in which stiles is a wildlife documentarian who just happens to stumble upon an injured wolf cub that’s clearly been left to die. and yeah, observe, don’t interfere, that’s like the first rule of wildlife club, but… it’s basically a scared puppy, who’s suffering. how heartless is stiles really expected to be?
the cub is already, like, shivering. from cold, or from pain, or fear, or maybe all three, and stiles turns off his camera, moves in closer.
the cub’s too injured to even try to be a threat to him. and once stiles wraps his hoodie around the little guy, scooping him up and carrying him back to his tent, it really does feel like cradling a bigger, wriggling puppy. or like, a brand-new baby, who needs those little mittens to stop him from scratching himself. no, that’s too sweet, stiles is gonna cry.
the cub’s curled up in stiles’ sleeping bag, chewing contentedly on what’s left of stiles’ hoodie, when derek hale comes tearing through the trees, wild-eyed.
he stops abruptly when he sees stiles with his new danger puppy.
“i know, don’t interfere, i get it,” stiles says. “but… he was out there all alone, and i think his leg is broken.”
“so you… brought him back with you,” derek says, and stiles says, “i had to, you know? i couldn’t just leave him out there. he was trembling, he seemed completely terrified.”
derek crouches by the curled up wolf cub. reaches out, and sweeps his fingers across the cub’s fur, totally unguarded.
“he’ll be okay,” he says. “i can take it from here.”
“i wanna stay with him,” stiles says. “at the vet, or… do vets even treat wolves?”
“sometimes,” derek says, and stiles says, “does that come up a lot? in your role as a tour guide.”
“here and there,” derek says, and draws the wolf cub in against his heart in a blur of motion, kissing the back of its head like it’s a mischievous kid who had his dad worried. “which leg was the hurt one?”
“wait,” stiles says, and looks, and it’s… none of them.
but that’s not, he knows, he saw it. he only brought a wolf cub back here because…
he squints at the huddled shape in derek’s arms again.
except that now, it’s very clearly a toddler in footie pajamas.
“am i tripping right now?” stiles says, and derek laughs.
“don’t feel too bad. have you two met before? this is eli.”
“eli,” stiles says, and looks back at the now completely empty sleeping bag. at the hoodie the cub was playing with, which is still just as gently mauled as it was before. “i’m sorry. was there not a baby wolf here, a second ago?”
“he’s gonna be fine,” derek says. “i promise you.”
kissing eli’s temple again, but that’s not… when he did that before, stiles could’ve sworn…
“this is stiles,” derek tells eli. “can you show stiles how old you are?”
eli hesitates, and holds up two fingers in a tentative peace sign.
“good job!” derek says, and eli says, “and two moons.”
“months,” derek says, and eli says, “no, it’s both.”
“thanks again for finding him,” derek says, and stiles squints at him.
“i definitely didn’t find a baby.”
“of course not,” derek says. “but, given what you did find, and how you reacted, and did everything you could to look after him, i just wanna thank you.”
“he was hurt,” stiles says. “the… what i did find. was that part real?”
“if you saw it? i’m sure it was,” derek says, and stiles says, “and in english, that means…”
“you’re not crazy,” derek says, and stiles says, “yeah? don’t be too sure.”
“you’re not,” derek says. “it’s just…” he lets out a long breath. “we’re kind of still recovering from the last person i let in about all of this.”
“mama,” eli says glumly, and stiles says, “whoa. wait, what? let in about what exactly?”
“stiles,” derek says, like he’s spelled it all out already, but that’s… yeah, no.
that’s not remotely how the world works, nice try.
“what happened with eli’s mom?” stiles says. “if it’s not too… sorry.”
“that’s okay,” derek says. “uh, there was a fire.”
and eli buries his face in his dad’s chest, and lets out a soft howl.
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