Chapter Text
John Stilinski had seen his fair share of crime scenes in his decades as a sheriff. He’d witnessed murder, arson, and violence in all its grotesque forms, but there was something about this one that made his stomach churn—a gnawing, unsettling feeling he couldn’t shake. The entire drive to Humboldt County he was hoping he was wrong. The moment he stepped into the burned-out remains of the house, something primal inside him told him exactly what he was looking at.
It wasn’t the charred debris or the collapsed structure that rattled him, though they were certainly disturbing. It was the aftermath—the details that had been carefully hidden beneath the carnage. As John moved through the wreckage, his trained eye picked up on things most people might overlook. The scene wasn’t just a tragedy; it was deliberate.
The lack of forced entry was the first thing that stood out.
“Nothing here was random,” he muttered under his breath as he crouched beside the burned-out remains of the front door. It had been blown open from the inside, but there were no signs of struggle, no broken locks or damaged windows. Whoever had come here had known exactly what they were doing.
No, this wasn’t some random home invasion gone wrong. This was something more specific. Something personal. Something with purpose.
Then there was the fire itself. The way it had spread so uniformly across the house, consuming it from the inside out. It was clear from the evidence on the floor—the way the flames hadn’t touched certain areas, and the fact that the fire had somehow avoided the main areas where the victims had been—that it had been set as a cover-up. The fire was secondary. The victims had been dead long before the first ember ever hit the floor.
Nobody left except for the two kids.
John’s hand tightened around the case file as he flipped through it, his mind already piecing things together with sickening clarity. The file on the victims had been marked as "high priority," but the details inside were sparse. The children—siblings, a six-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl—were the only survivors, though it wasn’t clear how they’d made it out. There was no mention of relatives—no aunts, uncles, grandparents. No one had stepped forward to claim them. Makes sense, there were 14 dead from the fire.
He read the names of the kids again, staring at the family details. Their parents were listed as deceased, with all other family having been in that fire. His gut twisted tighter as he turned the page. There was something about their last names—something that felt eerily familiar. And that’s when it hit him. Stiles’ project back in High School to try and map the North American Pack territories.
John didn’t need to be told the kids were wolves; he already knew.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he closed the file with a sharp exhale. The moment he saw those names, it all clicked. He wasn’t just looking at a tragic case of familial loss; he was looking at another pair of young, traumatized werewolves. And what had happened to them? It was too similar. Too much of a pattern.
John had lived through it before—when Derek and Laura had been left behind after the Hale family’s murder, when the fire had taken everything from them. He knew what it was like to find children like that, alone and vulnerable, caught in the crossfire of something far larger than themselves. Something brutal. Something vicious.
His mind raced back to that day in the woods when Derek had been just a kid—barely a teenager—scared out of his mind, wounded, and lost. Derek and Laura had been the only ones left from the Hale family, the only ones who survived the fire. The only ones who’d known the terror of being hunted by people who wanted nothing more than to exterminate their kind.
John had tried to be there for Derek then, protecting him from the ghosts of their past. He’d be damned if he let history repeat itself with these kids. He could see it now—the same wide, haunted eyes, the same shell-shocked expressions. They needed someone to protect them. They needed stability. They needed a family.
John knew the moment he learned about them that the children weren’t safe in the system. The foster system was overwhelmed as it was, and these kids—these kids were too fragile, too scared…too dangerous. The last thing they needed was to be placed with a family who didn’t understand the dangers they would face. A family who couldn’t recognize the signs of what they were.
He stood up, walking from the house, already thinking of a solution. He needed help. He needed someone he trusted, someone who understood the weight of what he was about to do. Without a second thought, John picked up the phone and dialed the one number he knew he could count on.
“Hey, Stiles,” John said, his voice steady but tinged with something like concern.
***
Stiles was mid-snack raid, half-distracted as he rifled through the kitchen cabinets looking for something to munch on after a long day. He had barely managed to grab a pack of chips when his phone rang, cutting through the quiet hum of their apartment.
“Dad? It’s late. Did you finally realize that ‘early retirement’ actually means you can sleep past five in the morning?” Stiles teased, a playful grin pulling at the corner of his lips.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. A hesitation in his dad’s voice that immediately made Stiles straighten, his smile fading into concern.
“Very funny, kid,” John’s voice cracked a little more than usual, and Stiles instantly picked up on it. “I need you and Derek to hear me out on something.”
That was enough to get Stiles’ full attention. His hand tightened instinctively around the phone as his eyes flicked to Derek, who was sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out, scrolling through something on his phone. Derek’s eyes met his, and without a word, the air shifted between them. Derek could sense it. Something was off.
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, his tone now more serious. His mouth was suddenly dry.
John’s voice dropped, his words quieter, but thick with something heavy, something Stiles couldn’t quite place. “It’s not Beacon Hills. It’s a case—a state over. A family was killed. Fire destroyed the house. Two kids survived. The details... they sound a hell of a lot like what happened to the Hales.”
Silence.
Stiles froze, the bag of chips falling from his fingers as his gaze automatically turned to Derek. His heart skipped a beat, and the room felt too small, too suffocating as Derek’s posture stiffened, his shoulders locking in place like a wire pulled too tight.
“Jesus,” Stiles muttered, his voice rougher than he expected. The room felt like it had shrunk a size too small around him. The air seemed thick with the weight of the memories of that night—the Hale fire, the loss, the grief. The screams that echoed in Derek’s mind for years after.
“The kids—six-year-old boy, four-year-old girl—no family stepping forward, no history on either side. I don’t think CPS realizes what they are. But I do.”
John’s words landed with a weight that felt like a fist to Stiles' chest. He heard Derek’s sharp intake of breath from across the room, the slight tremor in his hands as he slowly closed his phone. The muscles in Derek’s jaw twitched, clenching tighter with every word.
Stiles bit down on his lip, trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat. It was hard to imagine what those kids were going through—the fear of losing everything, of losing their family, of being trapped in the aftermath of something that they couldn’t fully understand. Of being so young, so lost.
He looked up at Derek, watching him stand up slowly, his movements tense, deliberate. Derek walked toward the window, his hand bracing against the frame as he stared out at the city below. His back was straight, but there was a stiffness to him, something sharp, something breaking through the surface of that calm exterior.
Stiles didn’t press. He could feel the pain in the air, thick and heavy, like a weight that was impossible to shake off. The memories of Derek’s childhood, of the fire that had torn apart everything he had known, of the people he had lost.
The pain of being a survivor. The pain of carrying that burden for years. Stiles knew it intimately.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Derek spoke. His voice was low, thick with restraint, and Stiles couldn’t help but notice the rawness in his words. “What are you asking, John?”
John’s hesitation was audible over the phone, and for a moment, it seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, weighing them with the gravity they carried. “They need people who understand them. People who won’t freak out if their eyes glow or if they accidentally break a chair when they get upset. They need... you two.”
The words hung in the air like a bitter reminder of the past, the burden of responsibility, and the unspoken fear that both Derek and Stiles carried. These children, these terrified, broken kids... they would be like Derek once was. Alone. With no one who could truly understand.
Stiles could see it in Derek’s eyes—he was already thinking about it. The offer, the weight of it. The years he had spent hiding from the past, running from the trauma of losing his family.
The silence stretched on between them as Derek continued to stare out of the window, his body rigid. Stiles could feel his heart beat faster in his chest. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that these kids had suffered the same fate as Derek or the possibility that Derek would be forced to face those memories all over again.
Finally, Derek exhaled sharply, the sound almost like a growl as he walked back toward Stiles, his footsteps heavy. “They’re too young,” Derek said, his words clipped, laced with frustration. “Too young to be dealing with this. They don’t deserve this life.”
Stiles’ eyes softened as he moved to stand in front of Derek. He placed his hands on Derek’s arms, grounding him in that moment. “I know, babe. I know. But these kids—they don’t have anyone else. They’re scared. They need someone who can protect them. And you—you’re the only one who truly understands what they’re going through.”
Derek’s eyes were dark, a storm of conflicting emotions in his gaze. Stiles could see the struggle in him—Derek had spent years trying to bury his past, trying to push away the pain, the memories. But now, here they were again, thrust into a situation where he couldn’t escape it. Not when there were children who needed him.
The tension in Derek’s shoulders slowly began to ease, and for a moment, Stiles saw the man Derek had become—the protector, the one who would do whatever it took to make sure no one else had to go through the hell he had.
Stiles’ voice softened, his grip on Derek’s arms tightening. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll do this together.”
Derek’s gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, Stiles saw the flicker of vulnerability beneath all the walls Derek had built around himself. He nodded slowly, a silent agreement passing between them.
Finally, Derek’s voice was steady, but there was a depth to it that spoke volumes. “What do we have to do?”
John’s voice on the other end of the phone was filled with quiet relief. “I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll make sure those kids get to you.”
Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly as he allowed himself to process everything. He knew it was going to be hard. It was going to tear open old wounds, remind Derek of the most painful part of his life. But if they could protect these kids—if they could save them from the same fate—then it would all be worth it.
“Okay,” Stiles said softly. “We’re in.”
***
The quiet upstate Nevada town was a far cry from the hustle and chaos of New York City. The houses here sat spaced out in neat rows, the lawns trimmed, and the streets were empty except for an occasional car driving by. This was the kind of place where people still left their doors unlocked at night and trusted their neighbors with their secrets. It was peaceful. Too peaceful, in fact, for what Derek and Stiles were walking into.
The plane ride had been silent, filled only with the rhythmic hum of the engines and the occasional clink of an overhead bin shifting. Derek had his usual brooding look, his thoughts no doubt spinning out of control with the responsibility of what they were about to do. Stiles, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how young the children were. Six and four years old. What had they seen? What had they endured?
They arrived at the small house where the kids were temporarily placed, a modest but cozy home nestled in the heart of the suburb. The front porch was inviting with its small swing swaying gently in the breeze. Marianne Grant, their caseworker, met them at the door. She was older, in her mid-forties, with kind eyes and a calm demeanor that contrasted sharply with the tension Stiles felt in his gut. She was a professional—used to handling delicate situations—but even she seemed apprehensive.
“They don’t talk much,” Marianne warned them softly, leading the way inside. The warmth of the home hit them as they stepped over the threshold, soft light filtering in through the windows. “Leo, the older boy—he’s extremely protective of his sister. Eva hasn’t spoken since the fire.” Her voice faltered slightly as she said it, but she quickly regained her composure.
Stiles swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as his eyes flicked to Derek. Derek’s jaw was clenched, his expression hard, but his eyes were full of understanding—he knew what this felt like. The trauma. The silence.
“They’ve been through hell,” Derek murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Marianne nodded, her lips pressing together in sympathy. She was used to hearing words like that, words that had lost their sting over the years of working with vulnerable children. But she also knew that nothing in her experience had prepared her for what they were about to face. “Just be patient,” she urged. “They don’t trust easily.”
With a quiet sigh, she opened the door to the living room and stood back to let Derek and Stiles enter first.
The room was small, but cozy—plush chairs, a couch that looked like it had been loved for years, and a few toys scattered around the floor. But it was the children who dominated the space. Leo and Eva were sitting on the couch, side by side, with Leo’s arm protectively wrapped around his sister. Eva was a tiny thing, barely holding on to the sleeves of Leo’s worn-out shirt, her face hollow, eyes wide but distant.
Leo looked up as they entered. His body immediately went rigid, his muscles tensing with the kind of readiness only a child who had been forced to grow up too quickly could have. His dark eyes narrowed, scanning Derek and Stiles, assessing whether they were a threat. There was a protective instinct in his gaze—sharp and intense—and Stiles could almost feel the weight of his gaze as if Leo was trying to calculate just how much danger they were in. His eyes, flickering with a brief flash of gold, held a warning.
Stiles froze. He didn’t speak, didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly. He was the outsider here—the human in this room of wolves. But Derek—Derek understood.
Derek stepped forward, slow and deliberate, giving Leo time to process, time to adjust to the presence of someone new. He crouched down so that he was at eye level with Leo, not towering over him like some looming figure. Derek didn’t show his teeth or try to act like a dominating presence. Instead, he lowered himself until they were on the same level, respecting Leo’s space, his world.
The moment Derek’s eyes met Leo’s, there was a shift in the room—a subtle yet undeniable change. Derek’s eyes, deep and intense, flashed a brilliant red.
Leo’s eyes widened in response, but there was no panic in his expression. Instead, the gold in his irises flickered with the recognition. He saw it. He saw the wolf in Derek’s gaze, and for the first time, he realized that he wasn’t alone in this world. Leo wasn’t the only one. There were others out there. People who understood.
Eva, who had been gripping Leo’s sleeve with her small hand, blinked up at Derek, her wide eyes full of curiosity. Her gaze was bright, full of wonder as she processed the sudden shift in the air, the presence of these strangers who somehow seemed to radiate the same power she instinctively knew her brother had. She was quiet—her face devoid of the usual childlike expression. But there was a spark in her eyes, a flicker of something that told Derek she was paying attention.
The silence stretched on, thick with the weight of unspoken words. Leo continued to stare at Derek, his breath coming in shallow bursts, his chest tight. The tension was palpable—thick enough to cut with a knife.
But then, slowly, something changed.
The air shifted again, and Derek held Leo’s gaze just a moment longer, his expression softening as he spoke—his voice steady, quiet, and full of authority that only someone who had been through the same thing could convey.
“You’re safe with us,” Derek said, his words simple but grounding.
Leo’s eyes flickered, and for a heartbeat, the boy didn’t move. The flicker of uncertainty, the distrust, the fear—they all played out across Leo’s face. But in that same instant, something else shifted. The rigid tension in his shoulders eased, his grip on his sister’s arm relaxing just enough for her to shift closer to him. He didn’t break eye contact with Derek, but there was a subtle change in his posture—less defensive, more... aware. He had seen it. He had felt it—the promise in Derek’s voice, the understanding.
Eva, who had been watching him curiously, didn’t shy away. Instead, she shifted closer to Derek. The small, hesitant movement wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t retreating into the corner like a frightened animal. She was testing the waters, feeling out this strange new presence, and for once, it wasn’t the danger she’d been conditioned to expect. There was comfort there, too.
Derek, despite his own haunted past, didn’t flinch. His eyes remained locked on Leo, unwavering. He knew this wasn’t just about safety—it was about trust. About building something from the ground up with these children, who had experienced a terror no child should ever have to face.
There was another long pause before Leo finally spoke, his voice hoarse, small. "You’re... here for us?" he asked, the words coming out in a rush as if he had been holding them in for a long time, too long.
Derek nodded, his expression softer now. “Yeah. We’re going to take care of you. You’re not alone.”
The words hung in the air, and for the first time since Derek had entered, the room felt less heavy. The tension, while still there, wasn’t as suffocating. The children weren’t alone anymore. They weren’t trapped in a world full of uncertainty, of strangers who couldn’t understand. They had found someone who could. Someone who knew what it was like.
Leo stared at Derek for a few seconds longer, then—finally—he nodded. Just once, a small movement, but it was everything.
Stiles, watching quietly from the side, felt a lump form in his throat. He’d been part of the plan—he had known this would be hard, that it would take time. But the moment Leo nodded, the moment the tension broke and trust started to form, Stiles realized just how important this was. This was more than just about saving two kids. It was about giving them a future—a future where they wouldn’t be running from the monsters that had taken everything from them.
And for the first time, Stiles knew they were exactly where they needed to be.
***
The weeks that followed were an adjustment, but it wasn’t long before the Hale-Stilinski household began to feel like home.
CPS had been slow to approve the placement, running through a series of checks and evaluations that made Stiles' head spin. But when the final approval came, it felt like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. Stiles and Derek were officially parents.
The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was comfortable. The kind of space you could settle into, fill with memories, and make your own. The kids, Leo and Eva, were still processing everything, still adjusting to the idea of having a family again. But there was something about the way they wandered around the apartment that made it clear they were starting to feel a sense of security, even if it was just for a moment.
Stiles stood with his hands on his hips, trying to sound cheerful but also a little like a drill sergeant. “Alright, guys,” he said with a grin, his voice full of exaggerated enthusiasm. “Welcome to the Hale-Stilinski household! We’ve got food, blankets, and a strictly enforced no-hunters policy.”
Leo, standing just inside the door with his arms crossed, eyed him skeptically, clearly sizing him up. “Strictly enforced?” he asked, voice flat.
Stiles gave him a wink. “Absolutely. Any hunters on the premises get kicked to the curb.”
Leo blinked at him, unimpressed, before something in his expression softened.
And then, just like that, for the first time since they had arrived, Leo smiled.
It wasn’t a huge grin, but it was a start—a flicker of warmth that Stiles would have missed if he hadn’t been looking. And that simple, shy smile? It nearly broke Stiles' heart in the best way.
From the kitchen, Derek watched quietly, his posture relaxed but his eyes full of tenderness. Something deep inside him shifted, settled.
They were going to be okay.
Leo, as much as he tried to stay tough, had started to see that they weren’t just safe—they were wanted . Derek and Stiles hadn’t just taken them in—they had welcomed them with open arms.
***
Three weeks passed. And then came the full moon.
Derek had braced himself for it, even though he wasn’t sure what to expect with kids who had only just started to understand their own shifts. He’d told Stiles a hundred times that the kids would likely be restless, maybe have trouble sleeping—but nothing could prepare them for what happened when the moon rose.
That night, just as the darkness crept over the city and the air felt heavier with the pull of the moon, Derek was pulled from his sleep.
Small footsteps in the hallway. Soft padding against the floor that was just loud enough to stir him from his dreams.
He opened his eyes, already knowing who it was before he even turned his head.
There, in the doorway, stood Leo. Clutching his blanket to his chest like it was his only defense against whatever was terrifying him in the dark. His eyes, wide and full of something Derek recognized all too well—fear—glowed faintly with the gold that came with the shift he hadn’t learned to control yet.
Derek’s chest tightened as he sat up in bed, his own eyes shifting to their natural red hue in the low light.
"Can’t sleep?" he asked softly, his voice warm and inviting.
Leo hesitated, shifting from foot to foot before he nodded, looking so small and fragile under the weight of it all.
Derek patted the bed beside him. “Come here.”
It was a simple invitation, but Leo stood there for what felt like an eternity, torn between fear and the need for comfort. He finally took a few hesitant steps forward and climbed into the bed with Derek, still holding onto his blanket like it was some kind of shield.
Once Leo settled beside him, Derek could feel the tremble in the boy’s small body. Leo wasn’t just afraid of the moon. He was afraid of what he might become. What he might lose control of.
After a moment, Leo whispered the words that had been haunting him, his voice small and strained. “What if I can’t control it?”
Derek’s heart clenched at the question. He had asked himself that exact thing a hundred times over. How many full moons had he spent alone, struggling, fighting, trying to suppress a part of him that couldn’t be held down forever?
“You don’t have to fight it,” Derek murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “You just have to learn how to work with it. And I’ll be right here.”
Leo’s breath hitched, but he swallowed hard and nodded, just a tiny motion.
Derek wasn’t going to let Leo go through this alone. Not again.
Across the bed, Eva had already crawled between Stiles and Derek. Despite her earlier reluctance to speak, she had found comfort in being close to her new dads. Her tiny body had curled up like a wolf pup, her little hands clutching at their blankets. She was already fast asleep, the quiet rise and fall of her chest a steady reminder of how much she trusted them.
Stiles, still groggy from his half-sleep, peeked over at the bundle of small bodies in their bed, his eyes still blurry with the fog of slumber. “Are we just collecting strays now?” he muttered, trying and failing to suppress a yawn.
Derek let out a deep sigh, his gaze softening as he looked down at Leo, still wide-eyed but slowly relaxing under his reassuring presence. “Apparently.”
Stiles grinned, his eyes glinting with affection. “You love it.”
Derek didn’t argue. He just wrapped an arm around their new family, pulling Leo and Eva closer, feeling a sense of peace wash over him.
Because, yeah. He really did.
***
The next morning, the sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room. Leo and Eva were still nestled between Stiles and Derek, their little bodies warm and calm, the chaos of the night forgotten in the comfort of their newfound safety.
As Stiles sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he realized something.
“Okay,” Stiles said suddenly, an idea bubbling up. “We need to figure out the whole ‘dad’ situation.”
Derek looked at him like he had two heads. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, these kids need to know who’s who,” Stiles said, a mischievous grin playing at the corner of his lips. “I’m fine with being ‘Papa.’ I mean, it’s cute. I get to be the fun one. You’re all brooding and serious. You’re totally a ‘Dad.’”
Derek stared at him for a long moment, clearly trying to process what was happening. “You’re okay with being ‘Papa’?”
Stiles shrugged, his grin wide. “Yeah. Papa’s cool. But I’m just saying—those kids need something, someone they can look up to. They need a solid dad figure.”
Derek blinked at him, then exhaled a slow breath. “Fine. You’re ‘Papa.’ I’m ‘Dad.’ But I swear to god, if you start trying to be ‘the cool one,’ I’m throwing you out of the house.”
Stiles let out a snort of laughter, clearly amused by Derek’s serious tone. “You’re such a softie. Fine. Papa’s the fun one, but we both know you’re the one who’s gonna end up with them at 3 AM when they have nightmares. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the spoiling part.”
Derek just rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further. He knew Stiles had a point. As much as he tried to be stoic and serious, he wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all himself.
The sound of small giggles behind them caught their attention. Leo and Eva were awake, and they were both looking at Stiles and Derek with eyes full of curiosity.
“Papa?” Eva asked quietly, her voice still soft but growing in confidence.
Stiles couldn’t help but grin, the weight of the moment hitting him all at once. “Yeah, Eva. Papa.”
Leo, who had been silent up until then, gave them both a cautious but trusting smile. “Dad?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Derek’s heart thudded in his chest, his chest tightening with emotion. He nodded, his voice rough but full of conviction. “Yeah, Leo. Dad.”
The kids smiled, and for the first time since they had come into their lives, Stiles and Derek both knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be.
***
One morning, a few months in, Stiles was in the kitchen, trying to make breakfast while half-heartedly watching Derek suffer through a full-on hair braiding session.
It had become a bit of a morning tradition: Eva, who had quickly formed a bond with Derek, would sit behind him and try to recreate the elaborate braids she’d seen on some YouTube tutorial, her tiny hands working with surprising precision. Derek, always patient with her, would sit there quietly, enduring the gentle tugging and occasional misstep with the same stoic expression he wore when training at the gym. Every now and then, Eva would let out a triumphant giggle as she secured another section of his hair.
Stiles, meanwhile, was busy making scrambled eggs that were probably going to be burnt, but his focus wasn’t on the stove. He had gotten used to these little moments, the ones that made the world feel quieter, safer, like maybe—just maybe—they were doing this right.
Leo, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, his nose buried in a book. It was a thick one for a six-year-old, but Leo didn’t seem to mind the challenge. He was meticulous in his reading, the kind of kid who would pour over a page until he understood it fully, despite the words being far too complicated for his age. But Stiles had learned to give him space, letting Leo work at his own pace, trusting that whatever it was he was processing in his mind would eventually find its way out.
Stiles smiled to himself, setting the eggs down on the counter before picking up the phone when it rang.
“Hello?” he said, wiping his hands on the towel as he greeted his dad.
“How are the kids?” John’s voice came through the receiver, warm and fatherly, but with an undercurrent of concern that had never fully left.
Stiles looked over at the scene in the living room. Eva, now finished with her intricate braid work, was grinning proudly, her face bright with accomplishment. She reached up to tug at the ends of Derek's hair, a silent request for approval.
Derek, who was doing his best to hide his discomfort, finally turned to her with a weary but fond smile. “It’s... very impressive, Eva,” he said, making her eyes light up with pride.
Leo, hearing the exchange, glanced up from his book, giving Derek a rare, shy smile, before returning to his reading.
Stiles’ heart swelled at the sight. These kids had come a long way from the terrified pair he'd first met weeks ago. They were finding their rhythm, their place in this little family, and it was all happening so fast—but in the best possible way.
“They’re perfect, Dad,” Stiles said softly, his voice thick with emotion he wasn’t quite ready to name. He could feel the grin spreading across his face without thinking about it. "Eva's got Derek’s hair looking like... well, something. And Leo’s actually reading a book on his own. Progress, right?"
John chuckled on the other end. “You’re sure they’re adjusting?”
“They’re doing better than we could’ve hoped,” Stiles replied, glancing at Derek who was now giving Eva’s braid a tentative tug, clearly not sure whether to be impressed or terrified. “I don’t know how, but they’re making this whole family thing work. They’re just... they’re just kids, Dad. And they need us, all of us. They’re gonna be okay."
John’s voice softened. “That’s good to hear. You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said about keeping them grounded, and I’m glad you’re there for them, Stiles. Both of you. You’re giving them a life they didn’t know was possible. Don’t let them forget that.”
Stiles’ smile faltered for a brief second. He knew his dad was trying to be supportive, but the weight of what they were all carrying—what they had to carry for the kids—wasn’t something you could easily just forget. But he wasn’t about to go there on the phone. Not when Leo and Eva were starting to relax, finally able to feel something resembling security.
“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
There was a long pause, and Stiles could hear the distant sounds of his father’s office, the soft shuffle of papers, maybe even the hum of a nearby filing cabinet.
"Don't hesitate to call if you need anything," John said, his voice still a little tight. "You know I’m always here.”
“I know,” Stiles replied, his voice thick with gratitude. “You raised me right, Dad. And... we’re doing it. We're getting it right with them.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
Stiles smiled again, this time not just because of the words his dad had spoken, but because of the quiet certainty he felt in his chest. Leo was still reading on the floor, completely immersed in his book. Eva was leaning against Derek now, whispering something about braid ideas for the next day. And Derek—Derek was here, not just as a partner, but as a father, in his own quiet way.
After a brief goodbye, Stiles ended the call, setting the phone down. He turned to the living room, watching the little scene unfold before him. Eva and Derek were in the middle of an animated discussion about how long it would take to braid Derek’s hair into something ‘real,’ while Leo muttered under his breath, eyes scanning his book as though it were the most important thing in the world.
And Stiles felt that same overwhelming love for this family—his family—rushing through him again, so strong it almost took his breath away.
"Hey, Derek," Stiles said, leaning against the doorframe, watching them interact. "When are you gonna let me braid your hair? You know, mix it up a little?"
Derek shot him a warning look, one that said no chance in hell, but his lips twitched in an almost-smile. "Maybe when you get your braiding skills up to par."
Stiles raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh, so you're telling me, you're not gonna let me give you a masterpiece?" he said, making air quotes around the word masterpiece.
"Not a chance."
Leo, still lost in his book, glanced up briefly, raising his eyebrows at the exchange. For the first time since they had arrived, he smirked—just a little—before going back to his reading.
Stiles laughed, feeling like the weight of the world had lightened just a little bit. "Yeah, well, when you're ready for a proper style, you know where to find me."
Derek shook his head, but the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Stiles knew he was enjoying this—just as much as Stiles was.
And Eva? She was already making plans for the next hair session, completely oblivious to the moment that had just passed between them all. She tugged at Derek’s braid again, whispering excitedly about how she'd make it even better tomorrow.
Stiles couldn’t help but smile. This—this was what they had always wanted, what they were building together. No one was perfect. But they were perfect for each other.
And that was enough.