#eli hale

Derek was rooted in place, momentarily stunned. He blinked once, twice, trying to reconcile the Stiles standing in front of him now with the memory he’d held onto for years. The man before him wore that familiar smirk, one eyebrow quirked like he knew exactly the kind of chaos he’d caused just by showing up unannounced.

The mystery lunch buddy was Stiles.

It took Derek a moment to even process the sight. He hadn't seen Stiles in person in almost five years. The last time was right before Stiles graduated college, and they'd had a small impromptu pack gathering before Stiles was whisked away to a grueling FBI training program. Since then, the most Derek had gotten were snapshots of his life—pictures on Instagram, texting updates or memes, or video calls whenever Stiles got the rare day off. And even that had slowed to a trickle these past six months.

Last he had heard, Stiles was engaged and had just bought a townhome with his fiance in New York City.

Derek thought he had prepared himself for the ways that Stiles might have grown and matured since they were young adults—kids really—just trying to survive Beacon Hills.

He hadn't.

The man standing before him was broader, thicker, and filled out in ways that Derek's brain couldn't immediately comprehend. Stiles had grown into his shoulders, which seemed even broader than Derek remembered, the definition of muscle clear even under the loose tank. Tattoos spiraled down both arms, intricate black ink curling around the cords of his biceps and disappearing beneath the hem of his shirt. His once boyish face was now angular, framed by a neatly trimmed beard that added to the sharpness of his jawline.

Being an FBI agent had definitely agreed with Stiles.

And Derek felt frumpy in comparison: there was more salt than pepper in his beard these days, and his hair wasn't much better. Then there were the countless lines around his eyes, and a soft layer of fat on top of what used to be washboard abs. Being a werewolf might make it easier to gain and keep muscle, but Derek didn't exactly have the time to work out in between running the auto shop and being a single father.

"Stiles," he managed, his own voice coming out rougher than he intended.

Flopping back down with a sigh, he took a few seconds to psych himself up enough to get out of the warm embrace of his bed. There was once a time where Derek would wake even earlier than this every day—run two miles to the gym, spend an hour there before running back to shower for a full day of college classes. However, that was fifteen years, and what felt like several lifetimes, ago. Back then, he was nineteen and living in New York City with Laura. Too much had happened since back then…

Derek reluctantly pulled himself out of bed to get himself ready for the day. His routine was the same as it was everyday: morning toilet break followed by a quick shower, get out, brush his ever greying hair and beard into some semblance of shape, and throw on the first set of clothes. Then, he headed downstairs to start on breakfast before he had to wake up Eli.

He was eternally grateful to whoever decided to make coffee pots have a function that you can set the night before to have it ready in the morning as he poured a steaming cup. Adding the perfect amount of pumpkin spice almond creamer, Derek smiled as he took his first sip when he realized which mug he had grabbed.

It was one that he had received from Stiles for his birthday a few years back when Derek had first moved into this house from the loft. It had shown up in the mail and was followed by a series of texts by the human saying that he had gotten the email that it had been delivered, and he wanted to know what Derek thought. On it was a cartoon anthromorphic wolf walking with sunglasses, jeans, and black leather jacket like Derek used to wear with the words "Howl you doin'?" underneath. Honestly, it wasn't anything Derek would have ever gotten for himself, by a long shot, but the idea that Stiles had taken the time to find this for him just made something warm curl up in his stomach. Especially since this was not long after a series of text conversations between the two of them about how Eli was going through a rough period of not sleeping well from being in a new environment.

Both Stilinskis were a godsend when it came to Derek's journey through fatherhood, even with it having been a good five years since Derek last saw Stiles in person.

Derek had been back living in Beacon Hills for just under two years when he opened his loft door one afternoon to see a newborn infant on his doorstep. Queue a wide-eyed Derek immediately showing up at the Sheriff's house unannounce with the precious bundle.

By this point, Derek had been consulting for the BHPD for a couple of years, and the Sheriff had taken Derek under his wing. Scott, Stiles and the rest of the young pack had already spread across the country for college. Cora, Isaac, and Peter were spread out even more throughout multiple countries, so Derek didn't really have anyone else at the time. Derek and John had even gotten into the habit of meeting at least once a week for beer and baseball (or whatever sport was in season at the time, but baseball was the one they bonded over the most) at the Stilinski house.

After some discussion back and forth, John managed to convince Derek to bring the infant to Deaton for a check-up. While there, they were able to run a blood test and confirm that the small boy was in fact Derek's son—a little bit of eye flashing established that the small boy was also a werewolf.

Unfortunately, they were unable to determine who the boy's mother was, and—to the fascination of Deaton at the mystery of it all—Derek honestly couldn't think of who it could possibly be. He didn't think he had been with anyone since right before he returned to Beacon Hills, and that wonderfully passionate night had definitely NOT been with a woman. Nor had it been done in a way that would have meant Derek impregnated anybody, if you caught his drift.

Regardless of the boy's mysterious origins, Derek threw himself wholeheartedly into being a father. He would never be one of those that claimed that his child completed him or anything ridiculously self-centered like that, but seeing his love for the boy reflected back at him in those big, green eyes made Derek actually feel worthy of love in a way that he hadn't truly felt in a long time.

Without any other names lined up, Derek named his new son after his father, Elijah.

Speaking of which, as Derek piled the last of the bacon he had cooked onto a plate, he heard Eli's heart quicken as the boy woke up.

"Eli, breakfast is ready!" Derek called, smiling softly as he heard little feet land on the floor above him before they pattered toward the stairs.

"BACON!!" Eli roared excitedly as he zoomed into sight, sniffing the air hungrily.