Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Noah skimmed over the contract, but it appeared to be exactly what they had discussed before. In truth, he'd all but forgotten about the Gajos marriage contract that Claudia had told him about so many years ago. It wasn't until he was meeting with several state senators from nearby districts in preparation for his run that he'd even met Talia Hale, and the name had triggered his memory.

Talia, at least, knew how the world worked. She was making her bid for Lieutenant Governor, and she was more than willing to scratch his back if he scratched hers. Confirming that she was from the same Hale family that were connected to the Gajos's was just the kind of luck he needed.

It had taken them a while to translate the marriage contract itself from the original Polish, but Noah had finally gotten his hands on that a few months ago. No, this was the finalized contract specifically between himself and Talia. The one wherein he revealed the missing Gajos heir to her and supported her future political campaigns, and in return she would ensure that he successfully made it to the Senate seat for Beacon District, and remained there as long as he wanted.

The contract seemed fairly simple, and Noah didn't see any glaring changes from what they'd hashed out, so he quickly signed his name. The magic in it — something he was still uncomfortable with, but at least it meant that Talia couldn't double cross him — flashed when he finished, and before his very eyes the contract duplicated itself.

"One for you, and one for me," Talia said smugly, picking up her own copy.

Noah slid his copy into the folder he'd brought for it, "Glad to see it 'took'," he said. He was just grateful he wouldn't have to see Stiles learning any of this magic nonsense, or spend too much time around the kind of supernatural 'people' Claudia had warned him about. Save for those he would need to work for in the government — and honestly, he was assured they were all quite civilized, like Talia — he could cheerfully ignore that side of things from now on.

"Now, about the heir," Talia reminded him.

"Oh yes," Noah straightened. "My wife, Claudia. When I married her, she told me her name was Nowak. However, after she became pregnant, she admitted that she'd run away from her family, the Gajos clan. She told me all about their magic nonsense that she wanted to escape, and warned me that I should never speak her real maiden name, lest they find her. Our child, Mieczysław Wojciech Przemysław Stilinski, is the heir you're looking for."

With that, he walked out of her office. They already had their next meeting arranged — the one he would drag Stiles to — and in the meantime, he wasn't going to help her track the brat down by telling her his nickname. She could find out the official, legal information, but he couldn't risk her finding Stiles's social media accounts and realizing what a troublemaker he was. Not if Noah wanted her to follow through on the contract and take the brat off his hands.

When he reached his cruiser, Noah couldn't help but whistle cheerfully. Things were finally looking up for him.

Chapter Text

Stiles sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to release the tension that had built up over the last few weeks. He'd dived into a flurry of research around his classes and projects, so he felt slightly more prepared, at least, but he still couldn't help but want to curse certain members of his family.

Ever since the letter had come from his grandparent's estate a month ago. Stiles's mom had always been tightlipped about her family, to the point that he hadn't even known that any of them were alive, let alone the kind of people to have estates.

Finding out that the Gajos family had an active marriage contract that was now going to come down on him was an unpleasant surprise. Finding out that he only had the next two months before his eighteenth birthday to fulfill it or risk a magical backlash was infuriating. Finding out that apparently his mom had warned his dad about this when he was a toddler, and that his dad had proceeded to ignore it for 16 years was honestly the last straw. Stiles had known that his dad had checked out after mom died, and never checked back in — hell, he'd had to find out from Tara that his dad was dating Melissa McCall! — but to let him be blindsided by something this big?

Some days it felt like his dad would be happier if Stiles just faded away.

Stiles had known for years that he couldn't count on his dad for medium things, let alone little ones, but he'd at least thought that when it came to big, life altering things like being given away to some werewolf pack, he could expect at least a heads up, if not actual help.

Apparently not.

Not after the way his dad had made it exceedingly clear that Stiles wasn't going to disgrace the Gajos or Stilinski names by ruining this opportunity, or by whining to anyone else about it. Or else.

No, Stiles was completely on his own — at least until his birthday, when he'd apparently gain a spouse and a pack. To that end, he was attempting to be optimistic about this marriage contract. Especially now that he'd gotten his hands on the original Polish copy — instead of the summary that he'd initially been sent — and translated it all. There weren't many 'out' clauses per se, but there was a little bit of wiggle room here and there. The problem was that while some parts were exceedingly specific and ironclad, other parts were infuriatingly vague.

Hale wasn't exactly an uncommon name, after all. There were no first names included for any but the two who had signed the contract: Ryszard Gajos and Maria Hale. As names went, it wasn't much, and after a few weeks of prodding Stiles felt like Ancestry.com was full on shaming him for how little he had to go on. While Stiles had done a decent job finding his mom's family, now that he knew her actual maiden name and the names of his grandparents, and had thus been able to trace back to Ryszard, he didn't even know if he and Maria Hale were contemporaries. She could have been anywhere from his age, to 50 years older than him, to 50 years younger than him, and Stiles had no means of narrowing that down.

It didn't help at all that the contract specifically stated that Hale had been 'passing through town' when she saved Ryszard's life, and thus earned his descendent's hand in marriage. Without knowing where she'd come from or gone to, Stiles was at an absolute dead end. He'd thought he had a clue for a while, because his future spouse was repeatedly referred to as the Alpha Prince, making Stiles think that the Hales in question were some kind of royalty. Unfortunately, with his most recent research, it appeared that that was more of an indicator of esteem, rather than actual royal rank — at least in the human world; Stiles didn't know enough about the supernatural world to know if they had their own secret monarchies. No, his future spouse was simply an Alpha who was the heir — and thus prince — of a Hale Alpha. It wasn't even actually gender specific, though Stiles really hoped that he was actually getting a Princely Alpha, and not a Princess one.

Even the fact that the letter from his grandparents' estate claimed Stiles would be meeting with his future in-laws in neutral ground soon didn't help. For one thing, his dad had been traveling all over the state for the last eight months, paving the way for his transition from county sheriff to state senator. He could have met anyone anywhere who would then provide a neutral ground for the meeting. For another, a global magical conclave was meeting in San Francisco in a few weeks, and magicals and supernaturals would be coming in from all over the world for it. It had a name that Stiles couldn't hope to pronounce, and rather than butchering it, he'd taken to calling the event the Magical UN, since that's essentially what it was. It was a triennial event, — three was a magically powerful number, after all — and Stiles was just lucky that it was being held in California this time. He'd rushed to make arrangements to attend, and had done his best to arrange his class schedule around the sessions as much as possible. Of course, now he was also having to squeeze in packing his belongings in anticipation of moving… somewhere with his new spouse immediately afterwards. It was going to be a bit of a race to get everything done in time, if his future spouse didn't give him any leeway.

Now, Stiles's joy over discovering that he had magic, and the chance to get a glimpse into this new world that had been opened up to him was dimming. His excitement over meeting so many people and making connections for the future was overshadowed by the knowledge that his future pack was probably coming for the event and using it as their 'neutral ground'. He was fairly certain that they couldn't keep him from attending the full week's conclave, though anything after that was up in the air. Stiles had no idea if he'd even be allowed to finish out this semester's classes, though he was trying to remain optimistic and believe that he would. (He definitely hadn't already had four panic attacks since learning about this entire thing, and was certainly not due to have several more over the next few weeks before the meeting.)

At least a werewolf pack was unlikely to look down on a magic user, Stiles firmly reminded himself, abandoning his tired eyes and stretching out his tired back and shoulders. Though he'd only discovered his spark thanks to this contract, he'd done his best to read everything he could get his hands on. Stiles might not be powerful enough to be a full emissary, but he would work hard to train whatever gifts he had. Stiles may just be a human, joining a wolf pack, but he was determined to have something to bring to this relationship!

Because he might only be getting married because of threats and coercion and an arranged marriage contract that really shouldn't be a thing still in this day and age, but damn it he was not going to let down the Gajos name and legacy. Not now that he had finally discovered this unexpectedly new connection he had remaining to his mom.

Chapter Text

As soon as the zoom call ended, Stiles began to skim over the notes he'd taken. He wasn't thrilled by the results, but it was better to know now than to make a mistake later in front of the Hales. Still, the highlighted paragraph from the contract that had sent him down this newest trail stood clearly on the top, taunting him..

Both parties shall meet on neutral ground, and shall come to each other free of all contaminants on their person, that both sides will know there is no deceit or coercion from elixir or magic.

Stiles had been hopeful that just meant that he couldn't wear any cologne or carry pepper spray in his pocket or something, but the supernatural herbalist he'd been referred to had been quite clear. No contaminants didn't just mean spells on his clothes or supernatural amulets. It meant everything, including his Adderall.

From painful experience, Stiles knew that it took a few weeks to completely clear his ADHD meds from his system, and to build them back up to potency afterwards. That had been a part of the cycle when he was younger and trying to nail down the most effective drug for him. Having the herbalist confirm that it would be the same for a werewolf's senses was a blow he did not need.

Especially since it was basically already too late; he only had two weeks before their first meeting. The herbalist's suggestion was actually less distasteful than going off his meds for most of a month — right when he needed all his wits about him and was trying to make a good impression, no less! — but it was going to be costly. Fortunately, they were local to San Francisco, and they kept the ingredients for what Stiles needed in stock. He would be able to get a cleansing potion and take it 24 hours before the meeting with the Hales, thus entirely eliminating the Adderall from his system on time. Then, Stiles could take a reintroduction potion with his next morning's dose that would flood the medication back into his brain. He might not be at 100% for a day or two after, but it would be better than waiting weeks to build back up the effectiveness. It wasn't the kind of thing one should do often, as the two potions could have some pretty nasty side effects when abused like that, but if this didn't qualify as an emergency situation, Stiles didn't know what did.

But it would cost him.

Stiles had already spent a good bit on admittance to the Magical UN, and set aside money for gas for Roscoe, since that was cheaper than getting a hotel in the area. Stiles had intended to get Roscoe in for a check up the weekend before, to ensure he could make the commute for the next week, but that money was going to need to go to the herbalist instead. It wasn't ideal, but with his dad basically ignoring his presence — when he wasn't just spending his nights at Melissa's anyway — it wasn't like Stiles could ask for help.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that said it wouldn't be given, even if Stiles could track his dad down to ask.

He was not thinking about that. Nor about the fact that he didn't know if he'd even see his dad or Beacon Hills ever again when these three weeks were up.

No, Stiles was going to be grateful that he'd gotten clarification about this whole 'contaminants' thing, and that he was going to be able to uphold that part of the contract, even if it meant putting off Roscoe's next check up. At least he'd found a timely solution, and he was able to afford it by rearranging his budget! Stiles was going to remain optimistic, damn it!

And his Prince Alpha had better appreciate it!

Stiles's brain was buzzing by the time they got to the Marriott conference room, and not just because he'd taken the flushing potion last night and foregone his Adderall this morning. Roscoe had made a worrisome noise just as Stiles hit the bridge, and he was seriously regretting the inability to get him a checkup like he'd planned. His 'Only for Emergencies for Roscoe' fund had taken a big hit this week, and Stiles couldn't afford to actually need it. He should have asked the herbalist if there was some kind of magic he could use on Roscoe — though that would probably cost more than he could afford too.

Of course, Stiles could have ridden with his dad, had anyone bothered to consult his class schedule before arranging this little tête-à-tête. He'd warned both his dad and the executor of the Gajos contract that he had Friday evening classes, and sent both of them his schedule, and yet here they were, meeting in the late afternoon on a Friday. Stiles already knew he wouldn't be able to get back to Beacon Hills in time, but he'd researched the most reliable wifi hotspots he could find and arranged for a classmate to bring in a spare laptop that he could use to attend from his phone by zoom. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best Stiles had been able to put together on the constantly short notice he was operating under.

Between being off his meds, worrying about Roscoe, reviewing the steps for attending class today, and stressing about the many requirements in the contract that he was trying to fulfill, Stiles barely had time to be nervous about actually finally meeting the Hales and his Prince Alpha.

As such, he was caught off guard when he entered the room and found only his dad waiting. "What happened? Is someone hurt? Did they call the whole thing off? Are we—"

"If you'd stop babbling I could tell you," his dad cut him off sharply. Stiles closed his mouth with a click. "I wanted to make sure you were actually here on time, so I told you to get here a half hour early."

Stiles seethed, but kept his mouth shut. He'd already told them he could only stay an hour, based on the start time he'd been given. If that was actually a half hour before the scheduled meeting, then he'd barely get through the pleasantries before he had to dash. He could maybe shave a few minutes off his time if he went to his second choice of wifi location instead of his primary, and a few more if he was willing to be five or ten minutes late to class. He'd planned on being slightly early, because he was trying to create the least disturbance possible given his situation, and he was really counting on his teacher's patience with him to even get this far… He'd have to see how the first part of the meeting went and then wing it.

"Now, since you managed to make it, I wanted to talk to you," his dad continued. "You know that this meeting is very important to me; it should be important to you too. I promised that you were a good kid; respectful, smart, polite. You will not make a liar of me tonight, is that understood?"

"Understood," Stiles gritted out.

"At least after the wedding you'll be their problem, and it won't matter what you act like," his dad muttered under his breath, but still well within Stiles's range of hearing. Then he turned towards the small wet bar.

Having no interest in watching his father drink — yet another positive change coming into his life in the next few weeks, he reminded himself — Stiles simply took a seat two over from the one his dad had clearly claimed. They might have to show a unified front, but Stiles had no intention of sitting within arms' distance.

While he waited, Stiles texted his classmate, Boyd, for a last minute check of tonight's plan for class. In the event of an emergency, you gotta put on your mask first, the herbalist had told him kindly when he'd first explained the situation, and Stiles was going to try to follow that advice now. He just had to focus on what he could control, and not panic about what he couldn't.

Chapter Text

Derek scowled as he entered the conference room in their hotel. The Sheriff — his future father in law, apparently — was standing by the wet bar with a drink in his hand. And from the smell around the man, it was not the first he'd had. Derek did his best to filter out the smell, along with the cordite from his gun — no wolfsbane thankfully, just regular mundane law enforcement — and the tang of spices that tickled his nose. His mom had warned him, because it was apparently part of his base scent, and it wouldn't do to introduce himself with a sneezing fit.

Still, Derek wasn't impressed with the man. He wasn't sure how he felt about the Gajos family enforcing a marriage contract on the Hales — other than annoyed that he was the one chosen to fulfill it — but his own distaste at his mom's politicking had already soured Derek on the whole thing. He knew that if he was going to become the alpha after his mother he would need to know how to create and maintain alliances, he just didn't see why he had to suffer politics and an arranged marriage in the process! Nana Aria had been perfectly happy as a simple lawyer when she was the alpha, so why couldn't Derek do what he wanted to? Not for the first time he cursed Laura for making her own match before the Gajos thing had come to light. If she hadn't been married, then she could have been the one caught up in this stupid contract!

He was so caught up in his disgruntlement over the entire situation that it took Derek a minute to realize that his future mate was there. Despite the sheriff's less than helpful information, his mom had managed to run a background check, so Derek had known he was getting a husband, but that was it. The boy's legal ID on file was his driver's license, and it showed a young sixteen year old with a shaved head and a wide smile. If it weren't for the moles, Derek would have struggled to match him to the young man sitting in front of him with dark, shaggy hair and a serious expression on his face.

Derek had been assured that the man would make a good wolf mate, and that he would be demure, respectful, faithful, etc. The Sheriff had said all the right words for his mom, but to Derek the man quite frankly sounded boring. Well, other than his monstrosity of a name.

"Hello, I am Alpha Talia Hale," his mother said regally, as she and the Sheriff took their seats on their respective sides of the table. "My husband, Michael, and our son, Derek." Derek's dad took the Right Hand position — Peter, thankfully, had elected to miss this meeting, so the Left's was empty — and Derek sat beside him. Normally that would have been Laura's spot, as the heir, but Derek didn't want to sit in Peter's space, or leave that seat open in order to sit in his usual place. He'd already noticed that the Sheriff and his son were a few chairs apart, and his wolf growled at the sign of a broken pack. Derek forcefully reminded himself that these people weren't wolves, and had no idea what their body language was conveying.

"Noah Stilinski," the Sheriff said curtly, "and—"

"Please call me Stiles," his son chimed in quickly.

Derek let out a tiny sigh of relief: he knew his parents would have heard it, but neither of the humans could have. Honestly, he'd looked at those names for weeks now, and come no closer to figuring out how to say them. He was exceedingly relieved to find the man had an easily pronounced — if a little strange — nickname.

His heartbeat was slightly faster than normal, but Derek assumed that was nervousness over the meeting. Derek's wasn't exactly calm either, after all. Subtly scenting, Derek found that his future mate — Stiles — smelled primarily of stress and coffee, and underneath that was something lightly floral, old books, and the petrichor and ozone smell of magic. Derek frowned. His mom hadn't told him that Stiles had magic. Was he hiding it? Or was the smell from magic that had been placed upon him? Was he hiding something else with it?

Derek's scowl deepened. Bad enough he was being forced into this, but if the Sheriff and Stiles weren't even being honest with them? First thing tomorrow, Derek was going to go over his mother's copy of the contract top to bottom. There had to be something to keep the other side from using magic to deceive their wolf senses, right?

Before Derek knew it, the formalities were over.

"You have been made aware that you are going to move in with the pack before the wedding, yes?" his mother asked.

"Yes, I have," Stiles said, a tinge of anxiety flaring in his scent.

"We have already arranged for a company to help you with that," his mother continued. "As well as a few guards for your protection. You are now considered to be under the protection of our pack, with all the privileges and risks that that entails. At the moment, we have heard of no active threats, but with the wedding coming up, it is possible — though unlikely — that someone will make a move to disrupt it."

Stiles nodded, his face calm, but his scent betrayed him, his anxiety raising.

"Both the guards and the movers will be making their way to Beacon Hills shortly and will introduce themselves to you." She cut a mild look towards the Sheriff, and Derek smelled the faint trace of the irritation she couldn't suppress. "We assumed you had a nickname, but were not informed of it, so you'll need to clarify it when you meet them."

"Of course," Stiles agreed steadily, though his eyes flicked towards his father with a small flare of irritation: it seemed that it hadn't been his idea to hide his nickname.

Stiles's phone vibrated softly on the table and Derek's scowl deepened. Was he really so rude as to keep his phone out and on during such an important meeting? Stiles glanced at the phone and sighed, and Derek bit back a growl. Not content just to have it out, he was actually checking his messages?

"I apologize, but despite me providing a copy of my class schedule, this meeting was made for the same time," Stiles said, scooping up his phone and tucking it into his pocket. "Since I was then given the wrong time—" he cut a blame-filled gaze towards his father, who glared back at him "—we couldn't even make it as far as I originally expected. Once your guards make contact, I'll make sure to give them my schedule so that things like this hopefully won't happen again in the future. Again, I apologize for this mixup, but I delayed as long as I could, and I am already going to be late."

Stiles picked up a business card from the table and slid it towards the Hales' side. "My contact information, so that we can hopefully improve our communication." The look he shot his father clearly said without further interference, and it made the Sheriff turn red.

Then, just like that, he was out of the room in a whirl of coffee, books, and ozone. Derek ducked his head to hide the fact that his eyes had flashed, and his fangs were slipping free. The disrespect of this man! As though he couldn't skip classes for one night? As if they were more important than meeting his future husband? And then to push the blame onto his father, a respected Sheriff? Derek would definitely be looking through every word of that contract: there was no way he wanted to be forever bound to such a rude person!

Chapter Text

Robert eyed the small town Sheriff's office, taking in the signs of age and neglect. Having been a member of the Hales's pack and security for several decades, he had seen all manner of law enforcement set up, and this one wasn't impressing him. Still, this was where the father of their newest member worked, and so he would suck it up and be the epitome of professionalism.

Jade fell into step beside him, and without needing to check, Robert knew that the rest of their team would be maintaining the perimeter and checking out any suspicious sounds or smells. Since they were ready to go, he finally tuned in on the building in front of him.

"Because of everything that's going on, there's a chance of danger, so you'll need to be more aware of security, son," said the Sheriff.

Robert had met him twice, during meetings with the Alpha, and was even less impressed with the man than he was with the building under his domain. Still, it sounded like his son was inside, so it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce themselves and get started.

"I understand," a younger male voice replied.

"Someone will be keeping an eye on you and your mom, so don't be haring off on your bike through the backwoods trying to lose them, alright? Take the main roads for a while?"

His son sighed petulantly. "Alright, if you insist."

"I do," the Sheriff said fondly. "Now I've got to get back to work, but your mom wants to see you for dinner tonight, so no skulking off with your friends, got it?"

"I got it."

Robert listened to the Sheriff clap his son on the shoulder, and then heard the boy leaving the Sheriff's office and decided to wait for him out here. There was no reason to subject himself to the man's presence again right now, not when it was his son who was their future packmate.

The boy he was following with his senses emerged from the building, and Robert got a quick impression of dark eyes and a thin build. "Hello," he said easily, not wanting to startle the boy. "You're the Sheriff's son, correct?"

"I am!" the boy said proudly.

"We're your new security detail," Robert said. "What would you like us to call you?" He'd seen the boy's full name, and there was no way in hell he was pronouncing that without help.

"Scott is fine."

Robert resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. "Scott it is."

The rest of their group closed ranks, now that they didn't need to guard the entire station, and Miccah, his hedgewitch, slipped out of the car. Robert accepted the credit card he slipped into his hand, noting the boy's preferred name that had just been spelled onto it: Scott Stilinkski. "This is for you," he said, handing it over to Scott. "For expenses relating to the move and the changes ahead. Though of course there will also be movers coming by to help; just let us know when you're ready for them."

"Sure," Scott said, smiling sunilly. "I'm not ready yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I am."

"Good," Robert was glad that the boy was being agreeable; his father most decidedly wasn't.

"I believe we have a little time to kill before dinner; is there some place you'd like to go?" Robert knew the Sheriff expected his son home for dinner, but that was several hours away.

"Oh yeah, I've got to show this to Issac and Allie!" Scott said excitedly. "I have so much to tell them!"

Robert made a note of the names; he would get their last names later and run background checks on them. Alpha Hale was aware that forcing Scott to move in with them could cut him off from his friends, and wanted to accommodate him as much as possible in that regard, as long as his friends weren't hooligans. Or hunters.

Scott had never had such a good day! First he learned that Stiles was leaving town within the month, going to get married of all things! It was good riddance, as far as Scott was concerned, because all he did was make a nuisance of himself for the poor Sheriff. It was so bad that the poor man rarely went back to his own house for the night, staying with Scott and his mom instead, so it would be better once that stress was out of his life.

Of course, Stiles couldn't leave for normal reasons; Scott didn't have all the details, but there had to be something sketchy about Stiles's situation if the Sheriff was worried enough to hire guards. Not that Scott didn't appreciate them; they were great, and he felt totally safe, but it was bullshit that Stiles had done something to make them necessary.

Still, their news about the movers was great; Scott hadn't realized that once Stiles was gone the Sheriff would be moving them, but it made sense. With Stiles out of the way, the Sheriff could sell his old house, and Scott's mom could sell hers, and they could get married and move into someplace much bigger and nicer. Maybe even in the same neighborhood as Allie or Jackson, in the fancy part of town.

That thought was born out by the credit card he'd been handed. It was so nice to see his future name stamped in fancy gold letters on the black card. He hadn't thought about changing his name once his mom and the Sheriff married, but he wasn't going to say that to people who gave him a credit card that apparently had no limit!

Scott might have gone a little wild at the mall for himself and Isaac, and he definitely had to take Allie there once she wasn't stuck with her visiting family members, or she'd kill him, but it was just too cool to resist! Tomorrow he'd decided he was getting a car; no more dirt bike for him!

Across town, Stiles finished up a solo dinner — he'd splurged on curly fries on the way home late last night, to make himself feel better about how the initial meeting had gone, but that was his last indulgence for a while. Between the money he'd already spent with the Herbalist, and the fact that he'd be eating in the more expensive San Francisco for the next two weeks, Stiles really couldn't afford to eat out here in Beacon Hills too.

He'd finished all of his homework earlier in the day, coasting on the rush of the fresh infusion of Adderall that the potion had helped with, and on that front he was ready for the week ahead. He'd done his best to work ahead for the next week as well, but two of his teachers only gave out assignments at the end of class, so he'd have to wing it with them. He was lucky that the Magical UN had a mundane cover story, and his Government and Law teacher had been happy to accept his attendance for extra credit. His Public Speaking seminar teacher was giving him credit too, and Stiles was going to be able to get out of an entire debate thanks to that! Yet another positive for him to focus on, he reminded himself.

That was also why he'd been so excited about the convenient timing and location of the Magical UN; it might make his class schedule a little tight, and make him miss a few classes — which was why he couldn't afford to miss last night's class — but the extra credit potential — not to mention the magic potential! — had been worth the trade off.

So, with his homework done and dinner eaten, Stiles turned back to the task of packing up everything he owned. The small pod was coming tomorrow — he'd waited as long as possible before scheduling it, to reduce the payments he'd have to make — and Stiles was hopeful that he'd be able to get almost everything of his packed away by tomorrow evening. He had to, because he was going to be exhausted all week from the full day sessions and the long commute, and he had no idea how much energy he'd have next weekend to finish up. And then he'd have to do the actual moving the next weekend!

Stiles would have probably been done already, but the revelation of his mom's magic had led to him discovering a whole secret workshop in the attic, full of trunks and books and unidentifiable supplies that he presumed were for some kind of magical dealings. If Stiles had had more than a month's crash course in the subject, it was possible he could have made his own potions, instead of needing to consult an Herbalist, but he shoved that thought away. There was nothing he could do about it, so it was unhelpful to dwell on what might have been if he'd been prepared.

The important thing was that Stiles was going to pack everything up as carefully as possible — he had no idea what this stuff was capable of! — and then, once he had gotten through the move and the wedding and everything else, he'd put his all into studying his new magic, including whatever his mom had left for him.

Unlike the wedding, that was actually something to look forward to, and Stiles couldn't wait!

Chapter Text

Peter was absolutely thrilled with the timing of the Triennial Conclave, and not just because he had several connections attending who owed him a book or artifact he could finally collect. No, in this instance, the timing was fortuitous because his sister was driving him insane. Why she and Derek chose to have him marry his boyfriend now, while the Conclave had their territory full of strangers, was beyond him. Peter wasn't even sure what pack the boyfriend was from, since Talia hadn't seen fit to show him the alliance contract they were using. Apparently, the boy had a birthday coming up, but surely they could wait for a few months after, or next year if the date was somehow important.

But no, Talia was in a tizzy about this stupid arrangement, right when he needed his Alpha to pay attention to his reports on all the Hunters who had entered the state to "supervise" the Conclave, and the magical beings who were here under tenuous truces which could evaporate from one wrong word.

Peter loved his sister and his niblings — in small doses, usually — but he had come perilously close to ripping out several throats this weekend. Fortunately, he had known he would need a retreat — though he hadn't known exactly why — and had booked himself into the other Conclave sponsored hotel; while Talia's brood was at the Ritz-Carlton, he was at the magical wing of the St Regis, out of range of her dither.

It had only gotten worse on Saturday — though Talia hadn't bothered to tell him why, or to listen to his report on the massing Argent clan — so Peter had skipped out on the "mandatory" family brunch on Sunday and treated himself to a spa day instead.

Now, as he approached his box in the magically expanded great hall, Peter was surprised to find someone unfamiliar inside it. He was a young thing, currently in the process of awkwardly slipping into a red pullover hoodie, and the smell of stress and the tang of medication wafted off of him strongly. Taking a deep breath to filter out those smells, Peter detected the floral scent specific to medicinal enhancement potions, coffee, old books, ozone, and petrichor. The latter three were common with mages and those who spent their time in old, magical libraries, but were rare in one so young. Intriguing. The others were easily explained by his age; a teenager coming into his magic would find that it interfered with his usual medications, and he was smart to have gone to an Herbalist for help transitioning to the more natural remedy. His heartbeat was jackrabbit fast — likely from the medication, and he gave no other signs of being anything but human.

None of it explained why he was in Peter's box, however. None of the rest of his family cared to attend the main events, choosing to socialize with other attendees in an unstructured way. The boy wasn't an ally of the Hale family — at least as far as Peter knew — but perhaps there had been a miscommunication somewhere. Peter would get to the bottom of it soon enough.

"Well hello there, Little Red," he purred as he sauntered into the box. The boy jerked, startled, and then proceeded to become more tangled in his hoodie before he finally straightened himself out. When he did, Peter was delighted to find his new companion was quite cute, with silky dark hair, an upturned nose, and a constellation of moles smattered across his face. His jaw dropped when he saw Peter, who politely ignored the spike of lust since the boy quickly got a hold of himself. "I'm Peter; and you are?" His last name should go without saying — this was the Hale box, after all.

The boy smirked, pulled a sharpie out of his pocket, and scribbled out whatever had been written on the name tag in his lap. Then he carefully placed it onto his chest, where it now proclaimed to the world "Little Red."

"I think that's suitable for the week," he said cheekily.

Peter smirked with delight. He was going to have fun with this boy! "And what brings you to my delightful company?" Peter asked, gesturing at the Hale Box the boy was sitting in. "I'm quite sure I would remember seeing you around before."

The boy snorted. "I'm new to all this," he waved a hand to encompass the room around them, lost his grip on the sharpie, and bobbled it a few times before managing to catch it. He stuffed it back in his pocket even as his cheeks flamed in embarrassment. "I only found out about magic a few weeks ago."

Well that explained it, Peter thought. He'd clearly signed up at the last minute, and they'd thrown him into the Hale box for lack of other place to put him. Peter was known to enjoy meeting people and making connections, and Talia was known for being more easygoing on protocol than many other alphas. Someone probably thought they wouldn't throw a fit at finding this adorable little morsel in their box — and they were right.

Peter slid into his seat and put on his most charming expression. "So, tell me, how did you learn about our world, Little Red?"

"Well, about a month ago, a lawyer for my grandparents' estate tracked us down. I didn't even know I had grandparents—" he flailed slightly "—I mean, obviously my mom came from somewhere, but I'd never met them or even knew they were still alive. Cue the revelations that magic is real and I have it, werewolves are a thing, and there's some ancient family marriage contract that's gonna bind me to this stupid alpha and has to be fulfilled before my birthday a month from now."

"A marriage contract?" Peter couldn't hide his shock. While most packs used alliance contracts fairly extensively, that was done with specific individuals in mind, and usually after at least a six month courting period. In practice, most modern packs attempted to let their young ones find their own mate at school or mixers — there would be plenty of new pairings after this week — then built the alliance after the fact. A marriage contract, especially one as stringent as this sounded, with the timing restrictions, and no way for the boy to evade it, would have to be at least a century old. That or from a very restrictive and isolated family.

"Yep." Little Red's face scrunched in disgust. "I had to get a copy of the original Polish contract, because of course the summary they initially gave me was useless, and now I've just been jumping through hoop after hoop to make sure I don't fuck it up somehow. Don't get me wrong, I'm super excited to learn about magic, and see what stuff my mom left for me in the attic, and I'm grateful for the timing of this whole shindig so I can get a crash course in the supernatural world, but a little more warning and help would've been nice."

"Understandable," Peter said easily. It was clear that the boy had been thrown into the deep end of supernatural politics — it sounded like his mother was gone as well, so he had no magical family left to help guide him. His future mate was obviously in town for the Conclave — from Poland, it sounded like — and was also not stepping up to the plate. Little Red had done very well getting this far on his own, and Peter was suddenly grateful to whatever peon had placed the boy in the Hale box.

The boy was clever, multi-lingual, enthusiastic about their world, determined to succeed even without help, and positively brimming with magic. For his family — and that of the contracted alpha — to let him flounder was disgraceful. But never let it be said that Peter was unwilling to use others' mistakes against them. If the boy's future alpha was too stupid to cultivate his partner properly, Peter would be happy to fill in the blanks. Frankly, Little Red deserved better, and though Peter wasn't known for his altruism, he would never turn down the chance to make a new contact, especially one that was indebted to him for his guidance. And he would love to make some new contacts in Poland.

"Well then, let me give you a quick run down of the important players before the boring speeches start," Peter said, and to his delight, the boy actually pulled out a notebook and a pen, ready to absorb anything Peter shared. This was going to be wonderful.

Chapter Text

Little Red was a genius, Peter quickly realized. He imagined some might be put off by the flailing and tangents, but none of it detracted from the brilliant brain tucked behind his angelic face. Of course, there was a devilish sense of humor hiding away in there too. Luckily the boxes for the prominent Packs and Clans were soundproofed, because once he understood what was happening, the boy proved to be an excellent source of snark and kibitzing. He might have only been in their world for a few weeks, but he was clearly absorbing everything he could about the supernatural, and was able to follow intuitive leaps quicker than any of the pups Peter had trained for the pack. Little Red also had the potential to make an excellent Left Hand, with the deviousness and cunning needed for the position. Peter intended to suggest it to the boy's alpha when they eventually met.

He'd been cagy about the names, and Peter couldn't blame him. Most contracts had some level of discretion charms worked into them, and if this one was as archaic as it seemed, the punitive clauses could be quite harsh. Not that there was much for him to say about "Baby Alpha," as Little Red had taken to calling his future partner, since his parent was in fact the pack alpha. They'd only met for half an hour, barely spoken, and apparently the young alpha had glared at him the entire time. Peter, coming from a family that all tended to have resting murder faces, could just imagine the look that someone like Derek or Cora could lay on if they were upset, and was impressed anew that the boy hadn't quailed under a wolf's glare. He certainly brushed aside Peter's mock glares with a laugh, so he was no wilting flower.

They'd had a very enjoyable lunch together after the morning speeches, and then Peter had helped Little Red pick out his sessions for the rest of the week. He had, for the most part, made good choices, but there were a few hidden gems for Peter to direct him towards. On the flip side, there were one or two with exciting names, but looking at the name of the presenter, Peter knew they would be a waste of time. Like before, Little Red eagerly absorbed all of Peter's advice, taking notes of even the simplest things.

From the prominent book smell on him, Peter knew the boy was a researcher, and with that kind of dedication to learning, he could only imagine what the boy could achieve once he caught his footing in the supernatural world. He was going to be magnificent, as long as his future alpha didn't snuff out his light.

Derek sighed and glared at his phone. His message to Styles — and what kind of name was that? He was tempted to change it to Gajos because this was the third variation he'd tried and it still didn't look like a name — was still unread.

Giving up, Derek pulled up Robert's number. As the head of Styles's guards, he should be able to contact the boy. Let S— know I've changed the location please; to someplace formal.

Within a few seconds, he got a reply. Will do.

Derek groaned and flopped back against the couch in the suite he was sharing with Cora, Eric, and Aurora. He had been looking forward to hanging out with his friends and maybe heading over to the Conclave to poke around, but his mother had put paid to that, insisting that he take his future spouse out to lunch instead. Then when she'd grilled him about his plan over breakfast this morning, she'd insisted that he change the restaurant, despite him and Styles already agreeing on it last night.

"He's the Gajos heir," she'd insisted. "They're an old, powerful, and wealthy family. You can't take him to a restaurant that's anything less than casual elegant, and formal would be better."

So now, Derek was going to be stuffed into his own penguin suit for lunch, instead of the dress shirt and sport coat he'd pulled together last night. Derek wasn't even sure if Styles had a tuxedo, but his mom had assured him that he must, given his station. Even his Camero wasn't good enough, and he had to use one of the hotel's stuffy towncars instead! Derek just hoped that once they were married, Styles wouldn't insist on eating at this kind of place often.

They couldn't eat lunch together on Tuesday, because Little Red ended up having a date with his future alpha. Peter had teased him a little when he showed up that morning in a suit, instead of his jeans and hoodie, but when the boy showed him the text telling him where the meal would be, and then the website for the restaurant, Peter had agreed that the suit was the right choice.

It was off the rack, of course, and a little small on Little Red — he admitted he'd gotten it for his senior prom — but it would do. Mostly, Peter was simply appalled that neither the alpha's pack, nor Little Red's magical family were helping him out with this kind of thing. If the alpha could afford to travel here for the Conclave and eat at fancy restaurants, then he could afford to help Little Red with obtaining a new suit, or with ensuring that he had a more reliable mode of transport. Hell, they could have put him up in their hotel here in the city, instead of making him commute back to his little home town! He knew Talia had added a suite for Derek's boyfriend, after all, and if Peter didn't know he'd be overstepping another alpha's territory, he'd offer to do the same in his hotel for Little Red.

His resolve was tested, however, when Little Red appeared a few minutes before the afternoon session, looking like he was a minute away from crying. Peter dragged him to the Hale box, where they could have a little privacy. "What happened?"

"That jackass!" Little Red sniffled. "He picked me up here in his fancy car, and he looked at me like I was scum on the bottom of his shoe. Which, I guess makes sense, because he was wearing a tux!"

Peter's jaw dropped and he didn't even try to hide his shock. "What?"

"At first I thought it was some kind of joke or miscommunication, but everyone there was wearing one. I stuck out like a sore thumb." Little Red looked devastated.

"Their website definitely said professional," Peter confirmed, desperately wanting to scent the boy to reassure him. He still didn't smell like a wolf's mate at all, which meant his future alpha wasn't even doing the bare minimum of scenting to lay his claim.

Little Red scoffed. "Yeah, but that isn't where we ended up going. He completely bait and switched me." The boy held out his phone, showing the much more formal black tie restaurant, then the text telling him about the switch — sent long after this morning's session was already well underway. "I didn't even get his last text about the change until I was in the car with him because my phone was silenced during the session."

"What a jackass," Peter agreed. That was two levels of dress code higher than what he'd told Little Red — Peter had seen the texts himself — and there was no way this was a mistake. It would be impossible for Little Red to change his outfit with so little notice, not unless he skipped the entire session and drove back home, and even that would only work if he actually owned a tux — given the state of his one formal suit, Peter wouldn't bet on it. No, the baby alpha had set Little Red up for some reason, plain and simple.

Peter was tempted to kill the other wolf, to spare the boy a future with him. He'd need to see the contract first, to make sure that wouldn't penalize Little Red instead, but if this jackass alpha continued to make the boy miserable and set him up to fail like he had today, then Peter wouldn't be able to restrain himself for long.

Chapter Text

Derek slammed back into the suite that he shared with his younger siblings, stomped into his room, and locked the door behind him. At the moment he didn't even care that he was shutting out Eric from the room they shared. All he cared about was the rage and humiliation that burned through his veins, shaking his control over his wolf. Styles? Steils? S.

S was a good enough name for someone who couldn't be bothered to use a real one. After everything Derek had gone through this morning, S had the audacity to show up in an ill fitting suit well below the dress code they had agreed to. Derek even confirmed with Robert that he had given S the message about the change and yet here he was, vastly underdressed.

Derek had been tempted to go back to his original planned restaurant but then Derek would be the one overdressed, and he decided that S deserved to be the one humiliated for this whole mess.

Furthermore, S had tried to pretend he hadn't gotten the message because he was in the morning Conclave session — something else Robert confirmed was a lie, as the boy hadn't attended a single session. What's more, he did not appear to attend any classes, despite what he had said to the contrary when he skipped out on their first meeting. Overall Derek was less than impressed and he was considering begging his mother to find a way to get him out of this contract.

The only thing that was keeping him in his own room right now instead of his parents' was the fact that S was hiding something else and Derek was determined to figure out what it was. Derek might not have the strongest sense of smell of his siblings — that distinction went to Cora — but he was no slouch in that department. And his nose was telling him that S was hiding something. At their first meeting, the predominant scent in S's mixture was floral and herbal, reminding Derek of a garden. Now today his predominant scent was chemical and foreign: something artificial and wrong. It tickled Derek's nose, making him want to sneeze much in the same way wolfsbane did. Derek didn't think that S was a hunter, though it was certainly possible. And until Derek figured out exactly what that disgusting odor was and figured out what S was trying to cover with it, he would keep a close eye on the boy.

It didn't help that S was lying constantly: his too rapid heartbeat giving him away. It had been much slower at their first meeting — when he should have been anxious about making a good impression — and much faster now. It was almost as though his entire baseline was different! Derek might not have the best nose among their siblings but he did have the best ears, and he was going to figure out what S was lying about — perhaps that disgusting scent — and then expose him for the fraud he was.

Stiles's phone alarm went off and he looked at it in shock for a moment before fumbling to turn it off. By the time the day's sessions had ended, Stiles had been starving. In part because the extremely fancy restaurant his stupid Alpha had taken him to had teeny tiny portion sizes and in part because he had been too upset to finish even those. Peter had insisted on taking him out for dinner to a little hole in the wall place run by an actual fae who served werewolf and Magic user-sized portions. He'd warned Stiles that now that he was using his magic more he would need more calories to compensate.

Of course, at the diner, Stiles was now overdressed in his suit, but it was something that he and Peter were able to laugh about. It felt completely different than the anger and cruel words from Derek earlier.

Stiles was supposed to have an evening class and he had promised his teacher he would do his best to attend after the magical UN was done for the day, but he'd been too upset, too hungry, too tired, and too willing to let Peter take care of him.

They had come out of the afternoon session having a lively debate about the merits of certain medicinal potions, and the species specific tweaks that were being introduced by the Hedgewitch running the panel. That had naturally segued into Stiles explaining about his own adventure with the herbalist and his Adderall potions. Peter had recommended a book written for, essentially, muggleborns about the ways that Magic users interacted with mundane medicines and how certain potions and tinctures could be just as effective if not more so, encouraging their own Magic to help them heal. There was a good chance he could swap out a potion for his Adderall and replace it entirely or at the very least reduce the dosage.

Stiles was excited about the concept and eager to get his hands on the book. Unfortunately, Peter lived too far away to loan Stiles his own copy now, but he promised that if Stiles couldn't find one for sale in the vendors' room of the conclave that he would mail it to him once Peter was back home.

The conversation had flowed so naturally that Stiles hadn't even noticed it was getting so late. Now he was going to have to rush home to try and get some sleep. He already knew he wouldn't be doing any packing or homework tonight, and since that alarm had been the one to tell him to go to bed, he would be short on sleep as well. It was worth it though, to spend more time with Peter learning about the magic he now knew he possessed and this supernatural world he was now a part of. Stiles just wished that his own Alpha was half as welcoming as Peter!

Chapter Text

On Wednesday morning, Stiles made a point of checking his phone more frequently during the sessions, despite feeling like it was disrespectful, no matter how discreet he was. It ended up being a good thing, because he got yet another text from his future alpha during a fascinating lecture on non-traditional pack and pride dynamics that Peter had recommended.

Dinner with the family on Thursday, so it won't interfere with your "classes". Wear this.

Attached was a photo of a classy suit — far nicer than the one Stiles had worn yesterday. Stiles was furious that he was being dictated to like this, but at least this time if he showed up wearing the wrong thing, he would be able to hold Derek accountable to his family. Stiles took a screenshot, just in case Derek tried to bait and switch him again, then turned back to the lecturer; he really wanted to learn this stuff!

As soon as Stiles finished the session, he grabbed a quick bite to eat from a food cart — Peter had lunch with a colleague — and then started looking at the websites for the two suit stores in Beacon Hills. He definitely couldn't afford to shop in the city for it.

Luckily Tom's Suit Emporium had a suit that was almost identical to the one in the photo, and Stiles would be able to just barely afford it if he drained the rest of his Roscoe Emergencies fund.

It wasn't like county Sheriffs were really raking in the big bucks, and the Stilinskis in particular had only just finished paying off his mom's medical debt last year, and Stiles was further furious at these people demanding so much of him. At least once he was in the pack he'd have some kind of funds to buy the kind of expensive shit they seemed to expect of him! They clearly had no problem spending this kind of money on themselves, so once Stiles was a part of them, they'd either have to cough it up or accept him as he was, plaid and all!

When Stiles finished eating he placed a quick call to Tom's, thankful to find that Tommy junior was working the counter today. Stiles knew him from lacrosse, and when he explained that it was an emergency, Tommy was willing to let Stiles in after closing so he could pick up the suit tonight.

With that taken care of, Stiles went ahead and texted Derek back. It was a simple, passive aggressive Okay, but it perfectly summed up his feelings for his future husband.

Especially when he once again saw the quotation marks around the word "classes". He may not know what Derek studied, and whatever it was it might be important or something, but that didn't give Derek the right to devalue the classes that Stiles was taking! It wasn't his fault he didn't know about this marriage contract when he picked his major. Criminology might not help him become a better magic user, and it might be useless to the pack, but Stiles enjoyed it. And if this was the way they were going to react, he was going to keep it out of spite!

Peter was truly gutted by the fact that he had a previously arranged business meeting on Thursday night, and couldn't attend the dinner with Derek's boyfriend. Truly.

Thankfully, Talia seemed just as eager to have him give it a miss, clearly worried that he'd screw something up for the boy simply by being himself, because she barely argued with him over it. Cora was also being allowed to miss it with barely an excuse, for much the same reason. Cora, like Peter, wasn't considered the kind of person you sprung upon an outsider until it was too late for them to back out. Clearly Derek's little boyfriend was too delicate to be exposed to the more fun members of the family.

Peter was tempted to invite himself to Little Red's dinner with his alpha's family, if only to make sure the alpha didn't hurt the boy again, but it wasn't his place to barge into another pack's business. More to the point, this was the only chance he'd have in the entire two week conclave to meet with Clarence, and he still owed Peter two tomes on Sparks. If Peter accompanied Little Red, the bastard was sure to welch out on their deal, and Peter wanted those books!

Still, when they'd come together for the afternoon session on protection amulets and wards, the boy had smelled of the alarming mixture of anger, depression, worry, and frustration that seemed to classify all of his interactions with his future alpha's pack. They didn't have time to discuss it, since Little Red had to race home, but he'd promised to explain at lunch tomorrow.

By the time they got back to their hotel, Derek was fuming, which was becoming a more and more common effect the longer he was around his future mate. The Hales had been on their best behavior — though of course half of his family hadn't shown up! Yes, okay, it made sense for his youngest brother Cedric to stay at home, since he was only five. And Laura's husband Lance had to stay at home to watch Cedric and his and Laura's twins. And okay, it wasn't exactly like Derek wanted Uncle Peter there, being all nosey and suggestive and too much.

Except that's exactly what Derek needed right now. He knew S was still hiding something — his heart had been racing again, and he still smelled like chemicals — and Peter was the best at ferreting out those kinds of things. With Uncle Peter on the case, S's secrets would probably have been discovered before dessert, and Derek could get out of this farce!

He hadn't even worn the courting gift! Derek had double checked with Robert, the head of S's security, and he'd definitely given him the cufflinks and told him to wear them to dinner, so why had he shown up in an off the rack suit with little brassy studs in his cuffs? It was enough to make Derek want to rip the man's throat out, and he couldn't even run through the woods back home to work out some of his frustrations.

Then there was how S had reacted when his mom mentioned that his suite would be ready his weekend. He hadn't been grateful; he had been shocked! Clearly the boy hadn't done a lick of packing. Not that he had to do much: just tell the movers what he wanted to have packed for him. But even that was apparently too much for S to handle!

It was almost like S was doing everything in his power to sabotage this union. Derek wasn't exactly happy about it either, but you didn't see him throwing the Stilinskis' generosity back in their faces, or embarrassing them in public.

And that was another thing!

The Sheriff hadn't even come to the dinner.

Clearly S hadn't given him the message that it was a family dinner, as he had been absent. It meant that mom, dad, Derek, Laura, and Eric had all been focused on S — probably just what he wanted. All of that attention directed his way, instead of towards his hard working father. The adults hadn't even had anything to talk to S about, since he just kept bringing the topic back to his supposed classes.

Like wolves cared about studying human criminology. They had their own rules and codes, just like the Hunters did, and human law didn't come into it. Why would his future husband want to study something so useless? If, of course, he even was studying it! Robert had once again confirmed that S didn't appear to go to any classes, so Derek had added this to his list of suspicious details about S. If only Uncle Peter wasn't so busy with the conclave, and could come spend time with the family! He'd get to the bottom of S's secrets before that bastard could blink! Derek just knew it.

Chapter Text

The next morning's keynote speaker — despite the incredible sounding name of Dash Paradise — was the most boring vampire Peter had ever encountered, so he spent the entire time grilling Little Red as he recounted his disastrous meeting with his future alpha's family. Peter's own family hadn't deigned to share the juicy gossip about dining with Derek's boyfriend and his family, so Peter would need to get his vicarious glee through Little Red instead.

"I met his parents, his older sister, and his younger brother," Little Red explained. "They were all clearly on their best company manners, and barely talked. When I did try to engage with them, they just directed the conversation back to the Baby Alpha, like he was the only thing worth talking about. So I made sure to shove my classes and my degree into their faces every time they did it," he said smugly. "If they're going to call them "classes" like they're humoring me, I'm going to rub their noses into the fact that I don't care about whatever stuffy upper crust bias they have. I'm proud to be the son of a cop, and I'm proud that I intended to join the FBI before this whole marriage thing happened. Did I tell you about my FBI internship?"

"You did," Peter said, "when we were talking about attending the session on working with local law enforcement in the know."

"Right," Little Red snapped his fingers. "That. I think it would make me more attractive to a prospective pack that I want to be their liaison to the local authorities, you know?"

"I would certainly view it as an advantage, but then almost any career can be a blessing to the pack, with the right viewpoint," Peter explained. "Packs need educators, historians, food providers, enforcers, lawyers, leaders, followers… Any kind of person, doing any kind of job, can make their passion work for the pack if they're just a little creative. And if nothing else, by providing funds. It sounds like, if they don't understand that, they're a very narrow thinking pack."

Little Red sighed. "Narrow thinking seems to sum up Baby Alpha pretty well. I'm also confused about that, since I met his sister and he's the middle child. Is it some patriarchal thing that he's an alpha while his sister was skipped over? Or is it like he got into a fight with another alpha and got his powers that way, and his alpha parent — whichever it is — is going to choose one of his two siblings to pass their spark down to?"

"It could be any of those scenarios," Peter said. "Also on rare occasions two alphas will fall in love and temporarily merge their packs. When that happens, two of their children might each inherit an alpha spark. It is possible that Baby Alpha has his father's, and his sister will gain his mother's."

"Got it. That's more reassuring than me thinking that they still followed some old way of thinking that girls can't inherit or something."

"They still might," Peter warned, since it seemed to be a very conservative pack, from a country that was more steeped in traditions than America tended to be. "But it wouldn't be my first thought; especially since his parent — at least one of them — appears to still be an alpha."

"True," Little Red agreed, toying with his pen as he digested that.

"What else happened?" Peter prodded, hoping that at least something had gone right for Little Red last night. Thankfully they hadn't overlapped with his classes again, despite how disdainful of them the pack appeared to be, but he hoped that wasn't the only bright spot.

"Oh, despite me following his dress code to the letter again, Baby Alpha glared at me the whole night." Little Red said with false cheer. "I have no idea how I offended his delicate sensibilities this time, and frankly I no longer care. But I spilled something on my suit, so I can't take it back. I'm going to have to drop a class next semester, and delay repairs on Roscoe again, to finish paying it off. I already had to push off the repairs to afford the stupid potions, despite needing to reliably drive into the city every day this week."

Once again Peter itched to take the boy's car and repair it for him, but he couldn't infringe on another pack's territory — even if Little Red still didn't smell like he'd been scent marked once! Until he knew which pack, and knew if he'd win in a fight, Peter had to suppress his instincts to help the boy.

"And, the kicker is that apparently they have a suite for me here in the city. I have to move in this weekend, instead of having this weekend and next week to pack. I thought I'd have a little more time before I got whisked off with them, but I guess not." Little Red said glumly.

"Look at it this way," Peter tried to cheer him up. "If you're staying at one of the conclave hotels, you can leave your Roscoe there, safe and tucked away, and use the shuttle to get back and forth to the conference hall."

"That's true," Little Red perked up slightly. "It will mean less driving back and forth into the city, though I'd still have to go back for my classes. At least, if I'm allowed to still take them." His mood soured again.

"Which hotel?" Peter quickly asked to distract him from his gloom.

"The Ritz-Carlton."

Peter nodded; it was likely to be one of the two, and the supernatural wing of the Ritz-Carlton was bigger. "Yes, my sister and her brood are also at the Ritz-Carlton."

Little Red frowned adorably. "I thought you said you were staying at the St Regis."

"I am."

"But your family is at the Ritz-Carlton?"

Peter smirked. "And that's exactly why I'm staying at the St Regis instead."

"Ah," Little Red chuckled.

"Was the food at least good?" Peter asked, desperately hoping for something to have gone right, for Little Red's sake.

"Actually yeah, the food was pretty good," he said brightly. "Definitely not as good as the place you took me to, but decent. And good sized portions. Not for werewolves, I'm sure, but I wasn't starving afterwards, so I'd call it a win."

"Excellent!" One win was better than his previous track record with the Baby Alpha — a name that appeared all too fitting for a number of reasons.

"Is it weird that Baby Alpha hasn't given me a courting gift yet?" Little Red suddenly asked, abruptly switching gears. "Like, the contract was very specific that he was the courter and I was the courtee, but other than angry texts about meals and formal wear, I haven't gotten anything from him."

It was worrisome, Peter knew, but he tried to put a good spin on it. "It is possible that he's waiting until after this weekend, when you're both in the same place together, but if you haven't received anything by Monday, then yes, it might be worth asking one of his parents about it."

Little Red nodded, like that had confirmed his own suspicions. "Is it wrong of me to hope that he doesn't, and I can use it as an excuse to get out of this whole thing?" he asked softly.

"Oh Red," Peter finally gave in to the urge to pat the boy's shoulder, scent marking him slightly. "It isn't wrong at all." After all, he couldn't bear the thought of his bright, cheerful, brilliant boy going to a pack that didn't appreciate him, just because of a centuries old contract, so it wouldn't be surprising that Little Red felt the same.

Wait, when had he started thinking of the boy as his?

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Stiles put off doing his homework on Saturday in order to power through the last of his packing. It took most of the day, but by dinner time everything in his room and all of his mom's stuff from the attic were packed up carefully in boxes that were stacked in his pod. He left his bed and an old pair of sheets he didn't care about, for whenever he came back to visit — was allowed back to visit — though part of Stiles wondered if he shouldn't bother. His dad was looking to become a state senator, after all, and that would probably involve moving into a new house. It wasn't like Stiles would have a room there if he was expected to be living with the Hales full time.

Still, it would give him someplace comfortable to sleep tonight instead of the couch, and it wouldn't hurt anything, so Stiles left it. He still didn't have instructions on where to send his pod, but Peter had suggested that his Baby Alpha's family might be waiting until the Conclave was over and it was actually time for the wedding to move his things.

Which made sense to Stiles; if something happened and the wedding was somehow canceled — he didn't see how, and he'd been over the contract several times, but he could hope — they wouldn't want to deal with giving back his things. Of course, that also reminded Stiles that he was supposed to have help moving, and guards of some kind, but he eventually decided that those had probably been dropped after he'd left the initial meeting to go to class. His dad might have even declined on his behalf, or something like that, which would explain why he hadn't gotten any of the help he'd been promised.

Peter had texted him periodically throughout the day, in between his various meetings and deals, and they were the highlight of what might have otherwise been a sorrowful day. It was time for Stiles to move out of his childhood home — though not for the best reason — but that didn't mean he wasn't feeling melancholy as he looked around his empty room.

Derek hadn't texted him once, which seemed pretty par for the course, actually.

Once his packing was done, Stiles set the table and laid out the roast chicken he'd had marinating in the crock pot all day. He was expecting his dad to come home for one last family dinner, like he promised, but as the clock ticked later and later, it appeared that, like his hope that he and his alpha would get along, this too was a fantasy.

The third time his dad didn't answer, Stiles tried calling the station, hoping against hope that he'd simply been forced to work late on a big case. Stiles could bring him dinner in his office, and it would be just like old times.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. He left a few hours ago," Tara told him, voice heavy with sympathy. Stiles knew that it wasn't faked: Tara had been the one to let him know his dad was dating Mel, after all, and had been appalled on Stiles's behalf that he didn't already know. It was fitting, in some cosmic middle finger kind of way, that she would be the one to let him know that his dad had already taken off for dinner with Mel when he was supposed to be here hours ago.

It only took a few minutes to clean up, and Stiles packed all the food away for his dad to eat for lunches in the next few days. Well, if he actually bothered to come home instead of letting it all spoil. Stiles found he wasn't really hungry anymore, and he definitely wasn't up to focusing on his homework, so he just went to bed, tired and heartsick.

Early Sunday morning, Stiles drove into San Francisco with his bags packed in Roscoe. It wasn't much — just enough to get him through two weeks of classes, the conclave, and potential delays on reuniting with his pod. He could go another two weeks if he could find a nearby laundromat, so he wasn't too worried. He also brought his old and new suits, though he was going to need to find a dry cleaner for them before he could wear them to another meal with Derek!

Reaching the Ritz-Carlton, Stiles warily handed over Roscoe's keys to the valet and gathered up his bags before heading to the front desk. After showing his ID, he was given his room key, and he made his way upstairs.

Arriving at his room, Stiles had to double check the number twice. This was a suite! A small one, to be sure, but there was a door between the bedroom and the kitchenette/ sitting area, and that was enough to count in his mind.

Stiles wondered if he should attempt to track down the Hales, to let them know he had arrived, but he had no idea what floor they were even on. And unlike a wolf, he couldn't just use his nose to track them down. Derek's was the only number he had, so Stiles sent him a quick text. im checked in. thanks for the room.

Then he pulled out his books: he should at least attempt to do his homework for the week! Though there was also the magic book he had been reading the other day, and the series of protective runes within. He really wanted to delve into that; maybe practice a few of the runes.

No! Homework first. Stiles was already missing more classes than he'd intended, and he really needed to make sure he wasn't going to get even more behind by flaking out on his homework. Stiles popped an extra adderall so he could focus better and buckled down to his work.

To his surprise, Derek texted back an hour or so later. You're welcome. Would you like to get lunch? No family; just us.

Stiles was fresh out of suits, so he took a chance and texted back, only if we go someplace casual w/out a dress code.

He wasn't sure Derek would go for it, given how stuffily he'd come across in all of their meetings, but maybe getting him into a more casual setting would loosen him up a little.

Agreed. Shall we meet there at one? Derek replied with a link to a restaurant that looked nice, but definitely casual. Stiles would be fine wearing his t-shirt and a nicer button down there. Maybe not his plaid, since he was trying to make a good impression, but it was way better than a suit. It even looked like it would have decent portion sizes, thankfully.

He checked the location, and with Derek not wanting to meet until one, Stiles should have a little over an hour to work on homework before he needed to leave. great. see you then.

As he tucked his phone away, Stiles couldn't help but think that maybe things were starting to look up.

Scott was so excited! Allison had finally been freed from her duties with her family, and was able to have lunch with him. Of course, he was using his new car — and his new credit card that paid for the gas — to drive into the city. Allison deserved a fancy date at a fancy restaurant, and now Scott could provide it!

He quickly checked in with his security detail — he had a security detail now! Like some kind of celebrity! — and confirmed that they were going to lunch in San Francisco, and then he was off. He was so excited to pick up Allie that he showed up an hour early. Luckily, her dad was cool with it, and let Allie leave early with him. They were able to take their time on the drive, and just enjoy being together again after having to spend the last few weeks apart.

Scott couldn't wait!

Chapter Text

Stiles thought the lunch was going fairly well. They had met at the restaurant as planned, and Derek had even pulled out his chair for him. It was a little old fashioned, but sweet, and Stiles decided to take it as a sign of the real Derek shining through the awkward exterior. Stiles knew all about trying to make a better impression after an awkward start, and he resolved to cut Derek a little slack. He probably struggled with people because of his whole resting murder face thing, the same way Stiles struggled because of his flailing and zero brain to mouth filter, so it wasn't his fault he wasn't great at small talk or whatever.

They ordered their food, and were waiting for it to come, when Derek cleared his throat.

"So, how's the packing coming?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm all done," Stiles said, a little confused. Maybe Derek was just looking for something to talk about, and didn't realize that Stiles had to have finished that already.

Derek's brows drew together in a scowl, and Stiles was trying not to take it personally. He'd already established that some people — including Derek — just had resting murder faces, and it didn't mean that his future husband hated him, right?

"You're all done," he repeated flatly.

"Yup! I finished up yesterday," Stiles explained. "I'm just waiting on you to give me the address and then it can be picked up and moved to wherever. Or if you want to wait a little while, that's cool. My friend from the Conclave said that maybe you were waiting for a reason, so like, if there is one, I get it."

"And you did all that without the movers?" Derek said, seeming to ignore half of what Stiles said. Which, honestly, wasn't an unusual experience for Stiles.

"What movers?" Stiles hadn't seen or heard anything about them since the first meeting.

"The movers we've been paying to sit around doing nothing while you galavant at the mall and hang out with your friends," Derek spat.

"There hasn't been any galavanting," Stiles shot back. "I've mostly been studying, attending the Conclave, and doing my homework. I haven't heard anything about these movers since the first day, and since no one ever showed up at my house, I had to do it all myself. Maybe you should double check the address you gave them or something."

Derek scoffed. "Robert double checked the address before he gave it to the movers; and I trust him not to have screwed that up."

Stiles had several things he could say about trust and screwing up right now, but there was something more important. "Who the hell is Robert?"

Derek actually growled lowly. "Of course you're one of them; ignoring the little people, right? Since you clearly haven't bothered to learn his name, Robert is the head of your guard team."

"What fucking guards?" Stiles shot back. "I haven't seen any of the so called help you promised me at the first meeting. For all I knew you reneged on your offer!"

"Hales don't go back on their word," Derek snarled. "And Robert has been checking in with me regularly, so I know you know the team is in place."

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. It was like talking to an unfairly attractive brick wall.

Derek pulled out his phone and quickly dialed someone, then put on speaker. The volume was still low, and Stiles had to lean forward to hear it properly.

"Hello?" said a voice Stiles didn't recognize.

"Robert, can you confirm the plans for this morning," Derek asked coolly.

"We escorted your betrothed to the city and saw him into the restaurant," the man said. "I even reminded him to wear your courting gift."

"Courting gift?" Stiles parroted softly, getting angry. He hadn't gotten any gift! And he definitely hadn't had some guard tailing him all morning when he drove into San Francisco and then to the restaurant. His dad was a sheriff; Stiles was trained to notice a tail!

Derek sneered and hung up. "Yes, courting gift, which I notice you're no longer wearing. If you had bothered to read the contract, you would know that it is expected of me to give you a gift; not that you seem to have appreciated it."

"Oh, I've read the contract, asshole," Stiles shot back, ripping his napkin off his lap. "But since this is the first time you've mentioned it in my presence, you don't get to pretend like you've given it to me and gaslight me about it."

Stiles was on the verge of a panic attack and he knew he was in no condition to drive, so he stomped towards the restrooms in the back. He didn't much fancy the idea of being trapped in a small, enclosed space where Derek could hunt him down with his wolfy senses, but it was better than the alternative.

He made it to the restroom in time and Stiles locked himself in a stall, leaning against the door and carefully counting out his breathing the way he'd been taught after his mom died.

Derek didn't follow him, thankfully, and by the time Stiles felt capable of driving, and peeked out the door, he could see that Derek was gone entirely. Stiles was grateful that he'd shown his true colors before their meal had even come, or he might have stuck Stiles with the check. Instead, it was easy to slip outside — keeping an eye out for this supposed guard — and drive back to his hotel.

Stiles didn't like the fact that the Hales knew where he was staying — he'd much rather be back home right now — Stiles threw every lock on his door and then retreated to the bedroom of his suite. Ignoring his homework, Stiles grabbed the book of protection spells. There had been one he could do as a temporary ward, which should work well for a hotel room, where he couldn't carve into the walls or anything.

Quickly flipping through the book, Stiles found the right spell and read through it, confirming what he had thought. It used a little of the user's own spark, but nothing else, and it could be placed temporarily. All he had to do was pull his spark into his mind, then trace the rune sequence on the door with his finger. If it glowed when he finished, it had been laid properly. He could swipe through it with intent to remove it when he left.

Stiles grabbed the book and went to his door, tracing the runes exactly as they looked in the book. When he finished, he pulled his finger away, and the runes glowed brightly golden for a moment before fading to a dull sheen.

Giddy relief flowed through Stiles. No one else could enter this bedroom until Stiles broke the line. He may have to go without housekeeping, but that was a small price to pay.

He was safe in here now.