Chapter Two
Sixteen hours.
Stiles stifled a sob as he stared at his phone, wondering how to explain everything that had happened in the past day and a half to his husband.
How do you tell the man you love that you'd committed ritualistic suicide just days after giving birth to your child? How do you explain to him that for sixteen hours you'd been dead and he'd had been a widow? That you hadn't even called to say goodbye? How do you explain fighting a pack of Alphas as a human, armed with nothing but a baseball bat and drained magic?
Most importantly, how do you plead for his forgiveness?
He stood shakily, his body still sore from both birth and the battle that had followed, and dialed the number he'd memorized better than his own.
It rang once, then twice, then his husband's voice sounded in his ear warm and graveled by sleep.
"Lo?"
"Hey, were you asleep?"
Ares hummed. "Not really. Bazyli misses his mama, wouldn't rest until I played the lullaby you recorded for me. Are you okay?"
He wanted to lie, wanted to slap on that fake smile he used with the pack and say, "I'm fine," but he couldn't bring himself to do so.
Instead a broken sob left his lips.
"No."
He could hear the man shuffling around on the other end of the line and before he could try to repeal his statement, the entire story tumbled for his lips. When he got to the part about him, Allison and Scott committing suicide to become surrogate sacrifices, he heard his husband inhale sharply. He wanted to stop, wanted to assure him that everything was fine, but he couldn't. He told him about finally defeating the Alpha pack and how angry he was at Scott for letting Deucalion go.
About the Darach being weakened then escaping and about feeling her death through the new bond between him and the Nemeton. He even confided that he suspected that he'd been bound more intimately to the Nemeton that the others because he could feel it's presence like a steady hum in the back of his mind. After a while, his story wound down into sobbed apologies and pleas for forgiveness and Ares was whispering soothing words to him, so eerily reminiscent of the night he told him about Gerard and the pack.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Sh, I…I won't say it's okay because it's not but I understand. If it was mother or Esmeralda, I would've done the same thing. Just…fuck, cariño, I need you. I don't know what I would've done if Dr. Deaton had called me and told me I lost you. I love you."
He sniffled. "I'm telling Dad everything tomorrow. I can't- I need to. If something happens to me or you, he'll need to know."
"I know." Ares sighed. "I'll come over tomorrow with Bazyli. So, he can meet us both. Mama is taking Esmeralda shopping tomorrow…they still don't know about werewolves or any of the sort so everything you told me tonight will be between us like always."
"Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too. Get some rest."
He smiled and laid down, feeling the weight in his chest lift,
"I will. Kiss Bazyli goodnight for me?"
"Of course."
The call ended and he closed his eyes, the day's events taking their toll on his worn body. As he slipped into oblivion he found himself yearning for his husband's strong arms to hold him and keep him safe from the world.
Noah Stilinski wasn't sure what to think when he walked into his kitchen that morning and found his son stress cooking breakfast.
After discovering the existence of the supernatural the day before, being kidnapped, and being held hostage by a revenge-driven woman calling herself a Darach, his entire world had been turned on its head.
For over two years his son had been running around with werewolves in more danger than anything Noah had ever faced. More danger than Noah even knew he had to protect him from, and knowing his son as well as he did, he knew here was only one reason for the teen to keep this from him.
Protection.
Since Claudia's death, his son had developed an overprotective streak longer than any parent's. At most times he didn't mind, because it was pointless things like his diet and monitoring his work calls, or conducting maintenance checks on all the guns they kept in the house. But this, this was dangerous.
Stiles could've died and he would've had no clue until someone found his baby's cooling corpse in the preserve or worse.
No.
This had to stop.
He opened his mouth to speak but Stiles cut him off before he could.
"Sit. We'll talk about that later but first I have something I need to tell you."
"More important than werewolves?" He deadpanned noting the nervous tension lining his child's frame.
His son nodded, setting the table for three and his eyebrow rose when he caught a glint of rose gold near the teen's hands before he moved back to the stove.
"Much more important." Stiles agreed, returning with a plate piled high with pancakes and a plate with egg whites. He made one last trip to the stove, returning with a plate piled with sausages and a plate of warm chocolate chip muffins.
Once everything was settled, he bit his lips wringing his hands nervously.
"So, I- I," He tried then growled in frustration when whatever he was trying to say wouldn't come out. Noah frowned worriedly.
"Deep breaths, son."
"I'm married!" He blurted out suddenly before covering his mouth, wide-eyed.
The sheriff froze.
He wanted to think he'd heard incorrectly but seeing the rose-gold rings on his son's finger he didn't think he had.
There were two. The engagement ring was a slim band wound around a topaz stone shaped like a treble clef. Two tiny diamonds were on either side of the small treble clef, bringing the whole design together. The other ring was only the slightest bit wider than the first, with no obvious designs on it, but it showed off his son's slender fingers.
Both looked expensive despite their almost simplistic designs and he couldn't help but wonder how this had happened without his knowledge.
Stiles, seeing his reaction started to babble. "We got married about a week before Junior year and we were dating for about seven months before that. I- we kinda danced around each other for a year before we got together. I-he's – we have a son. His name is Bazyli. He's four days and they're coming to breakfast. I wanted to tell you- I tried but I- we're never- I mean-"
His breathing sped up and he looked close to hyperventilating and Noah hurriedly pulled him into a hug.
"Oh, Kochanie. Breathe. Calm down and just breathe."
"B-but you're mad at me." He whimpered and he sounded so much like the small child Noah used to tuck into bed at night that he couldn't help holding him tighter.
"I am. But only because you've kept this from me. Werewolves, marriage, children? That's a lot of information for one man, Stiles. Just give me time to process, okay?"
He nodded and pulled away with a sigh, eyes lighting up as a knock sounded at the door.
Moving as fast as his sore body would allow, the teen sped toward the door. Noah, started filling his plate, curious about his son's husband as he heard them talking softly.
After a moment, Stiles returned holding a newborn to his chest, a tall dark-haired man following behind him with a soft smile.
"Dad, this is Ares Cisneros, my husband. And this," He leaned down so Noah could see the sleeping child in his arms, "Is Bazyli."
Noah stared at the small family wide-eyed.
He didn't know what he'd expected form his son's husband but the burly, long-haired man in front of him hadn't been it. All the same, he could see how well they fit together and as Ares shook his hand, he could feel the strength the man carried.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Stilinski. Mi cariño talks about you constantly, all good things…other than your diet."
He gave a startled chuckle, having not expected the last comment, and Stiles pouted.
"Nice to me you too, Ares. Call me Noah."
He received a warm smile and a chuckle.
The breakfast that followed was a surreal experience.
He was told about how they'd met at The Pit, something that made him laugh because that had been the same place he'd met Claudia. When they heard that, they'd laughed and Stiles had stared up at him, with an awe that had been missing for years. Ares spoke of his career as a musician, of growing up in Spain with a Grecian father and Spanish mother. Of moving to America when he turned seventeen and the culture shock he'd experienced.
Stiles spoke of his dreams, some of which Noah had never heard before. It saddened him to see that despite how close they'd grown since Claudia's death, they weren't nearly as close as they could be. He'd never even known Stiles could sing, let alone that he dreamed of doing it professionally one day. Nor had he known his son could dance, and that Ares mother had been teaching the couple dances from her home country.
So much was shared between them that morning and even after the food was done, they stayed at the table talking. He learned of Stiles ability to give birth and his magic. That Melissa and Deaton had been helping him with things that Noah should've been there for, something that made jealousy flare in the dark recesses of his heart. All the while, he watched his son and his husband interact and what he saw made his heart clench with both pride and pain. The couple's movements were so in tune with each other, in a way he hadn't seen since his wife's passing and watching them made him yearn for her.
Little Bazyli slept most of the time they talked but when Stiles place the tiny newborn in his arms for the first time, he cried.
The baby was so tiny, but so beautiful, a tuft of black curls atop his head and skin a warm caramel color, the perfect mix of Stiles' pale ivory and Ares' soft bronze. It reminded him of when another child, so alike yet so different from this one had been placed in his arms seventeen years ago. The same protective instincts, and love welled in him and he looked up at the couple with a watery smile.
"You did good, boys. He's beautiful."
His son had smiled at him, amber eyes suspiciously wet, and when his work phone went off in his office he almost wanted to ignore it.
Instead he handed the infant back to Stiles reluctantly and kissed his son's forehead then hugged Ares' who stiffened in surprise.
"Welcome to the family, son."
The shy smile he received from the man when he pulled away made it just the slightest bit easier to go to work.
After all, now that his family had grown larger, he had to work harder to keep them safe. First thing?
Chris Argent better be ready to hand over some of those wolfbane bullets.
It was time he started doing his job as Stiles' father and protecting him, and his family too.
He wouldn't fail.
Not this time.
He was losing his mind.
His connection with the Nemeton was growing stronger and his nightmares and panic attacks were returning with a vengeance.
In addition, he was sleep walking and losing time and he knew those symptoms more intimately than he knew the symptoms of any other disease in the world.
He wanted to believe it wasn't true.
He wanted to believe he would see Bazyli grow up and graduate high school, but as he lay in the MRI machine he wanted to scream.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't!
Hadn't this disease taken enough from him and his family?
Hadn't they suffered enough?
The machine started clanking loud then louder, fast then faster and he squeezed his eyes shut, a solemn tear escaping as a scream built in his chest.
Suddenly, the sound was gone and he was standing in an empty MRI chamber, facing a monster wearing bandages around its head. The same monster from the basement he'd thought he was trapped in.
It started speaking saying something about saving him but he didn't believe it, didn't want to believe it.
Then the riddle came.
The same riddle from before, asked in that horrible rasping voice.
"Everyone has it but no one can lose it, what is it?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." He whimpered, trembling.
"Everyone has it," The thing repeated, nearly growling, "But no one can lose it, what is it, Stiles?"
"I don't know!" He cried, panic building in his chest. He just wanted to go home and hold his son. Why was this happening?
Why?
"Everyone has it," The beast was shouting now and he covered his ears to keep from screaming, "But no one can lose it. What is it?!"
"I don't know! I don't know!" He cried. "I don't-"
The answer struck him suddenly and he spun around to face it again, wondering when he'd turned away from it.
"A shadow."
His own face stared back at him.
Keep Ares and Bazyli away from me. I don't want to hurt them, and he doesn't know about them. The Nemeton's magic keeps him from seeing them in my thoughts. I love you, and I'm sorry.
Noah closed his eyes painfully as he read the note he'd found slipped in his pocket during one of Stiles' lucid moments between the Nogitsune being in control.
He'd done as asked, telling Ares that he and Bazyli had to stay away from Stiles for until the Nogitsune was dealt with. His son-in-law had argued, yelled, and begged before accepting the decision, if only to keep the newborn safe, but had demanded to be kept in the loop. Now that everything was said and done, and the Nogitsune was dealt with, he knew his son would be staying with Ares for a few days to recover and he found himself liking the idea more and more.
He, in no way, blamed Stiles for the crimes the Nogitsune had committed, but he knew his boy and he knew that the guilt would consume him. He could only hope Ares would alleviate that guilt because if not, he would lose Stiles and he couldn't go through that.
He kissed his son's forehead gently, anger flaring when he noticed that not one of the teen's pack mates were there with him. In the three days he'd been hospitalized, none of them had even attempted to visit and it pissed him off, because he knew that some of them blamed him for the deaths of Allison Argent and that Aiden kid. They would drive his son into an early grave if they weren't careful and he wouldn't allow it.
Stiles stirred, as if sensing his anger, and he shushed him.
"Rest, Mieczysław. I'm here. Just rest."
No, he wouldn't allow that at all.
TBC…