Sailed on Shooting Stars—Accidental Baby Acquisition—Trope Bingo

Title: Sailed on Shooting Stars
Series: The Prepared Mind
Author: Claire Watson
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: A/U, Accidental Child Acquisition
Relationship(s): Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Author Notes: Trope Bingo #Accidental Child Acquisition
Beta: Grammarly
Word Count: 6,758
Summary: Derek and Stiles are happy with their life, their children, the parenting arrangement they have with Cora and Kamaria, and their pack. Finding a dragon egg in the Preserve was not part of any plan.

---

It was a warm May morning when the egg was discovered.

Stiles was doing a sweep through the eastern sector of the Preserve, hoping to find the reason for the nemeton’s insistence that he be there. The nemeton’s vague guidance was generally an indication that something supernatural had crossed into the territory. A being with no intentions to cause harm might not trip the wards but might accidentally cause other difficulties, and most were grateful to be welcomed into the area.

Then there were those that had no intent but were still very dangerous. They quickly learned that Stiles’ connection to both a nemeton and a Guardian pack made him a terrifying opponent when he was defending his territory and found someplace else to be.

Since the fluff-balls had come along, Stiles’ tolerance for bullshit had significantly decreased.

Whoever—or whatever—was currently pinging the nemeton’s radar had better have a good reason for lurking in their territory, or Stiles was going to give them a very stern lesson on respecting borders. Either way, he intended to find out how they’d managed to slip in past the wards without triggering the automatic notifications.

Stiles’ wards were his masterpiece, and he was constantly tweaking and upgrading them. As a result, the frequency of incursions had dwindled. Each successful intruder aided him in refining the wards even more.

Based on his previous experience with creatures the nemeton had directed him to, Stiles expected something like a were-bear or a tribe of pixies. He’d just made a bet with himself that whatever it was would be bigger than a breadbasket when he came across the egg.

It was green and brown and looked designed to blend well with the foliage. He might not even have noticed it if it weren’t for the smell of sulphur and the smouldering vegetation.

At first, Stiles wondered if he was hallucinating.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Plant toxins might move through his system too fast to kill him, but venoms had a different effect. Stiles might have even squirrelled away a supply of magically preserved stonefish venom for occasions when he and Derek wanted to let their hair down a little, so to speak.

Since the likelihood of him being under the influence was slim to none, the only reasonable conclusion was that he was looking at an egg. An egg that was far too large to be anything but supernatural.

“Eggs don’t just appear out of nowhere,” muttered Stiles. “They’re laid by egg-bearing creatures. Something, or someone, laid this egg here, and then…what? Disappeared?” He looked carefully around in case some giant bird or lizard was getting ready to attack. Nope. Nothing. Even the nemeton had settled back into its usual song.

Stiles sighed, still talking to himself. “You’d think, having taken a course called ‘Supernatural Diversity,’ I would be better placed to figure out what the hell is going on here.”

Either the smell of sulphur was dispersing, or Stiles had already become acclimated to it. Keeping his link to the nemeton wide open so that he would have as much warning as possible if anything decided to attack him, Stiles approached the egg.

“Looks like no scary mom is out here waiting to rip me in half,” murmured Stiles. “I wonder how much trouble I’ll be in if I just…” He reached out and laid a tentative hand on the rough-looking exterior. In the back of his mind, the hum of the nemeton changed slightly, a deep bass note thrumming under the usual light melody.

The egg was warm, almost hot, and the surface felt like hardened leather rather than like the calcium carbonate most shells he’d touched were made of. The moment Stiles touched it, he felt a connection, a questing tendril of magic that reached out and brushed against him with a soft touch that reminded him of his children.

Right. That was that.

“Looks like you’re coming home with me,” Stiles announced, lifting the egg gently with both hands. “If your mom or dad wants to find you, they’re gonna have to do some explaining as to why you were left out here in the first place.”

Cradling the egg to his body gently, Stiles laid a palm on the nearest tree and placed a magical marker there. It was the magic user version of marking territory, something he never intended to explain to the pack. He’d never live down all the dog jokes that would be sent his way.

v^v^v^v

Stiles practised how he’d explain this to Derek all the way back to the house, but it turned out to be unnecessary.

The moment Derek saw the egg, his eyes widened in recognition. “That’s a dragon egg!”

“Really? I thought dragons were extinct.”

“So did I,” said Derek. He reached a tentative hand towards it but stopped and hovered about an inch away from the egg without touching it.

“Go on,” Stiles urged him. “You can touch it.”

Derek shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You won’t hurt it,” said Stiles impatiently. “It’s tough, feels a bit like leather.”

“No, I mean that I physically can’t,” explained Derek, pulling his hand back. “There’s a barrier or a forcefield or something.”

“I guess that means I don’t have to worry about anyone accidentally hurting it, then.” Stiles looked at where his hand was very obviously touching the egg. “Is it because you’re a werewolf, do you think? Or an alpha?”

“I don’t know,” Derek replied. “The only references to dragon’s eggs I’ve seen were in the pack diaries that I read, back when I was trying to discover what an alpha was supposed to do.”

“Did the diary talk about this barrier thing? What happened when that alpha tried to touch one?”

Derek shrugged. “The alpha in question only saw the eggs from a distance; he never got the chance to try and touch any. He drew a picture, though. The green was the same, but the brown was more orangey-red. Have you checked the Compendium?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d see if you knew what we were dealing with, first.”

A search through the Compendium didn’t turn up anything helpful.

“It’s not surprising,” murmured Derek, getting to his feet as Stiles logged out of the website. “I’ll go back and look through the journals again. I wasn’t exactly looking for dragon lore when I read them the first time.”

Stiles ran his fingers gently over the egg’s surface in a stroking motion. “While you do that, I’m going to call Besi. If she doesn’t know what to do, she’ll probably know someone who does.”

If dragons were as rare as Stiles thought they were, it was unlikely the Hale pack would be allowed to keep this one. There was probably a hidden dragon sanctuary that would take it, or something.

Whatever the decision, Stiles wanted to have it sorted out before July, when the kids were due to arrive back from their trip to Peru. Cora and Mari had taken them to stay with Mari’s family for a couple of months, the first proper visit since their birth.

Stiles and Derek missed them dreadfully, but going with them hadn’t been an option. The nemeton wouldn’t allow Stiles to leave Beacon Hills, and the wyvern clan would never allow an alpha werewolf into their village unless the alpha was a direct relation. Fenris, who shared blood with them, would always be welcome regardless of his werewolf rank, but if Alessa became the next Hale alpha—as Stiles expected her to—then she would no longer be able to accompany Fenris on his visits.

Elaria, the older of the twins, would probably end up tied to the nemeton the same way that Stiles currently was. Although, unless Stiles died an extremely premature death, Elaria would have a good half-century before that became necessary, giving her time to see the world if she chose.

If the egg was still in Stiles’ custody when the pups came home, one or more of them was sure to develop an attachment to it. That would make releasing it to whoever eventually claimed it a nightmare that Stiles wanted to avoid, if at all possible.

Besi would know what to do.

v^v^v^v

On hearing that Stiles had discovered an alleged dragon egg, Besi immediately began discussing who would be best to come and collect it, right up until Stiles’ offhand comment that it was weird that he could touch it while Derek couldn’t.

“Wait, you can touch it? The actual surface? Is it warm or cold? Does it feel like leather or ceramic?”

“It’s hot and feels like leather,” replied Stiles. “Why, what difference does that make?”

Besi laughed. “Hang on; I need to share this with ‘Nuta. ‘Nuta! We’re going to be aunties to a dragon!”

Stiles let himself slump in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering what he’d be doing right now if he’d never asked Scott to come and look for a dead body in the woods that long-ago night. Not that he would be the slightest bit interested in trading his current life, but he sometimes thought that a normal life would have far less craziness.

“I’m going to put you on speaker,” Besi informed him. “Go on, tell ‘Nuta what you just told me.”

“I found a dragon egg inside the Hale territory,” repeated Stiles. “At least, we think it’s a dragon egg. It’s hot to the touch and feels like leather. I’m the only one who can touch it, although Derek gets to within an inch.”

Danuta gasped. “That’s amazing! I can’t remember the last time a dragon hatched! Besi, you should send Shadow Squad to make sure the area is secure. The last thing we need is for someone to find out and do something rash.”

“Our territory is quite secure, thank you very much,” said Stiles, irritated. “Will one of you stop squeeing over this and give me some information? The Hale archive doesn’t have any dragon lore that Derek can remember, and at Albion, they were considered either extinct or mythical.”

“I’ll send you everything I have,” promised Danuta. “Oh, I wish I could come and see it for myself. You’ll have to take lots of photos!”

Besi interrupted her. “This is going to be an unprecedented opportunity to document a dragon’s growth, Stiles. A complete text on the raising of a dragon would be invaluable.”

“I’ll only make an effort to record everything if you promise to leave us alone,” replied Stiles. “I mean it. No Shadow Squad. Not even if they ‘happen to be in the area,’ or ‘just to check on your barriers.’”

Besi sighed. “You can’t blame us for a bit of caution. That first trip Shadow Squad made to Beacon Hills…I shudder at the thought that you’d been living on that powder keg for seventeen years.”

Stiles could see where she was coming from. When he’d visited with them for the summer break before his final year at Albion, Besi had finally shown him the file that her ‘Shadow Squad’ had compiled on the issues they found in Beacon Hills during that first mission.

There were three dark druids in town, each trying to exert dominance over the crippled nemeton, which was further hampered by a nogitsune that had been improperly stored in the basement amongst the roots. On top of all that, the local mental health facility, Eichen House, was doubling as a supernatural lock-up. The brief investigation turned up many barbaric practices inflicted upon those unfortunate enough to be sent there.

At Besi’s instructions, Shadow Squad had done an unofficial tidy-up of the entire area, removing everything and everyone they considered a threat to the safety of the pack Besi’s nephew had been acting in alliance with.

Stiles had been overwhelmed with gratitude—her orders had probably done a lot to ensure his dad’s safety while he was away—and slightly worried about the ruthlessness that those actions implied. He knew that Besi had her fingers in some dangerous pies—hence her ability to get a curse master to offer himself as a tutor on such short notice—but Shadow Squad was a whole other level of shady.

Besides, Stiles wasn’t helpless anymore.

“I understand,” said Stiles. “But the territory isn’t undefended anymore. My method of merging magical wards with technology to provide highly accurate warning systems and up to date classifications has won awards. You’re using it yourself. On top of that, our nemeton is very chatty.”

“Stiles.” Besi was unusually serious. “A viable dragon egg is a tempting target for many an unscrupulous being. If it stays in your territory, I’m arranging protection for you, whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll have to discuss it with Derek,” said Stiles. “If we’re allowed to, I’d like to keep it. But if there’s the slightest chance it will put the kids in danger, I don’t know if I can.”

There was a long silence from the other side of the line. Stiles wished he’d used Facetime so that he could see their expressions.

“I don’t know if you have a choice anymore,” said Besi slowly. “Not unless you’re willing to let it die. If you can touch it, the dragon within has probably already imprinted on you.”

Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. As I said, I need to talk to Derek. At present, you’re the only ones I’ve mentioned this to, so we’ve got time before it becomes common knowledge. Can you at least give me that long?”

Besi sighed. “Think it over quick, Stiles. These things don’t stay hidden for long.”

After they said their goodbyes, Stiles dropped the phone to the couch cushion beside him. That could have gone better.

The cause of all this upheaval was on the couch with him. Stiles let his hand glow with magic and ran it over the exterior, the same way he’d once touched Cora and Mari’s pregnant bellies. “I don’t know why I was the one who was picked, little one, but I promise I’ll do my best to ensure you get the care you need, even if it means entrusting you to someone else.”

“Stiles!” Derek’s voice broke the moment of quiet communion. “I found something.”

Stiles looked up.

Derek stood in the doorway, waving a book at him. “It’s not much, just a few glancing references. Connie Hale, who was alpha about a century ago, mentioned that a dragon egg was reported to have been discovered in Wales. According to her correspondent in Wales, the shell was still rock-hard, and therefore it wasn’t even close to hatching.”

Stiles stroked the egg again. “So, the leatheriness means it’s in the process of doing whatever dragon eggs do before they hatch. I wonder what kind of time frame we were looking at? Albion might have info in the restricted archives, but if I ask to read it, then people will start putting two and two together.” He filled Derek in on the call with his aunts and his concerns about their safety.

“We’re never completely safe,” Derek pointed out. “Thanks to you, we don’t have to worry about hunters anytime soon. Do you really want to send this baby away?”

Stiles sighed. “No.”

“I guess that’s it then,” said Derek with a calm acceptance Stiles envied. “Unless Cora and Mari disagree, we’re going to be raising a dragon.” He crouched down in front of Stiles and reached out to the egg, but once again, his touch was repelled about an inch from the surface. “I hope whoever hatches lets me touch them.”

Stiles hoped so too. As unlikely as sixteen-year-old Stiles would have thought it, Derek was a nurturer at heart. He loved soothing fretful babies and comforting crying toddlers, and as a result, all three of the kids went to Derek when they were upset. Stiles was the fun one, but Derek was the one who soothed their hurts.

It had worked out remarkably well.

Stiles hoped that this worked out too. “You know what this means, don’t you? We’re going to have to come up with another name.” He frowned. “Also, we should talk to Cora and Mari ASAP.”

“We can discuss it when we Facetime them this evening,” agreed Derek. “Just so you know, we’re not calling this little one Draco.”

“I never even suggested it!”

Derek gave him a look. “Don’t think I don’t know where Mari got the idea to call our son ‘Fenris’ from.”

“Fenris is a great name. Are you going to tell our son his name is bad?”

“Of course not. But that doesn’t change facts. Please don’t suggest the name Draco.”

Stiles relented. “Okay, I won’t suggest it. That doesn’t mean that Cora won’t, though.”

Derek grimaced. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Maybe if we come up with something they both like, we won’t have to worry about it.”

Stiles nodded. “Hey. If Cora got final say over the twins, and Mari over Fenris, does that mean I get final say over Draco here?”

Derek growled. “Stiles!”

Stiles laughed. “Just kidding!”

Well, mostly.

v^v^v^v

The first hour of their Facetime call that evening was taken up by hearing all about the kids’ adventures with Mari’s clan. Eventually, even Alessa got tired enough to fall asleep, giving Stiles and Derek a chance to tell Cora and Mari the news.

Cora and Mari were both intrigued by the idea of adding a dragon to their family unit. When Stiles explained the circumstances and the possible danger that raising a dragon would bring, they agreed that it was something they’d just have to deal with.

“Stiles, you’re one of the most badass mages on the continent,” Cora reminded him. “If anyone can keep a baby dragon safe, it’s you. I’m not surprised you’re the one they imprinted on.”

Mari was a treasure trove of information. “Wyverns are distantly related to dragons,” she said. “I’ll talk to the clan elder about releasing some of our info to you; it might be useful.”

“We’d be very grateful,” said Stiles. “Also, we need to think about names again.”

Cora groaned.

Mari laughed. “Dragons choose their own names. Or know their names when they’re hatched; it’s not clear which.”

“Oh, thank god,” said Derek.

Stiles nudged him with his elbow. “I resent that.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You might be powerful, but I don’t think you’re a god, Stiles.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

Cora cleared her throat. “If the two of you are going to flirt, we might as well end this call now.”

“I’ll let you know how my talk with the elders goes,” promised Mari. She smiled impishly. “Now, go and make the most of your kid-free house while you still can.”

“She has a point,” said Stiles when the call had disconnected. “There might be a baby dragon around soon. We should bang as much as we can until then.” He got up and stretched, lifting his hands to the ceiling and tipping his head back. He gave his husband a once over, letting his gaze linger on those shoulders before trailing downwards. “What do you think?”

Derek’s eyes glinted, his teeth lengthening slightly. “Want to be chased through the Preserve?”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. He really liked it when Derek chased him. “Yeah. Let me just—”

“You’ve got till I count to three.” Derek popped a claw on his index finger. “One.”

Stiles bolted.

v^v^v^v

Mari talked her elders into sharing some of their dragon lore, and the next day, Stiles and Derek held a pack meeting to let everyone else know what was going on.

As Stiles expected, his crazy packmates were more excited about the dragon than concerned about the possible danger.

“We’ll deal with it if it happens, Stiles,” said Jackson, rolling his eyes. “God, who knew you’d wind up being such a wet blanket.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “I want to see the egg.”

It was an expected request. Stiles undid the shirt he was wearing to show the egg, resting comfortably against his bare skin in a sling.

Erica cracked up. “I wondered why you were wearing Cora’s pregnancy clothes. You’re carrying it like a baby! Why?”

“Mari said that the infant dragon would be comforted by a steady supply of magic,” explained Derek, adjusting the sling so that the egg was more visible. “It will develop faster, too. Since the egg stage is when the dragon is most vulnerable, we thought a sling answered the purpose.”

“How long until it hatches?” asked Jemma.

“It’s hard to tell,” replied Stiles. “Soon, by dragon egg standards. The problem is that we don’t really have a time frame from which we can judge ‘soon’. I mean, in geological terms, the next century is practically right now. I do not want to be carrying a dragon egg around for a century.”

Isaac leaned forward. “I always thought a dragon egg would have scales of some kind.”

“Oh? Why?”

Isaac shrugged. “It seemed obvious. Dragons have scales, after all.”

Lydia looked at him as though he was an idiot. “Right. That makes total sense because everyone knows that chicken eggs have feathers.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Not everyone has your fancy education, Lydia.” He tilted his head to one side and examined the egg again. “Do you know how much larger it will grow?”

“Not a clue,” replied Stiles cheerfully. “The literature on dragon eggs I’ve found is speculative at best. We don’t know anything about what’s in this egg other than their species. Even that’s an educated guess. Most of Mari’s info is about dragons once they’re out of the egg.”

“You mean, species of dragon?” asked Jordan. “There’s more than one?”

“I mean species as in dragon, period.”

Lydia scowled disapprovingly. “So, you’re saying that you know next to nothing.”

“Yep,” said Stiles, doing his best to be as obnoxiously cheerful as possible. “We’re gonna get a big surprise if this thing hatches out a magical alligator.”

Derek gave Stiles his best judgy eyebrows but didn’t contradict him. “Peter’s in Australia, helping with a possible pack war; I don’t want to interrupt since the matter isn’t urgent. Please don’t talk about the egg off pack land or with anyone who isn’t here right now.”

“What about Danny?” asked Jordan. “And the sheriff?”

“We’ve left Danny a message to come and see us when he’s free,” said Stiles. “And I’ll tell my dad when he returns from the conference in a couple of days.”

Boyd spoke up for the first time since he arrived. “Is there anything you need from us?”

Derek shook his head. “Not really. Just be vigilant. Let Stiles know if anyone gives you a bad feeling, or if strangers start lingering in town or start asking questions.”

Stiles clapped his hands together, breaking the solemn mood. “With that all out of the way, who wants some of the famous Stilinski venison stew? I used the big, 150-gallon pot, so there should be enough for everyone to take leftovers home.”

Erica’s eyes lit up. “Did you use magic to chop the potatoes and sear the meat?” Erica loved it when Stiles used his magic in food preparation. She claimed it added an unusual spice that couldn’t be matched by more mundane methods.

Stiles scoffed. “Duh. I do have other things to do with my day than cook for you gluttonous miscreants. If I did everything by hand, it would take hours. Go on, get.” He looked over at Lydia, the only vegetarian in the pack and the only one not enthused by the offer of stew. “There’s also some of that mushroom soup you like. It’s in the warming cupboard.”

Like most supernatural predators, werewolves were voracious meat-eaters. The Hale pack went through a lot of meat, enough that Stiles had been considering the benefits of buying a livestock farm nearby. They’d need to hire someone to work it, at least until they had a pack member interested in farming, but it would pay for itself very quickly.

The pack meeting broke up early, as they tended to do now that they were all responsible adults with jobs. Stiles threw a preservation spell on the remaining stew before he and Derek took the egg back to the wing they shared with Cora and Mari.

It felt weird to put an egg in the bassinet they’d once used when the fluffballs were small, but neither Stiles nor Derek was comfortable having it in bed.

“I think it’s softer,” said Stiles thoughtfully as he ran his hands over it, allowing them to radiate magic gently. “It’s feeling less like a container and more like skin.”

Derek reached out to test the barrier and was shocked when his fingers touched the egg for the first time. A wondering smile lit his face. “Wow. Looks like I’ve been approved.” He stroked the surface gently. “I see what you mean that it feels like skin.” He crouched there for some time, just running his hands over the egg.

“I’m starting to think we should have bothered Peter after all,” mused Stiles. “He’s gonna be pissed if this egg hatches before he even hears about it.”

“I’ll call him,” agreed Derek, rising to his feet.

v^v^v^v

Peter arrived back in Beacon Hills the following day.

Stiles frowned at him. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but that was suspiciously quick. Weren’t you somewhere in the Australian Outback?”

Peter shrugged. “Not all Australia is the Outback. Besides, I was already on my way back when Derek called. Besi dropped enough hints that I figured it was a good idea.”

Stiles groaned. “Oh my god, for someone involved in lots of secret, classified shit, that woman has a big mouth. I should have asked for a vow.”

“She wouldn’t have given it to you,” said Peter. “Now, where is my newest nibling? I need to introduce myself, make it understood that I’m the fun one.”

“I’m the fun one.”

Peter’s smile was pitying. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Peter’s glee at the thought of influencing a dragon hatchling was unnerving. “Dragons are fascinating,” he explained when Stiles questioned it. “They’re the ultimate shifter, not limited to a single human form. They’re not mimic’s; they don’t take the form of specific people, and they’re too egotistical to act as convincing substitutes. Other than that, they can adjust their features however they like.”

“Like a metamorphmagus?” asked Stiles.

“Yes and no. My understanding is that a metamorpmagus in Harry Potter had a base form, something that was truly them that they reverted to. A dragon has no base form.”

Stiles absorbed that. “So, you’re saying that any stranger we meet has a chance of being a dragon?”

Peter shook his head. “Unlikely, mostly because there just aren’t many dragons around. My source for this is a dragon researcher who devoted her whole life to learning everything possible about them, and she said that she thinks dragons ‘go somewhere else’ after a while. Every individual she’s been able to identify and track disappeared somewhere between their sixtieth and hundredth years.”

“Why isn’t this information in the Compendium?”

“Because I haven’t had the chance to confirm anything she told me. I haven’t had the time. At first, there was that Swedish pack war thing, and now that it’s done, I keep getting requests to act as a mediator. I’ve gathered a lot of information written in some strange languages, but my translator lives in Turkey and refuses to use post or couriers. Once I leave here, I’ll swing by again and see if she has anything new for me.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing in Turkey?” asked Stiles. “I knew you kept going back there, but I thought maybe you just liked the food. Or had a lover there.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “The only regular lovers I have are in Boston. I have a very satisfying friends-with-benefits arrangement with two charming ladies.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I don’t need to know the details, thanks. Oh, and just so you know, that research I was doing for you has got a little derailed.”

Peter shrugged. “That’s okay; there’s no hurry. I wasn’t expecting anything until September, anyway.”

“You might be waiting longer than that. I got unexpectedly busier.” Stiles brought his attention back to the egg. “Do you have any idea how long it will be before this little one hatches?”

“Not a clue.” Peter yawned and stretched. “I’m going to hit the hay. Give me a call if anything interesting happens.” He gave Stiles’ shoulder a friendly squeeze, then went back to his rooms in the South Wing.

v^v^v^v

That night, Stiles was prodded awake by the nemeton around midnight.

“What?” he mumbled, annoyed.

The nemeton poked him again. It was a summons, an insistent requirement for his presence.

Stiles sat up. “Now? What on earth do you need me for now?” He opened himself up more, trying to get a handle on what the nemeton wanted. There wasn’t any anger or fear, so it wasn’t an intruder.

Stiles sighed, ducking out of Derek’s arms and sliding out of bed. “This had better be worth it.”

“Where’re you going?” asked Derek, eyes blinking open. “What time’sit.”

Stiles stretched. “The nemeton wants to see me. Go back to sleep.”

Derek sat up. “What? Why?”

“I have no idea,” replied Stiles, pulling on his socks and groping around for his jeans. When Derek flicked the bedside light on, Stiles was momentarily blinded. “What did you do that for! Now I’m not going to be able to see where I’m going!”

“I’m coming with you.”

There was no point arguing with that tone. Stiles sighed and finished dressing. He thoughtfully picked up the sling. “Should we take the tadpole?”

Derek shrugged. “Up to you. It’s probably a good idea, though. What does the nemeton think?”

Stiles put the question to the nemeton, which radiated approval. “I guess that’s that.” As an afterthought, he picked up his phone and sent Peter a text.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “You know that will probably wake him up.”

“What?” said Stiles. “He wanted to be informed if anything interesting happened. I think being called out to the nemeton is very interesting, don’t you?”

Derek shook his head. “One of these days, the two of you will agree to stop picking at each other like this.”

“Not likely; we both enjoy it too much.”

With the egg comfortably nestled in the sling, Stiles and Derek made their way outside and headed towards the nemeton.

They’d just crossed the treeline when Peter stepped out from behind a tree, directly facing Stiles.

Stiles only just managed to stop himself from throwing a reflexive ice blade. “You idiot, are you asking to be killed?” He turned to Derek. “And you! You knew he was there and didn’t tell me?”

Derek didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “I thought you said you enjoyed poking at each other.”

Stiles glared at him. “Being generally irritating is one thing. Provoking a heart attack is another.”

“Are you having heart troubles?” asked Peter with mock solicitousness. “I’ll let Noah know. He’ll help you adjust your diet to compensate.”

Derek’s laughter was turned into a snort at the last moment, but Stiles wasn’t fooled. He scowled. “You know I don’t like it when you gang up on me. Come on; the nemeton’s waiting.”

When they arrived, Stiles was surprised to see an unfamiliar figure waiting for them, partly illuminated by the nemeton’s glow. A small, wrinkled, bald little man. He was smiling at them.

Derek inhaled sharply, a low rumble starting in his chest. Peter melted into the shadows, intending to strike from cover if it was needed.

“No,” said Stiles, nudging Derek with his elbow and tapping Peter on the shoulder. “The nemeton isn’t worried; let me handle it.”

Derek sighed, but the growl tapered off. Peter stepped back until he flanked Stiles, bracketing him protectively with Derek.

Stiles approached cautiously. “Greetings. I’m Stiles, Guardian of this nemeton. Please forgive our surprise; we weren’t expecting to find anyone here.”

The stranger smiled wider. “You are very polite, young Guardian. Most would be affronted to find a stranger in the heart of their territory.”

“It’s not something I’m used to,” Stiles admitted. “But then I remembered rule 19, and I thought a little courtesy couldn’t hurt.”

The stranger laughed, a high-pitched cackling sound that made Stiles think of the witch stories of his childhood. “How delightful.” He turned back to face the nemeton. “I’ve met many Guardians in my lifetime. You have uncommon wisdom, despite your tender years.”

Stiles shrugged. “I trust the nemeton; it cares for this land and my pack as much as I do.”

“More,” said the stranger. “A nemeton is a unique life form, a blending of the magical energy infusing the land and the accumulated love of its Guardians. It facilitates growth and helps filter and cleanse the energy currents of the world. Each one is precious beyond measure.

“This nemeton is even more remarkable, given how close it came to corruption. It has told me its story. A darach infiltrated the Guardian Pack and convinced the alpha to cut down its physical representation, before betraying her to her death. The new alpha abandoned the territory, betraying both the remaining pack members and the injured nemeton. For a Guardian to abandon a nemeton when it was so vulnerable…” He sighed. “It was a recipe for disaster. Thankfully, one remaining link to the Guardians allowed the nemeton to cling to life.”

“Peter,” breathed Stiles. “Peter was still in Beacon Hills. Injured and alone, but here.” Beside him, Peter had gone completely still.

“If he were an ordinary werewolf, his presence would not have been enough,” said the stranger. “But Peter Hale was gifted to the nemeton as a child; its tie to him was stronger than to any other alive. They kept each other from death, all those years. The nemeton was alive because Peter Hale breathed; Peter Hale was alive because the nemeton lived. Slowly, they started to heal.”

Stiles took hold of Peter’s arm, sending his love and concern, amplified by touch, through the pack bonds. “I always wondered why Peter took so long to heal. I thought maybe someone at the hospital was sabotaging his recovery.”

The stranger shook his head. “Not at the hospital. The darach’s continued efforts to gain access to the nemeton’s power slowed matters considerably. On top of that, someone had improperly stored a trapped nogitsune amongst its roots. The nogitsune was trying to get free, and in the nemeton’s weakened state, it could not fully withstand both threats.”

Stiles put the pieces together. “The nemeton focused on repelling the darach, didn’t it? Which meant that the nogitsune was able to influence Peter through the link. That’s why he was nuts when he woke up.”

Peter shuddered. Derek moved from Stiles’ side to Peter’s, the two of them bracing him as best they could.

The stranger turned to them, eyes glowing purple in the darkness. “Partly. The damage to the nemeton was also a factor, as was isolation from his pack. Gaining the alpha spark from the betrayer helped them heal, but it also strengthened the nogitsune.”

Stiles nodded. “And then Peter died, and the alpha spark was passed to Derek. My aunts once told me that the nemeton was responsible for Peter’s resurrection and that it was only possible because Peter and Derek were each the gifted child of their generations.”

“Yes, although only Peter was presented to the nemeton properly. Derek inadvertently opened the link he was born with not long before the darach caused the tree to be cut down. After the fire, he was on the other side of the country, too far away to help.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles murmured to Derek. “You were deeply traumatised, and you had no idea what was going on. You followed your alpha’s lead, as is expected.”

“Mieczyslaw is correct,” the stranger agreed. “The nemeton holds no anger towards you, Derek Hale, only love, devotion, and pride; you have done well.” He smiled, turning back to the nemeton. “The arrival of two more darachs was troubling; things might have gone very badly.

“But one day, all three darachs and the nogitsune disappeared. Just vanished. The nemeton was finally able to focus on healing and growing, on supporting the Guardian pack the way it should. It restored its physical form, spreading its roots deep, and now the Hale pack is stronger than ever, this territory guarded better than any other.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Derek hoarsely.

The stranger reached out and laid a hand on the nemeton’s trunk. “My kind have a knack for communication. Not that we use it much, we generally prefer to keep to ourselves. When I learned that Beacon Hills had been entrusted with a new dragon, I came to evaluate the situation for myself.” His glance dropped to where the egg was cradled in the sling under Cora’s old shirt. “I find I am well pleased.”

Stiles rested a protective hand over the egg, frowning. “You never introduced yourself.” The words came out like an accusation.

The stranger smiled. “No, I didn’t.” He shimmered and went fuzzy before dissolving into thin air.

Stiles stared at the space where the stranger had been. “I hate it when things like that happen.”

“Stiles,” Derek choked out. “Stiles, the egg!”

Stiles glanced down. A purple glow was shining through the shirt’s fabric. As if on cue, he felt the egg twitch. “Wait, is it hatching?” He dropped to his knees and almost ripped the shirt in his hurry to get it off. Derek helped him remove the egg from the sling.

Stiles leaned against the nemeton, cradling the glowing egg carefully in his arms. “What do I do? Should I put it down? What if I drop it?”

Before Derek or Peter could answer, between one breath and the next, the soft outer layer that they’d been calling a shell disappeared. Stiles was left holding something that looked like a human baby boy, if babies were green and gold. Rather than a newborn, he looked about a year old.

The baby opened glowing purple eyes. “Mareth,” he said clearly, before yawning and snuggling into Stiles’ arms.

The nemeton lit up, broadcasting its joy across the night.

Derek smiled. “I guess he’s called Mareth.” He put an arm around Stiles and stroked his hand over the baby’s head.

Peter tipped his head back and howled, calling the pack to join in welcoming their newest member. Stiles felt, rather than heard, the answering howls from across Beacon Hills.

“Mareth Hale,” murmured Stiles. Purple eyes narrowed, and a tiny scowl crossed Mareth’s face. “Or maybe not. Maybe dragons don’t have surnames.”

“’Linski.”

Stiles blinked. “Mareth Stilinski?” He glanced at Derek, who was smiling his fatuous baby smile at Mareth. “What do you think?”

“I think he knows what he wants,” said Derek. “Mareth Stilinski it is.”

Mareth made a noise that sounded like agreement.

“Dad will flip his shit,” said Stiles, grinning. His grin faded. “Ah, hell. We haven’t told him yet.”

“Noah doesn’t know he’s a grandfather again?” asked Peter, incredulous.

“He’s due to arrive in town at lunchtime tomorrow; he’s coming to dinner,” replied Stiles defensively. “I thought we had time.” He gently trailed his fingers down Mareth’s face, smiling helplessly when Mareth grabbed at them.

Peter laughed, settling beside them. “I can already tell I’m going to like him. Not even an hour out of the egg, and already causing chaos.”

Stiles tried to frown at Peter. It was difficult when his eyes kept getting dragged back to the newest member of their family. “Uncle Peter, I forbid you from encouraging chaos until the children are into double digits, at least.”

Peter sniffed theatrically. “I don’t think that’s fair; chaos is an important aspect of—”

“Forbid!” Stiles repeated. “On pain of something very painful.” He could feel various pack members crossing the inner ward line, Boyd and Erica at the forefront. They’d be at the nemeton within minutes. “Why don’t you do something helpful? Run back to the house and get that case of wolfsbane infused scotch you brought back with you. And be quick; this calls for a celebration!”