Chapter Text
Stiles is totally not marrying Derek Hale. Stiles is not marrying Derek Hale ever, even if he begged, because Derek Hale is an ass.
“Seriously, I don’t understand why you think this is acceptable.” Stiles wants to say bad dog, no! but he’s pretty sure he wants to live to see Tuesday more. His cats would miss him.
Derek scowls and says, “What,” like he wasn’t just caught wearing all of Stiles’ shirts. Which, okay, is not what makes Derek an ass – it just makes him weird – and also not what Stiles is talking about. Right now. He may revisit it later, but clearly he has to pick his battles.
Except, no, because when put into context - how Derek is avoiding Stiles, which is why he is currently wearing all of Stiles’ shirts, then yes, okay, Stiles is talking about what is happening right this very minute, and how Stiles totally hates Derek’s asshat, stupid face.
*
“Your dad is an ass,” Stiles tells Alex. He’s making her dinner. He doesn’t usually even make himself dinner, so he really has no business doing it for Alex, but whatever. Stiles is awesome and loving and will take care of Derek’s daughter for him, even when he’s being a complete and utter dickhead.
Alex just nods and says, “Don’t worry, I called Aunt Laura,” and Stiles is, unsurprisingly, not heartened by this information at all.
*
Laura Hale is almost as tall as Derek and smiles with all her teeth and has a laugh like Alex’s - Stiles is pretty sure that’s just a cover for her being pure evil.
Derek says, “Every time I see you a little piece of my soul dies,” and Laura’s grin just grows brighter and she says, “Come give your big sis a hug.”
Derek glares at Stiles over her shoulder - which is uncalled for, since Stiles isn’t the one who’s brought down the wrath of the Alpha - and says, “Please don’t touch me,” even as Laura is wrapping her arms around Derek’s uncomfortably stiff, unbending body.
“Welcome, welcome,” says Stiles with a little awkward wave, because he is nothing if not well-mannered.
Laura says, “Oh, you’ll need a hug, too,” and it’s, uh. Ominous. Like Laura-hugs are synonymous with getting your stomach ripped out. Judging from Derek’s vaguely torturous expression, that just might be the case.
Stiles says, “Uh,” and starts to back away slowly, toward the door.
Laura is holding Derek awfully tight. Her voice is muffled in Derek’s shoulder, but Stiles is pretty sure she says, “You smell like Cheetos.”
Stiles isn’t sure whether to take that as an insult or not.
*
Stiles calls up Lydia and says, “Is this werewolf politics or something?” He’d debated whether to call Jackson or Lydia and Lydia seemed like the slightly lesser evil. Well, Scott would have been the lesser evil, but Stiles will talk to him again when he apologizes properly, with beer and Bruce Willis movies and manly crying.
Lydia just says, “Oh, honey,” a shade of manic delight in her voice, “this is family.”
*
Stiles calls up Allison and says, “So you’ve met Laura, right?” because Allison should totally know What Is Up. Allison married Scott, he’s pretty sure there are werewolf rules about that and shit.
Allison says, “Sure,” and he can hear her tinkering around the kitchen, rattling pans, the garbage disposal turns on as she adds, “My dad killed her uncle, it’s kind of a thing my family does,” and, “Did I mention Scott and I met at a rage mixer?” and Stiles has no idea what to do with any of that.
*
Stiles is being judged by Laura Hale, this much he can figure.
She bakes him brownies and feeds him steak and pats his stomach when he pushes back from the table, stuffed. They take Alex to the zoo and she hangs off his arm and grins alarmingly wide at Derek’s disgruntled eyebrows. She teases him about his cats and takes him furniture shopping and says things like, “You can’t let my brother swallow you up,” which is about zero percent reassuring.
She hugs Stiles a lot. Like, more than she hugs Alex, even, and she hugs Alex only slightly more than she hugs Derek. Werewolves are huggers. He has his crazy suspicions.
“No, really,” he says to Lydia, “what’s with all the hugging? Why does everyone want to hug me?” He’s pretty sure he knows what’s with all the hugging, honestly, he just wants to hear someone say it out loud. Maybe it’ll sound less creepifying.
Lydia says, “I don’t want to hug you,” which is true; most days she acts like she’s only so far from stabbing Stiles through the heart with her letter opener. He appreciates her restraint.
“Okay, but, still.” Stiles has been in a couple Hale sandwiches lately - sans Derek, because he’s been too busy expressing his man pain by locking himself in his room and listening to Van Halen’s Panama on repeat. There’s something going on there. Something. Something—
He’ll figure it out eventually.
*
Stiles grows some balls and actually says to Laura, “Why exactly are you here?” like she needs to tell Stiles why she’s visiting her family. Whatever, he gets the feeling that Derek and Laura don’t do well in enclosed spaces. Like entire buildings.
Laura arches an eyebrow at him and says, “Alex’s first change,” and Stiles feels sweeping relief until she adds, “And to give you the bite.”
Stiles’ throat dries up and all he manages is a squeaky, “Eep.”
She pats his cheek. “Once you smell right we’ll discuss it.”
*
There is no way Stiles is agreeing to the bite. He’s doing just fine as a human, he doesn’t need freaky werewolf powers, he doesn’t need any more control problems than he already has, he can’t imagine what he’d be like, but he’s pretty sure he’d go crazy and eat a bunch of frogs and bunnies by accident. He can’t have that.
He can’t marry Derek and be a werewolf.
“There is no way I’m marrying you,” Stiles says, flailing his arms a little. He’s finally cornered Derek for the express purpose of telling him to tell his sister this, because there is no way Stiles is going to say no to Laura’s face, Laura has scary eyes and scary teeth, he’d be in so much trouble.
“I don’t remember asking you to.” Derek looks bemused and confused, which is fair. The only thing Derek has been doing for the past couple weeks is semi-successfully avoiding being anywhere near Stiles. Stiles would be insulted except Derek likes to break into his apartment in the middle of the night and sleep with him.
Stiles says, “Well, um, Alex did,” and refuses to feel stupid about it.
Derek scowls. “Alex is twelve—”
“THIRTEEN,” Alex yells from her bedroom, because she has freaky werewolf hearing.
Derek pinches his nose and mutters, “Not for another two weeks,” adding a soft, pained, “Kill me now,” which serves to break down most of Stiles' nerves; he shoves his hands in his pockets and says, smiling, “She’s already planning the wedding, dude, she’s got Hank wearing a tiny cat tuxedo and everything.”
“HE’LL BE SO HANDSOME.”
Derek shouts, “Shut up!” and Stiles has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Stiles says, “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t tell your kid to shut up—” and Derek points a finger at him and tells him to shut up, too.
*
Later, when Derek has manhandled Stiles into a position he deems appropriate for snuggling disguised as sleeping, Derek says, “I don’t want you to want this because of Alex or my sister,” into the nape of his neck, and Stiles has to squirm around a lot and throw elbows in order to turn over and face him because Derek is a stupid asshole moron.
Stiles almost head butts him accidently on purpose and says, “Are you a stupid asshole moron? I mean, you have seen you, right?” never mind the fact that Stiles is totally not going to marry or love Derek and become his werewolf life-mate. That is not happening ever, he’s already decided.
Derek frowns at him and Stiles deflates and says, “Okay, come on, let’s hug it out,” and is wholly unprepared for his front getting squished all along Derek’s front. Derek has really strong arms, he knows this, but apparently he didn’t actually know this.
Derek says, “Stiles,” in this super deep rumble and Stiles says, “Uh, a little air here? Maybe?” face all mashed up against Derek’s collarbone.
Derek barely loosens his hold.
He’s overly warm and it’s terrible and cozy and eventually Stiles asphyxiates and passes out. Or, like, he might’ve just fallen asleep. Basically the same thing, whatever.
*
“I have complete control of this situation,” Stiles says to himself in the bathroom mirror. He grips the edge of the sink and leans forward, bites his bottom lip and tries not to see how—happy he looks. His eyes defy him, god damn it. There is a rosy hew to his cheeks, he’s sleeping more than he ever has before, he kind of wants to snuggle with Derek for forever.
He is so screwed.
*
Lydia eyes him over top her coffee mug. She has her elbows on her desk, nails idly tapping the porcelain, red lips at a slight left quirk, sly.
She says, “Have you found out about knotting yet?” and Stiles thinks, what? and sailor’s knots? and is Derek into bondage? because Derek has been weirdly gentlemanly and weird and a gentleman; their relationship has mainly been about cuddling and avoidance and no sex.
Stiles says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about?” and Lydia’s laugh is more like a cackle now, it’s starting to get annoying.
*
Everyone fucks off to Beacon Hills on the full moon, even Alex, and Stiles kind of feels like the entire building is deserted, even though he can still hear Ms. Sophie watching Jeopardy next door and there is some sort of dog barking party in the apartment directly below him.
He sits with Hank on his lap and Blackbird on his head and eats a family size Velveeta Shells and Cheese and curses the day he figured out everyone around him was a werewolf.
*
Alex says, “Oh my god, it was awesome,” and there are bits of leaves and twigs in her hair and one entire side of her face is covered in dirt and she’s smiling so wide she looks radiant. She looks like the sun’s just risen for the first time ever and she’s gazing up at Stiles and the only thing Stiles can do is gather her into a bear hug and never let go.
He has to let her go, of course, because they have to eat breakfast and Derek has to sulk at him and Laura has to beam smugly and mouth biting him because she’s a jerkface, but he doesn’t want to; she smells like wet earth and sunshine and happy things, and also maybe a little like blood.
There’s a strong possibility that Alex ate frogs and bunnies last night, he’s strangely okay with that.
Alex talks all through pancakes and Stiles surreptitiously watches Derek and Derek may act like everyone around him is trying to beat the life out of him slowly, but there’s no hiding the fact that Derek is proud. Derek is a proud papa, he’s trying to hide behind his eyebrows but it does no good – Stiles can totally see that special sparkle in his eyes.
It’s stupidly endearing, is what it is.
Alex pokes Stiles in the side and says, “Are you listening to me? Are you hearing this? Do you know how badass awesome I am?” and Stiles dutifully says, “Yes.”
*
Stiles leaves his door unlocked and waits in the middle of his bed and Derek freezes with his shirt nearly off, tangled up around his armpits, when Stiles says, “I love your kid.”
Derek slowly pulls his shirt back down over his stomach, straightening up. “Okay.”
“Your sister is what my nightmares are made of,” literally, she’s like every Neverending Story Gmork dream he had when he was twelve, “but Alex—I love your kid, okay?” Stiles gets up onto his knees on the mattress and shrugs. “But I can be the quirky honorary uncle or something, that has nothing to do with you. You are a giant pain in my ass.”
“I get it,” Derek says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Are you sure? Because I’m not sure. That you get it.” Stiles is trying to have freaky werewolf sex here, and Derek is still clear on the other side of the room.
“You love my kid,” Derek says, but he takes a small step forward.
Stiles nods. “I do. She’s awesome, I’m not sure where she gets it from, since you suck the fun out of every party, mister, I have no idea why you make me so happy.”
“I—” Derek pauses. His face does some sort of weird spasm thing, it’s not flattering. “You have problems.”
“I do. I have so many problems. You should get over here and share them with me.” And by share, Stiles means sex him up. He totally needs to be sexed up, and then he’ll be fine.
Derek still looks hesitant.
Stiles low balls him with, “You know there are still places on my body that only Jackson’s touched?” and Derek launches himself at the bed with a snarly growl.
*
Stiles says to Laura, “Allison is not a wolf.” Stiles has figured this out – Allison does not go on rage retreats, she doesn’t howl at the full moon.
“She’s not,” Laura says, carefully. “Her family has rules.”
“Rules,” Stiles says.
She shrugs. “And codes and wolfsbane bullets and really big machetes.”
Stiles doesn’t have any of those things - he has a steak knife and possibly a stapler in the junk drawer - but he’s still not getting the bite. He braces himself and eyes Laura meaningfully. He says, “I don’t want to be a wolf, either.”
They are sharing a pie, like civilized people. There is a pumpkin pie in the middle of the counter, and Laura has already eaten a generous third. She slowly licks the tines of her fork and watches Stiles with sharp eyes. Finally, she huffs and says, “Fine. It’s not like he needs any more cubs.”
Stiles is horrified. “You did not—you did not just throw assbabies in my face,” he says, because now he is even more determined to never ever become a werewolf, he throws up a little in his mouth.
Laura just grins at him with all her evil on full display.
He totally can’t believe he’s marrying into this, ugh.
“I hate you,” he says, groans it into the hands he’s brought up to shamefully cover his face.
She laughs and rings a strong arm around his neck, tugs him down to kiss the top of his head, and Stiles totally just sighs and submits.
*
“I think Blackbird needs an evening dress, but she’ll probably just rip my face off if I try,” Alex says, frowning over at where both cats are curled together in the basket Stiles uses for his mail. His mail is now all over the floor. He adapts.
Blackbird has been weird about Alex since her first change. Hank is the same, but Hank is basically just a potato with furry ears and a tail.
“I’m not living with cats,” Derek says.
Stiles says, “You’re living with these cats,” because Stiles is a cat person now, he’s not getting rid of his cats, even if they hack up hairballs in his work shoes and make nests out of his clean towels.
Derek stares at him like he’s trying to decide whether all the kinky werewolf sex and love shit is worth getting hissed and clawed at every morning when he tries to brush his teeth.
Stiles has witnessed this on several occasions, it’s totally funny.
“Stop being a baby,” Stiles says. He pushes at Derek’s shoulder, but Derek is a brick wall when he wants to be.
He glares at Stiles and says, “They stare at me when I sleep.”
Cats are awesome, Stiles wants five more of them, he wants them all to freak Derek out and watch him while he sleeps. It’s a plan.
Stiles laughs and leans all up against Derek’s side and says, “I love you, you are so weird,” into his shoulder and Derek startles a little, like this surprises him – like Stiles hasn’t been slipping little wolf figurines into Derek’s pockets each day – and leans back.