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1
Stiles considered himself easy to please. As such, his tastes were eclectic and basic. He found happiness in the simple things. Except when it came to sports. Stiles hated playing sports and had only joined the lacrosse team because of Scott. And, honestly, the training Allison was putting him and Lydia through was terrible. His lungs were burning, sweat was streaming down his forehead and making his shirt stick to his skin, and on top of everything else, he was covered in dirt from being knocked down by her so many times. He used to love pack training days—they were a simple excuse to hang out at the Reserve doing nothing and watching the cubs get torn apart by Derek.
That is, until he nearly died in a fight against witches.
After that unfortunate accident, Derek forced him to train with Allison and Lydia. Seriously, he was already practicing his magic with Deaton and was becoming quite proficient at it. Stiles hated every second of that training and cursed Derek loud enough for everyone to hear. This was one of those days. He’d lost count of how many times he’d cursed at Derek and threatened Allison. Stiles would have preferred a thousand times over to learn how to shoot a crossbow and wield nunchucks—he was practically the Michelangelo of the Ninja Turtles. After being knocked down for what might have been the fortieth time, Stiles completely lost the will and strength to continue.
"Enough. That’s it for today," his broken voice echoed through the clearing, which was vaguely silent except for the sounds of people and werewolves clashing. He lay on his back in the grass, resting his hands on his head and breathing unevenly. God, Stiles was going to make them eat all their most hated vegetables because of today’s training. His glare met Allison’s; she chuckled softly and went to help Lydia pack up their things. He staggered to his feet, heading toward where Derek was making the betas do a set of push-ups. Poor guys.
"Come on, Sourwolf. Finish those up and let’s head back to the loft," he called out.
Derek turned to him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in what could be Expression of Disagreement Number 2 or Expression of Disbelief Number 4. Stiles crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows in response. The betas turned their attention to the two of them, interested in the conversation that was about to unfold. It was rare for Stiles to interfere with Derek’s training sessions. Lydia strategically moved things closer, and Erica began performing the movements more slowly. They were all just a bunch of gossips, that’s what they were.
"It’s still way too early," Derek said.
"No, it’s not. We got here this morning. It’s three in the afternoon now," Stiles countered. "We still have to go to the grocery store, and if you remember correctly, we’re in two cars to fit everyone."
They stared each other down for a while, in a silly "whoever blinks first loses" standoff. Stiles, obviously, got the better of the Alpha. While the three humans gathered the equipment and the bags with the day’s food and water, Derek wrapped up the training session with everyone. The pack split up between the Jeep and the Camaro, which were parked at the entrance to the Reserve. On the way there, Derek and Boyd had carried all the bags. On the way back, Derek and Isaac did the heavy lifting. Scott and Erica got into a sort of weird game of tag, darting back and forth—the winner would apparently get to use the bathroom first. Stiles and Lydia were chatting excitedly about the living room decor at Hale Manor, which was finally being renovated.
When they finally reached the cars, there was another little rock-paper-scissors contest to see who would ride in which car. Jackson took the first group in the Jeep straight to the loft, while the rest followed Stiles and Derek to the grocery store—enduring the misery of spending at least another hour reeking of wet dirt and sweat. Derek quickly put an end to the kids’ little game and put Isaac and Lydia in the Camaro with them.
"Come on, kids, you guys get to pick one unhealthy food option for us to bring this week, okay?" Stiles said.
Stiles laughed as he heard the celebratory noises; choosing that category was always a battle. He wasn’t very flexible about it, and he already cooked plenty for them—one of the perks of trying to keep his dad healthy.
"That’s it! You’re amazing, Mom!"
His smile froze on his face for a moment. It wasn’t very normal to hear Isaac—or any other member of the pack—call him "Mom." I mean, there had been a few jokes before, but this felt strangely natural. Derek gave him a sidelong glance—maybe his stupid heart had skipped a beat at the nickname. But it could just be another joke. Stiles shrugged and went back to chattering about the pre-prepared dinner options he’d left out.
2
Stiles was restless in his kitchen. He was surrounded by all his most potent magical and medicinal herbs, preparing ointments and creams for the pack’s inevitable injuries. That night, they were on the trail of an omega who had broken into the Reserve and started causing trouble. The magic made every hair on Stiles’s body stand on end, practically demanding a release. Demanding that he do something to help his pups. Earlier, Stiles had ordered everyone to come to his house when they were done, so he could take care of them and feed them.
And that was how he’d been keeping himself busy for the past few hours.
His body was full of energy, but his mind was troubled. The Adderall had worn off hours ago. The sandwiches and juice were carefully packed in the fridge, waiting for the pack to return, as was the cozy nest on the couch. Stiles tried to make the living room feel cozy, where he’d laid out his mattress and the mattress from the guest bedroom, along with a million pillows and cushions. He’d rearranged it all about four times in the last ten minutes alone.
The kitchen door slammed violently against the wall; his body flinched instinctively at the sound of the pack’s cries. Stiles ran, tripping over his own feet until he got there. Lydia came in supporting Scott, whose right leg was hanging limply. Erica and Isaac were leaning on each other, seeming more concerned about the others. And, God, Derek came in last, with Jackson helping him carry a badly injured Boyd to the dining table, where Stiles had laid out his supplies.
The metallic smell of blood was very strong, as was the smell of dirt caked onto each of them. Lydia laid Scott on the couch and began to prop up his leg so it would heal properly; the crack of the bone pained Stiles as he heard his friend’s howl of anguish. Everyone had minor injuries—scratches and abrasions already in the process of healing—and slight grimaces of pain. The worst off of all was Boyd, who was lying half-limp on the dining table; he seemed almost unconscious. On his stomach was a very deep claw wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
"Boyd! My God, Derek! What happened to him?" Stiles exclaimed.
His hands began to move instinctively, reaching for the aloe, calendula, and comfrey ointment to prepare it for application. His magic began to take effect, soothed by the fact that he was doing something to care for his own, focusing on his fingers with calming and healing effects. Stiles poured alcohol over the wound to clean it and wiped it with gauze.
"It wasn’t what we were expecting. It was a lone alpha who wanted to fight over territory," Derek explained.
"We’ll talk about this later. I need you to excuse me for now, okay? Take care of the others; the ointments are all labeled by function," Stiles ordered.
Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek nod mechanically and start grabbing the bottles to help the other betas. He wiped his hands, taking a deep breath to try to calm down, and dipped them into the ointment, channeling his magic into it. He applied a thin layer to the open wound, which gradually stopped bleeding. Boyd whimpered at the painful touch, and Stiles whispered things like, "I know, I know, sweetie. It’ll be over soon, okay? You’re safe." He wrapped gauze soaked in the ointment around the pup’s torso and finished with a tightly tied bandage. By the time he was done, his adrenaline was making his ears ring, and he didn’t even notice the pack’s movements in the room. His clothes were bloodstained and sticky. Stiles turned to look at the other pups. They all seemed less injured now and more eager for this disastrous night to end.
"Does anyone still need a more effective bandage?" he asked.
"Stiles, we’re fine, okay? Boyd was the worst off, and you’ve already taken care of him. Stop using your magic and get some rest," Lydia, the voice of reason at that moment, spoke for everyone with a gentle, weary look.
"Okay. Okay." Stiles ran his hands through his hair, feeling much shakier as he let his energy subside and the adrenaline wear off. "You guys, everyone go upstairs. Take turns in the bathroom and come down to eat something before bed. You should have some of your clothes in my room."
Derek watched him from a distance, arms crossed, near the front door of the house. It was as if he were ready to run away. He kept a close eye on Stiles’s uncertain movements, aware that using so much of his magic took a heavy toll on his body. His frown was close to Self-Sabotage Face Number 7—he was definitely blaming himself for what had happened. The pups got organized and all went upstairs amid a chorus of grumbling and squabbling over who would use the bathroom first. Stiles called Derek over to help him put Boyd in the den, being careful not to aggravate the already bad wound. He stopped and sat on the couch, looking at the serene face of the beta as he rested and healed.
"Derek, I thought he was an omega," Stiles said.
The alpha nodded slowly, his face contorted with guilt.
"So did I," he sighed. "He wasn’t… the alpha was going to try to kill me. Boyd threw himself at him, and they started fighting. Boyd got the worst of it before I could reach them."
Stiles stood up, approached Derek, and placed his hands on the alpha’s arms, forcing him to look at him.
"It’s okay, Derek. Boyd’s fine. We’re all fine." He looked deep into Derek’s eyes, noticing a brief red flash in his irises. "We just have to be more careful next time, okay? You’re a good father to them."
The conversation flowed so naturally that Stiles didn’t realize what he’d said. Nor did he notice Boyd’s whispered "thanks, Mom" after everyone had already huddled together in the den. He only processed all of this the next day, when he could barely look at Derek after realizing he’d called him the betas’ father. And that Boyd had called him "Mom." Again. The alpha didn’t seem to notice his slip-up, too preoccupied with the pack’s well-being and making sure everyone got some rest. But Stiles did notice a few lingering glances his way, which always made him blush and drew teasing remarks from Erica.
3
"Sourwolf! Come on! Help me with these paint cans and stop pestering Allison to tell you what they’re up to." Stiles was clumsily carrying three cans of white paint and two of terracotta. "The kids are fine; my dad’s keeping an eye on them."
"I don’t think it was a good idea to go out and buy these things right now," Derek replied.
They’d been at the hardware store for about ten minutes. Most of the renovations at Hale Manor were already finished; only a few details remained, and Derek had asked the whole pack to paint the house so it would have their own style, according to the alpha. Stiles appreciated the gesture and had even invited his father to join in. The Sheriff was a more distant member of the pack, just like Peter, but everyone had to be part of the moment. Cora and Malia had even cut their trip short to be there.
Derek approached, helping him organize the cans on the cart. They had gone there with the simple mission of picking up the paint for the second floor and buying more tape; Lydia had passed along the carefully curated color palette she’d put together for each room. Every room, except the master bedroom, was designed for two people, so the whole pack could gather there. By the end of the renovation, the house had eight bedrooms and five bathrooms. An overkill in Stiles’s view, but he knew the pack was getting bigger and bigger.
"Derek! They’ll be fine." Stiles pulled the color list out of his sweatshirt pocket. "What won’t be fine is your wallet. Lydia was so picky with this list—oh my God. At least the house is going to look really nice."
Stiles walked alongside Derek, looking at the color swatches and comparing the names to the list. He chattered on about the color names and how "ice can’t be considered a color, because ice is transparent." Derek occasionally agreed with soft grunts and pushed the cart, going along with the routes the human took.
"Oh! I just remembered that we planned to go with Allison and Lydia to Pottery Barn to buy some things for the house, okay?" Stiles said. "I think I’ll call Isaac to come with us, too. He’s the one who’ll be spending the most time there, after you, of course."
Stiles put the last few cans in the cart and they went to pay; Derek had a weird, puzzled look on his face. It was one he’d have to add to his catalog of facial expressions later, once he figured out what it meant. When they got back home, Scott gave them a strange look that earned a growl from the alpha. Stiles didn’t have much time to scold Derek for that, because Malia came running by with Cora—who was wielding a paintbrush—hiding behind her.
"Mom! Cora’s trying to get me covered in the rest of the paint!"
"Cora! Stop that and help us bring the stuff inside," Stiles called out.
4
Stiles was unpacking the appliances and kitchen utensils, putting each one in its place. This was the final week of the house renovation. Everything was practically ready; the furniture was being assembled and the decorations put in place. The house already seemed full of life again. He was standing there, in what would be his favorite room in the house, keeping a close ear out for the kids’ mess while his mind wandered to what was still left to do. The beds were due to arrive that day, and the Hale house would finally be livable again. He had to schedule the installation of the internet and cable TV. Plus, he had to go to the grocery store with Derek later to stock the pantry.
Derek. Stiles was getting extremely confused by the alpha. The trip to Pottery Barn, which took place the day before, was marked by the alpha’s notable absence—he supposedly had a job interview. Peter went in his place and made the trip thirty percent more annoying, but surprised everyone with his good taste in decor. However, ever since the previous week—the day they finished painting the interior of the house—Derek had been avoiding Stiles as if he were wolfsbane. Isaac, who was practically serving as their messenger, had let Stiles know that he might be put in charge of decorating and organizing the rooms, including the alpha’s own bedroom.
Hurried footsteps interrupted his daydream; he flinched, nearly knocking over the kettle in the process. Jackson, Lydia, and Danny came running in, bumping into the countertops. Stiles dropped everything he was doing when he saw Danny in tears and the other two trying to calm him down. He approached gently, helping Danny sit down on the stools that had just been installed in the kitchen; Danny was sobbing and crying like Stiles had never seen him do before.
"Hey, Danny. It’s okay, it’s okay." Stiles pulled a pack of tissues from one of the drawers and handed it to him. "It’s okay to cry, sweetie, you’re safe."
He looked up at Lydia, who was just as confused as he was, and pointed at Jackson. Stiles raised his eyebrows, a look very similar to Derek’s when he told them to spill it. Jackson, who was almost as distraught as Danny, made an annoyed face and started ruffling his friend’s hair.
"It was Ethan," Jackson began. "Danny and he went on a date today, and up until then, everything was perfect. In the end—just at the very end—Ethan broke up with him like a total jerk!"
God! No one in the pack really liked Ethan—with a special mention for Jackson, who absolutely hated him. Stiles didn’t blame him; Jackson was one hundred percent certain that Danny was his mate, and seeing him with someone else was killing him inside. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut tightly, counting to three to keep himself from going after the jerk who’d made his pup cry.
"Okay, little one, he didn’t deserve you, right?" Stiles wiped the tears from Danny’s face. "Lydia, take Danny to the main bathroom—it’s up and running now—and help him take a shower. Jackson, go to the store and bring back enough ice cream for everyone. I’ll give you Derek’s card with the password and the list of ice cream flavors to get."
The banshee nodded, helping Danny up the stairs and comforting him softly. Jackson seemed more distressed at being separated from him, but he followed Stiles’s instructions, dashing off to the grocery store. Stiles grabbed his phone and placed the usual order for 20 pizzas to be delivered to the house—one whole pizza for each of them plus a few extras. Derek would have a heart attack when he saw the credit card bill, but desperate times call for lots of pizza. He also sent a quick message to the pack’s group chat, letting them know that Danny needed comforting and that he’d be at the Hale house.
He quickly gathered all the blankets and pillows he could find—which weren’t many—and arranged them into a huge makeshift nest in the living room. At least the TV was set up, and he had a stash of movies downloaded on his laptop. Jackson returned very quickly, prompting Stiles to shoot him a look that said, "I know you broke the speed limit and ran a stop sign. But today—just today—I’ll forgive you and won’t tell Derek."
Within minutes, they were huddled together in the nest, watching Failure to Launch. Isaac, Boyd, and Erica arrived a few minutes later, each taking a seat near them. Then came Cora, Malia, Allison, and Scott. Each grabbed their own tub of ice cream and squeezed in among them. Derek, Peter, and Noah arrived last, coincidentally right along with the pizzas. Soon it was chaos—plates flying and fights over slices. Derek looked at him with gratitude and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and Stiles just smiled back. He grabbed his slices and Danny’s and snuggled up next to him.
"Thanks, Mom, you’re amazing," Danny whispered.
+1
Stiles was helping Scott with his Spanish homework; summer break was finally over, and senior year hadn’t been easy on them. Between the chaos of choosing colleges, nighttime fights, and going out of control once a month, they didn’t have much time to study. So when that time did come, Stiles would gather all the betas together and make them study. He’d prepare snacks and create an atmosphere conducive to concentration with coffee-scented incense.
He was waiting for Scott to answer the question on the flashcard when Scott stiffened, just before a very deep growl erupted from the alpha at the other end of the room. He didn’t doubt that one of them was whispering nonsense, but Derek’s reaction was way too extreme. Stiles felt the sound reverberate through his bones—how must it feel for the pups? He quickly glanced at Derek, whose eyes were red and who was glaring at Erica with a deadly look.
"Get out." Stiles dropped the cards, clapped his hands, and walked over to Erica. "Go up to your rooms and don’t come out until I tell you to, okay?"
A chorus of agreement began as everyone hurriedly gathered their study materials and headed to Erica and Boyd’s room, which was closest to the stairs. Bunch of unnatural gossips. Stiles shifted his gaze between Erica and Derek, waiting to see who would explain first.
"Erica was disrespectful, Stiles," Derek said.
Stiles frowned. Erica was sharp-tongued and sarcastic, but she wouldn’t be disrespectful to Derek.
"What did you say, sweetheart?" Derek growled again as she began to speak, in a more restrained tone. "Erica. What did you say?"
"I… I said his scent was radiating so much that I didn’t know how you hadn’t noticed yet." Her voice was a low murmur; Stiles could barely hear her.
"What does that mean?" He turned his confused gaze toward Derek. "Why would that be disrespectful?"
The alpha turned his gaze to Stiles with a vulnerability Stiles hadn’t seen before. That look was the same as the last time—the one Stiles couldn’t quite make out or put into words. The one that lit a warm flame inside him. Derek left Erica behind and pulled Stiles up the stairs; Stiles began to struggle and complain because, yes, surprise, he had legs. Derek led them to the master bedroom, which remained just as Stiles had arranged it weeks earlier.
"What does that mean, Derek? What does it have to do with your room?"
"My God, you’re so smart about some things and so slow on the uptake about others, Stiles." The alpha shook his head in disbelief, the murderous glare from before gone. "Why do they keep calling you 'mom'? Why do you keep acting like their mother, like the alpha’s mate, and why do I keep letting it happen?"
Stiles felt his mind go blank, strangely silent and shattered after his questions.
"You don’t let them eat just any old junk. You always take care of our wounds, both physical and emotional. You always tidy up the nests." With each sentence, Derek moved a little closer to him. "God, Stiles! You’ve decorated the whole house. You decorated my room!"
His mind raced back over the last few days: he remembered all the fights he’d settled; all the times he’d cooked for the little monsters; the study session that very same day. God! He’d been calling the betas "kids" and "my little ones" for weeks, and no one had told him. His mouth hung open like a goldfish’s. Things were falling into place in his head like a jigsaw puzzle where he’d deliberately chosen not to see the key pieces.
God. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with Derek Hale. And he already had about twelve—twelve little ones—with him. Stiles was as dense as a brick. No, that was a lie—a brick had greater cognitive capacity than he did. And to think he was one of the sharpest minds in the pack. Derek moved close enough to hold him by the waist, his face so near that they were sharing breaths. He didn’t know where to look, what to do, or what to say. His brain had completely short-circuited.
"Can I kiss you, Stiles?"
The only plausible reaction to that question was: say yes; say no; kiss him first. For a thousand dollars, Stiles’s answer was: to stand motionless and only react when he felt Derek’s mouth on his. Derek’s lips touched his in a simple press, which Stiles answered by pulling him back by the nape of his neck into an eager kiss. He turned to jelly in Derek’s arms as he felt their tongues intertwine. His head was exploding with fireworks, and his mind was completely in a frenzy. A very familiar warmth traveled up his spine and settled in his heart.
After they were left breathless from all the kissing, his reply was:
"You could’ve told me earlier, okay? It would’ve saved me a lot of trouble."