Work Text:
Noah Stilinski woke up alone and completely disoriented in a strange bedroom. It took him a few seconds before he recalled Derek’s terrified voice on the other end of the phone and the frantic flight across the country.
For the last few days, Noah had been parked beside a hospital bed in New York City because his son couldn’t resist playing the part of the hero. After all, it was in his blood.
Four days ago, Stiles had jumped in front of a truck to save a little girl, and they had only brought him home to the loft apartment, that Stiles shared with Derek, last night.
Make no mistake, Noah was damn proud of the man his son had become, and who he would continue to be, but sometimes, he wanted to throttle Stiles for scaring the bejeezus out of him on a semi-regular basis. The flight across the country had been the most anxiety ridden trip he had ever taken, when normally, he found flying quite relaxing. Not that he’d had a chance to do it often raising Stiles. The kid kept him on toes.
If he hadn’t known damn well that Derek would not have left Stiles’ side, even if he had to bribe the entire hospital staff, Noah may have lost him mind entirely because Stiles was it. Stiles was all he had left. His only family. His pack, so to speak.
Originally, Noah had planned to visit in two weeks for Stiles’ birthday. But that went to shit the moment his son decided to be a heroic idiot. So here he was, lying in an unfamiliar bed, wrapped in the softest sheets he’d ever felt, where he would be for the next month, or so.
Noah felt bad kicking Derek out of his own bed, but the couch had looked comfortable enough. The bedroom, which was really a loft above the rest of the apartment, didn’t have much in the way of personal touch. No pictures or knick-knacks, and no clutter or mess. There wasn’t even clothing in the drawers. It was all rather Spartan, a rather stark contrast to the explosion of life in Stiles’ partitioned room downstairs.
The apartment was chilly with the A/C cranked in the middle of a New York heat wave. Noah tugged on a sweater over his t-shirt as he tottered downstairs. Maybe his age was finally catching up with him. Stiles kept dropping hints about retirement and travelling.
Apparently, Derek had a cabin on a fair sized piece of land that was sitting vacant at the moment. Maybe he should take him up on his offer to live there. It wasn’t too far from Stiles, and spending his days fishing and reading sounded appealing.
The couch was empty as Noah passed on his way to the kitchen. He yawned and shrugged. Stiles had mentioned a few times that Derek liked to run in the morning.
The pizza box from last night was still on the counter. A quick meal after they had gotten Stiles’ home, and Stiles’, who had been high on painkillers, hadn’t even complained when Noah scarfed down four slices of greasy meat lovers.
His son was a walking bruise with broken bones and slurred sarcasm. He could barely think straight with a number of chemicals that had been pumped into his system.
Noah shuffled across the apartment to the curtain wall that partitioned his son’s room from the main living area. Yawning, he pushed it aside.
“Hey, kiddo. I was gonna make breakfast. Do you want-” Noah blinked.
A giant black wolf, which Noah could only assume was Derek Hale, was curled up beside an unconscious Stiles on the bed. The wolf lifted his head and yawned while he eyed Noah. Apparently, finding no threat, he settled back down, tucking his nose under Stiles’ jaw with a low whine.
“What’s up, big guy?” Stiles mumbled. He couldn’t move with his broken leg elevated and left arm in a sling, but scratched Derek behind the ears with the arm Noah hadn’t seen wrapped around the wolf.
Noah cleared his throat, and Stiles peeked one eye open at him.
“Sup, pops?” Stiles yawned.
Noah opened his mouth to respond. With what, he wasn’t quite sure, but he was interrupted by a low grumble that echoed in through the room. It took him a second to realize it was Stiles’ stomach growling, not the large wolf.
Seconds later, the wolf was replaced by a very naked Derek kneeling beside Stiles on the bed. “You’re hungry,” Derek said. No room for argument. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“M’kay,” Stiles mumbled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Noah did his best to avert his eyes while Derek dug through a dresser drawer, and tugged on a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top. Stiles, unconcerned by the proceedings, hissed as he attempted to shift on the bed.
Before Noah could even take a step, Derek eased Stiles into an upright position and propped him up with three fluffy pillows. Black veins of drawn pain disappeared up his arm.
“Thanks, Der,” Stiles murmured. He leaned into Derek a little.
“Do you need anything else?” Derek asked. His voice was almost too low for Noah to pick up with human ears.
“I’m good. Just make sure my dad eats something healthy,” Stiles said. “No bacon.”
“Okay.” Derek squeezed Stiles’ shoulder and brushed Stiles’ sleep mussed hair back so he could press a kiss to his temple. Stiles hummed with content.
Noah was not proud of the noise he made. It was somewhere a squawk of disbelief and a shriek of horror. Worse, it set Derek on high alert.
The werewolf shifted into his beta form and snarled around his fangs, eyes flashing as he placed himself between Stiles’ and the door. When he found no presence of danger, he relaxed his stance and tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy.
Noah probably would have laughed if he wasn’t still in a state of shock.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked. He reached out to stroke Derek’s arm, and Derek’s beta shift melted back into sharp human features.
Noah’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times. “I’m just gonna…” He turned around and walked out of the room, letting the curtain fall closed behind him. The lingering touches, the soft words, protective nature, and possession took on a whole other meaning when viewed with a newly acquired minor piece of information.
“Oh my god,” Stiles hissed. “He didn’t know. Shit, Der. He didn’t know!”
Noah couldn’t hear Derek’s response. He hightailed it to the kitchen and distracted himself by searching the cupboards for the coffee. He found a bag of whole beans and no coffee grinder.
“Of course,” Noah muttered.
“It’s in the cupboard under the cutlery drawer behind the air popper,” Derek said.
Noah jumped. “Damn, son. Give me a heart attack, why don’t ya,” he said, but immediately regret it when Derek hunched over, trying to make himself appear smaller. “Give me a hand? Better feed that delinquent kid of mine before he tries to get out of bed.”
Derek lingered at the edge of the kitchen but nodded.
They fell into a quiet rhythm. Noah ground the coffee beans and brewed a fresh pot for the two of them while Derek bustled around the kitchen, chopping vegetables, whisking eggs, and grating cheese. Noah passed Derek a cup of coffee and took a seat at the counter with his own while he watched Derek cook. He hadn’t even known the werewolf could cook. He’d just assumed Stiles went on living off take-out.
The more Noah thought about it, the more the intimacy made sense. He’d had often questioned their relationship. Not that he had even thought they could have been dating, that had never been on his radar, but viewed the odd pictures Stiles sent him on that snapping picture app in a new light. Like Stiles’ feet in Derek’s lap while he studied, or cuddling with the ‘snugglewolf,’ which may or may not have been of Stiles sprawled over the very large wolf he had just seen, or even the dinners out.
“Dates,” Noah muttered to himself and took a sip of coffee. He set the mug back down on the counter and sighed. “How long?”
Derek tensed at the stove, shoulders hunched. “His first semester.”
Noah’s eyebrows rose. “That long?”
The hinges on the oven door squeaked as Derek eased it open and popped a cast iron skillet into the oven. The scent of garlic and onions hung deliciously in the air. Noah had no clue what Derek was cooking, but sign him up.
Derek leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and stared down at the floor. “We weren’t hiding it. We thought…”
“That I knew?” Noah ventured when Derek trailed off, and the nervous werewolf nodded. “I’m not mad, son. Just… surprised? I guess I shouldn’t be.”
Derek sipped his coffee and wrinkled his nose before he added two more spoonfuls of sugar out of the R2-D2 sugar bowl. He was taking a sip when he froze.
Derek was gone before the mug hit the ground. It shattered. Shards of ceramic scattered across the hardwood floor and hot coffee splashed against the cupboards. Noah barely set his mug on the counter before he chased after Derek to the lower bedroom.
Stiles was tangled in bed sheets on the floor beside the mattress. Dark veins already disappeared up Derek’s arm as the werewolf eased Stiles off the ground, scolding him softly under his breath.
“What were you thinking,” Noah said. He crossed his arms over his chest and levelled a glare at his son.
Stiles shrank under the disappointment. “It was too quiet,” Stiles whispered, and Noah’s heart stuttered in his chest. It had been a long time since Stiles had been comfortable alone with his own mind. Even time away couldn’t chase away those shadows.
Without a word, Derek hefted Stiles up into his arms as if he weighed nothing, accommodating the bulky cast and sling while continued to drain Stiles’ pain. “Why don’t we set you up on the couch,” he compromised. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Stiles nodded against Derek’s throat and wrapped his good arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Thanks, Der.”
“No, problem, baby.” Derek nuzzled the top of Stiles’ head. “Could you grab a few pillows and blankets?” he asked Noah as he passed, and Noah hurried to comply.
The sheets were still warm. Noah did his best to fix the bed after Stiles had dragged most of the bedding, including the fitted sheet, down onto the floor with him. He folded the duvet to carry and tucked two pillows under his arm.
Soft voices gave him pause, and Noah peeked around the curtain into the living area. Stiles was perched on the edge of the couch with Derek on the floor between his legs. Derek’s hand gently cupped Stiles’ cheek as they shared a tender kiss.
Noah wasn’t sure how he missed it before. Derek looked at Stiles the same way he had looked at Claudia.
“Is he disgusted?” Stiles whispered. His forehead rested against Derek’s, and his cheeks were flushed. “Does he hate me?”
Noah’s stomach clenched.
“Oh, baby, no. Of course not,” Derek assured. He smoothed a hand down Stiles’ jaw and ran the tip of his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip. “He loves you.”
“But he… he walked away. He didn’t say anything.” Stiles’ voice trembled, and Noah ducked back behind the curtain and closed his eyes. “I mean, I tried to tell him once. He didn’t believe me.”
Noah’s heart sank. Stiles had tried to tell him once, and he’d callously dismissed it as another of Stiles’ avoidance tactics. That night at the club, Stiles had tried to tell him he was gay. He still didn’t believe him. The kid wasn’t gay. Bi, probably. Stiles’ had chased the Martin girl too long, for him to strictly like men, and Claudia had always claimed sexuality to be fluid. He hadn’t really believed her until now.
“Shh… shhh… just breath with me, baby boy,” Derek murmured as Stiles sucked down ragged gasps of air on the verge of a panic attack. “That’s it. In and out. Deep breaths.”
Noah couldn’t see them, hidden behind the curtain, but each shaky breath rattled his bones.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles choked.
“For what? Hmmm?”
“I’m being ridiculous,” Stiles muttered. “Panicking.”
“You are ridiculous a large majority of the time,” Derek agreed. “But now is not one of those times.”
Noah smiled. Derek Hale was smitten. The idea alone was ludicrous, but he could hear it. Adoration dripped from every word. Clearing his throat, he stepped around the curtain with the bundle of pillows and blanket.
“I made the bed,” Noah said.
Derek had to have known Noah was listening in the whole time, but the werewolf said nothing. He simply kissed Stiles’ knuckles and stood up. “You didn’t have to.”
Noah dropped the pillows on the couch and shook out the duvet. “I’m used to cleaning up after his mess. Don’t worry about it,” he replied.
“Dad…” Stiles muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.
Working in tandem, Noah and Derek settled Stiles in. Noah propped his son up on pillows and tucked the duvet in around him until he protested he wasn’t a child. Unfortunately for him, he’d always be Noah’s brat to look after.
Derek had dragged the coffee table closer to rest Stiles’ cast on, then disappeared back to the kitchen after running his hands through Stiles’ hair until he was batted off and shooed away.
Noah sat down beside his son and threw an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Slowly, Stiles slumped over until his head plopped onto his shoulder. Noah smiled and flicked through channels until he settled on a random baseball game. Derek had occasionally watched games with him. Stiles had never been all that interested in anything outside of lacrosse.
“So…” Noah said. “Derek Hale, huh.”
“Yup,” Stiles said, popping the ‘P.’ “Derek Hale.”
Noah hummed, and Stiles tensed against his side. “Good choice.”
In increments, the tension slowly drained and Stiles relaxed back into Noah’s side. “You think?” he asked.
Noah nodded and thumped his socked feet down on the coffee table beside Stiles’ caste. “Definitely.”
Even before he arrested Derek for a murder he obviously hadn’t committed, Noah had always liked the kid. Had a bit of murder-face, as Stiles called it, going on now, which hadn’t helped his case, but he was a good kid. He’d started to help with supernatural cases around Beacon Hills before he left.
“Thanks,” Stiles said softly.
“The upstairs room?” Noah asked in sudden realization. Derek hadn’t been on the couch, but in bed with Stiles. A wolf, which had been his first time seeing Derek as a wolf in person, but in bed with Stiles nonetheless.
Stiles squirmed in his seat. “Guest room, mostly?” he said, though posed as a question as if to test the waters. When Noah said nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Scott’s used it. Cora too. It used to be Derek’s, but eventually, you know, after we got together a few years ago, we just started to use mine. It was easier since I tend to be up at all hours, and navigating stairs at four in the morning after binge writing a paper isn’t exactly, well, easy. I fall asleep on the couch a lot.”
Noah chuckled. Life wasn’t much different than when Stiles lived at home, except now he had a werewolf to carry him to bed. “He take good care of you?”
Stiles’ cheeks flushed. “The best.”
“Good,” Noah said, just as Derek walked back into the living area with two plates. “I’d hate to shoot him.”
Derek froze, eyes comically wide, with two servings of a breakfast frittata in his hands.
“Don’t worry,” Stiles chirped with a sly grin. “I’d shoot him first.” And Noah had no doubt that he would.