Early spring. The night air was cool and damp and smelled of earth, of rotting leaves and pine and, beneath all that, the promise of new life that always accompanied this time of year. Derek's eyes were closed, his legs folded beneath him and his back pressed against the scratchy trunk of a vast old oak. He was listening to the night, to the echoing wood that surrounded the place he used to call home. How did ordinary humans deal with their limited capabilities? He genuinely couldn't understand it. What would it be like, he wondered, not to hear that spotted owl hooting nearly two miles away, or the soft crunch of wet leaves beneath a deer's hooves several hundred yards off, or- ah. Or the pair of teenage boys noisily crashing through the darkened woods towards Derek's house.

It was an effort not to roll his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, he let his nose confirm what his ears had picked up. The first boy smelled like Old Spice and sex and sweat and sun-warm skin and the smallest hint of flowery perfume and lingering female pheromones. Scott, then. He didn't really need to catch the scent of Ivory soap and nerves and Tide laundry detergent to know that Stiles was trailing along at Scott's side. Hints of conversation were drifting Derek's way now, mostly tumbling from Stiles' ever-moving mouth at the speed of light. At that observation, Derek did roll his eyes. It was time to teach those kids a lesson.

"One day," Derek said, stepping out from behind a tree-trunk and trying very hard not to smile at the ridiculous noise that Stiles made or the tiny inhale Scott allowed, "I'm going to have to teach you how to travel without drawing the attention of every animal within a five-mile radius."

Stiles, for his part, gulped, but Scott pulled a face and folded his arms. "We weren't that loud," he said, despite the fact that he should've known better. "And besides, I've told you: you're not my Alpha."

Words, Derek thought dismissively. Scott would grow into his role as a Beta eventually, especially once Derek had completely absorbed his pack. He let his eyes flicker to Stiles- that would be the real challenge, after all, but Peter insisted it would be worthwhile- before returning his gaze to Scott and tipping his head. "You reek," he said, drawing a confused look from both of them. "I could smell your whole day on you if I wanted. What do I smell like?"

At first he thought Scott would argue...but then the young wolf closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I dunno," he said after a moment, his eyes still closed and his face screwed up with concentration. "Like...the woods, I guess. You smell like...dirt. Leaves. And...and predator," he said at last, opening his eyes and looking at Derek with surprise. It looked as though a shiver had wended its way down Scott's spine.

Derek didn't smile, but he wasn't scowling either. "Good. But you had to really pay attention to find that last part, didn't you? If you'd just been scanning the area-"

"I wouldn't have smelled you at all," Scott said, his eyebrows pulled together. "How-"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own," Derek interrupted, pleased with the way Scott's shoulders slumped. "I'm teaching it to Isaac and Jackson, of course...but that's not what you're here for, right?"

Stiles whistled, breaking the longest silence Derek had ever known him to hold. "That's good," he said, wagging his finger at Derek. "No, really. Too good for you to come up with on your own; no offense, but you tend to go for brawn over brains. So who put you up to it? Peter? Had to be Peter."

Derek could feel his nostrils flaring as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No? So that whole 'hey, Scott, just so you know we're having lots of fun without you and learning all sorts of new tricks and the only reason you're missing out is because you're not in my pack' thing was totally unintentional?" Stiles grinned lopsidedly; Scott only looked affronted. "Listen, it's cool that you're Mr. Big and Bad, living in the woods and playing Jedi Master with a bunch of high school kids, but we're not impressed. Okay? You've got your secret werewolf knowledge and you think that makes you cool? Dude." Stiles leaned in. "I've got Google."

Something about Stiles Stilinski had always pressed a nerve Derek had never known he had. He wasn't annoying enough to draw Derek's wolf out- not usually, anyway- but God, did he manage to push Derek's buttons. "Why did you come here?" he asked, once he was able to loosen his jaw enough to speak. The smug smile on Stiles' face really wasn't helping the situation.

"To ask about Erica and Boyd," Scott said, ramping the tension even higher. "They haven't been at school and..." He shrugged. "They said they were leaving. I just wondered if you'd..."

"Heard anything?" Derek swallowed back all the vitriol that thinking of Erica and Boyd had dragged up- they had been his responsibility, his packmates, his pupils, and now they were gone and he didn't even know where- and slid his hands into his pockets. "I haven't."

Stiles slapped his palms against his thighs and made a tisking sound. "That settles that. We'll be going now." He elbowed Scott in the ribs and looked at him meaningfully. "Now, Scott? Before the psycho zombie werewolf watching us from the window decides to come out for a snack?"

Derek turned towards the house, where Peter was sitting in the upstairs window seat (in the old nursery, that hollowed-out wreck) and wiggling his fingers at them. It was all he could do to contain a groan. "I know how you feel about Peter," he began, turning back around...but there was no one in front of him, just the sound of two boys running through the trees as fast as their feet could carry them.