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"I'm going to name you Derek," Stiles announces, still looking cross-eyed at the puppy in his hands. It's looking back with a confused and sad expression, probably asking Stiles in some baby dog language why it's being named after a brooding werewolf. "It's because you're always sulking, even though I got you a nice basket and biscuits and everything," he says sternly. The puppy whines and hangs its head.

Derek is pretty cute.

Also: this name thing? Is totally weirding Stiles out.

"Okay," he amends, "maybe I won't call you Derek. I'll call you Dee. Not Dee-Dee, because I don't want to be Dexter, and you're not a blonde with a big head and too-thin legs. Dee. Better than Derek?"

"What's better than Derek?"

Stiles does not drop Dee. He does, however, let out a garbled nngah, and trips backwards onto his bed. Derek, the real brooding black-leather-jacket-wearing werewolf Derek, doesn't look surprised and/or amused.

"Hello, Derek. Meet Dee." Stiles lifts the Husky puppy up like a sacrifice towards Derek, who looks vaguely disgusted, which is rude considering that Dee is an adorable ball of fur with slightly sharp teeth. "Dee, this is your namesake. Go ahead and pout at him, because he's a werewolf Alpha with issues. We are not scared of Derek."

The puppy sniffs at Derek's shirt and sneezes.


Stiles can deal with Dee. He can deal with puppy poop—for a small little thing, Dee can poo a hell of a lot, and often—and the teething. And the fact that Dee doesn't like thunder or his basket, which is why he's taken to sleeping with Stiles in Stiles's bed.

Stiles tries not to think about it as him literally sleeping with Derek.

Not the best way to go.

Especially when he has a puppy snoring on his stomach. Stiles is many things, but he's not the kind of guy who jerks off while an innocent Dee is snuffling around his torso.

He's also not the kind of guy who usually goes to bed thinking about an unattainable and incredibly hot werewolf.

Stiles is, however, an inconsistent liar at best.


When Allison sees Stiles and Dee approach the Hale house, she yells, "He's so cute!" Stiles, of course, doesn't miss a beat and selfishly claims the compliment for himself, even if everyone ignores him to gush over the puppy. Who is getting really heavy ever since he licked Stiles's fingers for the first time three months ago.

It's funny to see the pack reacting to Dee; Lydia's dropped her Mask of Evil, and is trying to groom Dee's fur, snatching the brush out of Stiles's jeans. Scott's actively sniffing the puppy, smiling like, well, a puppy. Even Jackson is grinning, but that's only when Erica and Jackson crowd in and block Dee's view of Stiles, which leads to the puppy howling.

"Why is my pack babysitting your pup?" Derek asks, when he comes out onto the porch, frowning. Even Boyd jogs over to the rest of the pack with a sheepish look at his Alpha. "Also, your pup? Needs a pack leader."

"You know how you always go on about I am the Alpha?" Stiles says, coughing after attempting and failing to imitate Derek's wolfed-out voice. "Well, Stiles here is a very good pack leader of his own little pack duo. Dee over there rolls over when Stiles tell him too, and doesn't chew up the fridge and/or any other household appliances. Or shoes, or the carpet."

Derek looks at him unbelievingly.

Stiles gets his revenge when the pack go inside, finally, and Dee pees on Derek's shoes.



The whisper is sharp enough to wake Stiles. He scrambles to his feet when he sees Derek, but manages not to dislodge Dee from his nest beside Stiles's body.

"What are you doing here? This isn't about Dee pooping in your backyard, is it, because I cleaned that up. I remember that part very vividly, and—what is that?"

Derek opens his jacket a little wider and shows Stiles the wolf cub. It's sniffling in the warm cocoon of what looks like another of Derek's shirts, and it's tiny.

"I found it in the woods. Can't be more than two weeks old." Derek's voice is soft, but also edged with worry. "I didn't know what to do, so I brought it here."

"I can see that," Stiles says, running a finger lightly over the coarse fur and plucking a small leaf out. "What do you want me to do? I don't know anything about baby wolves." That's half of a lie, because when he'd first found out about Scott, Stiles had researched extensively about werewolves and then about wolves, because, you know, facts are fun. "You should know about baby wolves."

"How the hell should I know? I didn't have cubs to take care of, not young ones like this! Huskies are descended from wolves, right? So you take care of it." Derek is clearly flustered; Stiles relishes this moment for exactly three seconds before pulling the older guy into Stiles room, because for some reason, both of them are in a strange balancing act on the windowsill.

"You," Stiles points to Derek, "sit there." Derek plops down onto the mattress, Dee staring at him suspiciously and sniffing at the small bundle. "Pack leader Stiles will refresh his memory about baby wolves and also get some milk. And stop referring to himself in the third person."


"He stayed over?" Scott says, laughing. "You and Derek, wolf parents?"

"No no, Scott, no no. Not wolf parents. I am a pack leader. My pack apparently now includes Derek's little wolf cub because the guy makes Laura cry. Derek's idea," Stiles says, when Scott looks confused. "And how did you know that he stayed over?"

"Dude," Scott replies, and Stiles is still not used to Scott looking at him with the it's-so-obvious look, even if it only appears once in a long while—usually when they're talking about wolfy things, which is unfair, because Stiles doesn't have that firsthand knowledge. "You smell like him. Maybe that's a good thing."

"How is it a good thing that I apparently reek of Eau de Derek?"

Scott shrugs. "Maybe it'll make Dee less aggressive towards Derek, and maybe Laura won't be so scared of him. I mean, it took some time for you to stop being scared of Derek, right?"


Stiles pokes his head out of his jeep. "Hellooooo? Anyone home?" Dee scrambles onto his lap to hang his head out of the window and howl.

"You are a menace," Derek says, scowling as he appears at the door with Laura. "And what are you doing here? It's not a training day for the pack. Scott's probably off with Allison."

"And doing things that I am envious of but will not talk about." Stiles and Dee head over towards the house. "I am here to socialize your wild wolf child. I read it on the Internet, okay. And you've got to start bringing her along to pack sessions too, because, you know, bonding. And so that she doesn't just learn antisocial behavior from you and scare people away. Not that you scare me, I'm just, you know, saying."

Derek stares at him for a while. "Make sure he doesn't crap on my shoes again."

Stiles grins and picks Dee up. "You know, I think he has a crush. On your shoes."

"Shut up, Stiles."


The first full moon since they—well, technically, Laura is Derek's, but Stiles kind of maybe has a part in whatever this is—got Laura is the next day, so Stiles naturally has to do babysitting duty.

"She's going to howl," he says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. There're in the Hale kitchen, and Laura and Dee are playing catch-my-tail around their feet. It's sickly domestic, given that the rest of the pack are either gamboling around outside or kicking each other's asses on the Xbox, but Stiles finds that he doesn't mind it too much. "And that will set Dee off, and I won't get any sleep. So you owe me for this, even though I'm the only logical resource you have."

"Fine." Derek should start cutting back on the gritting of teeth. He's going to wear out his canines. And that is not good. Because he needs them to fight, and Stiles doesn't know if werewolf healing abilities include dental work. "How many is that now?"

"Oh, I haven't been keeping count. In the region of maybe—I don't know—one hundred and sixty-three? You racked up a lot of points in the first week."

Stiles thinks that he should probably not enjoy seeing Derek flinch so much. "How is that even possible? And how do you want to spend those points? I don't think even you could eat that much pizza."

Stiles huffs, because he totally can. With Scott's help, because eating pizza by your lonesome is something that Stiles is pretty well-acquainted with, and it isn't fun. "One point for every time you turned to me with your manpain and said that you couldn't do it. Two points for every time I had to wipe her poop off, because you insisted that you couldn't do it, even though you are totally fine with puking up black guts in front of me and freaking me out. And five points for telling me to shut up, even though I have been nought but a quality source of knowledge to you."

"Only because you have the internet, and you never listen anyway." Derek rolls his eyes when Laura gets tired of nipping at Dee's tail and they both decide to nip at the hem of Derek's jeans instead.

"True, but rude." Stiles catches Dee by the scruff of his neck and hauls him onto the kitchen table. "I will have a think on the points expenditure. I'll even draft up a point spending system; that should be fun, since I won't be able to sleep until you all stop wolfing out."

Derek just grunts. He takes out a bundle of cloth from the seat of a chair and hands it to Stiles. "She likes that shirt. And yes, it's clean."

Stiles sniffs at it, because he's a masochist, but thankfully it doesn't smell like sweat. It does smell somewhat like Derek though, all woodsy and… wolfy. (Hey, maybe werewolf senses can rub off on people! Not a likely scenario, but Stiles sometimes harbors daydreams of becoming a not-werewolf superperson. Like how he has dreams sometimes about dark leather and werewolves. Or not. Stiles has issues to deal with.) "Might calm her down. Scott says I smell like you though?"

"Yes," Derek says, again with the gritted teeth. "Because you're always here all the time, like a parasite. But it's not strong enough."

"Okay. So do I wear it?" He means it as a joke, because he's Stiles.

Derek's eyes flash red, and Stiles blinks. "No. Definitely not."


The full moon passes without much incident, no were-lizards or vengeful uncles or hunters. Stiles spends his time researching more about baby wolves, and about wolf scents, and at one point he considers making a spreadsheet for his points expenditure, but decides on scrap paper and a pencil instead. Laura, surprisingly, doesn't howl, being perfectly comfortable in a mixed nest of Derek's shirt and Stiles's blankets. Dee's quietly curved around her, and Stiles, well, Stiles thinks it's pretty awesome. He might have snapped a picture. Or several. And set one as his wallpaper, because that's his life now, apparently.


"What are you wearing?"

Stiles looks down at himself. "Your shirt, and it's not my first choice, so stop trying to burn me alive with your red Alpha eyes, honey, and whoa, you do not like being called that do you?"


He sighs, and rubs a hand through his short hair. "Laura wouldn't get into the jeep. I put her in your shirt, she howls. I put her in my shirt, she howls. I wear your shirt, and she's surprisingly okay, so just deal, okay? I'll wash it and everything." Stiles squints at Derek, Laura rubbing her head against Stiles's belly.

"Do you know how you smell?" Derek inches forward, and pulls Stiles into the dark Hale house, Dee yelping and running to land on the couch.

"I—I took a shower, so lemon?" Stiles tries to giggle, and squeezes past Derek to place a struggling Laura next to Dee. "What's wrong with you? It's the full moon, isn't it? Oh god, you're going to be insane in the day now? Is that a new Alpha development?"

"Stiles," Derek says, a hint of a growl in his voice, backing Stiles up against the wall. "Shut up." He lowers his head and sniffs at Stiles's throat, little puffs of air blowing onto the curve of Stiles's neck.

Stiles can hear himself swallow. God, they've—they? They?—moved from wolf parents to this and Stiles isn't complaining, not really, because wow his daydreams were pitiful compared to this; but god.

"You smell like warm pancakes," Derek rumbles, a hand reaching up to stroke Stiles's cheek. "And ink and paper. And me."

Stiles is desperately holding on to Derek's last request—not order, because, no, not even going there—but he literally whines when Derek's lips press against his jugular, tongue licking the skin in an open-mouthed kiss. "I've smelled like you for weeks," he blurts out.

"My wolf likes it a lot." Derek's mutter sends shivers down Stiles's spine, which only serves to make Derek press against him harder, and Stiles's issues are flying out of the window, because this is real. "And I like it a lot too."

Funny thing is, Stiles is the one to kiss Derek first.


"You know what this means, don't you?" Stiles says, his lips still tingling. Laura's nuzzling into the shirt that he's still wearing, already closing her eyes for a nap.

"What?" Derek's expression is wary even as he pets Dee to sleep, as if Stiles is going to go on about the possibility of spending his points on sexual favors again—Stiles had babbled about it after the first kiss. The second kiss was Derek's way of shutting him up, and Stiles doesn't mind if Derek employs the method many more times in the future.

"Scott's right. We're wolf parents." Stiles just laughs when Derek looks somewhat in between revolted and happy, and they stay like that on the couch until Dee inevitably starts peeing on Derek's lap.