Chapter Text
Once upon a time, a boy became lost in the woods...
“Derrrrek,” Stiles whines. “We’ve obviously been stood up. Let’s go.”
He should have known Stiles would be bad at waiting. “You’re the one who insisted on coming.” It’s a nice day for it at least, the sun shining in the glade.
Technically Scott should be the one meeting with them as the alpha, but Derek hasn’t ever mentioned it to him. The Sidhe are powerful and touchy, and he doesn’t trust Scott enough to take care of it. Besides, they’ve always dealt with Derek’s family anyway. It’s better that Derek handles it. Stiles is only here because he happened to show up as Derek was leaving. He shouldn’t have agreed to his tagging along, but Stiles had talked him into it. As usual.
“I wasn’t going to miss the chance to meet a real life Galadriel. Hey, do you think she would give me a strand of her hair? Of course she actually has to show up for that to happen.”
“Under no circumstances ask the queen for something. I told you they aren’t like the movies. In fact just don’t say anything.” Derek glares at him, trying to impress the importance of this on Stiles. Not that it ever does any good.
The meeting is more a formality than anything else, but it’s still important. Peter always speculated the anchor helped the Sidhe rulers somehow. Having it in Hale territory was certainly seen as a sign of respect and strength for the pack.
They ask permission to anchor the ring on the solstice, Derek says yes, and it’s done. His mother had explained it as a emergency brake. If the Sidhe cause problems, they can eventually refuse permission, and get rid of the portal. It’s never been a problem though. Stiles should be fine. “They don’t wear watches. We’ll give it till sunset.”
“Sunset? Rude! That’s hours from now. Fairy rings don’t even get cell phone service. We can leave a note, and—"
White light explodes in front of Derek, agony sizzling through his skull as he’s knocked off his feet, a piercing sound through his skeleton like a tuning fork. He fights for breath, desperately forcing his lungs to work and gulping down air.
Stiles. He has to protect Stiles.
Derek lurches upright, trying to clear the tears from his eyes. The overwhelming smell of ozone, flowers and rosemary surrounds him. “Stiles!” He gropes along the ground, and his hand clamps onto Stiles’ shoulder just as the purple afterimage and ringing in his ears begin to dissipate.
Stiles groans and struggles to get up, leaning heavily as Derek helps him. “Did we get hit by lightning?” he coughs.
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so?” Stiles squints at him. “It’s getting better anyway. What happened? And why do I smell Christmas trees?”
“I don’t know what that was.” Had the Sidhe attacked them somehow?
“Dad? Pop?”
Derek growls loudly as he beta shifts. Stupid. He’d been so desperate to check on Stiles. He should have checked for threats instead.
A pale, dark haired werewolf stumbles out of the fairy ring towards them. He’s wearing jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt that looks like it could have come out of Stiles’ closet. He’s several years younger though, and covered in a snow of small, white petals. But…that scent. Derek shifts back in shock.
“Derek wasn’t kidding when he said the movies were wrong,” Stiles says. “Are you Sidhe?”
“Am I what? Wait,” the teen looks around frantically. “Why are you both here? I thought the pendant took me to you?” He runs the rest of the way to them. “We have to get out of here. There’s a monster!”
Derek ignores Stiles’ ensuing rush of questions, ignores everything but the boy in front of him, eyes flicking from feature to feature. What his senses are telling him isn’t possible. He fights the words out, whispering from the ash-filled corners of his soul, barely audible over the sound of his wildly beating heart. “Wh-why do you smell like us?”
“Why did you dye your beard?” he says, furrowing his brows.
“What the hell does that mean?” Stiles gets in the kid’s face, forcing him back. “Who are you?”
“Um, what’s going on?” He glances at them in confusion, before shaking his head. ”It doesn’t matter. We have to get out of here!”
Derek jerks his eyes away from the stranger, (not a stranger, his wolf howls), to scan the forest. “Let’s go.” He grips the boy’s shoulder, urging him to walk in the direction of the car.
“Wait! We need some answers, Derek.”
“Monster first, answers later. Are you hurt?” he asks the werewolf. His protective instincts are howling at him. It’s all he can do not to scoop him up in a hug, and Derek is not a hugger. What is going on?
The boy shakes his head, quiet now and starting to look more and more disturbed.
“We’ll figure it out,” Derek murmurs, giving in to instinct, and hesitantly patting his back.
The kid nods, but it doesn’t diminish the increasing scent of distress coming off him as he plays with a loose thread on his shirt.
They make it back to the car safely as Stiles continues to ask questions Derek ignores for now. The boy hasn’t spoken again, and Derek covertly looks him over for injuries. He doesn’t smell any wounds on him at least. Derek starts helping him brush off the petals from his clothes, as he shakes out his hair.
“I want some of those.” Stiles grabs a handful and sticks them in his pocket, then frowns in surprise when Derek ushers their new passenger into the front seat.
Derek makes certain they’re both buckled in, and heads to the loft. He isn’t sure where else to go.
“Fine. You got in the car so I guess you’re not fae,” Stiles says. “Wait, how much iron is in a car interior? Is there iron in the handle? Did you touch the door?”
“He’s not fae, Stiles. He’s a werewolf.”
“Well, thanks for sharing that with the class, Mr. Hale. You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”
“Stiles—”
“No,” he argues, leaning forward. “Who are you, and what was that back there? I want answers.”
“So do I! Why were you in the preserve? Did your spell go wrong? Why do you both look different? Whose car is this, Dad? What was that creature back there? Why are you acting like you don’t even know me?” He gets louder and louder with each question, his voice breaking at the end.
Stiles flails so hard he hits his hand on the door, and swears.
At least the boy’s speaking again, Derek thinks as they pull up to a stop sign. His scent is intensified in the confines of the car, and under the smell of increasing anxiety is the warm scent of pack and more. He isn’t—he can’t let himself think about what the kid, (their kid a part of him insists), said. Not yet.
He squeezes the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. “Just tell us your name.”
With an eye roll Derek recognizes as belonging to someone else in the car, he huffs out, “Eli Stilinski-Hale.”
Derek stares at him as his heart races.
“Turn right on Oak up ahead.” Stiles’ voice is ice.
“Why?” Derek, asks looking in the rearview mirror. Where Stiles had seemed suspicious before, he now looks furious.
“Because Dad’s at the station now, and we’re running Eli’s prints.”
* * *
“He in his office?” Stiles asks Parrish.
“In the back. Problem?“
“Just another day in Beacon Hells. I’ll get Dad and fill him in,” he says, turning to Derek. “You take him to the office.”
“I know where it is!” Eli stomps off, muttering about maybe Grandpa still being sane.
Derek enters the office close behind, and Eli is staring at the left wall, his face slack with shock. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He finally looks at Derek, his eyes huge and his skin ashen. Derek eases him down to one of the chairs and kneels down.
“Dad,” he gasps weakly.
Derek feels his heart clench as Eli falls against him and starts wheezing, his body rigid in Derek’s arms. “Stiles!”
He hears two sets of rapid footsteps, and then the sheriff is in the other chair, his hand checking Eli’s pulse.
“I think he’s having a panic attack,” he murmurs. “Stiles, go get a drink, and some candy from the vending machine.”
Stiles gives a curt nod and hurries out.
“Hi, I’m Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles says your name is Eli. Can you breathe with me, Eli?”
He nods against Derek’s shoulder, the horrible sound of his wheezing filling Derek’s ears.
“Good. That’s good. Okay, we’re going to do each step for four seconds – inhale, hold, exhale, hold and again for awhile.” The sheriff counts Eli through it, his voice calm and easy.
Derek breathes along with Eli, his hands against the boy’s sides, just feeling his ribs struggling to expand and fall, expand and fall.
Stiles returns with the snacks just as Eli finally sits up.
The sheriff stares at his face a moment, before clearing his throat, and handing him the Gatorade and chocolate from Stiles. “Drink this, kiddo.”
Nodding again, Eli takes a sip before resting it on his leg tiredly. “The calendar,” he whispers. “The year is wrong.”
“Seriously?” Stiles snorts into the stunned silence. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“I knew we’d get time travel eventually. Parrish owes me 20 bucks,” the sheriff says, sounding a bit dazed. He sits behind his desk, and Stiles sits against the edge with his arms crossed.
“Eat the chocolate, Eli.” Derek says gently. He still looks a little pale and smells like fear, but at least his heartbeat has calmed down some.
After a few moments watching Eli chew, the sheriff asks, “Are you feeling up to some questions now? You’re not in any trouble. We just want to help.”
“Okay.”
“For the record, what is your name?”
He sighs. “Eli Stilinski-Hale.”
“And your parents are...”
“Sitting in this room.”
“I’m going to take that as meaning Stiles and Derek. Were you adopted?”
“No. I mean we told people there was a surrogate, but they’re both my biological parents.”
“Fine. Let's take a paternity test. Tests,” Stiles argues.
“That doesn’t work on weres. Supernatural DNA degrades too quickly,” explains Derek.
Stiles rolls his eyes.
The sheriff shifts uncomfortably. “Derek, is this a werewolf thing?” he says, making a face.
“No,” Derek says, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Male werewolves cannot carry children.”
“Pop always said it was magic. That it was a spark thing so he couldn’t tell me the details.”
That makes Derek sit up straighter. “A spark?”
“Pop’s a spark.” He whips his head around to Stiles. “Did you not know that yet?”
“I’m more interested in how you knew.”
“Because you told me!”
“Okay, Eli,” the sheriff says reassuringly. “You’re doing great. Can you tell us what happened this morning?”
He fiddles with the candy wrapper. “I was, um, in the preserve, and a monster started chasing me. It was about to grab me so I used the pendant—”
“What pendant?” Stiles says sharply.
“The one you made me,” Eli says, in surprise. “You told me only to use it in a life or death emergency, and I could feel it’s breath on my neck. It started chasing me out of nowhere.”
Derek can’t resist putting his arm across the back of Eli’s chair.
“You did the right thing, Eli.” The sheriff soothes. “We’re glad you’re okay. You said Stiles made this pendant for you?”
“Yeah, he gave it to me when I was kid. It’s supposed to take me to my nearest parent so I’ll be safe.”
“Let’s see it,” Stiles demands.
“I had to break it to activate it. That’s why it’s one time only.” He pulls a silver necklace out from under his T-shirt, the bottom section shining like sunlight hitting glitter. “It sort of went boom-whoosh, like fizzing but an explosion? Like that time I put all those Mentos in the Dr. Pepper bottle, and put the top back on.”
“So we can’t see it. Well, that’s convenient.”
“Stiles, let me handle this.”
“Oh, come on, Dad! Do you really buy all this?”
Derek growls quietly at Stiles, and moves his arm to Eli’s shoulders.
“I think you need to calm down, or you can go sit in the waiting area,” the sheriff says sternly.
Stiles throws up his hands in disgust, and goes to lean against the wall.
“You said there was a monster, Eli?”
“It sort of looked like the rancor in Star Wars, but smaller and purple. It had big claws.” He screws up his face, trying to remember. “I think the claws were pink? I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I was too busy running from it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Stiles mutters.
The sheriff ignores Stiles this time, has Eli spell rancor, and moves on. “Now, you were talking about the calendar being wrong. What did you mean by that, Eli.”
He turns to the calendar, looking haunted. “It’s 15 years out of date.”
Stiles steps toward him. “You really expect us to believe—"
“Please, I just want to go home.”
Derek can’t bear the misery coming off Eli any longer, and puts an end to the questions after that for now, over Stiles’ objections.
They make tentative plans. Parrish and the sheriff will patrol by the preserve, and see if they notice anything. Derek will have Eli stay with him, and get him what he needs in the way of supplies. Stiles will go to the vault for research, update Scott, and make some calls. Eli reluctantly gives Stiles his necklace for testing.
Stiles still insists they run his prints and social security number before they leave though. Nothing shows up. After learning Eli’s date of birth is the summer solstice a week and a year from now, Derek says he’ll try and contact the Sidhe again.
“Here’s my number, Eli, “ the sheriff says, handing him a piece of paper. “Derek is going to get you a phone, so you call me. I want to see you again while you’re here, okay?”
“Thanks, Grandpa.” Eli says, and the sheriff smiles in delight.
“It’s going to be okay. I know they may not look it, but those two are actually pretty good at this stuff.”
The three go back to the loft to get Stiles’ car. Derek tries to redirect the pointed questions Stiles asks a more, and more upset smelling Eli during the ride, but it’s like trying to hold back the phases of the moon. By the time they get to the loft, Derek has had it.
Apparently so has Eli.
“I already told you! I don’t know! I’m not talking to you anymore!” Eli yells, as they get out of the car. “You’re right. You’re not my pop. Because my pop loves me, and he would never act like this!”
“Then tell us who you really are.”
Eli’s eyes fill with tears, and Derek roars at Stiles, “ENOUGH!”
Stiles jerks back like he’s punched him.
Forcing his muscles to relax, Derek says, “Eli, go on up. I’ll be there in a minute.” Eli takes the key from him, and runs inside.
He turns to deal with Stiles. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Why are you? You and my dad have known him five minutes, and you’re both ready to get family portraits made with him!”
“He smells like us! He smells like family. You’re not a werewolf, but I can feel it, this bond right here.” He places his hand on his sternum, not mentioning it’s the same place he feels Stiles as his anchor, as his ….
“You of all people know why what he says isn’t true! Time travel and a movie monster? He’s lying.”
Derek crosses his arms defensively. “I listened to his heartbeat. He’s telling the truth.”
“Then he left something out. I want to talk to him some more,” Stiles insists as heads to the door.
Derek steps his front of him, blocking his path. “No. Text me your questions, and I’ll see about passing them along.
“You’re believing him? Over me?”
“I’m protecting a scared 13 year old, and if that means protecting him from you, then I'll do that too. Go do your research. Let me know if you find anything.”
Derek doesn’t wait for Stiles to continue arguing, and turns to head back inside. He hears the jeep door slam behind him, and Stiles peel off.
He's not sure what’s going on with Stiles, but that will have to wait. Eli is the one who needs him now. His son. Just the thought of it sends a ripple of awe through his body. He smiles, and takes the stairs two at a time.
The overwhelming scent of pain and fear hits him as soon as he walks in. Eli is crammed in the corner of the sofa with his arms around his legs, and his head buried against his knees. Derek sits beside him, and says, “I know this is scary, but you’re safe.” He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure of that.
Eli looks up, tears streaming down his face. “He hates me!” he chokes out.
“Stiles doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t know you,” he tries to reassure him.
“I want to go home!”
“We’ll find out what’s going on, and fix it.” How can he help? He just wants to make it better. Derek puts his hand on Eli’s shoulder, and Eli turns into him, crying. “It’s going to be all right,” Derek says, holding on. “I promise.”
Eventually Eli calms, and Derek gets him some tissues and a glass of water. “Are you hungry?” he asks. He can provide that much at least.
Eli shakes his head, staring at the floor. “I don’t understand what’s going on – Pop treating me like that, being here,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know how you got here. Yet.” He squeezes Eli’s shoulder. “Stiles and I will figure it out.”
Eli scowls at him. “He can’t even figure out who I am! Does he do an IQ spell or something to get smarter by the time I’m around?”
“He’ll get there. We’ve just had reason to be cautious in the past.”
“You believe me, don’t you?” he asks, his voice wobbling as he stares at Derek.
“Yes,” Derek says firmly. “You’re my son. You aren’t alone, Eli.”
He gives Derek a half-hearted smile.
“Stiles doesn’t have our senses. You don’t smell like family to him.”
“But he’s my pop! He should just know.”
Rather than arguing, Derek says, “I’m sorry he upset you. This has been a big surprise for us too.”
Eli sighs loudly, and nods, so Derek drops it for now. They have to help Eli, he thinks, gazing at him. “We’re going to work it out, and you’ll be safe here until we do.” He can’t fail his pack again.