Chapter Text
"If you run with wolves, you will learn how to howl."
Stiles was pretty sure his soul mate had a death wish.
He’d taken a few guesses as to what kind of career his soul mate could possibly have—professional boxer, double agent, low-level mob flunky—but really, there was just no simple explanation for the cuts and bruises that appeared on Stiles’ body with alarming frequency.
At least he didn’t have to feel the marks. They could be pretty bad at times; one memorable morning this past summer Stiles had awoken to an entire chest and stomach black and blue, layered with broad, jagged slashes as if someone had been trying out disembowelment. Stiles had been terrified that was it, it had to be over, until another set of painless bruises appeared on his knuckles a few weeks later. Honestly, at this point? Stiles didn’t know how his soul mate was still alive. It was frankly a little impressive.
He was three months into senior year, and just about every week Stiles had a new set of war wounds courtesy of his mystery man. Or woman, maybe, but something about the frequency and placement of the marks had always made him suspect it was a dude.
“Another one?” Scott sighed.
Scott was his de-facto best friend by virtue of having spent the entire summer working together at Scoops Ice Cream Parlor. Stiles’ dad had accepted a job offer at the end of the last school year, and when they’d packed up and moved to Beacon Hills he had been more than a little freaked about starting senior year in a new town. Stiles considered it some kind of divine intervention that he’d happened to meet Scott on his second day in Beacon Hills. They’d both been applying for a job at Scoops and once they’d both been hired, the entire summer was spent bonding over a mutual love of ice cream, lacrosse, and video games.
Stiles touched his blackened eye and shrugged. “Yeah. What do you think, muay thai fighter?”
“Dude,” Scott said, shaking his head. “With how often they get punched in the face? Your soul mate is either a badass or a massive dick.”
“Pray for the former, plan for the latter,” Lydia added unhelpfully. She took her usual seat next to Stiles. “Another soul mark? How does your soul mate find the time?” She scoffed. “Well, whoever they are they must be a glutton for punishment, superior healing abilities aside.”
“And here I am praying for stamina.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows with a leer. He looked over at Scott, expecting a riff on the joke, but instead caught Scott staring off into space. There was a weirdly pensive look on his face. “Scott?”
“Sorry.” Scott shook his head quickly. “Hey, you have any plans today?”
“Nope. What’s up?”
“You should come over after school,” Scott said. “There’s something I wanna show you.”
-
“Holy shit.”
“You’re not freaking out are you?” Scott asked, grimacing. The words were slightly slurred. “You said you wouldn’t freak out.”
“Holy shit.”
“You’re freaking out.”
“You’re a werewolf!” Stiles shouted. “That is so fucking cool!”
Scott’s hands, which had been restlessly gripping and releasing one another, stilled. “Wait. What?”
“So you can change any time, right? Not just at full moons obviously.” Stiles leapt up, needing to articulate with his hands. “Can you change into a full wolf, like four legs and everything? Wow. This is unbelievable. Are you allergic to silver? If you bite me, do I become a werewolf too? Have you always—”
“Okay, whoa, slow down!” Scott laughed. His face morphed back into its normal Scott shape, the fangs and hair disappearing. “I can’t change any more than that, but I’ve seen other werewolves that can. And I’m not allergic to silver, but there’s this stuff called wolfsbane that’s pretty nasty.”
“What about the biting thing?”
“I’m only a beta, so I can’t turn anybody. You have to get bitten by an alpha to turn, like the one who bit me,” he explained. His face grew a little more serious. “That happened like two years ago.”
“So, wait, wait, what happened exactly? Some alpha werewolf just strolled up to you and said, ‘Hey, Scott McCall, how would you like to be a werewolf?’” Stiles asked.
Scott shook his head. “Not really. I was in the woods and I got bitten by this rogue alpha. Who turned out to be totally crazy, by the way. When the change happened, I had no idea what was going on until I met Derek. Long story short, we took down the alpha who bit me and now Derek is the alpha, and I’m in his pack.”
“Wow. That’s intense, man.” Stiles gawked at Scott, still a little in disbelief. Admittedly, this was pretty awesome. “How many people are in a wolf pack?”
“I think however many you want, but there’s just the five of us right now,” he said. “But anyway, there was a reason for all of this. I mean, a reason why I decided to show you.”
“Aw, so it’s not because we’re ready to take the next step in our bromance? Our love transcending secrets?”
Scott grinned. “Well, yeah, obviously. But no, it’s something that Lydia said today about your soul mate.”
“That they have great stamina?”
“No,” Scott said. “She said they must have superior healing abilities. And werewolves heal really fast.”
Stiles finally put the pieces together. “You think it’s a werewolf?”
“Totally. Look, watch this.” Scott took a deep breath and exhaled, extending his claws. Slowly, he took his forefinger and drew it down his arm, slicing through the skin like butter. A red line of blood oozed from the cut. Scott retracted his claws, and goosebumps slid along the back of Stiles’ neck as Scott took a palm to his forearm and wiped the blood away. Under the smear of red there was nothing. Not even a scratch.
“Holy fuck, dude,” Stiles said. “Holy fuck.”
And that was how Stiles learned, almost definitively, that his soul mate was a werewolf.
-
“Okay, but listen, how will I be prepared for my future wolfy love if I never get to interact with some actual, real life werewolves?” Stiles pleaded. It’d been two weeks since the big reveal, and Scott had been uncharacteristically adamant about not introducing him to the wolves in his pack.
“You don’t understand,” he sighed. “This world goes, like, way deeper than you think. Way deeper than just you and me and the others. If I bring you in, you can’t leave.”
“What is this, Fight Club?” Stiles replied incredulously. “The Wolf Mafia? Are you in some kind of supernatural gang? I knew that gang resistance program was a waste of tax dollars.”
“It’s dangerous, Stiles.” Scott’s eyes flashed yellow, and Stiles swallowed his next retort. “The kind of bad stuff that goes with this life... you can’t just dip your toes into this. Once you’re in, you’re in neck deep. You’re always gonna have to watch your back. And I don’t know if I can let you be in danger like that.”
Stiles digested that for a few moments in silence.
“Scotty, if that’s true then I’m already in danger,” he said gently. “Being your friend puts me in danger. Being some werewolf’s soul mate puts me in danger.” He met Scott’s eyes. “And if I’m going to be in danger, then I should at least know what that danger is.”
Scott met his gaze for a few breaths, unblinking, before he sighed and nodded.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll talk to Derek.”
And so that was how Stiles found himself sitting on a fold out chair in Derek Hale’s front yard the next day. His first impression?
If there existed a trophy for sexiest werewolf alive, Derek Hale probably had three of them on his mantle.
And really, that was saying something considering that Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were pretty damn good-looking themselves. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was the change that made them sexy or if it was some sort of pre-bite requirement, but Derek? He had these gorgeous, soulful eyes, just the right amount of stubble, and he was wearing a leather jacket.
Stiles might’ve been in love.
“Scott tells me he thinks you may have a werewolf soul mate,” Derek said, voice light and warm.
Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”
“And what do you think?”
He blinked, a little taken aback that Derek wanted his own opinion. “I think he’s right. I mean, my soul marks are pretty extreme. Before I knew about werewolves, I used to wonder how my mate could survive some of them. And sometimes, the marks are like…” Stiles curled his fingers into an approximation of a clawed hand and dragged it across his stomach with a shrug. “It makes sense.”
Derek nodded, quiet as he mulled that over. He leaned in and gave Stiles a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Guess that settles it then. Welcome to the pack.”
“Uh, what?” Stiles’ eyes widened. He thought maybe his eyebrows had left the solar system. He turned his head toward Scott, whose own face was schooled in a sheepish expression.
“Yeah, man, so it turns out that werewolves are honor bound to protect the potential mates of other werewolves.” Scott winced and let out a nervous little laugh. “Crazy, huh? I had no idea.”
“Wait, but don’t you have to be a werewolf to be in a werewolf pack?” Stiles asked.
“Oh, but you will be.” Derek’s voice was low and menacing. When he growled, lips curling up at the edges to expose a bit of fang, Stiles jumped out of his chair so fast he knocked it over.
Derek laughed. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just fucking with you.”
Stiles flashed him a smile and a weak chuckle. Jesus, but was Derek’s growl hot. Stiles wasn’t sure if he had the beginnings of a fear boner or if that'd actually turned him on a little. He wasn’t sure that he cared.
“No, you don’t have to be a werewolf,” Derek said. “Do you want to be?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles answered. And he honestly didn’t. He knew the bite wasn’t 100% safe. But Stiles hadn’t given it much consideration outside of the disjointed tangle of thoughts that plagued him whenever he had trouble falling asleep.
“That’s okay. It’s a big decision. And it’s up to your mate, anyway.”
“How progressive,” Stiles muttered under his breath.
Derek snorted. “I meant that it’s your mate’s decision to offer you the bite. You’re free to accept or refuse.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes and turned to Scott. “I think you failed to mention the supernatural hearing.”
“Oh, yeah,” Scott said slowly. “It’s all the senses, really. And there’s the strength thing, too.”
Stiles sighed. “How did you manage to skip over all the cool things?”
“Healing is cool!” Scott protested.
“Alright,” Derek interrupted. “I’ve got to get back to training my betas now. Stiles, it was nice meeting you. Why don’t you come by Friday night for pack dinner?”
“That’s why you’re busy every Friday?”
“Sure thing,” Scott answered for him. “He’ll be there.”
-
Werewolves knew how to eat. Derek had ordered five different kinds of pizza and two pans of pasta for pack dinner, and the six of them had no trouble polishing all of it off.
Well, the wolves hadn’t had any trouble with it.
“I’m dying,” Stiles moaned, holding his stomach. “Curse you, Scott, for bringing me into this viper’s nest.”
“I told you not to have that last piece.”
“It was peer pressure,” Stiles responded, pouting.
Erica rolled her eyes. “Am I really gonna have to listen to you bitch for the next hour?” She leaned over and grabbed his wrist. Stiles watched in fascination as the veins on her arms pulsed black, disappearing under her sleeve. When she pulled her hand back, Stiles realized that his stomachache was gone.
“What’d you just do?”
“Took your pain,” she said. “Don’t go eating any more though, you’re still full even if you can’t feel it. I draw the line at cleaning up puke.”
“Whoa,” Stiles said. He turned to Scott. “Can you do that too?”
“Yeah, but Erica and Derek are best at it,” Scott said. He picked up a controller and nodded toward the TV. “You up for a Smash tournament?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?” he scoffed. “Is the Space Pope reptilian? Of course I’m down.”
They decided on single elimination and was Stiles quickly knocked out by Isaac, who killed him with Sheik and did not hold back the shit talk. Stiles gave as good as he got and then retreated to the kitchen where Derek sat with a cup of coffee.
“Hey.” Stiles took a seat two down from him at the breakfast bar. “You didn’t want to play?”
“Not really my kind of game,” Derek said.
“But you have a kind of game.” Stiles grinned. “What is it?”
“I’m more of a Skyrim and Civ kind of guy,” he answered easily, keeping his eyes on Stiles as he took a sip of coffee. Stiles felt his face growing hot under the scrutiny.
“Gotcha. So, would you characterize yourself as a power-hungry dictator or more of a lone wolf?”
“Maybe I’m a misunderstood hero,” Derek replied, returning his smile. “One who used to be an adventurer like you until I took an arrow to the knee.”
“I walked into that.” Stiles groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head, but it was mostly to hide the big, doofy expression he probably had going on. It was totally unfair for someone as hot as Derek to be a closet dork. Like honestly, it should’ve been against the laws of nature.
“What do you think about joining the pack?” Derek asked.
“It’s nice, I guess. Everyone seems cool enough. But I’m still not sure what exactly the danger in me not joining is.” He thought about Scott’s warnings. “Maybe it’s just me, but the world doesn’t seem as bad as you guys make it out to be.”
“Don’t say that.” Derek’s face hardened, all traces of a smile falling away. He stared at Stiles, his eyes flat and serious. “Don’t even think that. The moment you start thinking that’s true is the moment you’re dead.”
And alright, that was a little morbid.
“I thought that once,” Derek continued. “I thought our world wasn’t as dangerous as my mother said it was. Someone took advantage of that. And as soon as I let my guard down, she killed my entire family.”
Stiles had never read Emily Post, but he was pretty sure there were no suggestions on how to express condolences for the murder of one’s entire family. Jesus. It felt weak, but he went with a simple, “I’m sorry.”
Derek looked down into his cup. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t always make it hurt less,” Stiles said. A strange desire to connect surged through him, and he leaned closer into Derek’s space. “My mom died when I was eight and sometimes it still feels like it happened yesterday.”
Stiles bit his lip. That was a truth even Scott didn’t know. Who was Derek Hale to drag these confessions out of him?
“Yeah, I get that,” Derek replied. The moment stretched out, syrupy and thick with the ghosts of the past between them until Stiles could no longer take it.
“Sorry for killing the mood,” he said, breaking the silence. He rubbed his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “Can you tell me more about what being in a pack is like?”
Derek gave him a half shrug and gestured to the living room where Stiles could hear Boyd and Scott arguing over which stage they wanted to use for their match. “Basically, what you see is what you get. There’s not many of us, but we’ll have your back. Pack is family and family comes first, always.”
Stiles didn’t want to say it, but part of him desperately craved that. Growing up as the only child of a single parent? Of course he’d had dreams about what it would be like to live in the chaos of a big family, coming home to screams and commotion for once instead of letting himself into a quiet house.
“So, that’s it? I won’t get any kind of wolf magic contact buzz? No secret initiation rites? Illegal hazing?”
“Actually, there is an induction ritual,” Derek conceded. “But it’s nothing too extreme.”
“I knew it!” Stiles crowed. “Let me guess, a ritual that takes place under the light of a full moon?”
Derek huffed a short laugh. “Nowhere near that cliché. It’s the new moon.”
He said it so completely matter-of-fact that it took Stiles a second to realize he was joking. “You,” Stiles said, “are a very funny werewolf.”
“I try.” Some of the warmth was back Derek’s eyes, and Stiles couldn’t help admiring how handsome it made him. How much that small glint of humor transformed Derek’s face. “Listen, I’m not going to force you to join the pack if you don’t want to,” Derek continued. “I’m not that kind of alpha.”
“More of an enthusiastic consent kind of alpha, huh?” Stiles retorted. Hot embarrassment swept down his face and neck as his brain belatedly processed his words, but Derek just rolled his eyes.
“Let me see your phone,” Derek said. Stiles gave it up and watched Derek quickly tap something in before handing it back. “There’s my number. Take some time to think about it and then let me know when you decide. And if you ever want to text me just to talk, that door’s open too. Alright?”
“Yeah, cool.” Stiles pocketed the phone with hands that were definitely not clammy. “Thanks, man.”
Later that night, after tossing and turning for hours, Stiles sighed and reached over to type out the words weighing on his mind, only letting his finger hover over the send key for a few seconds before punching the button decisively:
I’m in.
-
“You know, I half thought that I’d walk in to see masks and robes, but this is very not Goblet of Fire. I’m impressed.”
“We debated on it,” Scott joked. He led Stiles into the kitchen. “How you feeling? You remember your lines?”
“Yeah. I got this, bro.” Stiles met Scott’s fist bump. He felt a little anxious though, particularly in the stomach region, and said a quick prayer to the digestive gods in hopes it would keep him from throwing up and embarrassing himself for all eternity.
“It’ll be fine, man. More than fine. Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re ly-ing!” A voice sing-songed from the living room. “Don’t forget we can hear your heartbeat.”
“Thank you, Erica, for the reminder that I’ll never again have secrets after tonight,” Stiles muttered.
“Misery loves company,” she hollered back.
Scott waved a hand dismissively in a ‘don’t mind her’ gesture. He grabbed Stiles shoulders and squeezed, grinning at him with soft eyes. “You ready? You can still turn back, you know. No pressure.”
“No, I want to do this.” Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh as he opened them. “I’m ready.”
The other wolves were waiting in the living room. The furniture had been pushed aside, leaving a large empty space, and when they saw him, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Derek all formed a circle in silence. Scott guided Stiles into the middle, gave his shoulders a final quick squeeze, and joined the others. Everyone was wearing regular clothes as expected, something Stiles had thought would make the magnitude of the ritual less intense. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably, and he wiped his trembling palms on his jeans.
“Who enters this pack?” Derek asked. His face was carefully blank. At his side, he held a knife. A really, really big knife.
“I, Stiles Stilinski, do,” Stiles answered, grateful to remember the words.
“What do you enter this pack with?”
Stiles swallowed, trying to wet his dry mouth. “I enter this pack with a sound mind and loyal heart.”
“What do you bring to this pack?”
Stiles walked forward until he was standing right in front of Derek, looking into that stony face. His blood pounded, sounding like an ocean behind his ears, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “I bring nothing but my own self. My ears which will listen when you talk, my hands which will carry you should you fall, and my legs which will always walk beside you. I enter tonight as a guest, but I ask to leave as family.” He tilted his head and bared his neck the way Scott had showed him. “Can you accept me?”
Derek raised his arm and placed his hand over Stiles’ neck. His palm was warm and dry and a thrill of possession flickered low in Stiles’ gut.
“We accept you, Stiles Stilinski. Give us the blood in your veins, so that we know you will bleed for your pack.”
He handed Stiles the knife, and Stiles took a moment to study it. It was very obviously ceremonial, the hilt detailed with tiny moons and howling wolves. It was also warm in his grip, warm from being held by Derek, and for some reason it was that thought that grounded Stiles and made him certain he was doing the right thing. He walked over to stand in front of Scott and then flicked the blade across his fingertip, watching the blood bead up. When it looked like enough, he squeezed a drop into Scott’s waiting mouth. Scott’s eyes closed as he swallowed and then reopened, blazing a fierce yellow.
He moved on and did the same with each werewolf, each one swallowing his blood and opening glowing eyes that pierced the core of him. When Stiles reached Derek, he wobbled, knees turning to water. Derek’s eyes were already red, and they watched him with an intensity that made it hard for Stiles to breathe. Stiles squeezed his finger to get enough blood. Shaking, he dropped it on Derek’s tongue. But before he could move his hand away, Derek’s own hand darted out and gripped Stiles’ in a vice. He froze.
Derek closed his mouth around Stiles’ finger and laved his tongue over the cut. Stiles was rooted to the spot, his breath unmoving in his chest. All coherent thought was gone. Nothing existed in that moment but Derek’s gaze, boring into him like a drill as his whole body vibrated with a strange heat.
Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. Derek let go, blinking as his eyes faded back to normal, and whatever moment had transpired between was broken. He stared at Stiles, face unreadable, but looking like he was measuring something. Stiles felt compelled to tear his own gaze away in the face of that concentration; he glanced down at his finger, which surprisingly showed no trace of injury.
“Alpha saliva has healing properties,” Derek said softly.
“Ah,” Stiles said. He looked around at the other wolves who stared at him quizzically, like they weren’t exactly sure of what had just happened either. Scott was the first to break the circle, walking up to him with a brilliant smile.
“Welcome to the family,” he said, bringing Stiles in for a hug. The other wolves quickly followed suit in their congratulations, passing Stiles around for hugs and touches that, while not inappropriate, were done with such casual intent that Stiles couldn’t help feeling like he’d been part of the pack for years. It lit him up with such joy that he had to swallow against a sudden and ridiculous burning in his throat.
The weirdness of the ceremony passed, they ended the night with a sleepover. Derek laid blankets and pillows across the living room floor, and together they piled in front of the TV to watch B-horror movies and eat popcorn. Eventually, tucked between Scott and Erica, Stiles drifted off. He might’ve woken once, he thought, to the sight of Derek calmly studying him. But the strong sense of family and safety and home had such a tranquilizing effect that when he woke in the morning to the sounds of breakfast being made, he figured that it’d probably been just a dream.
-
It was a few weeks before Stiles finally came up against real evidence of the danger he’d been warned about. With Christmas fast approaching, he didn’t think he could be blamed for not noticing. He was still fairly new at the whole werewolf secret world thing, after all.
They were in Stiles’ bedroom doing homework one afternoon when Scott asked, “Hey, you okay dude?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“I dunno, you just haven’t seemed like yourself lately, you know?” Scott turned toward him with his big, sad eyes. “Is it the pack? Do you regret joining?”
“What? No, of course not,” Stiles said quickly. And he didn’t, not at all. He and Scott had been spending more and more time over at Derek’s and overall, Stiles considered it to be a huge improvement. Being surrounded by the pack somehow made him feel like a different person. More alive. “I just haven’t been sleeping much lately. It sucks. I’m tired all the time.”
Stiles didn’t mention the dreams. It wasn’t like he could describe them anyway; he could never remember much. They always faded into wisps of nothing as soon as Stiles started to try. It was like trying to grab smoke. But every so often, he’d wake up having to catch his breath like he’d been running. Like he’d been trying to get away from something.
Scott chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Do you sleep better at Derek’s?”
Stiles thought about the Friday night dinners that often turned into Friday night sleepovers. “Now that you mention it, yeah. I do,” he said.
“Me too,” Scott said. “I think it’s a pack thing. You could always try sleeping over there when you need to. Derek won’t mind.”
“It’s a good idea. It’s just a hassle to think about driving out to the Preserve every time I need to—” he stopped when he saw Scott’s expression morph into what Stiles liked to call the‘my wolfy senses are tingling’ face. “What?”
“Do you smell that?”
Stiles sighed and pointed to himself. “Human, remember?”
“Sorry, yeah,” Scott replied. “No, but I smell something weird. Like bad weird.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
Scott stood and moved over to the window. He sniffed around for a moment before pulling on the cord for the blinds. Hanging from a nail hammered into the frame outside the window was what looked like a small cloth bag.
“I’m guessing that’s not a Christmas decoration.”
“What the hell is that?” Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes. “Here, let’s open the window and take it down.”
They did, and once Stiles was holding it in his hands he could see that yes, it was definitely a small bag. The material was coarse against his fingers, marked on one side with an eight-pointed star, and closed with a drawstring that even he knew he shouldn’t open. It smelled kind of earthy, like a new age incense shop.
It was also totally evil, if the bad vibes coming off the thing were to be believed.
“So, what do you think it is?” Scott asked.
“Nothing good,” Stiles said warily. He took out his phone to text Derek. “Come on. You drive.”
Derek was waiting for them on the porch when they pulled up. Stiles climbed out of the passenger side with care. The charm was wrapped in a sweatshirt—halfway there he’d grabbed one from the backseat, not wanting to hold it any longer—and Stiles carried it over before stopping in front of Derek, opening it with a flourish.
“Voila!”
Derek frowned and inspected the charm, leaning down to sniff it. “Where exactly did you find it?”
“Outside my bedroom window. Scotty here used his handy-dandy wolf claws to cut it down—”
“Wait, you touched it? Seriously?” Derek’s eyebrows shot up. Scott and Stiles shared a guilty look. “I can’t believe you idiots touched it.”
Stiles pinched his lips together. “Listen, sourwolf, no one ever gave me a guide for what to do if an evil charm happened to appear outside my window.”
Derek shook his head, still incredulous. “Well, in the future here’s a good rule of thumb: when in doubt, don’t touch.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Stiles replied dryly.
“Good. Now, come on, get inside. Leave that thing out here on the porch.”
Stiles balled up the sweatshirt and charm and tossed them none too gently into the corner. Once inside, Derek steered them into the kitchen and directed them to put their hands over the sink.
“Here,” he said. He pulled a bottle of salt out of a cupboard and opened the spout, pouring a generous amount into Scott and Stiles’ hands. “Scrub with that for a minute and then wash it off.”
“Uh, not that we don’t appreciate the exfoliation, but why?” Scott asked.
Derek made no move to cover his derision. “It’s salt. It purifies.”
Stiles scrubbed his hands harshly, clenching his teeth. Derek’s brusque manner was getting to him. He hissed through his teeth when the salt opened a scab. “Do you think you could be a little less of a dick about this?” Stiles snapped. “It’s not like joining this pack came with some kind of Vulcan mind meld. There’s a lot of stuff we don’t know.”
Derek’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I’m going to go reach out to some contacts. Don’t leave the house.”
And with that, Derek disappeared downstairs. Stiles finished washing his hands and turned to Scott. “That was legit, right? He was being a dick.”
Scott nodded, and then with a surreptitious look over his shoulder whispered, “Derek gets a little sensitive sometimes.” Scott flinched at the loud growl that rumbled up from the basement. “Shit.”
“I got it,” Stiles said. He had a feeling that Derek was a lot more bark than bite. “Hey, I’m starving. You wanna make something and I’ll go...” Stiles motioned to the stairs.
“Sure.”
Down in the basement, Stiles found Derek sitting at a desk, typing away at a small laptop.
“Hey, so sorry for calling you a dick, but you were kind of being a dick,” Stiles said, belatedly realizing that sorry-not-sorry was probably not the best opener.
But Derek replied, “It’s fine. You were right. You don’t know enough about our world. That’s on me. I should’ve been teaching you all this time.” He pulled his hands off the keyboard, clenching them into fists. “The others, too. I was stupid not to remember you guys don’t have the same shared history as born wolves.”
So, he was mad at himself. Alright, Stiles could empathize. “Hey, man, it’s cool. We all make mistakes. Just think of it as a learning experience, you know, make better mistakes next time and all—whoa, is that Tor? Dude, are you browsing the dark web?”
Derek gave him a disparaging look. “We live in an underground world. How else did you think we communicated?”
“I don’t know, I figured you guys were a little more old school. Messenger pigeons. Coded telegrams. I didn’t expect you of all people to have the tech skills to surf the dark web.”
“I’m twenty-three, Stiles. I know how to use a computer.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t posting pictures of your cat on Facebook. This is like next level shit. Like drugs and guns and illegal markets—” he paused, wondering if he was arousing suspicion. “Not that I’d know anything about that.”
“Of course not.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Here, look. This is the supernatural wiki. We can search for some info on your evil charm here.”
“Wow, Beastapedia? Really?” Stiles snorted, pulling up a chair to sit next to Derek. “That is a level of pun even I’m uncomfortable with.”
Derek looked mildly offended. “Puns are the highest form of humor.”
To be honest, Stiles felt the same, but he changed the subject anyway. “So, this is open source? Anyone can edit?”
Derek nodded. “Sort of. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly updated by wolves and druids. We tend to keep the best records. Maybe the occasional witch or mage, but they don’t really like to share their knowledge.”
“Witches are real too? Oh man, please tell me they have a real life Hogwarts,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s shoulder and staring at him with mock gravity. “I’ve been waiting for them to tell me my owl got lost for seven years now.”
Derek cocked an eyebrow. “It might be time to give up hope.” He glanced at where Stiles’ hand rested and Stiles, suddenly hyperaware that he was holding Derek’s bare shoulder under his fingers, slammed back into his chair.
“Uh, so! Show me what this Beastapedia can do, huh?”
With a curious lingering glance in Stiles’ direction, Derek clicked through a few screens and then gestured to the page. “Here, look.”
On the screen was a symbol strikingly similar to the one on Stiles’ window charm.
“What’s it mean?” Stiles leaned in.
“It looks like it’s probably one of two things. Regeneration or chaos.”
“You know, for some reason I doubt that they’re trying to curse me into growing new tissue.”
“It doesn’t necessarily mean that,” Derek said slowly, rubbing his fingers against his stubble. “Regeneration could be something being reborn or reformed.”
Stiles frowned. “That still doesn’t really tell us much.”
“I know.” Derek’s expression soured. “Let me make a call.”
The call turned out to be to Alan Deaton, local vet and supernatural scholar extraordinaire.
“Oh, I’m hardly a scholar,” Deaton demurred, an hour later as they all knelt around Derek’s coffee table. “But as an emissary I have done a fair bit of research, and of course there are my own independent studies.”
“Independent studies?” Stiles asked. He watched Deaton turn the charm over in his gloved hands, studying it intently from every angle.
“Yes, I’m a druid,” Deaton replied absently.
“Really? That’s so cool!” Stiles scooted closer. “What kind of powers do you have? Can you do magic? Do you have to be a druid to do magic?”
“Stiles.” Derek scowled at him. His face was just as surly as it’d been when Deaton had first arrived.
“Sorry.”
Deaton put down the charm and looked up. “Well, the herbs appear to be hemlock, thyme, bayberry, and Indian hemp.”
“Okay…” Scott said. “And?”
Deaton hummed thoughtfully. “It’s hard to guess the objective. These herbs can be used for any number of things. Hexes, strengthening, restoration spells. And I get the feeling that the caster had mixed intentions.”
“Really? Because I don’t know much about magic, but that thing for sure feels like it’s radiating cursed vibes,” Stiles said with a shudder.
“How interesting.” Deaton examined Stiles curiously. “Why don’t you tell me about some of your symptoms?”
“Symptoms?” Stiles blinked. “What symptoms? I haven’t been sick.”
“It could be subtler than that,” Deaton said. “Think back to the last few weeks. Has anything changed? Have you had any strong emotions? Dreams?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I’ve been feeling really tired. Like I can’t sleep enough? And I’ve been having some dreams too, but I can never remember them.”
Deaton leaned closer, his voice an excited hush. “Can you tell me how you’ve felt upon waking up?”
“Nervous, sometimes. Like I’m afraid of being discovered. Other times I feel keyed up, excited...” Stiles hesitated, strangely embarrassed about the next part. In a low tone, he finished, “Powerful.”
From the other side of the table, Derek met his eyes. All of Stiles’ nerve endings came alive, buzzing softly in anticipation.
“Well, one thing is certain at least,” Deaton said. “I can say with confidence that this is witchcraft.”
Scott brightened slightly. “So, then it was witches who did it?
“It could be practically anyone.” Deaton sighed. “Witchcraft isn’t limited to witches. Druids, mages, and a slew of other supernatural creatures can all learn it. Even humans.”
Stiles sat up straighter. “Humans?”
Deaton nodded. “Yes, humans of mixed descent. The ones with supernatural blood in them. Like you, I suspect.”
“I’m sorry, did you say like me?”
Suddenly on his feet, Derek, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, leveled Deaton with a cool glare. “You haven’t told us much more than what we already knew. If that’s all you have, then I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Derek!” Stiles chided.
“No, no, he’s right. I should be going,” Deaton acquiesced. Picking up the charm and peeling his gloves off over it, he dropped it into his bag. At the doorway, he paused. Deaton turned back to look at Derek across the threshold, something heavy passing between them. “I hope you’ll reconsider.”
In response, Derek shut the door behind Deaton with way more force than warranted.
“What the hell was that about?” Stiles cried, scrambling to his feet. “You know you weren’t raised by actual wolves, right?”
Derek flashed his eyes and growled. “Stay out of things you don’t understand.”
Stiles’ lip curled. “What’s there to understand? He was trying to help us.” His pulse quickened; Stiles could sense it throbbing hotly near his temples. “And didn’t you hear what he said about me? He said I might be able to learn magic from him!”
“I forbid it.”
Stiles jerked back in shock, but it soon gave way to anger. “I’m sorry, you forbid it? I’d like to see you try and stop me.” Stiles picked up his backpack and tried to shoulder past Derek at the front door, but the world was a quick blur as Derek grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.
“I forbid it,” Derek snarled, pressing the length of his forearm into Stiles’ sternum. There was something in the tone of his voice this time that pulled at Stiles’ guts, twisting them into knots. Something that had him dropping his gaze and tilting his chin to the side without thought. “I am the alpha of this pack. If I say you can’t learn magic from Deaton, then you can’t learn magic from Deaton. Do you understand me?”
It was like all the fight had suddenly been sucked out of him. “Yes,” Stiles mumbled. “I understand.”
“Good,” Derek said, releasing him. “Now call your dad. You’re sleeping here tonight. You too, Scott.”
Derek met both of their gazes briefly, his eyes flinty and harsh. As soon as he had left, headed upstairs, it was as if a release valve had been cranked open. Stiles sagged, pressing a hand into the wall for balance as the pressure lifted in Derek’s absence.
“What the fuck was that?” he hissed at Scott.
“He used his alpha voice.” Scott cringed. “It encourages submission.”
“Yeah, I fucking noticed that, buddy!” Stiles staggered over to the couch and flopped face down into the cushions. “Is there anything else about this pack thing that you’ve forgotten to mention? Can Derek just turn us into zombie slaves and order us to do his bidding whenever he feels like it?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Scott said, frowning. When he caught the look in Stiles’ eyes he hastened to add, “He can’t, alright! He can’t. Chill.”
Stiles huffed and rolled over onto his back. He dug for the phone in his pocket to call his dad and as he stared at the ceiling, listening to it ring, he determined that he was upset mostly due to Derek’s alpha voice taking away Stiles’ right to be heard.
It definitely had nothing to do with the way Stiles’ knees had wanted to buckle and hit the floor, or the irrational wave of heat that had rushed through Stiles’ body.
Later that night, while Scott snored next to him on the living room floor, Stiles discovered a new set of marks. In the center of each palm were four red scabs, presumably from his soul mate angrily digging his claws into his own hands. Stiles ran his fingertips over them, his mood still dark and irritable.
Wherever his soul mate was, Stiles completely understood the feeling.