Prompt: Future fic with Derek and Stiles as both Pack dads and real dads. (KIDFIC. GIVE ME ALL THE STEREK BABIES. Adoption, surrogacy, mpreg, don’t care. Sterek and babies.) [prompt from pilgrimkitty]
Stiles doesn’t know what’s harder – being Pack!Dad or Regular!Dad. Right now, he’s starting to think that Isaac’s being more childish than his three year old.
Stiles readjusts the little girl on his hip, her nose snuffling into his body as the remnants of a temper tantrum drained from her small body, rendering her sleepy and exhausted. His brown eyes are fixed on Isaac as the slightly younger teenager looks away shame-faced. In front of Stiles is a note, a note, from Isaac’s college, he didn’t even know that colleges did that. As far as he knew, they didn’t give a shit about whether or not their students did well, as long as they got the money to keep running. But no, Isaac is sent home with a fucking note that says ‘could you please talk to Isaac about his temper issues’. Stiles thought this was definitely one for the baby books.
“What is this?” he asks, voice tempered as Laura shuffles on his hip, clinging tighter as she senses her father’s disappointment. “Isaac?”
“It’s a note.”
Stiles scowls at the petulant tone in the nineteen year old boy’s voice. “I can see that, what I want to know is why we got one.”
“I wolfed out.”
“Christ’s sake, Isaac,” Stiles groans as he picks up the note, one hand curling around Laura so she doesn’t drop. “You’ve been a werewolf for nearly three years now, why on earth are you wolfing out in class?” Even Stiles knew that Isaac was the quickest of the betas to gain control of the wolf and the shift. “Explain,” he huffs as Laura twists in his arms, energy slowly coming back as she turns to face Isaac as well, fixing him with her blue gaze, alight with amusement.
Isaac mutters something, too quick and too low for Stiles’ human ears to catch and he gives the universal clearing of throat that indicates that Isaac better repeat himself, or he’s in trouble.
“Louise said she’d rather fu—” Stiles clears his throat, pointed look down at the toddler in his arms. “Louise said she’d rather date Rowan Parks than me.”
Stiles raises an eyebrow, because last he checked Isaac wasn’t so petty.
“She’s my mate, Parks isn’t worth the air she breaths,” Isaac growls out, eyes glowing amber for a short moment.
Stiles sighs, this is so not his department. Mating, hunting and what not are Derek’s department, just like school and greeting the first date is Stiles’ department. But he does know when to draw the line.
“I know that you’re going to be positive, but that is no reason to wolf out during,” he checks the not, “Contemporary Art History.” Why was Isaac studying this again? “Take the note to Derek when he’s back from work and explain yourself.” He jerks a hand behind him and Isaac practically scampers out of the kitchen, Laura giggling at the way he submitted to Stiles’ rule. Stiles lifts the little girl off his hip and places her on the table, looking at her directly in the eye.
“And you, no making faces at your brother when Papa’s trying to tell him off,” he scolds lightly.
Laura just giggles again.
The whine echoes throughout the train yard, and Boyd’s face just lights up into the serene smile that always graces his features. The twenty-four year old can’t help the laugh that pushes past his teeth at the site in front of him. Derek’s standing there, looking completely lost as his seven year old tugs at his sleeve, frustrated pout marring his face.
“Boyd, tell Daddy that he’s not ‘sposed to throw a baseball like that!”
Derek’s pretty sucky when it comes to baseball, they’ve discovered since adopting Trent. Luckily for the boy, over the last three years Boyd’s gotten pretty good at it. Between Boyd and Jackson, Trent’s got a pretty good team to play baseball with when he wants.
“Yeah Dad,” Boyd grins as he draws closer, crouching down to be level with Trent. “You’re not supposed to throw a baseball like that.”
Even Stiles is better at pitching than Derek – though Boyd knows that’s only in baseball.
“I don’t see what I’m doing wrong,” Derek says. Boyd would almost say Derek is wallowing in self-pity, but Derek’s wallowing in self-pity usually happens when the kids are in bed and Stiles is there to comfort him. “I throw the ball, it goes up, it comes down.”
“Even Papa knows that’s now how it’s ‘sposed to go. You’re not very good, Daddy.” He pouts up at his father, and before he can argue he’s swept up into his father’s arm. “Daddy! Put me down! I wanna play! BOYYYDDDDDD!”
Boyd knows better than to step in on this, and sits back on his heels, tossing the ball between his hands as he observes Derek tease his son. It’s not something he ever thought he’d see, but that’s what happened in the end. Derek’s smiling, and laughing and tickling his son, and it’s almost heartwarming.
“Not going to put you down until you admit that Daddy’s very good at baseball,” Derek taunts as he twists his squirming son in his arms. The boy giggles, body practically falling out Derek’s arms as he tries to escape. “Daddy’s better than Papa at baseball.”
“No!” It’s a high pitched squeal of joy as the boy clings to his father’s forearm. “Papa’s better, Papa’s better!”
Derek’s still grinning and Boyd can’t help a low laugh as he watches the young human’s staunch defence of his younger parent.
“Does Papa let you have candy before bedtime?” Derek pulls the trump card, because not even Stiles knows about that. It works and Trent freezes in his father’s arms.
“Daddy’s better at baseball.” He’s deposited right way up, hair mussed as Derek laughs again.
“Boyd, come on, you going to play, or not?” Derek asks as Boyd rises, hand already poised to gently throw the ball at the little human. “Don’t go easy on him, everyone knows that Trent’s the best at baseball.”
Stiles and Derek are stretched over the couch, exhaustion trembling through their limbs. Adopting three children before Stiles was even legally allowed to drink was a risky move on their part, but it works out in full for them, despite the fact they get almost no sleep between them. They’ve grown up now, and they’re no longer the little children that were directed to a small pack, young enough to understand them and old enough to have a firm grasp on how to raise two werewolves and one human.
Derek can’t really believe they’ve been together for eight years, they’ve had the kids for nearly that long as well. It was a risky move, agreeing to adopt the children despite their mate bond being so new, so fresh, but it seems to have worked for them, because they’re a family. He pulls Stiles in closer and smiles, perhaps it wasn’t so hard raising young children even though Stiles himself was only fourteen years older than their eldest daughter, because it worked.
He’s about to nod off when the door opens and both men freeze on the couch – hearing hitching breaths as Erica enters the house. Stiles is up in a second and his arms are open, ready for the blonde as she slides between Derek and Stiles. Erica’s always been physically strong, but at times like this, Derek remembers that she’s not always emotionally strong – even if she wants to be. She’s engulfed in Stiles’ arms whilst Derek rubs her shoulders softly, letting her sob out the frustration and the heartbreak which was practically rolling off her.
“Erica, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Stiles is whispering soothingly and he presses his lips to her forehead. “It’s going to be all right.” Derek feels a pang of pure affection for Stiles as he watches the younger comfort Erica. “He’s not worth it, he’s not worth your tears,” he continues. Derek swallows, and just gives her as much silent support as he can – because this talking thing? This is what Stiles does. Derek leans in and presses his lips to the top of her head. Erica sobs again, but it’s more controlled and she buries herself into the two warm bodies on either side of her.
“Daddy?” Josie’s standing at the door, looking at Erica with wide eyes. She’s only ten and yet she can see how much Erica’s hurting. “I had a nightmare.” Her voice is soft, and Stiles doesn’t notice her over Erica’s crying. So Derek just lifts his other arm and she scampers to tuck herself beneath it. Derek presses her into his side, reassuring her with the pure strength of his touch before the young girl leans over and tangles her small hand together with Erica’s.
“It’s gunna be okay Er,” the young werewolf murmurs sleepily into Derek’s side. “Daddy and Papa’ll look after you.”
Derek looks over Erica’s head, eyes meeting Stiles, and in that moment all four of them know that everything’s going to be okay.