Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles’ fingers are tapping so wildly on his steering wheel that even he’s getting annoyed by it, but he just can’t seem to stop. After nearly three hours of driving, he’s almost at his destination and his nerves are leaping about in his stomach. He’s already passed through the town of Beacon Hills, situated over a hundred miles north of where he himself grew up, and now he’s trundling along a weaving forest road searching for an opening to the driveway of the Hale family property.

He knows he’s in the right place. The house doesn’t show up on GPS so he’d had to make do with inputting the main road out of town and hope he’d find his way when he got here, but there’s a beacon of magical energy reaching him through the trees and it has to be his destination. It’s barely getting any closer as the road skirts the forest, and the thunder of his fingers against the steering wheel has become the soundtrack of the last mile as he scours the side of the road for any sort of entrance, trying not to chew too hard on his bottom lip.

A part of him hopes he’ll miss the turning completely so he can just keep driving for another three hours until he ends up back at home, but then he manages to laugh at himself. He has no reason to be this nervous. This is a good thing. Exciting. He might be about to meet a group of people who he’ll come to care for like family.

It’s still hard to believe that after all his years of Emissary training, the studying and exams and preparatory placements, here he is, searching for the werewolf pack he might bond with.

An opening finally appears between the trees at the edge of the road ahead and Stiles discovers the entrance to the Hale property would have been hard to miss. He wasn’t really sure what to expect, but it ends up being both more and less showy than he’d been picturing. Thick wooden posts stand either side of a dirt track leading into the trees, each carved on the front with a design like a family crest featuring a triskelion in the centre. He can sense that they’re imbued with old magic that keeps the reliefs from wear, the age of them telling him they were potentially carved by ancestors who could have been original settlers to the area. Hammered into the ground to the left is a shorter wooden signpost reading PRIVATE, the only indication that the path doesn’t lead to a walking trail.

This is it, he thinks to himself, glancing in his rear-view mirror at his dad driving the car following close behind. With a steadying breath, he gives the steering wheel a squeeze and makes the turn onto the dirt track.

Since finding out he was a candidate for this position, he’s read the Hale file provided to him by the Emissary Board cover to cover so many times that he’s lost count.

The new Alpha, Derek Hale, son of the previous Alpha and Emissary pair; two sisters, an uncle, two cousins; two married into the family. But it’s all just facts and figures, no faces to go with all the names. That’s about to change.

It’s intriguing that Derek’s parents were Alpha and Emissary of the pack. It’s a rare occurrence for them to have had such an intense bond that it led to marriage, though it’s not something that’s frowned upon. He wants to get a feel for how that dynamic worked, though it does add a burden to his shoulders knowing it’s a standard he’ll never live up to.

The Hales will have received a file on him in return featuring his educational history – both of typical school and his Emissary training – along with a cover letter and some information on his dad. It’s common for druids to come with families, but usually a partner and children, particularly if they’ve decided to take the Emissary route later in life. At twenty-five, Stiles is younger than most, deciding to pursue his Emissary training in place of a college education. With his dad being all the family he has and recently retired, it’s only natural that he should follow wherever he gets sent. He could never leave his dad behind to live on his own.

His nerves start to fade into the background the further he follows the path, his hands loosening from their white-knuckle grip on the wheel. His heart should be thundering, his breath should be coming shorter and shorter, but it feels more like a weight is lifting, determination starting to ease the tension in his shoulders. Whatever this feeling is, he’s not going to question it.

He follows the track for a good quarter mile, the tunnel of the tree canopy blocking out most of the sunlight and making the day feel much later than it really is. A goldfinch flits across the path ahead, just before the trees open up and he gets his first look at the house where they’re going to be staying for at least the next few days.

The house is at the centre of the clearing, just two storeys despite the strength of the magical energy that had made it feel so much bigger from the road. The wraparound porch is complete with a swing beside the front door, bordered by flower beds bursting with colour, and curtains in an open upper floor window fluttering in the breeze. There’s a vegetable patch on one side of the house, the leafy greenery of rows of potatoes soaking up the sun alongside carrots and something with leaves as big as his head. It looks more like a vacation home than a place they could call home permanently. 

He ducks down slightly to get a view of the whole house out of the windshield, eyebrows raised as he breathes out a whistle. The energy emanating from the house is intimidating this close up, but its presence isn’t oppressive or threatening. It feels like a haven instead, a protector of every person who lives there.

There are four other cars parked in the driveway, and in the absence of marked bays, he pulls in next to the closest one, a sleek black Camaro. It makes his battered Jeep look a sorry state but he’d choose his baby any day of the week, even if it is held together by prayers and magic. Mostly magic.

“Okay,” he murmurs to himself once the Jeep is parked and there’s really no turning back. “Time to do this.” He opens the door to climb out.

In the time he took his eyes off the house to park, the front door has opened and a man is slowly descending the porch steps, more people coming out of the house behind. Dark hair against tan skin and thick, angry-looking eyebrows are Stiles’ first impression, but as he gets closer, he’s struck by just how unfairly handsome he is.

Being the first to approach, he must be the new Alpha, the middle child and only son, Derek Hale.

Stiles glances at his dad who’s just climbed out of his car parked beside his, who throws him a quick smile in reassurance before they make the approach together.

Derek comes to a halt by the car parked nearest to the house, waiting for Stiles and his dad to get closer.

“Hi, I’m Stiles. Stilinski,” Stiles says, holding out a hand when they reach him. 

The Alpha takes a deep breath before accepting the handshake. It’s not a scenting reflex he’s ever seen a werewolf do before. It’s almost resigned, like the first half of a sigh, and Stiles has no idea what to make of it. There’s the twitch of returning nerves in his stomach.

“Derek Hale.”

Derek’s hand is warm and sturdy, and though they’re of a height, Stiles still feels dwarfed by his broad shoulders. Werewolves are generally known to be well-muscled, but it’s not always so overt. He knows from their file that they own a gym in town; Derek must be one of the pack members who works there.

“And this is my dad, John.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” his dad says, stepping forward to shake Derek’s hand as soon as Stiles lets go.

The rest of the pack have come up behind Derek, and it’s scary how obvious it is that they share genes, the two among their number who have married into the family easy to single out. The woman who has stepped up to Derek’s side is a lot older, but she has the same dark hair and tan skin, her brown eyes radiating warmth. Stiles knows immediately who she must be. Who she used to be.

“I’m Talia, Derek’s mom,” she says, her voice as warm as her eyes. “And this is my husband, Joseph.”

The man who steps forward is even taller than Derek and just as musclebound, perhaps even more so, made all the more remarkable considering he’s human. As Stiles shakes his hand, he’s acutely aware that, after Derek, Joseph’s favour – and blessing – as the previous Emissary is the most valuable, the most coveted. Stiles wonders how strange this must be for him, welcoming druid after druid knowing the role of protector will never again fall on his shoulders. To have the recipient be his son, the experience must be bittersweet.

After Joseph comes Derek’s older sister, Laura and her husband, Jordan, then his other sister, Cora.  Derek’s uncle, Peter, is married to Elaine, the only other human aside from Joseph, and they have two young children: Caleb, a boy of about five who’s trying to hide behind his parents’ legs – definitely a mini Peter – and a girl of maybe eight who’s standing unusually close to Stiles with her head craned back to stare up at him with big brown eyes.

“And this is Malia, our oldest,” says Elaine.

“Hi there,” Stiles says in greeting, trying not to laugh at her intensity.

“You don’t smell bad.”

At that, the laugh bursts out of him, and he’s not the only one. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Elaine hooks an arm around her chest to gentle her back. “Give him some space,” she scolds with a smile.

It’s a moment of much-needed laughter that helps to alleviate some of the awkwardness extended like a chasm between them.

Derek has faded to the back of the group since the handshake, but Stiles’ eyes find him anyway, still wanting to take in the Alpha he might bond with. Derek’s gaze is intense, giving an edge to his otherwise blank expression that Stiles still isn’t sure how to read. He reminds himself that this situation is awkward for all of them, even more so for Derek who must be facing so much pressure in finding the right druid, not to mention suddenly thrust into needing to accept two strangers into his territory, his home.

With Derek shrinking into the background, it seems Talia has slipped back into her old role as Alpha to take charge, and Derek seems content to let her. It’s not unusual so close to their transition that they’re still in an adjustment period, particularly for Derek when the previous Alpha is also his mom. Stiles can understand it. For him, it’s Joseph he’ll need to find a balance with, and he just hopes the two of them don’t end up butting heads.

“Let’s get your bags, then you can come on in to see the place,” Talia says, and they all follow Stiles and his dad to their cars to help with their suitcases.

They only have one each; it’s hard to pack when they don’t know if they’ll be here a day, a week, or permanently. This is only his second trial with a pack as a potential Emissary, and it could be many more until he finds where he’s meant to be. They’ll keep their house back home until that time comes, and Stiles tries not to think about how that could be for a very long while yet. They’ve only just arrived; it’s too early to speculate which way this will go.

He retrieves his backpack from the passenger seat as Derek hesitates before being the one to take his luggage, and he thinks he might even see Talia nodding her head at her son in encouragement.

“Your rooms appeared this morning so we knew you’d be here today before the Board called ahead,” Laura says, lifting his dad’s suitcase in front of her with one arm as they head towards the house.

“Appeared?”

“The house grows as the pack grows,” Joseph explains as they reach the front door, the kids running in first ahead of them.

Stiles pauses at the threshold, placing a hand on the doorframe before he dares step inside so he can take in the energy of the house and let it feel him out in return to decide if it wants to welcome him. He’s struck immediately by the age of the place, his stomach swooping like he’s stepped into a vast cavern, dwarfed by the depth of the energy reverberating all around. The magic imbuing this place is like the roots of an ancient oak anchoring it deep into the earth, evidence that it’s existed here in some form for generations, shifting and growing as needed.

Its energy seems to expand, brushing back against his like the trail of fingertips, stretching beneath his feet to act as support. He’s taken aback by its open-armed acceptance.

Joseph’s eyes widen as he shares a look with Talia. The last druid they trialled can’t have received such an overwhelming welcome; it’s difficult not to feel a little smug. 

With the house’s apparent blessing, Stiles steps inside with his dad following after, looking around and up at the ceiling like he might be able to see some physical representation of the house’s energy despite not having a supernatural bone in his body to sense it. They've always known every ounce of Stiles’ magic comes from his mom's side of the family. Though his dad can’t see it, has no idea it’s happening, the house extends the very same acceptance to him as well, that aura of protection Stiles had sensed when laying eyes on the place surrounding them in gentle comfort.

With Stiles’ introduction to the house over, they’re shown around the ground floor to the lounge and a connecting den which doubles as the room dedicated to pack business. Caleb takes to shyly hiding behind one of the couches as they look around, ignoring all attempts by Peter to coax him out.

In the kitchen, they’re each offered a glass of water which they gratefully accept and though his dad takes a few measured sips, Stiles guzzles the whole thing down. It’s from a mix of the heat outside, dehydration and nerves, needing something to do with his hands and his mouth, and left with turning the glass round and round in his hands when it’s empty.

The kitchen is light and airy with the backdoor open, and Stiles’ eye is drawn to a small vase of pink and purple flowers brightening the windowsill behind the sink that look like they were cut from the garden. There’s a long table to the right of the main kitchen space, and he can so easily picture the lively pack dinners that must take place there every day.

“One room has appeared on the second floor and the other on the third,” Talia begins to explain when their drinks are finished and they backtrack to the stairs across from the front door.

“Third floor?” his dad asks. The house doesn’t have three storeys on the outside, but that must be part of its extension magic.

“It would be difficult to explain changes to the house’s facade to visitors if it was ever-changing without applications for extensions, so it’s easier if the house holds its original look,” Joseph explains.

“Dibs on the biggest!” Stiles calls up after them and his dad grumbles.

“We actually think yours must be the one next to Derek’s,” Jordan says from behind him. “The house decided to… well. You’ll see.”

“You can’t just leave it at that,” Stiles says over his shoulder, but it’s met only with laughter.

Left with that to spark his curiosity, they reach the landing of the hall on the second floor, Stiles taking in the handsome wood panelling lining the hallway with picture frames filled with landscape art or photos of the family. They’re taken to a room at the end of the hall to the left, the new addition for his dad.

It’s just as spacious as his room back home, the wallpaper subtly mottled with shades of green that blends with the shaft of sunlight streaming in through the open window to give the room the peaceful aura of being in a forest. The furniture is a bit of a mismatch, the bed frame whitewashed wood, wardrobe made of oak or something similar, and then a chair next to a small dark wood desk with a black metal frame.

“Sorry about the mix of furniture,” Elaine says, sheepishly.

“The house stores stuff… somewhere— ” Laura wiggles her fingers in a way that denotes magic. “—and makes it appear when it feels like it. You can replace it with your own things if—well.”

If you stay, Stiles fills in.

“It’s just right,” his dad assures them. “Thank you,” he says, placing his hand on the desk and looking up to the ceiling as he speaks to the house.

Pipes clang from somewhere down in the basement in acknowledgement.

Stiles follows him over to the window as his dad’s bag gets set at the foot of the bed, taking in the view of the lawn stretching out towards the trees at the back of the house. His dad has a serene sort of smile on his face as he looks out, and Stiles can tell that he’s pleased by what he’s been given here, perhaps already imagining a future.

They head up to the third floor next, Derek who had been hanging back while they looked at his dad’s room now forced to lead the way as they go in the other direction. They climb the next flight of stairs and follow the hallway almost to the opposite end, having the bathrooms pointed out along the way. Derek opens the door of what must be Stiles’ room and steps aside, eyes averted as Stiles files past.

The first thing he sees when he steps inside is a window already open, letting in a pleasant breeze. The second thing is a door in the right-hand wall.

Laura clears her throat, scratching at her nose. “That leads to Derek’s room.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. Now he understands how the pack knew this room probably wouldn’t belong to his dad (which, gross).

He looks over his shoulder at Derek who’s glaring pointedly at everything except for Stiles with pink-tipped ears.

“Presumptuous. I like it,” he says to the house, patting one of the walls and throwing a wink at Derek hovering in the doorway.

Derek’s eyes widen but then he furrows his brow like he’s trying to be stern, clenching his jaw as he glares off into the corner of the room. Laura and Cora share looks of delight.

“I’ll get a lock for it tomorrow if it will make you more comfortable,” Derek mutters.

The house groans in obvious response and Stiles’ lips quiver with another laugh.

“Shut up,” Derek growls, eyes raised to the ceiling.

“You don’t need to worry about a lock. I trust that you won’t come in unless I want you to.” Stiles immediately hears how that sounded but the implication is hardly a lie. By all the awkward shifting and the way Cora muffles a bark of laughter into Laura’s shoulder, he knows everyone else heard it too.

“On that note,” Talia says, throwing Cora a warning glance, “we’ll let the two of you get settled while we make a start on dinner. We’ve planned for a barbecue out on the lawn.”

“That sounds great,” Stiles says, and the Hales start to file from the room, Elaine shutting the door behind them to leave him and his dad to themselves.

Stiles is about to soundproof the room, but the house does it for him. He knows the Hales won’t consider it rude; it’s normal practice when among werewolves.

“All good so far?” his dad asks, voice hushed where he has no idea the room has been soundproofed, and Stiles smiles.

“Yeah. I think the house is happy we’re here. I just hope it’s not being too optimistic.”

“I’m sure Derek’s just nervous,” his dad says, cutting straight to the root of Stiles’ apprehension. He’s just glad he’s not the only one who noticed.

The Alpha from the first pack they’d stayed with had been immediately approachable, keen to make a good impression, to make him feel welcome. Perhaps Derek is just still trying to find out how he fits in his new role after so many years of his mom being the one to welcome guests. Perhaps he’s just not a people person in general and thinks he makes bad first impressions so has decided it’s best to leave it to his mom. Or maybe it’s that Talia hasn’t quite been able to let go just yet and Derek just isn’t ready to assert himself. Their dynamic is something Stiles is definitely going to be keeping an eye on.

He gives his dad a weak smile, accepting a clap to the shoulder before his dad heads back to his own room to unpack a little before dinner.

He takes a moment to look around at where he’ll be staying, at the queen size bed with a metal frame and coffee tinted bedsheets, an antique writing desk covered in drawers in one corner. He has a view out the window on the side of the house with the vegetable patch.

He was well aware of the Hale name even before receiving this assignment. With the news spreading that they’d transitioned to a new Alpha and so would be in need of a new Emissary, he’d been a little disappointed that he was already in the middle of trying out with a different pack. He’d thought that the first druid they trialled would have snapped up the role on the spot, and was amazed when he received his next placement to find he was being sent here.

Nerves start to creep at how easily he can imagine this as a permanent arrangement. Though some optimism can’t hurt, attachment is something he has to avoid at all costs.

Spurring himself into action, he uses the time to dig out his clothes and hang them up in the provided wardrobe, hoping to save them from as many extra wrinkles as he can, and then he backtracks along the hall to the nearest bathroom to freshen up. Sweeping cool water over his face helps to bring some clarity and wash off the hours he’d spent in his Jeep on the journey here.

He puts on some sunscreen in preparation for sitting outside at dinner, and when he’s back in his room, he can hear the voices of the kids drifting in through the open window, along with chatter from the adults and the chink of plates being gathered outside. He’ll check on his dad in a couple of minutes and then they can head outside together.

He gets dressed in the meantime, changing out of his plaid-with-t-shirt combo for another shirt, this one in pale marl blue, short-sleeved and buttoned to the neck. He pauses looking in the mirrored door of his wardrobe, wondering if he looks too formal for what should be a friendly barbecue but decides it can’t hurt to look a little smart. Anyway, it feels like it fits the sunny, late afternoon outside, on the cusp of summer.

He pauses before he leaves the room to place a hand on the door frame, connecting with the house as he had when he’d first stepped inside.

Thanks for everything you’ve given my dad.

There’s a pulse in the energy emanating all around, a throb. Acknowledgment.

Giving the door frame one last pat, he shuts the door behind him and heads down the hall.