Work Text:
27: “Would you even want me, looking like a zombie?”
Surgical Scars | X-Ray | Bedside Vigil/ alternative prompt unreality
It’s been years since Stiles and Peter just vanished from Beacon Hills, just dipped and never looked back. One day they attended the pack meeting, the next, they were gone. No one knew where they left. There was no letter left behind to explain, no messages. No one could reach them, their numbers not working. Peter’s house was empty, nothing left behind. The same with Stiles’ room. Stiles’ important things were gone, clothes, everything. Just a bare bedroom left behind. The sheriff would refuse to tell anything, shutting the pack out.
Derek takes it hard. To lose the last living family member without any reason as to why. And it hits even harder because Peter was the one who raised him. His uncle, his parent, the one person in the world who never gave up on him no matter what he did or messed up. And now he was gone without taking Derek with him, or even telling he was going to leave. Peter never answers his calls, texts go unread, even Stiles doesn’t answer him and it breaks him. Cora tries to comfort him, but they were never that kind of siblings who would know what to do in a situations like this where one was suffering emotionally. They weren't raised like that back at home before the fire- but after the fire... with Peter, it had been different. It had been hard, yes. But it had also been gentle, full of love, something that they hadn't experienced with the Hale pack. Peter was a great father figure for them, and Derek is hurting because he left them- left him behind so easily. Derek keeps an eye on Peter’s apartment for months, but no one ever visits, and then one day, the apartment is sold and someone is moving in. Derek doesn’t know what to do. His uncle left without telling him, left him behind like he doesn’t matter, like he isn’t enough for even a letter explaining things.
He has carried the pain with him for years, all those years they have been gone. The pack had mixed reactions. Scott was angry at Peter for taking Stiles from them, but Derek isn’t sure it was Peter who took Stiles away. Scott accuses Peter of poisoning Stiles’ mind, using Stiles’ omega status to manipulate him. Because Peter must have used his alpha status to force Stiles to leave with- sure. Derek doesn’t believe it. Stiles had been in love with Peter- both of them had been in love with each other. Even a blind person would have been able to see it. They weren’t even hiding it, not really. Yes- there was the age gap but both were fully consenting adults in love. The pack didn’t like how close they had grown, only seeing Peter as the evil, the alpha poisoning Stiles from his pureness. Like Stiles was something fragile in need of protection. And that mindset was coming the hardest from Scott who only seems to see Stiles as an omega, a fragile, easily manipulated and weak omega- and not the cunning and protective and violent creature that doesn't need Peter to make decisions. Derek swears Stiles was the more cunning, more daring of those two. But all they saw was the differences between them, always whispering insults, judging Peter for standing too close, for bringing Stiles food, for acting like a courting alpha- acting like a loving partner. Which, looking back, Peter was.
Derek always suspected that they were together, that Peter had never shown anyone that kind of attention, that kind of undivided attention Stiles was getting. That’s not Peter’s thing, had never been before Stiles. Until the younger omega had just waltzed in his life and never left, whenever Stiles had been a teenager and grown up to be the adult he was. He had always stood by Peter, always annoying the alpha, and Peter never pushed him away. Never made Stiles shut up- but the pack saw it as wrong.
But the pack and Scott called it grooming, called it wrong- someone even called Peter a pedofile. Because their paths first crossed when Stiles was sixteen. Even when nothing started until Stiles was clearly an adult, well into his twenties, they still called it grooming. Because Peter must have waited, waited and preyed on Stiles, grooming the young omega to be his. They all ignore the fact that Peter disappeared for years when things calmed down with the supernatural. Life went on normally, Stiles didn’t act heartbroken- because why would he, the omega hadn’t been interested in the alpha almost half his age back then. Derek knew this, because Stiles had been pining after Lydia, too focused to see anyone else. Until Lydia had turned him down rather publicly, humiliating him for the last time. When Peter returned to Beacon Hills after Stiles’ twenty-second birthday, Derek could feel it in the air then. The first moment their eyes landed on each other, it had been there, the electricity that wasn’t there before. Stiles had grown up from his awkward lanky teen years into a young man, slowly filling his body.
Derek had waited, watched, waited for them to make it official. Because he could feel it between them. He had known it was only a matter of time before they would bond- before they would claim each other and be done with it. But the judgement never stopped.
During the worst of it, they had vanished.
“Noah stay close,” Peter calls out to his son who is running in front of them, dodging people trying not to bump into them.
“Calm down daddy, he’s not going to disappear,” Stiles says with a smirk on his face, taking Peter’s hand while he balances their baby daughter, Laura, on his hip.
“He needs to stay close so I can see him,” Peter grunts, but smiles as he reaches to take their daughter, “Come to daddy Princess.”
Their daughter giggles, reaching for his father. Peter settles the girl on his hip, smoothing out her dress. She rests her little head on Peter’s shoulder, while sucking her pacifier. Stiles smiles at the sight, always loving when Peter takes the alpha father’s role.
“God I love seeing you as a father,” Stiles breathes out, looking at Peter.
“Good, because I plan on being one for a long time,” Peter answers, taking Stiles’ hand in his, placing a kiss on his knuckles, kissing his ring on his ring finger.
Stiles leans in, stealing a kiss before settling by his side as they walk around the fair. They walk around the fair, until Stiles suddenly stops. Peter turns to his mate, and before he can ask what’s wrong Stiles is pulling Noah closer, trying to step behind Peter. Peter turns around, to see what has gotten his mate acting like that until he sees Derek. Derek is just standing there, staring at them in shock. Peter’s smile drops for a second, before he hands their daughter over to Stiles.
“Stay here,” Peter whispers, kissing Stiles’ head before walking towards Derek.
Peter doesn’t know what Derek is doing there. Doesn’t know what’s going through Derek’s head but he knows there’s no more running away.
“Derek,” Peter greets politely, “Long time no see.”
“What- Peter?” Derek asks, not knowing what to say, “You and Stiles- what?”
“Ah- yes,” Peter says, turning to look at his family.
Stiles is watching them intently, the kids close to him sensing that something must be wrong. Noah is watching them, eyes locked on Derek, while their daughter, on Stiles’ lap, keeps her eyes locked on Peter.
“They are ours. Yes. You are an uncle, so- congratulations I guess,” Peter says turning back to Derek, “What are you doing here?”
“You have kids?”
“Like I said, our kids,” Peter nods, “Cute aren’t they.”
“They look just like you,” Derek breathes out, not believing it.
“Don’t let Stiles hear that, he did all the hard work, and doesn’t appreciate that the kids came out looking like mini versions of me,” Peter smiles.
“You have kids and you never bothered to tell me. I- I have texted, I have tried calling- You never answered, you just left me behind,” Derek breathes out.
“Would you want to meet them?” Peter asks, ignoring Derek’s broken voice.
Without waiting for Derek to answer, he places his hand on Derek’s shoulder, starting to lead him towards Stiles and the kids. Stiles tenses noticeably when they get closer, and the kids are starting to get restless.
“Derek,” Stiles greets, tensely when he reaches them.
Derek doesn’t answer, too focused on the kids.
“Say hi to your uncle Derek,” Peter says to the kids, taking their daughter into his arms.
Neither of the kids speak. They stare at Derek, almost like assessing him, if he can be trusted.
The boy nudges Peter’s leg and Peter lifts him in his other arm. The boy whispers something in Peter’s ear, making the man chuckle.
“Go on, you can ask that from him yourself,” Peter says to his son.
“Why do you smell like daddy?” The boy asks quietly, wrapping his tiny arms around Peter’s neck.
Derek is taken aback momentarily: “I’m your daddy’s nephew. I'm- I'm his family.”
The boy doesn’t answer, whispering something else into Peter’s ear.
“Don’t worry, he will be nice,” Peter assures his son.
“What are you doing here Derek?” Stiles asks, stepping before his family.
Derek can only watch the omega stepping up, protecting his family. Stiles has grown. He isn’t the same lanky boy Derek remembers. Stiles is more confident, more in tune with himself. More protective and not afraid to speak his mind.
“I was just passing through,” Derek answers, “The pack-”
“Stiles!” Scott’s voice pierces through the crowd.
Stiles tenses and Derek can see how much his jaw tenses. His whole body goes still, and Derek doesn’t know if Stiles is about to attack someone or just scream out in frustration. Because this isn’t clearly something the omega ever expected to happen.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Peter murmurs, almost too low for Derek to catch it, but he does.
The boy in Peter’s arm giggles at the curse word, but presses closer to his father. They all turn towards the voice, seeing Scott rushing towards them.
“Easy, love,” Peter whispers to Stiles, who’s still ready to fight.
Scott looks at Stiles, then at Peter and their kids. Something dark, almost angry flashes in his eyes but he doesn’t say anything.
“What a coincidence that we run into you guys here,” Scott says, with too much forced happiness, “We’re having the yearly pack meeting here. Care to join us? For the old times sake?”
Before Stiles can answer, Peter agrees, asking for the address for the meeting. Scott happily gives it to them, telling them it will be nice to catch up after all this time. Stiles is ready to hit Peter, because what the fuck.
“Are you serious?” Stiles hisses when Scott leaves, “I won’t go. You can go by yourself and put yourself through that hell.”
“Love,” Peter sighs, lowering Noah on the ground, “You said it yourself that you miss having a big pack. We don’t have to stay for long. Just- I want to give you the chance to see your friends.”
“Don’t call me that while we’re fighting. I will still hit you,” Stiles hisses, balancing the toddler on his hip.
Derek watches them bickering, because that's what it is- bickering and not fighting. They talk, clearly annoyed yes, but there's no argument. Derek watches as Stiles makes point after point of why they shouldn't go, and Peter points out why they should give them a last chance.
"I'm sorry pup," Peter finally turns to him when Stiles takes the kids and starts heading away, "For leaving you like that... it was just. We didn't know who was against us and who was with us. It was easier this way. And I'm sorry. I should have texted you, called you- hell even invited you over. But I have a family now- and they come first. But don't think for a second that I forgot about you."
"I- I waited for months- years to hear from you," Derek says quietly.
"I know, but I'm here now. I know I cannot ask it from you, and Stiles won't allow you close to the kids without it- but the pack- just think about it if you want to be with them, or do you want to build something with us."
With that Peter walks after his family.
Peter walks in first, his hand on Noah’s shoulder, guiding him gently. Stiles follows closely behind, their daughter resting quietly on his hip, her tiny arms around his neck. She doesn’t lift her head, not once, as they step into the house. Everyone’s already there. Scott stands near the back, talking to Lydia, who looks up first. Her eyes widen when she sees them. Stiles especially and then narrow just slightly when her gaze drifts to Peter. It’s subtle, but Stiles sees it, so does the kids. His daughter clings to him, burying her tiny face in Stiles’ neck.
One of the others, probably one of the newer betas, judging by how he keeps glancing toward Scott whispers something, and someone else gives a short, unkind laugh. The room isn’t cold. Not on the surface. But underneath- a storm is coming. Stiles can feel it.
“Stiles,” Scott says warmly, stepping forward, “Peter.”
His gaze lands on the kids and sticks there: “These must be- yours.”
Stiles says flatly, not bothering to offer a polite smile: “They’re ours. Peter’s.”
A soft murmur passes through the room. No one says anything outright, but it’s in the air- Yours? With him? Eyes flicker from Peter to Stiles to the children, calculating, cautious. Laura clings tighter to Stiles, while Noah has pressed himself against Peter’s leg, his little fingers hooked in the hem of Peter’s coat, his mouth a firm line. He doesn’t let go of his father’s leg. They say nothing. Not because they’re afraid. But because they know. They can smell it, wolves or not. The unease. The unspoken judgment in the room. The discomfort radiating from people who smile with their mouths but not their eyes. Their kids can sense that they are not wanted, that they aren’t liked there. And mostly, that their father isn’t liked. And they have no idea why. They don’t understand why all these people smell like hatred towards their father. The same father they have only known being kind and loving.
Peter’s arm settles protectively over Noah’s shoulders. His face is unreadable, mask- perfect, every bit the calm and collected alpha. But his eyes scan the room, cataloguing every twitch, every breath, every flicker of suspicion or tightness around a smile. Cora gets up from her seat slowly. Her face is open, uncertain but warm. She walks to them and crouches before Noah, offering him a quiet smile.
“Hi,” she says gently, “I’m your Aunt Cora. Can I say hi?”
Noah blinks at her, wide-eyed, then gives the smallest nod and buried his face deeper in Peter’s coat. Cora doesn’t push. She just looks up and gives Peter a nod of understanding. Then she gets and turns to Peter’s daughter.
“You okay, kiddo?”
Their daughter looks at her, measuring her, and nods once. She clings to Stiles, tiny hands clutching his shirt. Derek has been sitting off to the side, arms folded, his expression tight. He hasn’t spoken since they entered, but now he does.
“They feel it,” Derek says, voice low, “You all keep glancing at Peter like he’s going to break the walls down. You think the kids don’t notice?”
Lydia shifts uncomfortably: “That’s not fair, Derek. No one’s said anything.”
“You don’t have to,” Derek says.
Noah’s fingers tighten in Peter’s coat. Their daughter turns her face just enough to peer at the crowd. Stiles closed his eyes for half a second, breathing in his daughter’s scent.
Then he kisses her temple: “They don’t know you yet. But you don’t need to worry.”
But even he doesn’t believe that. Across the room, one of the betas, a woman with sleek dark hair is watching the kids like they were foreign.
“They’re very well-behaved,” she says carefully, “So quiet. Too quiet.”
Peter’s eyes sharpen: “They’ve been raised in peace.”
There’s a pause.
Then someone mutters under their breath: “Or raised to obey.”
Stiles flinches. Peter doesn’t. The silence that follows is heavy and raw. Peter looks down at their kids, something proud and aching in his eyes, and gently pulls them both close. He wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt but he sees now that Stiles was right. The pack hasn’t changed, they don’t even try to cover their dislike towards him and that same dislike is bleeding to their kids. To their kids who are innocent in all this. He’s had enough.
“We came here,” Peter says, calm and deliberate, “so you could see. So you could know.”
He looks around the room, gaze steady.
“Now you do.”
They hadn’t even sat down yet. And already, Stiles can feel the answer shaping itself in the way his children stand so very close, eyes already flicking toward the door like they are ready to leave. Like they already know they wouldn’t stay. The chairs creak as people shift uneasily. The room isn’t silent, not really, it’s just filled with the kind of quiet that screamed. Hushed whispers started the moment they turned away. Lydia leans toward Scott, her hand on his arm, eyes flicking between the children and Peter with a mix of unease and calculation. Two betas speak in low tones by the wall, heads tilted close.
“The kids are too quiet.”
“It’s not normal for pups that age.”
“Look at the boy. He hasn’t spoken once. Just watching.”
“They both look like him.”
“Do you think he-?”
The last whisper trails off, unfinished but heavy with implication. Peter hears it all. So does Noah. The boy’s small shoulders are stiff, his head tilted slightly, not quite facing the speakers, but his sharp little ears are tuned in, every bit his father’s son. Their daughter has her wide eyes fixed on the door like it’s the only safe thing in the room. None of the pack raises their voices. No one openly confronts them. But the scent in the air is wrong. Tainted. Not welcoming. Not pack. It’s uncertainty. It’s wariness and judgment. It’s everything Peter and Stiles have tried to shield their children from. To the children who have been raised in the warm, even calm of a home without shouting or suspicion it feels like danger. Not teeth and snarls, but a wrongness they don’t yet have the words for. Just instinct.
And instinct tells them this isn’t safe.
“They’re afraid of us,” Noah says softly, suddenly, his voice high and clear and it cuts through the room like a knife as he turns to look at Peter, “Not papa. You daddy.”
Stiles flinches. Not because Noah is wrong. But because he isn't. No one answers him.
Peter crouches beside his son, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder: “You’re not wrong.”
“They don’t smell right,” Their daughter whispers into Stiles’ neck, trembling.
Stiles holds her tighter: “I know, princess. I know.”
Scott steps forward, frowning, palms half-raised like he could smooth the tension with sincerity alone.
“Stiles look, no one’s saying you’ve done anything wrong. We’re just surprised. This is a lot. You left- you cut everyone off and now you show up with kids and- and Peter…”
“And you thought what?” Peter asks, voice low but cutting, “That I keep them on a leash? That I’ve turned them into soldiers? That I keep Stiles locked up?”
Lydia's lips press into a thin line: “They’re afraid, Peter.”
Peter tilts his head, like he’s disappointed more than angry: “Not of me.”
“They smell it on you,” Stiles snaps suddenly, his voice shaking with restrained fury, “The judgment. The fear. You think they don’t know the difference between home and a threat?”
The silence turns brittle. Noah steps in front of Peter then, planting himself like a little wall between his father and the rest of the room, eyes narrowed, chest puffed out like he wants to growl but doesn’t quite know how yet. People stare, eyes wide, almost like they cannot believe what they see.
“They’re not broken,” Stiles says, voice tight, “They’re safe. That’s what you’re seeing, and you don’t even recognize it.”
Peter gets up slowly, standing tall behind Noah, a hand resting lightly on his head. The kid doesn’t move. And still, no one in the room moves toward them. No one crosses the space. No one kneels down or opens their arms or softens their expression. No one even tries to make the kids feel safe. Only Derek sits still, watching with hollow eyes. Only Cora steps forward and crouches a respectful distance away, voice soft.
“I believe you,” She says, not to Peter, not to Stiles but to their son, “I know what safe smells like. I’m glad you have it.”
Noah stares at her for a long time before giving a small nod. But he doesn’t relax. The door still holds their attention like gravity. After a moment, Stiles looks at Peter. Peter meets his gaze, silent agreement between them. One chance. That was the deal. They had given it. And the answer speaks for itself. Without speaking Peter gathers his son, walking towards the door, ignoring the murmurs. The pack murmurs of how bad father he must be, how the kids must fear him, how Stiles must be forced to stay. Stiles can see the tension in Peter’s back. To be called a bad father, a failure as a father, it cuts deep. And Stiles knows it, because in reality- Peter is the best father any kid could have.
But Stiles doesn’t stay arguing about it. It would only fall on deaf ears. And to be frank, he isn’t interested in justifying their life to their former pack. They have a family, they have each other and their kids. That’s more than Stiles could have hoped for.
Derek watches them leave with the kids. And at that moment he knows what he wants. He wants his family back, he wants the man who raised him back and he wants to be in those kids lives. He doesn't know what has made him cling to this pathetic pack for so long, but he knows he needs to let go.
It’s late. Their house has quieted into that gentle stillness that only comes at night. The soft lamplight glowing in the corners, the hum of distant crickets through the open windows, the scent of fresh tea on the coffee table. The children are still awake, still too wired up from earlier to be in bed, and they won’t force them to go. Stiles has a feeling Peter wants to keep the kids as close as possible for the night. The kids aren’t anxious, not tired, just quietly playing on the rug.
It’s peaceful. Real. Until it isn’t. The shift is immediate. Noah pauses mid-sentence of what he was explaining, his little body going still. Their daughter’s hand hovers over a block but never places it down. Both turn toward the front door at the same time, their eyes sharp and dark and too knowing for their age. Peter sits up straighter immediately. Stiles blinks, catching the subtle shift in their scent.
The sudden alertness, the spike of tension in the air and starts to ask, “What is it-” when the knock comes.
Three slow, measured taps against the wood and Peter’s already standing before the last lands. Stiles gets up too, shifting the girl behind him instinctively as Noah steps closer to Peter’s abandoned seat. Peter opens the door. Derek stands on the porch, his face shadowed in the low light. Beside him is Cora, hands in her jacket pockets, gaze steady but unreadable. They say nothing at first. Peter doesn’t bother to break the silence either. They stare at each other in silence, the past wounds tight between them. But after a moment, Peter exhales, stepping aside, holding the door open. They enter without a word, eyes flicking briefly toward the kids. Noah has moved in front of his sister now, almost imperceptibly, just enough to be between her and the unfamiliar wolves. Both are wide eyed, eyes locked on the strangers.
They don’t run. They don’t cry. But they watch. Sharp. Instinctive. Hale-born, splitting images of Peter all down to their looks and mannerisms. Peter shuts the door. Stiles stands close, hand brushing lightly over Noah’s shoulder in quiet reassurance.
Finally, Derek breaks the silence.
“They’re not afraid of him,” Derek says, nodding toward Peter, “Anyone who thinks that- they don't know what a child raised in fear looks like. But I do. And they are not that.”
Cora steps forward, crouching slowly to get on eye-level with the kids but doesn't come too close.
“They’re wolves,” Cora offers softly, “They feel it. The pack I mean- the safety and home. Or the absence of it. That meeting didn’t smell like any of those things.”
Noah doesn’t answer, but his eyes narrow, just slightly. His sister tucks her face against her brother’s back.
“They knew,” Derek adds, “The moment they walked in- you didn’t teach them to fear strangers. You didn’t train them to obey. They just know.”
Silence stretches again. The words settle in the room like dust, solid, true.
“We wanted to say we’re sorry,” Cora says, “For not saying anything back there. For not doing more.”
“And we’d like to be part of their lives,” Derek says, voice rough as he glances at Peter, then at Stiles, “If you’ll let us. If they want that.”
Stiles looks at Peter and Peter looks at the kids. Noah is staring at Cora, quiet and thoughtful, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s weighing something heavy.
“Do you want to say anything, baby?” Stiles asks gently, crouching beside him.
Noah is quiet for a long moment, then finally he says: “You don’t smell like the rest of them.”
Cora blinks, surprised: “No?”
Noah shakes his head: “You smelled like you were sad. Not mad. You weren’t pretending to smile. And you didn’t look at Daddy like he’s a monster.”
Laura peeks out again, one hand creeping up to tug lightly at Stiles’ collar.
“Do they stay?” She asks, quietly.
“That’s up to you, sweetheart,” Stiles murmurs.
Peter kneels beside them, one hand resting lightly on Noah’s back, the other brushing Laura’s curls. And after a long silence, Noah gives a slow, cautious nod.
“Okay,” Noah says, “You can stay. But not too loud.”
Derek almost smiles. Cora cannot stop the smile forming on her face. They don’t move closer yet. Just sitting quietly in the room’s warmth while the children slowly resume to their places on the floor, Noah picking up a block again, Laura watching with careful eyes. It isn’t trust. Not yet, far from it. But it’s the beginning of something.
Later that night, when Peter is putting the kids to bed finally, Noah grabs his hand before Peter leaves.
“They smell like pack-” Noah whispers, eyes sharp, “They smell like you daddy.”
“My sharp boy,” Peter praises with a smile as he leans into place a kiss on Noah’s head, “They are my nephew and niece- they- they are family. From before you and your sister.”
Noah stares at his father for a long time, with those sharp blue eyes of his. Slowly, he nods, like giving a silent permission. Peter can see gears turning in his tiny head- so much like Stiles- before he speaks once more.
“They can stay- but- But!” Noah rushes to add, “They have to play nice. If they don’t I will kick them out.”
“That’s perfectly fine baby,” Peter nods, agreeing as he slowly leaves the room.
Peter enters his and Stiles’ bedroom silently. Stiles is laying in bed, playing on his phone, but his eyes find him immediately.
“I told you,” Stiles whispers as soon as Peter gets in bed.
“I know,” Peter answers, curling around Stiles, pulling the younger one into his chest.
“I don’t want to see Scott ever again,” Stiles huffs, “He can shove pack etiquette so far up his-”
“Stiles-” Peter cuts him off gently, “The kids would like to get to know them.”
Stiles mumbles something Peter doesn’t make sense.
“Of course they do,” Stiles finally grumbles, not really angry.
“Derek and Cora aren’t that bad,” Peter whispers against Stiles’ neck, “They have never been part of the problem.”
“I know- I just- I fear they will bring the pack drama with them,” Stiles sighs, relaxing against Peter’s lips.
“They wouldn’t dare. They seem really remorseful of what happened-” Peter says, “And I would like it too to have them back.”
“You serious?” Stiles asks, turning to look at Peter.
“Yes,” Peter nods, certain of his decision, "In a sense, they are my first kids- especially Derek. I raised him and Cora. They are mine just as much as our kids and I would like them to be part of our family."
Stiles stares at him for a long moment, before nodding.
“Alright,” He agrees, “But you are in charge of them.”
“Deal,” Peter whispers, pressing a kiss on Stiles’ lips.
Stiles sighs against his lips, melting into his arm. All the tension of the day melts slowly away from the omega as his alpha takes care of him. Slow kisses, gentle touches.
"Come on pup," Peter says, nudging Derek up from the grass, "The kids want ice cream."
"You're their father," Derek groans but he's already getting up.
"Though luck," Peter smiles, "They want uncle Derek."
"Of course they do," Derek huffs but he's already smiling as the kids start dragging him towards the ice cream stand.
Peter watches as his kids drag Derek after them, all of them smiling so bright it almost hurts to look. Stiles and Cora are sitting on the picnic table, watching the thing unfold.
"Those kids have wrapped Derek around their fingers," Cora laughs.
"They sure have," Stiles agrees with a smile.
Peter sits next to Stiles, pulling the omega closer. He places a kiss on Stiles' temple. It's easy, it's peaceful. They have a new pack now. A pack full of love, and family. The remaining Hales are back together again, and the kids seem to almost thrive from having more family around. At first Stiles had been skeptical, but he had slowly warmed up to the idea of having Derek and Cora around more and more and the kids just love them. They love their uncle and aunt.
"Papa! Daddy!" The kids scream as they are running back to them with their ice creams, Derek behind them.
They are finally a happy family.