Title: The Alpha to My Alpha

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Characters: Stiles, Derek, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Sheriff Stilinski

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Thank you to Beth/foreverblue-navy for the wonderful (and fast) beta read. All remaining mistakes are my own.

"You didn't actually think you stood a chance here did you? I mean really… a weak little human like you? Against an Alpha?" he's smirking as he says it, stepping closer slowly, stalking Stiles like he's prey.

Stiles backs away, his heart thudding in his chest. He's bleeding, badly. Can feel the raw edges of the claw marks wrapped around his ribcage. They're long but not deep, and with each frantic breath he sucks into his lungs the ragged edge of it rubs against what's left of his shirt. It's distracting. And he thinks he might be descending into shock already. Blood loss? Adrenaline? His head feels foggy. Slow. Where are they? They should be here. He's pack isn't he? If he is then why aren't they here when he's facing down a madman all on his own?

"I face off with an Alpha on a pretty regular basis. A bully like you doesn't scare me," Stiles says, even as he scrambles back another few feet, his back hitting the front of a particularly wide tree. The Alpha laughs.

"Hale? He's pathetic. He hardly even counts. If he had any balls at all he'd have bitten you a year ago. And don't pretend you're not scared." He tilts his head back, red eyes gleaming brightly in the darkness, as he sniffs at the air. "I can smell your fear wafting off of you. Hear your heart pounding in your chest. You're terrified." He smirks, moving even closer. Stiles eyes dart to the side, looking for anywhere to run. He needs to try. Knows he won't stand a chance in a physical battle. Fight or flight are his only options and neither is looking like a particularly viable one just now.

"It's not fear. It's pain. You split my side open like a piece of fruit. It fucking hurts!" Stiles growls. The Alpha steps closer, eyes brightening further.

"Your pain makes this better. It means you're still alive," he says quietly. He moves in fast, pressing up against Stiles, his hands snagging Stile's arms, stopping his sudden evasive dive to the left. Stiles cries out as he's lifted, struggling, into the air. His feet kick, his hands held high above his head. He's slammed hard into the tree, and feels at least one rib crack at the impact. He chokes off a scream, not wanting to give the Alpha the satisfaction and feels a brief moment of relief that it hadn't been his spine to break just then. The Alpha leans close, breath rancid, and hot in Stiles' face. "Hmmm… the problem with you, Mr. Stilinski, is that mouth you have on you. If you were a member of my pack," he smirks, looking Stiles up and down, like he's a piece of meat, "I'd have made you my bitch months ago."

"I'm not anybody's bitch," he spits, trying to knee the larger man in the crotch. The Alpha twists his hips to the side, dodging the blow, and tightens his grip on Stiles' wrists.

"Oh but you will be," the Alpha says diving suddenly forward, teeth elongating, face contorting.

Stiles blacks out to the feel of hands twisting his wrists, the Alpha's teeth closing sharp and brutal, high up on his shoulder. The scream that's ripped from his throat is the last thing he hears.

He's not unconscious for long. When he comes to, he's curled in a ball at the base of the tree. It's still dark, but darker, later, than it had been when he'd been passed out from the pain of the bite. And shit, he's been bitten! Is he a werewolf now? He eases into a sitting position, the pain in his ribs, the wounds on his side and neck causing him to flinch and whimper. There's a chuckle to his right, and he blinks his eyes open again and sees the Alpha. He's perched on a low branch in a nearby tree watching Stiles with obvious amusement.

"Ahh, awake. Finally. I thought you'd never come to. You're no fun while you're unconscious," he complains.

"Fuck you!" Stiles says, throat raw and voice rough. Probably from all the screaming. He shudders and the Alpha laughs.

"Hmm… I think I'll let you heal up a little bit more first. Wouldn't want to set back your recovery, which is coming along quite nicely already, in case you're wondering," he hops down out of the tree, landing with little fuss.

"Derek will kill you. He'll tear you limb from limb!" Stiles says, scrambling away from him. The Alpha ambles closer.

"No, I don't think he will," the Alpha says. "I mean aside from killing a couple of hikers in his territory and doing him this favor, I haven't really done anything to Hale. Once I'm gone he'll probably be happy with the gift I've left for him."

"Gift?" Stiles asks. The Alpha crouches down, leaning on one hand pressed into the bark behind Stiles' head.

"You. A new little beta for him to boss around. And one already broken and ready for him. That should mend any fences between us."

"Derek doesn't like his beta's broken. He likes them strong. Independent. He teaches them to fight! To survive!" Stiles snarls.

"The others yes, but not you. He hasn't bitten you. Haven't you ever wondered why? An alpha, a pack, is stronger in numbers. He'd have the ability to compel your obedience. And with a mouth like yours turning you would mean nothing but gain for him. So why hasn't he?" the Alpha questions, voice soft, inquisitive. Stiles shrinks away. "Because he likes you weak. He likes you sniveling and scared. You depend on him. For protection, for knowledge, for orders. If he gives you the bite, he loses what makes you so much fun to keep around. You're fun to play with as a human. Biting you would make you stronger. This way he won't lose anything. You'll be broken. Damaged. But quick to heal. Physically at least. You'll be perfect."

"I'm a lot harder to break than you think I am," Stiles whispers. The Alpha smirks again.

"Oh, I've only just gotten started!" he rears back punching Stiles hard in the face, splitting his lip, and blackening his eye. Stiles falls to the side, crying out in pain and fear. He curls up, one hand pressed to his face, hunching away from the Alpha who's already moving closer again. That's when Stiles feels it, the knife Allison had given him for his birthday. It was pressed between his right calf and the ground, hilt digging into the flesh of his leg, reminding him suddenly of its presence. He blames the earlier blow to the head for not remembering it's existence until now. A plan starts to develop, flashing quickly through his brain.

"He'll be angry, not happy," he replies, pushing himself to sit up again, pulling his knees up to his chest. He lets the werewolf push closer, practically invites him in. His eyes meet the Alpha's unflinchingly. "He likes me just the way I am. He likes me loud. And disobedient. He likes that my mouth won't stop running, and that he has to tell me to butt out of his personal life," he growls, letting his hand travel down his drawn up knee to find the cuff of his jeans. "He likes that I'm unflinchingly loyal, and smart, and brave," he whispers. His hand finds the hilt of the knife, and he slowly pulls it free. "He likes that I stand up to him. And he knows that I would never be anyone's bitch. Not even his," he grips the knife tightly. "But especially not yours," he growls, and then he throws himself forward, the Alpha reeling backward from the unexpected impact. Stiles jabs as fast and as hard as he can, the blade of the knife sliding through the Alpha's ribcage. The sharpened point cuts right through his left lung, and deep into the Alpha's heart.

The Alpha's eyes go wide, shocked, and he coughs, frothy blood spilling out of his mouth. Stiles jerks the knife out and stabs again, before flinging himself away, crouching, knife clutched tightly in his right hand, ready to pounce again. The Alpha falls flat, teeth retracting but his eyes staying red. His body convulses once, twice, before going still. Stiles waits, body tense, ready for the wolf to spring forward, snarling and lethal, like in every single horror movie ever made in the history of ever. But the Alpha doesn't as much as twitch.

"That's it?" Stiles mutters, when 5 minutes have passed with no movement. He inches forward, and then with a wild leap, uses the knife to swipe at the Alpha's throat just for good measure. Slowly blood bleeds out of the wound, sluggish, but the body doesn't move a single muscle in reaction. The heart has stopped beating.

Stiles falls back to sit on his ass on the damp ground, breathing harsh painful breaths that do nothing to slow the racing of his heart.

He walks home alone.

Stiles stumbles through the front door at three in the morning. The house is dark, silent, his truck still sitting in the driveway. His dad, he knows, is working the night shift tonight, so there is no one awake to witness him slowly climbing the stairs to the hall bathroom. He takes a shower, scrubs himself clean, all while avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He's got things he needs to do. And he's a little afraid of what will happen if he loses his shit just now.

The claw marks on his side have stopped bleeding, but they're tender and hurt like a fucker. He cleans them gently, taping a large bandage across them as well as he can. He's not terribly flexible and without being able to twist himself into a pretzel, the tape job isn't that great.

Then he presses on his ribs on the other side. They're sore, but he decides, probably not actually broken. Or possibly, not STILL broken. And that makes him pause in heart-stopping fear. He freezes for approximately 12 seconds trying to work through that thought. Then he lets out a deep shuddering breath. Which really hurts, so he keeps his breathing shallow and slow instead.

Last, and most frighteningly, he turns his attention to the ugly red, and very angry looking bite mark. It's placed on the curve of his neck, right where his shoulder bends up into the column of his throat. He flinches when he touches it. It hurts, and he cleans it carefully, bandaging it as well as he can. He would be the only one of all of them to be bitten on the neck, like some heroine in a freakin' vampire movie! He frowns.

It's nearly four when he collapses into bed. He's half afraid he'll be awake all night, sick with fear and achy with pain, but he falls asleep fairly quickly. Endorphins, the come down from the earlier adrenaline rush, and pure exhaustion making it almost easy to drift off.

Stiles sleeps late and when he wakes he is irrationally glad it's Saturday. No school to fight through. And his Dad, likely home by now, never bothers him as long as he's up and out of his room by noon. Stiles lays in bed for a full ten minutes, afraid to move, to even breathe too deeply. When he finally does he sits up slowly, hand going to his ribs in a preemptive move to stop the pain. But the pain doesn't come. He moves his arms and legs, and nothing hurts.

Stiles jumps out of bed, and he feels good. Like he's faster, stronger, and more energized than ever before. He's totally going to kick Scott's ass the next time he complains about being tired after lacrosse practice. He'd gone to bed wearing only gym shorts, and he reaches down, peeling at the bandage on his side. His ribcage is healed. No claw marks, no swelling, not even any bruises. He checks the other side of his chest, pressing cautiously at his decidedly definitely in no way broken ribs. He takes a deep breath and his lungs fill with air. No pain. Reaching up he peels the tape off his neck, pulling the bandage away and prodding at the spot. Still sore, but just barely. More an annoyance than anything. The skin is smooth and pale, unmarred. Even his lip, when he prods it with his tongue, has healed.

Listening carefully at his door, and hearing only the sound of the TV downstairs, he pulls his door open and heads down the hallway to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stares at himself in the mirror. He looks fine. Normal. No black eye, no cuts or scrapes, nothing to show of the previous night, not even bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. Well that settled that. He's a werewolf.

He may or may not faint just a little.

Mostly he spends the next few minutes huddled on the floor of the bathroom trying to breathe. Panic attacks are something he hasn't really faced on a regular basis since about two years after his Mom passed away. But it's startlingly familiar, how his chest seizes up, and his vision starts to narrow. He presses one hand to the center of his chest, trying to breathe through it, trying to keep filling his lungs with air. He knows this feeling, this fear, like the worlds going to end. Like you're dying. He feels like he's in a tunnel, his heart rate sky-rocketing and muscles trembling.

But the panic, the surge of adrenaline, and speeding heart-rate does the same thing to him it had done to Scott when he was 'new,' it starts the change. It should make him panic more. But it doesn't. Because first it's his senses that come online. His sense of smell, joined quickly by his hearing. He takes a sharp shuddering breath, the familiar scents of home fills his senses. But they're amplified, more potent than he'd ever noticed before. There's the body wash, shampoo, and the fabric softener they buy discount at the Supermart in town. There's the smell of his dad's aftershave, and deodorant, and sweat. All the things that combine to make the smell of comfort and DAD. His hearing extends next, and he immediately finds his dad's heartbeat, the steady in and out of his breathing, the sounds of football highlights on the TV, and his dad muttering to himself about how much he misses "real honest to God butter." Stiles takes another deep breath and he can smell the margarine he makes his dad use. He can smell it melting into a freshly toasted whole wheat bagel. And the normalcy of that, of home, calms him. His heart rate slows, the claws forming at the ends of his fingers retracting. His teeth drawing back into his mouth. He stands up from the floor of the bathroom, and only then does he glance at himself in the mirror.

And it's that image that gives him pause, because his eyes… His eyes are red. Bright glowing red. Alpha red.

He swallows back his panic, shutting his eyes. He concentrates on his racing heart. He'll never tease Scott again about his inability to calm himself down, because this shit is hard. He presses a hand over his heart, and takes slow deep breaths.

He needs help. Like now.

When he's gotten control of himself again, he leaves the bathroom. He can hear his dad still puttering around downstairs. The clink of a metal spoon on a ceramic coffee cup loud to Stiles' ears.

"Hey, Dad?" he calls downstairs.

"Oh good, you're up!" his dad calls. "I was just about to come up there and drag you out of bed by your ankles!" Stiles can't fight a grin.

"I'm up. Gotta work on a paper for US History. I'll be down later, ok?" Stiles calls. His dad pauses, flummoxed by the idea of Stiles doing homework on a Saturday afternoon. He hears his dad get up, coming to stand at the bottom of the stairs, looking concerned. "What? I'm trying something new," Stiles says. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. "I've got a lot of homework to do and Scott wants me to come over tomorrow night. I thought I'd try and get it done today. Responsibility thy name is Stiles." His dad's face screws up in amused confusion.

"Ok, but if you start feeling delusional, or suddenly feel the urge to do extra credit work, let me know. The hospital is only a few short miles away." Stiles smirks at him, rolling his eyes.

"Ha, Ha," Stiles says dryly. His dad grins.

"I'll leave you alone, but don't work too hard, ok?" Stiles nods.

"I'm still me," he replies. His dad laughs, shaking his head and walking away.

Stiles scrambles into his bedroom, closing the door solidly behind him. Now the hard part.

Stiles has spent the better part of the last year, year and a half, researching on and observing werewolves. He's watched them bond, argue, snark at each other, and band together in reaction to danger. And while he could potentially be considered a werewolf expert, he realizes that there are some things he just doesn't know. So he doesn't call Scott. Because Scott probably knows even less than he does, and all Scott would have to do is hear the slightest hint of worry or fear in Stiles' voice and he'd rush right over, and. Stiles shakes his head. That could be bad. So very very bad. No, calling Scott isn't an option. But Derek. He can probably call Derek.

He fishes his cellphone out of his jeans pocket from the night before, plugging it in to charge. The damn thing hasn't been the same since he'd been tasered while holding it a few weeks before. Damn hunters. The battery had been quickly dying a gruesome and expensive death ever since. It barely held a charge longer than a few hours, hence his inability to call for help the night before. Stiles makes a mental note to get a new battery ASAP, just as soon as he can trust himself to be out among the masses of Beacon Hills, CA.

It takes a few seconds before his phone has even enough charge to turn on. He shakes his head. Piece of shit. As soon as it's fully on the missed calls and text messages from the night before start popping up. He has 12 missed calls and 26 text messages.

Most of the calls are from Scott, but there's also two from Lydia, and even one from Derek. The texts are from everyone in the pack. Flipping through them quickly Stiles starts to piece the events of the previous evening together.

The Alpha had first show up two weeks before. The entire pack had been running themselves ragged trying to chase him down, and then out of their territory. At first it had been a safety thing. They couldn't have an unknown alpha running around in their town. Anything he (or she) did, would be blamed on them by Allison's dad and the hunters, and they didn't need that type of bullshit. In the beginning they'd just wanted to warn the Alpha off. Let them know this was claimed territory and to get out. But then the Alpha had stumbled upon two hikers in the woods, and apparently the temptation had been too great. For the past 3 days they'd been searching non-stop but the Alpha kept getting away.

The night before, he'd apparently led them on a wild goose chase around the North Eastern side of town, his scent trail leading them in circles. He hadn't stayed in the area, instead he'd hopped into a parked car and come back to town, where he'd yanked Stiles off his own driveway and dragged him into the woods, way down on the South Western part of town. The rest of the pack had spent the evening scouring the wrong part of the forest, and with Stiles' recent cellphone issues they apparently hadn't even suspected he'd been taken. Stiles leans forward letting his head drop onto the top of his wooden desk, once, twice, three times. He groans.

"Stupid fucking cellphone," he growls, tempted to throw it across the room. The last text had been from Scott telling him to get his damn phone fixed already, and to call him the next day, they were calling it a night. It had been sent at 1am. Stiles, had at that moment, been having the shit beat out of him by a very mean very large alpha werewolf in the woods.

Thinking a moment he sends a text to Scott.

Im fine. Had a late night. Talk to you later.

He gets one back almost immediately.

Where were u? We worried.

Stiles fights not to roll his eyes, and admits to myself that some part of him is a little pissed that no one came to rescue him. But really, it hadn't been the first time he'd had to get himself out of a jam.

Ill explain later. Any sign of the alpha?

Nope. Going out again later. Want me to come over?

Stiles shakes his head.

Nah. Dad is here. Ill call you.

Ok buddy. Later.

Stiles stands up again. He feels hyper, but not his usual hyper. He feels full of energy, but it's more focused than his usual ADHD energy surges. His mind is more focused than usual, his hands steadier, and it's only then that he notices he hasn't taken his Adderall at all today, and he'd missed at least one dose the day before. It takes him a minute to pin down the feeling rushing through him, mostly because Stiles is not a particularly athletic teenager boy, lacrosse notwithstanding. But yeah. He wants to run. Fast. Preferably through the woods. He forces himself to sit down again.

Derek. Right. He needs to call Derek. It only takes Stiles a few seconds to find Derek's number in his phone. It's listed as simply SW. Sour Wolf.

The line rings four times before Derek picks up.

"What?" he says, sounding gruff and sleepy, like Stiles has woken him up.

"You're still asleep?" Stiles asks, glancing at his alarm clock. It's almost 1. "I know you're still gainfully unemployed and everything, but isn't it a little late to still be sleeping?" He hears an annoyed huff.

"What do you want, Stiles?" Derek mutters and Stiles is half shocked to realize he can hear him sitting up in bed, the covers rustling, the springs of his old beaten up bed creaking as his body weight moves. "Stiles?" and that's definitely an impatient growl.

"I need to talk to you," Stiles answers and he suddenly can't think how in the world he's going to spit it out.

"Stiles, I'm tired. I was up late last night actually doing something. So if you're not going to tell me What You Want…" Stiles may or may not growl at him over the line, hand closing on the cellphone so tightly he hears the plastic shift and pop. "Stiles?" and this time it's questioning.

"While you and your merry band of misfits were running all over the North East parts of the forest last night I was busy getting abducted and tortured by the alpha. I just thought that you, as the head of the pack, would want to know what happened. Seeing as I got bitten and all. But excuse me if you want to go back to your beauty sleep," he sneers, sort of hysterically. There's silence on the other end of the line for a beat. Then a flurry of activity.

"Where are you? Are you injured? Did you turn?" Derek asks, and Stiles is just a little gratified to hear the note of worry and panic in his voice.

"That's not a good idea," Stiles say.

"What?" Derek asks.

"Coming here. It's a phenomenally epically bad idea. You can't come here!" he says. He feels the panic building in his system again.

"Of course I'm coming. Why wouldn't I come?" Derek asks. Stiles can hear the rev of the Camaro's engine turning over.

"Because I killed him. The alpha," Stiles says quietly. He's silent for a beat waiting for a reaction. When none is forthcoming, he drops his forehead to rest in his palm. "I killed the alpha, after he bit me. Derek, I'm an alpha now," he explains.

"You can't know that!" Derek objects, tires squealing and a horn honking in the background.

"I do! I do know that! Derek, my eyes are red. I saw them in the mirror. They're red. And I don't want to like, react badly and try and claw your face off if you come to my house." There's silence on the other end of the line.

"Stay put. I'll be right there."

"Derek," Stiles says, and he knows he's practically pleading but he can't help himself.

"Shut up, Stiles. Stay there. But if your dad is home get him out. You have 10 minutes." There's no beep to end the call, but all the background sounds abruptly cut off and Stiles knows Derek has hung up. He sighs, looking at his hands grimly. FUCK.

He gets his dad out of the house with 2 minutes to spare, mostly be complaining that there is no good food in the fridge and reminding his dad that it's his turn to go grocery shopping. His dad pouts all the way to the car. Stiles waits on the back porch, strangely worried about letting Derek into his house. He's kicking at the dirt and contemplating the chances of him being able to go to school on Monday without trying to literally bite off the heads of all his friends in the process when he hears Derek's Camaro turn onto his street. It's seconds later that he smells him coming.

It's strange that he can recognize Derek by his scent. It wasn't that his human senses had ever been all that efficient, it was just, well he'd noticed that with the werewolves, their naturally occurring scent was just stronger than your average guys. So while normally you'd notice your buddy's typical BO after lacrosse practice, the werewolves kind of had a low grade BO all the time. Though he was willing to admit it wasn't all together unpleasant, and truthfully was more woodsy and animalistic than just the typical boy-sweat and dirty socks. Stiles is suddenly sure he'd be able to pick out Scott, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, all by scent alone too.

He hears the car slow, crawling forward another half a block before coming to a stop several houses up the street from Stiles' house. Stiles is up off the back steps in an instant, pacing the backyard. He's anxious, the hair on his arms standing up at attention, and his heart beating faster in reaction. He doesn't know if it's his natural nervousness, or the presence of another alpha that's causing his blood to pump faster, so he scrubs a hand over his short hair and keeps pacing.

"Stiles," It's Derek speaking, from far away, and the sound of his voice has Stiles jumping in place and turning in that direction.

"Derek?!" he calls.

"Calm down, Stiles. You know how this works. You need to keep your heart rate down. I promise I'm not going to attack you. But you need to get this under control or we're going to have a problem." It's probably one of the longest paragraphs Stiles has ever heard Derek say all at once, and it makes him suck in a deep shocked breath. He bends over, bracing his hands on his knees, and takes long deep breaths.

"I'm not going to try and eat Derek. I'm not going to try and eat Derek," he repeats softly to himself.

Derek's quick laugh from the edge of the yard, has Stiles jumping in place again, his heart rate skyrocketing, and his eyes flashing red. Derek freezes in place, but the smile doesn't drop off his face. Stiles finds himself crouching down, claws popped, and fangs extended. He glares at Derek through a red haze. He growls at him, but Derek doesn't react, doesn't even wolf out. He smirks instead and shakes his head.

"Bad puppy!" he calls, making a stay motion with his hand. Stiles backs up a few steps, feels anger flood his system. And he knows it's the wolf. This is not good. He tries desperately to rein it back in, but when Derek starts to advance, Stiles begins to doubt he'll be able to. Derek steps closer and closer, pace cautious, but his hands remain terribly human and held out in a calming gesture. "Stiles," he says, stretching the name out and quirking his lips up on the last syllable. Stiles snarls at him, his body tensing. Derek stands up straight again, frowning. "No!" Derek growls, eyes flaring red. "Calm down!" Derek orders and strangely Stiles does. He falls to his knees, curling in on himself, the red light fading from his vision.

"Derek?" he says, and he hates the way his voice sounds, desperate and scared and confused all at once. Then Derek's there, hand gripping the back of Stile's neck in a firm grip. "What's happening?" Stiles asks.

"Just showing your wolf who is the dominant alpha here," Derek explains. He tightens his grip on the nape of Stiles' neck, and Stiles lets out a little uncomfortable whine, from low in his throat.

"That was stupid!" he protests. He arches his back, tilting his head up to look at Derek. "I could have ripped your throat out!" He blinks and Derek is smirking at him. Smirking.

"I wasn't in any danger," he pauses. "Well not much danger anyway. You weren't going to attack. I could tell that from the moment I stepped foot in the yard." Stiles blinks at him.

"How the hell did you figure that? I have claws and teeth and like muscles and stuff!" Stiles objects. Derek makes a face like he's trying not to roll his eyes.

"If you were going to attack you would have. A young, freshly turned wolf, who is also an Alpha? You would have attacked the moment I stepped foot in your territory. And you didn't. Which means your wolf doesn't consider me a threat," he squeezes the hand on the back of Stiles' neck again, and then lets him go. Stiles jerks back without the support and ends up sprawled on his back in the middle of his yard. He stares up at Derek from where he lays spread out like a starfish in the grass. The sun beating down on Stiles feels warm and pleasant.

"There's no way you could have been that sure. I could have hurt you," he crosses his arms over his chest. Derek lets out a little grunt that sounds vaguely amused.

"I repeat. Your wolf doesn't consider me a threat," Derek replies. He sits down a few feet away, his forearms resting on his pulled up knees.

"But why? Alpha's aren't supposed to like other alphas. It's a territory thing. A dominance thing. Aren't you supposed to like hate me on sight now? Aren't we natural enemies?" Stiles asks. Derek stares at him, all stoic power and confidence.

"You really got to stop believing everything you see in monster movies and on Google, Stiles. Most of it is complete bullshit." Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

"You know I'd know a lot more about how things actually work if you would be a bit more forthcoming with all that information you were taught growing up," he replies, with a raised eyebrow. Derek sigh, sounding exasperated.

"Not everything was important for you to know," Derek says. He pauses, his attention focusing on the tree line, eyes scanning, and Stiles sits up, instantly alert. There's a rustle in the undergrowth, and Stiles tenses, his eyes glowing red. Derek grips his shoulder, keeping him down. "Relax. It's just a deer." Sure enough the deer appears a moment later, big eyes focusing on them for a moment before it literally turns tail and runs away. Stiles lets out a relieved breath collapsing back against the ground.

"Shit," he says quietly. Derek smirks again. Stiles waits patiently for a minute, which is probably more like ten seconds before speaking again. "Are you going to explain or not?" he asks.

"You assume there can only be one alpha in a pack. But if you really thought about it you'd realize that pack dynamics are much more complicated in a group of werewolves. We're just as emotionally complicated and intellectually complex as human beings, sometimes even more so, and we're therefore more adaptable than a pack of wild wolves living in the woods. It's the same as when Scott was part of the pack but not at the same time. Not everything is black and white. It's all shades of grey. I have 6 betas, Stiles. You think they all hold equal places in the pack hierarchy? Same thing happens with multiple alphas in a pack. Your wolf defers to mine. You're essentially now second in the pack hierarchy."

"But why? Why is my wolf just automatically deferring to yours?" Stiles asks. Derek gives him a look like he's the stupidest person alive. "Just tell me, Derek! I'm confused and emotionally traumatized after being a) kidnapped, b) tortured, c) bitten and transformed into a werewolf, oh and d) killing a man. All in a 16 hour period!" Derek lets out a little huff of air that sounds more like laughter than annoyance.

"You were already a part of the pack Stiles. You already considered me your alpha. Being bitten just made the pull to submit more dramatic and easy to follow."

There isn't much Stiles can say in answer to that.

Later, Derek follows Stiles up to his room. Derek makes himself at home in his favorite chair in the corner by the bed, and Stiles takes his desk chair. Derek listens, silent and tense as Stiles tells him everything. Everything that had happened the evening before, every taunt, and hit, and broken bone he'd endured. Then he listens to every reaction Stiles has experienced since waking up, including his breakdown in the bathroom. That's followed by a mandatory visual inspection of all his healed wounds. Derek may or may not growl a low angry sound deep down in his throat when he checks the smooth skin of Stiles' neck and shoulder. Then they lapse into silence.

"Will I be safe to go to school on Monday?" Stiles asks. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"The rest of the pack will be there. They'll keep an eye on you. You're fairly self-aware Stiles. You'll be fine. And I'll keep close too. If any of us feel like you're going to lose control, we'll make sure nothing happens." Stiles nods, slumping back in his seat. He tilts his head back, swiveling back and forth in his desk chair.

Derek watches him, silently, but with a sort of intense interest.

"Tell me I won't go bat shit crazy and kill my Dad," Stiles whispers, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"You aren't going to hurt your dad. With loving families it's instinctual to protect, not to maim," Derek explains.

"You had multiple alphas in your family pack didn't you?" Stiles asks. He rolls his head on his neck to look at Derek. Derek's face tightens and he looks away.

"Yes. My Father was an alpha. I had an Uncle too, they both died in the fire. And Laura. She was a rarity," he says, voice quiet. "She was born alpha. A natural leader among our kind." Stiles frowns.

"I thought werewolves all start off as Betas. How could she be born an alpha?" he asks. Derek glances back at him.

"They're rare. Very rare. We think it's nature's way of balancing things out. There are fewer alpha's than betas. If the only way for a new alpha to be created was by killing another alpha and assuming their position, we'd have died out hundreds of years ago."

"But why?" Stiles asks. Derek's mouth tightens and he raises that eyebrow at him again. The answer flashes through Stiles mind an instant later. "Hunters. If a hunter kills an alpha, or another alpha kills an alpha, no new alpha is made. Natural causes, hunters, battles between one alpha and another. Between those three things there wouldn't be enough new alphas to continue propagating the species through bites." Derek nods. Stiles sinks back in his chair again, unaware he'd ever sat forward. His mind is flashing quickly from one piece of information to another.

"That's really why there can be more than one alpha in a pack," Stiles concludes. "If you're the alpha and your child is born an alpha, you can't just kick them out of the family, or the pack, because they're a danger to your place as head of the pack. You love them and protect them and teach them how to be a good leader." Derek looks away, but nods. Then he stands up.

"We need to have a pack meeting. Just warning you now," he frowns, tugging his leather jacket back into place around his waist, his hands stuffing down into his pockets. "They might not take it as well as I did." Stiles sighs, rolling his eyes heavenward in annoyance.

"Why does that not surprise me?" he asks. Derek almost smiles in reply.

They go see Scott first, at Stiles insistence. A couple of text messages exchanged lets them know he is at home for a change, no Allison in sight. Stiles tells him not to leave, and gives him an ominous warning to not freak out when he and Derek get there. He ignores all the increasingly frantic texts that follow, only responding when Derek screeches to a stop at a stoplight and turns to glare at him.

"I know, I know. Answer him, or you'll rip out my throat, with your teeth," he reaches for his phone again.

Stop freaking out. Well be there in 5 min.

Why is Derek with you?

I will explain when I get there!

He silences the phone and shoves it back into his pocket. Only to yank it back out again a minute later. Derek gives him another glare. Stiles rolls his eyes and dials his Dad's number. This conversation is over pretty quickly. He tells his dad he's starving so he has gone over to Scott's house to eat, because Mrs. McCall actually feeds HER son. His dad just laughs at him until Stiles says goodbye and hangs up. When Stiles glances over at Derek, the older man is actually grinning in something that looks suspiciously like out and out amusement. Stiles shakes his head at him.

"If I'm going to be second in the pack, does that make me like your deputy? Am I going to be, I don't know, in charge of the others? Because I don't see that going over too well with some of the betas…" Derek's face drops into a frown.

"I think you'll be ok with Scott. You've been bossing him around since you guys were in what? 1st grade?" Stiles smiles a little smugly.

"Kindergarten, actually."

Derek gives him a long suffering look.

"He'll probably be more upset that you've been 'cursed' with being a werewolf, then you being an alpha. The others might be an issue. Which is why I told them to come to a packing meet in an hour at the den." He pulls onto Scott's street just then. "So let's not take too long."

Since Melissa McCall knows all about werewolves and Derek's connection to Scott, he just pulls the Camaro into the spot in front of the house. Stiles takes a long deep breath before getting out of the car.

Scott takes things better than anticipated. And Derek had called it, he was more upset about Stiles being, in his words, "cursed" and tortured than anything else.

"But you're ok now, right? Everything healed up ok?" he asks, looking concerned. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I have that super awesome super speed healing now. Which actually is just as great as I always imagined it would be," he smiles a little. "I could have done without the torture…" Scott laughs half-heartedly. Stiles turns to Derek. "Can you give us a few minutes? I think we'll be ok. But I need to talk to him alone. We'll meet you in the car in 15." Derek nods, heading out of Scott's bedroom and down the stairs. Stiles closes his eyes, focusing his hearing. When Derek stops, and Stiles can still hear his heartbeat, he shakes his head, and opens his eyes. "I can still hear you, Derek. If I can hear you, you can hear me. We'll be fine." Stiles doesn't bother raising his voice. He hears a quiet laugh.

"Fine. Talk quietly, but I'm staying close enough to hear a shout," Derek warns. Stiles nods. When he looks back at Scott, Scott's eyes are wide and shocked.

"You could still hear him?" he asks. Stiles nods.

"Alpha, remember. Apparently our senses are even more enhanced than you regular old betas," he teases. Scott laughs.

"So how is that going to work, two alphas?" Scott asks, sitting down beside Stiles on the bed, and bumping his shoulder against Stiles'.

Stiles shrugs.

"My wolf seems to defer to Derek's. As far as my instincts are concerned, Derek is my alpha, so there's no threat to his authority or place as pack alpha. Derek says I'll basically be his second in the pack," Stiles explains. Scott frowns, looking confused.

"When you showed up at the door, I wasn't upset. I mean I was upset you'd been bitten, and changed. I know you never really wanted it, but I wasn't threatened by you. Why, do you think?" Scott asks. Stiles nods. He gives Scott a smile.

"Apparently I've been bossing you around since Kindergarten, so your wolf already sort of saw me as your human-alpha," he watches the horrified look come over Scott's face, and starts to laugh. Scott joins in a minute later.

"Dude? Seriously!?" he asks. Stiles nods.

"Everyone else probably not so much."

"Oh man! I just had the most awesome thought," Stiles nodded for him to continue. "We're going to kick ass in lacrosse next season! Between you, me, Jackson, and Isaac, that's like half of first line!" Stiles furrows his eyebrows.

"But I'm not first line, Scott."

"No, but you will be," Scott says a little proudly. Stiles just laughs again, but quickly sobers.

"There's actually something I wanted to point out to you," he says seriously. Scott straightens, looking concerned. "Umm.. I know you and Derek have sort of moved past a lot of the animosity between the two of you, about the whole Derek killing Peter situation," he starts to explain. He hears Scott's heart rate pick up, Scott's hands clamping into fists, his head dropping. That incident is still a sore spot between the two, and Stiles feels like he has to try and end the anger and lingering mistrust. "I need you to listen, ok?" he asks. Scott nods.

"I'm listening, Stiles." Stiles takes another deep breath.

"I was bitten by an alpha, Scott, and I killed that alpha. But it didn't cure me," he explains. Scott's head flies up, eyes wide in understanding. "It didn't undo what he'd done. It just made ME the new alpha. I need you to understand that. If Derek had let you kill, Peter. You wouldn't be human now, you'd be the alpha," Stiles says softly. He watches Scott's face crumple, before the other boy nods. He flops back to lay across the bed.

"Shit, it was never really possible was it? Once he bit me I was going to be stuck like this forever," Scott whispers. Stiles flops back next to him, his legs hanging off the side of the bed.

"Sorry, buddy," he pats Scott on the chest. "But at least we're in this together now."

Scott rolls toward him, close but not too close, and it would have felt odd if Stiles was still human, instead it just feels cozy, like family, or pack, he realizes. He shifts an inch or two closer.

"You already were pack, Stiles. It's just now you can feel it too," Scott smiles at him, and Stiles smiles back.

When the three of them arrive at the warehouse, the rest of the pack has already assembled. Derek stops the car a couple of blocks away and turns to look at Stiles.

"How many are waiting?" he asks.

"How should he know? We aren't there yet," Scott pipes up from the backseat. Both Stiles and Derek shoot him looks to shut him up, and he sits back, hands in the air, and a perturbed look on his face. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the back side of Stiles' head. Stiles is looking at Derek.

"Which works better? Sound or Smell?" he asks. Derek raises an eyebrow, sinking back in his seat with a smirk. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I'm betting if I knew their scents better I could scent the wind and find out who came through here recently. But I don't. So sound it is." He closes his eyes, slowing his breathing and listening carefully. All he hears at first from the direction of the warehouse up the street is the sound of passing traffic, a car backfiring at the garage across the road, and a radio someone has left on, blaring much too loudly. He grimaces, focusing harder. Those sounds are all too far away, he needs to listen for sounds that are more unique, but familiar.

He pulls in his senses closer, and there. Lydia's laughter, the sound of a hand smacking the back of a head, and a playfully growled response, the click of Erica's entirely inappropriate stripper boots on concrete. Boyd's boots clomping around a few paces after her. There's Jackson's voice, and Allison's distinctive ringtone. He opens his eyes.

"I count Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, and Allison. Isaac might be there, but if he is, he's being quiet," Derek makes an impressed sound.

"Very good. Now count their heartbeats," he settles in deeper in his seat. Stiles makes a face. "I didn't ask who was there. You were too specific. I asked how many were waiting for us." Stiles lets out a put upon sigh and closes his eyes again.

He focuses his attention again, listening for the thrum of heartbeats below all the other sounds. This is harder, because heartbeats vary from person to person, and apparently from species to species, but they all still sort of sound the same, at least at first listen. He focuses on each heartbeat, until he can distinguish one from another from another.

"Seven. Peter and Isaac are there too," Stiles explains, but he doesn't open his eyes. One of the heartbeats… his forehead creases, concentrating on one beat that just sounds off from how it should be. Is eyes fly open. "Lydia!?" he says, scrambling for the door handle. Derek's hand closes on the back of his neck, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stop. Calm down. It's just a very minor heart murmur. Jackson and I told her about it months ago. She's being monitored by a doctor, and Jackson checks it every single day. Don't go freaking her out over nothing." Stiles nods, going limp under Derek's grip. The hand tightens once, in what feels like reassurance before letting go. "Now, let's go introduce everyone to the newest werewolf in town," Derek orders, putting the car in drive and continuing up the street.

When Derek finishes parking the car Stiles turns to look at him again.

"How are we going to play this?" he asks. Scott leans forward. Derek smirks again.

"Why don't we just play it by ear?" Derek suggests. Stiles glares at him.

"You are enjoying this entirely too much. Don't think I'm going to just forget about this either, Derek. I'll get you back eventually. Especially for that 'bad puppy' line out back of my house!" Stiles threatens.

"Bad puppy?!" Scott asks in confusion that sounds more like amusement. Derek snorts.

"Who has been calling me Sour Wolf and Grumpy Wolf for the past year and a half?" he asks. Stiles eyes go steely.

"Nicknames, Derek, are a sign of affection!" he replies, flinging open the car door and getting out.

"So now you feel affection for me?" Derek asks, getting out to stare at Stiles across the roof of the car, Scott scrambles out too.

"Oh, shut up!" Stiles snaps. Derek's grin grows wider.

"If I'm sour wolf, that makes you what? Sarcastic wolf? Loud Mouth wolf? ADHD wolf?" he asks. Stiles huffs.

"Oh please! Though now that you mention it I think I might actually be cured of the worst of that now. I haven't had Adderall in almost 24 hours, and I'm not feeling jumpy at all." He gives them a happy smile, bouncing in place. Scott who shoots him a thumbs up.

All the good cheer evaporates when Stiles turns toward the warehouse and is met with a wall of silence, nothing but heartbeats escalating with fear and confusion. He shoots a look at Derek, who is frowning.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Derek says, stepping past the two of them, and heading for the entrance.

The long hallway leading from the door to the back of the warehouse they'd made their den, seems 10 times longer than usual. And Stiles takes deep breaths to calm himself. In doing so he fills his lungs with the scents of all the pack members who had walked his hallway before him. But he also catches whiff of the emotions boiling out of the main room. He hears the scuffle of Lydia and Allison being pushed back, hears their squawks of disapproval.

When the three of them step into the doorway they find all of the betas in a neat little row, half wolfed out, and ready for a fight. Even Peter's there, on alert, though he's lounging against a nearby pillar and smirking. Derek steps inside, Scott and Stiles stepping in behind him, automatically placing themselves on his flanks. Stiles looks over at Scott, and he's wolfed out in reaction to the other betas, and Stiles feels his own eyes glowing red at the perceived threat.

There's shocked sounds from the rest of the pack, and Isaac steps back at the sight. It's Lydia who's the first to speak.

"Stiles! Tell me you didn't get yourself bit and turned into an Alpha since the last time I saw you!" she yells, peeking around Jackson. Stiles smiles at her, showing purely human teeth, and shrugs.

"Believe me, it wasn't my first choice," he replies. Derek lets out a chuckle and all the tension seems to melt out of the room. Fangs retract and eyes go back to their normal human variations of coloring. Scott goes to greet Allison, and Stiles lets his attention wander from one person to another. It's Jackson who looks sort of pissed.

"So how is this going to change things?" he ask, and he's actually glaring at Stiles as he says it, before he turns to look at Derek. Derek shrugs.

"He's an alpha. That means he automatically outranks all of the Betas," Derek explains. Jackson glowers.

"It's bad enough Scott is the head Beta, but now Stiles is an alpha? This is ridiculous," he snaps. "How are you letting him stay?" he demands, and that sort of sets off a reaction. Scott doesn't react well to the notion, and frankly neither does Stiles. He's wolfed out in seconds from the anger, but he doesn't move an inch in Jackson's direction. Once he has the wolf under control he moves slowly closer. Jackson eyes him carefully.

"This is my pack, Jackson. I've been in it longer than even you. Just because I'm wolf now doesn't change that," he growls.

"So you think you can boss me around now? Just because you're alpha. I've been were longer than you!" Jackson replies and Stiles starts toward him, but Scott stops him.

"Stiles," he says softly. Stiles pushes him away, the wolf leaving his face, but his eyes staying red and bright. He looks at Jackson.

"I'm alpha. You will respect me, Jackson. Or we're going to have an issue here," he says, voice low.

"Funny, I thought you were supposed to be the Alpha, Derek?" Jackson asks, turning to Derek. Stiles is on him in an instant. And Jackson might be pissed but he also underestimates Stiles. He's always underestimated Stiles and this is no exception. Stiles has him pinned, claws at his throat in half a second. He leans close, fangs extended, and face furry.

"Next time you disrespect the Alpha," and Stiles knows this time the A is capitalized, like the title it is, "I won't be so nice," he growls, before standing up and backing away. Complete silence has fallen in the Den, and Stiles keeps backing up and away, not turning his back, until he's stepped back behind Derek's left shoulder. Derek looks sort of proudly amused again, and it makes Stiles fight back a smile. Jackson moves to pull himself up off the ground looking shaken.

"As I said before, Stiles is an alpha, which puts him above the betas in the pack structure. However, he is a secondary alpha. His orders are to be respected unless they go expressly against a recent order of mine. Is that clear?" he asks the assembled pack. It's, surprisingly Scott who raises a hand in question. "Yes, Scott?" and Derek looks so much like a teacher just then that Stiles has to fight not to laugh out loud.

"Umm, what do you mean by 'recent order'? I'm not trying to like cause an issue I'm just unsure what you qualify as recent?" he asks. Stiles focuses on Derek, anxious to hear his answer.

"Like for example: I've ordered you all to stay off the preserve. It's too dangerous to go where the humans are during deer hunting season. However if Stiles is leading you through the woods, being followed by a mob of zombies, and he orders you to cross over into the preserve, I would expect you to follow his order over my standing one. On the other hand, if going into a fight I say stay in groups of two, no one go off alone, and then 5 minutes later, Stiles says to split up, I would expect you respect my order first." Stiles makes a face at him.

"So judgment can be applied, as the situation demands?" he asks. Derek eyes him curiously.

"Of course. Every situation will differ. But this isn't a democracy. If I tell them to do something, I expect them, and you to obey. If you order them to do something I expect them to obey. And I expect you to behave and not take advantage of your position within the pack. If I'm not around, you're in charge, Stiles. Be aware of that." Stiles swallows thickly but he nods his acceptance. It's not a power to be taken lightly. He hopes he's up to the task.

"Right, so no ordering Boyd to wash my car, or Erica to do my laundry?" he asks. Erica practically hisses at him in indignation.

"Try it, Stilinski. I dare you!" she growls. And the whole pack breaks out in laughter.

It's a few minutes later that Allison brings up the hows and the whys of the new situation.

"So are you going to tell us what exactly happened between lacrosse practice last night and today?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. And so Stiles fills them in. He leaves out some of the more horrifying details, but makes sure to thank Allison for the quite handy birthday gift.

"Glad it proved itself so useful," she says with a grin.

The pack meeting ends about an hour later, and all in all it went better than Stiles had imagined it going. They'd been hostile at the presence of an unknown wolf, an alpha, and as soon as they'd known it was him, they'd calmed down. Jackson had acted like a jerk, but Stiles had asserted his dominance, and no one had shed blood. All in all a success. Scott catches a ride with Allison, and Derek herds Stiles toward his car to drive him home. It's only once they're back on the road, with no danger of being overheard that Stiles tells him. He'd told Derek pretty much everything about the night before, except the part about the rogue alpha intending him to be a present. Stiles doesn't know why he'd kept it to himself, but it seems kind of important that Derek know.

"I.." he trails off, and Derek turns to look at him at a stop light, his face is more open than usual and Stiles suddenly gets why. Stiles is alpha, and more pack than even before he was changed. He's slowly and steadily earned Derek's trust, and Stiles needs him to be forthcoming with information, now more than ever before. He looks away from Derek's face. "I think I need to tell you something else that the rogue said last night. About why he bit me." Derek's brow furrows and he nods.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Derek asks. Stiles winces.

"Probably not," he answers. Derek nods.

"Ok, hold on," he turns onto the interstate, heading back through town, and towards the woods. He pulls off the road, and into one of the parking lots hikers and joggers like to use, that leads to the main trailhead for the preserve. It's deserted this time of year, and there are no other cars there. He parks the car, turning it off. Then he turns to look at Stiles. "Spill."

"Ok, I need you to just remember that the bastard is dead. And getting pissed at him is going to be a fruitless endeavor. It won't solve anything, so I need you to just rein it in, and not lose your shit," Stiles explains. Derek eyes him dubiously.

"Sure, the rogue alpha who kidnapped one of my pack, tortured him, and bit him," here he lets out an involuntary little snarl from deep down in his chest, "is dead. No limbs to tear off, or throat to rip out. Got it. Just tell me," he demands. Stiles frowns at him.

"You're not really the picture of calm I need you to be right now…" Stiles says.

"Stiles!" Derek grunts, "just tell me!" Stiles sighs.

"Alright. He said he was doing it for you," Stiles blurts.

"What?" Derek asks, and he looks almost wrecked.

"He said that you should have done it, bitten me, a long time ago. That the only way he'd crossed you was killing a couple of hikers in Hale territory, and that it would really be doing you a favor. That I would be a gift for you," Stiles explains, and he can't look at Derek, but he can hear him, hear his heart speeding up, smell his frustration and his anger, and his… fear? "He said I would be a new little beta for you to boss around. He was going to break me, get me ready to be your bitch," and Stiles sneers as he says it. He can hear the rumble of anger growing in Derek's chest. And Stiles feels his own wolf surge up from his belly. "He said you liked me weak, sniveling and scared. Dependent." The last few words are growls, and he feels his teeth lengthen into fangs, his nails growing into claws. He clenches his hands on his thighs, feels the prick of sharpness against his skin, cutting through denim and cotton. He doesn't want to attack Derek, not at all, but he wants to attack something.

Derek's hand clamps down hard on the back of Stiles' neck, claws extended and pricking at the skin of his neck. The affect is instantaneous, and he slumps forward, the fight going out of him. Derek tugs him closer, and Stiles slides across the seat to press against Derek's side. He makes a small hurt whining sound low in his throat, and then Derek is there, wrapped all around him, long strong arms, and worn leather, and familiar woodsy scent. He's warm, and comforting, and safe. Stiles hasn't felt real and truly safe in weeks, months even.

"It isn't true," Derek says, low, voice aching with emotion. "None of that is true," he says, and he tightens his grip on the back of Stiles' neck, his claws retracting. "Stiles. You were never weak or sniveling. And you're the most independent teenager I know. I don't want you broken. I would do anything to make sure that never happens," he promises. Stiles nods, curling even closer into Derek's chest.

"Then why haven't you? Why didn't you want to?" he asks.

"Want to what?" Derek asks.

"Bite me. Turn me." Stiles pulls back and meets Derek's eyes. Derek's silent a moment. He swallows thickly before answering.

"Because you didn't want it," Derek explains. "You said over and over again that you didn't want it!" Stiles nods. That's true. He had said it over and over. "If you had ever asked, I'd have given it to you in a heartbeat. But you didn't. And there were advantages to you staying human."

"What advantages?" Stiles asks. He straightens up to look Derek more fully in the eyes, but doesn't break Derek's hold on him. He doesn't move away.

"You can dig out Wolfsbane bullets, lay down and remove mountain ash barriers, you could…" he pauses searching for another reason, "get photographed without your eyes doing that whole reflective thing." Stiles eyes him in amusement.

"I was valuable as a human because I could be photographed?" he asks with a grin. Derek ducks his head, and actually blushes. Stiles lets out a laugh that has Derek smirking and rolling his eyes.

"Yes, there could have been a photograph related emergency at any moment," Derek teases, letting his hand drop off the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles stretches closer, one hand tightening in the fabric of Derek's T-shirt where it's stretched across his chest. He tugs a little.

"Any other reason?" he asks, looking down. And he knows his heart is pounding a little, that Derek will be able to tell, like he's always been able to tell. Derek's hand closes on the back of his neck again, only this time it's not dominance or support he's trying to convey. It's something else.

"Lots of other reasons," Derek says, and Stiles looks at him again. And if he'd still been human he'd be terribly confused just then. But he's not human, and all it takes is one deep breath in through his nose and Stiles gets it. It's warmth and affection, and worry, and caring.

"Oh," he sighs, leaning in closer. He wants more of it. He presses even closer, sniffing the air, and Derek laughs, the full out belly laugh they've only rarely heard from him, but that's been more and more common as the last year has progressed.

"Yeah, oh," Derek mimics. He sits back in his seat. "Call your dad. I think we have some things to discuss. And you're likely not going to be home in time for dinner."

Stiles stays close, even as he sits back in his seat, his thigh is still pressed all along Derek's, and he doesn't make any move to pull away.

Ok, so he's a werewolf, and an alpha. But he still has Scott and the pack, and maybe, just maybe he's gaining a Derek too. And really that's a pretty fair deal.