is, his mother.  No one’s looked at Siles this way since he was eight years old. A razor edge of pain cuts into his heart.

His eyesight blurs, and red, blotchy heat creeps up his cheeks. Stiles swipes a thumb under one eye and tries to make it look like he’s scratching his cheek.

“Oh, Dylan, sweetheart,” she says.  “I’m your mom, Lisa.”

—————

Halfway through Lisa filling him in on Dylan’s early life growing up in New Jersey, their move to California when he was twelve, and his stint in a band, Stiles’ stomach lets out a growl loud enough to rival a werewolf.  

“We haven’t eaten anything all day,” Tyler says. “Root beer doesn’t count.”

“Why don’t you both go out for dinner,” Lisa offers.  “I’ll watch Conor.” She makes kissy faces at their son, who yanks at her brown hair, and warmth swells in Stiles’ chest.  He’s missed being part of a family, and this one sits gift-wrapped like a present just for him.

They walk outside, shoulders bumping. “We could drive into downtown,” Tyler offers, “but the traffic will be terrible, even at this time.”

Stiles shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed jeans, scoping out the view of the city skyline in the distance. “Whatever, dude. I’m game for somewhere local.”

Tyler eyes him, weighing the options, then graces him with another one of those megawatt smiles. “I think this day calls for The Coop.”

Stiles finds himself at a hole-in-the-wall, family-run pizzeria, scarfing down the best-tasting pizza ever. They split a large pie, ordered off a red menu adorned in green and white writing that makes Stiles think of Christmas.

Tyler wipes the grease off his lips with a paper napkin and leans back, resting his elbows on his chair arms. “You love eating here,” he tells Stiles. “We don’t often come here because I’m usually trying to stay in decent shape for baseball, but when we get here, we always order the works, hold the pineapple. You’re known to demolish an entire pie by yourself.”

At least this Dylan guy has good taste in pizza.  Slow roasted tomato sauce and melted cheese punched him in the nose as soon as he walked in.  

Stiles throws down his napkin, a white flag signaling his defeat to the single slice left on the pizza pan. He picks up the red plastic cup half-filled with root beer–turns out this stuff is pretty addicting– and gnaws on the cardboard straw between sips. “So, how’d we meet? Did I accidentally traipse across your yard, and you tell me I was trespassing?”

Tyler blinks. “That’s weirdly specific.” He picks up his beer bottle, takes a swig. “No. You’re a sports broadcaster, and you came to one of my games to interview me.”

“Love at first sight?” Stiles inquiries, tongue chasing his straw across his lips.

Tyler raises a brow, gesture a mirror-image of Stiles’ Derek. “That’s very distracting. Who taught you to use a straw?”

Stiles places the cup back down on the lacquered tabletop. “Sorry. D-” he pauses. “My friend back home complains about that too.”

“This friend who looks suspiciously like me?”

“Yeah. Him.”

Tyler laughs. “I’m sure he finds it distracting, too. Give the poor guy a break.”

“Anyway…” Stiles doubts he’s ever the person to steer a conversation back on track, but today is a day of firsts. First time I woke up in bed with Derek.  There’s more, but his brain keeps getting stuck on that one. “Was it love at first sight for you and your husband?”

Tyler’s eyes go soft, unfocused. “We clicked right away, but no. Every date we went on just got better and better until we eventually moved in together.”

“When did you know he was the one?” Stiles asks, trying to imagine a world where he and Derek didn’t immediately clash like oil and water.

Tyler’s cheeks bloom apple-red. Oh, there’s a story here, and I want it.  “I knew the first Christmas we spent together when I watched you hump an artificial tree. I said to myself, ‘Tyler, you’ve gotta keep this one.’”

Laughter bursts out of Stiles’ mouth. “Please,” he wheezes, “tell me more.”

Tyler does.  

“How’d we end up an old married couple with a kid?” Stiles asks as they push through the doors of the restaurant, spilling out onto the warm pavement. Stiles thinks of the freezing temperatures of the blizzard he trudged through with Derek the day prior and shivers despite the sun’s heat.

Here Tyler hesitates, shoulders pulling high and back, spine lengthening. It’s Derek’s ’going into battle’ pose. Stiles has seen it enough times to know it by heart, his own body reacting on instinct, stepping closer to Tyler, creating a united front.  

“We were going along great,” Tyler says, “having a good time. We both figured we’d get married, eventually. Our careers kept us busy; we didn’t rush into things. But one day, I’m in Sacramento, practicing at Raley Field, and my manager calls me off second base to tell me I’ve got to get home; you’d been in an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Stiles asks. Just as disaster-prone, I see.

Tyler’s hands clench at his sides. “A car hit you at work.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, stupidly. I’m usually the one running over people.

“You had a terrible concussion, the doctors worried about brain damage, and pretty much the entire right side of your face needed reconstructive surgery.”

“Jeez.” Stiles presses fingertips to his right cheekbone. “I can’t imagine your terror.” Derek’s reactions every time Stiles gets hurt is bad enough; he can’t imagine what Tyler must have gone through watching the man he loves lay injured in a hospital bed.

“All of a sudden, things didn’t seem so carefree. The thought of losing you was-” Tyler stops, takes a deep breath. Before he registers the movement, Stiles grabs Tyler’s hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing reassuringly. Tyler smiles shyly, presses back, and air stalls in Stiles’ lungs. Quicksand paves the road they’re walking down; the more Stiles flails around in memories of a life that isn’t his own, the deeper he sinks.

“We got married a year later after you’d recovered from surgery. We know we’re lucky to have this nearly stolen life, and we wanted to share that with someone. Now, we have Conor.”

Tyler stops walking, turns to face Stiles—to face Dylan. “It took us a long time to get here.” He pulls Stiles into a tight hug, and Stiles willingly goes, lets himself get wrapped up in arms he never thought he’d feel around him. “But we got here.”

———-

They dismiss Lisa with a round of hugs and promises to call in the morning if nothing has changed. Conor gets a bath in a tub they place in the ample kitchen sink, gurgling happily over the plastic bath toys Stiles flies around his bald head while Tyler scrubs him down. “My mom used to wash the Thanksgiving turkey in the sink,” Stiles tells them.

“Are you comparing our son to overstuffed poultry?” Tyler honest-to-god giggles. Did Derek ever giggle? Could Stiles help him find that much joy?

Stiles pokes at one of Conor’s adorably chubby legs, earning a gummy smile. “The resemblance is striking.”

Tyler does the bedtime routine, and they eat a quiet, amicable dinner of grilled chicken and baked potatoes at the kitchen table.

“I don’t know about you,” Stiles says around a yawn, “but I’m freaking beat, man. This day has been an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Agreed,’ Tyler replies, rolling his shoulders. “Sleep?”

“Totally.”

“I can take the couch?” Tyler offers when they walk into the darkened bedroom. Stiles eyes the bed between them, bathed in the milk-light of the moon streaming through the curtains. Conor is a tiny lump in his bassinet, soft snores echoing around the room.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. It’s totally fine. Married people sleep in the same bed.”

Tyler smiles, shoulders dropping from where they’d migrated to his ears. Stiles has stared at that smile all day, but he’s still not immune. It’s a flash of lightning, bright and dazzling, rolling through him like thunder. He’s shaken. “I’m glad. Honestly, I always sleep better when you’re with me.”

I’m always with you, dumbass.

Stiles can see why. As soon as they slide under the covers—Stiles in the sweatpants and T-shirt ensemble from the morning, and Tyler in his boxer-briefs and nothing else—Tyler cuddles up next to him, sighing deeply. He’s a comforting line of heat and weight, and Stiles turns toward him, instinctually. Tyler’s already drifting off, blinking sleepy half-lidded eyes at him.

“Goodnight,” Stiles whispers.

“Mmm, goodnight,” Tyler replies. He leans forward, rubs the tip of his nose against Stiles’, and brushes his mouth against Stiles’ lips, tongue lazily surging, tasting like mint, fresh and sharp. Is this wrong? It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Tyler threads his fingers into Stiles’ hair, pulling him closer, cradling the back of his head like he’s something precious, beloved. Large, strong hands skim across Stiles’ skull, cup his face, thumbs brushing featherlight over his cheekbones. Stiles hums contentedly into the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler slurs, pulling away just far enough to look into Stiles’ eyes. “I know you don’t remember, and I-”

“Tyler, kiss me again.” The next few moments simmer between them, threatening to boil over, but they dial back the heat, let it cool until their foreheads pressed together, lips and noses gently rubbing.

Stiles closes his eyes and lets himself believe that Derek Hale, the king of drawing lines in the sand and chasing Stiles back to the other side, cards long, gentle fingers through Stiles’ hair as he falls asleep. Stiles could get used to this; he wants this. And because Stiles lies to himself on the daily, he refuses to acknowledge that he has desired this for as long as he can remember knowing Derek.  

Would it be so wrong to stay here and keep this life? It’s a luxury he hasn’t dared to allow himself to ponder since he woke up in this alternate reality.

Conor lets out a couple of guttural, cranky sounds. Tyler grumbles and starts to stir, jerky, half-asleep movements, “Shh,” Stiles says, running a long-fingered hand down Tyler’s back. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

He carries Conor—his son—to the changing pad atop their dresser, and flicks on the lamp. It casts the little corner of their world in a soft golden glow. “We got this, buddy,” he tells Conor in a sing-song voice. “I’ll be a diaper changing expert in no time.” Conor blows spit bubbles at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles answers. “We’re both doomed.”

Changing diapers is a little more involved than Stiles realized, and he ends up with baby pee all over his shirt and Conor’s onesie. He divests Conor of his wet suit and takes a moment to plant a few raspberries against the soft soles of the baby’s feet, earning delighted squeals and flailing limbs. “This little piggy went to the market, and this little piggy stayed home,” Stiles recites, wiggling Conor’s tiny toes. “This little piggy ate roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little p—”

Stiles rubs his eyes frantically, blinks hard a few times. Counts. Counts again. One, two, three, four, five…

Six.

He studies the other foot. Six toes. Heart in his throat, he takes Conor’s grasping little hands in his and counts. No, no, no. Six fingers on each side.

How do you tell if you’re awake or dreaming?

Your fingers. You count your fingers. “You have extra fingers in dreams,” Stiles tells Conor, and then he wakes up.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

Stiles wakes in a panicky stupor, faces of nurses, doctors, and the Sheriff, who looks like he’s aged ten years, staring down at him, blurring together like paint on a canvas.

He flings out one hundred-pound arm, reaching for his child, for Tyler, for a world where his pack is alive and well and happy.  I’ve only had the perfect life for a day and a half, but if anything happened to it I’d kill everyone in this room and then myself. A giggle hiccups out of his dry throat.

“…nerve damage…dead tissue,” the surgeon explains, but some morphine-derivative courses through his system and he listens to it all from the deep end of a warm tunnel. “The bad news is, you lost the one toe to frostbite, but I saved the others. And the loss of a pinky toe doesn’t impede balance at all.”

Stiles nods. The conversation hangs around him like a dense fog. “That sucks,” he croaks out, words lengthening as the drugs pull his tongue like taffy. “But…where is my husband?”

Behind the doctor, two nurses exchange glances, eyes wide over their surgical masks. His father shakes his head back and forth. “Stiles… you’re not married.”

”I am, ” he insists.  ”And my baby. I have a baby.”

“Completely normal,” the doctor consoles. “Nothing to worry about. Some patients experience hallucinations and dreams as the anesthesia wears off.”

Oh yeah. Conor’s happy squeals, Tyler’s glorious smile, having a mom again. None of it was real.

“Recovery time typically takes between two and six weeks. You’ll have to keep the incision clean diligently and the stitches covered, but before you know it, you’ll walk again,” the doctor tells him. “You’ll run.”

Laughter gallops up his throat like a wild horse. He’s shaking again as he did in the snow, bones rattling and teeth clicking audibly together even as he desperately tries to clench his jaw and keep them still.

I’ve been running since I was sixteen. I don’t want to run anymore.

His father plucks a Kleenex from the box on his hospital tray, hands it to him. The thin tissue is sandpaper between Stiles’ raw fingertips. “Wh-why are you g-giving me this?” Stiles asks between gasps of air.

“Son,” his father says softly, “you’re crying.”

———-

His hospital room smells like a funeral parlor. Lily of the valley, morning glory, and peony. Scott charges in the moment Stiles can receive visitors outside the pathetic roster of family members, carrying a vase of blue dicks. “Get it?! Because you had hypothermia! You were freezing your-”

“Yeah, buddy. I get it.”

Get Well Soon the generic message on the flower card commands, but the problem is, Stiles isn’t sick. He’s grieving. But how can I mourn a life I never had?

By lunchtime, the snow stops, the sun shines, and Derek saunters into his hospital room as if he owns it. He looks stoically handsome in his black leather jacket and signature scowl, calm and composed, and smells like fresh air. Stiles’ emotional state soars dangerously from elation to despair, settling somewhere in the realm of weary acceptance.  

“They obliterated my toe,” Stiles tells Derek when he approaches the bedside, pulling back the sheet to reveal his foot wrapped up in a mountain of gauze.

“I know,” Derek replies, pulling up a folding chair and falling gracefully into it. He props his sneakers up on top of the room’s air-conditioning unit. “I brought you here and stayed until your Dad could come. The doctor said he’d try his best, but…” Derek shrugs. He knows all about good intentions.

“Scott told me you went back out after I got out of surgery, killed the Chenoo.”

Derek grimaces. “I have salt in crevices where salt should never go.”

“I’m ah, I’m sorry I was wea-”

Derek holds up a hand. “Stiles, stop. Never apologize for your humanity.”

But it’s more than physical feebleness.  It’s the mental weakness that settles on Stiles’ shoulders like a villains cloak—stitched with shame, edged in anger, dyed red because he looks damn good in red, and no one can tell him otherwise.

Stiles pulls a flat hospital pillow into his arms, holding it across his chest like armor, curling tighter around it with each word. ”Scott said you know about the hallucinations.”  Might as well get this over with now, when the wound is still fresh enough to heal with a minimal amount of scarring.

”I do, ” Derek replies.  ”Did Scott tell you I stayed the entire time? I only left this morning to kill the Chenoo.”

”He may have mentioned something along that line.” It’s the sole reason Stiles is brave enough to tackle this conversation now.  Dude, Scott had said, Derek stood outside the ICU for hours.  Your dad totally thinks you’re boning him.

“Derek?” Stiles fidgets with the sheet covering his leg. “I need to ask you something.”

Gold-flecked green eyes bore into him. Lacking Tyler’s delicate laugh lines, they feel sharper than a knife. “You can ask me anything, Stiles.”

He already grilled his father in every detail, but he needs to hear it from Derek’s mouth. “Did we find shelter from the storm in a cabin in the preserve? Was there a…” He stumbles; Conor’s face flashes before his eyes. “Was there a baby there? A baby boy in a red blanket?”  

Derek’s punctuates his gentle but firm statement with a shake of his head. “No, Stiles. You passed out, and I carried you here.”

“From the preserve? Dude. That’s like… Miles.”

Derek nods. He doesn’t say it, but somehow Stiles can hear the unspoken And I’d do it again because he’d do the same for Derek. Sadness surges like a wave, sudden and powerful, the words pulled from his mouth in the tide. “I dreamt we were a family.”

“We are family, Stiles. Pack is family.”

“No.” Stiles bites his lip. “I imagined it all, made it up in my head, but it felt so damn real. We were a family; you, me, and our son.”

Derek’s feet drop back to the floor, his spine a tautly pulled string. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me more.”

Stiles tells him everything.

“Wait,” Derek says after Stiles finally stops speaking. “This sounds vaguely familiar.” Derek unfolds from the chair and moves toward the hospital room door.  

“It does?” Stiles asks, hope igniting inside his chest. Maybe Derek’s dreamed about this before too.

“Stay right there,” Derek commands, eyebrows furrowed as he walks out of the room.

“Where do you imagine I’m going to go?” Stiles calls. “My foot is—”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded familiar!” Derek declares as he rushes back into the room, waving a magazine in front of Stiles’ face.

“What the heck, man?” Stiles struggles to sit up. “Did the nurses at the desk see you using werewolf speed?”

“Look,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles as usual. “Your surgery took two hours, and your father was scrambling for coverage so he could get over here. I sat in the waiting room, reading every magazine they had. I read this one.” He flips open an Entertainment Weekly and holds it under Stiles’ nose. There’s a handsome, dark-haired man in profile on the cover, looking down at a baby in a red blanket nestled in his arms. Another man flanks the infant; a smiling face turned toward the camera. The cover line reads, Tyler and Dylan may have ended their run on Teen Wolf, but their story is far from over.  

Oh my god, you are such an idiot.

“Oh my god, I am such an idiot!” Stiles squeals, snatching them magazine out of Derek’s hand. No. No, it can’t be. Stiles did not almost die of hypothermia just to imagine he Freaky Friday-ed with a couple of actors.  

“I knew Tyler and Dylan sounded familiar. They’re those actors who got married in real life, the ones on that stupid teenage werewolf soap opera you and Scott loved. And then they—”

“Adopted a baby last month,” Stiles finishes, flipping through the familiar pages. He’d perused the same magazine in Deaton’s clinic while they discussed how best to destroy the Chenoo.

“It makes perfect sense, Stiles,” Derek says, laying a hand down next to him on the bed. “Your brain latched onto the last thing you focused on before we left to hunt the Chenoo. It’s almost like that one episode of the show where Dylan’s character ends up in the Phantom Train Station between dimensions.”

“Hey,” Stiles gives Derek the stink eye. “You swore you never watched the show.”

An overly exaggerated eye roll. “I may have caught a couple of episodes.”  

Stiles’ eyebrows smugly say, I told you so, and Derek’s answer, shut the fuck up, Stiles.

“Which one were you again?” Derek asks. “Which guy?”

Stiles looks at the happy face of the actor. “Dylan.”

“So I was Tyler?” Derek grimaces. “That guy looks like he’s thirty-five.”

“Yeah, but in the best way,” Stiles insists.

He huffs, but Stiles sees the tips of his ears burning bright pink. Derek looks down, rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “You know I’m not him, right?” Derek asks, pointing to the handsome, besotted face on the magazine cover. “I’m not some happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine.”

Stiles tosses the magazine to the window ledge, where it falls between two flower vases. “Yeah, I know,” Stiles softly replies. Butterflies flutter in his stomach; they tingle at the ends of his ten fingers and nine toes. “Doesn’t stop me from loving you, though.”

Derek climbs into Stiles’ hospital bed, presses his face into Stiles’ throat and sighs, warm breath fanning over Stiles’ skin, words vibrating. “The entire trek to the hospital, I was terrified.”  Derek brushes an errant lock of hair from Stiles’ forehead. “Then we got here, and they wrapped you up in this insulation, trying to raise your body temperature. It took hours, and I spent every minute thinking I might never get the chance to tell you…I don’t know for sure what’ll happen; marriage, kids, all of the above, none of the above. But I know I never want to lose you.”

And he remembers Tyler, standing on the busy streets of Los Angeles, looking like a lost little boy when he talked about almost losing his husband.  It’s the same face Derek wears now.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles answers.  Why did he think this would be hard? It’s as natural as breathing. “Important question, though.  This might make or break everything, so think hard before you answer. How do you feel about bathroom makeovers?  I have some ideas.”

“I feel strong to very strong about dual shower jets.”

“Dude,” Stiles says.  “There’s a definite possibility we’re soulmates.” And then, Derek smiles. It’s not as big or as bright as Tyler’s, not nearly as all-consuming as his subconscious conjured, but Stiles thinks, with time and love, it will get there.

They’ll get there.

[12daysofsterek]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Original Hale-Stilinski Child(ren), Lydia Martin, Danny Mahealani, Jackson Whittemore, Ethan (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: mention of Hale-McCall pack, Adopted Children, Future Fic, Christmas, Pack Feels, Family Feels Summary:

Stiles didn't plan on having the new house be the place for the pack holiday dinner this year. But they get volunteered and he figures, what better way to make the holiday special for the new addition to their little emerging family: their daughter, Lia.

[star55]

froggydarren replied to your post “i’ve lost momentum writing this fic and it saddens me because it’s the...”

*cheers on* YOU CAN DO IT!!

tyyyyy ♥

[literaryoblivion]

zimbits prompt: Jack surprises Bitty with a trip to Europe for the summer.

Your prompts were pretty similar, so I just combined them. :) @froggydarren Also sorry this took forever. I ended up rewriting the whole thing twice.

Jack wants Bitty’s birthday this year to be incredibly special.

It’s the first birthday they’ll celebrate as an official couple, and he wants it to be memorable. As much as he knows Bitty has told him over and over again he doesn’t need anything fancy, that maybe a new spatula would be nice, but “heavens, Jack, don’t do something crazy like buy me a new kitchen or something. The oven for the Haus was enough, dear,” he doesn’t care.

Jack’s been an all or nothing, go big or go home kind of guy and Bitty’s birthday present is no exception.

So he plans and plans way in advance, gets the help of Shitty and Lardo and even his mom, and has something he knows Bitty is going to absolutely love (and maybe kill Jack for even doing because it’s so grand).

“Jack, buddy, my dude, pal,” Shitty tells him over the phone, “you can’t spring this on Bitty. He’s going to flip out enough as it is. You’re just going to have to tell him the plan and that’ll be surprise enough. Trust me on this.”

Jack sighs. “You’re right, but I thought it’d--”

“As much as I hate to admit Shitty being right,” Lardo says over the line, there’s a faint indignant “Hey!” from Shitty in the background, “you’ll have to give him like the tickets and then tell him everything else.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack says knowing his friends are right. He was getting ahead of himself anyway, and all the romantic movies Bitty makes them watch together weren’t helping either.

“As romantic as it would be, I don’t think Bitty would go for it, dude,” Shitty says. “But you can tell him you had the thought, and he’d still love the idea.”

“And you,” Lardo adds.

Jack grins. “I know.”

“You doing it tonight then?” Lardo asks.

“Yeah. I can’t wait much longer and I want to make sure Bitty can take off work.”

“Smart move, Zimmerman!” Shitty shouts. “Good luck, Jackie boy! Let us know how it goes!”

“I will. Thanks for your help guys.”

“Of course,” Lardo says. “Talk to you later!” And with that the line goes silent.

And now, all Jack can do is wait for Bitty to come home, part of his gift is already wrapped sitting on the counter, and thanks to his friends, he’ll explain the rest of the gift once Bitty opens it.

~

“Jack! I’m home!” Bitty calls out as he comes through the door, shutting and locking it behind him.

“In here,” Jack calls from the kitchen, finishing up the stir-fry he was making.

“Hmmm, smells good, hon,” Bitty says with a grin as he comes in. “Wasn’t it my turn to cook though? I could’ve whipped something up.” Bitty comes up behind Jack and hugs him kissing his back absently.

Jack shrugs. “You’ve been at the bakery all day, and I was starting to get hungry. Besides, I wanted to… uh surprise you.” He turns off the stove and sets the pan aside before turning in Bitty’s arms. He leans down to give Bitty a kiss.

“Surprise? What for, sweetie?” Bitty says as he looks up at Jack, face scrunched in confusion. It’s pretty adorable, actually.

“Well,” Jack says, turning back to the stove to dish up their dinner. “I know it’s not until next week, but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer.” He moves around Bitty with their plates and takes them to the table, Bitty following behind him.

“Next week,” Bitty starts, but stops when he sees the present on the table. “Oh honey,” Bitty says, grinning.

Jack smiles and picks up the present and hands it to Bitty. “Happy early birthday, Bits,” he says before pecking Bitty on the lips.

Excitedly, Bitty starts to tear the brightly colored paper. Once the paper is off, he lifts the lid on the box and finds a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Bitty asks, taking out the paper and unfolding it. “This better not be the deed to a restaurant or something crazy, Jack.”

Jack laughs. “Maybe next year, Bits.”

Bitty rolls his eyes and shakes his head, before going back to the piece of paper in his hands. It looks like an itinerary, listing times and places, and the places are Paris, France, and Madrid, Spain.

“I don’t… understand?” Bitty says as he stares at it more.

“It’s uh… food tour… of Europe?” Jack says, wondering if maybe Bitty doesn’t like it after all.

“Like… a restaurant serves dishes from around the world?”

“Uh, no Bits. Like… we’re going to Europe and going to all those places to taste their foods and I even got some cooking classes in some places too. I thought… do you not like it?”

Bitty stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open. “We’re going to Europe?!”

“Well, not all of Europe, just a few places. I could only schedule it during bye week, so we can only go a few places, but maybe during off-season we could go back?”

“Jack. Oh my Lord, Jack. You got… I can’t decide whether to scream, or cry, or hit you.”

“Please don’t hit me?”

“Oh my god, Jack!” Bitty says, punching Jack in the arm, obviously ignoring his request. It’s not hard though, so Jack takes it. “We’re going on a tasting tour of Europe??? Jack, I… oh my Lord, I’m going to faint.”

Quickly, Jack pulls out a chair and gently guides Bitty to sit down in it. “Do you… is that okay? Do you not want to go?” Jack asks after a few moments, once Bitty’s calm down a little and not in apparent shock.

“Not want to… Jack, are you crazy?! Of course you are, you bought me a trip to Europe. Yes, of course I want to go! I just, this is so, I told you not to get anything huge for my birthday!”

“It’s not a new kitchen,” Jack adds with a smirk.

“Lord,” Bitty says rolling his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” Bitty says, voice fond as he holds Jack’s face in his hands. “You utterly ridiculous, handsome, crazy, wonderful, lovely boy,” Bitty says before pulling Jack into a kiss.

“I love you,” Bitty says once they finally break the kiss.

Jack smiles wide. “I love you, too, Bits.”

“Gah. I can’t believe you. This is crazy. And amazing. I gotta call Lardo.”

Jack grins, and stands and backs up so Bitty can run and get his phone. He starts eating while Bitty calls Lardo and listens in on Bitty’s part of the conversation, smiling as he gives Lardo the details she already knows.

“He originally planned to do what?!” Bitty shouts, and Jack winces, realizing what Lardo must have told Bitty.

A few minutes later, Bitty comes back in the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“Did you really think packing my bags for me, blind-folding me, and taking me to the airport and waiting until we were on the plane to tell me what was going on was going to go over well?!”

“I…” Jack starts. “Well, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t do it! Lardo and Shitty talked me out of it.”

“Praise the Lord. God, Jack,” Bitty says with a grin, climbing into Jack’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. “You’re hopeless. It’s a good thing I adore you.”

Jack doesn’t know how to respond, not that he has time to before Bitty is reeling him in for another kiss, this one far dirtier than their others.

Dinner ends up having to be reheated, and it’s safe to say Bitty is thoroughly pleased and excited for his gift.

[controlofwhatido]

fic: all of our tomorrows (crisscolfer)

Title: All Of Our Tomorrows Author: Controlofwhatido Gifted to: @froggydarren as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017 Summary: Chris decides to move to Los Angeles instead of going to college and finds a roommate online that he's never met. It's the most impulsive (and maybe dumbest) decision he's ever made. Rating: PG Notes: Merry Christmas Jen!! This sort of... veered away from your prompt, but I hope you enjoy anyway. :)

Read on AO3

[thespiritofawriter]

Thanks all for your lovely support! WE CAN DO THIS!!

[sterek-compliments]

@froggydarren and @jennthereaper

[spikedluv]

SterekRB Fic: home isn’t a place Derek/Stiles PG13

I'm really excited to finally be able to share with you all the artwork (created by the wonderful @froggydarren/Jen) that inspired me to write this fic! I can’t tell you how excited I got when I saw this piece, and how thrilled I was when I received it (my first choice!!!) during art claims. I loved that it was a college!au, and a baseball!au, but more importantly I was ecstatic that it took place at Cornell University. (For those of you who don’t already know, I live in upstate NY, and I even visited Ithaca a time or two when I attended college near there, and so this piece of art spoke to me like you wouldn’t believe. There was a lot of flailing when I first saw it, and even more when I was assigned it to write for. *takes deep breaths* So. Excited!) Be sure to check out her art post here on Tumblr and give her all the love! home isn't a place (45,000 words) by Spikedluv Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale, Kira Yukimura Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Appearance by Sheriff Stilinski, Appearance by Lydia Martin, Appearance by Noshiko Yukimura, Appearance by Satomi Ito, Appearance by Scott McCall, Appearance by Chris Argent, Cameo by Allison Argent, Cameo by Danny Mahealani, Original Character(s), Romance Summary:

Ithaca, New York is known as a sanctuary within the supernatural community, and Cornell University is where creatures such as Kitsune and Selkies can safely attend college. Though Stiles doesn’t think he’s anything special (despite having a ‘spark’, whatever that is), he attends on Satomi’s recommendation; he wants to learn everything he can about the supernatural world so he can return to Beacon Hills and help Scott.

The last person Stiles expects to run into at Cornell is Derek Hale. Derek is gruff and grumpy, but despite that Stiles is drawn to him. When someone begins murdering supernatural students Laura Hale takes Stiles under her wing. Between attending class, hanging out with Kira, adopting a dog, and keeping score for the baseball team, Stiles investigates the deaths to figure out who’s killing his fellow students before he ends up a victim himself.

Through it all, Stiles learns the real meaning of ‘home’.

[tryslora]

3 sentence fic meme: Sterek, Pokemon AU

“Stiles, focus. The Beacon Hills gym is the best place to train. We’ve been on the road for weeks to get here.”

“Lydia, did you see the gym leader? I can’t fight Derek! I can’t put poor Ditto up against whatever monster Pokemon he has.”

“I’m going in with Misdreavus and Kira has Vulpix. We can take whatever Derek throws at us, and our Pokemon will learn from it--Stiles?”

“Oh God, Lydia. It’s worse than I thought.”

“What is it?”

“He’s playing with a Pichu. I think my ovaries just exploded.”

“You don’t have ovaries, Stiles.”

“Hush, Lydia. I’m going in, and I’m coming back out with that man in my Pokeball. Who cares about the Pokemon, I want to win the trainer.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @FroggyDarren!

Happy holidays! I hope you like it! Sorry, the plot kind of ran away with me! But I tried to include as many of your tags as possible!

Read on AO3

*****

Whatever It Takes

Derek tapped the steering wheel, his mind half a mile away as he cruised down the interstate. “I could’ve told my mom we couldn’t make it this year.” He adjusted the dial on the radio until another station came back into focus.

“That would’ve drawn unwanted attention.” The young man in the backseat smiled reassuringly at him in the reflection of the rearview. “The best thing to do is to continue your lives as normally as possible, and you go to this holiday party every year.”

Derek pressed his lips together. He was sure the Department of Justice had a file on him and his daughter that “Stiles” had already read, but it was still slightly unnerving for a virtual stranger to know things about his life Derek hadn’t told him.

“It’ll be fine, Dad.” Eva lifted her head from the window and leaned into the middle seat to see him. “I’m sure Stiles knows what he’s doing, and if Deucalion shows up, Stiles can handle him, right?” She glanced at Stiles for confirmation.

He nodded. “Of course.”

Eva waved her hand in a “see” gesture and Derek sighed. “Alright. Remember, we can’t tell anyone about what you saw.”

“But Uncle Peter would find murder such an interesting dinner topic.” Her tone was only half sarcastic, but Derek still heard the underlying waver of fear. She took a breath and plowed on. “They’ll hear our heartbeats and know we’re hiding something from them anyway.” She sat forward until her elbows rested on the middle console.

Derek had to admit she had a point.

“I’ll give you both bracelets to wear,” Stiles said.

Derek tilted his head; that was an unusual defense against werewolf senses. He listened as Stiles dug around at his feet before pulling his backpack onto his lap.

“What will bracelets do?” Eva demanded, twisting around to see what Stiles was doing.

“A druid charmed them so it muddles heartbeats and scents. It makes other ’wolves think they can hear and smell what’s going on with the wearer, when really they’re hearing and smelling what they expect to hear and smell.” Stiles wrestled a zipper into submission, grinning as he looked through a smaller pocket inside the main one. “There’s also a panic button in the middle bead. You hold it for three seconds and my partners with the Marshalls will know your location and come help you.”

Eva raised a questioning brow at Derek.

He hadn’t heard of anything like that either.

“So,” Derek began slowly, “if something happens to Eva, I won’t be able to tell?”

Eva frowned, shrinking back into her seat. Since witnessing Deucalion tear one of his pack members to shreds, nightmares and anxiety had plagued her.

“Absolutely not,” Stiles said sharply, pulling two straw woven bracelets from his bag. “If you listen and smell close enough you can tell there’s something wrong with the wearer, but unless you suspect something, it’s hard to tell.”

Derek chanced a glance over his shoulder at the jewelry. Large wooden beads hung from various points. It looked like a child had made it at summer camp. He sniffed; he couldn’t smell the distinct citrus tinge of magic, only the straw and cedar wood, which was probably the point, he realized.

“Who made those?” Eva asked. She frowned, reaching out to touch one.

Stiles handed it over. “Didn’t you make them?”

“No,” Eva said flatly.

Derek barked a laugh at her tone.

Stiles motioned to the bracelet. “Hold onto that and tell your dad you made it.” His gaze skipped up to Derek’s. “Listen to her heartbeat and see if you can tell she’s lying.”

“Alright.” Derek nodded, willing to play along if that meant ensuring their safety. He tuned in immediately to the familiar thump of Eva’s heart; it was calm and strong at the moment, despite the situation. He listened as the beads clacked.

“I made these for us,” Eva said, looking up at Derek.

He could tell she didn’t expect it to work.

Her heart slowed for a fraction of a second but the tell-tale skip of a beat and quickening wasn’t there.

“Huh.” Stiles had been right; he knew something was wrong but if he hadn’t been listening as closely as he was he wouldn’t have realized anything out of the ordinary. “Cool trick.”

“It worked?” Eva gasped. She flung the bracelet over Derek’s shoulder onto his lap. “Tell me a lie, I want to hear.”

“It can’t take back words,” Stiles said quickly. “So if you say the wrong thing, there’s no take backs or “I didn’t mean that”, because then they’d look closer and realized something is wrong.”

“I think we can manage that.” Eva nudged Derek’s shoulder. “Tell me a lie.”

It took another hour before they pulled into the driveway of Derek’s childhood home. Nothing about it had changed, not that he expected it would. It twisted between trees, slowly creeping up the hill to the house.

Eva peered through the window into the trees, while Stiles did the same through the opposite window, most likely taking notes on the layout.

Cars were parked and double parked in front of the garage. Derek recognized them all on sight and sighed. He and Eva were the last ones to arrive, again. Which meant a huge welcome and lots of attention.

He turned the car off, listening as Stiles and Eva scrambled around in the back to gather loose items that had escaped on the journey. Shadows moved behind the curtains next to the front door, giving them a brief warning before it banged open, casting a long glow of light across the dimming drive.

“Aunt Cora!” Eva shrieked. She launched herself from the car, flying across the driveway.

Cora caught her around the middle, stumbling backwards until she landed on her bottom in front of the door in a tangle of teeth and claws.

“Does it make you feel better to assert your dominance over a child?” Derek slid from the car. It was nice to be home. Familiar scents wafted from the open door. Even from this far away, he could smell his mom’s cooking and hear his dad trying to distract Laura’s eldest from charging after Cora.

Cora knelt on Eva’s back, effectively pinning her to the ground but loose enough for Eva to slip out if she desperately wanted to.

“I assert dominance equally amongst all my nieces and nephews.” She straightened but held her grip on Eva’s shirt to reduce the chances of round two.

“One of these days someone’s going to get the best of you.” Derek walked around the back of the car and opened the trunk.

Stiles came up next to him, his own bag already over his shoulder. “I can help carry these in,” he said, scooping up a duffel bag.

“Thank you. Eva, get your bag.” Derek stepped around the side of the car, watching Cora in case she decided to retaliate while Eva’s back was turned.

Eva shuffled back to the car, clamoring into the backseat to grab her forgotten backpack.

“Who’s that?” Cora asked once Derek stepped onto the front porch.

He looked up at her words.

She stared around him toward the car, and since she obviously knew who Eva was, there was only one answer.

“Stiles.”

Cora’s arm shot out, barring his path to the front door.

“Who’s Stiles?” she asked sweetly, eyes glinting mischievously. “You didn’t say you were bringing someone.”

Derek floundered. Of course he’d told his mom he was bringing someone; it would have been rude to show up with a guest unannounced. The way Cora was smirking, though, set him on edge. He and Stiles had come up with a story, a good story: they had met in college. It was vague enough and believable enough to hopefully answer all questions. Cora's smirk widened and Derek was an adult, he had a ten-year-old daughter and no reason to be so easily provoked by his little sister. This was ridiculous. He wasn't— "My boyfriend." Oh, shit.  

Cora cackled, throwing her head back with the force of it.  “Derek finally found someone!”

Derek’s jaw hit the floor. That wasn't what he meant. Only half the thought had come out. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. He couldn’t take the words back; Stiles had said not to, or was this an exception? He didn’t want to cause this plan to fail so early, but what had he just done?

Somewhere in the back of the car, Eva groaned into the seat cushion.

A wiry arm looped through Derek’s and his heart sank somewhere to around his knees.

Stiles was going to kill him. This wasn’t what they’d talked about at all.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Stiles grinned, falling into the part seamlessly while Derek fell further into guilt.

Cora took a deep breath, calming herself enough to shake Stiles’s free hand. “Nice to meet you, too. Derek’ll show you where his old room is. Oh my Gods—Mom!”

“I heard. Let them inside so they don’t freeze.” Talia appeared behind her.

“I’m coming, too!” Eva called from the car, wiggling backwards through the door, bag clutched to her chest.

Derek followed Cora inside.

Stiles stepped after them, still holding onto his arm.

Talia wrapped Derek in a warm hug, brushing a kiss across the top of his head before pulling back. “It’s lovely to meet you, Stiles.” Talia held her hands out questioningly.

Stiles let go of Derek and stepped forward, giving her a hug as well.

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour. If you’re not too tired, I hope you join us.”

“That’d be wonderful.” Stiles beamed.

Talia stepped back, snatching Eva into a hug as she darted by laughing.

“I’ll show you where the room is,” Derek muttered, seizing the chance to get out of the foyer.

The stairs to the second floor took up the right side of the entrance, looping over between the foyer and living room before turning into a hall.

Stiles followed him up, glancing over the sides of the half walls.

Eva made a quick detour into the living room below to hug Evan, Derek’s dad, before spinning around to charge up after them.

“Bathroom,” Derek pointed to the first door on the right, “bedroom.” He opened the next door, stepping into the room and dropping his bag out of the way.

“Sound proof,” Stiles observed.

Derek saw him looking at the width of the door jam; how he could tell? It was his job, Derek supposed.

Eva ducked into the room after them, launching her bag across the room where it hit the bed and bounced.

Laura muttered something suggestive at Stiles’s sound proof comment and Derek shut the door.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek breathed, looking over at where Stiles stood by the dresser. “I can go back and tell them—I don’t even know what I’m going to tell them. I messed up.”

“It’s alright.” Stiles opened a drawer curiously. “Clothes in here?”

“Yes.” Derek ran his hands over his face. “It’s not alright, I just completely fu-udged up.”

“I know what bad word you were going to say.” Eva flopped across the bed, tugging on the backpack zipper until it opened.

“How do you know what one I was going to say?” Derek fixed her with a stare.

She grinned, flashing dimples. “I love you.”

Derek let out a ragged sigh. “Love you too.” He took a breath. “Stiles, I-”

“I mean it,” Stiles interjected. He pulled his folded clothes from his bag, setting them in the drawers. “It’s fine. I’ve been worse things at shorter notice.”

“Like what?” Eva propped herself up on her elbows.

Stiles grimaced. “Nothing G rated.”

“Hey! I’m at least PG, and in a few years I’ll be PG13.” Eva sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed, a comic clutched close to her chest. “What’d you pretend to be?”

“We can play along for now,” Stiles said, strategically ignoring Eva. “We can even still keep the met-in-college story.”

“I switched to online classes after my first year at UC Berkeley, though.” Derek crossed the room to sit on the bed.

“So? You were still there, even briefly. Were you going to say you met me online?” Stiles chuckled. “I guess you could if you wanted.”

“No. No, no, that’d just give them more fuel for the fire.” Derek stretched his legs in front of him, working out the slight ache that came with being in a car for hours. “Met at college is still good.” He paused; two weeks was all they had to survive to get through this. Two. Weeks.

The house was loud and chaotic, just like it used to be when Derek was growing up. He made sure to keep Stiles as close as possible, lest one of his siblings snatch him away to interrogate him. Derek introduced Stiles to everyone as they passed.

Evan was guarding the food laid out on the counter and dishing out portions to whomever walked by.

David, Laura’s eldest son, made it known why guarding the food was necessary when he tried to run off with the serving plate of mashed potatoes.

“So.” Cora slid into an empty seat across from Stiles. “What classes did you two have together?”

Derek chewed furiously around the baked chicken, ready to tell Cora it wasn’t any of her business.

“We didn’t have classes together,” Stiles said before Derek could swallow.

“How’d you meet, then? Derek isn’t exactly the social type.” Cora took a small bite of potatoes, smiling at Derek.

She was getting coal for any future presents.

“We shared a dorm building.” Stiles shrugged. “It wasn’t anything special, we just saw each other in passing. Truth be told, I don’t think he even realized I existed.” He grinned at her, then glanced at Derek. “We didn’t start talking again until recently.”

Derek almost choked on the chicken. Yeah, really recently, like a week and a half recently.

“Why’d you start talking again?” Cora leaned her forearms on the table, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Cora, stop harassing them.” Peter sat next to her, setting his own plate of food down before looking around to see where his wife, Olive, and daughter, Malia, had gone.

“I think Malia went with Eva to raid the library.” Laura tugged the highchair containing her youngest child closer to her seat. “And they may or may not have convinced David to snag the ice cream bars from the freezer to take up to them. I heard something about chocolate or vanilla. I can investigate in a moment.”

Evan opened the freezer and sighed in defeat. “They took the chocolate. I’ll get it back.”

“Don’t let them get ice cream in my books!” Peter snapped, craning his neck to watch Evan leave.

“Don’t yell in my house!” Talia hollered.

A shout reverberated down the stairs. David’s voice, Derek recognized. Malia and Eva’s loud protests were short to follow.

Footsteps thundered down the steps.

“Mom, Grandpa took our ice cream!” David howled, continuing to run until he plowed into Laura’s lap. “He didn’t even ask for it, he just took it.”

“Did you ask before taking it out of the freezer?” Laura countered, gripping the high chair to keep it from toppling.

Derek watched, mildly impressed, as she comforted David, finished her own food, and continued feeding Daniel.

“No,” David grumbled. “But now he’s up there eating it by himself! I was sharing it with Malia and Eva.”

“Not in my library, he isn’t.” Peter stood quickly, plate abandoned on the table. “We’ve been through this, those are my books and ice cream will not be eaten around them.”

Stiles hid a smile behind his glass as Peter stalked from the dining room muttering.

Derek smiled as well; at least Stiles found his family amusing instead of irritating. Even he knew they could be a handful when gathered in one place for any amount of time.

“Dad.” Eva hopped up to the table. “Malia says—ooh, Stiles, you might be able to help with this.”

Derek gaped.

“You’ve been replaced.” Laura grinned, wiping food off of Daniel’s chin and hands. She scooped him up from the high chair, dislodging David from her lap. “Goodnight, everyone.”

Daniel flapped his hand as everyone said goodnight back.

David rubbed his eyes. “I’m going in the living room with Malia.”

“One more hour, then bed,” Laura said.

David nodded, slipping off into the other room.

Eva glanced back at Derek. “You don’t read comic books, and I’ve seen the Venom comics Stiles thought he was hiding.”

Stiles lifted his hands in surprised surrender, then frowned worriedly. “Those aren’t G-rated.”

“PG.” Eva pointed to herself.

“They’re not even PG, I doubt your dad would approve of you reading those.” He glanced at Derek, who nodded.

“Not until you’re older, Eves. I’ve at least heard about those ones.”

“You haven’t read them?” Stiles gasped, hand flying over his heart in mock horror.

“This isn’t about Venom, this is about Spiderman.” Eva crossed her arms, squeezing her way between the table and Derek until she could sit on his lap and face Stiles. “Out of the movies, which Spiderman is better?”

“The original,” Stiles said.

“No.” Eva shook her head. “You and Malia said the same thing, but you’re wrong. The Amazing Spiderman is better, even though there’s only two movies.”

“Maybe the original has more movies because more people liked it,” Stiles retorted.

“Nope.” Eva shook her head. “You need a first draft before a final copy. I refuse to accept that.”

Stiles’s mouth fell open and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

Derek could almost see the laugh bubble up from within him until it exploded, shaking his whole body with it.

Derek chuckled as well; Stiles’s laughter was infectious.

“I want to watch Spiderman tonight,” Eva announced. She tilted her head back to look at Derek. “Please? I brought the DVD.”

“I suppose one movie won’t be bad. We’ll set it up in my room, though, so we can just go to sleep afterwards.”

“Yes! I’ll go get the DVD out.” Eva jumped up from Derek’s lap, taking the steps two at a time, being careful not to disturb her cousins.

Malia and David were sprawled on the couch.

Malia leaned against the armrest, eyes slowly slipping closed as a documentary about ocean life played in the background.

And David, as far as Derek could tell, was already out cold, starfished across the oversized ottoman.

“I’ll take him to the room in a moment,” Sam said softly, coming into the room from the kitchen and following Derek’s gaze. “Laura’s almost got Daniel asleep, and she’ll kill me if we wake him up.” A small smile curled the side of his mouth. He stretched his legs out under the table, head tilted in the direction of the bedroom as he listened for Laura’s cue that it was okay to come in.

“I’ll go help Eva, then we’re probably off to bed too.” He stood to follow, and glanced at Stiles for confirmation.

Stiles nodded, rising to his feet. “See you in the morning.” He arched his back, stretching his arms over his head.

The hem of his shirt lifted enough to expose the flesh around his hips and Derek forced himself to look away. That was not appropriate behavior, he told himself. They were pretending to be boyfriends, that didn’t mean he had the right to ogle.

Sam smiled at them. “Goodnight.”

Eva sat waiting for him on the bed covers, her face split in a wide grin.

“It’s bed when the movie’s over,” Derek reiterated, inserting the disk she’d laid out on the dresser next to the TV.

“Okay.” She wiggled back until she could pull the covers over her legs and leaned back against the pillows and headboard.

Derek glanced around the room.

The bed was a queen, and could possibly fit the three of them if they had to. Stiles was, in fact, still a stranger to them though, despite telling his family otherwise. His gaze flicked to the door. Like Stiles had noticed earlier, the rooms were soundproofed, so the thought of putting him in an entirely different room than Eva when she was the one he was protecting wasn’t the best idea either.

Stiles needed to be able to intervene quickly if anything happened.

“I’ve got some work I need to get done on my computer,” Stiles said slowly. If he noticed Derek’s predicament, he didn’t show it. Instead, he motioned to a small armchair in the corner of the room. “Mind if I use that and a couple of the outlets?”

Derek waved his hand. “Go ahead, anything you need.”

Derek climbed into the bed next to Eva, gaze slipping to the TV screen. He had until the end of the movie, or at least until Stiles was done with his work, to think of a place for him to sleep.

The bed sunk beneath his weight. It felt nice to stretch out, his muscles relaxing after being held stiff for so long.

He listened to Eva’s steady heartbeat next to him, strong and rhythmic, even though he knew she wasn’t asleep yet. They were safe here. Even with the door closed between him and the rest of the pack he could sense their presence close by.

His eyes burned against the brightness of the TV in the dark. Slowly, he felt them slip closed.

Eva rested her head on his arm.

Derek could feel her body move with each breath; he could almost feel the tension leaving her body as she sank lower into the bed next to him. She felt safe here, too.

He distantly heard the clacking of Stiles typing on his computer. A smile twitched sleepily against his lips. Stiles would keep watch for them, at least for now.

Eva twisted next to him, yanking the blankets away.

Derek’s eyes flew open. The room was darker than it had been before and the TV was off; only the dim glow from the DVD player and clock on the nightstand lit the room. It only took a second for Derek’s wolf senses to kick in, vision sharpening as everything came into a hazy focus.

Eva’s lip quivered. Her claws extended and retracted into the comforter, body folded forward in on herself, trying to escape from whatever or whoever was in her dream.

Derek set a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, it’s alright.”

She leaned into his touch but didn’t relax.

Sudden movement by the wall made Derek jump, head flying up, fangs dropping over his bottom lip.

Stiles lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Just me,” he whispered.

Derek blinked. The clock said it was just past four in the morning, and Stiles was standing by the chair he’d been in before Derek had fallen asleep.

“Have you been awake all night?” Derek asked, doing his best to keep his voice low.

Eva rolled toward him, curling up against his chest.

He brought a hand up to her back, gently rubbing small circles to try and calm her more.

Stiles gave a one shouldered shrug. “Not all night.” He looked toward the window.

The curtains had been drawn, cutting off any light that could possibly seep in.

Stiles gently pushed the side of the curtain away. Dull moonlight illuminated his face as he peered out into the trees.

Derek breathed slowly, straining his ears. He could only the thumping heartbeats of Stiles and Eva and the occasional creak of wood under the carpet as Stiles shifted his weight.

“She’s okay.” Derek looked down at Eva in his arms. Her face had smoothed out and her claws relaxed back into hands. “Just another bad dream.” He tucked an arm around her protectively, pulling her closer.

Stiles nodded, hand slipping from the curtain. It swung shut, casting the room back into darkness. “I’m going to go get some water, check the house; just in case.” He stepped up to the dresser, grabbing an oversized hoodie and pulling it on. “I’ll be back.”

The bedroom door opened soundlessly and Stiles stepped out into the hall, pulling the door behind him but not shutting it all the way.

Derek watched him go. He could hear Stiles’s socked feet pad down the hall. The footsteps grew harder to hear when Stiles reached the stairs.

It wasn’t long before the footsteps returned. Derek listened as they came up the stairs, and down the hall.

The distinct scent of coffee and hot chocolate hit his olfactory senses by the time the door opened slowly.

Stiles’s face appeared around the corner. He smiled weakly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d gone back to sleep.”

Derek sat up against the headboard frowning.

Stiles held two mugs in his hands as he stepped into the room. He twisted, carefully closing the door with his elbow.

It’d be stupid to ask what Stiles was holding when he could clearly smell what it was from the bed. But... “Why?”

Stiles hesitated mid step halfway across the room.

“Your dad was awake.” Stiles held the hot chocolate out to Derek. “He asked if everything was alright, so I told him Eva had a nightmare.”

Derek took the drink, bringing it up to his nose and savoring the scent. He hadn’t had hot chocolate in years.

Eva prefered apple cider.

“He said you liked hot chocolate and I was welcome to the coffee.” Stiles grinned. “He has no idea what he just did. There won’t be any coffee in the house by the time we leave.”

Derek chuffed. “You’ll be up against Peter and Cora then, but be my guest. I’ll cheer for you, from the safety of the sidelines.”

The smell of the drink was intoxicating. He could remember one or both of his parents bringing him hot chocolate after a bad day, and just sitting with him. He’d sit in their lap on the bed until he felt better. And when he’d gotten older, they’d sit in the same chair Stiles had been using, while he took up the bed, talking with him until he felt better.

“Thank you,” Derek said. He took a tentative sip of the drink, happily surprised to find it cool enough to not take the skin off the roof of his mouth.

“You’re welcome.” Stiles sat back in the chair, hunching over his mug, breathing in the steam.

“Do you want to get some sleep? I can scoot over.” Derek inched Eva closer to the bedroom door, scooting behind her to give Stiles room to crawl under the covers if he chose too.

Stiles smiled softly. “No, thank you. Part of the training is to function on a few hours of sleep, at least for a short time. I’d rather be awake.” He took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the heat. He glanced back at Derek. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I can hold down the fort for a little while.”

Derek had no doubt Stiles could do just that, but even if he tried to go back to sleep, he didn’t feel like he could. “I’m awake for now,” he said. He rubbed his thumb along the handle of the mug. “Thank you for all your help.” He stared down at the mug for a second, then looked back up. “With Eva, and with my dumb self.”

“No problem.” Stiles tucked his feet beneath him. “It’s part of the job.”

Derek dropped his chin to his chest. “Yeah.”

Eva popped awake shortly after seven. She bounded across the room, scooping up clothes on her way to the bathroom. She swung the door open and froze.

Derek looked up, alarmed at the sudden increase in her pulse. Physically, she looked fine. And he couldn’t hear or smell anything out of the ordinary. Multiple voices came from down stairs, but they were all from pack.

She looked over her shoulder at Derek, a large grin splitting her face. “I smell bacon!”

Sam’s voice bellowed up to them. “I MADE BACON!”

“Save me some!” Eva yelled, leaping toward the bathroom.

Derek chuckled. “Getting her up for school is like pulling teeth, but when she can sleep in, she’s up at the crack of dawn.”

Stiles nodded, closing his laptop. “It’s the way of kids. I can remember doing the same thing to my dad.”

“Good morning!” Sam greeted, hoisting Daniel higher on his hip.

A line of drool dangled from his mouth to his shirt.

“Where’s the bacon?” Eva asked, craning her neck to see around her uncle.

“Manners, Eva.” Derek stepped around her to wash his mug in the sink.

“Where’s the bacon, please?” Eva tried again.

Sam chuckled and motioned to a plate in the center of the table. “Help yourself, I’ve got more in the oven.”

“Thank you.” Eva jumped into an empty seat, dragging the plate toward her.

Derek sighed. He pulled a clean plate from the cabinet and set it in front of Eva, pushing the serving plate back into the center.

Eva beamed up at him in complete innocence.

Sam wiped Daniel’s face with a burp rag. “You guys are up bright and early.”

“The curse of vacation.” Stiles stepped up behind Eva, snagging a piece of bacon for himself before she could protest.

“That was a dangerous move.” Sam grinned.

Eva frowned, staring at the plate in contemplation. “I’ll share with you, Stiles,” she said carefully. “If you change your opinion on the Spiderman movies.” She cast him a sly glance.

“Nope.” Stiles grinned back, stepping out of her reach as he continued to take deliberately small bites from the bacon strip.

“I smell coffee,” Peter grumbled.

Derek looked up in time to see him round the corner. He had deep bags under his eyes and his clothes were sleep rumpled.

“Shirts on backwards.” Eva pointed to the tag sticking poking out from the front of his shirt.

Peter blinked bearlily down at it for a moment. “So it is.” He didn’t bother lifting his gaze, he only followed the scent of coffee to the pot.

“Good morning,” Sam greeted.

Peter grunted, pouring himself a cup.

“Olive and Malia joining us?” Sam asked, glancing behind Peter like he expected the two to suddenly appear. “They’re usually up before you.”

“They already left,” Peter said into his cup.

Eva’s head popped up. “Left where?”

Peter shrugged. “A run, probably. Somewhere on the property.” He leaned against the counter, resting his head on the cabinet above. “Laura and David still asleep?”

“She wishes.” Sam smiled. He set Daniel at his feet, wiggling a teether in front of him until he took it. “She’s trying to get David to shower. He keeps insisting he’s going to jump in the creek later so he doesn’t need to shower today.”

“It’s a bit cold for a swim,” Peter noted. “Smells like snow outside.”

“Let him jump in the creek, it’s what we did as kids.” Evan ducked into the kitchen, stepping around Peter and Derek until he could join Eva at the table.

“And you smelled like stale creek water for days, I’m sure,” Peter grumbled. He tipped his cup back, draining the contents in a few quick swallows before filling it again.

Stiles threw Derek a wide eyed glance.

Derek chuckled. “I told you, you’d have to fight Peter and Cora for the coffee.”

Peter looked up and over at them, brows pulled down. “I’ll start another pot.”

“No, it’s okay.” Stiles shrugged. “I shouldn’t drink as much coffee as I do anyway.”

“I’m starting another pot for me,” Peter corrected, turned back to the machine. “And maybe Cora if she ever gets down here.”

Stiles nodded and turned to Derek. “Do you think we could go see the property?” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “I bet it’s lovely.”

Derek straightened. He hadn’t thought about showing Stiles the rest of the land, but that made sense.

Stiles would probably feel better knowing what surrounded them in case Deucalion did show.

“Yeah.” Derek glanced at Eva.

She was finishing the bacon she’d piled on her plate.

“We can go when Eva’s done eating, if you’d like.”

Eva looked up, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to go out in the cold.”

“Once we start moving you’ll warm up,” Derek said. He didn’t think leaving her home, even with the pack, was the best idea. And surely she knew that, she knew Stiles was there to watch after her, not him. “It’ll be fun,” Derek insisted. “Stiles hasn’t seen any of the territory, he might get lost without us.”

Eva tossed her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I want to stay here. It’s warm, and there’s food.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to come along,” Stiles said.

Derek’s head snapped toward him. The motion didn’t go unnoticed.

Peter set his coffee cup down, slyly watching from the corner of his gaze.

Evan lifted an eyebrow, lips pressed together thoughtfully. He glanced at Sam, who shrugged.

“If your dad approves, I was thinking you might like to read some of the comics I brought.” Stiles looked up at Derek. “He has to approve of what ones you can read, though. Since I won’t be here to miss them, this might be your best opportunity.” He grinned.

Eva’s face lit up. “Dad, can I?” She twisted to face Stiles. “What ones did you bring? Are they in your backpack?” She jumped from the chair. It wobbled onto two of its legs before thunking back to the ground.

“Let’s go see what Stiles brought.” Derek motioned for her to go.

Eva shrieked, tearing off toward the stairs.

Derek and Stiles followed behind.

They entered the bedroom and Derek swiftly shut the door. “Eva’s supposed to be the one in protection.” He lifted his hands to his hair. “Why did you say she could stay behind? What if something happens while she’s here?”

Eva paused in her rush to get to Stiles’s bag, shoulders hunched and the scent of guilt slowly seeping off of her.

Stiles picked up his backpack, setting it gently on the bed. “Forcing her to go would only cause a scene. Unless you often have to persuade her to join you outside? Besides, being with the majority of her pack is as much protection, if not more, than I could provide.”

“I can go,” Eva said softly.

Derek watched as she crawled on the bed next to Stiles.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t realize. I forgot.” She ducked her head. “But I don’t want to go.” She looked back up, eyes pleading for Derek to understand.

“You don’t have to go.” Stiles unzipped his bag, tossing back the flap to reveal at least a dozen comics. He quickly removed the Venom ones from the pile, setting them off to the side. “What you do have to do though,” he fixed Eva with a look, “is stay as close to Grandma Talia as you can.”

“Why?” Eva asked, reaching into the bag to scoot the comics around with a finger.

“She’s the Alpha,” Stiles said. “Your dad and I would be the best options to watch after you right now, but if you really don’t want to go with us, you can stay with Talia and have a comic to read.”

Eva picked up one of the comics, flipping through the pages slowly, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

“Decision?” Derek prompted after a seconds silence.

“Grandma Talia and the comic,” Eva muttered. “This one okay?” She held it up so Derek could see the Spiderman cover.

“Looks okay to me.” Derek ran a hand over his face. “Stiles?”

“That one’s good,” he agreed.

“Thank you, Stiles.” Eva clutched the comic to her chest. “Thank you, Dad.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek said.

Eva stood and wrapped her arms around Derek’s middle. “I love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.” Derek hugged her back.

She let go, turning and diving into Stiles before he had much of a chance to react.

He tilted sideways, bracing himself against the bed with his unpinned arm.

“Be careful,” Eva said into his shirt.

“Always.” Stiles gave her a brief hug. “We’ll be back soon.”

Eva stepped back, toward the door. “I’ll go find Grandma Talia.”

Once Eva left, Stiles changed into warmer clothes and tugged on a pair hiking boots.

Cold air rushed against Derek’s face as he slid open the back door.

The sun was just starting to peek through the trunks, casting long shadows across the deck and ground.

Stiles stepped out after him.

The deck was bare at the moment. In the warmer months Talia and Evan set out furniture, often choosing to serve meals outside instead of indoors.

Stiles flapped his arms against the cold. “Peter wasn’t joking.” He crossed the deck to the stairs that led down to the trees, glancing back only once to see if Derek was following.

“He doesn’t joke often, and if he does it goes over most of our heads.” Derek crossed the deck in three steps, jumping lightly over the stairs.

Stiles squinted into the sunlight at the trees. His breath fogged the air, and he brought a hand up to shield his eyes.

“There’s quite a bit of land.” Derek fell into step next to him, happy to let him lead the way for now. “Fifty something acres. We can come out again later if you get too cold.”

Stiles barked a laugh. “I’ve got layers, I’ll be fine.” He dropped his hand from his face, turning onto a narrow, beaten trail. “Let’s follow this one for now.”

Derek kept up with Stiles’s pace. Their shoes crunched against the frosted earth, and birds flapped in the branches above them, sending a rain of pine needles on the path around them.

“We’ll hit the creek up around the bend.” Derek pointed to where the trail turned left. “It could be dry by now, but most likely there will still be some water.”

“I won’t jump in,” Stiles promised. He smiled. “Thanks for the heads up, though.”

Derek tipped his head back, scenting the air.

The iconic stale water smell assaulted his nose, quickly followed by the muted, earthy scent of mud.

Derek sped up, passing Stiles and putting himself a few steps ahead of him. Could Stiles even cross the creek without getting wet? He was human. He’d probably contract hypothermia or pneumonia.

Stiles huffed.

Derek heard Stiles’s footsteps grow faster, a sharp, bitter scent wafted from him as he passed Derek and took the lead himself. His face set firmly, arms swinging by his sides.

Derek hesitated mid step. Had Stiles heard something he’d missed? He’d been focused on the creek, but... He looked around. Nothing seemed out of ordinary. The brown ground, with the slightly lighter brown tree trunks, and the brown and golden leaves on the ground. Nothing was wrong.

He looked after Stiles cautiously.

Stiles turned, grinning over his shoulder. “Why’d you slow down?”

Derek smiled, heart evening out. Nothing was wrong at all. Stiles had been playing. He closed the distance between them. No sooner had he reached Stiles’s side than Stiles began to run.

Stiles’s long stride carried him quickly away.

Derek blinked at the sudden burst of speed.

Of course Stiles would be fast on his feet. He may be human but he also worked with wolves and had to be able to keep up if he needed to give chase.

The creek widened before them, tendrils of frigid water winding their way around muddied islands.

Stiles jumped the first stream, landing on the center island, then launched himself clear to the other side, not even stumbling when the ground caved beneath his foot.

Derek ran faster, gaining momentum until he hit the creek edge. He jumped. The air ruffled his hair and he landed on the other side, feet sliding in the loose ground.

In front of him, Stiles laughed.

Sticks and leaves crumbled under their feet with each pounding step. Stiles gained the lead. Then Derek. Stiles. Derek.

Derek frowned. Everytime he caught up to Stiles, he managed to slip farther ahead. It seemed the only way to gain the lead was to shift. But that wouldn’t be fair. Stiles couldn’t shift.

Stiles disappeared around a bend.

Somehow he was winning.

“Come on, slowpoke.” Stiles’s voice floated back.

Derek shifted. His bones and muscles flexed and tensed. The familiar stretch and shrinking of limbs had him relaxing into the feeling.

Four paws hit the ground and the forest came into clearer focus.

Derek ran, flying down the trail after Stiles’s scent. He heard Stiles’s footsteps first, then the steady thump of his heart, and whoosh of his breath.

Stiles glanced behind him when Derek came into sight. His eyes grew wide, mouth spreading into a grin, but he didn’t stop.

Derek came level with him, matching him in pace.

Stiles glanced at him again and laughed. Happiness flooded from him in waves, a tangled mix of cinnamon and honey that Derek savored.

Derek leaned closer to him, to the smell. It was nice, intoxicating even, and he wanted to remember it.

Stiles bumped against him, startling him from his thoughts and causing his steps to falter.

The slight distraction gave Stiles enough time to gain the lead. Again.

Two could play at that game.

Derek leapt forward, paws sliding briefly against the dirt. When Stiles came within distance, Derek pounced. He landed on Stiles’s back, paws hitting his shoulder blades.

Stiles’s knees buckled, toppling both of them.

Derek shifted mid-fall, twisting them both until Stiles landed on top of him instead of getting brained against the ground.

“I didn’t think that through,” Derek huffed, breathing quickly from the chase.

Stiles laughed, resting his forehead against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek closed his eyes, taking in the weight on top of him and Stiles’s scent. Happy, calm, content. Under the pleasant smells, something bitter lurked. He frowned, cracking his eyes to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles pushed against his chest, levering himself up. “Nothing.”

If he hadn’t been listening, he wouldn’t have heard it. As it was, Stiles’s heart slowed a fraction of a beat: he was lying. “I’m sorry.” Derek sat up next to him.

Stiles looked up quickly, his face riddled with concern.

Derek continued, “I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.”

Stiles gave a small smile. “I’m not upset.” Lie. “This is the happiest I’ve been in a while.” Truth. His head tipped forward, his smile widening. He looked up through his lashes, lips parted on the verge of speaking.

Derek’s heart swooped nervously, but his nerves tingled, giddy with excitement.

Stiles’s gaze slid past Derek’s shoulder, unfocused in thought. He licked his lips, stalling the words he’d so clearly been about to say.

“It’s al-” Derek began, and faltered.

Stiles’s eyes narrowed. His body went rigid, scent shifting to something intense, focused.

Derek turned. The tree trunks around them looked just the ones by the house. Normal.

Stiles rolled free of Derek, rising to his feet.

Derek scrambled to his feet, vision sharpening. He felt his eyes begin to glow, claws descending from his fingertips.

Stiles’s previously-loud footsteps had gone soundless as he crept forward, like a predator stalking his prey.

Derek followed, muscles tensing. He couldn’t smell anything or anyone around.

Stiles ducked under a low hanging branch, stopping when he reached the trunk. He trailed a hand over the rough bark and Derek saw it: a black tuft of fur flapping lightly in the breeze.

“What color fur do Malia and Olive have?” His fingers stopped just short of it.

“Malia’s red-brown, Olive’s gray.” Derek inched closer to Stiles, careful not to go past him. “Peter, Mom, and I have black fur.”

“You haven’t been out here.” Stiles straightened, looking around them as one hand hovered near his waist. “Have Peter or Talia been out here lately?”

Derek’s heart thumped faster, a cold chill running down his spine. “Not that I know of.” He leaned closer to the tuft, taking in a deep breath. Anger. Blood. Unfamiliar, illogical rage. The hair on his neck and arms rose. Not pack. “It’s Deuc’s.”

Stiles nodded, like he’d already assumed as much. His fingers twitched. “We need to get home.” He twisted, running back the way they’d come.

Derek took off after him, shifting again. How had Deucalion tracked them so quickly here? 600 miles away from home, where Eva had seen Deucalion tear Ennis to pieces. He has resources, Derek told himself. That’s part of the reason he’s so dangerous. With Eva as the only witness to tie him to the recent string of murders, she was the only one standing between him and freedom. There wasn’t enough physical evidence alone to send him to prison.

Derek dragged himself away from the bad thoughts, focusing instead on Stiles’s pace and trying to match it.

Everything would be okay. Eva was okay.

Images of the house in shambles danced through his mind. He went breathless with panic, anxiety making his lungs feel too small for the air he needed. His vision went narrow as they raced home, where he’d left his child, his baby, virtually unprotected.

When the house came into sight, Derek breathed a sigh of relief; it was still standing. Through the back door and windows, he could see that almost everyone had moved to the living room.

“Go,” Stiles snapped. “Get inside.” He cut to the left, reaching for something at his waist.

Derek didn’t need telling twice. He shook off his shift and hurled himself up the porch steps and into the house; the door was unlocked because it was always unlocked. He slammed it behind himself.

Sam looked up from helping David build a Lego house. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Where’s Eva?”

“With me. What’s going on?” Talia asked. She was walking, heading toward the living room from the library.

“Nothing.” He looked wildly at the windows. They were so exposed out here.

Talia entered the room with Eva obediently at her heels.

She looked at Derek and immediately grew tense, her face looking young and pale.

“Where’s Stiles?” Laura asked, bouncing Daniel on her knee to sooth his fussing. She still had bedhead, with a coffee stain on the front of her pajama shirt. She yawned.

“He’s—outside.”

“Is he hurt?” Talia prompted.

Peter came out of the kitchen next, interest piqued. “Ooh, does he need first aid?”

“No, no, stop, he’s fine, nothing—nothing’s wrong.”

Footsteps clattered toward the front door.

Derek’s heart stopped before he recognized Olive’s distinctive gait and Malia’s squeaky sneakers. He ran for the door and whipped it open. He went breathless with fear at the scent of blood and terror.

“What happened?” Talia barked, rushing toward them.

“Strange wolf on the property,” Olive snarled. “He tried to grab Malia.”

Derek slammed the door behind them, flipping the lock.

Eva whimpered.

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly before going to scoop her up protectively.

Peter went to check on Malia.

“I’m fine, Dad,” Malia muttered. “Mom was totally gonna kick his butt.”

Olive smiled slightly.

Eva buried her face against Derek’s throat.

“I didn’t get to do anything.” Olive looked at Derek, bewildered. “Stiles showed up with a gun and told us to get back to the house, to keep everyone inside.”

“A gun?” Talia demanded. “Where-” She looked at Derek, her gaze flicking down to Eva.

He clutched her tighter.

Outside, unearthly snarls echoed, making Eva whine and cling to Derek’s neck. A roar shook the windows.

Talia bared her teeth.

“Mom, can you take Eva?” Derek swallowed against every instinct that told him to hold her tight and run while he could. “She’s safest with you.”

She skeptically held her arms out. “We need an explanation, Derek.”

“No!” Eva squirmed out of his arms. “No, it’s my—my fault!”

“Eva, you know it isn’t,” Derek soothed.

Outside, Stiles cursed. A shot fired.

In the back of his mind, Derek wondered where Stiles had stashed a gun.

Deucalion roared.

Eva started crying. “It is! It is, and now Stiles is gonna get hurt and—” She cried harder, until her words were incomprehensible.

Talia gathered her up before Derek could.

The scent of fresh blood seeped into the house.

Derek bolted to the foyer, peering out one of the windows flanking the front door.

Stiles was crouched beside Laura’s car, panting and holding a handgun. “Put your hands behind your head and get on the ground!” he shouted.

Deucalion was standing in the yard halfway between Stiles and the house. He cocked his head. His nostrils flared. He looked toward the house.

Derek swallowed.

He was trying to choose who to kill first.

“Keep the kids in there,” Derek commanded softly. He opened the door and stepped onto the porch, claws and fangs at the ready. If Deucalion came this way, maybe he could stall him long enough for the others to get away.

Inside, Eva let out a soft cry of protest.

Stiles didn’t look up; all of his attention was on his target. “You’re already injured, Deucalion, and back-up is on the way. You’re done.”

He snarled and stalked toward the cars. “You think you can hold me?!” He moved with purpose. “You think your pathetic human weapons can stop me?”

Stiles tracked his movement carefully, rounding the cars and keeping low.

Derek’s hands twitched; Deucalion was getting awfully close, and he knew it, too, his eyes blazing with triumph.

Deucalion sprang toward Laura’s car. “I am the-”

Stiles stood up behind him and shot him behind the shoulder twice. “You’re under arrest, Deucalion Emery, for the murder of Ennis Wade.” He didn’t hesitate; he shoved Deucalion to the ground.

“How—how—” He couldn’t seem to speak.

“A very special blend of wolfsbane, just for you,” Stiles said flatly. “You have the right to remain silent.” He yanked his arms behind his back and produced handcuffs from his belt. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be…”

While Stiles read Deucalion his Mirandas, Derek stood, stunned.

“Daddy?” Eva called softly.

He shook himself. He had other important things to take care of, and Stiles had this well in hand. “It’s fine, Eves. Everything is fine.” He went and took her from Talia.

“Can we go check on Stiles?” she whispered, wiping her eyes on his shirt.

Derek glanced at the door. “We’ll have to stay inside, but we can look out the door, okay?”

She nodded.

Over her head, Talia was staring at Derek like she’d never seen him before.

Stiles looked up sharply when the door opened; he only relaxed a little when he saw them. “Don’t get too close; he’s dosed up, but I never trust it.”

“When did you call for back-up?” Derek asked cautiously.

Stiles held his wrist up; his bracelet clacked gently. “Panic button. Yours both have one, too, remember?”

Derek snorted. “Of course.”

“Did he get you?” Eva asked tearfully. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice shook.

“No, he didn’t. A tree got me.” He made a face; she laughed wetly.

A police cruiser pulled into the driveway a few minutes later.

Derek held onto Eva, watching the young man in the driverseat, who couldn’t have been any older than Stiles.

Deucalion struggled weakly against the laced bullets, lips curling into a soundless snarl.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the newly arrived car. “Scotty!” His face, slightly reddened from the tussle, broke out into a grin. “If you take him in, I’ll handle the paperwork?”

Scott opened the car door, gaze flicking over the scene before you, face taut. “You alright?” His nostrils flared and Derek caught the scent of ‘wolf. Scott closed the distance between them.

Stiles stepped back, keeping himself between Deucalion and the house. “Yeah, stupid tree.”

Scott snorted, a smile toying with his lips. “Yeah, curse those trees and their nasty limbs. They’re out to get you.” He hauled Deucalion to his feet, not bothering to wait for the alpha to get his footing before dragging him toward the car.

Stiles glanced back toward the house. His shoulders relaxed when his gaze landed on Derek and Eva. He smiled.

Scott opened the back door, pushing Deucalion into the backseat. He looked from Stiles to Derek and back again. “I’ll, uh, take him in. You said you’d do paperwork?”

“I’ll have it in by tomorrow,” Stiles said, turning back to him.

Scott nodded. “Be safe. I’ll see you back at headquarters.”

Eva jerked forward, the sudden motion catching Derek by surprise and giving her a split second head start across the driveway.

Scott paused halfway around the cruiser, hand trailing across the hood.

Derek was a step behind her when she hurled herself into Stiles.

Stiles stumbled back a step. He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s alright, he won’t hurt you.”

Derek stopped just shy of plowing into Stiles himself.

Scott nodded at him over the top of Eva’s head, climbing into the cruiser.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked. He could still smell blood, though not as strongly as before. “You’re hurt.”

Eva loosened her grip but didn’t completely let go.

Stiles looked at Derek, an eyebrow lifted. “You’re naked.”

“Inside, both of you.” Talia swept toward them, motioning both of them back to the house. She placed a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, gently pushing him toward the door. Her gaze cut to Derek. “I expect an explanation.”

Derek nodded, “After Stiles is seen to.”

Eva guided Stiles into the living room despite his protests. By the time they’d reached the couch his protests had died into resignation. She wiped her tear stained cheeks on the back of her sleeve, squinting at him scrutinizingly.

“Where are you injured?” she demanded.

“I knew we’d need that first aid kit eventually,” Peter called. He strode through the room to the hall bathroom.

Derek listened to him rummaging in the cabinet and sat next to Stiles.

Stiles held his left arm obediently out to Eva, the upper part of his sleeve ripped and clearly showing a deep scratch. “It’s not too bad.”

Eva hissed in sympathy.

Olive entered the room, glancing at Stiles. Malia followed Olive, climbing into her lap when she took a seat in the recliner.

“So,” Cora sat in the remaining recliner. “Who exactly are you again, Stiles?”

Talia and Evan walked up, stopping by the couch.

Laura held Daniel on her hip, an arm wrapped around David at her side. Sam stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

Derek took a steading breath and began the story. Eva cringed closer to Stiles when Derek mentioned the murders. Guilt twisted inside him; he should have pulled his family aside for this conversation.

“Do you know what my dad does when I’ve had a bad day?” Eva asked, taking the first aid kit from Peter when he re-entered the room.

“What’s he do?” Stiles asked, playing along with the distraction.

“He let’s me relax and watch movies.” She flicked open the box and squinted at it before pulling out a roll of gauze. “I think we should watch a movie.”

Derek spoke faster, lower, trying to get as much of the story out as he could while still keeping an ear on both Stiles and Eva. They’d all had an eventful day.

“What movie should we watch?” Stiles smiled, watching her shred his shirt sleeve to reach his scratch.

She laid a piece of gauze against his skin and began wrapping. “I think Malia has the original Spiderman somewhere.” She looked over at where her cousin was sitting.

Malia nodded earnestly. “I can go get it.” She slid from her mom’s lap, rushing toward their room.

Derek smiled. He didn’t even know what he’d told them about what happened, or what still needed to be told. But... “I think a movie is a great idea.”

“So you two aren’t actually dating?” Laura asked cautiously.

Derek’s heart sank. That had been their cover story. Well, the cover story Derek had thrown Stiles into at the front door. “I- uh-”

“Someday you’ll find someone, Der.” Cora tucked her feet beneath her on the chair.

“We were just almost killed! I didn’t say-” Derek looked at Stiles. A laugh bubbled up from his chest.

Eva had unrolled the whole roll of gauze onto Stiles’s arm and was in the process of sticking a bandaid over the edge to hold it in place. “All better!” She declared.  

“Thank you, doctor!” Stiles twisted his arm this way and that, inspecting her handy work. He beamed at Derek. “Didn’t she do a great job?”

“Yeah.” Derek nodded. “You did a wonderful job, Eves.”

“Now, what’s this about a movie date? I didn’t catch the whole thing.” Stiles scooted closer to the arm of the chair so Eva could sit between him and Derek.

Derek heard the slight slow of Stiles’s heartbeat. He’d heard the whole conversation, Derek realized.

“You don’t have to keep up the charade,” Cora said. “You did your job, you kept them, and us, safe. That’s as much as we could ask for.” She looked up at Talia and Evan.

Evan nodded, tousling Stiles’s hair. “You did well, kid.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Eva asked quickly, twisting to face Stiles.

“Not any time soon,” Stiles said, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He paused, Derek listened to him take a slow breath, steeling himself to say something. Derek’s heart sank, this was it, Stiles was going to tell him it was over, this was the end of their “dating”.

“And,” Stiles continued, “if your dad agrees to the movie date, I might be around even longer.”

Derek’s head snapped up. “Like actual dating? Yes!”

Stiles smiled. “Like actual dating.”

“Does this mean I get joint custody of your comics?”

[12daysofsterek]

Author: froggydarren Art collaborator: aredblush Type of Work: Fic + art Title: it doesn’t have to be a snowman Rating: General Word Count: ~5k Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Winter, Snow, Snowman building competition, getting together, alive Erica, alive Boyd, alive Allison, background Berica, background Scallison

Summary:  The Beacon Beans coffee shop is what Stiles would refer to as a lifesaver. They supply his dose of sugar whenever he needs it, they don’t ask questions, and their hot chocolate is delicious.  And now they’re running a snowman building competition where the grand prize would get him an entire year’s worth of drinks. Really, all he needs is a partner to team up with. Only everyone else from the pack already seems to have paired up.

Link: Read on AO3

[star55]

Fic asks: 8 to 13 ;)

8. Bed sharing or roommates AU? - *heavy breathing* bed sharing

9. Fake dating or arranged marriage? - fake dating

10. Mutual pining or enemies to friends to lovers? - ohhhhh. both. enemies to friends to lovers. 

11. Kid fic or childhood friends? - childhood friends

12. Friends with benefits or secret dating? - secret dating

13. Exes or established relationship? - established relationship

Send me a fanfic ask?