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"Heyyy, Danny-boy. Okay, fuck, I fucking hate doing this over voicemail. But I needed you to hear it from me, and Derek says I shouldn't see you until my control gets better, and I actually think the asshole's going to take away my phone once I'm done here and—fuck. Trying again.
"Fucking Deucalion fucking bit me. I'm, uh, I don't feel like I'm dying, and there's no black goop, so… yeah. Looks like I'm gonna be a werewolf. Super.
"Also, Derek killed Deucalion. Like, a lot. So he's an alpha again. And, uh, I guess, because it happened before I was fully turned, my wolfy bits think he's my alpha. That'll be a great conversation with Scott.
"Oh, uh, in case it wasn't clear: negotiations went really poorly today.
"It's, uh, three days til the full moon. Derek's taking me to the secret wolf training grounds to teach me control and how to use my new supersenses and all that other wolf-brothers shit that—oh, shit, that's me now. I'm a wolf-brother. Fuck.
"Anyway, that's the deal. Derek's totally glaring at me and waiting to take away my phone, because he's a jerk! Yeah, same to ya, asshole! Oh, shit, you're really far away and I heard that.
"So I guess I gotta go train and freak out. You know what to do on your end. I'll talk to you in three days. Love you."
*
Danny listens to the message five times, to make sure Stiles actually just did that. Then he stares at his phone until the screen goes dark. Then he drops the phone onto the bed, covers his face with his hands, and groans, "Oh my god, Stiles." It seems like a fair summation of the situation.
*
In a very secure cloud drive, known about only by the pack, sit file after file of contingency plans, developed to deal with every emergency they could possibly think of—and for the very likely possibility of the things they couldn't think of. They're revised every year without fail and cross-referenced by type of event and people involved. Danny opens the ones labeled Derek - Alpha and Stiles - Werewolf and can't believe his life.
He calls Noah. It's the right thing to do. It's also the first thing on his list.
*
By the time Stiles has been Derek's beta for 24 hours, the pack has completed as much of the contingency plan as possible without the two of them present. An excruciating conversation with Deaton, Satomi, and Satomi's sharp-tongued emissary has been had. The magical ingredients Stiles can no longer touch have been moved out of his and Danny's apartment. Another excruciating conversation has been had, this time with Danny's parents. Stiles' supervisor at the San Francisco field office has been alerted. Subsequently, a lot of calls from Rafael McCall have been dodged. Cora has been tracked down in Bolivia, Lydia in Boston, Isaac and Jackson in what-the-fuck-ever part of Europe they'd been lounging around this week.
When it's all done, Danny sits. And waits. And tries to be patient. It's harder than it used to be.
*
As the night of the full moon creeps in, Danny is fighting the roiling anxiety in his gut and trying to figure out how this #$*%^ magic works when his phone rings. He dives across the couch for it, hoping for Stiles. It's Derek, which Danny supposes is the next best thing right now. "Hi," Danny says breathlessly. "How is he? How are you?"
Derek pauses. Danny's heart thunders. None of the werewolves has ever given him a straight answer on whether they can hear heartbeats through the phone. Maybe Stiles will tell him now. "Can you be here in an hour?" Derek asks.
Danny has no idea where "here" is. It absolutely does not matter. He's already up, moving toward the door, cramming his feet into the first pair of shoes he comes across (possibly Stiles') and searching for his keys. "Tell me where you are," he demands. "I'll be there an hour ago."
"That doesn't make sense," Derek says peevishly.
"Your face doesn't make sense," Danny snaps.
There's a pause and then a long-suffering sigh. "He is such a bad influence on you."
Danny's still vibrating with worry, but he relaxes slightly. The situation can't be completely dire if Derek can bitch about what a menace Danny and Stiles are as a couple.
Derek gives Danny directions. No big surprise, it's a clearing in the Preserve, about a mile from the old Hale house. Danny makes it in half the usual time; Derek raises a silent, judging eyebrow. Danny opens his mouth to defend himself—and staggers under the weight of a sudden and unexpected beta werewolf jumping onto him like an overeager puppy. "Wh—oh, hey—whoa! Hi, Stiles." Danny's arms come up instinctively to wrap around Stiles' waist—no small feat when Stiles isn't holding still for more than two seconds at a time.
"Yeah. Whatever. Hi." Stiles' face is everywhere. He buries it into the crook of Danny's neck, drags it up Danny's throat, rubs his jaw against Danny's cheek.
"Stiles!" Derek snaps, and his eyes go briefly red. Danny flinches. He hadn't really been part of the pack the last time Derek was an alpha, so he's not used to that.
Stiles freezes, but he makes a displeased rumbling sound in his chest the likes of which Danny's never heard from him. "Derek, come on," Stiles whines. "Have you smelled him?"
Derek doesn't even look annoyed at Stiles arguing with him. The corner of his mouth twitches, and he murmurs, "Not like that."
Danny's blushing like crazy as he flips Derek off behind Stiles' back. Before he can put together more of a response, Stiles shoves his face into Danny's armpit "Jesus Christ, Stiles!" Danny yelps.
Stiles pulls back with a sheepish look. Danny feels a tiny pinprick of claws at his hips, sees a peek of fangs against Stiles' lower lips, and his eyes are glowing blue, which, oh fuck, Danny hadn't thought about that. But he'd stopped the instant Danny expressed discomfort with the situation, and his eyes, once Danny gets past the blue, are perfectly lucid.
"How... are you?" Danny asks hesitantly.
Stiles looks over his shoulder at Derek, but Derek makes a "go on" motion with his hand. Danny watches the exchange with interest. He'd wondered, idly, like you do when you're part of a werewolf pack, what Stiles would be like as a beta. He's not well-known for his obedience. But Derek's clearly trying to be more Yoda than Palpatine to Stiles: a mentor, not a master. It might actually work.
Stiles lets go of Danny's hips and holds his hands, instead. He licks his lips and looks off to the side, which usually means he's trying to remember something. "I have really good control of the shift for someone who was turned, you know, less than three days ago," he says. "And my speed is, um, I'm kind of phenomenal there. But tracking's a bust—uh, mostly because I have the attention span of an overripe cheese. And I'm having, just, like, a fucking hard time regulating my senses, so I'm, like, constantly either overloading and shutting everything out or getting, I don't know, hyperfocused on one stimulus and missing literally everything else. I'm also having trouble settling on an anchor." His expression falls. "I was hoping..." He trails off and sighs, biting his lip and not making eye contact.
Danny laughs, unconcerned. He brings one hand to Stiles' cheek and turns Stiles' face toward him. "Hey. Look at me, please." When Stiles reluctantly does so, Danny kisses him gently and smooths his thumb over Stiles' cheekbone. "Of course it's not me." Stiles starts to protest, but Danny shakes his head emphatically. "Stiles, no . You and your dad have been anchoring each other since your mom died. Probably before. What else would it be?"
Danny watches as Stiles' whirlwind brain grabs onto that thought and turns it over, checking it for weaknesses and implications. The more he thinks about it, the more relaxed he seems. He glances uncertainly at Danny. "Is that—are you upset?"
Danny frowns. "Why would I be upset?"
"Because you're not—I mean, when Allison realized she wasn't Scott's anchor anymore—"
"Allison was seventeen," Danny says, rolling his eyes. "Don't you think our grown-ass 24-year-old selves are more mature than that?"
Stiles shrugs. "Depends on the day?"
Danny laughs and pulls Stiles in for a longer kiss. He keeps it shallow, though. Stiles' control may be good, but he doesn't know how far he wants to push things now. Later, though. Later, there are possibilities, things he couldn't do with Ethan because he had to pretend not to know about werewolves. Danny would like to explore them all.
Derek's hand lands on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles leans into the contact. He's always been tactile, demanding the touches he didn't get a lot of after Claudia died. Danny assumes it's going to be even more pronounced now. "Stiles, why don't you try the exercise again."
The phrasing is half order, half request, and Danny feels secure saying that if Stiles says no and states his reasons why, Derek will let it drop. But Stiles nods, kisses Danny one more time, squeezes Derek's hand where it rests on his shoulder, and sprints deeper into the preserve with speed and coordination he definitely didn't possess the last time Danny saw him.
Danny smirks at Derek. "I'm guessing this exercise doesn't involve someone waiting in the woods to pelt him with lacrosse balls?"
"I heard that!" Stiles hollers, and, fuck. Werewolf hearing.
Derek doesn't answer anyway; he's just looking at Danny, studying him. "What?" Danny demands.
"Stiles didn't know your old base scent," he says, "so he wouldn't know the difference." He leans in close to Danny and breathes deep. It's not as aggressive as what Stiles was doing, but somehow it feels more invasive. "Ozone." A sharp smile splits his face. "Congratulations, Emissary."
Danny groans. He's not sure this is something he wants to be congratulated about. "Thanks," he says anyway, aware that he probably sounds pretty surly.
"Which pack?"
Danny gawps at him. Honestly, this guy. Still doesn't fully grasp how important he is to them. "Oh, let me think. My best friend is my fiancé's alpha. Whoever will I choose?"
"Yeah, all right." Derek grins shyly. "Thank you." Danny grins back, but Derek's smile is already dissolving, his expression turning more thoughtful. "It'll be hard. An alpha, one beta, and an emissary isn't a solid pack."
Danny pats Derek's arm. "Don't be so sure about that count," he says. "There've been a lot of closed doors at Noah and Mel's house the past couple days. Liam, Mason, and Hayden will stay with Scott, but Malia's jumping at the chance to have family as her alpha, and Erica and Boyd have been talking about coming back to you." He doesn't mention Cora. No one knows yet if Cora is even coming back to Beacon Hills, let alone staying; he's not going to get Derek's hopes up.
Derek looks like he's fighting against both laughter and tears. Eventually, Danny hopes, Stiles will get him to show his damned emotions sometimes. "What about Jackson?" Derek finally asks.
Danny shrugs. "He'll go where Isaac goes, I think."
Derek nods and looks thoughtful. "The others?" he asks.
Danny shakes his head. "Still being decided. If I had to guess? Kira and Lydia with us, Allison and Corey with Scott. Noah and Melissa might step aside so they don't have to divide their loyalties."
Derek's expression turns cautiously optimistic. "This could work," he tells Danny. "We might actually be okay." Scratch that: from Derek, it's highly optimistic. "You can stay until moonrise, if you'd like. We brought plenty of food."
Danny smiles. He listens for the familiar sounds of Stiles crashing through the woods before he realizes he may never hear those sounds again. "Graceful" will probably never be a word that describes Stiles, even now, but he's more coordinated and has better vision. No more stumbling around. Danny thinks he's going to miss it. "Love to."
Danny wonders sometimes if his thoughts and feelings are obvious to everyone or just to Derek and Stiles. Derek smiles a little sadly and squeezes Danny's arm. "Stiles brought stuff for s'mores. Want to see how many marshmallows we have to burn before he comes back to lecture us on how to do it right?"
Danny's bright laugh echoes around the clearing. "Let's do it."
*
They build a small and very well-contained bonfire and burn half a bag of marshmallows before it gets boring. Stiles comes back fifteen minutes before moonrise. He seems to be struggling with sitting still and holding eye contact, but it doesn't seem much worse than a day he's forgotten his Adderall or accidentally double-dosed (aw, fuck. Will the Adderall even work anymore?). Derek must pick up something else, though, because he pulls Stiles aside, and they press their heads together in a whispered conversation. Danny catches his name a couple times and tries not to panic. Eventually, Derek pulls Stiles into a bone-crushing hug and then heads out of the clearing, calling, "Three minutes!" as he goes—loudly, for Danny's benefit.
Danny looks up and tries a smile as Stiles comes back to the fire and drops down in his lap. "Oof," Danny says softly, but he doesn't shove Stiles off, and Stiles doesn't try to go anywhere. They shift around until they're both comfortable. Stiles tucks his head in the crook of Danny's neck and breathes him in. Danny may not be Stiles' anchor, but he's something, and his scent seems to calm Stiles down. "You want to talk about it?" Danny asks quietly.
"No," Stiles says petulantly.
"Okay." Stiles will talk when he's ready. Danny's got all the time in the world.
"Can I... show you?"
Stiles has his head pressed against Danny's neck, so Danny almost doesn't hear the muffled words. But when he realizes what Stiles is asking, he nods so quickly he almost strains something. "Yes. Yes, please."
No lie: feeling Stiles' face shifting against his skin is really fucking weird. Then Stiles reluctantly lifts his face, and Danny's breath catches.
It's nothing he hasn't seen before. The current run of Beacon Hills werewolves, from Scott through Mason, has astonishingly poor situational awareness, and they've all shifted around him more often than any of them realize. But this is Stiles. That makes it different. Makes it more.
Danny touches. He's never been allowed before. He's never been inclined. His finger follows the line of an ear to its pointed tip. He traces a prominent eye ridge (no, seriously, what happened to his eyebrows?) and a broad sideburn. He pokes at a sharp fang and a wicked claw. When Stiles' eyelids flutter shut, Danny kisses each one, over the place where he can faintly see the blue glow. "Beautiful," he murmurs.
"Bullshit."
"Hey," Danny says sharply. He takes Stiles' hand and puts it over his own sternum. "You can hear my heartbeat now. So listen when I say that you are beautiful, and I love you."
"Just because you believe it doesn't make it true," Stiles says, but a hint of his usual sass is back as he looks at Danny from under lowered lashes and says, "You're beautiful and I love you, too." Danny laughs and shoves his face away.
When Derek reappears, he stands at the edge of the firelight, arms crossed. "It's time for Danny to go," he says. It's an order, but it's also an apology.
"Can't he stay?" Stiles asks plaintively. "We have plenty of food, and I swear my control's good."
"It is good." Derek nods. "But not good enough. We'd all regret it if you did something to Danny that you didn't mean to. Next time. I promise."
Danny looks around as Stiles stands reluctantly and helps him to his feet. "Just you guys tonight?"
"Derek's not sure how I'll react to other betas," Stiles says. Danny suspects Derek's also not sure how either of them will react to Scott now that Derek's an alpha again—now that he's Stiles' alpha.
Stiles and Derek walk Danny to his car, the moment heavy and hushed with anticipation. "You okay?" Danny asks quietly.
Stiles nods. Then he shakes his head. Then he shrugs, scowling. "It's... it's fucking weird, is what it is. I can feel the moon pulling at me, even though I know that's, I mean, that's not how science works at all." He gives Danny a shaky smile. "Derek was right. You better bolt before I, uh, go all wild-man."
Danny shivers. It's probably not the effect Stiles meant his warning to have. Stiles' nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. They sway toward each other like they have a thousand—a hundred thousand—times.
"Okay," Derek says sharply, grabbing Stiles' shoulder and hauling him away from Danny. "Time for Danny to go."
"Yeah," Danny says roughly. He swallows and wills his dick to behave. "Yeah. I'm going. See you tomorrow night?"
Derek nods. His posture is easy, but Danny sees the white at his knuckles. "Tomorrow night."
Danny smiles at Stiles and blows him a kiss. It's sappy as fuck, but he doesn't trust either of them to keep it together if they get close enough for a real kiss. "Love you, Stiles. Have fun howling at the moon." He hops into the car and pulls away with unseemly haste.
As he hightails it out of the clearing, Danny glances in the rearview. Two sets of eyes, one red, one blue, glow at him from the falling darkness. The sight comforts him. That's his pack now. His family.
He's about to hit the main road out of the preserve when a giant, thundering howl, almost a roar, splits the air and shakes the car. Danny slows to a crawl and rolls down his window, listening hard. Another howl joins in. It's quieter and shakier, but so full of proud determination that Danny's heart clenches. He doesn't wait to hear if anyone answers. He keeps one ear on traffic and one on the woods as he drives away, surrounded by the sound of home.