Standing in front of the microwave on the counter in his father's home, Stiles Hale grimaced as he took a sip of cold lumpy coffee from his mug.
Stiles stared at the digital clock on the machine, setting the mug inside to be warmed for a minute. The clock read 6:37PM.
"Christ," Stiles whispered, wondering where the day had gone.
At twenty-six years old, Stiles was graciously employed and housed by his father, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, CA, while he remained separated from his husband of almost eight years: Derek Hale.
At the thought of Derek, Stiles stared down at the wedding band still on his hand, twisting it while he waited for his coffee to warm. He was pulled out of his thoughts when both the microwave beeped at the end of the minute and his father entered the kitchen.
"Rough day, son?" his father asked.
"You already know, Pops," Stiles said.
"Hmm," his father said, reaching into a cupboard for another coffee mug, "What are you serving tonight?"
"I have cold sludge and warm sludge, what's your preference?" Stiles asked, holding up the coffee pot still filled with a fourth of that mornings coffee.
"You spoil me, son," his father said, reaching behind Stiles to open the microwave door and steal the warm mug.
"Hey!" Stiles said, forming a pout with his mouth, "I worked hard for that."
"Respect your elders," his father said, taking a sip before grimacing, "Maybe we need a Keurig."
"Or a decent coffee press, if I could trust somebody not to break it in the morning," Stiles said.
"Speaking of him," his father said, resting against the counter to face Stiles, "Where is Scotty?"
"I'm sure they're on their way, Pops," Stiles said, sighing as he turned to face the pile of dishes in the sink.
"They're late, Stiles," his father said.
"We haven't gotten a call, and I'm trying to give him some space," Stiles said, "If I set him up to be a bad father, he will be."
"I suppose we would know by now if he hadn't picked Scotty up from school," his father said, nodding.
"Still, Stiles, you've been separated for almost six months, when do you start to consider divorce?" his father asked.
"Dad, can we not do this right now?" Stiles asked.
"I saw his car parked outside the motel again, Stiles," his father said, sighing.
Stiles tensed against the counter.
"Maybe he's staying there," Stiles said.
"You know damn well that Isaac wouldn't be calling you ever day to bitch about him, if that sorry excuse for an alpha weren't staying at the Hale house," his father said, crossing his arms in front of his torso, "He's not staying at the motel for survival, Stiles."
"We're separated, dad," Stiles said, shrugging his shoulders and still facing the window overlooking the driveway, "He can do what he wants."
"But he shouldn't," his father said.
"Fuck, dad," Stiles said, turning around to face his father, "I know that. God damn it, don't you think I know that?!"
Stiles felt his face heat with anger.
"Okay," his father said, raising his hands in a placating manner, "Okay, I just wanted to be sure. You say so little about it these days, I'm not sure if I'm sharing a house with you anymore – the only time I see you express emotion is with Scotty, and that's not everything you're feeling, son. I miss you, and I just wish you'd let me help you."
"You are helping me, Pops," Stiles said, raising a hand to rub at his temples, "And I can't thank you enough for how much you're doing for me and Scotty, but Scotty needs something normal right now. He's six years old. An angry or sad daddy is not normal, and I've already broken up our family."
"Stiles," his father said, putting a hand on the back of Stiles's neck, "You did not break up your family. You stood up for yourself when you saw something was wrong, and that's the kind of behavior Scotty needs to see."
"It's just hard, dad," Stiles said, "And a divorce would be even more difficult. I'm still confused about my feelings for Derek, and Talia already goes out of her way to make my days miserable."
"Who gives a fuck about Talia?" his father asked, "She's an entitled bully, and she refuses to accept the part her son has played in your relationship. Stiles, I can't help you by giving you advice on what to do – you're not going to listen to me, but I can listen to you. And maybe you can understand what's best for you, or what your next step is, by talking to me."
"Well, we're not doing it now," Stiles said, looking outside the window again, "They just pulled up. We're not talking about this while little wolf ears are listening, so put your best grandpa smile on."
"Smiling for Scotty is not a chore," his father said, leaning into Stiles's space to peer out the window, too.
Both men chuckled as they watched a young boy with a small frame and a huge head struggle to exit the black Chevrolet Camaro now parked in the driveway.
"You've gotta undo the seatbelt, Scotty," Stiles shouted, knowing his son would hear him.
"Oh, yeah," Scott said, thick dark locks nodding as he turned back inside the car.
Stiles thought Scott looked so much like Derek Hale that it hurt somedays. It was obvious whose genes had taken in the surrogacy – neither Derek nor Stiles had sought out the actual paternity results, though they hadn't really needed to. Where Derek was a thick frame of muscle with broad shoulders and tanned skin with dark silky hair, Stiles was a smaller frame of lean lines and dark freckles contrasting against his pale skin. Scotty was all Hale, through and through.
"Daddy!" Scott yelled, tripping on the frame of the kitchen door and stumbling into Stiles.
Except for his personality and quirks, maybe. He might be a Stilinski where those matters counted.
"Hey, Scotty!" Stiles said, smiling widely as he picked his son up for a hug, "How was your day, huh?"
"Awesome!" Scott yelled, "Mr. Jack played with me after school – wolves and lizards!"
"That's super exciting," Stiles said, still smiling and nodding his head, "Was Mr. Jack the wolf today?"
"Don't be silly, daddy," Scott said, scowling back at Stiles, "I'm the wolf, see?"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot after we gave you that bath last week," Stiles said, laughing at the small fur sprouting on Scott's face and his son's attempt to growl, "Do you have a lot of homework, Scotty?"
"Nope," Scott said, shaking his head back and forth dramatically, almost falling out of Stiles's arms.
"Hmm…" Stiles said, reaching around to the book bag attached to Scott's back, "This feels awful heavy for no homework, you aren't keeping your hunts in there are you? Is this full of Bambis?"
"Dad," Scott said, rolling his eyes, "Its got my trucks in there, remember? You helped me pack them."
"Oh, yeah," Stiles said, smiling at the unsaid 'duh' and the young sarcasm already gleaming through his son, "Well, why don't you see if Grandpa will help you unpack them before bed, huh, pal?"
"Okay, come on, Gramps," Scott said, hurrying down and out of Stiles's arms, already tugging on his grandfather's leg, "Oh, wait–"
Scott turned around to race toward Derek, slouched in the corner silently observing the room.
"Bye, Papa," Scott said, clinging to Derek's neck before jumping back down to the floor, "Grandpa, if we hurry, I'll have time to help you unpack your gun."
"You got a lizard to shoot or something, Scotty?" the Sheriff asked, following Scott out of the kitchen.
Stiles finally turned to greet Derek. He was wearing the gray sweat pants that Stiles loved on him. They made him look so soft, like a walking Sunday morning.
"Hey," Derek said, nodding his head at Stiles.
"Hey," Stiles said, leaning against the kitchen counter, "So you were late again?"
"Just by a little bit," Derek said, rolling his eyes and huffing, "I got tied up at work, and I knew that Jackson wouldn't mind some extra time with Scotty."
"He doesn't mind," Stiles said, shaking his head, "But it's not his job, Derek. He's a teacher, not a babysitter – do you get how rude that is? We're really lucky that Scotty's teacher likes him so much, that he takes such a big interest in helping our son, and that's he's an amazing teacher, too. Parents around the world would kill for a teacher like Jackson, you can't just continue to abuse him like that."
Derek snorted.
"Jackson's interest isn't in our son, Stiles, and you know it," Derek said, eyes briefly flashing red.
"Come on, outside," Stiles said, motioning for Derek to follow him out of the kitchen, "Little ears, remember?"
Stiles sat on the small staircase leading to the sidewalk, looking up at the dark cloudy sky above while waiting for Derek to join him.
"It's not fair to Scotty either," Stiles said once Derek had sat down, "How does he know he's a priority to you if you're always late to things – especially the Epic Derek and Scotty Days of Awesome Exploration that he babbles on about all week."
"Hey, me seeing my son only a few days out of the week wasn't my idea," Derek said turning to glare at Stiles, "And if I'm a little late getting there from time to time because of work – so I can help support us, then fuck, I don't know what to tell you."
"Derek, it shouldn't be like this," Stiles said, "It wasn't like this."
Derek remained silent. Stiles reached his hands up to cover his own face, letting the wind that was picking up fill the silence between them.
"Hey," Derek said, leaning into Stiles's neck, "Come on, I'm sorry. I'm just stressed, and I got defensive because I felt like you were attacking me. Don't cry, baby."
Stiles felt the familiar scrape of Derek's scruff move against the back of his neck, light breathes ghosting against the surface of the skin, and thick lips moving in to press against –
"Derek, stop," Stiles said, pushing Derek away, "I told you that we shouldn't be doing that right now. Sex confuses things."
"Yeah, well, sometimes it solves things," Derek said, pulling one of Stiles's hands against the alpha's crotch, "God damn it, Stiles, it's been so long since we were just us. Let's just be us."
The light sound of thunder rolled above them.
"Knock it off," Stiles said, pulling his hand back, "I told you not while we're separated, and not while you're still fucking around with Kate."
"Who told you that?" Derek growled, pulling hard on Stiles's arm, "Was it Jackson? Did he think he'd get a shot at putting his dick in you by spying on me?"
"God, that is just the most flattering compliment you've given me this year. You really are paranoid, you know that?" Stiles asked, placing a hand on Derek's own hand that was starting to unsheathe claws, "Let go of my arm, you're hurting me."
Derek reeled back in shock, like he hadn't realized his control had been slipping. Stiles wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
"Stiles–" Derek said.
"Save it, Derek," Stiles said, rubbing at his arm, "We need to figure some shit out, and sooner than later. My dad keeps asking me if we're getting divorced, and I can't blame him. Six months of separation isn't a marriage, and neither is you parking outside the fucking Norman Bates motel because I refuse to put out while we're on pause."
Stiles felt a small drop of rain fall onto his arm.
"For me you mean," Derek snorted, offering an ugly smirk to Stiles.
"For anyone," Stiles said staring back at Derek, "And I think you just reminded me why you should go now."
"Stiles–" Derek said.
"I don't have much more to say right now that's productive," Stiles said, still staring at Derek, "And I don't want to look back some day and think that I didn't give us every opportunity to repair our marriage by saying something out of the heat of the moment, so I'm asking you to please leave, Derek. We need a marriage counselor, or a family therapist, or something if we're serious about making us us again."
Derek glared back at Stiles.
"Stiles, I'm not going to waste time and money so some quack can further our issues," Derek said, eyes bleeding red now, "And I'm sure as hell not walking away from this family, so you better get that through your head right now."
Stiles clenched his jaw at the stubbornness of his husband.
"Scott is mine, and you are mine," Derek said, grabbing tightly onto Stiles's chin, "And I'll end anyone that tries to step between us."
The pair turned at the sound of a handgun cocking behind them.
"I think my son asked you to leave, Hale," the Sheriff said from the kitchen door, "And Scotty's waiting to check his closet for lizards with you, Stiles."
Derek dropped his hand from Stiles's face, and puffed his chest out as he stood up from the stairs.
"Make sure Jackson Fucking Whittemore gets my message, Stiles," Derek said, "It's the only warning he'll get."
Stiles remained seated on the steps as he watched Derek walk back to his car, twisting his wedding band on his finger. His father finally joined him as Derek pulled out of the drive. Somewhere far to the right, lightning struck. Dark clouds shifted, telling Stiles that the storm was headed their way.
"You okay, son?" his father asked.
"Not at all, Pops," Stiles said, shaking his head, "And I'm really tired of feeling fucking sorry for myself and all that other bullshit. I've got a son to raise, and that means I need to figure some things out. I feel a storm coming on."
The Sheriff nodded his head.
"But first," Stiles said, standing up, "I've got an imaginary lizard to track down and tie up."
"Leave me some dental floss this time, Stiles," his father said, "Or you know, use your own."
"Sorry, Pops," Stiles said, walking into the house, "Scotty insists that Sheriff floss is way stronger and better for catching lizards, and his face is just too cute to let down."
The Sheriff snorted, and he followed Stiles into the house just as the sporadic drops of rain became a steady downpour. The lull of rushing water and wind colliding with the earth filled the neighborhood.