Chapter Text
Stiles leaned into the living room to glance at the back of his dad’s head. “You sure you don’t want to come, Dad? Scott said I needed to make sure to invite you at least three times.”
“Scott never grew out of worrying too much,” Noah said, turning to look at Stiles, his eyebrows drawing together. “Why do you want me to go so bad anyway?”
Stiles shrugged. “Just...feel like I don’t know anyone anymore.”
“You’re going to your brothers house,” Noah rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, to his packyard barbecue.”
“Has Scott heard you call it that?”
Stiles grinned. “Not yet.”
“Get out of here. Have a good time. I assume at some point in your life you have had friends? Those people I met when I visited you weren’t just paid actors, right?”
“I really need to get my own apartment if my own father is going to spout such rude things at me all the time.” Stiles pressed a dramatic hand over his chest and headed out of the house towards his rickety old jeep.
Scott had acquired the house that he’d grown up in from his mom when Melissa had moved in with Noah. The route between the houses was so far ingrained in Stiles’s memory that not only was he sure he could make the drive incredibly intoxicated, he’d done it.
Stiles pulled up to the curb and stared at the house, squeezing the steering wheel tightly and steeling himself.
He’d never really been shy per se, but this was a big deal. This was his best friend, his step-brother, the True Alpha, introducing him to his pack. Some of them Stiles already knew, but some of them were complete strangers.
Chances were, all of them had heard his name at some point. Either as that weird kid whose mom died, or the tattoo artist from Beacon Hills (one of three, apparently) who made it big. If he was lucky, none of them had heard some of the less flattering stories from his time in Seattle.
And none of them knew about most of what he’d been through in the last year. While cleaning up the shop, he and Scott had talked a bit about him losing his job and that being a deciding factor in his decision to come home. Part of Stiles wanted to tell Scott about everything; the drugs, the rehab, the loneliness that came after, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t risk that it got back to his dad.
He climbed out of the jeep and headed towards the house, hand raised to knock before the door opened suddenly. The smile spread across his face before he had even realized it was starting, and some of his nerves melted away as suddenly he was tugged into a firm hug.
“Derek, what are you doing here?” Stiles asked, in no hurry to break the hug. “Did you change packs?”
After a moment, Derek released Stiles, grinning back at him brightly. “No, I think my mom would kill me.” Derek rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. “My um, boyfriend is in Scott’s pack.”
Stiles’s eyebrows shot up. “Boyfriend?”
Derek nodded, and Stiles watched the blush crawl up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I would have told you sooner but you’ve had a lot going on.” Which was, of course, the understatement of the century. “C’mon. I want you to meet him.”
Stiles followed Derek through the house. He’d been to the house a few times over the last week, but he hadn’t met any of the rest of the pack yet. He tried to keep the smile on his face bright, and hoped that he wasn’t too obviously nervous.
He was used to hiding his emotions around humans. Doing it around werewolves was going to take some getting used to.
Scott waved at Stiles from the grill, where he stood flipping burgers and sausages. Nearby, at the patio table under a wide umbrella were four women, two of which were familiar to Stiles. Lydia Martin – the strawberry blond goddess who’d so rudely taken his virginity and broke his heart in one fell swoop – sat sipping something bright red and blended. Next to her was Erica Reyes, who no longer wore the same terrified, exhausted face she’d had in high school. Clearly the bite had treated her well. Stiles could only see the other two women from the back. Both of them had dark hair, one tied up into a bun and the other long and shiny.
“Stiles.” Derek nudged him and drew his attention away, pulling him further into the backyard to where more of the pack was tossing a lacrosse ball around with well-worn crosses. Stiles recognized a few of them; Vernon Boyd, who he’d met with earlier in the week about working at the shop, and Isaac Lahey, who’d also gone to school with him and Scott. There were three others tossing the ball around, two of whom were entirely unfamiliar and one who –
“Hey Scott!” Stiles called, glancing over his shoulder.
“Yes?” Scott asked, stepping around the grill and raising an eyebrow.
“Since when are we friends with Jackson Whittemore?”
Most of the pack laughed, and Stiles turned around to see Jackson roll his eyes and toss the ball to a man Stiles didn’t know. “Nice to see you too, Stilinski.”
“It was a serious question.” Stiles half-heartedly whined, still grinning. He saw Derek tug the young man Stiles hadn’t recognized towards him. “Stiles, this is Jordan.”
“Stiles?” Jordan asked warily. “Stiles Stilinski?”
“Do you know any other Stiles?” Stiles asked with a raised brow. “I’d love to meet them.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Yes, Jordan, as in your boss’s son.”
“Oh so that’s a Stiles.” The last unfamiliar person said. They had chin-length brown hair, and inquisitive brown eyes. “Nobody ever really had a good answer for me.”
Something about this person felt different than the others. Something about them put Stiles on edge in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “Who are you?”
“I’m Malia.” They said, equally wary. “What are you?”
Stiles laughed, “I’m just a human.”
“Liar.” Malia said, shrugging. “I’m a coyote.”
Stiles nodded. Werecoyotes were rare. They felt different than normal wolves and...whatever it was Jordan was. One of the women at the table near the house felt off too, not quite a wolf. Slipperier. Trickier. “I’m just a human.” He said again, holding up his hands.
“He’s a mage.” Derek corrected, his chin hooked over Jordan’s shoulder, arms locked around the other man’s waist. “He just likes to pretend he’s not.”
Malia narrowed their eyes at him. “So you’re the emissary?”
“That’s the plan!” Scott called from the grill.
“That’s Scott’s plan.” Stiles corrected, loudly. “Now if we’re done with the interrogation, I’m starving.”
He headed back towards the patio, mildly annoyed that he hadn’t even made it five minutes into the get-together without his magic coming up. He probably should have seen it coming; this was Scott’s pack. These people were one step from being family. Most of them probably wondered what he was, where he’d been, why he came home. It was bound to be asked. He’d just naively hoped it might take longer than 5 minutes.
“Welcome home, Stiles,” Lydia said as he approached. Her lips were painted bright red and her eyes were as beautifully green as they’d always been. “Scott’s been excited about you coming home.”
“He better have been.” Stiles said, trying to push away his annoyance and focus on getting through the rest of this without incident. It was a lot. A lot of people, a lot of faces – new and old – conversation and noise and laughter.
Things he hadn’t dealt with sober in a long time.
“Stiles, have you met Allison and Kira yet?” Erica asked, motioning to the two dark-haired women who’d been at the table. “Kira’s a kitsune.”
Kira, the one with long, shiny black hair smiled sweetly at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Scott talks about you. Derek too, when he’s around.”
Stiles shot a look across at Scott who just grinned and shrugged. “I’ve been uh, a little out of touch recently, so you’ll have to forgive me for not knowing as much about you as you know about me.”
The last person – Allison, apparently – shaded her eyes as she looked up at Stiles. “Your dad talks about you too.”
“Are you a deputy too? If you’re both off work, and Dad’s at home watching a Kings game, who’s manning the station?”
Allison looked at Jordan who shrugged back at her. “Not our problem!” She announced.
Stiles smiled. He liked her. Scott called them a moment later to start getting food, and Stiles let himself relax. This was what he’d come home for. To be surrounded by friends and family and people who cared. He’d come home because he needed this.
He needed a pack.