
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/627473.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall, Lydia_Martin/
      Jackson_Whittemore, isaac_lahey/ofc, Danny_Mahealani/OMC
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey, Lydia_Martin,
      Jackson_Whittemore, Danny_Mahealani, Peter_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski,
      Melissa_McCall, Alan_Deaton, Monica_Morrell, Bobby_Finstock, Allison
      Argent, Chris_Argent
  Additional Tags:
      OCs_-_Freeform, The_Alpha_Pack, Hurt!Stiles, Mating, Non-Graphic_Rape/
      Non-Con, past_Scott_McCall/Allison_Argent_-_Freeform, shifting_pov, Post
      Season_2
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-06 Chapters: 1/? Words: 6834
****** The Moon is our only constant ******
by NanousBlues
Summary
     "They have around two hours left before Deaton should arrive from
     Sacramento International Airport with the twins. Derek seems to think
     it’s enough time for a debriefing about correct protocol when
     welcoming new and strange pack members and preparing a suitable lunch
     for the pack and their guests but Stiles has a fuckton of questions
     and the most important one is “why the hell did you give me what
     seems to be a cross between ‘The Gamma’s diaries’ and a Hale
     casebook?” He doesn’t formulate it quite like that and the answer
     (“because you like researching”) is not highly satisfying."
     Or the one in which Dr Deaton entrusts Derek with his niece and
     nephew's safety, Stiles is oblivious of his place in the pack and
     gets hurt, the Alpha pack is The Big Bad and Peter isn't.
Notes
     First fic in this fandom... Wish me luck.
     I had this grand series in head, some apocalyptic Supernatural
     crossover, but I realized while writing it that it was mostly
     unfeasable due to my lazyness and very slow writing. So, I castrated
     the plot bunnies and put them into individual cages. I hope it'll be
     readable enough this way.
     Non-betaed, all mistakes are my own and all that jazz.
     It's, of course, just a fiction and the characters are all MTV's
     property.
Stiles is not sure why he is still standing here, in the newly renovated Hale
house’s kitchen, listening to a conversation he really wishes he could either
understand or not witness at all and be given the report translation and Cliff-
notes afterwards. He usually is extremely – read deathly – curious and nosy,
more so when Dr Deaton has come into the Alpha werewolf’s house with the simple
but determined “I need your help” as a way of introduction for his unannounced
presence when two days ago he had sent Scott and Isaac home from work saying
that he had to close the office because of a family emergency. But he is
hungry, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower after an afternoon
repainting Derek’s living room with the rest of what somehow qualifies now as
Derek’s pack, minus Lydia (because God forbid that she does any physical
labor). The only thing preventing him from leaving is the fact that he made the
stupid move to go into the kitchen when everyone followed the Alpha and the
veterinarian into the room. Now Isaac and Jackson are involuntarily blocking
his exit by leaning against the doorframe.  He could push past them, probably,
earning himself just a growl from Jackson, he realized weeks ago that after his
resurrection as a functional proper werewolf, the jock is now all barks no bite
– funny what being put in his place at the bottom of wolf pack rank and
accepting it could do to a previously killing lizard. Or he could ask them to
let him pass, and they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash at him and free the
way, but something in his gut is telling him to shut up and stay put.
Something, probably Peter’s presence in the room (because there is no way the
day will come when he’ll be at ease in Peter’s presence), is screaming at him
to not attract attention of any sort and therefore, make as little noise as
possible. Or he is just too exhausted to make a move. Yeah, probably the latter
since his self-preservation instinct has never been real effective.
 
“How are they still alive?” Derek asks, voice hoarse but face blank, in the
middle of Deaton’s tale.
 
“The other pack obviously wasn’t thorough on their investigations before they
attacked. They didn’t know there were gammas in the Fillan pack. They thought
the twins were humans.” Deaton answered and then picks up, composed as ever,
the interrupted thread of his story.
 
When the doc seems to be finished, Derek lets escape something between a whine
and a grunt and then says, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I can’t assure
you they’ll be safe with me,” and, woah but, isn’t that an incredible show of
vulnerability – and therefore trust – for the Alpha to admit to not being
almighty before the pack and an outsider, what an improvement, humanly –
humanishly – wise. It certainly counts as progress for Derek and the pack that
he didn’t just frown the veterinarian to death then said ‘no’ while leaving the
room. “There’s an Alpha pack roaming around.”
 
Judging by the sharp intake of breath and the startled look on Deaton’s face,
the good doctor didn’t see this one coming.
 
“That… That doesn’t change much. They can’t survive without a pack and you’re
the only slightly operative one around. It doesn’t have to be permanent, but
until I can localize a bigger pack, you’re my … our only hope.” Several snorts
from around the room echo; Derek glares.
 
Stiles doesn’t understand much about this conversation, but at least he is
fairly sure that it is Deaton’s way of begging. And isn’t that another slap in
the face. The guy is usually so poised and shit, he managed to keep his
composure all along his story of how his in-law family slash pack of werewolves
(bugger!) has been decimated. Hell, he is the one they usually beg for help,
not the other way around. There is an intense staring contest going on now
between Deaton and Derek before the doctor lowers his gaze and sighs.
 
“I know I’m not bringing much on the table and in the state they’re in, they’ll
probably be more trouble than asset, but if I’m not wrong, you’ve lost two
wolves recently,” Deaton finally adds and Derek growls shortly, but somberly,
at the mention of Erica and Boyd but Deaton keeps on undisturbed, “They’re not
a match for two betas, but they’ll still add some power if you take them, even
temporarily.”
 
‘They’, if Stiles has it right, are Deaton’s niece and nephew. Apparently,
Deaton’s sister had, years ago, married a werewolf and joined his pack in
Ireland. Said pack got attacked a few days back – why? Stiles zoned out at that
moment in the monologue and missed the info if it’s been given – and the result
is Deaton now being the only relative alive to a couple of twin kid werewolves,
Deaton called them ‘gammas’, whatever that may be, in need of a pack. Stiles is
not sure about the details and his head has started to hurt probably due to the
paint thinner he was forced to breathe in all afternoon.
 
“I’ll owe you.”
 
Derek looks more pained than conflicted and Stiles already knows he is going to
accept because a couple of traumatized kid wolves after their entire family has
been wiped out rings too close to home for him not to take them under his Alpha
wing – paw?
 
“Do they still talk?” Peter interrupts for the first time since they entered
the kitchen.
 
And WHAT?
 
“No.”
 
“Will they, ever again?” Derek enquires, visibly understanding, contrary to
Stiles and the betas, what the heck Uncle Creepy Zombie and Dr Shaman are
talking about.
 
“The girl probably not. The boy might.”
 
“Did they let them the hounds?” Peter keeps on without pause.
 
And WHAT? WHAT?
 
“One. The boy’s one has been killed.”
 
Okay, Stiles has had enough, if he is stuck here, he wants it to make sense.
And he knows he isn’t the only one to be completely lost. If the others have to
stay quiet for some unspoken order, he, the human, doesn’t have to follow up.
And fuck self-preservation, he really, really has to make noise and movement or
the stillness might kill him.
 
“Wait a minute! What the fuck are you talking about and what the fuck is going
on here? Because if some new kids are going to join the pack, we,” Stiles makes
a wild flailing around his head to point at Scott, Isaac and Jackson gathered
in the large kitchen, “could at least do with a short summary, before you gift
us with the complete handbook, of what exactly is a ‘gamma’ and why are you
talking about hounds and do we have to learn ASL now?”
 
Derek manages to glare, frown, sigh and exhale an exasperated “Stiles!” all at
once. Impressive, but not what Stiles wants to hear.
 
“Explain!” He shouts at Derek. Oh God, if looks could kill – and by looks he
means blazing red angry glares, of course. “Please?”
 
Derek sighs the sigh of the defeated and gestures to Peter, because he used his
quota of words per day already and drawing from tomorrow’s pool is probably
deathly to brooding Alphas.
 
“Gammas are a rare type of werewolves, because they can only be born and never
bitten. And they’re only born within a powerful and stable pack, usually an old
one with a familial structure.” Peter pauses as if reflecting on what he just
said or what else he could say.
 
“And … ?” Why? How are they different from others? Why would they not talk?
What about the hounds? Where does they rank within a pack? Why are they not a
match for a beta? Did the Hales have one of those gammas before the fire?
Stiles makes an impatient rolling gesture with his hand instead of asking all
the questions that flood his mind.
 
“They cannot turn at will like other werewolves and though they look mostly
human they’re much more close to their wolf side. When they’re hurt or go
through a traumatizing event, they shut down their human side. There are
different stages, but the first one is to stop talking. They can completely
stop to use human’s ways of communication and as you can imagine, that’s
extremely … problematic.” Feral. Stiles is pretty sure that’s what Peter means
and his heart hammers while Peter pauses again to look at Deaton questioningly.
 
“They’re not at this extreme,” the doc is quick to reassure but doesn’t offer
more information.
 
“Is it the first time?” Derek asks, frown in place.
 
“No. When my,” Deaton swallows painfully, looks at his hands and takes a breath
before continuing, “when their mother died, a few years ago, they stopped
communicating. The boy, Alec, recovered quickly. He’s always been more
outgoing. But Anna, the girl, she had shut down completely and it took weeks
for her to start to just nod her head for ‘yes’ or shake for ‘no’. She actually
never spoke again, but she eventually used some sign language.” The doc takes a
shaky breath again and Stiles really admires how he doesn’t break down and cry,
because Stiles didn’t know them and he already feels his eyes burn with unshed
tears and his throat tighten, but that again could also be the effect of the
paint thinner. “Alec should recover again. Ironically, the bullet he took to
the head saved him. They thought him dead, or about to die, left him alone, I
guess. He didn’t see what happened. Anna was conscious for all of it.” Deaton
looks apologetically at Derek and the Alpha tightens his jaw but doesn’t say
anything.
 
“So we do need to learn ASL.” Stiles mutters to break the somber atmosphere.
“What about this hounds thing?” he directly asks Peter, since he was the one to
mention it and seems the only one to be, if not eager, at least forthcoming
with general information.
 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles. They’re Irish, why would they use American Sign
Language? As for the hounds, traditional Irish packs pair up their human
members and eventual gammas with large dogs, Irish wolfhounds nowadays,”
 
“Oh! I know this breed! They’re like giant dogs!” Scott interrupts to yap
happily. Everybody ignores him and Stiles rolls his eyes. Show-off.
 
“For protection,” Peter answers the question Stiles is about to ask, “they
train them to recognize werewolves outside of the pack.”
 
“Neat. I should get one! But why the gammas too?”
 
“Because, their senses are highly underdeveloped compared to other werewolves.
They’re slightly better than human’s dull ones but not much more. And they
can’t defend themselves, they’re not strong enough.” For the sake of obtaining
more information’s, Stiles makes a conscious effort to ignore the insult
towards his normal human senses.
 
“Wait a minute. If they don’t turn, which I guess means no claws nor fangs,
don’t have hyper-developed senses and don’t have super strength, what makes
them even werewolves? Are you sure they’re not just humans with higher than
average PTSD tendencies?” Which seems incredibly dumb since they live amongst
werewolves. Stiles keeps the last bit for himself because he’s not an
insensitive jerk and they’re talking about Deaton’s niece and nephew who just
lost their entire pack. Well, considering, he may have been an insensitive jerk
with the ‘higher than average PTSD tendencies’ bit. Oops.
 
“I didn’t say they don’t turn and you’re forgetting about the healing power.”
Peter smirks.
 
“Damn! The frigging healing! I always forget about the healing! But you did say
they don’t turn.”
 
“At will. I said they couldn’t turn at will.”
 
“Oh.” Stiles says and forgets to close his mouth afterward. It happens more
than he’d like.
 
Derek snorts, so Stiles narrows his eyes menacingly, well, as menacingly as he
can.
 
“So, when do they turn? Full moon?”
 
“Yes, Stiles, they turn during the full moon like all the werewolves.” Derek
rolls his eyes like Stiles is a really dumb kid. Stiles is justifiably
affronted, those gammas seem to be doing everything differently, they could
totally turn during the new moon instead. “Are we done now with the gamma
lesson? I’m sure Dr Deaton has other things to do. So if we could sort out this
problem …”
 
“Okay, okay. So, yeah, cool, more wolves for you. I don’t get where the problem
is, though. If they’re quiet kids that just turn during the full moon but are
much weaker than you, you won’t have any problem controlling them if they try
to eat random citizen, right? And they still expand the pack; which in turn
gives you more power to fight the Alpha pack. If we have to fight the Alpha
pack, because for now, they haven’t done anything except randomly leaving their
marks here and there.” And probably killed Boyd and Erica, yeah, okay, but he
doesn’t say that because they don’t know, they just vanished without a trace;
maybe they found a way to leave the Hale territory without stumbling on the
Alphas, he doubts it but it’s still a possibility. “We don’t even know how many
they are or what they want.” Except putting a serious dent in the deer
population of the preserve and terrorizing us by scenting and marking places in
Beacon Hills and always managing to not leave a trail afterward. Damnit!
 
“Exactly! We don’t know! That’s the problem!” Derek explodes.
 
Deaton sighs.
 
“What Derek is trying to say, is that bringing in gammas will definitely draw
the alphas attention. And probably push them into attacking, at the very least,
to steal the gammas.” The doc explains calmly. Too calmly for Stiles’ comfort.
 
“But why?” Scott asks, a whine tainting his voice.
 
“Yeah, why? As you make them sound, they don’t seem much valuable to a pack.”
Jackson has a point there (even if he sounds like a petulant jerk-face), but
Isaac beats Stiles into asking the next question.
 
“What are you not telling us? There’s more to it, right?”
 
“There’s a hell of a lot more, but we’re not doing this now.” Derek answers his
betas curtly, staring them down even as he is still sitting and they are all
standing higher than him. They all shrink onto themselves, including Stiles. He
turns a serious and intense gaze to the man sitting across from him before
speaking again, “I’ll take them. We don’t have a choice since they’re already
in a plane and there’s no other pack in this part of California. I’ll do my
best to protect them, but you have to know it won’t take long for the Alpha
pack to realize what they are. And then…”
 
“I know. Thank you, Derek.” Deaton sounds relieved and defeated at the same
time. “Their plane lands tomorrow at 8 am.” A sense of imminent doom lands on
Stiles shoulders.
 
“Bring them directly here. I’ll have to scent-mark them as soon as possible.”
 
Deaton nods and without another word, he gets up and leave.
 
As soon as the wolves hear the front door close behind the veterinarian, the
kitchen explodes in questions, grunts and protestations as if the deference the
betas showed their Alpha is only meant to last in front of a guest. Derek
growls and flashes his red eyes at the teenagers but only the three betas shut
up and Stiles keeps on rambling half questions half theories. The Alpha sighs,
slumped shoulders and elbows on the table, he pinches the bridge of his nose
with one hand and massages his temple with the other. Peter observes the scene
with his head cocked to the side and his always present amused smirk.
 
“Peter, give Stiles the book,” Derek orders his un-dead uncle without lifting
his head. “Everybody, go home,” he pauses and then gestures in Isaac direction
still without lifting his head, “or to your room. Be here tomorrow morning.”
 
“But…”
 
“Now!”
 
***
‘The book’,as Stiles sadly discovers when he gets home and sits cross-legged on
his bedroom floor with it balanced on his knees, is not a Gamma handbook, nor
is it an ‘Everything you wanted to know about gammas without daring to ask’
book. It is an old, big, leather bound book that smells as much like decay and
smoke as the Hale house before renovation. The top left corner is charred,
which makes turning the pages a perilous adventure. Two symbols are impressed
on the cover, the first one he recognizes easily since he sees it constantly on
Derek’s back (seriously, is the guy allergic to shirts?) but the triangle in
the middle is unfilled and the second symbol is engraved just there and looks
suspiciously like a 'ɣ'. Of course, there is no index of any sort and no table
of contents, neither at the beginning nor at the end. Well, it looks like
Stiles is going to have to look into the thing old burned page by old burned
page. And, oh, joy (yes, that’s sarcasm, he’s allowed to be sarcastic in his
own head)! Judging by the dated paragraphs and the scrawl, it’s a diary.  He
pops a prescribed speed pill and starts on page one. At least, it doesn’t start
with ‘Dear diary’ or any variant of the sort. Small victory.
 
***
 
It is around ten in the morning when Stiles parks his jeep in front of the Hale
house and in spite of the choking heat all he can think about is having another
cup of coffee. He stopped counting them when he emptied the second coffee pot
in his own kitchen twenty minutes ago – he isn’t sure his stomach is going to
forgive him.
Jackson’s Porsche is already there alongside Derek’s Camaro and Scott’s bike is
leaning precariously against the newly renovated front porch.
 
He takes a minute to admire the work they’ve done on the house all summer long.
On the outside, there isn’t any trace left of the fire. The remains of the roof
weren’t salvageable and the wolves have torn down the few lingering tiles
before they completely rebuilt it. Inside, the insulation has been repaired
where needed and all the woodwork has been strengthened. The floors are now
safe to walk on without fear of contracting tetanus or landing one or two
levels underneath and even the stairs aren’t jeopardy on the lives of the two
humans of the pack anymore. The windows have been replaced and most of the
rooms on the three floors are done, though except the three used by Derek,
Peter and Isaac as bedrooms and the library, they are bare of any furniture. On
the ground floor, the large kitchen is brand new and they finished painting the
living room the day before. There is a bathroom with actual working plumbing
that almost brought Derek to tears when he made the hot water run in the shower
for the first time. Electricity has been one of the first thing reinstalled and
now all the teenagers are waiting for the cable and Internet connection
eagerly.
Derek hasn’t said anything yet about the basement but Stiles doubts that either
Hales are ready to breach the subject. Peter can’t even look at the door that
leads to it.
 
It’s probably been the most productive summer break of his life so far and
that’s a freaky thought considering they did all that under the threat of a
pack full of Alphas looming around town. There is still two weeks left before
school starts again but Stiles seriously doubts that they’re going to be as
easy as the last month, what with the two Alpha-magnets joining their merry
band of misfits.
 
Easy.Stiles snorts at the thought. The beginning of summer had been anything
but. The years before, when his life was simple, devoid of fanged supernatural
creatures and their lethal wolfsbane-armed enemies, and consisted just of
keeping him and Scott out of trouble as much as possible while still
distracting his hyperactive mind, fretting about his Dad’s eating habits,
drooling after a certain strawberry blond goddess and maintaining his grades,
he would already qualify the end of school year as hectic; he doesn’t know what
he should call it this year. Cataclysmic? Yeah, it seems appropriate. He
doesn’t like to think about it, because it always leaves him in a state of near
panic and profound sadness.
 
“Stiles? Are you gonna come in?” Scott, standing on the porch, interrupts his
thoughts before they manage to lead him into either a panic attack or a sobbing
mess. God, he loves his best friend sometimes.
 
“Yeah, yeah. Better be some coffee left.” Stiles mutters before following the
beta inside the house.
 
***
They have around two hours left before Deaton should arrive from Sacramento
International Airport with the twins. Derek seems to think it’s enough time for
a debriefing about correct protocol when welcoming new and strange pack members
and preparing a suitable lunch for the pack and their guests but Stiles has a
fuckton of questions and the most important one is “why the hell did you give
me what seems to be a cross between ‘The Gamma’s diaries’ and a Hale casebook?”
He doesn’t formulate it quite like that and the answer (“because you like
researching”) is not highly satisfying. Sure, he’s learnt quite a lot about
gamma’s instinct and role within a pack but he also read through what looked
like a huge part of the Hale pack history and though he accepted weeks ago that
he was now part of the pack, he’s not completely comfortable with the idea of
Derek and, by extension, Peter trusting him with such intimate details about
their family. Why him? The idea bugged him as soon as he’d closed the book and
kept him awake almost till daybreak. That and the realization that the feeble
balance they achieved during summer between all the pack members and the sense
of comfort and belonging they built while restoring the house was probably
about to get shattered either by the twin gammas themselves or by the
unwelcomed attention they’ll bring to the pack. So, he didn’t sleep more than a
few hours and he’s not in the best of mood and he’s maybe projecting a bit
judging by the anxious frowns Scott is sending his way.
 
The four betas plus the two humans are sat around the large kitchen table while
Derek gives his instructions perched on the kitchen counter.
 
“They’ll probably be overwhelmed. Try to stay calm. Even if you’re on edge
because of the Alpha pack, remember that those two are not here to attack,
provoke us or invade our territory. They’ll smell faintly like their Alpha,
prior Alpha, I mean. Depending on when was the last time they’ve been scent-
marked. Try to not get too bothered by it.”
 
“What do you mean by ‘scent-marked’? Is it a thing that an Alpha does with
other wolves? Isn’t it something you’d do about a territory?” Lydia asks,
seeming utterly confused. Stiles would be too if he hadn’t read all about it
during the night.
 
“Usually not. Not with other wolves. But it’s common to scent-mark the humans
in a pack to signal to other packs or lone wolves that they already belong to
one and are protected.”
 
“Like territory.” Lydia deadpans.
 
“Yes. More or less.” Derek says shortly, visibly irritated to be interrupted
during his speech. He must have practiced it.
 
“It’s a ‘paws off, the human’s mine’ signal.” Stiles helps.
 
“Okay. Let’s get over the fact that owning someone else is quite degrading and
tell us why the gammas should be scent-marked then, since they’re wolves too.”
Lydia pushes on.
 
“Camouflage!” Stiles, again, says helpfully. Derek nods with approval before
scowling.
 
“The natural scent of a gamma is faint but really distinctive. I… the Alpha
needs to cover it otherwise any omega or rival Alpha would recognize the gamma
as one and either attack or steal them. If they’re scent-marked by the Alpha,
who’s got a stronger scent than the other wolves, they can pass as human.”
 
“Okay, makes sense. Sort of. Then why did you never scent-mark me and Stiles?”
 
“Because you are already scent-marked enough by Jackson,” Derek answers,
seeming vaguely disgusted while Jackson looks smug, “and I never needed to mark
Stiles. Before, he wasn’t part of my pack. Scott should have been the one
marking him,” the Alpha glowers at Scott like he made a huge error, “and after,
when the Alpha pack manifested their presence, it would have been foolish to
signal him as pack.”
 
Scott scowls. “Because it would have been like painting a giant target on his
back.” The ‘and you’re not strong enough to protect him, just like I wasn’t’
was hugely implied. Yeah, the two of them still got issues.
 
“Exactly.” Derek concedes and eyes Stiles’ t-shirt skeptically, the one with
the big bull’s-eye target printed on the front.
 
“But now …?” Stiles squeaks, because there’s a ‘but now’. Stiles can sense it
and he doesn’t like it. Not at all. Because for all he’s read about humans and
gammas being scent-marked, he hasn’t stumbled on a ‘how’. Not once. And if it
entails Derek do to him what Jackson does to Lydia or what Scott used to do to
Allison…  Or worse, how dogs scent-mark their territory… Stiles can’t help a
shudder. He feels a little nauseous too; he’s afraid he can’t blame it all on
the bitter coffee he drank this morning.
 
“Calm down,” Derek tells him, catching on his heart beating the samba, eyebrows
furrowed, “we’ll talk about the procedure later.” It’s not helping.
 
Peter smirks.
 
“Hang on, what now? You’re going to scent-mark Stiles too?” Scott asks, his
face doing a weird cross between ‘confused puppy’ and ‘disgusted kid who just
realized his parents have a sex life’. It would be kind of hilarious if Stiles
wasn’t freaking out at the mental image of Derek anointing him with bodily
fluids.
 
“Yes, I have to. Because I’m pretty sure the Alphas have figured out by now
that he’s pack and it would be suspicious if I scent-marked two new humans and
not the one already in the pack.” Derek explains, visibly trying to contain
himself over the fact that the speech he’d prepared was now ruined by multiple
interruptions and digressions. He’s also doing a poor job of hiding that he
thinks that all those things shouldn’t have to be explained. Or he isn’t even
trying.
 
“It’s the second time you mention an Alpha would want to ‘steal’a gamma,” Isaac
says, fingers in the air to mime the quotation marks, completely ignoring – on
purpose because Isaac is never oblivious to others’ emotions (unlike a certain
best friend who’s name starts with an S and ends with a double T) – Derek’s
apparent distress over the loss of control of the pre-welcome party lecture,
“but you still haven’t told us what makes them so valuable.”
 
“If Stiles did his homework correctly, which I assume he did, otherwise he
would be the one asking all these questions, he should be able to answer with
one of his highly entertaining phrasing.” Peter is the one to intervene. Derek
sends a ‘shut up or I’ll claw your vocal chords out, again’ glare at his
resurrected uncle but then looks at Stiles expectantly with a ‘by all means,
entertain us and show me you understood the centuries old book I trust you
with’ eyebrow-raise. Stiles has never seen this eyebrow-expression before; he
needs to take note. Damn, it’d be easier to reference Derek’s faces if he could
take instantaneous pictures. Too bad Matt is dead, because he’s sure he would
have find a way to suppress or at least minimize the lens flare caused by those
wolfy eyes. Uh, no. He’ll take the art class and learn the fine art of
sketching when school starts again because the evocation of Matt makes Stiles’
heart squeeze uncomfortably in his chest and now he remembers being helpless
watching his dad being knocked unconscious by his psycho schoolmate.
Someone clears their throat. Oh, yes. Question has been asked. Stiles should
answer.
 
“They’re Alpha factories!” He blurts out when he sees every wolf and a
strawberry blond head have turned to him.
 
There’s a beat of silence and then Peter snorts.
 
“What?” Isaac, Jackson and Lydia ask in chorus and in varying tones of
confusedness.
 
“Dude, did you forget to take your Adderall again?” Scott already has his nose
in the air to smell the medicine that should be leaking out of his pores.
 
“No, I mean, the reason all Alphas want a piece of gamma ass for themselves is
because they’re literally baby Alpha makers. Which means an Alpha would be
guaranteed that their pack’s next Alpha would be from their bloodline. It’s
basic genetic greediness, like the royalty, dude!”
 
“Can we have the less entertaining but maybe more comprehensible and
scientifically friendly version, please?” Lydia addresses Derek.
 
“Werewolves, Lydia. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing scientifically friendly
there!” Stiles is offended and a bit disappointed by Lydia’s lack of judgment
on this point. It’s probably temporary; she must be baffled by his badass way
with words there. He’s got skills, and even Lydia can be awed stupid by it
sometimes.
 
“He’s right. Gammas, for all they seem weak and useless, are an asserted way to
abide a strong bloodline. They’re the only werewolves, if mated to an Alpha,
that can produce children already gifted with Alpha abilities. That’s why they
are so valuable and coveted.” Derek’s explanation sounds in no way like
something he’d improvised. Stiles is pretty convinced now that the Alpha spends
hours in front of his mirror rehearsing his speeches. If only he could convince
Isaac to hide a camera in his bedroom. For blackmailing material, only! Ugh…
Not for anything frisky, promise!
 
“Now, imagine what it would mean for an Alpha pack to put their hands on one.”
Uncle un-dead concludes. Stiles shivers as he feels the sense of impending doom
settling in his bones.
 
***
 
 
“Stay on the porch. I’ll tell you when you can come closer. Keep calm.”  Derek
repeats for the umpteenth time as he walks outside and down the three stairs of
said porch. Deaton’s Prius has just appeared up the driveway in front of the
house. It’s rare to see the doctor behind a wheel and not riding his motorcycle
these days; somehow it makes the situation all the more surreal. The car stops
on the side of the gravel driveway since all the parking spots are taken. The
veterinarian gets off the vehicle and rounds it. He seems to hesitate before
opening the passenger’s door and he glances quickly at Derek who nods stiffly
and makes a show of not coming closer.
 
Deaton finally opens the door but the figure inside doesn’t move; probably
waiting for their uncle to tell them it’s okay. Deaton doesn’t say anything
though. Instead he moves on to the back door and opens it too. Stiles can’t
really listen to a conversation from this distance but he can see the man’s
lips move shortly and then a giant fluffy, grey beast jumps out of the car. The
thing is easily the size of a small pony – okay, maybe a bit less, but really,
it’s huge. “Oh, wow.” Stiles gasps and gets glared at by Isaac. Stiles glares
right back – really, he’s getting tired of Isaac’s perfect Beta act. Derek said
‘keep calm’ not ‘stop breathing’.
 
Distracted by the glaring match, Stiles misses the moment the two kids finally
extract themselves from the car. They’re now standing close together beside the
car, behind Deaton and the giant dog. And well, ‘kids’ is probably not the most
accurate word. And when Deaton said yesterday that his nephew and niece were ‘a
couple of Gamma kids in need of a pack’, he could have maybe specified their
age because even if Stiles had calculated that the ‘kids’ must have been over 3
when their mother died and under 18 now… okay, well he didn’t manage to reduce
the frame, but he totally imagined they would be around 10 years old. They’re
not. And based on the angle all the other teens’ heads have tipped, he’s not
the only one to be a bit surprised. Only Peter doesn’t seem nonplussed – and
Derek is probably wearing his usual blank but frowny face but Stiles only sees
the back of his head from the porch – so he must have had more information on
Dr Deaton’s family status.
 
The pair of teenagers is growing tenser minutely as Derek takes a step in their
direction. The twins are standing now shoulder to shoulder, clutching each
other’s hand between them. Stiles can’t really distinguish much of their faces
from afar but he can already tell they’re beautiful and he is somehow confirmed
in his idea that it’s a distinct characteristic of lycanthropy. And as all
beautiful people, they’re dressed all in black. He’s about to make a smart
comment regarding werewolves and their love of dark clothes when he remembers
that a) he’s not supposed to show any sign of aggression (be it by snarking his
way through it instead of a more toothy show like his wolfy companions) and b)
more importantly, those two teenagers are only a few days out of the death of
all their family and they’re probably wearing black attires simply because
they’re mourning. He doesn’t feel so smart now.
 
Peter is standing right behind Stiles shoulder and the teenager jumps a bit
when the man murmurs directly in his ear. “Look. Next part might be reminiscent
of something you’ve already seen.”
 
Before Stiles can ask what he means, the hound is trotting candidly towards
Derek. It stops when there’s only one foot left between them and it starts
sniffing the air around the Alpha. Stiles remarks the sudden stiffness in its
attitude only because he’s looking closely at the scene. The giant dog then
takes three cautious steps backwards and drops to the ground; Stiles can’t see
well its eyes hidden behind its bangs but he’s sure they never leave the Alpha
in front of him. Its ears are pulled back though, as if listening to something
behind them.
 
“Oh. How cute is that? Look, the dog is lying down at Derek’s feet already.”
Scott coos. The other teenagers tip their heads to the side in a very lost
puppy demeanor.
 
Stiles rolls his eyes and in his peripheral vision he can see Peter shaking his
head. Scott is a clueless idiot; it’s a bit alarming when you think he’s the
one working as help in a veterinary office (and is a werewolf!) that he can’t
read canine body language. And Peter is right; it is something Stiles has
already witnessed. Many times. At least once a year, when he goes to see the K9
unit’s demonstration with his dad. Three cautious steps back; sit down if it
smells explosive, crouch down if it smells (unstable) very explosive; don’t
bark; don’t move; wait for the master’s order.  Yep, that’s a very well trained
doggie. Stiles makes an educated guess and say it’s ‘crouch down’ for Alpha and
‘sit down’ for Beta.
 
The twins are shaking now and the dog is still crouched down in front of Derek.
Deaton seems not yet alarmed, but a lot less calm than he usually looks.
 
“Uh oh.” Peter says as Stiles can feel all the betas tensing around him.
 
The hound doesn’t move, but its upper lip is pulled up to show impressive
serrated fangs. Stiles doesn’t have super hearing, but he’d bet his Jeep that
the dog is growling.
 
“The girl should have called her hound back by now. She’s too scared and he’s
reacting to her fear but he won’t attack unless he’s ordered to, don’t worry.”
Peter says in a soothing monochord voice. “Stay calm. Don’t move. Let Deaton
talk her down.” And Stiles realizes that he’s not talking to him but to the
other wolves and possibly to Derek who must be trying his damndest to not react
to the dog baring its teeth at him.
 
Stiles can totally see why she would be scared. Her pack has been killed in
front of her mere days ago by another pack and now there’s an unknown Alpha
standing in front of her with his entire pack behind him and there’s a car at
her back, blocking her way. The woods around her are unknown territory. She’s
trapped. And the two twins are probably feeding each other’s fear.
 
“Maybe we should go back inside. Be less threatening?” Stiles suggests. He
glances at his side when there’s no response. Peter seems conflicted but he’s
by far the most relaxed of the pack. Jackson is trembling and Lydia has a death
grip on his wrist. Stiles hopes the jock’s eyes aren’t flashing blue. Scott’s
and Isaac’s stances are stiffer than usual but they don’t seem on the verge of
wolfing out, so that’s good, at least.
 
“Okay, let’s retreat back inside. Slowly.” Peter finally says mostly to Stiles;
he must have been waiting for Derek’s instructions, then.
 
***
As soon as the pack is inside the house, Derek can feel the tension in the air
lessen a bit, not by much but enough for the girl to get a grip of herself and
call back her hound. He needs to thank Stiles later; without his suggestion to
get the pack inside they could have stayed facing each other for a very long
time. With two quick snaps of the girl’s fingers, immediately the giant dog
stands up and trots back to her mistress’ feet without even a glance back at
Derek. He’s impressed to say the least. He’s heard a lot about the mythic Irish
werewolves and their pairs of humans and hounds but he had never met any of
them before. He also had never met a gamma that wasn’t part of his family; now
he has two before him and he can’t deny the pull the Alpha in him feels towards
them. It’s more powerful than he thought it would be and he hopes it’s not
going to pose a problem. It’s not a real urge to claim and mate but he
definitely feels the want to get them closer and into the folds of the pack. He
prays it’s only because he consciously knows they are gammas and that when he
concentrates on their scent he can almost detect the soft and sweet alluring
smell of ripe apples that his brain associates with their status. One thing is
sure it’s time for them to be thoroughly scent-marked before another Alpha
catches it, because there is not much left of the scent of their belated Alpha
on them.
 
Derek takes a few steps forward when he estimates the two teens had enough time
to calm down. Deaton smiles at him genuinely and offers his hand to shake.
Derek takes it.
 
“Derek, thank you for having us here.” The veterinarian sounds extremely
relieved.
 
“Alan,” the Alpha nods, “it’s an honor.” And he’s surprised to realize he means
it. He’s truly honored to be trusted enough, him and his pack, with the
protection of not only one, but two gammas. Even if Deaton said yesterday that
he didn’t have the luxury of choice when it came to packs in California, they
both know that it’s not true; it’s not a good enough reason to gift a pack with
two gammas. Gammas were so rare nowadays that any pack, anywhere, would have
taken them in, even as damaged as they must be. And Derek is sure that a pack
as big and old as the Fillans had multiple allies all around the world that
even the poor humans left alive after the massacre knew about. He should ask
Peter about it, but he thinks that even one of his own ancestors was part of
that pack when it was still so big that it was a clan and its name was still
spelled Fáelán.
 
“So, this is Alec and Anna,” Deaton says as he motions the kids forward, “and
the big fluffy guy, here, is Tara,” he adds as he pats the big dog’s head. Two
pairs of identical, big, slightly slanted, green eyes blink at Derek as the
kids shuffle towards him timidly.
 
“Hi. I’m Derek,” he tries to produce an inviting, non-threatening smile, but he
realizes they see through the fakeness of it when their heartbeats increase
with fear. He stops baring his teeth and clears his throat. “I’m the Alpha of
the Hale pack. Welcome. Shall we go meet the rest of the pack?” He doesn’t wait
for any sort of response before he turns around and walks back the way he came.
He grits his teeth and tries his best to ignore Peter’s sarcastic ‘Oh, dear
nephew. Way to put them at ease. Let’s see if it’s salvageable’coming from
inside the house he’s walking towards.
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