Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/626573.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Lydia_Martin/Jackson_Whittemore, Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Scott
      McCall/Jackson_Whittemore, Vernon_Boyd/Erica_Reyes, Allison_Argent/Lydia
      Martin, Danny_Mahealani/Jackson_Whittemore, Scott_McCall/Stiles
      Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Jackson_Whittemore, Isaac_Lahey/Danny_Mahealani
  Character:
      Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore, Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski, Derek
      Hale, Allison_Argent, Danny_Mahealani, Peter_Hale, Vernon_Boyd, Isaac
      Lahey, Kali, Erica_Reyes
  Additional Tags:
      Pack_Dynamics, Pack_Feels, Pack, Pack_Family, Polyamory, The_Alpha_Pack,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Alternate_Universe, BAMF_Lydia
      Martin, Werewolf_Lydia, Alpha_Lydia, POV_Alternating, Knotting, Power
      Dynamics
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-06 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 30950
****** Let Your Plans Come Out of Mistakes ******
by lorax
Summary
     Lydia Martin creates her Pack, takes her Fields medal and changes the
     world.
Notes
     Additional Warnings: Canonical levels of underage (characters 16-17
     and up), brief mentions of canonical levels of blood/violence, mild
     power play and sub/dom | alpha/beta dynamics, mentions of pregnancy
     and brief abortion discussion, canon divergence/au, knotting, playing
     fast and loose with Teen Wolf universe lore and the basic structure
     of the college and graduate system, vague casting spoilers for S3.
     Author's Notes: Written for the 2012_TW_Holiday_Exchange. This was
     written completely unspoiled for anything in Season 3 aside from very
     vague casting sheets, so its assumptions about the Alpha Pack could
     be Jossed already. The title is from the song Hoping_Machine.
     Aside from the knowledge gained via wiki, I know nothing about the
     Fields Medal, and have zero math skills. Please forgive the handwavey
     nature of said things, as Lydia is good at math but I am not.
     The original request was for Lydia/Jackson, Scott/Jackson, or Stiles/
     Derek, and various shades of polyamory welcome. Because of that, I
     tried to keep the focus mostly on the requested characters, but there
     are mentions of basically every Pack combo plus Danny, with the
     exception of Peter.
     Additional Notes: This is basically a jigsaw puzzle of a story where
     the opening, present tense scenes set the stage and then the rest of
     the scenes fill in pieces of the story to explain how it happened.
     While the story is complete as-is, additional Pack members' POV
     sections may be added at a later date, because I got attached to this
     world.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Still make lemonade taste like a sunny day *****

                     Let Your Plans Come Out of Mistakes
                    “Back when everything was still to come,
                          luck leaked out everywhere.
                        I gave my promise to the world,
                       and the world followed me here."
                         -- Rita Dove, "Testimonial"
Lydia Martin doesn't win the Fields medal in 2018. She's not invited to the
ceremony that gives it to her former mentor. She crashes the party anyway.
Dr. Keith Raymond is the second of three recipients to accept his award that
year. In his speech, he thanks his dedicated team at Princeton, and talks about
how his research and breakthrough wouldn't have been possible without them. He
pauses midway through and says how fortunate he's been to have worked with
dedicated individuals who couldn't be sidelined by one individual's mistakes.
His smile is sly when he mentions it, and his throwaway joke ends with just
because one person howled at the moon, it doesn't mean the rest of us lost
sight of what matters. There is a titter in the watching audience that's a
slow-wave response as it filters through the half dozen translators in the
room. The event hosts shift uncomfortably. Dr. Raymond is about to continue
when a single figure in the back of the room stands.
Lydia wears white as she pulls the ballroom doors open, her gown too short to
be conservative and her red hair piled in a cool twist atop her head. The
neckline sweeps sideways, leaving one shoulder bare. There is a blood red stone
around her neck on a long gold chain. She is stunning, and she is silent, and
not one person thinks to stop her. Ten people file into the doors she opens,
and the security stand by, staring wide-eyed and not moving an inch.
Lydia is petite, even in the sharp stilettos, but the tall men who flank her
somehow do nothing to make her look small. Her heels click a sharp tattoo
against the floor as she walks up the stairs. The two bored cameramen assigned
to the event focus gleefully on her beautiful face, happy to have something to
do aside from filming speeches about math that no one will ever watch.
Dr. Raymond is ashen beneath the spray-on orange tan and he doesn't even try to
keep Lydia from taking the podium. Her group of ten fan out down the aisles,
leaving just two to flank her. They growl a soft warning at her side as Dr.
Raymond stumbles back. They move uniformly and smooth, every one in formal wear
that reeks of the same taste as the stark gown and killer heels Lydia herself
wears. They are all in black and red, save Lydia.
Lydia smiles at the camera. "Dr. Raymond was, as usual, less than forthcoming.
It's not his team he has to thank; it's me. The medal he was awarded is for
work I've done, which I'll be happy to prove to the committee."
"She's insane. She thinks she's a-" Dr. Raymond's frantic arguments are short
lived, his voice cuts off as soon as the man nearest him growls.
From Lydia's other side, Derek Hale grits his teeth, and hisses quietly.
"You're sure about this? No turning back from here."
Lydia shrugs her bare shoulder. "You should know better than to ask me that by
now." Her voice lifts, floating out over the audience and carrying through the
microphones. "As this is a room full of mathematicians, I'm going to assume you
all spend a great deal of time on the internet, and thus know who I am. Fake
Werewolf Girl was everyone's favorite meme. It even helped Keith, here, get me
discredited and take my work to sign his name on. But I don't let go of things
easily and I am much, much smarter than he is. There's is nothing fake about me
- which is less than I can say about his intelligence, his skin tone, or the
rug he's currently wearing."
Lydia turns, facing the cameras more squarely. Deliberately, and in front of
tens of watchers that would become millions in the hours to come as the video
goes viral, she drops her hands. They lengthen into claws and her eyes flash a
deep, glowing red. When she smiles, it's all fang and certainty. Beside her,
Derek's eyes glow blue and he snarls. One by one down the aisle, ten men and
women show their claws. Outside, in the sprawl of Chicago, something begins to
howl. Another follows, and then another, and another until the individual
voices can't be picked out. Ten pairs of eyes gleam inhumanly bright in shades
of yellow and blue.
People are too frozen to scream, and Lydia smiles sweetly and turns back to Dr.
Raymond. She holds her hand out. "I'll take my medal, now. We'll be holding a
press conference in front of the downtown Hyatt in one hour, where I will field
questions from media outlets that matter, and ignore the ones that don't. You,
Keith, will explain exactly how you stole from me now. I wouldn't suggest
lying."
On her way out of the ballroom hosting the event, Boyd takes up Jackson's
abandoned spot at her side as he and Derek hang back, watching Dr. Raymond
began to stammer through the true story, a wet stain spreading across the front
of Raymond's neatly pressed trousers. "You just changed the world, you know,"
he says.
Lydia shrugs and clutches her medal as she and her pack began the walk back to
the front of the Hyatt. "I'm improving it." She'd always planned to change the
world. This might not have been her plan A, but she's nothing if not adaptable.
"I'm the youngest ever winner of the Fields medal, you know," she informs him.
His eyes still gleam as he smiles at her. "You didn't technically win."
She smiles. "Yes I did." They just hadn't realized it yet.
Dr. Endo's final speech of the evening is anticlimactic. No one films it. Lydia
later sends Dr. Endo flowers for upstaging, but does not apologize.
***
For two weeks after Jackson died and then came back nothing made sense. Jackson
was wary and quiet and so, so broken. They'd learned how to have sex and how to
tease and how to spend time together when they'd dated, but neither of them had
really learned how to talk. Lydia jumped at every shadow and her head still
felt strange with all the lost time leaving hollow spaces inside of it. Jackson
flinched when he looked in the mirror, and he clung to her side like he
couldn't stand to be alone in a room with just his own memories to keep him
company. Every conversation they tried to have about werewolves and murders or
how they felt ended with one or the other of them tripping over words and
putting a halt to it, leaving everything unsaid.
After two weeks though, she'd had enough. Lydia left Jackson to his parents for
a weekend and let herself into Allison's house. Jackson was an open wound who
could bleed at any moment, and it left Lydia strangely incapable of being angry
at him. Allison, however, she could be furious with. And Allison had lost her
mother, and run so far off the rails she barely recognized herself - so she
could be angry back.
Lydia rarely lost an argument, and this one wasn't any exception, but by the
end of it, Allison was in tears, and Lydia's arms were around her, and if
things weren't quite forgiven, it was still a start. When Allison promised to
never keep secrets again, Lydia believed that she meant it - at least in the
moment.
Lydia spent a day and a half at Allison's house, reading through her family's
bestiary and asking questions. When Allison ran out of answers, Lydia let Mr.
Argent fix them dinner, and talked about a school project they were allegedly
working on. Over chicken casserole she asked him why there was so much variance
in the documented reactions to Wolfsbane amongst werewolf populations, not
giving him any time to adjust to the change in topics and pressing until he
gave up trying to evade. Lydia was thorough and relentless and Allison
encouraged her father to talk. By the time she left their house she had a
scanned copy of the Bestiary (a handwritten journal, it was like research via
the 1950's, she felt like she should have a poodle skirt and a plucky girl
reporter pair of glasses), a flash drive full of more modern notes, and a
better idea of what she still needed to know.
Her next stop was Stiles, who was easier to crack but had a much less reliable
wealth of information he'd culled from the web. She filtered through dubiously
sourced information about pack behavior and instinct and a few dozen other
topics, bullied the name of the doctor he'd gotten the most reputable info
from, and copied all of his files. As a reward for his cooperation, she
pretended not to notice the carefully passworded files he steered her away
from. Lydia knew a porn stash when she saw it.
She talked to Isaac Lahey and to Scott McCall. (Jackson wasn't thrilled, but
she didn't care.) She learned everything they knew, and that their breadth of
knowledge was extraordinarily unimpressive. Scott steered her toward the
veterinarian, so she brought Prada in for an unnecessary checkup and then let
herself into the back room and talked him into giving her samples of Mountain
Ash and anything else he had. She left with a bag of new organic dog food for
Prada, a sheaf of photocopied papers, and a flash drive of yet more files.
Lydia took a week to parse through it all. She re-translated the Latin when it
looked inept (it usually did), and double checked the sifted information and
borrowed files against one another, assembling as much truth as she could.
Through it all, she told Jackson that it would be fine, and to trust her. The
fact that he listened said more about how bad a place he was in than anything
else could have.
It was a dismal, rainy weekend when she decided she'd gotten as far as she
could. She called Danny and pushed him into a chair in Jackson's living room to
play video games with him and left him to it. Danny let her get away with it,
but she knew there were only so many times she could enlist him to help keep
Jackson from being left alone before he'd want answers Jackson wouldn't give
him. She planned on that happening, too. But she had an agenda.
The old Hale house was still a burned out wreckage, and Lydia had better things
to do than stand around in rubble. She'd enlisted Isaac the day before and had
him take a message for her.
Her mother was away, and Lydia was less than surprised when she let herself
into what should have been an empty house to find Peter Hale already there
instead. He was sprawled in a love seat with a cup of coffee in one hand and a
Kindle in the other. "I thought you'd be later," he said, finishing his page
and then looking up. "You are generally the sort of girl to make an entrance,
aren't you?"
Lydia hung her coat on the rack and scooped up Prada as he ran from his hiding
place beneath the coffee table. She kissed his cold little nose and pushed him
into the dining room, shutting him in before she bothered to answer. "If I ever
call you again, you wait for me outside."
Peter smirked. "So there might be a second date? Be still my heart."
Lydia stared at him. For a second, she remembered the weeks she'd spent in
fear. She remembered not knowing anything, and how it had felt to be the one
forever left in the dark. She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. She
was never going to feel that again. "You owe me," she said.
Peter considered that, and finally nodded. "To a point," he agreed.
Her eyes narrowed. "Without me, you'd be a rotting corpse in the ground. If
there's a point, I decide where it is."
Peter smiled, showing too many teeth bared and too-bright eyes. "And I could
have repaid you by killing you. I didn't. Lets both concede that was a gift on
my part."
"No," she said. If he'd wanted to kill her, he could have. The fact that he
hadn't just meant he hadn't wanted to - not that he was being merciful.
He studied her, and then smiled again, and it was less sharp. "What do you
want, Lydia?"
She dropped down onto the sofa opposite him, crossing her legs and folding her
hands into her lap primly. "Information. I've already talked to everyone else
who knows anything, but clueless teenagers and a book of notes on how to kill
werewolves doesn't round out my education as well as I'd like."
He laughed, and sat back, mirroring her pose. "I'm all yours."
Lydia wrinkled her nose to show what she thought of that, but didn't hesitate.
"Because of you, I was ignorant, ostracized and terrorized for weeks, which was
followed by you and your nephew almost killing my boyfriend."
"Who was a murderous snake at the time," Peter pointed out.
Lydia went on as if he hadn't spoken. "None of that is going to happen again.
I'm going to know everything I need to know, and you're going to tell me
everything I ask. Tell me how the Pack works."
Peter cocked his head. "Feeling it, is he?" It wasn't entirely about Jackson,
but Lydia let him believe it was and nodded. "Pack members can't live alone.
The life of an Omega is sad, weak, and tragically short. They spend their days
feeling cut off from their own nature until they snap, or some Hunter cuts them
in half. Having a Pack means a steady source of strength, and a place to
belong. It can't be explained. It can only be felt. Humans, with their
existential dilemmas and weekly therapy sessions, can't know what it's like.
And you, Lydia, will never be able to feel it. Immunity does have its
downsides." Peter leaned forward. "I consider that a shame, by the way. You
would be an impressive wolf."
Lydia pursed her lips, and then tossed her hair - calculated and careful. "No
one ever tells me I can't do something. It's embarrassing for them when I prove
them wrong. And saying something can't be explained is just lazy. Everything
can be explained, if you look hard enough, and if you're smart enough, there
are always answers. I am smarter than you know, and not at all lazy. So keep
talking." She smiled. "And for the record - I strongly believe you would
benefit from prolonged weekly therapy."
Peter looked amused, and Lydia wanted to scratch out his eyes, but she sat
still. "Don't you want to take notes then, schoolgirl?"
"I'll remember," Lydia told him. "Tell me about the Pack."
Peter laughed. "I'll make an attempt. I'll assume for a moment that you had a
blue-blooded, American cinematic-style upbringing. Remember when you were a
little girl in pigtails, learning to ride your bike? Everything felt wobbly and
strange, but your father was running alongside of you, so you knew you were
safe and nothing could touch you?"
"I had rollerblades," Lydia said.
"Fair enough. But imagine that feeling, then. When you first pedaled with your
chubby little legs and the bike stayed up, and you realized you were on your
own, but it was all right, because your father was still behind you, and he
taught you how to do this. Even if you fall, you knew how it worked now. You
knew you could get back up and keep going." Peter sat back, hands spreading. "A
wolf without a Pack had no father and was thrown onto a bike and pushed down a
hill and is forever waiting for the crash, getting more and more afraid of the
fall until even if someone tried to help them stop, an Omega would snap their
neck for it because all they see is the fall, and all they feel is the fear and
the solitude."
Lydia considered that. "That's what it's like for Jackson?"
Peter snorted. "No. That's what it's like for McCall and the social outcasts my
nephew gave the Bite to without providing them a real Alpha. They have no
guidance. No, for Jackson it was having training wheels and someone who lied
about how it worked. Someone told him you just had to sit, and let the bike do
the work. He had a Master because he had no sense of self, and because he
needed someone to guide him. You reminded him of his heart - it was very
touching, by the way - but that doesn't change the nature that left him open to
it in the first place. The wolves who need an Alpha the worst are invariably
the ones who think they don't need it at all." Peter's mouth quirked. "Or the
ones who think they can become one when they weren't meant for it."
"From all reports, you were insane and not remarkably clever when you were an
Alpha," Lydia pointed out.
Peter smiled again. "I never claimed to be suited to it, either. If I had
wanted it, I could have taken it back."
"I assumed that was because the Alpha Pack would be targeting an Alpha, and you
didn't want to be first on their hit-list," Lydia said.
Peter laughed at that. "You're entirely too clever for high school. I admit,
that might have been a consideration."
More than a minor consideration, Lydia would bet. She let it go for now. "Keep
talking." Peter obliged, talking in a dry, even way about the facts of werewolf
life. Lydia listened, pressing him for clarity and answers.
Before he left she used a kit Scott had gotten from his mother and Dr. Deaton
had shown her how to use and drew five vials of blood. Peter let her, docile
and watchful. When she told him to get out and not come back inside unless he
was invited, he laughed and left.
Lydia let Prada back out and hugged him to her chest, hands shaking a little.
When it subsided, she pulled out her laptop and began typing up notes while
they were still fresh in her head.
***
Lydia dragged her nails down Jackson's chest and leaned down, biting sharp and
pointed against his throat, worrying the skin between her teeth until he
whimpered, his hands curling at her hips. "Lyd-" he said, voice ragged and
breathless.
She hushed him, hips rocking down against him in a slow slide. "I'm here," she
said. Lydia didn't know how to tell him things. She didn't know what questions
he needed to be asked, and what Jackson needed her to leave buried and unsaid.
But she knew this. She knew how to drag him out on a slow string until he
snapped beneath her and turned pleading and desperate.
She'd never used it to try to make him talk, but she was armed with Peter's
voice in her head now, and when she rocked down against him again, her teeth
caught on his lip before she asked. "What do you want?"
"You," he answered, easy and instant - the way you answered a question when you
thought you knew what answer they wanted to hear.
She stilled. "What else?" she asked. Jackson's blue eyes met hers and he shook
his head, confused. Lydia cut him off before he could claim not to understand.
"Who else, Jackson? What else do you need when you're looking out the window,
away from me? When you can't sleep no matter how tired you are?" She'd danced
around this before, and never gotten anywhere. Lydia understood better now.
There were no evasions left for Jackson to use, and she knew him too well to
accept his default retreat into asshole.
He made a choked sound, face twisting up into an expression of anger that was
easier for him than fear. "What are you talking about? Listen, just get off me
if you're not going to-"
"Stop," she said. She'd read, and she'd listened. Lydia wasn't a wolf, but she
put a growl in her voice and as much iron as she could in the eyes she locked
with his, the hands pressing against his shoulders. "Just stop. Tell me. Tell
me the truth, Jackson."
Lydia caught his hand, drawing it down and pressing it against her skin,
beneath the silken underwear and into the slick, waiting heat. She let herself
shudder, visible and easily, as his fingers moved automatically. She kept her
eyes still on his, not letting him look away. She wasn't Pack. But between
them, it had always been Lydia who set the terms. The Bite wouldn't change that
unless she let it. "I'm yours," she said, a reminder and a promise that she
couldn't bring herself to verbalize more strongly than that. "It's okay,
Jackson. Just tell me. Tell me what else you need. Tell me, so I can give it to
you."
Jackson looked wounded, the way he had in the days after his death. Hurt, and
frustrated and broken and full of self loathing. "What I wanted made me weak
enough to be some asshole's puppet," he said, almost too quiet for her to hear.
"I don't know why you came back for me."
She touched the key on a chain around his neck, brief and soft. "Yes, you do."
Lydia shook her head firmly. "That's not why, Jackson. It wasn't weakness. It's
because he was twisted, and you didn't know how much better than him you are,
even though you should have. I know now, and so do you. And I'm not him. I have
you. I'll always have you, and I'll never use it to hurt you."
Jackson laughed, slightly hysterical. "You used to threaten to dump me if I
lost a game."
"I never meant it, much. And things are different now. We're both different,
but not in the ways that matter. Just answer me, Jackson. I'll make it work.
But you have to say it. This once, I need you to tell me." Lydia had thought
she meant it, back then. She'd worked hard to be as shallow and self-serving as
she seemed. The last few months had broken her illusions the same way they had
Jackson's.
Jackson shut his eyes finally, teeth worrying at his own lip until Lydia licked
it, reclaiming it for her own. "I can't-" He pulled his hand away, clenching it
into the sheets. Lydia watched the cost of that word ripple over his face.
Can't. It was a word neither of them knew how to accept. She let him work
through it. "I don't know," he finally said. His voice was angry and apologetic
and resentful, all at once. But it was honest.
Lydia hummed approval and she slid down his chest, mouth painting lipsticked
kisses beneath each nipple. "I do," she said.
He opened his eyes, watching her as she slowly worked open his jeans and
methodically prodded him into lifting enough for her to strip them off. "You
know?" he asked.
Lydia snorted, delicate and dismissive. "Don't I always know?"
His smile was small and fond. "You know everything. Or at least you think you
do."
"I don't know everything. But there's nothing I can't learn." She met his eyes
again. "If there's something you need, I'd learn about it. And I'd give it to
you. Do you trust me?"
Her tongue flicked out, dragging a line along the hard length of him, and
Jackson groaned. "Your teeth are too close to my dick for me to say I don't
trust you," he ground out.
"But you trust me anyway," she said. He didn't deny it. It was, for them, the
same as agreeing. Lydia parted her lips and swallowed him down. His hand slid
into her hair. Lydia growled a soft warning when he pulled too hard, and
another when he didn't pull hard enough. Both times he listened. When he came,
his eyes flashed inhumanly blue, and when she climbed up his body to straddle
him as his tongue snaked inside her, he didn't try to dislodge the knees that
pinned his arms to the bed.
They curled together afterward, Jackson's face in her neck and her hand on his
stomach. "I smell like you," he said into the sweat-damp curtain of her hair.
When Lydia kissed him, she thought she could taste herself. "No, you smell like
mine," she corrected softly. Jackson didn't answer, but he drew her in closer
and she shut her eyes, breathing in the scent of them both and imagining what
it would smell like if she were a wolf instead of the girl who couldn't become
one. "If you ever really think I'm wrong, you just have to tell me," she said
into the quiet.
She felt Jackson's smile against her skin. "Like a safeword? Kinky. Did you
read those 50 Shades books?"
Lydia swatted at his shoulder. "Something like that, yes."
"Key," Jackson mumbled softly. "That's the word."
Lydia stilled and felt a warmth in her chest that made it hard to breathe.
"Key," she agreed thickly.
***
"You have no social skills, smell like ashes and shame, and don't own anything
worth owning aside from a phallic car you spend suspicious amounts of time
polishing," Lydia said, looking out over the battered train car Derek - for
reasons she couldn't begin to fathom - seemed to occupy. "There are rats with
too much dignity to live like this."
"He's also barely computer literate and never got his G.E.D.," Peter said from
where he slouched in the rearmost seat, earbuds in one ear and a laptop open on
his knees.
Lydia ignored him, watching the flex of Derek's jaw instead. "You need a Pack."
"I have a Pack," Derek answered flatly.
"You have two missing Pack members, a dysfunctional teenager suffering from
serious PTSD, a psychotic undead uncle, and McCall. That's not a Pack, it's an
exercise in ineptitude," Lydia argued.
"Why are you here? It's none of your business," Derek ground out.
"You bit Jackson, and Jackson is mine. That makes it my business. That and
being forced to play necromancer for your dead family after he used me as a
chew toy ensures that I'm invested now." Lydia leaned forward, crowding into
Derek's space. His eyes dropped to the cleavage on display, and then skittered
away guiltily as he swung off of the bench he'd been perched on, pacing down
the train aisle instead. "You're making things worse," she told him.
"The lady has a point," Peter drawled.
Lydia didn't look at him, but Derek glared. Lydia's breezy shut up came at the
same moment as Derek's growl. Lydia wasn't sure which it was that actually made
Peter fall quiet. "I can handle it," Derek said.
"Maybe, but past history says probably not." Lydia licked her lips. "You were
never meant to be an Alpha. I know the story. And there's a whole Pack in town
who think they can prove it, and take what you have away from you." Derek's jaw
clenched harder, but he said nothing. "I'm willing to help you, despite less
than stellar history. You should take my offer."
"You're a human, and immune. There's nothing you can do. I didn't ask for your
help."
"That's just more proof that you need it." Lydia stood. She had years of high
school hallways under her belt. She knew how to hold her chin and set her
shoulders to ensure that when she walked, the crowds parted around her and
everyone took notice. She pulled that armor around her and stepped toward
Derek. For a second, he leaned back, giving way. He caught it, stood firm - but
Lydia saw. "You need a Pack, a real Pack. I'll give you one. I'll help you.
Jackson's mine, but I'll let you borrow him. I'll bring you McCall and Lahey,
and help you keep them, and tell you who to offer the Bite - since you seem
chronically attracted to the desperate and unhinged."
Derek met her eyes, dubious but searching. "Even if I believed you could
deliver any of that - why would I believe you would want to?"
"Because I'm giving you what's most important to me. And it's a loan. When I'm
ready, you give it back." Derek was silent, and Lydia went on. "How much more
damage could I possibly do than what you've done on your own?"
Derek jerked away when Lydia hooked her arm through his, but she ignored it,
and the growl that went with it, though it was hard to do without cringing.
When she tried again, Derek let her, and when she steered him out of the car
and toward the stairs, he walked at her side, shortening his stride to match
hers. "Jackson is a wolf," Lydia said quietly. "He needs a Pack. Let me help
you build him one." She squeezed his arm and met his eyes again. "You never
wanted this, did you? To be in charge? I read the Argent histories. They
thought you would end up an Omega, if not for Laura. You're wearing someone
else's skin, and it doesn't suit you. But that doesn't mean you can't belong to
something."
For a moment, Lydia thought Derek wouldn't answer at all, again. But finally he
shook his head slowly. She wasn't sure which of that he was answering - but it
was a start. Lydia patted his arm and leaned up, kissing his cheek. She still
smelled like Jackson, and Lydia knew it, had calculated it. She saw that way
his nostrils flared as he drew in her scent like it was something precious and
faraway. Alphas needed their Pack as badly as their Pack needed them. Lydia
wasn't above using every tool in her box, if she needed it.
She let him go. "Dinner. At my house, next weekend. I'll text you the time. And
bring any financial records with you. We're going to start planning
renovations, and I need to know my budget so I can tell you how pitifully
inadequate it is."
Derek stared at her like she was a foreign species as Lydia climbed the stairs
back toward the daylight and her waiting car. Because he opened the driver's
door for her, Lydia decided to wait until another time to bring up the benefits
of eyebrow-plucking with him.
***
Danny opened the door to find Lydia Martin on his doorstep, holding a bag with
two of the cranberry scones he liked best, and two lattes. "Who died?" he
asked, automatically, and then winced as soon as he had, realizing the bad
taste that particular question was in.
Lydia didn't call him on it, save for a long look and a lifted eyebrow.
"Jackson's fine," she said instead. "We need to talk." Lydia and Danny were
friends in the way that they had both circled the same person. Danny was
Jackson's best friend, Lydia was his girlfriend. And Danny was smart and
sensible and a good deal nicer than either Jackson or Lydia, which Lydia had
found useful to have around, now and then. They got along well enough.
But she'd never just shown up at his doorstep with pastries and edicts. Danny
was understandably suspicious. But beneath that was something wary but hopeful.
Lydia knew how Jackson had been pulling away from Danny because the bastard had
done the same thing to her, before the night he died. She knew what it felt
like to be on the outside, and while she had ulterior motives - that was one of
the reasons she was here. Danny wasn't directly hers, but he was her people,
and Lydia looked after her own, in her way.
Danny's parents were out (she'd checked), and his little sister was at
cheerleading practice, which left the house quiet and empty when Danny led her
through and motioned for her to sit at the chair behind his desk. Danny dropped
down to sit on the edge of his bed, waiting with an expectant patience that
Jackson (or Lydia) would never have managed.
Lydia reached into her bag and pulled out her Ipad, pulling up a video and then
handing it to Danny. "Jackson is a werewolf. So is McCall. That's what they've
been hiding," she said, deliberately blasé, as if she hadn't said something
impossible to believe.
Danny watched the footage Lydia had taken of Jackson reluctantly changing for
her. She'd knit together shots of McCall, Jackson, Lahey, and even one of Derek
with his red eyes and full wolf. Only Peter had taken the time to smile and mug
for the camera. Lydia had cut him out entirely. Danny stared. "If this is a
joke, I'm not getting the punchline," he finally said gruffly.
"It's not. And you already know it's not. You've seen what's been going on in
this town. You know Jackson, you watched McCall go from useless to Captain. And
him and Stiles aren't exactly subtle when they sit in class mumbling about fur
and claws and blah blah, Allison, blah blah, Hunters. . . this isn't a joke.
It's just sense. And now you can put it together."
Danny swallowed. Lydia had known he'd believe because werewolves made more
sense than 'town gone crazy'. She took out a spare flash drive and handed it to
him. "This is everything I know about werewolves. You can ask Jackson what it's
like, but don't ask him what's been going on the last few months. Not yet."
"He's my best friend, I can ask him what I want to, Lydia," Danny answered.
She cocked her head. "You could. But it wouldn't do any good. He's not ready
yet. When he is, then you can talk."
Danny was quiet, but finally he just looked at her. "Why show me now, when he
obviously still doesn't want me to know?"
He sounded hurt, but Lydia ignored that. They could work out bruised feelings
amongst themselves later. "Because you needed to know. Because Jackson misses
you, and doesn't know how to fix it. Because he needs a Pack, and the one he
has is incompetent. He was trying to protect you, and then he didn't know where
to go from there."
"A Pack?" Danny looked dubious.
"Wolves are pack creatures. Take that away, and they flounder. Jackson is
trying to find a space, but I don't trust them with him, not without someone
who cares about him. You care about him. You're also not a complete idiot. You
could help us," Lydia said. "And you're not sensible enough that you wouldn't
want superpowers."
"You want me to let Jackson turn me into a werewolf so I can look after him?"
"No, it doesn't work like that. Derek Hale has to bite you," Lydia said. "But
pretty much. If it helps, Derek Hale is hot in a neanderthal, never-met-a-pair-
of-tweezers sort of way."
"Lydia. . . I don't even know what to say to this. You just threw 'werewolves'
on my door and expect me to keep up! Until a week ago, I thought 'Derek Hale'
was Stiles' cousin Miguel. . . or I was supposed to think that, anyway," Danny
argued. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Danny looked away and
swallowed. "He died and came back and I didn't know for two days. He's a
fucking werewolf, and I didn't know. He doesn't tell me. He doesn't want me to
know. Whatever you think, Jackson doesn't think he needs me."
"Jackson has no idea what he needs. He has me for that," Lydia told him.
"He didn't have you either, for a while. Suddenly you're joined at the hip and
you have all the answers?" Danny asked.
"I always had the answers. It's just no one was letting me see the questions."
She gestured toward the Ipad in his hands. "Read, watch the video, and ask your
own questions. The dangers of the Bite are all in there, so are the benefits.
You'd be stronger, faster, have better senses. And claws and fangs and hair,
but not enough that it's a fashion detriment." Lydia paused, watching Danny
work that through. "And you'd get to be with Jackson."
Danny heard the emphasis, and his head snapped up from where he'd been
reviewing the footage. "I don't-"
Lydia held up a hand. "Don't give me the 'not my type'. I've heard it. I've
also seen your exes. They're basically all Jackson-lite. You want him. He needs
you. This will work for both of you."
Danny swallowed. "He's your boyfriend."
"True."
"He's straight."
"Less true."
"If he needs other werewolves, why not you?"
Lydia drummed her fingers against the chair. "It will be me, eventually. But
for now, it can't be. I trust you to take care of him, and do what I can't
yet." She stood, leaving both coffees (they were both for him, anyway, Danny
mainlined caffeine when he was caused on something.) "Just watch. Decide, and
then go talk to him. When you decide to do it, come to dinner at my house on
Saturday."
"He's not in love with me. He loves you." Danny said quietly.
"You're not in love with him, either. That doesn't mean you don't love him. And
Jackson is emotionally incompetent anyway," Lydia told him.
Danny choked out a startled laugh. "So are you."
She didn't bother to deny it. "Call me if you have questions. Or call
Stilinski, if you want. But pretty much everything he knows, or thinks he
knows, is in the files."
She left Danny watching the moment where Jackson changed over and over on a
loop. She made a mental note to send Jackson to retrieve her Ipad, tomorrow.
***
It was easier than she expected.
Lydia could, and frequently did, plan down to the most minute of details. But a
predisposition toward planning didn't mean she wasn't capable of improv. Some
things just didn't let themselves be entirely mapped out, no matter how much
attention one put into planning the logistics.
She'd weighted the tables toward Danny, but he wasn't ready to be bitten yet.
After that, she'd figured Lahey had the least history with Jackson, which would
make him an easy place to start. But history wasn't always a bad thing, and
she'd forgotten to factor that in.
Lydia also hadn't counted on just how much animosity various werewolves were
harboring for Allison. Lahey recoiled at the sight of her, and the younger Hale
watched her like she was a bomb that might go off. (Peter was a different
equation altogether, and not one Lydia was planning to bring in any time soon.)
But Scott - Scott still loved Allison. He'd forgive her anything. And Jackson
didn't blame her for the things he'd done, or the things done to him, so the
fact that Scott smelled like her didn't bother him the way it did Isaac. And
Allison owed Lydia enough to listen to her. She was wracked with guilt and
awash in her own demons and grief. Allison didn't need the way Jackson did, but
she needed something. A week after the first forced-company dinner, Lydia left
Derek and Isaac off the next invite list and she, Allison, Jackson, and Scott
ate Chinese in front of the TV. Halfway through The Devil Wears Prada, Lydia
kissed Allison.
Allison had been expecting it, and she kissed back. She tasted of watermelon
lipgloss Lydia didn't like, and something else that she did like but couldn't
name. It was slow and soft and hyper-aware of the audience they had, but it
wasn't a demonstration for their benefit alone. It was an opening pitch -
leaving the field wide open.
Jackson shifted closer to her, hand on her thigh as he looked up at Lydia from
where he sat on the floor in front of her. "Come here," she said, and she
kissed him too, trading lipgloss and licking into his mouth slow and deep and
hungry. When it broke, Jackson's eyes were huge and his fingers were tight on
her thigh and the look he gave he was a question he didn't know how to
verbalize.
Lydia ran her fingers through his short hair. "It's okay," she said. Two
fingers touched his throat when he swallowed, moving with the bob of his Adam's
apple.
Scott was watching, his wide eyes dark and his expression much more confused
than Jackson's. (Which wasn't surprising. Lydia thought McCall must probably
spend a vast percentage of his life looking cutely confused. It seemed to be
his default.) "Allison?" he asked.
Allison shrugged, self conscious but determined. "He's your Pack, or he should
be. Lydia's my friend. And we've been together, you and me, I mean. And we've
been apart. Now we're together again and I've done. . . I need things to be
different, this time. I think you do, too. So lets be different. Things go
wrong when it's just us, Scott. Lets try something new." She smiled wryly.
"Besides - I can tell you like the idea as much as I do."
"We are both smoking hot, in case you forgot," Lydia said blithely.
Scott looked from Allison to Lydia, and then swallowed, gaze skittering away
from Jackson. "Jackson hates me," he said. Which. . . actually he figured it
out faster than Lydia would have thought. She'd wondered if someone wouldn't
have to make him diagrams to convey that this wasn't a girls-only show.
"That doesn't usually stop Jackson," Lydia said, and Jackson smiled slightly.
She scraped her nails across Jackson's scalp and then nudged him gently with a
foot. "Kiss him," she said. "Kiss him like you kissed me, when you were still
trying to convince me you were good enough for me to date."
Scott looked half a second from bolting, but Allison uncurled from her spot
beside Lydia and dropped down to kneel next to Scott, wrapping her arms around
him and pressing her chest to his back.
"Like you needed convincing." Jackson hesitated. "Lyds. . . if-"
"It can't ruin anything. You have me. You'll always have me. This is just an
experiment." Lydia leaned down and kissed Jackson again. Her voice was low in
his ear when it broke. "It's okay. I want this too. You're allowed. Let me see
you want, Jackson."
Her voice was a purr and Jackson shuddered. Lydia loved him like this. She
loved him when he was an asshole, and when he swaggered across the field mid-
game, and when he slouched in his throne at the lunch table. But she loved him
fragile and wide-eyed and wanting, or shivery and panting in aftermath. Lydia
loved him when he was cracked open and everything he thought he had to hide
showed through. She wondered if that was what he loved about her, but she
couldn't see herself the way he did to know for sure.
When Jackson finally moved, it was with a tensed jaw and more purpose than
she'd given him credit for. The first kiss was hard and heated and for a second
it looked like it might easily turn into shoving and growling and two wolves
who didn't know how to give way.
But then it didn't. One kiss melted into another, and Lydia somehow could see
where they clicked together, where the jagged parts of Jackson she couldn't
smooth over just softened their edges with Scott. She wanted that - to be Pack,
to be able to be anything and everything that Jackson needed. But she wasn't,
yet. And she could give him this instead.
Plus, it wasn't exactly unattractive to watch. Lydia hummed her approval and
watched as Scott growled low in his throat and pushed in closer. Jackson's head
tipped back, throat offered up and hands on Scott's sides. Scott doesn't know
what he is, Peter had told her once. Alpha, Beta, Omega - Scott didn't know
where he wanted to fit, but there was more Alpha in him than Jackson, and Lydia
hadn't weighted that in, either.
Allison moved away, her breathing soft and heavy beside Lydia where she sat,
and her mouth slid against Lydia's neck, her hand cupped her breast and then
fled down to her hip. Her head was half turned though, watching their boys.
"They look. . ."
Allison trailed off, and Lydia grinned. "Better than porn," she finished.
Both boys heads lifted at that, blinking in unison at them and Lydia rolled her
eyes. "Everyone surfs for porn. It's not a male only interest," she said.
Jackson's laugh was soft and Scott's muffled protest about Allison never
telling him disappeared as Jackson kissed him again.
Lydia had bought a new throw rug for this, plush and deep on the floor. The
vibrant red color was pretty beneath Jackson as Scott pushed him onto his back,
curling over him as Jackson clutched at his sides. Scott buried his nose
against Jackson's neck, and Jackson's pressed into his shoulder, both sets of
eyes closing and breathing in deep. They welded together, scenting each other,
and Allison made a soft noise from beside Lydia. "I didn't know he needed. . ."
Needed Pack, needed closeness, Allison didn't say, but they both saw it now. It
was all too obvious as they whimpered and kissed and clung in ways that had as
much to do with closeness as it did sex.
"Neither did he," Lydia said. She turned her head and kissed Allison again,
then slid down to the floor, pillowing Jackson's head on her thigh. "I'll teach
you how to touch him," she told Scott, who flushed but nodded after a covert
glance at Allison. "And I'll tell you when you're allowed to," she added.
Scott's eyes were faintly gold and he was trembling where he hovered over
Jackson. Lydia began to open Jackson's shirt, button by button, and Scott made
a sound she couldn't recognize, because he was a wolf, but he wasn't her wolf,
and she didn't have all the tools available to her yet. Allison understood
though, and she smiled, her hands sliding under Scott's shirt, pulling it off
too and murmuring in his ear, soft and encouraging though the actual words she
used were lost to the thud of Lydia's own pulse in her ears and the harsh sound
of breathing.
Scott swallowed again, shivering beneath Allison's mouth on his shoulder blade,
and then looked at Jackson. "Jackson. . . you don't have to. . . I mean this
isn't. . . if you don't want-"
"He wants," Lydia said. She saw the stubborn set of Scott's jaw though and
laughed, leaning over Jackson and kissing him, upside down and deep, her nails
raking a soft line along his stomach, down over the hard bulge of his cock in
his jeans. "Tell him you want it," she said. Jackson fought the words in his
throat, and Lydia hummed. "Jackson, you're in a hot threesome with two girls,
at the very least. No one would say no, even if McCall is here too." She
grinned at Scott's pout, and Lydia dropped her voice, deliberately throaty and
enticing. "And look how much he wants you. We all want you. I can feel how much
you want him." Jackson was panting harshly through his nose, and Lydia met
Scott's gold-tinged eyes, and added - conversational and throaty at once.
"Handy thing about teenage werewolves - they're always good for more than one
round. I bet you and Allison already figured that out. Jackson looks amazing,
spread out on my bed and fucked wide open with a strap on. He comes like that,
and I don't even have to do anything else, and then I climb on top of him and
he stays hard. Sometimes-"
"Jesus," Allison gasped, and Scott whimpered.
"Lyd-" Jackson said at the same time, urgent and embarrassed.
Lydia hushed him and kissed him again. "Look at them. There's nothing wrong
with it."
"Nothing wrong," Allison echoed thickly.
Lydia grinned and rewarded her, not immune to the rush of feeling that came
with the knowledge that they were all taking her lead in this. She hadn't been
nearly as certain as she pretended. But now they were here, and it was hot and
perfect. "You should take his pants off."
She didn't specify if she meant Jackson or Scott, but Allison took the
initiative, and her fingers were light on Jackson's fly, but didn't shy away
from touching, either. Scott tensed for a moment, and then something in him
seemed to roll over, because he shuddered and then leaned down to kiss Jackson
again. Jackson took it, hips straining into Allison's touch and mouth opening
beneath Scott's. When Scott lifted his head, Lydia leaned in, mouth slick and
warm against his, tongue tangling against Jackson's. Lydia met Allison's eyes,
and Lydia saw permission there, gave her the same. In seconds, Jackson was
stripped and Lydia was breathless and reaching for Scott's fly. She squeezed
the hard line of his dick through the hideous, cheap jeans he wore and leaned
down enough that Jackson's searching fingers could cup her breasts, and then
slip up to unhook her bra one-handed.
When they all came up for air, Allison was laughing. "You should teach Scott
that - I always end up getting it for him."
Jackson grinned, cocky and swollen-mouthed. "I've got moves McCall can never
match."
Scott grunted. "Prove it," he snapped, and then looked slightly surprised at
himself for having done it.
Jackson looked at Lydia a last time and at her nod, he crawled up onto his
knees, finishing the job Lydia had started and stripping Scott of his clothes
while Scott hesitantly lifted Lydia's blouse off and Allison shimmied down to
her underwear. Scott's hands were soft and careful against Lydia's skin, the
palm broader than Jackson's but the tips of his fingers rougher, leaving
goosebumps against the curve of her breasts when he touched.
Lydia curled over Jackson's back, kissing her way along his spine and watching
as his mouth worked its way down Scott's chest. Scott didn't know where to
touch, hands restless on Jackson's shoulders, Allison's stomach once Lydia
leaned out of his reach. Lydia watched Scott shudder, all over and sudden, when
Jackson's head abruptly dipped lower and his tongue licked along the length of
Scott's cock, shamelessly eager in a way Lydia had only seen in Jackson when he
wanted too much and had his head pressed between her thighs.
Scott groaned, and then Allison echoed him, softer and more breathless. Lydia
tore her eyes away from where Jackson's tongue was pink against the reddened
flush of Scott's dick, and she saw where Scott's hand had dipped and pressed
into Allison's panties, making her bite down on her lip and then nudge her
knees wider. "Oh god," Lydia said aloud, pressing her own thighs together,
aching and so turned on she was suddenly having trouble remembering just how
she'd planned for this to go.
Allison smirked a little. "So, you're not always so collected, huh?"
Jackson lifted his head and snorted. "Give her a second, she'll go back to
giving orders."
Lydia blushed, but her nails dug a little sharply into Jackson's back, and then
she smacked him pertly on his ass. He grinned, but she didn't miss the shiver
that went with it. Scott's nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of all of
them, the arousal that probably littered the air, making him and Jackson drunk
on the smell of it. She saw the way his eyes followed her hand as it curled
over Jackson's ass, and Lydia grinned and crooked a finger at Allison. "They're
busy. Come here."
Lydia settled behind Jackson and kissed the curve of his spine again. "Don't
let him come," she said softly.
Jackson nodded, and though his cheeks were a blotched shade of red, he moved
easily as she nudged him up onto his knees, his head still down to lick and
suck at Scott's cock ass in the air as Lydia reached beneath the sofa for the
little zipper pouch she'd left there. Jackson had never sucked anything but the
plastic of her toys, but he never did anything without knowing he'd be good at
it. She pulled out lube and condoms as Scott made guttural noises and wrapped a
hand tight around Jackson's neck, fighting not to drag the teasing mouth
further onto his cock. "You can do this for Scott later," she told Allison. She
slicked her fingers generously and then teased them around Jackson's hole,
methodical and knowing. Allison slid her fingers into her own panties, working
them against herself and then just pulling the thin fabric off altogether. She
watched, fascinated as Lydia began to work Jackson open. When Allison pulled
her fingers free they were shiny-slick and Allison leaned across Jackson,
pressing them into Scott's mouth. He sucked instantly, hips rocking into
Jackson's mouth until Jackson pulled back again, making Scott growl around
Allison's fingers before she pulled them free.
Lydia knew how to turn Jackson inside out like this, and her fingers worked
ruthlessly. Jackson began to make a stuttered whine whenever his mouth wasn't
busy. Lydia was so intent on what she was doing, on the picture they made, that
she was surprised when Allison's fingers slid down her belly to press against
her instead, working against her clit. Lydia's fingers paused, three deep into
Jackson and making him curse as she kissed Allison again, let the other girl
guide her out of the skirt and panties she still wore until she was as naked as
the rest of them.
She pulled her fingers free, wiping them on the cloths she'd had packed in her
pouch (never let it be said she didn't know how to prepare), and then squeezed
out some more lube onto Allison's fingers this time. "Here," she coaxed, using
one finger to guide Allison's inside of Jackson, show her where to press and
how to twist until Jackson's hands were clawing at the plush rug and Scott was
saying Allison's name in a low, pained tone that sounded half like worship and
half like complaint.
Allison took to it with glee, fingers teasing and taking over when Lydia pulled
hers free. "Later," Lydia told Scott playfully, "it will be you she's making
howl like that. Until someone fucks you. Jackson, maybe. Or Isaac? You'll like
it just as much."
Scott gaped at her, and then groaned. "Why are you. . . this isn't normal," he
said.
Allison stopped, and then she shrugged. "We're never going to be normal. And
this is good, isn't it? Doesn't it feel right?"
"Or almost right," Lydia interjected. "There's a few missing members."
Scott didn't answer, but when Lydia crawled up to where Jackson had given up
all pretense of sucking in favor of panting and rocking back toward Allison's
still fingers, Scott's hand cupped Lydia's chin, and then ran through her hair.
"Stiles is going to kill me," he whispered, but he smiled and leaned in to kiss
her.
"He'll get his," Lydia said against his lips, and then she was pulling away,
nudging Jackson to sit up as Allison sat back. Lydia handed her a condom and
kept one for herself. She rolled it onto Jackson as Allison crawled into
Scott's lap. Lydia left them to make out for a minute, hearing murmured words
of love and reassurance as Lydia pulled Jackson up and lay down beneath him,
letting Jackson touch her, grind against her. "When they're done," she told
him, "Scott's going to fuck you. And Allison is going to be patient and watch
and then one of you is going to reward her for it. Or I will. But first you're
both going to come. No use having werewolf recovery times and not using it."
Allison laughed, but Scott dropped his head to her shoulder, catching her hand
before she could roll a condom on. "Wait. I can't just. . . I need to know that
you want this. That he wants this," he told Allison earnestly.
Lydia refrained from rolling her eyes. She just ran her hand along Scott's
thigh. "Just ask him. Tell him you want it, Jackson." She saw Scott's frown and
amended gently. "If you want it, tell him."
Allison kissed at Scott's jaw. "I want to watch, Scott. I want this to work."
Scott nodded, but he waited, stubborn and determined until Jackson lifted his
head from where it had been licking at Lydia's breast. "I want it," he gritted
out when she prompted him gently. "Don't let it go to your head, McCall."
Lydia laughed and pulled him into a kiss as Allison rolled the condom over
Scott. A shuffle of limbs and position and Lydia found Allison's thighs beneath
her head, her hands on Lydia's shoulders as Scott moved behind Jackson. Lydia's
thighs inched up Jackson's sides and she felt a cry pull from her as Jackson
sank inside her. She watched the arch of his back and the rock of Scott's hips
as he pressed inside Jackson.
It clicked, somehow. With all of them in place, Lydia could just let go. The
parts that should by rights have been awkward just seemed to give way to rhythm
and heat too quickly to be recognized. Lydia let it turn into a blur of thrusts
and hands and touching. Jackson's silence gave way into ragged, wordless
begging that she silenced with her mouth again and again. She watched Allison
lean in to kiss him when Lydia didn't, or met Allison's mouth with her own. She
could see Scott as he moved, bent over Jackson, mouth pressing against his
skin, or leaning across him to meet Allison's. When Lydia reached a hand it
could slide against Scott's side, down his thigh. Every thrust of Scott's
pressed Jackson deep inside her, rocked her head against Allison's thigh, as if
Scott was fucking all of them along with Jackson.
Lydia caught one of Jackson's hands, dragging it over her head and pressing it
against the wet heat of Allison. He took the direction, fingers rubbing against
her, making her thigh quiver beneath Lydia's head. Jackson's other hand was
braced against the floor, and it was Lydia who was free to touch, who could
watch Jackson's face, see the curtain of Allison's hair and the look on Scott's
face as he fucked Jackson. Lydia could see everything, and when Jackson gasped,
hoarse and sudden, muscles going taut and strained as he came, dragging Scott
with him, all it took was Lydia sliding a hand down, working fingers against
her clit for a few seconds before it was rolling through her, coming with a cry
that vanished into Jackson's mouth.
The three of them panted and Jackson was heavy atop her, Scott pinning him in
place. Beneath her, Allison was moaning, fingers working frantically against
herself once Jackson's had faltered. Lydia pushed until Jackson moved, shoving
Scott off in turn, both of them groaning as they pulled free. She left them to
do away with the condoms and focused on Allison.
It was easy for Lydia to roll over, press her face between Allison's thighs.
She'd never done this before, but she knew how she liked it, and like Jackson,
Lydia didn't do anything she couldn't do well. Allison's hands buried into
Lydia's hair as Lydia's tongue pressed inside her. Lydia followed the sounds
Allison made, tongue flicking against sensitive nerves, teeth grazing. She
lifted a hand to press fingers inside of Allison. She felt Jackson press up
against her side, Scott hover over her, touching Allison as Lydia got her off.
It didn't take long. Allison shrieked when she came, louder than any of them,
and Lydia pulled away, salt taste of Allison on her lips. Jackson licked it
from her mouth, Scott finishing when Jackson broke away to breathe.
They tumbled across the rug in an artless sprawl, Lydia tucked between Scott
and Jackson, Allison against Jackson's other side, her hand twined with Scott's
atop Lydia's stomach. Lydia kissed at Scott's shoulder, tucked in closer to
Jackson. "Next time, we get to watch you and Scott," she told Allison. Allison
huffed a laugh and she could feel Scott's grin, even if she wasn't looking.
From the next room there was a soft scuffle of claws, and then a tiny,
demanding whine. Lydia slid a lazy hand along Jackson's stomach, trailing
fingers through the streaks of come still there. "Go let Prada out," she
ordered.
Jackson groaned, grumbling something about the damn dog, but he started to get
up. Lydia caught him. "Not you. You." She nudged Scott with a foot, and he
blinked, and then got up obediently. Beside her, Jackson beamed and then
started to laugh. It sounded lighter than anything she'd heard from him since
he died and came back to her.
***
"You could stay," Stiles said, though he handed over the next carefully folded
skirt when Lydia held her hand out for it. "Things are good, right? I mean,
yeah some supernatural whatsit tries to kill us every few months, and Derek
still does not know how to use his communication skills, and you want to use
your oversized brain to go do things - but the boat can stay unrocked."
Lydia tucked the skirt into her carry on bag and shook her head. "I need the
labs and resources and willing nerd labor forces at my beck and call."
Stiles grimaced, handing over the next item from the stack on the bed. "Yeah,
but I mean you don't have to stay. You could do a semester, come back, classes
by satellite, the whole deal. It could be short term leaving, is what I'm
saying, instead of a whole year." Lydia stopped packing, leveling a look at
him. He fidgeted restlessly, and then got to the point. Finally. "You're only
going because you want the Bite. Why? You're already Pack - you're already
running the Pack. No one cares if you're human."
"You care," Lydia said. "Obviously."
"I just don't think its necessary. You, me, and Allison are like, the human
holdouts and they so need us around, so it's not like we need to prove it by
letting Derek sharpen his teeth on our necks."
"I don't need to prove anything to anyone," Lydia said. It was almost true. She
didn't need to prove anything. That didn't mean Lydia didn't crave recognition
for the things she was capable of. She didn't consider that the same thing.
"Sure," Stiles said, rolling his eyes as if he didn't believe her. "But you
don't need the Bite, is what I'm saying."
"I don't need a lot of things, but I still want them." Lydia sank down to perch
on the edge of her bed, fingers touching Stiles' for a brief moment before she
drew her hand back from his. "I made a plan. I'm sticking to it. There's a
place for me at the head of this Pack, and that's what I'll take. Just like
there's a trip to Milan in my future once I finish my degree, there's also
fangs."
Stiles stared at her, and then he finally asked, quiet and plaintive. "Why?"
Lydia considered. "Because someone said I couldn't, and I like to prove them
wrong. Because I'd be good at it. Because it's where I belong. Because no one
is ever going to leave me on the outside again. Because I'm not afraid to be
the best version of myself, and to adjust my level of expectation when a new
higher level becomes available. Because Jackson needs a real Alpha. Because
Derek will be happier. Because I can't stand not knowing. Pick a reason.
They're all true."
"But things will change. How do you know they won't change for the worse? How
do you know the things you like about yourself won't be gone when you turn into
a wolf?" Stiles asked, questions rapid and tripping off his tongue.
"I'm not worried about any of those things, Stiles. You are." Stiles flushed,
and Lydia shrugged, head tilting. "Just because I don't want to be immune
doesn't mean everyone will expect you to want the Bite now."
"Derek already wants me to take it," Stiles said.
"Everyone wants you to take it, even you, half the time. But you get to things
in your own time." She smiled slightly. "Besides, humanity comes in handy now
and then. Have you seen the face Isaac makes when he has to smell the ancient
leftovers left in the fridge before he tosses them? A less sensitive nose isn't
a downside."
"Everything is just. . . good. Mostly. We all do our classes and fight over the
remote and have obscene amounts of sex. But you started it. What if you go, and
everything just falls apart?" Stiles asked quietly.
Lydia reached out, fingertips running along the curve of his ear before she
smacked him smartly on the back of the head. He yelped, and she ignored it. "It
is not my job to stick around and mediate your arguments with Derek. I got him
to make a move."
Stiles rubbed his head, shooting her a resentful glare. "Dude, you're a wannabe
Alpha. That makes all interpersonal relationships your job to manage."
"I'm officially delegating that to Danny. And don't call me dude," Lydia said.
She finished packing her carry-on as Jackson pushed the door to her room open.
His eyes slid between Lydia and Stiles, settling on her with a bleak sort of
acceptance. "The rest of your stuff is in the car," he said. He'd even carried
it himself instead of getting Danny or Scott to do it. (Scott, mostly. Danny
had years of experience in resisting Jackson's wheedling, and had gotten even
better at Jackson management since he took the Bite.)
Stiles pushed himself up from the bed. "I'll, uh, go check the flight
schedules, see if its delayed or anything," he offered. He wrapped a hesitant
hand around Jackson's arm as he left, squeezing reassuringly. Jackson didn't
acknowledge it, but didn't shrink away, either.
Lydia crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Jackson, letting him crush
her against his chest and pressing soft kisses to his cheeks. "I could come
with you," he said.
"You need to be here. Isn't this what I've been setting you up for? You have
Scott and Danny, and the others. You're not alone," Lydia said.
Jackson scowled. "It's not the same. They're. . . Pack. You're mine. My. . ."
"Mate," Lydia supplied.
Jackson groaned. "Could you just not say that? Do you have any idea how much
that shows up in the porn Stilinski reads?"
Lydia lifted an eyebrow. "Which you know why?"
"He reads it aloud when he's pissed off at something Derek did." He rolled his
eyes, expression pained as Lydia laughed. "It's not funny."
"It really is. That's not him being pissed off, that's the least subtle kind of
hinting I've ever heard of."
"Lydia . . ." Jackson swallowed. "You'll come back?"
"Always," Lydia said. "And when I do, I'll take the Bite, and everything will
be as it should be."
Jackson smiled. "Because you say so?"
"Exactly."
"I love you," Jackson said. Lydia shut her eyes, pressing her face into his
chest and hugging tight. He didn't say that usually, and Lydia didn't really
need to hear it to know that it was true. But it made her eyes sting and her
chest feel tight when he did say it. Jackson hugged her back and swallowed
hard. When he spoke again, his voice was shaky, but he sounded like himself,
still. "I wouldn't say no to a goodbye blowjob."
Lydia laughed, and they both pretended it didn't sound damp and teary. "I
thought you said Scott gives better head than I do?"
"I only said that when you made us watch Project Runway."
"He does give better head," Lydia admitted. "But I have better hands." She
slipped her fingers beneath his shirt, tweaking a nipple and then laughing
against his mouth as he kissed her.
Ten minutes later they drifted downstairs and toward the door. Her mother sat
on the sofa, casting deeply suspicious glances toward the lurking Pack who
stood around the living room, or hovered out by the car. "Are you SURE you
don't want me to drive you, darling?" she asked.
Lydia loved her, and she hugged her tight. But she shook her head. "I have a
ride, mom." She said her goodbyes, and then they piled into three cars. At the
airport, Danny draped his arm across Jackson's shoulders and Scott wrapped his
arms around Jackson's waist as Lydia hooked her carry on over one shoulder and
waved goodbye. Allison kissed her, and Stiles hugged her like he might not be
able to let go until Derek tugged him away. Erica left her spot between Isaac
and Boyd to run up at the last minute and hug Lydia too.
On the plane, Lydia stared out her window seat and waved. She couldn't see
them, but they could see better than she ever could. Just in case, the last
thing she left them with was a broad smile and a wave. In his little crate
beneath her seat, Prada whined and Lydia reached down to let him lick her
fingers once they were safely in the air.
During the flight she burrowed into the shirt she'd stolen from Jackson and
hugged her phone to her chest, flipping through picture after picture of her
self-assembled family. She had a plan. One year, and countless hours of
research with bio nerds, and she knew it would happen. And then she could go
home, and everything would be perfect.
***
Biology wasn't Lydia's field, but she'd made friends in the right places before
she left home. There was a werewolf Bio major named Tania with an overbite and
a chronic shy streak who developed a crush on Danny while they were skyping.
Her crush transferred handily enough to Lydia. Lydia was armed with blood
samples, info, and a sizable donation from her father to Yale's various
programs that guaranteed she could always find lab space. She'd do her own work
at the lab tables, appropriating white boards and sending emails to her
advisor, Dr. Raymond, while Tania analyzed blood samples.
She called home every other night, and when the full moon hovered close, she
sat with Tania and they talked about the Packs they'd left behind. Lydia took
her shopping for something to wear aside from labcoats and tee shirts, and
talked her into Invisalign braces. Even at this level, school came easily to
Lydia and she threw herself into high level special projects to eat up her time
and keep her from missing the faces that weren't there with her. She went home
on holidays and had Christmas dinner with her mother and spent the rest of the
time in the middle of the family she'd built, letting them breathe in the scent
of her and kiss her skin and leave new marks to tide them over until she came
home again.
A year turned into a year and a half. "They'll come back soon," Derek said once
over the phone, his voice clipped and wary.
"They won't. You're doing a good job, they have no reason to take your Pack
away, now that you're not a complete failure. And soon. I'll be back soon, and
then I can take it from you," Lydia said.
"I shouldn't want that so much," Derek said, thick and guilty.
"If you didn't, then we wouldn't all fit together as well as we do," Lydia
answered.
In the end, Tania got her close, but it was Lydia who figured out the protein
sequence that would allow the Bite to take. Lydia kissed her as a thank you,
and then celebrated with a bottle of good wine. Lydia skipped a graduation
ceremony she'd accrued enough credits for and went home.
Lydia called from the plane. By the time she landed, half of them had rounded
themselves up to meet her. Derek carried her bags and Jackson kissed her amidst
a stream of travelers that were forced to part around them en-route to their
gates while Scott and Stiles stood and glared off anyone from complaining.
She had breakfast with her mother and called her father. She went to her
favorite place for lunch with Jackson and they only got halfway through before
they were rushing out to have urgent, uncomfortable sex in the passenger seat
of his Porsche. She went dancing with Danny and Allison. She made sure
everything was in order, just in case. "Just in case what?" Scott asked, when
he saw her reading through a basic will and asked why.
"It will be fine," Lydia said.
"You don't know that," Isaac said.
"Sure she does," Boyd argued and ran a hand along Isaac's back. Derek said
nothing, and they all scattered when Lydia asked them to, except for Jackson
who wouldn't go anywhere until Lydia kissed him and pushed him out the door.
"Are you sure?" Derek asked quietly.
"I'm always sure," Lydia said. She could play the part, but wolves knew when
you lied. This time, it didn't matter. She meant it. She'd put everything into
this. She injected herself with the serum.
When she was thirteen, Lydia remade herself from pale skin, bony knees, and
flyaway red hair. She parsed the data and calculated what was needed, and
reinvented herself from skinny and smart to fierce and flawless. She'd studied
the diagrams and knew the patterns. There was always someone in ascendence, and
she knew how to make sure that it was her. Nothing she did was ever without
purpose and a goal in mind. She remade herself into what she needed to be.
The data changed, and the top of the pyramid wasn't where she'd thought it was.
She'd adjusted, recalculated, and rebuilt herself again out of fang and claw
and the relentless pull of the moon. She built herself a place and a family.
Werewolves, like everything else, were about heart and numbers. Lydia had the
heart, and she knew the numbers. One plus one meant someone could always be
left behind. But three and four and six were a Pack, and they were strong, and
they were hers.
The Bite hurt worse than she expected. The days after it were miserable. But in
a week she was running alongside Jackson, claws out and feet sure and wind
blowing through her hair.
The Hale house was rebuilt (finally), and it smelled of all of them. Lydia
spent the first few days wanting to roll around the carpets and lick the walls
and being laughed at by Erica when she was caught doing the former, once. The
full moon ticked closer and they were all vital and hungry - a mass of limbs
and snaking hands and voracious mouths. It was messy and vibrant and Lydia felt
like she'd been born for this.
She could have lived like that, but it wasn't quite right. After the full moon
(They spent it locked in the Hale basement with its new reinforced cages; no
one tried to break out - they had other things to occupy them) Lydia brought
the boxes she'd shipped from school and the supplies Scott had reluctantly
snatched from the hospital for her.
She didn't ask Derek if he was sure, she could see that he was. She laid him
out on a table and Peter (the only piece that didn't fit, who hadn't spent the
moon in their cell or the last days in wild, happy sex) helped her set up.
Three years and more since Peter had used her, and Lydia still didn't forgive
him, but she knew him now, and she knew what about him could be trusted and
what couldn't. This she could trust him with, and he was steadier than any of
the others would have been.
Only Stiles was there, because Lydia hadn't had the heart to run him off, and
he gripped Derek's hand until Derek pried it loose. "Do it," Derek told Lydia.
Stiles shook his head. "This isn't-"
"Trust me," Lydia said. She could say that to Derek, to Jackson and Scott and
Erica and everyone else - but Stiles couldn't ever just accept it the way they
did. In a way, she loved him for that. Everyone needed another perspective in
the mix, even Lydia. He couldn't just trust that things would be fine, but he
didn't try to stop her, either.
She hooked the monitors to Derek's bare chest, the portable machines beeping
steadily with his heartbeat. Lydia picked up a vial, injecting it into the IV
bag Peter held steady. Derek's eyes started to droop, the machine's beeping
getting more urgent as they slowed in tempo. Lydia bent down and kissed his
lips. And then she sank her fangs into his throat.
He didn't bleed out. It wasn't enough of a bite - just enough that her teeth
were there, that it was obvious who would have won if this were a fight. Derek
gasped and bled and then his heart stopped.
Lydia felt it, the rush of new power, the change in status. She could feel the
strength of her Pack nearby, taste the salt-tang of Alpha blood on her lips.
The flatline of the monitors were an almost deafening whine. She ripped them
free to stop the noise and her claws wouldn't quite recede enough to inject the
counteragent into Derek's vein. Peter took it, doing it for her while Stiles
trembled and hung on to Derek's arm.
It took an agonizingly long moment for Derek to come back. When he did it was
with a snarl, the bleeding starting again with his heart and then beginning to
slow as the healing started. His eyes glowed blue, and behind the pain in his
eyes was something nakedly relieved.
"Alpha," Peter said to her, small smile playing around his lips.
Lydia backed off a step, shuddering hard. She felt like her skin was too small
and her teeth were too dull. She turned, ripping off clothes and sprinting for
the door. The feel of muscles changing and shape shifting was alien and yet,
somehow, completely home. She bounded from the porch as a wolf, howl echoing
through the woods. Her Pack poured out the door behind her, changing to run at
her side. She bowled them over and darted at them, watching them roll over and
submit, laughing and growling in joy. Only Derek (and Stiles and Allison) was
missing, but time would fix that.
Peter flung himself at her side, and Lydia knocked him aside, pressing a paw to
his chest and pinning him to the ground. He laughed with snapping teeth and
Lydia shifted back, wolf giving way to her human shape save for the glowing
eyes and claws. She let him up and welcomed the others as they came to hug her.
She could feel Derek, his weakness slowly beginning to heal itself away.
Everything was as it should be.
Lydia loved it when a plan came together.
***
Stiles was propped up on the sofa, blood seeping into the cushioned arm and
Derek plastered against his side. Allison knelt at his feet, and Danny covered
his mouth with a hand when Allison pulled the crossbow bolt from Stiles' thigh,
muffling the pained shout. He wasn't bleeding out, but he was bleeding too much
for comfort. In the tastefully dim light of the living room she'd decorated, he
looked fragile and too human to survive. "Stiles," Scott said from beside her,
pained and miserably guilty.
Jackson's hand was light on Scott's arm, comfort in the stroke of his fingers
over Scott's wrist, but his voice was tight with worry that sounded like anger.
"Why is it always you, Stilinski?"
"Hey, like I planned to walk out and get shot by Allison's cousin," Stiles
complained. "Sorry, they didn't give me a chance to use the secret, friend-of-
Argent handshake. Because there isn't one. And it's not like they weren't
shooting at you, too, asshole."
"Yeah, but they don't HIT me," Jackson said.
"And if they did, you'd heal," Lydia said, and everyone in the room paused,
quieting. She tapped her fingers against the coffee table. "This is ridiculous.
You're not leaving us, you don't want a way out of the Pack, and there's no
reason to refuse. You're part of the Pack. You don't want to be anywhere else,
and I can't constantly be there to stare over your shoulder and make sure you
survive."
"No one asked you to!"
Lydia ignored Stiles' interruption. "No more weakest link. Enough, it's time.
We can't keep doing this." Lydia had been a human amongst wolves too, and it
had been easier for her to understand why Stiles refused, back then. But now
all her instincts wanted to protect him, and he was refusing the one way she
could best do that.
"Allison-" Stiles started to protest.
Lydia cut him off. "Allison isn't the one almost bleeding out. She's not the
liability in a fight." Stiles swallowed, already too-pale face turning more
ashen as he looked away from her. Derek shot her a look and Lydia softened,
just a little. "I know how much you do for us, but that's not helping you stay
alive."
Stiles frowned, swallowing hard. "I don't want the Bite," he said woodenly.
"I'm never going to want it. You can't make me."
Lydia's nails turned to claws, her eyes glowed red. Every wolf in the room
flinched away, except for Derek, who clung grimly tighter to Stiles but
couldn't meet her eyes. "I could. No one in this room would stop me." From the
corner of her eye, Lydia saw Allison frown, but the other girl stayed quiet.
Stiles met Lydia's eyes. He lifted his chin, and then looked deliberately away,
eyes falling on Peter, who hovered at the edge of the room. "But you wouldn't,"
he said.
Lydia followed his gaze. Peter smirked, but there was something grim and proud
in his eyes alongside a flash of fear and respect. Peter would have forced it,
Stiles was right. Lydia was never going to be like Peter, the world didn't need
two of them. God help her, but sometimes she wished she could be though. Her
job would be so much easier if she could be that ruthless. "No, I wouldn't. But
get over yourself and take the Bite. We need you. Think of how we'd feel if you
were gone. Don't you think Derek has lost enough? Don't you think your father
has?"
She silenced Derek's building protest with a glare, and looked back at Stiles.
She wouldn't force him, but she knew how to hammer a point home and didn't
particularly care about being gentle while doing it. "You're only saying no
because you're too scared to admit what you want. So man up. And the blood had
better come out of that sofa, or so help me I'll kill you myself." She leaned
in, mouth meeting Stiles' in a slow kiss that belied the threat of her words.
He looked somewhere between stricken and angry, and Lydia didn't care about
that, either. Angry was better than thinking about the holes in his skin. She
snapped at Scott to call his mother to treat him.
When she left the room, her hands shook and Peter followed, keeping his
distance but watching. After a moment, Allison joined her. Her slim, strong
hand fell on Lydia's shoulder. Allison's hands were always steady, no matter
what was falling apart around her. Lydia had come to rely on that. She relaxed,
muscle by muscle beneath Allison's grip. "He's not really my cousin," Allison
said quietly. "An old family friend, I guess."
"A family friend who tries to murder your actual family," Lydia said, and
Allison flinched.
"He doesn't understand how I can be part of this. None of them do." Allison was
more Pack than Argent now, but it wasn't easy for her to cut the cord. Lydia
had less sympathy for that today than she might have on a day when Stiles
wasn't bleeding a room away.
"But they work together. They travel. They hunt us. And if we defend ourselves
or do the same, then what, we're the monsters?" Lydia shook her head. "I don't
accept that."
"Not all wolves are like us - you - Lydia. There are some who are animals, who
murder people-"
"Just like the hunters," Lydia interjected.
Allison ignored her, going on. "- someone has to be able to stop them. Police
can't. This is how it's always been done."
"That is the stupidest reason to keep doing something that has ever existed.
When the system is flawed, you change the system, you don't roll over and
accept the way it stands and continue to perpetrate something inherently
useless. I'm tired of letting us be blindsided, or letting someone else hold
all the cards." Lydia shot Peter a look. "Go get Danny," she ordered. "No more
stumbling in the dark. No more one-Alpha-one-Pack, and all of us minding our
own business while the hunters and the witches and everyone else picks us off
whenever they feel like it. Time for an offensive."
Peter grinned, giving her a playful salute and disappearing. Allison stared at
her. "Lydia, what are you going to do? Build an army? A cult? Kill hunters?"
"No," Lydia said decisively. "I'm going to unionize. We'll build a network.
Hunters have to exist - fine. Someone's going to look over their shoulders,
too. And everyone in your family except for you and your father is an idiot or
a psychotic - we'll be better at it."
Allison gritted her teeth. "So I'm supposed to just let you-"
"No. You're supposed to help me. If you don't want wolves calling all the
shots, then you get in on the ground floor too, Allison." Lydia tipped her chin
up and smiled - all teeth and flashing eyes. Allison held her ground, looking
unmoved. Lydia loved her a little bit for that, most of the time.
They stayed there, locked gazes warring until finally Allison let it go,
nodding slowly and smiling tightly. "I get input," she decided.
"Always," Lydia said sweetly. She hooked her arm through Lydia's as they waited
for Danny. "You're going to have to choose one day, you know."
Allison's lips pressed against Lydia's temple. "I already have."
"I'll give you the same speech I just gave Stiles."
"Give me a year," Allison said. "I need to tie up some things, and sit down
with my dad. . . but in a year."
Lydia felt a rush of excitement and a soft, pleased murmur of a growl rose up
in her throat. "Maybe then Stiles will give in."
Allison rolled her eyes. "Don't count on it. And you can't make him."
"I know. But I'm very convincing." Lydia pulled Allison's arms around her and
leaned into the slim, solid strength of her body as Danny came in, shooting
Peter resentful looks over his shoulder before he let Lydia sit him down and
begin outlining her plans.
***
"You made yourself an Alpha. You cured your immunity," Jackson said suddenly
into the quiet of a room filled only with heartbeats and breathing. His head
was laid on Lydia's stomach, his hand on Scott's hip where Scott curled against
Allison. Erica leaned against Lydia's other side, soft press of breasts against
Lydia's arm and her face half turned into Lydia's hair, breathing in time with
her, Boyd's arm around her shoulders and his hand on the solid curve of Erica's
belly. Across the room Isaac was half draped atop Danny, and Derek and Stiles
were on the floor in front of them, tangled together with Derek swatting at
Stiles' hand for playing with his hair, now and then. Peter perched on the edge
of the sofa Isaac sprawled across, watching them all without speaking.
It was cozy and comfortable and close, the moon two weeks away and the pack
safe and together. Jackson's question fell like a bomb into the center of it,
shattering away the lazy feel. "Could you cure the Bite, too?"
Lydia felt Erica's breathing hitch, saw Peter's eyes lift to meet hers. "Would
you want me to?" she asked, soft and careful.
Derek sat up, and in the sudden stone of his expression, Lydia saw him think it
through. She watched him imagine this strange, dysfunctional family vanishing
and leaving just him and Peter behind again.
Jackson flushed, realizing the upset he'd caused, and looked away guiltily,
drawing in on himself. Lydia shook Erica gently off and drew Jackson up to her
side, mouth soft against his neck and soft growl echoing against his skin,
making him shiver. Years later and a change in species for Lydia, and they
still didn't talk about feelings with any kind of skill. Stiles liked to claim
everyone but him was emotionally constipated. But Lydia knew that Jackson still
woke up and dreamed of being a monster instead of Pack, sometimes, and that he
didn't think he deserved anything he hadn't earned. "I could," she told him,
because Lydia rarely lied. "I haven't tried, but I could, if I wanted to do
it." She'd never found anything she set out to do and hadn't managed. "But I
wouldn't. This is what we're meant to be."
Lydia turned her head and her eyes met Scott's, the only one who hadn't made
the choice the rest of them had. He smiled and shook his head, and she smiled
back, fingers tangling briefly in his curls and letting go again, Allison
kissing his jaw a moment later.
Jackson's jaw tightened, but he nodded. Slowly the room settled in again. Isaac
put on ESPN, and the bickering over the remote began, as it always did.
Later she slipped out alone and poured herself a glass of white wine that Isaac
had picked out. He had the best nose for it of all of them, and he and Lydia
took weekends for wine tastings every few months. He was becoming a snob about
it, and Lydia approved, even if the rest of her Pack rolled their eyes. She
sensed Peter behind her, but didn't turn to face him until he spoke up. "You
don't believe in fate," he said.
Lydia sipped her wine and shrugged. "I believe I make my own fate. I made
myself belong here. Jackson belongs with me. It's close enough. We made the
choice. I own my choices."
Peter smiled. "You should have been born into this. You would be wasted as
anything but an Alpha. Laura would have been, too, though she never believed it
the way you do."
"Being born into it is cheating. Being better than anyone else is always a
bigger achievement than an accident of birth," Lydia said. Peter didn't
disagree. She thought he would have, years ago, but it was only a guess. She
hadn't asked him, she probably never would. "Do you miss her?" she asked
suddenly instead. "Derek does, but you? Do you miss anyone at all?" He'd lost
as much as Derek had, as much as Isaac had. But Peter didn't wear it as
obviously as they did.
Peter flinched. "You're not the only one who recreated yourself. I wasn't
always what I am now. What I was then isn't the same as what I am now, either.
The fire took more than just my family away."
Maybe he was more like Derek than he let on. Lydia didn't have energy to care
about either of their self loathing - she had bigger things to worry about. "So
what are you now?" Lydia asked.
Peter shrugged. "The same as everyone else. A wolf, your Pack, but on the
fringes."
"That happens when you begin a relationship with lies, murder, and mind
control," Lydia pointed out. "And you're generally both creepy, and too old to
get away with it being charming." She cocked her head to the side. "Looking for
atonement?"
Peter grimaced. "God no. Just existing and attempting to not drown in hormones
and Pack drama." He tilted his head, mimicking her. "Though I wouldn't mind a
glass of that, or an invitation to one of your tastings."
Lydia pushed the cork into the bottle. She reached into the wine cooler and
extracted a decent bottle of red instead. "You don't like white," she said,
passing it to him. Peter's shoulders had slumped, and she ignored that, just as
she pretended to ignore the way he brightened for just a moment when he
realized she knew what he liked.
She was his Alpha, she knew these things.
"You built yourself a home, Lydia. We both know you didn't really build a space
for me inside it," Peter said.
She studied him. "And we both know you're not going to go off alone, either. So
where does that leave us?"
Peter opened the bottle of red, pouring himself a glass before he answered. "I
don't know," he finally said. "Which is not my favorite thing to admit to."
"We have that in common." Though Lydia usually didn't admit to it. If she
didn't know something, she learned it. But this wasn't something intellect and
steely determination could fix. "You've been a help to me. I won't forget
that."
"You just won't forget how it all started, either," Peter said, sipping his
wine.
She didn't deny it. "I'll work something out. You've earned that much."
Peter lifted his class in a silent cheer, and she echoed it. Nothing was
settled, but her Pack was safe and they drank in companionable, if not
friendly, silence.
***** Sometimes it's a little hard to sleep at night, in the house where we all
live *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Mr. Stilinski, I understand you're the only human in the. . . Pack?" the too-
thin reporter from the Globe asks, his eyes on Lydia, though his question is
for Stiles.
Which is just typical. Luckily Stiles is both used to it, and not actually in a
hurry to be the center of attention for the whole werewolf-outing fiasco,
anyway, so it doesn't bug him. "Uh, yeah. I mean that's kind of a point of
contention, and there was another human but she. . ." Stiles looks over at
Scott, and then winces slightly. "She had a status change."
"Was she forced into a . . . conversion?" the reporter pursues. Stiles has to
give him points for word choices. It's probably hard to adapt a vocabulary on
the fly to suit the sudden existence of werewolves. He must have skimmed the
info packet Stiles handed out pretty damn quickly. "And do you feel as if your
life is endangered by the creatures you keep company with?"
"We object to creatures. We prefer supernatural beings. Or just badasses works
too," Erica says from where she sits with Boyd at the end of the arranged
seating. She flashes a toothy grin at the reporter, who finally looks away from
Lydia for a moment to inspect the cleavage on display. (Stiles is like, 68%
sure that dress had not been that low-cut when Lydia and her picked it out, but
Erica did not believe in going for the Va-Va without a little Voom. Or a lot of
Voom.) Stiles can't really blame her though - six months pregnant and there is
seriously impressive amounts of cleavage above the baby bump. (He'd tried to go
with wolf bump at first, but he'd been shouted down. It had been followed by a
very tense conversation with Derek about whether or not born werewolves had
cubs-slash-puppies. Scott had been pretty disappointed by the very firm "no"
answer. He knew more about puppies than kids.)
"We really don't care," Boyd drawls, rolling his eyes. "Just stay away from the
dog jokes."
"You guys are butting in on my Q&A here," Stiles complains. "And the dog jokes
are classics, I'll have you know." He looked back at the reporter. "And no, she
wasn't forced." Not technically. More by circumstances of almost-death than by
Lydia pushing the Bite on her. But Allison had been ready for it anyway. Unlike
Stiles, which was probably never going to stop being a point of friction until
the day he gave in. He wasn't ready to admit that he was thinking about it, not
yet anyway. "And yeah. Constantly. The danger thing, I mean. But not FROM them.
It's more . . . they're targeted. And there isn't anyone to help except the
like, five people who know what's going on, and half of them want to kill them
off, not help them. So if you care about them, you end up in danger too, but
it's not because they want you to be."
"We actually try to keep him out of it," Scott says quickly.
"He just never listens," Derek mutters from his other side.
Stiles ignores him. "But I mean, that's why we're doing this. Aside from Lydia
being the most vindictive person in the world when someone steals her Medal -
which she totally earned, by the way."
"More than earned. And at a younger age than anyone else ever has," Lydia adds.
"That's why we follow her - the stunning humility. But that's why we're, you
know, here. So people can know about werewolves, and can't just target them or
blame them without there being consequences."
The reporter looks distinctly uneasy, but asks. "And you don't think this will
bring unwelcome attention? Werewolves are classically defined as monsters . . .
people aren't likely to react well, and there are no laws in place to protect
you. And people aren't prepared to protect themselves from you. It's going to
make a lot of people uneasy."
"There's no reason for people to be uneasy. We've always been here, we've just
had to hide. But we're in your Churches and your schools. We ride the same
buses you do, and all we want are the same protections the law gives everyone
else. And of course there's precedent," Lydia says, and nods to Danny, who gets
up and flicks on the projector. She and Danny began going through precedent
laws they'd looked up in 31 states - outdated laws that presupposed the
existence of superhuman creatures, and court cases which upheld citizenship
over accusations of extraterrestrial or supernatural existences.
As usual, they're pretty compelling, and the werewolf charm thing doesn't hurt.
Stiles privately thinks they're all in for at least fifty years of werewolves
being blamed for every murder and Hunter pushback when they start publishing
their histories of attacks. Or, actually, he not-so-privately thinks that. But
Lydia's point was that hiding wasn't working out so well, and that they had to
start somewhere. Stiles hadn't really have a good argument for that one, he
just isn't thrilled at the prospect of spending his lifetime in the middle of a
supernatural revolution. He isn't built to be a suffragette, he likes to cut
down on his suffering whenever possible, and he's seen his Pack in danger too
often already. Being the spokes-wolves for the revolution was like painting a
target right on their backs. But Stiles had gone along with the idea, just like
everyone else. He wanted his friends - his Pack - to have what they deserved,
too. It just made him nervous when he actually stopped to think about it.
The gathered crowd is restless and hardly any of them are looking at Stiles. He
cranes his neck to stare down the line of werewolves, trying to see what
they're seeing. Beautiful people in nice clothes, for the most part. The only
face missing is Allison, and they'd all agreed that she shouldn't out herself
to the Hunters yet - she's the best chance of a mole they have after all. But
it feels wrong not having her there, nonetheless. Stiles doesn't have the
fangs, but he's Pack enough that some little part of him always feels empty
when one of them is missing, just like a part of him will always have a carved
out little hole in his life where his mom should have been.
Last human standing. Stiles wonders sometimes why he's still holding out, but
he thinks maybe this is why. Because it looks less like a gang of furry thugs
if they've got at least one human face in the middle of it, unharmed and
obviously protected. Even if no one is bothering to look at him yet.
Stiles doesn't realize his hand is tapping restlessly against the table until
Derek's hand covers his to still it. He lets go just as fast, but his arm
drapes heavily over the back of Stiles' chair, hand on his shoulder. Stiles
manages to sit still, at least for a while.
***
"You're sure they'll even be here?" Danny asked, scanning the open spaces
between the trees.
"They'll be here," Lydia promised.
Stiles was pretty sure that part, at least, was true. The Alphas would most
definitely show. Whether or not they'd show up and then promptly tear them all
to pieces was dicier, but they'd done their research, and Stiles was reasonably
hopeful they would live through this.
On the plus side, if they died then Scott and the others wouldn't actually have
a chance to yell at them.
"If I'm going to be killed by a werewolf, I'm going to die pretty pissed that I
went through all that angst about whether or not to turn into one," Danny said.
"And then didn't actually even get to follow through with it before I got
dragged into a suicide meeting."
"You used to be more cheerful, man," Stiles complained. "Why do people like you
again? It's 90% the pecs, isn't it?"
"Shut up," Lydia said. Stiles resented that she looked at him when it was Danny
complaining. He started to tell her so when the phone in Danny's hand started
to pulse a soft red. Danny looked at it and then showed them the GPS signal
approaching on the screen. Okay, so the Alphas hadn't found the bug Stiles
appropriated from the station and stuck on their car. It was a positive first
step, at least.
From the narrow road beside the meeting spot, they heard the sound of leaves
crunching beneath tires, and then the slam of doors and the thud of feet.
There were four unfamiliar Alphas in total who loped into the clearing. In the
middle were Erica and Boyd, flanked by two tall good looking men with identical
faces. Stiles felt an unexpected pull of old fear that tasted acrid on his
tongue when he caught sight of Erica and Boyd. The last time he'd seen them,
they'd been strung up in someone's basement, and Stiles had followed up with
some up close and personal time with Grandpa Argent. It wasn't a favorite of
his recent memories.
At least Erica and Boyd looked healthy, if a little lost and sad. They had new
clothes on, and Stiles could tell they hadn't picked them out because there was
a distinct lack of leather and bared cleavage in Erica's, and Boyd's jacket was
about an inch too short in the sleeves.
The fourth Alpha hung back a little, and the one who stepped in closer was
beautiful and intense, red eyed and clawed. She smiled and tossed her hair,
eying the three of them. She sniffed the air and then spread her clawed hands.
"Well, don't we all smell like a weak Alpha and his mongrels. Where's your
Masters, pets?"
Ugh. Stiles had been called a werewolf pet by an Argent, a witch, and now an
Alpha. He could seriously go without hearing it ever again. "We're kind of here
off the clock," Stiles said. He took a slight step to the side to avoid the
foot Lydia tried to stomp down onto his.
Erica shook her head very slightly, biting her lip. The Alpha woman growled,
but it was almost a laugh. Lydia took a step forward and Stiles almost fell in
love with her again based on the fact that she didn't even look a little
intimidated. Stiles had no idea how she did that, but it was pretty impressive.
"We want our Pack back." Lydia's voice was just as steady as the gaze she
pinned the Alpha with.
The wolf bared her teeth. "You have no Pack. Weak Alphas don't get to stay
Alphas, and their Betas are ours, until we find a Pack that can handle them.
What their human pets do, I don't care, but tell me where Hale is, or I'll tear
out your throat. A weak Alpha threatens us all, and a Pack with no leader
brings the Hunters down on our heads. Last chance, pretty girl."
"Kali-" Boyd said. She turned to look at him, and he dropped his eyes, though
he still argued faintly, "They're friends."
"They're human," Kali said.
Lydia lifted her chin and she smiled, sleek and dangerous, somehow, all five-
foot-two, human inches of her. She was staring down Alphas, and Stiles wanted
to pick her up and run for it, for a half a second. But he squared his
shoulders. "Human's a plus, sometimes," he said. He sounded pretty steady too,
even if he knew his heart was thudding a million miles an hour.
"And the Hunters are already here," Lydia added evenly.
From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Danny's thumb move. A second later a
crossbow bolt rang out from the north end of the glade, hitting the dirt not
far from where the twins bracketed Erica and Boyd. The extra Alpha Stiles
couldn't see well swore, tearing off toward the source.
Another bolt came from the opposite side. The twin to Erica's right snarled.
"Kali?" he yelled.
"Find them. Aiden stay," Kali snapped.
Her claws lengthened and Stiles took a deep breath. "Put them on," he yelled at
Erica and Boyd, flailing enough to catch their attention.
At the same moment another arrow came, this one from a downwind tree and aimed
precisely at Boyd's feet. Attached to it were two sets of ear plugs. Erica
caught on first, grabbing for them with a blur of speed as Kali snarled and
charged, reaching for Stiles. Another arrow rocketed out, catching Kali in the
shoulder and knocking her back a second before her claws reached skin.
"Now!" Lydia said, and Danny's thumb moved again.
Abruptly the wolves sank to their knees, howling and clapping hands to their
ears, eyes going red and agony in their expressions. Boyd was a shade too slow,
but Erica pushed the plugs into his ears, and he stumbled back to his feet as
she caught his hand, drawing him with her toward Stiles. They both still looked
pained, but the plugs blocked the worst of it from sensitive wolf ears. To
Stiles, it was just an obnoxious sort of whining sound - but he was only human.
Allison dropped down from her tree, approaching with drawn bow. She held it at
ready as Stiles grabbed for Danny's hand and retreated back out of reach with
Lydia, Boyd and Erica. His other hand gripped tight at Erica's when he saw her
start to flinch away and gather to run at sight of Allison. Stiles shook his
head at her quickly, and she stayed, trembling slightly.
Lydia lifted a hand, and Danny cut the feed from the hidden speakers. Kali
lifted her head instantly, snarling and starting to bound forward, the others a
step behind her. Danny rapidly turned it back on, and they howled again. Once
more was all it took before they stayed still, and stared at them, wary but
furious. Kali pulled the arrow from her shoulder and glared at Allison.
"Argent," she hissed. "I recognize you. All grown up and murdering with the
rest of them, aren't you?"
"You're not really in a place to talk," Danny said mildly.
Stiles didn't miss the sudden, tense fear in the twins behind Kali at the
Argent name. Maybe there were a few perks to the homicidal, nutty Hunter family
after all. He squeezed Erica's hand again, trying to be reassuring when she
couldn't hear a word.
"We're taking our friends. And you're going to leave," Lydia said evenly. "I
know what you do. You clean up Packs before they can kill enough to start a
war. Omegas and Packs with a corrupted or useless Alpha are a danger to all of
you. That's not what happened here. Derek Hale was never brought up to be an
Alpha. His family was respected, and now they're dead. He's learning, and he
has help. Cut him some slack."
Kali stood slowly, watching Allison's notched arrow. "I know Hale," she said
slowly. "He's no Alpha. He'd be less than Beta, just a rogue Omega if his
sister hadn't pushed him into place. He's weak. He'll fall apart. You cut the
head off a snake off before it bites, not after."
"He won't stay Alpha. But for now, he'll learn."
Stiles wanted to defend Derek, but there really wasn't a lot of ground to stand
on. No one had told Derek he failed at life more than Stiles, after all. But
that was different, he said it with affection or something. Kali was focused on
Lydia and Allison, but Stiles was pretty sure if he breathed wrong, she'd be at
his throat in a minute - specially constructed electronic, ear-bleeding dog
whistle or not. So he stayed quiet, for once. "We know about Peter. He can't
lead either," Kali said.
"He won't," Stiles said quickly. (Okay, maybe he wasn't going to stay entirely
quiet."
Kali shot him a look and then her dark eyes were back on Lydia. "Who, then?"
"Do you really have to ask?" Lydia said sweetly. "Five years. If in five years,
I'm not leading this Pack, and things are still out of balance, then you come
back."
Kali lifted an eyebrow. "Why five years? If you want the Pack, why haven't you
taken the Bite. Hale agreed to give you the Bite and then let you tear his
throat out?"
Danny cleared his throat. "We tracked your movements, according to sitings from
other Packs and Hunters. You take about that long to do a circuit of North
America."
"And the rest is none of your business," Lydia added.
"It's all my business, girl."
"My name is Lydia. You should probably learn it now," Lydia told her.
Kali touched her shoulder, the bleeding already slowed to a trickle. "If we
don't kill him, the Argents will. They'll be less gentle than we would have
been." Behind her one of the twins snickered, and Stiles seriously doubted just
how gentle their methods were.
"No, they won't," Allison said evenly. "And if you make a move against the Hale
pack, or any wolf in this territory, I've made sure to leave copies of your
bios and habits. Every Hunter in the country will be looking for you."
"This is our Pack. We protect it," Lydia said.
"Frail human pets or no," Stiles couldn't help adding.
Kali snorted, fingers running through the blood at her shoulder again, bringing
it to her mouth to lick clean. "We could still kill you," she said.
"But you won't," Lydia answered.
"Not now," Kali admitted. She turned her eyes on Erica and Boyd. "This is what
you want? A weak Pack and a host of humans?"
Stiles let go of Erica's hand long enough to pluck the plug from her ear. Boyd
pulled his out a second later and Erica nodded hastily. "Yes. Don't hurt
anyone, please."
"It's not us who'll get hurt," Allison said. Allison, Stiles decided, was
capable of being just as terrifying as Lydia. The world should probably be glad
they just wanted to take over a werewolf pack, and not plot domination, because
they could totally do it if they united their evil.
"We shouldn't have run to start with. And they just want to help," Boyd agreed
quickly, if with slightly less enthusiasm. "They're not your enemies, Kali."
Kali was quiet for a second, and then she nodded. "If we come back for them, we
come for you, too. All of you." She grinned, all teeth and threat. "And no
Argent bow will protect you then." She sobered, and for a moment the menace in
her expression gave way to something softer and haunted. Stiles shifted
uncomfortably - he knew that look too well. Derek had it, when he thought no
one was looking. So did Stiles' father. "A Hunter in your midst is a worse
threat than we will ever be. If you want to play Alpha, you'll need to pull the
viper from your nest. They'll always turn on you."
Stiles sagged in relief as Kali motioned for the others to follow, and then the
four of them disappeared, the screech of tires heralding their leaving. Allison
stared after them, looking lost until she shook it off, lowering her bow
finally and putting the arrow back in its quiver.
"Oh my GOD, I need like five beers and a valium," Stiles declared, breaking the
tension of the moment with deliberate lack of finesse. "Someone get me quality
prescription medication, stat."
Erica flung herself at him, hugging tight, and then did the same to Lydia -
much to Lydia's surprise. Boyd just squeezed Stiles' shoulder in a manly
fashion and watched as Erica rounded out her hug quota with Danny. "That was
amazing," he said quietly. His eyes met Allison's, and she looked away first.
"Thank you," he said, but it wasn't directed at Allison. His eyes flickered
gold, and he scanned the trees surrounding the clearing. "The other arrows?"
Danny grinned, holding up the phone. "Remote controlled."
Erica swung well away from Allison, who looked resigned. Stiles got it. It
would take more than one daring rescue to even the score, considering what
Allison had done to her and Boyd. "Remote controlled . . . meaning you could
have hit a button and hit us instead if we weren't standing exactly in the
right spot?" Erica said, voice slightly flat.
Damnit, she could have taken longer to catch on to that. Stiles clapped his
hands. "Hey, look at the time. Isn't it getting late? Or how about those
Cubbies? Pick your diversionary tactic here."
"Let's not hang around here waiting for the visiting team to come back and kill
us," Danny said. Which was just as much a diversion as Stiles' comments, but no
one glared at Danny for it, of course.
"Right, we have to go be killed by the werewolves who like us for leaving them
out of this," Stiles said, starting to herd everyone back toward the Jeep and
Allison's car. "I'm driving. Someone else gets to fill the Wonder Twins in on
what they missed. Oh - but big plus, no more snake and no more murdering
Argents."
"Aside from the one," Erica muttered.
Right. Okay, this was going to take some time.
***
Oh fuck it, not this again. "I don't want it," Stiles said heavily, swallowing
around the words. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the complete truth, either.
The little part that wasn't completely true didn't overwrite the rest.
Derek looked down, jaw tight. "Then stop coming around. Stop helping. Stop
almost getting killed. Stop getting in the way. Just stop. Why is that so hard
to understand?"
Stiles wanted to hit him, and he wanted to listen to him and just leave Derek
and the rest of them to their stupid werewolf shit and let them see how they
got along without his help. They'd had this conversation too many times, and it
wasn't even just Derek who said it anymore, or Peter with his snide
implications. It was Scott (the traitor, like he'd been jazzed to go wolfy at
first) or Isaac, staring at him big-eyed and worried, or Lydia with pursed lips
and a breezy tone, as if he was being stupid not to have done it already.
"Right, like it's that easy to just walk away. Like I even could. Like you
don't need-"
"I don't need you!" Derek growled. His eyes flashed red. Stiles was long past
being afraid of him, but sometimes he remembered that they were literally
another species and nothing about that was ever going to be at all normal. They
would always be coming at the world from different angles, no matter how much
he wanted that to not be true. (Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes the fact that
Stiles thought like an actual human being was the only thing keeping anyone
alive. He didn't get why everyone else didn't seem to realize that.)
"You do!" Stiles managed to say, but it was too soft and it took him a second
to rally, to yell again instead of be stung by it. "I know that it kills you to
actually need help from anyone, but you are basically functionally useless for
anything other than growling, and you need me! So just shut up and-"
"I have nothing to give you," Derek said, abrupt and low and the energy of the
room changed in just that second, with just that phrase. Stiles felt his
stomach drop and Derek's eyes were dark again when they met his. "If you don't
want the Bite, then there's nothing in any of this for you."
Stiles had never wanted to get anything out of it. "There's Scott, and Erica
and Isaac and-"
"You have them. You'll always have them. You'll have them if you leave and talk
over Skype. You'll have them if you fly home on holidays. You'll have them if
you help with homework but stay home when there's trouble. You don't have to DO
this to keep them," Derek said.
There was a lot there to unpack. Because, yeah, Stiles got it. Derek had almost
lost all of them, and he still didn't how to keep them together. It was
basically Lydia with assists from the rest of the Pack and their associates who
wove it all together. Derek had lost a lot before he even hit Scott and Stiles'
age. Derek believed they could all just vanish at the drop of a hat, and he
thought that there wasn't anything that could come between Stiles and Scott, or
Jackson and Lydia. But the thing was, Stiles was pretty sure that wasn't true.
Scott had practically vanished into Allison and the Bite at first, and the only
reason Stiles hadn't lost him then was that Stiles was tenacious and had
figured out what was going on before Scott had, which kept him from doing the
"stay away for their own good" thing that Jackson had tried with Danny and
Lydia. Stiles was human, and he was separate, and he talked too much and he
wanted things he couldn't have and it would be so, so easy to leave him behind,
if he wasn't useful. Derek didn't know that. Derek never knew. There was a list
of things Derek didn't know and it was long and storied and Stiles could make
him an itemized spreadsheet. Chief among them was that Derek was not the one
who could be left behind, or at least not the only one. But all he said was,
"you know what Skype is? Dude. No more Peter time for you, the world is a
better place if you stay a technophobe. The Betas are pretty lax about hiding
their porn and you'll find things you don't want to know if you start poking
around their laptops. Well, except Danny, seriously, I tried for twenty minutes
to get into a file he had encrypted to see what-"
"Stiles."
Stiles shut up, and Derek glared. Stiles babbling and Derek glaring made up
about 80% of their interaction, so it wasn't like it wasn't business as
freaking usual. But today it felt different. "I'm not looking for anything out
of it," Stiles finally said. "It's not how I work." Stiles didn't go into
things wondering what he'd get back out. He wasn't a saint. It wasn't as if he
didn't like when he got pats on the back and proved he was basically more
awesome than could be summed up in words. And he couldn't flat out deny he
wasn't drawn to the danger of it all, even if he usually rethought that when he
was a step away from dying of some new monstrous thing that came to visit. But
he wasn't in it for anything except to help, and because he wanted to be.
And maybe he needed to be needed. Derek didn't have the monopoly on abandonment
issues.
"You think I don't know that?" Derek asked. "You don't want anything, except to
be there, but I- we can't keep you safe."
Keep him safe, like Stiles was a toddler who kept putting his hand on the
stove. "I didn't ask you to keep me safe! I take full autonomy for my safety. I
did not ask for a nanny, and lets not forget that there have been multiple
occasions when you were the one putting people in danger or taking danger and
making it like, ten time worse because you have poor communication skills and-"
Stiles stopped because the fight whooshed out of Derek like the air had been
sucked out of him and replaced with something weary and sad. Stiles knew how to
deal with Derek being angry. He knew how to deal with Derek being irrationally
and needlessly shirtless, and how to deal with him being technologically inept,
and how to deal with him being full of thwarted werewolf rage. Stiles never
knew how to deal with sad because Derek rarely wanted anyone to see, which
Stiles understood. Stiles spent the year after his mom died pretty learning how
to not look like he was a step away from crying every time he thought about
her. Hiding sadness was familiar and Stiles was the last one who'd ever break
the bro code by mentioning it, even if they weren't technically bros. They
basically had an understanding of being too manly for feelings aside from
mutual annoyance or panic (mostly on Stiles' part, that one). But Derek
deflated, and he seemed . . . smaller and tired, and Stiles wanted . . . he
just wanted. Being angry was easier than wanting to help someone when you'd
never figured out how to fix yourself, let alone anyone else.
Derek ran a hand over his face and he just looked at Stiles for a long enough
beat of time that Stiles started to wonder if he'd missed something, if he'd
blinked or drifted and some piece of vital conversation had been lost. But then
Derek just shook his head. "I know," he said.
Stiles had to run back what he'd said until he found what it was Derek knew,
and then he grimaced. "Hey, I didn't mean . . . it's not like we've done that
for a while. Make things worse for each other. I know you don't mean. . . I
mean we're friends now. Past history of bad interpersonal moments is just . . .
history."
Derek was watching him, dark-eyed and intent and Stiles wanted to fidget and
move away, but stopped himself. "Are we friends?"
Stiles swallowed. "We're friendly?" he tried. He wasn't a wolf. He wasn't
Isaac, who could crash at Scott's one night and then spend a weekend with Derek
and sneak fries off his plate at dinner, or Erica who could cuddle up against
Derek's side and he'd just let her. He and Derek didn't have that. But they had
something. Stiles had to believe that. "Aren't we?"
Derek smiled. "Yeah, Stiles. We are." He had a nice smile. Damn him.
"Yeah. I mean you're not actually very good at it, but we are." Derek snorted
and looked down, and Stiles considered regretting his need to have the last
word. It felt like the end of a conversation, and Stiles knew the cues well
enough to know he should probably walk away now. He should just get in his Jeep
and drive home and the status-quo was maintained. He wasn't getting Bitten,
Derek would deal with it. Stiles would try not to come so close to fragile,
human death for a while and things would just go on the way they were until . .
. something changed. But he didn't move, didn't leave, and after a second Derek
made a sound.
Stiles had a pretty in-depth knowledge of growl-sounds. He knew growls for
hungry, for annoyed, for pained, for ready-to-tear-throats-out, for afraid. He
dealt with a lot of werewolves, and Stiles learned quickly. But this was
different. The only comparison he had was the time he'd been at the vet,
waiting for Scott when a cat came in with a thorn stuck in its paw. It had
snarled in equal parts threat, fear, and pain when Scott held it down and
Deaton had pulled the thorn out. It had been sort of weirdly adorable and oddly
funny, mostly because it was all of about five pounds and had been pretty sure
if it tried hard enough, it could claw its way through Scott's hands to freedom
and victory. Stiles had named it Lion-O, and given it a bite of his tuna
sandwich, once it was safely caged and no longer full of righteous fury. Scott
hadn't been thrilled. But Stiles remembered the noise it made.
It sounded really different on Derek, but at the same time not all that
different, either. Stiles opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was about,
when Derek muttered something that sounded like if Lydia's wrong, I'll kill
her. And then his opportunity was gone because his mouth was busy.
Oh god, his mouth was busy because Derek's was pressing against it. It was deep
and artless and sort of unpleasantly hard, but Stiles absolutely did not care
at all because Derek's hands were cupping his face and Stiles was making a
sound that was probably deeply embarrassing. His hands scrabbled up to grip at
Derek's neck, the other fisting into his shirt. Their noses bumped and it was
hectic and messy and terrible. But it was a kiss. It was an actual, Derek-
initiated kiss and Stiles felt like there should be heavenly bells from on high
or something, to signal the miracle that this was, because he'd been pretty
positive this was never going to happen. If somehow it had happened, he'd been
sure it would be because Stiles cracked under the barrage of sexy glowering and
would be immediately followed by being shoved off. That wasn't even close to
happening.
Then Derek tipped his head, and curled an arm around Stiles and his mouth
softened and it turned into a good kiss. Like a really good kiss. For all that
the world at large thought Stiles was a hopeless virgin - the world had it
pretty wrong. Admittedly, that was because his best friend was a werewolf who
somehow caught polyamory from Stiles' former (okay, not former) crush and then
had initiated Stiles into the ranks. The Pack was messy and physical and Stiles
wasn't wolf enough to be there for all of it, but they had lips and reaching
hands and Erica had a mouth that left lipstick rings in interesting places.
The point was that Stiles was not completely out of his depth. He'd been in
love with Lydia for years. He'd gotten over it, mostly, and it wasn't like he'd
been fixating entirely on Derek. (See: Pack sexy times. There were few things
more distracting than Danny and Lydia giving collective lessons on giving head,
and then letting people practice, for example.) But the kiss settled in and
Derek was solid and warm and Stiles felt like he'd been waiting for this but
hadn't known it. The part of Stiles' brain that always ran too-fast and failed
to focus didn't quite go away (making out was not an ADD cure) but it seemed to
quiet, just for a minute, and let Stiles sink into the kiss, and the feel of
it. Even without the fangs and the fur, Stiles felt like he belonged instead of
like he had to carve out a space for himself before someone took it away.
Derek broke away from his mouth and buried his face in Stiles' neck, breathing
in ragged and deep. He had an inch and a good 70 pounds on Stiles, probably,
but Stiles felt like he was the one holding them up. It was a good feeling.
"You always smell like them," Derek mumbled. He sounded annoyed about it, and
it made Stiles grin. "They were always all over you, but I wasn't."
"You can be all over me, too." Stiles paused. "I didn't actually mean that to
sound like a cheap line, but if that's how you want to take it, I'm okay with
it."
Derek growled, and it sent a shiver down Stiles' spine. He curled his fingers
into Derek's hair and yanked until he lifted his head and Stiles could kiss him
again. "Lydia told you to make a move, didn't she? How are you whipped by a
redhead who isn't even a wolf yet?" he asked between heated, deep kisses. Derek
was walking them both back step by step until Stiles' back was against a wall
and Derek could press up against him. Stiles wondered why today had to be the
one day Derek wore an actual shirt like the kind with sleeves. It was
completely unfair.
Derek made a face. "She . . . suggested. Strongly."
"She does that," Stiles answered, laughing. Derek's teeth scraped against his
throat, and Stiles made that embarrassingly whiny sound in his throat. Stiles
would worry about it more, but Derek seemed to like it. "You're still not
biting me, dude." Derek lifted his head and arched an eyebrow, head tilting
before he leaned in and, deliberate and slow, nipped at Stiles' lip.
Stiles drew a shaky breath and amended, "okay. . . not biting enough to draw
blood." Derek laughed against his skin and kissed him again. Stiles was charmed
by the laugh and couldn't even be bothered to care about the fact that the move
to put him wall-adjacent had put them into the line of view of two betas and a
redhead with a camera phone.
He probably owed Lydia a few choice shots, anyway.
***

                               Me: hey, u busy?
                              Red Queen: Always.
                  Me: rephrasing. bored. u should talk 2 me.
                       Red Queen: Where's everyone else?
                 Me: shopping. wolfing. guess which is which.
    Red Queen: I already know Jackson took Derek and Isaac for clothes that
                                 actually fit.
Me: u aren't fun. erica and boyd had a fight thing. the 'leave the toilet seat
   down' kind of fight not the real thing. went running. scott at allisons.
                          Red Queen: I'll get online.
Stiles set down his phone and fired up his laptop, opening up Skype and waiting
for Lydia. He spared a look for his room to see if there was anything
embarrassing lying around, because Lydia was supreme ruler of screen-shotting
everything he didn't want her to see and then sharing it with the world at
large. He hadn't actually been hanging out at home all that often though, so
his room was neat enough. There wasn't even a pair of superhero-themed
underwear hanging around, since it wasn't close enough to laundry day for him
to have whipped them out.
When Lydia popped up, it was with the laboratory background Stiles was getting
used to seeing, but it wasn't Lydia. "Man, you guys must live there," he said.
"She mostly does," Tania said. "I still try to sleep in my actual room. She
said she'd be here in a minute, she's working on an equation."
"She should be paying you, Tan," Stiles said.
Tania laughed. Whenever her eyes caught the camera squarely, it flared a little
too gold, like JJ Abrams was smearing on the lens-flare. But Stiles was used to
it. "She mostly just buys me lunch," Tania said.
And clothes, if Stiles was any judge, since the top Tania wore was not a tee-
shirt of some random 80's cartoon franchise, the way it usually was. He liked
Tania, and sort of resented if Lydia was axing her love of Transformers, since
it had sparked one of the most satisfying Optimus VS. Starscream debates he'd
ever had. (Scott was a lousy debate partner, since they always liked the same
characters as kids.) He liked Tania. He'd asked Lydia once if she thought about
bringing Tania back into the Pack to up the estrogen levels, and Lydia had said
Tania had a Pack of her own. But still, he wouldn't mind, she was nerd-cute,
too, which Stiles appreciated, since he was currently the only non-perfect-abs
person in their Pack. "So how's it going, anyway? Did you ever actually ask out
the girl in your Lit class?"
Tania looked resigned. "Straight," she said. Stiles clucked in sympathy, but
Tania didn't look all that upset. Stiles just hoped she got a girlfriend (or
boyfriend) soon enough that she got over her Lydia adoration. Stiles knew the
signs, and he was pretty sure their Pack's sex arrangement did not apply to
non-Pack members. "What about you? Isaac said you and Derek were trying an
actual date when he and Lydia talked the other day."
"Oh my God, it was a disaster. I managed to drop his phone into his soup, he
terrified the waiter into dumping lemonade onto my lap, and then Jackson called
halfway through and made us come pick him up because he'd run his Porsche into
a pole trying not to hit a dog. And then he kept the dog and put it in the back
of Derek's car and it ate the edge of the seat and growled at Derek the entire
ride. Allison ended up taking it home, and Scott is pretty sure it's a she and
pregnant, so Erica and Isaac want puppies and Allison's dad is blaming Derek,
and Derek is blaming Jackson, and I got exactly zero percent laid that night,"
Stiles burst out, laughing.
Though really, the not getting laid part had sucked, and so had the fact that
Derek had grumbled that they were never doing this again. Because yeah, having
a bunch of hot people who let you make out with them was cool. But it was
always Stiles in the middle of all of them, or Stiles with Derek, and then they
never talked about it. Stiles didn't actually know if Derek was availing
himself of the open invitations when Stiles wasn't there, or if Stiles was
supposed to abstain. Plus there was pretty much always Pack around, so when
they were together it was always rushed and the idea of an actual date had
seemed good at the time. It still did, except for how Derek now refused to even
entertain the idea and Stiles was not pathetic enough to bring it up again.
But other than that, it was still pretty funny.
Tania laughed too. "Okay, that's worse than asking a straight girl to coffee,"
she admitted.
Stiles frowned. "She wasn't like, a jerk about it was she?"
"Nah, she was fine. Said she was flattered, but not interested, basically."
"Sucks. But points for asking, I mean that took guts, right?"
Tania smiled. "That's what Lydia said, too." Stiles suspected the newfound
confidence was courtesy of their future Alpha, too. "I've got to go check some
results, Lyd'll be in here in a minute. I'll talk to you later. Tell Danny I
said hi, okay?" She wiggled her fingers in a little wave at the screen and then
got up and walked out of frame.
Stiles pulled up Bejeweled, playing in another window until Lydia sat down. Her
hair was pulled up in a bun and she had less makeup than Stiles ever saw her
wear when she was in public, back home. She looked tired, but not in a bad way.
Being a super-genius Yale girl agreed with her, like most things did. "Tania
looks good," he said by way of hello.
"She's coming along," Lydia said, and blurred past the screen a little as she
reached for a coffee and then sat back again, sipping it. "So you're all alone
at home? Why didn't you go with the boys and get something that isn't a hood
and layers of cheap poly-blend to wear?"
"Uh, because I don't need Jackson to buy me clothes?" Stiles told her.
She snorted delicately. "He can suck your dick, but not buy you a shirt? It's
only money."
"So says the girl who always has some."
"Exactly."
Stiles sighed. "He can buy me a shirt for Christmas or something, okay?" He
didn't really want to argue about this, since it wasn't the first time it had
come up. There had been the time his Jeep needed five hundred bucks in repairs,
and the time his dad's insurance lapsed because of his brief non-employed
period and Stiles' meds hadn't been covered, and a few other times. He
basically had a quota of times he could argue about people paying for his shit,
and he was way the hell over it already.
Lydia let it go. Bless her. "So what's wrong?"
Stiles sank back in his chair. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess." Lydia lifted
an eyebrow, waiting, and he sighed. "My dad found out." Lydia still just
waited, and Stiles hated himself a little for how well that technique worked on
him. Derek did it too. (Though with more glaring.) "Scott's mom told him about
the werewolf stuff, and then he came to me and it just . . . all came out." The
history of almost dying, the Hunters, the supernatural, the witchcraft stuff
Stiles was sort of learning.
"What did he say?" Lydia asked.
"He was. . . I mean he freaked out a while, and yelled, but mostly. God, Lydia,
he was so hurt. About how much I'd lied to him. And we finally got through it
all, and he looked so tired, and asked if there was anything else, and I just
couldn't lie to him again. I already felt like the worst son ever."
Lydia smiled wryly. "So then you told him you were sleeping with a werewolf?"
she guessed.
Stiles rubbed a hand across his face. "Yeah. The bisexual thing threw him, but
only because he was surprised, you know? But the older guy, werewolf, son-
lying-to-him-for-years thing. . ." Stiles shrugged. "It's like I looked up all
the ways to be a screw up and then did them all at once, you know?"
"Except for where you pull a 3.5 GPA, take online classes, regularly help him
with cases, and take care of him and your friends," Lydia pointed out.
She had a point, but Stiles wasn't ready to admit it. "And the thing is - I'm
still not even really telling the truth, since I'm not actually dating a
werewolf, even if that's the impression he got. I just sort of . . . save his
life frequently and sleep with him even more regularly while also screwing
around with his entire Pack and arguing with him and not knowing what the hell
I'm doing. How do you explain that?"
"You're dating Derek," Lydia said.
Stiles blinked at her. "What?"
"You're ridiculous, you know that? Pack is Pack, you've been around them enough
to know what makes them happy, and how they need each other. With our Pack,
we're not related - mostly - and it works best with everyone as an . . . I
don't know."
"Orgy," Stiles supplied.
Lydia didn't accept the term, but didn't argue it, either. "But that's how we
work. It doesn't change how Derek feels about you. You. Are. Together."
"I literally have no actual clue how Derek feels about the parts of me he
doesn't have sex with."
"I have no actual clue why I'm being forced to have this conversation with you
when you should be having it with Derek," Lydia countered.
"Point," Stiles said, mostly because he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
He hunched his shoulders, moving another few Bejeweled rows and then looking
back at Lydia, who was doodling on a notebook while she talked to him. "He
asked me why I didn't just leave. My dad, not Derek. I had to explain how the
danger thing doesn't happen that often anymore, and somehow it turned into me
promising him that I wasn't doing anything they needed, and then he just
started trying to convince me to leave, and get away from it all." Stiles bit
his lip and looked at Lydia. "You're . . . at Yale. Kicking ass, taking names.
You're beautiful, rich, smarter than everyone. Do you ever think about just
walking away from this mess?"
Lydia stopped her doodling, looking down. "Once," she admitted. "There were
girls in my Eco class talking about summer in Paris, and they said I should
come. And I thought 'I could do that', just for a second." She half smiled.
"But then I thought of Jackson, and of you and Allison and Scott and home, and
I knew it wasn't what I wanted. Not for more than a second it took to think
about it. If you don't know that too, Stiles . . ."
"I do," Stiles said. "I just don't want to let my dad down anymore."
"So don't. Get your degree, make him dinners, and don't die. He loves you,
he'll get used to the rest," Lydia said.
"Do you ever think about telling your parents?"
Lydia lifted an eyebrow again. "My parents are not like your dad, Stiles. It's
not the same."
"So that's a no?" Stiles didn't wait for an answer. "We miss you, you know. You
should take a weekend and visit."
"If I do, will you wear a new shirt?"
Stiles pursed his lips. "You are hurtful and manipulative," he informed her.
"But fine."
"Tell the others I said hello," Lydia said.
"Will do . . . hey, do you happen to know if Derek is actually screwing the
rest of the Pack, too? Because that is kind of a topic we haven't broached
yet."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Use your words and ask him yourself, you idiot."
"Your boyfriend is having puppies," Stiles said, just to be a dick. Lydia made
a distinctly rude gesture and disconnected.
***
"Seriously, Stilinski? This is what you called us down for?" Jackson had been
upstairs in Isaac's room with Scott. From the flush in his cheeks and the
finger-tangled state of Scott's curls, it was blatantly obvious what they'd
been doing.
"Yeah, I'm so sorry to interrupt the intense 'studying session'," Stiles said
dryly, complete with obnoxious finger quotes. Scott flushed, and Jackson just
smirked. Surprisingly, there was an actual large amount of studying going on
when Jackson and Scott were tucked into a room. (Though not this time,
clearly.) Whatever his flaws (many, many flaws), Jackson was smart and focused
and had somehow proven to be better at helping Scott with his homework than
Stiles ever had been. Scott would make a good vet, eventually, with Deaton's
help, but the classes weren't easy for him. Jackson had years of exposure to
Lydia, and Stiles was convinced that had helped him somehow understand how to
break math and science down into easier concepts for someone less skilled.
Since Jackson was smart, but Lydia was in another league. "But I've told you
like ten times this week, so this is my last stand. You have to learn. I will
start smacking you with a rolled up newspaper."
Jackson's jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. "Stilinski . . ."
"Just do it, otherwise he'll keep nagging about it," Scott said.
Stiles pointed at him. "Listen to the voice of wisdom and experience,
Whittemore. Scott speaks only the truth. Though I object to the term 'nag'."
Jackson glared some more, and then walked over and very deliberately picked up
the coffee mug he'd left on the counter, wiped the ring beneath it, and then
put it in the dishwasher.
Stiles grinned. "Good boy." He held out a cookie. "Who's a good boy? Yesss,
Jackson's a good boy, yes he is."
Scott laughed as Jackson swatted the cookie aside. Jackson started to say
something - probably some kind of empty threat - and Stiles took the
opportunity to swoop in and kiss him instead.
Unlike the others, Jackson was still surprised by that kind of thing, coming
from anyone but Scott or Allison (or Lydia, when she was home). But he relaxed
after a second, kissing back and then giving Stiles a none-too-gentle shove
back against the counter, following and pinning him there. "One of these days,"
he threatened vaguely.
Jackson wouldn't actually hurt him, and Stiles suspected that, much to
Jackson's horror, he was actually fond of Stiles, but it still made his heart
speed a step when Jackson's fingers curled at his throat, and then drifted to
his shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise. He trailed his mouth along
Stiles' throat, dragging back up toward his mouth and scraping his teeth along
bare skin. Scott stepped up behind him, mouthing at the back of Jackson's neck.
Stiles was anticipating the kiss at the end of that trail Jackson's mouth was
on when suddenly Scott and Jackson both froze. They backed down and away, fluid
and sudden, the same moment as a low, dangerous growl came from the doorway.
Jackson's eyes were dropped, faint tremble in his limbs. But Scott frowned at
Derek. "He wasn't hurting him," he protested.
Stiles caught his breath and then scowled. "What the hell was that?"
The stone-faced fury and red eyes faded, and Derek actually looked sheepish.
"I'm sorry. His teeth were . . . I've been trying . . ." he swallowed, and then
gestured. "It's fine, go on, I'll just go."
Okay, Stiles was not having this. It'd been months since he asked Lydia about
the state of the sex-with-others union, and he'd managed to find out that yeah,
Derek was not staying constantly celibate when Stiles wasn't around. But for
whatever reason, he was never there WHEN Stiles was with the others. And Stiles
was starting to get a complex about it. "Seriously? You're just going to growl
and go? Do you have an actual problem with me doing what everyone else here
does or something? Because if so, that's something that should come up."
Derek's jaw flexed. "No."
"You are not mono-syllable-ing this. I don't know . . . look, if there's some
rule where you get to sleep with them and I don't, then you have to tell me. Or
if you want-"
"It's not like that," Derek interrupted.
Scott looked from Stiles to Derek and then caught Jackson by the arm. "We'll
just-"
"No, nothing else in the Pack is private, why should this be?" Stiles snapped,
hanging on to Jackson's other arm. (Jackson no longer looked like he was
worried about his throat being ripped out, but he was less than thrilled about
being the man in the middle, either. Stiles had zero interest in catering to
Jackson at the moment though.) "Is this like . . . because I'm not Pack?
Because I'm human, I'm not allowed to be . . . with them WITH you? It has to be
separate? Is it because you want them more?" Which made very little sense when
he thought about it, but it was how Stiles felt, anyway.
"Jesus, Stilinski, you're stupid," Jackson grumbled.
Stiles seriously considered clubbing him over the head with his dirty coffee
mug. He might have done it if it wasn't already in the dishwasher.
Derek looked like he was considering the same thing, but then he just shook his
head. "It's because they're Pack. But that's not really it."
"Well, that clears that RIGHT up, thanks," Stiles grumbled. It hurt though,
because Stiles was more upset than rational, and it sounded too close to the
things he was most afraid of when he let himself worry about it.
"It's because we're Pack, but you're his mate," Scott said suddenly. Stiles
turned to gape at him, but Scott wasn't looking at him. He was staring at
Derek. "Right?"
Derek kind of looked like he'd swallowed something poisonous and was a step
away from heaving it back up. (Sadly, that was an expression Stiles actually
knew from experience.) His eyes flickered toward Scott, but settled back on
Stiles, and then he nodded slowly.
"Like me and Allison, and Jackson and Lydia," Scott said earnestly. "I didn't
know if I could at first, either, because Allison is . . . but it's okay, when
it's Pack. Because I know they know she's mine, and I'm hers, and Jackson's
Lydia's . . ."
"We're ALL Lydia's," Stiles couldn't help muttering.
Scott ignored him. "We know. We don't want to take him, we just want to be a
part of you and him."
Stiles felt something a little fragile and sharp prick in his chest, because
that was something he knew exactly how to want, and had no idea how to actually
express. Derek didn't look much better, and he was searching Stiles' face like
there were answers there. "It's different for an Alpha. There's things . . . if
there's others there, I won't be able to help," he said awkwardly. "It's better
if-"
Oh. OH. Stiles knew this. Peter's creepy tendency toward TMI and Tania's wealth
of werewolf knowledge and his extensive 'net surfing had all led to Stiles
having information that he didn't always share because it was dubious or
disturbing. But he knew this. And he'd wondered, but never asked, because how
did you ask? So he'd just read choice bits of bad porn out loud now and then
until Derek looked murderous about it. But he knew about this. "You mean
claiming. I know . . . look I'm on the net a LOT and Peter tells me things
because he likes the look on my face when I'm contemplating clawing out my own
eardrums so I don't have to listen. . . what I'm saying is I know. And I'm good
with it. So good. I've almost . . . look as long as there is lube involved and
it's what you want . . . seriously, Derek. I want," Stiles stumbled through.
Jackson looked from where Derek was staring to Stiles' face and then snorted.
"What the hell are you talking about? I know you two have been screwing already
so-"
Derek ignored him (Stiles could almost feel Jackson's inner drama queen
starting to seethe at so much ignoring of his mouth and the things it was
saying) and took a step closer to Stiles, eyes huge and skin a shade too pale.
"You don't get it. Stiles, you're just a k-"
"If you say I'm just a kid after all the times I've had your dick in my mouth,
I'm going to hurt you," Stiles said. "Kick to the nads levels of hurt."
Derek growled and then rephrased - thankfully. "You're young. And if I claim
you, I won't be able to let you go. Not without . . . it will mean you're mine,
do you get that?"
"So not sleeping with Pack, you mean?" Stiles was infinitely glad Scott asked
that, because it meant he didn't have to.
Derek shook his head. "No. That's not . . . it's not about sex. I don't care if
you're with them . . ." he trailed off and then amended with an amount of
honesty that Stiles thought was probably painful for him. (Though he no longer
looked like he was a step from heaving, so that was probably a step up.) "I
like it. That you're with them. I like the thought of it and the smell of it
because it means you're . . . pulled in further. But if an Alpha claims a mate
he - she - can't let them go. Not even if it works, and Lydia ends up Alpha . .
. I'll be bound to you. And when you change your mind and want out of his life,
you won't be able to. You'll feel it, too. You'll feel like mine, and I'll feel
like yours, and you'll be stuck."
Stuck was probably a bad choice of words, considering the methods at work and
Stiles would probably normally have blundered right into saying that. But he
was too busy feeling that same sharp edge in his chest because of just how
badly he wanted Derek to be stuck, and Stiles to feel like there wasn't
anything that could take that away from him. "Oh my god, please. I will get on
my knees for begging or other purposes, but I want that. I want to keep you."
Derek stepped forward then, and he yanked Stiles against his chest. (Jackson
was summarily dragged along since Stiles still had a death grip on his arm. He
noticed the guy was not complaining about it with Derek that close, though.)
"It was never me who would leave," he said. Stiles would have argued that too,
but then Derek's mouth was against Stiles' mouth and his hands were taut on
Stiles' hips. Stiles finally let go of Jackson to clutch at Derek instead,
fingers frantic with buttons and zippers without getting very far because he
had no coordination at moments like these. Derek's hands were rough as they
touched him, wandering everywhere but leaving Stiles to do all the work of
getting them naked, his mouth barely breaking away from Stiles' until he
finally pulled away, looking past Stiles. "Stay. Come." he said.
Stiles was a breath from saying he wasn't going anywhere, and that he planned
to come a lot when he realized it wasn't him Derek was talking to. Scott and
Jackson stood uncertainly, but both of them were dark-eyed and hard in their
jeans. Stiles gave a vague sort of thumbs up of approval before he was being
dragged backwards, down the hall and toward Derek's room. Derek was all but
hauling him along. "You are a caveman," he complained. Derek grunted, and then
Stiles' back was on Derek's bed (he had sort of expected it to be rock hard and
covered with sticks to poke him in vulnerable places and remind Derek nightly
how much he hated life, the first time, but it was actually plush and smelled
like the good kind of laundry detergent) and Derek was finishing the job of
stripping them.
Stiles couldn't even tell if Scott and Jackson followed until he felt the bed
dip next to his head. He turned enough to see Jackson's back against the
headboard, Scott hovering over him, kissing him. Both of them were watching
Stiles and Derek between kisses, and Stiles was surprised how low that was on
the embarrassing scale. It was actually weighting much further toward
incredibly hot. Stiles thought his brain was probably permanently warped from
living half his life in a werewolf orgy, but he wasn't complaining about it.
Stiles had gotten pretty good at multi-tasking when it came to sex. But this
was different, and he found himself lost to the slide of Derek's hands and the
heat of his mouth and body. It all blurred together and he was kissing and
touching and talking without having the slightest idea what he was saying.
Though from the stray snorts of laughter or groans from Derek and the peanut
gallery, it was probably either funny or hot or both. He didn't want to come,
wanted to wait until Derek was full and hard inside him, but Derek's
unnaturally talented tongue sort of killed that idea.
It didn't seem to matter though, since Derek was teasing him open with fingers
and tongue before Stiles could even come down at all from orgasm. Derek's growl
of satisfaction vibrated against Stiles' skin. Whatever thought his dick had of
softening at all vanished under the assault, and then he was bucking
practically off the bed when Scott leaned over him, tongue against his stomach
- licking the come from his skin. Jackson leaned in to do the same a moment
later, mouths tangling above Stiles' stomach, sharing the taste of it.
Derek lifted his head, and there was a darkly content look tangled up with
enough want that it leveled Stiles to see it. He still felt like the awkward
kid who couldn't get a date and fantasized about Lydia Martin, half the time.
But that kid wouldn't have Derek Hale staring at him like that, and Stiles
whimpered again, hands finding Scott's hair because it was closest. "Please, oh
my God, Derek, I'm going to kill you, I need-"
"Shhh. Soon," Derek promised, and pressed a fourth finger inside him. Stiles
felt full and pained and so, so wide open and eager to be fucked that it was
probably illegal in every southern state. He clutched at Scott and Jackson,
since they were there, and could vaguely see them moving in and out of the
corners of his eyes, pawing at each other and watching their Alpha and Stiles.
Finally, finally Derek was moving up, kissing Stiles and then rolling him over,
pulling him up onto his knees. Stiles went with it, face pressed into the bed
until someone (Scott?) shoved a pillow under his head and Stiles turned his
face, watching Jackson hover over Scott, fucking himself slow and sinuous on
Scott's dick. It was hot to watch, and probably always would be, but Stiles
stopped paying attention a second later, because Derek was sliding inside him,
curling over his back and pounding into him. Derek was never exactly careful,
because he was Derek, and Stiles wasn't a fragile flower, and half the time
they were fucking on the heels of an argument of some kind, so there was always
a charge to it. But it was different, this time. Stiles felt filled and owned
and he started to curl his fingers into the sheets, but then Jackson's hand
slid into his, holding tight and Stiles gripped it instead. His other hand slid
down to wrap around his dick, but Derek caught it, batting it away, touching
him instead as he thrust into Stiles, fast and urgent.
And then he felt it, the new, swollen thickness that was pushing against him.
Knot, his brain supplied, and he must have said it aloud, because he dimly
heard Jackson say Jesus fucking CHRIST, but Stiles only paid attention to the
way Derek's hips stuttered, and his head dropped to Stiles' back, trembling
with the effort of making himself stop. "Stiles?" he asked.
"Yes," Stiles said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. He said
it with his body instead, pushing back, and then Derek was groaning and shoving
forward.
It hurt. It was uncomfortable and too-full and it stretched him and swelled
tighter and Derek was just. . . locked there. The pain became secondary, a side
note to the feeling of having Derek linked to him, filling him up. Stuck inside
him. Derek was rolling his hips in these tight, frantic motions and the swollen
knot of his dick pressed against nerves inside and Stiles could feel Derek
coming, hear the growl that sounded as loud as a roar above him. And then
Stiles' head was rushing and he was making sound he couldn't hear above the
white noise in his head as he came across Derek's hand. His vision swam and
pleasure rushed through him so hard Stiles was dangerously close to swooning
like the heroine in a bad romance novel.
Stiles' head was fuzzy and he didn't really rouse from panting, slightly
uncomfortable bliss until he was turned on his side, Derek spooned up against
his back, still locked inside him. Stiles was sensitized and wrung out and that
"slightly uncomfortable" was in danger of turning into more than slightly. But
he was grinning, and he curled his hand around Derek's where Derek's arm locked
around him. Scott and Jackson looked wrecked beside them, and Stiles didn't
miss the way they both looked to Derek for permission before leaning in,
kissing Stiles one after the other, and then doing the same to Derek. Someone's
hand drifted down Stiles' side, touched between the cheeks of his ass, where he
and Derek were still connected. Derek let them, and watched as Scott got up,
coming back with a wet washcloth and cleaning up first Stiles, and then
Jackson, trading quiet kisses and whispered words Stiles was too sleepy to
catch until Scott curled up next to him. "You smell like Derek now," he said
quietly.
"Uhh. . . kind of a reason for that," Stiles said. "You know. Sex. Still have
his cock in my ass." Which he should possibly have more shame about in company,
considering, but he couldn't be bothered.
Scott snorted, but shook his head. Jackson said it for him though. "No, it's
deeper. Permanent. You can smell the link, now."
"We can with Lydia and Jackson, or Allison and me, too. It's just . . .
different with the Alpha." Scott grinned. "No knot, for one."
"Too bad," Jackson said. "Looked fun."
Stiles snuggled back against Derek and grinned. "Actually . . . Allison found a
dildo online. She linked Lydia. Just wait for Christmas, dude."
Jackson's face was an intriguing mix of interested and worried, and Stiles
laughed and tipped his head for Derek's kiss, the angle awkward but the kiss
perfect anyway. "Good?" he asked Derek.
Derek smiled, and Stiles was seriously not the sappy type (mostly), but he was
pretty sure he'd never seen anything brighter than his wolf smiling like that,
as if he'd forgotten for a little while that there was anything to be miserable
about. "Good," was all he said though.
Stiles snorted. Like it would kill the guy to say it. "I want it on record that
I'm the bigger man, and I'm saying it first. Love you. Asshole."
Derek still didn't say it. But his hand spread on Stiles' stomach and his smile
was wide against Stiles' neck.
***
"THIS is your solution?" Lydia asked, and Stiles cringed at her tone.
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Danny beat him to it. "Video
conferencing for this many people is hard to do, and not everyone has the
hardware or connection to do it. This is simpler, pretty much any system can
run the client, and it's on a dedicated server. So we control who accesses it,
can keep server logs, and if anyone is shy about showing their face at first,
they can ease into the community without risking it. It's a good compromise."
Lydia looked dubiously at the log-in screen, and then pursed her lips. "I want
to be an elf," she said.
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. He let Danny get Lydia started while Stiles
went to bully Jackson into actually making a toon, get Erica and Boyd to stop
running off to go kill things, and make Scott re-roll because they were all
Horde and he wouldn't be able to talk if he was a gnome. Derek had been
extensively coached already, and was hijacking Stiles' phone to play Zombie
Farm while his sullen, default Orc waited for the others to come online.
Normally Stiles would bitch about him screwing up his farm, but he was too
grateful Derek was where he was supposed to be to bother.
Between getting his Pack online, and getting everyone ELSE'S Pack all ported to
the right area for the meet up, the meeting started a good two hours behind
schedule. Lydia's predictably pretty, redheaded Blood Elf Mage avatar stood
atop the bank in Ogrimmar, using it as a makeshift stage, Danny's GM beside her
in blue and black. The rest of them milled in random spots. Isaac's Tauren kept
jumping from roof to ground and back again until Danny used his magic GM powers
to freeze him in place.
There were a little over 100 wolves (and Stiles) logged on, and half barely
knew how to use either the chat interface (for those without headsets) or the
Vent server (for those who had them). Of the ones that did, there were seven
who kept complaining how much they hated WoW, and four that kept whispering him
and Danny to ask for epic purple shit. (He hooked Tania up with some serious
Epic bling, but only because he liked her and she didn't bug him for it.) It
took another ten minutes for him to teach everyone how to /sit, and then
convince them that hitting the space bar (damnit, Isaac) or dueling would turn
off /sit and could they please cut that shit out for now?
So basically, it was going better than expected.
"Okay, everyone quiet," Lydia ordered into her headset. It quieted the chatter,
temporarily. She probably chalked it up to her divine Alpha skills, but it was
mostly because Stiles had everyone else muted. "My name is Lydia Martin. Most
of you have already spoken to me online. I'm Alpha of the Hale pack. My Second
is Danny Mahealani, and Derek and Peter Hale are here to represent the Hales.
To keep this from complete chaos, you have your. . . character stand when you
want to speak, and then we'll give you the floor, so to speak."
An angry looking male Undead in the back stood, and Stiles checked the
character against the Vent, and then unmuted them. "What about your pet
Argent?" the female voice asked. Stiles recognized Kali and grimaced as a few
dozen people tried to speak up at once, typing when they realized they were
muted and flooding the screen with text.
Lydia managed to quiet them. On the roof her elf kept turning in circles when
she left her hand on the arrow keys. "She's not here, but she will be, once she
has the Bite, which she will soon. She's a friend and a member of my Pack, but
I don't ask you to accept that until she's a wolf." Allison not even being in
the room had been harder for Scott and Lydia to take than Allison, actually.
She'd expected to not get an invite. Stiles had been of the opinion that she
should just read over someone's shoulder and no one needed to be the wiser, but
Boyd and Scott had started making noises about being honest, so Stiles had just
left it.
Kali snarled, but didn't hold the button to speak, so it cut off on its own.
A goblin girl in the front stood, and Stiles unmuted her. A soft spoken man's
voice came over the Vent. "We've all read your outline and reasoning, and
understand what you want to do. But more visibility is dangerous. One Argent on
our side doesn't change the rest against us."
"We've all been targeted by Hunters or other groups. When our backs are up
against a wall we have no one to turn to but our own Packs. We have to guard
our territory so much that we never make alliances, and that makes it easy for
us to be isolated. That can lead to entire Packs being wiped out and no one
knowing about it for months at a time," Lydia said. "This isn't visibility,
it's communication and alliance."
"Horde, actually," Stiles said - into the room, not over the headset. Derek
rolled his eyes but Danny grinned. Lydia picked up a coaster from the table
next to her and, without looking up from her computer, threw it at Stiles'
head. He grinned when Derek caught it and gave him a pecking kiss to the cheek.
The goblin girl hopped in place, and the same careful voice asked. "But if
we're tracked-"
"Totally not possible," Stiles cut in. Lydia glared across her laptop, and
Stiles took the hint and shut up.
Danny picked up where he'd left off. "This is a secure server, and our forums
are all as locked down as I can make them, and I can make them pretty damn hard
to hack. It's as safe as we can get."
"The risk is minimal, and the benefits outweigh it. We can plan where
territories are open, and where they're not, track where the major Hunter
groups have been, and share information," Derek said mildly, surprising Stiles.
He'd been pretty sure Derek would spend the meeting in silence.
It went on like that. And on, and on. Stiles entertained himself by dressing
people in various items. He was dismayed by how much Isaac liked the slinky
black nightgown Stiles put on his character, though. The questions were all
stuff that had been covered a few dozen times on the forums, so he tuned it out
until Derek elbowed him and Stiles looked up from where he'd been cheerfully
putting Boyd's Undead in the most hideously clashing armor he could find and
found everyone staring at him. "What?" he asked.
Derek pointed to a Blood Elf in game, one of the ones with no Vent, who had
typed. Is it true you have a human mate in your Pack?
Oh. Stiles switched on his mic. "That would be me. I'm Stiles, the resident
human. Hi."
The same Elf stood still - apparently, not a champion speed typist - and then
asked. Don't they ask you to be Bitten?
"Yeah. Like all the time. I'm just kind of attached to the humanity deal,"
Stiles said. He waited, and then read They always think I'll get hurt. Oh. Huh,
so he wasn't the only one. "Yeah, they worry about that. But they underestimate
us humans, right?"
The Elf responded with a smiley face, and then sat down. Stiles shot her a
whisper, dropping her his anon email if she wanted to talk, and went back to
elaborate games of paper dolls with unwilling members of his Pack.
Finally, Lydia was ready to wrap, and Stiles judged it . . . about as much of a
success as they could have hoped for. Kali's Undead stood up again, as others
were logging off, and Stiles switched her on. There was a long pause before she
asked gruffly. "So, is this server going to be up all the time to play on?" she
asked.
"Oh my God, I'm surrounded by nerds," Lydia said, without turning her mic on.
Stiles grinned and Danny rolled his eyes, but answered. "Yeah, we'll leave it."
Stiles's grin widened. "If you're not evil, I'll even give you presents," he
said.
Kali logged off, and Stiles's grin turned into a mad cackle as he sent her
character a few dozen utterly useless items in the mail she would have to open
up individually, and one good purple mixed in. That accomplished, he gave in to
Erica and Boyd's whining and ported them back where they could get back to
killing things. They didn't say WHERE to port them to, so he dumped them into a
middle of level 50 quest zone and watched them be slaughtered in under two
seconds. Erica launched a pillow across the room at him as he explained how it
was their fault for not being more specific. Derek didn't bother to catch it,
this time.
***
"Huh," Stiles said, squinting at the stick lying on the bathroom sink. "It's
not pink and blue. TV has lied to me."
Erica lifted her head from her hands and shot Stiles a killing look. Allison
patted her shoulder gently. "It'll be okay," she said.
Stiles was absolutely sure that was true. But he was also pretty sure that
before they got to the okay part, there would be a lot of panicking and
handwringing because their Pack was made up of an emotionally unavailable Alpha
with a shoe fetish, a bunch of dysfunctional young adults, and a creeper uncle.
Plus . . . "Uh, I mean I'm pretty sure there's been pills taken and condoms
used, so this was plainly a happy accident but . . ." WHOSE happy accident.
Because that was definitely a plus sign on the pregnancy test. And there was
not a lot of separation in their happy household so- "oh my god, it could be
mine," Stiles blurted.
Erica made an unhappy sound and then shook her head. "The last time we were
together like that . . . too recent."
Okay, well that ruled him out. Which was good, because that was not a
conversation he was ready to have with his father. He hadn't even gotten around
to the group sex thing yet. (He was considering never getting around to that.)
Allison stroked Erica's hair. "It doesn't matter, we all love you, and we'll
all take care of you, no matter what."
"What if it's like me? What if it's an epileptic freak?" Erica asked.
"If Stiles can't be the dad, then both parents are werewolves, it will be a
wolf. That won't happen, Erica," Allison said. "And you're not a freak. You
never were."
Stiles kind of wanted to tell Allison to not say his name and "dad" in the same
sentence, just in case, but realized that this was absolutely not a situation
in which his pain and freak-out level were the primary concern. "Right. And
hey, we'll be able to work out the parentage pretty quickly once it's born,
right? If it's got killer cheekbones, Jackson, if it lurks straight out of the
womb, Derek, ridiculous hair Isaac, not-strictly-white, Scott or Boyd?" Stiles
suggested. "Strawberry-blond, and Lydia somehow managed to knock you up,
despite not having a dick. Which I wouldn't rule out. She really likes her
strap-on."
"You are not helping," Erica said.
"I'm trying," Stiles protested. He was used to Erica putting on attitude, and
he didn't realize just how upset she was until her face crumpled, and she
started to cry. He blanched and then moved to perch on the shut toilet, while
Allison and Erica sat on the edge of the tub. He squeezed Erica's arm. "Hey -
it really will be fine, you know? I mean . . . if you don't want to have it,
then we will totally take care of everything to make it easy on you - I mean as
much as we can. And if you do - there are a whole lot of built-in babysitters,
right?" The Pack would be useless and confused, but considering how much they
doted on the puppies Erica and Isaac had finally talked Derek into, and the
lousy childhoods most of them had lived through, Stiles thought a Pack kid
would be ridiculously spoiled and loved. Which wasn't a bad way for the kid to
grow up.
He called not it on explaining the interpersonal relationships of all aunts and
uncles, though. And Peter was not allowed to babysit, ever.
Allison wrapped her arm around Erica. "The odds are that it's Boyd. Do you want
me to call him?"
Erica nodded mutely, and Allison leaned in to kiss the side of her mouth, and
then stood and slipped out of the bathroom, leaving Stiles with Erica.
Stiles' problem wasn't usually having nothing to say. Usually, it was saying
too much. But this was kind of new territory. They sat in silence, Erica
sniffling now and then before she suddenly asked. "What should I do?"
"Uh . . . it's not really my area," Stiles said. "Maybe . . . you could talk to
Scott's mom?" His dad had kind of started to fall into the habit of giving
grown up advice to various Pack members, too, but this was definitely more in
the Ms. McCall area.
Erica shook her head. "I mean . . . if it were yours. Would you . . . want it?"
Whatever Lydia liked to say, Stiles wasn't actually bad at reading what people
were feeling, if he was paying attention, anyway. Erica looked miserable and
unsure, but beneath it there was . . . a look. It wasn't the look of someone
faced with something they didn't want. It was someone wanting something, and
not sure they should have it. Sometimes, Stiles caught Jackson looking at Lydia
like that . . . though with less streaked mascara and tears. "I'd be freaked,"
he said. "But I wouldn't be . . . sad about it? I mean panic attacks and
investing in pretty much every baby book ever, yeah. But . . . we all mostly
have jobs and are getting close to the finished-with-school stage. We've got a
house, Lydia and Jackson have lots of money and no sense. People don't try to
kill us that often, and due to a babysitting incident when Allison's cousins
visited, I know for a fact Scott is a diaper-taming wizard. So . . . I mean
what I'm saying is that if you're into the idea, then I don't think it's going
to be a problem, and I think everyone would get into it pretty fast."
"But they're not the ones who have to have it kick them for months and then
push it out of an orifice, so Stiles has absolutely no say," Lydia said from
the doorway.
Stiles frowned. "How long have you been there? Are you taking Derek-Lurking
lessons?"
Lydia waved a hand at him, and Erica hiccuped once and then nodded to him.
Stiles took the cue and got up to leave, giving Lydia his space after a hug and
kiss for Erica.
He shut the door behind him, watching Erica curl into Lydia for a second before
it closed, and then went to join Allison in the kitchen. He helped himself to
her corn chips and chewed his way through a handful before asking. "So . . .
Boyd on the way?"
"As soon as he can get away. I didn't tell him why, but it was a strongly
worded summons," Allison answered.
Stiles nodded. "Have you and Scott talked about . . . you know. Tiny crossbow
wielding werewolves?"
Allison snorted. "Have you and Derek?"
"No, but there is zero chance of me ending up with one on accident, so it's
less of an issue."
Allison shrugged. "We're young, and I don't even know what I want, so I'm
careful. But we're a family. If not now, there's Lydia later, or Erica down the
road. It'll happen. If it does, it's not a bad thing."
"You forgot Isaac finding a wandering toddler and bringing it home," Stiles
said.
Allison laughed. "God, I'm so glad he didn't end up working with Scott. We'd be
drowning in strays." She popped a chip in her mouth and then shrugged again.
"Whatever happens, we're a family. We'll adjust. That's how family's supposed
to work."
"Yeah, but that's not how most of us grew up," Stiles said.
Allison smiled a little sadly. "You did."
He guessed that was true. He had his dad, and they hadn't wanted to adapt to
losing his mom, but they'd managed, and Stiles' dad was pretty awesome. "Yeah,"
he said. Allison's dad loved her, but she'd grown up not knowing what her
family did, and then there had been a lot of bad shit in a short time. They
weren't the gold standard. "So did Scott."
"You two can teach the rest of us," Allison said.
Stiles thought he could do that. Maybe he'd get his dad over for the world's
weirdest family dinner next week.
***
The first thing Stiles noticed was that Danny's tumblr dash was about 80%
Doctor Who gifs and comic book scans, which meant that a. Danny was never
allowed to call Stiles a geek again, and b. Stiles' chances of convincing
everyone that a Batfamily Halloween motif was a good idea were much higher. The
second thing he noticed was Lydia's face.
Stiles stared at the picture. "Dude. . . it's a MEME," he said.
"I just found it," Danny said tightly. "The Wolf Network is going to freak, we
were so close to getting them on the same page."
Stiles clicked on the tumblr and read through dozens of memes. Fake Werewolf
Girl is Team Jacob, Fake Werewolf Girl thinks science is hardcore, Fake
Werewolf Girl - hot is better than smart. They weren't even funny. "Lydia's
going to freak out when you-" Stiles stopped and turned to look at Danny. "Did
you seriously tell me before you told her so that I would tell her for you?"
Danny did not even have the decency to look guilty about his plan. "She
probably won't kill you?"
"I hate you." Stiles groaned as Danny grabbed his laptop back. "How did this
even happen? And why are you tracking Channing Tatum tags?"
"Her research leaked. I talked to Tania, and she thinks someone in the faculty
put it out," Danny said. "I looked into it. . . I'm pretty sure it was
Raymond." The question of Channing Tatum went unanswered, Stiles noticed.
He let it go though, because they had bigger concerns. And that just made it
worse. Lydia had liked that asshole professor. "Why would he . . . oh shit."
Stiles' brain caught up, and he looked at Danny for confirmation. "He's
publishing her work, isn't he?" No one would touch articles from a 20-something
prodigy who spent half her time at Yale studying imaginary werewolf genes.
She'd be discredited, and a tenured Yale douche could steal her research, call
it his own, and no one would even think about listening to her.
"It's against the werewolf code to just let Jackson and Erica tear the guy
apart, right?" Danny asked. Which was answer enough.
"She was going back up there to finish prepping her paper next week, so she had
it ready in time for Medal qualification," Stiles said, banging his head
against the desk. "Damnit. We have to tell her."
"Tell me what?" Lydia stepped into the living room, and Stiles shot Danny a
look of betrayal. Danny tried to look innocent, but Stiles was onto him. Super
werewolf senses and all - no way he hadn't known Lydia was nearby.
Stiles started to push the blame onto Danny, but then stopped. Lydia had no
makeup on, her hair was pulled back and might possibly look slightly greasy, by
Lydia standards. Her eyes were slightly puffy, too. "You saw the meme, didn't
you?"
"It started a few days ago," Lydia admitted. "I've been removed from the
research credits and my submission to The Annals of Mathematics had its
acceptance revoked on the grounds it wasn't my own work. My father's friend on
the board at Yale says they're working on a formal reprimand."
"We have all your research. Hard copies, timestamped video and files. We can
fight it," Danny said quietly.
Jackson drifted in behind Lydia, looping his arms around her waist. "That's
what I said."
"No," Lydia said. "If I back and forth to try to fight over it, he'll just leak
more of whatever research he cribbed from us, and the more he leaks, the less
support we'll have from the other Packs. We need that more than I need a Fields
Medal."
Stiles chewed on his lip. "But you deserve it," he said. He'd never seen Lydia
NOT fight for something. It was unnerving. He hesitated, and then said slowly.
"Maybe we can take care of two birds with one stone. We've been building the
network. I know you wanted to go public eventually."
"In ten years, maybe," Lydia said. "We wouldn't have the support now." But she
was frowning in thought.
"What's going to change in ten years?" Danny asked.
"More Packs on our side," Jackson said. "Stilinski figuring out a way for us
all to meet that doesn't involve elves and swords."
"Maybe," Stiles said. "And shut up about WoW. It was an elegant solution. But
how many werewolves do you need to be public, anyway? Tania's Pack, the
Corbettes in Georgia, the Smith Pack, and the Ramirez Pack, and the nutjobs
from the Alpha Pack will back us now. The rest . . . we don't have to say where
they are unless they're willing."
"I don't like hiding," Lydia said softly. "And I don't like letting someone
else win."
"It's probably going to get us all killed, but hey, that almost happens every
few months anyway," Stiles said.
"My family has a house and land in Connecticut that's meant for me, anyway. I
could put it in someone else's name and if it goes bad, we pull up stakes and
head there," Danny said.
"Uh, counts as running, I think?" Stiles said.
"It's a fallback, not a plan," Danny said. "We can take a stupid risk, but not
without an exit strategy."
Lydia was leaning into Jackson thoughtfully, and finally she turned to face
him. "It would change everything. What do you want me to do?" she asked him
quietly.
Jackson searched her face and then smiled. "Since when do you ask my opinion?"
he asked. He pulled her in, kissing sweet and long. "It's your Medal, right?
Lets go get it."
"She's not even in the running yet!" Stiles said. Not that it really mattered.
Lydia always got what she set out to get, so she would be. Well, her work would
be, sans her name. Which wasn't right, and they absolutely shouldn't let it
stand. Even if it probably meant chaos and possible loss of life and limb.
"Stiles has to tell Derek," Lydia said sweetly.
Stiles was against this new, "Stiles handles bad news" policy. But that one was
fair enough, he guessed. "Danny gets Erica, then, and her pregnant hormones."
"We're not doing this blind. We take our time, we plan, and we get as many
people with us as we can," Lydia decided.
"And put a lot of cash in bags in case it goes bad," Danny said.
"You are such a downer," Stiles complained.
"Someone has to be practical," Jackson said, letting go of Lydia with one arm
to pull Danny into a kiss.
"That is why I recruited him," Lydia agreed. "Someone order in dinner, and get
everyone home for the night."
"Aye aye. Pizza and summons," Stiles said. The familiar, focused look on
Lydia's face was a lot more reassuring than the defeat he'd seen before. Lydia
with a plan was a force of nature, and Stiles would forever be glad she was on
the same side as him.
Chapter End Notes
     Section title from The_House_Where_We_All_Live.
End Notes
     Section title is from American_Baby.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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