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Taming Stiles Stilinski

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Chapter 1



“No! No Fucking way!”

The profanities explode from the boy, wrenching him from his seat. He flails his hands out in front of him before hooking a thumb over his shoulder, glaring back at him.

“I don’t even know him,” the kid rails at him. “He could be a kiddie fiddler for all you know.”

He shakes his head in response, smirking. The little punk was only making it worse for himself. By the exasperated sigh the judge breathes out, he could see that he was close to being thrown back behind bars.

The kid’s clothes didn’t help his case either – ripped jeans, some none-descript grunge slogan t-shirt that looked like it was straight from the 80’s, and well-worn and scuffed black converse’s. He’d seen the look that passed over the judge’s face when he’d given the kid a cursory once over, especially the disapproving frown when they settled on the small black ear-stud and ring through his lip. The mother, sitting on the opposite side of the room with her partner who was sporting an impressive black eye and small neat stitches to his temple, didn’t seem too bothered at her son’s appearance.

“Mr Woods,” Judge Henry sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you please refrain your client from any further outbursts.”

Woods, the court appointed lawyer, whispers into the boy’s ear. He shakes his head furiously before slumping in defeat back into his seat. He watches as he glances back, this time back towards his mother who quickly glances away.

“Mr Stilinski,” Judge Henry continues, “Derek Hale is an outstanding citizen in a position of authority. A healthy one, of which I think you need in your life right now.”

The boy shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.

“You’re not really in a position to oppose, Mr Stilinski…” Judge Henry states. “You have a restraining order which prevents you from returning home… in fact, it actually forbids you from remaining in the city.”

“What? No way…” the boy states, turning to look at the lawyer with wide eyes. “You never said anything about…”

“Mr Woods!” The judge snaps. “I have already warned you about Mr Stilinski.”

“Sorry, your honor...” Woods says, before placing a placating hand on his client’s shoulder. “Stiles, cut it out. You know this is  for the best. For everybody, including you.”

The kid – Stiles – glares around the room, staring intently at his mother’s partner before hunkering down with a dejected sniffle.

“That leaves two options,” the judge states, taking a document from a court aid. “And the only reason that you’re not getting a custodial sentence is because you have an outstanding character reference from your best friend’s mother.”

That explains the other occupant to the room. A curly haired woman, still wearing her nurse uniform, sat a few seats down from Derek. Stiles turns glassy eyes to the woman who nods and smiles confidently back. The kid tries to smile but it looks tense and Derek catches how his lips tremble with the threat of tears.

“Now, Mr Stilinski,” The Judge asks, leaning across his desk. “Are you telling me you’d rather return to the juvenile detention center?”

Stiles wipes at his face in frustration before shaking his head.

“Out loud, Mr Stilinski…” The Judge orders.

“No, your honor...” Stiles mutters angrily.

“Okay,” Judge Henry states, banging his gavel on his desk. “Then I release you into the custody and guardianship of Derek Hale.”





“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Woods asks him as he finishes signing the final papers that officially handed over Stiles to him.

“Nope,” Derek shakes his head with a chuckle, “But I made a promise to his dad.”

“A man of his word, huh?” Woods nods, watching him sign the papers. “That’s the last one. No take backs. The little shit is all yours.”

“That bad?”

“The kid thinks he’s some kind of renegade artist,” Woods shrugs, stuffing the papers into his brief-case. “I’m sure your lovely little town is going to be spray-painted within an inch of its life.”

“Really?” Derek surveys the teen sitting quietly by himself, a few bags strewn at his feet.

“Doesn’t like authority,” Woods continues down his list. “Doesn’t like being told what to do. Bloods came back clear, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he uses. The kid’s a punk. Congratulations, Hale…” he states, thumping him on the back. “You just signed on to the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Thanks,” Derek states dryly. He watches the bug of a man scuttle off, happy he’d successfully handed over his charge.

The boy in question, sat sullenly on one of the wooden benches, chewing obscenely on gum and popping loud bubbles. He’d had a, surprisingly, emotional goodbye with some kid with a crooked jaw, a quiet promise of ‘I’ll look after Roscoe for you’, whoever the hell that was, and exchanged a warm hug with the curly haired woman, who Derek presumed was the boy’s mother.

Stiles goodbye with his own mother, on the other hand, was completely different. Claudia Stilinski had stiffly pushed a couple of bags, with a few scattered items, into her son’s hands.

“My art supplies?” Stiles asks, glancing at the bags.

“I put a few items in there,” his mother states before shrugging. “But Frank threw most of it out.”

Stiles whole body tenses at the mention of the man before he abruptly drops the bags at his feet, hugging his mother tightly. Derek watches how Claudia stiffens in his hold. She returns the hug, less warmly then her son’s.

“Mom,” Stiles tries to say. “I…”

“I have to go,” Claudia says stiffly, stepping out of Stiles’ arms. “Frank’s waiting for me,” she pauses to glance at Derek. “Don’t give Mr Hale any trouble.”

“Mom…” Stiles starts to stay again. He tentatively takes her hand but she pulls away, shakes her head and walks away without even a goodbye.

The abruptness of it clearly unsettles the kid, who wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve.

“What?” he mutters, rattled when he sees Derek staring at him.

“C’mon,” Derek says instead, gathering up the discarded bags at their feet. “Let’s go.”





He’d brought the Cruiser because it was easier parking at the court house then bringing the Camaro. Stiles sits in the passenger seat like he’s sat there a thousand times before. Once, years ago, he probably had.

“Feet down,” Derek orders when Stiles plants his feet against the dashboard. Stiles turns a defiant grin towards him, actually wriggling further down into his seat.

“I said feet down,” Derek repeats, pushing the teen’s legs back down.

“Sir, yes, sir…” Stiles salutes at him, straightening in his seat with a glare.

They fell into a strained silence until curiosity finally got the better of the teen.

“So, you’re from Beacon Hills too?” he asks.

“Born and raised there,” Derek nods. “I moved back around eight years ago with my sister.”

“Where abouts do you live?”

“I know you know ‘The Ranch’,” Derek takes his eyes off the road for a second to measure Stiles reaction.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Stiles exclaims, turning sharply to look at him. “You’re living in my dad’s old place?”

“The one and only,” Derek nods. “Laura, my sister, runs the stables. Your dad used to rent some of the old outhouses out. There’s just that and a garage now.”

Stiles falls silent for a while, piecing the information together and then quietly. “How’d you end up there? Were you staying with my dad?”

“He left the place to me,” Derek says, with a shrug. There was more to it than that. John Stilinski had left the place to Derek to look after until Stiles was ‘of age’ to take responsibility. He just had to find the right time to talk to him about it. From the little he knew about Stiles, Derek was pretty sure that the kid had a blinkered view of his dad, one which Derek didn’t quite feel he was ready to wade into.

“Huh,” Stiles says with a shrug, before turning suspicious eyes back towards him. “You’re the new Sheriff now that he’s dead, right?”

“Acting Sheriff,” Derek nods.

“Were you sucking his dick or something?”

“What?!” Derek sputters in surprise. Stiles was looking at him a combination of a sneer and a grin. He grins even more when he sees how flustered he has made him. “Of course not.”

“Hey,” Stiles waves a dismissive hand between them. “Not judging, man. You’re living in the dead guy’s house and got his job. Just saying. Sounds kind of suspiscious to me.”

“He was your dad,” Derek finds himself snapping. “Show the man some respect.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, playing with the electric window button. Up and down. Up and down.

“He was a good man,” Derek says softly between them. “He was like a dad to me.”

Stiles snorts, clearly amused at his words.

“Look,” Derek continues, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I know you and your dad had some difficulties, but…”

“Excuse me!” Stiles all but yells, anger making him turn sharply in his seat. “Difficulties?” he snaps harshly, voice cracking on the absurdity of it. “He abandoned me and my mom.” He jabs a finger at Derek. “Do you know how difficult it was for us?”

“Stiles,” Derek tries soothe his voice. He didn’t want their first conversation to end on a fight. Or Stiles flinging himself out of a moving vehicle. “That’s not exactly how it…”

“Shut up!” Stiles snaps at him. Derek clamps his mouth down when he sees the kid’s eyes are shining, full of unshed tears, and face twisted into a bitter scowl. “I don’t want to hear how he was a perfect dad to you.”

“Hey, kid…” Derek starts, realising how it might look to Stiles. He plants his hand on the teen’s shoulder and squeezes. “I didn’t mean it  to sound like that.”

“Why are you even doing this?” Stiles asks, shaking the hand off.

“Doing what?” Derek asks, confused.

“This,” Stiles says, gesturing to himself. “Taking me in. Being my ‘legal guardian’,” he says with air quotes. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just throw me back into juvie?” he mutters quietly, turning away and directing the question to the window.

Derek had contemplated whether he should tell Stiles the reason a million times over – whether it would make him feel any different towards his father or if it would strain things between the kid and himself. John, after all, was the only reason he’d even offered this opportunity to Stiles.

“Because,” Derek sighs, tiredly. “Of the last thing your dad said to me.”

When Stiles turns back, the shininess has gone, but his eyes remain puffy and red, now filled with curiosity.

“What did he say?” he asks quietly, voice scratchy and taut.

“I was there when he died,” Derek says, momentarily flashing back to the sight of the Sheriff bleeding out in front of him. “You know he died in the line of duty, right?”

Stiles nods, looking down into his lap and fiddling with his frayed sleeves.

“He was bleeding out in front of me,” Derek continues. Damn, he shouldn’t be telling the kid this but someone had to put him right, even if it was only half of the full story. “I couldn’t do anything but just be there for him. And all he could was talk about you.”

Stiles lifts his head to look at him but doesn’t say anything.

“About how you were good kid, about how he wanted to make things better between you,” Derek sighs loudly, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand. “And the last thing he asked me was to look out for you. To be there if you needed someone.”

“Promise me, Derek. Promise me that you’ll look after him.”

“Stiles?” Derek asks when he realises that a silence has stretched out for too long. He reaches out again to place his hand against the boy’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about my dad anymore,” Stiles says, shaking his hand off again, turning away.

Derek glances at the kid a few more times. Stiles catches him looking in the reflection of the window and promptly closes his eyes.

Derek knows he’s not really sleeping but lets him fake it anyway.





It’s dark when they arrive but Derek switches on the external lights to the court-yard and the surrounding buildings to give him a quick, cursory guide. He walks him down to the stables, Stiles trailing behind. The kid tries to appear disinterested and bored, but coming to his dad’s place, somewhere Stiles had been on a few occasions before, and clearly tired from the trip, was making the attempt look more adorable and bratty than anything else. Pale and drawn, the kid follows, scuffing his feet as they finally head over to the other business venture the ranch housed. A wonky ‘Vernon’ sign sat above the doors.

“This is the garage I was telling you about. Boyd and Isaac are the mechanics that run it,” Derek tells him. “You’ll met them and the others tomorrow. Erica’s bark is worse than her bite.”

Stiles eyebrows raise but Derek doesn’t say anything else, turning on his heel and heading back to the house. Stiles is practically dead on his feet when they get there, so he decides to show the kid directly to the guest room, only stopping to point towards the bathroom. “We’ll do the house rules tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” Stiles mutters, dumping his bags before crawling on top of the bed covers fully clothed.

“Night,” Derek says with a roll of the eyes. Stiles grunts in reply and Derek realises that’s the closest he’s going to get to a pleasantry. Flicking the light off, he stops just short of the door, already hearing the soft, exhausted snores.





Stiles is awoken to his bed shaking.

“Wha…” he says blearily, trying to blink the daylight back into focus. When his sight finally clears there’s a face peering back at him. A child to be precise. “Shit!” he says a little too loudly, startled.

“You said a bad word,” the boy says, bouncing back.

“Who the hell are you?” Stiles says. He tries to drag his trapped legs out from under the boy, who rolls over effortlessly, bouncing on the mattress.

“Corey,” the boy says cheerfully, continuing to bounce up and down on the mattress. “Fun fact. My Mom and dad thought they were gonna have a girl and they were gonna call me after my dad’s sister Cora but then they had me instead and had to change the name. I never met her but apparently she was awesome…”

A woman with short brown hair flies through the open door, making a beeline for the bed. “I told you to wait in the car,” she scolds the boy.

“Daddy,” the boy squeals in delight, ignoring the woman and jumps from the bed, running into Derek’s open arms.

“Hey, bud…” Derek states, lifting the boy up and swinging him around. “Say sorry to Stiles for waking him up.”

“Stiles is a silly name,” the boy frowns as Derek put him back down on his feet.

“Corey…” Derek warns him, quietly.

“Sorry, Stiles…” Corey states before tugging on Derek’s sleeve. “I just wanted to say hello.”

“I know you did, buddy…” Derek says, planting a big hand over his son’s head. Stiles peers up from the bed. The woman glares down at him and then back up at Derek. It was obvious that there was some disagreement between the two and from the way she kept eye-balling him he was pretty certain it was to do with him. “Listen, kiddo. Why don’t you go down and see if Aunt Laura needs your help. You mom and me need to talk.”

“Okay,” Corey nods enthusiastically, before trotting off with more energy than Stiles had ever had, even with his own ADHD and over-activity. “See you later, Stiles…” the boy shouts over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah. Bye…” Stiles says, not entirely sure what the hell just happened.

“Stiles,” Derek greets. “Sorry about that. That was my son, Corey, if you hadn’t figured it out and this…” he waves at the woman. “Is my ex-wife, Paige.”

“Hey,” Stiles says at the glaring woman, wearily. He knows he looks sleep-crusty and his clothes rumpled and he doesn’t even know why he has the sudden need to try and straighten them out. He shouldn’t care what any of these people think of him – he only had to be here until he was old enough to leave and then he’d blow the joint and go anywhere he wanted. He could do two years, right?

“We need to talk,” Paige snaps at Derek instead, pushing past her ex and heading back out into the hall. Rude.

Derek heaves a breath in, sighing. “Go back to bed,” Derek tells him. “It’s still early.”

“Was intending to,” Stiles says, rolling over and burying his face back into the pillow.

It doesn’t take long and he manages to drift into a pleasant doze, only rousing when raised voices penetrate his sleep-addled brain, muffled against the door. Sitting up, inkling closer on the bed, he strains to listen to the words.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I did. We discussed this.”

“But we didn’t agree on anything.”

“They brought the case forward. I didn’t have time to…”

“You could have at least called, Derek. Even a message. A ‘Hey, Paige, I’m bringing a juvenile delinquent home with me,’ would have done.”

“He’s not a juvenile delinquent,” he hears Derek snort.

“Have you seen him?” the exasperated tone to her voice is evident to his ears. “He looks like a punk. Corey sleeps here, Derek. He could be dangerous.”

Stiles cringes at that.

“One mistake doesn’t make him dangerous,” Derek sighs. “Corey is fine, Paige. I would never put him at risk. Stiles has had psych evals that say he’s safe. He just needs a second chance.”

“He assaulted his step-dad!”

Boyfriend, Stiles silently corrected. They weren’t married yet.

“Frank Willis has a record that’s nothing compared to Stiles.”

“Are you saying he deserved it?”

“I’m not saying that, Paige…” he hears Derek say. “I’m saying that the man is a nasty piece of work with a known record of domestic abuse and assault as well a litany of other offences. Someone needs to give Stiles a second chance at life.”

“He hit his step-dad over the head with a fire-poker,” Paige snaps loudly. Too loudly for them not to realise he could hear, even if he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes out, dropping back down on the bed.

He had done that. And he didn’t regret one bit of it.