"Okay, seriously, you know it's killing me!"

Erica had a flair for the dramatics, something Derek had noticed over the few measly days he'd known her. And Derek? Well, Derek had a flair for ignoring people and he put his talent to good use, keeping his face buried in his hands. It was strange really. He was the most anti-social person in the house, yet over the past couple days, every knock on the door had been for him. The Pack, the sheriff, Stiles, the Pack again.

Apparently the prickly exterior he'd been accused of having wasn't quite sharp enough to keep folks away.

He heard the shuffling of fabric, a tired grunt as someone sat on the floor judging by the muffled squeak of floorboards hidden under carpet and foam insulation. His thigh was poked by a bare toe again, before the entire foot shoved at him, barely jostling him where he sat.

"Dereeeeeek," Erica stretched his name out in a whine, moving her foot and digging her toe into his side, causing him to squirm. Which, of course, made her dig it in more, slinking down on the couch to follow him when he moved. "Pay attention to meeee." She shifted her foot up so it was digging in his armpit and he finally jumped off the couch, dropping his hands so he could glare at her. She shrugged, nonplussed, grinning up at him victoriously.

Brat.

He peered around the room, finding Isaac on the armchair, in gray sweats and a black sweatshirt, entirely focused on straightening the tassels on his maroon scarf. Boyd was on the floor, leaning back against the couch, maroon lacrosse shorts on and gray "Beacon Hills Lycanthropic High Cyclones" hoodie covering his torso. His legs were bent, arms dangling loosely off them, eyes closed as he rested his head where Erica had sprawled out on the couch. Erica herself was dressed in the same lazy slob fashion as the rest of them, giant gray "BHLHS LAX" tee on, black yoga pants, flip flops discarded on the floor under the coffee table. Her hair was frizzy, pulled back in a messy ponytail with fly-aways framing her face like a halo, and her face was surprisingly make-up free. She looked more vulnerable than Derek had ever seen her, as though her red lipstick and corsets were an armor she put on to face the daily bullshit of high school life.

And really, it made sense, given what tiny peeks into her life he'd gotten, and it went right along with the epiphany he'd had earlier. His shield of anger, Stiles' armor made of sarcasm and self-deprecation. Erica had forged one of her own with her hair and make-up and flawless appearance, while Boyd hid behind a stoic mask, keeping his emotions on lockdown. And Isaac? He hid behind his scarf like it was a security blanket, obsessively straightening things out as though it would straighten out his life, too.

All of them were damaged in some way, and all of them put up a front to keep others from seeing it.

But that metaphorical Lasik surgery that had allowed Derek to see his past more clearly was now letting him get a good look at others around him, letting him truly see them for who they were, past all the fronts and armor and shields and walls.

He wrapped his arms around his torso as though he could hide himself away again, as though he could cover up the holes Stiles had made in his walls, as though he could keep the cracks together until he could fortify himself once more.

'All the King's horses and all the King's men...' his mind teased and he swallowed hard against it, ducking his head to further hide from everyone and everything.

"Seriously!" Erica cried out, drawing his attention once more. "Why was Stilinski here? Getting a li'l post-shift lovin'?" She waggled her eyebrows at that and sank her teeth into her bottom lip with a salacious smirk, giggling once again.

Derek eyed a throw pillow on the couch, squished from where he'd been sitting only moments ago. Boyd cleared his throat, giving him an entirely unamused look, shaking his head slowly to show he knew what Derek had been thinking and he very fucking much did not approve.

He cocked an eyebrow but let it go. His two protein shakes had gone a long way in helping the aches, but he was still tired and a little sore and not in the mood for either throttling Erica with the throw pillow as he'd mentally planned or dealing with the repercussions of it at the clawed hands of Boyd.

Derek might've been an Alpha and therefore stronger, but Boyd was bigger and not exactly a scrawny li'l twerp in the muscle department.

"No," he answered her, turning his attention back to the lone female. "And I'm not discussing why he was here so don't bother asking again." With that, he shoved her feet off the couch and sank back down onto his previous seat, slumped with his legs spread.

She rolled her eyes before putting her feet right back on the couch, legs bent and leaning against the back of the sofa, head on the arm, brown eyes focused on him. "Fine. I'll just wheedle you for info about that fight with Whittemore instead." At that, she lifted her foot, wiggling her toes menacingly and cackling like a villain in a cheesy action movie.

He needed new friends.

The thought made him pause where he was rubbing at his forehead, wondering when the hell exactly he began considering the trio his friends. It wasn't what he planned, wasn't what he wanted.

Then again, if he'd learned anything over the past six months, it was that life or fate or the universe, whatever it was, it didn't give a fuck what Derek wanted. It had its own plans happening and he was just stuck going along for the ride. He might as well just suck it the fuck up and enjoy it.

Or at the very least accept shit.

Like the fact that these three assholes taking up space in the Delgado living room were actually starting to matter to him, were actually starting to become something important to him, something he'd never really had.

Real friends.

He dropped his hand onto the arm of the sofa and looked at each of them, really looked. Isaac with his cherubic looks and trembling fingers picking imaginary lint off his pants. Boyd with his flat features and deep, fathomless eyes that told everything his face tried to hide. Erica with her wide eyes and innocent face that seemed more vulnerable than ever without her war paint. They'd wanted him to be their Pack Alpha and Derek wondered how the hell someone as damaged as he was could ever lead a group as damaged as they were.

Maybe that's what they needed. Not a blind-leading-the-blind kinda thing, but someone who understood what it was like and not heal them per se, but give them the motivation to heal themselves, show them it was possible and lead by example.

He glanced around the room once more, running his hand through his hair over and over again. Committing to a Pack was a big deal though. It was on par with taking a Mate, more serious than a human's marriage. There was no divorcing, no separation, no "we're just taking some time apart to figure out what we need and if it's worth saving." Hell, he didn't even think there was therapy for Pack issues. It was worked out within the group, no outside help or counseling. If he wasn't the right Alpha for them, he could screw them up even more than they already were, bring nothing but misery and pain to all of their lives and for what? The ego boost of being a Pack Alpha? The power of being in charge of people? Not worth it. And not something he'd ever been interested in in the first place.

A damaged Alpha may be good for the three of them, but a damaged one who'd fixed him- or herself. The way he was at that moment, he'd definitely fuck them all up.

"Deeeereeeek," Erica sing-songed, toes wiggling again, and he turned to her, belatedly remembering that she'd asked about Whittemore. His wolf growled at the memory of the dick—not that the human part of Derek could blame it—but honestly, the thought of that fuckhead was safer than anything involving the Pack.

But still...

He let his head fall against the back of the couch, face turned to the ceiling before he covered it with both hands and scrubbed, muffling his groan. The girl was ruthless, that much was clear, as well as the fact that she was completely undeterred in anything and everything she did. It was obvious from the moment she started bugging him to be Pack Alpha, then help her with her Calc homework, then again with trying to get info from him, whether it be regarding his feelings for Stiles or the incident with Whittemore.

Not that it wasn't already plainly obvious what happened there. He was sure the school gossip mill had a pretty good idea when both Derek and Whittemore had been sent home and Stiles had walked around bruised, carrying the Beta's scent.

He let out a long sigh as his hands fell into his lap with a loud smack. "Nothing to tell there," he mumbled, head rolling to her when she snorted, catching the end of her eye roll. "Seriously."

"Seriously, you're full of shit," she argued, giving him a deadpan look that said she wasn't taking it from him. Both Boyd nodded in agreement while Isaac drew his legs up onto the armchair, pulling them to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, chin resting on his knees. "Look," Erica began, drawing Derek's attention back to her. "It's obvious you kicked his ass for giving Stilinski shit. The question is why you care and why you got involved. Your recent behavior doesn't exactly paint you out to be the kind of guy who gets involved with, like, anyone, much less coming between an Omega and his bully."

Derek leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, head ducked as he wrung the back of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to curl in on himself much the way Isaac was, to hide away and just be left alone to deal with his shit on his own, rather than putting it on display for all to see and dissect the way Erica wanted.

Okay, that was a lie.

What he wanted most was to travel back a few hours, to when he was curled up in Stiles' lap, that sugary-sweet scent in his nose, the lull of his voice in his ear as he read, the feel of his warmth against Derek. He wanted it again, always, the two of them wrapped up in one another, tangled together until they were impossible to separate. He wanted that rabbit fast heartbeat pounding away against his own, wanted pale flesh pressed to his tanned skin, wanted his every inhale to be full of citrus and sugar and home and pack and mine and...

Fuck, he wanted Stiles. And he didn't deserve the guy. He wasn't ready for him, to be what Stiles needed.

And it killed.

A toe poked into his side and he grunted in irritation and acknowledgment, squirming once more when Erica just dug it in between two of his ribs.

"Seriously, Alpha-Man, just answer the question and I'll stop trying to stab you with my pedicure."

Another sigh escaped him, gusting out his nose, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I just don't think anyone should give anyone any shit due to some perceived bullshit notion that they're weaker," he murmured, fingers tangling together between his spread knees. "My dad raised us to treat everyone as equals, regardless of species or gender or dynamic. So when someone's getting picked on or abused for being smaller or younger or not as strong, whatever, it just." He lifted his head, staring straight ahead at the empty fireplace, at the charred marks of flames past and the spiderweb that had recently been built in it. "I was defending an Omega," he dismissed, shrugging a shoulder. "No one should ever prey upon the weak like that." His eyes narrowed at the last part, jaw set as he spoke with conviction, fingers curling into fists and he was struck with the sudden urge to track Whittemore down and make sure he'd learned his lesson.

The room grew silent, nothing but the hum of the AC, the buzz of the lights overhead, three steady heartbeats and one pounding at a fast rate. Derek turned to Isaac, scenting the air, sorting through Erica's pride and Boyd's approval, finding Isaac's anxiety and upset.

Blue eyes flipped to him, wide, the rest of his features flat, and he unfolded his long legs to place his feet on the ground. "'Scuse me," he murmured tremulously, hands shaking as he put them on the arms of the chair and pushed himself into a standing position. He didn't look at any of them as he quickly stepped around the armchair and headed straight into the kitchen, the faucet immediately cutting on to cover up any other sounds.

Boyd and Erica exchanged upset looks but didn't comment, leaving Derek to fill in the blanks by himself. Which came with the memory of Boyd telling him that Isaac's dad wasn't a good man, inferring that some sort of abuse was going on there. Add in how meek Isaac was, his OCD tendencies, the fact that he was covering up any distressed sounds with running water, it all made the assumption seem even more likely.

And now the fact that Derek was insisting that no one should be harmed for being weaker, it obviously struck a nerve in Isaac and he couldn't handle it, leaving the room to cover his upset.

Derek was standing outside the kitchen without even being conscious of the command to get up, pausing in the threshold as he tried to figure out what the fuck exactly he was about to do. He ignored the two curious scents coming from behind him, focusing inside the kitchen instead, taking in the sight of Isaac standing right next to the spot Stiles had occupied a mere hour or so before, the lean male in front of the sink, hands grasping the counter, shoulders tense but body trembling with every shaky, strained inhale. The salty scent of upset hung in the air, joined by that of the staleness of past terror and fear, and the underlying notes of uncertainty, like he himself wasn't sure how to react, what any of it all meant.

The Alpha cleared his throat and gently called out Isaac's name, noting the slight wince as his shoulders bunched up on automatic. But the curly-haired one forced himself to relax, nodding his hung head, and Derek took it as permission to enter. But he didn't approach the skittish male, not directly, choosing instead to head to the counter running along the side of the room, adjacent to Isaac, leaning back against it with those gaudy seventies tins he'd been staring at earlier now obscured by his muscular frame.

Silence was a third party in the room, Isaac seeming lost in his head as he stared unseeing down at the sink, the blender jar filled with soapy water and left to soak until someone gathered enough of a fuck to actually wash it properly. Derek was caught up in his own thoughts, wondering what exactly had been the trigger to cause the other man to up and leave the room, remembering Boyd's inferences once more, then trying to figure out how exactly to begin the conversation. Or even what the conversation should be about in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying, genuinely meaning it, hand wringing the back of his neck.

Isaac's head snapped around to him, blue eyes wide and mouth hanging open as his scent burst with surprise. He smacked his lips closed, swallowed hard, lowered his lids to their usual level, all while his eyes glanced away. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you apologize," he stated lowly in an easygoing tone that wasn't felt, a small laugh joining that he didn't seem to mean either, like he was making light of it. All the while his eyes danced back and forth between cautious glances at the older man and staring blankly outside, like he wanted to gauge Derek's reaction but couldn't maintain eye contact for whatever reason.

Derek shrugged as he shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down at his bare feet as he lined his big toes with a crack in the linoleum where it was peeling apart. "I mean it though," he put out there, voice low, calm, steady, not wanting to upset Isaac any more than he already had and cause the guy to take off running out the house. "Whatever I said or did just now, I—"

"It's not you," Isaac interrupted, managing to actually look at him while he said it before turning back to the window. "It's just." He stopped, huffed, smeared a hand down his face before ducking his head and staring at the sink once more. Silence descended again and the tension increased and Derek stood there unmoving, waiting for the other man to gather his thoughts, knowing what was coming next would be heavy enough to shatter the fragile seeming Isaac.

The curly-haired one peeked at Derek, an eyebrow slightly cocked in curiosity, lips twisted to the side. "Did Boyd or Erica ever tell you about," he paused again, struggling once more with his words. "My home life?"

Derek's fingers curled into fists as he thought about it, about the conclusions he'd drawn and what it meant for Isaac. "Boyd said your dad wasn't a good person," he admitted, trying to keep the bite out of his words lest the other man think the venom was aimed at him, that it was due to information being held from him. "I got a pretty good idea about it from that and your behavior."

Isaac nodded and turned away, shame coloring his scent, and he sniffed loudly in the otherwise silent room. "Pops likes order, shit to be a certain way, everything in its place. When it wasn't, I—" he stopped completely, wincing as his body cringed as though protecting himself from a physical blow that wasn't gonna come.

The Alpha felt his nailbeds tingle, claws aching to descend, to hunt down the elder Lahey and tear into him for every strike he gave his son. Part of him reasoned it was due to his wolf still being too close to the surface, burying the truth further down, refusing to acknowledge it just yet. He'd barely come to grips with his feelings for Stiles; there was no fucking way he was getting a handle on anything else, not yet anyway, not after his earlier decision to not think about anything Pack-related while his own mental and emotional status were so fucked.

"Things are okay now," Isaac went on, turning back to Derek with a watery smile. "My older brother, Camden, he found out what was going on and when he finished his final tour in the Army, he filed a petition for custody. Took a long time but I live with him now. Didn't hurt that Pops was collared on this unrelated drunk and disorderly charge. Cam told all about our dad's drinking habit and the court deemed him unsuitable, so I got to move out. Still though." His voice grew quiet, head ducked as the small smile disappeared from his face completely. "Some habits are hard to unlearn. Keeping shit straight and orderly was drilled into me and sometimes those little OCD-like behaviors are the only things that stop me from panicking."

Derek scowled at the floor, feeling like a dick once more for being so selfish that he was blinded to those around him and their suffering. Other people had it much worse than he did and he needed to quit being a pissant crybaby about it and move on.

Or at least try to.

He cleared his throat, shuffled slightly as the edge of the counter was digging into his lower back, eyes still trained on the floor. "Where was your mom during all this?"

"Died giving birth to me," Isaac said flatly, like her death meant nothing. And maybe it didn't. He had no memories of her, felt no attachments towards the woman who'd conceived and carried and birthed him. "Mom" was a general idea of a person in his eyes and probably didn't even feel real, like a figure out of their history books or a character in a story. The clinical detachment made sense.

"Another thing for Pops to hate me for, another excuse to beat me," he went on, sardonic smile curving up one side of his mouth, once again trying to make light of it. "That, plus I'm weaker in every sense." He shrugged like it didn't bother him but his shoulders held too much tension to be anything remotely close to nonchalant, his scent salty with upset and bitter with resentment.

His claws ached to slide out once more and Derek opened his mouth to repeat what he'd just said in the living room, that no one had any right to lay a hand on Isaac out of some preconceived bullshit belief of being less-than, only to be cut off.

"I guess that's kind of why what you said hit so hard," Isaac admitted, turning around to lean back against the sink, arms wrapped around his torso. "Cam doesn't ever talk about it. And not out of some, like, if we don't talk about it and pretend it never happened then it didn't way of thinking, ya know? But, like—"

"Because he doesn't know what to say," Derek interrupted, knowing the feeling.

"Yeah," he breathed out, scratching his square chin. "And I think part of him feels guilty for leaving me there. I catch the scent on him sometimes when he looks at me for too long or if something causes me to jump or flinch or whatever. And I try to tell him it's not his fault, or mine, but. I don't think he gets it."

The Alpha nodded, not entirely sure what else there was to say, how to react. Abuse was real, he knew it was, especially at the hands of an Alpha. It was why his dad's old secretary always cowered when she messed something up. It was why the little girl down the block from them in Queens always had a bruise of some sort before disappearing entirely and her mom was dragged away in cuffs. It was why Scott and Melissa and Maria had reacted the way they had when Derek had pinned Stiles against the wall, growling, that first night in California. But it always seemed so far from him, that little girl four houses away, the secretary he only saw once a month at most, child abuse and domestic abuse only really seen on episodes of Law and Order: SVU. The victims always disappeared from his mind the second they disappeared from his vision. Not once since his dad's death had he thought about the former administrator's well-being, not once did he think about whether or not that little girl was okay, not once did he ever wonder about any of the victims on TV.

Until then.

Because Isaac was part of his life now, dragged in by Erica and her insistence in sticking around. Because Isaac was a real victim who wouldn't be leaving with the end credits or the ME van that took the little girl's corpse away. A new family had moved into that house and Derek had forgotten the kid's name and life had gone on for everyone on that street. The scars were covered by new rose bushes and a fresh coat of paint, a new name on the mailbox and cars in the driveway. It made it all so tragically easy to pretend it never happened and forget that little girl's suffering. It was easy to ignore it all when you no longer had to see the pain held within bruised eyes or the tremble in a cut lip.

Isaac no longer bore the physical wounds, but he still held the mental and emotional ones, the psychological scars too deep to ever fully heal. Derek had ignored that little girl, too selfishly caught up in his own shit, pretended not to see it like the rest of the neighborhood pretended because it was easier than getting involved, than trying to take on an Alpha mom. He couldn't ignore Isaac. He didn't want to.

He glanced towards the living room, stretched his hearing to take in the low murmurs happening between Erica and Boyd. He thought over what he'd witnessed with them: the rift in the Boyd family, Erica's mentions of her own dead parents, her comments over how the three of them had formed their own ragtag Pack because they were all alone and lonely. Every one of them had scars. It was all a matter of how well one let them heal and how they wore them.

"Talking to Morrell helps though," Isaac went on, pulling Derek's attention back to find a small twist of the lips on is face as though trying to prove everything was okay, that he was okay. "The counselor? I don't see her as often, more of, like, on a need-to basis these days. But still. It helps a lot."

Derek slowly nodded once, remembering his own experiences with the guidance counselor and her suggestions that should he need to discuss anything regarding his father's passing or his moving, she was available. Made sense for someone in Isaac's situation to take advantage of what amounted to free therapy.

He just wasn't sure if he was ready to do that himself.

If he'd ever be ready. Or even want to be ready. He'd never been all that open to sharing shit even before he'd numbed out and putting everything on display for a stranger to judge wasn't his idea of a good time, regardless of how much help it may have been.

"I'm glad," he commented with a small quirk of his own lips.

Isaac nodded, his smile growing a small amount with relief that his methods of recovery were approved of. Not that Derek's opinion should matter. It was Isaac's life and how he chose to get it in order was his own. Fuck what anyone else thinks.

Then again, for Isaac, that was probably an easier said than done kinda thing.

"I have an idea."

Both heads snapped to the doorway where Erica now stood, leaning against the frame with her hands tucked inside her oversized shirt as though it was the pocket of a hoodie. Her brown eyes seemed wider without the make-up as they flicked back and forth between the two males and Derek briefly wondered how long she'd been there, how much she'd heard. A glance at Isaac showed he wasn't entirely bothered by possible eavesdropping, most likely because Erica was already aware of what skeletons his closet held, so Derek figured he shouldn't be upset by it either, focusing back on the female.

"What's your idea?" he sighed out, the faucet at the kitchen sink finally being cut off. No more need for the sound of it drowning out any other noises.

Probably had been a waste of water in all honesty.

Part of Derek was pleased by it, in a dickhead sort of way, knowing Maria was most likely the one footing the water bill. Served her right.

She withdrew her hands from her shirt and held them out in front of her, body width apart, reminding Derek of that weird "aliens" meme guy with the crazy hair. "Blanket fort," Erica answered with a grin, brown eye sparkling.

Isaac frowned and turned to Derek, who just scowled at her in disbelief. "Blanket fort?"

"Yeah." She retucked her hands in her shirt. "Or sheet fort. Let's face it, you have plenty to spare, Alpha-Man." At that, she gave him a pointed look that had Isaac's confusion growing and his own ears heating up as he remembered exactly why he'd stockpiled on the damn things in the first place.

"Fine," he grit out, pointing a finger at her in warning. "But only if you never bring up the reason why I have them."

She gave him a mock-salute then turned on a heel, ponytail whirling behind her with the movement. "Boyd! Order pizza!" she called out as she literally marched back into the living room.

Isaac kept staring at him, puzzlement and uncertainty tainting his scent, and Derek rubbed at his forehead to stave off an Erica-induced migraine. Not how he'd planned his post-Shift day to go.

Somewhere, fate was laughing at him.

Erica was a very serious and very detailed blanket fort builder, to the point where Derek asked her if she wanted to borrow some graph paper so she could draft up some blueprints. She simply glared and muttered about how that would involve math and math could go fuck itself, Boyd giving a fond smirk over the statement.

Chairs were brought in from the kitchen, pillows and cushions pulled off the couch and armchairs, extra quilts taken from the linen closet used for the floor. Derek's back up supply of sheets was draped expertly, held in place with clips and rubber bands, enclosing the living room area within the furniture, coffee table included. The sheets hung down to create walls and flaps, just thin enough to let a scant amount of light in and not have the place be totally dark.

Pizza arrived by the time they'd finished, Boyd paying with a credit card and shaking his head at Derek's questioning eyebrow raise. The Alpha grabbed drinks from the kitchen with Isaac's help and soon enough, the four of them were gathered in their spontaneous fort, sitting around the coffee table with food spread around and half a roll of paper towels to clean up any mess.

Derek and Boyd's stomachs were still iffy and unable to handle anything too heavy, but the breadsticks had just enough flavor to not be bland but not be overwhelming. They'd also not gone crazy with the toppings, a couple pepperonis, a couple plain cheeses, tasty but not heavy or crazy. They dug in without preamble or plates and Derek didn't bother warning them to be careful. If they made a mess, he'd clean it. If they stained something of Maria's, he'd see it as karma and not lose sleep over it.

Erica broke the silence after several long minutes, to no one's surprise. "I think this should be a post-Shift tradition," she commented before biting into a slice of pepperoni, sawing through a string of cheese with teeth not quite as bright a white without the red lipstick to contrast against them.

Isaac frowned, swallowing his own bite. "Making a blanket fort?"

Boyd and Derek exchanged a look and the Alpha hated how he could interpret the deadpan stare.

"No, doof," Erica said playfully around a mouthful of food, swallowing then smiling wide to show she meant no harm. Derek peered out the corner of his eyes to check on Isaac, to make sure nothing was taken too hard or too personal, but the curly haired one just simply rolled his eyes. "I mean, us hanging together, grubbing down, bonding." She leaned over and bumping against Boyd, who simply ruffled her head affectionately.

Derek's own hand subconsciously went up to his hair, remembering how Stiles had pulled that same move on him only hours before. Then he remembered the tentative plans he had with Stiles for the next post-Shift day and how, no offense to Erica and her two sidekicks, he'd much rather spend time with the Omega.

"I dunno," he muttered, tapping a bitten breadstick against the lid of the box, crumbs and parmesan cheese dropping off.

Erica rolled her wide eyes, passing her unwanted crust to Boyd without looking at him. "We get it. You'd rather Lone Wolf it up or whatever, but—"

"It's not that," he interrupted, knowing she'd argue and whine and wheedle and beg and eventually he'd wind up spilling shit he didn't wanna spill. "I, uh. I kinda already sorta have plans." At that, he shoved half a breadstick in his mouth so he wouldn't have to say anything more.

All them of stared at him, frozen. Erica's head was tilted to one side in puzzlement, brow furrowed and lips twisted. Isaac had stopped mid-chew, wide-eyed and shocked. Boyd simply raised a single eyebrow, dubious, snorting as he dropped it.

"Stilinski, huh?" he said simply, not judging or condemning. It was more of checking he had it right when they both knew he did, giving Derek a chance to deny if he wanted.

Not that he'd really be allowed to, given how Erica's eyes went wide and she rose up to her knees, leaning halfway over the table to get in Derek's face. "Is that why he was here? Was he taking care of you?"

"Oh my god," Derek groaned as he flopped back against the couch, Isaac chewing once more, head going back and forth between Derek and Erica like a tennis match. Boyd simply ate the crust he'd been handed like none of the conversation bothered him and Erica looked like she was five seconds away from actually crawling over the table, sitting herself on Derek, and literally shaking some answers from him.

Christ. How the fuck was this his life?

Erica gasped then giggled, beaming as her eyes twinkled and Derek covered his face with both hands as though they could protect him from her questions. "C'mon, Der," she began, whining. "It's a yes or no question. Was Stiles here to take care of you with your post-Shift aches? Or maybe help take care of something else for you?" A salacious laugh left her and he could picture the evil grin on her face, how her tongue was probably between her teeth and her eyes were sparkling and from the creak that sounded out, she was leaning on the table itself now.

"Erica," Boyd said in a warning tone and Derek heard more creaking, the shuffling of fabric.

The Alpha lifted his head to watch as Erica moved back from where she had been halfway laying on the table, sitting back with her legs tucked under her. She looked chastised but undeterred, brown eyes hard with determination.

"Fine, don't say," she huffed, shuffling so she was on her ass with her legs curled up against her as she picked at a piece of pepperoni. "But honestly given the way you saved his ass the other day, it's obvious he'd wanna take care of you. Not to mention the obvious."

Derek narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, knowing he was most likely gonna regret asking but plowing ahead anyway. "What exactly is 'the obvious'?"

She gave him a completely unamused look and rolled her eyes. "That you two wanna bone each other. Duh." She bit into a slice of pizza, eyes locked on him like she was daring him to argue.

Isaac choked on his soda to Derek's left and Boyd reached across to pat his back through the coughs, and Derek didn't flinch. He was too busy commanding his ears to stop heating up and his heart to stop beating so fast. His wolf hiding behind its paws didn't help either. He felt like a giant, flashing neon sign that read "Duh!" in the exact same tone as Erica had just said it.

"You deny it and I'll castrate you with my bare hands," she warned around a mouthful of half-chewed pizza. Isaac winced and Boyd sighed as he pulled his hand back, shooting his girlfriend a deadpan look. But Erica as always was unflappable and simply sipped her soda through a disposable straw Derek had hunted high and low for.

Ingrate.

He was left sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's barely come to terms with realizing the depths of his feelings for Stiles, had only just begun to admit it to himself, had barely acknowledged it to Stiles with the bullshit statement over a "crush". And while Derek had asked Stiles to come back next post-Shift day, it had been under the guise of finishing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Sure, Stiles most likely saw through the bullshit, just like he usually managed to with Derek, but for Derek to actually admit out loud, using actual words, that he honestly just wanted to be around the Omega... that was a whole 'nother thing. A whole 'nother thing he wasn't ready to say to another living soul.

And when he was ready to admit it, it would be to Stiles first, not fucking Erica.

"I'm not denying it," he stated, tone brokering no arguments or interruptions, legs stretching out straight under the table and barely missing hers. "But I'm not admitting anything. Not to you guys. And not right now."

Erica pouted as she chewed, looking extremely put out, clearly not used to not getting her way. Which made sense, considering how her small friendship circle had consisted of her werewolf boyfriend who would do anything to make her happy and a nervous Omega who'd been conditioned into doing whatever he'd been told with no questions or backchat.

Explained why she wouldn't take "no" for an answer when it came to Derek not wanting to be Pack Alpha. Or Pack at all.

Isaac was keeping a wary eye on both Erica and Derek as he absently bit into his own slice, scent taking on a slight nervous tint, unsure of what was about to happen. But surprisingly enough, it was Boyd who broke the silence.

"My sister is dead."

Derek's head snapped to him, eyes momentarily going wide. It was a giant bomb that had just been dropped at random, though one wouldn't be able to tell by looking at the guy's face. But his eyes were darker and more distant than usual and his large frame was tense and his scent was melancholic, upset, and... guilty?

The other two wolves were silent, Erica offering support by clutching his hand between two of hers, rubbing the back of it and leaning her head on his arm. Isaac gave a sad smile, looking like he wanted to move to Boyd's other side and snuggle up in his own brand of comfort, although Derek wasn't sure if it was for Boyd's benefit or Isaac's.

"She was older than me, an Alpha. She was gonna be the one to make our parents proud." Boyd's hands clenched on top of the table and Erica worked on unfurling the fingers of the hand she still encapsulated. "All advanced placement classes in high school, volunteer work, good job, early acceptance to Harvard then was gonna go to med school. She was gonna be somebody."

Derek dropped his eyes to his lap, brow furrowed, fingers tangling together. He knew all about the expectations placed on the eldest child, especially in Werewolf families where the eldest was an Alpha. They were to carry on the family name, take over the Pack, lead. They were to set a good example for the younger siblings, set a high bar, be the one the parents could brag about to friends and one-up other parents.

His chest clenched as he thought of his dad introducing him to colleagues, the clap on the back he got as he spoke of his first born son, the Alpha. His dad never mentioned that Derek would follow in his footsteps, but it had been implied by those around him, jokes about how So-And-So better be nice to Derek because one day, they may be working for him. Derek himself had figured it was inevitable, that he'd be working with his old man within the next few years.

Funny how shit changed. Not only would he not be working with his dad, he honestly didn't know where he'd be working at all.

"Me?" Boyd went on, words a little harsher. "I'm a Beta, nothing special. I work a shit job at an ice rink, my grades are good but not great, and sometimes I truly think I only made first line on the team because I'm big and Coach can take advantage of it defensively. At least I'm sure that's how my parents see it."

Erica kissed his bicep and Isaac curled in on himself, legs drawn against his chest and arms wrapped around them. Boyd looked at neither of them, nor at Derek, eyes fixated on the back of the couch where it held part of a roof sheet up. Not that he probably saw it, not with how deep those eyes appeared.

"She took me Christmas shopping when I was eight and she was seventeen. We got separated and she disappeared. She, uh." He broke off, voice strained and eyes watery and he sucked his head.

Erica wrapped both arms around his and pressed her lips to it. Isaac turned to Derek and leaned closer, voice low even though they both knew Boyd could hear ever murmur.

"Bunch of specist bastards found her and—" He stopped, glanced at Boyd out the corner of his eye, then seesawed his head. "Like Boyd already said."

They killed her.

The implication hung in the air and Derek was left feeling like he'd been punched in the chest. Fuck. What the fuck did he say to that? He knew how empty and shallow condolences were so he wasn't about to give any. But not saying anything made him the asshole he was no longer trying to be.

Impasse.

"My parents act like there's a ghost in the house," Boyd spoke up before Derek could figure out what to say, raising his head. "They kinda just numbed out. They barely acknowledge me or anything I do these days. Sometimes I feel as dead as Alisha, like I'm a ghost in their eyes, too. They never got over her death, never really mourned her, so every day in that house is like a funeral."

Derek thought back to the previous night, to the cold reception he got from the elder Boyds and the indifference they showed their own son. Things suddenly made sense and as he looked around at the Pack, he realized that what held them together wasn't damage, it was loss.

Boyd lost his sister.

Erica lost her parents.

Isaac lost his sense of safety and in a way, lost his father.

And Derek has lost his own dad and as a result, his identity.

Although the second part could be rested solely on himself and the fact that he'd given it up as much as it had been taken from him.

He looked at Boyd, really looked at him, and hated what it made him see. Boyd had accepted Derek's coldness because it was what he'd been used to for the past decade. He was used to people keeping him at arm's length and having no real connection to him because that's how his own parents treated him on a daily basis. Derek doing the same thing didn't bother him not because he was stoic and unflappable but because he'd had way too much experience with it.

His guilt grew further and he wrung the back of his neck, eyes locked onto the half-eaten box of breadsticks on the coffee table before him. "And I treat you the same way." Erica raised her head to argue but he held up a hand to stop her. "I do. I'm a dick who keeps everyone away and ices them out, yet you guys keep hanging around for whatever reason knowing I'm in no mental or psychological or emotional state to be anyone's Alpha, or anything else they may need me to be."

There was silence, Boyd staring at his lap, Erica pouting against his arm, Isaac straightening out the tassels on his scarf.

"People change," the curly-haired one murmured lowly, barely audible, only heard by Werewolf ears.

"I know," Derek muttered right back, hand dropped to his lap, rubbing at his sore thigh. "I'm kind of proof of that."

Isaac gave him a meek expression. "You can change again."

Derek grimaced, shame making his skin crawl and his ears heat up and he stared at where both hands were now rubbing his thighs. "I don't know how," he barely whispered, eyes closing, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Shuffling sounded out and a hand ran through his hair before resting on his cheek. He opened his eyes to find Erica leaning over the table and smiling at him, looking softer than he'd ever seen her.

"This is a start," she said quietly and he simply nodded, not knowing how to respond yet still agreeing with the sentiment.

It was a start.

Derek really should've kept track of time.

He also should've wondered about where his family was at, especially considering the fact that the last time anyone had been late was when they'd gotten the call about his dad's accident. But he knew his mom was at work and Scott was probably off mooning over Allison or with Stiles and Maria was... well, he kinda didn't give a fuck where Maria was.

He was so going to Hell.

But he honestly couldn't convince himself that Maria would've given a fuck about him had he spent the whole day away from home.

As it was, he barely gave a passing thought to any of them as he sat there with the Pack. They slowly finished off all the pizza and breadsticks, conversation weirdly flowing. Erica had decided the blanket fort was now to be known at the Truth Tent and spoke about her parents' car wreck, about moving in with an elderly grandmother who lived off social security checks that were barely enough to cover the bills, much less stretch to things like food and clothing, a car and gas. Boyd had suggested she get a job and she flopped onto her back on the floor with a dramatic groan. Judging by the lack of reaction from him and Isaac, Derek figured it was an oft-repeated convo.

That, or Erica was just that dramatic all the time and they were over it.

Probably a mix of both.

The conversation shifted to how math was "literally created by the devil, man" and how Erica needed to "stop with the misuse of the word 'literally' for the love of all that is good." Derek and Boyd didn't contribute much, the bigger male sitting with a small smile on his face, clearly amused by his girlfriend's ramblings during the shifting of topics that were both smooth and confusing as to how the hell they got from A to B.

Derek slumped against the front of the couch, head resting on the seat of it. His wolf was laying on its back, tongue lolling, stupid grin on its face and Derek couldn't find it in himself to be mad. Hell, he felt like doing the same, a weird sense of contentment washing over him as he let Erica and Isaac's voices fade to a muffled din in the background. The sounds of three hearts beating practically in unison was like a white noise machine and it shook him slightly to realize that his own heart was synched up with it.

But fuck he was tired. And not in the mood to look too deeply into shit or freak out over any of it. Instead, he let his eyes slip closed and started drifting off, still tired from Shifting and now from a long day of having to be social.

Well, somewhat social. More social than he had been in nearly seven months now.

Keys in the doorknob jarred him back from his half-asleep stupor and he jerked his head up, snuffling loudly. Conversation ceased as all heads turned to the back of the couch, to where the sounds of locks being undone and a knob being turned came from.

Shit. Someone was home.

Derek dragged himself up to his knees and crawled out the side of the blanket fort/ Truth Tent/ whatever, popping up and peering over the expanse of their temporary abode to see his mom and Maria enter the house. His mom stopped short when she caught sight of the fort, eyes widening and brows raising as she adjusted a paper sack of what smelled like take-out Italian on her hip. They widened even further when they came across Derek, obviously not expecting him to be the one to erect such a thing.

Not that he could blame her. Last time Derek had made a blanket fort he'd been about eight and Scott was six or seven and it was in the middle of a camping phase that lasted until their first overnight outside in the backyard. Scott got freaked out by an owl and Derek couldn't stand how hard the ground was and they wound up sneaking back inside the house around two am and sleeping on the couches instead.

In recent times, if anyone was gonna pull something like a blanket fort, it would be the effervescent Scott and his hyperactive rambling friend, not the grumpy Alpha who kept to his room ninety-percent of the time.

But his mom made no comment, just wagged her eyebrows and tipped her head in a dismissive manner before letting out a small sigh.

Yikes.

"We'll clean it up," Derek promised, sensing a lecture coming, or at the very least, orders to take it down and put the living room—and dining room chairs—back to rights.

"I really don't care what you do, Derek," she replied, the words flat and tired and hitting him in the chest like a red hot knife.

Double yikes.

She turned her head away and went straight for the kitchen, her own mom muttering to herself in Spanish about Werewolves and their weird habits before calling out in English that she was off to take a bath. Maria immediately went up the stairs, muttering in her native tongue once more, and Derek tuned it out, focused on the kitchen entryway his mom had disappeared through.

Her cold behavior towards him was nothing new, not since his suspension, and he doubted she'd get over it any time soon. Not with the way he'd been acting anyway. And he knew it was his own fault, that he'd brought it upon himself, and he couldn't blame her for it. Especially given the fact that he'd been treating her the exact same way for the past six and a half months.

He thought of Boyd, of what he'd witnessed of that family dynamic, of what Boyd himself had shared, and Derek didn't want that to be his life, not anymore. He had to take the steps to change it and soon, otherwise it would be too late and his mom's behavior would become a permanent thing.

The Pack made their way out the blanket fort, trash gathered inside a couple pizza boxes that Boyd held under his arm. "We'll help," Erica volunteered in a low voice and without a single word from Derek, they began tearing the sheet tent down. Boyd and Isaac carried the chairs back to the kitchen as Derek and Erica folded the sheets, cushions and pillows back where they belonged. It took about ten minutes between the four of them and he walked them to the door, Boyd taking the trash and Erica promising to text him.

"Assuming you're allowed?" she asked, chocolate eyes darting over his shoulder to the kitchen.

Derek shrugged and bid them all a goodnight, the three heading to where Boyd's pick-up was parked behind Derek's Camaro along the edge of the lawn. Closing the door, he locked it up, sighing as he rubbed at the back of his neck. He should take the pile of sheets upstairs, try to find somewhere to keep them in what amount to his room but...

But he could hear his mom puttering around in the kitchen and his stomach felt queasy for reasons other than post-Shift biology changes. It was guilt, pure and simple.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he turned and headed back, finding his mom standing at the side counter, her back to him. He'd heard her speak when Boyd and Isaac had addressed her, had asked how her day had been. And even if he hadn't, he knew that the stiffness in her posture and the way she tried to dish out food without looking at him was completely personal. She wasn't gonna speak to him, wasn't gonna start any conversations. The whole thing was up to him. So after a long minute of trying to gear himself up and realizing he'd never be ready for it, he just spoke.

"Whittemore was bullying Stiles."

His mom stiffened more, hands pausing where she'd been cutting into a lasagna, but she didn't reply or turn to him. So he went on.

"Apparently it's been going on for years but Stiles never told anyone, would never ask for help." Folding his arms, he leaned against the doorjamb, staring at his bare feet. "Guess he was too proud or didn't want to come across as a weak Omega stereotype, I dunno. But I knew he'd be pissed if I said anything in front of the principal and other parents and he might get pissed that I'm telling you now, but." He stopped, not sure what he wanted to say, scratching at his jaw as he thought. "But I wanted to tell you. That I overheard Whittemore taunting him and walked in on the assho—the jerk pinning Stiles against the lockers with his arm over his throat and Stiles was turning blue and I."

His hands clenched into fists against his torso and his wolf was snarling at the memory. He had to pause to get his head straight, to calm himself down. Because his heart was racing and his head was spinning and he was hit with the urge to run to Stiles and make sure he was okay, unharmed, safe. Stupid. He'd just seen the guy a few hours ago and he was perfectly fine.

Fucking Alpha biology and its fucked-up-ness.

He cleared his throat, raising his head and looking at his mom with vision that was more wavy than before. "I couldn't let anything happen to him."

His mom finally put down the knife and turned to him, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. "Well that's surprising, considering your behavior the first time you met Stiles."

Derek grimaced at that, humiliation making his ears burn and his skin tingle, and he turned his head away, unable to look her in the eye. "I didn't do that because I hated him or saw him as a threat or whatever else you guys misinterpreted that as."

"Really," she deadpanned and he glanced over to see the dubious expression on her face. "And exactly what was it then?"

Shit. Okay, yeah, because he really wanted to explain that to his mom. To his human mom.

He smeared a hand down his face, biting back a groan, hating how his wolf was hiding behind its paws and he couldn't do the same damn thing. "He smelled good," he mumbled, eyes locked onto his feet again. "I overreacted, I know, but. I'd never been hit like that by a scent before. I lost control and I apologized to him for it."

She slowly nodded once, eyebrows bobbing in a way that showed she was just gonna accept the answer because she'd never really understand Werewolf behavior as long as she was human. "So Stiles smells really good and you lost control and you weren't pinning him against the wall not to threaten him but to what? Dry-hump him?"

If there was a god, Derek hoped like hell to be struck dead by the guy right then and there.

"Wow. Never mind. Forget I asked."

Apparently the way Derek was cringing was answer enough because admitting to his mom that, yeah, he was basically trying to dry-hump the guy wasn't anything he was ever gonna do in this life or the next.

She rubbed at her forehead and let out a long sigh, dropping both hands to her hips. "I'm pretty sure this is the longest conversation we've had in six months," she pointed out, a dry laugh gusting out her nose, and Derek felt that guilt churning his stomach more.

"I know and I'm sorry. About a lotta things."

That brought her up short, surprise bursting in her scent, and Derek hated himself even more for the fact that him apologizing had been such a shocking thing.

"I know I've done a lot of messed up things and I have a lot to make up for, but," he began then paused to sigh, feeling so very fucking tired. "I'm gonna try to change, try to fix things. Soon. Now. I just. I need time to get my own head straight after Dad—" He choked on the last word, unable to finish the sentence.

Because everything came crashing in at once, knocking him sideways. His wolf was bonding with the Pack, he couldn't deny it anymore. He was falling for Stiles for reasons more than just "he's an Omega that smells good". And he nearly lost Stiles, not knowing how far Whittemore would've pushed it had Derek not interfered.

Not to mention the fact that he'd lost his dad, been moved across the country, and had his entire life flipped upside down more than once in recent times and he was so lost and confused and he just wanted his fucking father to hug him and tell him everything would be okay but he couldn't, would never see his dad or smell him or be hugged by him or hear his voice or...

Arms were wrapped around him, his mom gently shushing him as she slipped fingers through the hair at the back of his head. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the stringent scent of the hospital, blood she'd had to wash off and other people's pain that always hung on like obnoxious perfume. But beneath that was freshly washed cotton and sunshine, the scent of his mom, the scent he always associated with comfort and home and family. He'd been missing it for six and a half months and he had no idea how bad he'd needed it since that fateful night at LaGuardia Hospital.

He clung tight to the back of his mom's scrubs and felt like his knees were gonna give out on him, only the fear of squashing her keeping him upright. But she kept murmuring how it was alright and shushing him and running her hand through her hair, just like she did when he was a kid and was upset over a bad dream or scraped knee, some childhood problem he'd give anything to deal with at that moment rather than all the bullshit he was currently wading through.

It was only when he felt how wet her scrubs were becoming and thought about how hard it was to breathe through a stuffed nose and sore jaw that he realized he was crying, finally letting the loss of his dad hit him.