Okay! So this was a prompt I recieved just as I was going into my last term at school. Ever. So it had to wait until now. I don't know how I feel about how this turned out, I just can't get it to sit right but the prompter has waited long enough so I said I'd post it and if I have any corrections later I can fix it. I didn't follow the prompt exactly [sorry] but I think I gave it a pretty good go, considering it was my first one ever.

Also, shout out to Brentinator for the lovely compliment, thank you so much for brightening my day!

Any other prompts are welcome! And don't forget to fav/review etc!

Also Imma be cheeky and plug my tumblr here: thevoidsaidnothanks

If you like my fics then hopefully you'll like my content!

Prompt: Scott gets bitten but does not tell Stiles, he Joins Derek Pack , becoming 2nd in command , along with Isaac , Boyd , Erica , Jackson , Stiles gets suspicious of Scott suddenly amazing athletic capacities ,and the muscular expansion he had gone trough, so one night on the full moon, he decides to follow Scott, and end up discovering the pack, after the Hunt, either cuddling, or having Sex, it's up to you to choose , but since he is against the wind, they don't notice him,he his Scared after finding about werewolves, he goes on a research spree, and discover about Wolfsbane, Mountain ash, Mistletoe, mercury , he acquires Mountain ash , surround his house with a circle , And plants several types of Wolfsbane, Mistletoe, and Ash plants, to always have supply of Mountain ash. And he ends up discovering that Scott found his anchor with him, and so did Isaac, and the will end up joining the pack, as their emissary or High Mage, Trained by Deaton

Scott's feet slapped the ground with a frantic energy he couldn't hide. The sun barely lit the sky, its first rays just illuminating the tips of the taller trees. The sound of ACDC blasted in his ears as he ran, inhaler tucked safely into his fist as the adrenaline propelled him forwards.

But no matter how hard he pushed, or how fast he sprinted, he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he was being followed. There seemed to be a figure flitting through the trees alongside the road, impossibly fast and disappearing if he tried to focus on it.

Scott's already too fast sprint turned into a blur, his arms and legs pushing himself further with each passing second. The wind whistled through his ears as he ran, and he could no longer tell if it was adrenaline, muscle or fear fuelling his desperate desire to run.

He didn't know what time it was when he stopped running, had no idea how long he had been away from the house for, but the sun was well and truly up in the sky. It shone down fiercely, burning the pavement. His breath came in huffy little pants, his head swimming until he took a large puff of his inhaler, but he felt better than he had at the start of the summer, when he could hardly run to the end of his driveway without needing the device.

Stiles had given up on his 'get fit' plan two weeks into summer vacation, deciding that his time would be better spent in his bed than running through the Preserve before the sun came up.

Scott doubled over as he tried to catch his breath, still on edge from the shadows in the trees. He started walking as he took a breather, his hands behind his head as he inhaled a deep breath and exhaled shakily.

He got to the entrance of the trail that provided the shortcut home, ignoring the slight shiver down his spine as he lost sight of the main road behind him. He pulled his earphones out and slung them around his neck as he began to jog once more, heading down the narrow path that led through the trees.

Scott emerged into one of the clearings, silently cursing the treetops for blocking the sunlight from letting him see much more than the ground he was standing on.

Scott shivered once more as he looked around, trying to ignore the feeling of someone watching him. The corner of his eye caught a shadow and he turned quickly before it flitted back the way it came. Scott turned sharply, catching his foot in a tree root and landing on his knees, wincing as felt the skin tear on the rough ground. He braced himself to stand up before a blunt force knocked him forward, causing him to grunt as he landed on his face.

His heart pounded as he tried to find his bearings. No one should be in the Preserve this early on a weekday, hell, no one should be in the Preserve this early at all. He tried not to overreact. Maybe he wasn't being attacked at all? Maybe someone just ran into him? Maybe it was all just some big misunderstanding.

He quickly moved to face whatever was behind him before he was hit again, this time being thrown onto his side. He gasped as a tree root dug into his back, before crying out as he felt his exposed side being ripped open with what felt like white hot barbed teeth.

Okay, so he was definitely being attacked.

His hand went instinctively to his side, wincing as he felt torn skin and flesh sticking out at odd angles, barely hanging on in some places.

He kicked his leg out in the vague direction of whatever was ripping him open, not really expecting to connect with anything. He could only see the large, animalistic shadow as it bent over him, eyes blood red and shining, before hearing a low, guttural growl as the animal moved off of him, eliciting nothing but more pain in his abdomen as it leapt away with a deafening howl.

Scott lay on the uneven ground, eyes screwed shut as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. His hand clamped against the gaping hole in his side, staining his hands and shirt in red.

Scott didn't know how long he lay there, trying to come to terms with the pain of being torn apart. When he eventually got the strength to stand up, he pulled his shirt up to reveal the bloody mess of his stomach. He screwed his eyes shut and pushed his shirt back down, not wanting to see anymore of the wound. He grunted at the pain as he began to walk, slowly making his way towards the other side of the Preserve, towards home.

It took him an hour longer to get home than usual, however, no one saw him as he quickly moved upstairs, away from his mother's prying eyes. He winced as he pulled his shirt off, the skin stretching as he moved. He stuffed it under his mattress, making a mental note to wash it when his mom left for work.

"Scott?" he heard from downstairs, "That you?"

Scott swallowed harshly, "Yeah, Mom, I'm just gonna take a shower," he called as he moved towards the bathroom, hand subconsciously covering his stomach from view despite no one being around.

He turned the shower on, letting the water heat up before he moved towards the large mirror to inspect his injury. His logical mind told him that it wasn't that bad, that it was just a coyote, that the smeared blood was making it look ten times worse.

Well maybe not a coyote, it was much bigger than that. A wolf. Yeah, a wolf.

"Scott?"

Scott jumped as there was a knock from the door, his hand quickly moving to his side, trying to stifle a grunt as his skin shifted.

"Mom! I'm in the shower!" he cried irately, ignoring the pang of guilt in his chest.

"Sorry, I was just letting you know that I'm leaving now, I've left money on the table for dinner," she called through the door.

"Fine!" Scott called, eyes screwed shut as his side burned uncomfortably. "I'll see you later!"

"Are you sure you're okay, Scott?" Melissa queried, knowing that Scott was never this dismissive of her.

"I'm fine, Mom!" he replied, leaning against the wall as his vision blurred, "J-Just turned on my ankle, I'll ice it when I'm done!"

"You want me to take a look at it before I go?" Melissa offered, checking her watch, "I've got some time?"

"N-No! Mom, I'm fine, it's not even that swollen," Scott responded, praying she'd take the bait and just leave.

"Okay, well, you have my number, call me if you need me," Melissa called, moving away from the door.

Scott released a shuddering breath as he listened to his mother move away, before turning back towards the mirror, which had since fogged up from the steam. Scott sighed before he quickly stood under the hot water, favouring his right side considerably.

Scott stood against the shower wall until the water had long since gone cold, attempting to gather the strength to move as the water washed the smeared blood from his abdomen and hands.

Scott was just about to open his eyes when there was a yell from downstairs.

"Scott? The door was open!"

Stiles.

"Y-Yeah, I'm just in the shower; I'll be down in a few!"

Scott quickly hauled himself out of the shower as he turned off the water, wrapping a towel around himself as he opened the door, not even attempting to look at his mauled stomach.

"Just getting dressed, hold on!"

Scott threw on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before moving towards the stairs, wincing as the movement stretched his side. His hand instinctively moved to his stomach as he walked into the living room to find Stiles flicking through TV channels.

"You hurt yourself?" he asked absentmindedly, glancing at him before quickly looking back towards television.

"Uh, yeah, just a pulled muscle," he said, nonchalantly, "It's nothing."

"Okay, well what do you wanna do today? Dad said that there were some cows that were, like, mauled in Old Man Fuller's fields, you know the ones out by the Preserve, so we could go check that out, but I think they've pretty much cleared it up by now."

Scott turned to his best friend, "Mauled? By what? Did they say what attacked them?" he asked, heart beating faster.

Stiles pulled his gaze away from the TV with a frown. "I don't know, a coyote I think? One of the deputy's thought it might have been a wolf, but there hasn't been wolves in Beacon Hills since, like the 50s."

Scott nodded, trying to play it off as nothing.

"Any reason you're so interested?" Stiles' eyes widened, "Why? Did you see something?"

"N-No!" Scott panicked, before calming himself down, "No, just thought I saw something moving in the Preserve this morning, b-but it was probably nothing."

Stiles nodded, not quite believing his friend, but letting it slide for now.

"So," he said, clapping his friend on the back. "Movie?"

The next morning, Scott was startled awake by his alarm clock and had his earphones in, sneakers on, inhaler in hand and was down the driveway before he even realised he was awake. Scott prided himself for getting into a routine that didn't involve his snooze button and two cups of coffee, knowing that Stiles would simply be rolling over right about now.

It wasn't until he started picking up the pace when he was reminded of yesterday by a light twinge in his side. He decided to ignore it until he got home, knowing it would do him no help to look now. So he turned his music up louder and continued to push himself forwards.

When he hauled his front door open, he revealed his mother about to leave for work.

"Hey Mom," he panted, pulling his earphones out and kicking off his sneakers.

"Scott, you shouldn't be running if you turned on your ankle," she tutted. "Here, sit down and let me take a look at it."

"N-No! Mom, its fine, really, it doesn't even hurt, I swear," Scott said, backing away from his mother.

"Alright, alright, it's okay," Melissa said, backing off. "Just... just take it easy, kiddo."

Scott sighed. "Um, sorry, Mom, I just- I'm fine, okay? Nothing to worry about."

Melissa nodded, "Okay, fine, just be careful. You don't wanna do any serious damage."

"I won't, Mom, I'm fine," Scott said, defensively.

"Alright, kiddo, just... just take a rest day today," she said, running a hand down the side of his face. "You're a bit warm, you feeling okay?"

Scott pulled away, "I'm fine, Mom, I'm just warm from running. I'm gonna go take a shower and then I'm gonna go over to Stiles' and have a movie day and rest my ankle. I'll be fine," he rambled, heading towards the stairs.

"Okay, well, I'll pick you up on my way home!" she called after him, sighing as he shut his door.

Stiles jumped from where he was dozing on his sofa when the doorbell rang. He rubbed his eyes as he made his way towards the door.

"Hey Melissa, I think Scott's in the bathroom, come on in," Stiles said, moving towards the kitchen and switching on the coffee maker.

Melissa sat down at the kitchen table as Stiles began making coffee. "Have a good day?" she asked, watching as Stiles sleepily moved about.

"Yeah, we just watched some movies and had a lazy day," Stiles said with a yawn.

"Did Scott rest his ankle?" Melissa asked, nodding her thanks at the mug she was handed.

"His ankle? I thought he just pulled a muscle in his side?" Stiles asked, sitting across from her.

"No, I'm pretty sure it was his ankle..." Melissa said, looking up as Scott entered the room. "Hey Scott, Stiles said you pulled a muscle?"

Scott looked up, trying to keep his expression calm. "I-uh, yeah, it was just a twinge, its fine now, nothing to worry about."

Stiles nodded, trying to ignore the fact that Scott was lying to him.

"But you're okay now?" Melissa pressed.

"Y-Yeah, fine," Scott said, pulling an apple from the fruit bowl.

His mother seemed to be happy enough with his excuse, he just prayed Stiles would be too.

Scott jumped as he heard Stiles' doorbell ring, his hand instinctively moving to cover his abdomen as he stood inspecting his stomach in front of the mirror. Scott frowned as he turned sideways. That couldn't be right. How could his stomach be almost completely healed already? It's been just over a day. Scott quickly pulled the leg of his sweatpants up and blinked at how there was no gash there. Or, come to think of it, no scar from when Stiles pushed him off his bike when they were nine. He heard his mother speaking to Stiles downstairs, so he harshly shoved his trouser leg down and quickly made his way downstairs.

It took three more days of running before Scott felt he was being watched again.

He slowed down to a walk, his heart hammering as he tried to catch his breath. However his breathing calmed down without the need for his inhaler, which Scott found strange. His grip on the device shifted as he thought about how he hadn't had to use it in almost a week.

He was just about to start jogging once more when a hand clapped him on the back and his heart all but stopped. Scott fell to the ground in surprise, cutting his palms open on a tree root before he moved to look up at who was behind him.

"You're that FBI agent's son, aren't you?" the taller man growled.

Scott looked up at him with a look of confusion and fear. "Y-You're that Hale guy? Whose house got burnt down?"

"You're McCall," the man pressed.

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, I-I'm McCall. Scott McCall."

"For fucks sake, Derek!" Scott heard, the voice coming from above him.

Scott looked up to see a figure sitting in the trees. "You nabbed the FBI agent's son, we'll be hunted for sure!"

Squinting, Scott could just make out three, no, four hunched figures sitting in the branches.

"Well, I didn't know who he was," Derek growled. "It's too late now."

"What's going on?" Scott said, unnerved at the somewhat familiar voices from above him.

"You're gonna want to come with us," Derek said in a low voice.

Two months later found Stiles spending yet another Saturday alone, worried. Scott had been telling him that it was because he was working, yet whenever he went to the veterinarian's office, he was never there.

He'd also gotten a new group of friends, which was one of the most random groups of people Stiles had ever come across.

Jackson Whittemore, captain of the lacrosse team and until 2 months ago, Scott and Stiles' tormenter. Isaac Lahey, the kid who was always missing from school due to 'problems at home'. Vernon Boyd, the guy that never spoke unless it was concerning his job at the ice rink or money. And Erica Reyes, the epileptic who, one day, came into school completely transformed as if her past had never happened.

And that Hale guy. The one whose house got burned down with his whole family inside. Scott always denied any contact with him, but Stiles had seen texts from him, driven passed them while they spoke, heard the others talking about him. Stiles was unnerved by the closeness of the group, and how Scott passed it off as nothing.

And Scott had gotten bigger. Physically, he was leaner, his muscles not something you get from lifting weights, but more from hard labour. He had become faster, better, stronger. He blamed it on his summer of running, but nothing could make him improve that drastically in such a short amount of time.

And he'd made the lacrosse team. Not only that, but co-captain of the lacrosse team. Scott couldn't even catch a cold, so what had he done to give him downright amazing lacrosse skills?

So, yeah, Stiles was worried. Worried that Scott had gotten mixed in with the wrong crowd.

Maybe he was on drugs.

Should he tell his dad? Or Scott's mom? Or maybe it was nothing. Except, it wasn't nothing, but he needed proof. Proof that Scott was lying to him.

And he knew just how to get it.

Isaac grunted as Scott flung him into a tree before falling to the ground with a dull thud. Erica quickly moved towards him.

"Don't!" barked Derek from his spot away from the group. "He needs to learn to pick himself up."

Isaac gasped for breath as the pain caused him to curl in on himself.

"Good, by the way, Scott, you're getting better," Derek said, clapping him on the back. "I think it's time."

Scott's eyes widened. "B-But..."

"No 'buts', Scott, you've earned it. Look at everything you've achieved in the last two months alone."

"But Jackson-"

"Jackson will make a fine wolf, but you, you" he said, tightening his grip on Scott's shoulder, "are going to be my second in command," Derek said with a smirk, the most affection any of the Beta's had ever gotten from the man.

On the other side of the clearing, Isaac pushed himself onto his hands and knees before coughing up a mouthful of blood.

"He's fine," Derek said dismissively as Erica looked to him in panic.

Stiles pulled his hood over his head as he sat in his Jeep, waiting for Scott to leave work. He turned the headlights off as he waited, the light from the full moon illuminating the dark parking lot enough.

Stiles watched as Scott pulled the door behind him, locking it and shoving his keys into his pocket, headphones in his ears. Stiles looked around for Scott's bike, however Scott simply started a light jog, which turned into a light run, which turned into a full on sprint before he even got onto the street. Stiles quickly switched on his Jeep as Scott disappeared around the corner.

Stiles followed Scott from a distance until he reached the Preserve and moaned when he disappeared in between the trees, meaning that Stiles would have to go outside into the downpour to follow him.

Stiles pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he opened the door and squinted in the wind and rain. He made a break for the trees, hoping they would provide some bit of shelter.

Scott was heading upwards, towards the cliffs at the top of Beacon Hills. Stiles knew that that was where drug deals happened. Not from experience or anything, he sometimes talked to his dad's deputies when he wasn't too busy grilling the Sheriff about ongoing cases.

Stiles began his slow trudge up the hill, trying to remember why he was doing this.

'For Scott', he thought. 'For his own good'.

Stiles walked for an hour before he came near the clearing at the top of the rocks. He froze when he heard voices.

"Isaac, you're getting better but you need to start thinking like your prey. How many times do we have to tell you that rabbits run in a zigzag pattern for a reason?"

"Erica, nice work out there, that doe didn't know what hit her."

Stiles frowned. That sounded like Scott. And Derek. What had they been doing?

Stiles' eyes watered as the wind blew forcefully against him. He moved quickly so he wouldn't be seen and suddenly got a clear view of the people in the clearing.

He froze.

He blinked.

He rubbed his eyes.

He was certain he wasn't staring at his best friend and his strange group of friends lying in a pile at the centre of the clearing, blood smeared across their clothes, hands and... faces.

No.

No, his friend, classmates and that weird Hale guy did not look like that on a regular basis. No, they didn't have weirdly impressive facial hair, or pointed ears, or dark fingernails half the size of their actual fingers, or eyes glowing blue, gold and red. No. He was just seeing things.

He needed to go home.

"Stiles! I told you to go to sleep!" Sheriff Stilinski yelled.

"And I told you, in a minute!" Stiles yelled back.

"Stiles," his father said, standing in his doorway, "this is the third night in a row you've stayed up on that damn computer. Your history project can wait, you need to get some sleep."

"Dad, I'm almost done," he whined, not glancing up from his computer despite the burning sensation in his eyes.

"I don't care, go to sleep," he ordered, "and clean up your notes, how can you even move around in here?" asked the Sheriff, gesturing to the hodgepodge of paper, books, folders and notebooks scattered about the room.

"For your information, father, I can move around just fine," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Stiles," the Sheriff sighed, "I don't like arguing with you and you know that. Can you just try and get some sleep, please? I don't need another call from the school asking to pick you up because you fell asleep in class."

Stiles tried to look offended. "That was one time!"

"Four times, Stiles," the Sheriff said pointedly. "Your History project will be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. But right now, you need sleep," he ordered, crossing the room to place a hand on his son's back, noticing how Stiles slightly sank into the touch.

"Come on, let's get you into bed."

Stiles' eyes burned as he dragged them away from his computer screen, not wanting to admit that his father was right, that it had been quite some time since he could properly see his papers.

Stiles sank onto the bed, his eyes closing before he even hit the pillow. "What's your project even on?" his father asked.

"Mmh, the Munich Air Crash..." Stiles mumbled.

"Really? I didn't think you were into soccer?" the Sheriff asked incredulously.

Stiles rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow. "S'not soccer, ih's an airplane crash," he muttered, followed by a beat of silence, then a snore.

The Sheriff chuckled softly as he carefully made his way towards the door.

'History project, my ass,' Stiles thought to himself as he sat at his desk the next day.

Although, it technically wasn't a lie. He did, in fact, have a history project due. And it was, in fact, on the Munich Air Crash. Whatever that was. He just wasn't going to do it. He had, instead, found something far more important to research.

Stiles Stilinski had spent the last three to four days researching the various myths, legends and folklore surrounding lycanthropy.

Yep, that's right. Stiles Stilinski was researching werewolves.

Well, he didn't exactly start off researching werewolves, instead looking at some sort of rare disease that made the inflicted grow unnatural amounts of body hair, pointed ears, fingernails... yeah. Werewolves seemed far more likely.

At this rate he was pretty sure he knew everything there was to know about werewolves, about how their body temperatures were hotter than humans, how all their senses were heightened, how the full moon affects them.

Stiles knew everything including the infamous Beacon Hills pack from the 50s that threw all of the regular wolves out of the Preserve to make room for their own Betas.

He had spent the last four days going through page after page of Google results, clicking link after link, moving from werewolves to hunters to... magic.

No.

Nope. This was not happening. He had been awake too long. His eyes are tricking him. He must have forgotten to take his Adderal. Maybe he needed glasses. Because this, this webpage is lying to him. Complete and utterly lying to him. Because there is no way that there is a Mage in this town.

And there is no way that his name is Alan Deaton.

Alan Deaton was a quiet man of few noticeable emotions. He was mid-forties, widowed, quiet. He was the resident veterinarian in Beacon Hills, who had a teenage boy helping him in the evenings and weekends.

And he was also a highly skilled Mage.

To be fair, he had little reason to use his magic nowadays, so he spent the majority of his time looking after the resident werewolf pack and any sick pets that came through his door. There was little supernatural activity running around the small town and that was just the way he liked it.

Until Stiles Stilinski crashed through his door one afternoon demanding answers.

"Few people have a Spark, Stiles, so don't get your hopes up," Deaton warned as Stiles sat on his examination table.

"I have all the symptoms," he countered.

"Signs," Deaton corrected, "Not symptoms, you're not dying."

"Fine," Stiles muttered, "I have all the signs."

"And if you do have a Spark, what then? What are you going to do?"

Stiles faltered. "I- I'll train. I'll train to be a Mage like you."

"But who's going to train you?" he pressed.

"U-um..."

"I gave up training a long time ago, Stiles, and I can't agree to train you out of the blue, you don't even know the basics," Deaton insisted. "I'm sorry, Stiles, but I'm not going any further with this," he said, turning away.

"But I know about the Beacon Hills pack!" Stiles blurted.

Deaton froze.

"That, uh, that was 70 years ago, Stiles. They were wiped out by hunters," Deaton said, carefully choosing his words, praying that Stiles wouldn't say what he thought he was going to say.

"I know about Scott."

"So, if I plant this, I'll have an infinite amount of Mountain Ash?" Stiles asked, holding the small pot carefully.

"Well, yes, but why would you want it, Stiles, I thought Scott was your best friend? This could do some serious damage if-"

"He is my best friend. Well, was, at least. It's his friends I'm not too keen on. His pack," Stiles spat bitterly.

"Stiles, you're a great Mage, you don't need-" Deaton began.

"I just- I just want to have it. I probably won't use it. I just want to be able to protect myself. And my Dad," he said, not looking the veterinarian in the eye.

"But Stiles, you've already planted wolfsbane, that's more than enough to-"

"I'll just plant this and then I'm done."

Sheriff Stilinski pulled into his driveway to find his sixteen year old son knee deep in mud.

"Stiles, I gotta ask, what's with all the gardening lately?" the Sheriff asked, removing his hat.

Stiles tried to stay calm. "I just thought the garden could do with some sprucing up, is all."

The Sheriff rolled his eyes. "You know what, as long as whatever you're up to isn't illegal, I don't care," he said, before opening the door and stepping inside.

"Hey, Stiles! You home?" Scott called as he opened the door front door of the Stilinski home.

Stiles jumped from where he was sat at his desk, pouring over one of the ancient spell books Deaton had given him for the hundredth time.

"Uh, yeah, Scott, I'm upstairs!" he called, shoving the book underneath his mattress just in time for Scott to open the door.

"Hey, man, h-how's it going?" Scott asked as he dropped his backpack.

"Uh, good, yeah, pretty good, just, uh, catching up on some homework," he said, eyes flitting between Scott and his mattress.

Scott could tell he was hiding something, but right now he really didn't care. The light of the full moon shone through the curtains and it was making him sweat. He had had to get out of his own house while his dad was around, and Stiles' was the first place he thought to go.

"Scott, a-are you okay, man?" Stiles said, noticing how his friend was leaning against the closed door.

Scott tried to calm his breathing, knowing that now was not the time to wolf out. He had kept himself in control before and he could do it again.

Stiles crossed the room and placed a hand on his friends shoulder, but quickly retracted it as Scott emitted a low growl, eyes screwed shut.

"S-Scott? I-Is this an asthma attack?" Stiles asked tentatively, despite knowing exactly what was happening.

Scott shook his head as he clenched his fists and Stiles winced as he saw the small tendrils of blood running down his wrists.

Scott bent over as he growled again, his mouth seemingly fuller than it was a moment ago.

Stiles felt the anxiety tighten his chest before he stood back and took a calming breath. He tightened his fists relishing in the small crack they gave before straightening his fingers and feeling his magic pulse through his finger tips.

Stiles' eyes slid shut as the gold wisps that only he could see reached towards the struggling werewolf, wrapping itself around his chest before slowly soaking in, causing Scott to shiver.

Stiles sighed as Scott visibly relaxed, his fists uncurling as his palms healed. Scott quickly slid down the door, landing with a bump on the floor.

"Scott?" Stiles asked cautiously, despite knowing that his magic had worked.

Scott opened his eyes before he blinked up at his best friend. "Y-You're a-a-"

"Yeah," Stiles said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I knew there was a reason I came here tonight instead of going to find Derek."

Stiles chuckled, relieved. "So, you're, uh, you're okay?"

"I'm gonna stay here tonight, I, uh, I kinda need to be with something constant tonight. Something human," Scott said, taking a calming breath.

"An anchor," Stiles muttered absentmindedly.

"Yeah," Scott smiled. "An anchor."

"I'm not biting him," Derek stated, "The bite won't cure his ADHD and I'm not dealing with a hyperactive Beta, I've already got Isaac."

Isaac looked up from his phone, offended.

"I'm not asking you to bite him, Derek, I'm saying that we should let him join the Pack," Scott insisted.

"I don't need humans in the Pack," Derek grunted, before turning away.

"But I'm not human!"

Derek froze.

"I had all the signs of a Spark. Deaton's been training me for months," Stiles asserted.

Derek turned around slowly, eyes squinting. "You? The hyperactive little shit who rides around with the Sheriff? You're a Mage?"

"High Mage. That's what Deaton says. He said I've learned unnaturally quickly," Stiles said, slightly unnerved by Derek's glare but trying not to show it.

"Prove it."

Stiles' eyes widened. "Oh. Uh, yeah, sure," he stammered as he rubbed his palms together. Stiles took a calming breath before he raised his hand and swept it across the room, putting the messy living room of Derek's half burnt house back in a semi presentable condition.

The werewolf Pack stood, stunned as the contents of the room flew around them, a cushion clipping Isaac on the back of his head before returning to its place on the sofa.

"Show off," Derek muttered.