Scott McCall's Pack



Scott is concerned about Stiles. Stiles has something to tell Scott about, too.


Archived Log




McCall Residence, Beacon Hills

The McCall house is neat and tidy and for once, it wasn't Melissa. Scott tried to make spaghetti and the faint odor of scorched pasta still hangs faintly in the air. So the garbage has been taken out and there is a pizza on the dining room table. Scott himself is dressed in blue jeans, red t-shirt and red Chucks. He's pacing and straightening things that are already straight. This is going to be a rough conversation and he's trying to burn nervous energy. And it's either this or bench press his dirt bike and the neighbors look at him funny when he does that. He looks at the clock. Stiles should be there any minute.

Of course, Scott can hear it when the Jeep pulls up outside, and then the sound of the door slamming, footsteps on the walkway, followed by the inevitable opening of the front door as Stiles lets himself in. (Knocking? What is he, a guest?) He's wearing a pair of jeans and almost identical red Chucks that match the red hoodie he's rocking today. (Hey, at least it's not flannel.) As he pops in, craning his neck a bit to see if there's any evidence to explain that scorched-sauce smell, he calls out, "Hey, Scott, should I be calling the fire de--oh." He looks a bit relieved upon spotting the pizza box, offering a crooked little grin and reaching up to rub the back of his neck with a mild grimace. "Situation contained, huh? I hope none of Melissa's pots had to pay the ultimate price for your culinary adventures, this time."

Scott McCall can't help but smile when he sees Stiles. They have been friends since, well, they could walk, basically. And now that he was an alpha, a large part of his primal, wolfy subconscious quite firmly believed that Stiles was his, like a puppy that needed to be cared for. Which was why Scott kept trying to cook for his pack. Unfortunately, Beacon Hills hadn't offered Home Ec, and Scott wouldn't have taken it anyway. He rolled his eyes at the quip and protested, "It was one pot. One time! Well, two pots. But only one time! And that pot was really old." He notices that neck-rubbing and drifts closer, asking, "You okay?"

Holding up both hands, palms forward, and making a Hey, don't shoot the messenger sort of face, Stiles says, "Okay, fair! Just checking." At the question if he's okay, he looks legitimately puzzled for a second and then catches on. "Oh! Yeah, fine. Just--" he lowers one hand, giving the other a little shake. "Y'know. Nervous gesture. It's a thing I do." He laughs a little, shrugging, and then his eyes drift back to the table. It seemed so oddly formal, especially since Stiles had noticed Melissa's car wasn't in the driveway. "So, uh. What's up? Not that you aren't a master of the subtle arts, dude, but my Spider-sense is totally tingling."

Still looking concerned, Scott asks, "Nervous gesture since when?" And then, at the question, he clears his throat and asks, "Want anything to drink with the pizza?" He heads to the fridge and digs around, buying some extra time, then, finally, pouring some cold water, he asks, "So how are things with you and Derek going?" He paused for a second. That was not a topic he really wanted to know details on, but it was a good Wine protection.

Stiles gives Scott a baffled look, glancing down at his hand and then at Scott, and he clearly has to think about it for a few seconds. Then, in the drawn-out drawl of one dredging the depths of recollection, he says, "Siiiinceee... probably whenever Derek got into the habit of smacking me in the back of the head when I said something dumb?" He shrugs mildly, clearly not troubled by it, and adds, "Not that he's done that in, like, forever. But that's a whole different topi--" And then that's the topic. Tucking both hands behind his head, Stiles stares up at the ceiling and lets out a long, slow breath. "Uh. Slow, mostly? I never figured he'd be the shy one about things, but--hey, who knew! He's been super-protective ever since the whole... getting bi--uh." Except, he and Scott haven't really talked about that, have they? "Just, well. Lately."

Scott McCall shakes his head, bringing back a couple of bottles of water and putting one in front of Stiles. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and faint chagrin as he realizes how long it's been since he's caught up with his best friend. He opens the pizza box and snags a slice, putting it on one of the plates on the table. "Super-protective since being ... what? And slow is good, right?"

"Slow's... slow," Stiles says neutrally, and snags his own slice of pizza, sitting down at the table, though he sets it on the plate without actually moving to eat yet. "And... since my trip up north, which... I'll have to tell you about at some point." He got the feeling that Scott had something on his mind, and he wasn't going to change subjects before they got to it. Finally, he leans forward and spreads both hands, palms upward, above the table. "C'mon, Scott. You're about as subtle as I am. What's up? You obviously wanna talk about something."

Scott McCall sighs. He hesitates a moment. Scott and Stiles have never been touchy-feely. Never been given to emotional displays. But Scott isn't just Scott anymore. He's also an alpha werewolf with the instincts of a very tactile and territorial beast that he tries to keep under control. And those instincts tell him that Stiles is both hurting and his. So Scott leans into Stiles space and reaches out to try to rest his hand lightly on the back of his best friend's neck the same way he'd comfort a beta. With the presence of an alpha. With his body heat and strength and scent. "What aren't you telling me, dude? You know that I'd never intentionally hurt you, right? It's okay."

Stiles gives a surprised shiver at Scott's touch, but he doesn't move to pull away. If anything, he relaxes slightly. But he doesn't look up from the pizza. There's a whole conversation that goes unspoken by virtue of never needing to be said--one of trust, acceptance, and mutual agreement that this is something that Stiles needs to say, where with almost anyone else he would have put up at least a pretense of evasion. Sighing deeply, he finally says, "Look, you know a week or whatever ago, when we were supposed to go up north to check out Jason's story and make sure he was on the level, but you couldn't go? Well, you know I went anyway." He takes another deep breath, then slowly looks up to meet Scott's gaze with his own.

"On the way, I stopped for gas. And I got attacked, and bit, by a werewolf."

He quickly raises both hands defensively. "I'm fine, obviously! And I don't--well, you can tell by smell, probably--don't seem to be turning or anything, but..." he pauses to lick his suddenly dry lips. "But it healed really fast. And... I guess it means that on the full moon, I... could change. Or something. I dunno." He cringes slightly, clearly having felt guilty for not sharing this sooner.

Scott's eyes flash red for a moment and a growl too low and deep to come out of a human chest fills the air, literally vibrating against Stiles' skin, so he can feel it in his bones. "Who was it? I am going to beat the shit out of him." And then, realizing that he might be scaring Stiles, Scott forces himself to stop indulging in that anger. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, easing off from almost wolfing out. He leans in and in an entirely inhuman gesture, he buries his nose in the juncture of Stile's neck and shoulder, breathing in his friend's scent deeply while the alpha closes his eyes, trying to parse out the scent and see if he can find a hint of lycanthropic infection. Sitting back to let his hindbrain run through the scent and see if he can get an answer one way or the other, Scott straightens up to look Stiles in the eyes, dark brown and honey brown eyes meeting. "You should have told me. But if you are, it will be okay. We'll get you through this. Derek. Me. The packs."

Scott going all alpha-wolf in such close quarters does make Stiles' eyes go wide, and he gives a little cough. "O-kay, pardon me while I change my underwear," he mutters, shifting in his seat. And then Scott's sniffing him in a way that would be seriously awkward if it wasn't his best friend. As it is, it just makes him squirm slightly. Because it tickles, dammit. The good news, though, is that Stiles doesn't smell at all like he's infected. Actually, he smells like he's in absolutely perfect health, though there's just a touch of something not quite normal there, almost a singed sort of smell, maybe.

Abandoning the pizza slice yet again, he reaches for the water bottle and begins to fiddle idly with the cap. "It--I'm pretty sure Derek took care of the guy already. You should probably ask him about it. I... haven't really wanted to know. It all kind of freaked me out." He sighs, frowning. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, just, things were so crazy. Ainsley's whole problem, and--everything." He looks down, clearly ashamed that he let excuses like that come between them. "Also, I guess... I felt guilty. If, after everything, I did change because I was careless... and some random werewolf was my alpha..." He frowns, an unusually harsh expression on him, considering how quiet he's being right now. Normally to put on that kind of air he'd have to be yelling. But he says quietly, "That would suck, basically. But maybe he just wasn't an alpha. He looked kinda like alpha-Peter did, but... it doesn't seem like the bite did anything."

Sighing, Scott sits back and gives his friend a concerned look but shrugs, "I guess we'll know around the full moon. But if you are, we'll deal with it. And stop feeling guilty, you didn't go out with a raw chicken around your neck and a sign that said, 'Hey, alphas! Bite me!' right? 'Cause otherwise, it's just our usual good luck. Either way, we got this." He makes a mental note to speak to Derek though. "I still want you to talk to Doc Deaton though. Now more than ever. Maybe he can help." And then, a mischievous glint shows in those dark eyes and his voice is so casual that it has to be contrived as he remarks, "Besides, that's secondary to the other transformation you're dealing with right now."

Stiles gives grudging consent to see Deaton, just nodding and making a soft little grunt of capitulation, though Scott does get a look that might have impressed the Sourwolf himself over that "raw chicken" comment. Then, at the too-casual remark about the "other transformation," Stiles cocks an eyebrow. He actually opens the bottle of water, raising it to his lips, and says in a matter-of-fact tone, "If this turns into a gay joke, I will kick your ass. Big bad daddy alpha or not." But, even if his features are the perfect picture of calculated disdain, Scott knows him well enough to easily detect the humor in his tone, the slight glint of amusement in his eyes. It doesn't show too much, but Stiles is immensely comforted by having confided this in his friend.

He picks up the half-eaten slice of pizza again and sighs. "Anyway... I know. It's a weird situation, and I never... I never meant for it to happen. But what do you do? Derek seemed like a weird, impossible thing. He sure didn't seem interested. Hell, nobody seemed interested! How many weeks ago was it that I was telling you that I needed anyone to 'sex me'?" He pauses, frowning, and says, "I still kinda wanna punch Danny for that. Seriously not funny." He grunts, taking a bite of pizza. While his mouth is still slightly full, he explains, "So then, Derek happens." He gestures up and down at himself. "And, hashtag TMI, turns out I like the D. But in my defense, I offered to make out with you before anyone else."

Scott McCall snorts at the 'sex me' line, still finding that funny and then listens to Stiles' explanation. After a while, he shrugs and says, "Huge shock, when you decide to fall in love, you do it in a weird way. With Derek. Which is just weird. But your choice. And I was joking about being easy. You're fine. Relax. You're not Jackson. And I wouldn't ask you to break up with anybody. That's your life and choice. I just want to make sure you have all the info you need to make the right one." He shrugs at that. "So, anyway, what do you want to do with the night? Unless you have to go out with your boyfriend."

Smirking at this, Stiles says, "Well, I don't have to tell my boyfriend where I am, so I'm all yours, Mister Big Strong Alpha." He bats his eyelashes as sarcastically as humanly possible, then breaks character by shoving the rest of the slice of pizza in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. It takes a little bit, but then he washes it down with a swig of water and says, "But seriously, nah. I was just gonna check on some research I'm doing for Jason." He carefully name-drops the northern alpha to make sure Scott knows that they're still in contact--no secrets, he reminds himself--without making a big deal of it. "Something you wanna do?" he asks, curious.

Rolling his eyes, Scott says, "Ew. That's practically incest. Besides, I'm totally too hot for you. Maybe if you get werewolf abs." His tone is light and joking but gets a little more serious as he says, "We should drive up and talk to Jason, find out what his deal is." And then at the question, he shrugs and says, "Play some X-Box or watch something. Just, you know, remember what it was like in the old days. Just for a little while." He settles back and lets the tension drain from his shoulders. They aren't perfect, but they are good, both for and to one another. And that's all that counts.