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It had been three months, and no one had died.
Derek’s mind was sufficiently blown. To say he’d thought their odds were bad was an understatement of massive proportions. Ever since he found Stilinski with a straw up his nose, he’d been drawing up a route back to New York. It was a precautionary measure, he told himself. He was just looking out for himself. Yet as the weeks wore on, and the (his?) new Alpha hadn’t bitten the heads off of so much as a bunny, Derek had started ignoring his drafts.
Scott McCall wasn’t like any Alpha he’d ever met. Derek still wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
He’d come home to find Scott sitting on his porch in his underwear, trading what Derek distinctly did not recognize as Pokemon cards with the other dumbass. (“Hey Snubbull, when are you going to get a real house and stop inhaling in the charred remains of your family?”) Derek thought it was all downhill from there. Punching Stiles in the face was a highlight he’d never be able to top. Except the next time he came home, there was a thick wool blanket waiting for him on the couch, and underneath it, a stack of real estate magazines. In big looping letters on a bright pink post-it note read: Sorry. Do you have a lamp that works?
Scott didn’t say anything the next time they met for training, but when Derek mentioned their night vision, he grinned like Christmas had come early. Then he and Stiles asked about knots, and Derek gave up on everything.
Derek planned on leaving. They weren’t pack, not exactly. He was just doing what he thought his mother would, what Laura would. Peter had been the cause of all this, and the Hales always had a responsibility to the town and to werewolves as a whole that did not include using supernatural strength to cheat at lacrosse goddammit those damn kids! He got a six month lease on a loft, and paid everything in advance. Scott could use it for training, probably, when he was gone. Yeah.
Scott brought him a lamp as a house warming present. Stiles asked him if he could afford walls next time. Then they ate all his yoplait, and laughed at his pudding cups.
(The next day, the loft still smelled like them. There was a baked casserole in his fridge, shelves filled with groceries, and cleaning supplies under his sink. Derek was busy trying not to smile as he estimated how well ‘aloof gratitude’ could translate via text. Then he saw the inflatable doll tucked into his bed.)
Scott McCall was one of the kindest, most genuine people Derek had ever met. When Derek talked about the need for control, he listened with a solemn gaze that looked out of place on a boy who still couldn’t grow whiskers. He was going to be a good Alpha, just not Derek’s. But as he tidied up after a particularly grueling training session where they’d actually trained, Derek couldn’t justify why.
They were just kids. They were dumb, naive kids who ate out of his ice cream carton and genuinely believed they were being subtle about it. They had no idea what was out there, but they had spikes in their armor and wouldn’t hesitate to fight back. Derek wanted to protect them, but as an Omega, he was just as concerned about protecting himself (he wasn’t an Omega - he didn’t have to be). That left something hollow and aching in the center of his chest. Derek pretended he didn’t notice.
They found his plans on a Sunday. Stiles threw down marked maps in disgust, but his silence stung more than anything he could have said. Scott picked them up for him, expression stormy and hurt, but not accusing.
"When are you leaving?" The Alpha asked, resigned. Derek didn’t ever want to hear him like that again.
"I’m not."
It shouldn’t have worked, but so many things in their lives shouldn’t have worked. Two idiot boys and a man so tired of everything he ever cared about being torn away. He’d come back to Beacon Hills after losing his sister and had lost his uncle as well. He was the last, the only Hale left and the legacy of the Hale pack in the hands of a boy with a sweet smile that hid a surprisingly steel beneath it. Derek was almost convinced, almost. They were still hopeless without him. They had no idea how to control their abilities and subtlety wasn’t a word they understood. They didn’t know about the dangers that existed once you crossed that line into the supernatural and the whispered words that could spread about a new alpha. There were more than just wolves living in the world and these kids were more concerned with stealing each other’s dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets than building a strong pack and protecting themselves.
They wouldn’t make it without him and somehow, being needed made Derek feel grounded in a way he hadn’t since the fire had set his life adrift. Not that he would ever admit it. The Hale put the maps away and didn’t mention them again. The next day, he hung a picture of his family on the wall by his bed, a sign of permanence. Scott’s eyes found it but the boy said nothing, nudging Stiles with his toe as the two of them managed to get crumbs all over Derek’s couch.
Three months of learning and training and driving each other crazy. Three months of family and pack. Three months of peace…until it all fell apart.