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I'm Not Your Nephew

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“Oooo, red vines!” Stiles grinned, bouncing over to where Derek was lounging on the couch for movie night.

“Mine,” Derek growled, curling over the package.

“What? Come on, dude,” Stiles whined. Derek grinned, snapping at his fingers when he tried to grab some.

“Maybe if you’d got here on time you could’ve staked your claim,” Peter drawled from where he was taking up the entire loveseat, sprawled comfortably.

“Maybe if you were a good boyfriend you could’ve staked my claim for me,” Stiles said, before pulling away, a devious grin on his face. “Come on, Derek. Just a few.”

“No,” Derek said, shoving another in his mouth.

“Now is that any way to speak to your uncle, nephew?” Stiles teased.

Derek’s eyes widened. “Don’t call me that!” he ordered.

Stiles grinned, snatching a handful of the candy and moving over to sit in Peter’s lap. He chomped on a red vine victoriously even as Derek glowered at him.

“Cheater,” he accused him vehemently.

Stiles snuggled against Peter’s chest delightedly. Peter hid his smile against his temple, pressing a quick kiss there.

When Stiles had started dating Peter, one of the Sheriff’s rules was that the man come to Sunday dinner. After the first few, Stiles just started dragging Derek along to make sure the guy got at least one proper meal a week. Derek seemed to appreciate it, even if he’d never admit it.

“Pass the potatoes, please,” Stiles called out, still stupidly happy that he had a reason for asking someone to pass something. Growing up, their little table had never been full enough to require the passing of food, so it was still a novelty.

“Here,” Derek offered.

“Thanks, nephew!” Stiles chirped.

Derek fumbled the bowl, glaring as Stiles winked cheekily at him, catching the bowl.

“I told you not to call me that!”

“Really, Stiles?” John asked, rolling his eyes fondly as Stiles grinned.

“Come on, nephew, do try not to be such a Sourwolf,” Peter drawled, smirking as Derek turned his glare onto him.

“You,” he pointed, “don’t start.”

Stiles laughed, throwing Peter a pleased smile. The man nudged his foot with his own and Stiles curled his ankle around Peter’s, to remain for the rest of the meal.

“Goddamnit, Stiles,” Derek growled, ducking as the troll gave an ungainly swipe over his head. He tried to put more pressure on the wound to Stiles’ thigh without breaking the bone.

Stiles giggled deliriously. “Careful with the merchandise, nephew,” he said, before giggling once more.

“Now is not the time,” Derek grumbled, moving to shield the boy’s body as the troll threw a tree and a few bushes over their heads.

Stiles blinked slowly, eyes unfocused.

“Don’t you dare go to sleep,” Derek demanded, desperately.

“Now that’s not the way to talk to your Uncle Stiles,” the boy muttered, frowning.

“Stiles, I’m serious,” Derek pleaded, wincing when the troll bellowed angrily.

“Say please to Uncle Stiles,” the boy murmured.

“Fine, fuck, please, Uncle Stiles, stay awake,” Derek rushed, pressing against the wound harder. Stiles groaned and Derek grimaced sympathetically. It wasn’t stopping though and Stiles was getting pale, cold. His eyes were fluttering, rolling back, and Derek couldn’t help the panic that was beginning to set in. Why wasn’t the bleeding slowing? Had it hit an artery? Fuck, this was horrible. Stiles’ blood was covering his hands and it wasn’t stopping and he was going to die and—

“Stiles!” he shouted as the boy started shaking, seizing. He abandoned his leg to turn the boy on his side to keep him from choking on his own vomit. He didn’t know what to do, Stiles was going to die, this was all his fault, he didn’t know—“Peter!” he screamed, frantic. “He’s seizing!”

“Get him to the damned hospital!” Peter yelled, ducking under a clumsy swat from the troll.

Derek didn’t hesitate, scooping the boy up. The troll focused on him and Derek leapt from the path of the thrown rock, trying to cushion the fall as much as possible for the boy in his arms.

“I’ll distract the troll, just run!” Peter shouted, slamming into the back of the troll’s knee and making it kneel.

Derek ran from the clearing, flinching when the troll let out an enraged roar, but he didn’t dare slow down.

Stiles woke to the steady beat of a heart monitor. He blinked against the bright light, trying to determine which recent antic had led to this development, before remembering the troll. Then his eyes settled on his visitors and he couldn’t help the small smile.

Derek was sleeping at his side, head pillowed by his arms. His face would scrunch up in a frown before he’d snuffle against Stiles’ thigh and settled once more. Peter was at his other side, Stiles’ hand cradled between both of Peter’s. The man’s lips were pressed against the back of his hand and Stiles could feel his warm, even breaths. He couldn’t help but brush his fingers against his cheek.

Familiar blue eyes flew opened and Peter lunged forward, cupping Stiles’ face delicately. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he breathed before kissing Stiles’ urgently. Stiles’ quickening heart monitor woke Derek, who hit Peter’s side.

“He just almost died! Don’t suffocate him!” he ordered. Peter rolled his eyes but sat down, still holding Stiles’ hand.

“Awe, nephew was worried,” Stiles teased, earning a glower from other man.

“Don’t start that again,” Derek ordered, but Stiles caught the relieved note under his tone.

“You really scared us, son,” his dad spoke from the door, interrupting them. He had a cheap cup of coffee in his hand and looked thankful to see his son awake.

“Sorry, dad,” Stiles offered, grinning sheepishly.

“You better be sorry. I told you not to come with us on the perimeter check,” Peter grumbled. He couldn’t seem to help but pet Stiles’ hand, unable to cease touching the boy to make sure he was alright.

“Sourwolf got me here in time, didn’t you?” Stiles asked, turning to the other man. Derek blushed lightly, ducking his head down embarrassedly. Stiles frowned, thoughtful. “And did you call me Uncle Stiles?”

“Shut up,” Derek muttered, and Stiles laughed, reaching out to squeeze the man’s shoulder.

Derek couldn’t help the warmth at knowing he’d managed to save the boy. Stiles may not be blood, but he was definitely pack—family practically—and it was nice to have actually saved someone for once. He glanced to the other side of the bed, catching his uncle’s gaze. Peter smiled at him, nodding in thanks as he lifted Stiles’ hand to kiss his knuckles. Peter looked at Stiles like he was the moon and Derek was glad, too, to have saved that. He and Peter had a complicated relationship and were still on uneven ground, but Stiles drew them closer, made them more like a family once more. They wouldn’t ever forget, but maybe they could move passed the past and heal.

“Thanks, nephew,” Stiles grinned.

Derek rolled his eyes, but let him have his fun.