Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8743417.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Isaac_Lahey/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall/Kira
      Yukimura, Derek_Hale/Paige, Vernon_Boyd/Isaac_Lahey/Erica_Reyes
  Character:
      Isaac_Lahey, Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent,
      Kira_Yukimura, Erica_Reyes, Vernon_Boyd
  Additional Tags:
      Triad_Verse_Big_Bang_2016, Magical_Tattoos, Soul_Bond, Polyamory,
      Polyamory_Big_Bang, Past_Underage_Sex, Substance_Abuse
  Collections:
      Triad_Verse_Big_Bang
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-04 Chapters: 5/7 Words: 21201
****** Spare Parts ******
by Strangeredlantern, Vague_Shadows
Summary
     “Just take it off if you’re going to look at it anyway,” Derek
     mutters.
     “I’m just curious,” Stiles replies. “Sometimes it settles on
     something cool for a little while. Don’t want to miss it.” He peeks
     again and then glances over to Derek’s arm. “Don’t you ever peek?”
     “No,” Derek replies sourly.
     “Not even sometimes.”
     “No.” Derek hasn’t so much as stolen a glance in nearly a decade.
     “Isaac, you’ve gotta peek at yours, though, right?” Stiles continues.
     “Nope.”
     A soul-mark polyamory AU written for TriadVerse Big Bang 2016.
Notes
     Welcome! By the end of this Sunday, December 4th, we will have all
     the remaining chapters of this story posted. We're currently facing
     some issues with getting our accompanying artwork posted for the
     chapters. (The links are almost working!) Thanks for your patience as
     we get all the formatting figured out. If you prefer, please check
     back by December 5th for the 100% full and complete Spare Parts.
     We were also incredibly lucky to have the talented Kiyomisa work with
     us during the big bang! Please check out her artwork at http://
     kiyomisa.deviantart.com/ or follow her work at kiyomisa.tumblr.com.
     (p.s., her blog is a great mix of original art and fandom! Be sure to
     check it out!)
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
 
**************************************************
 
They say you can’t love someone else until you love yourself.
Bullshit.
I have never loved myself.
But you, oh God, I love you so much.
I’ve forgotten what hating myself feels like.
-Unknown
 
*************************************************
Chapter 1
__________________________________________________________________________
 
Stiles
Stiles stumbles up the stairs, tripping over his own feet even more than usual,
one hand pressed to his pounding head as he fights the urge to just stop right
here in the stairwell.  Instead, he musters up another burst of energy to get
up the last few steps and down the hall, banging on the giant metal door and
wincing at the reverberating clang.  
“Derek?” he calls, though if they’re home there’s no way they’ve missed the
banging.  “Isaac? A little help?” He winces at the sound of his own voice
bouncing in the industrial stairwell. Everything is too loud and too made of
metal for this level of pain.
“What the hell,Stiles?” Derek grumbles as he slides the door to the loft open.
 “It’s two in the morning.”
“Yeah, but I’m like dyinghere, dude,” Stiles replies, lurching forward.
 “Fuck!”
“What happened? You should’ve gone to a hospital,Stiles.  We--”
“Not that kind of dying,” Stiles interrupts miserably regaining his balance
enough to clumsily rush to the bathroom. He doesn’t hit anything on the way.
It’s a miracle. He’ll marvel at his grace when he’s not dying anymore.
Unfortunately, puking doesn’t help.  Not even a little.  He splashes some cold
water on his face, which doesn’t help much either, and shuffles back out to the
main room with the intention of passing out on the couch.  He makes it two
steps before he decides the cool, hard floor will do just fine, and lays down
in the middle of the room instead with a groan of agony. Hangovers of this
proportion aren’t supposed to rear their ugly heads over two beers.
“Great.  So you’re just drunk,” Derek mutters, and Stiles doesn’t have to open
his eyes to see the look of supreme annoyance.  Derek’s voice conveys it just
fine.  
“Not just,” Stiles mutters, voice muffled into the arm on which he’s resting
his head.  “Worse than usual.  I only had like two beers!”
“Sure you did,” Isaac agrees.
“Seriously. Just two.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“You’re either a liar or a lightweight,” Derek informs.  “Don’t die of alcohol
poisoning on my floor.  You need a doctor?”
“Maybe,” Stiles mutters, a little terrified by just how bad he feels and the
lack of data to support this being a normal state.  He’s been wasted plenty of
times; he’s been hungover as hell; he’s had his fair share of supernatural-
related injuries.  This isn’t just the aftereffects of alcohol.
“Maybe?” Derek repeats, concern sneaking into his voice.  
“Mmmm,” Stiles agrees miserably.
“You’re sure you only had two?” Isaac asks.  “Really, reallysure?”
“Yeah, I only had enough cash for two. Couldn’t’ve been more if I wanted.”
“You think someone put something in your drink?  Did you watch the bartender
pour it? Leave it with anyone after that?”
“Sheriff’s kid,” Stiles reminds, perturbed, raising a leaden arm to point at
himself.  “Not an idiot.”
“Debatable,” Derek mutters.
“Ugh, this is the worst,” Stiles informs.  “Just knock me out or something;
seriously; I know you’ve both wanted to do it plenty of times, so let’s have
it. Put me out of my misery.”
“Maybe he does need a doctor,” Derek murmurs to Isaac. Stiles would be touched
by the concern if he wasn’t expending all his effort on not crying.
Please just let me pass out so I don’t have to remember this...
 “I don’t know a whole helluva lot about the humans and alcohol stuff, but he
looks like shit. If someone put something in his drink then--I don’t know--do
those kinds of drugs react badly with alcohol sometimes?” Derek wonders.  “Or
is it just the drug itself? Is there like a medicine they’d give him if we took
him to the hospital?”
If Stiles wasn’t so miserable, he might comment on the hilarity of Derek and
Isaac fretting over him like worried parents instead of their usual surly
angst-ridden demeanors.
“Wait,” Stiles says, brain sluggishly trying to connect why sometime in Derek’s
words sounded relevant.  “Reacts bad... with alcohol….medicine...ah, fuck!”
Stiles laments as epiphany hits.
“What?” Isaac asks.
“That goddamn medicine,” he realizes.  “I bet this is because of that stupid
medicine they gave me for--nevermind what they gave it to me for, that’s not
important--but it was strong shit, and they said not to drink but it’s been
like two whole days since I quit taking it so I figured I’d be fine.”
“Stiles, I don’t even takemedicine and I know you don’t fuck with alcohol when
they tell you not to,” Derek says, and Stiles doesn’t need to look up to know
that Derek’s rolling his eyes.
“I said it’s been two days. I wasn’t even taking it anymore.”
“Taking what?” Isaac wonders.
“Metro---something,” Stiles answers.
“Metronidazole?” Isaac suggests.
“Yeah, uh-huh that.”
He’s thoroughly unamused by the outburst of laughter that follows.
“No, not funny,” Stiles says.  “Also, would it kill you to do that quietly?”
“I don’t get it,” Derek adds, “What’s metronidazole?”
“It’s the hardcore antibiotics they use to help alcoholics,” Isaac shares.
 “Because if you so much as use mouthwash you just about instantly feel like
you’re in the middle of the worst hangover of your life.”
“Nuh-uh,” Stiles protests.  “It was to keep the infection from--well--never
mind that part--but they didn’t give it to me for being an alcoholic!”
“Maybe not,” Isaac replies, “but it’s definitely one of the uses.  My dad was
on it for a while.”
“I stopped taking it two days ago,” Stiles persists.
“Well, apparently, it’s still in your system.”
“Would one of you just knock me out already?”
“No, but I’ll haul your ass to the couch if you’ll shut up,” Derek offers.
“Couch is good,” Stiles replies.  “Unconsciousness is better.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Derek chides, but he’s surprisingly careful when he picks
Stiles up off the floor.   “You sure he doesn’t need a doctor, Isaac?”
“Yeah, Dr. Isaac, you sure?” Stiles mocks.
“I know he’s not a fucking doctor, but he used to be human.  He knows how the
whole getting-over-things-slowly-as-fuck goes.”
“Fuck you and your freakish wolfy healing.  I hate you guys.  You’re the
worst.”
“You wanna sleep out in the hall instead of the couch?” Derek mutters as he
deposits Stiles on the sofa.  
“Just knock me out,” Stiles whines again.  “Seriously.”
“I’ll get you some water,” Isaac offers, “but you’re pretty much just screwed,
man.  I’m notexplaining to Scott that you’ve got a giant bruise on your face
because I clocked you.”
Derek laughs. “That would go over well.”
“Derek? Help a guy out?” Stiles tries. It’s a last ditch effort. Everyone in
the pack refuses to help with hangovers, but Derek can be swayed from time to
time.
“Pain builds character,” he replies dryly.  “And I’m not explaining to Scott
either.  Don’t be a baby,” he repeats.
“Seriously, you two are useless . It’s like you enjoywatching me suffer,”
Stiles bemoans.
Isaac returns with a glass of cold water.  It doesn’t help Stiles’ pounding
head all that much, but it doesn’t hurt either.  Derek and Isaac turn the
lights off and head back to bed, leaving Stiles to lay in his misery until he
finally manages to drift off to sleep.
 
************************************************
 
Isaac
 
Isaac wakes first, as usual, and tries to be quiet as he heads for the kitchen
past Stiles’ snoring form on the sofa.  Stiles is sprawled out on the couch at
angles that guarantee he’s going to be aching all over when he wakes up.
  Isaac's eye catches on the colorful, twisting Emblem on Stiles’ inner wrist -
- the mark to the world indicating what kind of person he is, or, perhaps more
accurately, what kind of match he would make.  Matching colors, similar
designs, anything in your Emblem that matches anything in someone else’s
indicates your compatibility.  The more similarities, the more likely the
matches will work.  Then there are the extremely rare instances when your
Emblem matches with two others’ exactly--practically a guarantee of the
longevity of a relationship.   Isaac inadvertently glancing at his own, now
hidden by the matte silver cuff circling his wrist.   
He’d hated the jagged crimson lines for so long; somehow they seemed to convey
exactly how shattered and angry he was with the world and everyone else in it.
 But then, he transferred high schools and met Erica and Boyd.  Isaac’s jagged
Emblem started to soften, Boyd’s flowing lines grew sharper, Erica’s blue
Emblem darkened to match Isaac’s crimson--until one day, just a few weeks into
their acquaintances, all three Emblems matched--and never once wavered.
Until the day Erica died.
The only thing that held Isaac together was the fact that Boyd’s Emblem turned
bright blue too.  They managed to hold each other together, despite the pain of
suddenly existing as just two-thirds of a whole.  Isaac thought they’d manage
somehow.  
And then Boyd was gone, too.
And Derek found Isaac desperately clawing at his Emblem, which was turning into
something completely different from any shape it had ever taken before, like a
glaring reminder that he was never going to be the same--never going to be
okay--without Erica and Boyd.  Just a spare part, left over from what should
have been a lifetime of happily ever after.
 
Derek
 
Isaac doesn’t notice when Derek comes downstairs.  He’s staring at nothing and
fiddling with the cuff on his arm.  Derek remembers too well the day last
spring when he found Isaac trying everything short of taking off his own arm to
get rid of his Emblem. Derek knows the feeling well enough.  Whatever sick
trick of the cosmos led to these ridiculous billboards of vulnerability on
everyone’s arm is a ‘help’ he could do without.
“Hey,” Derek says to jar Isaac from his thoughts.  “No coffee? Are we out?”
“Just haven’t gotten that far yet,” Isaac replies.
“Coffee?” Stiles mumbles blearily from the couch.
“Morning, sunshine,” Isaac teases.
“Need coffee,” Stiles says, still half-asleep.  “Stat.”
Derek rolls his eyes at Isaac, who is now in the process of cleaning out the
coffee pot and starting a new batch.  Isaac lets out a put-upon sigh.
“Well, at least he survived the night,” Isaac supposes.  “So no worries about
the awkwardness of dealing with the carcass.”
“Carcass?!” Stiles says incredulously.  “How about the sad, lifeless body of
our most awesome human packmate, you assholes?”
“Yeah, right, totally what he meant,” Derek says.  
“I hate you guys,” Stiles mutters.
“You want coffee or not?” Isaac demands.
Stiles grumbles something that Derek can’t quite make out, but Derek smirks
anyway.  Annoying Stiles will forever be one of his favorite pastimes.  When
Stiles finally sits up, he looks less like death warmed over than he did last
night; he’s still too pale, but there’s a little color back in his cheeks at
least.   Derek would never admit it, but he did get up to check Stiles’ pulse a
few times last night--just when he was waking enough to roll over or something.
 He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how easy it is for humans to get life-
threateningly ill.   
“If I make food, are you going to puke again?” Isaac wonders.
“Ugh,” Stiles says “never eating anything ever again.”
“You have to eat something,” Derek says.  “It’ll be good for you.”
“It’ll be bad for your apartment when I barf all over the place.”
“Waffles?” Isaac suggests.  “That’s simple enough, right?”
“Ooooo waffles could be good,” Stiles agrees, face brightening at the idea,
even though he just said he wasn’t interested.  Then his face lights even more
as he says, “Wait, do you mean to tell me that Derek Hale owns a waffle
maker?!”
“Shut up,” Derek replies, as Stiles breaks into near-hysterical laughter.  “It
was a gift,” he adds gruffly, even though it’s a lie.  
“That is the most adorable domestic thing in the world,” Stiles manages to get
out as his laughter finally wanes.  “No more tough, macho werewolf reputation
for you; you’re getting a frilly apron for Christmas.”
“Isaac is the one making breakfast.”
“Hey, the waffle iron was here when I moved in,” Isaac retorts.
“Okay, fine, you guys are bothgetting frilly aprons for Christmas.”
“That’s it.  No coffee. No waffles.  No more crashing on my couch,” Derek
informs, annoyed.  “You’re not dead.  So go home.”
“No, no--dude, it’s not like a bad thing,” Stiles says, the first sign of
apology creeping into his voice.  “Just not at all what I was expecting.  Like
not at all.”
“Maybe you just shouldn’t talk so much before you have coffee,” Isaac suggests
wryly.
“Maybe you just shouldn’t talk so much, period,” Derek adds.
“Ah, come on, guys,” Stiles says as he gets to his feet, no doubt coming for
the coffee that’s now dripping into the pot.  “Don’t be like that.  You can’t
only be nice to me when you think I’m dying.”
“Sure we can,” Isaac replies with a shrug.  
“It’s worked fine so far,” Derek adds, still smirking at Stiles’ annoyance.
Stiles doesn’t comment on anything further as he shuffles his way to the
kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee to which he adds a revolting amount of
sugar.   He takes a few sips and then starts rummaging in the kitchen drawers
as if looking for something.
“Can I help you?” Derek grumbles.  
“You got, like, a dish towel or something?” Stiles wonders. “Or like a bandanna
or--just a random piece of cloth or something?”
“What the hell for?”
“My Emblem’s making me dizzy,” Stiles answers.  “Pretty sure it’s drunk, too.”
“Just don’t look at it then,” Derek advises, though he’s already moving to grab
a dish towel from the drawer.  He’s kind of the poster child for never wanted
to see his Emblem, so he can’t reallyfault Stiles.  Besides, Derek isn’t even
hungover and he’s always distracted by how quickly and constantly Stiles’
Emblem changes.  He’s never met anyone whose Emblem shifted  like that--usually
a change or two in a lifetime, not a change or two every ten minutes.
“It’s rude to stare, Sourwolf,” Stiles informs him, taking the dish towel Derek
offers.  He wraps it around his arm and tucks in the edge so it will stay.  
“I wasn’t staring,” Derek replies, even though he was--involuntarily mesmerized
by the shifting lines that are mostly blues and greens today.  
Stiles peeks under the towel a couple of times as he sips his coffee, waiting
in the kitchen with Isaac and Derek for waffles to be done.  
“Just take it off if you’re going to look at it anyway,” Derek mutters.
“I’m just curious,” Stiles replies.  “Sometimes it settles on something cool
for a little while.  Don’t want to miss it.” He peeks again and then glances
over to Derek’s arm.  “Don’t you ever peek?”
“No,” Derek replies sourly.
“Not even sometimes.”
“No.” Derek hasn’t so much as stolen a glance in nearly a decade.
“Isaac, you’ve gotta peek at yours, though, right?” Stiles continues.
“Nope.”
“Man, it’d drive me nuts not to--”
“Well, not everybody is as annoying and nosey as you are Stiles,” Isaac
interjects.  “Would you just shut up and drink your coffee?”
“Fine,” Stiles replies with a huff.  “You're both such sourwolves.”
“You can always go home,” Isaac reminds.
“Nah, dude,” Stiles replies.  “Not without waffles first.  Don’t be a tease.”
Derek rolls his eyes and starts getting down plates and forks and syrup so
they’ll be ready when Isaac's done. because the sooner they’ve eaten the sooner
Stiles and his ceaseless conversation can leave. At least, that's what Derek
tells himself, but in Stiles' wake the loft suddenly seems oppressively silent,
though it's no more quiet than usual. He doesn't mention it out loud,  but
Isaac cuts on the radio to fill the silence. Derek wonders if he's the only one
who kind of enjoyed the banter over breakfast...and whether it'll happen again
anytime soon.
***** Chapter 2 *****
CHAPTER 2
__________________________________________________________________________
 
Derek
********************************
 
Derek lets himself into the back door of his mother’s office.  She works
weekends because she says it’s easier to get things done--no phone ringing off
the hook or unexpected drop-ins from clients or their worried families.  How
she manages to be one of the most successful criminal defense lawyers this side
of the Rockies  and  manage a wolf pack, Derek will never know.  
“Derek? That you?” Mom calls through the empty office space, confirming though
she can surely hear the familiar gait and get at least a hint of Derek’s scent
by now.  
“Yep. Breakfast,” he replies, making his way down the hall to her personal
office.  
“Thank you, sweetie.  You didn’t have to do that,” she says when he deposits
the coffee and bagel on her desk.  “Stay and chat with me a while?”
He obliges, plopping into one of the oversized chairs usually reserved for
clients who’ve come in for appointments.  
“Everything good with you?” she asks, and he nods.  “Isaac okay?” he nods
again.  “Heard from your sister lately? She’s ignoring my calls again.”
“Cora?” Derek assumes since Laura works here with Mom as an associate and still
lives at the pack house.  “She sent a text asking to borrow the car a couple
days ago,” Derek replies.  “I told her no.”
“She didn’t mention where she planned to  take  the car, by chance?”
“No.”
“Wonderful,” Mom mutters, taking a sip of the coffee Derek brought.  “Neither
of you have been by the house in a while,” she reminds.  “See if you can
convince her to come with you to family dinner this Thursday?”
“No promises.”
“You’ll be there, though, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
The monthly family dinners are still one of Derek’s least favorite events.
 Sitting for hours surrounded by all the people he loves--who he very nearly
managed to get killed---feeling like the undeserving black sheep who shouldn’t
have bothered coming.  But Mom wants him there, and it’s the least he can do,
given that he avoids pretty much every other pack interaction.  
“Anything interesting?” he wonders with a gesture to the stacks of paperwork
scattered across Mom’s desk.
“New case,” she tells him.  “It’s going to be a tough one.  I’m the only one
who thinks she’s innocent, and I can’t really say ‘trust me; I’ve got werewolf
hearing and his heartbeat is even’ to the jury.”
“You like a challenge,” Derek reminds her.  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“I’d like it to be a little  less  challenging this time,” she says with a
sigh.  “I should get back to work though.  Unless there was something else you
wanted to talk about?”
“Nah, just saying ‘hi’,” Derek replies, standing to leave.  “See you Thursday,
Mom.”
“Bye, Der.”


Isaac
********************************
 
Isaac’s pulling pain from the oldest resident of the vet clinic’s kennel--
a lab/hound mix of some kind who had to have her leg amputated after a car
wreck--when Scott walks in.  The dog whines a little, sensing the presence of
an alpha werewolf, but Isaac shushes her.  
“Still no luck finding her owners?” Scott wonders.
“Oh no, they finally called back this morning,” Isaac replies.  “After almost a
month of nothing.  They called to tell us that we should quit calling because
it was harassing them.  The assholes told us we shouldn’t have wasted our time
‘cause they don’t have time for her anyway.”
“What?!” Scott says with the same incredulous anger Isaac felt earlier.  
“Yeah, they said we could just euthanize her if we couldn’t find anyone who
wanted to take her.”
“No way! This sweetheart?! Who could just leave her?”
“Like I said, assholes,” Isaac mutters.  “Too bad there’s no address in that
information from her microchip.  I’d love to pay a little visit and--”
“The important thing is that now she’s gonna live with people who really
appreciate her,” Scott interjects, cutting off Isaac’s dark threat.
“What? Who?”
“You, dummy,” Scott says.  “We talked about this.”
“You saying over and over that I should take her home does not mean she’s my
dog.  I can’t take care of a dog.”
“Dude, you literally take care of dogs for a living,” Scott says, gesturing to
the clinic around them.  
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Besides, Derek would hate it.”
“Did you even ask?”
“No.”
“So ask!”
“He would hate it.”
“He’d  pretend  to hate it,” Scott counters.  “There’s a difference.  This
little sweetie would have Derek wrapped around her paw in no time,” he
declares, rubbing her belly in the spot that gets her back leg kicking.
 “Wouldn’t you, Cupcake?”
“Ugh--don’t call her that,” Isaac says.  “Those assholes named her that, and
she doesn’t even answer to it.”
“Stiles still votes we name her Eileen,” Scott says.  “You know, cause she
kinda leans now that she’s only got three legs and all.”
“I get the joke,” Isaac replies dryly.  “You don’t have to explain it every
time.”
“Speaking of Stiles,” Scott says.  “Heard he had a pretty shitty night last
night.”
“You know it was bad if he was desperate enough to end up begging help from me
and Derek,” Isaac says.  
“It’s what you get for living a block from all the best bars,” Scott says.
 “And Stiles being notoriously bad about letting his phone die.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Isaac says.  “We just dumped him on the couch and shoved
waffles in his mouth to shut him up this morning.”
“Good thing you wanna be a vet tech and not a nurse.  Your bedside manner
sounds a little lacking,” Scott teases.  “Hey, but really though, thanks for
looking out for him.”
“Whole point of having a pack, right?” Isaac replies, rolling his eyes.  
“Aw, you actually listened at the last pack meeting.”
“Scott, you talk about the importance of pack being like family at  every  pack
meeting--for  years  now.”
“It was bound to stick eventually.”  
“You mean brainwash us eventually,” Isaac mutters, but Scott looks a little
wounded. “I’m kidding, Scott, you know we all love being in your pack,” Isaac
backtracks.  
It’s been almost four years now since Scott presented as the True Alpha of
Beacon Hills.  It’s one of the only times in history a pack has separated
peacefully.  Without an Alpha like Talia Hale involved it would have never
happened at all.  When Peter turned over half a dozen teenagers upon his escape
from the psych ward, Talia had taken down her own brother and then brought all
the kids into the pack.  It was the first time Isaac ever felt like he had a
real family--until the Darach had them all running in circles half out of their
minds with spells and poisons.  He’d figured Scott’s transformation to Alpha
 was the final nail in the coffin.  That was what all the other packs around
seemed to think, too, if the way they all closed in on Beacon Hills like the
territory was a juicy steak to be devoured was any indication.
But that didn’t happen.  Scott had more control than any Alpha that new should
have.  Talia’s restraint matched.  In the end, what should have been some big
showdown was simply Talia putting a hand on Scott’s shoulder, telling her she
was very proud of him, and informing her pack that they were all free to choose
which Alpha they wanted to follow.  It was a story for the history books,
Deaton said.  Morrell was sure it wouldn't last.  But that was four years ago,
and Beacon Hills has never been better--supernaturally speaking, anyway.
“I know you’re kidding,” Scott says, though he still looks just a little
dejected, and Isaac swears that Scott McCall’s puppy dog eyes of doom are going
to be the death of him.  “I probably do push the family thing a lot.  It’s
just--ya know--it’s important.”
“Yeah,” Isaac agrees.
‘Cause when we don’t stick together, we’re weak; and when we’re weak packmates
die , Isaac thinks bitterly, trying to banish thoughts of Boyd and Erica from
his mind.
“So I have a huge favor to ask,” Scott says.  
“What?”
“Think you could cover my shift tonight?  Allison and I have a date with Kira.”
“Really? Again?” Isaac says, trying not to let his jealousy bubble to the
surface.  Scott and Allison have been waiting to find a compatible third for
years--and Isaac had figured if he fit in anywhere, it would be with them.
 It’s not Scott’s fault for not seeing Isaac that way.  Maybe Isaac screwed
himself over by never taking off the cuff after Boyd and Erica died.  Either
way, the fact that Scott and Allison date total strangers, looking for the
third Isaac wants to be, always feels like salt on a wound.
“Yeah, the last couple went really well,” Scott says.  “I think it could really
work out.”
“That’s--that’s awesome, dude.”
“So you’ll cover my shift?”
“Sure.”
“You’re the  best,  you know that? I owe you big time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac dismisses.  “You can catch one of my shifts some
other time.”
 
Stiles
********************************
 
“Who’s the best friend in the whole world?!” Stiles wonders loudly as he bursts
into the back room of the clinic bearing take-out from Scott’s favorite Chinese
place.  “Hey, you aren’t Scott,” he says just moments later as he realizes
who’s actually replenishing food and water in the kennel cages.  
“Nope,” Isaac replies, as he drops a scoop of dry food into the bowl of an
overexcited terrier mix who licks his hand happily before diving into the
kibble.  “He’s on a date with Allison and Kira.  I’m covering.”
Maybe Stiles is imagining it, but it seems like there's a bit of bitterness in
Isaac’s tone.  Whether because of having the extra shift or Scott being on a
date, Stiles isn’t quite sure.  He’d have to be blind not to notice the way
Isaac looks at Scott.   It used to be objective appreciation--back when Isaac
had been with Boyd and Erica.  Now, Stiles catches glimpses of longing; he’s
wondered more than once if Isaac took off his cuff whether his Emblem would
sync with Scott and Allison.  Of course, Stiles is full of all kinds of
theories regarding Emblems, and only about half of them are sound.  For all his
research, Stiles still can’t wrap his head around the way it all works, or why
even when you want someone more than you’ve wanted anything else---like, maybe
hoping that Danny and Lydia finally realize what an ass Jackson is and match up
with Stiles instead---Emblems are their own entity, bound to no one’s will or
logic.  Just a few basic governing principles--appearance on the dominant hand,
only move due to grave injury or scarring, start to appear on your thirteenth
birthday.  
The rest is all left to the long-winded hypotheses of people with much more
experience in the field than Stiles will ever get, but no solid facts.  It bugs
him when there aren’t solid facts; he likes evidence, always has.  Stiles has
been bitching about the lack of hard research results surrounding Emblems---
more specifically, why the hell his Emblem won’t settle into one design for
more than a couple fucking hours--since his ever-shifting Emblem began to form
on his thirteenth birthday.   Dad always attributes it to, “the heart wants
what it wants and you can’t put rules on those kinds of emotions.”   Stiles is
just endlessly frustrated.  
“Do I smell orange chicken?” Isaac wonders, breaking Stiles from his musings.
 “From Ming’s?”
“What? Oh, yeah.  I thought I’d come keep Scott company, but--uh--help
yourself,” Stiles offers.
“Not back here,” Isaac says, wrinkling his nose.  “I’ll finish up. You dump all
the food in the office, and I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Hurry up,” Stiles tells him.   “I make no promises about saving you crab
rangoon if you’re slow.”
“I cannot even tell you how  not  worried I am.  Crab rangoon is--” Isaac
doesn’t finish the sentence, just grimaces in clear disgust.
“What. the. hell,” Stiles says in disbelief.  “How can you not like crab
rangoon? It’s like the best.  How can I even be friends with someone who
doesn’t like crab rangoon?”
“Um, maybe because you’ll never have to worry about sharing it with me?”
“Touche,” Stiles says with a nod.  “I’ve broken up friendships over Rangoon
fights you know,” he adds with a smirk.
Isaac rolls his eyes.  “Uh-huh.  I’m sure.  Werewolves, Kanimas, Darachs,
Nogitsunes. Those are no big deal.  The  real  test of friendship is sharing
Chinese food.”
“Exactly,” Stiles replies, and Isaac drops his sarcastic look for a smile
before he can catch himself.  
“You’re ridiculous,” Isaac tells him.
“But entertaining,” Stiles counters.
“An answer for everything, huh?”
“Always, dude.   Always.   It’s essential to survival.  Sarcasm is my only
defense.” Stiles says, making a haphazard attempt at flexing his bicep---which,
while not werewolf standards is still more impressive than the lanky twig of
arm muscle he had back when they were in high school. “So I gotta layer on the
sarcasm in lieu of actual supernatural talent,” Stiles says with a shrug.  
“You’ve got superhuman powers of annoyance,” Isaac replies.  “Don’t sell
yourself short.”
“Fuck off,” Stiles tells him, but he’s still got a good-natured smile on his
face.  “Hurry up, though, for real,” Stiles says as he turns to head for the
office.  “Food’ll get cold, and nobody wants that.”
“Yeah, be there in a sec,” Isaac replies.
Stiles makes his way to Deaton’s office with the food.  The mahogany desk is as
immaculate as ever.  Stiles grabs the stacks of napkins from the takeout bags
to act as makeshift potholders and sets out the various cartons of food.  He
can never make up his mind at Ming’s.  Everything is good at Ming’s.  Which is
why he breaks the bank almost every time he goes and orders a smorgasbord like
this.  
For all his talk, Stiles is still a little queasy from the whole antibiotic-
induced instant hangover  debacle, so he’s taking it slow.  He decides to just
munch on an eggroll.  He stares idly at his Emblem, watching the lines turn
from forest green to crimson and curves start to straighten into harsher
angles.  They stay that way longer than usual, and Stiles studies the design,
trying to decide why it looks familiar, but before he can identify it the
Emblem is shifting again, darkening to black and lines going from harsh large
angles to some kind of zig-zag pattern.  The shifting lines don’t help his
hangover symptoms, so he pulls down the sleeve of his hoodie to cover it.  
Isaac joins him in the office just as he pulls his arm off the desk in
frustration.
“Making you dizzy?” Isaac asks. Stiles give him his best withering glare but is
surprised to find a more somber and curious expression on his face than Stiles
was expecting.
“Not really. It’s always like this. Probably just the leftover effects of last
night,” he let a little more of his anger and annoyance with the whole thing
slip into the explanation than he had planned. Isaac nods in solidarity while
he looks over the various boxes of Chinese.
“Sure you weren’t trying to get enough food for the whole pack?” Isaac wonders
as he comes into the office.  
“I couldn’t make up my mind,” Stiles replies with a shrug.  “Sue me.  I eat a
lot and I drink a lot. You want free food or not?”
“Just an observation,” Isaac says defensively, helping himself to the broccoli
beef.   
“That what you always do?” Isaac asks as he breaks the chopsticks.
“Always do what?” Stiles inquires, though his general irritation with this
entire situation gives him a pretty good guess at what Isaac means.
“Get drunk when Scott abandons you for their latest date?”
Isaac says it so calmly that Stiles is 100% sure that Isaac has spent plenty of
his own time irritated as fuck with Scott and Allison.
“It’s not always about Scott,” Stiles tries, though it sounds like the most
ridiculous lie that has ever come out of his mouth. “The emblem thing makes it
super easy to…” Stiles blushes. More than once he’s stared at a couple sitting
at the bar, watching their emblems until his is something at least basically
compatible. So he’s lonely, so what? It’s almost impossible to change your
emblem by force, and it’s dubiously legal to misrepresent it to people. That’s
not what Stiles does. Mostly.
Isaac just rolls his eyes at the insinuation, like Stiles didn’t just admit to
what many would call disturbing behavior.
“Whatever works for you, man,” Isaac says around a mouthful of eggroll. “It’s
gotta be miserable as fuck living with them while they’re dating. I know I
couldn’t do it.”
This conversation only reminds him that all Stiles has to go home to their
empty apartment and wait for Scott and Allison to tell him about their amazing
date. The worst fucking part is that he actually  likes  Kira. She works well
with them. She works well with the pack. She’s also not Stiles.
They sit in silence a few moments more.  Isaac seems to be brooding over
something, but Stiles knows better than to bother asking.  The more anyone
tries to pry with Isaac, the less they get.  Instead, he pulls out his phone
and scrolls idly through news pages, vaguely on the lookout for anything that
suggests the supernatural.  
“Hey,” Isaac says finally.  “You think Scott’ll offer Kira a place in the
pack?”
Stiles hadn’t been expecting that--not that he ever knows what to expect from
Isaac.  
“I--uh--I dunno.  Maybe?”
They used to be a pretty sizeable pack, given what a new Alpha Scott was.
 Stiles knows it caused a lot of waves in the Hale pack when so many of them
decided to follow Scott.   Stiles was a given, and Alison never really acted as
a part of the Hale pack anyway, despite her connection to Scott.  But when
Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and even Malia followed Scott too, suddenly Scott had a big
enough pack to look like a legitimate threat, no matter how young and
inexperienced they all were.  But then Malia left looking for answers about her
mother--a freedom Talia had never allowed.  And when the Alpha Pack came
looking to take over the territory surrounding Beacon Hills and all the
supernatural powers that accompany it, they’d lost Erica, and then Boyd.
They haven’t offered anyone else a spot since.  Scott says he doesn’t know how
to do that without feeling like he’s trying to replace them.  
“Would you want him to?” Stiles wonders, pressing for more insight into Isaac’s
thoughts about the issue.
Isaac shrugs and reaches for an eggroll, avoiding all eye contact.  “I trust
Scott,” he replies finally.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know,” Isaac mutters.
“Yeah, not sure how I feel about all that either,” Stiles admits. “Rocking the
boat and all that.  I don’t know Kira that well though.   Maybe she’d be good
for the pack.”
“Scott and Allison deserve to find their third person,” Isaac adds.  
“But she’s not the only person who could be compatible.  Plenty of fish in the
sea and all.  If she comes just for Scott, and it turns out they misread the
Emblems, or their Emblems weren’t as settled as they thought, that’ll be
awkward as fuck.”
Isaac nods, but he doesn’t offer further commentary.  Stiles debates pushing
farther but decides to let it go.  Asking about Isaac’s feelings for Scott and
Allison would more than likely just lead to retorts about Stiles’
embarrassingly endless pining to be the third for Lydia and Danny--if they ever
wake the hell up and realize what a complete asshat Jackson is.  Maybe the best
course of option for keeping this dinner chill is to just change the subject
altogether.
“So how’s Eileen?” Stiles wonders.
“That’s not her name,” Isaac reminds, clearly annoyed.
“Oh, come on.  You’ve gotta admit it’s better than  Cupcake.  Cupcake makes her
sound like a little yappy purse dog.”
“Eileen is a constant pun on the fact that she was in a horrible accident, you
sociopath.”
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your
strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it
will never be used to hurt you,” Stiles quotes sagely.
“You watch too much Game of Thrones,” Isaac replies.  
“You watch enough to know what I’m quoting,” Stiles points out.  
“She’s doing really well actually,” Isaac informs.
“Then why do you look all pouty?”
“She’s pretty much healed.  She doesn’t need a vet’s care, so a shelter would
do.”
“Oh, that sucks.  Can’t she just stay and be the mascot or something?”
“Scott actually pitched that exact idea to Deaton.  No luck.”
“You should take her,” Stiles says.  “She loves you.”
“I can’t just get a dog.  Our lives are way too complicated for shit like
that,” Isaac protests, but there’s no  real  conviction behind the assertion.
“She can roll with the punches pretty well I bet,” Stiles says.  “Plus, if she
goes to a shelter there’s no guarantee about the kind of people who adopt her.
 You’d at least know she’s loved if you take her.  If it really doesn’t work
out, you could take her to a shelter later.  Give her a trial period.”
“It’s not really my place. It’s Derek’s.  He--”
“I have never seen a man in my life who needs to have some adorable puppy
cuddles soften him around the edges.  It’ll be doing Derek a favor.”
“He won’t see it that way.”
“Maybe not,” Stiles says with a shrug.  “But something to think about?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Stiles grins.   He can usually tell when he’s won a debate, and he’s pretty
sure this is one of those times.  Scott has said for weeks how awesome Isaac’s
been with Eileen.  Maybe he just needed a nudge in the right direction.
“You ever seen Die Hard?” Stiles asks, hoping to throw off any suspicion from
Isaac about Stiles’ newly forming plans for Eileen. Isaac shakes his head “no”
in reply as he sits back in the visitor’s chair with his mixed rice and
chopsticks.
“What do you mean you’ve never seen Die Hard. It’s a classic!” Stiles exclaims.
“Derek’s never made you watch it?”
Isaac raises an eyebrow. “You think Derek’s seen it either? He didn’t even have
a TV until I moved in.” He stabs his chopsticks back into his carton. “Besides,
he’s way more of a PBS kind of guy,” Isaac says it with such easy, annoying
fondness that Stiles laughs despite his bitter mood.
“Downton Abbey?” Stiles asks incredulously. He can’t believe it. Derek looks
like he just stepped out of Die Hard 90% of the time. He’s also never really
had the occasion to see Derek looking or acting like anything but the badass,
hardass werewolf that he’s always been.
“Downton Abbey,” Isaac replies with a conspiratorial smile. “And if you ever
tell anyone, I’ll probably have to mercy kill you to save you from Derek,”
Isaac adds fangs into his grin at the end of the statement, and Stiles’ heart
skips a beat. He knows Isaac can hear it, so Stiles picks up his own chopsticks
in response and shovels some crab rangoon into his mouth.
After a few minutes of smug silence on Isaac’s part, Stiles can’t keep the
quiet up. It’s too awkward for him, and the calm relaxed posture of Isaac
across the desk is driving him nuts.
“So, what other deep dark domestic secrets does Derek have besides a waffle
maker?”
Isaac looks up from his carton and deadpans, “Slippers. Light blue memory foam
slippers.”
“No.” Stiles is far too delighted by this information.
“Yes,” Isaac replies.



Isaac
********************************
 
Isaac’s phone rings at some ungodly hour the next morning with Scott’s name on
the caller ID.  Derek’s side is cold, and he’s disoriented until he remembers
that Derek’s out on the preserve with a couple of biologists and an infectious
fungus expert. He didn’t disappear. Isaac rubs at his face and wills his heart
to calm as he sits up and answers, "Hey, What's wrong?"
     "Dude, you're adopting her!?"
      "What?! Adopting who?"
      "Eileen!"
      "What're you talking about?"
      "I got to work this morning and she's got a tag on her collar.  It says
'Eileen' and it's got all your contact info on it. Why didn't you tell me?"
      "Because I didn't buy that tag."
      "Then who?" Scott wonders.
     "I don't know. I--" As Isaac's brain finally wakes up, the dots connect.
"I'm gonna  kill  Stiles!"
    Stiles doesn't answer his calls. After the third unanswered call in a row,
Stiles just sends a text that says, "you're welcome. Look out in the hall." Out
in the hall is a basket of everything Isaac could need to bring Eileen and a
post-it note that says, “you got this," in what Isaac assumes is Stiles' messy
handwriting.  Isaac leaves to go to the clinic and take that damn tag off
before anyone else sees it.
   But when he gets there, all it takes is one more look at Eileen's big brown
eyes, thrilled to see him, and Isaac knows that Stiles has given him the shove
he needed to get here.
     "Whatcha say, girl?" Isaac asks. "Wanna take your risks coming home to
live with werewolves?"
    As if she understands the question, Eileen nuzzles his hand and lunges up
to lick Isaac's face.  Isaac thinks maybe he won’t kill Stiles, after all.  He
might just end up having to thank him.

[https://68.media.tumblr.com/d5549d59fef86a5d5d900541edb9db56/
tumblr_ohnb6dKtVS1siu3w5o1_500.png]
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter 3
 
Derek
*********************
 
Isaac calls when Derek’s halfway through a bowl of Reese’s Puffs, thinking idly
of the first time Stiles’ rambling brain asked if some werewolves were as
sensitive to chocolate as dogs.  
Not that I’m calling you a dog, dude,  he’d clarified, eye wide as he processed
how the question probably sounded.   Totally one hundred percent not calling
you a dog just--ya know--trying to figure out how to keep my best friend from
getting killed and not that Scott’s got a major sweet tooth but there’s enough
stuff trying to kill him without him poisoning himself and helping them out so…
Derek had let him ramble a few minutes more, still amazed back then that anyone
could ramble as much as Stiles Stilinski, before informing Stiles that no,
werewolves were not overly sensitive to chocolate, and even if they were--there
probably wasn’t enough real chocolate in Reese’s Puffs to do any harm.
Derek’s pulled from the memory when his phone vibrates with an incoming call
from Isaac.  
“Hey, buy milk on your way home,” he says.
“Um, can’t,” Isaac replies.  
“I’ll get it later. It’s fine.  Everything okay?”
“Yes?”
“Isaac…”
“Just don’t kill me, okay? It’s Stiles’ fault.  If there’s going to be any
maiming, it should be Stiles.”
“Isaac, what’d Stiles talk you into this time?!”
“I--um--well--you’ll hear soon enough.”
“Hear soon enough?”
“Uh-huh.  See you soon; don’t be pissed,” Isaac finishes, abruptly ending the
call before Derek can reply.
“Hear soon enough?” Derek repeats to himself.  “Literally, or a bad news call
from someone or--”
Before he can finish his musing, Isaac’s faint voice reaches his ears.
“That’s it; good girl; come on.”
It’s followed by a stuttered kind of gallop, the sound of nails on the hardwood
floor of the hall downstairs, and the unmistakable jingling of an ID tag.
“He adopted that damn dog!” Derek realizes.  “You are  so dead !” he yells,
knowing full well Isaac can hear.  “You didn’t even  ask ?! HOW did you think
you were going to pawn this off on Stiles?”
“It was his idea,” Isaac’s voice replies, barely audible from this distance.
 “And--well--I’m a sucker.”
“I’m not,” Derek replies as he hears Isaac ascending the second set of stairs
with the three-legged imposter.   “We don’t have time for a dog, Isaac.”
“She’s super low maintenance; she’s even house trained already.  It’s gonna be
fine.”
“Isaac--” Derek continued to protest.
But then the heavy metal door lurches open, and in walks Isaac preceded by a
clearly exhausted but thrilled three-legged canine.  She’s got long floppy ears
that flap when she walks, because she doesn’t walk so much as she--well, she
kind of moves like a seal, maybe because she’s so long--and fuck her, legs are
way too short for her body.  She’s the most ridiculous-looking and yet
absolutely adorable thing Derek’s maybe ever seen.  He knows instantly that
he’s going to lose this argument.
“Isaac, we can’t,” Derek protests.
“A week,” Isaac says.  “Look how excited she is, Derek; I can’t take her right
back to Deaton’s.  Just--just give it a week and if you totally hate having her
here then--then we’ll figure out something else.”
Derek hopes the frown he’s giving is more convincing that it feels.  “Fine,” he
agrees.  “One week. And she’s  your  responsibility.”
“Yeah, totally, I’ll take care of everything; I swear.”
“You’re going to have to carry her up and down the stairs. No way she makes it
on her own.”
“I know,” Isaac says, but he’s way too happy watching the dog leap-seal-hop
whatever her way around the living room to pay attention to Derek.


                             *********************


Derek
*********************
 
Thursday arrives far too soon for his liking, just like every other Thursday of
his life for the past ten years. Isaac’s here because it’s the first Thursday
of the month, as he reluctantly agreed to about six weeks into their current
living arrangement. Isaac sits mostly silent next to him, and he’s more than
well aware how much Isaac hates this. He’s never openly said anything to Derek
about it, but Derek suspects that’s because Isaac knows he’s suffering just as
much.
As if the universe could hear Derek’s own miserable thoughts, his mother turns
to Isaac and asks point blank, “How’s Scott doing? Well, I hope.”
Most of the time Derek is fine being in the Hale pack without Isaac, but he
knows his mother always brings it up more urgently than usual whenever Isaac
forces himself through to door to endure dinner with them.
“He’s fine,” Derek interrupts before Isaac can reply. He feels Isaac deflate
slightly next to him, though from relief or irritation Derek can’t divine from
his peripheral vision. He’s too busy trying to tell Talia to  drop it  with his
eyes before they wind up with a repeat of six months ago.
“That’s excellent, son, but I didn’t ask you. I asked Isaac. Isaac, Scott’s
told me he’s close to finding his third. A kitsune even, which I know his, well
your  pack will appreciate. Do you like her?” If Derek could stab himself with
a fork and cause enough real damage to get them out of this dinner, he would.
Instead, the rest of the family carries on their innocuous conversation while
Isaac’s interrogated.
“If you have business with the McCall pack, seek out the Alpha instead of
treating Isaac like a messenger.” He knows it doesn’t really bother Isaac on a
surface level to be a messenger for the McCall pack, but Derek has to live with
the aftermath of interrogations like these for the next two weeks. Isaac’s kind
enough to essentially live between two packs, and he’s got enough loyalty to
take care of Derek and commit to Scott, but it takes a toll that Derek wishes
Isaac didn’t have to endure.
A big part of Derek wishes that he could just be selfless enough to let Isaac
go, but he knows he needs another soul in the industrial, clinical catalog
picture of his apartment if he’s going to survive. There’s no one else that
could put up with Derek the way Isaac does on a day to day basis, in small ways
that Derek knows Isaac doesn’t even realize.
“Kira’s great,” Isaac replies as he ignores Derek’s warning to his mother. He
even sounds happy about it, which shocks Derek. Isaac and Derek only live
together because they’re generally not stable enough to be alone. There’s
plenty of companionship, but Derek’s under no illusions that Isaac would
disappear to Scott’s side if he ever gave a hint of wanting Isaac. Allison and
Scott are kind and wonderful people, but their cluelessness towards Isaac’s
feelings adds a layer of surliness to Derek’s interactions with the neighboring
pack.
“Really?” Derek sounds shocked before he can school his reaction, which earns
him a withering look from Isaac. Great.
“Yes, really,” Isaac says to Derek more than to Talia. He continues to his
mother, “She’s got amazing martial arts skills, and Allison absolutely loves
having a practice partner that’s less…” Isaac pauses, and Derek knows he’s
looking for a way to be delicate about the situation. “Less canine,” Isaac
concludes. It's a point of contention that the neighboring alpha is in a
relationship with a human, and a former hunter to boot, and even more
contentious that Allison doesn’t hide her past.
Talia gives Isaac a fanged grin, which he returns. Despite the awkwardness
between the two packs, for some inexplicable reason, Isaac and Talia became
incredibly close the day Isaac moved into Derek’s apartment. He doesn’t always
understand it, but he’s glad that Isaac’s easy going enough to accept Talia’s
constant attempts to fold him into the Hale pack. Isaac’s only had one wolfed
out fight with Derek about loyalty and love and where his devotions lay. Derek
lays his free hand on Isaac’s thigh as they continue to chat about Isaac’s life
over the past month. Derek knows he’s lucky to have Isaac fill in all the
silence where Derek’s concerned, and at least once a month the pack dinners are
a little easier to bear. Isaac’s hand slips down to squeeze his as his mother
switches subjects to their joint admiration of Derek’s work with the Beacon
Hills forestry department.
“Derek was just telling me a few days ago that the trees by the bank of the
Preserve’s river are almost completely dead.”
“Is that so?” Talia inquires, her interest sharp. Though the preserve had been
traditional Hale Pack land for centuries, Talia gracefully ceded a small
section of the Preserve and its surrounding unprotected mountains to the McCall
pack. The river is still Hale property, but Scott’s “no one really owns the
earth” attitude has allowed for a beneficial partnership, and for Derek to keep
his job with the national parks and forestry services.
“I’ll let you know if it seems to be spreading, but as far as I can tell, it’s
rot from the flash floods.” The general humidity of the past summer had caused
several issues in the preserve, from lightning fires to root rot among the
trees close to the river. “Nothing supernatural,” Derek assures. It’s what he
wants to believe, and he doesn’t have a reason to think otherwise. At least for
now. His mother understands the implication behind the words and nods quickly.
“I hope not,” She replies. They’ve moved into an era of peace and calm with the
nemeton that everyone has been blessedly relieved to enjoy.
“Did Derek tell you we got a dog?” Isaac says, and Laura breaks away from her
conversation with their father at the news.
“He let you bring a dog into that immaculate apartment?” Laura says gleefully.
“Man, Derek must really love you,” she jokes.
Derek rolls his eyes and gives thanks whatever deity is out there that he’s had
years and years to practice keeping his reactions under control near a pack of
werewolves. Isaac is not nearly as prepared and launches into a passionate
defense of just how sweet and wonderful  his  dog is only a few days into
living with her.
“Derek only uses her as a footrest, he doesn’t even have to carry her down the
stairs,” Isaac explains to Laura.
“Carry her down the stairs?” his dad interrupts with a charmed look in his
eyes. “You live on the fifth floor of Derek’s building and you carry her?”
Isaac blushes in response.
“It's not her fault she’s only got three legs and no one else wanted her,”
Isaac tries to give a calm, deadpan response, but everyone else at the table
can hear just how upset Isaac is by their joking.
“Eileen’s a great dog,” Derek grudgingly admits, mostly to save Isaac from
getting himself into further good-natured mockery from his family. Isaac gives
him a look that means he’s in for it once they get home tonight, though whether
that’s a good thing or a bad thing Derek couldn’t say at this point.
“I’m sure she’s very sweet, I’ll have to come by and say hello,” Talia says in
a soft voice, decisively turning the conversation back into safer waters. “Does
she have a name yet?”
“Eileen,” Isaac grumbles to his lap, and Laura has to excuse herself from the
table as she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.
 
Isaac
*********************
 
Isaac’s dutifully helping with all of the dishes from tonight’s lasagna, glad
for the excuse to be out of the main conversation going on in the living room.
Despite the protests every month that the guests shouldn’t have to do the
cleaning up, he would much rather be scraping off blackened cheese from the
edge of a glass dish than facing Hale Pack business.
It’s weird being here, honestly. He knows that Talia would love to have him in
the pack, and she’s made it incredibly clear that he would be welcome. Isaac
feels welcome, but Derek and Scott cloud his thoughts on the matter so
regularly that he’s never sure how he feels about it anymore. If Kira accepts
the invitation to the pack, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stay.
Every pack meeting he feels like the extra, the last piece that never fits. But
he’s not sure it would honestly be any different in the Hale pack, a family
first, a pack of natural born werewolves second.
“-think about it, won’t you Der-” he can hear Talia entreat her son from the
living room. Most of the time the family communicates softly since Isaac isn’t
part of the pack and he can hear everything just a well as the rest of them. It
must be serious if Isaac can hear it on the other side of the house while the
water is running over the dishes.
“Are you insane? He’d never agree,” Derek sounds incensed, which means they’re
likely to be leaving soon. Watching Derek and his family interact is like
watching two opposing magnets being forced together, stubbornly repellant of
each other. Isaac casts a glance to the dirty dishes still waiting for him on
the counter. Part of him, the part he often tries to ignore, urges him to hurry
up and finish. A bigger part of him, the part that’s at home with the Hales,
that loves watching Derek wander around their apartment and take care of the
chores from time to time, knows that no one will care if he doesn’t finish the
dishes when they're back at home.
The panic rises anyways, and he abandons the glass lasagne dish as a lost
cause. He might as well just finish, only looking up from the methodical work
when Derek touches his shoulder lightly.
“Sorry,” Derek says as he pulls Isaac’s hands from the sink.
“I’m fine,” Isaac replies, realizing that he’s scratched four fine gouges in
the back of the plate. “Fuck,” he states to the dishwasher. It appears that
most of them have made it into the machine unscathed.
“Let’s go home and get drunk,” Derek says in response. More often than not,
Derek returns home earlier than expected with a large bottle of wolfsbane vodka
to share. Isaac’s always more than happy to indulge.
 
Stiles
*********************
 
By the time Stiles makes it up the fourth flight of industrial stairs, he can
already hear the explosions ringing. He bangs on the metal door to Derek and
Isaac’s apartment, but no one answers.
“Hey assholes,” he yells over the TV as he lets himself in. “What in the fuck-”
Derek and Isaac are laughing to each other on their fancy leather couch, so
hard that they’re crying. Live Free or Die Hard is on the massive flatscreen,
with no one but Eileen paying it any mind.
“What’s so funny about-” Stiles begins, until he refocuses himself on the
original purpose for this visit. As far as he can tell, Eileen is still alive.
Scott and Allison are out again with Kira, so instead of choosing one of the
bars for tonight’s entertainment, he thought he’d go check in on the three-
legged adorable-ness that is Eileen.
“I see Isaac hasn’t killed you through neglect, and Derek hasn’t tossed you out
of the window, so it’s going pretty well, huh girl?”
Eileen looks away from Die Hard for a few seconds, sneezes in Stiles’
direction, and returns to her intense engagement with the film. After a minute
of further investigation, Stiles realizes that she’s comfortably enthroned on a
dark brown memory foam dog bed. He’s glad she’ll be well loved here. As much as
Stiles loves her, there’s no way she would have lasted in Allison’s, Scott’s,
and his apartment. There’s barely enough space for the three of them, even
thinking about throwing in a handicapped dog makes him feel claustrophobic.
“Stiiiilllles” Isaac says, breaking him from his thoughts.
“Woooaahh are you two drunk,” Stiles smiles in reply. Derek’s curled up next to
Isaac, resting on his chest, and Stiles’ own heart aches. It’s great that they
have each other, but now it only serves to remind Stiles that the best thing he
had to do on a Thursday evening is to check up on his friends’ dog. He invites
himself to watch the rest of the movie as he flops down in the overstuffed dark
leather chair.
“Why is everything in here so dark?” Stiles asks the room. He glances over to
the coffee table’s array of empty cracker boxes and vodka bottles and doesn’t
expect an answer.
“Leather’s durable,” Derek says to Isaac’s shoulder, and Isaac nods sagely
before bursting out into more laughter. Derek follows into hysterics, and
they’re back to the same state they were in when Stiles arrived a few minutes
ago.
“I didn’t think you two’d be happy drunks, honestly,” Stiles says, only
slightly bitter that he hasn’t had the opportunity to experience the two most
stoic friends he has at their most ridiculous.
“We-we- we’re not” Isaac struggles out, and Derek bursts out into a new round
of laughter.
“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks as he leaves for the kitchen. He’d love to get drunk,
but he doesn’t have werewolf hangover avoidance, and he does have work at the
library tomorrow. He finds a can of coke in the shiny fancy refrigerator and
leans on the island counter top to watch the two of them.
Derek looks suddenly serious as he peers over the couch.
“Want to hear something ridiculous?”
“Always,” Stiles replies, since Derek’s never said anything ridiculous, or even
in the realm of entertaining to Stiles.
“My mother, Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale Pack,” Isaac drunkenly snickers at
Derek’s mock seriousness, “Would like to formally ally with the McCall pack.”
“Ridiculous,” Stiles sarcastically agrees. There’s a signed contract somewhere
in their tiny apartment that attests to the alliance between the two packs.
Stiles scooped it up years ago before Scott could lose it.
“Formally ally,” Derek continues, “By marrying Isaac.”
Stiles inhales his coke, burning his throat and lungs with the carbonation.
“The two of you? Only two?” he coughs out. He’s not drunk enough for this.
Isaac lets out another howl of laughter, reaching sloppily for the coffee table
to find more booze. Stiles leaves his coke on the kitchen counter and returns
to the fridge to find something both alcoholic and friendly to humans.
He sits down with a half full Kinky Pink bottle, which he hopes Derek and Isaac
will be way too drunk to remember tomorrow morning. The only person who could
have left a Kinky Pink liquor bottle in their fridge had to have been Laura, or
Cora as a sick joke. Regardless, it tastes good and gets the job done.
“Seriously, just the two of you?” Stiles asks about an hour later and much
drunker. They’ve ostensibly been watching the movie, but honestly, they’ve just
progressed further and further along the intoxicated scale. “No one just gets
married to a partner. Wait- do you two even…” Stiles isn’t exactly sure of the
arrangement between Isaac and Derek. No one in the McCall pack has been brave,
or stupid enough to ask if Derek and Isaac would ever formally seek out a third
to complete them.
“Do we what?” Derek asks, but his eyes are closed. He looks like he’s about to
pass out, so Stiles figures he definitely won’t remember him asking. “Do you
even want a third?” Stiles asks, drunk enough to imply that Derek and Isaac are
their own thing.
Isaac takes a sip out of the plastic cup and glances over at Derek. The two of
them are past their happy-drunk stage, and Stiles wishes he hadn’t been so
blunt, since it appears that they’ve never had this conversation on their own.
“Because I mean,” Stiles charges on, unable to handle the oppressive
awkwardness in the air, “No one just gets married anymore. Wouldn’t you guys,
like, need another? Person?”
“You volunteering?” Isaac sneers. The situation abruptly loses all levity.
“No, you two won’t even look at your own emblems. Pretty fucked up thing you’d
have to explain to a third, and who the hell’s gonna blindly volunteer so...”
“So  what? ” Derek growls, and Stiles pushes back into the chair. Why did he
decide that getting drunk with two very dangerous and repressed werewolves was
a good idea? This was a terrible idea.“It’s none of your goddamn business if we
want to keep those bullshit marks cover---
Isaac slams his palm over Derek’s chest as he tries to advance on Stiles.
“Sit the fuck down, honey.” The statement drips with acid as Isaac’s hand grabs
Derek’s gray t-shirt and effectively pulls him back down to the couch in a move
that looks much easier than it probably was.
“I think Stiles was about to say ‘so fucked up’.” He calmly looks at Stiles as
he takes another sip and Derek simmers. Isaac’s hand is still bunched up in the
grey fabric. “I mean,” Isaac supposes, “It is, pretty fucked up. There’s only
the two of us, I’m not even in the Hale pack. It’d be a miserable shit-show,
nothing but an alliance and peace of mind for the Hales. Isn’t that right,
Derek?” Derek relaxes a few inches, and his fists unclench. His bright blue
eyes fade back to their regular ridiculous hazel rainbow, and Stiles’ heart
returns to his chest from his throat.
“Right,” Derek agrees, and looks more contrite about his reaction than Stiles
had ever expected. Like he almost regrets being the hardass, badass, terrifying
werewolf that he always is around Stiles, or any of the McCall pack members for
that matter. “You wouldn’t be a miserable-shitshow,” Derek confesses to Isaac
quietly, and Isaac smiles back at Derek’s dopily drunk smile. Stiles’ heart
starts pounding in sickness for a completely different reason this time. He
doesn’t need to see this after almost being torn to shreds.
“You wouldn’t be a miserable shit-show either,” Isaac agrees as he leans to
rest against Derek’s shoulder. Stiles desperately wishes to be anywhere but
here.
“He’s still freaking out,” Derek observes to Isaac. Isaac nods.
“Only question is, is his heartbeat racing because  you were about to take his
throat out with your teeth---or because we’re suggesting an arranged marriage
suggested by your  mother  and while you said I wouldn’t be such a shitshow--”
  
“I just--look, this has been really-” Stiles interrupts, catching himself
before he says ‘nice’. Isaac snorts.  
“Jury’s still out on Stiles though,” he continues, words slurred. and Derek
smiles and nods. “He could be a miserable shit-show.”
Stiles does his best to return his heartbeat to normal.  He really  really
doesn’t know how the hell to react to any of this.  Normally they’re a big
happy group when they’re all drunk, but there’s no Scott here to balance out
the brooding.  Just vaguely angry, aggressive Derek and Isaac, who Stiles can
read fine sober but is starting to be a little wary of while drunk.  He thinks
of leaving--but he’s too drunk to stand up and flee the apartment--and it’s
probably an overreaction anyway.  Maybe if he just doesn’t let them get to him
with the comments about being a triad, that get his drunk libido spiking when
he’s looking at two gorgeous men in front of him and it’s been a  long  time
since he had any kind of--
“I think he’s getting better now,” Derek tries to whisper to Isaac, but they’re
both too drunk to realize they’re talking at normal volume.  “Almost normal
heartbeat.”
“Stop doing that,” Stiles complains, glad to have something else to talk about.
Anything but pack business and alliances and marriages and being torn to pieces
by drunk werewolves.
“What? Calling you a miserable shit-show? You probably wouldn’t be that bad,”
Derek admits. Isaac looks close to falling asleep, but he nods in agreement.
“Not tha’ bad” he agrees.
“I meant about listening in, checking in on my ‘well-being,’ stop doing that,”
Stiles tries to add the appropriate air quotes, but his arms feel dangerously
detached when he makes the attempt. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good, ‘cause we’re drunk,” Derek replies.  
“I’m just gonna--” Stiles starts, attempting to get to his feet, but the whole
world lurches so he sits back down with a miserable groan.
“D’you think he’s going to puke?” Derek asks, and Isaac shakes his head, “Nah.”
“I’m sitting right here you assholes,” Stiles says with no venom. Watching
Isaac nod off has given Stiles his own excellent inspiration. Sleeping, more
specifically, sleeping in this chair in this spacious apartment with an
adorable dog, would be a great idea.
“When did Stiles get ‘wolf hearing?” Derek says to Isaac, and Stiles just rolls
his eyes. It’s a mistake, and the ceiling spins. He closes his eyes in response
to it.
“Look he’s just gonna pass out right there,” Stiles hears bits and pieces of a
conversation, but his body’s demand to sleep is too strong to ignore.
“-Move him?”
“What if we drop-”
“We could just-”
The last thing Stiles remembers is a shock of soft coldness and Isaac’s voice
saying too loudly “Shhhhhh, go back to sleep” before he permanently passes out
for the night.   
***** Chapter 4 *****
Derek
*****************
“So she’s a little older than us,” Paige says with a shrug.  “It’s not like
it’s unheard of, Der.  That’s the whole point of emblems, right? They help
expedite the process.  We’ve been looking for a third for like a million
years!”
“Or--ya know--just six months,” Derek counters, rolling his eyes.  
“Is it so bad to think we might be able to nail down the missing piece and live
happily ever after?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking
Derek’s  hand.  “I mean this is fun enough with just the two of us,” she says,
turning to straddle his lap, “but imagine if we added a third,” she whispers
against his ear.  
“Mmmm,” he agrees.  “You really think it’s her?”
“I think it could be.  Her emblem is almost a perfect match; you saw it
yourself.  Just a few missing lines and a little darker shade of blue.  It’s so
close.”
“I just get this weird vibe from Kate,” Derek says between kisses.  “It’s not
as easy as--as it’s always been with you.
“Well, we’re perfect matches,” Paige reminds, leaning into Derek until he lays
back on the bed.  “That level of awesome doesn’t happen every day.”
“Nope.”
“Just ‘cause she’s not a perfect match doesn’t mean Kate isn’t compatible.  She
wants to go out with us tonight.  Please? Let’s just give it a try?”
The weight of Paige on top of Derek vanishes, and she’s standing upright beside
the bed, pale except for the deep crimson gash along her neck, wearing the pale
pink dress they buried her in--the one she was supposed to wear for her senior
recital.
“No,” Derek protests, all too familiar with the conversation about to come.
  “No, Paige, don’t!”
“You should have said something, Derek,” she accuses.  “You should have
listened to that instinct that told you something was wrong with Kate Argent.
 You were the one with heightened senses.  You’re the one who's supposed to be
able to hear lies and smell deception.  You should have protected me!”
“I just--I wanted you to be happy, and you wanted to find our third and--”
Derek protests feebly.
“You wanted to be happy?” she scoffs.  “How happy do you think I was choking on
my own blood, Derek? How happy was I to die before we even graduated high
school?”
“Paige, please--”
“It’s your fault, Derek,” she rages, crossing over to him in an instant,
shaking Derek’s shoulders. “You should have protected me--should have protected
your family.  Thank God for your mother or your whole fucking pack would have
gone up in flames because you were too stupid to recognize the psychotic,
murderous, pyromaniac who was weaseling her way into your life.”
“Shut up, Paige!” Derek demands, gripping at the hand that’s still shaking him.
 
“Derek, it’s me,” Isaac says as Derek slowly takes in his surroundings, “Need
you to wake up.  Think Stiles is dying?”
“What?!” Derek replies, rising from the bed too quickly and realizing that he’s
not entirely sober just yet.    
“Not really dying, just sick, but I think I’m gonna--gonna--yup,” Isaac says,
fleeing toward the closest bathroom, which is, unfortunately, Derek’s. Eileen
hops after him with a whine of concern.  Derek has just a split second to
reflect on what a good dog she seems to be before the sound of Stiles violently
retching comes from out in the living room.
Fucking great,  Derek thinks.   At least they’re both too far gone to notice if
I start puking with them.   He takes solace in the idea of getting to goad them
about this tomorrow as he trods out in the living room to see what state Stiles
is in.


Stiles
*****************
 
Stiles wakes to a truly desperate need to pee, but firm hands on his shoulders
stop him from rising off the--- couch?--not my couch...whose couch?
He takes in Derek’s surly face just a few inches from his own before it
registers that Derek’s pushing Stiles’ head toward a small trashcan.
“Don’t get up.  Just aim for the trash can,” Derek tells him.
“Not gonna puke.”
“Sure you’re not,” Derek agrees, in a tone that says that ship has clearly
already sailed.
“I have to  pee  so unless you want me to do  that  in a trashcan in your
living room, let go!” Stiles insists, brushing Derek’s grip away.  The room
spins for a moment but rights itself soon enough--he’s mostly sober now it
seems.  Halfway on his careful but hurried trip to the bathroom, Stiles
realizes that he’s only wearing boxers--and he’s pretty sure they aren’t even
his  boxers--and a dish towel wrapped around his Emblem again.  
“What the fuck?” he mutters.  “What the hell happened last night?”
“Everything okay in there?” Isaac yells, at Stiles winces at the noise.
“Yup,” he replies, finishing up and washing his hands to emerge and wonder,
“what happened to my clothes?”
“They’re in the dryer now,” Isaac replies with a grimace.  “You went full
exorcist last night, dude.”
“No--but I--I had a little bit of the kinky liquor but--I wasn’t that drunk
when I got here and I--”
“Yeah, that’s my bad,” Isaac said.  “It’s Alison’s stash from that housewarming
we had when I moved in forever ago--she mixes in vodka to give it a kick, half
and half.  Little stronger than you were expecting probably?”
“Uh-huh.”
I didn’t eat much yesterday either.  And no sleep.  Perfect storm. Great.
“So two for two on the embarrassing drunken escapades lately,” Stiles says as
they chuckle at his pain.  “Great.”
“I was going to make waffles again,” Isaac offers.  “Unless you’re gonna keep
puking.”
“I think I’m solid.  My mouth tastes like something died in it though.  Water?”
he requests, and Isaac obliges by handing him a bottle from the fridge.  Eileen
waits hopefully by the fridge with a pleading look to Isaac--as if she doesn’t
have already have a whole bowl of high-quality kibble out at all times if she
gets hungry.
“God, I forgot how shitty human hangovers are,” Isaac says, clearly amused at
Stiles’ expense, though Isaac looks a little worse for wear too.  
“I hate you,” Stiles informs.
“Hey, Stiles wasn’t the only one doing an exorcist impression last night,”
Derek says with a smirk as Isaac starts heating up the griddle for breakfast.
“Oh really? Stiles wonders with a judgy glance to Isaac.
“Okay, it was not  that  bad,” Isaac counters defensively.  “I made it to the
bathroom at least--and it was just  once .”
“I’m just gonna curl in a ball and die now,” Stiles says, capping the water
bottle and laying back down on the couch; he isn’t sure if he’s going to die
from embarrassment or the physical misery but either way, sweet nothingness
sounds great.
“Don’t die on my couch,” Derek tells him.  “I gotta deal with enough bullshit
without adding dead bodies to the day.”
Stiles snorts a laugh remembering the conversation from last night, “Yeah, like
your mom trying to play matchmaker.”
“Shut up.”
“Hoping I forgot that bit, huh?” Stiles supposes.  “Also, jury is  not  still
out, I would  not  be a miserable shit show part of a triad, thank you very
much, you asshole,” Stiles declares, although pretty much  all  of his limited
experience looking for triads to fit into would suggest just the opposite.
“Well, by the looks of you right now…” Derek quips back.
“You’re the worst.  Both of you,” Stiles says before whining, “Oh my God just
knock me unconscious and let me sleep this shit off.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Derek says.  “I’m not explaining that to
Scott.”
“OHmygodScott,” Stiles groans.  “We are  not  telling Scott about this.  Got
that? The last thing I need or want is another soul-felt lecture about how
“alcohol isn’t the answer to my problems” and if I drink myself to death I’ll
never meet my triad anyway and there are healthy ways to cope with stress.  And
I swear to God last time he even got Allison and Kira to back him up for the
speech and I just---ugh--I am either too sober or too hungover for this
conversation.  Where are waffles? I was promised waffles,” he finishes in a
pout.
“I didn’t promise you waffles,” Isaac corrects from over behind the kitchen
bar.  “I just said I was making them.”
“You’re not evil enough to leave a poor, hungover human with no sustenance, are
you?” Stiles whines.
“I’ll feed you if you’ll be quiet for two seconds,” Isaac offers.  “My head is
killing me.”
“Good trade,” Stiles says.  He doesn’t mean to drift off to sleep in the
ensuing silence, but he’s curled up on the couch and it really is a very comfy
couch.  Plus Eileen jumps up to curl up in the available space at his feet,
which makes them all warm and toasty, and the blanket one of them must have
laid over him last night is here to be cuddled under.  So  the next thing he
knows Derek’s saying sharply, “You gonna wake up to eat or not? ‘Cause Eileen’s
eyeing your plate.”
“Yeah, I’m up,” Stiles replies.  
“Sit up and move over,” Derek tells him, clearly wanting to take the spot one
end of the couch since Isaac is in the armchair.  “Here,” he adds, thrusting a
plate of five pancakes dusted with sugar into Stiles’ hands.  Eileen licks
Stiles’ arm hopefully, and he sneaks her a few bites.  
Apparently they’re still trying to be quiet because no one speaks.  Stiles
wonders if this is what life with Derek and Isaac is like--stoic silence and
waffles.  He smiles at the thought.  There are worse existences. Of course,
maybe they’re just hungover.  Either way, they’re not horrible company,
especially accounting for the newly added adorable Eileen.
“Wanna know what’s fucked up?” Stiles says, breaking the silence.
“That’s a long list of possible topics,” Isaac says dubiously.
“The whole just-go-with-it-and-merge-the-packs plan isn’t the worst we’ve ever
had.”
“If my mother thought it was a shitty plan, she wouldn’t have bothered
suggesting it to me,” Derek replies, just a bit defensive.  “But arranged
triads aren’t exactly the modern take on things unless you’re opting for the
fake-it-til-you-make-it approach.”
“We’ve handled worse scenarios” Stiles mutters bitterly, “At least once we’re
neatly tucked away as a triad people would leave us the hell alone and stop
looking at us like we’re sad spare parts that won’t ever fit anywhere.”
The silence that follows his statement seems more tense than it should.
“Are you serious?” Isaac asks finally, with a look to Derek that Stiles doesn’t
miss.  
“Maybe I’m still drunker than I thought,” Stiles mutters, suddenly embarrassed
at the proposition. “Plus, with us we couldn’t fake it til we made it.  We’d
annoy the hell out of each other.  We could fake it for a while though--in the
name of getting some goddamned peace on the topic for a couple weeks.”
After all, they’re the last two people on earth who’d sign onto any kind of
arrangement with Stiles.  He knows from plenty of experience with Lydia and
Danny before they added Jackson that playing third wheel is no fun when you
never get invited into the triad you were pining for.  Better just nip this
drunken brainstorm in the bud.  
Still, at least if we faked it for a little while people might quit thinking
I’m fucked up for being twenty-two with no “real” relationships to speak of.  
 
Isaac
*****************
 
Isaac’s still processing the statement from Stiles--or more specifically the
fact that the idea of not being looked at like a spare part sounds  really
really  good at the moment.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Isaac always
thought if he could ever move past losing Erica and Boyd enough to function in
another relationship, he’d be with Scott and Allison.   His Emblem had never
matched theirs before--even before he’d met Erica and Boyd.  He’s got no reason
to assume it would match now--if he bothered to look.  Still, Scott and Alison
had both played a big role in keeping Isaac going completely off the rails in
his grief.  Maybe it was just nightingale syndrome, but, if it was, it didn’t
make the hurt feel any less real when Scott and Allison had started dating
Kira.
Maybe I’m just grasping at straws, but we really have had much worse ideas. And
I could use a distraction.
Of course, Isaac has no idea how they’d ever actually pull off a fake
relationship , what with the whole werewolves can hear lies thing.  Sure,
there’s nothing against arranged triads, and Talia even suggested it, but Scott
would never understand it.  He’d say Isaac was giving up and launch into some
god-awful speech about how  he’s not going to let Isaac give up on himself
which would leave Isaac ever-more infuriatingly in love with and enraged by his
Alpha.  
God, I’m pathetic,  he laments silently, trying not to dwell on the thought too
long.
A harsh knock on the metallic door echoes through the loft, making them all
wince at the loud noise hitting hungover ears.  Scott’s voice yells loudly
after, “Hey, guys, open up.  It’s important.  I think Stiles might be in
trouble.  He’s not answering his phone, and he didn’t show up for work.”
Stiles flails, reaching for a pen off the coffee table and scribbling
frantically on the back of a magazine.  He holds up the message so Derek and
Isaac can see.  It reads, “PLEASE don’t tell him I got trashed.  Too hungover
for this shit.”  
Derek rolls his eyes, but Isaac understands all too well avoiding Scott’s
patented puppy dog eyes of disappointment.
“Guys!” Scott persists, banging again.
“Coming!” Isaac calls to get the banging to end.  “Stiles is fine.  He’s here.”
“Huh?” Scott says as Stiles glares at Isaac who shrugs.  “That’s good then,”
Scott says as Isaac hauls open the door.  “What’s Stiles doing here?” he
wonders as Isaac steps aside to let Scott come inside.  “You didn’t get sad
drunk again did you?” Scott asks, looking past Isaac to Stiles.  “‘Cause you--”
“He’s fine, Scott,” Isaac says, diverting attention back in hopes Scott won’t
see just how hungover Stiles is.  “We just had a few drinks and stayed up
late.”
“Guess I didn’t hear my alarm for work,” Stiles says, rising carefully from the
couch, making it look like he’s only slow because he needed to stretch.
 Isaac’s mildly impressed by the coordination from Stiles--hungover or sober.
 “Sorry I worried you, buddy.  How was your date with Allison and Kira?” he
wonders.
Isaac knows it’s a surefire way to divert Scott’s attention, but he still
loathes the way Scott’s eyes light up at the mention of their names.  “It was
so great,” he replies, just as Isaac catches a glimpse of the hickeys along
Scott’s neck---that he’s  choosing  not to let heal if they’re still there.
 Because he wants a fucking all-day reminder that the whole damn world can see
what an obnoxiously happy, lovey-dovey, night he had with Allison and Kira
who’s very clearly headed for the third spot in Isaac’s last hope at ever
having any rebound triad after Erica and Boyd.  “We--”
“Don’t need details,” Derek cuts off just as Isaac’s vulnerability is
channeling into anger.  “We get it.  It was good.  Congratufucklinglations.”  
He’s being gruff because he’s Derek, but probably also to save Isaac from
having to endure Scott’s adoring account of events,  if the momentary eye
contact with a glint of concern that Derek gives is any indication.
“Isaac, are you okay?” Scott asks in lieu of responding to Derek with anything
more than a frown.  
His face must’ve given something away, and the overwhelming smell of
embarrassment is so great that Isaac’s sure Scott can’t miss it.  Isaac’s too
exhausted and hungover to mask much of anything right now, especially caught
off guard--by his alpha--who he’s also kind of in love with-- ah, fuck , he
bemoans silently as the smell of embarrassment only strengthens.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies, and Scott frowns when he hears the stuttering
heartbeat.  
“Look, I’ve told you, if me and Allison and Kira make you uncomfortable--I know
you’ve lost a lot, Isaac.  Feeling sad is nothing to be embarrassed about.  You
know I’m here for you--whatever you need, okay? We--”
But Isaac really,  really  can’t take a McCall pep speech right now, and before
his mouth consults his brain he blurts.  “I’m fine; I just didn’t want you to
find out like this.”
It startles Scott to silence, and while Scott’s focus is on Isaac, Isaac sees
the looks of ‘what the fuck’ on Derek and Stiles’ faces.
“Find out?” Scott repeats, looking to Stiles and Derek who quickly school their
surprise.  “Find out about what?  Was  Stiles out drinking alone again?  You’ve
been out every night this week, Stiles, you--”
“No, Stiles wasn’t out drinking.  He came to see us,” Derek says, and Isaac
thinks he might have backup in this Hail Mary, half-baked story he’s trying to
sell after no forethought that wasn’t clearly impacted by alcohol--though  why
Derek is on board he isn’t quite sure.  Still, he’ll take what he can get if he
doesn’t have to admit that the idea of Scott and Allison out with Kira makes
him want to either sob or kill something.
“Why would Isaac be embarrassed that Stiles came to hang out with you guys?”
Scott wonders.
“He  spent the night , Scott,” Isaac replies pointedly, choosing his words
carefully to avoid the uptick in heart rate signaling a lie.  
“So what if he--” Scott’s eyes widen as he takes in the meaning.  “Wait,  you
three  had like a  date night ? Seriously?”
Isaac can’t say yes because they  didn’t  but to have Scott catch the lie now
will just make this conversation all the more difficult.  
“Dude, I’m wearing Isaac’s boxers,” Stiles says, rescuing him.  “Draw some
inferences.”
“Yeah, well, I just--I never thought--wow, guys this is--it’s--”
Isaac’s waiting for the word stupid, or terrible, or insane, but instead Scott
beams and concludes, “It’s  awesome !”
“Really?” Stiles blurts.
“Yeah, of course!” Scott says, clapping a congratulatory hand on Stiles’
shoulder.   “I mean you know I don’t care about pack politics, but Talia’s been
going on for ages about how something like this could strengthen the alliance
and really help us maintain the foothold on the territory.”
“You never told me that,” Isaac says, wondering if maybe  this  is why Scott’s
never shown interest.  Hoping to use Isaac as some fucking pawn in a plan with
Talia? But Isaac pushes back the anger before it can get too good a hold.
 Scott’s better than that.   
“I know.  I just didn’t want to pressure you or anything, not after--everything
you’ve been through.  But I worry about you, and I thought--well, you and Derek
seem to get each other pretty well, but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up that you
guys could be the solution to each other’s problems like Talia was hoping you
would be and--”
“For the love of God, McCall, stop talking,” Derek pleads. “If you don’t stop
gushing rainbows, I’m going to vomit.”
“Seconded,” Stiles mutters, but when Scott looks like a kicked puppy he amends,
“I mean, we appreciate it and all, but kinda embarrassing--plus like, this is
still a new situation; don’t rent the wedding tux just yet.”
“I think it’s gonna be awesome,” Scott declares with his dopey hopeful grin.
 “I’m super happy for you guys.”
“Thanks,” Stiles says, and the palpable silence that follows seems to make
Scott realize he’s maybe intruding.
  “I’m gonna--ya know--get out of your hair or whatever,” he offers, retreating
back toward the door.  Glad you’re okay, Stiles, just--keep your phone charged,
would ya?”
“Yeah, sorry I worried you.”
“Okay, well, you guys--uh--have fun and stuff.  I’ll see you at pack movie
night tonight, right?” he says to Isaac and Stiles.  “Oh, and--uh--Derek,
you’re welcome to come if you want, ya know.  We’d love to have you too.”
“Yeah, see you tonight,” Stiles says, all but shoving his best friend back out
the door.  “Bye, Scott.”


Stiles
*****************
 
They stand in almost absolute silence as the sound of Scott’s footsteps retreat
back down the stairs.  Stiles can’t hear him anymore, but he’s guessing by the
way Derek and Isaac are still concentrating that Scott isn’t quite out of
earshot yet. Stiles waits anxiously for someone to break the quiet.
“That was just the first thing, the easiest lie? What the fuck,” Derek mutters
passionately, which Stiles takes as the all clear.
“I’m not sure that I’m impressed with us or disappointed in Scott that he
actually bought that,” Stiles says.  “So what do we do next?”
“Good question,” Derek replies, “Isaac?” he asks pointedly.
Isaac looks like he’s wishing the floor would just swallow him whole.  “Look, I
didn’t mean to, okay? I just--didn’t think.”
“We could always just brush it off as not having worked out,” Stiles says.  “I
mean we didn’t tell him that we were definitely a thing.  I qualified that it
was just the one date night so--”
“He was calling my mother as he got in his car,” Derek interrupts, clearly
perturbed.  “She’s ecstatic.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, barely catching himself before he grimaces.  
“So is Scott,” Isaac adds glumly.  “We can’t quit the same day we get their
hopes up.”
“I mean we  could ,” Stiles says, “but--uh--I mean we could probably pull off
“trying” for a week or two.”
“Surrounded by living lie detectors?” Isaac asks dubiously.  
“I think we’ve all had plenty experience walking the fine line between lying
and omitting part of the truth,” Stiles points out. “My dad may not be a
werewolf, but he is the sheriff; I practically wrote the book on lying by
omission.”
And between Isaac surviving an abusive father most of his life and Derek
managing to be in a relationship with a woman his mother didn’t approve of, I’m
guessing you two can totally do this.
“I give it a week,” Derek says, “tops.”  Stiles opens his mouth to protest but
before he can Derek goes on, “but I could do with a week of peace on the
issue.”
“What?” Isaac says, mouth falling open in surprise before he can check his
expression.  “Wait, really?”
Derek shrugs.  “What the hell, we’ve done crazier shit and stupider shit.  Just
add this to the list.”
“I’m in,” Stiles says.  “You know I love a challenge, and seeing how long we
can keep this up totally qualifies.  We might have to get things a little
awkward, but with enough planning, we can totally make this last the week--
anything less and they’ll say we didn’t really try and just pester us even
more.”


Derek
*****************
 
Even though Derek’s been waiting for the question since Stiles started the
“brainstorm” session of all the ways to help sell this fake relationship, he
still winces internally as Stiles says, “So--just so I’m on the same page and
all--what’s up with you guys?”
Derek just raises an inquisitive eyebrow, unwilling to say anything really.
“Look, I don’t care.  It’s nobody’s business if you don’t want it to be except
that if we’re trying the fake triad plan, it kinda  is  my business if part of
the triad  isn’t  so fake so don’t rip my head off for asking the question
everyone in  both  packs as been--”
“We aren’t fucking,” Isaac interjects with a supremely annoyed expression.  
Not that I haven’t thought about it a few times,  Dere mentally adds,  but it’s
only been a year since Erica, and less than that since Boyd.  I’m not pushing
anything.
“Right, okay, so nothing that--”
“Nothing,” Isaac confirms, and Derek’s glad that Stiles’ human ears don’t pick
up on the slight uptick that signals the lie--whether Isaac means it to be a
lie or not.
So what  if we get so drunk we kind of cuddle sometimes, well--that’s just wolf
stuff.  We’re tactile creatures, right? Totally normal to want contact
sometimes.  
“Really?” Stiles says, eyes widening in a clear indication that he hadn’t meant
to blurt that.
“Yeah, you’re definitely going to be able to keep your mouth in check for a
week,” Derek scoffs.  
“I just meant--well, I mean--look at you two, and--well you’re both--”  Stiles
literally clamps a hand over his mouth to squash the babbling that’s
embarrassing him enough to make him blush.  Derek gets the impression that he’s
not the only one who can appreciate the mental image of Isaac unclothed.  
“Moving on,” Derek prods, before his train of thought can get too far off
track.  “Are we just going to go down the fucking list and do all this that we
haven’t?” he asks, looking at the scratch paper on which Stiles has been
jotting all their brainstormed phrases and idioms that they can get by on a
technicality, like “slept together.”
“Well, I’d say let’s triage, since we know we’re going to get bombarded with
questions at movie night tonight,” Stiles suggests.  “Because we’ve already got
some stuff we can use.  Like Scott came over to find me half naked--in Isaac’s
boxers.  I spent the night with you guys.  Isaac made breakfast.”
“They’re going to ask how it got started,” Isaac says, “and something like “it
wasn’t really something we planned; it just happened” should be fine.”
“Am I going to this movie thing?” Derek wonders.  
“Um, yes,” Stiles says like Derek’s an idiot.  “Where else would we get a
better excuse to avoid talking about it.  I’m a total babbler, and Isaac will
get the whole “we’re you pack; you can tell us anything” speech.  But if you’re
there, and stay within earshot  at all times  it would be rude and potentially
disastrous to make you feel uncomfortable when Scott’s so clearly hoping this
will fit in.”
“He’s got a good point,” Isaac agrees.  “You should come, Derek.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“And in terms of--ya know--like full disclosure and consent and everything,
we’re all down to sell slightly cuddly hand-holdy or--”
“Seriously?” Derek interjects.
“It’s okay if it’s stilted.  We’re supposedly only on day two of this.  But we
can’t sit ramrod straight and noticeably avoid touching each other without
raising commentary and possibly also suspicion.  I’m just saying, let’s make
this as easy as possible by saying we all understand anything we do is just
part of the show for the pack.”
“Yeah, sure,” Isaac says.  “Makes sense.” It’s clear he has something else to
say, but the pause grows for a while, and Stiles decides on a verbal nudge,
“Something we should know?”
“Well, Derek knows but--uh--just never--don’t--I’m weird about my arms,” Isaac
finishes finally, biting at his lips in a way that clearly conveys his
nervousness at revealing the vulnerability.  “My dad--” he starts to explain
before amending “It’s not important; just--if you’re going to do anything make
sure I see the contact coming.”
It makes perfect sense coming from Isaac.  Stiles can’t help but observe, “You
could tell the whole pack that, you know.  Not just for stuff like this.”
Isaac shrugs.  “It’s usually not a problem.  I’m not really a contact kind of
person.”
Stiles nods, and goes on, “We don’t  have  to do anything that makes you
uncomfortable.”  He seems baffled by the seething glare he gets from Isaac in
return, and Derek can’t help but smirk.    
“I’m not  broken ,” Isaac growls.  “I’m not a fucking flower that can’t be
crushed, okay, I just--”
“Yeah, no, got it,” Stiles affirms quickly in the face of the declaration
Derek’s heard a thousand times over the past months of being Isaac’s roommate.
“Thanks for the info.  Moving right along,” he continues, pointedly ignoring
the smirk Derek’s giving Stiles for his blundering.  “We can totally get
through the first twenty-four hours at least, right?”
I sure fucking hope so,  Derek thinks wearily.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     Still doing my best to get the links to the artwork set up for the
     lovely Kiyomisa! They should be fixed very soon.
Isaac
*************
 
They make it through the movie night, mostly by making it clear that this is
still too new and talking about it would, in Stiles’ words  “totally jinx it
all.”   The three of them pile onto one of the couches together, leaning into
one another maybe a little more than usual, throwing one giant blanket over
them collectively instead of taking their own individual ones.  It seems to
sell the awkward-group-date vibe well enough.  Not even Lydia seems any more
inquisitive than usual.  Scott is all smiles, practically bouncing with
excitement.  Isaac almost feels guilty for getting his hopes up.  Almost.  If
it weren’t for those goddamn hickeys Scott  still  hadn’t let heal.  
The most awkward moment came when Stiles moved to leave with Isaac and Derek.
 They hadn’t really talked about what would happen after the movie--but it was
at the apartment Scott shared with Alison and Stiles.  Isaac had assumed Stiles
would just stay, but Stiles clearly didn’t plan on it.
“You wanna borrow the car?” Scott asks.  “So they don’t have to drive you back
late?”
“Actually, uh--I’ll probably just let Derek drop me by the library on his way
to work.”
“Oh,” Scott says, clearly trying and failing to check his expression of
surprise and slight judgement. “You sure?”
“Like you and Alison didn’t essentially move in together the moment you met?”
Stiles points out.  “Don’t be a prude, buddy. Consenting adults and all that.”
The comment makes Scott flush in embarrassment.  “No judgement, just--yeah, no
judgement.”
“Glad you could come, Derek,” Allison says, a bit forced but without any hint
of a lie.  “You’re welcome whenever.”
“Thanks,” he replies before turning to open the front door for them all to
escape the awkwardness.  
“Tell your mom we said hi!” Scott adds, in possibly the least badass Alpha
communication ever directed.  Isaac sighs as Stiles rolls his eyes, and they
share a grin of amusement together as they flee out into the hall.
 
Stiles
****************
 
“So, yeah, awkward but--uh--I figure if we just go ahead and get the whole
“sleeping together” thing out of the way tonight, then we’ll have it taken care
of,’ Stiles says once they’ve come back to the loft and greeted an excited
Eileen.  
“I figured that was why you invited yourself to spend the night,” Derek
replies.  
“Dude, no way was I ready to field a billion questions from Scott and Allison
if I stayed home with them!” Stiles points out defensively.  
“Good call,” Isaac agrees.
“So who’s got the bigger bed?” Stiles wonders.  “Or is this like--should be
move all the beds in one room? Or sleep in the living room sleepover style?”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Derek says.  “You guys make the call.  Just know I
don’t sleep with clothes on.”
Stiles has no hope of keeping the flush from his cheeks at the mental image
that  statement conjures.  He stammers idiotically, “Well, uh--I, uh--uh--”
“Relax,” Isaac says with a huff of laughter.  “He’s just screwing with you.”
“You’re the worst,” Stiles says grumpily, still a bit abashed he couldn’t
school his reaction better.  “Seriously, guys, I’m fucking exhausted and my
head hasn’t quit pounding all day.”
“You’re probably still dehydrated,” Isaac supposes.  “Keep drinking water.”
“And my bed’s a King,” Derek adds.  “Crash up there if you’re ready for bed.”


Derek
*****************
 
Stiles is dead to the world and snoring like a damn freight train when Derek
and Isaac head upstairs to go to bed.  
“I’m gonna strangle him,” Derek decides.  
“Derek,” Isaac chides.  “If you’re pissed, be pissed at me, I’m the one who
dove into the fake relationship headfirst without thinking.”
“I’m not pissed,” Derek replies, “perturbed, sure, but not pissed.”
“You’re always perturbed,” Isaac reminds him.  “Maybe faking a smile for the
next week will do you some good.”
“No one said anything about having to smile,” Derek says.  “Forget it.  Whole
deal’s off,” he teases.
“You were smiling at Scott’s,” Isaac points out, “wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I was smiling at Scott’s? Huh. I didn’t really think about it.  I figured I
just looked awkward as hell the whole time.
The conversation dies as they get into bed on either side of Stiles.   They all
keep to their own space, carefully leaving a few inches of space between them
so they’re not touching.  Isaac drifts off to sleep fairly quickly.  Derek lies
awake longer, unable to get used to the feeling of other people in the bed with
him.  Sure, he’s blown off a little steam here and there, but he’s never stayed
the night with anyone--not since Paige.
Last night’s nightmare flashes into his brain, the bright crimson blood stark
contrast against her pale skin.
You should have known, Derek.  
He knows the dreams aren’t really Paige’s words; they’re Derek’s subconscious
talking to himself.  It doesn’t make the words any less true.  After what
happened to Paige, he’s well aware he doesn’t deserve to be part of a triad--
arranged or otherwise.  
But it could be kind fun to fake it for a week,  he thinks as he stares up at
the ceiling and drifts off to sleep.    That’s not such a bad thing.  
 
Stiles
*****************
 
After the movie at Scott’s Friday, they make it through brunch with Talia on
Saturday, and then through the annual summer cookout at the Sheriff’s house
Monday night.  Everyone seems pretty damn thrilled or, at the least, cautiously
optimistic.   Most questions they’ve fielded can be deflected with some
variation of “I don’t want to talk about it” “I don’t want to jinx it” or
Derek’s gruff “None of your business.”  The other inquiries get carefully
worded, rehearsed answers.  It’s the longest break Stiles has ever had from
worrying about the ever-constant hunt for a triad without there being some kind
of supernatural emergency.  It’s pretty damn refreshing.
Tuesday night, Scott sticks his head in Stiles’ room to let him know he’s
headed out on another date with Allison and Kira.  Stiles is under a mound of
blankets, trying to fend off a bit of a chill.
“You three have fun,” Stiles says, with less of a struggle than usual not to
sound bitter.
“Whoa, dude, you don’t looks so good,” Scott says, coming into the room.  “You
don’t smell so good either.”
“Fuck you, I showered yesterday,” Stiles whines, though he knows exactly what
Scott means.  
“You smell  sick , Stiles.”
“I’m fine,” he protests.  “Just a little headache and a chill.  I just need a
nap or something.  Totally fine.”
“It’s not just a headache.  You’re sick,” Scott persists.  “I’m not gonna leave
you home alone and sick; hold on; I’ll tell Alison for her and Kira to just go
without--”
“Go on your date, Scott,” Stiles says.  “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Stiles--”
“Go on your date,” he insists.  “I’ll call you if I need anything.  I swear.”
“ Stiles.”
“Go! I’m just gonna take some nyquil and fall asleep anyway.  I don’t need you
to stare at me like a creeper while I do that.”
Scott sighs in a way that says he’s clearly still not happy with the situation,
but one more “Go!” gets him back out the door.
“Call if you need anything like  at all , okay?” Scott says.  
“Sure, buddy.”
True to his plan, Stiles does attempt to take nyquil and crash, hiding under a
pile of blankets in an effort to stave off the chills that are keeping him
awake.  He’s still wallowing in his misery when the bedroom door opens again
with a creak.  
“Scott, I told you I’m fine.”
“No you aren’t, you look like shit,” Derek informs him, and Stiles eyes snap
open in surprise.  
“What’re you guys doin’ here?” Stiles wonders as Isaac follows him into the
room.
“Came to make sure you weren’t dead,” Isaac replies, “and we brought soup--just
like, chicken and stars canned stuff, but ya know--thought that counts?”
“Why?”
“Because Scott called to ask us to check on you,” Derek replies.  “And there
was no way to decline that without looking like assholes of boyfriends.”
“Well, if you guys wanna just leave the soup in the kitchen; I’ll tell Scott
you nursed me back to health and all that shit.  Don’t worry about it. You
could’ve just called.”
“We did call,” Isaac says.  “Twice.”
“Huh?”
“If that’s what you’re like on cough meds, god help anyone who ever has to deal
with you on any type of serious drug,” Derek says.  “If Scott wasn’t
obnoxiously truthful, I’d’ve sworn you were just high.”
Stiles’ teeth start chattering again, which seems to distract them.  There’s a
little skip in time and they’re suddenly on either side of his tiny twin bed,
each wrapping a hand around Stiles’ wrist to pull away pain.  It leaves him
with a weird floaty feeling instead of the full-body ache from moments before.
  It relaxes him.
“Yeah, just sleep, Stiles,” Isaac encourages.  “You’ll feel better when you
wake up.”


Isaac
******************
 
The bad news was that what they all assumed was a cold turned out to be the
flu, and Stiles was down for the count for nearly a full week of misery, even
with  the early medicine stuff that was supposed to cut down recovery time.
 The only silver lining was the excellent good boyfriends fodder it provided to
Derek and Isaac without much effort on anyone’s part. The past two days they’ve
just kept him sipping broth and took turns pulling pain for a while, and it
helped Stiles get through the whole thing bearing at least a bit less of the
misery himself.   
All in all it really wasn’t so bad, cramming themselves into bed with Stiles to
pull his aches while he rested, with episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine on--or
various documentaries if Derek was picking, the nerd.  It’s kind of precious to
watch Derek fret over Stiles’ “ridiculously fragile” human body.  Nevermind
that Derek’s grown up with two human siblings, which, Isaac’s sure Derek’s dad
handles most of that care, given that Dr. Hale runs his own general practice.
It’s a good reason for them to get used to the physical contact aspect of this
whole arrangement, which, to their surprise,  everyone is still buying, hook
line and sinker. Isaac is loathe to admit he’s buying it as well.
 
Derek
*************
 
After three weeks of success with the fake, semi-arranged triad plan, Derek’s
finally getting used to seeing Stiles’ number on his caller ID and not
automatically thinking  fuck, someone’s dying.   He smiles at the ridiculous
selfie Stiles took with Eileen and made his contact picture in Derek’s phone
last week.
“Hey,” he says when he answers.
“You know, some days I almost miss the old “This better be worth it, Stiles,”
growl you used to answer the phone with,” Stiles says, as if he’d been having
the same thought as Derek of how much things can change in a few weeks of
getting used to one another’s company.
“Did you call just to hear me answer, or was there a bigger plan here?” Derek
wonders, trying to sound annoyed but smiling in spite of himself ---he’s having
that issue more and more often with Stiles and Isaac lately.
“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says, getting himself back on track.  “Did you cut the crust
off my sandwich?”
“You don’t eat the crust, you heathen,” Derek replies.
“ I  know that but I didn’t think  you  knew that.”
“You’ve eaten about five dozen peanut butter and banana sandwiches since you
semi-moved in.  You always tear the crust off.  I thought I’d save you a step.”
“I could get used to this,” Stiles informs him.  “Now I gotta pay better
attention to you so I can return the favor.”
“I wasn’t the first one who started down this road.  Don’t think I didn’t
notice you bought the specific brand of cereal I like but you hate when you
went to the grocery store Sunday,” Derek points out.  “Besides, it’s not like
we’re keeping score.”
“We  could  keep score,” Stiles teases.  “I could make us a leaderboard to take
up space on that sad empty wall in the living room.”
“It’s not sad! We’re just waiting for--”
“The perfect thing to fill it,” Stiles finished with a sigh.  “I  know. ”
“You have the patience of a toddler,” Derek informs.  
“Why do you think I refuse to eat my bread crust?” Stiles asks.  “Making up for
all those years my angry toddler self was forced to eat the worst part of the
bread.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek informs.  
“You know, I was calling to say thank you, but suddenly wondering why I even
bother being nice to you,” Stiles teases.  
“You’re welcome,” Derek says to the indirect thanks.  “Look, I gotta go, I’m
walking into my mom’s office to pick up some papers she needs served today.
 Isaac declared it taco night, did he tell you?”
“Yep.”
“And you know that doesn’t mean he intends to make tacos, it means he’s going
to use my credit card to order out from someplace?”
Stiles laughs, “Yeah, I know.  I’ll be home by six.”
“See you then.”
Derek hangs up the phone, trying not to think too closely about how good the
word “home” sounded coming of of Stiles’ mouth so effortlessly.  
Just temporary,  he reminds himself.   Don’t get so attached.   He’s so
distracted he nearly runs into the paralegal who’s bustling down the hallway.
 Only his supernatural reflexes deliver them from a flurry of dropped
paperwork.
“Sorry, Carla! I wasn’t paying attention.  My fault.”
“It’s fine.  The papers she needs to take are with Janice at reception, but I
think Ms. Hale’s between consults if you want to say hi.”
“I am between consults,” Mom confirms as she steps around the corner.  “Hey,
sweetie.  Come on back.”
“Mom, I’m twenty-five,” Derek reminds as he follows her to her office.  
“I will call you “sweetie” until you’re seventy-five if I want to,” she
replies.  “I’m your mother,” she adds, closing the office door to give them a
bit of privacy.  “And as your mother, I have to say, it’s really good to see
you smiling so easily these days.”
Derek realizes he must still be wearing the dopey grin from his conversation
with Stiles.  He tries to check his expression but isn’t sure how successful he
is.  
“It’s only been three weeks, Mom.  Tell me you’re not drawing up prenuptial and
pack-alliance documents.”
“Of course not!” she replies, but then grins mischievously and adds, “I’ve got
my law clerk drafting them.”
“Mom!”
“I’m kidding, Derek.” Her expression softens and turns the kind of sincere that
makes Derek crazy.  “Look, I know it’s been a very long time since Paige, and
this is going out a limb for you, but you deserve a little happiness in your
love life.  Let yourself enjoy it.”
No I don't,  Derek thinks reflexively, but he doesn't voice the thought.
“Ms. Hale, your one o'clock is here,” Janice's voice informs via the intercom
on Mom's desk.
“That's my cue,” Derek says, heading for the door.  “I'll text you once I've
gotten everything served.”
“That Mr. Adams that's on the list is a real piece of work,” she warns. “Just a
heads up.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and do you think you could convince Stiles to come to pack dinner next
week?” she wonders.  “I'd love for everyone to meet him.”
“Mom, everyone  has  met him.”
“You know what I mean. Not in this context they haven't.”
“You're getting your hopes up too high,” Derek chides.
“So sue me,” she teases. “Now shoo, I've got a client and you've got deliveries
to make.”
Derek gives an exaggerated glare to the stack of paperwork before sharing a
quick smile with his mother. After the paperwork is safely in Janice’s hands,
he pulls his phone from his front pocket to let Isaac know he’s on his way
home.
Unfortunately, the email that greets him on the lock screen urgently informs
him that he’s needed back in the field office on the preserve. It’s late, but
not so late that he won’t be able to make it home for tacos.
 
Isaac
******************
 
“Derek had to go back to the office, so there’s no chance he’s getting any of
the food if Stiles beats him here,” he explains to Eileen as they lounge in the
kitchen together. Eileen huffs in response, flopping down in front of the
refrigerator.
“You think you want it, but I promise you don’t,” Isaac continues the
conversation, completely unashamed. Eileen understands more than Stiles or
Derek will ever admit to publicly. They wind up in the living room together,
waiting for Stiles and Derek to come home. He’s still not sure what Stiles does
with most of his time. He’s involved with the library in some capacity, Isaac
knows, but nailing down details with Stiles is like trying to nail jello to a
tree. You’ve got to get creative if you want answers. Isaac submits their order
on his delivery app, and smiles in memory of Derek’s insistence on physically
calling and placing orders over the phone. Neither of them have necessarily
polite ‘interacting with the public” voices, and so Isaac’s done as best as he
can to save the overwhelmed and terrified cashiers of local takeout Derek’s
exacting demands.
He knows Derek doesn’t really mean anything by it, but it’s not like Isaac can
hand out business cards after every check out wherever they go with “he’s not
really an asshole, he just doesn’t know how to play nice” to the employees. He
feels for Derek though. If the past six months have taught him anything, it’s
that Derek’s silence on pretty much everything is a self-taught defense. Most
of the time Isaac feels like it’s not his place to try and fix Derek, or point
out his flaws to himself. Derek’s highly aware of them, even though he’s never
inflicted his own self-pity on Isaac.
The echoing slam of feet coming up the metal stairway announces Stiles’ arrival
about five minutes before Stiles slams the sliding door open. “Fuck this door,
and fuck this industrial cave of repressed emotions,” Stiles rages as he
marches through the entryway towards the huge wall of windows opposite the
door. He sits dramatically, clearly expecting Isaac to indulge him.
“What’s up your ass?” Isaac asks, only because he knows it riles Stiles up and
makes him embarrassed. It works, though, and he’s distracted from the five
flights of stairs and 400-pound sliding warehouse door.
“Nothing,” he deadpans. “Where’s the food,” he asks, and Eileen’s head pops up
from the couch. “Also is Derek just tired of me now? He did call and tell me to
come for dinner so…” Even after three weeks, there’s still an awkward lack of
personal acceptance around their fake dating situation. No one’s really been
ready to admit that it was easier to get into the routine of spending their
time together than they had ever imagined.
“Work,” Isaac replies, avoiding the rest of Stiles’ sentiment. If there’s one
thing that really hasn’t gotten any easier, it's filling the silences between
the three of them when there’s no audience that requires a performance. Being
together always easier when all three of them are present, or there’s food and
TV to provide a distraction. With neither condition currently met, the living
room is lifeless except for Eileen’s undimmed excitement about the mention of
food.
They’re blessedly rescued from staring at their phones in frozen silence when
Isaac hears an unfamiliar engine left idling at the building’s entrance. He’s
already heading down the stairs when he gets the app’s alert on his phone,
Stiles following close behind.
Unfortunately, the food does little to thaw the silence, and after a brief
conversation about deciding to not eat Derek’s food as punishment for not being
here with them, it returns with a vengeance.
“What’s he doing? Trees can only be so interesting,” Stiles finally says about
an hour after they’re finished, the wrappers happily torn to bits and licked
clean by Eileen.
“I don’t think Derek’s really in the business because the trees are
“interesting,”” Isaac adds the air quotes. It makes Stiles smile, and he’s all
of a sudden glad that Derek isn’t here to hear Isaac’s reaction to it. He rolls
his eyes at himself, but it works well with the sentiment, and Stiles laughs
again.
They head back to their phones, the quiet less oppressive than the past few
hours. He’s not even sure what he’s doing on it really, besides avoiding
Stiles. Derek, much to Isaac’s surprise, is much better at prompting words out
of him than Isaac is, and he can’t help but feel like he’s just not getting
something fundamental about Stiles that Derek has yet to share with him.
“He should be back by now,” Isaac says, looking up at the windows across from
the couch. The sun’s almost set, but it’s already incredibly late for the
summer sky.
“Mmm?” Stiles hums, his face more illuminated by his own phone than by the
fading light behind him.
“I said Derek should be home, and he isn’t,” Isaac repeats. Isaac says the
words with as little panic as possible, but Stiles’ heart rate spikes, a clear
signal that Isaac wasn’t as successful at remaining calm as he wanted to
believe. Stiles continues to stare at his phone, intently tapping it a few
times.
“He hasn’t really moved in the past few hours,” Stiles says to his phone
screen, setting Isaac on edge. “But the location sharing doesn’t really tell me
anything other than his current location and when he’s about to to be close to
my location.”
Isaac is sidetracked for only a few seconds. “How’d you get Derek to agree to
that?” Derek refused his own request for it, citing werewolf senses’
superiority. Isaac supposes that it's technically true, especially for a pack
that’s family first and centrally located. Danny built the McCall pack’s
location sharing app as part of their mourning of Erica. If they’d known where
the two of them were being kept by the alpha pack, or even had time to send an
emergency signal and location, it would have been just as helpful as a scent
trail.
It’s great to have the access to everyone in the pack now that they’re all at
their respective universities during the year. It keeps them connected and
secure in a way that the Hale pack has rarely had to worry about.
“Did you get Danny to just install it anyway?” Isaac asks as they take the
stairs down at a clipped pace. Eileen’s confused howls a few floors up adds to
the anxiety that they’re desperately trying to stave off.
“All I had to do was add one of my fingerprints into his phone when he let me
add my birthday to my contacts,” he explains, and Isaac smiles at the memory of
Derek asking Stiles for it about a week ago, so desperately nonchalant about
the whole thing.
“He just wanted a picture of you,” Isaac teases lightly, and Stiles blushes.
Isaac clips Stiles’ phone into the holder as they pull out of the parking lot,
Derek’s point flashing. Danny tried to explain all the thought behind movement
and stillness that he’d built into the framework of the app, but at this point,
Isaac’s desperately glad that Stiles just ignored Derek’s stubbornness.
“Do you think we can handle it on our own?” Stiles asks as they drive further
into the woods, “Or do we need backup?”
“He’s at the office,” Isaac says, but neither of them believe it.
“Lydia might…” Stiles doesn’t finish his thought out loud. Neither want to
consider the situation serious enough to include her in it. She’s always
willing to help, but unwilling to keep her feelings to herself about being
treated like a supernatural police dog.
“I’ll probably just tell Talia that he’s late from work, and if he’s not with
his phone, we’ll call her,” Isaac supposes as he brings up his messages to keep
the Hale pack informed. It probably best that this comes from Isaac and not
from Scott, considering the high expectations the two alphas have of their
“relationship”.


Stiles
**********************
The trail to the Forestry Department’s little welcome center slash cabin is a
smooth ride for the two of them, but immediately disheartening. Derek’s SUV is
sitting in front of the office, along with the ATV the department uses to get
through some of the more treacherous parts of the preserve. Whatever the
department wanted him to check out, he left on foot.
“Think he’s at the river?” Stiles hopes. If he is, then it's a relatively easy
trek down. They park next to the SUV and Isaac hurries up the porch stairs of
the office to look in the windows.
“He’s been gone a couple of hours,” Isaac has a death grip on his phone, the
bright screen the only light now as the sun almost fully sets.
“Lydia?”
“Lydia.” Stiles is impressed with Isaac’s poker face since this is anything but
a calm situation. Derek’s location is right on top of Stiles’ and Isaac’s
corresponding dots, but there’s every chance that the triangulation required
for accurate placement won’t work so far away from service. He switches to see
everyone else’s location and Lydia’s at home, presumably alone without Danny
and Jackson.
She answers on the first ring, highly unusual for someone as busy as she is
with summer coursework.
“Who’s dead?” she answers sarcastically. “Is he?” Stiles returns, ice running
through his veins. He glances up to the porch where Isaac’s leaning on one of
the posts by the stairs, his expression frozen.
“Is who,” Lydia asks, sounding distracted.
“Derek.”
The line goes quiet, the seriousness of the situation slamming into all three
of them.
“I’ll ask.” The reply is cryptic instead of sarcastic, so at least there’s
that.
“Not dead,” she responds after a surprisingly quick silence. “But part of him
is missing?”
“Missing?? What, like missing an arm? Missing what? How do you-”
“Stiles, if I knew how any of this worked, don’t you think I would have told
you by now?”
“No.” Stiles had to give up the academic study of her power when he left for
college, and although the unresolved nature of her connection to the
supernatural bothers him from time to time, it hasn’t been as big of a concern
for him. Until now.
Looks like the calm before the next storm is over,  he bitterly laments.
Again.
“Exactly.”
“Helpful,” Stiles rubs his free hand over his face, trying to pull his thoughts
and nerves into line. It’s impossible most of the time, but if they’re going to
avoid a full on call to action from the pack, he’s got to be able to think more
linearly than he’s currently capable of.
“Also something about finding peace, or at least silence,” Lydia adds in lieu
of an apology. “Not peace and quiet from you two,” Stiles catches Isaac’s flash
of surprise that she assumed they would be together at all. “It's an old
emotion. That’s all I’ve got.” Even she sounds frustrated with herself.
“Just keep an eye, or ear, or whatever,” Stiles says. He’s not sure if it
really makes sense, but it feels appropriate.
“How long should I give you two before I call Scott?” Her voice drips with
superiority, but he can feel that she’s only saying it to distract him from the
oncoming panic.
“One hour. I’ll call when we’ve got him,” Stiles promises before ending the
conversation.
“To the river?” Isaac supposes, and Stiles nods in agreement. Isaac sets off
down the wide open path to the left of the forestry office, and Stiles catches
up to his clipped pace after pulling his floodlight from the trunk of his jeep.
Isaac marches right off the path and into the undisturbed forest about five
minutes in, his face determined. At this point, Stiles would have certainly
made a joke about Lassie and catching the scent, but all he can imagine is
tripping on a severed arm in the darkness. He tries not to let his panic spiral
out of control since Isaac is serious, but not to the point of calling Scott.


Isaac
********************
 
“He’s not hurt, I would know it if he was dead,” Isaac says as they wind up at
the nemeton,  again.
Stiles glares at the tree, and Isaac can practically hear Stiles’ silent fuck-
you soliloquy to it. Isaac hates getting too close to it, but Derek’s scent is
so strong and diffuse in this part of the forest that he’s worried he’s not
actually being guided by it anymore. Stiles smells sour with barely contained
panic, and if he didn’t think it would make the situation ten times worse,
Isaac would let himself feel the same.
But as far as scent goes, Lydia is right. Derek’s confused, and he’s also
longing for something. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, especially so out of
the blue like this. Derek’s not one for words or heart to hearts with Isaac,
but he thought Derek was at least marginally happier than what he’s sensing
now.


Derek
*********************
The two men standing in front of what’s left of his pack’s nemeton pull out
their phones to debate where they have and have not looked for Derek. Normally
his mother would expect Derek to help lost hikers in their territory, but the
tall one is clearly a werewolf.
They’ve been at it for forty-five minutes, and Derek has no idea why he knows
he can trust them. It’s not like the forest or anything in it has ever been
dangerous to him before, and their panic is so thick that Derek’s heart races
out of simple commiseration.
“Hey,” Derek says from his lookout. The werewolf looks up in his direction
immediately, but he knows that he’s too far away to be clearly seen in this
light. He’s had plenty of opportunities to practice when his mother comes
looking for him, so if he can hide from an alpha, these two don’t have a chance
of figuring anything out that Derek doesn’t want them to.
“Derek?” the man asks, and he sounds like he’s coaxing a cat out from under the
porch. The other one goes silent at the remark, and Derek’s heart races to hear
their combined reactions. He feels like he’s about to fall off the top of the
cliff, the panic is so uncontrollable.
It's a dream,  is all he can compare the situation to. You can’t stop the fall,
but you know you wake up before you hit anything. The practical knowledge
doesn’t make the reality of the situation any worse. He’s not dreaming. The
scents, and the two guys by the tree are too real and normal for his mind to
make up. No one from his family has come to find him like the usually do, and
he can’t shake the feeling that at least the werewolf are part of a pack that
he might know.
He moves out from behind the tree a mile away, and the werewolf’s head turns
again.
“Thank fuck,” the man breathes. “What?” The human asks, shoving over into the
werewolf’s space, trying to see Derek in the darkness with only a flashlight
beam.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” He sounds pissed, and the human’s face
changes to match. The irritation in the air is contagious as he walks closer,
cautious but inexplicably trusting. He can’t believe he’s literally walking up
to two strangers after putting Paige in the ground because of his own
recklessness. The emotions that should accompany this thought aren't correct,
and for some unfathomable reason he desperately wants to hug the strangers,
relieved that they've found him.
“Who even are you two,” he snarls back to cover his own confusion, close enough
that he’s in the human’s beam of light. “And why are you in my forest?”
End Notes
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