Chapter Text
The rest goes like this…
<<o>>
They don’t speak about what happened.
<<0>>
When the babies come, Stiles and Derek spend the first few nights, watching them sleep in their cribs. Perfect in every way, they can’t take their eyes off of them. It’s like Derek said, they’re about a year old, and suddenly they’re thrust into parenthood. Their cries are much louder than their pup whimpers, their poops much more prolific, and they’re more fragile without fur.
They have the same mannerisms they did as pups. They even imitate their howls and growls, but haven’t mastered their human limbs, yet. Derek says that will change soon enough, so for now, they haven’t introduced them to his dad.
“They have your hair,” Stiles says, his face hovering over the crib, “and look at that frown. Even in her sleep, she’s like you.”
“They have your nose,” Derek says, over the other crib. They do, a little more round than pointed. Their eyes are a mix of them, hazel in most lights and golden brown in the sunlight.
A part of Stiles wishes he saw them as newborns. He’s missed the early milestones of their first year. But then again, not everyone gets the pleasure of having pups lick their faces and want nothing but attention and cuddles.
“They need names.” Stiles can’t bring grandbabies to his dad without them.
“You can name them.” Of course, Derek gives up the right.
“We each get one,” Stiles says and Derek smiles, his eyes soft and warm. “I’d like to name her Parker after my mother’s family name, if that’s okay.”
Derek nods, and without pause or explanation, he says, “Eli.”
Eli and Parker. His dad will be happy.
There’s love here. A lot of it if he’s willing to embrace it. The irony is that Stiles did the 23andMe test to find family. And in a fucked up way, he’s found them.
<<o>>
Stiles ventures outside with a much-needed coffee to get some air, and not to inappropriately watch the muscles in Derek’s back and arms ripple with each downstroke of the axe. The babes are napping, thankfully. They’re more work than two little pups, and if Stiles uses Derek’s guilt to swindle him into diaper duty, well, he’s earned it.
“I remember hearing a bond is never one-sided, that we were meant to bond.” Stiles interrupts Derek’s flow. “Mates, you said. What does that mean?”
Derek buries the head of the axe in the wood block. He wipes his face with the edge of his shirt before reaching for his water bottle and facing him.
“Werewolves mate for life,” Derek says, taking a sip, and Stiles averts his eyes. “It’s a recognizable bond at first scent. I smelled it with you, like a bombardment of my favorite scents all at once.” Stiles’ breath catches thinking of coffee and chocolate. “It’s rare. The way packs live, we’re so separated we hardly cross paths, and it doesn’t happen with humans. The gene was triggered enough in you for me to recognize the bond.”
“And if I stayed an omega?”
“You’d feel the bond,” he says, licking his top lip.
“Do you still feel it?”
With a firm grip on the axe, Derek sets up a hefty chunk of wood. “I do.” He splits it effortlessly in one swing.
The thing is, Stiles feels it, or something akin to it. Where his hate and revulsion persist, there’s a stirring underneath, a deep sense of safety and devotion he feels for Derek. He refuses to acknowledge the desire or the memories of Derek’s tender touches from the past, or the gentle way he cared for Stiles when Stiles was losing his mind. He doesn’t relive Derek’s soft hands or his warm mouth, and he certainly doesn’t evoke the memories of Derek’s thick cock inside of him.
Instead, the memory of running through the woods endures in his mind, and how the days were uninhibited and full of freedom. Stiles longs to explore the scent of pine and earth, feel the wind in his fur, and the crunch of leaves beneath his paws. He remembers the day the pups were born and how everything just smelled right. He misses the simplicity of being a wolf where human emotions didn’t exist.
He thinks fondly of his pups. Life as a wolf is black and white. It’s easier. But that future was taken from him, too.
<<o>>
The kids are demanding, so it’s easier to manage them in Derek’s sizable space.
Ever since his rage-fueled outburst, Stiles is better at spending time in Derek’s house. His skin doesn’t crawl when he looks at the space under the kitchen island where a bed no longer rests. He doesn’t shudder or feel nauseous when he sits on the couch to watch TV on the big screen. He’s comfortable in the little spaces he’s created for himself, but that doesn’t mean he’s ventured beyond the kitchen, the living room, and upstairs to the twin’s nursery.
Giving Stiles a much-needed break, Derek and Peter took the twins into town for ice cream and a visit to the park. In Stiles’ hand, he holds Derek’s mail. All he has to do is open the door to Derek’s office and place the letters on his desk—the mammoth desk where, underneath it on his knees, Stiles sucked Derek’s cock.
When he opens the door, he quickly shuts it in surprise. Glancing around the hallway, he wonders if he’s picked the wrong door, but this is the door to Derek’s office. Cautiously, he turns the handle and peeks inside. The desk is gone. There are two oversized, leather club chairs in the room, and the walls have built-in bookshelves holding the books that were once in a room Stiles tries not to think about. Derek’s office is now a library. The shelves are painted a cream color with gold accents, and there’s even a wooden ladder to reach the top shelves. The room is unrecognizable and beautiful, but where is Derek’s office?
If the books are here, then that means…
He glances at the other end of the hall where the looming black door taunts him. Is he brave enough today? He taps the letters in his palm. It’s just a room, he tells himself.
“Derek?” he calls out, making sure he’s alone. When there’s nothing but silence, he slinks down the hallway, taking deep breaths with encouraging words. With his hand on the doorknob, he throws open the door, scrunching his eyes shut. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to fly out at him, but when the silence gives him confidence, he tentatively opens one eye and then the other.
The terrifying room of his nightmares is no longer. The green walls are gone, painted a neutral color, like most of the house, with paintings of landscapes covering the bare walls. It’s more of a minimalist room with a sleek leather sofa under the window where his bed was, and Derek’s desk is in the middle of the room, replacing all the other toys and benches once housed here.
The only thing still present is the foreboding cabinet built into the wall. It calls to him, and without realizing it, his hands shake as he opens the cabinet doors. He’s uncertain of his expectations, but his last glimpse of the inside there was a multitude of toys, ropes, and tools Derek had used on him while he was a needy bitch. It’s all gone now, filled with a few file folders and office supplies. Writing journals and sketchpads line the top shelf and his fingers itch to look through them. He doesn’t. He can’t spout trust and respect if he’s going to invade Derek’s privacy.
His fingers trail along the drawer, feeling heaviness around his neck from the ghost of what was his for weeks. He slides the drawer open, wondering if it’s gone along with everything else. His breath catches when he sees the black velvet box. Raising the lid, his heart thumps wildly in his chest at the way the diamonds sparkle in the sunlight. The collar is worth more than his dad’s house. It’s Stiles’ collar—passed down from generations of Hales and given to him. He could take it and run, start over, a new life away from this heartbreak.
Lifting the collar, it feels heavier than he remembers. The first time Derek placed it around his neck, it felt like he belonged to something bigger than himself. He understands what that means now: an alpha, a secret, a community, a pack, and now a family. Stiles is a part of something. He belongs, no matter how hard he fights it or doesn’t want it.
“It’s yours.” Stiles flinches, almost dropping the collar as he turns to find Derek leaning against the doorjamb. “Sell it. Burn it. Throw it in the ocean. It’s yours, Stiles.”
Stiles hastily places it back in the cradle, closes the lid, and shuts the drawer.
“I didn’t mean to…” His cheeks flush, shaking his head. “It’s not.”
Why he wanted to see the collar, he can’t say. The heft in his hand evoked feelings he’s been trying to bury. Seeing Derek in the room where they spent so much time together doesn’t help either. How can the touch of a collar that branded him the property of Derek Hale make him long for a simpler time?
The psychology behind what he went through is bottomless. He should probably talk to someone about it. He suffered through a combination of mind-altering drugs and manipulation, as well as body modification against his will, all so he could get into the mindset of an animal. And boy, did it fucking work. There are days he wishes he could surrender to that animalistic mentality where he doesn’t have to think about anything but food, water, and being in the moment.
Is it the lingering chemicals in his body, his half-omega side, or is it the submission he craves?
Could he drop to his knees, bow his head, and let Derek service him? Does Derek want him to? Does he miss having that control over Stiles? This room is where he bred Stiles. He had his hand inside of Stiles. He fucked him, knotted him over and over right where Derek’s desk now sits. No matter how much paint is used to disguise this room, Stiles can’t forget, and if the way his cock hardens and his cheeks flush, maybe he doesn’t want to.
Shame burns through Stiles.
Derek’s nostrils flare. His fists clench as he pushes away from the door. “We brought you some Rocky Road.”
He leaves Stiles with his humiliating arousal.
That night, Stiles lay in his bed wondering what it would mean to surrender—the terror and the pleasure come hand in hand. There are many levels of submission. He may not want the breeding benches, cock cages, and tail plugs, but that beautiful piece of jewelry, that Hale legacy heavy around his neck? That might be something he wants. And the shame of that haunts him for days.
<<o>>
“Why are there little muddy footprints all over the floor?” Derek asks, hanging his keys by the door. He’s been out all afternoon handling pack business, leaving Stiles alone with two restless, cranky toddlers who are full of mischief and boundless energy.
“Because they have little feet,” Stiles answers from Derek’s living room, trying to wrestle the two culprits into the playpen.
Stepping into the living room, Derek crosses his arms, and a sly grin stretches across his face. He watches Stiles fail miserably.
“Oh, my god. How are they so fast and slippery?” The twins giggle and maneuver out of his arms. “Some help, please,” Stiles begs. Parker squeals when she sees Derek, and squirms her way under Stiles’ hands to toddle toward her father. Derek scoops her up, throwing her high, and catching the shrieking toddler with tickles and kisses.
“Again, Daddy!”
“Me!” Eli yells, not wanting to be left out. He waddles to his father, his diaper sagging with a need to be changed. Stiles gives up, throwing his hands in the air. Derek can deal with them. Stiles can’t compete with werewolf strength and agility, so he flops in the chair with a deep sigh. He’s content watching Derek throw their children in the air while they screech in delight.
He’s a wonderful dad. Gentle and patient, stern when he needs to be, and most of all, he loves deeply. Everything he does is for his family and the good of the pack. Stiles has worked hard to let his lingering resentment go. It’s getting easier. With every passing day, every smile, and bout of laughter, the stone shell around his heart chips away.
It helps that Derek’s patience and understanding are endless. They’re parents first. They work well as a unit. Stiles doesn’t want to risk that. But…
He wonders what Derek would be like as a lover—as a mate. It would mean binding himself to Derek, the man who did some fucking awful things to him. But that same man has done some fucking beautiful things, too. Forgiving Derek means opening himself up to accepting what he is now—a human omega in a werewolf pack. A mate to an alpha wolf. Papa to two amazing werewolf children. It’s been over a year, and he’s still here. He loves his children. He’s beginning to love his life. And he thinks he could love the man who’s bundling their children under his arms and taking them upstairs for their bath.
It’s no longer about retribution. It’s about Derek and Stiles. They will always be a part of each other’s lives because neither will give up the two little fragments of themselves. They’re stuck in limbo and have been for a while. It’s up to Stiles how they move forward. It’s always been up to him.
He sits in front of the fire for a long time, just watching the flames crackle along the wood. Thinking. Thinking as he bites his nail to the quick. This is a good life. It could be better.
Hearing movement on the stairs, he glances up. As Derek descends, he hikes up the sleeves of his cream-colored sweater. He’s barefoot, wearing low-slung jeans. He’s stunning in the glow of the firelight. The sight halts Stiles’ breath.
“They’re finally asleep,” Derek says, sighing. He moves to the fireplace to stoke the fire and put on more wood. Stiles can’t take his eyes off of him.
“Derek,” he says, his voice deeper than usual.
“Hmm?” Derek says, still building up the fire.
Stiles should say goodnight. He should turn around and head to his little apartment over the garage. That’s what he should do. It’s the smart and sensible thing. But then Derek stands, and the front of his sweater is soaked in bathwater, there’s aqua toothpaste on his sleeve, and the cuff has a well-worn hole from when the pups gnawed on it during the worst of their teething stage.
Why that seals Stiles’ decision, he doesn’t know. Forgiveness is a fucked up emotion. He wants to think that if they’d met under normal circumstances, they might have loved each other. They’ll never know, though, because they met under these calamitous circumstances. And after a year of coming to terms with his resentment, he’s finding peace.
There’s a flutter in his chest and a stirring in his groin. Derek must hear his heart racing, but he’s gracious enough not to say anything. Derek is not perfect, by any means. His heart is true, though. And if it wasn’t for Derek that day at Deaton’s, Stiles wouldn’t have Eli and Parker. He’d never have his family, at least not like this. He’s not settling, he tells himself, because Derek has given him choices. Stiles has called the shots, and this is just one more decision Derek will let him make.
“Derek,” he says again, rising from his chair.
Derek takes a breath, and his eyes widen at the arousal in the air. He blushes and his eyebrows shoot upward. He looks young, innocent, and almost afraid. That’s why Stiles wants this.
“I don’t hate you,” he says. Derek will hear the truth in his words because he’s sincere this time.
“Stiles—” Derek swallows.
Stiles bites his lip, taking another step closer. He tugs on the sleeves of his flannel, hitching his shoulders. “I—I want to try.”
Derek’s eyes glow red in the dim lighting of the room. It’s just a flash, but Stiles’ cock responds.
“As slow as you want to go,” Derek says. “You decide.”
“Okay.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “Can we…kiss?”
“We can do that,” Derek says.
“Yeah?” He takes another step closer until he’s inches away from Derek. He feels like a teenager again—awkward and nervous, not knowing where to put his hands. “Can you maybe…”
“Anything,” Derek says eagerly.
“Can you go first?” It’s stupid and a juvenile thing to say, especially considering what they’ve done in the past. But everything they’ve shared is a tarnished memory. He doesn’t want to remember any of it because that wasn’t him. It wasn’t Derek, not the Derek he knows now. From this moment on, everything between them will be new and have real meaning.
“I can do that.” With slow movements, Derek places his hand on Stiles’ cheek. It’s a whisper of a touch that closes Stiles’ eyes. He holds his breath as Derek leans in. His lips barely graze Stiles’, but he feels the warmth of his breath. Stiles’ hands are clammy as he bunches them on Derek’s waist. His stomach flutters while his heart beats wildly. Stiles opens his eyes. As Derek pulls away, there’s uncertainty looking back at Stiles, but there’s hope, too. They will do this slowly. But he can love this man.
Stiles says, “I want to make new memories.”