Chapter Text
Stiles’ eyes fluttered open to the familiar silhouette standing beside his bed. A sleepy smile stretched across his face as he took in the sight of the golden brown French toast, glistening with syrup and butter, perched on a plate in his father’s hands. The aroma alone was enough to make his stomach rumble with a happy “yummy!”.
“Happy birthday, Mischief!” His father’s voice filled with affection as he settled onto the edge of the bed, carefully placing the plate on the nightstand.
A joyous shriek escaped Stiles’ lips. He bounced up and down on the mattress, his energy already bubbling over despite just waking up. He stood and leaned close to him, comically declaring, “I am eight now!”
His father chuckled, “Yes, you are.”
Stiles puffed out his chest, feeling a surge of newfound maturity, “I am a teenager now!”
His father’s lips twitched with amusement. He shook his head and ruffled the boy’s messy hair, “Not even close. Now about you devour this breakfast and then get ready? We’ve got a big day planned.”
When he sat down, Stiles eagerly reached for the plate. He licked his lips and looked up, his eyes widening with curiosity, “A big day?”
“Don’t you want to find out?” His father winked and stood up before heading towards the door, “Now eat up, birthday boy.”
Stiles monstrously munched on his French toast in less than five minutes and then chugged a glass of milk before burping. He put the tray back onto the nightstand and got off the bed. He walked to the standing oval mirror, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The mirror was very special. It was laced with his mother’s spark, and functioned as a communication device that allowed him to call his mother.
He whispered, “Mama?”
He stared at his reflection and whispered mama again. He hoped she appeared in the mirror, but she didn’t. He sighed and pressed his hand onto it, whispering, “Mama, I have a wish, no, too many wishes. I wish you come to see me today, especially on my birthday you can’t miss! Oh, I wish I become a teenager, so I can hang out with Derek all the time.”
He then grabbed his outfit — overalls, green/white striped t-shirt, and high-top Converse shoes — and ran to the bathroom. It took him almost thirty minutes to get ready and then his father hollered, “Come down if you are ready!”
And he does. He crawled onto the passenger’s seat and glanced at driver’s seat when his father got in and inserted the key in and started the car. The engine hummed as they pulled away from their house, heading towards the Hale residence. It was a beautiful morning.
His father shot him a glance, his expression softening, “Stiles, I heard you sending a message through the mirror…again.”
Stiles learned the story, specifically a kid friendly version, from his parents. He pictured it in his mind though the full horror was softened by their gentle words. What happened was that the hunter aimed the long shotgun at Laura Hale, his finger tightening on the trigger. A young deputy named Noah Stilinski, swift as a shadow, sacrificed his life by covering her with his own body. He screamed at her to run, but she froze in the grip of terror. She was only thirteen years old. The hunter aimed the shotgun at her again. Noah closed his eyes, not wanting to see her get shot, and then he heard the sound of the hunter’s body thudding onto the ground. She gasped, a raw sob escaping her lips, “Mom!”
Noah opened his eyes and gazed at the reunion between the mother and daughter. Talia Hale, the Alpha, rushed to her daughter, pulling her into a protective hug. The feeling he tasted was a relief before he lost his consciousness.
Meanwhile, Claudia Stilinski, the Spark, scrambled to his side. Her voice was thick with panic, stammering, “Oh god, oh god, you’re bleeding.”
She quickly worked, her hands trembling as she removed the wolfsbane poison from his chest. The alpha kneeled beside her, her voice was low, yet a whisper, “Why don’t you heal him? He’s dying.”
She looked at her, her hands instinctively pressing against her own belly. A soft, knowing smile touched her lips, “I can’t.”
Talia’s ears twitched. She murmured Claudia, her eyes widening in understanding. Claudia’s smile deepened, a tear rolling down her cheek, “He’s about to become a father.”
Claudia turned her gaze to the alpha as her voice firmed with desperate plea, “Please save him.”
And Talia did it. That’s how Noah Stilinski became a werewolf. End of the story.
Stiles squinted at him and shouted at him, “I told you not to use your wolf ears on me!”
His father winced with guilt, “I am sorry, but I couldn’t help it.”
Stiles huffed and crossed his arms at his chest, “Is she coming?”
His father pressed his lips into a fine line, keeping his gaze on the road, and shook his head, “She is very sorry for not coming today.”
The words hit Stiles like a small, unexpected wave. He hadn’t seen his mother for six months. The ache of her absence was a constant, dull throb. He missed her so much, especially her hugs. He literally melted in her arms, lost in the warmth of her touch and the scent of cinnamon buns and vanilla with squirt of lemon. His brows furrowed when he was in a deep thought and his eyes pooled with tears. His throat became tight. A whisper struggled to come out of his mouth, “Uh, when, um, when will she come?”
His father responded as honest as he could be, “Stiles, she really wants to see us, but she needs to finish her mission first. I know we miss her so much, and we need to understand that she will find a time to see us when she can.”
Stiles pouted, averting his gaze, and then scowled.
His father pulled the car onto the Hale’s drive away and put it in park. He leaned over and pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He ruffled his hair, “I know you are not happy about her absence, but I know someone is going to make you happy.”
Stiles blinked and gasped, “We are at Cora’s home!”
His father nodded, “She will join your adventure.”
Stiles squealed with joy as he unbuckled the belt, hearing him ask, “Do you think she is ready?”
He laughed and shook his head, “I don’t think she is!”
No sooner had they stepped out of the car than a piercing scream echoed from an upstairs bedroom window. Cora, half-dressed and looking frazzled, appeared, her hair a wild mess. “Oh god! I am still packing!”
Stiles and Cora were practically inseparable. Born in the same year, they had spent countless hours exploring the woods, building forts, and getting into all sorts of mischief.
“Wait for me! I’m still packing!” Cora yelled again, a backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder, before disappearing from the window.
Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet, a smile spreading across his face. The anticipation of their adventures was almost too much to bear. He found her mother stand on the patio, watching the commotion with amused expressions. Her mother shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips, and then walked towards Stiles. She pulled him into a warm hug. “Happy birthday, Stiles.”
The heavy oak door of the Hale house swung open to reveal the smiling face of George Hale aka Cora’s father. He boomed, “Happy birthday, kiddo.”
Stiles beamed, puffing out his chest, “I am a teenager now!”
George chuckled and glanced at his father with a twinkle in his eyes, “He’s missing a digit.”
While his father hummed in agreement, Stiles’ face scrunched in confusion, his brow furrowing as he tried to work out the math, “Huh?”
His father placed a gentle hand on his back, giving him a slight push forward. He said, gesturing towards the stairs, “Get Cora ready. And tell her not to bring Noodle, for god’s sake!”
“Got it!” Stiles screamed, already a blur of motion as he dashed past the adults. He conveniently omitted the part where of course, he was going to tell her to bring Noodle. As his his father and the Hales settled into the comfortable rhythm of “adult stuff” on the sun-drenched patio, he found himself at crossroads. His mission was to retrieve Cora, but a magnetic pull of curiosity drew him in another direction. His destination became clear, a far more intriguing target than his friend’s bedroom: Derek’s.
The door was already slightly ajar. He slipped inside as his sneakers were silently pressing onto the hardwood floor. The room was bathed in the soft morning light, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. Derek sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed, as he was in a conversation with Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd. Derek tilted his head upward slightly when he felt the shift in the room’s atmosphere. He groaned softly, a barely audible sound of resignation, ad tried to subtly maneuver himself behind Erica’s much smaller frame. It was a pointless effort.
“Aw, look at your little friend,” Erica cooed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness and her eyes shining with glints.
Stiles marched purposefully towards him, ignoring the others completely. He kneeled right in front of him and splayed his hands on the floor, his lower protruding in a full-pledged, expertly crafted pout. He accused, his voice thick with the dramatic betrayal, “Derek, you didn’t come over to my house to babysit me yesterday!”
Erica’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She pursed her lips, cutting a sharp glance at Derek, an expression that clearly read Uh oh, you didn’t?
Stiles titled his head down and then up, unleashing the full, devastating force of his adorable, wounded gaze. He sniffled, “Derek. Papa said you abandoned me for a date with a girl named Paige.”
A strangled sound escaped Erica’s throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away, her shoulders shaking with suppressed, convulsive laughter. Boyd, ever stoic, remained poker faced, yet he couldn’t stop eyebrows from climbing in silent inquiry at Derek. Derek’s jaw tightened, a muscle featuring along his cheek. He was desperately trying to formulate some sort of explanation, any sort of defense.
Stiles looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps in the hall.
“Derek! Your mother gave us a bunch of cookies and milk!”
A girl with a warm, open smile and kind eyes stood in the doorway, a tray laden with a bunch of chocolate chip cookies and three glasses of milk held carefully in her hands. She stood just behind Stiles, totally oblivious to what was going on between the babysitter and the eight-year-old boy. Stiles’ eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, they seemed to flicker with an odd, cold intensity. He had never seen her before. Was this the girl? The date Derek abandoned his babysitting duty for?
The girl smiled down at him, “And who might you be?”
Stiles glared up at the girl. He clipped, the name sounding like an insult, “Stiles Stilinski.”
The girl’s smile didn’t waver, “Stiles. I like it.”
Stiles asked her for her name, and the girl responded, “My name is Paige Krasikeva.”
His heart tightened with a dull ache when he heard her name — Paige. He slowly looked over his shoulder and stared at Derek with coldness in his eyes. He stood up and let out a piercing wail of pure, theatrical anguish. Before he covered his eyes with his hands and walked out of the bedroom, he screamed, “Derek! I hate you so much!” When he was out of the bedroom, he let out a final wail.
Erica finally lost her battle for composure. She burst out laughing, a loud, unrestrained peal of delight, slapping a mortified Derek on the back a few times. “Oh my god, Derek!" she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye, "You're not just breaking his heart, you're shattering it!”
She wagged a teasing finger at him, “Look at you, you two-timer!”
Boyd crossed his arms, a perfect mask of judgment appearing on his face.
Paige’s smile finally faltered, her brow knitting in slight frown, “What happened? What did I do?”
Erica, still chuckling, was more than happy to explain. “He was supposed to babysit Stiles last night,” she gestured at Derek with a wolfish grin, “He chose you over him, Paige.”
A soft, lovely blush crept up Paige’s cheeks. She looked at Derek, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and flattery. “Derek, you should tell me about your babysitting schedule. I would understand that you’ll be busy sometimes,” she then turned her gaze to the hallway where Stiles had disappeared, “I want to tell him I am sorry.”
From down the hall, they heard only the sound of stomping feet, followed by the definitive slam of a door.
“Maybe not,” Paige murmured, her smile now gone completely.
Derek sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, “He’s…a little boy, Paige. He likes to have my full attention all the time. He’ll find someone else to bother in no time. Trust me.”
Meanwhile, Stiles stomped into Cora’s bedroom. He found her shove her pajamas inside her backpack on the bed. She didn’t even look up, “Stop pining for my brother.”
He flopped onto his stomach, next to her backpack, with a dramatic sigh, “I like him so much.”
She moved her head up and grimaced at him, “He’s too old for you.”
He sighed again, this time with more feeling, “Only seven years and…um, three months older than me!”
She rolled her eyes and then finally looked at him, “He will ask Paige to become his mate one day!”
He scowled, “Cora! You are supposed to root for me!”
She responded with a playful snarl, launching herself at him and tackling him to the floor. He shrieked with a burst of laughter as a tickle attack commenced on his stomach, then he gently pushed her away. Rolling onto his stomach, he propped his elbows on the floor before pushing himself up to stand. He watched her eventually rise, and then asked, “Is Noodle going to join us?”
Noodle, the white ferret, was their mischievous sidekick, adding an extra layer of chaos to their adventures. Their adventure certainly wouldn’t be complete without him. Noodle stood tall within his cage, letting out an excited chatter, and clearly understanding their conversation.
Her eyes lit up, and a wicked grin spread across her face. “Is that a plan?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “My dad is going to looooove it!”
Their brilliant conspiracy was cut short by the sound of her mother’s voice hollering from downstairs. “Stiles! Cora! My sweethearts, do not bring Noodle, per Mr. Stilinski’s request!”
Stiles and Cora slouched and groaned in perfect, disappointed unison, while Noodle sadly crawled back into his cave. Their grand scheme, foiled before it could even begin.
She fell back onto her bed with a thud, “Well, so much for entertainment.”
“My dad’s no fun,” he muttered, tracing invisible patterns on the blanket with his finger.
“You should become my mate instead,” she randomly shot back, earning a pillow to the face thrown by Stiles.
They were eventually herded downstairs by Cora’s mom where the group was gathering by the front door. Stiles was angrily squinting at Derek, and then finding himself accidentally look at Paige who attempted a friendly, if hesitant, smile. He ignored her completely. He marched right up to Derek and tugged on the hem of his t-shirt, forcing the teenager to look down.
”Derek,” Stiles said, his voice carrying the serious, measured weight of a bold declaration, “I want to be your mate when I get older.”
Erica let out a strangled snort into her cookie, showering crumbs onto the floor. Boyd’s lips twitched, the closest he ever came to a full smile. Paige’s jaw dropped slightly. And Derek’s entire face, from his neck to the tips of his ears. Totally flushed, deep, mortified red.
Stiles’ father finally intervened, swooping down to scoop his son into his arms. “Okay, you little fireball of chaos,” he said, his voice firm but his eyes laughing, “Time to go before your babysitter applies for a restraining order on you.”
Talia gracefully covered her mouth with the back of her hand, glancing at her husband, who stifled his laughter. She then turned to Cora and told her to follow them. Cora ran after them, swinging her backpack, and shouted, “Stiles, I told you to become my mate instead of Derek’s! We’re the same age!”
Once the father and two chaotic kids were out of earshot, Derek glared, a deep scowl on his face, as Erica teased him, leaning closer to whisper, “I don’t think he’d want to find someone else to bother, Derek.”
Stiles and Cora enjoyed their day of dragging his father to join them for rides, screaming at the top of their lungs during rides and devouring snacks at Disneyland. They finally went back to Stiles’ home around seven in the evening. They hollered and ran around the sofa before they sprawled on beanbags and watched a cartoon show on the television. His father announced that he had to head back to the police station for a quick check in with the deputy. He assured them that Ms. Flores, the elderly neighbor, would be over to babysit for a couple of hours.
Cora knocked out first, completely dead weight. She splayed across Stiles' small body on his twin bed. Stiles, trapped beneath her, sighed dramatically and grunted when pushing her to the right. He rolled onto his side and then heard the hum. It was emanating from the standing oval mirror in the corner of his room.
Curiosity overriding discomfort, he slowly got off the bed, making sure not to disturb Cora, who was deep in the throes of sleep, probably dreaming of chasing after a giant Mickey shaped ice cream. As he approached the mirror, the hum grew louder, a gentle vibration that seemed to resonate deep in his chest. He pressed his small hands against the cool, smooth mirror.
“Mama?” he whispered the single word as a fragile hope.
His face was suddenly illuminated by a cloud of golden sparks swirling within the mirror's depths. His pupils dilated with joy as the shimmering particles coalesced, swirling and shifting with a silent grace until they formed the figure of a woman with a white dress. Brown hair, the exact shade of autumn leaves, cascaded around her shoulders, and warm amber eyes twinkled with a mischievous light. She leaned down, her translucent form bending until she was at his eye level.
“My little Mischief!” a playful grin, so familiar yet so long missed, graced her lips.
He gasped, a sharp intake of breath, his heart leaping with an almost painful joy. “Mama!” he managed to squeak, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. She pressed a finger to her lips, “Shh, let’s not wake Cora up.”
He immediately covered his mouth with his hand, nodding so vigorously his head nearly bobbed off his neck.
She laughed softly, a melodic, comforting sound he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever, a sound that wrapped around him like a warm blanket. With a twinkle in her eye, she instructed him to hold his hands face up. Then, with a snap of her finger, a beautifully wrapped present box magically appeared, poof, right onto his outstretched palms. She grinned, a wider, more radiant smile this time, “Happy birthday, my little Mischief.”
He slowly, carefully, ripped the wrapping paper, his anticipation building. He pulled back the last flap, revealing the contents, and his bright smile faltered, replaced by a deep grimace. “Hoodie?” he groaned, disappointment heavy in his voice.
He lifted the red hoodie out and held it up against himself. “It looks too big on me,” he mumbled, the sleeves dangling past his fingertips.
She crossed her arms, her smile unwavering. “It is a perfect size if you want to become a teenager.”
His eyes widened, and he gasped, letting out a whispered exhalation, “That’s my second wish!”
She nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes, as she told him that she received the message from him in the morning. “It has eight uses,” her gaze turned serious, a hint of warning in her voice, “After 8th use, you won’t be a teenager anymore. Wear it when you really want it. Am I clear?”
He hugged the hoodie and nodded, “Yes. Thank you, Mama.”
She smiled sadly, “Our time’s up.”
He pouted and then smiled when she told him that she would come home in three weeks. As she stood up, her form was beginning to shimmer and blur. She hummed a soft tune, her gaze fixing on him, “Don't tell anyone, and don't play with it too much, my little Mischief. Otherwise, trouble will find you.”
The mother and son exchanged a goodbye with air kisses.
The mirror hummed once more, the light dimming, then fading completely as she disappeared. Stiles looked down at the bright red hoodie in his hands, his earlier disappointment completely forgotten. A wide, mischievous grin spread across his face. This was going to be fun.