Chapter Text
“Derek, dude, relax. We’ve got this. We’re gonna Hallmark movie the shit out of these holidays.”
Derek tries to give Stiles a withering look while not taking his eyes off the road.
“Well, except for the actually falling in love part,” Stiles rushes to say. “But the convincing your family we’re all coupled up is gonna be easy. You said no one questioned it.”
Derek grunts in reply. It’s true that no one he’d talked to had questioned it when he called his mom and asked her about bringing Stiles home for Christmas. In fact, he’d received shrieking voicemails from both of his sisters with variations on how they always knew he and Stiles were more than just roommates and they were glad he’d gotten his head out of his ass. Laura’s message even asked if Derek was planning to propose. They were horrifying, and not just because of what the volume and pitch did to his sensitive werewolf ears.
The one person Derek hadn’t heard from or talked to about him supposedly bringing a boyfriend to his family’s house was Peter. That wasn’t surprising, these days. A few years ago it wouldn’t have been possible for him to do this without bringing Peter in on the scheme. They used to talk all the time. Peter was Derek’s confidant all the way through college and beyond, right up until a year ago when they both got drunk on wolfsbane-laced whiskey and Derek kissed him.
Things might have been OK if they’d stopped there. If Peter had pulled away from him or if they’d laughed it off as just a weird side effect of the wolfsbane. Instead, Peter had growled and pulled him in closer, biting at his lips. Even then, it might have been fine—if they hadn’t stumbled up the stairs together, if they’d kept their clothes on, if they’d kept their hands off each other’s bodies, their mouths off each other’s dicks.
If Peter hadn’t said “Good morning, darling” and kissed him the next morning when they were both sober and awake enough to know exactly who they were tangled up with under Peter’s sheets.
Derek had grabbed his clothes and fled the room, not noticing until he got to his own room that the sweater he’d dragged on was actually Peter’s. All he’d wanted was to bury his face in it, or even better, go back and bury his face in Peter’s neck so he could breathe in his scent. Instead, he’d shoved it deep in his bag, unable to face the thought of giving it back to his uncle. Something told him Peter wouldn’t be returning Derek’s sweater, either.
Somehow, Derek made it through the rest of that visit without being alone with Peter. Then he made it through the rest of the year without talking to him. It felt wrong—feels wrong—and isn’t that fucked up, that not talking to him feels wrong while what they did that night doesn’t. He knows it was, though. Peter is his uncle. It had been bad enough when Derek was just imagining touching him. Having actually done it is worse.
“Earth to Sourwolf!”
Stiles’ voice intrudes on Derek’s thoughts.
“Don’t call me that.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek isn’t even looking at him, but he can tell.
“Whatever. Where’d you go? You were gripping the wheel hard enough that I swear I heard it creak and your murder brows were more murdery than normal.”
“It’s nothing. We’ll be there soon. Did you have any other questions about my family first?”
Derek isn’t surprised when Stiles says he doesn’t have questions, then proceeds to give a rundown of what he knows of Derek’s family. He is surprised by just how extensive that knowledge is.
“How do you even know all of this?” he asks.
“I listen when you talk,” Stiles says with a shrug.
Derek doesn’t really know what to say to that. After a moment, Stiles picks up the conversation. Derek lets the sound of his voice and his heart soothe him. Stiles was right that this trip isn’t going to end up with Derek falling in love with him—somehow, without noticing it was happening until it was too late, he already had.
Peter sits in the living room. He’s pretending to read, but the old book on magic, fascinating as it is, isn’t holding his attention. He’s too focused on the fact that his nephew—his mate—is bringing a boyfriend home for Christmas.
Not that Derek seems to know that’s what they are. At least, he doesn’t think he knows. He doesn’t think Derek would have run away if he’d known they were fated to be together.
Peter would have handled that night differently if he’d had any idea Derek would panic and shut him out for the next year. He definitely would have handled it differently if he’d known Derek would go out and find a boyfriend he’s serious enough about to bring home to the family. Peter would never try to trap Derek in a relationship he doesn’t want to be in, but he would have liked the opportunity to at least talk about it.
“They’re here!” he hears Cora squeal from the foyer, followed by what sounds like her and Laura having a shoving match in front of the door. There’s the sound of trampling across the porch and down the stairs, so someone must have won.
A few seconds later, there’s a yelp. “Squishy human! Don’t crush the squishy human!” The voice is surprisingly deep. It makes Peter’s wolf sit up and take notice, almost as much as the words.
“Let him go,” Derek orders his sisters.
Peter exchanges an amused glance with his own sister. You’d think after 28 years of having sisters Derek would know better, but he never seems to learn.
“It’s like you were raised by wolves,” Stiles says, voice colored with amusement.
Peter watches Talia’s attention snap to the front of the house before she moves quickly towards the door. Peter puts a bookmark in the tome he was reading before following. He moves more leisurely than she did, but not slowly. He’s as curious as she is, and possibly even more alarmed. If Derek is serious enough that he told his boyfriend they’re werewolves—well, it doesn’t bode well for Peter. Derek is the most cautious of them all these days.
Peter steps out of the house, automatically taking his place on Talia’s left. There are some formalities that need to be observed. They probably wouldn’t have been necessary if Derek had asked if he could tell Stiles, or even told them in advance that he had.
Derek looks up at them first. When his eyes meet Peter’s, he fumbles for Stiles’ hand. Stiles looks down curiously, like that was unexpected, then looks up and follows Derek’s line of sight to Peter. He scans Peter, eyes growing steadily wider before they land on Peter’s. This close, Peter can see that his eyes are a dark amber. They flick back to Derek, before going back to Peter. Emotions cross his face too fast for Peter to follow before he looks away and towards Talia.
Stiles reaches to open a messenger bag he has slung over his shoulder, having to shake his hand to get Derek to reluctantly let go. Derek looks away from where he’s staring at Peter and watches Stiles. He pulls out a large bottle. He turns towards Talia, drawing himself up straighter and out of what Peter suspects is a habitual slouch. He steps towards her.
“Alpha Hale, thank you for inviting me to spend the Solstice with your family and pack. Please accept this small token of my appreciation.”
Stiles’ voice is solemn but warm. The traditional words roll off his tongue naturally, rather than sounding like a formula he rehearsed. Peter doesn’t want to be impressed by this boy he can’t help but see as an interloper, but finds he can’t help it. From the way all of the wolves except Derek are staring at Stiles, he knows he isn’t the only one.
It takes a moment for Talia to move and accept the bottle Stiles is holding.
“Thank you, Stiles.” She looks down at the bottle, which doesn’t have a label.
“Oh—it’s mead. I brewed it myself. It has aconite in it, but not too much. Just enough for it to be fun,” Stiles rambles. He looks nervous in a way he hadn’t until now. “That’s what I’ve been told, anyway. Obviously, it doesn’t work that way for me.”
“You seem to know a lot about werewolves,” Peter says. “I didn’t think you and Derek had been together that long,” he continues, not trying to hide the hint of menace he feels creeping into his voice.
Peter expects the way Stiles’ eyes snap to his and go wide, mouth falling open. He isn’t expecting Stiles to turn and slug Derek in the arm. Hard, if Derek’s wince is anything to go on.
“You dick! I can’t believe you didn’t tell them I already know about wolves. Dude, that’s not cool.”
Peter struggles not to laugh as Derek’s face goes from startled to petulant to resigned. “Don’t call me dude,” he says, like it’s something he’s said many times before.
Stiles rolls his eyes and turns back to Talia and Peter. “My best friend was bitten by a rogue alpha when we were 16. I helped him with the change. We spent some time as a trouble magnet after that, but things have been settled for a few years. I’m also a spark. If I had known you didn’t know I would have made a formal request to enter your territory.” He bites his lip, looking nervous for the first time.
“My son’s bad manners aren’t your fault,” Talia says solemnly, but Peter can hear laughter in her voice. So can Stiles from the look on his face. “You are welcome here. Now, come inside so we can get you settled.”
Peter steps back to let Stiles and Derek into the house. He can’t help but breathe in Derek’s scent as he goes past, catching Stiles’ at the same time. The two aren’t as mingled as he was expecting—Derek’s wintery evergreens distinct from the petrichor and lightning that must be Stiles’. What Peter can’t ignore though is that Stiles’ scent has that same undercurrent that Peter has always been able to smell from Derek, even though he’s never been able to identify what it is. Smelling that on Stiles makes Peter want to howl and bite at the knowledge that Derek is that close to someone else, but he also wants to scent them both and he has no idea what to think about that.
Contrary to what some people (Lydia, Derek) think, Stiles isn’t an idiot. Evidence: he’s never told Derek that he’s hopelessly in love with him or that he can see the potential for a bond between them. Lydia thinks he’s an idiot for that, but Stiles has also always been able to see the bond Derek has with someone else. It was always in the background, so to speak, like it was waiting to be recognized. For the past year it’s been both more prominent and brutally suppressed. Stiles is pretty sure he knows why now.
The other partner in that bond is Peter Hale.
Stiles has known Derek for years at this point, so he’s pretty sure he knows what went down, even without knowing Peter. He’d be willing to bet his stash of mountain ash—which is a pain in the ass to make, by the way—that something happened between Derek and Peter last year that made Derek panic about having a bond with his uncle and he’s suppressed it ever since. It would explain the cloud of guilt and manpain that seems to follow him around now, as well as how much rarer his family visits have become.
The only question at this point is what Stiles is going to do about it. Much as he hates the idea of pushing Derek towards someone else, he’s not shitty and selfish enough to let him continue to be miserable in some sort of hope that Derek will one day want him. From the way Peter kept his face blank when he looked at Stiles and narrowed his eyes when Derek grabbed his hand, Stiles is pretty sure Derek isn’t the only one who’s unhappy. What he doesn’t know is what Peter plans to do about it. The man doesn’t seem like the type to sit back and watch his bonded mate with someone else.
Dinner is weird. Not the ‘you’re the first boyfriend Derek has brought home so we must interrogate you and embarrass him’ stuff that Stiles was expecting. Yes, that happens, but that isn’t the weird part. The weird part is that Peter starts flirting with him. Even weirder is that Derek does, too. Not the loving, fake flirtation Stiles was expecting them to have to do to pull off this charade. No, Derek is acting like he’s actually trying to woo Stiles, albeit in the grumpiest way possible. By the end of dinner, Stiles is getting worried that fangs and claws are going to come out over dessert.
He kind of likes it, and he doesn’t know what that says about him. He really isn’t interested in being the chew toy of two werewolf mates who haven’t fully bonded. Maybe it’s because they’re both really hot and seem to be paying attention to him. He’s pretty sure there isn’t a bisexual out there who wouldn’t be flattered to be in the sights of either man, let alone both. It’s just—it can’t go anywhere and Stiles already has one unattainable crush and what the fuck, why is he even thinking about having a crush on Peter? He just met the man! Also, you know, he’s bonded.
Stiles spends a moment staring at the bed in the middle of Derek’s room. Intellectually, he’d known they were staying in Derek’s childhood bedroom and kids usually don’t have large beds, but he still wasn’t prepared to face the idea of spending a week and a half sharing a double with Derek. Maybe he’ll go find the library Peter mentioned. It won’t be too suspicious if he falls asleep reading, right? For a week?
Derek is confused. He’s confused and he hates it. All through dinner he’d wanted to snap and snarl at Peter for flirting with Stiles, but not for the reasons he should have wanted to. He should have been angry at the disrespect Peter was showing him by flirting with the man he thinks is Derek’s boyfriend. Instead, he’s mad that Peter wasn’t flirting with him, as if that would have been OK on any level. Oh, and he also didn’t like it when Stiles was paying attention to Peter instead of him.
Basically, Derek is fucked up. That’s not news to him. It’s not even news to him when it comes to his attractions. First, he nearly got his family killed because he was too dumb to notice Kate was a goddamn hunter. Then, just last year, he had sex with his uncle. Good sex, too. Good enough that he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind since then, no matter how big his crush on Stiles is. Even that crush is a problem. Sometimes it’s all he can do to keep from blurting it out, even though he knows Stiles deserves better.
“You’re going to crush that bottle, nephew.”
Peter’s voice startles him out of his thoughts and he really does nearly break the beer bottle in his hand. He looks over to see Peter standing in the door leading from the kitchen to the back porch he’s standing on, then quickly looks away. Not looking doesn’t keep him from being painfully aware when Peter steps up beside him. He resolutely keeps his eyes trained on the tree line.
“What do you want, Peter?”
“Oh, what does anyone want? Food, shelter, pack—my mate.”
The beer bottle explodes. Derek stares at his hand numbly. He hadn’t meant to clench his hand like that. Peter curses and reaches for him, but he stumbles backwards.
“Don’t touch me.”
Peter looks shocked and hurt, before his face goes blank. He opens his mouth, but whatever he’s going to say gets interrupted when the door to the house flies open with so much force it starts to rebound off the wall.
Stiles—because of course it’s Stiles—throws up his hand and the door stops. He comes storming over, eyes glowing purple. Peter takes a step backwards and to the side. Derek only manages to stay still because Stiles’ eyes are trained on him and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to attract more attention.
“What the fuck did you do to yourself this time? I swear to god, Derek, one of these days I’m just going to leave you behind to bleed out,” he rants. He grabs for Derek’s hand.
Derek has enough experience with Stiles’ bedside manner that he knows not to argue. Arguing leads to Stiles restraining whoever he’s healing in ways that are extremely undignified. Funny as Derek finds it when he does it to Scott, he tries to avoid being in the situation itself.
“What is this, a beer bottle?” Stiles reaches for a large chunk of the bottom that’s embedded in Derek’s palm.
Peter winces when Stiles yanks it out roughly, but it doesn’t hurt. It never does when Stiles is patching Derek up—something that happens far too often for Derek’s peace of mind or self-esteem. He lets Stiles’ angry muttering wash over him, aware that there’s no stopping him when he gets like this.
“Goddamnit, Derek, if you’re going to go all he-man, could you at least avoid the booze that has fucking aconite in it? Jesus Christ, your death wish is going to be the death of me one of these days.”
Derek feels a tingling in his hand, right before the cuts heal over without any evidence except the blood they left behind. He rolls his eyes.
“I was hardly going to die from some beer bottle shards, Stiles.”
“Not the point, Sourwolf.”
Derek hears Peter trying to choke back a laugh. He turns to look as Stiles takes a step towards the older man, one bony finger pointing at him.
“You,” he hisses. Peter rears back slightly, clearly not expecting Stiles’ vitriol to be directed towards him. “Don’t antagonize your nephew.”
Peter definitely didn’t expect that to come out of Stiles’ mouth.
“How do you know I was the one in the wrong?”
“Whatever,” Stiles says, waving his hand in the air. “I have no idea who was right or wrong, but I’ve known you half a day and I know you live to stir shit. Find someone other than Derek to be your victim.”
Peter narrows his eyes slightly, but he nods smoothly. “As you desire,” he says, managing to keep his voice free of mockery.
Stiles glares, but he grabs Derek’s hand and starts pulling him towards the door. “Come on, Derek. We’re going to bed.”
They’re standing in the open door, almost in the house when Peter speaks softly. “Stiles, how did you know Derek was hurt?”
Stiles freezes, scent tumbling through several emotions too fast for Derek to follow. “I have a sixth sense for when Derek is in trouble,” he finally says.
Derek doesn’t know why he smells sad. When he looks back at Peter, he looks like he’s had an unpleasant realization. He turns away and Derek lets Stiles pull him into the house.