A/N: Canon-divergent AU post-season 2. Canon timeline has been altered because everything happens way too fast for my liking. This work is no friend to Scott McCall, consider yourself warned.

Summary: Stiles has been pushed to the fringes of the pack-he's known this since he escaped the Argent's torture basement all by himself. He goes to the only person he can trust to do what needs to be done, the only one who might miss him when he's gone, and the only one he can really say is pack: Peter Hale. Then, an unexpected arrival opens up a whole new world of possibility-assuming they can survive and escape Beacon Hills. Beyond the borders, however, a larger conspiracy awaits, and they might need some help to face it. Or: A pack consisting of one former alpha werewolf, one Spark mage and one mage-not-otherwise-specified find family, healing and take on the world.

Chapter 5: Transatlanticism

Ria woke to the sound of soft chatter coming from another room and the smell of coffee. Focusing her senses, she could recognize the voices of the two men from the clearing. Not feeling any restraints, either mundane or magical, the woman opened her eyes and sat up with a barely suppressed groan. She felt like she had been hit with a semi-truck and then tossed into a ditch. Spots clouded her vision when Ria tried to stand, and she fell back onto the couch with a grimace.

A hand landed on her shoulder, presumably to keep her seated.

"Hey, you were pretty beat up last night. Should probably stay sitting for a bit—if you fall and knock yourself out on the coffee table, Peter will probably send you the cleaning bill. And trust me, his shit is way too expensive for that to be worth it."

Ria's vision began to clear, and she looked towards the speaker—a teenager, about seventeen or eighteen, if she had to guess—with messy dark brown hair and golden-amber eyes that caught the morning sun. She was pretty sure his name was Stiles, but her head was still fuzzy.

Another voice from behind her, smooth, confident, and presumably belonging to the werewolf, drawled in response as a cup was set on the table in front of her, "Please, it's called having taste sweetheart."

On the best of days, Ria was not a morning person. This was, decidedly, not the best of days, so she reached out towards the steaming mug of coffee with little more than a questioning glance at the two men, making sure that she was actually welcome to drink it.

"If you want anything in it, let me know," Stiles motionned towards the coffee.

"Don't let him fix your coffee, darling, unless you want diabetes."

Ria took the cup with a short laugh, thankful that her hands were steady enough to hold the mug without dropping it. She was pretty sure that the teenager had been joking about how the werewolf would send her a bill for cleaning, but at the same time everything she had seen so far looked far too expensive to risk it. As soon as the first sip was past her lips, Ria let out a contented sigh and relaxed back into the couch.

Stiles and Peter watched with amusement as the young woman sipped her coffee, settling into the couch as if she belonged there.

"Thank the Goddess and Mother Moon for the nectar which is coffee," Ria murmured into her cup, feeling some semblance of normalcy return to her mind and body with this one simple act that somehow felt like a ritual.

Stiles stared for a second before snorting with laughter, as Peter just smirked, "Not a morning person, then?"

Ria shook her head, glancing between the human and the wolf, "Sorry about that. I'm hardly a sentient being before coffee. Thank you," her voice was soft as she stared into her cup, "You didn't have to bring me back from the woods, let alone to your den. I am very grateful—however I can repay you, please tell me."

"Perhaps you can answer some questions then?" Peter's blue eyes caught her grey ones and Ria nodded.

"What would you like to know?"

"Why don't we start with the basics—like what you are, for example. The hag called you a 'war-caller'."

Ria sighed, "There is no…simple answer. I'm still trying to figure it all out myself. I come from a bloodline of magic users. Not witches or druids, though. The simple answer is that I'm a mage. An innate magic user, albeit with qualities not normally found in mages. It's not the first time I've been called a 'war-caller', but I have no idea what precisely that means."

"Innate magic? Like, 'You're a wizard Harry!' kind of innate?"

A dry chuckle shook Ria's shoulders, "Close. But generally, I can do without the wands, incantations and rituals. Most of my family had a bit of innate magic, but none as strong as mine—they were sorcerers for the most part. Learned magic users."

"Your family did not keep records?" Peter looked thoughtful.

"If they did, there is no one left who might know where they were kept," Ria shrugged but Peter did not miss the scent of sadness that clung to her, "There are none left. Except me."

Stiles couldn't help but reach out and put a hand on Ria's shoulder, flicking his eyes to Peter in a way that clearly said, 'Can we keep her?'.

Peter smiled sadly at the young woman in front of him, "I am not sure how much it will help, but I have access to several books in the Hale vault that might shed some light on your magic, if nothing else."

Ria looked up, recalling the name from the previous night. She searched Peter's gaze and slowly put the pieces together as her hand rested over Stiles'. Her eyes widened as it all fell into place, "That would make you Peter Hale, the Left Hand of the Hale Pack."

Tensing slightly, Peter leaned back, "Forgive me, but you don't sound like you're from the area, however you seem awfully familiar with the local community."

"Far from it," Ria shook her head, "But when I first arrived in America, I contracted with the Council. Information is my business, currency and insurance. And the Hales are an old family, since I am looking for someone in this area, your family came up in my research."

Peter arched an eyebrow, but relaxed back into his seat with a smirk, "Old by American standards, you mean. Unfortunately, the Hale Pack is…not what it once was."

"I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't dredge up old hurts," Ria looked down at her coffee.

"Is it official business that has you looking into someone here?" Peter asked, mostly to avoid the topic of his family.

Besides, Peter might not be the Left Hand anymore, but he would always be a left hand, especially in Hale territory. If the Council was here, then he wanted to know about it.

The young woman was quick to shake her head, "No, but I need to find someone, to keep a promise to my godmother. I promised to look out for someone—but she'd gone off the grid, magically speaking—and it took until last year for me to even get news that she…that she passed away almost ten years ago."

"Well, you saved Stiles and I last night, so if you tell me who you're looking for, I can help you—free of charge," Peter grinned, feeling much more in his element.

The young woman wasn't lying. He could practically see the weight bearing down on her shoulders. Ria looked too young to be saddled with a duty that had driven her across the world.

"I would argue that bringing me back here and letting me heal cleared our debt, but I won't turn down any help," Ria grinned back, getting serious again as she took a deep breath, "I need to find the son of Claudia Gajos."

Stiles froze, his hands clutching his own coffee mug so tightly that his knuckles went white. Peter immediately shot up from his chair, crossing the room in two paces to kneel in front of the human who looked like he was about to start hyperventilating.

"Stiles, breathe," Peter soothed, running a hand through the teen's mess of brown hair.

The contact appeared to help soothe his racing mind, and Stiles took a shaky breath as he leaned his forehead against Peter's for a moment. Finally collecting himself, the teenager turned towards Ria, who had shifted to give him space, eyes wide and worry rolling off of her in waves. Peter didn't move from his spot in front of Stiles, but also turned his attention towards their guest.

"Why…why are you looking for him?" Stiles managed to ask, half into his coffee cup.

Ria's eyes widened a fraction as realization hit her, her magic singing out to the boy sitting next to her.

"I promised his mother, my godmother, that I would look out for him," Ria admitted softly, reaching out so that her hand hovered just above Stiles' own, "That I would teach him magic in case she never got the chance to. I'm sorry I took so long to get here, Mieczysław."

Stiles looked up and saw the pain in Ria's eyes and promptly threw himself into her arms. The mage had just enough time to put her coffee aside before catching an armful of Stiles.

"No one ever pronounces it right," Stiles muttered, subconsciously rubbing his cheek against Ria's, "How come mom never said anything? And why wouldn't she bring you over here if your entire family was gone?"

Ria shook her head, rubbing her cheek against Stiles' to scent him in return. Peter, watching with amusement and amazement in equal measure was starting to wonder if these two were supposed to be born werewolves and just got hit by the magic gene instead.

"They were still alive at the time," Ria admitted quietly, "and hunters, along with a whole host of things that go bump in the night, were still after me. Aunt Claudia did everything she could to keep her family safe from that world. I couldn't bring myself to risk that, even…after."

"Wait, she was actually your aunt?" Stiles looked up with wide eyes, refusing to let go of this one reminder of his mother, of a family member who had crossed the ocean and come to a whole new country just to find him.

"Yeah, on my mother's side. I'm not technically a Gajos—I was born into a different family whose name has been buried. But Aunt Claudia made sure to write me when she could, even though she'd moved to the US. She…she wanted to bring you to see us, you know. Before…" Ria glanced away and bit her lip, blinking back tears and holding Stiles a little closer.

Peter's heart went out to the pair, glad that their family reunion had gone infinitely better than his own a year and a half ago. Standing up, the wolf walked over to Ria's other side, perching on the edge of the couch, and running a hand over her hair and down her back.

"You seem remarkably proficient with your magic," Peter started carefully, eyeing the young woman who he could have sworn was no more than a few years older than Stiles, "how long have your been practicing? You must have come into it quite young—you hardly look more than twenty."

"Jesus, creeperwolf! You can't just say stuff like that to a stranger!" Stiles sent an accusatory glare towards the wolf as Ria's shoulders began to shake.

The woman, unable to contain herself, threw her head back and laughed, a clear, ringing sound that seemed to fill the whole space. Peter and Stiles both found themselves grinning along with her, the pure joy of the sound infecting both of them.

"I know, I know. I still get carded at the bar, don't worry," she waved a hand, "a side effect of whatever the hell I am, I'm told. My magic has always been presesnt, in some form. But I've been actively training with it since I was a child, so around twenty-five years."

"What?! I thought you were like Derek's age," Stiles exclaimed, foregoing any sort of filter as usual.

"Darling, you have to share your secrets with the pack," Peter drawled, smirking.

Ria raised an eyebrow—seriously, Stiles was pretty sure she could give the Hales a run for their money in the eybrow communication department—and met Peter's smirk head-on with one of her own, "Oh, you want to look like you're perpetually stuck between teenager and 'young adult' for a decade? You werewolves age just fine."

"Is that so? Normally those compliments come with a dinner invitation, sweetheart."

Peter was enjoying himself. Another person with a sharp mind and wit was making Beacon Hills an infinitely more interesting place to be. Of course, he would not necessarily complain about taking the lovely, intriguing mage to dinner—but every time he looked at her storm-grey eyes, Peter could only smell the ozone and petrichor of the human curled into her side. Something in Ria's eyes told the wolf that she knew this too, which should have been more unsettling than it was, but the woman was happy to play the game without a hint of disappointment or lust in her scent as she jabbed back with a playful grin.

"If a line like that worked on me, darling, my standards would have fallen low indeed."

Stiles had been watching the two banter back and forth like a he was following a tennis match. His heart had clenched for a moment, worried that Peter was being serious, or that Ria would take the elder Hale seriously. Instead, she settled into teasing the wolf as easily as he had, without a hint of seriousness in her tone. Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.

Peter and Ria shot each other a relieved glance as the last of the tension bled from Stiles' body. The teenager sat up and pulled away from Ria, who ran a hand down the back of his neck before promptly snatching up her coffee again. Taking a sip, she smiled to herself and relaxed back into the couch. Peter put a hand on her wrist, pulling her pain—thankfully less than the night before, but still the wolf was surprised how at ease the mage was as angry black veins pulsed up his arm. Peaceful silence reigned for a few minutes as Ria leaned her head back with a muttered thanks to Peter, and Stiles finished his half-forgotten coffee after tucking himself back into Ria's side.

His ringing phone startled Stiles enough that the boy fell from the couch in a tangle of flailing limbs.

"Fuck," he muttered, hurriedly answering the call, "Scott? What's up, man. It's like… nine A.M. on a Saturday."

'Where are you, dude? I need you to do some research on the stuff we found at the Preserve.'

"Wait, are you at my house?" Stiles couldn't help but feel a little annoyed.

'Obviously. Why aren't you?'

"Oh, I don't know Scotty. Maybe because you guys left the Preserve without me, and I'm a trouble magnet so I almost ended up getting sacrificed in a ritual, and definitely would have if not for Peter," Stiles bit out, purposefully leaving out Ria's involvement, which got him a thankful squeeze on his arm.

'Shit, sorry dude. I didn't know—you know I would have helped if I did!'

Peter growled at that, causing Ria to open one eye and nod in agreement, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Yeah, well. I'm fine, thanks for asking. What did you guys find?"

'Come to the loft, we are calling a pack meeting anyways.'

Ria quirked an eyebrow at that, shooting Peter a questioning glance. Peter just shook his head slightly, but his frown told her enough. With a huff, she settled back and closed her eyes.

"Alright, yeah, sure. What time?"

'I'm heading over there right now. See ya, bro!'

Scott hung up without another word, leaving Stiles staring at his phone and shaking his head.

"Does that mean I should also go to this 'pack meeting', sweetheart?" Peter's grin was slightly feral, causing Stiles to sigh in fond exasperation.

"I don't think Derek wants to be cleaning blood stains out of the loft…again. Don't worry big bad, I'll share all the juicy details when I'm back. Ria, make sure zombie wolf here doesn't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

Peter and Ria just stared after the exuberant teen as he bounded out the door, muttering curses as he ran into the doorframe.

"Zombie wolf?" Ria finally asked, arching an eyebrow at the werewolf in question.

With a smirk, Peter shrugged and leaned back into the couch, "Death didn't suit me."

Thanks for reading! Sorry for the late updates-I'd been updating on AO3 and completely forgot to update here as well. So enjoy the upcoming onslaught of chapters?