Warnings: Pre-slash/full-out-slash towards the end, with weird pseudo-D/S overtones; strange overuse of italics; stream-of-consciousness-inside-a-teenager's-head writing; Buffyspeak; run-on sentences. AUish near the end of 1x08: Lunatic, so spoilers through there, I guess?
Thanks to my beta, Tobi LeeWok Z, for turning this into something readable.
The shift in italics use in the last paragraph is intended, not a complete mistake. The fic sporadically covers time from pretty much 1x03 through 1x08.
Submit (v) - to give over or yield (oneself) to the power or authority of another.
Submission is not a word Scott likes. It has... connotations. Connotations like weak, and subservient, and slavish; connotations of acquiescence or docility or obeying someone else's slightest whim without thought.
What he feels isn't quite any of that.
When Derek growls at him and defeats him without breaking a sweat, when he stands over Scott's prone form on the ground at his feet and snarls his victory, Scott feels whole. Complete. It's more than just the fact that, if Derek doesn't want him to, he never has to move again. It's that he never even has to think about moving. His choice is stripped away by glowing blue eyes and impossible strength, and there's something oddly comforting in that fact. It should freak him out, but it makes him feel safe instead.
So he can stay at Derek's feet forever. He'll be comfortable there, he thinks, with the older wolf's powerful presence as a constant in his life. He won't have to think about Allison, or his next econ test, or the hunters coming after him. With Derek there, that close, he can simply be, without worrying about consequences or choices or what comes next. He can lie back and let Derek handle it.
It's in everything he is, when Derek is around. That constant knowledge that his place, his real place, is not standing next to the born wolf but kneeling before him. The urge to lay down, to bare his throat and vulnerable stomach, to avert his gaze and let Derek take control because honestly, he's damn good at taking control. It's getting to the point where he can barely look Derek in the eyes anymore because it just feels so wrong, challenging him like that, like a wolf. He's okay with mouthing off and talking shit because those are human things - it's when he starts challenging Derek's dominance with snarls and locked gazes and body language that he wants to...
To... submit.
There's no way around it. When they're human, or as human as they get, anyway, there's a sense of equality. As soon as their more bestial natures get involved, though...
He's Derek's bitch.
And he's so screwed, because he doesn't want it any other way.
And he's even more screwed, because he's pretty sure Derek knows. Because he's so dominant, impossibly dominant. Even if he's not an Alpha, Scott's pretty sure there are different levels of Beta because Derek is much more than he could ever be. It's laughable that anyone ever attached the title 'alpha male' to something as pathetic as Jackson when Derek's in the same state.
It's the way Derek's head is always higher than his. It's the way he can never win a fight, not even resorting to dirty tricks. It's the way Derek's voice is lower than his, and his wolf form larger, and his gaze unflinching whenever they lock. It's the way Derek shoves him against walls, pressing tight all along his body, breathing harsh words of danger and dark promise down his neck like he really, really cares about the smaller wolf. It's the way Derek is constantly in his personal space, enforcing the fact that yeah, Scott should always be beneath him, because he's Scott's superior. In every way.
It's Derek's tiny smirk when he's looming over Scott again, when he puts him down and Scott waits a little too long to get back to his feet, blinking up at Derek. And Scott can easily imagine Derek being able to see right into his head in those moments, when all his reeling thoughts and worries and anxieties go blissfully silent for once and he's perfectly content to just let Derek be his dominant.
And that's another problem. When did 'Derek is dominant and, apparently, I'm submissive' turn into 'Derek's my dominant and I'm submissive to him, and that's good'? Because at some point it did, and Scott can't quite remember when, and that should freak him out more than it does, too. Because Derek's not the Alpha, even if he's the alpha for their strange little pack of two, and even if Scott doesn't exactly trust him in a rational sense, it doesn't matter. When the born were is standing over Scott's body, powerful and strong, every heightened sense Scott has is screaming at him that Derek is safe, warm, good stay pack. Scott believes he would punch Derek's stupid, smug face if he ever called him good boy, except that in reality Scott would drop to his knees like a dog and feel the sickest sort of pride imaginable.
And it's not like Scott's never dominant. On the lacrosse field, for instance, when he's the only superhuman among a bunch of slow, weak - prey hunt kill - normal teenagers, he's the most dominant thing out there. He deserves to be. His anger and aggression make him dangerous, fearsome, and it's only right - only natural - that everyone who thinks of opposing him cowers in terror for a bit first. Maybe it's the wolf talking, but Scott kind of likes that feeling, the adrenaline rush in his veins making him so much more than everyone else. They should bare their throats to him, drop their eyes, beg silently for him to pass them by and leave them unharmed, because he is better than they will ever be.
And that's definitely the wolf talking, but it's true enough. They drop for him the same way he drops for Derek.
The only problem is, the Alpha is dominant too.
And when it's a huge, heavy presence on him, driving him into the floor, owning him, strong and powerful and fierce, growling its commands into his ear and straight through to that part of him that needs to be owned, he can't possibly think of fighting. The Alpha doesn't give him a choice, doesn't even give him the chance to consider having a choice, just reaches in and takes control of everything he is for itself, and holy hell it feels good. It feels like being Derek's times a thousand, like being pinned by a sun; all he can do is surrender, and it's fantastic. Better than a high, than any high he's ever experienced, better than being with Allison, even. Because Derek is probably dead now, and the Alpha is here, fangs a mere inch from his exposed throat, and it can tell the very moment he gives in to the feeling, even a little, even the corners of his mind melting under that sheer dominance. It smiles at him, and through whatever sire-progeny bond they possess he can feel its pleasure. At last, it seems to say, you've come home.
The Alpha rears back and howls, the same howl he used to summon it, shaking everything in Scott until he's sprawled on the floor in a useless heap, and it just goes on and on. He can feel the Shift coming up over him, a tide of adrenaline and power in his limbs, but for the first time he's not scared of it. He's perfectly in control of his body, and the Alpha is perfectly in control of him, and he knows suddenly, instantly, that this is how it's always supposed to be. He knows that Derek has been lax as an alpha, that if he truly wanted to be as dominant as he should be he would do what the Alpha on top of Scott is doing right now: making him into what it needs him to be.
It leaves, physically anyway, but it is still in his head, still imprinting every cell, as the Shift takes him violently and suddenly. It whispers to him, stroking parts of his mind that have never been touched, calling to him, instructing him, letting him know exactly what it expects. It gives a command and his heart leaps at being able to obey, feeling its pleasure as his own. The Alpha is happy, joyous even, at how eager he is to carry out its will, and he can feel it looking at his memories of Derek, bizarrely amused at and a little fond of how the silly little Beta was fancying himself an alpha.
This is what a true Alpha can do, it tells him, reaching in to take control of his legs and turn them towards the doors, this is how I can make you feel. Be mine. My pack.
He feels claimed, and he never wants the feeling to go away.
So he stalks through the school, taking slow, measured steps as he revels in the presence in his head, the way it masters him, keeps him, cradles him close and lets him know that they're together now, he and it, and that he'll never be alone again. It calls up memories - his dad's betrayal, sharp and stinging like the day it happened; the empathy he shared with Stiles when his mom died; all the pain and loss and loneliness of being a high-schooler with exactly one friend - and it pours into every part of his being the fact, the knowledge, that he will never be alone again. It soothes the aches in his psyche, wrapping him in comfort and certainty and, yes, love. As long as he obeys, as long as he submits, the Alpha's voice dominating his mind will never go away.
And it's good.
He drags his claws along walls absently, wishing only that the smooth tile was warm human flesh and the drag was rending slashes, and the Alpha laughs silently. Everything is clear, simple, straightforward; even the darkness is bright and pierced, all his senses fully bloomed at last. He can smell them, the weak prey hunt kill teenage humans, cowering in the little box that they hope will keep them safe from him. He's more than they can imagine, better, and all their faith is placed in a piece of wood and a bit of metal, as if that will actually deter him from obeying his Alpha.
When he hears Allison's voice through the door, loud and high and frantic, he feels like someone has shoved icy knives in his ears. It's like cold water in his face, breaking the connection between him and his maker.
And then it's gone, the Alpha's presence in his mind, driven away by Allison's fear and terror and screams, and in the first second as he collapses to his knees, he hates her. He really, genuinely hates her, despises her for driving away the perfection of being owned.
He's himself again, free from its influence, and there's a moment of confusion when all he wants is its voice back, telling him where to go and what to do and that he's a good boy, taking away all his doubts. The moment passes quickly and he's back in love with Allison, but he can still remember the beautiful clarity and his eyes sting for a moment at the loss.
Even as he gulps down the clean air of freedom, he wishes he were still enslaved.
He's lost for the next week. Lost enough to admit to Stiles bits of what he'd felt when the Alpha's voice was clear in his head, though he leaves out the wanting to be on his knees, where he belongs, whenever another were walks into the room. Lost enough not to be able to separate the heartbreak over losing Allison from the wrenching sense of loss that is the Alpha being ripped away from him. Lost enough to let Lydia's obvious lust overwhelm his senses, seize control of him, and free him from himself for a few short minutes. Lost enough to seriously consider running into the woods and howling until his sire comes back and takes him again, takes him full and deep enough into oblivion that he doesn't care about the weak foolish prey people who've hurt him, abandoned him, caused him all this pain.
Lost enough to stride into the Moonlight, to let it wash away everything he is until it consumes him in silver fury, and pretend that what he's feeling is enough.
Lost enough to attack Allison and Jackson.
He can blame it on the Moon, what happens next, when Derek intervenes and forces him into the woods, fights his clumsy attempts off without trying, puts him on the ground and keeps him there with a snarl and his teeth at Scott's throat.
And Scott surrenders, like he always does, submits like a wolf, exposing his throat and dropping his eyes and maybe even whimpering a little, even after Derek Shifts back. Derek's here, he's here and real and solid, and he will not let Scott do something he'll regret when the Moonsets.
He comes back to himself in that moment, realizes exactly where he is and what he's doing and that it's Derek Hale standing over him. Derek, who isn't the Alpha but maybe is close enough. Derek, who can keep his wits about him on a Moonlit night and force Scott down and take control of him when he loses control of himself. And for a long, pathetic moment, he just wants to cry in relief and never move again, to let Derek tell him how to be and how to live, to reach inside and master him like the Alpha did.
But Derek isn't the Alpha, and all he does is lift Scott into a fireman's carry like he weighs ten pounds instead of well over a hundred. Scott's across his back, drained and exhausted, and Derek's stride is measured and precise even carrying a dead-weight deadbeat like him. They're halfway to his house before Scott musters up enough strength to move, partially because he's so limp and partially because he's pretty sure that this is where Derek wants him to be, and even these tiny rebellions feel completely wrong.
"Stop," he manages through a dry throat. "I can..."
Derek rolls him off his shoulders. His knees buckle when he hits the ground and Derek only barely catches him around the chest, so he gives up on the idea of walking alone. Instead, Derek slings one of Scott's arms around his shoulder and takes half his weight, letting Scott dictate the pace but silently supporting him, guiding him, leading him.
There's a metaphor in there somewhere.
His house is the most welcome thing he's ever seen, even backlit by the Moon.
Derek dumps him on his bed and Scott blinks up at him, taking in the hard lines of the alpha-Beta's jaw and the soft concern in his eyes, and drops his gaze again. He's been so bad, so disobedient. He doesn't deserve to look at Derek, not even to challenge him in that tiny way. Derek turns to the door and Scott feels a rush of panic, sharp and harsh and burning in his veins. If Derek leaves him alone with the Moon he'll fall to the bloodlust again, and the born were is the only thing standing in the way of that happening.
"Wait," he cries, whimpers, not even recognizing the need in his own voice. "Please, don't..." Derek looks back at him, dark eyes fixing on his for a second, then nods and shuts the door, closing the two of them in the Moonlit room. Scott, relieved, studies the floorboards again, unable and unwilling to look up. He doesn't miss it when Derek spies the water bowl behind the door, though. The man bends down to pick it up, runs his thumb over the harsh black sharpie spelling out Scott's name.
"Dog jokes," he huffs, dropping it dismissively. "They never end, you know. Tell me at least you're dominant to him, because if you're submissive to a human I might have to leave right now."
"What?" Scott exhales through a dry mouth.
"Your little pet, Stiles. Tell me you don't act around him like you do around me."
"I...don't, I- It's just you. You and..."
Derek's at the foot of his bed in a second, crouching before him like a predator, dark eyes intent on his. Scott hunches his shoulders and tilts his head to the side, making himself smaller and baring his neck, even though being that close to the contained power of the larger werewolf makes him feel warm and kept and safer than he's been in a week. He can tell that Derek's not amused, despite the fact that he likes the way Scott reacts to his proximity. "Me," he says, voice dangerous, "and who?"
"Him," Scott says, and that's all he really needs to say, but he clarifies anyway, "The Alpha."
Derek breathes out, long and slow, but doesn't move away. "He called you, then. After he got me out of the way."
Derek does the same thing as he does, Scott realizes over the soothing feeling of Derek's strong presence. Every time they speak or think about the Alpha, there's a kind of reverence, even grudgingly given. Respect, but more than that. It's two people talking about a superior, two Betas who live in the shadow of a dominant Wolf trying not to draw attention to themselves by talking about him too loudly. Scott thinks maybe Derek does it in his head too, unable to control the tone his thoughts take whenever they consider Scott's sire.
"Yeah. It was- we were in the school, me and Stiles and, and Allison and Jackson and Lydia-"
"Your whole pack," Derek summarizes, "and he came and you went all submissive, of course, and hetook you over and tried to make you kill them."
"You knew it would happen?"
Derek meets his eyes. Scott drops again after only a few seconds. "I thought it might," the other Beta admits.
"Why the hell didn't you say anything?"
"Would you have listened?" he shoots back. "Without knowing, without experiencing the power an Alpha can have over a submissive Beta, would you even have believed me?"
Scott can't hold his gaze, not even now, with the rush of anger fizzing beneath his skin. He's tired, the Moon is still up outside, and all he wants is Derek to not be angry at him; to pet him, to say he's been good and that he's proud of him. He doesn't even want to challenge Derek anymore, not after the Alpha. "So what do I do? The next time he finds me he's just going to do the same thing, isn't he? Make me- Make me want to kill them?"
He can see uncertainty in Derek's body language for the few seconds he takes to think the situation over, and then the older man says, "There's one way. Just one. But you'll have to trust me."
Trust him? With Derek in the room, his presence is the only thing that Scott does trust. He trusts the Beta to control him, to stop him when he gets too wild, to rein him in when he can't do it himself. He trusts Derek more than he trusts Stiles, in some ways. There's no choice, really, and there never was. He nods.
Derek moves closer, so close his heat makes Scott flush and his breath rasps over Scott's over-sensitive ears. He turns his head so that his lips are pressed against the shell of Scott's ear and says, "Knees. Now," in the deepest tone Scott has ever heard him use.
And just like the Alpha's, that voice goes down inside of him to his little hind-brain and seizes control of him. He slides off the bed onto his knees, bathed in the light of the Moon and feeling grounded for the first time since nearly a week ago. He's been floundering, lost, without control, and because he couldn't master himself he'd let the Moon-madness take over.
Because he can't master himself, he needs someone else to do it. Needs Derek to do it.
His eyes slide shut of their own accord, closing against the hot slick rightness of being on his knees in front of Derek Hale. Never leave again, his Wolf chants, never again. We'll be good, we'll be so, so good. Just- take us over, make us yours.
"My God," Derek says, his voice low and with a hint of growl and yeah, okay, maybe the Moon is affecting him too, "do you have any idea what you do to us? To both of us?" He fists his hand in Scott's hair and jerks his head sideways, and Scott feels a thrill of rightnessdown the length of his spine as he relaxes into the grip. It hurts, in a vague, human sort of way, but mostly it's just comforting, that physical closeness. His lids flutter at the sensation, his lips parting.
Derek presses his mouth to the tender skin of Scott's throat, near his pulse point, and slides down to where his neck meets his shoulder. Scott feels his upper lip curl back, until the smooth sharp planes of Derek's canines are cool on his flesh. "You're the most... You give in so easily, you know that? And I used to think it was weakness. My family thought it was weakness. But now I'm wondering if that's what he sees in you."
The Alpha, Scott thinks, and his stomach rebels against the idea. It's not the Alpha he's in front of now, not the Alpha with histeeth on Scott's skin, not even pressing, just resting.
"Because when you submit, when you kneel for me, you're one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen."
He knows the second Derek Shifts, feels against his cheek the sudden reshaping of the man's ear, and has a full moment of clarity before Derek sinks his fangs into Scott's neck, deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to mark. Scott gasps at the sudden burst of pain, thinks about throwing Derek off, and does nothing, because his other impulse is to arch further into his alpha, press his head against his shoulder and encourage the bite to go deeper. That kind of submission is not something he's fully comfortable with yet.
Derek lifts his head and Scott's skin knits back together, nothing more than a faint scar, a smear of blood, and the overwhelming scent of Derek left behind to indicate what just happened. Scott puts a hand to his neck slowly, wiping away what little red lingers there, as Derek's features rearrange themselves into the human mask again. "What did you just...?"
"You're mine, Scott," Derek says, promises, lowly. "He turned you but you're mine. My student, my brother, my pack. I won't let him have you. And when he comes for you, that's what you'll tell him. You belong to me."
"I..." His voice cracks, breaks, because whether he realized it or not that's all he's wanted from the moment he first saw Derek Hale, from the moment he first went down before him and dropped his gaze and acknowledged that he was Derek's. "I don't belong to anyone," he manages, a token protest that they both know means nothing. Derek doesn't even dignify it with a response, just rubs one thumb over Scott's neck again, and he's claimed. He belongs to Derek, more than he belongs to the Alpha, and even if Derek isn't as strong or as fast or as dominant as his sire, it's good too.
Scott's still not comfortable with the word submission, but there's really no other term for what this is. And he's okay with that.