Derek is the first to hear the soft crunch of gravel when the Sheriff's cruiser turns onto the long drive. The sun has only just risen as Stiles immediately perks up at the tilt of Derek's head. Laura yawns widely from her place on the couch next to Stiles, and picks at her cuticles with a disinterested look. The slam of the cruiser door causes Stiles to take in a deep breath, his hand seeking out Derek's. Talia rises only a moment later with a reassuring smile, making her way into the foyer to welcome their guest.
They listen to the Sheriff's soft footfalls as he climbs the stairs, momentarily hesitating on the squeaky fourth step. Talia opens the front door with a warm welcome tumbling off of her lips.
The grip Stiles has on Derek's hand tightens to supernatural strength, causing Derek to grimace.
"Calm down. We will explain before he tries to shoot either of us," Derek says as he tries to get Stiles' grip to loosen if only slightly before he crushes his phalanges.
"He won't try and shoot you," Laura tries to comfort. "He would never disrespect Mom like that, and he would never dare get blood on her floors."
Stiles nods, completely unconvinced, but loosens his grip minutely. Over the past few days he has been working overtime with Deaton, learning how to use his magic. Since the daily sessions have begun, he has learned how to tap into the powers of the pack, allowing him access to Derek's enhanced senses and strength for short periods of time. He thinks that maybe being able to hear everything isn't such a good thing for his nerves in this situation.
They listen to the quiet conversion Talia and the Sheriff are having in the foyer.
"You said that you have new wolves joining your pack? How many humans have been turned by this rogue Alpha, Talia?" the Sheriff inquires.
He sounds tired and irritated, causing Stiles winces internally. The exasperation in his voice reminds him of the night his father told him he had been suspended from the force due to Stiles' bad behavior. It is a memory he doesn't wish to dwell upon.
"Only one human has been bitten, and he has not joined our pack as of yet. The other two belong to a pack all of their own."
Their footsteps stop just outside of the living room. Derek nudges Stiles in the side, and he lets out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He knows this man isn't his father, but the thought of being turned away by him is nearly too much to bear.
"Isn't that rare? If they have a pack, why are they in Beacon Hills? I thought this was your territory."
"They had a pack, Sheriff. Recently, they have become the only surviving members. From what we understand, their pack was quite large, and the attack came out of the blue. Unprovoked. They have sought refuge here with us, and we have gladly taken them in. Only one is a wolf. The other member is human... in most respects. They are still quite young—"
"I'm sorry did you just say 'most respects,' Talia?" demands the Sheriff, and Stiles can practically see the squint of one eye as well as the slight shake of his head.
"He has a great deal of magical ability, Sheriff, and he is more than nervous to meet you."
"Does he have a record? Am I going to have to arrest someone? Because—"
"No, no, you will not be arresting anyone. I just want you to stay calm when you meet them. Remember that they are under our protection, which means we consider them pack even if they aren't members, and that means we trust them."
"Alright, you're starting to scare me, Talia. Who are these boys?"
"Just keep an open mind, Sheriff," she says, a small sigh escaping her lips as she opens the frosted glass, doors to the living room.
Stiles and Derek quickly get to their feet as Talia leads the Sheriff into the room. The entire house is silent as the Sheriff stares in disbelief. His gaze bypasses Derek and lands directly on Stiles, who is watching him with anxious eyes.
"Is this some sort of joke?" he asks, eyes locked on a boy who looks far too much like his dead son to be real.
Stiles stiffens at the Sheriff's angry tone. His magic pulses hot and restless under his skin as they stare at one another. He hates the feeling of not being in control of a part of himself. His magic is fiercely protective and lashes out with raw unshaped force, knocking things of shelves and breaking hundred year old vases that Deaton tries to pretend wasn't that important. He imagines this is what the bitten wolves had felt like on their first few full moons before learning how to control their shift.
Witnessing Stiles like this isn't something Derek is used to. He hasn't yet become accustomed to the violent bursts of wild magic that Stiles is now prone to when he is really upset. Derek is used to pouting and sarcastic barbs, not this wild and relentless magic that is threatening to tear the room upside down. Seeing him like this, so dangerous and powerful in his own right, makes something deep within Derek rumble with pride. Stiles is someone that can protect not only himself, but Derek and the pack if the occasion were to arise.
Derek rests his free hand between his pack mate's shoulder blades, rubbing small circles though his shirt in effort to comfort him. He can feel a little of the tension drain out of Stiles at his touch. Pride swells in his chest at the thought of being able to sooth Stiles like this. Before they arrived in this universe, when he found himself with the urge to comfort Stiles or even seek comfort from Stiles, he needed the safety of his wolf form. He knew that with Stiles being human and oblivious to the magical pull of the pack bonds, he may not understand the need to seek out physical comfort like Scott or himself would have, and thought perhaps the attention was best delivered in his full beta shift–if only to make things lees awkward for Stiles. Now, he knows that Stiles simply enjoys any type of physical touch Derek offers and vice versa.
"I promise you, Sheriff, this isn't a joke," Talia assures him, her voice firm. She stands between both the Sheriff and the boys as a barrier, knowing that Derek and Stiles do not take to hostility lightly. While the Sheriff may not attack his body language isn't saying the same. "We have done the research. Give them a moment to explain. They are telling the truth."
The Sheriff sighs heavily but sinks down in one of the armchairs. He runs a tired hand down his face before centering his gaze firmly back on Stiles, who has returned to his seat on the sofa with Derek.
"Why don't you start with why you look so much like my son?" the Sheriff suggests.
So they do, but they don't tell him everything. They only give him the basics of their history and the challenges they have faced in the past few years. It's all the Sheriff really needs to know. When Stiles recounts their arrival to this world, his voice wavers, emotion overwhelming him. The Sheriff shifts in his seat, seemingly torn between sympathy and disbelief at their tale. He looks like he is having a hard time digesting the idea that things could reach such horrifying levels in any universe.
Derek scoots closer to Stiles, an arm winding around his tense shoulders. The heat of the Alpha's body is even more of a calming force, and Stiles immediately relaxes into the embrace, his magic finally sinking back into his bones. No longer does he feel like he may rattle apart like a broken toy. Now it was just a gentle hum at the back of his mind waiting to be of use.
"You're just kids. How did you–you managed to live through–Christ, I can't even–" he mutters.
"With all due respect, Sheriff," Derek says, "we haven't been kids for a very long time."
The Sheriff eyes the tattoos on their arms and the way Stiles sits calmly beside Derek. He isn't fidgeting. He isn't talking a mile a minute. He's not at all acting like son would in this situation. The only things he seems to have in common with his son are his eyes and the moles randomly scattered across his skin.
"From what we can figure, the Alpha who is running around stalking the general public could be someone that our pack has dealt with in our universe in some way, or they maybe be completely unknown," Stiles says in effort to maybe steer the subject away from their tragic back story and more toward the present.
The Sheriff stands restlessly. He paces several times before managing to speak.
"Why are you both here?" he asks, the confusion dripping from his lips. He stops to look between them. "Don't you want to go somewhere to start over? A new pack? A new life somewhere far away from this place?"
Stiles looks at the man in front of them. His blue eyes are dull with puffy, dark bags surrounding them. He wonders when he slept last or when he ate something other than fast food. Under his aftershave, Stiles can detect the lingering scent of whiskey, cigars, and grief. His heart is breaking for the man in front of him.
"If there is one thing we have learned, Sheriff," Stiles says, "It's that Beacon Hills–no matter how colossally screwed up it may be– is our home. We asked for a second chance to right our wrongs. The magic brought us here. That means we have a purpose in your universe, that we can help you in some way. Seeing all of you here–knowing that something like what happened to us could happen here... we couldn't live with ourselves if we didn't try to help. If we can keep you safe, we will.
"The things we've seen are horrible and probably some of the worst things you can ever imagine. In our universe, they were simply experiences we wanted to forget about, but here they are now experience none of you have. Things that Derek's family had thought to be just scary stories–monsters that you all believe to be just stories– are real and even more frightening than you ever thought possible. But they can be killed. Some of them can even be saved."
The Sheriff looks at him for a long moment. Stiles can see the surprise in his eyes. The fear. It unsettles him, sending shivers up his spine, and causes his magic to prickle at his skin once more. Talia and Laura are deadly quiet. They have heard some of the stories in detail, only believing them when Derek had explained some of the things their Peter had revealed to them about the Hale records. Stiles understands how hard some of this information can be to digest. He wouldn't believe most of it, had he not lived it.
The Sheriff has known for a long time that he lives amongst the supernatural, but he never knew just how extensively dangerous that world is until now.
"The way you hold yourselves makes it clear to me that you have been through hell. I've known Talia and the Hales for years, and none of them act like the two of you." Stiles and Derek stare at him, perplexed. "Even sitting here now you are on alert." He nods to Derek. "Your head tilts at every creak of this house like you are expecting something to jump out of the shadows and attack you. You," he gestures to Stiles, "you have this eerie stillness when you talk about the things you have faced. The way you sit at the edge of your seat, even though your leaning against him seeming somewhat calm and relaxed, makes me think you're constantly preparing yourself to fight whatever he is listening for...I've never seen anything like it."
Neither of them know what to say in response. Having their behavior pointed out is odd. They have been like this for a very long time. Scott, Lydia, Liam, and everyone else had all been the same. The rule was simple: let your guard done and you die. The lesson had been a tragic one, one they would never forget in any universe.
"You're not the son I laid to rest," says the Sheriff, "and I am not the father you lost." The bottom of Stiles' stomach drops out at the statement. Ice rushes through his veins. "You can't replace my Stiles, and I can't replace your father, but I'd be a damn fool if I let someone like you slip through my fingers. To me, you are still family, no matter how distant. Now, stop looking at me like that, and get over here."
Derek releases Stiles and allows the Sheriff to pull him off the couch and into the warm expanse of his arms. Stiles hugs him with every ounce of power he has and is determined to never let anyone here so much as bruise him. Finally, the foundation of some of the walls they had been building against the people in this strange new universe start to crack.
Part of him fears he might forget that this man isn't his father, or that the Scott here isn't his best friend. He thinks that maybe one day he may wake up completely unbalanced. Then he looks across to Derek, and catches his eyes. As long as he has Derek he will never lose his center of gravity. Derek is his Alpha and together they will never forget their family, but they might be able to form a new one.
"I think they would want us looking out for each other. Don't you?" asks the Sheriff.
Derek looks to Talia, who is watching him with something akin to sadness. He smiles softly at her as he watches her approach. Laura is hovering at his side, a hand on his shoulder when Talia stops in front of him.
"Derek, we know that we can't replace what you lost, but we would like to be a part of your lives." Tears spill over and stream down her cheeks as she rubs at his arms. "We share early memories, and we share territory. Maybe we could consider sharing dinner once a week if you plan on leaving us?"
Derek pulls her into his arms, and something inside of him finally breaks. They aren't his family, and they can never replace the one he lost, but maybe they can grow to know each other and one day consider each other as such. He knows it will take time and that it won't be easy, but as long as he has Stiles supporting him, he thinks that maybe they can make it work.
"I–I think I can handle that," Derek says.
Across the room Stiles and the Sheriff finally pull apart.
"You smell like bacon cheese burgers. Tell me your Stiles didn't let you eat that stuff. You're not eating that stuff with me here."
The sheriff laughs loudly and hugs him again. He slaps Stiles on the back, wiping tears from his own eyes. "Why is the universe set on not letting me eat junk food? Christ, how are we going to explain this to people?"
Derek comes back to stand beside Stiles. He is grinning widely as he pulls him back into his side, a protective arm settling across his shoulders. Talia takes a seat in one of the chairs gesturing for everyone else to do the same. She smooths out the wrinkles in her dress pants before presenting the Sheriff with two manila folders. He furrows his brow but opens each of them. Staring up at him are two different Identities.
"Derek's was quite easy to take care of. It is a fairly common name, and he is much older than the memory of our own Derek. No one would ever question his presence. He never even has to claim relation to us. Stiles, on the other hand, was a bit more difficult, but, with a little bit of finesse Deaton managed to get it right."
The Sheriff crunches up his face in disgust.
"This is worse than your own name." Stiles only shrugs in response. "You realize Claudia never had a brother, right?"
"Yeah, but no one else needs to know that. As far as anyone is concerned, he died tragically, leaving his only son orphaned with only his uncle from California to take him in." Stiles looks over to Derek with a glint in his eyes. "Of course, Derek couldn't dream of living without me, so he decided to tag along."
"Uh–huh," the Sheriff says as he eyes them warily. He notices Talia quietly shaking her head out of the corner of his eye, an amused glint in her eyes. He looks down at the folders in his hand with a grin tugging at the edges of his own lips. "Deaton did a very good job with these. A very good job. You even have passports."
Stiles scratches his temple and looks around the room. "Yeah, well, Mexico has been a thing in our history. We thought it would be a good idea to be prepared just in case."
The sheriff raises his eyebrows as he looks at another detail in the file. "Stiles, this says you're a senior. How old are you?"
Stiles clears his throat nervously. "I was getting ready for freshman year of college before everything went down. With this Alpha stalking the teenagers of Beacon Hills, we figured that I should be the one to keep an eye out at school with Cora. Let's be honest. I can't pass for a sophomore, and there was no way I was going to repeat three years of high school. Hell to the no. One, I can take for the team but not three. A lot of the classes are mixed, so I should still be able to keep an eye on everyone."
"And by everyone, you mean those from your old pack?" The sheriff questions.
Derek nods, effectively gaining the Sheriff's full attention.
"When I became an Alpha for the first time, the betas I picked were all in need of saving in some way. I didn't know what I was doing. I was working off pure instinct and my time to build a pack, and train them, was limited. I thought biting them would help them, but it only got them killed."
Stiles squeezes Derek's knee. "What Derek is trying to say is that they were in trouble before he bit them. That means they could be in the same kind of trouble here, too."
"Alright, what sort of trouble are we talking about? Can I help?"
"You can help with one. The others are a different matter," Derek says. "Do you know Isaac Layhe?"
They hadn't known where Isaac had gone after Allison's death. They figured he had found a new pack when he had gone away with Chris. Chris never said, and they never felt they had the right to ask. If Isaac had wanted to come back he knew he was welcome. Turns out, it was a good thing he didn't.
"He plays lacrosse," the Sheriff replies. "The team came to the funeral, and I remember Isaac because he stayed behind afterward to cover–" the Sheriff breaks off, refusing to finish the sentence.
"In our universe, his father had a rather skewed view on child discipline," Derek says stiffly. "I picked him, because I knew he needed an out. He was safer with me, chancing hunters and an Alpha pack, than he was in that house."
"Coach Layhe was a severely twisted individual," Stiles agrees, disgust dripping from his tone.
"I'll look into it–ask some questions and see what turns up. I'll need a statement from Isaac or a witness of some sort before I can do anything concrete though."
"Leave that to me," Stiles says with a curt nod. "I have my ways."
He hopes that maybe things in the universe are different for Isaac, but the chances are slim. After all, Isaac's life never really crossed with the Hales to cause his father to act like that. He has it on good authority that Jackson still lives across the street, but he doesn't know how cold the kid's heart is when it comes to others.
The Sheriff closes the folders and leans back in his chair. He looks at Stiles with a sad expression flitting over his face.
"I haven't packed up his room yet. You're welcomed to it since you are going to be living with me."
"Thanks, Sheriff, but, Derek comes too, though. We're pack and I can't—"
Stiles' heartbeat is racing, and he moves closer to Derek. The thought of not being near the wolf is almost too much to handle. They are all each other have left. Derek keeps him calm, he keeps him sane. Without Derek by his side none of this would seem real, and he doesn't know if he could survive with the thought that maybe it isn't, and he never made it out of his own mind. No. Derek is his line to reality, he could never survive long without Derek somewhere near, not without losing his grip on sanity.
"Wow, calm down, kiddo. Derek is more than welcome to come with you. I understand that you are a pack. I get it. I wouldn't dream of trying to separate the two of you anyway. I like my body parts attached."
Derek looks up, a small smile of relief coloring his features. "Thank you, Sir. Now isn't a good time for us to be separated, not when things are so fresh in our minds."
"I have to get back to the station, but I'll see you both when I get home?" The Sheriff stands and looks between Derek and Stiles with a frown on his face. His eyes settle on Derek. "From what I can guess, you have both had each others backs for a while now. It goes without saying that I expect you to keep him safe." Derek nods firmly.
Talia and Laura are standing off to the side of the room, happy with how well things have turned out. The Sheriff glance over to them, as if he expects them to suddenly call the meeting to a close, but they make no move to do so.
"Alright. Um…" His eyes shift to Stiles, who is still wrapped firmly in the werewolf's protective grip. The Sheriff finds himself glancing awkwardly between the two of them, searching for the right words. "I'll call and see about getting you enrolled in school. In the meantime, figure out who this Alpha is, or at least keep him from biting more teenagers. Lord knows they have enough uncontrollable urges as it is." The Sheriff shakes his head and roll his eyes helplessly. "Scott–a werewolf. That boy barely made it through puberty."