Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6522895.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sheriff_Stilinski_&_Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Stiles
      Stilinski/Original_Dog_Character(s), Derek_Hale/Sheriff_Stilinski/Stiles
      Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Alan_Deaton, Derek_Hale, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Alpha_John, Omega_Stiles_Stilinski, Alpha
      Derek, Underage_Sex, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Daddy_Kink, Bestiality, Way
      Fluffier_Than_the_Tags_Make_It_Sound, Sheriff_John_is_a_Good_Alpha_Daddy,
      Trauma_Turning, Praise_Kink, Comfort/Angst, Derek_is_a_Good_Alpha, Derek
      is_a_Switch, I'm_Sure_There's_Tags_I'm_Missing, Parent/Child_Incest, Sex
      with_Sentient_Animals, Dubious_Consent_(But_not_for_Stiles), Knotting,
      Breeding, Creative_Biology
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-11 Updated: 2017-01-02 Chapters: 3/10 Words: 16691
****** Care Package 1,2,3 ******
by Feral_Fic_Writer
Summary
     After the Sheriff's wife passes, Stiles presents early as an omega.
     The poor pup is having "false-heats" in response to the family's loss
     and John just want to be a good alpha daddy for his boy. Even if that
     means getting Stiles a "service" dog to help his son out.
     Inspired by an anonymous prompt and its response on Kinkyfics
     "Tumbler Ficlets 2014/2015."
Notes
     Please excuse this extensive chapter note… (And please read all the
     tags for this fic, because the warnings start here, right out of the
     gate in this AN.)
     So, Anon wrote:
     “I keep having this vision of the A/B/O playmating verse where the
     Sheriff has to deal with his Omega son Stiles and he can't find any
     viable Alphas. Being the good dad he is, the Sheriff goes out and
     buys a dog for Stiles because even though the dog isn't an Alpha it
     can knot his baby boy and soothe his ache. After buying the dog he
     painstakingly prepares Stiles and controls the dog while it mounts
     Stiles. Maybe Alpha Derek comes into the picture at some point and
     approves of the playmating.”
     Sadly the Kinkyfics has removed all their stories since I first
     posted this, so their response to the prompt is now lost. But at the
     time I read it the outline of events Kinkyfics' ficlet laid out as
     possibility was so rich I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So that
     now lost work inspired this one. However, while this piece started
     out follows Kinkyfics' outline closely this one has become its whole
     own monster.
     So, this is how this is going to go… (spoiler alert)
     Chapter one: Little Stiles in “false” heat with Daddy John taking
     care of him
     Chapter two: John going out to Derek’s kennel and coming home with a
     dog for his needy omega
     Chapter three: John gets to know a little about Derek and there's
     just something about that boy.
     Chapter four: After an unfortunate event at the Kennel, John has too
     work hard to smooth things over.
     Chapter five: The Sheriff returns home with a pup for his pup. Stiles
     learns the joys of a knot.
     Chapter six: The Sheriff brings Stiles out to Derek’s kennel to get
     another dog. Derek’s dogs, Derek, and Daddy John take care of Stiles.
     Chapter seven: With Stiles now mated to Derek, John gets a new pup to
     care for (or maybe more than one).
     Chapter eight: John adjusts to life without Stiles.
     Chapter nine: Let's end with a joyous family reunion.
     Chapter ten: A quick peek at what "happily ever after" looks like.
***** Care Package I *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
____________________________________________________________________________
John slid out of the cruiser with a sigh.
Exhausted from his shift, the short distance from the drive to the door read
like a marathon mile. He stood, squared his shoulders. Flexed. As if this small
motion could possibly be enough to shake off his weariness.
While closing the car’s door, from the corner of his eye he caught the slats of
the front room blinds wink at him. Obviously Stiles, peeking out, trying to
ascertain his state; John’s mouth quirked in a tired smile. He headed towards
the house, the forced spring in his step leagues away from how he felt.
He’d barely cracked the front door when the scent hit him, the recognizable mix
of sweet and sulphuric. Exhaling a silent curse, he pressed his forehead to the
doorframe.
Not again.  
The invisible stone he carried with him constantly these days gained another
ten pounds.
This is the third time this year and we’re barely into May.
With no small reluctance, he finally pushed inside, both guilty and grateful to
find the front hall empty.
As soon as he’d put his gun and cuffs safely away in the hall bureau, John
slipped one of the many child "omega care" packages stashed throughout the
house from a bureau drawer. He opened it and tucked its contents, a mouthguard
and a pediatric plug, into his front shirt pocket.
After doing this he easily followed the scent; allowed it to lead him to Stiles
in the rec room where his pup now sat on the ground in front of the sofa.
Surrounded by empty juice boxes, Stiles was pretending to be engrossed in a
video game.
It was a poor ruse.
If the scent and all the drink cartons hadn’t given the boy’s fevered state
away, Stiles’ heat-stressed skin was so sensitive he’d dressed in nothing but
one of John’s oldest t-shirts; washed so many times the fabric was almost
sheer. Not to mention, the edges of three folded towels visible beneath the
gown of the shirt, protecting the floor underneath him: worn carpet, older than
Stiles’ tender, leaking, ten-year-old bottom.
Trained for years to capture a scene, John took all this in in an instant. He
noted too, how hard his boy blinked as he struggled to keep his eyes on the
screen; Stiles’ sweet, plump lower lip being mercilessly worried; bony fingers
trembling as he fumbled the game’s controller.
“Stiles…”
It took no more than his name uttered from his alpha’s mouth for John’s pup to
shatter.
The remote tumbled from Stiles fingers. He curled in on himself; thin arms
wrapped around even bonier knees. Quiet sobs shuddered narrow shoulders while
Stiles’ bare bottom began to unconsciously wiggle, seeking the unsatisfying
friction from the soaked terry-cloth beneath it.
In a flash John was on the couch pulling his weeping boy into his arms. Stiles
didn’t hesitate like he usually would have; instead, he grasped, clung, molded
himself to his alpha’s body.
“I’m sorry, Dad… Daddy...” he hiccuped even as he unfolded himself.
Normally so determined to be “grown up,” John knew his son’s child-heats
rendered him regressed and so very needy. Bent forearms pressed to his solid
chest. Small hands palmed his pecs. Stiles’ fingertips flexed, kneading his
uniform’s front, kitten-like and urgent.
Thin thighs splayed to straddle one of his alpha’s heavier, muscular ones.
Stiles’ pelvis rocked instinctively.
“Easy, Stiles. It’s okay, Pup…” John slipped one hand under the sweat-soaked
fabric of his stolen shirt, stroking his boy’s heat-fevered flesh.
The skin to skin contact sent a shiver tremoring through Stiles’ body. But
under the influence of his father’s softly spoken words, the feel of a big
alpha hand sliding up his spine, coming to rest in a firm scruffing clasp
around the back of his neck, he drew a deep shuddering breath and stilled.
“When did this bout come on, Stiles?”
With a soft whimper, Stiles burrowed into his father’s shirt like he wanted to
disappear in it. Shame blushed his cheeks as much as his fever. Still, he
greedily inhaled the alpha scent he’d been starving for, struggling for words
between heavy breaths.
“J-just after first recess.”
Stiles’ voice was soft and so sorry-sounding. Small hands fisted John’s
shirtfront tight. Burying his face deeper into the cloth, the boy’s next words
were muffled with polyblend and guilt.
“Mrs. Brandon, the playground monitor made me go inside. My teacher sent me to
the nurse’s office... Mrs. McCall brought me home.”
Normally so loquacious, at this point in his fever, Stiles’ heat had rendered
him remarkably concise. John would call Melissa later, get the full story. But
for now, his eyes dropped and he made another visual sweep of his son.   
He saw skinned knees.
This was the first time Stiles’ heat had started away from home and the thought
of what might have happened, what could happen in the future, twisted his gut
with new worry.
As if Stiles’ ADHD and panic attacks weren’t enough for his pup to contend with
already; his mind flashed with images of Stiles being chased down and tackled
on the playground by pint-sized knotheads, responding to his omega boy’s
building scent without really understanding yet what it meant.
“And you didn’t think to call me?”  
Something dark and possessive had been roused within him at the sight of his
pup's scrapes. It made it hard for John to hide the growl in his words.
Still, he kept his voice mellow as possible, knowing how vulnerable Stiles was
in this state to any sort of alphic displeasure. His attempt to sound neutral
was obviously unsuccessful though, since a low whine immediately built in his
boy’s slender throat. It broke when Stiles started sobbing again.
John watched his pup’s mounting panic with concern, Stiles now barely able to
get enough air to breathe, let alone speak. At least, until a big alpha hand
reasserted its grip on his scruff. Only then did his boy's head lift.
Nuzzling under his father’s jaw, Stiles wet his daddy’s throat with his tears.
“I’m sorry… A-Alpha…”
John’s neck was immediately dampened further with the addition of the frantic,
yet terribly tentative, beseeching kisses peppered against his stubble-
roughened skin. Between these Stiles continued to apologize.
Repeatedly.
The words stuttered, his reedy voice was still mostly breathless and definitely
broken.
“I- I didn’t want to bother you at work.”
“Oh, Puppy…”  
It killed John to see his son like this. He sighed and pressed his nose against
Stiles burning forehead. The combined, conflicting smells of heat and shared-
blood tickled his nose and he was hard pressed not to sneeze.
Never had he thought he’d find himself in this situation. He’d  agreed with
Claudia not to blood test for dynamic when Stiles was born, but by the time
their pup was two years old, already so boisterous, fearless, and outspoken,
John was convinced their little boy was going to be an alpha. So, it was a
complete shock to him when Stiles presented omega a month after his mother was
buried.
Far from the first time, the doctor’s words from Stiles’ first heat exam echoed
in John’s mind.
Yes, it is abnormally early, but as you mentioned Sheriff, your pack has
recently suffered a considerable loss. In a small unit, such circumstances can
sometimes trigger early onset heats. However, I don’t think this is a “true
heat.”
Usually a “false heat” like this, at this age, is caused by insecurity.
Likely your omega just requires some “rigorous” dominance from you to be
assured what remains of your pack won’t dissolve. Most often, in situations
like this, once an alpha’s “stepped up” in strictness and the pack re-
stabilizes, such behavior in a juvenile omega stops. True heat occurring later
at a more “appropriate” age.
Though such omegas usually end up needing very dominant mates to stay "stable."
John still recalled the slip of the professional mask and the dark desire
flaring in Dr. Harrris’ eyes when he said this. The way the other alpha’s gaze
swept back before he continued, over to the table where Stiles lay naked,
tranked, and trembling.
Sometimes, however, the sort of precociousness your pup’s displaying has also
been attributed to a blood-omega’s desire to comfort an alpha sire by serving
as a mate replacement. A uh... "compensation heat," if you will.
I know it’s not talked about much these days, but familial claimings in cases
like that are still carried out with surprising frequency. Given your
situation, despite Stiles’ age, Sheriff, I doubt anyone in town would fault you
if you decided to do this.
Though, if you did claim him, your omega’s body would force itself fertile and
his next heat will be a "true" heat.
If you don’t claim him, if it is a “replacement” heat, he’ll continue to have
them. How often, I can’t say… Likely more than the usual twice a year cycle.
Unfortunately, suppressants aren’t effective for false heats. And for an omega
Stiles’ age, even if his heats were “real.” I wouldn’t recommend them. Too
dangerous.
Now, don’t look so glum, Sheriff. I can give you some literature on your other
options.
John took the pamphlets home with his son. He read the literature and its
“suggestions:” forced bonds, corporal punishments, gang breedings, harnesses
with huge vibrating plugs. Though all legal, he wasn't a traditionalist: in his
work he’d seen too clearly the results of these practices.
No, Stiles had been through enough already in his life and John wasn’t about to
subject his boy to any of that. Nor did he want to see his unexpected omega
weighted down with "too early" pups or a blood-related double sire - a broken,
alpha lawman three times his age.
So, what he opted for, following Stiles first “false”-heat, although he had to
look three towns over to find one, was to secure the omega physician Stiles saw
now. Together, they’d come up with a plan that would leave Stiles’ spirit
intact and his body unclaimed and unharmed. See Stiles through until the boy
was old enough to choose his own mate.
Though difficult for both him and Stiles, so far, John had adhered to the
program, attended his son’s “child-heats” as best he was able. It was the least
he could do, since what his sensitive boy was suffering through, wasn’t Stiles
fault, but his.
He should have noticed the signs, smelled Claudia’s cancer sooner. If he had,
she might still be there.
If he’d been a better alpha, more available, more attendant,then and now, there
would be no Stiles alone and aching for hours, trying to take care of his alpha
daddy… Suffering to show he wasn’t a burden, that he was worth keeping.
Pressed against him, Stiles uttered a soft, miserable snuffle. The sound pulled
John back into the moment.
“Shhhhh… Sweetheart..”
He wasn’t normally one for endearments, but it was different during heat.
Acceptable… expected even.
The words he whispered now, so frequently held back, were as tender as the kiss
he pressed to Stiles’ burning cheek. Then he rubbed Stiles' face lightly with
his own, knowing that even reactive as omega skin was in this state, something
about the slight burn of stubble always seemed to soothe his pup. The way
Stiles fell quiet with gasped sigh at the brush of their cheeks told him he was
right.
“Alpha Daddy’s not mad at you, Puppy. I just worry about you being home alone
like this. And I don’t like the idea my boy’s been hurting.”
John lightly pinched Stiles’ neck once more to reassure and felt the tension
fall away from the sparrow-light body atop him. Meanwhile, his other hand
slipped down, seeking. Calloused fingers trailed over baby-smooth skin.
Though still pliant in his alpha's arms, Stiles wiggled a bit and whimpered.
His little mouth sought and a pink tongue flicked out, butterfly-soft against
his daddy’s lips.
John’s response to his son’s pheromones had sparked the moment he first cracked
the door, but he was no longer a novice at this. He knew he still had some time
here before he was apt to get too carried away. All alpha fluids soothed an
omega in heat, saliva included, and right now his sweet, omega pup needed the
comfort. So he slipped his tongue out, rested it lightly on his lips.
Eyes falling closed, John’s own building heat spiked when Stiles licked his
tongue. He tasted the sweetness of the juice his pup had been drinking, mixed
with the sweetness that was simply Stiles. He bit back a groan when fresh,
heat-plumped lips captured and pulled his tongue into his boy’s hot, wet mouth
where Stiles stroked and suckled it.
Eventually the tease was too much and John's alpha took over.
Still, gentle in his dominance, he didn’t plunder Stiles when he opened, eager
and trusting. Instead, he kissed him tender and deep, alternating his
attentions between his boy’s cherry-dyed lips and the agile tongue behind them.
In between kisses, he murmured omega comforts. “Good boy” and “Sweet Pup”
punctuated the steady rumble of approval vibrating deep in his chest.
Stiles responded to the kisses and his father’s pleased sounds like they were
an opiate. Pupils blown so large, his eyes looked demon-black, until, drunk
with relief and pleasure, heavy lids fluttered closed.
“Please, Alpha…
"Please Daddy...”
The hand stalled at his pup’s hip shifted down further. Tracing his son’s young
body, so small in comparison to his own, for a moment John traded his sad
weariness for wonder. It stunned him, he could so easily palm the entire round,
butter-smooth cheek of his son’s ass. He gave the flesh in hand a light
squeeze. As he’d gotten to know his omega child so much more intimately, it
worried him increasingly, just how temptingly perfect it fit.
His pup’s arousal climbing higher, Stiles’ needy whimpers and a new gush of
slick triggered John’s heightened alphic instincts; despite the fact the heat-
sweet omega scent that enveloped him was still cut with a sharp tang that said
“not quite ripe” and “offspring.”
These bitter notes brought tears to his eyes, even as the soaked slacks of his
uniform between his son’s straddling thighs pinched, his cock growing
impossibly hard,
Stiles was moaning steadily now. The slick crack of his ass rocked back against
his alpha’s hand, trying to coax touch in where he needed it: deeper, into the
center of the unrelenting itch making him miserable.
“Easy, Stiles. I got you.” John soothed as he obliged.
His hand slipped off Stiles ass and he slid it under his boy, making sure to
give Stiles’ small cock a couple strokes before his fingers moved up between
dripping cheeks. From this position he could easily rub from the base of Stiles
small balls to his twitching pucker.
“My brave pup… You’ve been waiting so long.”
Stiles nodded his head vigorously under his alpha’s angular jaw, hair too damp
to effectively tickle.
“Yes, Alpha... It hurts, Daddy.... Please....”
John didn’t like hearing his pup beg; it brought him no pleasure. So he
silenced Stiles with another deep kiss. Knowing what his poor baby needed, he
was going to do his best to give it to him. Stiles hiccuped, a quiet sob of
relief when one of his fingers finally breeched him.
It was just the tip though.
The boy’s whole body grew taut and trembling. The waiting was obviously
tortuous, but they’d talked about the need to be careful and the obedient omega
in Stiles made him still.
John’s pride swelled and another heady pump of blood surged to his dick at this
display of submission by his usually impatient son. Stiles looked golden like
this, so focused, waiting. A true omega treasure. While he could have easily
kept staring, he couldn’t allow his boy to suffer further.
Voice warm and filled with alphic husk, he granted permission at last.
“Go ahead, Puppy. Take what you need.”
It was obvious Stiles barely heard the words at this point, any more than he
felt another kiss pressed to his sweaty forehead, but his body recognized the
tone immediately. Narrow hips shifted as he wiggled, his whole body rocking as
he began working himself onto his daddy’s thick finger.
Despite all the societal articulations of omega elasticity and resilience, John
knew better. It took time for a newly-presented omega’s body to really be able
to accommodate.  And Stiles’ youth and the false nature of his heat, made the
situation even more precarious.
He watched carefully as Stiles slowly seated himself.
“You got enough slick going, Sweetheart?”
John asked this even though Stiles was dripping: he not only wanted Stiles to
feel comfortable, but for his boy to have a sense of control here.
“You feel yourself start to go dry, you tell me. Alright.”
Head down, Stiles nodded, slightly distracted by his exertion. Even as
receptive as his body believed it was, it took time for it to open. He pushed
down, his young omega cunt so small, just the one finger left him panting with
effort.
Catching Stiles chin, John lifted his head. He waited until golden eyes
focused.
“I mean it, Pup. You have to promise to use your words.” John sealed this
command with another kiss.
“Yes, A-alpha.”
At the breathless affirmation and pure trust in Stiles eyes, it was John who
tremored this time.
Though he'd never thought of his son in a sexual way before these false heats
started, he would be lying if he denied how increasingly erotic this part of
Stiles “bouts” had become. That sweet face, flushed and shiny with exertion;
the flutter of Stiles’ impossibly long lashes; the way his eyes rolled back as
he lost himself in the sensations shooting through his tight little hole.
Stiles ground back now, taking his alpha deeper, the rest of his father’s large
hand, meanwhile, pressed wonderfully solid against his taint. With something
inside him at last, the brush of hairy knuckles on the back of his small, heat-
swollen, sac,  Stiles' thin fingers loosened.
Leaving behind the rumpled khaki shirtfront, little hands rested now atop broad
shoulders. Braced this way, Stiles lifted and settled himself. Finding his own
particular rhythm, he began eagerly fucking his daddy’s finger.
As he did, a content omega purr burred within his small chest.
The tightness surrounding John’s single digit was exquisite. Stiles’ sweet
young cunt seemed to agree because within seconds his hand was slicker yet,
absolutely dripping with still-virginal smelling juices. Unable to help
himself, John crooked his finger towards the front ridge of his pup’s pelvic
cradle. Within a moment the tip found the seam of Stiles’ breeding canal.
During his pup’s last round it was still shut, a tight ridge of nerve-swollen
flesh, but today it had opened just a tiny bit. Rubbing the pad of his finger
in a circle, John tested the burgeoning channel’s entrance. Atop him, his boy
gasped and shuddered. Pulling back immediately, this action was met with a
light nip at his jaw and an unmistakably demanding “huff.”
“Sassy pup,” John growled back, but internally he preened at his omega son’s
fire.
Built to serve, he returned his finger. His strokes grown bolder, on his lap
Stiles clenched even harder around him, trembled and sighed.
Sweet, humming, and high, his boy’s sounds were so much like Claudia’s pleased
noises, from back when John used to take her in their early days. His mouth
suddenly went dry, the tip of his dick, even wetter. The realization of this,
what he was doing, what he’d done, suddenly felt like betrayal. Something sharp
twisted within his chest, constricting. Then, as if Stiles had read his
thoughts, scented his distress, his pup darted in for another kiss.  
Pain dulled by eager nibbles at lips and soft licks at the corners of his
mouth, John’s terrible ache was soon replaced by something more primal. It
flared and flooded his core.
Momentarily freeing himself from Styles’ puppish attentions, his eyes dipped
down to the front of Stiles,’ of hisshirt, sweat wet to near-translucence.
Plumped with heat hormones, the dark buds of his little boy’s nipples strained
tiny peaks against thin cotton.  
“M’ hot… Alpha…” Stiles released his daddy’s shoulders just long enough to
strip the overlarge shirt off over his head.
John groaned and growled in the same breath.  
Now all eight of his boy’s nipples were clearly visible. While vestigial,
leftover from when ancient omegas produced actual litters, Stiles' secondary
nipples, previously indistinguishable from the moles dotting his pale torso,
had grown larger in the past few months.
Enticingly so.
Each as big as a quarter now, they lined his thin sides far enough down to
trace the rounded contour of sweet, little boy belly. Baby fat that had pudged
out even more recently, leaving Stiles’ tummy deliciously rounded. The swell of
it held both tease and promise, offering a glimpse of how beautiful it could
look once properly filled.
John's inner alpha rumbled with pleasure at the thought of the young omega atop
him ripening, Just for him. An image of Stiles, lean-limbed but swollen taut
with pup, flashed in his mind and he actually felt his pupils dilate.
Slipping the hand not occupied with his boy’s hole around, John ran it down
Stiles' chest and caught the nub of a puffy, nut-brown nipple between his
fingers. He hadn’t done this before and the feel of it was amazing. The rouged
flesh like a petal. So much softer even than the rest of his boy’s skin.
Under his fingers the tip tightened as he lightly pinched.
“Oh…”
Mouth fallen open, Stiles’ eyes were wide and wonder-filled at this new
sensation. Intoxicated by his pup’s expression, John slid his broad palm across
his boy’s chest to tease the other side.
“Oh… Alpha....
“Yes…”
Too young still to come wet yet, there was still no denying the spasm as Stiles
climaxed just from having his nipples touched. Both Stiles' and John’s jaws
dropped, Stiles' at the sensation, his alpha's in awe.
A possessive alphic growl filled the quiet room; it made Stiles giggle.
The sound of his pup’s breathless laughter only made John growl louder. Without
thinking he dipped his head and nipped at Stiles’ neck. It sent the boy into
another peal, cut off too soon by a gasp when another harder lovebite,
lower, just to the side of Stiles’ top left nipple, made him come again.
Seeing this, John finally caught himself. He barely managed to pull back,
however.
There was no denying that with each false heat they’d passed through, it was
becoming progressively harder for him to remain still and just let his son use
him.
John wasn’t sure how many more heats he could endure, but he wasn’t thinking
that far ahead, because right now, there was nothing he wanted to do more in
the world than have his mouth on his boy’s little nubs. All of them. Worrying
each one with teeth and tongue until Stiles cried.
Struck by the wrongness of this thought, he tore his gaze away, only to find it
then caught in the snare of his pup’s heat-drunk amber gaze.
Stiles was far too young to understand anything about the art of seduction, but
damn if it seemed that way at the moment. The way he stared up from under lush
lashes, sucking his kiss-swollen bottom lip so that the pearl-white of his
upper front teeth peeked out.
Leaning backwards, spine curling further, Stiles' head tipped, baring his neck.
Small hands found his alpha’s unoccupied one, lifted and pressed it back to his
chest, seeking more touch. Hips moving all the while, his boy pussy
rhythmically clenched, trying to milk the finger inside it.
“Alpha…”
Stiles' words were hazy with his climax, heavy with his want.
“It…. Aches…”
“More, Daddy…”
The act of talking clearly becoming harder by the second, he exhaled at last,
“Fix me?”
“Please.”
If it weren’t for the need in his boy’s voice, John would have smiled at the
euphemism Stiles had come up with to articulate what he wanted.
“No, Stiles. The doctor said no more than one finger for now.”
“Please… Please… Alpha… More…”
John had been warned to expect the likelihood that each child-heat Stiles
experienced would increase in its intensity, but it was so hard to hear his
pup’s innocent desire and the alpha in him wanted badly to meet his little
omega’s need.
“Easy, Baby Boy, I got you…” John offered this even as he pulled away, nipples
reluctantly abandoned, sliding free from his son’s sweet slickness.
At the sudden loss of all the delicious friction, Stiles couldn’t help but cry.
Somewhere between a wail and a howl, the sound broke John’s heart. It pained
that his pup was so frustrated. But even on his own suppressants, John knew he
had to move on now; get them both ready before he lost himself completely.
“Shhhh...I know, Puppy. Alpha Daddy’s just going to get us shifted around… Make
sure you’re comfortable.”
Once he realized his daddy was fumbling with the buttons of his uniform, the
Stiles siren wound down almost immediately. Quickly he added his own trembling
fingers into the mix.
John had no sooner gotten his outer shirt slipped off his shoulders than Stiles
roughly pulled his tee-shirt up, stripping it off to get to more alpha skin.
Wrestled free of his shirt, John gently moved Stiles off him and stood. His
hands immediately sought his belt. The front of his pants tented and stained
dark from both of their juices, his cock all but visibly squirmed to get out.
“Get yourself ready, Sweetheart. Show Alpha what a good omega you are.”
The words weren’t even all out of his mouth before Stiles started moving;
draped himself over the padded arm of the sofa.
Rutting his chest against the soft, worn fabric, stimulating his nipples, now
he knew just how good they could feel, made Stiles’ sweet little ass wiggle in
a way John found maddening.
But this was nothing compared to the sight when his boy reached back, each hand
grabbing a cheek and pulling them open, putting his slick, little hole on
display. It was breathtaking: the tiny gape in the absence the finger, the way
Stiles’ rim was flushed, deep-pink and swollen, but not overstrained.
“A-Alpha…”
His boy’s presenting form was perfect and outside the very first time John saw
Stiles in his wife’s arms, his son had never looked so…
“Beautiful.”
It took John a moment to realize he’d said the word out loud, but the praise
set off the most glorious blush on Stiles’ neck. In seconds it cascaded, pink
and lovely, halfway down his shoulders.
The clink of John’s belt and the soft sloughing of slacks drowned in the growl
that filled his broad chest. Stiles answered with a lighter growl of his own.
Tipped his aching ass higher, urging him on, challenging his alpha to take him.
Shoes kicked off, socks left in the legs of his trousers, John knelt naked
behind his son.
His cock wept in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager. Unable to help
himself, he rubbed his hands down over his boy’s body, large palms mapping,
committing to memory the topography of shoulders, back, hips, ass, thighs.
Under his touch, Stiles shivered deliciously, ass beckoning in little thrusts,
panting in between breathy moans.
“Please. Please. Please. Fix me alpha…”
“Shhhhhh…Puppy...”
John ran a broad thumb down the valley of Stiles’ still spread ass, caught his
boy’s weeping juices.  
The urge to lick the slick, clear and thick as honey now, was all but
overwhelming. He wanted to bury his face between those peach-ripe cheeks.
Wanted to see how far his tongue would reach up inside that glistening, opened
little furl.
Drawing deep on his resolve, instead, he pushed his thumb in. It was thicker
than his finger, and although shorter, this new digit still reached far enough
inside his pup’s small body he could still stroke Stiles’ most tender spots.
Thumb in his boy’s ass, palm pressed against Stiles’ balls, his fingers reached
forward. John made a groove between them that caught Stiles little dick.
Unable to hold back this time, Stiles growled again, arched his back, and began
rutting. Too eager in his motions, he soon slipped off his daddy’s thumb in the
midst of pumping. The emptiness, so unbearable now, brought on a fresh round of
tears.
“I know, Sweetheart, I know… But you’re doing so good, Stiles. Alpha Daddy’s so
proud of you...”
These were the last words John uttered before he reached over to his discarded
shirt with his unoccupied hand and retrieved the mouthguard and plug from his
pocket. He set the plug aside. Then he pressed the guard into his mouth, even
as he pressed back into Stiles.
Teeth secured, he stretched himself over his boy. A strong arm around Stiles’
thin, sweat-slick chest held him in place so he wouldn’t come off his thumb
again.
Skin to skin, Stiles was a furnace The heat of him soaked in, curled around
John's heart like a lazy cat. Under him, John felt his pup tremble and knew
Stiles had come again just from having his alpha daddy on top of him. Humming
in approval he buried his nose in his son’s soaked nape.
Christ, Stiles smelled good; Claudia’s honeysuckle was there in his pup’s
signature. Just the barest bit of bitterness of "baby" and "blood" remained
still, held in his scent, warning his alpha daddy off.
Like this, right now, all it would take was one bite. One bite,and John knew
this would fade too. Stiles would be his, the fullness of his scent untainted:
shifted from “too little” and “son” to “mate” and “mine.”
His heavily weeping dick spurted a thick drip of precome at the thought even as
he clenched the rubber between his teeth tighter.
Beneath his alpha's lightly furred belly, Stiles had roused again already.
He pumped his little hips hard, hole clenching tight, grasping for a knot that
wasn’t coming. He keened his want, words falling like broken-winged birds from
his gasping mouth.
“Fix…
“Oh please….
“Fix… Alpha
“Please...
“B-bite...
At these words John tightened his grip to the point his pup couldn’t move: this
was the first time that Stiles had begged for a bite.
Stiles didn’t protest being constrained, reveling in the weight his alpha atop
him, the way the hand under him thrusted so rapidly now, milking him inside and
out. His only action was to turn his head to the side, neck stretched in
petition and submission.
“Please…
“Bite…”
What that one little word did.
Without being inside his pup, without even touching himself, John felt his
balls tighten, the throb of thick blood filling his knot. He lifted up from
Stiles, making sure to press a big hand high on his boy’s shoulders, scruffing
him, keeping him pinned and in place. Below him him Stiles whined at the loss
of comforting weight and the heat of his alpha.
With a skill that had come over the last few months, John eased his thumb from
his pup’s pulsing hole. Grabbing his cock and gripping himself it took less
than than six strokes for his knot to pop fully.
John roared around the guard. Pressing the tip of his furiously dark cock, so
huge in comparison to his pup’s baby gape, he shot into his boy. Filled Stiles
with the seed that, until a real heat, would safely soothe him. All the while
though, John fought not to buck, to force himself into the sweet hole right
there at the end of his dick.
 As soon as his cock stopped spilling, John picked up the plug, slathered it it
their shared juices and began to work it into Stiles’ cream-filled little
cunt. Usually Stiles came again just from the sensation of "hot," "wet,"
filling him. Today he didn't though. The thrust of this false knot, stretching
him just slightly more, soon had Stiles keening. But, again,  being simply
“fixed” was not enough.
“Bite…”
“Please…”
“Bond me, Daddy…
Even when Stiles' mother died, John had never heard his boy’s voice so raw. It
took everything he had not to spit the guard out and comply. Instead, he pushed
the plug into Stiles with far more force than usual. His pup sobbed as his
eager hole swallowed it.
“Yours…Alpha”
“Make me…Daddy
“Please..”
John knew these words should freeze him in his tracks, but instead, a wave of
want crashed over him. Drowning in it, on its own accord, his mouth drew down
to the juncture of pale freckled shoulder and neck. He felt his tongue against
the rubber, ready to push it out of the way, to claim.
Pressing closed lips hard against Stiles’ scent gland John growled ferociously.
He felt the guard split between the grind of his jaws. The give was enough for
him to latch on slightly. Underneath him, Stiles squeaked at the pinch of
rubber-clad teeth and came hard one last time, his whole body trembling.
It took a few minutes, laying atop Stiles for John’s vision to clear. He spat
the ruined guard out as he pushed up. He only hoped he hadn't ruined his son as
well. A hand immediately went to the dark-purple bruise rapidly forming on his
boy’s neck. Stiles shivered and whimpered at the touch.
“Oh, thank God.”
Stiles' bonding gland was swollen, obviously bruised, but not punctured. John
bent down and kissed it. Kept kissing it. He only shifted his lips when Stiles
turned his tear-stained face to him with a sad little kitten sound. He took his
pup’s mouth tenderly. Let Stiles submissively lick into his own until his boy
finally broke the contact, pulling away.
“Oh, Baby…” John sighed gathering his pup in his arms. "Alpha’s going to have
to get himself a muzzle next time."
Next time.
His stomach dropped at the thought, even as sticky twig arms wrapped around his
neck, legs around his waist. Against him, Stiles’ temperature was dropping
already. Usually after being filled and releasing so many times, his boy was
rendered sleepy and content. But today Stiles was softly crying.
Nosing straight into his alpha’s scent gland, Stiles licked it. He scraped his
teeth over it, worriedly, in between sobs.
John wrapped an arm around Stiles so he could stand and pull the afghan on the
back of the couch down to cover soaked cushions. Then he laid down on his side,
pulling Stiles with him. Once semi-settled, he laid a hand on his pup’s wet
cheek, pressed their sweaty foreheads together.
“You did so good, Puppy. Apha Daddy’s so proud of you.”
It was hard watching Stiles search his eyes, harder still when they dropped
away and his boy whispered in a stuttered breath.
“D-don’t want me.”
One, Two, Three...Three little words. They hit John like a sledgehammer right
to the solar plexus. He barely had the air to gasp.
“What?”
Stiles stiffened in his arms. Silent. Then with the slight nudge of his head he
nodded in the direction of near-black hickey at the base of his neck.
“Fuck, Stiles. No.” Even as he shook his head, John gathered his boy tighter.
Hand clasping cooling scruff he gripped the back of Stile neck, pressed him to
his own. “No… No…”
God he wished Claudia was here. It should have been him taken and not
her anyways, he was so far out of his league here. Then he heard his lovely
mate’s voice in his head. Sometimes an omega needs more than just praise,
John. John was a modern alpha, sure, but he'd been raised by an old school
pack. Still, his wife's words continued to echo in his mind.
He swallowed hard.
“Love and want are two different things, Stiles. I know it’s difficult to
understand now, but you will when you’re older, Puppy.”
Voice rough with discomfort, John was happy Stiles was tucked under his jaw,
freeing him from the scrutiny of his pup's ever-searching eyes. He could
feel his face heat as he offered back three words in antidote to his son’s.
“I love you.”
How it was possible for Stiles to stiffen further, boggled his mind, but he
did. John’s heart paced with his inner alpha. At a loss, he found himself
repeating the words.
“I love you.”
His pup’s scruff gripped tighter to underscore the truth, now that it had been
said, the words weren’t quite so hard to utter this time.
And they were so very true.
Whether it was the words or the fact Stiles heat fever had finally broken, his
pup shivered in his embrace. John loosened one arm only long enough to fumble
for his rumpled shirt. He draped it over them, making sure they kept as much
skin to skin contact as possible.
“Love you, Stiles… Your Alpha Daddy loves you so much. My beautiful boy.”
John was unaware of how tight he’d become himself until he felt his pup softly
begin to melt against him.
Stiles shifted, head still lowered. Bony fingers plucked lightly at the fine
hairs on his father’s chest. A growling purr rumbled in John's throat at the
sensation.
“Don’t want you to leave me.”
The words were so said so quietly John almost missed them, might have too, if
it weren’t for the ghost of his pup’s breath on his skin.
He’d never been one to shirk the truth and their shared loss had so recently
shown them that, despite one’s best intentions, there were no promises to be
made when it came to staying together; regardless of how much one wanted to.
Still, John promised what he could.
“Not gonna leave if I can help it, Pup. Gonna hold on to you as long and as
best I can.”
He worried this wasn’t enough.
A few moments later though, Stiles dipped his head a bit more to place a kiss
just over his alpha’s heart.
“Love you too, Dad.”
Nothing more to say, they remained still under the tent of John’s shirt for
several minutes. Then Stiles wiggled. His need to move coming back, he rolled
over and re-situated himself as the small spoon, slender shoulders pressed to
his alpha’s chest, feeling the beat of his father’s heart against his back.
They were damp, cooling, and sticky, and John could feel the rub of the plug in
Stiles' bottom against his spent dick.
Stiles usually needed only one filling to arrest his child-heats, but the air
hung heavy with his scent and John felt his adult, alpha body responding to the
lingering pheromones. Not that his boy needed to know this.
“We’re gonna need to hit the showers soon, Kiddo.”
It seemed Stiles' penchant for submission had broken with his fever. Instead of
getting up, he pushed back, pinning his alpha against the back of the couch and
growled, “Five more minutes.”
John breathed a tired sigh but grinned.
"Sassy pup."
"You know it," Stiles teased back before snuggling in with a tired sigh of his
own. 
Despite his arousal, John's earlier exhaustion had returned and was hitting him
hard. He decided that after what they’d just been through, he could hold off
for five more minutes. Wrapping his arms around Stiles, he held him close.
After a minute, hardly aware he was doing it, he dropped his head and started
licking at his pup’s bruised scent gland.
Stiles gave a soft whimper at first, but this quickly shifted into a quiet,
content hum and then even more quickly into a light snore.
John left off his tending of Stiles' mark to gaze down on his son. So much of
his mother in Stiles' sweet face, his eyes dropped down and he couldn’t help
but imagine what a true mate mark would like like against his pup’s pale, mole-
dotted neck. At the thought of this, while the rest of him could have dropped
off to sleep as easily as Stiles had, his cock started to fill.
Rousing himself, despite his weariness and his alphic instinct to stay with his
tender omega pup, John carefully extricated himself from the couch. He shifted
the afghan to cover Stiles, when the boy whimpered in his sleep at the loss of
heat.
John bent and whispered again into his sleeping boy’s ear.
“I love you…”
It didn’t matter if Stiles heard him this time or not, he meant it regardless.
But he said it too, to remind himself what he’d told Stiles earlier about the
difference between “love” and “want:” the lines were not quite as clear as he’d
made it sound.
Already worrying already about his little omega's next "fever," John headed off
to the shower, fearing what he’d see when he closed his eyes and emptied
himself of his own heat sickness, the burn still sitting heavy in his low
belly.
Chapter End Notes
     As I mentioned, this is my first Teen Wolf fic. I know normally
     Stiles would be way more verbal than he was here. I also know he and
     his Dad avoid "feeling talks" at pretty much all costs. But since
     it's an ABO AU, I thought I could play things a little fast and
     loose. Hope I didn't mangle the characters too much.
     Also, although this is generally understood by most FF authors/
     readers, just for the record, I don't condone underage sex, incest,
     non-con, or bestiality in real life, and still feel guilty as hell
     about writing it.
***** Care Package 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     I got so wrapped up in my world building and then John and Deaton had
     to have this long-ass conversation. So all you kinky kitties... You
     have my apologies: there's no sex this chapter.
     Aw, well, hopefully you like a little plot with your porn.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Parrish glanced up from his desk when the Sheriff walked into the office.
John winced at the look on the younger man’s face: his deputy attempting,
unsuccessfully, to keep his expression even. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the
first time he’d come to work smelling of rambunctious, unclaimed omega.
“That bad, huh?”
Jordan coughed and his cheeks pinked slightly.  “A fresh uniform might be
advisable, Sir.”
“Damn it, Parrish, this isa fresh uniform!”
It was. He kept a change handy in the cruiser for more mundane intentions.  But
circumstances being as they were, he'd stopped and slipped into them at the
men’s room at the Texaco on his way to work. He didn't want Stiles to know he
was shedding the scent his pup had been diligently marking him with all
morning.
Sharing the Sheriff’s discomfort, Parrish dipped his head back down to his
desk. Partly in deference to the higher alpha, but it also made the flaring of
his nostrils less observable. However, even with the mandatory high-grade
suppressants all law officers were required to take, Stiles’ scent was
obviously affecting him.
The extent of which was made even clearer when Jordan asked without looking up
from an apparently riveting file, “And how old is your boy now, Sir?”
“Turned twelve last month, you know that.” John answered carefully, the warning
undercurrent evident in his words.
The hum Parrish offered in response was purposefully neutral. But John didn’t
miss the younger man’s succeeding actions: clearing his throat, bringing a
large fist just under his nose as he did in a polite effort to cover it.
Knowing he shouldn’t be taking the difficulties of his homelife out on his
deputy, John heaved a heavy sigh.
“Anything burning, burgled, or dead this morning?”
“Nothing new at the moment, Sheriff,” Parrish answered from behind his still
raised hand.
“Good. Try to keep in that way for the next fifteen minutes. I’m going to take
a shower.”
“I’ll do my best, Sir.”
Annoyed by the gratitude in his deputy’s voice, John growled as he stalked
towards the locker room.
“And open the windows; it’s damn stuffy in here.” He exclaimed mid-stride. “You
guys are law officers, not hot-house flowers!”
The quiet “Yessir” and the scrape of Parrish’s chair against linoleum as he
immediately rose to comply dimmed in John’s ears. He headed down the hall. His
hand was on the locker room door, when he stopped. A familiar voice drifted out
the open door leading into the K-9 unit’s kennels.
Deaton.
He recalled having seen the man’s truck in the lot when he’d pulled up: the vet
likely called in to check on one of their Shepherds’ paws. The dog, Duke, had
cut it badly on a broken bottle a few days back, chasing a suspected burglar
through an alley.
Popping his head inside the door of his canine officers’ dormitory, John told
himself he was just keeping tabs on things, not that he was stalling out of any
reluctance to wash off Stiles’ carefully applied claim-scent.
Duke was up on a small table. Deaton’s own dog, a massive Rottweiler, Arzhel,
lay nearby. Other than this, the kennel was empty. All the other furry officers
were out in the field. Both dogs remained quiet but their heads immediately
swiveled over towards John when he entered. Deaton’s eyes flickered up too for
just a moment before returning to the wrap he was changing.
“Morning, Alpha.” The vet’s soft, cultured voice was deferential as always.
“How many times have I told you, Alan? Sheriff is fine. John even.”
“Many,” Deaton replied without missing a beat. The omega vet tipped his head
slightly to the side, an old-school display of submission so ingrained it was
unconscious. He cut the tape and slipped Duke’s protective booty back on.
The shepherd wagged his long tail as John stepped up closer. Arzhel, meanwhile,
remained where he lay on the floor, but kept a careful eye on things, ever-
watchful of his master.
“Stitches look good and there’s no sign of infection. They’ll be ready to come
out in about a week. Before you know it, Duke will be ready for duty again.”
John reached to scratch behind one of Duke’s pointed ears, watching while
Deaton gathered up his things. The vet loaded up his kit and then shot a quick
glance over.
“You, on the other hand...”
John’s eyes darted up in surprise.
“Seriously, Alpha. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
The vet’s dark gaze poured over him. Deaton had always seemed to see things
clearer than most; a trait that had often left John uneasy. Heat filled his
face when Deaton overtly sniffed. It grew hotter still with the words that
followed.
“Stiles smells different.”
Anyone else, John would have immediately dressed them down for
inappropriateness, but Deaton’s expression was mild, his gaze expectantly
curious.
Duke moved over and John slipped up onto the table beside him, back against the
wall. Suddenly it was as if everything finally caught up with him, the
exhausting weight of his life. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
A resigned sigh escaped him and rather than brush the vet off, he tiredly
admitted, “He’s in preheat, a trueheat, his Doctor said. We’ve got three days
til it hits, supposedly.”
“Ah… He’s a bit on the early side.” Sixteen was the average age for a male
omega’s heat.
Deaton’s voice held just the right amount of sympathy. “But you must be
relieved. A true heat might even him out… Get him on a regular cycle.”
John opened his eyes and leveled them at the vet. He’d never overtly discussed
his pup’s situation with Deaton.
“How do you even know about Stiles…?”
“We’ve worked together for how many years now, Alpha?” Deaton set a finger
alongside his nose, silently reminding him that omegas had the most superior
scenting senses of all the dynamics.
John couldn’t help but offer a bitter grin in response. But any semblance of
smile was wiped from his face at the vet’s next question.
“Are you going to claim him?”
Duke sensed the change in his boss immediately and quietly jumped down from the
table. It appeared he was going to sit this one out if he could help it. He
slunk into his run and curled up in his bed, watchful eyes on the two humans
just outside the wire.
The dog was wise to be cautious. John’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders stiffened,
posture puffed. After being wrapped in the scent of his pup’s blooming
fertility, the question sparked a fierce possessive pulse within him. He stared
hard at Deaton, a growl building in his chest. The vet lowered his gaze, but
his voice was calm.
“Many people would.”
“My kid’s only twelve, Deaton.” This time the growl was audible.
Deaton kept his submissive posture, but seemed otherwise unaffected by his
agitation. Arzhel, on the other hand, sat up and gave a soft whine. Deaton
settled the dog with a simple hand gesture.
“That’s a ‘no’ then?”
The vet took the continuing silence as affirmation. “So, how are you going to
handle it? From your scent I doubt your system could handle any more
suppressants.”
“That’s none of your business, Deaton!” There was more embarrassment in the
Sheriff’s voice than ire this time. He dropped his head and pinched the bridge
of his nose, wondering if his situation was so obvious to everyone.
“I’m a doctor, Alpha.”
“You’re a vet.” John corrected
Deaton shrugged at this but dropped his again eyes before adding, “And an
omega.”  
Wishing he was in the showers, hidden underneath a curtain of water, John was
now deeply regretting having stopped in. But he finally dipped his own head
lower in defeat: truth was, he sorely needed someone to talk to and didn’t have
a lot of other options.
“I don’t know what to do, Alan.” There. He'd finally put it out there. As an
alpha, it was a terrible thing to have to admit. But with his admission, John
felt the stranglehold on his chest ease fractionally.
He glanced up. There was no judgement in Deaton’s expression, just the usual
maddening placidity.
“No playmates?”
Just the word playmate set John rumbling.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to find these for Stiles after his first few
“child-heats.” And it wasn’t just that the kids available were too much older,
too rough with a pup so much their junior. Or that he got a little too jealous
watching clumsy, juvenile alphas paw at his boy. Though there was a bit of all
of these factors; no, what really made it difficult was…
“I tried. But all the little knotheads I set him up with said... he smelled...
funny.”
Alan flashed a tight-lipped smile at the sheriff's description of his son’s
playmate prospects. Then his face grew serious again. “Well, he has developed a
rather distinct signature.”
John already knew this, but hearing Deaton say it out loud didn’t help.
Yes, Stiles didn’t have the same ultra-sweet scent most omegas shared. He’d
scented this himself, underneath Stiles’ precocious body’s familial warnings.
Personally, though, he’d come to love that extra little bit of spice that made
Stiles bittersweet. The tinge of metal too, that seemed very much in line with
his pup’s sharpness.
And what this difference in scent might have indicated, along with the onset of
his pup’s false heats... Well, there was no way John was going to think on that
too hard. His guilt about his son’s situation was difficult enough to carry
already.
Thankfully, Deaton didn’t push the issue further but rather shifted the
conversation.
“Well, you’ve must have seen him through his other bouts. Perhaps you could see
him through this one too without claiming him.”
John shook his head. After the false heat where he’d bit Stiles, his boy’s body
had calmed downed some. There’d been only six others in the two years since. As
much as he and Stiles both hated it, he’d muzzled himself through these. And he
do it again if he had too.
But with a true heat, the bite wasn’t the only issue.
“Can’t. He’ll be fertile this time.” John ran a hand through his hair. “That’s
the fuck of this whole thing. Even Stiles’ omega doc says he’s still too young
for suppressants, and there’s no contraceptive that won’t react negatively to
his ADHD meds and the stuff he takes for anxiety.”
“I’m not big on pups having pups, Alan.”
Deaton’s head tipped to the side, this time in curiosity, not submission. “And
you’ve tried suspended swimmers, I take it?”
At the mention of sperm substitutes John’s face grew hot again. A pregnant
pause passed and when the vet didn’t say anything, obviously waiting for an
answer, he finally caved.
“Allergic.”
His mind flashed to the one time they’d tried it, the next heat following the
one where he’d bit his boy. Stiles’ poor baby hole had been swollen and red for
days and the rash from the reaction had stretched from tailbone to the base of
his pup’s neck.
It had been awful.
“Ouch.” Deaton’s forehead creased. “But not uncommon, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, I know that now.” John’s voice was rueful.
“Toys? I know it would be painful, but Stiles could weather it that way,
without fluids. It’s far from ideal, but if you’re concerned about claiming...”
It struck John that their conversation had devolved into some bizarre game of
twenty questions on the Stilinski family heat habits.
“I can’t believe I am actually sitting here talking to you about my son’s…
uh... health.”
“Doctor,” Deaton reminded.
“Vet,” John stubbornly countered. His alpha started to bristle at the omega’s
persistence. He was cut off mid growl by Deaton’s next words.
“It’s all just biology, John, and I really want to help you and Stiles out if I
can.”
The fact that Deaton had addressed him by name and not “alpha” not only took
John by surprise, but it showed just how earnest the man was. The vet’s old
school manners dictated names, not dynamics, were only used in conversation
with pack.
This long-withheld inclusion touched John deeply, but he still didn’t want to
answer. Keeping silent however would read as rejection of what Deaton was
offering him.
“I tried uh… aides… with Stiles. But you know how he is. Sure he has troubling
focusing on some things, but when he gets interested, he gets… Ummm.”
“Overzealous?”
“Obsessive was the word I was going to use. Thanks for being kind.”
At home now, all toys were locked up and doled out as supervised “treats.”
Stiles would wreck himself otherwise. John ran his hands through his hair.
There was more to it than this, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle Deaton
knowing what a bad alpha he was.
“John…”
The word held both question and command in a way that only omegas seemed to be
capable of. The tone was so much like Claudia’s, John felt his defenses
crumble.
“It’s his first real heat, Deaton. It should be special.”
He drew a deep breath and pushed on before he lost his nerve: he’d always been
better at getting confessions than giving them.
“I don’t want him to spend it alone. Besides, it wouldn’t be healthy. When I
took him to the doctor this last time, she said Stiles was touch-starved.” John
spat the word out with disgust.
Everyone knew omegas needed a certain amount of skin to skin contact to stay
balanced and he’d no idea his boy had been suffering. He shook his head. He’d
been so focused on restraining himself this last year, keeping the touch to a
minimum both in and outside his pup’s false heats for fear of losing himself
he’d been completely unaware of the harm he’d been doing.
He didn’t dare to look at Deaton after this admission. He was a failure as an
alpha, what the man must think of him.
“I think you must care about your pup, so very much.”
“Wha…?”
John’s eyes flew up at Deaton’s words. How in the hell? But the vet only gave
him a kind and knowing smile.
“I don’t know many willing to go to all the trouble that you have, even for
their own, John. You’re a good alpha.”
The words soothed, but they didn’t entirely ease John’s ache. Nor did they help
his predicament.
“Might I make a suggestion, Alpha?”
The way Deaton said “alpha” this time wasn’t merely an address. His tone let
John know that this was an intimate respect he was paying. John sat quiet,
watching the vet pull out his wallet and remove a card from it.
John took the card from the omega’s slender fingers. It was on heavy parchment
that spoke of high taste and old money. The front of the card declared in
elegant font:
                                  Hale Hounds
                    Kennel, Training, Canine Care Packages
 
The phone number on the front had been carefully crossed out. On the back was
an email address written in labored lettering along with a name:DEREK HALE.
“The Hales are Were-folk. They have a long history breeding some of the best
service dogs in the state.”
“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
John’s incredulous question pulled a rare chuckle from the vet.
“It’s not like there isn’t a precedent for this sort of solution.”
It was true, centuries back most homes had at least one dog designated to
provide “comfort” for its omega occupants. And like familial claimings, though
it was not highly thought of in these “modern” times, the practice wasn’t
unheard of.
“Yeah, but a dog?” The idea made John uncomfortable. This was the kind of thing
alphas might “jock talk” about when they weren’t in mixed company, but to think
about it actually happening… With his own pup. His discomfort increased when
the idea shot a spark of arousal deep in his belly.
“It’s not as terrible as you make it sound, John.” Deaton’s face held nothing
of the Sheriff’s embarrassment. “As an omega, Stiles will respond to a dog’s
sperm the same as yours, but without any risk of pregnancy. A service dog will
give Stiles all the tactile comfort an omega craves and the knot he needs. A
good one would serve as protection too out in the world.”
Before John could protest, Deaton added. “I bet with Stiles’ anxiety issues,
the dog could be registered as a regular service dog too. Your boy could
probably even take it with him to classes. Just about anywhere, actually.”
“Yeah, but a dog…” John knew he was sounding like a broken record.
Having continued to pay attention to his boss’ conversation, Duke interjected
with an offended bark.
The Shepherd was one of the department’s two “sentients.” Different from
regular canines, sentients had almost the same intelligence as the average
human.
“Nothing personal, Duke,” John shot the dog a an easy grin.
Duke rose and padded back over to him now that the mood in the room had so
considerably shifted. He nudged one of his boss’ dangling calves to let him
know he wasn’t holding the comment against him.
John reached down to give Duke an affectionate scratch in response, but his
hand stopped mid-air at Deaton’s next words.
“Would help if I told you Hale hounds are specialized, like Duke here?”
“You mean sentient?”
Deaton’s face shifted in a rare display of distaste at the term. “All animals
are sentient, John. But if you mean, above average… Hale hounds… Yes.
Definitely.”
Maybe it shouldn’t have, but that made things different somehow.
John ran out his last objection. “I doubt there’s anyway I could afford a sent…
Uh, special dogfor Stiles. I mean getting Duke and Daisy for the team just
about broke our budget.”
“Just send an e-mail, Sheriff, and make an appointment,” Deaton remained
unthwarted. “It can’t hurt to inquire.  Be sure and mention my name and I’ve no
doubt Derek will be willing to work with you.”
===============================================================================
The next day found John driving the backroads two towns over. He still couldn’t
quite believe what he was doing.
His mind was only half watching the dusty road unwinding before him while the
other half still struggled with what Deaton had revealed at the end of their
conversation.
“You know, my Arzhel is a Hale Hound.”
John had tried to keep his expression neutral but found himself failing.“You
mean…”
“He plays himself down. It prevents people from talking and keeps both of us
safer.”
Glancing over at the Rottweiler, John had sworn the dog was smirking at him.
“Alpha…”
It had been hard for John to look back at Deaton. The image of the vet naked,
his sweat-slicked brown skin being rocked beneath the black of Arzhel’s sleek
hide had flashed in his mind. His balls had buzzed at the thought and the blood
begun to build.
Finally he’d glanced up.
It had shocked him to see Deaton had unbuttoned his crisp shirt, pulled down
the collar to reveal a set of vicious scars scars marring his rich skin at the
base of his neck on the left. There was the hint of others peeping out on the
still-covered skin of his right too. Group attack, or single frenzy, the scars
had the blued hue of a broken forced-bonding.
“Life can be hard for early bloomers.”The vet’s voice had been unusually
somber.“I’ve found having Arzhel immensely helpful in being able to maintain my
life as an independent omega. It seems to me you desire the same for your son.”
Deaton had shrugged his shirt back up and buttoned it, he’d kept his head down,
unwilling to meet John’s eyes. After what he’d just shared, John would have
been lying if he’d said he hadn’t been glad for this.
He’d slipped of the table and set a careful hand on Deaton’s left shoulder. As
he’d silently left the room he’d heard Arzhel rise and both he and Duke pad
over to Deaton. Then the soft shift of the vet’s trousers as he’d crouched down
to let the two sentients comfort him.
“Consider it, John.”Deaton had called out behind him.
He didn’t even wait until he got home. Despite the fact it was a personal e-
mail, once he’d finished his shower and was ensconced in his office he’d sent
Hale Hounds his inquiry.
The crackle of static disrupted the quiet playing of the oldies station on his
radio, pulling John from his reverie.
He’d made his proposal to Stiles last night, relieved and unexpectedly annoyed
his pup had taken to the idea so readily. He still wished Stiles could have
come with him to choose the dog.
If we're able to afford one,he reminded himself.
But this close to his first heat, John didn’t dare bring his boy out. He cast
his eye over to the passenger seat where, instead of his pup, a ziplocked bag
held the shirt Stiles had slept in.
Pulling around a curve, John slowed his car down. Off the side of the road,
beneath a canopy of green he saw the blackened remains of a charred manor
house. He’d known it was coming. Derek Hale had even offered it as a landmark
in the directions he’d sent. Still, seeing it lurking in the shadows, made John
uneasy.
Actually this whole thing had him unsettled and the sad history of the Hales
hadn’t helped in the least. Stiles wasn’t the only one with a propensity for
research and after contacting Derek Hale, he’d done some checking on Hale
Hounds Kennels.
Deaton had been right in stating that the Hales were Were-folk. He’d been
correct in their success in the dog business as well. What he’d neglected to
mention, however, was that a few years back, the Hales had run into some
trouble with their local community.
It wasn’t uncommon: Were and non-Were relations historically weren’t always the
best. Unfortunately, in this case, the Hale family had paid a high price for
their perceived transgressions.
It took John a moment scanning the underbrush to locate the little side road
that ran up alongside the ruin and wound around the back of the devastated
mansion. About another mile on, down an even ruttier dirt road, the forest
opened up into a small valley.
Here the landscape seemed untouched from the main property’s tragedy. The
kennel barns with their crisp-green, steel siding blended in with the
surrounding meadows. Drawing closer to the buildings the dirt road turned into
neat grey crushed gravel. John approvingly noted the unbroken chainlink fencing
for both the runs and the large well-manicured fields of canine playgrounds.
He pulled up into the kennel’s small shaded lot and got out of the car.
Movement in one of the side-yards caught his attention, and John stepped over.
There was a young man, late teens most likely, out in one of the play yards
surround by about six water dogs. Watching the boy wield the garden hose he
held, the labradors leaping and snapping at the stream as he sprayed, the
moment was so light, John held back, not wanting to intrude.
As he stood there, he couldn’t help but admire the teen’s good looks. Wet t-
shirt stretched across a broad, well muscled chest, thick brows and a shadow of
stubble along a strong jaw, the kid looked more like an alpha model than a
kennel worker.
Watching the boy move in graceful choreography with the frolicking dogs made
John think about his son: what Stiles would be like in a few years. Though his
pup was already showing more height than a lot of omegas, the genetics of his
dynamic would likely keep him thin and gangly. When the comparison of Stiles
with this young alpha brought an uncomfortable pang of disappointment,
Claudia’s ghost “tsked” in his mind. Angry with himself, John exhaled a soft
sigh of agreement.
Quiet as he was being, the boy must have heard him, or, if he was Were, scented
him.The kid’s dark head snapped up and the easy grin that had been on his face
evaporated.  
This wasn’t John’s territory and young alphas were notoriously easy to rile.
So, although he was older, rather than approach the boy he stood and waited.
The kid turned off the hose and said a few quiet words to the pack around him.
The dogs seemed to take whatever he said in stride and, all but one quickly
scampered over to the small in-ground wading pool the run held to continue
their watery romp.
Closing the gate to the yard behind him the young man approach with a sleek
black lab at his side.
“Can I help you, Sir?” the voice was definitely young alpha, but a little extra
growly, as though it didn’t get used much.
John appreciated the respectful address, but then Were-folk, in his limited
experience, especially old lines like the Hales, were notorious for being
sticklers about good manners. So it didn’t surprise him they’d expect this from
their staff.
John met the boy’s gaze and held it. The teen dropped his gaze much quicker
than he expected, long-lashed green eyes going to the lab, almost as if the kid
was looking for reassurance. Now that they’d established themselves, John
lowered his own gaze enough to give the dog a quick admiring glance.
“I’m looking for Hale Hound's owner, Derek Hale.”
The boy looked up, hesitating before finally answering. "Well, Sir, then you've
found him."
Chapter End Notes
     Your kudos and comments (well the nice ones) are treasured.
     Thanks for reading.
     Oh, and a special thanks to IcyCryos, who's turned out to be a kick
     ass editor.
***** Care Package 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Staring at the boy before him, John couldn’t help but blink.
“You’re Derek Hale.”
“Yessir.”
In his research on the Hale family, Derek Hale had proven to be something of an
enigma. John had found no mention of him, outside a single line declaring him
the only survivor of the Hale house fire. It struck him odd at the time for
such an old and established pack whose members were regularly featured amongst
the society pages.
Given this, he hadn’t been sure what to expect of Deaton’s ‘contact,’ but the
boy before him certainly wasn’t it.
After clearing his throat he rumbled. “You must be a Jr. Right? Where’s your
father, son. I need to speak with the owner.”
The kid straightened. Voice low and strained there was no mistaking Derek’s
answering growl.  “I’m Derek Hale. I’m the owner.”
Derek's body had grown even tauter; everything about his posture told John he
was readying for a fight. While this response didn’t throw him, the way the
younger alpha smelled sure did. There was still a good amount of space between
them, but the Sheriff was downwind and the warm summer breeze suddenly wrapped
him in Derek’s signature.
The usual alpha musk was there, but it was cut with a sweet, strange undertone.
The smell tickled his nose and an unexpected burst of warmth flooded John’s low
belly. This heat quickly chilled when he took another subtle sniff and
realized, despite the kid’s posture, the heaviest scent Derek was giving off
wasn’t alphic aggression.
It was anxiety.
Before he could figure out how to respond to this there was another quiet
growl. This one didn’t come from Derek. A quick glance down and John saw the
dog at the kid’s side, lips curling, hackles raised, ready to protect. And it
wasn’t the only one willing to step in.
While still keeping an eye on the dog, he noted back behind Derek all the
animals in the run had ceased their romping. They stood in a line watching
through the chainlink. Poised at the gate was one of the water dogs, clearly a
sentient, no doubt prepared to nudge the latch and release the troops if
needed.
Out of uniform for this meeting, John slipped his hands into worn jean pockets.
He slumped out his normal military posture into a more ‘aw shucks’ stance,
hoping it made him seem less threatening. He kept the alpha authority in his
voice but added something paternal and hopefully not too patronizing to his
tone.
“How old are you, son?”
Derek’s posture remained stiff. Green eyes met his evenly, but John could tell
it was an effort.
“Old enough.”
There was the expected bristle at his question, but it was rapidly becoming
clear this was all bravado. When John remained silent and continued to stare at
him, Derek quickly folded. The kid’s broad shoulders rolled inwards to hunch
submissively.
Once again Derek dropped his eyes down to the dog beside him before answering,
“I’m eighteen, Al… Sir.”
The Hale fire had been two years ago. This meant Derek would have taken over
the family business at sixteen.
Not even out of high school yet.
Unconsciously, John shook his head in sympathy. No wonder the kid was so
anxious: that much tragedy and sudden responsibility would have been difficult
for a mature alpha to handle. That the boy seemed to be holding his own here at
all was a marvel.
Although Derek might have dropped his gaze, his canine companion didn’t. Quiet
now, but teeth still bared, the dog continued to stare hard.
“Eighteen and the owner.” John nodded slowly. “Good for you.”
Clearly not expecting this response Derek started in surprise and lifted his
eyes. At his side, the Lab’s teeth disappeared although the dog continued to
regard him suspiciously.
Taking a chance, John shifted attention away from Derek’s furry bodyguard and
the waiting canine army to scan the well manicured grounds again. If things
were as they seemed and the kid was running the place by himself... Well,
outside the generally buff build of most Weres, this certainly explained his
well-muscled physique.
“A lot of work for one person.”
He was fishing. It was a tactic used frequently in his work to get a sense of
things while seeming conversational and not too intrusive. John was hard
pressed not to smile when Derek rose to his bait.
“It is.” Derek hesitated,seeming to weigh whether or not it was safe to say
more. “But I like it.”
“So it would seem. You’re clearly doing a good job with the place. From what I
can see out here, anyways,” John amended.
When his eyes returned to Derek, his body had lost a little of its terrible
stiffness. The kid’s ears had also grown surprisingly pink at his mild
praise. his scent changed too, became less anxious and even sweeter than
before. Something in this stirred his instincts and John was stunned by how
much he wanted to reach out and set a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder.
Rather than acknowledge the compliment, instead, Derek just ran a nervous hand
through dark hair. His face retained its solemn expression but the look in his
eyes was now apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Sir… But the kennel has a general policy against drop-ins.”
John immediately noted how Derek said “the kennel” and not “my.” Another
strangeness for an alpha, even one so young, not to take ownership. Setting
this aside, however, he carefully extended his hand.
“I do have an appointment. I’m early. We exchanged e-mails. I’m John
Stilinski.”
At his name some more tension dropped from Derek’s shoulders. There was still a
beat of unsurety though, an extra moment too long before Derek moved in closer
and reached out to shake. The kid’s skin was warm and John felt the rough
callouses of labor on Derek’s palm. A strange tingle shot through him at the
contact.
Closer now, his next breath got him the best whiff of Derek’s complicated
signature he’d had so far. Just like before, but stronger this time, something
kindled within him. It caught him off guard. Made him want to keep holding the
kid’s hand. To take his thumb and gently stroke the tanned skin beneath it.
John frowned at the impulse.
Still, in the end, it was Derek who pulled his hand away first. The realization
brought a burst of heat to the sheriff’s cheeks for his lapse in alpha
etiquette. Oddly, as tense as he’d been just a minute before, Derek didn’t seem
put off by it.
“Sorry, I guess I was expecting you to be in uniform.” It sounded almost like
the kid was teasing him, but Derek’s serious expression remained.
The heat in John’s cheeks burned a little brighter at the reminder although
their correspondence had been conducted in the vaguest of terms, he’d used the
station’s e-mail for his inquiry.
“No, I’m off  the clock at the moment.”
More problematic than the email was the burst of sudden regret John felt for
being in his civvies. He recognized a urge to posture and prove he could
protect in a way he hadn’t since courting Claudia. Experiencing this in front
of another alpha, one half his age to boot, was deeply embarrassing.
If Derek noticed his sudden discomfort, he at least had the manners not to say
anything. Instead, he dipped down just slightly to rub the ear of his canine
shadow, clearly communicating it could ‘stand down’ completely now.
“So are you here for your department, or for yourself? You didn’t specify.”
Derek’s bushy brows dipped. “Deaton either.”
Hearing Deaton had called sparked a flash of annoyance. This dissipated
however, looking over at the guarded young alpha. John was quickly learning
given his otherwise stoic countenance, the boy’s eyebrows were the best
barometers for how the were was feeling and Derek was clearly concerned.
“No, this is personal business.” This answer seemed to relax the kid even more
and the reason for this was soon explained.
“That’s good. Police work is dangerous.”
John nodded in agreement but remained quiet, waiting for Derek to continue.
Once again, he couldn’t help but compare the Hale boy to his own. It wasn’t
just the contrast in their alpha/omega designations. Stiles hyper, filterless,
almost constant commentary stood out shockingly set against Derek’s few words,
the were’s each sentence clearly weighed, honed to the bone before uttering.
After a lengthy silence, Derek finally spoke again. “I like the dogs to stay
safe.”
John’s brows rose. It made sense with what the kid had lost he’d be protective;
he wondered, however, if Derek had any awareness of how anguished he sounded.
Again, he was strangely moved. Chest tight, blood heating.
Derek caught the look. Interpreting it as critical, rather than concerned, he
quickly amended his statement. “But if a dog wants to go into law enforcement,
I wouldn’t stop it. Not if it made them happy.”
The words were accompanied by another soft ruff of the lab’s head. For the
first time since John arrived the dog turned and looked lovingly up at the boy.
It did something to the sheriff’s heart hearing such earnest concern and the
young alpha’s commitment to his animals’ happiness.
“Well, it’s not law enforcement exactly, but it is kind of a security detail.”
Derek tipped his head slightly to the side at this. The very canine gesture
made the were, for the first time, seem decidedly wolfish.
“I need a uh… companionfor my boy.” John rubbed the back of his neck. What he
was going to say would have been hard enough to admit to another alpha anyways,
but the fact that Derek was so young made this whole thing even more awkward.
“My wife’s gone, so it just the two of us. My son… Well, he does alright. But
he’s on his own an awful lot. What with my schedule and all. And I’d feel
better if there was someone there to keep him company. Look out for him.”
As he spoke he kept his eyes on Derek. The kid’s head had straightened back up;
his expression shifted from curious to thoughtful and then back to curious
again.
“A regular dog could do that.”
Though it was said without inflection, John heard the unasked question in
Derek’s statement. Why do you need a sentient?
His gut twisted uncomfortably and he chided himself for it. He dealt with the
basest human behaviors on a daily basis; there was no reason why this
conversation should make him so squeamish.
“Look… My son’s an omega, okay.” John winced hearing the bite in his own voice.
The dog at Derek’s side pulled its ears back and its lip began to curl up into
a growl again, proving in an instant how defensive he’d sounded. He fought to
smooth out his tone.
“I don’t need a regular dog.”
John swallowed around the hard lump of pride caught in his throat and
continued. “My boy’s twelve and he’s been having false heats for a couple years
now. But his first real heat is going to hit him in a day or two. He can’t take
suppressants and he’s got other issues complicating things. We need a way to
deal with it.
“Deaton found out about our situation and recommended your kennel. That’s why
I’m here. I need a dog that’s going to look after my pup in every way. I need
one of your Hale canine care packages.”
With every word Derek’s brow seemed to dip deeper, accordingly John’s stomach
dropped. So sure his request was going to be denied, he couldn’t keep the
surprise off his face when, after an interminable silence, the young alpha
answered.
“Twelve, huh… That’s rough. Okay…”
“Really?”
Now it was Derek’s turn to seem surprised. “Uh… Yeah.” He rubbed the back of
his neck. “Well, it’s not really quite that easy.”
Of course not. John silently sighed.
“Deaton already vouched for you… But there’s still quite a lot of paperwork to
fill out. And of course, it’s entirely up to the dogs…”
John’s brows rose at that last bit. “Excuse me?”
“The dog picks you. Or in this case, your son.” Derek motioned for the sheriff
to follow and moved toward the half-open, sliding barn door of the main kennel
building.“You brought something of his for them to scent?”
In their e-mail exchange Derek had asked that an article of worn clothing be
brought from every member of the dog’s potential pack.
“Yeah, it’s in the car.” John nodded towards his vehicle, his mind still trying
to catch up. Derek must have read his look.
“I don’t believe in ownership when it comes to sentients.” For some reason
saying this brought a blush to the were’s cheeks.
“Hale Hounds’ current policy is that the dog chooses who it goes with. After
you sign all the contracts, we’ll take your son’s scent and expose them to it.
If one of them likes him… And you… He’ll go with you. If not… Well, then you’ll
have to try somewhere else.”
This was the most Derek had spoken since John had shown up and he could tell it
strained the kid. It was another strangeness. Of course he’d known terse alphas
before, tended to be one himself. But somehow this was different.
“Well then, I guess I’ll go get Stiles’ shirt.”
Derek cocked his head again. “Stiles?...”
John fought not to roll his eyes.“My son.” Who else would Stiles be after what
they’d just been talking about?
The reason for the question became clear in a moment.
“Your son’s name is Stiles Stilinski?” The young alpha was clearly smirking at
how ridiculous it sounded.
“Yes. Or... Well, it’s a nickname.” Not even he could pronounce Stiles’ real
name.
The sheriff cursed himself, and not for the first time, for letting Claudia
name their boy. (At the time it had felt like the least he could do. Especially
after his beloved omega had endured 48 hours of hard labor to bring their big-
headed pup into the world).
He would have cursed Derek too for being impertinent to an elder but the kid
wore his lighter expression beautifully. The way his green eyes lit up; the
peek of those bunny-ish top teeth between supple lips…
It made Derek look markedly younger and alarmingly enticing. Again, John’s
chest grew tight and unexpectedly, so did his jeans.
“Like I said.. I’ll get the shirt. Meet you inside.” He hardly waited for
Derek’s nod before striding to his car. He sorely hoped the kid’s sensitive
were nose hadn’t caught what must have been an obvious spike in his scent.
Thankfully Derek just shrugged and he and his dog disappeared into the barn.
John took his time retrieving the bag with Stiles’ shirt in it. He didn’t
immediately head in after Derek either. Instead, he leaned against his car and
took a few minutes as he tried to get his bearings.
His orientation towards omegas had been cemented over the years but, like a lot
of young alphas, he’d done a little "a on a" experimentation back in his youth
(though mostly with female alphas). Still, none of these playmates had ever
affected him like this Hale kid did.
Maybe being caught in Stiles’ preheat funk was messing with his mind. Even as
the thought came, John knew it was bogus. He stared at the kennel.
Just what in the hell is going on here?
===============================================================================
Walking between the kennel’s rows, the sheriff let out a low whistle.
Impressive as it had been upon entry, with each step he took, his admiration
for the Hales’ canine enterprise increased.
Inside the barn was bright and clean. There was hardly the smell of dogs at all
and the place was remarkably quiet, outside the hum of the fans running to keep
the kennel at a comfortable temperature.
As he walked past, more than one dog ventured to the door of its run to peer
curiously at him. But there was no display of the frantic energy found at most
kennels: all the animals appeared completely at ease and amazingly calm.
A number of the runs’ doors stood open and empty. John figured these must
belong to the pups outside. He couldn’t help but glance into each as he made
his way towards the rear of the kennel. His policeman’s mind automatically
cataloged everything.
While the walkway between the rows was concrete, the floor of every pen was
covered with a soft but sturdy, easily-cleaned, rubberized matting. It looked
both hygienic and comfortable. He made a mental note to ask Hale for the
product name so he look into getting some for the station’s kennels.
As he moved further in, it was easy to tell which runs housed regular dogs and
which belonged to sentients.
They all held raised nylon cots and piles of blankets for the pups to sleep on;
automatic water bowls that bubbled with fresh running water; and paw activated
kibble dispensers. In the “normal” dogs pens, however, the floors were
scattered with regular dog toys while for the sentients’ runs, each was
personalized for its occupant’s tastes.
Several kennels had flat screen tvs in them. On each a different channel played
on a very low volume or showed subtitles. His eyes widened when he saw a large
shepherd reclining on its cot, a specialized remote in between its paws as it
flicked through the channels.
He shook his head in wonder.
Up ahead of him, Derek emerged from a run. He watched the were press his finger
to a box at the latch and realized all of a sudden that it was a fingerprint
lock. Eyes sweeping up and down the runs he noted all the sentients’ stalls had
them.
Caught up to the young alpha, Derek answered the question on the tip of John’s
tongue before he could ask it.
“It’s not ideal to have to lock them in, but it’s for their protection and,
given their value, some owners demand it. Not to mention, too many of these
guys are escape artists.” Derek’s eyes dipped down at the lab who’d been
waiting outside the run for him.
“Right, King?”
King made a huffing sound that was likely the equivalent of a canine chuckle.
Derek ruffled his head and then looked back up at John.
“Of course they’re all rigged so that in the case of a fire or an earthquake
the locks will automatically release.”
Considering Derek’s expression as he offered this, John didn’t need to ask if
this extra feature had been added before or after the kid had taken over the
kennel. His stomach clenched tight at how traumatized Derek had been by what
happened to his family, and by how vividly fresh the pain still was in the
young alpha’s eyes.
Fortunately Derek turned away before the sheriff’s instinct to comfort got the
best of him. He followed the boy’s gaze into the run he’d just closed. Inside
John was stunned to see an actual treadmill, an afghan sentient happily loping
on it.
“They’re designed to run. Before becoming housepets they were used to hunt.”
 Derek didn’t look at John. “To be truly happy they need to cover at least
fifty miles a day.” He kept his gaze on the hound, his face neutral, but there
was something undeniably wistful in his voice.
Whatever this was dropped completely from the young alpha’s next words. Derek
motioned his dark head to the back of the Kennel. “The office is this way.”
John allowed Derek to lead him, although the kid unconsciously kept dropping
back, seemingly uncomfortable to walk out ahead. Just before they reached the
walled in enclosure of the office, Derek paused beside an open run. He didn’t
say anything but made a simple, silent hand gesture.
King, his canine shadow, gave an annoyed grunt but moved into the kennel. Not,
however, before turning around and pointedly looking between the two humans.
“It’s okay. I got this King.” Clearly the dog was uncomfortable about leaving
Derek alone with John. “I’ll leave your door open, so if there’s an issue you
can get out. Okay?”
This seemed to comfort King, who shuffled over to his cot and climbed up with a
sigh. John, on the other hand, was more than a little offended to find his
character held so suspect. Still, if this was any indication of what Stiles’
companion would be like, he wasn’t about to complain.
“Protective, huh?”
Derek eyes flew to his and there was that blush again. It made John’s palms
itch to cup the kid’s cheeks. The werewolf didn’t answer. Instead, he began
moving towards the office again.
John didn’t know why, but he wanted Derek to keep talking. “How long have you
had him?”
Derek hesitated before opening the office door. John followed him in.
“Oh… King’s a Hale hound, but he’s not part of my pack right now. We’re just
hanging out while he’s being boarded here.” Searching for something on the
office’s paper-strewn desk Derek fell silent again.
Eyes roaming over the office’s crowded walls, this time John allowed the quiet.
 As he took in his surroundings he subtly sniffed. Derek’s heady signature was
present, but within the closed space he expected this scent would have been
stronger. Clearly the were didn’t spend that much time in here.
Pulling another deep breath in through his nostrils, John easily caught  the
smell of another alpha, not Derek. The scent was old and faded, but still
discernible.
Something about this other signature set him on edge.
He figured it must belong to the kennel’s previous manager, Peter Hale. This
had probably been his office before the fire killed him. The thought was
confirmed as he continued studying the walls. It also quickly became apparent
that since taking over, Derek had done virtually nothing to change it.
One side of the room held shelves filled with breed book and training manuals.
The other side was still covered with award ribbons and pictures and articles
from dog show magazines, along with numerous training certificates proclaiming
the name “Peter Hale.”
Displayed to assure Hale Hounds’ clients they were leaving their pets in the
care of an accomplished professional in the field of canine husbandry, amidst
all these, John’s keen eyes didn’t miss the deceased were’s conspicuously
placed diplomas in political science and law.
Yeah, Peter Hale was a name John had become familiar with during his study of
the Hale family. He remembered this alpha Hale been a hotshot lawyer for a
time. Seen often in the company of celebrities and gangsters until some
resulting ethical issues eventually caught up with him and had gotten Hale
disbarred.
From what John had ascertained, Peter’s blood pack hadn’t appreciated this
smear to the family’s otherwise impeccable reputation. Since he wasn’t the
Hale’s lead alpha, they’d hauled his ass back home. Put him in charge of the
family kennel, where the dogs weren’t the only ones on a short leash.
“Here’s the paperwork…”
John blinked at the sound of Derek’s voice. Turning his attention to the were
he pulled himself back into the moment. Derek had cleared a space on the front
of the desk and in the midst of it sat a thick pile of pages.
The kid hesitantly motioned for him to take a seat in one of the two stately
leather chairs set in front of the heavy wood desk. Clearly intended to
impress, the furniture was dark and contemporary. Still, it also struck John as
slightly fussy somehow.
The look didn’t fit Derek Hale at all and the sheriff suddenly wondered again
why the kid hadn’t changed it. Usually when a new alpha took over anything he/
she made it a point to mark it as their own.
Leaving the question aside for now, he started to sit down, then he hesitated.
“Shouldn’t we discuss price before we get started?” Ever since his first
conversation with Deaton he’d worried what the cost of a Hale hound might be
and how he was going to afford it on a cop’s salary. Seeing how plush Hale’s
operation was now, he was questioning if it was even worth it to fill in the
forms.
About to slip into his seat across the desk, Derek had stilled as well. His
bushy brows knit. “The dog will determine the price if he picks you.”
The way it was said, John wanted to clarify. “You mean the value is based on
the type of dog we get?”
The kid’s natural frown deepened and he slowly shook his head. “No… The dog
will let me know how much to charge you.” Ignoring the perplexed look on the
sheriff’s face, he added, “and if you’re picked, we’ll work out whatever
payment schedule we need to so he can go with you.”
This was nothing like the negotiations John had with other breeders when he’d
acquired the station’s sentients. He couldn’t help but grunt in disbelief
before realizing Hale was earnest.
Maybe being out here, seemingly isolated, with no one but dogs for company had
made Derek a little bit crazy. Or maybe the kid had been loony before, kept
squirreled away by the family as a nut and this was why he hadn’t been able to
find out much about him.
No, that didn’t seem right. Not with how orderly things were here in the
kennel; how happy and attentive the dogs were.
While John felt slightly guilty taking advantage of the kid’s eccentricities,
he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth if it got Stiles a sentient.
So he sat down with a sigh, tossed the baggie with Stiles’ shirt in it onto the
adjacent chair, picked up a pen and the first page in the pile, and set to work
===============================================================================
It took far longer than he expected to get through the Hale Hounds’ adoption
forms. John was shocked at how intimate and extensive they were. While he
diligently tried to answer every question, every now and then he would stop
writing to glance over at Derek.
The younger alpha had settled in front of the office’s computer and busied
himself there. Derek seemed to alternate his attention between correspondence
and checking the live feed of the numerous cameras placed all over the kennel
and the larger grounds.
It was during one of these moments, watching him, John realized how slowly the
kid read, and even more, the clumsy way the were navigated the keyboard. Not
that he was any terrific typist, but seeing Hale’s hunt and peck approach to e-
mail was painful.
Feeling eyes on him this time, Derek looked over. “Did you have a question,
Alpha Stilinski?”
The effects of being shut up in this office with the kid had been gnawing at
the edge of John’s consciousness. Wrapped in the increasing thick cocoon of the
were’s scent was wreaking havoc with his instincts. But the true reality of
this slammed into him hearing  the title ‘alpha’ fall from the kid’s lips for
the first time in Derek’s endearingly hesitant tones.
The way the boy said it sent a shiver down John’s spine and a five-second
filthy fantasy flashing through his mind. For a moment he didn’t trust himself
to speak. Especially since the first question to pop into his brain was“How’d
you feel about me bending you over this desk and…?”
John coughed lightly and said lamely instead, “Uh… No. I’m just used to a lot
of noise around me. Guess I just realized how quiet it is. You’d think a kennel
full of dogs would be a lot louder.”
Derek gave him an unexpected half-smile and John felt like someone had just
cranked the thermostat in the office up twenty degrees.
“You’re right. Not many people notice.” Now it was Derek’s turn to cough it
seemed. “My al… Uncle Peter had it soundproofed when he took over.
“Not that we have much of a noise problem here. Our residents are usually
really well behaved. But my al… er... Uncle had especially sensitive hearing,
even for a were.
“He didn’t like being disturbed when he was working.”
It didn’t slip John’s notice the way Derek’s energy shifted at the mention of
his Uncle, or how his words faltered as he spoke.
“So how are you coming with the forms, Sir?”  It was clear the kid didn’t wish
to dwell on the subject. John let it drop for now.
“Getting there…” he hummed.
Derek nodded and was about to turn back on his computer when, despite the
soundproofing, there was a thump on the office door. This was almost
immediately followed by another. Within just a few seconds the door visibly
vibrated as someone was obviously throwing some considerable weight against it
repeatedly.
John looked at Derek, puzzled. Hale had frozen, seemingly in a daze of some
sort. The sheriff heard him whisper “King” and whatever spell the kid had been
caught in was broken. Green eyes darted to the camera feeds. Derek immediately
shut the screen down and stood up.
“Excuse me, Alpha Stilinski.” Derek quickly moved out from behind the desk.
“That’s just King trying to get my attention. It looks like another client has
arrived early today.”
“It’s just a pick up… Shouldn’t take long.”
With all his years in the force, John knew more often than not when he was
being lied to. It was an ability that frustrated Stiles to no end. Not that one
needed any particular expertise to detect the bullshit here.
While Derek’s face and words were calm, he was doing a damn poor job of keeping
his scent in check.
Still, young or not, and despite the strange feelings Hale seemed to stir in
him, this was another alpha, in his own territory and John knew he’d be wise to
respect this. Whatever was upsetting Derek, he should stay out of it unless he
was invited.
“Everything alright, son?” he kept his tone casual.
At his question there was a flash of emotion in Derek’s face before the were
was able to school his features. It was not the ire John expected but whatever
it was, was gone too quickly for him to get a good read on it.
“Yes, sir.” Derek nodded just a little too vehemently. “Please keep filling out
the forms. I’ll just get Mr. Lahey checked out and be back before you know it.”
When Derek cracked the door a cacophony of barking roiled in. Just outside the
door King’s was loudest. John had the urge to get up and follow the kid, but
stilled when the were looked back at him and shook his head.
After the door closed behind Derek, however, John rose from his seat. Whatever
was going on out there had clearly disturbed the peace and that didn’t sit well
with him. He figured he’d give the boy five minutes to resolve whatever caused
the commotion. If Derek wasn’t back by then, he’d go check it out.
Unable to stay still as he waited, John paced the office. His eyes roamed over
the walls again, until something caught his attention. Behind the desk were
more awards and show images, but one in particular grabbed him.
Ignoring the fact he was trespassing into another alpha’s space, he moved
around the desk.
John found himself staring at an article about Peter Hale’s dog showing
prowess. The older Hale alpha stood in the foreground of the article’s photo
with his champion. John could see the family resemblance shared by uncle and
nephew in their faces. But where Derek’s eyes were open and painfully
expressive, Peter Hale’s were cold and hard.
Dapperly dressed in the picture, Peter’s expression was smug. The same as
they’d been in all the photos of the man John had seen. While the sheriff had
never met him, he’d bet his next paycheck the alpha was an asshole.
But he’d never know since Peter Hale was dead now. Besides, it wasn’t Peter who
had initially drawn him to this particular image. It was Derek.
The kid was there in the background. Considerably younger and surprisingly
small, still, there was no doubt in the sheriff’s mind it was him. He’d
recognize that bone structure and those brows anywhere. Despite the graininess
of the photo, Derek’s troubled expression was easily legible.
Apparently it wasn’t just the fire that had given him that haunted look.
It surprised John how poorly the kid was dressed in contrast to his uncle,
sporting loose sweats and an oversized hoodie. The sheriff blinked and looked
closer at the photo, wondering if his unusual lust for the young alpha was
making his eyes play tricks on him. He peered in closer and blinked again,
trying to convince himself that the dark ring around Derek’s throat, visible at
the hoodie’s open neckline, wasn’t a collar.
John shook his head and looked away, growling at how the notion made his blood
run south.
Damn, what was taking Hale so long?
Glancing at his watch, he growled again, louder this time, realizing only two
minutes had passed. Cursing himself and Derek both, he stepped over to the
were’s computer, he tapped a few keys queuing up the camera feeds.
A simple check. If everything was okay… Then, fine. And Derek would never know
he had been interfering with his business.
What he saw when the screen opened up froze him, but just for an instant.
Heedless of how it sent papers flying, John snarled and vaulted over the desk.
Throwing the door open he bolted out and into the runs.
 
Chapter End Notes
     So I have been sitting on this for a bit... 2016 was so unfortunate I
     decided I didn't want to post anything until I had a new year and a
     clean slate, so to speak.
     Anyway, Happy New Year and I hope you enjoy the new chapter.
     And Weesageechak, if you're out there... Thanks for the comment on
     Broodware in November. I really appreciated it. You're awesome. And I
     pretty much suck.. So, there's that.
     Thanks for reading, everybody!
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