Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He'd bitten the older boy, and he could feel the connection to his new beta strengthening him. He was stalking the girl, preparing to add her to his pack as well, when suddenly another boy burst out of the trees.

"Grim, oh my god, are you okay?" The boy asked frantically, patting down the girl as though looking for wounds.

"Mieszko!" she cried.

The alpha paused as the most divine smell ever hit him. Old books and cloves and petrichor; the alpha wanted to wallow in it, and he salivated at the thought of drenching himself in that scent. It was overlaid with the rotten onion stench of fear and the weak honeyed taste of relief, but the baseline scent was clear, and the alpha wanted much more of it.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" the boy— mate mate mate mate said. His scent was overlaid with a sour burst of worry that made the alpha want to sneeze. He crouched low, watching.

The girl sniffled. "Scott dared us to. He said you did it when you were our age, and we were just too wimpy to do it too."

And oh, there was a delicious smelling burst of anger, coating his tongue like sweet cinnamon and peppers. "How many times do I have to tell you not to listen to Scott? Is anyone else out here?"

"The others wouldn't come. Nora tried, but she got caught in her driveway and she's grounded now," the girl said with another sniffle.

His mate sighed. "Okay, you're coming back with me, right now."

"I lost my shoe," she said in a small voice.

The anger simmered low, replaced by a wave of fondness that made the alpha want to roll over and show his belly.

"C'mon, I'll give you a piggyback ride," his mate said, crouching down.

The alpha shifted closer, not wanting to lose them, and his paw stepped on a branch he hadn't even noticed.

His mate had a baseball bat in his hand and he turned, swinging mightily and crashing it into the alpha's foreleg. Then he yanked the girl onto his back and ran.

The blow stunned the alpha long enough to lose sight of them — but never that delicious scent trail — as he waited for his healing to take over. In the few minutes it took, the alpha — Peter — found himself thinking a little more clearly.

He'd bitten someone — a teenager — hadn't he? It was blurry, but he thought that's what had happened. He'd been prepared to bite a child! Peter despaired for the decisions he'd made while so deep in his instincts.

Slowly, he began to follow the trail, wanting to make sure his mate — his mate! — made it back inside safely. There could be hunters in these woods, or mountain lions. Anything could attack his mate while Peter was standing here, healing.

Peter caught up to them on the back porch of one of the many modest houses that bordered the preserve. His mate was patting down the girl again — his sister, if the way their scents overlapped was any indication — and breathing heavily. Peter crouched down out of sight, content to watch for now. He knew where his mate lived, and that was enough.

As soon as Mischief got Grim inside (after reassuring himself that he hadn't hurt her on their mad scramble through the woods) he grabbed the phone and called dispatch.

"Beacon Hills Sheriff Department."

"Tara?" Mischief sent up a quiet thank you that he'd gotten her tonight. "Listen, Tara, you should do a welfare check on the McCall, Boyd, Māhealani, Johnson, and O'Connell houses. It looks like McCall dared the girls to meet him in the woods. I've got mine back, and Nora O'Connell was apparently caught, but on the off chance the others changed their mind about not going…"

"Damn it," Tara muttered. "There's a full fledged manhunt going on out there right now. I'm surprised you missed them."

Mischief shrugged. "I followed the path straight from our house towards the old campgrounds, and I didn't see anyone but Grim. Though someone or something snuck up on us and I used my bat: but if it was one of you or the girls I assume you would have spoken up."

Tara chuckled. "Yeah, we would have. I'll get those welfare checks done ASAP. You and Grim stay inside for the rest of the night, got it?"

"Got it," Mischief promised easily, then hung up.

He glanced back at Grim and found her standing in the kitchen where he'd left her, shivering, and he shook his head. "Alright księżniczko, come here," he said, pulling her to his side and then guiding her into the living room. It only took a moment to get her bundled up in a blanket and tucked into their dad's chair, and then Mischief was back in the kitchen, making hot chocolate. He knew the signs of shock thanks to the several first aid classes he'd taken over the years, and he knew it was important to warm her up as well as give her something to focus on.

It seemed to take forever for the microwave to ding, but Mischief was finally able to mix in the instant hot chocolate and bring it back to his little sister. "Here," he said, curling her hands around the mug. "My famous hot chocolate."

"Famous?" Grim teased, a bit of light coming back into her eyes. "On what planet?"

"Oh! You wound me!" Mischief protested. "A dagger through my heart!"

Her (inevitably) snarky comeback was cut off by the phone ringing, and Mischief flailed to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey Mischief," Tara said tiredly.

"How is everyone?"

"Nora, Kelley, Mandy, and Alicia are all home safe and sound," she reported, and Mischief let out a grateful sigh. "But no one answered at the McCalls, so I've told the others to keep an eye out for him."

Mischief groaned.

"If you see him…"

"You'll be my first call," Mischief promised.

"Thanks kiddo. Have a good night."

"You too. Stay safe." It was the same thing he always said to dad, and it felt right to say it to his deputies too. Mischief wanted all of them to stay safe, and not just because he and Grim had grown up in the station and knew all of them personally. Safe deputies meant safe Sheriff, meant their dad was coming home okay.

"Mischief?" Grim called.

"All of your friends are okay," he told her quickly. "Scott the idiot is still out there somewhere, or home and hiding from Tara, but that's not your problem, got it?"

"Got it."

"What is your problem is the lecture you're about to get about listening to dumbass older boys who tell you to do dumbass things like go into the preserve in the middle of the night!"

"Swear jar!" Grim chirped, sticking her tongue out at him.

"I'll get a special exemption from dad," Mischief promised, and he was fairly certain his dad would grant it, when he heard exactly what Grim had done tonight.

Mischief shuddered at the memory of that branch breaking, and he deliberately steered his thoughts in a different direction. Grim was fine. Her friends were fine. Dad and his deputies would be fine too. There was nothing but a few squirrels and rabbits in the preserve.

Maybe if he kept repeating it he'd actually believe it.

Chapter Text

Peter returned to his hospital room at dawn, but he was no longer in the fugue state he had been in when he left it just a few short hours ago. He still hadn't figured out what happened to Laura that resulted in him getting the alpha spark, but given that his nurse was a hunter, he could make an educated guess.

Derek's bond had been weak with distance, but it was getting stronger; he'd be here soon. The bond to his new, inadvertent beta was strong, but full of panic and anger. He'd need to check on the boy tomorrow night.

And then he could get back to hunting down those who had killed his family.

Peter thought it might be hard, lying in a bed and pretending to still be in a coma, but he hadn't counted on his new distraction. He had something much more pleasant to fill his thoughts with, and the day passed quickly as he debated exactly how to court his little mate.

It would be easy enough to bring down a deer, but that was a little much for a first overture, wasn't it?

So far all Peter knew about the boy was that he cared for his younger sister, he lived near the preserve, and he had a decent arm when swinging that baseball bat. Did he play?

Peter needed to gather more intel before he started making his courting overtures. He needed to ensure they would be things that would appeal to his mate, and he would need to include educational materials, since his mate was a human, and probably knew nothing about their world.

He would need to go to the vault.

But that could happen after he checked on Derek and his new little beta. They could hunt down those who had killed his family together: pack bonding. He was sure both of his betas would enjoy that kind of thing.

"Thanks," Danny said, nudging Mischief's shoulder as he passed him in the hallway.

"For what?" Mischief asked, before the details of last night hit him again. "Oh, right."

Danny snorted. "Oh, right. Kelley actually intended to go, but she couldn't figure out how to slip around mom. So thanks for looking out for her."

"No problem," Mischief shrugged. He and Danny weren't exactly friends — Danny was much cooler than him — but since their little sisters were thick as thieves it created a bit of a bond. The same was true of Boyd, though he and Mischief were closer, since his younger sister Alicia was also part of Grim's little gang.

"So I heard McCall put them up to it?" Danny asked, his face going serious.

Scott McCall had been friends with Mischief and the others when they were kids, but he was possessive. When Mischief's mom ended up in the hospital, and he had to take care of Grim, Scott had thrown a fit about losing his best friend. He'd tried to make Mischief choose, but between a fickle friend and his little sister, there was no contest. McCall had been holding a grudge ever since, and his most recent 'prank' with the girls was just the latest in a long line of issues.

"Yeah, apparently they were playing out front at Nora's, and McCall was visiting Greenburg for some lacrosse practice," Mischief explained. He'd gotten the entire story from Grim last night. "When he was waiting for his mom to pick him up, he started bragging about going into the preserve and how all the older kids did it; talking out of his ass, as usual," Mischief grumbled. "I've told Grim before that he was full of shit; I don't know why she listened this time."

"Kids," Danny shrugged, like the girls weren't just a few years younger than them. True, being sophomores certainly felt like they were on the verge of being adults themselves, especially since Mischief was 17, but middle schoolers weren't exactly babies either. "Anyway, my mom thanked the deputy who called, but she wanted me to thank you too, since they told her that you were the one to give them Kelley's name."

"Yeah, okay," Mischief squirmed; he didn't do well with praise.

"So, plans for McCall?" Boyd asked, suddenly appearing behind them. Mischief startled at his appearance.

"Jesus. Save the jump scares for our next Call of Duty marathon!" he protested.

Boyd smirked at him, then his expression grew serious. "McCall?"

"Trying to forget he exists," Mischief huffed as Erica came up and slipped under Boyd's arm.

"Oh, he's going to wish he'd never whined his way into remaining on the lacrosse team despite his crappy grades," Danny promised. "Jackson's going to make him run laps until he pukes."

"Nah, he'll have an asthma attack before that happens," Mischief pointed out. "Better to spread it out a little every day, so he's miserable for longer."

"This is why I like you," Erica said with a grin. "You're a vicious little shit, Stilinski."

Mischief gave an elaborate bow. "Gotta live up to my name, don'cha know."

"I'll tell Jackson the new plan," Danny agreed, then hefted his bag up his shoulder as the bell rang. "See you later."

"Later," Mischief attempted to close his locker and wave at the same time, and ended up flailing, smacking his hand into the locker door and shutting it with a loud clang. Fortunately the others were used to this by now and they all ignored his antics.

As the halls began to empty, they headed to their respective classes, Mischief keeping an eye out for McCall along the way. He'd evaded Tara's welfare check, so he might not know about the shitstorm that was headed his way yet. But he could have gotten the girls hurt — could have gotten them killed, if whatever the manhunt was looking for was dangerous enough — and he deserved everything that was coming to him.

His mate's name was apparently Mischief, while his sister was called Grim. He was old enough to drive the Jeep out front, meaning he was at least sixteen, and he ran track, if the shirt he wore around his home was anything to go by. His sister, on the other hand, was wearing a shirt that said Beacon Hills Middle School basketball on it, so she was probably only a few years younger than Mischief. Unless, of course, the shirt was his.

But Peter had experience with his nieces and nephews, and their apparent ages tracked with them being in middle and high school, respectively. As darkness fell, Peter was able to creep closer, close enough to listen to their conversation easily as Mischief made dinner and talked his sister through her world geography homework.

It was boring listening, and Peter was tempted to go look for his new beta instead — his bond had gone into a tizzy shortly after three — but he persevered.

An hour later, Peter was grateful he had chosen to stalk — investigate — his mate tonight, because this was important new information. The Sheriff's cruiser now parked in front of the house looked like it belonged there, and the eager greetings of "dad" and "dadio" that met the Sheriff at the door confirmed it.

If his mate was the son of the Sheriff, then Peter needed to be very careful going forward. The man would surely investigate any deaths in his county, and if Peter wanted to win over his future father in law, he shouldn't start by leaving a trail of mutilated bodies across the town. Of course, they still needed to pay for what they did to his family, but he was just going to need to be more subtle about it.

That was fine; Peter could do subtle.

Chapter Text

"Did you hear?" Erica asked as soon as Mischief reached his locker. She and Boyd were waiting there, and she was practically bouncing with eagerness to share.

"Hear what?"

"McCall's in trouble," she said gleefully.

Mischief abandoned his chemistry book and turned to give her his full attention. "Do tell."

"I was at the hospital for a check up yesterday afternoon about my new meds and I heard Mrs. McCall go off on him!"

Mischief made grabby hands at her to keep her telling him everything.

"Well first of all, he apparently hid in the woods all night, and he evaded the deputies out there several times. They even caught sight of him once before he ran away, so they called his mom."

"Oooh," Mischief grinned.

"He also lost his inhaler at some point, and she was furious because they apparently just replaced it after he broke one on the lacrosse field and she can't afford to keep doing that."

Mischief winced. He actually liked Mamma McCall, though she hadn't been that in a long time. Still, she'd taken care of him when Grim was born and his parents were busy, and then she'd taken in both him and Grim when his mom first got hospitalized. It wasn't until he and Scott had parted ways that Mischief had lost Mamma McCall, and if nothing else he regretted that. It wasn't fair that she had to constantly work extra shifts to pay for medication that Scott was so careless with.

"Right!? So I guess he snuck home right after she went on shift and came to school, but he skipped some of his classes after third period, and then went to lacrosse try-outs despite being on academic probation. Jackson apparently did make him puke, so he ended up at the hospital getting an asthma treatment, which is when she was finally able to catch up to him."

"Oh man," Mischief grinned. He'd seen Mamma McCall in action before, and he might actually feel a little bad for Scott, if he wasn't such a dumbass who had brought this shit down on himself.

"So then she says that he's grounded for two weeks, and he's lucky that none of the kids got hurt, or it would be a month. And he's off the lacrosse team until his grades improve, and can't go to his part time job at the vet's. He's to come to the hospital every day right after school and sit there in the doctor's lounge doing his homework until she gets off shift." Erica finished triumphantly.

"That means Jackson won't get to make him puke in practice," Boyd pointed out.

Mischief waved that away. "Nah, Danny knows how to hold a grudge. Once McCall gets his grades back up, he'll be back on the team, and they'll torment him then."

"The best part is that he tried to get her sympathy by claiming that something had bitten him, but when she checked, there was no mark at all. But he put up such a fuss that she insisted on giving him a tetanus shot and a rabies prophylaxis!"

"So he tried to lie to get out of trouble and instead he got a bunch of needles jammed in his ass! That is glorious karma right there," Mischief declared happily.

The bell rang, but the three of them had a free period, so they just slowly meandered their way towards the library.

"You still working today?" Mischief asked Boyd. He wasn't sure if the other girls were in trouble because of their adventure — or almost adventure, in Alicia's case — the other night. Grim had evaded a more severe punishment by the skin of her teeth, but she wasn't allowed out of Mischief's sight until dad got home for the next two weeks.

"Yeah. You still up for giving us a ride?" Boyd asked.

He worked at the ice rink on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Mischief usually gave him a ride. They'd swing by the middle school and pick up Grim and Alicia, then the girls would get to ice skate while Mischief worked on his homework and kept an eye on them.

There had been an incident when they were younger, with Boyd and Alicia's dad trying to take her away from the mall, despite being denied even visitation, let alone custody. Grim, being a cop's kid, had raised holy hell and he'd run away, but it meant that now, even a few years later, Mischief kept a sharp eye on them at the ice rink.

"Of course," Mischief agreed easily. "What about you, Catwoman? You coming?" It would be tight to squeeze her in the back with the younger girls, but they'd done it before.

"Yep, no doctor's appointments today!" Erica said happily. Mischief was glad for her. This new medication she was on didn't seem to be changing anything with her seizures, but at least the side effects weren't as bad as the last one, which had made her shuffle around like a zombie.

They reached the library and had to quiet down at the glare from the librarian, but they were used to that. Making their way to their usual table, the three settled in to work. They didn't have much homework, what with it only being the second day of the semester, but Erica and Boyd were getting a head start on the term paper that had been announced in English yesterday. Mischief had already come up with an outline last night, but he had three papers to write for his side hustle selling to college students, and he needed some of the library's resources for those. Within minutes, the three friends fell into companionable silence.

It didn't take long the next day for Peter to sort through his memories before the fire and find any information he knew about the Sheriff. Noah Stilinski had been elected a few years before the fire, shortly after the death of his wife.

As a lawyer, Peter had heard all the gossip from the station, and knew that Claudia had attacked eight year old Mischief, calling him a demon. Five year old Grim had called 911, and in no time the then Deputy's wife was locked up in Eichen House. Talia had actually had Peter investigate her, just to make sure that she hadn't seen something supernatural, but the notes in her medical file confirmed the diagnosis. It was nothing supernatural, just a rare form of dementia.

She passed away almost a year later, when the children were nine and six, and the scuttlebutt around the station was that deputy Stilinski had fallen into a bottle and fallen hard. The other deputies rallied around him to help raise his kids for a few months while he pulled himself together, and by all accounts became a workaholic instead. That kind of slavish work ethic saw him on the fast track to becoming Sheriff, but more than one person had wondered at the children left behind in his wake.

Peter had been one of them.

Now, with those memories fresh in his mind, Peter could do the math and figure out that Mischief was seventeen and his sister fourteen, and from the looks of things they were still mostly raising themselves while their father worked. The last thing Peter would want to do is pile more work onto the man, taking away the little time he spent with his children. That would be no way to woo his mate.

Chapter Text

The next day, Derek entered his hospital room.

"Did you kill Laura?" he asked without preamble.

"No," Peter said without opening his eyes. "I suspect hunters."

"Are you the alpha now?"

Peter opened red eyes and stared at his nephew, six years older than the last time he had seen him. Six years of agony and burning and desperately searching for pack pack pack and finding nothing.

"I'm sorry," Derek said, dropping his eyes. "She alpha ordered me not to come visit, even once I turned 18."

His heartbeat said it was the truth, and Peter felt a surge of hatred towards his niece, but he tempered it. Derek smelled like he was in mourning, and so, just like with his little mate, Peter could be subtle.

So he held out his arm, and Derek dove into his embrace, nuzzling his throat and sobbing into his shoulder as their bond brightened and solidified.

One down.

It didn't take long for them to come up with a plan, and though his Uncle Peter was better than Derek would have expected, there was still something off about him. Then again, he had been in a coma, being tortured by hunters for the last six years, so perhaps his current state was better than Derek should have hoped for.

Still, he knew that there was something that his uncle wasn't telling him. Desire to know, to protect the last of his family, warred with his beta instincts that said that the alpha had a right to keep whatever secrets he wanted. Mom had been like that. Laura had definitely been like that. Uncle Peter had been like that even before he became the alpha.

Derek was doing his best.

He'd arrived in San Francisco late last night and rented a car to get him the rest of the way. When he arrived in town it was too late for him to do anything but check into the budget motel, but first thing this morning he'd been out in the preserve, investigating. He'd found the crime scene tape easily enough, where apparently Laura's body had been found, if the smells were anything to go by.

And then, a ways away, he'd found a boy's inhaler on the ground, and caught just the faintest scent of Uncle Peter. His original plan had been to investigate more on his own, but Uncle Peter had had a better plan.

And it was so so easy just to follow his orders. Derek was a beta; he was good at following orders. Part of him was desperately glad that when the hunters killed Laura, her spark had gone to Peter instead of whizzing all the way back to New York to slam into Derek. As bad as the breaking of her packbond had been — and something that Derek never ever wanted to feel again — it would have been so much worse if he'd suddenly found himself as an untrained alpha on top of that.

No, it was so much easier to stay in Uncle Peter's arms as he laid out the plan for them to find the hunters who had killed Laura, to get revenge on those who had killed their family, and to deal with the boy that Uncle Peter had accidentally bitten after becoming the alpha. And if there was something else — something unsaid — that prickled uneasily at the back of Derek's neck, it was easier to let Uncle Peter scent mark him into submission and just follow his orders.

Derek was a beta; he was good at that.

And so, here he was, rolling up to the Sheriff's station in his rented coupe, doing his best to project worry and confusion. Humans couldn't smell him the way that other wolves could, so they wouldn't know how much those emotions were affectations, but it was still hard for Derek to remember how to adjust his expression to fit human expectations.

"Can I help you?" the woman at the front asked kindly when Derek walked in.

"I need to speak to someone please," Derek said politely. "My sister came back to town, but she's missed her last two check ins. I'm worried something happened to her." Thankfully the woman was human and wouldn't hear the lie in his heart. The aching stump of a pack bond in his chest meant Derek already knew what had happened to Laura.

"Okay, and what's your name, son?"

He wasn't a son — would never be a son again — because he'd killed his family all but Laura and Uncle Peter and he deserved to have blue eyes and this aching stump in his chest but Laura hadn't deserved to die and Uncle Peter hadn't deserved to be tortured and there were hunters out there again and—

Derek took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm Derek Hale."

It didn't take long for the missing person's case and the Jane Doe case to collide; especially when Derek mentioned the triskelion tattoo Laura had on her ankle, and showed the matching one on his back. He saw the photos though, saw enough to know that she'd been cut clean in two by a hunter's blade.

It was an old superstition, Uncle Peter had told them during their lessons so very long ago. Hunters believed that a wolf's healing could even overcome death, so they always either burned the body to ash or cut it in half and separated the halves. Wolves knew that their healing wasn't that great, but it wasn't like Hunters would listen to them even if they tried to explain.

"There's no such thing as overkill in their mind," Uncle Peter had said way back then, "So all you can do is run or die."

Derek and Laura had run, and now Laura had died.

As soon as he officially identified her body — the half of it they had, at least — Derek noticed a lot more sympathy coming his way from the deputies he was talking to. Uncle Peter had predicted it, had said that Derek had a resting murder face and he needed people to see it as grief, not villainy.

Derek was doing his best.

And the gaping hole in his chest where Laura's bond had been ached a little less as the bond with Peter grew. It was enough to remind him how to act around these humans, how to show his emotions to those who couldn't just smell them. It was acting, and it was horrible, but it was necessary. It was an instruction from his alpha, and Derek wanted to obey.

He was good at that.

It was after dinner time by the time Derek finished at the Sheriff's station. Peter could tell by the way that the tension and stress that had soaked their bond faded as he was able to hole up in his motel room and stop putting on a show for the humans. It was a necessary show, however.

The Hales had once meant something in this town, and they had been forgotten by a fickle public after their deaths. Laura's murder would start the rumors up again, and Derek had a resting murder face that would make anyone take one look at him and think 'culprit.'

He needed to be vulnerable in front of those humans, and the ones at the diner where he'd gotten dinner, because they needed to look at him and see 'that poor Hale boy', not 'that suspicious, leather jacket wearing hoodlum'.

Peter had instructed Derek to provide his alibi without complaint — easy enough to do with his plane tickets — and reminded him to make his grief obvious to those who couldn't smell it.

There were Hunters here, running all over a town that used to be under the Hales' protection, and Derek needed all the goodwill with the public that he could get. Once he got Peter 'transferred to a specialty clinic', he could operate from the shadows for a little while, taking out those who had harmed his family, before making his miraculous return.

They would be the two poor survivors, clinging to each other in a place that had brought them so much misery, and any Hunter who dared to show his nose in this town would be seen as the aggressor, unfairly targeting those who had already lost so much.

It was the best way to keep the peace; the best way to keep the Sheriff going home at night to his kids. The best way to keep Peter's mate smelling the warm caramel of happiness that had been oozing out of him yesterday.

Everything was going according to plan.

Chapter Text

Melissa was going to tear her hair out. She didn't know where she had gone wrong with Scott, but it seemed like it was just one thing after another with him recently. She'd even considered sending him to Rafe to straighten out! True, the man cared more about his job than his family, but perhaps his brand of tough love would get through to Scott more than she could. And at least he could afford to pay for a new inhaler! Scott had literally had it less than a week before he'd lost it again, and her insurance had long since stopped covering extra refills.

Part of Melissa longed for the days when Mischief and Scott had been best friends. Mischief always carried Scott's extra inhaler in his backpack, and he didn't lose nearly half as many of them as Scott did. But Scott had been the one to break that bridge, and Melissa couldn't blame Mischief for reacting the way he had, even if it meant shutting out Scott for years.

She was broken from her musing by a page from the nurse's station, and Melissa hurried over to it. She found Jenny standing next to a young man that she immediately recognized as Derek Hale. He'd been here yesterday, visiting his uncle, and Melissa had caught a glimpse of him on the way out; his eyes red and sorrow in every line of his body. Now he still looked sorrowful, but also hopeful when he saw her.

"You're Melissa McCall?" he asked politely.

"That's me."

"And you're related to Scott McCall?"

Melissa sighed. "What's he done now?" His supposed prank with the young girls was dangerous — especially with whatever had killed that poor Jane Doe running around — and she was going to skin him if he'd snuck into Peter Hale's room while he was supposed to be studying in the doctor's lounge yesterday!

To her surprise and faint relief, Derek Hale pulled Scott's inhaler out of his pocket. "I found it in the preserve near— near our old house. I thought the hospital might be able to— to get it back to the owner," he said, stuttering lightly over his words, and Melissa felt her heart go out to him, even as rage filled her. Of course that was what Scott had actually been doing that night in the woods! Playing around at the old Hale house like it was some kind of spooky playground instead of a gruesome site deserving of respect!

"I am so sorry, Mister Hale," Melissa said, accepting the inhaler. "I promise that Scott has already been grounded, and he's not going to be regaining privileges any time soon. I swear that I will impress upon him the importance of staying away from your family's house before he's allowed out again. He won't be trespassing on your property again."

"Thank you," Derek said quietly. "Would it be alright if I saw my uncle again?"

"Of course dear," Melissa stepped aside and gestured towards the elevator. "Do you remember the room?"

"Yes ma'am," he said politely, and Melissa wished her own son was half as polite, instead of ditching classes on the first day and running around the woods at night!

Melissa waited until he was gone to lean against the nurse's station, where Jenny gave her a sympathetic smile. "Please let me know when Scott gets here," she asked, and Jenny nodded. And it had better be as soon as school had gotten out, or he was in for a world more of trouble. At least now that she had the inhaler back, she wouldn't need to pick up the extra shift on Friday night that she'd been planning!

Derek spent a little time with his Uncle Peter, and it felt so good to curl up with his nose in his alpha's neck, feeling the feelings of pack that had been missing from Laura for so long. He still felt incredibly guilty, and he knew he would need to tell Uncle Peter the truth, but that could wait.

He knew the plan; Uncle Peter was going to kill everyone who had helped burn their house down. And Derek was going to help him do it. Then, once they were all dead, he would confess what he had done. Laura had already proven that his sins were unforgivable, so surely Uncle Peter would feel the same way. He would probably rip Derek's throat out with his teeth, the way he always threatened to do when they were pups and they were allowed into his library, but that would be fine. Derek would deserve it, and he would have avenged his family first, so it would be fine. He was trying his best, which might not be enough, but it would be fine.

But in the meantime, he was snuggled up with his alpha again, and everything smelled like pack on top of the horrible scents of the hospital, and he had a job to do.

As soon as the nurse — Mrs. McCall — left, he would follow her. He would learn more about her son, the new beta. Then he would report back to Uncle Peter. It was an important job, and Derek was good at following without being seen, so he could do it.

Laura had never taken another beta, and though Peter hadn't meant to make this one, they were going to make the best of it. They were going to build up their pack again, and Uncle Peter would have enough betas to maintain if he chose to punish Derek.

But in the meantime, Derek was going to be the best pack member he could be. He was going to follow Uncle Peter's plan, which was a good one, and he was going to get more information about this Scott McCall.

And they were going to be a pack again.

Scott was in love. He was in love and her name was Allison, and she was wonderful. He'd given her a pen in third period on Monday, and he'd been so excited that he'd had to hide in the library just thinking about her until lunch. He caught a glimpse of her then, but she was sitting at the popular table with Lydia and Jackson the douche, and Scott's life would be forfeit if he attempted to sit at their table.

So he sat at his usual table in the corner and just watched from afar as Allison ate. Everything she did was wonderful, from the way she opened her bag of chips to the way she drank her soda. Especially the way she tossed her shiny brown hair when she laughed was wonderful. And Scott was mesmerized.

He went to each of the rest of his classes that day, eager to see her again, but they only shared two of them. It wasn't enough, and Scott found himself making plans to go see her after lacrosse practice. Sure, he didn't know where she lived yet, but he'd figure it out. Mischief and Grim's dad was the sheriff, and he had to be able to look people up in a computer and find their addresses, right? Surely they could help him out by asking their dad to look up Allison for him. Grim owed him, for not showing up in the woods last night, after all.

Scott followed Allison for the next few days, trying to learn everything about her. He no longer had lacrosse, but that didn't give him any more free time, or chances to follow Allison home from school, because the one time he'd tried his mom had blown up his phone and it hadn't been stealthy at all.

But Scott knew she had taken up an extra shift on Friday, cause she'd added the double to their calendar on Monday, so he'd have a chance then. As soon as he got away from his mom tomorrow afternoon, he'd finish figuring out where Allison lived, and he'd go ask her out. She'd be sure to want to go out with him, since it would be a Friday night, and they'd have their first date.

It was going to be wonderful.

Peter grumbled to himself as he again stalked — guarded — Mischief's house. Derek had reported that his accidental beta — Scott McCall — had spent all of his time sighing after a girl. Peter could have told him that himself, given the feelings that came from the boy down their packbond.

Derek, as a beta, could just get a sense of the other members of the pack, no impressions of emotion or danger or anything else. He would know if they died, but not if they were injured. Peter, on the other hand, was the alpha. He knew the strong emotion bombs that they projected, he knew when they were hurt, and he had a better sense of where they were.

He knew that McCall was at the hospital every day, he knew that the boy was willful, and he knew that he was utterly obsessed over someone. No names, of course, because it wasn't telepathy, but the boy's emotion bombs were a constant cycle of lust, devotion, and angst, all sprinkled heavily with infatuation. It wasn't love, because he was an immature child, but it was strong enough for the boy to ignore mild proddings from his alpha.

Even when he was in close proximity — within the hospital — Peter couldn't get the boy to stop mooning long enough to follow a clearly laid command to find his room. It was like the boy was ignoring his wolf!

Peter needed betas, it was true, but he didn't need betas that he couldn't control. What was more, the name stuck out in his memory. Mischief and Grim had talked about a McCall, the night she was out in the woods. It had been the boy's fault. He had also come up when Mischief talked to his friends while playing games in the evening; he wasn't happy with the boy. If McCall was part of Peter's pack, that might make his mate less willing to join as well.

No, it was clear that his accidental bite had been a bad one, — though the boy took it physically, and didn't reject the bite, it was still a bad call — and the sooner Peter got rid of him, the better. Fortunately, the town was crawling with Hunters, thanks to the revenge spiral he'd created while under his nurse's thrall — she wouldn't be a problem anymore either, not that Derek knew that, the poor naive boy — and one of them was bound to take the pesky omega off his hands soon.

Chapter Text

It didn't take long for Derek to get Uncle Peter transferred into his care. The one thing that Laura had done well was get all the paperwork squared away correctly, even if she had left Uncle Peter in the hospital under his own name, which could — and had — lead the hunters right to him. But it meant that Derek was listed as one of Peter's two next of kins, and with Laura officially confirmed to be dead, he was the only one left.

It was also clear that the Beacon Hills hospital, as meager as it was, could do nothing else for Peter, and the doctor even agreed that a private clinic that specialized in burn victims could likely do much more for him.

It was a little harder to get Peter turned over to his care, instead of transferred directly, but when Derek said that it was a clinic out of state, they had become much more accommodating, just like Uncle Peter had said they would be.

So, after a morning spent filling out paperwork, the afternoon of the full moon, with very little fuss, Derek had loaded Uncle Peter up into his rented coupe and driven back to his hotel room. Last night, as instructed, Derek had laid in supplies for a feast and a number of blankets to turn into a nest. It was nothing like what they'd had at home, and it didn't smell like pack yet, but it was what Peter had asked for.

Derek was good at following orders.

There were two ways for wolves to spend the full moon — and Peter infinitely preferred one to the other. The first was to run wild in the moonlight out in the preserve. The entire pack would gather for a barbeque, practically eating their weight in food. Then the older wolves would shift, taking their beta or full wolf forms, and dash off into the trees. The sturdier humans and the youngsters who couldn't run as fast or far kept to the clearing around the house, playing games and testing their limits. The elders would often go for a short jog, then return to the rest of the pack to relax.

Ever since he'd gotten big enough to escape the radius of the house, Peter had reveled in running wild. Slinking through the woods and pouncing on unsuspecting rabbits, deer, and pack members was half of the fun. The rest of the time he reveled in running as fast as he could, feeling the wind ruffling his fur and the ground pounding beneath his paws.

Peter hadn't been able to run free — and remember it — in six years, and it was galling to be cooped up inside on the full moon now. Because there were two ways for wolves to spend the full moon, and Peter infinitely preferred one to the other, but he preferred surviving over all.

So after Derek had checked him out of the long term patient ward, they had returned to the hotel room, ordered delivery from three different places, and then curled up together on the bed to eat and watch TV. The feel of a full belly and the scent of pack were comforting to his wolf after doing without for so long, but Peter couldn't help but long to run through the woods.

With Hunters in town, however, to do so could be a death sentence, and Peter wanted to stay alive. He wanted his little pack to stay alive. His mate was human and would be safe, and Derek was here curled up with Peter. The unfortunate beta — the one with the lack of sense to stalk a Hunter's daughter — would probably not be safe tonight, but Peter had cut his losses on that front.

He'd known that the boy — McCall — was head over heels for a girl, but Derek had accidentally sealed the boy's fate after watching him arrive at school this morning.

Because the object of his obsession was not just any girl, according to Derek. She got out of a car that stank of gunpowder and aconite, and though she didn't seem to carry any herself, it was clear she was at least living with Hunters. Peter might be able to forgive one of his betas panting after a girl so strongly that they ignored his orders, but he wouldn't forgive one sleeping with a Hunter.

Not again.

Derek was different: he was family; and he was a good, strong beta; and it wasn't his fault that Talia hadn't bothered to teach her brood the very basics of detecting Hunters. Peter had realized what the boy was doing, and was working out a way to solve the problem when the fire happened. Peter might partially blame Derek, but if Peter himself had been faster, if Talia had trained her children better, if the whole pack hadn't believed that their treaties kept them safe… it wasn't wholly Derek's fault, and he was the only family Peter had left, which granted him a reprieve.

McCall, however, Peter had no such emotional attachment to. Tonight, Peter's pack would be tucked up safely in their hotel room, and the unfortunate beta — no, the omega, really — would be on his own. Peter was sure he'd have one less packbond in the morning, and while that might physically pain him, it would be worth it to ensure the safety of the rest of his current and future pack.

Scott didn't understand what was happening! He had followed Allison home, thanks to the smell of her perfume that filled his nose, and he'd rung the bell intending to ask her on a date. A man had answered, and in hindsight Scott realized it was probably her father, but at the time he'd just seen a rival and his vision had gone all funny for a moment. Maybe that was what the phrase 'seeing red' meant, though it had seemed more yellow than red to him.

The next thing he knew, Allison's dad was aiming a gun at him and telling him to hold still!

Scott had run, and narrowly avoided being shot by diving into the treeline. But from the sounds of it, they'd come after him, hunting him. Every time he thought it might be safe to emerge from the woods, he'd caught the scent of gunpowder again, and something that tickled his nose, and he'd ducked away out of sight.

Suddenly, pain seared through his shoulder, slamming him into a tree. Scott looked and saw what appeared to be a crossbow bolt pinning him to the branch, and his eyes went all 'seeing yellow' again. "I'm sorry!" he pleaded. "I won't try to date Allison!" he begged.

His words were ignored.

The last thing Scott saw was a man with a cruel smile drawing a sword.

Chapter Text

Derek's plane left around noon, late enough for him to sleep off the full moon. Peter had sent him back to New York to tie up loose ends in his and Laura's apartment, pack up their things, and officially take a leave of absence from his college for his family emergency.

Peter hated how their packbonds stretched across the distance — especially since they only had the single bond, to each other — but it was a necessary evil. And it allowed him to take care of some of the more unsavory aspects of forming his new pack without Derek there with his delicate sensibilities.

Derek was studying architecture, as it turned out, and sometime later Peter would devote a little time to determining if that was actually his passion or if it was simply a misguided attempt to honor his father's memory or some other rot. He'd already shared, late the past night, that Laura had kept him on a very tight leash, so Peter had no doubts that she had influenced — if not outright controlled — the choice.

Little Derek — though he wasn't so little anymore, it was still hard for Peter sometimes to distinguish the young teen in his memories from the surly man who stood before him. Regardless, little Derek was already devoted to him, as soon as Peter had made it clear that he hadn't been responsible for Laura's death. They were family, and that meant everything to the boy. But surely a little extra devotion wouldn't hurt — especially when he started introducing his revenge scheme — and supporting Derek's choice of studies would certainly help that.

The Left Hand needed to be brutally honest about every member of the pack. The Alpha could afford — shouldn't, but did anyway — to have blinders about the suitability of her precious heir, or the tomboyish nature of her younger daughter, or the delicateness and gullibility of her precious younger son. But Peter had to be a realist, if he was going to protect the pack from threats both external and even internal.

So Peter knew that Derek was squeamish. Knew that his blue eyes were earned through extreme guilt, not actual merit. Derek was in no way Left Hand material. With a little training, he would make a good Right Hand, but at the moment he was too soft and downtrodden for even that job. Luckily Peter didn't have much of a pack for him to command, so there was time for improvement.

But becoming an alpha hadn't lessened his own suitability as a Left Hand, and Peter had a list of people who deserved to burn just the way they had burned his family. He had, soon after gaining the alpha spark, sought to use the murders as a form of pack bonding. But now, with a clearer mind, he knew Derek would never go for such a thing.

That was fine; Peter could take care of business while he was gone, and present it as a fait accompli.

Of course, he also needed to ensure that doing so didn't cause more work for the Sheriff, who was home for once. He was currently downstairs chatting with his daughter, Grim, while Mischief played on his computer with his friends.

Then sweet caramel scent of his happiness suffused the entire house, and once again Peter pledged to ensure that Mischief smelled that way every day from now on. Even if it meant tempering his own desire for a violent revenge.

Mischief was having a good day. His dad had come home early last night, since it was unusually quiet for a full moon. Normally there were a certain number of crank calls and weird reports, but all had been quiet on the Bacon Hills front last night.

It meant that dad had been the one to help Grim with her homework after dinner last night, while Mischief got his own out of the way. Since he hadn't needed to do his homework today, or watch Grim, Mischief had been able to sleep in, rush through his chores, and then get online to play Call of Duty with Boyd all afternoon. Even Danny had joined in, since Jackson was apparently out shopping with Lydia instead of hanging out with him.

Mischief didn't mind being Danny's second choice; Danny was his second choice after Boyd in fact, so it all worked out. But today it meant that the three of them could jump into a party together and kick some ass.

All in all, it was a good day.

Mischief had just gotten up to get a refill when something thunked down onto his windowsill, making him jump with fright.

Carefully, Mischief walked over to the window, but all he saw was a book sitting there innocently. It was probably a trap — no one had that kind of freaky good aim — but the book looked old and expensive, and Mischief was nothing if not curious.

Looking around as best as he could, Mischief saw no sign of anyone still on the porch roof — and he hadn't heard anyone above him — so it appeared the coast was clear. Cautiously, he opened the window a crack, then darted his hand out to grab the book before slamming it back closed.

Nothing appeared, no one tried to get in, and Mischief's pounding heart was the only sound to be heard. Taking a moment to just breathe and bring his heart rate back down, Mischief went back and sat on his bed before looking at the book.

It wasn't as old as it had first appeared, but it was still expensive and important looking, with a cracked leather cover, gold embossing, and no name in sight. Now that he was able to look closer, there appeared to be a piece of normal paper sticking out of the top. Pulling it out, Mischief found a note, written in excellent, elegant penmanship.

You'll need this, little Spark

That was it; no name, no identifying marks. If Mischief was his dad he might be able to dust for fingerprints or something, but he wasn't quite ready to tell his dad about the mysteriously appearing book just yet.

Setting the letter aside, Mischief opened the cover, absently noting the ornate bookplate of a wolf howling at the moon and the name Hale. Flipping past the flyleaf, Mischief finally found the name of the book.

Beginner's Guide to Magical and Supernatural Theory

Mischief's jaw dropped as disbelief, excitement, and amazement flooded through him. "Really!?"