Archive of Our Own

“Apparently we look so good the Neeman Pack is asking for wine,” When Derek only arched his eyebrow, Boyd smiled. “For the feast. The one their eyes are having.” He said it in such a deadpan voice that it took Derek a second to realize what Boyd was saying.

He resisted the urge to snarl, his skin tightening and his upper jaw aching as he forced his fangs to stay up. He was saved from answering though, by Erica. “I wish the Neemans would,” She teased, her hand coming up to rub on Derek’s forearm, scenting him and soothing away the sick feeling of being watched and judged and objectified. She always seemed to encourage the objectification though, his second-in-command finding pleasure in baiting everyone before snapping when they got to close. 

He watched as she flipped her full blond hair over her shoulders, puffing out her already popped chest as she leaned back against the wall. She gave the Neeman's a flirtatious smile as she kept rubbing up and down his forearm, and though it looked sexual, tension and a soft, familial feeling was working its way through the pack bond.

“We’re not meat.” Derek said, his teeth clenched in an attempt to not let his fangs drop. Not here, in the crowded conference hall.

He was here to get a pack, a larger number of betas, at least, to strengthen his Hale Alpha-spark. To stabilize him. Sometimes he wished that his betas were enough, but after being in his mother’s pack, after feeling the connection of nearly a hundred different werewolves, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson just weren’t enough. Not for his sanity, not for theirs. And the idea of fighting Laura for his mother’s pack left a bitter, ugly taste in his mouth.

But he wasn’t pimping himself out. Not to any pack. Especially not the Neemans.

“Somethings up,” Erica said, two seconds before the commotion on the other end of the conference hall drew Derek’s attention from Erica's soothing presence. He felt the small rush of Isaac’s distress as he and Jackson headed over.

‘Alpha Pack’ Jackson said wordlessly, touching Isaac’s shoulder as they parted the crowd and came forward. They were drawing attention, curiosity and lust—for what, Derek didn’t even want to think about—filling the bland hotel’s dining room as Jackson led Isaac to safety.

“Hmmm… they're coming from Three B.” Erica murmured, eyes looking past the betas.

“Then we should go to any conference but Three B.” Boyd stepped aside so Isaac could rush over to Derek’s already lifted hands, sinking into the scenting, as if Derek could rub the anxiety right out of him.

 “They’re headed this way.” Isaac murmured, sniffing Derek's neck, his shoulders lowering. Derek reached around his neck, holding his hand there.

But the Alpha Pack wasn't heading their way. Even when Derek pulled off the wall, and Erica and Jackson slipped on either side of him; as second and enforcer. And behind him, Boyd and Isaac waited with a quiet, observant tension. The Alphas weren’t coming—Derek could see them, see Deucalion in particular, but it seemed like he’d been distracted.

“You show your face here, boy? You’re pathetic, even before, when you had an Alpha to tether your magic.” Derek came a little closer, the curiosity of the scent of the crowd making his own grow. The ‘boy’ Deucalion was talking to wasn’t a boy at all, but a man in his mid-to-late twenties, standing tall, shoulders back, and a smirk on his well curved lips. It was an exceptionally strong stance to have when facing an Alpha, especially Deucalion, who’d earned his blood-thirsty reputation. “Get out of here before you embarrass yourself and your little band of misfits anymore.”

The guy laughed. The sound was cheerful, matching his grin. His hands were in the pockets of his chinos and his flannel hung off his shoulders, a size too big. He looked like a kind of all-American boy, to Derek, the kind who hung around on board-walks in the California sun. Nevermind that the man’s skin was pale, mole-dotted, and the look in his eyes belied his easy charm.

“What are you laughing about?” Julia spat out, her eyes glowing that Druid-purple glow.

“We may look like sissies, but watch what you say or else we’ll put out your lights.” He laughed again. “After all, we’re men—men in tights.”

“What?” Deucalion sneered. "Is this a joke to you?" To Derek’s right, Erica was laughing though, her grin growing wider and wider.

The guy sighed. “Listen, Dukey-boy, as absolutely terrifying as you are, I’ve got better things to do. Go eat a cookie or something, you look like your blood pressure is rising dangerously high.” He nodded his head to Deucalion’s rapidly reddening face.

“You have no right to be here. You’re Alpha’s spark didn’t even pass down to any of you—why would anyone want you?”

“I don’t know, for the same reason they’d want a half-blind, egomaniac, I suppose. We’re damn dramatic.” The man laughed.

Deucalion snarled, and the dining room slowly started to empty as people left. Only a few Alphas—the ones without packs yet—stayed in the open area, even if they did stand far away. Any potential emissary that could stand up to Deucalion was worth the attention. Derek felt his own interest rising as he watched Deucalion’s eyes flashed an ugly, dark red; exposing the twisted nature of his pack bonds. It was enough that most of the Alpha’s left, too. As if sickened by Deucalion's warped nature. Too late, Derek realized he and his pack were the only ones still in the dining room.

The mage looked over at them, open curiosity taking away the mischievous look in his eyes. Derek’s nostrils flared as the man’s eyes flashed—going spark-white. A spark was a rare find, a powerful find. It seemed odd to him, that the guy would be at a convention, looking for a pack. He couldn't imagine how a pack that could keep the strength of a spark-mage wouldn't have transferred an Alpha-spark. As Derek scented the air, he couldn’t help but admire the smell he was receiving; like pinot-grigio and fresh bread and bitter chocolate.

“Hello there, ballsy.” The mage said, completely ignoring Deucalion, his pack, and his druid emissary. The mage exposed the entire glide of his mole-flecked neck to look at Derek up and down. Something strange flickered in his white eyes—almost like they’d flashed to Alpha red for a second. “What’s your name?”

“Hale.”

The man seemed to like that, and his smirk turned into a real smile, a pleasant, almost goofy looking thing. “As in the Hales? From New York?”

Derek nodded.

“Ah, that’s a bloodline I can get behind. You, sir, are going to buy me coffee.” He turned completely to face Derek and his pack—his back exposed to Deucalion.

“Hey—watch—” Derek rushed forward, but he was too late. Deucalion was faster, his anger springing him forward to snap his teeth into the spark-mage’s throat—only for the spark-mage to literally explode, his entire body pulsing out like shrapnel that only aimed itself to Deucalion’s face and body.

Deucalion howled at the pain, holding his bloody face as Julia rushed forward. Behind them, Ennis crouched down low, looking for the threat no longer there. Kali and the twins were looking smug and vicious, their eyes on Deucalion’s bleeding, howling form, begging for more blood.

“What the hell?” Erica wasn’t the only one of his pack shifted, too, looking around the conference room with wide eyes.

“Come on, I’m feeling thirsty.” The man was behind them. Derek spun around, to see the man's cool, happy smile, his hands still in his pockets. “Le’s goooo.”

“How did you do that?” Isaac asked, flinching away.

The man’s eyes were still bleeding to white, and they watched Isaac’s backtracking with an unaffected air. “Oh, I hit him with my shamone.” He made an abrupt motion, jumping up so his knees were bent, his entire weight pressed to the tips of his converse as he grabbed his crotch. He slammed back down on his feet quickly, sliding backing into a moon walk as he yelled, “hee-hee!”

“He’s crazy.” Body said. 

“Yes, he is.” Erica purred.

“Come on!” He made a wild, flapping motion with his arm, his flannel spreading wide as he headed quickly for the hotel's front doors.

“I will kill you!” Deucalion roared. But he was still on his knees, Julia mumbling about herbs and whatnot.

“Let’s go.” Derek reached up, pushing against Jackson’s back to ease the anxiety and tension in his enforcer. To get them all to leave the conference hall. He didn’t want to be there when Deucalion healed and decided to take his revenge. “Let’s see where it leads.” He liked the guy’s scent. Enough that, once they were out in the empty small-town Minnesota streets, he pulled in front of his pack to get a better whiff. In the crisp, winter air, it was easy to really smell it, and feel the odd sort of sensations it brought—like something on his tongue was melting and tingling and something on his skin was tickling him. A mage’s scent, without a doubt. Only their smell gave physical sensations instead of emotions—but something was off.

“You’re hiding something.” Derek realized, coming into step with the man as they headed down the street.

“Oh, was I supposed to tell you my entire life story before the coffee?” He asked.

“Fucking snark.” Jackson hissed.

Derek and the man ignored him. “I’m Derek.”

“Stiles.” He smiled, nodding.

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Isaac asked.

“A me. Or, I guess, a set of steps for animals and shit to use to climb a fence or a wall.” Derek watched his arm come up to scratch at the back of his neck, a self-conscious expression lifting on his face.

“Oh, so I can climb you?” Erica asked, laughing as Stiles’s face whipped back to look at her, his face reddening at her flirtatious smile.

“Ah, no. Maybe? I don’t know. I think you could probably eat me up for breakfast, sweetheart. You’re smoking hot, don’t get me wrong, but I’m the wrong guy for you. Well, I mean, obviously, since we don’t know each other, how could I be the right guy for you? But I mean—I’m gay. So no go there, for this.” He motioned between them as he kept walking. “Or whatever it is your scary, beautiful face is doing right now. Ah, maybe if I wasn’t gay? But maybe even not then, because, yeah, scary.” He faltered in his steps though, one of his feet not lifting upright so he nearly slammed down to the ground. The only reason why he didn’t was because Derek had grabbed him.

Touching a mage’s skin was always an odd experience to Derek. Usually, the sensations that came with their scent grew stronger. Sometimes he could feel their magic, if they were powerful enough, rippling through his entire body like a shock-wave. But touching Stile’s bare arm and helping him up made Derek feel—good. Right. He couldn’t explain it. He pulled back quickly, wiping the hand that he’d used to touch Stiles; both rubbing Stiles’s scent further into his skin and taking away the strange, tickling sensation of Stiles’s magic.

“Thanks big-guy, ‘preciate.” He slapped Derek on the back, still moving down the street. “So, know any good places here in town?”

“I thought you did?” Boyd frowned.

“Why would you think that? I’ve never been this far East—Cali is my home man. My soul. My jag. Never been here before today, actually. It’s cold.” He frowned at the bright, overcast winter sky, as if insulted by it.

“Wear a coat then, asshole.” Jackson muttered.

“Why are we following you then?” Isaac asked, stopping in his tracks and putting his hands on his hips. “You seemed like you knew where you were going.”

“No idea.” Stiles grinned, flipping around to face them. All his motions were shocking, energized. “I know where my hotel room is—oh—and my phone.” He reached into the back pocket of his chinos, wiggling a flagship phone in the air with his long fingertips. “Lemme google-foo this shitty ass town, I’ll know everything about it in….” His fast fingers slid on a password, before moving over the screen. “Oh, will you look at that—three missed calls. Worry-warts. Hey, you guys like coffee? Because I love me some coffee, but I don’t really want to drink it right now. Makes my magic go all weird—feel me? There’s—fuck yes!” His fist pumped, then seemed to look beside him for something.

He found only Boyd, who looked confused and was trying to hide it. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck.” Instantly Stile’s excited demeanor was gone. He put his phone away, shoulder slumping in the cold. “This town has tacos. I make it a point to eat a taco in every new place I’ve ever been to. Tradition, you know?” He gave Boyd—then the rest of them a sharp, pained smile.

Derek was a little in awe. He couldn’t tell if it was from Stiles himself, or the emotional whiplash he just got because of Stiles.

“Right,” Derek said, when it was obvious that no one else would speak. “Tacos it is.”

“Yeah?” Stiles perked up a little, giving Derek a shy, pleased smile that had Derek’s stomach rolling.

“Yeah.” Derek said, feeling himself smile back. “Let’s go get some tacos.”

Stiles started to lead them again, and Derek’s pack fell behind intentionally. He could feel their assessment, their interest, their shy pleasure, as they watched Derek and Stiles. They were Derke's emotions, mainly, which were being fed back to him as his pack realized he was actually considering courting the spark to be their pack’s emissary.  

“What are the tacos like in New York?” Stiles asked, looking over at Derek quickly, then away. They were walking back to the hotel.

“Good, I guess.” Derek was slightly disappointed in himself that he didn’t eat out more often. The grease and chemicals in most food places never failed to make him gag—so he cooked his own food. “Very… ah, taco-ey.”

“Ha, I like that. Taco-ey. What even is a taco anyway? So weird. Food is so weird. You can’t even describe it without saying what it is or what it's made out of. Taco-ey.” He chuckled. “Nice.”

“What about in Cali?”

“Oh—they’re phenomenal my man.” Derek rumbled his own pleasure, as Stiles grinned at him. “Like—super taco-ey. Best I’ve ever had, except this one time my—my buddy, he got abducted by the Calavera hunter’s in Mexico. Total shit show that was, like, there was weird temple berserkers. Araya was all like ‘what do you think you’re doing, spending spring break here! You stupid werewolf you!’” He shook his fist in the air as we passed the hotel and kept walking. “But Scotty totally charmed her socks off ‘cus he can charm anyone—even Araya Calavera. It was dope. Seriously. She showed up this cool ass party and got us drunk off some prime-time tequila. The party got busted by this werejaguar, right? Real bitch of a lady, and we were all drunk and freaking out like—” He put up his hands, his tongue sticking out as he made a face that Derek thought might have been ‘scared’. “Aahhh. You know? Really scary. And I was shit-faced, my man. Gone. And Araya was right there, too. We were doing shots and seeing how well would could hit a target. And this werejuguar busts in all like ‘you killed my family! Raw!’ and Araya shot the bitch! Point blank!” He threw back his head, holding his belly as he laughed. “Crazy shit is, she hadn’t been hitting the target all night. So I ask her, hey, you been playing me? And she was. She totally was.” He whipped a tear from his eye. “God, I miss that crazy huntress.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Give this guy some Adderall already.” Jackson hissed.

“He’s laughing about a hunter killing a shifter?” Boyd asked.

“He got drunk with a hunter?” Erica seemed especially interested.

Their concern, interest, and confusion pulsed into Derek through the bond. Derek took it in, his own curiosity winning over their emotions. Who was this kid? He’d never heard of a Berserker in real life. And were jaguars being the rarest of the rare. As rare as Stiles himself was, actually.

 “What… does Calavera have to do with tacos?” Derek asked, pleased when Stiles’s attention wandered back to him.

“Hmm? Oh. She made us tacos for the hangover. Dude. Most taco-ey tacos ever.” Derek’s eyes followed the motion of his pink tongue coming out to lick his lips. “Yum.” He blinked. “I should probably call her actually. She gave me a cool Christmas gift.”

“He get’s Christmas presents from hunters?” Erica nearly ran up to them. “Who are you?”

“I’m Stiles.” He flashed her a smile. “Nice to meet ya—oh, hey, we’re here.” He stopped abruptly, looking at the hole in the wall shop stuck between a 24 hour laundry and an old fashioned video-rental place. “Will you fuckin’ look at that, rentals. Hu.” He shook his head. “What is the world coming to.” He stepped forward easily, entering the small Mexican restaurant.

Derek stood outside with his pack, turning to them after he watched Stiles very deliberately walking to the ordering station at the very back. “We should hear him out.” Derek said, looking to Isaac first. He had the best feel for these sorts of situations. He wasn’t a fighter, but he knew people, knew danger, and more than anything—he had the best instincts.

“I think I’m half in love.” Erica said, still watching Stiles through the doorway.

Derek was surprised at his possessive fury. He held in his snarl but could do nothing for the emotions singing through their bond. She flinched back from him—her wide eyes coming towards him. “Derek?” Hurt flashed between them, and he reached out for her, soothing the sting with guilt and scenting.

“I think…” Isaac sighed. He put his chin further into his scarf as he pushed his curls back. “He’s dangerous—that’s more than obvious. Even worse, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who has sympathy for anything other than what’s his, you know? Guys like that are especially dangerous. If he’s just using us to get an Alpha, I think…” He peaked up at Derek. “If we go in there, there’s no turning back. Can you walk away, Derek?”

That seemed like an odd question to Derek—of course he could walk away. 

He didn’t want to though. He really, really didn’t want to. He felt colder and sadder without Stiles near him, filling the air with his energy, his power, his awkward hyperness. “Say the word, and we’ll go. Right now.”

“Let’s fucking go, then.” Jackson hissed, jumping a little to keep away the Minnesota cold. “I don’t like the guy. He’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.” Boyd pointed out easily, smiling as Jackson gave a playful snarl.

“I… I don’t know, Derek.” Isaac bit his lip. “I don’t get a bad vibe but—”

“Good enough! Let’s go!” Erica opened the door, swinging it open to fan a wave of hot, spicy food into the cold air. And that scent, of floral white-wine and bitter chocolate and freshly made bread. He was following her—and that scent—before the door could fully open. He felt the pack’s resignation as they followed behind.

“Oh, goodie, you decided to stick around.”

Derek frowned. “Are you being sarcastic?” He felt a little wounded at that, as he watched Stiles lean against the back of a yellow plastic bench.

“What? No, God—not like that. It’s not like that at all, seriously.” He rose, holding up his hands. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this—being nice and all. It’s not really—Scott’s always the one doing this kind of thing. Meeting people, making connections. He was the nice one. I’m a dick. But a dick whose really happy you’re here—and wow. I did not just say that.” Derek watched, getting that whiplash feeling again as Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your hotter than the burning goddamn sun, yeah. But I’m glad you’re here for more than just that. My dick non-withstanding. You guys seem promising. And…” He looked up. “Shut me up, please?”

Derek laughed. “You’re adorable.” He said, before going to the counter to order. He didn’t turn around, as he heard Stiles make a noise a bit like a strangled-goose.

“Adorable. You hear that, pretty boy, he called me adorable.”

“Fuck off.” Jackson hissed.

“Aww, love you too, boo.”

Shaking his head, Derek ordered the first thing he saw. “One chiles rellenos, please.” The lady behind the counter nodded, writing on a ticket tab. “And a blue moon.”

“Eh, flat-tire is better with the rellenos.” She offered.

“A flat-tire then.” She reached into a fridge behind her, popping open the beer before handing it over. Derek stepped aside so Erica could order, then Jackson, then Boyd, then Isaac. He turned as they did, watching Stiles watch them.

It was odd, to see the guy being still. Derek hadn’t thought it was possible, but looking at him now, watching his pack with a strange, keen observation— “Is the hyperness an act?” He asked, drawing Stile’s sharp brown gaze as he walked over. A lot of mages tended to hide who they were. Deaton, his mother's Emissary, hid behind vague non-answers and confusing sayings when he was around strangers--but in all reality, Deaton was a die hard Cowboy's fan and had a raunchy sense of humor. Deaton had talked about it like an instinct, a bone-deep need to be overlooked so the magic could be more effective.

Stiles was doing a very terrible job at being overlooked, but there was something about him. Something Derek could only catch glimpses of when Stiles's eyes went dark and his body stilled.

“I wish it was.” He said, his eyes never leaving Derek’s pack. Sizing them up. “It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I could control my verbal diarrhea. But no—it’s real. Had ADHD since I was a kid. Magic didn’t help any. Burns my metabolism so quickly meds don’t have a chance to work. It also reacts to my magic, so, yeah, my parents did not have an easy time raising me. Sometimes though, I can channel it. Not the jumping thoughts—of course. But my whole human-pin ball impersonation.”

“Hmm.” Derek put the beer to his lips, taking a quick sip to savor the flavor before the meal came out.

“Hmm—that’s it? Just hmm?” Stiles looked over at him, smiling. "You're a man of few words, I take it?"

“Hey—what—” Derek didn’t fight it as Stiles took his beer, taking a huge gulp.

“Gotta get me one of these.” He said, looking at the label. “Never had one—not much of a beer drinker myself.”

Derek shivered as Stiles handed back the beer then stood behind Isaac to order one as the lady brought up an order for green chili.

Derek put the bottle up to his mouth, smelling Stiles’s saliva on the rim. It was a concentrated version of his scent, it hit Derek like a punch in the gut.

Not even Derek’s family could take Derek’s food and drink. He’d nearly snapped Laura’s head off when she’d stolen a juice box from him when they were five. And the feeling only got worse and worse as his instincts demanded that no one ever take what was his. If someone asked, it was fine. He could let go easily enough—but no one could just take from him. Not without repercussions.

Derek took a sip of the drink again, mostly for that flavor—mixed in now with Stiles’s saliva, which made the beer richer, more savory—noticing at once how big of a gulp Stiles had actually taken. But there was no anger, no fury…

Yeah—Derek couldn’t walk away from this.

He looked over his bottle to see Stiles peaking over his shoulder. Derek could only see the tilt of his lips—a knowing smile. All at once Derek realized that the shared drink was a test. That Stiles knew exactly what he was doing.

A pleased rumble came from Derek’s chest.

Stiles ate with the same gusto he used when he talked. And he enthusiastically ate while he talked. Isaac had stopped eating just to stare, and Jackson had pushed his food away in disgust. “All I’m sayin’,” Stiles said, shoving a portion of taco into his mouth, juices dripping out the bottom and into his palm. “Is that there is some real fuckin crazy shit out there, man. Like—Harry Potter had it easy.”

Derek frowned as he cut up another section of his chilly. “When did we start talking about Harry Potter?”

“Oh. Right now.” Stiles rolled his eyes, his jaw working as he chewed. “It’s like—crazy. Giant spiders, I got you. Basilisks, fuck yeah. Especially if I had Ron at my back. That boy was like, best friend material right there. Scotty—” And he seemed, again, to look to his side. Expecting to see something that wasn’t there. And again, that heavy, sad feeling pushed its weight down onto his shoulders. Derek watched as Stiles put his taco down.

Derek didn’t know what to say. He’d never lost anyone before. He even still had his grandparents. The entire thing—death, grief—made him uncomfortable. He moved around in his seat, reaching forward as Stiles grabbed for a flat-tire. Derek had lost count of whose beer was whose after a while—and touched Stiles’s hand. Their fingers dragged against each other, scent marking. Skin contact gave Derek that strange, warm thrill through his body. Stiles took the beer and his hand back.

Derek rubbed his fingers, ignoring how the taco’s drippings and grease felt as he tried to chase the tingling sensation of Stiles’s magic.

“He was your Alpha, Scott?” Isaac asked.

“Yeah. He was.” Stiles sighed, taking a huge swig. “Best friend. Brother from another mother. Whatever you wanna fucking call him—he’s amazing. And dead.” Stiles’s mouth twisted into something that was not a smile, but a mockery of one. “See, we went through all this crazy shit together. First, he gets bit by some random, wandering alpha. Then we gotta deal with some Romeo and Juliet shit with the hunters. Then we got kanimas and chimeras and freaky ass bounty hunters and Deucalion’s lovely bunch of bitches and a whole bunch of weird creatures and dude—the dread doctors?” He shook his head. “Weirdest thing ever. But no, none of that shit does him in. Instead, it’s a damn car-crash. After all the years and all the fights…” His eyes went distant, vacant. “A fucking car crash did my buddy in.”

“We’re not invincible.” Derek said, wanting to reach out again. “We can die, just like everyone else.”

“Yeah. I realized that.” There’s no bite to Stiles’s words though.

“His spark didn’t pass down?” Boyd asked.

“Nope.” Stiles popped his p as he said it, giving us a daring, mischievous grin. “My pack… is weird.”

“You’re calling it weird?” Jackson crossed his arms. “You?”

“Oh yea.”

“No way, Derek. No way.” Jackson looked over Erica’s body to glare at Derek, but the tension coming through the bond was more interest and anxiety than absolute denial. Derek waved him off.

“Who are they?”

Stiles beamed as he reached under the table and jerked his hips up—crashing them against the bottom of the table and making Erica cry out as she tried to keep her soda from spilling into her enchilada—as he grabbed his phone. “Here, here. This is them.” He quickly opened up his phone to show us. “The McCall Pack.” He presented them all with the picture on his phone. Wisely, he chose to show Isaac first—showing the extent of his observation before he flashed it to everybody, then finally gave it to Derek.

Derek looked down, as Erica leaned into him to get a better look and nuzzle his neck.

The picture was obviously old—Stiles’s hair was short and buzz-cut, his face rounder, frame softer. He had his arm slung around a grinning, tan boy with floppy hair and a crooked jaw. The crooked jawed one was holding the hands of a sweet, round-faced Asian girl. On Stiles’s other side, though, was a very prim and polished looking redhead who seemed annoyed at something, her red lips pursed at the camera. There was also a sweet, pale, square-jawed girl with long black hair. Even younger than them—probably just starting high school—was a brown-haired boy with a roguish grin, a Latino girl with a wide smile, and a black boy with diamonds in his ears. Leaning over the younger ones with a buff guy with sharp dimples and warm eyes.  

“Hu.” Erica said, looking them over. “I can’t tell from the picture what your pack relation is.”

Most of the time, pack relation was easy to pick out. Looking at Derek's betas, it was easy to tell that Jackson was the enforcer because he was always protecting the physically weakest but most emotionally supportive members. And Erica was known as his second by pure proximity and danger. Laura’s pack was the same way.

But looking at them all, it was hard to tell who was who.

Derek handed the phone over to Isaac, who took it, looking over the photo with curious eyes. “McCall Pack, you said? Isn’t that…” He racked his brain for information. “It’s new, isn’t it? Not even five years old? Northern California, right?”

Derek remembered hearing stories about them. They were a wild, young group—his mother had enjoyed reading about their exploits in the Werewolf Bulletin. He’d never read it himself, though. Something he was going to correct as soon as he got back to the hotel.

“Beacon Hills. Right.” Stiles nodded. He wiggled his fingers and Isaac gave him back his phone. He plopped it on the table so everyone could see him pointing. “We got me, then Scotty.” Derek paid close attention to the crooked-jawed boy’s easy smile. “Lydia the Banshee, Kira the Kitsune. Liam and Hayden are chimeras—don’t ask.” He looked up at Jackson, smiling dangerously. “This guy here, that’s Mason, he’s like, possessed by a demon-werewolf spirit. Totally in control, though. And that’s Danny, he’s human. And that’s Allison, she’s also human, but a hunter. You can’t see him because he’s taking the picture—he hates his picture taken—but the last member is Jordan, a Hellhound.” He leaned back, eyes snapping to Derek’s. “The reason why Scotty’s spark never presented itself is because we had no other werewolves in the pack. It was just us—the merry band of misfits.” His smile turned soft, sweet.

“Why be a pack then?” Boyd asked, frowning at the picture. “Sure, I could see how technically it could fly, since you were all around an Alpha—but now that he’s gone, you can’t call yourself a pack. Why would you even want to be?”

“Because Beacon Hills is our town.” Stiles said, tapping his finger against the table in irritation. “It always has been, even before Scott got bit. We protected it. When we realized who could get some law backing us up, we jumped at the chance. The bonds were all there, Scott was our Alpha, no one could dispute it. Now that he’s… gone... we don’t want another pack stepping on our toes.”

“So you need an Alpha…who, what?” Boyd challenged, looking at Stiles’s finger. “Won’t step on your toes? Who will just live in your area and let you be?”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe. If that’s what it takes. Mostly, we want… pack. We’re willing to extend our family.” He looked over at Derek, trying to say something with his eyes that Derek didn’t understand.

“If I remember right,” Erica said, tapping her chin. “Beacon Hills is a hot spot. You always got something coming in or out of your territory. Threatening your people. Hardly any humans live there anymore because they’re always getting put in the crossfire.”

Stiles’s smile was blinding. “We’re like the supernatural wild, wild west.” And again, there was a shadow in his eyes. Derek didn’t understand as he started to sing the Rider’s in the Storm song under his breath. A heavy spread of magic zapped against Derek's skin as Stiles's magic flared.

“Stiles—”

“Beer—Beer is good.” He got up. “And stuff.” He nodded to them, then walked back to the counter, his wallet already in his hand.

“Guys.” Isaac leaned forward, his eyes wild. “Beacon Hills is dangerous.”

“No shit. The only reason why people even live there is because of dumb fools like that guy.” Jackson looked over his shoulder, to where Stiles was grabbing three beers from the bored lady behind the counter.

“If we join him—we’ll be going there.” Boyd leaned backed, frowning at Stiles’s phone, which had gone dark. “No way can we stay in Laura’s territory.” He looked up. “But Beacon Hills? It won’t be peaceful living, Derek. I hear they get attacked a few times a year. There's no stability. Ever.” He rubbed his face. “Shit, he’s met the Dread Doctors. Those guys are urban legend, Derek. And he talks like he met them.”

Derek watched Stiles walking back, holding the three beer bottles effortlessly in his long fingers. He understood the capability in Stiles’s walk. The carefulness of his gaze. He wondered, though, at the cheerful demeanor. The laughter and hyperactive thoughts. That mage-instinct to hide the potential threat he wielded.

Everyone watched Stiles as he put the beers down and slid into the booth.

“It’s heavy, it always has been and it always will be." He said with no preamble. "Me and Lyds, we got this theory going on—we think with stable werewolf blood, the land will settle. Scott had been driving—the night he—yeah, he was going to some local kids who were thinking about taking the bite. To see if we could expand the werewolf sphere a little. Put the theory to test.” He looked at us, his gaze dark. “You won’t be enough, but those kids—they’re still waiting for someone to give them the bite. There’s seven of 'em. With that, we think the land will settle. Channel through me with a bit of spell work, to the Alpha and then to the rest of the pack. Make the land feel protected, so it doesn't attract all the big baddies.” He waited, his knee jerking so bad under the table that Derek could feel the way the connected benches wobbled.

“You come with a lot of strings attached.” Derek said, grabbing for his beer, tasting the way Stiles’s saliva touched the rim. It still gave him that jolt, that pleasure.

Stiles snorted. “Baby-cakes, I’m low maintenance compared to my pack.”

Derek nodded. “What’s your life like, Stiles?”

“Constant vigilance!” He screamed the words, making everybody jump. “Like I said, Harry Potter got off easy. He had Ron.” Stiles grabbed his phone, his thumb rubbing the black screen as he took it away. As if he could still see Scott’s face lighting up the pixels. “Best buddy a guy could ask for. Loyal. Smart. Vulnerable in all the right places and ready to take a stand for justice.”

“Ron was a fucking twerp.” Jackson muttered.

Stiles stiffened, his white eyes flaring up. “In the movies, sure. They gave all his best lines to Hermione.” He glared at Jackson, who was sitting right next to him. Daring the pack enforcer to try for more.

Derek pushed on that bond, batting away Jackson’s defensiveness and pride, trying to focus on Isaac’s sympathies instead. Jackson backed down. “Seriously, what is your life like? What would it be like for us, if this… experiment of yours doesn’t work?” He asked—ignoring the groans that came from Boyd and Isaac, and how Jackson snarled to hide his sudden flare of anxious worry.

Because if the experiment did work, Derek would have a wild array of people to look after. Not just his betas, but seven new, untested and unknown ‘wolves looking for guidance and obligation. As well as—Derek couldn’t even remember all the strange creatures Stiles swore was a pack. The dynamics themselves sent his mind spinning.

“If it doesn’t?” Stiles pursed his perfectly shaped lips at Derek. “Except to get beat up once every three months. I mean, really beat up. Near death kind of beat up. To get attacked out of the blue every four or five months. Your house will be warded by me—but I can’t ward the entire town. You’ll run perimeters in shifts every night. You’ll learn to sleep with a gun or a knife with you. You’ll learn the town Druid--Marin—intimately because she will stitch you up a lot. You’ll learn to never be surprised. To feel… hunted. Learn what it’s like to feel the change in the air when something dangerous is coming but you don’t know what…

"But you’ll also learn to love your neighbors with a passion. The town, the strange creatures, will become family. The leprechaun at the bank will set up a fund to pay your mortgage. And the pixie at the coffee shop will always have coffee—with a little bit of dust—waiting for you by the time you come over. The Dullahan across the street will always know when you need a comfort-food casserole. And the centaur family at the edge of the woods will give you the weirdest shit that you’ll need within the day.” Fierce pride and love burned in Stiles's eyes as he grabbed his beer. He didn’t break eye contact as he chugged half the bottle and put it down. “You will know, Derek, what’s it’s like to have an entire town watching your back while you watch theirs. Your pack won’t just be us—your betas here, the ones you bite, me, and my people. It will be everyone. And you will belong to everyone. And the nightmares and the fights and the horrors won’t mean shit when the fae come to your door, hearing that you’ve had a shit night and want to party with you to chase all the bad away.”

He leaned forward, his hands going past the beers and plates to touch Derek’s. He scent marked Derek—gently—by holding Derek’s hand and rubbing the fingers of his other hand across the back of Derek’s. His touch woke something up inside of Derek. His gaze made Derek realize that something was lust. As Stiles peaked up with his golden eyes, his tongue coming back out, Derek was feeling his stomach roll and his dick harden in his pants. He could smell his own lust, filling the air, rising with Stiles’s strange magical scent.

“If it doesn’t work—” Stiles grinned, promising things that had Derek leaning forward, his fangs dropping as he lost to his instincts. “Then you’ll live in my world, Derek. And my world is darkness and light. Horror and love. But if it does work…” He laughed, low enough that Derek felt the annoying constraint of his own pants as he started to rub Stiles’s skin back. “Oh, you’ll see something amazing, my man. Something that doesn’t exist anywhere else in the world. You’ll see a community of supernaturals thrive.”

And how could Derek say no to that?

The pack left to go to the open-bar once they all shuffled into the hotel, telling Derek they’d think things over. It was heavily implied he wasn’t invited to sit with them and debate it—his mind was pretty much made up.

Stiles stood next to him, watching his pack walk away. “I never really thought—it seemed like such a stupid idea, before. Scott was dead, and I was fucked up, man. Just—how can you expect to live through something like that? Scott, you know?” He looked over. And Derek could imagine, however uncomfortable it made him, of his mother or sister dying… to realize he’d lost not only a family member but an Alpha, too. He shuffled, not able to take Stiles’s heavy gaze.

“But I had to. For the town. And Jordan and Lyds just kept pushing and pushing and pushing—and so, fuck it. I said I’d go to this stupid ass convention looking for an Alpha to take care of us. Make us right again. I was so against the idea, I deliberately refused to show up till the last day.” He smirked. “Only reason why I came was to pick a fight with Dukey and fuck up his face. Mission accomplished, yay. But there you are, looking all devastatingly sexy and your energy—” He whistled. “Outta this world. Even if I ignore the ties to your large ass Hale Pack.

“It was that energy that drew me, you know. How close you are to your betas. You’re not just a pack. You’re a family, too.” He pivoted, turning to Derek, reaching with his long, slender fingers to jolt Derek’s cheek. “Your bonds are solid. Strong. I haven’t seen anything like it… except for mine, I guess. So, yeah. I just wanted to let you know, it’s why I picked you. Why I’d really, really like for you to try this. Nothing concrete, I can’t promise you that if you step foot in Beacon Hills you’ll be welcomed as our fucking lord and savior and all that jazz—and you’ll have to face the inquisition hardcore…” He laughed. “I’m not making this sound appealing. But hey, come to Beacon Hills. Try it out. See if you leave with any interesting new scars.” He winked, his fingers sliding, scenting, before he started to walk away.

But Derek couldn’t let him. He reached out, grabbing Stiles’s hand before it could really fall. Not letting Stiles take more than two steps. Stiles stilled, and Derek realized how unnatural that must have been—for such a loud, moving being to learn how to still and prepare for possible danger. For such a dangerous man to be filled with so much life it burst out of his limbs in uncordinated movements. 

Beacon Hills would not be easy—and neither would Stiles. But Derek didn’t want easy. Easy was staying with Laura. Submitting his instincts, drowning his own needs for familiarity. This was... a leap of faith. For what his body was telling him was right for him.

“Come up to my room.” Derek urged, stepping closer, feeling Stiles’s magic buzz against his chest. His dick was hard again in an instant.

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Not even gunna by a guy dinner first?”

“We went Dutch. I’m liberal like that.”

“Ha—cute. And do you also hate Baby it’s Cold Outside?” He asked, smirking. But his lips hadn’t lifted higher than Derek’s mouth.

“Baby, it is cold outside.” He reached for Stiles trimmed waist, holding it in his hands. “Mind if I move in closer?”

“Fuck yeah.” And then his lips touched Derek’s. They were soft, but the kiss itself was firm, determined. His hands came up to cup either side of Derek’s head, dragging his fingers through the hair and sending a shock of heavy, needy tingles across his scalp and down his spine and straight to his dick. Derek licked the seam of his lips, trying to get access, and they opened with a heady tangle of magical-scent.

Derek slid his hands down, reaching for the firm roundness of Stiles’s ass. He needed the flesh there, wishing the chinos were out of the way. “Upstairs?”

“God—fuck—no room sharing though. I know how you werewolves fly. You’re coming to mine.” Stiles led Derek forward with his hands, his magic—which was building—

In a single step, Derek found himself in a new place. The smell was different. Less hormones, less unfamiliar pack smell, and more of the clean, antiseptic scent of hotel-life. And he was naked.

He looked at Stiles, who still had his hands in Derek’s hair. His glowing white eyes absorbed Derek’s shock, taking in the shift of features, the fangs, the claws that were suddenly gripping naked ass. “I ought to say no, no, no sir.” Stiles teased. “At least, I gotta say that I tried.” His lids dropped, a heady expression falling over his white eyes—and again, there was that odd shift he'd thought he'd imagined before. Of white eyes flashing to red.

“You took his Alpha-spark, didn’t you?” Derek realized. It should be impossible. Nothing but a werewolf could take a Alpha potential. But Stiles was a spark. Rules didn't apply to him.

As if to really confirm that, Derek looked around. They were in a hotel room—Stiles’s hotel room, if the smell of magic coming from the luggage in the corner was any indication.

“That’s the thing, right? The trick to it all.” Stiles demanded his attention again as his hands dug into Derek’s hair for a brief second, before releasing the dark strands and trailing them down Derek’s neck, leaving shockingly little lines of electricity in their wake. “I got the most powerful land in all the world. It's dangerous sure, but its home. And we need to control it—but to do that, we need a very, very powerful Alpha.” His hands skimmed across Derek’s collar bone, down his pecks. “We invited the Dukey to come. See if he could help.” He snorted, running his hands down Derek’s stomach. “We heard how he compounded his energy. Nasty fucking man—this—” His eyes flashed red, bright and hot as any Alphas. The sight of it had Derek’s instincts rising up. Lust mixing itself with protective need. “This’ll be pure, a natural way of compounding energy. And it’ll be strong. If you decide to take it. If your people think we're worth the danger. And if my people think you're worth the power.”

His lips twisted into that mischievous smile Derek had first seen on him. Then his hand was gripping Derek’s erection, tight and strong. Derek snarled, his fingers needing Stiles’s flesh again as Stiles worked him up and down, twisting his wrist at just the right time. His own erection lay hot and tingling on Derek’s hip.

“Not that I’m trying to work you over, or anything.”

“Really? You got a bit of brown on your nose.” Derek nipped at his nose, finding the mage’s squawk endlessly pleasing.

He lifted Stiles up and threw him back against the bed, where he flopped a few times before resting there, legs wide open. He opened them wider, exposing every glorious inch of himself as he stretched his arms up. “Mmm, I’m feeling rather cold, baby.” He said, laughing.

Derek crawled slowly up Stiles’s body. “Stiles?”

“Hmmm?” His knees came forward, to knock into the meat of Derek’s shoulder, sending that ping of magic.

“Shut up.”

“Hey now—”

He shut up, though, when Derek put his lips around his cock and took him in with one big swallow. He had a thickness to him that Derek was surprised by, and a curve. He realized that the sensation he’d been feeling on his tongue—the sensation of Stiles’s magic melting something hot in his mouth—was the heavy, tingling sensation of his lips around Stiles’s cock. Derek’s eyes fluttered shut at the concentrated flavor, and he listened to Stiles gasps, moans, and filthy swearing as he concentrated on pleasing the mage.

“Fuck that’s—yeah, right there. Oh fuck, you really know how to—to use them lips—aahh—ahhh, okay, no no—give me more teeth. Yeah. Let them fangs out baby—ohhhh.” Stiles’s fingers fisted themselves into Derek's hair again, not so much trying to control—Derek didn’t think his instincts could handle that—but holding on for dear life. Derek had to slam his hands down, to keep Stiles’s hips from jerking up.

He peaked up, his lips touching the soft pubes at Stiles’s root—and froze at the undulating, physical wave of the man above him. It was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen, that lean, muscled, moled body twisting and arching. “No no no no—don’t stop. Please, so close, come on—Derek—”

It was the first time he’d said Derek’s name before. A deep, satisfied growl moved through his chest, and Stiles grew stiff, his back arched, his chest panting deeply as the growl vibrated his dick. He was close enough that Derek reached between Stiles’s open thighs, massaging the tight balls there as he started to move his mouth again.

“Gunna—gunna—fuck, if you don’t swallow pull—oohhh.” Stiles’s body wound up tighter as Derek dragged his teeth and fangs—very lightly—up Stiles shaft before swallowing him back down and sucking as hard as he could, massaging the underside with his tongue. “Oh—fuck—Derek—Derek—Derek—Dere-k,” It wasn’t a scream or a yell, but a soft, chanting murmur that made Derek reach for his own dick with his free hand, fisting it tightly—

Stiles orgasm came in a flooded rush. The flavor of it coated the inside of his Derek’s mouth, like concentrated chocolate and wine and rhye. He couldn’t even swallow it, because with the flavor came the magic. It swelled up, so large that Derek’s fist on his dick wasn’t even necessary.

He roared around Stiles’s dick as the magic flushed through his body, giving him an orgasm that had him seeing stars, his back arching up uncontrollably as—

Fuck. He wanted to bite. He pulled away from Stiles’s still twitching dick quickly, unable to help himself from licking at the cum as he felt his knot growing. He'd never felt it before, the pressure of it, but he instinctively knew what the sensation was. 

Knots didn’t just happen—his knot didn’t just form unless—unless—

He looked up at Stiles, as Stiles looked down at him. Red eyes met white.

“That’s… not supposed to happen.” Stiles rasped, his dick twitching as it thumped against his lower belly, his lust-filled eyes blow wide. “My magic… it's not supposed to do that. Not unless. Well, it really likes you.” He gave a lazy, satisfied, shy smile. "I really like you."

“Yeah.” He looked down at his mating knot. “I know the feeling.” He licked quickly at the cum on his lips, relishing the flavor before going back down to lick it all up from Stiles’s skin. His knot pulsed in his hand as he did.

He crawled up the bed when he was done, grabbing Stiles and Stiles grabbed for him. They held each other, both still panting, Stiles’s long fingers teasing the engorged skin of Derek’s dick as they lay together. Usually, this is where the impulsive one-night stand would end. Derek would grab his clothes—or demand them back, since they'd disappeared—and he’d walk out. Go down to his pack and listen to their thoughts.

But as he looked into Stiles’s awed white eyes, feeling the magic sizzle around him as a protective need drove itself into Derek’s chest—he realized there was no walking away. Ever.