The Secret to Survivin’—Competence—Trope Bingo

The Secret to Survivin’—Competence—Trope Bingo

Title: The Secret to Survivin’ (The Prepared Mind #2)
Author:
Claire Watson
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre:
A/U, Competence
Relationship(s):
n/a
Content Rating:
PG13
Warnings: n/a
Author Notes: Trope Bingo #Competence
Trope Bingo is officially finished, but I’m still working on getting my card filled.
Beta: Grammarly! No, Grammarly, I do not want to change ‘pack’ to ‘bag.’
Word Count:
9,661
Summary:
Derek will never be his mother, but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn to be a better alpha than what he started as.


It was a warm spring day. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and flowers were blooming. Erica’s birthday party, held at the temporary Hale Pack House, had continued into the small hours of the morning, and Derek was operating on three hours of sleep.

Derek liked spring. He enjoyed the brightness of the air and the smell of fresh sap and new growth. It was unfortunate that, on this occasion, he couldn’t just sit here and enjoy it.

He read through the letter again.

Dear Mr Hale

We are delighted to inform you that your application for a personal consultant has been processed and met initial screening requirements. I am attaching a short list containing the contact details of available assessors. The assessor of your choice will conduct two in-person interviews and an inspection.

The initial interview should be held in a public space and will include a personality evaluation. The second interview will be held in your home, followed by an inspection of the working environment. The information we gather from these meetings will ensure that you are presented with appropriate candidates for the position.

If you should discover yourself in conflict with the assessor, one of our senior staff members will make themselves available for conflict resolution.

Thank you very much for your application; we look forward to a long, amicable association with you.

Yours sincerely

The Smiths

Derek folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. If the Hale histories hadn’t made it clear that part of the duty the Hales owed the territory was the regulation of its magical energies, he probably wouldn’t have sent an application in the first place.

In the nine months since the kanima situation had been resolved, Derek’s life had changed remarkably.

It had started two days after he last saw Stiles. Derek was on his way to the grocery store when he saw flashing lights in his rearview mirror.

When he saw that it was Sheriff Stilinski pulling him over, he’d braced himself for an unpleasant verbal interaction. Given the injuries Derek had noticed on Stiles during the confrontation with Gerard, he was expecting anger, maybe something along the lines of “Stay away from my son!”

Instead, the sheriff was perfectly calm and civil and had invited Derek to stop by his house for a chat.

It wasn’t Derek’s first choice for a way to spend the afternoon, but he felt that he owed it to Stiles. Isaac had already mentioned that Stiles wasn’t in school, and Derek wondered if perhaps he was hurt worse than he’d looked. If nothing else, complying with the sheriff’s request would be an opportunity to make sure that Stiles was okay.

When Derek arrived at the Stilinski residence at the specified time, Stiles’ familiar heartbeat wasn’t within earshot.

The sheriff welcomed him inside, sat him down, and offered him a beer. When Derek declined, he got straight to the point. “Stiles told me all about what’s been happening here over the last few months.”

Derek winced. It looked like ‘angry father’ might still be on the table.

The sheriff surprised him again. “Don’t look so worried, son. I’m not about to lay blame on you for things that are outside your control. From the stories I heard, you’ve done your best to look out for him. Thank you for that. I imagine he didn’t make it easy.”

Derek relaxed slightly. Maybe this wouldn’t end as badly as he’d feared. “That’s rather an understatement, sir.” He hesitated. “How much did Stiles tell you?”

“According to him, everything,” The sheriff shook his head. “Werewolves, crazed alphas, psycho hunters… Stiles seemed very fond of using the word ‘psycho’ when describing members of the Argent family. He told me that Jackson Whittemore became some sort of murder lizard assassin, called a kanima? Although he assured me that the situation has subsequently been resolved.”

Derek nodded.

The sheriff hesitated, then sighed. “He also told me that Scott went behind his back and orchestrated a deliberate assault on you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my son so furious with Scott, not in all the years they’ve been friends.”

At the mention of Scott, Derek tensed up. He didn’t want to talk about that. The sheriff’s last words were a surprise. “Stiles didn’t know?”

The sheriff shook his head sadly. “No, he didn’t. It was a bit of an eyeopener; for both of us.”

Derek was vaguely aware that his relief at that information was disproportionate but didn’t want to examine it too closely. Instead, he focused on what it might mean for Stiles. “Maybe if he’s on the outs with Scott, he’ll stop throwing himself into unnecessary danger. I tried to stop him, but it was hard to argue that he should stay on the sidelines when he kept saving my life. Do you think that you’ll be able to convince him to take a step back?”

The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “You have more faith in my powers of persuasion than I do.” He cocked his head slightly. “Or maybe it’s just that you have less of an understanding of my son.” He waved his hand. “Oh, I’m sure I’d be able to wangle a promise from him to stay out of things. It might even work…for a while. But the first time something came up that he thought he could help with, he’d be diving straight back into the deep end.” He shook his head. “Loyalty is one of my son’s best traits. Unfortunately, loyalty to someone who doesn’t reciprocate is a recipe for mistreatment.”

Derek was all too familiar with how that went.

The sheriff sent him a sympathetic look. “I think this whole thing with Scott and Gerard Argent opened his eyes. I caught him at a weak moment and managed to ship him off to the other side of the country. He’s agreed to stay there for at least a year; hopefully, that will keep him out of mischief. He has a new phone, complete with a new number, and I asked him not to initiate contact with anyone here while he’s gone.”

Derek blinked, wondering why that news didn’t make him happier. After all, it was what he’d wanted; for Stiles to be safe. Away from the death and destruction that followed Derek and not getting in the way all the time. He realised that the sheriff was waiting for an acknowledgement. “Oh. Good.” He frowned. “Uh, why did you want to see me then?”

The sheriff sighed. “Call me Noah, son. I’m not speaking in my official capacity here, just so we’re clear. None of this conversation will go on any record; this is two men discussing a personal situation.”

Derek nodded slowly.

“Stiles…is an observant kid, always has been. Has a good brain on him too.” Noah chuckled, shaking his head. “His mother and I used to joke that the only things holding him back from eventual world domination were his ADHD and his lack of brain-to-mouth filter.” He tilted his head slightly in thought. “Although maybe I should amend that to ‘lack of interest in kissing ass.’ He’s proved recently that he can keep his mouth shut if the incentive is there. He just generally chooses not to.”

Derek, who’d had first-hand experience of Stiles mouthing off when he would have been better served not to, nodded in agreement.

“According to Stiles, while your decision-making wasn’t always the best, he was satisfied that your poor choices—his words, not mine—were made with the best of intentions.”

That was damning with faint praise. Derek didn’t know how to respond.

“I did steer the conversation in your direction,” Noah admitted. “Talking about Scott was bringing on his anxiety, and one of the easiest ways to derail that is to get him focused on something else. He got quite animated when discussing ideas for you.”

Derek baulked a little. “That’s alarming. Do I even want to know?”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “His primary concern was a support system for you. He worried that his absence, combined with Scott’s recent betrayal, would leave you with a lack of support to call on if you needed help. He suggested a couple of possible solutions.”

Derek wondered briefly if it was too late to move to Canada.

“When he was gone, I took a quick look through the station’s files. One of his initially outlandish ideas has been growing on me.” Noah leaned forward and gave him a warm smile that Derek immediately distrusted. “Have you considered becoming a deputy sheriff?”

“What?!”

The next hour involved Noah laying out several very reasonable-sounding rationales as to why Derek joining the ranks of law enforcement would be a good thing. None of Derek’s very logical reasons why it would be courting disaster seemed to dent his certainty.

Derek left what, in retrospect, looked a lot like a job interview with a handful of pamphlets, instructions to apply, and a promise of endorsement.

That was that.

Almost before he knew what he was doing, Derek submitted his application. Any uncertainty about where Stiles learned his ability to argue people into actions they’d otherwise have never dreamt of was dispelled.

Derek’s expectation that his application would be rejected proved false. The written recommendation of a current sheriff turned out to be enough for the POST Regular Basic Course to overlook the other irregularities in his documentation.

Meanwhile, Noah Stilinski had somehow wrangled a promise from an amused and slightly fascinated Peter to be Derek’s research minion and official pack advisor.

Derek didn’t know how to feel about that.

Noah then had a ‘discussion’ with Chris Argent that Derek wasn’t invited to attend.

Within a week, the remaining Argents packed their things, put their house up for sale, and departed. Derek heard from Isaac that Scott was devasted and had begun working on Melissa to agree to move them to Rapid City, North Dakota. Melissa was reportedly unenthused about upheaving her life but inclined to be persuaded.

A week after the Argents’ departure, Cora—who had miraculously survived the fire and had been living in Brazil until hearing that the Hales held their ancestral lands again—arrived, dragging a ragged looking Erica and Boyd behind her.

Erica apologised sheepishly for both of them, asking to be considered pack again. She and Boyd had been living rough after discovering that ‘joining another pack’ wasn’t as easy as they’d expected. The only pack they’d managed to find made it clear that no-one would be interested in taking in omegas who’d wilfully abandoned their alpha, then warned them that if they didn’t move on within twenty-four hours, they would be killed.

Derek didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, they’d already abandoned him once. What was to stop them from doing it again? On the other, Argents were enough to terrify more hardened and experienced werewolves than they were.

Isaac was all for Derek allowing them back, while Peter was less forgiving. Cora didn’t offer a recommendation one way or another, but Derek wasn’t blind to how much she was enjoying acting as Erica’s mentor.

After thinking it over for a couple of days without coming to any conclusions, Derek decided to ask Noah for his thoughts.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to trust them again?” Noah asked, having drawn the whole miserable story out of Derek. “If you don’t think you can, then we should look at finding another solution.”

“I…” Derek looked away from Noah’s too perceptive gaze. “I don’t think I ever did trust them. Not really.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe we should try again. Now that we’re not in constant danger, maybe we have time to build the bonds we need.”

Noah nodded encouragingly. “That sounds like a good start.”

Derek sighed. “I was never meant to be the alpha,” he said. “That was always going to be Laura. I’m not naturally disposed to it like she was, and I didn’t have any of the preparation that she had. I’m just making it up as I go along.”

“That’s what adulthood is like for the majority of the population,” Noah replied. “All you can do is the best you can do, in the moment you’re in.”

Derek felt like Noah wasn’t getting it but didn’t know how to explain himself any better.

Noah watched him for a moment before speaking again. “I didn’t know your mother very well; I only met her a few times. So, I can’t tell you what she would have thought about the way things have turned out.” He leaned forward. “But in my opinion, she would have been a fool if she was anything but proud of the son she raised. You’ve persevered through hardships that would have broken most people. Through all of that, you’ve continued to try and do what you think is right.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve made so many mistakes, I’ve done it all wrong—”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “No one’s perfect, son.”

Derek thought back to his mother, his alpha, and how she had effortlessly governed the pack when he was younger and disagreed. “My mother was famous. I remember that we had visitors from other packs coming to learn pack management from her. She might not have been perfect, but she wouldn’t have been far off. That’s the kind of alpha the Hale pack needs. Someone like her.”

“Ah, son,” Noah sighed. “It’s easy, when we’re young, to think our parents are perfect. Kids tend to idolise their parents; look up to them. One of the important milestones of becoming an adult is the transition from seeing our parents as demi-gods, people to be counted on to solve everything, to just ordinary people. Ordinary people with ordinary faults. It’s a completely different relationship, and you never got to have that.”

Derek swallowed hard.

Noah’s smile was wry. “On the other side of the spectrum, you have Stiles, who learned that lesson far too early. If I could go back and change things, I would. But that’s impossible. All I can do….”

“Is the best you can do,” Derek finished, talking around the lump in his throat. “In the moment you’re in.”

“Sometimes it’s hard, and we need a little help,” Noah went on. “You drink too much, and you work too hard, and are so busy not paying attention that your son can hide a secret life right under your nose. But then, sometimes something might remind you that there are still ways you can do right by your son.

“It might mean sending him away and doing what you can in his place so that he doesn’t feel the need to hurry back. It might mean standing up and doing more to help another kid, when you see that you can.” Noah patted Derek on the shoulder and got to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little peckish. You interested in sharing a chicken and leek pot pie? It’s actually pretty tasty, although don’t tell Stiles I said that.”

Derek nodded jerkily.

Noah was right. The pot pie was delicious.

Following Noah’s suggestions, Derek announced an extended pack meeting. As well as Isaac, Jackson, Peter, Cora, Erica and Boyd, who were all expected to attend, he also invited Lydia, Scott, and Melissa. Noah agreed to host since the Stilinski residence was relatively neutral ground.

Derek considered asking Deaton to join them but, in the end, decided not to. Regardless of how things with his pack turned out, Derek had no intention of trusting their safety to such an enigmatic, cryptic man. Deaton had been more hindrance than help since Derek had arrived back in Beacon Hills.

Scott declined, stating that he wanted nothing to do with Peter, and Melissa followed her son’s lead. Derek half-expected Lydia to bow out and was surprised when she arrived five minutes early, Danny Mahealani in tow. Derek decided it wasn’t worth challenging her, especially since Jackson perked up at the sight of his best friend.

The primary purpose of the meeting was to bring everyone together and to set some base guidelines for how to proceed. With that in mind, Derek tried his best to listen to everyone and give them a chance to speak their minds.

Having Noah there to act as an impartial referee was invaluable, although it grated on Derek that his betas listened to the sheriff with more respect than they did for him. He swallowed that feeling as best he could and worked hard to stay calm and rational. He constantly reminded himself that these were bitten betas, that he needed to be patient.

An hour and a half into the meeting, the pizzas that he’d pre-arranged arrived. The severe tone immediately lifted to something much lighter as they dug in. Derek sat back and watched the members of his fledgling pack interact with each other, wishing for a moment that Stiles could be here. It seemed wrong, somehow, to be doing this without him.

It was a strange feeling, considering how glad Derek had been when he’d first heard that Stiles was moving to the East Coast for a year.

As an unenhanced human, Stiles was inherently disadvantaged when faced with supernatural threats. It was even worse when hunters were targeting him. Theoretically, hunters were supposed to leave humans alone. Derek was only too aware that hunters were very much of the ‘the friend of my enemy is my enemy’ mindset; it was a common tactic to cause emotional damage to their supernatural targets by badly hurting and killing human associates.

Derek had spent months trying to get Stiles to pull his neck in and make himself less of a target. Stiles had ignored him, and while his help had been invaluable, the cost had been too high.

Ironically, now that Stiles had finally followed his advice, Derek missed him. Missed his pointed remarks, his enthusiasm, his way of breaking tense moments, his desire to help. If it wasn’t for Noah stepping up to help him, Derek didn’t know where he’d be.

It didn’t escape Derek that Noah’s beneficence could be considered another way Stiles had found to help him.

v^v^v^v

The months following Stiles’ departure weren’t easy. Derek’s naturally reserved nature and difficulty articulating his thoughts and feelings made connecting with his newly bitten teenage pack members an ongoing trial.

Thankfully, the Argents’ departure from the area corresponded with a marked drop in stress for the Hale Pack. It might have been a coincidence that the supernatural upheavals that had plagued them disappeared simultaneously; Derek wasn’t inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was a slow process, but the pack finally stopped feeling like a disparate group of strangers that were putting up with each other out of necessity.

Derek was increasingly reminded of the comforting closeness of his childhood pack. It wasn’t the same, of course. Derek’s new pack was tied by bonds created and tested in adversity, whereas his childhood pack was bound by blood.

With Noah’s help, the legalities of the Hale inheritance progressed enough that Derek was able to buy a house that bordered his family’s ancestral land. It would do as a pack residence until the new Hale House was built, at which point it could be used as a secondary dwelling.

He hoped that his betas would eventually start growing the pack the old-fashioned way. Since they weren’t born werewolves, they might find the perceived privacy of a secondary residence attractive.

The Hale house itself would be the focal gathering point for the pack, with a vast kitchen and dining area, bedrooms for pack members who wanted them, a media room/theatre, other spaces where the pack could congregate and spend time together. A tiled deck area that led out to an ample lawn would serve for outdoor cooking.

As well as the communal pack areas, the house would have attached wings that each included a couple of self-contained apartments designed for families with young children. Young werewolves could be a handful; they needed space to run until they learned to regulate their strength while also learning not to talk about the things they could smell and hear that normal humans couldn’t. It was best if they lived somewhere they weren’t likely to out the existence of werewolves to the general populace.

As well as not being trained for it, Derek had never wanted to be an alpha. Contrary to Scott’s angry accusations, he’d never been interested in the power and responsibility that came with leading a pack.

When it came time to choose, though, when Peter’s death became a certainty, Derek willingly took on the task rather than let it either go to an untested, belligerent pup, or fade from the world, taken by the same family that murdered his pack.

Nonetheless, Derek felt utterly unworthy of the role and looked forward to passing it on as soon as was practical. He was enough of his mother’s son, enough of a Hale, that any recipient he chose needed to fill specific criteria.

Amongst standard requirements like strength and skills in leadership, it needed to be someone that Derek would be happy to submit to as alpha.

Despite Deaton’s many hints, it would never be Scott. Scott was too self-absorbed, betrayed others too easily. He’d had the loyalty of perhaps the most capable human Derek had ever met and then squandered it.

It couldn’t be Peter. Not because Peter had killed Laura; the wolf in Derek understood Peter’s right to challenge, his anger at being abandoned. Peter ticked a lot of Derek’s mental boxes for alpha requirements. He was cunning. He could lead. His loyalty…

Derek was still unsure about that. But the uncertainty wasn’t a no, which was better than Scott had.

Peter was a Hale wolf, something Derek preferred since Beacon Hills was Hale land. Their blood and magic had gone into this land for generations. The land was healthier with a Hale protecting it, which was important.

But Peter had intentionally used the bite as a weapon. Insane or not, that was something that tainted an alpha, and Derek wouldn’t pass the alpha spark back to him and risk the territory’s health. Luckily, Peter appeared to understand and agree, although he retained a quiet bitterness that made Derek wary.

None of Derek’s newly bitten betas were appropriate. Maybe in fifteen or twenty years…but unlikely. They remained too caught up with their humanity; they thought of themselves as human first and werewolf second. Born wolves had the advantage of growing up knowing that they were neither man nor beast, but a blend of the two. An alpha needed to understand that, and none of his bitten betas did.

Aside from that, their personalities were inherently opposite of what Derek was looking for in an alpha. An alpha needed to be able to sacrifice for others. None of Derek’s betas had shown any aptitude there.

He’d had some hope that Cora might agree to lead. Cora hadn’t quite laughed in his face when he broached the subject with her, but she’d made it clear that she had no more inclination to become alpha than Derek had.

“Being tied to Beacon Hills would turn me mean,” Cora said bluntly. “I want to travel. I’ve been looking at studying overseas, so I won’t even be going to college here.” She sighed. “This land is in my bones. I’ll always return, but I’m not ready to dedicate my life to it. I may never be ready.”

Derek couldn’t argue with that. Other than Cora, the only person he knew who was a fit for the job of alpha was probably Stiles. Stiles, who wasn’t a Hale, wasn’t a werewolf, wasn’t even on the same coast. If Stiles had asked for the bite and taken to it as well as Derek thought he would, then Stiles would have been close to ideal, lack of Hale bood notwithstanding.

For Stiles’ sake, Derek was glad that he’d gone. It did mean that he needed to step up his game. One thing that Stiles could always be counted on was to use all the resources at his disposal to achieve the best result, provided his father wasn’t put into danger.

With Stiles gone, Derek’s most trusted researcher was Peter. Derek wasn’t ready to put all his trust in Peter quite yet. Derek fully accepted him as pack, but that didn’t leave him blind to his nature.

Peter was a brilliant left hand for any alpha; he was intelligent, cunning, and could sniff out weaknesses better than anyone Derek had ever known. But those traits made him an unreliable researcher. Not only was he liable to squirrel away nuggets of information for personal gain, but his perspective on what was important differed from Derek’s.

Cora’s ideas were more closely aligned, but she made it clear that she wasn’t ready to dive into their family’s past just yet.

Since he was trying to lead by example, Derek eventually decided that shoving the tedious work off to other pack members because he didn’t want to do it would send the wrong message. Expecting to find the whole thing a drag, he waded into his pack’s history, looking for hints that would help him.

As it happened, the diaries turned out to be far more interesting than he had anticipated. Finding out dragons were real, although so rare that none of his ancestors had met one, was mind-boggling.

Some things were hinted at but never outright stated. There were occasional comments regarding the pack’s responsibilities to the nemeton located in the Preserve, referring to specific books that Derek hadn’t been able to find.

The references to pack members called Emissaries, mentioning their value to the pack and their role in keeping the magic of the territory healthy, made Derek realise that part of his duty as alpha included finding an Emissary. Peter was able to tell him that his mother’s old Emissary was Alan Deaton, although Derek didn’t remember the man performing any of the functions described in the diaries.

Even if Derek were inclined to trust Deaton, which he wasn’t, the enigmatic druid had packed his bags, sold his practice, and vanished from town. It happened so quickly that Derek didn’t find out about it until it was all over. He only learned about it because Scott stopped by to blame him.

“You must have done something!” Scott insisted, despite having the ability to hear and smell that Derek wasn’t lying. “I’m never going to join your pack, Derek, I told you! You can drive Stiles away; you can turn the sheriff against me; you can get rid of the Argents and Deaton… It’s all for nothing. It will never, ever work.”

Derek had already given up on trying to help Scott. For the moment, Scott was managing okay. As a Hale bite residing in Hale territory, he would be able to function while holding off the need for a pack for some time yet. Many alphas would have driven him away and cut the remaining ties, but Derek felt that the Hale pack at least owed him guest room.

If Scott followed through on his plans to trail after Allison and leave Beacon Hills for good, he would find out just how tolerant other alphas weren’t of omegas hanging around and claiming their independence.

Sometimes, Derek wondered just what Deaton’s plan had been. It was common knowledge that werewolves without packs became increasingly unstable. Advising Scott to remain separate would result in his eventual death. Perhaps Deaton planned to lure an alpha into Scott’s vicinity and convince him to take his power, but such a scheme was risky.

Not that it mattered now. With Deaton’s absence, Scott needed to find someone else to guide him or do some growing up. Derek no longer cared enough to risk himself and his pack for someone who didn’t want his help.

That still left Derek with a space in his pack where an Emissary should fit. Luckily, that was something that Peter could help with.

On his recommendation, Derek sent a request off to’ The Smiths,’ a secretive organisation that specialised in introducing supernaturals to each other safely.

Derek’s application led to the meeting he was about to attend. Hopefully, the Hale pack would pass whatever tests the assessor would give them, and they’d be one step closer to becoming fully functional.

“Derek Hale?”

Derek rose to his feet. “Tamara?”

The woman in front of him looked anywhere between forty and sixty and was much shorter than Derek had expected. Even wearing three-inch high-heeled boots, the top of her head only came halfway up his chest. She was dressed in a floaty yellow dress with pink and purple flowers scattered over it, and her short black hair had golden tips. She also carried a large, tasselled tote bag the same cream colour as her shoes. It had a large ‘T’ on the front in bright blue.

She grinned up at him. “That’s me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Well, don’t you look just like your mama; may she rest in peace.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Derek, feeling awkward but trying not to show it. An alpha was supposed to be confident and comfortable in their surroundings. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming.”

Tamara laughed. “Now, now, don’t you go trying to act all formal on me. This is just a nice chat, nothing to be afraid of. You mind if we sit on this comfy-looking bench? These heels look great, but they’re hell on the feet, you know.”

Derek blinked. “Sure. We can sit.”

Tamara plonked her bag down, sitting beside it with a sigh of relief. “Come on, now, sit. Surely your mother taught you it isn’t gentlemanly to tower over me like that.”

Derek sat.

Tamara rummaged around in her bag before pulling out a jagged piece of bright blue rock bigger than her hand and placing it carefully on the bench. “There. That will keep anyone from overhearing anything we say. Now,” her brown eyes focussed on his face, “why don’t you start by telling me all about how you came to be the alpha.”

Talking to Tamara was easier than he’d expected it to be. Derek started back as far as his doomed romance with Paige, talked through her death and Kate’s subsequent arrival on the scene, then explained the murder of most of his pack and Laura’s decision to abandon Peter and run away to New York.

For the first time, he found himself talking about those years he and Laura had existed as a pack of two. The steps they’d taken to go unnoticed; the menial jobs they’d taken to make ends meet before Laura was old enough to access the family accounts.

How Laura was lured back to Beacon Hills, how Derek had felt her die.

Talking about his return to Beacon Hills and the subsequent events was easier. Even his captivity at the hands of the Argents was less traumatic than what had gone before. After Laura’s death, Derek resigned himself to a life of constant torment, and Kate’s efforts bothered him far less than she probably hoped they would.

He wondered if his ease in discussing more recent events was the amount of talking he’d already done. Stiles always wanted to dig out the reasons for things, and he’d been irritatingly persistent about asking until he got his answers.

In retrospect, Derek could see that he’d been scrupulous about not asking for details about anything before Scott became a werewolf, not if they didn’t relate directly to the situation they were dealing with. At the time, Derek hadn’t noticed his forbearance, too irritated by being made to talk about anything when he would have preferred to just forget about it all.

When Derek finally finished up the story of his life, he felt drained; hollowed out. He leaned back against the bench and looked up at the blue sky, wondering if he’d just scuppered their chances of getting an Emissary by proving how unfit he was.

Throughout, Tamara had watched him closely. When he was done, she continued to observe him with that perceptive gaze.

Derek started to feel uncomfortable. “I don’t normally talk this much.”

Tamara smiled sympathetically. “You’ve done well.” She picked up the blue rock, ran her hand over it once and put it back in her bag. “The Lapis Lazuli encourages communication and honesty. It won’t make you say anything you don’t want to, but it does help those who have difficulty verbalising things. We’ve found that born werewolves, especially, benefit from its use.”

Derek frowned.

Tamara rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, don’t go throwing those eyebrows at me; I’m immune to threatening scowls. Now, you’ll be pleased to know that you’ve passed the personality evaluation. When would you like me to perform the second assessment?”

“Anytime,” said Derek, still feeling off-balance. Tamara reminded him of his grandmother, Nora, who’d been the Hale Alpha for thirty years before passing the mantle to Talia. Nora was a law unto herself; there was no point trying to stop her from doing and saying anything once she’d made up her mind to do so. Thank goodness she’d been a primarily benevolent force in the world.

“Anytime? Really?” Tamara raised one eyebrow. “Now?”

Derek had a brief vision of what the shared rooms of their temporary pack quarters had looked like this morning. Erica had promised to sort it out, but it wasn’t even midday. She might not have even woken up yet. “Ah. Not now. Not tomorrow, either. But any day after that.”

“I prefer to be able to meet as many of your pack as possible,” Tamara informed him, tapping away at her phone. “I know several of them are still in school, so either an evening or a weekend.”

“Next Saturday,” Derek decided.

Tamara made a notation. “Would you be open to me bringing company with me? There’s a strange emanation I’ve been picking up that I can’t put a name to.”

Derek shrugged. “Sure.”

There was the sound of a message being sent. Tamara sat back and tapped her phone against her bottom lip, looking at Derek speculatively. “This isn’t strictly in my remit, but would you be offended if I offered you a bit of personal advice?”

Derek noticed that she didn’t ask whether he cared to hear it; no doubt she intended to say her piece regardless. Just like Nana Nora. Still, no reason to make it easy for her. “Depends on what it is.”

Tamara sighed, dark eyes kind. “Honey, you need therapy. If any of my kids went through half what you have, they’d be in therapy so fast you’d be able to hear the sonic boom on Mars.” She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a sheet of paper covered with names, phone numbers, and web addresses. “This here’s a list of supernatural-safe practitioners the agency has checked and cleared for our clients. Get yourself, and the rest of your pack too, for that matter, some introductory sessions. See if it helps.”

Derek took the sheet of paper, glancing over it. There were twenty options, all neatly numbered. “I’ll talk it over with my pack.”

“Good,” said Tamara. She put her phone away and got to her feet. “See you Saturday.” She held out a business card. It shimmered like opal and had nothing written on it other than a cell phone number embossed in bronze. “If you have any queries in the meantime, call this number and leave a message. Someone will get back to you within an hour.” She picked her tote bag up off the bench and disappeared.

Literally. Derek couldn’t see, hear, or smell her.

He sat where she’d left him, a list of therapists in one hand and a business card in the other. That had gone nothing like he’d imagined it would.

v^v^v^v

Derek went to find Noah, hoping to enlist his help to sell the idea of therapy to his pack. If the man had managed, even once, to convince Stiles to do something he didn’t want to do, then he had skills that Derek lacked.

Noah just laughed at him. “You’re giving me too much credit, son. Stiles always did exactly as he wished; the only way to change his mind was to convince him that he wanted to.” He paused. “Or a bribe. That worked once or twice, before he was old enough to drive. You think I’m on this diet because of my debate skills?”

Derek sighed.

“My advice,” said Noah, clapping him companionably on the shoulder,” is to explain that you think therapy is a good idea, perhaps offer them an incentive. Just remember that it only works if the person seeking it truly wants it to. On the other hand, teenagers are as self-obsessed as anyone else. More, even. Given a chance to talk about themselves for an hour, most people don’t have any trouble.”

Derek nodded slowly. “Thanks.” He hadn’t considered bribery, but it might work. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had lately been lamenting their lack of personal transportation, so that was a place to start. Jackson, Lydia, and Danny already had cars, but Lydia would probably be open to therapy, and Jackson would follow her lead. Danny made his own decisions, but then Danny was the only one Derek would consider well-balanced. “I’ll give it a go.”

“No problem,” replied Noah. “I take it things have been going well?” His question was cautious, as if he weren’t sure he had the right to be asking it.

No doubt because a month prior, when Derek had offered Noah a position in his pack, he’d declined.

“I’m always here if you want to talk about things, but I think that it’s better for the town if I remain somewhat impartial,” Noah explained. “When Stiles comes back, we can re-evaluate things.”

Derek hadn’t been surprised or offended. The sheriff was essentially the alpha of the county’s law enforcement; joining the pack would have meant accepting one of his deputies as a leader, which would have been weird. “Will Stiles definitely be coming back then?” he’d asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Noah nodded. “He’s started talking about waiting until after he finishes college, but coming back is part of his plans.” He left it there.

Since then, by mutual agreement, Noah and Derek didn’t discuss Stiles’ life in Boston or the details of day-to-day pack life. Aside from the times when Derek wanted advice from a leader he trusted and the occasional discussions when the supernatural crossed over into the same area as mundane law enforcement, Noah treated Derek just like any of his deputies.

He also refused any expressions of gratitude Derek tried to offer him. Derek’s only way to show his thanks was to go over and above when it came to his job in the sheriff’s department. He started by taking all the voluntary work that no one wanted to do, gaining a reputation as a hard worker with the townsfolk.

Some of the other deputies called him a brown-noser, but it wasn’t long before they took advantage of his lack of protest when doing the crappy jobs.

Derek didn’t mind, and he didn’t care what they thought of him. It was much better than being thought of as the guy who probably murdered his sister. Aside from that, he liked being kept busy. The other deputies soon grew used to relying on Derek to help them out and then forgot they didn’t like him.

When Jordan Parrish joined the sheriff’s department, Derek watched as all the nitpicking he’d put up with was heaped on the newbie. Derek wasn’t interested in taking part in such childish behaviour. The first time he patrolled with Parrish, Derek quietly let him know that the others didn’t truly dislike him; it was just some kind of ritual hazing.

Parrish became Derek’s first real friend in the department. It was good to have someone he could count on to swap shifts with if something weird and supernatural happened that needed his attention. Having the sheriff in the know was grand, but having a friend was different. Something about him just made Derek feel comfortable.

“We’re good, thanks,” said Derek in answer to Noah’s question. “I think that soon we’ll be better than good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

v^v^v^v

Derek returned to the house to find the cleaning already well underway. He stood back for a moment, watching how his betas all pitched in to help despite their loud verbal disagreements over who should do what. They all denied responsibility for the oven, which had somehow managed to acquire a layer of burnt something in the last twenty-four hours.

When the house looked liveable again, he gathered them together in the living room and told them the news.

No one was particularly enthused at being looked over by strangers. Still, when Derek explained that the territory’s health the pack’s wellbeing meant that they needed a magic user, they reluctantly agreed to be on their best behaviour.

“The quality of the magic users offered to us will be a good indicator of our general health as a pack,” Peter informed them. “Our recent troubles aren’t a secret to the rest of the supernatural world, so they’ll be watching to see just what kind of people we are.” He lifted his chin slightly. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. We all have issues with other members of the pack. We need to put those petty differences aside and work together, for all of us.”

It was probably Peter’s agreement with Derek’s actions that swung that one. Peter was the closest thing they had to an elder, a position that ordinarily went to betas more than twice his age. It worked in this new iteration of the Hale pack because, even as young as he was, Peter was so much older than all the other betas. It wasn’t only years; experience was a factor as well. Derek had noticed that Peter found it difficult to relate to them personally unless he was manipulating them.

The only ones who seemed to understand Peter were Cora and Derek. To be honest, that was probably the way Peter liked it. So, his speaking up and advocating for unity visibly impacted the younger members.

Since there was no point in delaying the inevitable, Derek also announced that he’d decided to see a therapist on the assessor’s recommendation. He didn’t expect the enthusiastic response he got. His awkward offer to share the contacts list and pay for any of them who also wanted therapy was received well, too.

There was a teenage party elsewhere that night, so Derek had the house to himself. Well, almost himself. Cora wasn’t interested in partying with high-schoolers she didn’t know, and Peter—who was unpredictable in his habits—joined his niblings for the evening.

They sat around the lounge in semi-awkward silence. Derek felt that, as the alpha, he should be able to connect better with what was left of his family. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound banal or stupid, so he didn’t say anything.

Peter broke the silence. “Despite my expectations, it’s all coming together.”

Derek had to fight the instinct to hunch his shoulders at the implication that Peter had expected him to fail. “I know that I don’t know what I’m doing.” The ‘I’m trying my best’ was unspoken, but they were werewolves. It was written all over him for anyone who cared to look to see.

Cora snorted. “Don’t stress, Derek. You’re already better at this than Laura was, and she was supposed to be the ‘next great Hale alpha.’”

Peter made a rude noise. “Laura was never going to be a good alpha. She was too concerned with her own prestige and the pack’s external reputation and not nearly concerned enough with caring for the individuals she would lead.”

“She was also looking forward to using her alpha power to make people do what she wanted,” continued Cora. “She once told me that, when she was alpha, she’d be able to make me stop arguing with her. To be honest, I was already researching other packs. That’s how I knew where to run.”

Derek didn’t know how to reply to that. Laura had been bossy and overbearing sometimes, but Derek had always thought that was just what older sisters were like. The years they spent in hiding after the fire, before finally settling in New York when Derek was old enough for Child Protective Services not to have jurisdiction over him, were so different from his life before the fire that he couldn’t compare them.

“You never noticed because you never gave her reason to focus her displeasure on you,” explained Peter. “You’d be off in your own little world; Laura would come up and interrupt you with an order to do something stupid and unnecessary, and you’d just…calmly do it. Cora wasn’t inclined to give in so easily, making Laura double-down. I warned Talia that she should do something about it, but she insisted that it was something Laura would grow out of.”

Derek had vague memories of Laura and Cora fighting, but at the time, it hadn’t mattered to him, so he hadn’t paid attention. “Huh. I never knew that.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Yes, we know. Now, can we stop all this introspective crap and watch a movie or something?”

“Yes,” Derek replied immediately, reaching over to pick the remote up off the table.

Peter laughed.

v^v^v^v

When Tamara returned for the Saturday inspection, she wore a sparkly golden pantsuit that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Hollywood red carpet.

She brought two others along with her. They were introduced as Tom and Jess, although Tamara admitted upfront that those weren’t their real names. Tom was perhaps the oldest werewolf Derek had ever seen; Jess, at first glance, looked about Derek’s age and didn’t smell like any supernatural person Derek had ever met.

Tom kept Tamara company as she performed her inspection while Jess wandered off into the Preserve by herself. Derek offered to send one of his betas with her, but she waved it away with a laugh.

“Jess can take care of herself,” said Tamara, making herself comfortable on the couch, observing them with dark, sparkling eyes. “Now, why don’t you give us a run-through of a typical month in the Hale Pack?”

Before long, Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson were relaxed enough to let down their guard. Danny was his usual friendly self from the outset, and soon Tamara and Tom were talking about school and sports and possible ideas for college. By then, even Lydia had started to thaw.

Cora and Peter remained wary throughout.

Jess returned to the house two hours later, just as Tamara and Tom said their goodbyes. Despite careful observation, Derek couldn’t tell if Jess was happy or unhappy with whatever she’d found out in the Preserve. She didn’t seem overly worried, though, so Derek decided to cautiously hope for the best.

“I’ll be in contact with you tomorrow,” Tamara promised as she shook Derek’s hand, “but I don’t foresee any problems. Thank you all for your welcome.”

The Hale pack stood together and watched as the three visitors got back into their dark grey Honda Accord and drove away.

“That went well,” said Erica, breaking the silence. “Didn’t it? I can never tell.”

Danny smiled reassuringly. “Unless Tamara and Tom were both deliberately lying to us, then yes, it went well.”

Since Danny was better at reading people than the rest of the pack—enhanced senses notwithstanding—Derek allowed himself to relax. He shouted the whole pack whatever pizza they wanted, enjoying the good-natured fighting over who’d ordered what.

v^v^v^v

The call Derek was waiting for came just before lunch. Peter had taken the rest of the pack on a tour of the outer borders, the area that was only considered under Hale protection because no one else held it. They were going to be gone for the day, which was a relief.

Nervousness tended to make Derek bad-tempered, and a night of imagining all the different ways they might have made a lousy impression only exacerbated matters.

“Derek, it’s Tamara,” said Tamara, not bothering with any preamble. “Do you have time to talk?”

Derek’s heart sank. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong,” Tamara assured him, “just different than what we’re used to. Jess’s report…well….”

Derek waited.

“We don’t often have the chance to make placements for a pack that acts as Guardians to a nemeton,” said Tamara carefully. “Our understanding is that the nemeton itself makes the necessary arrangements, in conjunction with the pack. This is mostly conjecture, you understand. Guardian packs are some of the most stable and aren’t inclined to answer a lot of prying questions about their inner workings. We’ve tried asking other Guardians, but they’re not talking either.”

“I know what you mean,” said Derek. “Looking over my ancestors’ journals requires a lot of reading between the lines. I can understand the desire for privacy because there’s safety in secrecy, but those journals were meant to be read by someone already in the know. It’s very frustrating.”

Tamara laughed. “It sounds infuriating. But we’re drifting from the point. What I’m about to say was in the first info packet we sent you; I’m going over it again for reinforcement. Usually, at this point, we’d take your personality profile and your pack assessment and match it against the magic users in our database.

“The assessor—me, and on this occasion Tom and Jess—then contacts the five best prospects and gives them an overview of your situation, keeping specific data hidden such as names, locations, exact pack structure etc. Interested magic-users will then meet with you in a neutral location to see if your personalities are harmonious. If no one in the first group is interested or you fail to connect, we would go through the remaining options until there is a successful match.”

Derek nodded. That was how he’d remembered it. “The brochure said that the Smiths have a perfect success rate.” It was what convinced him to send an application.

“We do,” Tamara confirmed. “We’ve made nearly two hundred matches. In all cases, both parties have expressed their gratitude and satisfaction with the results. Of that number, only three matches weren’t found in the initial three candidates. We’re very good at what we do, and we’re proud of our record. Having made the group assessment yesterday, I saw no reason why your charming pack would not be one of them. However, according to Jess, the nemeton has already made its choice.”

Derek blinked. “It has? Who?” He sincerely hoped it wasn’t Alan Deaton.

“Jess wasn’t able to discern who. She said that the bond is significant, although unconfirmed. She gained the impression that the nemeton isn’t distressed; it’s in a state of patient anticipation. There could be any number of reasons for this, but Jess thinks the most likely is that the person in question might be too young or is yet untutored to take their place.”

Derek immediately thought of Stiles. It might not be him, of course, but then again, it might. There wasn’t any proof either way, but Derek had started to listen to his instincts. They practically screamed ‘Stiles.’

Given Noah’s certainty about Stiles coming home—usually expressed as complaints about the strict diet his son had placed him on before agreeing to leave—he would be back in Beacon Hills eventually.

Tamara continued her explanation. “That leaves you with several options. Firstly, we could leave things as they are. I think this would be a bad idea; I feel that both you and the Hale territory would benefit from a magical overseer.”

Derek nodded his agreement before realising she couldn’t see him. “I agree.”

“Secondly, we can go through with the candidacy as we usually would, hoping that the nemeton will agree to accept a substitute for its current choice. Again, I’m not convinced this is a good idea. This nemeton has gone through enough upheaval in the last decade; trying to abrogate its wishes is counter to the mandate of care a Guardian should assume.” She paused. “That I believe a Guardian should assume, I should say.”

If the nemeton had bonded to Stiles, Derek doubted that presenting alternative candidates would achieve anything. Derek hadn’t known Stiles long, but his loyalty, tenacity, and strength had been undeniable.

Stiles had fought tooth and nail for Scott, right up until Scott made it clear that Stiles didn’t matter to him. According to Erica, Stiles even stood firm in the face of torture and possible death at the hands of Gerard Argent.

The chances of Stiles ceding any kind of bond to a stranger without a fight were slim to the point of non-existence.

“That aligns with the things my ancestors’ journals have said and my own instincts,” said Derek when he realised that Tamara was waiting for him to reply. “What’s the third option?”

“A sort of revolving door, timeshare arrangement. We’ll provide you with a series of magic users to help maintain the general health of the area and work to bring the nemeton back to full health. Each one will be strictly screened and required to take an oath: to work in your best interests and maintain complete confidentiality about your pack and territory.”

That sounded reasonable and useful. “What kind of cost would I be looking at?”

The Smiths were an expensive service, but finding the right fit for their pack was well worth it. However, an ongoing cost for a temporary Emissary could become a financial burden. The Hale coffers weren’t exactly low, but that was because generations of Hales hadn’t been inclined to just throw money around.

On the other hand, money was a small price to pay to have his territory magically defended while keeping what was probably Stiles’ rightful place open for his return.

“Only the original service fee,” assured Tamara.

Derek frowned. “Really? What would the Smiths be getting out of it?” Nothing came for free; there was always a price somewhere. A successful business like the Smiths didn’t remain that way by devoting their time and effort to a customer who wasn’t paying them, and an arrangement like the one Tamara had suggested could go on for years.

“We would use your situation as a testing ground,” replied Tamara. “It would allow us to see how our magical clients perform in a real-world scenario. It would also benefit those who haven’t worked with werewolves before, giving them the chance to expand their knowledge. All we would require from you is periodic reporting on each candidate.”

“Why would your candidates agree to sink their magic into a situation that wouldn’t be permanent? For a territory that they can’t build a connection with?” Derek would be the first to admit that he didn’t know much about what magic users required to be fulfilled, but he knew that asking a werewolf pack to defend a territory that they couldn’t claim would never work.

“To be frank, the nemeton is a huge draw. They’re rare enough that most magic users will never get the chance to work with one, even peripherally. Were we inclined, the Smiths could even make a profit selling the opportunity. We won’t; it would bring more notoriety than we’re comfortable with. But we could.”

“What kind of timeframes are we looking at?”

“The turnover would be somewhere between six months and a year.”

Derek wished that Peter was here; he’d no doubt foresee issues that Derek was missing. “Would you be sending us magic users who specifically wanted to work with werewolves?”

There was a pause. “If that were one of your conditions, we would try to accommodate that.” Her voice was cautious.

Derek ran a hand over his face. “I wasn’t hinting at what you should do; I just wanted to know if that would be part of your criteria. For now, the third option you’ve suggested seems reasonable. Why don’t you write up a contract that Peter and I can look over, and we’ll get back to you with questions?”

Tamara’s voice warmed up again. “Absolutely. I’ll try to have an initial draft to you within the week.” The call didn’t last much longer.

Derek was left feeling antsy. He wanted to go for a run, but he was used to running with his pack these days and didn’t want to run alone. He thought about cooking, but there didn’t seem any point when he was the only one home.

In the end, he drove up to the site of the new Hale House. The foundations had been laid, and the framework had started to go up. There was no one but Derek there—the builders he’d chosen didn’t work weekends—so he took his time wandering through the ground floor.

In less than a year, it would be finished. The Hale Pack would once again be firmly planted into their ancestral land. Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting himself imagine the sound of children’s voices, their laughter echoing through rooms that had yet to be built.

It was all coming together. Despite Derek’s many missteps, he’d reached a place where he could cautiously claim to be a competent alpha.

His pack wasn’t traditional by any means, but they were a functional pack, and they were his. They’d come a long way in the last nine months, all of them had.

For the first time since that terrible day when Kate Argent killed his family, Derek could look to the future with hope.

5 Comments

  1. kaleecat

    Fabulous continuation of this universe – tho curiosity for what’s going on with Stles is killin me. 😉

    Wonderful evolution of Derek’s mental health in this; I adore all the interactions between he and Noah particularly when Noah opens up about his own failings. Derek finding a friend in Parrish made my heart warm. And I find the whole arc with the magic matching group and Tamara to be very intriguing and original.
    Was thrilled to see this. Thank you so much for creating and sharing!

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