Chapter Text
It should have been an ordinary supernatural issue. Well, as ordinary as shit in Bacon Hills seemed.
It should have been easy. Just another resurrection, just another monster. Derek was not supposed to die. They were supposed to call him if things got out of hand. It shouldn't have mattered if Stiles was a coward and couldn't face Lydia after the messy breakup. It shouldn't. Now Derek is dead, and it's Stiles' fault. He didn't go to the funeral. After all, there was nothing to bury. Derek was burned to death. Stiles is still a coward.
The Nogitsune in the dark woods—the rotten smell made him sick and dizzy, like he wanted to throw up. Why couldn’t they just stay away from the bad things? He didn’t know. He wanted to be off the preserve more than anything. That was until a pair of hands grabbed him and lowered him over the side of the stump and into the fire. Hot hot hot! He was crying, choking as smoke got into his nose. It’s not his dad, so it’s okay. Dad survived. He didn’t die. Eli was happy.
Then Eli woke up. He never hated himself for being alive this much.
Eli wanted to say he didn’t know how his descent into this—this shit hole of a life he’d found himself in—had started. He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault, that he was just a victim of circumstance, but that would be a lie, and if there was one thing Eli had never compromised on, it was his sincerity. He wasn’t a liar.
He probably would have been fine with Scott’s care after his dad had died. He probably would have gone on to live a normal life. It hadn’t been the first time his entire world had come crashing down around him. Eli knew how to rebuild after losing everyone and everything. His dad taught him that. No, his fall from grace wasn’t because of his change in guardianship. It was because of his turn. The day that the wolf was born was the day that Eli Hale’s control also died. It was the day he’d first been labelled as impulsive and dangerous. And not just during the full moon.
So, he couldn’t blame Scott and Allison for being cautious around him. After all, they were waiting for a new kid. Eli’s anger and impulsiveness might endanger their child. So, he did the only thing he thought was right—he ran. He ran when they forgot about his super hearing and had a conversation about how much Allison was afraid of being around him because of the wolf. So, he ran, and Eli was sure that was the right thing to do. That was three weeks ago.
Eli walked all evening and most of the night. It was one in the morning when he crossed the bridge into Wilshire Boulevard and neared the FBI building. He had no idea what he was doing. Stiles didn’t want him. He knew that. His dad never said so. He always told stories about how much of a hero Stiles really was. But then again, the guy was, well, too much in love with his other dad to see the truth as it is.
He settled himself down against a concrete wall and gazed across, arms wrapped around himself for warmth. What was he even going to say to him when he saw him? ‘Hey, I’m your son Eli. I’m cold and tired and hungry, and I can’t control my wolf, and dad said you helped Scott. Now I need you.’ He scoffed at himself. He really was pathetic. ‘The tree magically gifted Derek me, and I’m yours too. Well, here I am. You’ve got to deal with me now.’ He didn’t want to sound pathetic, but he wasn’t sure the second thing he’d thought up to say was any better than the first one. ‘You’re my dad, and I’ve been wanting to be like you my whole life.’
Eli huffed and let his head fall back to the concrete wall behind him. None of those were going to work. He supposed he might not even get a chance to say those things to the man if he couldn’t get an audience with him first. His first goal was to get past the front desk in the lobby of the building.
It was likely he’d be turned away if he went in and told the receptionist that.
He sucked in a deep breath, set his shoulders so he could walk in with his head held high, and opened one of the glass doors. He knew he looked pitiful. He couldn’t help that. All he could do was look like he was on a mission and hope they would take him seriously at the front desk.
“Arms,” a security guard said. Eli lifted his arms up and let the guard scan him for metal objects. Eli didn’t have any. It didn’t stop the guard from giving him a dirty look as he let Eli pass.
The lobby wasn’t busy yet because it was early, but there were still about 20 people inside waiting for elevators or buying coffee at the lobby coffee shop. Eli tried to look like he was supposed to be there and walked to the front desk.
“Hello, how may I help yo-” the receptionist cut off when she looked up from her computer and saw Eli in all his homeless glory before collecting herself visibly. “How may I help you?”
Eli frowned at her and cleared his throat. “I, um, I’m here to see Mr. Stilinski.”
She frowned but didn’t contradict him. “What’s your name? You have to have an appointment.”
“Yes, I do, but I don’t think he told his receptionist I, uh, I’m coming, so… If you could tell him directly that Eli Hale… uh, Derek Hale’s son is here to see him?” Eli could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest as he told the lie, hoping it was enough.
The receptionist gave him one more curious look before getting back to the phone. Eli tried his best to tune out what was being said because, well, he didn’t want to hear the rejection from his father himself. He’d rather hear it from the receptionist.
“Honey.” Her voice startled him from his thoughts. He glanced back at her. “Someone will be here to escort you to his floor.”
Stiles had done some grim chores before. Living in Bacon Hills came with the territory. Drives with a half-dead werewolf bleeding onto his car, even.
The worst one, of course, had been when the Nogitsune made him prisoner in his own mind. He had always thought nothing could ever possibly be worse than that. That whole thing, actually. The long nightmares, waking up knowing what was real and what wasn’t. Repeatedly counting his fingers. Standing there watching it hurt everything and everyone he loved.
Killing Donavan had been bad. Really bad. That had been a terrible one too. But the argument with Scott was even worse. Most recently, there had been that one case in the FBI after he got promoted as the chief of the supernatural unit. There were children involved.
Yet this one was even worse.
The worst thing about it wasn’t just that there was nothing dangerous or harmful near him, or the fact that Stiles had been pacing non-stop since the receptionist called him, or how long it felt until the kid got to his office.
No, the worst thing was the way the kid kept to himself. Hunched down in his office chair. His clothes were dirty. He hadn’t said a word after he told Stiles he was the kid’s other dad. Magic was involved, of course. The thing is, he believed him. He could see himself in the kid.
The kid was mumbling, and sometimes counting. First, it was just that hellish “Alpha-Beta-Omega” over and over and over, the same thing he’d been humming since the kid dropped the bomb on him. Stiles was sure he’d never be able to hear those words again without getting nauseous.
Eli was starving. After all, it had been three weeks since he’d had a proper meal. Stiles still hadn’t said anything to him, just watching him from the corner of his office. And Eli was starting to lose control.
Life fucking sucked sometimes. Eli had known that for a while, but every time he thought that about his own circumstances, he found that life could get worse.
“Eli? Kid?”
Eli frowned and pulled his head up.
“What?” He asked. He felt like Stiles must have said something before this, but if he had, he couldn’t remember what.
“Nevermind,” Stiles said. He looked around for a moment and then said, “So you wanna get out of here and well... get something to eat?”
Eli stared at him for a long moment, the words swirling in his head as if they were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His lips parted to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his lap, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, fingers trembling slightly as if they couldn’t decide whether to move or stay still. He shrugged weakly, the motion almost imperceptible, like he was trying to disappear into himself.
“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, though the sharp ache in his stomach betrayed him. He knew Stiles could hear it too.
"You told me you were when you came here remember?" Stiles ran a hand through his hair, pacing again.
"I thought I was now I'm not."
“Kid, you’re about to pass out. You’re eating whether you like it or not.”
Eli hunched further into himself, his voice quiet, barely audible over the pounding in his chest. His hands tightened into fists against his thighs, his knuckles white with tension. He swallowed hard before speaking, his words trembling under the weight of uncertainty. “Why do you care?” The question hung in the air, fragile and heavy, as if he were afraid of the answer but needed to hear it anyway.
The question stopped Stiles in his tracks. He turned to look at Eli, this kid who had stumbled into his life with Derek’s name and Stiles’ old defiance etched into his face. His heart clenched painfully, but he didn’t have an answer. Not one he was ready to say out loud.
“Because I do,” Stiles finally said, his voice softer now. He walked over to his desk, grabbing his jacket and tossing it toward Eli. “Come on, it’s freezing outside. Put this on.”
Eli caught the jacket clumsily, staring at it like it might bite him. He clutched it close but didn’t put it on. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re right,” Stiles said, holding the door open. “But I’m doing it anyway. Let’s go.”
Eli hesitated, the weight of his exhaustion and despair pinning him to the chair. But finally, he stood, slipping the jacket on. It was too big on him, and he felt even smaller wrapped in it.
They walked in silence out of the building, the quiet only broken by the sound of Stiles unlocking his car. Eli climbed into the passenger seat, curling into himself as much as the cramped space allowed. Stiles didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he glanced at Eli out of the corner of his eye.
“Look, I’m not great at this,” Stiles admitted. “But we’ll figure it out, okay?”
Eli didn’t respond. He didn’t believe him. Not yet. But he was too tired to argue.
As Stiles pulled onto the street, the city lights flashing past the windows, Eli leaned his head against the cool glass. He felt like he was sinking, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight it.
Eli had Derek's eyes. It was one of the only things Stiles could tell for certain under all the hair and dirt. The kid's hair was the same color as Stiles', though slightly lighter—filthy, tangled, and far too long for someone his age. Stiles' throat tightened as he watched him. What the hell had happened? Last he’d heard from Dad, Scott was supposed to look after him. If Scott had pulled something predictably 'Scotty' and left his kid to fend for himself, Stiles was going to find him and tear him a new one, Alpha or not.
For now, though, Stiles kept his emotions in check and simply sat beside him. He studied the way Eli ate—ravenous but careful, like someone who didn’t trust where his next meal was coming from. There was a faint tremor in the kid’s hands, a tired hunch to his shoulders that made Stiles’ heart ache. The grief in his chest felt suffocating, clawing at him like a desperate animal. He couldn’t help it; he saw Derek in the kid’s every movement.
Eli paused mid-bite, his eyes flicking up to meet Stiles'. “You’re staring,” he said bluntly, the words muffled around a mouthful of food.
“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, looking away. His leg bounced anxiously. The room felt too small, too heavy with everything unspoken. "I just... I’m trying to figure this out, okay? Give me a minute."
Eli huffed, brushing his hair out of his face with an annoyed flick of his hand. "Yeah, well, maybe stop being so miserable while you’re at it. You reek of sadness—it’s disgusting."
The words hit Stiles like a slap, and for a moment, he could only blink at the kid. Then, to his own surprise, he barked out a laugh—short, sharp, and bitter. "You really are your dad’s kid, aren’t you?"
The kid predictably didn’t answer him other than a mere shrug. Stiles wanted to cry and scream at the world and at Scott. Keep it together, He thought, staggering to his feet. Keep it together. Focus on the kid. His Kid. Gotta takes care of him. Make sure he eats and drinks. Get him cleaned up. Get him to sleep.
Stiles had been trying to control the rage he’d felt building inside of him for the past two days because he didn’t want to scare Eli by exploding in front of him. The kid was already standoffish and distant as it was. Blowing up would only push him further away. He knew that from experience. So he waited till the kid was asleep before picking up his phone to call Scott. Scott picked up on 3rd ring.
“When were you going to tell me, I have a son?” Stiles wanted to scream and kick but he knows one wrong move the kid is going to wake up. Years of running with the wolves taught him that. Stiles was seething. Six and half Months. That’s how long his son had been without either of his parents. That was time he could have been with him, though he tried to push away the thought that said if he had been.
Predictably Scott ignored what Stiles asked. “Eli is with you? Mahnnn… I was so worried. You dad did told me he was a little delinquent but well..”
“Scott..” Stiles was surprised to hear the growl in his voce. “Why. Didn’t. Anyone. Tell. Me. I. Had. A. Son?”
“Your son?” the Alpha sputtered. Stiles can very well picture his face was red as he tries to come up with an excuse. But Stiles doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want excuses.
“Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t know Scott. My spark connects to him. I can tell he is mine. But don’t you stand there and pretend you didn’t know.”
“He never told us, Derek or we would have contacted you man. It’s just….”
“Shut up, I don’t care. But that dumbass got himself killed and my kid was all alone and I bet a thousand bucks you were too busy with Allison to be there for him. So why didn’t you call me? Is this some dumb alpha shit?” Scott was Silent. And Stiles got his answer right there.
“You son of bitch… my kid was homeless and starving when he finally got to me….”Stiles got cut of by Scott before he could finish that sentence.
“Stiles the kid is dangerous. He still haven’t got control of his wolf. I can’t on good conscious sent him to you.”
“THAT IS MY CHILD.” Stiles roared to the receiver.
Stiles’ roar echoed in his own ears as he slammed his fist down on the desk, rattling everything on it. He immediately glanced at Eli, making sure the noise hadn’t disturbed him. The kid barely stirred, his small frame bundled up in blankets on the couch. Stiles took a deep breath, lowering his voice but not his intensity.
“You don’t get to decide that, Scott,” he hissed into the phone. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for my kid. That’s my job. And if you think for a second that leaving him out there to fend for himself was somehow a better option than calling me, you’re even more deluded than I thought.”
Scott’s voice came back, defensive but unsure. “I… I thought you had enough on your plate, Stiles. You’ve got the FBI, the supernatural cases, Lydia—”
“Don’t,” Stiles interrupted sharply. “Don’t you dare bring Lydia into this. This isn’t about her, or my job, or anything else. This is about the fact that my son—my son, Scott—was abandoned when he needed me the most. And you let that happen.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Scott admitted quietly. “He’s… he’s not like you, Stiles. He’s… wild. Uncontrolled. Dangerous. I was scared he might hurt someone. Or himself.”
“Of course he’s dangerous,” Stiles shot back. “He’s a kid who just lost his dad, who’s been through God knows what while you were too busy playing house with Allison to notice. What he needed wasn’t fear, Scott. What he needed was someone to care.”
The silence on the other end of the line stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Stiles’ grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white. He forced himself to calm down, to breathe. He couldn’t afford to wake Eli. Not now.
“Look,” Stiles said finally, his voice low and steady. “I’m going to do what you should have done. I’m going to take care of him. I don’t care if he’s dangerous, or wild, or whatever else you think he is. He’s mine, and I’m not letting him go through this alone.”
“Stiles…” Scott began, but Stiles didn’t let him finish.
“Save it,” he snapped. “You’ve done enough. I’ll handle it from here.” And with that, he hung up, tossing the phone onto the desk with more force than necessary.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he tried to steady his breathing. His eyes drifted to the couch, where Eli was curled up in an uneasy sleep. The kid’s face was pinched, even in rest, and Stiles felt his heart break all over again.
He stood, moving quietly across the room. He crouched down beside the couch, watching Eli for a moment before gently tucking the blanket more securely around him. The kid stirred, his brow furrowing, but he didn’t wake.
“I’ve got you, kid,” Stiles whispered. “I promise. I’ve got you.”
The next morning, Eli woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. He blinked groggily, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. For a moment, he looked disoriented, like he couldn’t quite remember where he was. Then his gaze landed on Stiles, who was standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with an air of determination.
“Morning,” Stiles said, glancing over his shoulder. “Hope you’re hungry. You’re not getting out of breakfast this time.”
Eli hesitated, his eyes darting to the plate of food already set on the table. His stomach growled loudly, betraying him, and he flushed, ducking his head.
“I guess I could eat,” he muttered.
“Good,” Stiles said, sliding the last pancake onto a plate and turning off the stove. He carried the plate to the table, setting it down before pulling out a chair. “Sit. Eat.”
Eli shuffled to the table, sitting down reluctantly. He picked up a fork and poked at the food, his movements hesitant, like he was waiting for someone to tell him it was a mistake.
Stiles sat down across from him, watching him carefully. “It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to act like you’re walking on eggshells. Just eat. You’re safe here.”
Eli glanced up at him, his eyes searching Stiles’ face for something. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he finally started eating in earnest. Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, relief washing over him.
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the clink of silverware and the occasional scrape of a chair. When Eli finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, not looking up from his plate.
Stiles set his fork down, leaning forward slightly. “Because you’re my kid,” he said simply. “And I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Not anymore.”
Eli didn’t respond right away. He just stared at his plate, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, the motion small but significant.
Stiles felt a tiny flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.