"Then Death said to Life," He looked down at the toddler tucked away quietly "You are the beautiful lie, and I'm the ugly truth," He rubbed his thumb over the small child's forehead and smiled softly.

"Why is Death Ugly?" the boy asked; his eyes fluttering.

"Death isn't ugly Jethro, He's just—misunderstood," He kissed the boy's head and turned off his lamp. The boy's breaths' were shallow and consistent, his eyes shut.

He took one last look at the small body in front of him then stood up carefully and quietly. He reached for the door handle—

"Stiles?" the boy called "Daddy?"

"Yes, Jethro?"

"I wuv you," the boys' words ran in his ears; no matter how many times he's heard Jethro say he loves him, it's never easy, it's like a huge punch in the heart. His voice was caught in his throat for a moment. "I love you too, bud," He smiled over his shoulder and then walked out. He heard the sigh in relief from the boy as Stiles made sure there was a creak so the hall light could beam through.

Stiles headed down his, what seemed to be too long of a hallway; pictures of him, Jethro, and many other children looked after.

Jethro—Jethro was different. Stiles found Jethro three years ago, when he was just a helpless baby. Stiles took to raising him differently then he other children he fostered. Jethro called him Daddy, while the other's called him by his name or 'Papa'. Stiles hasn't had recent foster children in his home, so it was Jethro and himself.

Stiles took a step into his kitchen before freezing in his tracks. Stiles remembers the first night he met Jethro.

- "Oh my god," Stiles reached down into an old worn out cardboard box, "Who would dare leave you out here, in this weather," It was snowing in Beacon Hills, it was a big surprises and Stiles simply adore snow. Jethro was lucky Stiles was on a walk that very afternoon.

Stiles stared down at the sleeping bundle in his arms. Baby blue blankets that were now tangled within his arms; The baby wore a poke-a-dotted baby blue and white hat. "You must be a baby boy," Stiles swayed gently, he feared that the cold had already taken he baby.

But the sweet child let out a yelp, or a hiccup, "There you are," Stiles cooed the baby quietly. Stiles looked around the area, just an alley way by Dr. Deaton's office. He wasn't in today, otherwise he would have seen who ever left the child. The baby let out a whine then began to cry, Stiles rocked him in his arms holding him closer to his body.

"It's okay, you're safe now," Stiles hoisted the child up to his lips and gently placed a kiss on the crying child's forehead.

~ Stiles was sitting on a stool in his kitchen. He remembers all the paper work and the doctor appointments. For the first few days Stiles didn't want the child out of his sight, let alone out of his arms. Because that's where Jethro spent his first few months; Stiles went from twenty-one year old foster dad, to twenty-one year old dad.

It was worth it. The three years since Jethro's arrival; Stiles' life has been nothing but happy. He seems to forget what it was life without him; he finds himself wondering how he'd managed to actually live without Jethro in his life. The boy is his life.

Stiles ran his hands over his face "Let's call it a night," He said to himself. He headed off to his bedroom just down the hall from Jethro's room. He was glad his Dad helped him find a place where his shower was separate from the rest of the house; Jethro liked to walk in unannounced. Stiles didn't mind, not until he needed his own private time; he wasn't ready to give that talk. Not to his three year old son.

Stiles was also grateful that Jethro wasn't that much different in appearance. The boy never asked question about why he didn't look like Stiles, or why they were different.

But then again, Jethro was different.

Stiles took a long shower, longer then his usual ten minute showers. He was tired, Stiles didn't even understand why. He didn't do much, but work on his novel and keep an eye on Jethro. Stiles sometimes wishes Jethro wasn't so quite; the boy isn't a troublemaker, but is rebellious. When Stiles was in the living room on his main computer, his son asked him a particular question.

"Daddy," He looked back at his father, who sat still for a moment then turned to face him

"Yes?" He smiled with a raised eyebrow

"How come I don't have a mommy?" Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat as he remembered the words. Stiles didn't have the heart to tell his three year old the right answer, nor did he want to lie to him. So he told him the next best thing.

"That's because I have someone special in mind," But his son just rolled his eyes, "But you don't like ladies, Daddy,"

Witty, his son was witty. He was only THREE. But he was right, Stiles partners were far from female, but that didn't mean he couldn't provide for his son. Stiles smiled at his son, the boy sat in the middle of the living room floor, his legs apart as he horded little soldiers and dinosaurs. Stiles wasn't expecting what came out of the boys mouth.

"I don't mind a Papa,"