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“So, how are you and Stiles doing? You lock that down yet?” Erica said.
“I…don’t even know how to answer that,” Derek protested.
“That’s a no, then,” she sighed. “DEREK. He’s been back for almost a year! He’s over every night, you’re building a house, he’s helping you raise your kid, the only thing you two aren’t doing is having hot wolf sex every night and I know you WANT to be doing that soooo why aren’t you doing that?”
Derek rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t know. I mean, aren’t we together? He knows I care about him. He knows I want him here. And he knows I’m…not good at talking about this stuff.”
“DEREK.”
“ERICA.”
“You absolutely, literally cannot be serious. He is not a werewolf. He doesn’t sense your emotions or hear how your heart speeds up when you see his stupid floppy hair and weird little Who-from-Whoville face. He can’t SMELL your giant boner for him. You have to use ACTUAL ENGLISH WORDS. Or honestly, you could probably say it in Latin or Polish. He understands enough of that to get your point across. Or! You two know all that sign language now! I bet you could get REAL DESCRIPTIVE in sign language. But you have to TELL HIM. And he’s put himself out there so much for you. You can’t do the same for him?”
“You piss me off so much,” Derek sighed.
“You always say that when you know I’m right,” Erica laughed.
Derek growled.
“Oooh, big scary Alpha growl. I don’t care.”
“I’m changing the subject. How did Boyd’s job interview go?”
“Ugh, you’re no fun, but whatever. It went really well! They checked his references, and he keeps checking his email for an offer. I think he’s got a good shot,” Erica answered.
“And if he does get the job?” Derek asked.
“We’ll be moving back! Blue Lake is only about a 20-30 minute drive from Beacon Hills. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“The house won’t be ready for probably another 3 or 4 months,” Derek warned.
Erica laughed, “We’re not looking to jump right into communal living. We’ll probably rent something at first until everything gets settled. You think Stiles and Eli will come on playdates with me and Lang?”
“What about me? I don’t get playdates?” Derek sputtered, offended.
“Oh, please. Like you want to take two little werewolves to Chuck E. Cheese.”
“No, you’re correct. I’d rather die.”
Derek talked with Erica a little while longer. After they hung up, he thought back when he and Eli first moved back to Beacon Hills. He honestly didn’t remember much from those early days. It was all a haze of exhaustion and borderline panic. He just remembered opening his door one day and the actual last person he expected to see was standing there: Stiles Stiliniski. He’d been on his doorstep, surprisingly broad-shouldered and tall, with hair longer than he’d ever seen it, an unsure look on his face, and a foil-covered pan.
What he remembers most from those days was desperation. Desperate to take good care of Eli, desperate to make him feel better, desperate to get some rest, and after Stiles came back into his life, desperate to make him want to stay. But Derek has never been able to make people stay. He can never find the right words, that magical combination that would make anyone want to stay with him.
That old instinct, rusty with dried blood and guilt and shame, that feeling that Derek was fucking radioactive, was telling him to push Stiles away, make him leave before he decides to leave on his own, before Eli gets too attached to him, hell, before Derek gets too attached. But he can’t bring himself to do it. Stiles’s very presence improves their lives so much. Stiles is not calming or soothing, he’s loud and effervescent. And he kept coming back, bringing food, books, toys for Eli, ways to optimize systems that Derek hadn’t even thought of.
One day, Derek brought Eli over the area where he always changed his diaper (just a dresser with one of those pads on top of it) and found a basket stocked with diapers, wipes, rash cream, a couple of outfits and a few small toys. There was a small trash can next to the dresser. Derek had been blown away by this. He’d been too tired and stressed out to come up with ways to make his life easier and Stiles walked in, saw areas that needed improvement and just…improved it. Another time, he walked into the kitchen to find that Stiles bought a dish rack specially made for sippy cups. Eli’s sippy cups had a million little valves and straws and flip-tops and screw-tops and Derek haaaated them. And he’d thrown out all the old cups and replaced them with one brand so all the pieces were interchangeable. Derek almost cried over that one. It was so simple and made his life so much easier and Stiles had seen a problem and wordlessly fixed it.
Before Stiles came back, Eli smelled like misery all the time. Sad, scared, angry, confused, terrified if Derek put him down or left the room. They were just miserable together, huddled in bed or on the couch, eating whatever Derek could make one-handed, sleeping at odd hours. Derek didn’t know what shows were good for little kids so he found old shows on the internet from when he was a kid, Pinwheel and Teletubbies (he remembered his little sisters watching that) and was shocked at how weird they were. Eli didn’t seem to mind though and at least he didn’t scream, but Derek knew enough to know you weren’t supposed to just let a baby watch tv all day. He’d wanted to take Eli to run in the woods, thought it would help, but Eli hated leaving the house and would cling to Derek with tiny, clawed hands and scream. He felt sure that Eli thought when they left the house, Derek was going to leave him somewhere and not come back and he couldn’t bear to inflict that kind of fear on him, even if it was to show him that it wasn’t true.
But Stiles came stomping into their lives and it was like he flipped on the lights and threw open the windows and said, “Ew, you live like this?” (He did actually say that at one point. Derek wasn’t sure how to answer.) And Stiles kept showing up, kept making Derek and Eli laugh, kept making their lives better. And little by little, absolutely dragged Derek over the line into falling in love with him. Huh.
Derek pulled his car up to the little yellow house. Stiles was sitting at the picnic table outside with a woman he didn’t recognize. The scene was odd: the table was covered in thin white cloth and Stiles and the woman were writing on it and yelling at each other. Books, papers, pens, markers, and a tablet were strewn around one end of the table.
“NO, I TOLD YOU, THAT WON’T WORK,” Stiles almost shouted.
“THEN PICK ANOTHER ONE, WE DON’T HAVE ALL FUCKING DAY,” the woman yelled back.
“I’M TRYING. We HAVE to use this one and it’s hard to find runes that are compatible.”
“SO DON’T USE THAT ONE. I CAN FIND 3-5 RUNES THAT DO THE SAME THING AND PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS.”
“Grace, I swear to god, I’m going to rip that compass off your head and shove it down your…oh. Um. Hey, Derek,” Stiles said.
“What’s going on?” asked Derek with forced calm.
“This is Grace Carter, my coworker, she’s helping me plan and cast the runes and protection spells for the new house.”
“What, I’m just your coworker? We’re not friends?” Grace scoffed.
“Stop pissing me off and maybe I’ll introduce you as my friend. You’re lucky I didn’t call you the witch next door.” Stiles waved her off.
Grace had dark hair with a blue streak in it pulled up in a messy bun with a metal compass and two pens. She wore large, dark-framed glasses and was probably a few years older than Stiles. Now that Derek has had a second to think about it, he remembered Stiles mentioning his work friend Grace.
She smiled at Derek, “It’s nice to finally meet you!”
“Likewise,” Derek said, “Stiles, why do you need her help for this? No offense, Grace.”
“Oh, sorry, I thought I told you. Casting these kinds of spells is a two-person job. You always need two practitioners for this, but especially for a job of this size,” Stiles replied. “Grace and I cast well together and she was willing to help.”
“I am willing to help,” Grace said seriously, nodding with exaggeratedly wide eyes.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Anyway, we’re choosing the runes, wards and spells and we have to kind of weave them together like a net. You have to choose the right ones, make sure they’re compatible, that they work together, and that they cover everything we need them to cover.”
“How many runes or spells or whatever are you doing?” Derek asked, confused.
“28,” Grace answered decisively. “It’s a perfect number, well-balanced, and will do well to protect your home and land.”
“A perfect number?” Derek asked, even more confused.
“It’s a math thing,” Stiles said, waving his hand.
“Math?” Derek asked, now completely lost.
“I teach math at CU,” Grace said cheerfully.
“But what does that have to do with magic?” Derek asked again.
“Math is how I channel my magic,” she answered.
“You can do that?” Derek asked. “I mean, obviously you can if you say that you can, but I’ve never heard of that.”
“I don’t have the kind of magic Stiles does. His is natural, drawn from the earth, he was born with it, he channels it from the elements. I wasn’t born with it, I discovered it through theoretical mathematics. It’s why we work so well together, our approaches are so different, they complement each other,” Grace explained.
During this conversation, Stiles had been poring over his books and papers, making notes and highlighting portions.
“You two keep chatting, don’t worry about actually finishing this. The new moon is in less than a week, foundation is being poured in four days, but sure. No hurry or anything,” Stiles snapped.
Derek looked at him in surprise. Sure, Stiles could be sharp sometimes, but this seemed unusual. He looked closer at Stiles and though he looked pale, with dark circles under his eyes. His hands as he flipped through pages had a fine tremor.
“STILES,” Grace snapped back. “That spell you’re obsessed with WON’T FUCKING WORK. I found four more runes that DO THE EXACT SAME THING and bring us to 28! It’s done, you just won’t accept it.” She shoved her tablet in his face.
“Here. Look, I have it all mapped out. Tell me it won’t work. Go ahead. Tell me that’s not a piece of mathematical and magical precision. I won’t even say I told you so. To your face,” Grace said.
Stiles snatched the tablet out of her hand and started swiping around. His face cleared after a few minutes and his brow unfurrowed.
“I know you wanted to use that particular spell because it’s so powerful but it’s TOO powerful for this. You know what will happen,” Grace said in a gentler tone.
“What will happen?” Derek interjected.
Grace took a deep breath and started to speak, stopped, started again, stopped. Derek looked at her in surprise.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to explain it in a way that makes sense,” she said.
“When you’re laying a bunch of protection spells and runes or whatever, you have to be careful not to use too many of them or use ones that are too rigid or too powerful,” Stiles said, sounding incredibly tired. Derek wanted to walk over and pull him into his arms.
“Too powerful?” Derek asked.
“If you were trying to camouflage something in the woods - like we are - you wouldn’t just paint it black, right? Sure, people walking up to it couldn’t see what was inside, but they would still notice it. In fact, it would draw attention,” Grace explained.
“If we’re too heavy-handed, any creature with a whiff of supernatural ability will just see a void where your land should be and they’ll naturally want to investigate. Anyone smart will realize there’s something valuable there and try to break in. Anything dumb will just hang around outside butting its head up against the wards until someone comes out. You’d probably have to fight, like, a ghoul every time you went to the store,” Grace continued.
“Stiles really likes this one spell because it’s strong and he can cast it successfully, but it’s too strong and it’s rigid, it doesn’t blend well with other work. He just wants to protect you and your baby and this house and land SO BADLY. He hasn’t slept more than a few hours all we - OUCH. YOU SUCK, STILES.”
Stiles had kicked her ankle under the table.
Derek looked at him, concerned.
“Stiles.”
“Please don’t give me the Patented Derek Hale Brow of Concern. I can sleep when this is done,” Stiles said, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.
“Which is now. This is done. We’re all done. You can rest, you goddamn loser,” Grace said, stacking all the books and papers.
“You got all this?” Derek said to Grace.
“Yeah, I’ll clean it all up. Stiles, I’ll email you a copy of the plan,” she answered.
Derek strode aggressively over to Stiles, still sitting at the table with his head in his hands, and grabbed him, and threw him over his shoulder. He headed up to the house to the sound of Grace’s cackles.
“No, wait, what? DEREK, PUT ME DOWN. This is undignified. I am NOT a Bridgerton heroine in danger of swooning!” Stiles sputtered.
“You are absolutely in danger of swooning,” Derek said, throwing Stiles on the bed and tugging his sweater off over his head. He heard Stiles’s heartbeat stutter and then return to normal. Stiles never wore shoes outside so Derek just shoved him back down and covered him with the quilt.
Stiles muttered under his breath about his civil rights and not having to stand for unlawful seizure and something about not allowing soldiers to be quartered under his bed as he faded off to sleep.
“Uh-huh,” Derek said. He reached down and straightened the covers, and let himself stroke a knuckle down the side of Stiles’s face.
The night before Grace and Stiles were set to cast the protection spells, she stayed over at the Stilinski house so they could get started at dawn. Stiles asked if Derek and Eli wanted to order Chinese food with them while they went over the plans for the next day. He also felt it was important for Grace to spend a little time with both Derek and Eli so “she would know what she was protecting.” Derek has looked a little askance at that.
“Well I mean, there's a reason I didn't just, like, hire some local Etsy witch to help me. Grace and I are friends, she cares about my safety and the safety of my family and home. I obviously care deeply about this project. That will only make the work stronger and root it more deeply,” Stiles explained.
“AWWW, WE'RE FRIENDS, YOU SAID IT. NO TAKEBACKS,” Grace yelled from the living room. She and Eli were watching some British animated math show. Eli was perched in her lap, staring in fascination both at the show and her.
Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek felt all warm at Stiles calling them his family.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
“Food's here,” Stiles yelled, answering the door.
The next few minutes were chaos, everyone getting drinks, handing out paper cartons and chopsticks, settling Eli in his seat.
Everyone dug in, with Eli enthusiastically shoving shrimp lo mein into his mouth, occasionally signing, “shrimp.”
“If anything, you undersold how cute that kid is,” Grace said, grabbing a crab rangoon off of Stiles’s plate. Derek was sort of impressed. It took a brave soul to take food from Stiles.
Stiles glared at her and snatched a piece of orange chicken from her plate.
“Hey, quid pro quo, I'm not mad,” Grace laughed.
Derek noticed that both Grace and Stiles had their sleeves rolled up and on their right forearms, they had similar tattoos. He'd seen some of Stiles’s tattoos before, of course. The one on his left forearm was a rune against possession. Stiles had told him when asked about it once, looking a little ashamed and Derek's heart ached for him and he'd regretted asking. There was one on his right foot to help him draw energy up from the earth. The one on his right forearm was an ornate pair of tweezers and Derek had assumed it was a regular tattoo, just a nod to Stiles’s fondness for hands-on magical work.
But seeing Grace's tattoo of one of those math compasses, in the same style, it made him wonder if it symbolized something else.
“Did you guys go to the same tattoo artist or something?” Derek asks.
Stiles and Grace look at him in confusion and then when he gestures, down at their forearms. And then they both burst into laughter.
“Should we show him?” Stiles said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Oh, definitely,” Grace said.
Derek watched in puzzlement as they muttered something he couldn't quite catch, ran their fingers over the tattoos, and pulled the instruments off of their arms with a wince. The tattoos were gone, and the instruments were in their hands, gleaming and sharp.
“WHOA,” Derek shouted. They both laughed.
“This is a pretty standard early advanced magic spell,” Stiles explained. “We went to different schools and it was a different class, but it WAS the same artist.”
“Yeah, well-spotted on that, Derek,” Grace said, playing with the compass.
“And they work? They're usable instruments?” Derek asked.
“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged. “If you do the spell right and we obviously did. They're simple machines. I picked tweezers because I never have a pair around when I need them and now I always do.”
“Did it hurt, just now, when you pulled them off?” Derek asked.
“Yeah, a little. And it stings a bit to put them back on. But just for a second,” Stiles said.
“So why do it just to show me? I didn't want you to hurt yourselves!”
Both Stiles and Grace looked at Derek like he was crazy. Grace went back to her plate.
“Does it hurt you to shift into a wolf?” She asked casually.
“Well, yeah, but just for…a second,” Derek finished lamely.
They both raise their eyebrows at him and look unimpressed.
“Yeah, it just hurts for a second and then I have this cool, shiny tool,” Stiles said.
“I have a pair of tweezers so I don't have to touch little pieces of bone or slimy plant bits or dead bugs with my hands and Grace has a compass because she's always having to draw a bunch of fuck-ass circles,” Stiles continued.
“Fuck ass,” repeated Eli before shoving another shrimp in his mouth.
“Oops,” Stiles said.
Derek stretched, he was tired and a little sore. They'd been at this for hours, since before dawn. Stiles and Grace had to be exhausted but Derek was pretty sure they were almost finished. They'd begun with the foundation and building materials, carefully drawing runes and symbols and equations into the cement and onto the wood before muttering incantations. Then the drawings would glow brightly and sink in, leaving a faint trace behind. They moved in concentric circles, ever widening until they reached the limits of the Hale land.
“This is why I insisted you get that official survey,” Stiles told Derek, slightly out of breath. “I needed the exact dimensions of your property. If I had to do this again because we pissed off the forest service, I was just going to say fuck it and put up a sign that said, ‘WEREWOLVES HERE, EAT THEM.’”
Derek rolled his eyes, trying not to stare. He was disappointed/relieved that Stiles and Grace had opted not to perform the spells traditionally (re: nude) but this was the least amount of clothes he'd ever seen Stiles wear: a pair of khaki shorts…and nothing else. There was another tattoo Derek hadn't known about, an ornate circular design around his left nipple, which seemed like an odd choice for someone as modest as Stiles. He caught Derek staring at it and smirked.
“That one's magical too. They all are. This one helps me channel my heart's true intentions. Sometimes I get too much in my head and I miss the simplest, purest actions that I should take,” Stiles said, looking at Derek with intensity.
Derek looked at Stiles, stripped down, bare, pale skin gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Broad shoulders, long limbs, wiry muscles, gleaming with sweat from exertion and heat, the magic pouring off of him, giving him a faint glow, his eyes sparkling with more than just his usual blend of humor and mischief. Derek thought he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and suddenly felt the most intense desire to get close, pull Stiles against him by the hips, and bury his face in his sweaty neck. And maybe bite him, mark him, let everyone know that this man was his. Then he would cradle his hands around Stiles’s face and kiss him. Stiles was staring back at him, heatedly, his lips parted slightly. Finally, this was their moment...
The air between them shimmered, actually shimmered, and Derek took a step forward -
Grace came crashing through the underbrush.
“Stilinksi, where are you? We can finish this with one more circle and then you’re buying me beer and it had better not be from that bullshit brewery your friend is always dragging us to -” She sees Derek and Stiles standing there, almost touching, “What is this, the flirting grove? Stiles, come with me. Derek, fuck off. You can have him back in 20 minutes,” and she grabbed Stiles and dragged him off.
Hours later, Derek and Stiles have cleaned up, Grace has been supplied with beer and pizza, thanked and sent home, and Eli returned by Melissa. The three of them sit on the chairs outside the little yellow house, tired and happy.
The land felt…safe to Derek in a way it hadn’t in years. For the first time since the fire, he felt like this land loved him, and was embracing him. He used to feel that way all the time, the Hale connection to this land always felt like love. The fire destroyed that connection along with most of his pack, and being on this land had felt like being somewhere he didn’t really belong. Now he felt the safety of the wards and he felt Stiles’s love for him and for Eli, tangentially for Cora and Peter, through them. He felt relaxed and at ease with Eli sprawled in his lap and Stiles next to him with his foot shoved under Derek’s thigh.
“Let’s sleep outside tonight,” Derek said suddenly. “I’ll set up some bedding. We used to do that with my mom. It’ll be great.”
“I’m tired enough to literally not care where you put me, so I’m fine with that, but you’re setting everything up. I’m not digging out any camping gear,” Stiles said.
“That’s fine,” Derek said, handing Eli over. Stiles pulled the little boy close and rubbed his chin on the top of his head. Eli curled into Stiles’s chest and sighed contentedly.
Within half an hour, Derek had a futon mattress, pillows, and blankets set up. He even hung up a string of lanterns that Stiles bought for picnics and parties or whatever.
Once he’s done fussing, Derek headed over to the chair where Stiles and Eli had fallen asleep curled together. He gently tugged Eli away and carried him over to the bed and tucked him in with his stuffed otter. Derek took a moment to smooth his wild hair and nuzzle his little nose, allowing all the love he feels for son to come to the surface, basking in it, and knowing that Eli could feel it too. Eli snuggled up with his otter and made little kissing noises toward his father.
Derek walked over and slid his arms under Stiles legs and behind his back and scooped him up. He headed over to the bed.
Stiles’s head lolled against Derek’s chest, “My hero,” he slurred.
Derek sets Stiles down next to Eli and pulled the covers around both of them. He laid down next to them both with his back to the woods and closed his eyes, feeling the cool night around him, hearing the sounds of the forest above their heads. He slept.
Hours passed. Derek woke up and sensed a warm body next to him and he knew that scent. He leaned forward and nuzzled the person’s nose. Derek knew deep down that it was Stiles, could only be Stiles pressed that close to him. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. And since it was a dream, Derek was going to get his dream’s worth. He closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to dream Stiles’s lips. Derek put his hand on Stiles’s hip and slid it under his shirt to lay against his bare skin, his big hand warm on Stiles’s night-cooled skin. Stiles skimmed his hand up Derek's back, leaving a trail of goosebumps at the soft touch, before resting his open palm in the center of his back, his other hand gently cradling Derek's face. Stiles sighed happily and leaned closer, opening his mouth a little.
Derek slid his tongue into Stiles's mouth, tasting coffee and cinnamon gum. That detail seemed a little too specific for a dream and he jolted awake at the same time as Stiles.
They both froze, holding each other, faces very close, breathing raggedly into each other's mouths. Every muscle in Stiles’s body tensed and Derek almost heard his panicked thoughts.
“Don't go,” Derek whispered. “Stay with me. Let me hold you. Please.”
Stiles laughed a little, and relaxed. He pressed his forehead to Derek’s but then tensed again.
“Eli! Where’s Eli?” Stiles whisper-yelled.
Derek smiled. “He’s behind you. He’s still asleep. I can hear his heartbeat.”
Stiles craned his neck around. “Oh my god. He flailed his way onto the ground. He’s sleeping in the dirt.”
Derek sighed, "We're parents of the year, yet again.”
“It’s good for his immune system or whatever.”
Stiles shivered and Derek pulled him a little closer.
“Okay, how about this,” Stiles said. “We’re going to go inside, put Eli in his bed, and then we’re going to go make out on the couch like we never got to when we were kids.”
Derek huffed out a laugh and said, “That sounds like a great idea.”
They both stood and Derek scooped up Eli, cradling his small body to his chest, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Stiles darted ahead into the house.
“Your other daddy is pretty weird,” Derek whispered to the sleeping toddler.
Derek carried Eli into the house and then into the bedroom. Stiles already came in and closed and locked the window, turned on the star projector and white noise machine (both recent additions that Stiles picked up to try and improve Eli’s sleep. Both have helped) and Derek laid Eli gingerly down in the crib and covered him with his blanket.
Derek grabbed Stiles’s hand and dragged him out to the living room, pausing only to shut the bedroom door. He allowed Stiles to push him onto the couch and climb into his lap, one leg on each side, straddling him.
Stiles cradled Derek’s face in his hands, nuzzled his nose with his own, and said, “Now where were we?”