Disclaimer: Les Mis characters all belong to Victor Hugo.

Author's Note: I'm thrilled there are people interested in this! I suppose it could be seen as vaguely furry, but it's really the themes related to the werewolf mythos or that are commonly played with in werewolf stories that I find fascinating (themes of belonging, of community, of the duality of man with regards to intellect and emotion, of instinct, of fear, of dominance and submission, of empathy, of gender). This chapter fleshes out the werewolf society I've created a bit more. There are also a lot of pairings introduced (Combeferre/Coufeyrac, Bahorel/Jehan, Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta), and a fair amount of gender-bending.

Part One: The Calm

"He's still there."

Enjolras ignores the other wolf at his side, trying to finish reading the papers that Combeferre had given him earlier in the afternoon before he and Coufeyrac join the rest of the pack in the back room of the Musain.

"Really, he's sitting right there, in his usual corner. Just in case you had missed him."

"Coufeyrac, please." Enjolras finally looks up at his gamma, who is currently walking backwards, his eyes fixed on the door to the Musain proper that now hides the stray from their sight. "I am aware that he is still there. Is there anything in particular that you wish I would do about it?"

"Oh, so you did notice that he's watching us like a love-sick pup. Good. I was beginning to think your powers of observation may be slipping." Coufeyrac turns so he's facing Enjolras, both of them standing quietly in the small corridor. "Though it may be unfair to say that he's watching us. I'm fairly certain that he's largely watching you."

"I am the pack alpha. It's only natural that he'd watch me, since according to the customs of our people I technically have power of life and death over him." Enjolras sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He knew he would have to deal with the stray sooner or later, but the idea of driving the man off is decidedly distasteful. He's not hurting anyone. Still, if that's what the pack wants… some instincts weren't as easy to ignore or suppress as others. "We'll ask the others what they wish to do. If the consensus is to drive him off, I'll do so."

Coufeyrac gapes at him for a moment, and Enjolras can feel amusement, chagrin, and a deep-seated affection flow along the bond that he shares with the lower-ranked female. "Who said I want to drive him off?"

"Why else would you call him to my attention?" Enjolras frowns, trying not to bring any of his discomfiture down on Coufeyrac. If he misread the situation, then Coufeyrac has every right to be amused, and Enjolras isn't going to police his pack's hearts and minds. Let other alphas do so if they wish. Enjolras wants allies, not subjects.

Coufeyrac rubs his head against Enjolras' shoulder, eyes downcast. If his ears and tail were present, they would be lowered in a display of respect, though it's affection that Enjolras feels through their bond before the other wolf pulls away. "Because he's been sitting in that one little corner of the Musain for going on two weeks now, and he watches us as though his heart is both ecstatic and breaking each time we come and go, and I want to change it. You know how I hate seeing cubs suffer, Enjolras."

"He's hardly a cub, and the only ways to change his situation are to either drive him off or make him pack." Frowning, Enjolras shakes his head. "He won't approach us to ask to be Pack. He would have shown some inclination to do so already if he was going to."

"And who says he has to approach us?" The triumphant smile on Coufeyrac's face shows a bit too much white tooth to be entirely human.

"Our customs and our instincts. Which we are very good at ignoring when it suits us, I know, so don't deign to lecture me on it." Starting to walk again, Enjolras considers the problem carefully. "He might not want to be involved with our pack once he gets to know us a bit better. We are rather… unique. And it would be putting him in danger, to invite him into the pack. That's the reason we turned away most of the young ones the last two years."

"We accepted Jehan." Coufeyrac walks at Enjolras' side, matching his slow pace, the pack-bond between them a bundle of manic energy and potential from Coufeyrac and quiet consideration from Enjolras. "We turned away others because they didn't fit, or we didn't want the fighting they would bring, or because they disagreed with our views on rather important things like humanity. Besides, the pack's near to capacity. Even you can only hold so many pack-bonds, Enjolras."

"That's not a problem." Waving a hand, Enjolras allows a slight smile to grace his face as he mentally touches his bond to each of his pack members in turn. Most don't notice, too wrapped up in what they're doing. Only Combeferre touches the bond in turn, a pulse of curiosity and uncertainty that Enjolras can read as easily as words.

Where are you? Why are you late?

Enjolras sends back a pulse of calm, a sense of pack and security and Coufeyrac that Combeferre will read just as easily. "I don't think I'm anywhere near my limit so far as pack-bonds go."

Coufeyrac blinks, hesitancy and something akin to fear flashing through his mind before being forcefully discarded.

Enjolras tries very hard not to notice, or to care. Fear is a reasonable response to the unknown, and he is an unknown. There has never been an alpha as strong as Enjolras, at least as far as any of the pack or their acquaintances can tell.

With a bright smile Coufeyrac touches Enjolras' arm. "Well, then. There's no reason not to at least make him the invitation, is there? It wouldn't cause a problem with rankings. You've caught his scent. I've never scented anyone as submissive as that stray. And there aren't any bonds on him, no mates, no sense of a recent pack. It should be simple."

"So far as us and our pack go, things are very rarely simple." Enjolras pauses, his hand on the door that will reunite them with the rest of the pack for an evening of mixed rest and planning. "We'll put it to a vote. If the others agree to it, then you can invite the stray to at least come meet us. If he won't meet us, we'll most likely have to drive him off, though I'll keep suppressing the instinct for that for as long as I can."

"Very well." Coufeyrac grins, slinging his arm around Enjolras' shoulders and throwing open the door to their meeting room with fierce good cheer. "Let the debate begin!"

XXX

Combeferre looks up at the sound of his mate's voice, sighing in mixed relief and exasperation. His alpha is here. His mate is here. The pack is whole and together again, and that makes it much easier to ignore the instincts that are shouting at him that something is wrong.

Enjolras is the strongest Alpha he's ever met. Coufeyrac can take care of himself, as well, and Combeferre had been able to tell through their mate-bond that nothing was wrong with the other wolf. The idea of the scruffy-looking, rather pathetic stray being able to injure either Coufeyrac or Enjolras is ridiculous, even if the stray is on the larger side for a wolf.

That doesn't stop his pack-instincts from telling him that he should drive the stray off, protect his pack, do his duty as beta and protector. It's really quite… annoying, and Combeferre wishes that just telling the little snarling beast in the back of his mind that everything's all right would be enough to quiet it.

Enjolras' power touches his mind, gently, and a shiver runs through Combeferre as cold blue fire swarms over his uncertainties. When the fire withdraws the groundless doubts and fears have faded, pushed further from his conscious mind, leaving his thoughts as free as they had been before the stray appeared.

Enjolras smiles at him, serene, confident, perfectly in control, though the smile fades after a silence that stretches just a moment too long. "I'm sorry, old friend, if I overstepped my bounds. Should I not have—"

"No. Yes." Combeferre hesitates before moving over to the two wolves and pulling Coufeyrac into his own arms. "No. You did what an alpha should, in situations such as these, and I appreciate it. But yes, I wish you had asked before doing it."

Coufeyrac nuzzles against Combeferre's neck, but his gaze is for Enjolras as he grins widely. "I hereby grant you permission to stomp on any pesky alpha-level instincts I may have, now or in the future, especially with regards to people who have done me no harm."

Nipping his mate's ear, Combeferre finds himself relaxing, a smile starting to tug at his mouth. He does feel better having the instincts quelled under Enjolras' power, and he had been thinking that he wanted them gone. Given Enjolras' almost uncanny ability to read the emotions that flowed freely over pack-bonds, it was nearly as good as a request and an invitation. Not quite, not really, and Enjolras will know that for the future, but it's certainly nothing worth fighting about right now. "You don't have any alpha instincts, Coufeyrac. You want to coddle the stray, not attack him."

"I don't want to coddle him." Coufeyrac pouts. "To coddle him would be to imply that I want to protect him from things which he should be quite capable of facing. I just want to give the stray a fighting chance. Besides, look at him. See the way he watches us! All wolves should have a pack, Combeferre. Being without pack, being without pack-bonds, is like… is like being a bird without feathers, or a fish without water, or a human without other humans! It's an intolerable position to see one of our people in."

"Wolves that old without a pack usually have something wrong with them." It's Bahorel who speaks, emerald green eyes flitting between the three higher-ranked wolves. He shares a table with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, though he leans back in his chair to run his fingers over Jehan's neck and shoulders where the younger wolf sits at a neighboring table. "It could be dangerous, taking him in."

"Things that other packs think are wrong are not always the fault of the one being shunned." Feuilly speaks quietly, leaning over to rest his head against Monet's shoulder as he does so. The female wolf tilts her head, rubbing her chin against his hair, and her arm closes possessively, protectively around him. "Best not to judge him for any potential crime until we know what it is."

"He could be ill." Joly speaks hesitantly, one of his hands reaching out to Bossuet, one to Musichetta. "He looks rather ill, and his behavior has been… strange, even for a stray. The way he watches us, the way he stays in this place despite our presence… it's possible he has rabies, or one of the other brain-sicknesses. And he drinks far more than any wolf has a right to. His scent reeks of spirits."

"So does Bahorel's, on occasion, as well as other… less normal things. We've yet to kick him out of the pack for it." Jehan smiles, ducking his head and baring his neck to the higher-ranked wolf as he speaks. For his part, Bahorel just grins.

"Well, then." Enjolras' voice is quiet, but it immediately arrests all of their attention. "You all know the topic of debate. Coufeyrac would like to talk with the stray and offer him a position in the pack—at least a meeting with us, to determine his compatibility with the pack. I believe, in a matter as important as this, that we should all have a say. We will put the issue to a vote."

"I vote yes." Feuilly speaks up quickly, eyes scanning the room. "We at least meet him, and give him a chance to explain himself. He could have a very good reason for his eccentricities, and it's not like there will be any harm in simply talking with him."

"Unless he has rabies. Or a contagious form of meningitis. Do you know how many different kinds of meningitis there—"

"We give him a chance." Musichetta speaks overtop of Joly, but if the subordinate wolf minds he doesn't say so as he trails off. "That's my vote. We'll be careful not to let him injure or bite any of us, in case he does have a sickness of some kind, but the only thing that is usually contagious through words is ideas."

"Agreed." Bossuet squeezes Joly's hand gently, leaning against the other wolf. "With Musichetta. I'd say the stray's had a good solid run of bad luck. Whether being introduced to us could really be considered a stroke of good luck is up for debate, but I vote we give him the chance."

Joly sighs, looking between his two mates and smiling fondly. "As do I. I wouldn't have turned him away. I just wanted everyone to be aware of the potential dangers."

Monet shakes her head, looking over at the trio with amusement. "Consider us informed. As for me, I side with Feuilly. We talk with the stray."

"I want to talk to him. I want to hear his story." Keeping his eyes low, Jehan stares in the general direction of the trio of high-ranked wolves, not actually meeting any of their gazes. His words are clear, though, his voice strong.

Combeferre can feel, faintly, the battle of conscious thought and instinct in Jehan's being. Jehan has known since he joined the pack that he is considered an equal, a companion, his opinions valued and his discussion points thoroughly considered. That knowledge doesn't touch the instincts of a thousand years that tell him to show obeisance to his superiors, to bow his head and make himself vulnerable.

Enjolras hesitates a moment, his eyes flicking to Combeferre. With a slight shake of his head, Combeferre answers Enjolras' unspoken question. Enjolras can't simply suppress all of their warring nature, their duality of soul and purpose. If any of their ideas are to be implemented, if any of their push for change is to be considered seriously by other packs, then they must prove that it can be done even without Enjolras' direct interference.

Jehan raises his head, a slight grin touching his lips, and meets Enjolras' eyes for a moment. Combeferre can't feel what, if anything, Enjolras sent to the young male through the pack-bond, but it was effective.

"Invite him." Bahorel has no trouble meeting any of their gazes. "Appease our curiosity, at least, and if he doesn't work out then we do what any other pack would've done a week ago."

"Gently." Coufeyrac frowns at Bahorel, teeth slightly bared. "There's not going to be any brawling with the stray unless he starts it."

"Fine." Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Bahorel drops his eyes. "I don't like beating on helpless things, anyway. You know that."

"I do." Coufeyrac pulls free from Combeferre, moving over to the green-eyed man and embracing him from behind, placing his head above Bahorel's. "You enjoy fighting; you enjoy hunting; you hate a slaughter."

Coufeyrac's stance is a position of comfort and a position of authority all in one, and Combeferre finds himself smiling as he leans against Enjolras and watches his mate.

"Combeferre?" Enjolras' voice is a comforting rumble where Combeferre is pressed against his chest. "Your vote?"

"Something needs to be done." Combeferre straightens, moving away from Enjolras so he can face his alpha. "There's really only one way that we can resolve this and stay true to the principles we've been espousing."

"We're all in agreement, then." Enjolras turns his gaze on Coufeyrac. "I know you wanted to go; I grant permission. Speak to the stray. Bring him if he will come. Warn him of the likely ramifications if he chooses not to."

"As you command." Coufeyrac straightens, a fire in his eyes that Combeferre hasn't seen often. "If I'm not back in an hour, let Combeferre off his leash to come find me."

"If I sense you're injured, nothing in all of France will keep me from finding the stray and ripping him to pieces." Combeferre speaks the words easily, serenely. There even is serenity in the feelings that consume him as he considers the possibility of Coufeyrac being hurt, because his reaction is something his instincts and his intellect are in perfect agreement on.

"I'll be fine." Pausing in front of Combeferre, Coufeyrac hesitates before stepping forward and crushing himself tight to Combeferre's body. Coufeyrac's tongue brushes against Combeferre's neck, submissive, reassuring.

Coufeyrac's teeth also slide against Combeferre's neck for a moment, a thrill, a brief challenge, and Combeferre growls in sudden frustrated excitement. For a moment his arms wrap around his mate, crushing the female wolf to his body; then he releases Coufeyrac, pushing gently against Coufeyrac until the other wolf moves away.

He isn't surprised to see Coufeyrac's chest shaking with silent laughter, and he can't keep an answering smile from his face. "Off with you."

"I'm off." Coufeyrac pauses at the door, looking from Enjolras to Combeferre to Bahorel and down through the rest of the pack, ending by meeting Jehan's gaze.

The pack can't howl to see him off, not in the Musain, not in Paris, not with the press of humanity all around them.

That doesn't stop their pack-bonds from resonating with their collective hopes, needs, well-wishes, the essence of who and what they are, and Combeferre finds himself breathless by the time the door closes behind Coufeyrac. Others seem equally affected by the strength of their pack-bond, mated pairs pulling close to each other, those pairs or trios then pressing close against other pairs, closing in, closing ranks, defining the pack.

Combeferre doesn't know when he pressed himself against Enjolras. He just knows that it feels right, feels safe, that he trusts his alpha and, if he can't have his mate at his side, will gladly substitute Enjolras for him.

Enjolras strokes his hair, smiles at him, but stands unperturbed, seemingly unaffected by the strength of the magic binding them together. Gathering his scattered thoughts, forcing linearity and logic back overtop the sheer, burning energy of instincts and pack-amplified emotion, Combeferre probes as far as he dares along his bond to Enjolras.

Enjolras is happy.

Enjolras is very happy, content even, a conduit and a focus-point for the pack magic, reveling in rather than drowning in the emotions of his people, and Combeferre withdraws as Enjolras turns to look at him with questioning eyes.

Shaking his head, Combeferre deflects any concerns Enjolras may have with a wave of trust and happiness of his own.

Their pack is strange. Their ideas are strange—blasphemous to some of their people, incomprehensible to others, the foolish dreaming of young pups not yet ready to face the world to still others. Their pack magic is strange, the ties between them strong, taut with potential, and their utilization of those pack bonds is even stranger.

But they're happy.

Enjolras is happy.

Their strange alpha, too strong, too determined, too high-ranked for most to believe their noses when they first met him, isn't just handling the strain the pack places on him. He's thriving on it, purposefully diving further into it, purposefully keeping the bonds between all of them bright and strong.

The last concern he had about bringing the stray into the pack melts away, and Combeferre silently wishes Coufeyrac the best of luck in his endeavor.

No wolf should be without a pack and they have, in Combeferre's unbiased, scientific assessment, the best pack that ever existed.