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What but design of darkness to appal? If design govern in a thing so small.
-Design, Robert Frost.
In every civilization, even in the thick of the wild, there’s a chain of command, a power structure. The food chain for the wild, a hierarchy that sets the limits of each group of society. How much one can get away with, and how much one must fear. Despite is father being the Alpha, the leader of the whole pack and the strongest wolf, Stiles found himself at the bottom of the food chain, cowering behind the Alpha protected solely because of the fact that he was a prince. No one could hurt the prince. Or, rather, no one could hurt him intentionally. He’s trotting through the snow, paws sinking deep into the white ground leaving a little trail of paw prints, following his father to the hunt. The Betas’ hunt, that’s their position on the ranks. The Hunters. They provide food, they guard the young and the camp. The female Betas’ hunted too, despite being the mothers of the young ones, they were sent out into the wild. A few chosen Betas’ would stay back and nurse the children, but it was less of a day care and more of a training centre. The children were raised to be warriors, bite first ask questions later, they spent every waking hour learning to walk, then to run and then to fight. His father moves with purpose, shoulders set high and snout tilted upwards as though he was constantly scenting the sky, watching for foreign smells and ensuring that all his pack was still safe. He’s a picture of power- a large brown wolf that towered over Stiles, making Stiles and any other Beta look like a mere pup. The Leader. The Alpha’s were the leaders, commanders- respected above everyone else, a king of sorts. The Alpha was the most powerful, the strongest and the fiercest. They did not fight unless it was to protect the camp, that was their duty. The camp was under their protection, everyone was under their protection. The two reach the small clearing in which the Betas’ stand, assessing the food they’ve gathered. Their heads snap up at the sound of the approaching wolves, and eyes draw narrow at the sight of Stiles. Omega; worth and purpose unknown.
He slinks back, further behind his father, watching the Betas’ move their attention to John. The Alpha nods his approval, and they gather the food up with their teeth moving towards the camp to present the trainers and the young ones with food.
“What do you mean you’re going to marry me off?”
Livid, Stiles is livid. Through out his whole life there’s only been two people by his side; his father and his brother. The only two people who saw a sliver of worth in him, the only two people who considered him to be a person and not just cannon fodder or a dart board for insults. His whole world was constructed around these two people, his whole world consisted of these two people. All the others where nothing but specks in the periphery, cause had he given them any attention their cuts would turn into disembowelment. His whole world comes crashing down. From the corner of his eyes he can see Scott rear up, fists shaking.
“With all due respect Alpha, what the fuck?” his brother snarls, “Marry Stiles off? To whom? This pack, no offence, hates him. They treat him like dirt. They treat dirt better. Who are you going to marry him off to? They’ll hurt him!”
“That’s cause most dirt can be used to plant and for fertilizer,” Parrish whispers.
“Shut the fuck up, Parrish,” Scott growls, shoulders tensing.
Stiles falls down into a chair, staring blankly at his father’s frowning face. His husband would hate him. His husband would probably hurt him.
“Not of this pack.”
“What?” Scott says, though it’s not said and rather breathed out.
“He is to be married to someone not of this pack.”
There’s silence in the drawing room, heavy and laden with confusion and anger. Tension. There hadn’t been this much tension since the death of his mother, since his father had been flung less than gracefully into the position as a lone Alpha with an omega as a son and no anchor. Stiles had become that anchor, Stiles was his son- his only direct link to Claudia, considering the fact that Scott was of another. Stiles was his only reminder of her. He was his anchor. He didn’t know he was this replaceable. His father moves to sit down at his table, where his second man stands rigid in posture.
“So I won’t even know him?”
“Its a necessary bond, young Stilinski,” the second in command, Parrish, says.
“Our pack is strong, but not as strong as we used to be. We haven’t gotten any more weak, other packs have simply gotten stronger. This marriage is a bond.”
“So that’s all Stiles is to you? A pawn? A piece in a negotiation?”
“That’s what an Omega is,” Parrish replies, shoulders set firm.
Scott bristles with anger, Stiles steals a glance at his father. He wait a beat, waits for his father to protest. To correct Parrish. To change his mind. Nothing comes. Stiles walks out. He walks through the snow, towards the forest. He walks till he can’t hear the sound of Scott yelling, of his brother screaming at his father, of his father losing both of his sons and the last of his family. Of his world falling apart.
He finds out who he’s set to marry two days later, while he’s resting on a gurney, Scott by his side glaring at the Beta on the other bed. He’s gotten into fights before, all of which have been stopped by his father. Not by his father’s presence alone, but the knowledge that he’s a prince, his father’s first of kin, and the packs next heir. The news of his sale has spread through the workings of the pack, and he’s no longer the heir, therefore no longer protected. Greenberg had attacked him in the clearing. It was a tradition of sorts for Stiles and Scott to go hunting through the woods before the rest of the Betas’ began their hunt. Scott’s position as a beta meant he knew the woods well, knew where the prey hid. He was strong, destined to transition to an Alpha after John's passing, but Stiles was fast. Agile, nimble and quiet. Hares were his catch, he was fast enough to catch them and quiet enough not to alert them too early of his presence. Scott went for deer, and between the two of them they would have a fair catch. When they’d returned to the clearing, the rest of the Betas’ were they, still in human form, discussing their strategy for the hunt.
“Oh fuck, if it isn’t the Prince and his little bitch,” Greenberg laughed, crossing his arms.
Scott growled, dropping his feet and snarling. It didn’t faze the other Beta. Greenberg advanced towards them, laughing as he did, crouched in front of Stiles and flicked his nose. Stiles knew better than to fight back.
“Too weak to even defend yourself?” Greenberg laughed, but stepped back anyway.
He moved away from Stiles’ line of vision, yelling to the rest of the Betas’ about setting course for the hunt. Scott trotted out in front of Stiles, beckoning for him to follow. He felt it then; Greenberg’s foot colliding with his side, sending him down to the floor. In a second the Beta had gone full shift, leaping onto Stiles’ body with a snarl. Stiles kicked out, knocking Greenberg back before the larger wolf could land on him and scampering back to his feet. Greenberg snarled, the sound almost drowned out by the sound of Scott’s roar. Unfazed, the beta charged forward, tacking Stiles down to the ground. It was a mess of limbs and teeth. Kicks and claws and bites. The snow soaked up the blood, turning a faint shade of pink as they moved across the clearing. Greenberg bit down on Stiles’ arm, grinning around it maniacally. A louder roar sounded as Scott grew agitated, and Stiles could hear the second in which Scott’s teeth sunk down into the flesh of Greenberg’s back, yanking him back. Stiles felt the aching pull of his flesh as Greenberg’s teeth stayed secure in his arm through the pull. Underneath him, the snow turned a deep crimson, and his vision turned white.
Stiles shifts on the gurney. His father’s leaning on the doorframe, telling him who he’s going to marry like it’s a casual conversation as casual as What do you want for dinner or remember to drink water.
“The Hale pack are visiting tomorrow, and my son is on a gurney. It’s not the greatest first impression.”
Scott’s mouth falls open, Stiles can’t exactly blame him.
“The Hale pack?”
Greenberg attempts to sit up, the same expression of bewildered and shocked paints his face, “The actual Hale pack?”
John ignores the beta, opting instead to go into the details of the Hale Packs visit, how Stiles would have to be left out of it, meaning they would have to schedule a whole new second visit or Stiles would have to marry into the pack to a faceless husband. He’s talking, arms moving with his words, excitement clear as though he isn’t shipping off his son to an unknown person. He’s talking, but Stiles can’t hear him. Because tomorrow, their pack will be met with the Hale Pack. The Hale pack was like royalty. They rule the Preserve, the largest territory in the Hills; a place of sun and rain, of fields of flowers and bees, of warm days and cool nights. They didn’t just rule the preserve, the created it. The whole territory was as old as them. They were wonderful, every pack learnt of them through tales of the fair Queen and her enormous pack when they were too young to walk, and them through stories of the Hale Pack’s heroes when they were warriors preparing for the hunt. Everything changed with the Hunters attacked; the decimation. The whole pack wiped clean by hunters- Alpha Talia Hale and her children written out of tales, out of the preserve and out of power by the largest attack ever known. They left three children, young Alpha Derek Hale who was still a teenager struggling with puberty, and the two cubs too young to fight or fend for themselves Cora Hale and Malia Tate. He had been transferred the power, not born into the role of Alpha. The rest of the camp’s knew what that entailed. He would never perfectly fill in the role of a powerful Alpha, not without another to guide him. Thus began the War on the Hills. Packs swarmed down to the Preserve, and where the land was once kissed by the sun it was now kissed by spilt blood. Acres and acres of land fought over, some won and some lost. The land was never at peace. Alpha Derek Hale and the two cubs were never seen, assumed to be slaughtered as collateral damage. A flag was stuck into the ground and the Deucalion pack reigned over the land. It was a military rule, and the Preserve suffered. For years the rest of the packs had looked out at the Preserve, too scared to make a move yet still mourned the loss of the fabled land. For years people whispered stories of the Hale Pack rising back, in hope of turning their fiction into truth. Then one Tuesday, it happened. The Hale Pack returned. A strange mix of lone wolves, a pack expected to fail. A laughing stock. No one saw heroic stories within the new Hale Pack. No one saw greatness or power. No one saw a fairy tale. The Hale Pack won over the Preserve in less than a day, and the Deucalion Pack was no more.
The stories began again. The resurrection of the Hale Pack, stronger than before. A fortress, impenetrable. The strongest pack in the land, protected by the Preserve and protectors of the Preserve. Stories of warriors, of strength and courage, of the wonders of their Alpha and his rule over his prospering land.
Stiles knew all the stories, inside out. He told them to the cubs, he listened to them being told to the Hunters. He heard stories of their power and their greatness. So why would they want someone like Stiles? And if his pack was bad enough, how was he supposed to survive being on the lowest ring of the strongest and most ruthless pack ever known?
It’s time to choose a name, a role. Don’t play pretending games. Don’t play at schizophrenia...
- An introduction, Kamala Das.
The day of the visit rolls in, and Stiles is still trapped in the infirmary, lying useless on the bed with his arm propped up like a returning soldier. He’s embarrassed, to say the least. He can’t even get married properly. He has one purpose, and one purpose alone and he’s failed at that as well. It’s sickening. Enough to make him cry himself to sleep, then a little in the morning before the nurse rolls in, sneaking death glares at his frail body. He knows what she’s thinking. He knows what they are all thinking. He’s thinking the same thing. In the distance he can hear the sound of his father’s voice, and the sounds of a few unfamiliar voices as well. He hears them faintly, their speech incoherent due to distance. Then he smells them. The scent knocks him back, not because it smells bad nor because it smells good. He can’t tell if it smells good or bad- all he knows is that it smells foreign. Oh so foreign, and wrong. It’s surrounded by the smell of his pack, of home. Yet it’s bold enough to stand out, a stark dash of colour on their snow white camp. He feels sick. The nurse busies herself with patching up his arm, then leaves briskly. He’s alone. Scott had been called off to join his father with the visit. Reluctantly, Stiles supposes that at least one of the heirs should be there to make a good impression. If he seemed somewhat worthless to the Hale Pack before, he’s sure as hell to look utterly useless now. The nurse re-enters the infirmary with food and a glass of water, and sets them down before him. She offers him a fair smile, which is strange but chances are that she’s seen the terrifying individuals that make up the Hale Pack and now feels somewhat sympathetic towards him and his less than optimum future. With that knowledge mind, he chugs down the water and stares blankly at the food. The door to the infirmary opens slowly, and an unfamiliar face peeks in.
“Why is he on a hospital bed?” she says, frown partially covered by the blonde tresses that have fallen in front of her face.
The nurse is now standing stiffly in both shock and awe, and scrambles for words like she’s lost her grasp of the English language.
“A fight,” Stiles sighs, glancing briefly Nurse Marion who is still floundering, “Who are you?”
The girl steps in, crossing her arms over her chest, “The omega got into a fight?”
Stiles bristles, anger and shame settling deep in his stomach. He’s not sure which feeling wins the little battle it has.
“Who are you?” he repeats, tone icy, sitting up minutely straighter in a weak attempt to gain a semblance of authority.
“I'm Erica Reyes, Omega. I’m of the Hale Pack.”
“Oh,” Stiles squeaks out, because of course he’d gone and questioned a member of the Hale Pack with his most hostile tone, that’s just the kind of person he is, “You don’t smell like another pack.”
Because of course that’s what he chooses to say.
Reyes nods and point to a vial that hangs around her neck, “Your Alpha gave us a scent vial, so as not to disrupt the pack too much. Who would fight their Omega?”
“Can you cut it out?” he hisses, eyeing the scent vial.
Would he be given such a thing when he’s forcefully immersed into the Hale Pack, so that the scent of his home is drowned out? Forgotten?
Reyes frowns, then shrugs, “Didn’t mean to upset you. Just shocking.”
She moves further into the infirmary, and settles on a chair besides Stiles’ bed. She glances up at the nurse and deftly raises her eyebrows. Marion scurries out, grabbing his empty water glass as she goes. Stiles’ mouth has never felt drier.
“So you’re the famous Omega Stiles,” she grins, “What a name.”
“And you’re Beta Reyes,” he frowns, “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you before.”
Deep inside, he knows he’s doing everything wrong. He knows he’s meant to make a good impression. He knows he meant to be demure and offer up everything to Reyes, he knows there’s a heavy chance he’s meant to be married off to the girl. He knows that he’s doing the only thing expected of him wrong. But he can’t help it. Not with Reyes constant use of the word Omega, not with her implying that he can’t fight, that he shouldn’t fight.
Reyes laughed, “Call me Erica. I like you.”
“I’m so incredibly flattered,” he huffs, “What ever would I do without your approval?”
“Oh yeah,” she grins, “You’ll fit in perfectly.”
He hears an unfamiliar voice call for Reyes- Erica- from outside the infirmary. Erica perks up, still grinning, then leaps to her feet. She glances back down at Stiles, and for a moment another frown takes over her expression, but it’s gone in an instant. She flicks her blonde hair behind her shoulder then says,
“See you around, Omega Stiles,” and skips out the door.
“You too, who ever you are,” he hisses bitterly, because he knows only she can still hear him.
Because he knows it’s the only defence he has. Erica looks soft, but there’s unyielding strength hidden there. It’s terrifying. He can feel it when she moves. He can see it in every tug of lips and twitch of her eyebrows. If she’s a representation of the Hale Pack, he can understand where all the hero stories come from. There’s a vice like grip over his heart, and he can feel it cease it’s beating. His breathing grows laborious, heavy and slow. There’s no place for him in the Hale Pack. He’s an Omega. Not fit to fight. Not meant to fight. Put down on a bed after one single fight, only won by the interference of his brother. The Hale Pack were warriors. They didn’t want an Omega. There’s no place for him, not here nor in the Hale Pack. His feet move before his mind catches up. He’s out of the bed and the infirmary before the thought comes flooding into his mind. He needs to leave. He grabs his coat from the rack and shoves his bread roll into one of the pockets. Being rogue was better than being sold off to a pack that might kill him off. He glances around at the infirmary, one last look at home, then leaves.
Three days later, and he’s lost in the woods. He doesn’t know how much he ran, but his feet ache and he cannot smell his pack anymore. He cannot hear any body, cannot smell anything other than for the unfamiliar smell of unclaimed territory. He hears the crushing of leaves and snow and spins around to find a large black wolf eyeing him from a distance. Large is an understatement. The wolf is massive, eyes strikingly blue signifying the loss of an innocent. There’s a scar running down his back. A rogue. He doesn’t smell like pack, and he’s wondering through unclaimed woods. He’s probably feral, Stiles thinks to himself as he backs away. The wolf slowly advanced, raising his snout slightly to scent the air. He tilts his head, making him look lees like a terrifying apex predator and more like a confused and small creature. His ears flop down, and he crushes down, flopping on to the snow still staring at Stiles. He tilts his head again, assessing Stiles. Then in an instant he bounds away. Stiles releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and takes off in a run. His feet ache, and the startling unfamiliarity of the woods sinks into his skin, weakening him. First he smells the blood, stark against the smell of the earth and snow, then he hears the sound of leaves breaking and the snow being crushed. There’s a thud behind him. Hesitantly, Stiles slows to a stop, and glances behind him. In front of the black wolf is a deer, bleeding out on the snow. The wolf pushes it forward towards Stiles and then stares at him. He moves back, as if he were making room for Stiles to come forward. He knows it’s crazy, but he also knows he cannot even imagine outrunning such a large wolf. So he discards his clothes and shifts into his wolf form. He’s small in comparison; weak and worthless. He moves forward and looks down at the deer. The larger wolf grunts. It’s the first night he sleeps with his stomach full, and the first night he sleeps well, with the warmth of the rogue wolf surrounding him. Strangely, it feels like home.
Sudden he veiw'd, in spite of all her art, an earthly lover lurking at her heart.
- Rape of the Lock, Alexander Pope.
He wakes up to snow on his face. He’s still in wolf form, so it’s more on his snout than his face, but the sudden shock of cold wakes him up. Fear grips his heart. He should have known not to fall asleep with such a strange bedfellow. He scrambles up to his feet, staring at the black wolf in front of him.
The wolf however, has a grin on his face, and his paws buried deep in the snow. He yanks his paws put of the snow them giddily watches the snow fly up and land on Stiles. The realization comes as a shock; the wolf is playing. Retaliation is a game he knows well, Stiles thinks, and kicks snow towards the black wolf. There’s a slight tinge of worry that the play was meant to be one sided, but it’s soon drowned out him the black wolf's howl and reciprocation. The wolf leaps around Stiles, tossing snow up and burying his own snout in the ground. They spend the morning lazily playing with snow. Eventually, Stiles gets the brilliant idea to teach the wolf snow angels and grabs his clothes to go behind a tree. The wolf whines, loud and pitiful, as though the momentary loss of Stiles is a little too much to bear. Stiles grins and quickly dresses and re-emerges. The wolf yaps them stares with his head tilted to the side as Stiles gets down onto the snow and splats out his arms. The wolf watches intensely, cataloguing Stiles' every move. But it’s not with awe, it’s with worry. In an instant, the wolf is a man and is crouching over Stiles, gingerly touching his wounded arm.
“You’re hurt,” he whispers.
Stiles stares back, stunned into silence. The man is gorgeous. His body is planes of firm muscle, tinged with a slight tan so unfamiliar to Stiles’ native land that’s constantly buried under layers and layers of snow. He’s got a thick unruly head of hair, that Stiles is tempted to takes his fingers through, and his face is shadowed by a gentle dusting of deep black hair too that Stiles’ finds himself wanting to feel scrape against his skin. His eyebrows are thick, and held in a frown and Stiles desperately wants to see them raise with mirth, or relax with pliant bliss by Stiles’ doing. The realization that he wants this man- carnally, intimately- shocks him. He barely knows the man but he cannot deny his beauty.
“Omega, get up,” the man grunts.
The word cuts through Stiles’ daze. He backs up.
“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, venom apparent in his tone that rings colder than the snow that surrounds them.
“What?”
“Do not call me that.”
“What? Why not?” the man grunts again, the frowns, “You’re getting snow into your wounds.”
“Don’t call me Omega.”
“Why not?” the man bites out, “That’s what you are.”
“Don’t insult me,” Stiles replies, tone still icy despite the tears he can feel welling in his eyes, “Please. Don’t.”
“Insult you? How so?”
“I know what it means to be an Omega-,”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Don’t patronise me.”
“I am not!” the man yells, a voice clearly of an Alpha’s and it echoes through the woods, “Why are you so insulted by the title?”
“Omega?” Stiles spits out, “It’s useless.”
The man yanks Stiles off the floor. He’s naked, he realizes with horror, and quickly sheds his coat to offer to the man.
“I’m fine,” the man grunts, “You need it more.”
“Why? Because I’m such a goddamn weak omega? You’re naked!”
“I’m sorry, is my dick offending you?”
“Oh god,” Stiles groans, averting his eyes.
There’s a gentle whisper, almost inaudible, “Omegas are not weak.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said Omegas are not weak. You might be, but Omegas are not. And I doubt you’re weak.”
“Omegas are not-,”
“Weak,” the man interrupts, slouching down to the ground, leaning back on a tree, “My father was an omega. He was the backbone of the pack. Sure my mother was strong. A leader. But my father nurtured us. Raised us. Taught us. Loved us. He was a real man. Taught me everything I know.”
Stiles chews down on his lip, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are so insistent that an Omega is weak?”
Sighing, he sinks down to the floor beside the man, keeping his eyes trained on the sky to avoid his bareness.
“It’s all I’ve ever known. I’m useless.”
“Useless?”
“Not a warrior for sure.”
“Yes,” the man nods, “most often than not, they are not warriors. But they are nurturing. Kind. Important.”
“Nurturing? Kind? Nurturing and Kind doesn’t bring food to a table.”
“Pack isn’t just about food,” the man laughs, but strangely enough it does not feel like mockery, “pack is about unity. Family. Omega’s protect the family. Raise children and teach them to love. It’s one of the most important parts of a pack. Maybe the most important.”
Its Stiles’ turn to laugh, “The most important is the Alpha.”
The man glances down at Stiles with a faint smile, “An alpha is nothing without an omega. An omega is an Alpha’s anchor. Guide. Friend. Lover.”
There’s weight in the word lover. Weight that should scare him. Weight that should send him running from a man he doesn’t even know. But it holds nothing but comfort. The man, despite being a stranger, feels like home. He smells safe. His warmth is safe. His words are words Stiles has never heard before. Tears rolls down his cheek, both warm and cold at the same time.
“Don’t cry,” the man says hurriedly, wiling gently at his tears, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t. It’s not you. You haven’t. I’ve just never heard that before.”
“God, what kind of hell do you live in?” the man says in a whisper Stiles is sure he wasn’t meant to hear, but their proximity allows him.
They are seated arms pressed into each other, transferring warmth as the man gently wipes Stiles’ tears away.
“We call our omegas by their title always. It’s disrespectful not to. Like it’s disrespectful not to address an alpha as such. Their ranking is similarly important.”
Absentmindedly, Stiles thinks of Reyes and the way she always called him omega. He wonders if all packs are like this. If all packs mean it out if respect. His doesn’t.
“You are.”
“I am? I am what?”
“Important. And beautiful. Great. You are great. Brilliant even.”
They fall asleep like that, side by side, with his hands still caressing Stiles’ face gently.
He wakes up to the sound of howls and the smell of his pack. He gasps, shooting up straight and shaking the rogue alpha.
“We have to go, we have to run,” he groans, tears burning at his eyes.
The alpha wakes up startled, immediately taking a defensive stance.
“No! We have to run!”
It’s too late. Stiles can hear his pack closing in. He can hear his father yell. He can hear Scott’s voice, smell the scent of the pack.
“Stiles!” his father yells, breaking into the small clearing where Stiles and his rogue alpha sit.
The rest of the pack follow, some in wolf form and some in human. The rogue alpha bristles, standing up straight, unfazed but the fact that he’s stark naked in front of strangers.
“Alpha Hale,” his father stammers, “You’re naked.”
Stiles can feel his eyes widen in shock as he steals a glance at the rogue alpha. No. At Alpha Hale. The man he’d slept by, stolen warmth from. Alpha Derek Hale.
“Had to shift,” he shrugs, catching the pair of pants Scott tosses over effortlessly.
“You found my son.”
“Two nights now.”
There’s anger visible in his father’s eyes, “And you decided not to bring him back immediately?”
“How? Drag a man against his will? If he wanted to be there with you, he wouldn’t have run away,” the fire Alpha Hale’s tone matches the tone of his fathers, maybe even rivals.
Out from the throng of wolves, a reddish brown wolf steps out and moves towards Alpha Hale. The wolf is a Beta, smaller than Alpha Hale but impressive and with a unique sleek coat. The wolf smells of home- not like his pack, but like Alpha Hale. More wolves move forward; one large and brown and one he assumes to be Erica. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of human feet crunching through the snow as Scott moves to join the wolves by Alpha Hale’s side.
“Stiles is joining my pack, where he belongs. Where he will be treated as he should be. With respect. As any should be. He may join irrelevant of if he wishes to marry me or not.”
Stiles stares at Alpha Hales back in shock, trying to process the words. He knows there’s more being said, challenges being made. He can hear words being tossed around.
“Scott, get back here,” his father demands.
“No,” the boy says, standing with his shoulders set firm, “No. You’re going to sell him off? Alpha Hale is right, they treated him like shit and you did nothing. I can’t always protect him but they can. But if Stiles is going, I am too. I told you, and I meant it. When you made the decision to marry off one of your sons, you lost both.”
Stiles flushes, and stares at Scott unsure of what to do, “Scott-,”
“Don’t fight this Stiles. You’re my brother. It’s my duty to protect you.”
“The boy's more than welcome in my pack,” Alpha Hale glances at Scott, “Granted that that’s what makes Stiles happy.”
The Hale Pack turn to look at Stiles, and unable to form words he simply nods. Nods till his head feels like is about to fall.
“Its settled then. You can attempt to fight us, but I ensure you, you will not win. My pack is close by, and while we may not outnumber you, we will win. We always win. And we will fight for the Omega and his brother.”
Reluctantly, John makes a stiff gesture, and the Stilinski pack move back, creating an opening for the Hale Pack to leave. The wolf he assumes to he Erica nudges him forward and he quickly runs so that’s he beside Alpha Hale as they walk out. From the edges of the clearing more wolves pour out from the shadows, and flank the four of them as they leave. Stiles hadn’t even know they were there, and upon noticing their hides covered with moss realizes that they had masked their scent so that the Stilinski pack wouldn’t notice them either.
“Alpha Hale,” he whispers, “I can’t thank you enough-,”
“No.”
“What?”
“I mean, call me Derek.”
“Oh right. Okay, Derek,” Stiles tests the way the name rolls off his tongue, “I still can’t thank you enough-,”
“You don’t have to. And I’m serious, you don’t have to marry me.”
“I... I was being married off to you?”
“Yes?”
“I assumed it’d be a Beta,” Stiles shrugs.
“An Omega is second in command,” Derek chuckles, “Your father too suggested a beta. I now understand why. Ridiculous, really.”
“I want to.”
“What?”
“I think I want to,” Stiles frowns, “Want to marry you. Eventually. Not yet. Maybe court me? If you want. Do Alphas court Omegas?”
Derek laughs, “I’ll court Stiles, if you don’t mind. While the Omega is great, I think I may like Stiles more. I may like him enough to learn to love him too.”
Stiles can feel himself blush, and tries to hide it by turning away. He catches the eyes of the wolf he assumes to be Erica, who grins at him in a show of way too many teeth. There’s a comfortable silence as the pack moves towards their camp.
“Can I call you Derek too?” Scott pipes up.
“No. You call me Alpha Hale,” Derek grunts.
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I did till we loved
- Good Morrow, John Donne.
Far far away, there’s a land of sun. Of fields of flowers and bees and butterflies. There’s endless warm days and cool nights. The sun kisses every inch of the land, even the brook that babbles down through the hills. The fields are endless, grass a deep green and trees reaching high up towards the sky, mingling with the Gods.
Even in the peaceful expanse of the field, there’s a chain of command.
There are the Betas.
Lydia is smart, smarter than any wolf he’s ever know. She plans the hunt, and she plans each hunt perfectly like each hunt is it’s own war. She values every strength and every weakness of every pack member;
Malia is reckless. A wildling, untamed. She’s unpredictable and rarely follows orders .Cora is ruthless, cunning and one of the strongest betas. She leads each attack, she knows the land for she is of the land. Boyd is the strongest, almost as powerful as an Alpha, and he’s loyal to word. A stickler for command, and follows a plan perfectly. His strength is closely followed by Jackson, who’s brute force comes from arrogance, and if not treated as invaluable will not perform as such. There’s Isaac, who moves softly, and is most often used to distract the prey so that the others can attack. The most nimble and agile of the Betas’ is Erica, who is quick, in and out of the hunt in a second. And there’s Scott, who leads beside Cora, soft spoken but strong, for alpha blood runs through his veins. His Alpha blood did not gain him any favours, and he had to fight his way to the top. Prove his way up. But he loves it. Loves the knowledge that his worth is something he earned, not something that was thrust upon him.
There are the younger betas, fighters without sure positions, but just as strong, just as loyal. Just as much pack as the rest of them.
Then there’s their Alpha, a wild mixture of anger and gentleness. Loving and harsh. He trains with an iron fist, does not let them up till they are perfect. But his character changes completely in the face of the pups; agreeable and giddy, telling them about the mystical thing that is snow.
There’s also their Omega. Kind and nurturing. The first one they go to when they are sad, or in trouble. The fist one they protect, not because he’s weak but because he’s important. An anchor not just to the Alpha but to the pack.
These are the protectors of the Preserbe, each one knows their worth. Their purpose. It’s not just to hunt, or to nurture or to lead. It is to be a family, be a pillar of comfort for each and everyone. It is to be loved and to love in return.
These are the stories of the Hale Pack. Their heroes, and their family.
I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body.
- Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda
There’s sunlight kissing the pale skin of Stiles arm from where it’s stretched out over the sheets. Something grips at his heart, almost choking him. He can hear her voice, drifting down from the sky into the room, guided by the rays of the sun. He’s perfect, She would say, and it’s love you feel, darling. Gripping at your heart, down in your toes, burning at your finger tips, filling up your lungs. That’s love. He moves towards the bed, watching the Omega’s chest rise and fall with each breath. He feels ridiculous. Had this been two years ago, he would have felt weak. Like the thought of having someone who can break his every wall, mend his every wound would make him weak. The thought that he would die for someone, refuse to live in a world without just this one person would make him weak. And maybe it does. But it also makes him stronger. Stiles makes him stronger. Stiles makes him better. Anchors him, calms him, guides him and loves him. The bed dips down as he climbs up onto it and moves to trail kisses down Stiles arms. It’s been two years since he found Stiles in the woods, two years since he brought Stiles and his brother to the Preserve, two years since he let this beautiful man into his heart to mend it. But Stiles hasn’t just mended it, always the overachiever, Stiles had made it new again. Transformed it. The man shifts, blearily opening his eyes.
“So much light, Derek,” he groans, “Close the curtains.”
“Get up sleepy head,” Derek mumbles into Stiles’ neck, “I have to ask you something.”
“You may not give me head as soon as I wake up I’ll pass out right back to sleep and lose half the day,”. Stiles groans, “And Erica will make fun of me because she knows what we’re up to every time we miss breakfast and I’m not saying I’m ashamed, but having your betas know I’m having awesome morning sex isn’t always fun. Actually, no yeah it’s awesome. Fine let’s do it. Let’s get a load of some hot morning sex.”
Derek laughs into his neck, then sits up a little straighter, “Its not about sex. But maybe we can get back to that later.”
“Oh,” Stiles frowns, and pulls himself up to a seated position, “What is it big guy?”
“Well,” Derek clears his throat, glancing at the window to avoid Stiles’ large brown eyes that bore into his soul, “Two years ago I found you, and you didn’t know your worth. How important you are. How irreplaceable. You like to say I taught you just how much you’re worth. But to me, you taught me how much I’m worth.”
“What-,”
“Let me finish. Please.”
“Okay, yeah sorry. Go on. Floor will be open for questions later.”
Derek chuckles, “I knew my worth as Alpha. But not as Derek. Not as a person, just a person. Title aside. But through these two years you’ve taught me how to love not only others but myself too. I lost my parents young, I forgot what I meant. I forgot that. You reminded me. You snuck into my veins and now you’re there. And I can’t get you out and I don’t want to. I want you forever, I want you to keep teaching me things and I want to help you learn too. I want to become better everyday and you help me do that. God, I love you so much. My family would have too. They would have adored you. You’re everything I dreamed of in a lover, a friend, a guide, an anchor. I don’t have a ring, or rather, Erica is still getting my mother’s old ring cleaned, but I can’t wait any longer. Omega Stiles, will you marry me?”
There’s a heavy silence, and Derek looks back at Stiles. There’s tears in his eyes, and his hands cover the rest of his face. He’s fucked up. God he has fucked up.
“Oh, right, Yes!”
“What?”
“Yes! Gosh yes, of course yes! Did you think I was going to say no? Gosh you loon, come here. Come here Der,” Stiles rushes, seemingly not stopping for a breath as he pulls Derek in and presses their lips together.
The kiss is both soft and hard at the same time. He crowds Stiles against the headboard, hands cupping his face and he moves from his lips to lock away the tears that stain his cheeks and then down to his neck while Stiles mumbles out a litany of I Love Yous.
And suddenly, they have everything Derek longed for. A family. A home. Love. He can hear his mother’s voice, gentle and soft, say, I’m proud of you darling. And just like that his entire world comes crashing back into place.