New story I'm working on as my brain explodes with ideas. Trying to be a bunch of things at once, but will most likely devolve into angst and fluff as the story progresses.

Read, review, follow, advise, whatnot! Let me know if any of it even makes sense/is mildly interesting. You can find it on Archive of Our Own as well. The fic on AO3 will most likely be further along/updated first. Future notes will be at the bottom.

Chapter 1

He notices his eyes first. They reflect the bluish-gray of the winter sky, shy and timid in the pale light cast by the iron-wrought lantern hanging beside the front door. He sees the remnants of fear and doubt dancing beneath the lashes, belying the soft smile on his lips. Delicate, golden curls fall haphazardly from above, damp from the light snow. He reaches out to shake the outstretched hand.

"Isaac."

"Nice to meet you."

They turn away for a second to stare at the tall, oak wood door, contemplating the tendrils carefully engrained along the edges. Isaac raps his knuckles against the frame a second time, louder than the first. He presses the bell, but hears no sound in reply. He sighs and steps back, turning to face his companion again.

"So…" He traces a figure eight in the snow with the toe of his boot. "What's your name?"

The other man turns, startled.

"Oh sorry. Derek. Derek Hale."

Derek catches himself staring again. There's pain hidden behind the eyes, and folds of distrust. Derek quickly snaps his head around to the door. He can't lose himself to this. Not right now. Isaac, however, looks at him curiously. He clears his throat and turns his attention to the engravings.

"I'm assuming you also got this?"

Derek's eyes dart to the worn piece of cardstock Isaac pulls from the inside pocket of his coat. He nods.

"Any idea what it's about?"

Derek shakes his head. "Still don't know how I convinced myself to actually come here."

Isaac laughs, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. Me neither. Kind of crazy, right? Dad was wondering why I wasn't coming straight home from school for winter break. Had to lie about where I was going to be tonight. Told him I was staying an extra day or two for work. You?"

Derek huffs out a stifled laugh. "Don't have anyone I need to lie to."

There's a brief moment of silence.

"I see."

Catching the other boy's eye, Derek smiles reassuringly. "My uncle doesn't really care what I do."

Isaac's lips twist up in a solemn grin. "Yeah. I feel you."

The door suddenly swings open, sweet holiday tunes and dazzling golden lights spilling out onto the front steps.

"Ah, I see you two have already met! Brilliant!"

The man beams positively at the two younger men standing before him, pausing for a short second before ushering them in.

"Now, then, come along, it's getting cold, and you're just in time. The others have just arrived. We're still waiting on one more, though, so make yourself at home!"

Derek starts as a woman appears at his side out of nowhere.

"Mister Hale," she bows her head with a smile, "Can I take your coat for you?"

"How did yo– nevermind," he says shrugging out of his jacket. "Thanks."

He looks over to Isaac, who appears to have had a similar experience, as the woman walks away with two coats in her arms toward a large closet down the hall.

"I guess we should go sit down?" Isaac says with a shrug. Derek nods and follows him through a doorway into the living room.

He's a little taken aback at the scene. To his left is a roaring fireplace, the flames licking dangerously close to the emerald garlands wrapped around the sill. The walls are painted a dark, warm red that contrast sharply with the gold-lined couches situated in a half circle around the fire. A large Christmas tree stands in the far corner, ornaments sparkling in the shine of the chandelier situated high above in the center of the ceiling that seemed to dip away from the ground, defying any sense of gravity.

"This is… odd."

"You're telling me," says a boy standing up from his spot next to the fireplace and reaching a hand out to Derek. A girl with fiery red hair smiles politely from behind.

Derek pauses for a moment, taking in the individual before him. His eyes are large and warm, golden like honey around the edges. He feels a wave of compassion and joy flowing lazily towards him, but senses something else hidden a little deeper down. It almost feels like anger, but he can't be sure.

"Stiles," the boy grins as Derek steps forward to shake his hand.

"Derek," he says, smiling despite himself. But as soon as he looks away, the feeling fades. He takes a seat next to Isaac as Stiles resumes his place on the ground in front of the other girl.

"Lydia, you said?"

"Correct, Isaac," she says with a grin, crossing her legs.

"So, that guy at the door must be, uh, what's his name," Isaac fumbles for the card he was holding just minutes ago.

"Dodlinger. Michael Dodlinger," Derek answers, having memorized every word on the card since its receipt three weeks ago.

"Yeah, that's him," Stiles says, pulling his own card, identical to the one in Isaac's hands, from his jean pocket. "Hasn't said much though. Just kind of ushered us in and told us to 'make ourselves at home.' But I can't really complain. Have you seen the spread in the kitchen?"

"Oh right! I forgot about that. Food does sound great right now," Lydia muses, absentmindedly twirling a stray lock of hair in her fingers. "But I would really like to know why we all received these–" she pulls a carefully folded card out of the bust of her dress "–same invitations out of the blue. Luckily my parents know who this guy is. Otherwise, can you say creepy serial killer?"

"You actually know who this dude is?" Stiles flails, turning to look up at the girl.

"I don't, but my parents do. Apparently he's an incredibly rich philanthropist that's been donating loads and loads of money to the Beacon Hill's Institute of–"

"Wait, you're from Beacon Hills, too?" Derek interrupts. "Sorry, didn't mean to cut you off. I grew up there."

"No way! Me too!" Stiles exclaims, rising again from his spot to take a more accessible seat across from Derek next to Lydia. Isaac raises his hand with a smile.

"Me too."

Stiles's face contorts through a wide range of emotions, before settling on puzzled. "But, how did we never run into each other in school? I feel like we're all the same age and there is only one high schoo–"

"Beacon Hills High was huge Stiles," Lydia uncrosses her legs and leans forward. "I think the better question is why we're all here and why he invited us all at the start of winter bre– "

"STILES!"

Derek and Isaac turn collectively towards the source of the noise – a blur of messy, brown hair hurtling across the room straight into Stiles, whose eyes light up. He catches the newcomer in his arms with an excited yelp.

"What are you doing here Scott? I thought you said you were going home!"

"I didgo home, for like an hour," Scott says, settling down next to his friend. He waves at the others with a grin. "Hi, I'm Scott." They nod and smile.

"Mom told me I got this invitation from some big shot in town to come by his home for… oh what did she call it?" He scratches his head, digging into his pockets for the card.

"An evening of holiday cheer for extraordinary people,with extraordinary people,"Lydia drawls, tracing the ink on the letter in her hands. "How trite."

"Yeah, that! Mom told me that your dad said you got sent the same thing. Apparently he did a pretty thorough background check on the guy, so she felt comfortable letting me travel down here for the night."

"As if Sheriff Stilinski would have let me out of the house otherwise," Stiles chuckles. "Wasn't too far anyway. Just an hour south on the train from Beacon Hills."

"But this place is really obscure," Isaac interjects. "Why would someone as supposedly prestigious as this guy build a house out in the mountains? I swear I thought the taxi was going to slip backwards down the slope on our way up."

"You know, I think that…"

Derek pulls out his own invitation, carefully rereading the text for the hundredth time while tuning the other voices out.

To Mister Derek Hale,

You are cordially invited by Sir Michael Dodlinger to his home in the hills of Beacon Heights for an evening of holiday cheer, for extraordinary people, with extraordinary people.

Today's date is printed below in bright green letters.

He sighs, bringing his hands up to rub at his temples. Looking at the others sitting around him, he can tell that he's a little older, having just graduated from university this past summer. The letter had come at a strange time in his life. No more school. No job. No family.

There's a fat wad of cash sitting pretty in his bank account that he feels no need to use. Rather, doesn't want to use. It reminds him too much of why he even has that sort of money in the first place. His Uncle Peter calls from time to time to check up on him, but it's no substitute for a parent.

He had scheduled no plans for the holidays, and something about the letter had drawn him in. Perhaps the extraordinary bit, which he had felt as far away from as possible. He had also needed an excuse to pull himself out of the dark well of loneliness and self-pity he had fallen into ever since his sister…

Laura.

His mind wanders back to the end of summer, just three months ago. The call from the police. The anguish. The anger. The–

"Well then!" Dodlinger announces, cutting through Derek's thoughts. He looks up at the others, frozen in conversation. He catches Scott's eye and for a brief second is overcome with a strange giddiness. It slips away instantly. "I'm glad you're all here!"

"Is it… just us?" Lydia asks, eyebrow raised.

"Well of course, this is a gathering of extraordinarypeople, and not that many people are truly–" He pauses, a strange look in his eye. "–exceptional."

Isaac and Derek share a mutual shrug before turning back to the man behind them.

"I know you are all wondering why you're here, though I would suspect that some of you may already have an idea. Let me introduce myself. My name is Michael Dodlinger, Chairman of the Society of Cognitive Research and Development and benefactor of the Beacon Hill's Institute of Psychology." He stops, looking the crowd over. "Have any of you ever heard of 'Wave Mutation Theory'?"

Lydia cautiously raises her hand.

"Ah, excellent, and not surprising at all. Well, in that case, I don't believe you need me here anymore. Please, enjoy the food, grab some drinks, and have a good time. Taxi's will be here in two hours to take you back to your respective homes." With a bow, the man begins to back out of the living room.

"Wait a second," Stiles says, raising a finger in question. "That's it? You didn't explain anything. Why did you invite us all here tonight? Aren't you the host? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, hosting–"

"Ah, Mister Stilinski, I am but the catalyst." And then he's gone before Stiles can get another word out.

"Well, fuck," he mutters, sitting back down in between Lydia and Scott.

"Yeah, and looks like a storms picking up outside," Isaac points at the windows along the far wall. "Might as well do as the man says. And eat."

It takes a while for any of them to wrap their heads around the situation, but eventually they file one by one into the kitchen where beautifully plated dishes span the length of a long dining table.

"So no one else thinks that this is weird?" Stiles asks once everyone is seated back in the living room. "Also, you think this food is safe to eat?"

Lydia pauses for a second, but takes a bite out of her biscuit anyway.

"Too hungry to care."

"I'm sure it's fine, bud. Your dad checked this guy out, remember? I doubt someone of his status would be trying to poison us anyway. He seems like a nice enough dude," Scott says, patting his friend on the back.

"Stiles has a point though. This is definitely weird," Isaac says around a mouthful of wild rice. "The fact that we all showed up is also surprising. I thought I would be the only one crazy enough to travel down here just for some holiday party."

"Like I said, Dodlinger apparently has a great reputation in Beacon Hills, in the scientific world at least. It's an honor to get invited."

"Wait, Lydia, what did he mean by 'Wave Mutation Theory'?"

She stops with her fork halfway to her mouth before lowering it back down to her plate.

"That's actually the weird part. I don't know why he mentioned it… or… I guess it could make sense, but…"

"So…? What is it?"

"Well, I read about it in one of my classes at Berkeley."

"No way! Stiles goes to Berkeley too!"

"Scott, focus."

"Right."

"And it's a little outlandish, but not totally out of the realm of possibility. Basically, the theory states that there are people in this world whose brains give off different wavelengths than normal. And, wait a second, no wonder his name sounded so familiar. I think I once read that Dodlinger actually invented a device, kind of like an advanced EEG machine, that can detect these waves without having to attach a bunch of electrodes to the subject's scalp. It's quite brilliant really." She stops to take a sip from her wine glass. "They call it the 'omega wave.' It's supposed to be a product of advanced cognitive functions, or mutations of some sort. These people are said to have abilities, kind of like–"

"Like X-men?!" Stiles exclaims. Lydia lets out a hallow laugh.

"Sure, I guess, but nothing as crazy as comic books go. It's physically impossible to shoot laser beams from your eyes, Stiles." Stiles visibly deflates into the couch, Scott rubbing his back reassuringly.

Derek's brows are furrowed as he stares pointedly at the ground.

"So why do you think he asked us about it?" Isaac asks, voice soft.

"I mean, I don't…" Lydia begins, but trails off, looking away and out the window.

"He said he wanted all of us to meet."

"But I've known Stiles my entire life. Why would I need to meet him here?"

"There are other people here, buddy."

"Don't you think it's strange the rest of us never met in high school if we're all from the same place?"

"Well you do look awfully familiar…"

Closing his ears off to the other boys' conversation, Derek looks up at the redhead across from him, whose eyes are still trained on the snow beyond the window panes. Her brows are creased downward in concentration, lips slightly downturned, hand playing with a curl behind her ear. She turns to meet Derek's gaze. He loses himself briefly in the hazel and gray, settling in the calm around the edges. Deeper, he senses a subdued panic, masked by the stillness at the surface. He can almost feel the glass walls shooting up, pretending to reflect something unreal, temporary.

"….yeah, but why us?" Isaac whispers, leaning back into the cushions.

Derek closes his eyes and sighs.

"Because he thinks we're extraordinary."