A/N: Sorry about the delay between chapters but parts of this fought me and then life... Urgh. Life.
Once again I apologize if my Spanish is wrong and please feel free to correct anything that needs correcting. I took French in high school sooo... *shrugs *
Not sure if I have anything else to say. I'm kinda emotionally preparing myself for the end of "Being Human" tonight and then seeing "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" tomorrow. Basically, I'm in for some feels hell... Enjoy the chapter and lemme know whatcha think :)
Derek didn't move for a minute or two. And when he finally did, the motions were mechanical, body on auto-pilot, a strange sort of numbness settling over him that he didn't look at too closely.
He picked his iPod up from where he'd dropped it on his bed, shoving the white buds in his ears and blasting Avenged Sevenfold's new album to block out the noises coming from the rest of the house. The box Stiles had brought up was still sitting on his mattress and he glared at it before finally stalking his way over to it. He touched it as little as possible as he carried it over to the far side of his half of the room, depositing it on the other side of the bureau without bothering to check its contents. A spur of the moment decision later and his box of books was placed on top. He'd worry about what to do with them later.
Flopping onto his back, he picked up his book and began reading it where he'd left off, barely registering what was written. His mind kept drifting to the conversation he'd just had with Stiles, the way he'd barked out insults and growled until the Omega left. It was total douchebag Alpha behavior, an over the top way to display strength and ranking and territory. And, okay, Derek could admit that maybe he'd been a tiny bit too harsh with what he said to Stiles. But the world was full of assholes and the sooner the kid realized that, the better.
His wolf-half didn't seem to agree with that statement, remaining on its belly, head still on its paws, whining pitifully. Derek knew it wanted him to go downstairs, to check on Stiles, to make sure he was okay and there were no hard feelings, but he refused. He was sick and fucking tired of his body making the decisions for him and he was gonna stand his fucking ground on this. For once, he was refusing to let the choice be taken from him.
He didn't get to choose whether or not his dad died.
He didn't get to choose whether or not he moved to California.
He sure as fuck could choose whether he let some little Omega prick and his fucking scent affect his life and control his other decisions.
His wolf snorted. Derek ignored it.
Derek finally managed to shut his mind off, allowing him to get lost in his book and forget about the fact that the world existed and that there were people in it. There were no Alphas, no Omegas, no dead parents, no infuriating—and intoxicating—scents, just fictional characters and their own fictional problems. It was exactly the way he wanted it to be.
The scents of dinner dragged Derek back to reality, the usual blend of spices that always accompanied Maria's cooking. His stomach grumbled, clearly pissed that it'd been ignored since lunch, and demanding he fix the emptiness it was currently suffering.
He shoved his bookmark in to hold his place, flipping the paperback shut before placing it on his bed. The iPod soon joined it before he rose to his feet, stretching out muscles that had been tightened by laying in the same position for so long. A quick crack of the neck, a roll of the shoulders, and he scuffed his way towards the stairs and down them.
He headed down the hallway, pausing outside Scott's room and focusing his hearing for any sounds inside. It was only when he noticed a distinct lack of heartbeats that he realized what exactly he was doing: he was checking on Stiles.
And Scott, he mentally added.
Although he wasn't sure why he added that. Or why he'd wanna check on either of them.
All right, if he was being honest with himself, he knew why he was trying to listen out for Stiles. Lucky for him, he was completely okay with lying.
Forcing his legs back into motion, he continued on his way along the hall, ears picking up the sounds of conversation in the kitchen. Two female voices, two heartbeats, no teenage boys in the house.
The words Maria and Melissa were speaking became clearer as he paced down the steps, the scent of dinner soon being joined by those of aggravation and frustration. Derek paused at the bottom of the stairs, debating if he wanted to bother continuing on his way to the kitchen, if he wanted to subject himself to whatever disagreement was happening between the two of them. He wasn't all that fond of conversation in the first place; a heated one where he was forced to endure feeling awkward and out of place wasn't any higher on his list of things he enjoyed. Seemed like it would just be better to turn right around and head back to the attic before he was caught wavering and made to go into the kitchen anyway.
His stomach grumbled again, telling him that no, retreating to the attic wasn't an option.
Shit.
He smeared a hand over his face, whiskers scratching his palm, Maria's words hitting his ears and snapping him to attention.
"All I'm saying, mija," she began then paused, stirring something in a pan. "Is that his behavior isn't normal."
An exacerbated sigh left Melissa in response and Derek could practically picture her with her eyes rolled to the sky, lips pressed together in a harsh line as she struggled not to tell her mom exactly how she was feeling, knowing it would just make the situation worse. It happened way too often.
"I can't see how you can put up with all that anger and aggression," Maria continued, most likely oblivious to her daughter's reaction. Or uncaring. Or both. "He's just like his father in that aspect. Don't know how you put up with that from him either. Or him at all, really."
Derek felt his fingers curl up into fists, his muscles tighten as they got ready to pounce. Knowing that it was his abuela who had said that shit stopped him, held him in place, prevented him from ripping into the person who'd insulted his father, his pack leader, his Alpha.
There were certain things in werewolf culture that one just didn't do. That was one of them.
"You can't help who your soul mate is, Mom," Melissa countered, voice even, reasonable, the sounds of ceramic against wood joining her as she set the table. "The heart wants what the heart wants."
The elder female scoffed, banging some sort of utensil against the edge of the pan before setting it aside. "Back in high school, it wanted John. Not entirely sure what happened to its common sense after you graduated, but it clearly knew what was best for you back then."
Derek barely heard the sigh Melissa let out at that statement, the sound drowned out by his boots thudding against the carpet as he stopped his way into the kitchen. He could feel the tiny pinpricks of claws digging into his palms, felt his teeth tingle as they elongated into fangs. His dad wasn't around anymore, but he still felt offended on the elder McHale's behalf, still felt angered at the insinuation of Andrew's mate being with someone else.
And yeah, reasonably, Derek was aware that his parents weren't each others first love, that they'd dated other people before meeting at college, and that was perfectly fine, perfectly normal. But his wolf was having trouble reconciling the fact that someone else had touched his Alpha's mate, that yet another person thought she should be with him rather than his dad. Melissa Delgado had been fated to be with Andrew McHale and that was that. It was just a fact and the sooner Maria realized this, the better.
And if he had to help her come to this conclusion, then so be it.
"Who the hell is John?" he demanded to know as he entered the kitchen, a slight growl to his words.
Two heads snapped to him, Maria standing by the stove with a spatula in hand, Melissa by the table laying down a plate. Both had their eyebrows raised in surprise, both staring at him wide-eyed, both shocked at his sudden appearance and the heat behind his words.
His green eyes switched back and forth between the two of them, eyebrow cocked as he impatiently awaited an answer.
Maria looked at her daughter, lips pursed and eyebrows bobbing in a full "told you so" manner, before turning back to the stove, back to the other two occupants in the kitchen. Derek snapped his head over to Melissa, folding his arms over his chest, raising his second eyebrow in expectation.
She put the plate down properly, wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans, tucked some of her curly hair behind an ear, procrastinated. Hands on her lower back, she looked the picture of casualness and ease, face betraying nothing as she spoke.
"My high school sweetheart," she finally answered, her heartbeat as steady as her voice. "We broke up after graduation because I was headed to NYU and he was joining the army and off to basic training. It just didn't make sense for us to stay together so we didn't. Then I met your dad and none of that seemed to matter." A small wistful smile formed on her face at the last part, her eyes a mix of sadness at the loss of her husband and joy that she'd had two decades of marriage with him.
Maria scoffed again, tapping the edge of the frying pan with her spatula. "I still say you should've stuck it out with John, instead of getting mixed up with wolves," she spat the last word as she moved the pan off the hot ring, twisting the knob and turning the heat off.
Derek growled at the insinuation that there was anything wrong with werewolves, hating the discriminatory tone she used with the word. Seemed as though there was nothing about him that she approved of: his attitude, his sexuality, his species.
So much for grandmothers being loving and doting and spoiling their grandkids with hand-knitted sweaters, homemade cookies, and way too many cheek pinches.
His name was spoken as a warning, his eyes flipping over to view Melissa's chastising expression. "Why don't you have your dinner in your room?" she proposed in a tone that was less than friendly, eyebrows raised in a wordless order for him to just go along with whatever she said and god fucking help him if he disagreed.
Not that he'd go against a suggestion to be alone. Must've been a habit of hers left over from when he'd still given a fuck about things.
He cut the growls off, not bothering to retract his fangs or claws, eyes narrowed in a glare at Maria. She was completely stoic, unbothered, not seeming to care that she'd just pissed off her grandson. Her grandson who had the ability to tear her throat out with one swipe of his hand.
Brave. Or dumb.
Knowing Maria Delgado, Derek would go with the first.
Melissa picked up the plate she had placed at Derek's usual seat, walking over to the stove and putting food on it. Derek busied himself by grabbing his cutlery and a drink, taking the full plate when it was offered to him.
Only she didn't let go.
"You're still doing the dishes tonight," she stated in a voice that brokered no argument.
He nodded once, showing he understood, wishing she'd just let him go already.
"And I'm gonna need your help running some errands tomorrow."
Another nod and she finally released his plate, allowing him to leave.
Maria made a noise of disapproval, a small snort of sorts, when he reached the stairs. Melissa sighed once again, her hair swishing as she ran a hand through it.
"He's grieving," she defended her son, tone harsh. "It's just a phase."
Another scoff. "He's a werewolf, querida. Anger and aggression isn't a phase; it's a way of life. Especially for an Alpha."
Derek nearly lost his footing as he stepped onto the second floor landing, stunned that she was completely understanding. Not to mention correct. In time, her daughter would see how right she was.
He woke up at 3:30 AM this time, not bothering with the pretense of trying to get back to sleep. Instead, he got out of bed, threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a wifebeater, slipped his feet into his sneakers and headed downstairs. He remembered to grab a bottle of water this time, not as desperate to get out the house as he had been the day before, quietly shutting the front door behind himself.
He ran the same circuitous route as he previously had, making sure to keep on pace the entire time and not get distracted by the house next door. He'd been affected by that Omega's scent enough; he didn't need it fucking with his run, too.
Two hours later, and Derek was back inside. He chugged another bottle of water then headed upstairs to shower, remembering to grab a change of clothes before going to the bathroom. By six am, he was clean, dressed, and laying on his back on his bed, waiting. He willed himself to go back to sleep, instead finding himself thinking of his friends back home. It would be ten in New York. Chances were most of them had completed their own run hours ago. Some would've gone back to bed, others would've stayed up, gotten a start on their day. A couple had summer jobs that they'd probably be heading off to. Others would laze about by the pool or head to the park to practice. He'd be with the latter group, dragging Scott along with him in order to make the younger McHale be more social, make him a better player.
New York felt like a whole other world, a different life that he barely remembered having. Part of him really missed it, missed his friends, the loose interpretation of a pack that he had. He wished he'd taken more advantage of the time he'd had left with them over the summer, had taken them up on offers to hang, practice, party.
Then again, maybe he didn't wish that.
Still, California was something entirely different, a whole new environment he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to become comfortable with.
That thought made him realize the full moon was only a couple weeks away and he was gonna have to find a place to shift and run. He hadn't seen Maria's basement, but he highly doubted it was equipped to deal with a confined wolf that wanted nothing more than to run and chase and howl. New York wasn't known for its forestry, but the wooded area his dad took him to was perfect, familiar, a place he felt completely at ease in, something that helped make his communion with his wolf all the more better. A content wolf-half led to a content human-half.
Not that he'd know what that was like anymore. Apparently every decision he made lately pissed his wolf off.
Derek ended up drifting off to sleep, waking up to the sounds of shuffling underneath his floor. He listened to the sounds of still sleepy people moving about their rooms as they got ready for their days, not bothering to move until the noises had drifted down to the main floor, everyone gathering in the kitchen for breakfast. He waited another ten minutes before going to join them, his stomach once again dictating his actions.
Breakfast was silent and awkward, the tension so thick Derek could feel it as well as smell it. Maria and Melissa were apparently still not seeing eye to eye, still agitated after their disagreement the night before. Derek was still pissed at the elder female over her derogatory comments regarding werewolves, as well as her remarks that her daughter would've been better off married to someone else other than his father, not to mention was still in his anti-social "phase".
Scott was the only one not aggravated by anyone—at the moment anyway—and worked to relieve the tension by blathering on about his plans for the day, going with Stiles to meet the Omega's friends and teammates and playing some lacrosse in the park before heading out to dinner. Derek briefly marveled at the role reversal, at how, a couple months ago, it would've been him rambling on about his busy social schedule of practice with these guys, hanging with those dudes, meeting up with Kate somewhere for some group date activity he was being dragged to. Cheerleaders and their constant pep could get on anyone's nerves, even the most outgoing of people. More than once he found himself wondering how Kate made the team, given her proclivity to be more snarky and rude than cheery and smiley.
Then again, she probably threatened her way onto the team, made captain through sheer intimidation alone. That, plus she filled out the costume damn well.
Breakfast over, Derek cleared the table and washed the dishes before heading back to his room. He shoved his feet into his boots, gathered his cell, wallet, and keys, then made his way back downstairs. A minute or so later, Melissa joined him in the living room, giving instructions about boxes that needed to be loaded into the back of the station wagon, explaining how they were all old things from their attic back in New York—as well as unnecessary items such as dishware and pots and pans that weren't needed at that moment but could be in the future—and they had to be stored somewhere else.
Derek fulfilled the task, carrying the heavier of the boxes, loading the beater of a car up. His Camaro and Melissa's sedan had arrived the previous evening, hers now parked on the driveway alongside her mom's, his by the edge of the lawn, but the large amount of boxes that needed to be taken could only be transported in a vehicle with a large amount of space.
Like the station wagon.
Melissa drove, Derek silent in the passenger seat, the radio playing a Spanish language station on one of the AM frequencies that Maria kept it on. He knew better than to mess with the stations, a lesson learned when he was a kid and touching the dials resulted in an ear pinching. It hurt a lot more than it sounded, especially to a werewolf who had extra sensitive ones.
Their destination was a self-storage facility near the outskirts of town. Melissa punched in the code to open the front gate, heading straight for the second row of buildings and stopping halfway down. Engine killed, she got out, Derek doing the same, and stepped over to the large unit she'd parked in front of. Padlock undone, she hefted up the door, revealing a half-filled room.
Derek stepped inside the temperature controlled unit, knuckles idly knocking against the metal wall as his mind entertained the possibility of renting one out for shifting. Then again, it was probably a terrible idea. His wolf hated being locked up anywhere, especially on a full moon. He'd end up tearing the place apart and ripping his way through the metal door. It would cost more to pay for damages than to rent it in the first place.
Melissa called for his attention and he set to work, lugging in boxes from the car and setting them where instructed. His eyes roamed over the unit's contents as he did so, seeing other boxes of various sizes and shapes, pieces of furniture, parts of a bed and a baby crib, a bassinet, baby gates and play pens. He found a box labeled "Melissa Baby Stuff" next to the items, following instructions to place ones labeled "Derek Baby Stuff" and "Scott Baby Stuff" beside them. He spotted others with her name on it: childhood toys, old books she'd probably forgotten about, high school projects and college papers, clothing from when she was younger.
It wasn't until the last box had been moved from the station wagon into the unit that he spotted one with "Andrew" written on the side.
In Maria's handwriting.
He cocked an eyebrow at that, staring at the name, chest feeling tight. He'd never really thought about where his dad's old stuff had ended up, if his parents had kept childhood mementos or trashed them when they'd stopped talking to their eldest child. It was hard for him to really think about what his dad had even been like before he was born, before he was with his mom, something he'd been confronted with the night before when her old high school boyfriend's name had come up. But they'd had eighteen years apart from each other, eighteen years of growing up and aging and developing, eighteen years of existence and memories and life. Surely there'd be things commemorating Andrew McHale's early life, even if it was his first pair of shoes dipped in gold, his first photo at the hospital, an old yearbook.
Derek's feet moved before he was conscious of sending the command, soon finding himself standing in front of the box as it sat on top of a stack that held Melissa's baby clothes and toys. It was a strange juxtaposition, the items that were at the beginning of one mate's life right next to the items of the mate who'd died.
A strange tingle broke out over his skin, the tightness in his chest constricting more, making it hard to breathe much less feel anything. It was the hospital all over again, the numbness that had come with being told his dad had been killed, the feeling of being far away from everything as he heard what happened, as he saw a claw tear through the tape holding the box closed.
Dust flew as he parted the flaps, tickling his nose. He scrunched it up against the sensation, sniffed, focused on what he was doing. Not that he was even aware that he was doing it. It was like he was watching someone else's hands move, like one of those first person shooter video games. The hands were visible, the end of the gun, and it looked just like he imagined it would be if he held the AK himself.
Only he'd never held a gun, and at that moment, he wasn't even holding a controller. He just... was.
Retracting his claw, he reached inside the box, fingers coming in contract with a smooth, tough material. He pulled it out, black leather unfolding, reforming into a jacket. Holding it close to his nose, he inhaled deeply, scenting the coat. Beneath the must and the cardboard and the leather itself, was the distinct scent of his dad, that earthy, spicy, woodsy smell that could only be defined as Andrew McHale.
Fuck.
Derek's brow furrowed as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he missed his dad's scent, a million memories coming rolling back like a tidal wave, drowning him in the past. Cuddling up to his dad as he told bedtime stories to his boys. Riding in the car on the way to the woods to turn. Congratulatory hugs after a game well played. Being carried on his dad's back as they hiked as a family, both boys worn out from a long day. His hair being ruffed, an arm around his neck as he was pulled close after a run.
He let the scent wash over him, calming his wolf, setting his human side at ease. The smell of his Alpha brought peace, meant safety. His dad always protected his family, always made sure they were safe and secure and that nothing could or would ever happen to them.
None of them had ever even considered the possibility of something terrible happening to the one person who made it his life to make sure it never occurred to anyone else.
A small hand rested between his shoulder blades, a head appearing out the corner of his eye. Melissa tucked a loose chunk of hair behind her ear, the strands having fallen out of her ponytail, her own dark eyes fixated on the jacket in Derek's hand. A small laugh left her on a breath, corner of her lips twisted up in a wan smile, fingers reaching out to gingerly feel along the collar of the coat.
"It was your dad's," she said softly, quietly, snorting at herself. "Of course you knew that. Probably still smells like him, huh?"
Derek didn't answer, didn't look at her, just rubbed his thumbs on the shoulders of the jacket as he held it tightly.
"Your abuela hated this thing," Melissa continued, unperturbed by her son's lack of response, probably used to it at that point. "Your dad wore it when he first met her, which didn't seem like that big a deal to me since he wore the thing everywhere. She wasn't too thrilled about it, made him take it off then she hid it somewhere. I thought she trashed it to be honest 'cause neither of us saw it again." A nostalgic grin formed on her face, before her lips twisted to the side. "She never really approved of the rebellious, leather-clad werewolf I brought home, said right to his face that he shouldn't get too attached to me because I was just going through a phase."
Derek snorted at that, partially because he knew it wasn't the truth. Maria probably wouldn't have—and still didn't—understood what a mate was to a werewolf, how it was for life, more so than any human marriage. Those could always end in divorce—and half of them did—but with werewolves, it truly was until death do they part. Losing a mate was the same as losing a limb and wasn't something one took lightly. Even Derek understood that feeling, that attachment, that need, understood how it was just as much instinct as it was emotions, and that finding a mate and completing the ceremony wasn't something that was as easily dismissed as wedding vows.
If the stories he'd heard growing up were true, then his dad probably knew his mom was his mate when they first met, if not shortly thereafter. And while it wouldn't have been the same for Melissa, in time she would've grown to love him and wanna be there for him. For Andrew, meeting her mom was a huge step, was the same as being introduced to one's pack, and it would've only come after he knew for a fact that they would end up mated—and then eventually married, given his mate's human instincts, traditions, and desires.
But the snort was at more than just the disbelief that someone wouldn't understand how his parents were literally fated to be together. It was also at Maria's complete inability to get that certain things weren't phases, that it was a true part of them and was for life. She knew that Alphas were more aggressive, had a habit of leaning more towards the anger end of the emotional spectrum, but couldn't accept that mates weren't a passing fancy, that his bisexuality wasn't just a curious itch he wanted to scratch. It grated on his nerves, ruffled his wolf's fur the wrong way, and more than once, he'd wanted to grab her and growl until she finally got it and accepted it and moved on without any more snarky comments, eye rolls, or disapproving Spanish epithets.
Still staring at the jacket he held, Derek replied in a low voice, practically muttering under his breath. "I can relate."
The hand between his shoulder blades rubbed across them in a soothing manner, the smile on Melissa's face changing to a more sympathetic one. "I'm sorry about what your abuela said last night."
He shrugged, playing it off. He knew she was referring to what the elder female had said about him, something that honestly hadn't bothered him all that much. He'd been more pissed off at the slights against his father and the insinuation that his mom would've been better off with someone else. "It's fine," he stated honestly. "Kinda accepted that she won't ever like me."
A few months ago, the admission would've hurt, would've stung. He wasn't exactly clamoring for her approval, but it would've been nice to know that she would've been happy with his choices in life—not that his sexuality was a choice, but he would've liked to be able to introduce a boyfriend and not get an eyeroll and some snark in response. But now, he just didn't give a fuck what anyone thought about anything, especially not when it came to himself. Knowing Maria didn't approve of him being bi or like how he was behaving lately just didn't affect him like it would have before his dad's death.
Melissa cupped his chin, jerking his head around so he was forced to meet her eyes. He took in the grave look on her face, the seriousness in her dark orbs, the determined set of her lips and jaw. She clearly wasn't fucking around with whatever it was she was about to say.
"Your abuela loves you," she stated firmly, ignoring the snort she got in response. "She's from a small village in Mexico where things are different, not to mention is from a generation where werewolves were still looked down upon and being gay was a psychological disease, not a natural instinct. It's harder for her to accept things after having been told so often during her developmental years that those things were wrong. But she does love you, even if she doesn't completely understand you."
Derek didn't say anything, features flat as he just stared at her. He honestly didn't care about any excuses or explanations, about why certain people were the way they were. If anything, Maria's blatant disapproval of him made it easier to just write her off and no longer care about any sorta relationship and anything happening to it.
Melissa let out a sigh, releasing her son's head and the jacket he still held, stepping back. "Why don't you take the jacket?" she suggested, knowing the topic of her mom was done, that Derek wasn't gonna comment or argue or keep that conversation going in any way. "Your dad would've wanted you to have it."
He felt that familiar tightness in his chest once more, eyes flipping back to the leather coat. Part of him hesitated for a brief moment, knowing it wasn't his property, his jacket, but her words hit him somewhere deep inside. His dad would've wanted him to have it. His dad hadn't worn it in years. His dad couldn't wear it anymore.
Mind made up, he put the jacket on, feeling the cool leather against his arms as he slid them in the sleeves, pulling the front together to double-check the zipper would reach. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms, crossed and uncrossed the limbs, all to check there was enough room in the jacket for movement.
Perfect fit.
The sad smile returned to Melissa's face as she watched him, one arm folded over her chest, the other holding her hand in front of her lips as her eyes got watery. Derek couldn't stand to see the look on her face so he switched his gaze to the jacket, checking zips and pockets and clasps, busying himself.
"Looks good," she commented, voice rough before she cleared her throat. "Really goes with the stubble you need to shave."
Derek did look at her then, an eyebrow raised in a "you can't be fucking serious" expression. She simply breathed out a chuckle, her grin growing to something more genuine and amused.
"C'mon," she started, motioning to the open door with her head. "We still have a couple more stops to make. I'll let you drive."
He nodded, slipping the jacket off and carrying it in his hand as he left the self-storage unit with her. As he stepped outside, he cast one last glance at the box with his dad's name on it, wondering what other memories were stored inside and if he really did wanna find out what they were.
Their second stop was the high school, Derek dragged inside to sit bored as Melissa signed both he and Scott up and made sure all their paperwork and transcripts had made their way across the country with the move. It had taken longer than it should've, most of the workers in a rush to finalize things before school started in a few days. Someone asked Derek if he was excited, his eyes rolling on their own accord. The guidance counselor asked if he was signing back up for basketball and lacrosse and he stood up, telling Melissa he'd wait in the car for her. She didn't argue or disagree, even when she finally joined him twenty minutes later, only letting him know that he needed to stop by the guidance office first thing Monday morning in order to pick up his schedule. He nodded once before starting the car, mind solely focused on the fact that it was a hundred-eighty school days before he graduated and could leave.
Stop number three was lunch, Melissa treating Derek to In-N-Out Burger, telling him that he and Scott missed out on them by growing up on the east coast. He didn't bother correcting her on the fact that both McHale sons had eaten there during summer vacations to Maria's, instead just grunting and putting a few more fries in his mouth. A burger was a burger, not to mention they were all overcooked no matter where they were bought. He figured it was the wolf in him that preferred things rare and as close to still bleeding as possible.
Maria called on the way to stop number three, requesting Melissa pick up four steaks and some potatoes for dinner. The younger female repeatedly asked why they were needed, the elder evading it by mentioning items already on the grocery list before lying about needing to run and hanging up. Melissa sighed from the passenger seat and rubbed her forehead, muttering to herself in Spanish, a habit that was apparently hereditary.
Derek briefly contemplated needing to watch out for signs of doing just that in himself before shoving the thought aside and focusing on the road.
Grocery shopping took nearly an hour and a half, something Melissa attributed to a combination of the excessive amount of food they needed to buy—"Because feeding two teenage boys isn't bad enough, it's two teenage werewolf boys"—and being unfamiliar with the layout of the store. Derek was just glad to get more protein in the house with the full moon looming so near. The shift always took a lot outta him, his body breaking apart and rearranging into something else, and it needed a lot to recover. Protein and carbs helped keep him going, helped his muscles repair themselves and his body to continue with its basic functions. And while carbs weren't scarce in Maria's kitchen, it could've used more of the other stuff. A couple tubs of protein powder, some energy bars, Gatorade, and oatmeal would definitely do the job and he couldn't contain the slight upturn of his lips at the fact that Melissa just put the items in the cart without him needing to ask as he pushed it along behind her.
Then again, after two decades of buying it, she probably didn't need the reminder. It was more habit than anything really.
But still, he couldn't help but feel a little touched, especially when he realized that with his dad gone and Scott still not having reached full maturity, he was the only one using it. And she was buying it just for him.
Unloading the groceries took time, Scott still out with his friends, Melissa only able to carry so much, Maria even less. The elder female stayed in the kitchen, putting things away, pointing it out to Melissa when needed, using Derek's height to store things on higher shelves.
The steaks were snatched from his hands before he got a chance to put them in the fridge, brow drawn as he stared after Maria's retreating back. He exchanged a curious look with Melissa, who shrugged before turning to the elder Delgado.
"Uh, Mom? Who're the steaks for?"
"Dinner," she replied easily, pulling a chopping board out from a lower cabinet then sliding open a drawer.
Derek rolled his eyes, thinking the answer she'd given was obvious and completely inappropriate for the question that had been posed. Melissa just sighed before returning to her previous task, deciding she'd find out eventually and that there was no way to talk to her mom when she wasn't willing to give a straight answer.
Evasion, thy name is Maria Delgado.
Once the groceries were put away, Maria delegated tasks. Derek was sent on a search for the nice tablecloth that was apparently only ever used for special occasions—at least according to Melissa's questioning commentary once the task had been assigned—and told to put out the good dishware and cutlery. Curiosity and mistrust was a thick scent in the air and he knew his own emotions were adding to it, but he still went along with what he was told.
Melissa was told to handle the baked potatoes and steamed vegetables while Maria cooked the steaks. She scoffed after asking how Derek wanted his and got "bleeding" as a response, muttering in Spanish about werewolves and their disgusting eating habits, wrapping it up with a "loco lobito".
He stifled a growl at the insinuation that he was still a pup, taking a deep calming breath. His day had been pretty decent. No need to fuck it up for no real reason.
Dinner was almost ready when the doorbell chimed, Derek's head snapping up from where he'd been putting white candles in the candelabra—another task he'd raised an eyebrow at, the suspicion scent in the air growing—that sat in the center of the round table. He turned his head to look at the back of Maria's, awaiting the inevitable instruction of going to see who it was.
Only that didn't happen.
"Mija, get the door, would you?"
Both eyebrows raised at that, his head then turning to Melissa's, noting a similar expression of surprise as she stood by a different counter, arm still reaching up to grab the wine glasses she'd been told to fetch. Her mouth goldfished a few times before she kept it closed and left the room, on her way to the front door.
Derek returned his gaze to the remaining female in the kitchen, eyebrow raised as he watched her move a steak from the pan onto a plate. He wasn't expecting an explanation from her, not really, but it would've been nice if his expectations hadn't been met for once.
At least in that case.
His own job complete, he lightly stepped over to where Melissa had previous been standing, ears focused outside the kitchen. He heard the sound of the door opening, the gasp she let out, the surprised way she breathed out a simple name.
"John?"
Oh. Fuck. No.
Derek slowly and purposely moved as he took down the wine glasses she hadn't gotten yet, still listening in on the people by the front door. He heard the soft "Hi, Melissa", the "Wow! You look great", the "so do you", the hug. Clearly it was the John that had been mentioned the night before, Melissa's old high school boyfriend, the one her mom had wanted her to marry instead of Derek's dad. And there was no way it was a coincidence that he was ringing their doorbell the very next day, especially not after Maria's request for steaks, a nice table setting, and wine.
She was trying to get them back together.
With extra care, Derek placed a fourth glass down before grabbing the edge of the counter, breathing slowly and deeply. He really should've seen it coming. There was no way he could go an entire twenty-four hours with shit being okay, no way he could have a decent day like that. Shit was bound to go wrong at some point, something was bound to happen that would rankle his nerves and light his short fuse.
At least it wasn't Stiles this time, he absently thought.
Flexing his fingers, he double-checked that his claws hadn't slid out without him noticing, that he hadn't scratched up yet another piece of furniture. Blunt human fingernails stared up at him, a small hint of relief hitting him, but doing nothing to ease the tension in his muscles.
He was in for another fun dinner, he just knew it.
Footsteps sounded out as they made their way into the kitchen, Maria finally turning from the stove and letting out an overly cheery greeting before walking to the new arrival. Derek ignored them, keeping his head down as he set the glasses at the table, focusing more on perfect placement that he honestly didn't care about. He just didn't want to be a part of their conversation.
"Derek?"
So of course he was dragged into it.
He raised his head at Melissa's voice, walked around the table at her expression, stopping in front of the stranger with his arms folded over his chest. Derek had a good inch or two of height on him, but they appeared to have the same wide build. His eyes were a bright blue, wrinkles around them, age and stress evident in wrinkles and graying brown hair. He was dressed in a beat up pair of jeans and burgundy Henley, the outfit far too casual for the level of fancy Maria was shooting for with this dinner. And his scent was...
Oh.
Oh fuck.
"Derek, this is Sheriff John Stilinski," his mom introduced, smile evident in her voice, lips turned up at the corners in a small grin.
Of. Fucking. Course.
It would've been too much to ask that her old boyfriend be just some random guy named John. But no, it had to be the county's sheriff, had to be their next door neighbor, had to be the father of Scott's best friend and an Omega Derek was trying so hard to pretend didn't exist. Every inhale brought John's scent into his brain, his olfactory sense tearing it apart, analyzing it, desperate to find that special note that belonged to Stiles and spoke of blood relations.
And he found it, deep beneath gun cleaner, Old Spice, dry cleaner chemicals, and whiskey. Deep beneath the flavors that made up John's own unique scent, the musk that made him a man, the warmth that spoke of "father", the spice that said he was still virile and available, the salty taste of loss and grief over a deceased mate.
He hated that that last note had also made its way into Melissa's own scent, a permanent reminder of what had been taken from them.
A friendly smile formed on John's face, a slight unease making the edges of it twitch, his scent wary. It was perfectly natural, even after decades of werewolves being "out", for humans to have that reaction when confronted with one of the supernatural creatures. It was a deeply embedded reaction, an instinct that screamed that the person before them was a predator and a danger and they should get the fuck out now.
But with John, that caution was also met with bravery, an air of authority that Derek was sure came with a gold star badge, a khaki uniform, and a black pistol. He figured the guy had arrested plenty werewolves, had probably handled feral ones, dangerous ones during full moons. The sheriff—despite being human—was the ultimate ruler of his territory and even the biggest, toughest Alpha would go along with his commands.
The gun he carried with him, despite being out of uniform, most likely had something to do with that. Bullets wouldn't kill a werewolf—unless it pierced the heart and the wolf bled out before it could be removed—but they still hurt like a bitch.
At least that's what Derek had been told anyway. He wasn't about to find out first hand though.
John extended his right hand towards the werewolf, friendly smile still in place, scent and heartbeat both saying he was calm and relaxed. "Nice to meet you, Derek."
The Alpha stared him down through narrowed eyes, red flashing in them in warning, before shaking the other man's hand. His grip was strong, skin rough, signs that he wasn't a weakling and that he could take care of his own. Derek had to respect him for that, but still kept his guard up, still made sure the sheriff knew that he was now in the Alpha's territory, despite being the legal authority of the area.
The hard stare remained as they parted hands, Maria instructing everyone to sit down before serving them. John complimented the food, how good it smelled, how Stiles wouldn't let him eat red meat anymore. Derek snorted, eyes rolling at the thought of such a powerful figurehead being bossed around by a little Omega. Melissa glared at him in warning, but he ignored it, choosing to glare at the man seated across from him. If he was weak enough to let his son dictate his diet, he deserved to be laughed at.
Dinner passed by awkwardly, tension growing in the air. Derek knew he was to blame for the curt way he spoke to the sheriff, but couldn't bring himself to care. He was in Derek's territory; the Alpha would treat him however he wanted to.
Conversations started out with John talking about his time in the Army, how he left after his contract was up because his wife had gotten pregnant and he wanted to be there for his family. Derek questioned how going from one life-threatening job to another was "being there", voice hard and accusatory, glare permanently attached to his face.
That had ended that topic.
Talk then shifted to Scott and Stiles and what a coincidence it was that their sons managed to become friends on the internet then move in next door to each other. A growl rumbled up from Derek's chest at the mention of the Omega's name—although he didn't really know why—effectively putting an end to that subject, too.
Things devolved into small talk, comments on the weather, how it was supposed to rain the next day, how the winter wouldn't be as harsh or unforgiving in Beacon Hills as it had been in New York. Derek insisted that season were a thing and should actually exist, unlike how things seemed to be in California. John smiled and commented that he'd get used to it and grow to like the fact that he wouldn't have to bundle up as much and battle the snow and cold just to get a car. The Alpha had allowed his eyes to turn red and his fangs to lengthen before simply stating "werewolf".
The kick to his shin courtesy of Melissa barely registered, but he still put the eyes and fangs away.
The final straw had been when John asked Melissa how she was adjusting to life in California, placing his hand over her's at her lie of being okay, informing her that if there was anything she ever needed, to just ask him.
"You could leave."
Derek ignored the wide-eyed stares of the two women at the table, keeping his reddened glare fixated on the other man, arms folded over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. Melissa huffed out a sigh, eyes flipping to the ceiling in a quick prayer before turning to John, rearranging her features to an image of friendliness and "please don't judge me for my asshole son".
"You don't have to," she insisted, kicking Derek's shin again.
"Yes, he does."
She turned and glared at him, jaw tensed and jaw gritted as she argued. "No. He doesn't."
Derek opened his mouth to debate, but was cut off by the sheriff butting in.
"It's okay. I really should get going," he commented, false grin on his face. "I've got the early shift down at the station tomorrow."
Melissa goldfished again, struggling to come up with an argument to get him to stay, giving up when he rose to his feet. She did the same, chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'll walk you to the door."
John's smile became more genuine, friendlier, before turning to Maria. "Thanks for dinner," he stated, turning to the werewolf across from him. "Derek," he acknowledged with a nod of the head. Turning, he left the kitchen.
Melissa ordered her son to clear the table, glaring at him as if to dare him to pull anymore shit, following their guest out the room.
Derek rolled his eyes, grabbing his and Melissa's plates before carrying them to the sink. Without meaning to, his ears picked up the sounds of her and John's footsteps as they walked to the front door, two heartbeats with paces faster than usual.
"I'm sorry for his behavior," she stated, the steps stopping as they paused by the door. "He's having a hard time here lately. He and his dad were really close and—"
"It's okay," John interrupted softly, honestly. "Stiles was the same way after Claudia's death. Maybe it's a werewolf thing? I—" He paused, sighed, fabric rustling as he shook his head. "I don't know. I just know that it's hard for kids to adjust to a new family dynamic."
Melissa let out a small huff of a laugh, following it up with a sarcastic "no kidding" as Derek dumped potato skins into the trash, quietly stepping over to grab the other plates.
"But I meant what I said," he insisted, tone still friendly and caring. "If there's every anything you need—" He let the sentence trail off, knowing the sentiment had been heard and understood.
"I know. Thanks, John."
Derek heard the sound of fabric rustling, skin sliding together, the sounds of a hug, and he flipped the water on as high as it could go. He was done listening, done with the sheriff and his flirtations cleverly disguised as being a good neighbor and friend. The werewolf had caught the scent of attraction from the human, knew what it smelled like when someone wanted to be with someone else, had heard those skips in heartbeats in friends around their crushes or romantic partners. It was way too fucking much to hear and smell it being directed at Melissa, knowing it was coming from someone who wasn't his dad.
Sink filled, Derek focused on the task of washing up, ignoring the footsteps that entered the kitchen, ignoring the bitter scent of aggravation rolling off Melissa as she stopped beside him.
"Would it kill you to be polite?" she spat, arms folded over her chest, hip sticking out as she leveled her hard gaze up at him.
He returned it with a glare of his own, soapy hands holding a half-washed plate over the sink. "Would it kill you to have an actual family dinner like you keep insisting we have?" he snarled in return, his own jaw clenched. "I'm not the only one screwing with the family dynamic." He spoke the last two words in a mocking fashion before turning back to the sink, narrowed eyes staring at the plate he was washing.
Hurt joined her scent, her teeth grinding, but she didn't say a word. Instead,she sighed loud and long, her entire body heaving with the action. Turning on a heel, she shuffled her way out the room with heavy feet, leaving Derek alone with the dishes.
And the tiniest pang of regret at his behavior. Would it really be so bad for his mom to be happy? His dad wasn't coming back, so it only made sense that she might wanna start dating eventually. And, okay, it might've been a little soon, but it wasn't like she and John were actually dating. It had been an old friend offering a shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear to talk to. And the guy had actually been pretty decent, had put up with Derek's bullshit during dinner and hadn't been intimidated by the Alpha staring him down. Him hanging around, being with Melissa, putting a smile back on her face, it didn't seem like too bad of a thing.
Until Derek remembered the guy's scent and the underlying note that belonged to his family line that came with it.
Fuck.