Black Love [SUPERWOLF]

Kitchen Knife, What a Bribe

[SUPER WOLF; Stiles' Kitchen]
Derek had once caught himself wondering what a breakfast would be like with the Stilinski's; he imagined it loud, chaotic, and loving. But these aren't the Stilinski's, Derek had to remind himself. These, were the Winchester's and it wasn't anything like Stiles had imagined. The three Winchester's didn't just share blood; they shared the same uneasiness and small appetite as they sat across one another―Derek out of place.

"When are you leaving?" Stiles spoke, abrupt, the fork he had held now fallen onto the plate.

The eldest Winchesters looked up to Stiles―Dean drowning himself in the soggy bacon that occupied his mouth. "Well, uh," Sam looked to his brother, seeking help, but Dean remained occupied with the nothing that seemed to be everything to Dean. "I don't know." Sam confessed. "We thought we would hand around here for a bit..."

"Why? This isn't your house."

"Stiles," Derek warned, his hand reaching for Stiles from beneath the table.

"It's complicated, Stiles." Sam amended. "Because if we are to accept full custody of you, then we can't leave. If we don't accept, then they will throw you―"

"Into the Foster System, I know how the law works. I lived with my―" Stiles hesitated for a moment, and digested the unspoken word all had heard. "I lived with a sheriff for nearly seventeen years." he recovered. "I mean how long are you staying? Because you aren't accepting full custody... right?"

Sam and Dean looked between another, as though they were conversing between one another in a way neither Stiles or Derek would understand. Finally, Dean swallowed his food. "We don't know, Stiles. If the blood test comes back positive, and you are our brother, we will accept full custody.''

"Why?" Stiles asked, the guard in his voice dimming for the slightest moment. "You don't know me."

"That doesn't matter," Sam spoke gentle. Too gentle. "You're still Family."

"We aren't Family," Stiles said, laughing as if a joke had been made. "We're blood. Blood doesn't make a family."

"No, but that's where it starts." Dean spoke, his hand tightening around the neck of the fork. "You are grieving, trust me when we say we understand that better than anyone, but don't let your grief blind you in the fact that you have something here that most people can only dream of having."

"Oh?" Stiles retorts bitterly. "And what's that?"

"A second chance at a Family."

. . .

[TEEN WOLF: The Preserve]

He was fuming―no. Fuming is when you have a anger, a anger that is just barely bearable. He wasn't fuming. He was livid. Livid, because this anger wasn't bearable. This anger was tearing him apart from the inside and out. This anger was the death of him.

"Stiles, calm down." Derek says, no longer tolerating the anger Stiles reeked of. Stiles, as if never hearing Derek's plea, continued to pace―each step he took reeking more and more of anger. "You should be happy―"

"Happy? Don't make me laugh, Derek!" Since the two had entered the burnt home, Stiles stopped, and looked at Derek. Really looked at Derek. "Those two had their Father's diary, read in that diary that they had a brother, but did nothing! Now, with the Sheriff out of the way, they suddenly have a reason to be here?"

"Yes," the werewolf defended, despite his better judgment. "To help you. Stiles, you had something good going for you with Noah. They didn't want to ruin something for you that they didn't have. It wouldn't be fair to you."