Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beacon Hills doesn’t have much of a werewolf population, so when a family of them move to town, it sets the rumour mill into overdrive.

It’s part of Sheriff John Stilinski’s job to welcome them, a distasteful practice hammered into place by fearful humans needing to wave around a reminder of guns and law enforcement. He knows he’s wearing his chagrin on his face, but the family Alpha, Mrs. Talia Hale, is a gracious woman. She invites him in with a warm smile and offer of coffee, gesturing to a seat in the living room while she busies herself in the kitchen.

While he waits, a small boy no older than four stops in the doorway beside John’s chair, staring at him with wide, green eyes that are filling with tears as if John just ran over his puppy.

“Hey, kiddo,” John tries. “What’s-”

But the boy’s face screws up, his mouth opening in a silent wail, and John flounders as the boy throws his arms around his neck and buries his face in his throat. He starts to sob, great, racking cries, and John tries to pull away in his bewilderment, but the boy just scrambles into his lap and clings tighter.

Talia hurries in with a tray, setting it on the coffee table before reaching out.

“Derek, honey, what’s wrong?” she asks, trying to pry him into her own arms, but he’s become an octopus, too strong for John to help her with.

“He’s m-mine,” Derek is sobbing. “H-He’s mine.”

“What do you mean, honey? What do you mean he’s-” Talia’s own eyes widen as she and John stare at each other and he’s sure his expression must be mirroring her growing horror.

“Oh no. No no no no no. That’s not- There must be some mistake. We can’t be- My wife-”

“H-He’s- He’s old,” Derek wails through his hiccups, and at any other time, John might bristle at the observation, but this is not that time. Not when a four-year-old is deciding he’s his- his-

“Derek. Derek, are you sure?” Talia is asking.

Derek nods, smearing his tearstained cheeks against John’s throat, and he’s ready to plead with Talia to get him off, but her concerned gaze has turned thoughtful.

“Sheriff, I apologise for being so forward but...”

Before John can ask for clarification, she leans closer and takes a deep breath through her nose. She smiles.

“You have a son.”

John thinks of little Stiles at home with Claudia, how he’d burped him earlier that morning before leaving for work. He looks down at his chest, his shoulder where Stiles had rested, at Derek’s dark-haired head.

Stiles, barely three months old, destined for a werewolf mate.

How the hell is he supposed to explain this to Claudia?

He barely notices Talia coaxing Derek away with the news - (“He’s not m-mine?” “No, honey. I don’t think so.”) - staring instead at the tray and two mugs of coffee Talia had brought in from the kitchen.

“You don’t happen to have anything stronger?”

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When Claudia comes home one day and announces she’s arranged for Derek to meet Stiles, John nearly falls off his chair.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he chokes.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Claudia asks in the way that says any reply John makes will be the wrong answer.

John’s main concern is that Derek doesn’t yet know his own strength. He’s barely past being a toddler, after all. Stiles is still a baby and, more importantly, human; one wrong move and he could have a broken arm - or worse.

But Claudia has that stubborn glint in her eye so John just smiles and bites his tongue.

The next day when they’re due to arrive, he paces in the living room, tugging back the net curtains with every pass one way and leaning over to check Stiles is still sleeping in his Moses basket with the other.

Claudia eventually snaps at him to sit down, but as soon as he does, there’s the rumble of a car pulling into the driveway.

He jumps up and watches as Talia climbs out and then lifts Derek from the backseat. When she sets him down, the boy stares up at the house with his big green eyes, searching for his mother’s hand to cling to.

Claudia is already opening the door and welcoming them so John darts into the hallway to stand at her shoulder. He isn’t too sure when children start to retain their memories, so he wonders how well Derek will remember their first encounter, but he receives his answer when Derek meets his eyes and immediately hides his face against his mother’s thigh. Talia laughs.

“Hello again, Sheriff,” she greets, petting Derek’s head.

“Alpha Hale,” he responds. She looks surprised - but pleased - at the acknowledgement.

“There’s no need for titles in this house,” Claudia chides, swatting John on the chest.

It takes a bit of coaxing to get Derek inside once he’s spotted John, Talia resorting to an awkward shuffle where Derek refuses to let go of her leg, but once over the threshold, Derek perks up, nostrils flaring, and gravitates towards the living room.

“He’s sleeping right now, so you’ll have to be really quiet,” Claudia murmurs, placing a careful hand on his shoulder to slow his pace.

John hovers in the doorway as Derek approaches the basket, tensing as he clings to the rim with his hands - so little but capable of so much damage - and just manages to get his nose over the top to peer open-mouthed down at the sleeping baby. He doesn’t make a move to do anything more, though John’s heart is pounding in his chest, expecting him to shake the basket at any moment and yell Wake up!. He hates that they must be able to hear his unease.

Whether sensing the presence of the people leaning over him or just by coincidence, Stiles’ face begins to screw up in the way that precedes open-mouthed wailing, squirming as he wakes.

“Oh dear,” Claudia coos, reaching in to pick him up, legs kicking.

Derek’s eyes are wide as if horrified he upset him somehow.

“It’s okay, honey,” Talia assures him, stroking a hand over his dark hair. “He’ll calm down in a minute.”

As Claudia carries Stiles to the sofa to take a seat, Derek doesn’t take his eyes off him, nearly tripping over his own feet as he follows, spellbound. He scrambles up beside her with help from Talia, and cranes his head to watch Stiles’ face, still without trying to touch.

Sure enough, in his mother’s rocking arms, Stiles grows quiet, rounded cheeks quivering with a yawn.

“Why don’t you see if he’ll hold your finger,” Claudia suggests, and under Talia’s guidance, Derek places his finger flat across Stiles’ open palm, watching in wonder as his tiny fingers close around it. He turns to his mom with what has to be the purest expression John’s ever seen, wonder and joy and excitement, all in a smile still too big for his face. A flash of Talia’s camera captures the moment, much to John’s relief, the shutter clicking again when Derek turns back in time to find Stiles tugging his finger towards his mouth to gum at.

“Look, mommy!” he exclaims, giggling. “He’s eating me!”

“Bleugh!” Talia teases, tickling his stomach. “I bet you don’t taste very good!”

Derek squirms and giggles harder, and Stiles pulls his finger away from his mouth, slimy with drool.

John just feels embarrassed, ashamed he’d been so wary when there’s clearly nothing he’d needed to worry about. Derek’s been nothing but gentle, whether from strict lectures from Talia or some innate mate understanding that John knows nothing about. He looks forward to learning. After all, he’s sure they’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.

Eventually, Claudia straps Stiles into his bouncer on the floor and Derek plants himself next to him, holding out his finger for Stiles to grip again.

John offers to make drinks as the women start swapping birthing stories and when he comes back, Derek is absorbed in chatter of his own. When John tunes in, he finds Derek is babbling (despite the occasional struggle to find the right words) about how, when they’re bigger, he’ll take Stiles to the park every single day and they’ll stay for as long as Stiles wants and Derek will push him on the swings because the swings are ‘the bestest’ and he knows Stiles will like them too and he’ll always bring him cake and even let him have Derek’s piece even if it’s red velvet which is ‘the bestest’ and one day he’ll show him his favourite ‘bestest’ tree in their backyard and if Stiles wants to climb it Derek will wait at the bottom to catch him if he falls and on and on and on.

As Derek’s chatter fails to cease, both Claudia and Talia get distracted from their gossiping, the boy so engrossed in Stiles he doesn’t notice his audience.

Through it all, Stiles doesn’t take his eyes off Derek once and nor does he release the finger still clutched in his chubby fist.

They both cry when the time comes for Derek to leave.

Chapter Text

John is surprised at how easily he’s gotten used to finding the Hales in his house. Over the past few weeks, he’s met the entire family, from little Cora who manages to get into everything, to their Uncle Peter whose favourite pastime seems to be teasing the kids.

Saturday afternoons have become a weekly lunch date for Talia and Claudia, spent at the Stilinski home, and it’s one such afternoon that John has volunteered to feed Stiles in the kitchen while the women gossip.

They’ve not long introduced him to solid foods and are trying to get him used to set mealtimes of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Today, it’s an unappetising-looking dish of pureed carrot, and though he’d seemed to like it when given it before, now he’s stubbornly keeping his mouth shut. He turns his head away every time the spoon approaches, lifting his hands to bat at it, and no amount of choo-choo or whooshing plane is making a difference.

John sighs and sits back in his chair, setting the spoon in the bowl.

“Mr. Sheriff?”

He turns to Derek standing in the kitchen doorway, cuddly wolf hugged to his chest and big eyes innocently round.

“Can I try?” Derek asks.

“I don’t see why not,” John agrees, placing the bowl on the table. “Come on, kiddo. Up you get.” He hauls Derek into his lap and moves closer to Stiles’ high chair so the boy can reach. Once he’s settled, he hands him the plastic spoon and dish, adjusting his grip on the utensil he still hasn’t got the full hang of using.

“Just a little bit at a time,” John instructs, helping to guide the spoon into the bowl. “He's only got a little mouth.”

This time, Stiles doesn’t try to hit Derek’s hand away, but he still keeps his mouth shut and twists his head, eyeing Derek with what looks like confusion. He’s probably wondering how his favourite person could betray him like this.

“But it’s good!” Derek tries coaxing, eating the spoonful himself in demonstration. “See? Yummy!”

John can’t help but admire his enthusiasm.

Derek gets more on the spoon, overly careful about the amount he picks up with John looking over his shoulder, but maybe just a small taste will be more helpful to get Stiles to eat.

Stiles’ mouth actually opens this time, the runny carrot dribbling past his lips. Derek shakily scoops it up with the spoon before John even has to prompt him, probably copying what he’d seen Talia do with his younger sister.

“There!” Derek exclaims, happily.

Stiles gives him a gummy grin, his two new bottom teeth just visible above an orange-stained chin as he babbles in return.

“You get dessert when you’ve eated it all. The bestest bit!” Derek informs him as he scoops up a new spoonful.

As Stiles burbles some sort of agreement, John has to hide his smile. He’s going to mourn the day the word “bestest” is forgotten from Derek’s vocabulary.

Chapter Text

“Dada. Say dada.”

“Dedededede.”

“Da da.”

“Dedede.”

“Are you still trying that?” Claudia asks where she stands in the doorway to the living room, washing basket cocked on her hip.

John sits back from where he’d finished changing Stiles’ diaper on the floor and tries not to grow defensive under her teasing smile. “He’s getting there.”

Stiles is already squirming over onto his stomach and trying to raise himself up on wobbly hands and knees, a string of dribble hanging from his open mouth and about to wet the carpet. John dabs it away with his discarded bib and hoists him into his lap.

Claudia’s eyes twinkle as she shakes her head to her herself. “Get him dressed. The Hales will be here in a few minutes.”

John has just finished easing Stiles’ arms through the sleeves of his sweater  - (“Dada. Say dada.” “Dedede.”) - when Claudia opens the front door, and it’s no surprise that Derek is first inside.

And, really, it should be no surprise when Stiles holds his little arms in the air to be picked up by his favourite person and exclaims, “De’! De’!”

John’s mouth drops open, deflating as Derek scoops Stiles up and away, hands hanging limply in his lap.

Claudia chuckles as she crouches down and kisses him on the cheek. “You tried.”

John heaves a monumental sigh. But as he watches Derek twirl Stiles around the room in his arms with probably the biggest smile John has seen him beam yet, he can’t say he’s disappointed.

Well, maybe a little.

Chapter Text

“Give it back!” Derek screeches, jumping up and down at his Uncle’s feet in the Hale’s spacious living room.

Peter ignores Derek’s cries and continues to gleefully dangle Wolf above his head, lowering the stuffed animal into arm’s reach and snatching it away at the last second, over and over. With Derek’s increasing frustration, John knows tears are only seconds away, and he’s about to step in when he spots Stiles advancing towards Derek’s tormentor, little face screwed up in determination.

John watches with bated breath as Stiles grabs Peter’s free hand in both of his, pulls it down towards his mouth and bites him, right on the knuckle of his thumb.

Peter snarls and drops Wolf, cradling his hand and lifting it to inspect the most likely broken skin. He stares at Stiles, open-mouthed, as the boy holds up his chubby hands, spreads his fingers in an impression of claws and shouts, “Rarrr!”

Derek starts giggling and John soon has trouble seeing through tears of uncontrollable laughter. Even Peter’s laughing despite his shock.

Satisfied he’s taken care of Derek’s bully, Stiles picks up the dropped Wolf and holds it out to Derek, who hugs it tightly to his chest. Stiles takes his other hand and leads him from the room, sparing one more glance at Peter as he goes to blow a raspberry.

John can’t stop laughing all the while.

Chapter Text

In the Stilinski household, John’s nonexistent cooking skills mean he’s always the one to tidy up after dinner while Claudia goes to have a shower. When Stiles was too young to be left unsupervised, he’d leave him in his highchair with a toy, but now he’s a bit older, John sits him in front of the TV in his pyjamas to watch the daily bedtime story on one of the kid’s channels.

It’s barely been five minutes before John catches the sound of sniffing and quiet sobs coming from the lounge. He hurries to dry his hands on his dish towel and races to the other room to find Stiles huddled on the sofa right where he’d left him, but his face is screwed up in a wail, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What’s going on, kiddo? What happened?” John is almost frantic, trying to check that Stiles hasn’t hurt himself somehow.

Stiles clambers into his lap as he sits down beside him and buries his face in his neck. It’s then that John catches sight of the TV and the cartoon telling the story of the big bad wolf huffing and puffing and blowing down houses.

“Wolfs aren’t bad!” Stiles sobs, and John lifts a hand to rub at his back.

“No, kiddo. Wolves aren’t bad,” John says, rocking him in his arms and making sure to turn the TV off before the pigs have a chance to give the wolf his comeuppance.

Stiles’ sobs have turned to sniffles by the time Claudia comes down from her shower but he still holds out his arms to be picked up and rocked on her hip. When he’s calmed down fully, they tuck him into bed with an improvised story about the adventures of a little wolf and his best friend. Stiles is smiling by the time he nods off.

*

In the morning, John sits him down to help him write a letter to the channel saying the programme upset him because his friend Derick Derek is a little good wolf and will grow up to be a big good wolf like his mommy and daddy and they’re the big bad ones for telling him to be scared.

He takes great care sticking a stamp on the envelope and then John drives him into town so he can drop it in a post box before heading over to the Hales’. When Derek comes bounding down the front steps, Stiles makes sure to give him an extra long hug.

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All is quiet as John climbs the stairs except for Derek’s voice drifting down the hall from Stiles’ room.

The kids’ usual Saturday afternoon play date ended with them begging to play for just a little bit longer, until John and Claudia agreed Derek could stay the night. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and now they’ve learnt what a bit of pleading will get them and how easily the adults crumble, it won’t be the last.

They’re tucked side by side into Stiles’ bed with Claudia sat on the floor beside it, listening as Derek reads the bedtime story. It’s one of the many new storybooks about heroic wolves Claudia bought for Stiles after the big bad wolf incident and they seem to be a hit with Derek too who apparently used to read them when he was Stiles’ age. (He proclaims them his absolute favourite and a little piece of John shrivels up every time he realises he’s outgrown the word bestest).

John stands in the doorway just in time to hear the cursed Wolf Prince be woken by his true mate’s kiss and the evil stepmother to be banished from the kingdom.

“That was wonderful, Derek!” Claudia says when Derek closes the book and he beams.

Beside them, Stiles’ eyelids have drooped shut, and when Derek hands the book to Claudia to put away, he struggles valiantly to open them again.

“Good night, kiddos,” John says from the doorway.

“Good night, Daddy,” Stiles mumbles, eyes barely cracked open.

“Good night, Mr. Sheriff,” Derek echoes, still insisting on calling him that despite years of telling him it’s okay to call him John.

Claudia kisses them both on their foreheads once Derek’s settled his head on the pillow, and then John turns out the light, leaving Stiles’ nightlight to project rockets and stars on the walls. When Claudia is out in the hall, John pulls the door to behind her and they pause to listen for a few moments.

“Good night, Stiles,” Derek whispers.

“G’nigh’ De’.”

Claudia cups her cheeks, silently cooing at how cute the two of them are. John steers her down the hall before she can rouse them with any noise, leaving the two of them to dreamland.

Chapter Text

John sits in the driver’s seat, waiting for Claudia to finish buckling Stiles in the back. They’re all heading to the Hales’ for what would usually be Stiles and Derek’s Saturday afternoon play date but is this time doubling as Cora’s fifth birthday party, one reserved for family ahead of the one she’ll have with her school friends next week.

Stiles is ecstatic to be going to a party, though he’s still learning that someone else’s birthday doesn’t mean presents for him too. He staggers up the steps of the Hales’ front porch under Derek’s watchful eye and hovering hands, wobbling under the weight of the present he’s insisted on carrying inside.

As they watch Cora open all her gifts - having to be reminded time and time again by Talia not to use her claws in case she damages what’s inside in her excitement - only once does Stiles try tearing the paper off one of the presents, listening carefully as Derek pulls him into his lap where he sits cross-legged on the floor and explains why he’s only allowed to watch. Coming from Derek, Stiles accepts it without question and settles back, jamming his thumb into his mouth.

After presents comes the birthday cake, but according to Derek, ‘no red velvet, no deal’, so he heads to the den with Stiles in tow who always follows wherever he goes.

Talia lights the candles as Cora is lifted into the chair at the head of the dining table, and everyone is so focused on the birthday girl it seems John is the only one who notices the two boys peeking their heads around the kitchen doorframe.

As soon as Talia carries the cake through to the dining room and the chorus of Happy Birthday begins, John watches the two kids use the blowing out of the candles as a convenient distraction. Two chubby hands belonging to Stiles appear over the edge of the kitchen counter, boosted up by Derek, and they search blindly for the cookie jar. Once the prize is in his grasp, Derek lowers Stiles back to the ground and then they dart out from behind the counter, hand in hand, and into the next room.

With the song over, John slips through to the den and creeps over to the blanket fort, giggles emanating from within. He pokes his head inside.

“And what do we have here?”

Derek gasps while Stiles gapes up at him, wide-eyed and mouth a little ‘o’ of shock. After a few seconds of held breath, he lifts the cookie in his hand - already smeared with melted chocolate chips - and holds it to John’s mouth. With his other hand, he holds a stubby finger to his lips.

“Shhh.”

John takes the cookie and silently holds his finger to his mouth in agreement. He backs out of their blanket fort and hastily munches on his cookie as he sneaks back into the dining room. There’ll be hell to pay if Claudia catches him indulging.

Chapter Text

They're on one of their usual weekend lunch dates when catastrophe strikes.

It seems to happen in slow motion, Derek turning to fetch his drink from the coffee table just as Stiles wobbles into the room from the kitchen on his unsteady feet, but Derek doesn’t realise he’s there until it’s too late. John can do nothing but watch as they collide, Stiles bouncing back from Derek’s immovable weight and landing seated on the floor, eyes wide with shock. It couldn’t have hurt him, what with the cushion of his diaper, but there’s a moment of silence, a calm before the storm, and then Stiles’ tears begin.

“I'm sorry!” Derek tries, reaching down to pick him up, but Stiles is having none of it. He slaps Derek's hands away and Derek’s face goes blank, staring down at Stiles like he’s watching his world crumble before his eyes.

“Derek—” Talia begins, but anything else she might have said is drowned out by an ear-splitting wail as Derek’s reaction goes nuclear, like Stiles’ rejection is permanent, like he’s ruined everything forever and is going to grow up mateless and miserable.

It shocks Stiles into silence, looking wide-eyed up at Derek being lifted into Talia’s lap. The older boy is crying so hard he can’t breathe properly, just staccato gulps as tears stream down his cheeks.

Talia hushes him, gently stroking his back. “It’s okay,” she coos. “It just scared him, that’s all. He’s not hurt. Come on, honey, calm down.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and Derek hides his face against her chest.

Stiles is still staring at Derek when John picks him up and sets him on his feet. He totters over to the couch and John has to help him up, legs still not long enough to climb. He sets a hand on Derek’s shoulder for balance, but Derek still doesn’t look at him, so he leans in to press a sloppy kiss to the exposed round of his cheek.

Derek hiccups as he lifts his head, cheeks glistening with a wash of tears, and Stiles throws his chubby little arms around his neck. Bottom lip wobbling, Derek is quick to pull him closer for a cuddle like he’s scared Stiles will change his mind, burying his face under Stiles’ chin. John can’t tell if his sniffles are because of lingering tears or because he’s trying to breathe Stiles’ scent through a runny nose.

“You silly thing,” Talia murmurs, lovingly, rubbing a hand up and down Derek’s back.

John hands her a tissue from the coffee table to wipe Derek’s face, his heart warm and aching as he marvels at how this boy of barely five-years-old can already love his son this much.

Chapter Text

With Christmas songs starting to play in stores in November, John doesn’t understand how Christmas Day manages to loom on the horizon and creep up on him all at once. They get invited to spend the day with the Hales just like they did last year, which both John and Claudia appreciate. Without much family on either side for them, they’d gotten used to Christmases being quiet, but any time spent at the Hale house is always a lively affair with all the children they have running around in the extended family.

When it gets announced that it’s time for presents, the kids scream with excitement as everyone gathers in the lounge. John settles on the floor with Stiles sitting between his legs to assist him with any presents that might be too heavy, Stiles looking around with eyes that don’t miss a thing as he takes in the hubbub. It’s only his second Christmas but, unlike last year, he’s at least able to tear into the wrapping paper himself and be a bit more excited about the presents this time, even if he doesn’t understand why he’s getting them.

When all the presents have been opened, they’re surrounded by a sea of paper discarded by all the kids, Stiles already trying to gnaw on a squeezable penguin bath toy that John has just wrestled out of the packaging for him.

“Derek?” Talia prompts from her seat on the couch, and Derek jumps up from where he was trying to open a box of glow in the dark moons and stars for his bedroom to race over to her. She hands him something from beside the couch and he picks his way across the floor around his sisters to Stiles, nervously holding out a present in his hands. The gift is something soft, wrapped in crumpled paper and long straggly bits of tape that have missed their mark and are barely holding it together, clearly something he wrapped himself with a little bit of supervision.

“My!” Stiles shouts as he grabs it, and he doesn’t need any help getting it started with how awkwardly it’s wrapped. The paper almost falls away, revealing a cuddly wolf plush - an exact match to the one Derek owns, if a cleaner, less bedraggled version.

Stiles holds it out to him immediately. “De’?”

“For you,” Derek tells him, pushing the wolf towards Stiles’ chest.

Stiles stares up at him for a few moments like he doesn’t understand, but then he grins in a disarray of baby teeth and hugs the plush with all his might. Derek scampers over to the couch to snatch up his own wolf where he’d left it in the excitement that came with the announcement of presents and takes a seat next to Stiles on the carpet.

Stiles burbles something at him, a mess of barely controlled syllables, ending with a discernible “De’!” as he lifts his new wolf plush and touches its nose to Derek’s wolf in a kiss.

Derek’s lips clamp together to try and control a beaming smile as he practically glows with joy. “Yeah,” he agrees, softly, ears burning pink as he nudges Stiles’ wolf in return.