Archive of Our Own

Things had been calm for a while, and that’s all Stiles needed to be worried.

Derek told him that his paranoia was a little uncalled for, since the past few months were somehow good to them. After all, there were no surprise supernatural happenings, the pack was doing great, and their son — Nicholas Don Hale — came into the world without issue.

Stiles figures it’s just due to karma being karma, and life being life, that they’ve hit an unusual streak of luck, but there’s a nagging feeling — an ominous gut-sensation that the other shoe is just about to fall.

Still, Derek is absolutely adamant that everything is completely fine. He’s checked the woods outside the (finally refurbished) house about a thousand times now for the past few days. There was nothing in a five mile radius capable of intruding and causing any harm to fall upon their son on his first day home — unless it’s a squirrel, apparently.

Stiles is still wary, but he’s convinced. For now.

Except, then he isn’t… For good reason.

A crash from the nursery has Stiles jolting up from his seat in the living room, having only minutes ago decided to let Donnie rest for a bit outside his arms for once. He regrets the action wholly as he rushes to the room, Derek not too far behind. They're ready to murder whoever just decided to break into their home and disturb them — or worse, maybe even potentially harm their son.

Yet, as they reach the door, they find themselves halting completely.

There, right by the crib where Donnie snoozes along obliviously, is the rotting corpse of a familiar werewolf staring at him.

“Uh, Derek?”

“I thought—“ Derek is obviously struggling with this one, “Peter’s supposed to be dead.”

“He was dead, right?”

“He smells dead.”

Stiles huffs, “Dead or alive, I want him away from Donnie.”

Derek sighs, and resides himself to coming forward to move the dirt and worm covered body stationed right before his newborn.

“B-Baby.”

“God, he sounds dead,” Stiles comes into the room then, his nose crinkling at the vile stench emanating from the older Hale’s decomposed, nearly-unidentifiable ribbons of clothes, “Can we please get him out of here before he makes it completely unbearable, please?”

Derek nods and tries to muscle his somehow reincarnated uncle out of the nursery, but the man — corpse? body? Shit, Stiles is so confused now — won’t budge.

“Gosh darn it,” Derek frowns deeply, “I— I think I’m going to have to carry him.”

At this, Stiles scowls, “You better take like, five showers before you kiss me again. Unlike you I don’t want a dead uncle musk to permeate me to my living bones.”

The alpha sends his mate a pointed look, but picks up Peter nonetheless with a grunt. He looks completely displeased, and even though Stiles knows Derek is strong — he’s been shoved up against things and carried enough to know now — he’s apparently struggling with lugging the illogically reanimated Peter from the nursery.

“I guess you could call him— . . . dead weight.”

There’s a groan from the alpha as he manages to get past the doorway, “Why did I mate you again?”

Stiles laughs as he moves to make sure Donnie is okay, “Because you love me!”

Derek mutters something out in the hallway, but Stiles doesn’t catch it. Besides, he’s busy overlooking Donnie to make sure nothing happened within the split second that Peter was unsupervised, though he doubts he did anything other than gawk mindlessly.

Despite the initial terror of him breaking in, Stiles is right. Peter has seemingly done nothing but cost them a new window and maybe a night’s rest — or sex tonight too, because in no way is Stiles letting Derek touch him smelling like that. But still, Donnie’s unharmed. In fact, his son opens his eyes and coos softly at Stiles before he settles again, still wiped out from growing and doing important baby stuff.

“You go little man,” Stiles smiles, kissing his son on the forehead, “You rest while Daddy and I clean up this mess and get your uncle once-removed settled in, okay?”

Donnie grunts as he slumbers, but overall he sleeps like the dead.

“What about a hose?”

“Stiles,” Derek stresses, his face set in a grimace, “we can’t take my uncle outside and just hose him off like— like—“

“Like he’s the family dog? Well, he’s got a bit of Fido in him, Derek, and we did tie him up to the tree in the backyard. A little Dawn and some hose water couldn’t hurt him at this point.”

Derek face palms, but he shouldn’t be surprised. He mated with Stiles after all; he should be prepared for, at least, suggestions like this. Still, there’s something in Derek’s shoulders, the human notices — it’s a tension that he’s somewhat familiar with by now.

Stiles sighs and comes up to Derek’s side, thankfully finding that his alpha doesn’t smell like corpse as he initially feared, and settles his chin on the alpha’s shoulder, “What’s eatin’ you?”

“It’s that— how did he manage to get back? He’s been dead for— for months. He just can’t unnaturally appear like this.”

“So there’s something else going on. Something that’s probably super sketchy.”

Derek grimaces, “Precisely, and now that we have Nicholas—“

“Donnie—“

“Now that we have Donnie,” Derek ‘corrects’ himself with a light, fond roll of eyes, “it would be best if we figured out how in the Hell—“ Stiles coughs, “— how in the heck Peter got back…”

Stiles lets out a rough exhale through his nose, and he pouts on Derek’s shoulder a little, “God, and I thought we were done with shit—“

“Language.”

“— crap like this,” Stiles groans and then flops over to the side of the couch, his limbs eagled now in exasperation, “I told you that something like this was going to happen.”

The alpha smiles at Stiles, despite the accusatory tone in his mate’s voice, “I jinxed us, didn’t I?”

“You did! You totally did!” Stiles sits up then, his face merely inches from Derek’s, “Now we have your dead uncle breaking into our house on Donnie’s first day back and I’ve had to plug in so many fucking— fudging— Glade air fresheners that I’m sure the company will be calling me to experiment with new scents and now you’re laughing at me why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re perfect,” Derek smirks fondly, and he kisses Stiles.

It’s needless to say that, despite Peter’s stench, sexy time happens anyway.

“Stiles! I told you, no hose!”

“He stinks, Derek— and he fought a skunk last night and lost to make matters worse!” Stiles still aims at Peter’s expressionless face with the jet of water, despite Derek’s attempts to gain control of it, “He needs to be bathed!”

“Stiles, just give the hose here!”

Scott snorts from the safety of the back porch, holding Donnie in his arms as they contently watch the two fight in front of them while Peter only stands there senselessly, “Your parents are idiots.”

“Heard that!” Stiles says with mock hurt, and he yelps as Derek tries to wrangle the hose away from him from off to the side, forcing Stiles to twist to get it out of reach, “Stop that!”

“It’s like you two are mated!”

“Shut up, Scott!” they shout in unison, making the beta chuckle as he lets Donnie take in his parents before him.

Needless to say, the newborn finds them endlessly entertaining.

Before long, Derek and Stiles have chased each other in circles, making them both frustrated and breathless. With one last surge of energy and determination, Derek lunges for the hose in Stiles hand again. Stiles is slightly ahead of him though, and jerks it instinctually. However, in the process, he and Derek go tumbling to the ground, the hose attached to their legs in knots and tangles.

“Gah!”

Stiles ends up landing on the ground while Derek ends up landing on Stiles. As soon as Stiles lets out a gasp of pain from the weight of his mate landing on his still-sore abdomen, all the irritation Derek felt seeps away.

“Crap, Stiles, you okay?”

“F-Fine,” Stiles stares at the sky, his eyes wide as oxygen decides to make a reappearance in his lungs, “I just feel like I was hit by a c-car… A beefy, werewolf car… You’re like the h-human personification of a semi, and I am merely flesh. Fragile, sore, human flesh.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Says the one who doesn’t feel like John Cena suplexed him on Monday Night Raw,” Stiles hisses through his teeth.

Derek huffs out a small breath of relief, but is still leering over Stiles somewhat suggestively as the hose now soaks them thoroughly in its stream.

“Like I said,” Scott murmurs to Donnie as he laughs and claps, “Idiots.”

“Heard that!”

Twenty minutes later finds Stiles’ skin tingling with the afterglow of a good quickie, and covered by a set of clothes that isn’t dripping.

Derek, thankfully, looks less tense and isn’t mad about earlier. In fact, once he dons on his usual Henly and settles on the edge of the bed, he puts his face in his hands and looks more drained than anything.

“You okay?”

“Sort of…”

Stiles climbs over the foot of the bed, reaching and then leaning against Derek’s stiffened back, only to wrap his arms around Derek loosely in an attempt to comfort his mate, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Sort of…”

Stiles takes a few fingers to press against the alpha’s jaw so he can tilt Derek’s head.

It’s funny how Derek lets him do this — how, if he wanted to, he could easily make Stiles’ human strength pale in comparison to his own supernatural ones. But he doesn’t. He allows Stiles to take control in the most seemingly insignificant ways that still mean the most.

After all, it is one reason Stiles agreed to be his mate for what feels like eons ago now.

“Hey there, big guy,” Stiles whispers warmly, a small smile gracing his lips, “You know that we’re in this together, right? Dead uncles, kanimas, and all— I’m here.”

Derek brings his hand up to drape over the other one Stiles has placed on his shoulder, while he leans his face into the one Stiles has against his jaw, humming as he closes his eyes, “I know you are. It’s probably the only thing keeping me together at the moment.”

Stiles catalogs that for later, or at least for consideration and evaluation, and kisses Derek’s cheek, “Tomorrow we’ll give Deaton a call… You know— . . . see what he can dig up?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me.”

Derek smiles softly, “That I do.”

Deaton is narrowing his eyes at Peter’s slack and still considerably mud-caked face, his hums of thought being the only thing he’s given Derek and Stiles since he started looking over the once-dead Hale fifteen minutes ago.

“Strange.”

“Yeah, which is why we called you,” Stiles sways a little, lolling Donnie back to sleep as he begins to stir slightly.

Deaton smiles as he rounds Peter once more, “I also would assume that it’s because you two are brand new parents with a brand new baby, yes?”

“He did break in through the nursery window,” Erica happily points out.

Deaton hums again — and god, does Stiles wish he’d make another sound, “What else did he do?”

Derek speaks this time, “He stood at the foot of Nicholas’ crib and watched him. He even said baby before we got him out of there.”

“Has Peter attempted any other form of speech sense then?”

Stiles snorts, “If you count growling at a poor squirrel or begging for a bone, then yes.”

Derek doesn’t quite appreciate that one.

The emissary puts a few of his various tools back in his bag and sighs, “I’m afraid that Peter had someone perform a serious reincarnation spell after his initial death. I can sense the remnants of strong, dark magic in his soul now.”

“He still has that darn thing? Even after dying and bein’ all big and bad?” Stiles asks in pure disbelief.

“Yes and then no, also,” Deaton looks at Derek and then Stiles, “Peter did die, and his soul did indeed pass on. However, while this spell reclaimed it, it did not to go back into his body immediately.”

“And?”

“It’s taking its time,” Deaton furrows his brow, not exactly appreciating Derek’s slight interruption, “I’m afraid that whoever performed the spell didn’t do it correctly or made a mistake somewhere along the lines. Instead of returning Peter’s soul to his body instantly, it’s being replenished in bits and pieces.”

Stiles groans, “How long does that mean we have to deal with him smelling like a body farm?”

“Probably a few months, maybe more,” the emissary is frowning now, “Recovering a soul takes time if it’s not done properly, and considering by the rate of decomposition I’ve seen on Peter, he was quite dead for a bit before the spell was performed. That means it’s going to take even longer for his soul to be completely recuperated and intact. If you were hoping to know if there was an instant cure for his. . . stench, then I’m afraid you’ll have to find other means than him returning to normal.”

That makes the human scowl, “Of course, that’s just— is there anything else we need to know?”

“From what you all have said so far, it seems that Peter is starting to have conscious thought to an extent. If there’s any of him in there at this point in time, everything is probably jumbled and confusing right now. There are only a few things that he can remember or recognize currently, and you’ll find that he will be attracted to them profusely. Now, you needn’t worry about him being violent or anything just yet, if that’s even a possibility. His body and soul is far too weak and damaged to do anything other than heal and replenish right now. He’ll do nothing more than wander around and maybe make unintelligible noises, if anything.”

“Oh my god, Derek,” Stiles looks over to his alpha who’s staring at him in confusion, “Peter’s a zombie. He’s a zombie sans all the things dealing with brains.”

Derek face palms.

“Ever still, keep an eye on him. It seems that, for whatever reason, Peter has become attached to Nicholas in some way. While he may not be violent now, I cannot guarantee any safety for your son while Peter is around him in the future. But, maybe with some careful supervision and luck, your boy can have a bond with his grand-uncle that he was never meant to have.”

Derek stares at the emissary, “R-Really?”

“I guess it’s one small benefit to all of the negatives when it comes to spells like this,” Deaton grins, “But yes, Derek. It’s an option for you and your son now.”

Despite him smelling like death (and looking like death), Stiles can’t really argue with Derek now that he notices how wet the alpha’s eyes are once Deaton leaves.

Within a few months, things have changed, but then they haven’t exactly.

Development for werewolf babies is apparently completely different from a human’s. Stiles expected some differences, but jeez, Donnie makes him feel slow and stupid in comparison to how fast he begins to progress in the scheme of things.

Soon enough he’s learning a few words and is using them, although sometimes incorrectly, and he is crawling about like he was never immobile in the first place. He’s gained three fangs, too — the top left and two bottom canines — which he isn’t afraid to use whenever he can manage it. It, of course, leaves Stiles mentally and physically exhausted — enough so to where when Derek comes home from work, he finds Stiles falling asleep in his chair while Donnie tortures some unfortunate member of the pack that happens to be over.

It does have one perk though, and that’s Derek being super attentive to Stiles — giving him massages and gifts, or even Spider-Man band-aids for the pinpricks on his fingers from where Donnie sneaks in sharp nips during meals — to make up for the difference in supposed labor.

After all, Stiles feels like he has two kids to watch.

Peter’s gotten somewhat better, but albeit somewhat. He still smells to Stiles, and he’s definitely not eloquent like he once was. He’s gained a few differentiating grunts to his vocabulary, and seems to be less jerky with rigamortis now that he’s had some time to start recouping and regenerating physically. Though, in contrast to Donnie, Peter has a lot of work to do.

That doesn’t change the fact they can both act like feral partners in crime, though.

“Today,” Stiles starts, picking bits of leaves out of his hair with a scowl, “Peter and Donnie decided to wrestle. I got freaked out because Donnie decided his teeth were for things other than just biting his food or vicariously me when I feed him. I was lucky enough that most of Peter’s fingers stayed intact enough to salvage them.”

“Gross,” Derek grimaces, parts of his face covered in shaving cream, “How many times did you clean Donnie’s teeth before he broke the brush?”

“Fifteen.”

“So that’s why he knows how to count that high?”

Stiles nods, “Multitasked.”

Derek hums, using the parallel sink to Stiles’ right as he trims his scruff back a little, enough to at least appear groomed, “How’s Peter holding up after the assault?”

“Deaton told me to secure the fingers with something to where they would have a chance to reconnect to the body easily,” the human flicks another bit of dead foliage from his hair, “Duct tape works wonders, believe it or not.”

“I saw. But galaxy duct tape? Really?”

“It was Erica’s,” Stiles murmurs, giving up on his hair in favor of brushing his teeth, “Said she wanted to give him ‘good universal vibes’ so he could heal properly.”

Derek sighs, “Jackson shouldn’t have given her weed.”

“They’re idiots. What do you expect?”

Derek snorts, and continues manscaping.

It’s heavily into Beacon Hill’s early on-set winter now, and that means struggling to get Donnie in cute, safe clothing that will keep him warm yet adorable at the same time.

“It’s the fifth one!” Stiles cries in agony, holding up the ruined onesie with the puppy tail on its end ripped from its seams, “He keeps thinking it’s a rabbit or something and mauls his own ass!”

“Stiles,” Derek comes forward, and he looks the human in his tear-filled eyes, “do you remember what you told me?”

Stiles sniffles, rubbing at his nose pitifully, “W-What?”

“That if something were wrong, that you’d talk.”

That makes Stiles feel guilty, and he sighs, “There’s— there’s just so much going on, Derek… Peter has been here for months, and despite the time we’ve let him spend with Donnie, nothing’s getting better. I’m tired of spending so much money on air fresheners. I think the people at Wal-Mart know I’m legitimately trying to cover the scent of a dead body now. I don’t want to be arrested for suspicion of murder just because I have to by car fresheners for your uncle to wear, Derek!”

Derek’s lips upturn at that, but they fall quickly into a somber line, “Stiles, is there—“

“I’m pregnant again,” Stiles exhales softly, and Derek doesn’t seem all too surprised, actually, “I’m sure that you figured it out, with the whole mood swings with this damn onesie and Peter… I don’t smell like it, do I?”

“Can’t tell. Peter’s too strong.”

The sad part is that Stiles doesn’t know if Derek’s lying or joking about that.

“Well, I found out yesterday,” Stiles wipes at his cheek with the sleeve of his oversized sweater, “Deaton told me when he came to check up on Peter. Said he could sense it or whatever. You know, emissary magic mumbo jumbo bullshit.”

“He’s always on top of things,” Derek murmurs, and he pulls Stiles against his chest, taking a bit to add, “Do you think we’re ready for a second kid?”

Stiles sighs and leans into his mate, “It doesn’t matter, because either way we’re going to find out here in some months. Who knows, maybe then Peter will be upgraded to a toddler instead of a zombie?”

Derek hums, setting his head on top of Stiles’, “You know, maybe being around your pregnancy will help him out a little…”

“If I wake up one day to find he randomly throws me a baby shower, I’m going to anonymously move to Canada with Donnie.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Please do.”

“I feel like I was never this big with Donnie,” Stiles huffs, adjusting his maternity Christmas sweater over his slight bump as conversations flutter about them, “It took me till the sixth month to start showing, and it’s only the third so far.”

“Maybe it’s changed since your first pregnancy,” Derek suggests, his own ugly sweater mirroring Stiles’ as he sips on his hot coco, with Donnie thankfully passed out against his chest as he drools along a light-up, knitted Rudolph, “Women always talk about how much faster things seem with second pregnancies.”

Stiles hums, munching on his third helping of ham, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. After all, I wasn’t meant to have babies until I became your mate.”

Derek shoots Stiles a sly wink, and the human rolls his eyes at him for it, too caught up in his precious food to care otherwise.

Around them, the pack is enjoying the holiday. The fireplace was thankfully fixed up a few weeks prior, and a fire now, however ironic, crackles within it. It gives the room a festive glow, and Stiles grins at the sight of his once-teenage friends talking about work and “this one time, during freshman year at BHU”. It’s a stark change to how, when everything started while they were in high school, it was mad and chaotic. Danger and threats lurked around every corner and tree and shadow, and how paranoid it made them all to where they’d only sneak out of their houses for mandatory pack meetings and school. Stiles even remembers the Derek back then — one that was gruff and ruder than the slightly older man beside him now.

Domestic life and having a mate with kids have definitely treated the alpha well.

“How’s Peter?”

Derek pivots his head to look at Stiles, the human noticing a few laugh lines around his face that make his chest warmer than the blazing fireplace off to the side, “Peter? Oh, he’s outside. I gave him some ham like you asked, and I’m sure the outdoor heater is helping, too. Why’d you ask?”

“Because, I want you to bring him inside.”

Derek’s eyes widen, and he nearly drops his favorite Star Wars mug (thanks to Stiles’ stubborn nerd influence) onto the carpet below, “W-What?”

“Bring Peter inside,” Stiles repeats easily, and he grins at Derek’s shocked confusion, “Despite all that he’s done throughout the years, he can, at least for today. He deserves to be in here. . . with family.”

Derek’s eyes water up just like when Deaton told Derek that it was a possibility again — that not all was lost to ash and flames and Kate Argent’s vindictive hand. It’s that hopefulness and gratefulness — that spark in Derek’s eye that Stiles has rarely ever seen, sans a photo of Derek with his whole pack right before the fire. It’s this right here — family — that keeps Derek together.

“Do you mind holding Donnie?”

“Not at all. Besides, I need to let other people get a chance to have some of the food we made.”

Derek chuckles softly, and gently moves to let Stiles grab ahold of their son. There’s something else in his eyes now, a thankfulness, as he leaves his firstborn with his mate.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here, just like I always have been,” Stiles grins, and watches his mate leave to fetch his uncle.

Stiles is five months pregnant when he finds out.

Twins.

Dear god, karma really is still out to get him some way, isn’t she?

It’s not that Stiles isn’t excited, nor that he doesn’t want three kids with Derek — it’s just that Donnie has become quite the handful now, and Peter has played a little catch up and is giving the now minutely waddling human his own version of grief.

“Could you stop it, you two!?” Stiles yells, gritting his teeth together as he looks up from his laptop, the two chasing each other around the living room like actual dogs, “I told you, no running in the house!”

“You’re like a crotchety old man now,” Jackson laughs from the loveseat, “I love it.”

“Well, when your back aches because of two babies crushing it, then you’ll be irritated too,” Stiles mumbles.

He’s just about to settle in again when Peter knocks into the ottoman he’s perched his swollen feet upon. It jars Stiles, nearly knocking his laptop away from him and onto the floor, which does nothing for the human’s already shot mood.

“Enough!”

Peter and Donnie stop running immediately, the scene almost comical with how fast they slide to a complete halt. Jackson watches on avidly, since he’s still after all these years, the center and a stickler for drama.

“I told you two no running and I meant it,” Stiles says sternly, pointing a finger at the two misbehaving werewolves, “This is the fourth time today you’ve nearly broken something horsing around. While I’m glad you two are being social and are practicing pack bonds, I’d like it to be done somewhere that doesn’t include expensive, fragile items, okay?”

Donnie whines in apology, and Peter even hangs his head in understanding.

“Now, if you want to run after one another like pups with their tails cut off, be my guest. But do it outside, please. You can be as rough as you want out there, within reason, of course. You both know fingers are off limits.”

With an excited waggle, Donnie grumbles something at Peter, and the recovering man is instantly going towards the sliding door that leads to the snow covered backyard.

Jackson snorts as he watches them exit, “Allison and Scott are out there right now.”

“I know,” Stiles sighs in relief, and settles himself back into his spot, “If there’s anything I hate more than having people horsing around at my house, it’s having people sleeping around at my house. I give them five minutes tops before they interrupt that snog fest outside.”

Three minutes later, Allison’s shocked gasp is heard as Scott unfortunately curses, the sound of a huge collision of bodies apparent to Stiles as he scrolls through his dash unperturbed.

Jackson, the giddy asshole, laughs about it for a good half hour after he puts a dollar in the pack swear jar for Scott.

“Donnie.”

Stiles jolts up as fast as he can, his belly weighing him down. It’s near the end of his pregnancy now, and it’s been taking its toll as of late, especially since all the effects of it are multiplied by two. Still, despite this, Stiles forces himself off the couch — screw your bedrest right now, thank you very much, Deaton — to come see Donnie clapping at Peter.

The little werewolf opens his mouth and squeaks.

“Peter!”

“Donnie.”

“Peter!”

“Jesus,” Stiles breathes out heavily, having to rest his weight differently as his bump changes his gravity a little, making him lean against the wall of Donnie’s new, larger room.

Derek comes up behind his mate, his arms wrapping around Stiles’ baby-engorged middle as he sets his head on the human’s shoulder to survey the scene before him, “They’ve been doing this for a week now.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you wouldn’t believe me, or that you needed to see it for yourself,” Derek responds casually, soothing a hand over Stiles’ stomach, its veins blackened as he takes away some of the pregnancy aches that are plaguing the human, “Besides, Deaton put you on bedrest around that time, so I didn’t want to cause stress or too much excitement.”

“But Donnie is teaching Peter, Derek.”

There, littered around the more appropriate space for the nearly year-old, todder-esque werewolf are numerous letter blocks, laid out in a precarious fashion to where Donnie has been showing Peter the basics of English that he has now.

It makes Stiles’ heart ache a little.

“When did Donnie grow up so fast? I mean, he’s grown faster physically and mentally than any human kid would, but still...”

“Perks of being a born werewolf,” Derek nuzzles at Stiles’ neck absently, “It’ll stop once he hits his teens. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse to stall at that stage, but there’s a lot that needs to happen then, both with his human and wolf form.”

Stiles laments and leans back into his mate, “I didn’t know parenting would make time fly by like this.”

“To your defense, our almost one-year old can now spell and say his own name without issue.”

“And he’s already teaching.”

“Go figure, he has you as his Daddy.”

Stiles rolls his eyes playfully as Donnie makes Peter spell out his own name, “Now you’re just kissing butt.”

“And you sound ridiculous when you child-proof your language.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Derek laughs cheekily, “But you love me.”

“That I do,” Stiles murmurs, tilting his head enough to sneak a kiss over his shoulder, “that I do.”

Stiles is by himself in the house when it happens.

They had celebrated Donnie’s first birthday about a week ago, and now the pack is busy trying to get things together for the impending arrival of the twins, meaning that they’re tragically ironic with their outing.

The only one here at the pack house other than Stiles is Peter, and — yeah, there’s room for improvement in this situation.

Still, despite lacking most of a brain, Peter tends to understand what the sharp gasps of pain coming from Stiles are. He jogs (when did he learn to move so fucking well?) up to Stiles, his eyebrows furrowing as he comes upon the human panting through contractions.

“P-Peter,” Stiles grits through his teeth, “I need you to call—“

A contraction forces Stiles to whimper in agony as his insides cramp like he’s dying. He hadn’t even felt this much pain when he was in labor with Donnie.

“Phone.”

“Yes, t-the phone. Get the phone, buddy. There’s a l-list of numbers on the table. Derek’s is at the— the top…”

Peter shuffles quickly into the kitchen, and Stiles can barely manage to listen to him rummaging around. There’s the noise of key presses, the buttons’ monotonous beeps sounding like straight on gospel at this point, with Peter’s S-less dialogue being its heart-wrenching solo that brings Stiles to tears.

“Derek,” Peter says, and already Stiles knows the alpha is questioning what’s going on, “Mate. Baby. They’re coming.”

Stiles can hear Derek panicking over the phone, words like “shit” and “alone” filtering through from time to time. Stiles is too busy keeling over though, so he’s not the best eavesdropper.

“He in pain,” Peter grits out, his voice rough since he’s not done healing his throat just yet, “Get here quickly.”

Stiles groans and curls in on himself as best he can, his entire body wracked with pain as he wraps his arm around his seizing bump.

There’s a click, along with another varying array of more key presses, and suddenly Peter is making another call.

“Hale house. Baby. Need help,” Peter gets out, “Deaton, come over now.”

Peter called Deaton? But Stiles never— how did—

“No. It not been that long.”

Stiles grips the edge of the couch, listening intently now to Peter despite his contractions.

“He told me to call. No only Derek. But he need you too. You deliver baby.”

Stiles’ jaw drops, because when in the Hell did Peter figure out that it was Deaton—

Another sharp contraction hits, forcing Stiles to bunker down once more as his muscles painfully convulse against him, his twins rolling around inside him fitfully.

Stiles cries out then, against his better judgement. It feels like someone’s taking needles and injecting Stiles’ spine and lower abdomen with liquid fire or something.

“That him, yeah. Get here quickly.”

Peter hangs up the phone then, and rushes to Stiles’ side. He kneels down, his bad knee popping quietly as he begins to help the frightful human.

“Breathe,” Peter tries to sooth, his voice not exactly matching up, “Deaton and Derek on their way now.”

“I— I heard,” Stiles exhales roughly, and he grabs onto Peter’s hand.

He feels bad, after all, they did just heal back enough to forgo duct tape, but with the next contraction Stiles is squeezing them so hard they nearly pop off again.

Once he comes down enough from it, he grimaces, his face sweaty, “Oh— oh I’m so sorry—“

“It fine,” Peter grabs a washcloth from towels Stiles had been previously folding and pats around his dampened forehead with his now only good hand, “Thing happen.”

Stiles takes a moment to breathe, but finds his eyes trailing on the cleaner, more restored face of Peter Hale, “Why are you doing this?”

It’s a good question to ask, but maybe not the right time exactly. Peter may not be completely functional, or even able to answer that question with a working brain in the first place. After all, he did kill Laura years ago, and was a mad rogue alpha posing as a vegetable for a while before Derek was forced to put him down. There should be some sort of whiplash from this — a consequence from the man.

“Bad plan don’t matter anymore. I only want family now.”

Stiles’ eyes widen softly, his brows furrowed as he studies the man before him.

Before Stiles can say anything though, Derek rushes into the house, and another contraction steals his words away.

Peter’s abrupt change of heart can wait — he’s got a two babies to deliver.

“They’re beautiful,” Stiles whispers, holding one of his daughters swaddled in yellow close, “Two girls. Who knew?”

“Lydia did,” Derek is holding the other girl, the slightly larger one in a purple blanket, as he smirks, “I owe her twenty bucks.”

“Isn’t the satisfaction enough?”

“Shoes aren’t bought with satisfaction.”

Stiles chuckles haggardly, fixing his daughter’s fist around his finger, "That is true.”

His newborn daughter giggles, her cheeks obviously haven been given to her by her Dad while her eyes are completely Stiles’ doing.

“Think of any names?”

“Laura,” Stiles murmurs offhandedly, brushing through the small tuft of hair on his daughter’s head, “Maybe Cora.”

When the human looks up, Derek is smiling when Stiles meets his gaze, “What about Claudia?”

“That’d be perfect,” Stiles smiles softly, but it falls a little after a small realization, “but we can’t give it to both of them.”

“That’s why I was also thinking that Melissa could be a good second.”

The human chuckles, “Well, she was my second mom…”

“Then it’s decided. We’ll announce what we pick to the pack tomorrow, once Deaton lets us go. Until then, you can rest, Stiles. Today was certainly a big day, especially for you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles allows Derek to come over and, after putting their daughter — the larger one in a purple blanket — down, he takes their second, yellower bundle of joy to set off in the makeshift cribs they have here at the private emissary-related section at Deaton’s, “You know, Peter called Deaton all on his own.”

Derek looks surprised, “Really?”

Stiles hums, feeling the alpha tuck him in as his eyes fall shut, “He dialed him up after he called you, told him I was in labor. He’s probably the only reason that Deaton was ready in enough time before I got here. I asked him why he did that— why he suddenly cares — and he told me that all he wants is a family now, that nothing else matters… Reminds me of you before we got together, tough guy.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him for helping us out,” the other man murmurs, and Stiles falls asleep to his quiet voice and soothing fingertips against his cheek.

“Please welcome Laura Claudia and Cora Melissa Hale-Stilinski, everyone!”

There’s whoops and clapping all about the pack in celebration. Scott’s even got tears in his eyes, the sap, while Allison leans on him and smiles.

Stiles enjoys the warm feeling in his chest as the pack surrounds his baby girls, their faces in awe as they take in the sight of them. Stiles is pretty sure he just inspired Erica to create a devious plan to get “her own princesses”, making Boyd look a little conflicted as he overhears his mate’s gushy words over babies. Allison isn’t fairing off much better, making goo-goo eyes at Cora especially, with her slight curls that Derek says secretly ran in the family. Scott is pretty enraptured with her as well, for other obvious reasons. The feeling must be infectious, though, because even the usually impassive Jackson Moore is fawning over Stiles’ babes, and is even pointing out that Stiles is using the onesie he picked out apparently.

In short, Stiles is sure that he and Derek have unintentionally given the pack baby fever this time, no offense to Donnie.

“There’s going to be so much sex tonight,” Stiles murmurs to Derek as the pack ogles the twins.

“I’m just hoping none of it’s here.”

“What about us?”

Derek snorts, “We’re the exceptions, obviously. This is, at least, our house.”

“True, but it’s a little public at this point, don’t you think?”

The alpha pulls Stiles into his side, “Yeah, but that’s okay.”

A change of subject is what Stiles goes for once a few moments of silence pass, “How’s Peter?”

“Doing fine. I let him see Donnie right before the twins and you got back. He’s been— communicative.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek says absently, like his mind or attention isn’t all there right now, “He kept asking about you and the twins. Well, about as best as he could with his limited amount of dialogue and syllables.”

That makes the human grin widely, “Isn’t that sweet of him… Wanna show him the twins?”

“Once the pack goes. Peter speaks more then, less to be self-conscious about.”

After a chaste kiss to the cheek, Stiles leans his head onto Derek’s shoulder, “You know, I never imagined us getting to a place like this. Like, even when we got together.”

“Yeah, I can see that… At that point I resolved myself to thinking that— that I couldn’t ever have a pack or family like I did as a kid… I’m forever indebted to you, Stiles.”

With a furrowed brow, Stiles leans back enough to look questioningly at his mate, “For what?”

“For giving me a family again,” Derek murmurs, his voice as soft as the gaze from his hazel eyes, “For giving me something I’d never thought I’d experience or deserve anymore.”

Stiles’ lips turn up minutely at the corners, offering Derek a subtle, warm smile, “Hey, in case you haven’t noticed, big guy, it’s been my crusade for a while to get that scowl off your face. It took a lot of elbow grease, sure, and maybe one surprise uncle visit, but I got you there, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Derek kisses Stiles on the forehead tentatively, “You sure did.”

“Now,” Stiles pulls back a few centimeters, “Let’s show Peter his brand new set of grand-nieces.”

Peter is quiet when he first views the twins, his milky irises dilating as he eyes them carefully.

“He’s studying them,” Stiles murmurs, leaning in with Derek as they overlook the meeting, “Think he knows who they are?”

“He’s getting back to himself. There might some recognition.”

“Baby.”

Stiles sighs, “There he goes again. Just like with Donnie.”

“He’s doing better now though…”

The twins make some intrigued noises at their grand-uncle, who’s been trying to poke them now.

“How long do you think he’ll take before he’s better?”

“I don’t know… Some days I think he’s back, and others not so much. We’ll just have to wait, I guess.”

Stiles leans his head onto Derek’s shoulder, “He’ll get there eventually.”

The alpha hums, and watches as his reincarnated uncle tickles his daughters’ toes.

Eventually comes five years later, when Donnie is teaching his twins sisters how to get past Erica to get the best cookies before they cool, and Stiles and Derek are, yet again, readying the nursey.

“I want it to be pink.”

“Lydia, you always want it pink. Besides, you’re biased.”

Lydia shrugs, placing her hand on her bump, “Maybe I am biased because I’m having a girl, but honestly, I don’t like the pale green. It looks like mint or something, not grass.”

“Derek and I already went through bumble bees, ocean animals, and owls,” Stiles grins as he holds up the blanket he picked up yesterday at the store, “Besides, it’s perfect since I won the rock-paper-scissors fight and picked Lion King.”

“Little Simba is going to be ecstatic that you pulled this one over on Derek.”

Stiles snorts, hearing Erica yell at the twins and Donnie as they take her favorite chocolate chip cookies before they can cool, “Of course they are,” he sing-songs towards his flat abdomen, “They’ll wait a few more months to see and experience my genius, sure, but the fun is in the victory itself.”

Lydia laughs at him, “Jackson was upset when I started decorating our nursery with Peppa the Pig. He can’t stand it, actually.”

“How can he not like Peppa the Pig?” Stiles turns in shock, “Has he not seen the whistle episode? He’s been over here for the past six almost seven years now since Donnie and then the twins. There has to have been some sort of exposure throughout that time frame.”

“Even if there wasn’t, I showed it to him and he did not appreciate it. He even hates Pengu.”

Stiles shivers in disgust, “How can you even stand him, then?”

“Well, he does have a nice coc—“

“Lydia!”

She smirks as she shrugs, her hair falling perfectly over her shoulder. Stiles is jealous of her, almost. Pregnancy has done nothing to sully her impeccable image — morning sickness, swollen ankles, and all — while Stiles ends up looking (or feeling) worse than Peter when he made his first surprise visit to the pack house.

And speaking of Peter…

“Hey, Stiles,” the older Hale pokes his head into the nursery, his arms wrapped around Alexander as he squirms and giggles, “Little Rex and I here wanna know if we can go to the lake later.”

“Swim, swim!” Alex cries happily, clapping his hands together as best he can with Peter holding him.

Stiles grins, “Sure, just make sure to use his floaties. Derek and I still have yet to get his swimming lessons to stick.”

“I think it’s because he likes to wear the dinosaur ones,” Peter murmurs, and he smiles at Alex, “Did you hear that, Little Rex? Daddy says we can go swimming!”

Alex flips out, and Stiles laughs when Peter passes by Derek with their cheering toddler in his arms.

“What’s that all about?”

“Peter asked for a lake trip later. In fact, I was just about to come find you. Do you think we should put the stuffed Simba doll out now, or save it so Laurie and Lissa don’t steal it?”

“Stiles, you know I don’t—“

“But you promised!”

Lydia snorts at the two, “And I’m out. You two love birds have fun!”

Stiles glares lightly after her, but sighs and looks at the alpha in front of him, only to be surprised at the endearing look he finds waiting on his face.

“Derek?”

“I don’t care what you do, I just wanted her to leave.”

That makes Stiles raise a brow, “Why?”

“So I can do this.”

Derek comes forward and cups Stiles’ face by the jaw, kissing him fully on the lips and making the human’s knees weak just like they were when it was their first.

“Peter! Dad and Daddy are swapping spit!”

The two part to see Donnie with his face in a grossed out grimace, his preteen features scrunched up together as he eyes them in horror.

“Who cares!? We have a lake trip to go to!” the older Hale yells from the foyer, “Now come on, I just got my knee to bend right and it’s been forever since I’ve done a proper butterfly!”

Donnie playfully sticks his tongue out at his parents and then shouts before he runs off, “Be right there!”

“God,” Stiles chuckles, not even noticing until now that Derek had pulled him against his chest as he feels the alpha’s arm wrap loosely around his waist, “He’s got both our attitudes. We’re doomed.”

Derek chuckles, “Hell hath no fury than a firstborn.”

The human snorts and turns his full attention back to his mate, “He’s going to be horrendous when puberty starts.”

The smile Derek has fades a little at that, “Don’t remind me. I’m not looking forward to giving him ‘the talk’.”

“We’ll you’re gonna have to, you know,” Stiles says smugly, “After all, I have no experience being a hormonal, teenage werewolf. You’d be an expert in that, wouldn’t you, sourwolf?”

Derek groans, “Stiles, you know that—“

“Tell me, do you have to call getting a hard on something different? Because I’d imagine having to use boner over and over would be tragically ironic—“

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me,” Stiles smirks.

The alpha laughs, and he places a hand against the new life budding inside of his mate, “That I do, Stiles. That I do.”