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Eli is woken from a fitful sleep by the sound of his bedroom window sliding open. He doesn’t turn his head to identify the intruder, completely uncaring if they are there to hurt him or console him. It wouldn’t matter. Not anymore.
He wonders briefly if Scott or Allison would be able to make it to his room before he was fatally injured by the potential assailant, then closes his eyes in defeat when he remembers they’re not home. They’re never home anymore.
“Hey, pup.”
Eli shoots into a sitting position at the sound of Stiles’ voice. He catches a flash of a red hoodie and finds himself all but collapsing into the arms suddenly surrounding him. The sounds he is making aren’t human and his breath is coming in rough spurts, but he finally, for the first time since his dad’s death, feels completely safe in Stiles’ embrace. Safe enough to fall apart.
Stiles offers no empty words of comfort or platitudes, simply holds the boy in his arms. Once Eli regains his breath, Stiles pulls back just enough to see Eli’s face and speaks again.
“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he says, brushing some hair off of Eli’s forehead so he can see his eyes.
Eli sniffles and wipes the tears off his face.
“He’s gone, Stiles,” he whispers hoarsely.
Stiles pulls them to their feet and wraps his arms around Eli’s shoulders. They take comfort in the embrace for several more minutes. Eli’s eyes water, but no more tears fall.
“Eli, buddy, look at me,” Stiles says as he takes a step back, towards the open bedroom door. He waits until Eli looks up before continuing. “Do you trust me?”
The boy can only nod, not trusting his voice.
Stiles sends him a rueful smile and holds out his hand. He leads Eli downstairs and out the door, huffing a laugh when he sees the Jeep parked in the driveway.
“How’s Roscoe doing these days?” Stiles asks as he runs his hand over the hood.
Eli clears his throat twice before he can answer. “Okay. Da - Dad fixed as much as he could.”
He sees a brief look of devastation overtake Stiles’ face before they climb in, but it’s gone as Stiles holds out his hand for the keys. Stiles frowns when Eli simply points to the visor above the driver’s seat, and sends him a well-deserved eye roll when the keys drop into his lap from above when he opens it.
They drive in silence until they reach their destination. It only takes Eli a few minutes to realize where they’re headed, but he says nothing. Stiles asked for his trust, and he has it. He’s always had it.
When they park, Eli exits the car on shaky feet. He can’t bring himself to look up and see his dad’s grave only a few yards away.
“Why are we here?” He asks quietly.
Stiles braces himself, taking several deep breaths before responding. “There’s something I didn’t tell you or your dad before I left after my last visit. I,” he pauses and take a few steps towards Derek’s grave. “I had a - a feeling.”
Eli moves to stand next to Stiles, still not looking at the grave. “A feeling?”
Stiles sniffles and Eli realizes he’s trying not to cry. Stiles coughs roughly and wipes at his face, turning it so Eli can’t see the tears.
“A feeling,” he repeats. “Like I might never see him again.”
The silence hangs heavy between them for several minutes until Stiles sees Eli shiver in the cool night air.
“Only wolf I know who gets cold,” he says fondly, removing his hoodie and wrapping it around the boy. Eli takes it gratefully and sends Stiles a cautious smile. Stiles musses his hair and then nods towards Derek’s grave. “Ready?”
Eli frowns. “Ready? Ready for what?”
Stiles doesn’t answer right away, but Eli follows him readily. They pause in front of the plot and Stiles can’t help but shake his head. After everything Derek gave to the pack, they couldn’t even be bothered to give him a proper grave site. Just a plot of dirt with some wilted flowers and withered ribbons.
“I’ve spent the last year working on this,” Stiles says, pulling a small sealed jar out of his pocket. He opens it and holds it up for Eli to smell.
Eli’s head rears back in shock at the scent. “That - that smells like Dad. How did you do that?”
Stiles snorts. “Not easily.” He holds the jar under his nose and smiles as he takes in the earthy, homey aroma. “Drove me crazy for about three months when I was so close, but knew I was missing something. You know what it was?”
Eli shakes his head, leaning forward to inhale the scent again.
“Cinnamon,” Stiles says, still smiling.
“From those ‘frilly little coffee drinks’ he used to love but pretended to hate,” Eli finishes, smiling himself. “What does it do?”
Stiles sobers and takes another slow, deep breath. “When I got back to D.C., I could’t shake that feeling. Anytime I checked in with him, he’d insist he was fine and the pack was doing well. He just kept telling me not to worry. But you know me,” he flung out his arm, gesturing to himself.
“Stiles,” Eli says, stepping forward into the man’s space, his expression serious. “What does it do?”
Stiles looks down at the jar in his hand and his breathing seems to stop.
“You trust me?” Stiles asks again.
“Yes,” Eli replies quietly.
“It’s going to bring him back to us.”
As if he can’t bear to see Eli’s reaction, Stiles turns suddenly and upends the jar, sending its contents spilling onto the disturbed earth below. The words he whispers to the dirt are lost in the sudden gust of wind, but the fervor with which they are spoken causes Eli to shiver and jump to action.
“What can I do?” He asks once Stiles is finished chanting.
Stiles pulls out a pocket knife and hands it to him. “We only need a few drops.”
Eli nods seriously and steels himself before cutting a small incision into his left palm. He holds out the hand and allows Stiles to direct the stream of blood over the grave.
Stiles takes a second to grip Eli’s shoulder before giving himself an identical cut and letting the blood spill on top of Eli’s.
They both step back to the foot of the grave, completely silent. The wind continues to howl. The sound grows louder and louder until suddenly it turns into an entirely different kind of howl. One they both recognize immediately.
“It’s Dad,” Eli says in amazement. “Does that mean it worked? Stiles, did that just work?”
Stiles doesn’t dare speak, just closes his eyes and allows himself to become lost in the howling. Howling he thought he’d never hear again. The pressure of unshed tears causes him to open his eyes just as the ground at their feet starts to move.
“Oh my god,” Eli shouts, running two steps forward just as a hand breaks free from the earth.
He grabs the hand and begins to pull frantically. Stiles gets over his shock and disbelief quickly enough to join Eli as he starts to dig at the ground around the hand.
Seconds later, Derek is free. And alive.
His eyes glow crimson and he lets out a roar that can be heard for miles around. He is panting as he stands to full height and looks around to orient himself.
Derek barely has time to realize his son is nearby before he finds himself with his arms full. Eli is shaking with the effort of his iron-clad grip, but no force on this Earth could get him to let go of his dad.
“Eli,” Derek says, returning the embrace just as fiercely. “Eli, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
They whisper reassurances and apologies to each other for what feels like hours. Their eyes are closed and their knuckles white from the force of their grasps.
Derek suddenly gets a lungful of a scent he wasn’t expecting, and realizes Eli is wearing Stiles’ hoodie. His eyes fly open and begin searching the clearing frantically.
He sees Stiles standing several steps away, tears flowing down his face and his body trembling.
“Stiles,” Derek whines, opening one of his arms and beckoning for him desperately.
It was all Stiles needed before running to join the embrace, the three of them all openly crying in the moment. His arms wrap tightly around both Hales as they all regain their breath and their equilibrium.
Eli pulls away first, rubbing at his face and clearing it of tears. He takes a step back but keeps his hand on his dad’s arm, not wanting to break contact. Derek sends him a warm smile and shakes his head at himself in disbelief that he’s alive.
“Derek,” Stiles whispers, adjusting his grip on the man.
Derek’s still-red eyes turn to meet Stiles’, and everything is understood in an instant without a need for words. He leans into Stiles’ space and presses their foreheads together. They stay like that, perfectly content, until Eli breaks the silence.
“Okay, I know you guys are, like, having a moment,” he laughs as he ducks both Stiles and Derek’s attempts to swat him in the back of the head. “But I’m not getting any warmer. Any chance we can move this reunion indoors?”
Stiles rolls his eyes but can’t contain his grin. He groans and pulls away with one final squeeze of Derek’s hand. A silent promise they would pick this up later.
“Are you sure you’re a werewolf?” Stiles goads Eli as he messes up the boys hair.
“He’s got a point, Eli,” Derek intones, rounding the two so he and Stiles are bracketing Eli on their walk back to the car. “Maybe a were-lion? Something less acclimated to colder weather.”
Eli whines, looking back and forth between the two in mock-outrage. “Stiles, I thought we had a deal. We’re supposed to gang up on him,” he says indignantly, pointing his thumb at his dad. “Not on me!”
Stiles nudges Eli with his shoulder. “You’re right, pup, a deal’s a deal. I think we can give your dad a pass though just this one night.”
Eli smiles softly. He reaches out and grabs his dad’s hand in a way he hasn’t since he was small. “I guess so.”
Derek and Stiles share a grin over Eli’s head.
“So,” Stiles says cheerily to Eli as they reach the Jeep. “What do you say we go grab Grandpa and get the hell out of this town once and for all?”