Stiles arrived at the Hale House at 7:53 am by his watch, which was a little fast—on purpose. He sighed, sitting in his jeep, contemplating what was to come. Was there going to be some fighting rites? Pain or sex or chanting? It's not like Derek was especially forthcoming with his information about werewolf cultures or traditions. Every time Stiles had asked, he had been shot down. Either he would be growled at, or slammed into a wall , or both, which had the effect of just making Stiles babble about the fact that he was just growled at, or slammed into a wall , or both. Come to think about it, it was a pretty effective strategy to get him to stop asking questions.
He sighed again and opened the door of his jeep, stuffing his keys into his pocket and he fiddled with the zipper to his favorite hoodie— over sized and slightly worn and a deep red color. Stiles rubbed his head, thinking that he might need a haircut as his hair was getting long, and started plotting toward the newly renovated house. He glanced at the façade, smiling slightly.
The house looked almost nothing like itself. It was no longer a burned out shell. Instead, it was returned to its old glory, with some more modern updates with electrical and appliances. The siding was a fawn brown, with stone up the first third of the house. Stiles stepped closer, noticing other changes that he had yet to see in person. The porch was deeper, with a swing and other outdoor furniture. He nodded in approval, enjoying the fact that he could step on the porch and not be worried that it was going to cave in at any moment. That was always a terrifying thought.
On the door was a note taped to the wolf-head knocker, telling anyone who walked up to it that they were supposed to enter. Stiles chuckled at the irony of the knocker and opened the door. The inside was furnished, with art on the walls that was picked out by Lydia, furniture by Jackson, and electronics by Danny. All with Derek's approval, of course. Stiles noticed that the others were all congregating in the living room and went to join them. Isaac and Erica made room between them for Stiles, Erica cuddling into Boyd and Isaac turning, offering a cuddle to the tired human.
Stiles gave him a grateful smile and sat down, leaning his head on the beta's shoulder and closing his eyes. Stiles felt Isaac's arm wrap loosely around his shoulder, fingers tracing soft patterns into Stiles' shirt, and smiled slightly. Isaac was very touchy-feely—all the werewolves were, to some extent. It was one of those things he had come to expect and accept from them. It's not like he could stop them from doing it. And—Stiles really liked it, the casual intimacy within the pack. It comforted him, too. And it spoiled him from other friendships. Not that he had other friends, mind, but still.
Stiles opened his eyes as he heard Derek walk into the room, watching the Alpha with tired eyes. His bags had bags. Derek paused and looked over at Stiles and Isaac, raising one eyebrow at his beta. Isaac, soon followed by the rest, sat up straighter, dropping his arm from around Stiles' shoulder, turning to pay his full attention to his Alpha. Stiles sat up straighter as well, the three human in the room not on the same beat with the werewolves. That could change, Stiles thought, giving Derek a small, tired smile when the man looked at him.
Derek nodded again before speaking, glancing around at all assembled. "I feel like I have been neglecting part of your training. While I have been building up your physical and fighting knowledge, you have very little, even no, knowledge about how a cohesive pack runs, nor the cultural aspects, customs, traditions that come with being a werewolf." He turned and looked at Stiles, his slight smile both sheepish and sarcastic. It had been Stiles' suggestion, yelled over the phone last week, that Derek should be teaching them more that just how to 'claw each other's eyes out'. This comment had been made after the fifth time Isaac had come running to Stiles after practice, to huddle at his feet, trying to gain some comfort out of the human.
Derek looked away and continued. "Today that changes. While this task usually falls to the Alpha's mate, I have no mate, and am the only born werewolf here, therefore task falls to me." He looked over at Stiles again, eyes flicking away so fast that Stiles questioned whether or not it had actually happened.
"As true as your words are, nephew," Peter drawled from where he was leaning casually against the door frame, "You are not the only born werewolf here."
Derek didn't roll his eyes, but Stiles could tell he wanted to, suppressing a snicker of his own. The Alpha crossed his arms, resting his wait on one foot in a gesture of nonchalance. "I thought you didn't want to help with the 'bloody ignorant pups', as you put it, Peter," Derek noted, one eyebrow raised.
Peter sighed dramatically—seriously, was there anything he didn't do dramatically?—and flounced into the room sitting in the unoccupied chair furthest from the rest of the crowd. "True, and I still don't. But I know for a fact that you weren't taught everything. And how could you have known? You were young, and certain aspects of pack life were not discussed in front of you. So," Peter gestured at himself, "use me, use my knowledge."
Derek nodded curtly. "Very well, then. Peter with assist on the cultural instructions. Some things must be covered before initiation occurs. And after, twice a week I request that we have pack gatherings. One for training, one for instruction. Or half and half." Derek looked over at Peter who nodded, still with a smirk on his face.
"Oh, and one more thing, lovelies," Peter mused. "As the humans can't feel anything and don't have the same instincts the wolves have, I will be making you my—special projects." His eyes went from Danny to Stiles, finally settling on Lydia. "I trust you all will be good pupils."