Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alpha LT Derek Hale was having a bad day. Actually, no, that was an understatement. It was just before dawn and cold enough to freeze a wolf's balls off, the first new set of recruits for the year was coming in and Laura's unit had gone missing behind enemy lines two hours ago. What idiot up the chain of command had sent the senior Alpha of a training camp into active combat anyway? On the day before fresh meat arrived, no less. The incompetence of the Leadership was only surpassed by their arrogance and Derek growled under his breath.

He had been supposed to ship out with an alpha spec ops unit at 0900 but now he was the only alpha available for training and the new wolves needed more than just someone to show them the ropes. They needed pack, at least for the first few weeks, or the Leadership might as well serve them up to the lizards on a silver platter.

Following the habit of a bad day getting worse, Derek found his office occupied by the last person he wanted to see. He saluted sharply and barked out a “Sir!” even as his stomach tightened with fury. If anyone was responsible for this rabbitfuckery, it was Alpha General Hale: his good for nothing uncle Peter, who thought that smirking and sass were the only proper ways to communicate. It had grated before the war and it was insufferable now.

“Derek, just the wolf I wanted to see.” Derek had the urge to punch his smarmy face in, but instead he stood at rest and let his uncle soliloquize at him. “Too bad about your assignment, I'm sure the opportunity will come around again.”

Derek's eye twitched. “Sir, what's the sit rep on Alpha Captain Hale?”

“Oh, Laura! That's why I came to talk to you. They've found three members of her unit twenty k south-west of her last known location.”

“Have they given any useable intel?”

Peter grinned. “I'd certainly consider it interesting, if not particularly enlightening in any pragmatic sense. They weren't all that chatty, having been disemboweled and all.”

Derek swallowed hard, overwhelmed with a bone-deep fear that history was repeating itself. His father had gone MIA six years ago while on mission with an Alliance team. His mother had died a month later, mounting an unsanctioned rescue. Kate Argent, the operative they had originally intended to remove from lizard captivity had turned out to be a double agent. And one of the worst choices Derek had ever made.

“Sir, Captain Hale could still be alive. I want to be on the rescue team.”

“You? No, Derek, you're needed here. There is nothing more valuable than the young, malleable bodies and minds that come through here. Considering Laura's disappearance and the needs of the continued war effort, your assignment has been made permanent. Congratulations, Alpha Captain Hale, you are now senior training officer of Camp Triskelion.”

Derek restrained himself from assaulting a superior officer, but barely. Peter playing mind games and fucking over his family was nothing new, but this was Laura's life on the line. Derek wasn't going to play along this time.

“I'm not letting you sacrifice her for one of your mad schemes, Sir.”

Peter grinned. “I'm not particularly fond of our government's conscription policy regarding werwolves, but it does allow me to give you orders and you will obey them, no matter what you think, Captain Hale.” Sidling closer, Peter whispered the last words in a deceptively gentle tone. Derek could feel hot breath on his cheek. “Don't involve yourself in matters that are beyond you, nephew. Laura was always the brains in your duo. I wouldn't want you to strain yourself.”

Derek swallowed the angry retort and nodded harshly. He'd understood. This wasn't a coincidence. Wherever Laura was right now, she was exactly where Peter wanted her to be.

+

The recruits arrived in re-purposed public transport gliders, looking exactly like wild-eyed youths on a field trip, excited and maybe a little bit scared. Derek narrowed his eyes at the list of names flickering on his tablet. Most of them were volunteers, humans who'd chosen the bite to serve their country and escape whatever hell was worse than this. Most humans went into the Alliance support services, intelligence or operations, where their physical handicaps were not an issue and they could retain their humanity. To choose the bite was to choose a military life, forever. There was no retiring for a wolf.

Born wolves were drafted when puberty made them unable to hide their true nature and they left the service with their feet first. Derek hadn't had an opinion on that until his family was decimated by friendly fire. Literally, in some cases. These days he just hated everything on principle.

There were some oddities on his list of recruits. Two turned wolves who hadn't been bitten as a requisite of signing up, but ahead of time under suspicious circumstances. Sometimes these were cases of puppy love or family obligation – a human who chose to be bitten and the service came as the price, not the other way around. It was a rare occurrence, because most people would rather not go to war against super-powered lizard creatures if they could help it.

And sometimes the bitten had not been given a choice at all. Derek shuddered at the thought of such a violation. The bite was a gift, but to force it on the unsuspecting was abhorrent and made their nature into a mockery, a curse.

As his new recruits lined up for inspection, Derek found himself distracted by a discordant scent. Something sour-sweet, like rotting fruit. He walked slowly down the line, sizing them up, as he gave them the introduction to military life in the Corps.

“You have chosen to serve your world in a battle for survival. The Corps will be your pack. You will live for the Corps and you will die for the Corps. We serve the state, along with the Alliance, and will ensure final victory against the kanima.”

Twenty paces from him, some joker coughed out a “bullshit” behind his hand. Derek narrowed his eyes. There was always one, some kid who didn't believe in the war, who thought that this conflict could be solved by the power of love. The idealists never lasted – either they adjusted their convictions or the Leadership made sure they saw the full extent of the lizards' power. Not many idealists survived such a mission, and none of their idealism ever did.

Derek came to a halt in front of the boy. He couldn't be older than sixteen, maybe seventeen at the most. “Is something funny,” he checked his tablet, “Mr. Stilinski?”

The kid had close-cropped hair and the eyes of prey, wide and dark. He didn't look scared, too much bravado and not enough respect turning his expression into a challenge. “Nope. Nothing funny here, nothing at all.”

Derek let his eyes flash red. “You will address me as 'Sir' or 'Alpha' at all times, runt.”

“Hey, who are you calling runt, you Chippendales reject?” For a moment, after Stilinski blurted out his death wish, everyone was dead silent, holding their collective breath waiting for Derek's wrath to come down on this idiot. Derek blinked. It wasn't a formal challenge, but it was enough.

Derek roared and everyone instinctively stepped back, some even dropped to the ground. Except for Stilinski, who stood there with his head cocked and a crooked grin making him look like a wicked elf. “That's pretty cool, how did you do that?”

“I'm the alpha,” Derek said, a little confused, but no less smug about the effect he had on his wolves. He crowded closer, grabbing Stilinski's government issue shirt and pulling him in. He meant to unleash the full power of the alpha on him, maybe even knock him out with it, but that's when the smell was strongest, flowery and sweet. Human.

Derek recoiled. “What?”

If he hadn't been sure before, the look of sudden guilt and fear on Stilinski's face would have confirmed it. The boy was human. “Hey, uh, sir... Mr. Alpha, I'm not-”

Derek lunged forward and grabbed the idiot by the back of the neck, pulling him close enough to bite. “You are going to the admin building and you will tell one of the betas there that you're to be disciplined by me. Wait and don't do anything else stupid, if you can manage it.”

Stilinski swallowed, nodding furiously. “Yeah, okay, sure. I can do that.”

For a moment, Derek watched the boy run and stumble his way to his doom, and then he turned. “The rest of you, how is it that none of you noticed the stink of human in your ranks?”

He scanned the lines, but none of his recruits were looking at him. There was one, though, one who tried to make himself as small as possible. He checked the listing, and of course, McCall and Stilinski had both come in as pre-bitten wolves. Idiots.

“McCall, tell me you're not just as stupid as your friend.”

McCall winced. “No, sir. Not that stupid.” He smelled like wolf and kind of familiar.

“Good.” He raised his voice. “Now listen up, pups. McCall here is going to lead you in an endurance exercise. You will run and you won't stop. I don't want to see any of you here until the dinner bell.”

He watched them scramble until the last one disappeared into the woods and then he glanced down at his tablet again. Stilinski. There was a story there, but Derek had a feeling he really didn't want to know. It could only make his life more complicated.

+

In the main office, Stilinski had somehow slipped behind Derek's new desk, holding his hands out in a defensive gesture as Peter advanced on him. Derek sighed.

“What's going on here? I thought you would be back at headquarters by now. Sir.”

Peter grinned back at him. “And miss this most delicious of spectacles? You must be joking. I offered your friend the bite, by the way, but he seems strangely reluctant to accept the gifts of the Corps.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “If you hadn't scared him half to death, he might have told us about his reasons.”

At that, Stilinski perked up. “Uh, you know that I can hear you, right? All you gotta do is ask.”

Narrowing his eyes, Derek sized up the kid. He was lean, relatively tall for his age, hair cut close to his skull even beyond what the grooming standard demanded. He looked like trouble. “Explain yourself, Stilinski,” Derek said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, uh, funny story that. Did you know that there's no rule that says I have to take the bite to join the Corps? I just told them I was covered and no one even thought to check me out.”

Derek covered his face with his palm, rubbing the root of his nose in the face of this ridiculousness. “Why didn't you just join the Alliance? Smart kid like you, would have been easy to get a spot in the air force or intelligence.”

Stilinski sighed. “Look, I'm not actually all that fond of the idea of being a soldier, alright? My friend Scott ran into one of your rogues-” Stilinski made sarcastic air quotes around the word. “-and I wasn't going to let him get killed because I dragged him out of the house on a full moon night.”

A rogue alpha was trouble. Derek shook his head. It probably wasn't a rogue at all – the Leadership had recently been complaining that recruitment was down across the board, but especially in the Corps. For some reason the citizens didn't particularly like the idea of signing up for a lifetime of service when there was a war on that could well cut that time short by a number of years. “So you'll take the bite.”

Stilinski shook his head, eyes going flinty like brushed steel. “No.”

“You can't expect to serve the way you are,” Derek said. “You'll be a liability in every way.”

Peter laughed, because Peter was an asshole. “But the boy is right. The codes don't mention a species requirement, probably because no one has yet been stupid enough to try. It does, however, sound like a fascinating experiment.”

Derek glared at his uncle. “We'll have to have a medic on staff. He'll need different rations.”

Shrugging with a grin on his lips, Peter looked very much like the proverbial wolf. “Deaton will be delighted with the challenge, I'm sure, and we can requisition the food from the Alliance training camp across the river.”

There really was no arguing with one of Peter's schemes. “Sir,” he said. “If that's what you want.”

Stilinski had made himself small like a cornered rabbit, but at Derek's resigned tone he perked right up, nodding. Peter laughed again. “It's going to be an interesting season, Captain Hale. Interesting indeed.”

Derek could only think that it sounded a lot like a curse.

+

They did endurance training for the sake of tradition, mostly; running miles more to clear their heads and bond the pack than anything else. Stilinski wasn't in terrible shape, apparently thanks to his dreams of being a star player in his school's lacrosse team one day. Well, Derek felt a fair bit of vindictive satisfaction at the fact that this bubble had well and truly burst.

“You are a miserable excuse for a soldier, Stilinski,” Derek observed as he paced the kid. Everyone else was a good two miles ahead, far enough that they wouldn't be able to hear them, not even McCall who was uncannily tuned into his friend's voice and heartbeat.

Stilinski huffed, breathing in too hard, too shallow gasps. He was really depriving himself with that technique, but Derek didn't feel charitable enough to tell him. They'd discuss the performance of the day before lights-out, with the rest of the pack for maximum humiliation. “Yes,” Stilinski gasped out between breaths, “well. At least. I'm not. A monster.”

Derek growled, the alpha instinct chafing under Stilinski's irreverence. “You'll fail and you know it. Why don't you do everyone a favor and give up? Or take the bite, I don't really care which.”

But Stilinski put on a pathetic second burst of speed, more like a stumble than anything, still going after his pack mates. It was cruel to needle him more, make him talk when all his reserves should go to his heart and Derek almost felt sorry for the kid. Almost. Because Stilinski was a mouthy little brat and wouldn't let someone else get the last word.

“'M not. Leaving. Until we can all. Go home.”

Stilinski was so preoccupied that he didn't see Derek stumble, come to a halt and look after him, which was probably for the best. Derek stared at the heaving, miserable creature making his way after the pack and for a moment his chest felt tight and hot, like his own breath had somehow been stolen.

“What are you?”

+

The written assignments, given under duress and sleep deprivation, were a way to test and train the soldiers' concentration under extreme circumstances. They needed to be able to relay, remember and carry out orders even under fire, even with the world going to hell around them. Humans tended to do better with the auditory and visual distractions, because their senses were less sharp and needed fewer filters.

Stilinski apparently didn't have any filters.

Derek stared at the essay, then he stared up at the soldier in question. “The history of the male circumcision?”

Stilinski had the good grace to look guilty. “Yes, uh, Deaton may have mentioned that I have ADHD? He's giving me my pills, but that's just for everyday stuff. You're lucky I didn't write a diatribe on Mozart's lifetime achievements and why Wagner was an ass. Music history is like a soap opera, dude.”

They'd blasted classical music into the writing room as a distraction. “But circumcision?” Derek blinked. He was letting the insolence go because part of his brain was still trying to figure out how one got from The Art of War to snipping off someone's bits. Alright, so maybe there was a certain overlap, but really.

Stilinski shrugged. “I probably couldn't replicate it either, but I promise it made sense at the time.”

“You were very thorough.”

“I get interested in random things and then I'm like a dog with a bone. No offense.” He was smirking, a challenge that was difficult to ignore.

“And you are interested in cock,” Derek said, calmly, like it was any other subject. His tone wasn't in the least playful, not even if he felt the urge to grin. Not at all.

Stilinski blushed extensively, the red coloring high on his cheeks and trailing down the side of his throat. “Uhm, I think that is probably none of your business. Sir.”

Derek tapped the essay with his knuckles. “Just an observation, recruit.”

“Ah,” Stilinski said. “Right. Of course. The essay about chopping off bits of penis.”

Derek grinned. “Indeed.”

“Can I be excused now, Sir? The others are having dinner.”

Of course they were. Derek narrowed his eyes. There were a few rules in the Corps that were vital for the functioning of the pack. Bonding time could not be cut short for convenience and the meals were an essential part of it. A pack that fed together, survived together. Instead of those that went to their own little corners, snapping at each other for scraps.

Derek couldn't ask outright, because if he did, he would have to start punishing people and he didn't want to break any bones over a puny human. And maybe that was the problem. “Go get some chow,” he said, dismissing the kid.

Stilinski jumped up and saluted halfheartedly, already flailing in the direction of the door. With his hand on the lock panel, he turned and grinned at Derek. “Just so you know, I'm not picky when it comes to essay subjects.”

Derek watched him slip out and wondered what he'd done in a past life to deserve any of this. Probably genocide or other mass murder. Blasphemy. Something that really pissed off the gods.

+

Fraternization wasn't officially encouraged, but the Leadership had been obvious in their desire to raise more pups into the service. If pack mates found some solace in each other, it was a welcome addition to the pack bond. Derek himself had never found anyone worth the hassle, not since Kate Argent betrayed them all. She'd been gorgeous, strong, and utterly terrifying.

Erica Reyes was wild and beautiful, filled to the brim with sexual energy and sass. She commanded everyone's attention, even dressed down in the same fatigues everyone else had to wear. Derek could appreciate her power even as he found himself completely immune to her charms. Some of the kids were not so lucky, however. Vernon Boyd and Isaac Lahey kept shooting her distracted, starstruck glances and Derek would have done something if their performance had suffered, but the competition seemed to push them to achieve more, run faster, be stronger.

Derek watched the pack at play; the short time between morning runs and whatever was on the agenda for the day usually reserved for friendly scuffles and a little bit of dominance. McCall had them under control in unexpected ways, leading with a smile instead of a snarl. He was a natural leader and definitely alpha material, if he could somehow get a grip on the more theoretical aspects of leadership. His interest in werewolf lore and the theory of warfare was dismal.

It was McCall's fault that Derek hadn't noticed the rift in the pack before. Because McCall treated his friend like one of the pack, Derek had missed that Stilinski hadn't integrated into the unit at all. The others ignored the human, bristled at his advances and generally treated him like an unwelcome guest. Derek understood, even as it made his own job significantly harder. Humans were almost as dangerous to a wolf as the lizards and even though most of his recruits were turned, none of them had ever had much love for humanity, growing up poor or mistreated, willing to do anything to be something else. Something stronger.

He whistled to get the pack's attention and everyone perked up, except Stilinski, who deliberately looked away. Derek couldn't tell if it was meant as a challenge or simply an expression of his potential omega status. “Recruit Stilinski, to me. Everyone else, I want to see you on that obstacle course in five.”

Stilinski looked darkly puzzled, like he didn't know what to expect but knew it couldn't be good. Derek sighed inwardly. “I'm not going to rip your throat out, relax.”

“Excuse me if I don't find that particularly soothing, Sir.”

Derek snarled. “It's not my job to play nursemaid to you, recruit.”

Stilinski rolled his eyes, but there was something like fear in his stance. He flinched when Derek leaned closer. “No, but it is your job to make sure we're all in fighting shape, isn't it?” Derek allowed him the point with a nod. “Then you need me almost as much as I need you. To keep Scott alive, I mean. That's why I need you.”

The words filtered into Derek's brain, but didn't crystallize into anything that made sense. “McCall is doing fine.”

Stilinski snorted a laugh, incredulity dominating his expression. “Yeah, right. That just tells me you don't know my buddy Scott very well. He can't survive without me, okay. We're a team.”

“I seem to remember you telling me that it was your fault he was bitten in the first place.”

Stilinski blushed. “Yeah, well, I can't be right all the time and we were so goddamn bored in that town. We were looking for an adventure.”

“Looks like you found one.”

Huffing and hunching his shoulders, Stilinski withdrew into his shell. “Joke's on us, I guess.”

“War is no joke, kid. Why don't you just go back and finish school, become a citizen? You'll be safe and you might even do some good with that brain of yours.” It wasn't that Derek cared about this kid, not any more than he sort of cared about everyone in a 'you're more useful alive than dead' way, but things would just be easier if this was no longer a problem. He was still no closer to finding out what had happened to Laura and this was a complication he didn't need.

Stilinksi shrugged. “We can't always pick and choose, can we? I'll do my best to stay out of your way, but I am staying. I can't... I can't leave Scott, not after causing all this.”

Derek grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him in. “You are going to pull your weight, Stilinski. If that means I have to teach you myself, I will.”

“Teach me what ?” Stilinski squeaked.

“How to survive against creatures that are much stronger and faster than you and whose wounds heal within minutes. If you're going to be part of the pack, they can't worry about your safety, not any more than they would about anyone else.”

Stilinski laughed. “Right. And what do I do when I am face to face with one of the kanima? Close my eyes and pray?”

Derek sighed, releasing his hold on the human. “No. You'll learn how to predict where they'll strike and you'll learn not to be there.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Stilinski was still obviously confused, but no longer quite so fatalistic. If only Derek could borrow some of that faith. Even a wolf was outmatched one to one against a lizard – the most important thing he could teach the kid was how to run away efficiently, and if Derek knew anything about Stilinski at all, it was that his survival instinct was a little on the underdeveloped side.

“Okay, then. Remedial combat lessons with Papa Wolf, I can do that.” Stilinski smirked. “Sir.”

Derek was getting the feeling that whatever bad karma had gotten him to this point, he would be paying for his mistakes for a long time. He thought of Kate and almost thought he'd gotten away easy.

+

Stilinski had some basic skill in close quarters combat. He had blamed the frequent encounters with bullies early in his life, but Derek could see the history of his failed attempts at learning to fight in the flow of his movements. He'd had the usual training – kung fu, karate, kick boxing, the ones propagated by movies about pups becoming alphas, losers becoming heroes – but not much of it, maybe a few lessons worth each, probably until his teachers had decided to cut him loose rather than deal with the smart mouth and the flailing limbs.

Stilinski got distracted, but more than that, he was fidgety and had trouble directing his kicks and punches where they should be. His limbs shook with a slight tremor at the edge of a movement and it was enough of a problem that Derek consulted Deaton about it late one night, but it turned out that his medical history hadn't been kind on his musculature or his brain. For Stilinski, the precise, controlled movements that made up the dance of a martial art would always be slightly beyond reach. But he tried. He tried until he couldn't breathe, bucking under Derek's weight as he was once again laid out on the practice mats.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Stilinski said, grinning madly and breathing like Wolf Vader. “For your information, I don't put out on the first date if it involves physical violence as foreplay. Or any of the dates. I'm not really into that sort of thing.”

Derek sighed and pushed himself up, offering a hand to pull Stilinski to his feet. It was, perhaps, progress that Stilinski didn't just ignore him. “You're not improving,” Derek said without ire. It would be Derek's failure if Stilinski couldn't be taught and it wasn't for lack of enthusiasm or dedication.

“Yeah, well, you suck at people skills.”

Crossing his arms, Derek glared at his recruit. “It wasn't a critique. We will just have to find another technique, something that complements you rather than trying to change you. I have to teach you to survive and we do not have much time.”

Stilinski cocked his head as if listening to something inside his head. He was quiet like that, less animated, and starkly beautiful. Derek had no use for the observation but he couldn't deny its validity. “What about weapons? My dad's a policeman and I've handled guns before.”

Weapons. That could work. It might give Stilinski the stability he needed. “Yes, that might work, but no guns. Something else, a staff perhaps, or a sword.”

“Wait, what? How is it a good idea to give the spastic kid something sharp to cut himself with? Are you just trying to get me killed now so you can be rid of me?”

Derek grinned. “If I wanted that, I would just rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

Stilinski squeaked, but Derek had the feeling that they were getting somewhere, both with the training and the pack bond. Stilinski didn't smell like fear at all.

+

Alliance soldiers in the camp never meant anything good. Whenever they came in person, the spies and researchers usually brought news that would result in a whole lot of death, usually dead wolves. Derek sneered at the three young humans mingling with his pack. McCall seemed especially enamored of the dark, tall beauty with the insignia of a Commander. She was young for the rank and something about her made Derek's skin crawl. Reyes, Lahey and Boyd stood watch in a way that betrayed their mistrust – they had taken to their wolfish side incredibly well and the reminder of their humanity had to rankle a bit.

It was Stilinski that made Derek want to intervene. What the pack now called their pet human, with a certain sense of affection, was currently salivating from a less than polite distance, torn between the red-headed Captain and the dark-haired Lt. Commander. Both the boy and the girl were aesthetically pleasing and neither paid Stilinski any attention, too deeply involved in some kind of discussion that involved titanium alloys and kevlar.

Derek steeled himself and walked into his office, knowing that the worst was yet to come. And there he was, standing in Derek's space like he belonged. “Admiral Argent, Sir.”

Argent smiled, a threat and thinly veiled disgust. “Derek, I hear congratulations are in order.”

Derek growled. “Hardly.” Laura was still missing and Argent probably knew this better than anyone, except maybe Peter.

“Ah, yes, your unfortunate tendency to advance by getting your family in trouble. It does seem to be a bit of a pattern.”

Derek couldn't let this get to him, no matter how much he wanted to rip the guy's throat out. The Argents were a festering sore on the honor of the service, but their roots ran deep and it would be impossible to remove any of them with brute force. Kate had gone so far as to drop Corps secrets in the enemy's lap, and she was still around somewhere, probably undermining the war effort at every turn.

“Why are you here?” Derek snapped, just a little.

Argent grinned, contorting his face as if it caused him pain. “We have solid intel that recent developments in the war, the ground the kanima forces have gained in the south in particular, are due to a leak. Classified information is seeping out of our fingers and it needs to stop now. I need Corps backup for an op and the guys back at HQ are giving me squat.”

Ignoring the unorthodox request for now, Derek narrowed his eyes at the first part of Argent's little speech. “Who's the leak?” This was eerily familiar territory.

Argent shrugged. “We don't know. We've traced their computer use, their communication, but we haven't got an ID.”

“Have you asked your sister?” Derek couldn't help the dig. Kate had destroyed more than just his family – her actions had led directly to the failure of peace talks and an escalation of hostilities. Someone was making good money off the sacrifices of Derek's people and he wasn't going to give Argent a damn thing. He'd run well out of fucks and favors to give.

Argent looked sour. “Kate is not a problem. She's under control.”

“Kate can't even control herself. She's a loose cannon aimed right at the heart of the administration and you damn well know it.” Derek took a breath, slowing down his heart by force. “Sir.”

“My sister's status is not up for discussion, and frankly neither is your cooperation. I need a team ASAP. Pick the best you've got from that mangy lot out there and be ready to move in two weeks. Details are in this file.”

Argent dropped the folder on Derek's desk and stalked out without so much as a dismissal. Derek followed him, mostly because he hated not having the last word but hadn't thought of a good comeback yet. Argent nodded at his entourage, who didn't exactly scramble to meet him. The girl flirting with McCall extracted herself, blushing and reluctant. McCall looked like a kicked puppy, which was frankly a bit undignified. Worse yet, Stilinski had somehow caught the attention of the two gorgeous R&D officers, gesturing expansively as they nodded and smiled. The guy even patted Stilinski on the back to say goodbye and something in Derek responded to that. Violently. His pack didn't need any outsiders like this coming in and making advances.

When they were finally gone, Stilinski came to him, smile as big as Derek had ever seen it. It was a sight he found he could get used to and that made him wary. Stilinski could easily upgrade from complication to distraction or possibly the kind of unmitigated disaster Kate had turned out to be. He couldn't afford that kind of thing, not again.

“You were holding out on me,” Stilinski said, poking a finger at Derek's chest, all cursory nods to rank forgotten.

Derek swallowed. “In what way?”

“You could have said our sister platoon was full of supernaturally beautiful geniuses. If I'd known, I might have signed up ages ago.”

Derek just rolled his eyes. He was going to have to step up the training if they had to be ready in two weeks, because Argent wasn't the kind to take no for an answer.

+

Three days later, Stilinski showed up to their private session with fingerless heavy black gloves.

“What... are those?” For some reason, the sight of the gauntlets was ratcheting up the tension in Derek's body, as if he could sense a threat. Something about them was wrong, even as a small part of his brain wondered what they felt like, if they were soft running over someone's skin.

Stilinski grinned, wicked and smug. “These are the most awesome thing you have ever seen. Lydia and Danny made them for me. Technically I'm field testing some of their new materials, because believe me, even if we both worked for the rest of our lives, we couldn't make enough money to afford these babies.”

Stilinski manipulated something at his wrist and suddenly three long, curved blades sprang from the space between his knuckles. They gleamed in the sunlight, a sharp edge on the inner curve that Derek immediately respected. This was a weapon that could kill werewolves. More than that, it was a weapon perfectly suited to Stilinski and his training, taking advantage of the natural instinct to slash and claw, stabilizing his wrists and denying him the chance to drop them on his feet.

“Interesting, but can you use them?” Derek grinned, feeling invigorated by the challenge.

Stilinski nodded and fell into his fighting stance. Derek noted the change in it, how he'd shifted his center of gravity slightly further down. They circled each other and Derek watched Stilinski move. “Keep your claws low, don't tire yourself out holding up your arms if you don't have to.”

“Dude, these are titanium, they're light as a freaking feather.” He waved them around to illustrate the point.

Derek wanted to touch them, run his fingers along the blade and test their mettle. It was in some ways an extension of his general Stilinski-related thoughts. Exploration, discovery, curiosity. Something about Stilinski made Derek want to figure him out.

Cracking his neck, he advanced on the newly clawed human. “Your stomach should be your center, protect it by curling your body like this.” He hunched over, the stance of the wolf in him – it was a compromise between walking on all fours and using his hands as deadly weapons. Bears occasionally fought like this, in nature, except that they relied more on blunt force than wicked sharp claws.

“I'm not a total failure, sour wolf.” Stilinski darted forward and slashed at Derek's shoulder, a bold but insignificant move.

Derek lashed out, careful to keep his own claws safely hidden. “Don't waste your strength on a hit like that.” The gouges in his shoulder were shallow but still there. Huh. “Even if your claws are more than they appear.”

Stilinski grinned. “From what I gather, they used mountain ash to heat the metal and cooled the blades in an infusion of wolfsbane.”

That explained his body's delayed healing. It also occurred to him that the Alliance was making weapons specifically to kill wolves. He'd have to remember that for later. Stilinski darted forward again and Derek blocked him easily.

“You're more confident now,” Derek said while dodging Stilinski's quickfire attacks. “It's a thin line from there to recklessness.”

“I know my limits,” Stilinski whispered, quietly enough that Derek could hear the slight skip in his heartbeat.

They sparred for a good thirty minutes, with Stilinski finally drooping and getting more sluggish, his movements more conservative, more defensive. This was where the real lesson began. Derek, who'd mostly kept him at arm's length and had let him do all the hard work, still had most of his reserves and when Stilinski feinted a slash at his knees, he jumped and curled in the air, landing behind Stilinski and twisting to press his chest against the recruit's back. His arms were locked around Stilinski's shoulders, rendering the gauntlets useless.

“Never let a fight last longer than it has to,” Derek hissed into the kid's ear. The squirming was beginning to make Derek uncomfortable. “If someone let's you run wild as if they are playing with a kitten, you shut them down hard and fast.”

Stilinski gasped. “Hard and fast, huh?” And then he slammed his head into Derek's nose. It was a good move, except Derek had been waiting for defiance and didn't relax his hold even as he felt blood spurt and the bones in his face rearrange.

“You have to be at least one step ahead of your opponent. Don't react, make them react to you.”

Stilinski stilled for a moment, mulling over the words and then-

He relaxed the tension in his body, became something soft and vulnerable and enticing, squirming again, but with entirely different intent. Stilinski moaned and ground his ass right into Derek's crotch and Derek couldn't help but take notice.

Derek dropped Stilinski faster than an air strike on a lizard nest.

“What are you-”

But Stilinski had taken the chance and whipped around, his claws hovering not even an inch above Derek's chest, exactly where his heart beat fast and hard. “Gotcha.”

Derek swallowed, tried and failed to regain the composure necessary for a commanding officer. “You-”

“Yeah.” Stilinski smiled now, a little self-deprecating, as if he was somehow ashamed of the win. It was... strange. Derek didn't like it, not one bit.

“Look,” he said, still feeling the tightness of his skin like the wolf trying to break out. “You did good, Stilinski. In a real fight, it doesn't matter what you do, how far you have to go to survive. Survival is everything. A little shame or agony is more than worth it.”

Stilinski sighed, casting his eyes low, not quite willing to look at Derek. “Whatever, it's not a big deal.”

“You beat me,” Derek said, letting the pride he felt show in his voice.

Shrugging, Stilinski looked up again, and now his smile was wicked. “It probably won't happen again, but I totally did, didn't I?”

“You did good, Stilinski.”

Stilinski frowned. “About that...”

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.”

The file hadn't mentioned that, probably a nickname. Derek smiled. “No it's not.”

“It's a call sign, okay? Like Maverick or Iceman!”

Derek laughed. “Goose is more like it.”

As their lesson continued, Derek could only think that the word Stiles felt right when he tried it out, fitting the soldier before him more easily than anything he'd read in his file.

Stiles.

+

Accelerated training meant Derek would have to take a lot of shortcuts. He had to teach his new pack how to survive against an enemy stronger and faster than them, and harder to kill, in the time he'd normally take for initial pack bonding. From the limited intel coming through official channels, Derek understood how precarious their current situation really was. All signs pointed to a new offensive coming their way and fast. Argent's mission could only be a last ditch effort to plug the leak before the fighting reached their shores.

For all that they knew, all of Europe could be nothing but fire and ashes.

His pack was waiting for him as he emerged from his office. Derek looked them over with a critical eye – they stood straight, not defiant but proud. Whatever luck had thrown them together was working overtime making them into a cohesive unit, Derek's efforts notwithstanding. McCall had a lot to do with it, too bad that McCall didn't seem to like him much. Somehow the kid had taken Derek's earlier issues with Stilin- with Stiles as personal offense.

“Listen up, pups. I know that word has probably filtered down already, and yes, the rumors are indeed true. Part of this pack is being activated in a matter of days. We haven't had the time usually allotted for basic training and I understand that some of you may wish to remove themselves from consideration for the task force. There will be no repercussions and your withdrawal can be completed in private at any time from now until I make the final selection.”

McCall looked like he wanted to object to something in Derek's speech, but kept himself in check for the greater good. He always looked like he did things for the greater good, including breakfast and evening inspection. Derek was tempted to call him Rogers, just to see if Stiles would get the reference and maybe burst into inappropriate laughter right then.

“Normally, we'd have several weeks of training at a specialized OPFOR facility. Instead, we will make do with what we have.”

Stiles was fidgeting, no doubt picking up on the tension that ran through the entire group at Derek's announcement. Normally they would be prepared to face the lizards in war games with specially trained alphas who could simulate their style adequately. All Derek could offer was a crash course in survival.

“Lahey, Boyd, Reyes. Please step forward.” The wolves in question didn't hesitate. Derek touched each of them on the shoulder, a gentle reminder of their connection to him and to the pack. It would be the last for a while. “You three will play our lizards. For the purposes of the game, you will be immortal. Use every tool at your disposal and more, fight like you're born to kill.”

He turned to the rest. “McCall will be your alpha and his authority will be absolute. Do not question him any more than you would question me.”

McCall twitched. “Sir, uh, can I ask a question?” Derek glared, but gave an affirmative nod. “What's the objective of the game, Alpha?”

Derek grinned, sharp and unhappy. “Survival. You'll be wearing light-weight harnesses that will record any injuries you sustain. They are invisible and indestructible within the game – treat them as if they did not exist. All types of violence short of dismemberment or decapitation are allowed and I expect you to make every effort to try and take down your opponents by any means necessary.”

+

“Well,” Stiles said as he watched his friend disappear into the woods, a smirk gracing his lips. “That was needlessly dramatic.”

Derek had set the parameters for the war game, but Scott McCall would be the one to call the shots from now on. It was dangerous in some ways, to give a beta that kind of power without supervision when the pack bonds were so tenuous, but they had no time and more than Derek needed his pack to respect him, he needed his pack to live. McCall was going to come through because he had that strange quality of a great leader – to be able to sacrifice himself and others not because he didn't care, but because he cared so much.

Growling his agreement without actually letting Stiles know he was agreeing, Derek turned to his three most loyal wolves, a distinction that wasn't as solid as he'd wish. “Their job is to live as long as possible,” he said, nodding back at the woods. “Yours is to kill efficiently, silently, with as much terror as possible. Be invisible, be hard and fast and impossible. You have to cast fear in their hearts. The same rules apply to you, but you must be more diligent, more certain that this is just a game. They might be tempted to forget. They will be dangerous. I will monitor you all, but if you ever feel like the others might forget the rules and your life is in real danger, you may use these panic triggers to pause the game and incapacitate everyone with a harness.”

He handed all three of them a small device that attached to the wrist. “It can be voice activated or triggered by pressing the SOS sequence into your palm with your middle and ring finger. Use them only when you have no other options left.”

The three betas looked scared but determined. Boyd and Reyes were holding hands surreptitiously, as if Derek couldn't smell the bond all over them and Lahey stood close enough to feel their heat, shoulders straight despite his natural inclination to hunch. It struck Derek that he loved them and that none of them would ever love him as much as he needed. The risk of being alpha, his sister had once called it.

“Be careful,” he whispered, “and be safe. Now run.”

+

It only made sense to keep Stiles close to him. He couldn't have McCall worry about his friend's safety and he couldn't have the three opposing betas pull their punches for fear of hurting him. That still didn't make any of this situation okay.

“You know, I never figured you for the gooey type, but I'm pretty sure you were crying on the inside back there.”

Stiles was poking the small fire Derek had made with a stick and a vengeance. Derek wondered idly what made the kid so angry. “I'm the alpha. It's my job to worry about everyone's safety.”

Stiles laughed. “Could have fooled me.” He sounded strange, angry and resigned all at once, petulant like Derek had personally offended him.

“You wanted to play the game.” It was one of those startling realizations that caught Derek's breath.

“We both know it's not really a game,” Stiles said, cutting through the bullshit with an acuity no one else in the pack could match. That was part of the reason Derek was so confused about Stiles. He was human, dangerous, impossible to trust, but then digging down deeper, Stiles was loyal, stubborn and good in ways Derek could barely comprehend.

The tense moment faded into uncomfortable silence. Derek dug a tablet out of his duffel bag and watched his pack move on the overview map on the little screen. Green dots clotted around a central area, small groups rotating around it. McCall had set up perimeter guards. Good. Meanwhile, three blue dots meandered east of the group, currently downwind, just close enough to hear the fall of heavy boots on the ground.

“How are they holding up?” Stiles asked, eyes locked onto the fire.

“Your friend is doing fine. He'll make a great alpha some day.”

Stiles shrugged. “Don't get me wrong, but that's not exactly on the list of life ambitions we had before he got savagely attacked in the woods and everything went to shit. No offense.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek set the tablet aside. “Why are you here, Stiles?”

Flailing his limbs, Stiles tried to convey the answer to this question as obnoxiously as possible. They'd discussed this before, of course, but Derek still hadn't really understood. Stiles, for all that he was annoying and fragile, was choosing over and over again to stand with wolves when he could be anywhere else. Safe. It didn't make any sense.

“Oh my god, you are fucking ridiculous, Mr. Big Bad Alpha. Do you ever listen to anyone or is your own internal monologue drowning everything out? I just ask because I heard you aren't particularly good with taking orders rather than giving them and I wonder if that is because you can't process the spoken word.”

Derek froze, thinking about Kate and all that he'd done for her, defying his alpha for a love that turned to ashes. He couldn't answer the implied question, so he did the one thing he'd learned since then: deflect. “Derek,” he said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, waggling them a bit in question. When Derek wasn't forthcoming with elaboration, he grunted out a, “What?”

“My name. It's Derek. There's no one here for whom we have to pretend you have any kind of respect for me.”

Stiles deflated visibly and turned back to the fire. “Right. Derek, whose name I know perfectly well, thank you very much. I do know how to work Google, actually. I also know that you're from a very distinguished family of werewolves, three generations of heroes and veterans. I'm sure that's impressing the ladies almost as much as your face.”

Stiles was pissed and Derek couldn't figure out why. They'd never trust each other. Stiles disliked wolves so much he would never take the bite, joining them only under duress and out of a crippling sense of duty. He shouldn't look like his heart was breaking just because Derek acknowledged those facts.

+

The problem was this: Stiles, no matter how unconventional his place in the pack, was still his subordinate. Until now Derek had chalked up the extra attention he paid him to Stiles' humanity, the fact that he was essentially a huge, walking, talking liability. An alpha had to keep their eye on potential risk to the whole pack, inside and out.

But Derek was cataloging the noises Stiles made in his sleep, curled up close to the fire in a tarp and whatever else could serve as a sleeping bag. The human-and-cloth burrito huffed and puffed and whined every once in a while, alerting Derek to the no doubt restless dreams. And that was a surprise not just because Derek would have thought Stiles would be an expansive, flaily sleeper, but the simple fact that Derek had considered Stiles' personal habits that much at the back of his mind in the first place.

This was fast growing from a complication into a catastrophe.

His comm chirped happily at him, just as he was contemplating the feel of Stiles' hair under his fingers. “Shit,” he exclaimed, feeling oddly as if someone had caught him red-handed and not just imagining things he probably shouldn't think about.

The disembodied, holographic head of his uncle appeared above his wrist, the smirk still permanently fixed to his smug face. Derek felt like punching a tree. “Sir?”

“Ah, Derek, I see you're already out and about.” His voice was vicious under the tinny interference of Derek's shitty comm. “Are you so eager to jump to Argent's orders like a good little dog?”

Derek clenched his teeth. “The orders came from the Leadership's office, Sir. I'm just doing what I'm told.”

Peter laughed and it had the ring of death to it. “Yeah, well, I have new orders for you, and these once are directly from Deucalion himself.”

Derek froze at the mention of the Secretary. Deucalion was, perhaps, the only truly free wolf, working so high up in the government that he ate with the President more days of the week than not and lived safe and secure in a mansion far away from the battle lines. “What are his orders?”

“You are to continue your mission as planned, but when you come upon your target – and believe me, you will – Deucalion wants you to take them out. All of them, no matter who you find there. Then you are to plant this recording on the bodies of the traitors and wait for extraction.”

All the air left Derek's body. He knew almost beyond doubt that this had to do with Laura, that he'd find something terrible if they went behind enemy lines. “Acknowledged, Sir,” he said, because he couldn't say, “What the hell is going on here?”

Peter signed off with a mock salute and Derek growled angrily as soon as the connection cut. Stiles stirred in his sleep, whining, but didn't wake. It was just as well, because Derek didn't know if he could keep himself from seeking comfort right now, if it was offered. Especially if it was offered with a sarcastic tilt to the head, a grin just below the surface.

He was so fucked.

+

Stiles wore his gauntlets to sleep after that. He'd somehow picked up on Derek's state of distress and acted accordingly, more withdrawn and serious than Derek had ever seen him. It looked good on him because all that frowning brought out his cheekbones and without smiling his eyes were large in his face.

“When I was a kid,” Stiles said over the plastic bag of his daily rations, “my mom would tell me I'd do something great some day. She always thought I'd be an artist, I think. Or a writer.”

Derek could recognize a peace offering when he heard one. He nodded. “You still could be.”

Stiles shook his head. “Nah, I never had the patience. It takes a lot of work to be good at that stuff and I lose interest after a while. This, here? This is something I can do.”

The military life wasn't easy, but there was a structure to it. Some people chafed under the lack of freedom, the linearity of life and the loss of control, but for some it was the right thing, not just because of ideals or morals. Some people took well to the chain of command, certain inclinations to be a sarcastic bastard aside.

“I never thought I could be anything else,” Derek said, and it wasn't a melancholic truth or anything. He'd never wished to be bigger than this duty, had never felt like there were more important things he should be doing. There had been nothing wrong with the family business, not until it started killing them all.

Stiles laughed and the sound loosened some curled tension low in Derek's chest. “Right, yeah. Okay. So. How are the rest of our band of misfits anyway?”

Derek swallowed, tried to ignore the way our sounded like pack. More than that, it sounded like possibility. Maybe. He stared at the tablet. Green and blue dots intersecting in their jagged paths, a trail of red dots behind them. The fight was on and already his pack had been decimated for the day. It was barely noon. Derek sighed. “It's slaughter, but they're keeping up formation.”

Grabbing for the tablet, Stiles moved close enough for Derek to feel the heat of his skin. “Let me see,” then Stiles blushed, added, “Please.”

Derek handed the tablet over and watched Stiles' long fingers dance over the touch screen, drawing up information and on the spot analysis. “Could be worse,” Stiles said and went back to teasing performance out of the software that Derek had never considered. Huh.

“Stiles,” Derek said, soft and in awe, “When we get back, I want you on the task force.” He needed a comms officer. He needed someone who could think laterally and who'd be willing to throw down if Derek was overstepping his authority. And he didn't want to do this without Stiles. Anything, really.

“Me? You want me? Are you okay? Did you get a werewolf fever? Can werewolves even get fevers? Are you hallucinating right now? Oh my god, if you're on drugs, I'm so dead.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, shocked. He reached out for Stiles' wrists. “Hey, relax. You don't have to say yes, no pressure, okay?”

Except, Stiles was shaking his head, laughing a little. “Oh my god, you really think I'm scared. You think I want to stay at home while you and Scott risk your stupid werewolf asses.”

Blinking, Derek lost his grip on Stiles' arms. “Uh-”

Stiles thumped him on the forehead with his knuckles. “You are a moron,” he said blushing a little. It was intriguing. “There is nowhere I'd rather be than right by your side. And Scott's, obviously. Yours and Scott's. Because he's my friend.”

Derek grinned. “What am I, your pet dog?”

“No, you are my alpha.”

+

Derek and Stiles followed the pack at enough of a distance that they would be neither seen nor heard, watching the engagements unfold on their small screen. The colored dots created a certain kind of distance, even though Derek could feel a phantom twinge for every shredded muscle, every broken bone.

Stiles frowned down at the map, eyes narrowed. “They're heading for enemy territory. Should we stop them before they get in trouble?”

Derek looked at the pulsing red border in the corner and shrugged. “Not yet. I'll call them when they're in visual range.”

“You just want to see if they'll notice.”

Derek shrugged. “This is close enough to real that it doesn't make much difference and they have to be able to smell the territory markers. If they can't figure it out on their own, we'll be fucked either way. This isn't something that can be taught.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh come off it, you could supplement their senses with technology. There's no reason to send them in blind.”

The Leadership would disagree – Corps supplies were usually last on the list of necessities and in a given conflict, there was never a guarantee that they'd have what they needed. Wolves had to be able to make do with what they could scrounge up.

“It's a test. Tests aren't supposed to be fair.”

Stiles looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. “Fuck, you really believe that, don't you?”

Derek was stunned into silence. He'd never met someone like Stiles before, someone who believed in fairness like it was a promise. “And you don't. How are you even still alive, being that naïve?”

Stiles grumbled something Derek chose not to hear and they waited out the night in silence. When Scott drew in the pack with a sharp, authoritative howl a good two mikes short of the line, Stiles smirked with an expression of smug superiority. Derek let it go, for the greater good.

+

Okay, so not everything was perfectly above-board. Stiles slept with his freezing nose pressed into Derek's neck like he belonged there and Derek let it happen because in a lot of ways it was safer than a fire. It wasn't because the closeness settled something in Derek's chest, like an ache that was finally soothed. That was just a bonus.

They followed the pack for two days, talking strategy and politics and Derek's secret love for pirates and the gritty type of fantasy that went out of favor decades ago. All the industry put out now was sanitized and romantic in a cloying, oppressive way that had very little to do with war time escapism and a whole lot with war time propaganda.

“It's just,” Derek said, sitting up for watch late one night, “before the war, sometimes you could watch a movie and the monster turned out to be the hero.”

Stiles didn't immediately agree and sometimes Derek thought that no matter what opinion Stiles came up with in the end, the fact that he spent time considering it was worth more than what Derek made in a year.

“There's foreign films like that,” Stiles said, “the European stuff that's all about how much blood and guts and dirt you can put on scandalously naked skin.”

Derek rolled his head back against the tree supporting him. “I've heard.” Access to entertainment was curiously restricted for the Corps, lest they get ideas. The only thing worse than a smart, near invincible soldier was a smart, near invincible soldier with ideas about how the world was to be run.

“It's not as impressive as they seem to think,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I like, don't laugh at me, but I like the older stuff, those really earnest fairy tales with morals and happy endings that are hard fought for and won.”

Derek nodded. He'd seen some of those old movies, animated by hand, if rumor was to be believed. They looked it, too, with their sluggish movements like magical paintings coming to life.

Smiling, Stiles turned to him, and there was affection and melancholy in his eyes, a heavy emotion unsuited to the field. But then most of their conversations turned out to be inappropriate in much the same way. “I keep thinking you're Bambi, if you're anyone. The Big Bad Wolf is such a lie.”

Derek had no idea what to say, because Stiles could be any one of the heroes in those stories – Mulan, who sacrificed her own future for her family, Jasmine, whose curiosity brought her into danger and a real world she never knew about, or even Belle, whose love saved the frozen heart of a beast.

Stiles smiled at him, soft and so inviting, but Derek looked away. He'd been burned before and if Derek knew one thing about himself it was that he had no idea about the contents of a human's heart. Stiles huffed petulantly and Derek met his eyes.

“God, you are such an idiot,” Stiles said and lunged forward. The kiss was barely a kiss at all, just a quick brush of lips against lips, but Derek was stunned for too long, unable to reciprocate before Stiles pulled away.

Stiles looked, god, he looked mortified, blushing down his throat, but pale around the lips and eyes. The heady scent of embarrassment was thick in the air. “So, I guess I could have read that situation better.”

Derek swallowed the dryness in his mouth and shook his head. “No, I- I'm not opposed to... that.”

Stiles frowned. “Are you sure? Because you look like you saw a ghost.”

Derek shook himself out of it and leaned close, claiming Stiles' lips in searing kiss, expressing weeks of pent up emotion and need. He'd been an idiot and he was about to be even more of one. Gently he put some distance between them, taking a few steadying breaths. Stiles' lips were still shiny and wet. Derek couldn't think of anything he wanted more than dive in again. He couldn't, but he wanted to.

“It's been a while,” he said, a little sheepish. “And this is shitty timing if I've ever seen it. We can't, I can't... not right now. Rain check?”

Laughing, Stiles rubbed the back of his head. “Well, yeah, I'm kind of the king of inappropriate boners and bad timing. No monkey business in the field. Got it.”

Derek rolled his eyes, unable to quite hide the surge of affection he felt from showing on his face. “Later though.”

Stiles nodded. “Later.”

+

It started in the early morning hours, the twilight before dawn, with even the forest quiet around them except for the rustling of small nocturnal rodents in the underbrush. Derek didn't hear it, couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary, and it was Stiles' turn to keep an eye on the pack. The small exhale and heartbeat going haywire alerted Derek to a problem mere moments before the alarm went off, a shrill sound cutting through the air.

One of the harnesses had flat-lined.

“Holy shit, this is not good. Derek, come here. Derek, fuck, look at this. What do I do?”

Derek felt the flare of loss like a bullet to the chest, a deep ache that had nothing to do with physical pain but was no less breathtakingly agonizing. He knew without having to check the map that Greenberg was beyond saving and the howl that broke out of him was equal parts mourning and revenge.

Stiles' touch on his shoulder drew him back into himself, clearing the haze of blood lust. “Hey, Derek, buddy. You can't leave me alone like this, okay? I'm just a fragile human, remember?” Stiles' voice was soft and free from fear, worried, but not for himself.

Derek took a deep, steadying breath. “Come on, we have to run.”

Instinct steered him clear of the bulk of his pack, skirting just around the limits of their senses as he headed for the site of the attack. Stiles was behind him, a solid presence, no longer huffing and puffing as he ran. Derek heard the soft whoosh of Stiles' claws extending.

He could feel the pack drawing into itself, huddling together in a protective circle, far enough away that the connection wasn't mutual. They were waiting for some kind of attack, or for their alpha to tell them it would all be okay again. Reyes, Boyd and Lahey were with them, a small comfort in a situation that could only get worse.

When they came upon him, Greenberg was barely recognizable. Eviscerated was too tame a word for the mess the kanima had left behind. There was blood everywhere: he'd been spread out as a sign for the people who found him – here be dragons. Or lizards, in this case.

Stiles choked a little as he took in the carnage and Derek had the irrational desire to take him in his arms, make him look away. But Stiles was a soldier, not a child, and he steeled himself against whatever he was feeling, crouching down low near a single bloody boot. He was doing something with the tablet, frowning at the lines of information.

“Can you tell who it is?” Stiles sounded almost flippant, a good, solid mask belied only by the frantic beat of his heart.

“Greenberg.”

Stiles shrugged. “Guess they're real predators, going for the weak and all. Don't say I'm lucky I wasn't around, because I know, okay. I-”

Derek touched his shoulder, resting his palm close to Stiles' neck, where he could feel the racing pulse. “We should leave.”

As he said the words, a tingling shot up his spine and he spun around to face the trees. Derek could not see the thing, but it was there, lurking and waiting for its chance to strike. Allowing the transformation to heighten his senses and hone his muscles, Derek roared a challenge. “Come,” he yelled at the shadows, “or are you too scared to face someone your own size?”

“Do we seriously have to taunt the murder monster lizard?”

Derek wouldn't have, normally, but Stiles' presence changed his priorities, his instinct driving him to bluster and bravado rather than common sense. He fell into a combat stance and searched the treeline for any sign of movement, ears pricked up to sense even the smallest rustle of leaves. He wasn't thinking and that's why the attack from above caught him by surprise.

“Holy shit, Derek, watch out!”

The kanima sailed through the air, too fast and too high to land a blow with its claws, but the tail nicked Derek's neck and he knew then that he'd probably cost them both their lives. The paralytic worked fast, spreading numbness down his back and into his limbs before he could utter so much as a curse at his own stupidity.

“Stiles, run,” Derek pressed out of his tingling lips with a heavy, sluggish tongue. Shit.

Stiles grabbed him under his arms and dragged him back to a crumbling, moldy overhang. Derek couldn't feel the hands or the ground under his useless body, but he did see the wild determination in Stiles' eyes and the moving canopy above them.

“Why are you doing this?”

Stiles huffed, half exasperation and half exertion. “You owe me. You owe me so much. Like all the kisses I want and coming with me to terrible movies we won't sit through or actually pay attention to and bad takeout and-”

Derek sighed. “It wasn't going to be like that. Wolves are the property of the state. We don't go on dates.”

Stiles disappeared out of his field of view and Derek felt the sudden absence like a knife to the gut. His voice, when it came, was rough, determined, a little bit terrifying. “You will,” he said, almost as if Derek was the only one who might survive the day.

Derek was unceremoniously dropped, his head lolling to the side so he could see Stiles walking back into the clearing with Greenberg's body. He looked strong, solid, like the trees surrounding them, rooted to the earth.

Stiles didn't taunt the creature. He didn't crack a joke or start babbling to cover the fear Derek could taste on the air, pungent and thick. He just stood, his back tense, breath coming slow and heavy, as if he was breathing water.

This was the opposite of everything Derek had ever taught him, the opposite of movement and running away, of melting into empty space and shadows. He was torn between yelling at Stiles to run, to get away and try his luck with the pack, yet knowing that this would most likely only quicken Stiles' death. He was paralyzed with more than the toxin, unable to think clearly with Stiles in danger.

The kanima appeared at the treeline on the far side of the clearing, staring at Stiles with its tail flicking and twisting just above the ground, teeth bared. It was small, the first form they had encountered, but still quicker and deadlier than even an alpha wolf. Derek wanted to yell when it lunged forward, but he never managed to croak so much as a warning before the creature reached Stiles, whose body slid fluidly under the momentum of the lizard, slicing his claws through its abdomen from head to groin.

Dazed, the kanima flicked its tail at Stiles.

Stiles caught it. The move was natural, protecting the vulnerable parts of him, but Derek knew it was an illusion of safety. The toxin didn't need a cut to enter the system – absorbing it through the skin was just slower.

“Stiles, come here. Get away from it.”

Stiles looked from his hand to Derek with wide, disbelieving eyes. The gloves had protected most of his skin, but he'd dug his fingers right into the slimy substance, holding the twitching limb tight to prevent injury.

“Shit,” Stiles said, but at least he was moving now, staggering to the place he'd dumped Derek earlier. “Oh my god, we are so fucked.”

Derek grunted his agreement as the paralytic finally knocked Stiles' legs out from under him. He fell on top of Derek like sack of potatoes, lumpy and bony and heavier than he looked; it drove the air from Derek's lungs in a pained gasp.

“We're going to die, aren't we?” Stiles' voice was muffled by Derek's chest.

Derek could see the kanima over the top of Stiles' head as it slithered closer. Now sure of its prey, it was showing off a bit, playing with the food like a child. “Probably,” Derek said, not sure where the small sliver of hope came from. He felt strangely calm about their impending demise, maybe because the rise and fall of Stiles' chest was reassuring against all logic or sense.

“God, you're no help,” Stiles moaned. “Someone skipped positivity when they taught you your words, didn't they?”

All things considered, Derek felt pretty positive about their potential dismemberment. “I can feel my toes,” he offered.

Stiles huffed. “What is wrong with you? Do you think this is the time for jokes? I mean, I guess it's always the time for jokes, but you're supposed to be the serious one.”

Then, like a miracle Derek didn't deserve, laser fire lit up the clearing, one bolt catching the kanima right in the chest. He didn't recognize the sound of the weapons and he had no sense of pack, but who the hell cared when these people were driving certain death away? He could always grumble about territory when he could move his arms, the better to cross them petulantly in front of his impressive pecs. It... worked. A lot.

“What are you two idiots doing down there?”

In all his life, Derek would never admit that in that moment, Lydia Martin was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

+

The kanima was gone and Martin, Mahealani and Allison freaking Argent – the three Alliance soldiers that had come to the camp with Argent Sr. – were setting up a perimeter. Stiles and Derek had been propped up against the ravine and each other so they would not fall and land with their faces in the mud, choking to death after this heroic rescue.

Danny rolled his eyes at something Stiles said and Derek noticed that he could actually feel where some meddling fool had linked their hands together. “Why are you here?” Derek asked.

Martin made a small abortive motion that reminded him of Laura, he called it the “Oh I forgot I can't toss my hair because it's braided; what do you want Derek, not everyone can pull off a buzzcut.” She was sharp as a nano-blade and obviously the leader.

“We're... hunting.” Martin looked to Argent, some kind of argument playing out without words.

Argent shrugged and smiled at Derek. It looked like a punch to the gut. “We've been after that lizard for days.”

Derek could guess the stuff between the lines – the Leadership wanted a live specimen; they'd been herding him into empty territory and someone had conveniently forgotten to notify either Derek or Martin that this would make the creature collide with the new pack. Smart, a trial by fire for the wolves, and an easier hunt for the Alliance team. Derek wanted to punch something. A wolf was dead, and even though no one had actually liked Greenberg, the loss still had an impact on their still fragile bond.

Stiles gasped. “Ah hell, you guys- you're R&D. You're not a strike team. No one sends out R&D for a random lizard.”

The Alliance soldiers tensed. Derek wanted to tell Stiles to stop talking, but he himself was too damn curious by half. He wanted to know. He surprised everyone when he asked: “How long have you studied that one before it escaped?”

Martin flinched, just for a moment, before her control turned genuine emotion into mockery. “You think you're that smart? A kanima was loose and had already killed one of your pack and you couldn't think of anything better than attack. You're lucky we were this close or you would have gotten yourself and Stilinski killed. Now that would have been a loss.”

Stiles sounded a little rough when he said: “Aww, you do like me!” For a second, white hot jealousy burned through Derek's system. “But I have to tell you, I think I'm sort of in a thing. It's too late, dearest Lydia, although I will always love you, my heart now belongs to another.” It was ridiculous – they had met only once in person – and the Alliance soldiers huffed with suppressed laughter, but Derek felt something inside him relax. Stiles sighed. “You're talking about the loss of the gloves, aren't you?”

Mahealani was the one who nodded, smiling a wolfish smile. “They are invaluable prototypes, Stilinski.”

Derek growled. “How long?”

“Six years,” Argent said. “My aunt Kate, she brought him in.”

+

Derek was still tingling all over but he stalked through the underbrush with a kind of panicked determination; he needed to find his pack. Fuming quietly to himself, he could feel Stiles and the Alliance soldiers behind him, McCall and the others in front.

The Leadership had been keeping lizards for study. Of course they had. He shouldn't be so surprised; he damn well shouldn't feel the sting of betrayal just because none of the insights had ever filtered down to the Corps. It made pragmatic sense in a world that valued wolves for nothing but their teeth and claws – only silence was the difference between an unfinished solution and a bigger problem.

Still, Derek was not going to be the bait in whatever cat and mouse game Argent Sr. was playing with the kanima. He stopped, waited for Stiles to catch up and took him aside, watching as the Alliance soldiers trudged on without them. He'd given enough directions that they'd be able to find the pack on their own if they had to.

“I don't like this,” he said to Stiles, fingers curled around his upper arm. “I don't trust them.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, deflecting the sour mood, but there was steel in his gaze when he met Derek's. “You don't trust anyone. But you're right, there is something else going on. That kanima was tiny.”

Derek frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He couldn't have been older than me and there was something strange about his eyes. When he looked at me, I felt like I was looking at a kid in a Halloween mask.”

Oh, that was... that couldn't be. He remembered the time before the war, when the kanima had shown up out of nowhere, spreading like a plague across the world. There had been theories, at first, idle talk about mutations and natural evolution. His grandfather had always said that there was something odd about the creatures, something alien yet familiar, like that cousin you only ever met at weddings and funerals.

Before the war, there had been progress. Quietly the world had lurched forward, contemplating equality and other lofty ideals. But the enemy had made the Corps a necessary evil and things had gone back to the old ways – encouraged breeding among the wolves, but no retirement plans, keeping them firmly shackled and in their place.

“What are you thinking?”

Derek grasped Stiles' hand, squeezed it just for a moment. “I think I know where the kanima came from.”

+

The pack had closed ranks, a dozen of them standing watch in a tight perimeter, the rest huddled close together on and around an elephant-sized rock. McCall came to meet them, wolfed out and not happy at all. Reyes, Lahey and Boyd stood at his back.

“What the hell is going on?”

Derek flashed red eyes at the boy. “We're in a hot zone thanks to our friends from the Alliance. Greenberg didn't make it.”

McCall nodded. “Thought so, Harley came back pretty shaken up, but she told us what that thing did to him.”

Stiles twitched at Derek's side and Derek smiled. “Stand down, McCall. Martin and her team are going to take watch for a bit.” McCall shook the wolf out of his face at the dismissal and barely managed to brace himself for the impact of Stiles hugging the breath out of him. Derek rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that Stiles had managed to wait this long. Discipline, at least the illusion of it, was important for a pack.

They settled on top of the rock. Derek let McCall explain what they'd done, how the exercise had progressed and how they'd reacted to the situation changing underneath their feet. McCall had done well, maybe a little meek at first, but showing solid leadership skills. Derek was not at all surprised.

“Are you going to tell us what's happening now?” McCall had the slightly petulant air of a younger sibling, poking at his elder until he spilled the secrets of life and the universe.

Derek sighed. Could he truly trust his pack? Stiles nearly vibrated off the rock with his need to share what Derek had told him, but kept quiet and that was what pushed Derek over the edge. Stiles keeping secrets for him even from his best friend, if that wasn't loyalty, Derek had no idea what could be.

“We're going to accelerate our original orders a bit and head out with Martin and her crew. McCall, you and Lahey, Reyes and Boyd are coming with us. Harley should be in charge of the pack as they head back to camp.”

McCall bristled. “Harley's just watched a friend die.”

Derek nodded. “Exactly. She knows what to look out for and the responsibility is going to distract her from whatever she thinks she could have done better.”

“Okay, but what are we looking for?”

Grinning, Derek flashed his elongated teeth. “We're hunting a traitor.”

+

Kate Argent had committed a lot of crimes against the whole human race, and assorted other species. Derek's broken heart had hardly registered as part of her reign of terror and he was fine keeping it that way. It was bad enough that his short-lived infatuation had given her crucial access to carry out her plans.

In essence, Derek had helped her cause the war.

Maybe this mission could be his redemption. He knew, finally, that Kate was part of a much bigger organization, people who had worked tirelessly for decades to shape the world into their little fantasy. The hunters had never stopped, they'd merely turned to politics and science to achieve their ends.

+

Kanima territory was objectively no different from the forest closer to Camp Triskelion, and yet it felt more dense, dark in a way that made the muscles around Derek's spine tense and cramp. The smell of enemy was pervading every inch of the land, like a slow rot in every tree and blade of grass. He hunched closer to the ground as they moved ahead, almost on all fours, ready to run.

Stiles put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, didn't even look at Derek, but the solid weight helped him stay in control. For a second Derek panicked at the thought that this kid, this human who could leave at any time, had somehow become his anchor. These were old thoughts, left over from Kate and her cruel laughter.

“We're getting closer,” Derek grunted.

Stiles cocked his head to indicate the Alliance soldiers ahead of them. “Do they know?”

Derek glared at the young Argent's head. “I wouldn't be surprised if they knew something. But they wouldn't turn their back on me if they knew everything.” He bit out the words, canines itching to rip into flesh, the phantom taste of blood at the back of his throat.

The signal from the kanima's sub-dermal GPS chip was leading them deeper into the forest, exactly where the hacked Leadership briefing said they would find the leak, and Derek felt revenge finally in his grasp.

+

In the end, events unfolded unexpectedly, in a configuration Derek would never have imagined. That was always his problem. He never could figure out humans.

+

A few days later, they closed in on the complex in the foothills of the nearby mountain range. The trees had thinned significantly and left them uncomfortably exposed so they moved only by night, darting from cover to cover. Derek kept his people close by and let Martin lead the charge. If there were traps, he had a feeling that having Allison up front would minimize their chances to be blown to bits.

At the perimeter fence, Mahealani hacked into the system and shut down the enemy's defenses. It was a secret scientific base in the mountains – they probably didn't have much in the way of heavy artillery, but Derek wouldn't take any chances. Not with so many unknown variables.

Kate, of course, was waiting for them inside the main building, but that wasn't what shocked Derek into stillness. The room was full of computers and medical equipment and arranged like a horseshoe around the center stood seven large ReGen-tanks, one of the subjects looking painfully familiar.

“Laura,” he whispered, unable to stop himself. He noted, dazedly, that his pack had drawn tight around him, Stiles closest by his side with claws extended.

Sashaying toward them with that predatory grace he had once reveled in, Kate began to talk. “I'm surprised, I really am. I didn't expect you to find me.” She stopped maybe twenty feet away, blunt white teeth gleaming starkly in the half-light of the lab. “And I really didn't expect you to bring any friends.”

Her laughter cut right through him. “Please tell me you didn't think I'd be unprepared? You were always so naïve, so straight-forward, growling and barking like a dog instead of a man. Did you think I didn't have a backup plan?”

Derek wished for nothing more than a gun, regulations be damned. Kate made a beckoning gesture and out of the shadows came the young kanima, slithering close to the ground as if it was afraid.

Martin gasped. “A master, that's- we've been working with the wrong data all along, haven't we? That's why we couldn't hold him, isn't it? Isn't it?” She was yelling at the end, blushing furiously both with anger and embarrassment.

Kate stroked the lizard's face, petted him in a sensual way that made Derek's stomach turn to ice. “Oh, you did exactly what I needed. Years you and that boy tried to befriend a monster, and it worked. Just not on him.” Kate pulled a knife out of her jacket, the blade as fine as any Derek had ever seen. It could cut anything short of diamond if the user put their mind to it. Kate set the blade to the lizard's throat.

“No,” Mahealani yelled, and Derek knew what Kate had done. Maybe the kanima couldn't be manipulated into loving someone, but humans sure could. Both Martin and Mahealani smelled of fear and desperation. That's why a R&D team went hunting. That's why they insisted on non-lethal means.

“Stand aside and let me do what I need to do, and your little pet lives,” Kate said, gently dragging the blade along the lizard's throat. It worked. Martin dropped her head and Mahealani's shoulders slumped. Derek had lost them.

Kate smiled, indulgent and so incredibly insane. She looked to her niece. “And you, my dear. Why would you fight me, for a wolf? You only have to look inside yourself and you must know that we are meant to stand together.”

Allison stepped back and took McCall's hand, but did not look at her aunt. Perhaps she couldn't face the choice.

“Is that what has you worried? That little infatuation of yours? Tell you what, if you and that dog move out of my way, I'll make sure to spare him. I can even talk to your father, let you see him when he's not out fighting this endless little war.”

Allison looked up, startled, and Derek knew she'd take what she could. There was a pragmatism in her that Derek recognized. She didn't look at him as she dragged McCall away.

“Is that all your little pack has to offer, puppy?” Kate was speaking to him as if he was still the stupid boy who had given her his heart to trample. Derek refused to be intimidated although the memory of her touch made him shiver.

She looked at his betas with that feral, half-mad look that promised no mercy. And yet, she offered it. “You three, I won't promise to spare you, but I can give you a head-start. Run now and you will be the last thing we look for.” The 'we' made Derek immediately wary, curiosity replacing his fear. “We may even let you run right back home again, if you're quick enough.”

Derek could no more look back than he could ask the betas to stay. This was a death trap and he didn't hold it against them. He wouldn't. Well, he wouldn't be alive, but the point still stood. He let them go.

Now it was just him and Stiles. The odds were never going to be in his favor.

“Derek, Derek, Derek. Always trusting the wrong people. You should have learned long ago that you can't depend on anyone but yourself.” She was close enough now that Derek could feel her breath move the air.

Stiles huffed. “Hey, witch-lady, I think you're forgetting something here.”

Kate cocked her head, amused. “And what have we here? Darling, did you get lost in the woods?”

“We can take you,” Stiles said, steel under the cheery tone. “There's two of you and two of us, seems like a fair fight.”

Kate laughed, bright and deadly. “You are a feisty one, aren't you? I bet that big mouth gets you in all kinds of trouble.”

“You have no idea.”

“I have a very, very vivid imagination, kiddo.” She pressed her thumb to Stiles' lips and that was when Derek couldn't take it anymore. He roared and lunged at Kate, slamming into an electric field that punched the air right out of him. He fell back, cracking his head on the metal floor.

“See,” Kate said, smiling. “That's why science is always going to win against brute force. You're an abomination, Derek. You're antiquated, your whole species is obsolete.”

Derek pushed himself up, ready to attack again, when a voice made him twist around.

“That's where you're wrong. You tried to eradicate us once and all you got was these lousy lizards.”

Peter.

Fuck it all to hell, Peter was here, and Kate's face had shifted into a hateful grimace. “You.”

“Yes, me.”

Derek had never been happier to see his uncle. The older alpha shifted into his most impressive form, hulking and neither wolf nor man. He looked like death. His voice reverberated through the entire lab.

“Years I've spent hunting you for what you've done to my family. So much sacrifice. Your father protected you well, installed you away from prying eyes, gave you a purpose. But you couldn't leave well enough alone, you had to keep looking for the cure.” Peter lunged at her and got pushed back by the field around her. “All the bodies I sent your way, they died for this moment.”

“Am I supposed to be afraid of you?” Kate yelled. There was fear in her voice, and more. She sounded exhilarated, fulfilled, as if Peter's revenge was the one thing making her feel alive. Derek instinctively moved away from them.

Stiles caught his gaze and nodded toward the tanks. Derek cocked his head in question. Stiles grinned and darted forward, ducking under a swipe of Peter's massive claws and ran for Laura. Or rather, the computer controls behind her. Derek's eyes widened. He went after Stiles, suddenly on the same page, almost. Electricity.

“I have to start the expulsion sequence or she won't survive you bashing the tanks open. Give me thirty seconds, okay?”

Derek turned to face Laura and watched as the body slowly began to twitch. Closer to the entrance, Peter was still throwing himself at Kate to no avail. Her laughter was a sharp knife in his ears, a reminder to hurry up. Laura's eyes popped open and Derek took a few steps back, running into the tank with his shoulder, toppling it and hoping for the best. An alarm began to sound and Laura crawled from the wreckage, bleeding and naked, but alive.

“Took you long enough,” Laura pressed out between chattering teeth. Derek wanted to hug her, but there were bigger problems. The water hadn't reached Kate yet. Peter was too far into the mind of the wolf to notice, and Derek knew that it was only a matter of time before Kate noticed what was happening. He swallowed and looked back at Stiles with a smile.

“I'm going to take a rain check on that date,” Derek said, and shifted into his alpha form before Stiles could answer.

He ran toward Kate and circled around so she was between him and the water. He smiled. He jumped. The last thing he heard before he collided with her shield was Stiles yelling his name.

+

Waking up in a ReGen tank in itself was a shitty experience. Waking up in a ReGen tank with a dozen or so idiots making faces at him was even worse. Stiles was there, of course, and Laura, who had that smug expression he'd missed more than he ever let himself feel. McCall and his betas were there, too, looking a bit sheepish. Derek didn't care; he'd make them run laps for a couple of days and then he'd officially forgive them. Peter and the Alliance trio stood in the background, a haughty looking boy he'd never seen bracketed between them.

Stiles pressed a piece of paper against the glass.

'Dinner & movie – 8 p.m. Thurs' it said, with a huge question mark underneath.

Derek smiled around the breathing tube. He gave Stiles two thumbs up.

Stiles grinned and wrote something else on the paper. He pressed it against the glass again.

'no more rain checks'

Rolling his eyes, Derek gave him a shrug. With their luck, they'd probably end up in a hostage situation in the mess hall. Stiles put his hand to the glass and even though it was cheesy and Laura would tease him about it forever, Derek mirrored the gesture, imagined he could almost feel the skin under his.

No more rain checks.

+

Bioweapon scandal shaking up the Leadership – who watches the sheep dogs?

BH – Nearly twenty-four hours after first reports of a disturbance at a secret government facility in the Californian mountains, situated 42 miles deep inside kanima territory, the Leadership has released an official statement.

Persistent rumors that kanima are, in fact, mutated werewolves have now been confirmed. The Leadership denies any official knowledge of the secret experiments that caused the creation of the race of intelligent lizard people, however, thirty-seven years ago high ranking officials in the military secretly green-lit a project to find a cure for lycanthropy without council approval.

According to several sources, recordings have been found that implicate parts of the Argent family, among them Senator Gerard Argent, who is believed to be the head of the project. He has been criticized frequently for speciest remarks and attempts to curtail werewolf rights even further. He has not been reached for comment.

In the wake of these revelations, the council has passed emergency measures to pull back some of the more controversial war time legislation. A committee to study further action will convene at the earliest possible date. All military action against the kanima have ceased for the time being, until an investigation can--

Stiles read over Derek's shoulder, even though he'd seen the paper days ago, when it had been current. With Kate dead, her work destroyed and Deucalion's plan to discredit Argent in full swing, there was nothing left for a solider to do but wait.

“It's not full equality yet,” Stiles said, voice soft and sleep heavy. “But people are getting there. We're getting there.”

Derek turned to steal a kiss, smiling despite the soreness he still felt. He'd been electrocuted by the force of a hundred lightning strikes, he was allowed to wallow for a bit. In bed, with Stiles. It was all pathetically domestic and he couldn't think of a better way to recover.

“Are you hungry?”

Grinning wolfishly, Derek pulled Stiles on top of him, biting and licking at the base of his throat. “Ravenous.”

“Good, because I ordered pizza and I programmed a classic Disney marathon. We are so not getting out of bed today.”

They ate the pizza, but missed most of the movies. It was exactly as good as Derek had imagined.