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Chapter Text

He's looking up into his daddy's face, and there's something wrong. Something wrong with the calm expression - the faint smile at the corner of his mouth. Something wrong with his daddy's eyes and the way they look at him so easily. They look at him in a way that they haven't since mom went away. He knows there's something wrong, but he's ten and he wants his daddy to look at him again and not be sad. He ignores the way his heart beats and his skin crawls and lets his daddy pull him to his feet and take him to the car with his arm around ten year old shoulders. It's not his daddy's cruiser with the flashy lights on top for stopping the bad guys - it's new and black and it frightens him, but his daddy is holding him so he climbs into the back seat even though he's more afraid as time goes by.

They're at the hospital and he knows there's something very wrong and he's crying because this is where his mother went away, and he doesn't want his daddy to go away too. He grabs his daddy's hand and begs him not to go in - don't go in, daddy please - and his daddy hugs him closely while telling him that it's alright. Tells him it's not the same. Tells him he's just here for a check-up and after they can get ice cream. He feels calmer after, but still unsteady, and he clutches his daddy's hand all the way through the door and through the too-casual conversation between his dad and Scott's mom. He hasn't seen Scott in days, but he doesn't ask. It's not important. He needs to make sure his dad's okay. He'll ask about Scott later.

There's something wrong, and he's starting to fidget, and they're in a small room with two people he doesn't recognize. His daddy's still telling him it's okay as they put him on the table. One of the strangers holds out a piece of paper, like a small sticker, and tells him to eat it, and he looks at his dad confusedly for confirmation before doing as he's told. He begins to feel drowsy even as a stab of panic grips his heart and he fights against their hold with ten year old strength. He doesn't stand a chance.

The first thing every Soul does when they take a new host is to breathe that first, gasping breath with new lungs and feel it sink into their new chest. Then the memory. The last memories of their hosts' individual lives. He shivers through the fear and uncertainty and betrayal of his young host's last moments and mourns him as he has mourned all his previous hosts. He feels hot tears squeeze out of his eyes at the merciless nature of his death before his own memories resurface and he calms himself - reminds himself that he always loses himself to the host memories at first and that he is a separate being.

It wasn't merciless. It was quick and painless and observed by people that his host had loved, and it was far more merciful than the deaths his own species had perpetrated.

He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head to see the man that his host had called 'daddy'. He was a kind-faced man with sandy hair and blue eyes that framed the inner light of his Soul.

"Hello, there," the man said, stepping forward and taking his hand. "What's your name?" he asked.

Oh. What was his name? He thought about using one of his others from his previous lives, but they didn't seem to fit and he reached for a new one.

Oh.

"Reacher," he answered, and didn't tell them of the cold shiver he felt when his first instinct was to answer, 'Stiles'.

Chapter Text

"Are you alright?"

Bliss looked up from where she sat curled up on her recovery bed and looked into the faintly glowing eyes of her Healer. Deep brown eyes in a motherly, concerned face framed by dark curls pulled at something deep within the young Soul, who sighed and lowered her head back to her knees, already damp with tears.

"Are you alright?" her Healer asked again. She reached for a name, but nothing in her host's last memories indicated that her Healer's name had been spoken at all.

"She was so sad," answered the Soul after a moment, voice hoarse with fading emotion. "So sad," she whispered. A warm hand rubbed her shoulders soothingly and she sniffled before slowly wiping her eyes.

"I know their memories can be shocking and intense," her Healer said, still rubbing her shoulders. Bliss nodded. "Especially when they're as young as yours is." Bliss looked up at her gentle smile curiously. "Your host is pre-juvenile," she said in answer to her patient's unasked question. "Have you chosen your name yet?"

"Bliss. I'm still Bliss," she answered with an ironic smile that waffled into a still-sad frown.

"Still? You were Bliss in your last life?"

"I was Bliss in all my lives," the young Soul answered. "My Mother was Bliss Granted from Strength of Heart in her last life," she added softly, smoothing her hands over the soft material of her clothing. Her host had a love of colors. She would have enjoyed the crystalline structures of the Mist Planet. When the sun crested the mountain tops in the mornings or set in the evening. Such colors.

The door opened and both Souls looked up to see a statuesque older woman with short red hair and an imperious expression.

"Is she ready?" asked the woman. Bliss recognized the host as Victoria Argent, her own host's mother, and she swung her legs over the edge of the table, standing quickly and nodding shortly. Victoria didn't like it when she dawdled.

"Ready," she answered, taking a deep breath and trying to squash the sadness that she could still feel.

She was the last of the Argents to be assimilated, from what her memories told her, and from what she could gather, all of her 'family' was inhabited by Seekers, militant Souls who made sure that the assimilation of worlds went as smoothly as possible. She shuddered a little at the thought, but said nothing as she was led to a sleek black car that held also her host's father and aunt.

**

One of the first things that Reacher learned after returning to the Stilinski residence was that his host had not succumbed to the melding. He learned it when his host began suddenly screaming and crying inside his head.

The second thing that was made clear to him was that Stiles did not like him, and that Stiles did not want him and that he better leave or Stiles would do…something unspecified but horribly unpleasant.

He nearly had a heart attack.

"Reacher?"

He looked up at the man who used to be his host's father, brows furrowed concernedly. "Are you alright?" he asked. Reacher knew that he should tell the truth, but he held his tongue. It wasn't a matter of trust - of course he trusted Burning Fields. Every Soul trusted each other. It wasn't that.

It was the fear.

The fear in his host's memories when he realized his father had betrayed him and that something awful was about to happen. The fear he could feel now. It encompassed his mind, his body - he was almost choking on it, the fear was so palpable.

"I'm fine, Fields. I'm…sorry, I got a little dizzy suddenly," he lied. Burning Fields - the soul that inhabited Sheriff Stilinski - looked more concerned.

"Maybe you should go lie down for a while," he offered, and Reacher nodded.

"Maybe I should," he replied, heading for the staircase. He made himself walk even though he wanted to run. Even though his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his ribcage. He made himself close the door quietly instead of slamming it and slumping against it the way that he was suddenly desperate to. Once in his room, he gave in to the fear and threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow.

That's my bed, Stiles said, seething poisonous hatred at Reacher. That's my pillow. This is my room!

"It's mine," Reacher mumbled as quietly as he could into the pillow, too rattled to answer with his thoughts. unsettled by the fact that he had to answer at all.

No, it's not! My dad's the sheriff and this is an illegal seizure! You're a thief! Get out of me!

"No." Reacher scowled into the pillow, gritting his teeth at the rush of anger his denial had caused. His response had been petty - he'd said it out of hand because he'd thought the demand ridiculous, but there was something…spiteful about it. Something definitely un-Soul-like. He squirmed uncomfortably and tried to calm himself away from the sensation.

Get out!

"No," Reacher snapped, lifting the pillow up and burying his head under it. How repetitive. There had been a demand and an answer and the situation was settled. Reacher wasn't leaving - why didn't the human just accept it?

I won't accept it! Not ever! Stop touching my stuff! Get out of me, get out of me, get out of me--

"How are you even still here?" Reacher demanded.

Silence. Then a sob.

Was I supposed to die? Were you-- was it supposed to kill me?

Reacher froze at the question, startled and chagrined by his careless words in the heat of a moment filled with unfamiliar and puzzling emotions, pulling his head out from under the pillow and sitting up slowly.

Was it supposed to kill him?

Reacher gave the question serious consideration.

He'd lived on three other planets. The planet of the Spiders, the Singing World, and the Oceans of the See-Weeds. Of those, only the Spider had remained truly present, but as it had not even barely taken notice of Reacher, he'd wondered many times if they were truly sentient or if maybe their brains had been too complex for a complete melding. The bat and the weed had never interacted with him as forcefully as Stiles, but even as he considered it, he could recall brief swells of dim emotion and one or two times when he'd been lost in his host's memories.

"I…don't know," he answered honestly. "None of the others ever spoke to me, but…I've never been a human before," he added.

There was a sudden and curtailed flare of reluctant interest from his host. He wanted to know more but he was still angry over his possession. Reacher considered him for a moment now that the initial burst of negative emotions had mostly settled and surprised himself by being curious. He shook his head, setting it aside. He could investigate it all he wanted later. First he had to figure out how Stiles had even survived. He was only ten, after all. Pre-juveniles were supposed to be the easiest to assimilate.

"I'll talk to Fields about it, I suppose," Reacher mused, only to shiver as fear crashed through him. He found it suddenly hard to breath for a moment and he put a hand on his chest where it felt compressed. "What? What is it?"

Don’t tell.

"But…"

He stole my dad. If I was supposed to die, he'll be angry, Stiles reasoned. Reacher furrowed his eyebrows and sighed a little.

"I can understand why you might think that, but despite your memories of our joining, we're not a violent race. The insertion is as violent as it gets. We don't do war, and we don't do punishment. The most Fields will do is become concerned," he said, trying to soothe his host. His…Stiles.

Please don't tell, Stiles begged sadly, and Reacher began to argue further, but a brief image flashed through his mind. Stiles' father, steeped in grief, unable to look at his son without eyes brimming with tears of loss, and beside it the warm smile of Burns, who coaxed Stiles into the car that led to their meeting. Reacher felt a little stupid for not understanding sooner. Of course Stiles wouldn't want to admit his survival to the thing wearing his father's face after it tried to 'kill' him. Especially since it was more than likely that the 'thing' had killed - oh, god, the memories - the only family he'd had left.

"Yes," he said, looking down and shaking his head. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't think," he apologized. Stiles' relief was brief and muddled with loss. Reacher wanted to comfort him. Instead he grabbed the comforter on the bed and wrapped himself fully in it before burying his face in the pillow. They were both quiet for a few minutes, before Reacher sighed quietly. "There is one person I can tell," he said, rubbing his chest over his heart where it began to beat faster. "When they select my Comforter, I can tell them without fear of being reported," he said. Stiles was silently confused for a moment before offering up a cartoonish visual of the comforter burrito that they must have looked like. Reacher chuckled, shaking his head and carefully probing Stiles' memories for a correlation. "They're like therapists," he explained. "They help Souls to settle into their new lives."

They won't tell anyone? Are you sure?

Reacher frowned for a moment, considering the question. There was, in fact, the possibility that his comforter would tell someone, but someone would have to ask. And he couldn't think of a single reason for anyone to ask about Stiles.

"They might, but they wouldn't volunteer the information. Someone - A Seeker or another Comforter, or maybe a Healer - would have to ask first, and I can't think of why it would occur to anyone to do so," he offered honestly. Stiles considered the matter quietly for a moment before offering an uncertain, okay. Reacher smiled. "They should have one for us soon. We might as well rest," he suggested.

**
Scott tried to keep his breathing calm as he turned his inhaler over and over in his hands. It'd been five days since he'd been outside. Five days since he'd seen his mom, or Stiles or the Sheriff…He sniffled and shifted his weight, putting the inhaler back in his pocket.

Aliens.

Stiles would think that's so cool.

Derek's family didn't think it was cool at all, but neither did Scott, now. Not after they'd told him how they got his mom. Not after he'd seen…

He'd been at school. He took math in the last class of the day, while Stiles had English, and he'd been bored, and then James Hale had asked if he wanted to come over after school. He'd invited a couple others too, but Scott and Isaac were the only ones who could. His mom was going to be working late anyway, so he wouldn't have to worry about her freaking out if he didn't come home right away. He would have grabbed Stiles too, but Stiles had already been picked up by his dad.

Scott had been scared. He thought he'd been kidnapped, but that was so strange because the Hales had always been nice. Or, well…they didn't bother anyone at least.

He'd cried a lot, and so did Isaac, but then Mrs. Hale had told them what was happening, and had shown them the others.

They'd grabbed a lot of people. They were all living in these caves and tunnels and bunkers under the Hale House - tunnels they were quietly excavating for more space so that they wouldn't have to live in each others's space so much.

She'd introduced them to the rest of her family, but all Scott had cared about was his mom. Later he felt guilty for not thinking of Stiles first, but then he reasoned that if it had been Stiles, he'd have been asking about his dad first and Scott second, and Scott was totally fine with that. He'd begged and pleaded with Mrs. Hale and her oldest son, Derek to save his mom.

They would have, if she hadn't already been infected, or possessed or whatever it was the aliens did to humans. Derek tried to explain it to him, but all he could think of was that time he and Stiles had watched Body-Snatchers. He kept wondering if his real mom was still out there or something. After that he asked about Stiles, but they'd already taken a lot of people in less than a week. They'd grabbed Isaac's dad that night when he'd been on shift at the graveyard. Isaac had looked scared, but Scott didn't blame him, and anyway he couldn't have been an alien if the Hales brought him to the Den.

Scott didn't let up about Stiles - he knew that his best friend would never have given up on him so he wasn't going to either. The aliens had caught on to the fact that humans were going missing, and that the Hales were involved, which meant that the kids couldn't go back to the school and the adults couldn't go out during the day time anymore. Scott didn't care. He talked to James. He talked to Cora. He bugged and bugged and bugged and bugged Derek until finally the oldest Hale child told him that if he stopped, Derek would go out and get his friend.

And now Scott was waiting.

Isaac was sitting nearby, arms around his knees as he stared at nothing. Scott hadn't really moved for the last hour or so and he was anxious. He wanted his friend if he couldn't have his mom.

After what seemed like forever, he finally heard a noise and then Derek and James came storming into the chamber of the Den where the Scott and Isaac were waiting, sweating and out of breath from running.

"Did you get him? Is he okay?" Scott asked immediately, shooting to his feet before he could even realize that Stiles hadn't come in with them, or the grim looks on their faces as they caught their breaths. Scott's stomach dipped unpleasantly and he swallowed. "Hey," he said, moving closer and looking behind them in case Stiles was just slow. "Where's Stiles?"

He looked at James, who shook his head unhappily, and then looked at Derek, who was grinding his teeth.

"They were putting him in the car as we got there. We couldn't get to him," he told Scott, whose face crumpled.

"No," he whined. "No, Derek, you promised!" he went on, voice rising as his breathing grew heavy and ragged. James winced, waving for him to lower his voice, but Derek stepped forward and put his hands on Scott's shoulders.

"I tried. I ran as fast as I could," he tried to explain. Scott tried to shove him away, fury burning hot in his stomach and in his throat.

"No! You said you would save him! You lied! You're a liar!"

"Scott, I'm sorry. I did my best. Scott, calm down. Scott," he urged, grip tightening when Scott's breaths turned to wheezes. "Oh, shit! Shit! His asthma - where's his inhaler?"

There was some fumbling that Scott couldn't track as tears of physical and emotional pain stung his eyes, and then the end of his inhaler was between his teeth and he was breathing in automatically until the pinching in his chest eased.

Derek was holding him, eyes wide, freaked out.

Scott didn't care. He pushed himself out of Derek's arms and ran out of the room.

**

Derek watched Scott run angrily away from him and took a moment to breathe before standing up and throwing the inhaler away.

"Derek," James said, but Derek shrugged him off, leaning on a nearby table. The younger Hale sighed, leaning next to his brother while Isaac quietly picked up the inhaler and went after Scott. "Derek, he's just upset," James told him. Derek made a disgusted noise.

"He should be upset," he answered. "We should have gotten there in time. I mean, what are we even doing?"

"We're doing the best we can," James told him. Derek growled, eyes flashing blue.

"Well, our best isn't good enough!" he snapped. James looked away, eyes down cast as he took a step back, and Derek took a breath, sighing and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry," he said after a moment, looking at his younger brother. "I just...I promised," he said. James shook his head.

"You promised him you'd try, and you did. He's ten. He'll get over it," James told him. Derek snorted and thought about how adamant Scott had been that he go and fetch Stiles before it was too late. He didn't think Scott would get over it that easily. He didn't think Scott would get over it ever. But in the end, it wasn't going to matter. As far as they knew, they were the last free people in Beacon Hills.

He shivered, thought of Laura, and wondered how long they'd last.

Chapter Text

Bliss expended nervous energy before her first appointment by puttering around her space and straightening everything that could be straightened. She'd been relieved when the Souls who were sent to help her adjust had told her that as a Comforter, she would have her own place to help her and her clients feel more at ease. It went unspoken how they were unlikely to be comfortable in a house full of Seekers, much less a house full of werewolf hunters.

That had been a surprise.

To learn that something your host considered a fairy tale was in fact real and that her family had dedicated their lives to finding and eradicating them all was something of a shock. She can't imagine how it would have been for Allison to find out for herself. Bliss was glad that her host had received a gentler soul, but her family seemed well-suited to be Seekers, and the thought saddened her a little.

She moved the vase of flowers to the table behind her chair and looked around the room.

The lower part of the walls had been painted a deep blue, swirled with lighter blues and greens, and above it, bursts of yellow fading into gold, then red, then purple. It looked like a room full of sunsets on the ocean. It was very soothing, and she took a moment to breathe before turning towards the sound of a hesitant knock.

Smiling amiably, Bliss went to the door and opened it, surprised and pleased to find that her first Soul's host was about the same age as her own. He was thin and lanky and a little short, fidgeting on the welcome mat (though she would note later that the fidgeting was most likely from an excess of energy than a nervous tic).

"Hello, my name is Bliss," she greeted sweetly, holding out her hand. He smiled back, shaking her hand easily.

"Hi. I'm Reacher," he replied. Bliss nodded and then stepped aside so that he could come in.

"It's nice to meet you, Reacher. Can I get you a glass of water?" she asked, closing the door. He bobbed his head agreeably and she went to the small kitchenette, to pour him a glass from the filtered pitcher. When she returned, he was sitting on the large couch that she'd selected for her patients to sit on. It was very comfortable, she knew and she looked to see if he was enjoying it as she set the water within reach on the table in front of him. He thanked her, but didn't reach for it, holding a couch cushion and chewing on his bottom lip. "As you probably know, I'm here to help you with whatever difficulties you encounter in your new life as a human. You should feel free to report anything that makes you uncomfortable to me so we can find a way to fix it for you," she told him. He stared at her for a moment, his expression one of consideration before his cheeks suddenly pinked.

"My host is still awake," he blurted, cheeks darkening. Bliss felt her heart jump in her chest and she tamped down on the fear. It's a comforter's job to calm the Soul she's helping - being afraid of the problem won't help.

"Oh," she said, thinking for a moment, but Reacher sighed.

"That's - I didn't mean for that to sound like a problem," he told her, and she blinked.

"Isn't it?" she asked. Her question seemed to puzzle him as much as his declaration had puzzled her, and for a moment they just blinked at each other before Reacher shook his head.

"No," he said decisively, sitting a little straighter. "No, I don't...I don't think so. He's mostly upset that we've 'hurt' his father," he told her.

"His father?"

"He was taken by a Seeker - Burning Fields from the Fire World. His name was…oh. That's strange, I don't…There don't seem to be any memories where his first name is said. He was the Sheriff," Reacher told her. She nodded.

"Well," she started uncertainly, biting her lower lip. "I can see how that might be unsettling for you," she said slowly. but she was out of her depth and she knew it. She'd been on two worlds before this one, and on neither of them did any of the Souls she comforted report that their hosts had ever…stayed.

"Unsettling? Well, no, I wouldn't say that," Reacher told her, before wincing slightly and looking down at the cushion. "Not very unsettling," he amended with a sigh. "He has a lot of questions. I try to answer them as best as I can, but it's like…it's like trying to explain the music from the Bat world. The words are there, but the nuances are foreign," he explained. Bliss nodded slowly and tried not to show how out of her element she was, or how uneasy. "He, um…his name is Stiles. He wants to know if your host is still in there," he said. She gaped at him for a moment.

"No," she answered automatically, and didn't tell him about the wave of sadness that welled up within her as the word left her lips. Reacher looked disappointed for a moment.

"Oh," he said, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap. "So is it unusual?" he asked.

"Well, I think if it were common, people would know about it," she replied. He sighed.

"That's an understandable conclusion, I suppose," he said. She hesitated for a moment before leaning forward.

"There are things we can do, Reacher, if this is making you uncomfortable," she said gently. He looked at her with confusion for a moment, as though she had made some offhand remark about nuclear fusion instead of offered to make his life more comfortable. As was her job.

"I'm not uncomfortable. Stiles talks a lot, but he's not a burden," he answered, eyebrows furrowed. "And seeing as I have taken his body for my own, I think the least I can do to compensate him is to let him continue to live," he added with a vague coloration of judgment in his tone. Bliss straightened at his tone and blinked a little, but before she could formulate a response, he sighed, relaxing back into the couch. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. Stiles and I have had several conversations on this subject. He has many opinions," he said, rubbing his face.

"You…talk to him," she said, mouth hanging open slightly as she stared at him. He huffed as though the question were amusing instead of asked with a tinge with horror.

"It's been months. He talks constantly. Conversation was inevitable. He's surprisingly coherent for a human of his age," Reacher replied. "Although, I must say it has been a huge relief to be able to tell you this," he added, looking at her gratefully. She flushed.

"I…I don't know how to respond to that," she told him honestly. His smile became chagrined.

"I guess this has to be a bit of a shock to you," he offered. "I apologize. It didn't occur to us that telling you would cause you discomfort," he said. She sighed.

"Have you tried suppressing him at all?" she asked. He blinked in obvious surprise at the question, and his smile slipped away from his face to be replaced by an assessing and slightly disappointed frown.

"No," he told her. "I haven't. He's alive, why would I... I did try to reason with him at first, that as I was here and not likely to go anywhere it only made sense that he should forfeit his ownership of this body, but in retrospect…" he hesitated, licking his lips and tightening his grasp on the cushion for a moment. "I should go," he said.

"Go? Why?"

"I've burdened you with a unique and troubling concept. You should have time to consider it before we speak again," he explained. She would have argued, but truthfully she didn't disagree. "Please, I…Stiles asks that you not report this. I know that you must view it as something unnatural, and maybe it is, but if it isn't…as something new - even if it is an aberration - it deserves exploration. We are explorers, are we not?" he asked. Bliss studied him with concerned brown eyes before nodding cautiously. Instantly, the tension that Reacher had been holding rushed out of him, along with the breath he'd been holding, and he smiled again.

"Please see me whenever you need to, and…I would like to keep a journal of my observations. I think you should as well. It will help us to document this…unusual occurrence," she told him. He nodded.

"That sounds reasonable. I'll see you again in a couple of days once you've had some time to process," he said.

The shook hands again and Reacher left.

Bliss sat in her chair for a long time, hands clasped in her lap as she tried to stop her heart from beating so wildly. She dismissed it as distress - with Reacher's claim, there was plenty to be distressed about. She ignored the swell of sadness that followed her dismissal and collected the untouched glass of water, carrying it to the kitchenette.

**

"How was your day?"

Bliss looked around the table at the three other Souls - her host's biological family - and smiled politely.

"Just another day helping our brothers and sisters settle into their new lives," she lied, heart jumping. She turned her attention back to her food and suppressed a shiver at the foreign sense of approval that curled through her at the falsehood. She ignored it. Maybe she was put off by the idea that a host was talking to a Soul after implantation, but Reacher was her responsibility and she would not let him down.

**

"Arrogant."

"Yes." Reacher nodded as he passed the small rubber squeezy-ball that he'd brought with him to his meeting with Bliss back and forth between his hands, pacing around the room. He was agitated, although if the subject of the conversation was anything to go by, Bliss could hardly blame him.

"He thinks we're arrogant," she repeated, and Reacher rolled his eyes a little to indicate his agreement with her tone before saying, "Aren't we though?"

Bliss blinked at him.

"Excuse me?"

Reacher stopped where he'd been passing behind the couch and turned to face her, leaning on the back of it.

"Think about it. When the Vultures tried to take Origin, we responded by taking their bodies for our own - fine. Self-defense - they were trying to take our planet from us, we did what was necessary. Even Stiles thinks so. But then we turned around and implanted ourselves in the races of all the planets that the Vultures conquered. Sentient races. We didn't even think about it. And then after that we went to more worlds and took more hosts - as though it was our right to do so because we could. We never thought of the hosts we were taking. We told everyone and ourselves that it was for the betterment of the race we were replacing, but we never considered that there was any point of view that mattered but our own - is that not the very definition of arrogance?" he asked. She stared at him, eyes wide with concern, lips pressed tightly together. She sat very still as if by doing so he would be less likely to attack her. She looked frightened. Reacher softened his gaze and inclined his head apologetically. "I'm not suggesting that we cast ourselves back to Origin. I like it out here. Of the memories I inherited from my mother, very few were of Origin, and they made it seem like a very dull place. I'm only suggesting that perhaps we were more informed upon by our first host species than we realize," he explained.

"You agree with him? With your host?"

"I can understand his viewpoint. And yes, as a matter of fact, in some cases I do agree with him. He's very smart," Reacher answered. "And it's not a blind dismissal of our way of living because he was made a host without consent, although that is a point of some contention between us. He wants to know if there's a way for us to co-exist with our hosts without completely erasing them," he said.

"Why would we do that?" Bliss asked. Reacher smiled bitterly, rolling his eyes.

"His clever reply is 'so you can feel less like murderers'," he answered. "As a matter of clarification, that's not a point on which we agree," he added pointedly in a dry tone. She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm and sighed.

"We’re not murderers," she snapped, folding her arms defensively and leaning back in her chair and shaking her head against the very idea. Reacher was quiet for a long moment, and she looked at him, tensing at the far-off look in his eyes. "Reacher?" she asked, and he blinked looking at her.

"Sorry. Something you said during our last meeting made me think…what if we're not murderers?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"We're not!" she repeated, louder than before, and he waved off her frustration.

"Yes, I know that. What I mean is, what if - instead of replacing our host's consciousness - we're simply suppressing them? That is what you asked - if I had tried suppressing Stiles. What if that's all a Soul does?" he asked.

"Even if it were true it would be impossible to test," she told him. He blinked at her.

"Well," he said, tilting his head a little and looking at her. She arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You could…try and see if your host is still…in there," he suggested hesitantly. She looked away, shivering at the thought and shaking her head.

"No," she replied. Reacher sighed.

"Well short of telling someone else, we have no other options," he argued. She shook her head.

"I won't. This is my body now. You might be comfortable sharing yourself with a…a host, but…" She shook her head again and folded her arms tighter around herself. Reacher licked his lips nervously for a moment and nodded.

"No, you're right. It was wrong of me to ask," he said before taking a deep breath and sighing. "I should go. I'll see you in a couple of days. I've got a lot to write down."

He stood up, fiddling nervously with the squeezy-ball as he stalled his departure.

"I'm very grateful, you know," he said, and she looked at him curiously. "For this. We both are. You could report me. I'd probably be removed from Stiles and put into another host. I don't think I'd like that. I've grown very attached to Stiles as a person," he told her. She nodded stiffly.

"Perhaps too attached," she offered sharply. He blinked, lingering in silence for a moment before leaving.

**

"Daddy! Daddy higher!" she giggles, as her father holds her over his head and zooms her around the backyard. She screeches with joy as he swoops her low, making fighter jet noises with his mouth as they move in arcs and swerves and spins, until at last they lay down in the grass and just laugh. "Again, daddy, again!" she demands, clapping her hands.

Bliss jerked awake, pushing herself up to sit against her pillows. Her heart pounded from the dream and she tried to take deep, regular breaths, but the joy and wild freedom of the dream quickly devolved into sadness and loss. A hand over her mouth held in her sobs as she cried in the darkness. If she was…Allison would have called for her father, but if Bliss called for the Seeker that now inhabited Christopher Argent, he would ask why. She wouldn't be able to explain to him the closeness that their hosts once shared, and how - in this moment at least - Bliss needed that.

She couldn't explain how much her host still affected her, so she sat there in the dark and muffled her cries against the pillow.

**

"I'm sorry for what I said during our last meeting," Bliss said, hands clasped in front of her as she sat across from Reacher and his host Stiles. "I was…scared and angry and defensive, and I shouldn't have said what I said. It was unkind. I apologize. To both of you," she told them. Reacher smiled widely.

"It's forgotten," he assured her.

**

"They're setting up my office at the school. I start next week," Reacher said, fishing his chopsticks through the take-out carton for the last piece of chicken. Bliss made a noise of delighted congratulation as she munched on her lo mein.

"That's good, isn't it?" she asked, once her food was no longer preventing coherent speech.

"Stiles feels a little weird about it, because he's so young," Reacher told her with a shrug.

"Well, it won't be so unusual after the first couple of days, Stiles, trust me," Bliss assured his host. Reacher smiled at her and reached for the beef with broccoli.

They'd been meeting every Tuesday and Thursday. It was months past the time when Reacher had become accustomed to human life. He no longer needed to see her at all, and they both knew it, but that didn't stop Reacher from showing up every Tuesday and Thursday like clockwork, bringing with him observations and stories and more arguments from Stiles. It quickly changed from a Comforter helping a fellow Soul to two friends meeting for lunch twice a week.

"I had another dream," she said with as much casualness as she could summon up between mouthfuls. Reacher looked up from his food and set down the carton, focusing on his friend.

"And?" he asked gently but curiously. She sighed, swallowing her food and shrugging.

"It wasn't a memory. It was definitely in the abstract. She was a bird and she broke her wing, and this…darkness with a human shape carried her away. It put her in a cushioned box to heal and then put a grate or something over the top of the box. Like it wanted her to heal, but it didn't want her to leave when she was better," Bliss reported with a sullen and self-conscious frown.

"Stiles says he thinks she still in there. He thinks she's trying to tell you so," Reacher told her after a moment, but Bliss shook her head.

"But if she is still in there, look at how she thinks of me. A darkness?" she argued. Reacher tilted his head, which Bliss had come to learn was when he was listening to his host.

"It seems more like she views you as a benevolent captor. Someone for whom the capture is just a side-effect of caring. She'll have tons more freedom if you try to draw her out," Reacher relayed, before nodding. "I agree with him, Bliss. I think you should try. Your memories of her seem happy and gentle. She could be a good companion for you," he added.

Bliss hesitated, but their words were only a reflection of the way she felt inside in the end. Over the months she had contemplated more and more the possibility of someone with whom she could share everything the way that Reacher did with Stiles. She only hesitated out of the fear that it could be a trap. The notion that Stiles would somehow influence Reacher to undermine the workings of the Soul's own species had never truly left her, though with each passing day suspicion waned. She liked Stiles. He was intelligent and compassionate and willing to embrace viewpoints other than his own as well as being charmingly honest. She suspected it was a by-product of being implanted at a young age. The thought swung her internal bias back towards the decision to seek out her host's consciousness.

"I'll…I'll try," she told him. He nodded. "Later, though. First I want to hear about your calling. They have you as a Teacher?" she asked, and he grinned, launching into an enthusiastic description of his job and how wonderful it was and how Stiles had thought school would be over for him now, what with the invasion and all.

**

She didn't try to contact her host until her Seeker family mentioned over dinner the following week that they suspected a group of humans still remained somewhere in Beacon Hills. The news filled her with fear and horror - she'd read the reports of what some free humans had done to the Souls they had encountered. Most of it was far away, thank goodness, but the notion of free humans running about Beacon Hills…she had shivered and tried to put the upsetting notion out of her mind.

Soon these humans would be rooted out and given Souls and then everything would be the way it should be.

The notion didn't bring her the comfort that she thought it would, and she went to bed with an uneasy feeling. In her dreams, shadowed figures were dragged kicking and screaming into a box. They went into the box afraid, and came out of the box with vacantly smiling faces. She woke in a cold sweat, biting her lips against a scream and she knew

You're still here, she said, addressing the place inside that all her unprompted feelings came from. You've been here all along.

There wasn't an answer, but she could feel the fear that came with discovery, and she tried to take a calming breath, turning and curling up with her pillow.

Allison, she said, searching. No answer.

"Allison," Bliss whispered aloud, hugging the pillow tight and listening hard for her family.

What?

The suddenness of the child's reply startled her, even though she'd asked. Even though she knew the girl was still in there. Her heart was pounding. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to calm herself.

Why didn't you say anything?

You didn't want me, Allison replied, presenting all those times when Bliss had balked at the idea of a host surviving implantation. Shame made her eyes wet and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

It doesn't matter. You're here, she told her host, curling deeper into the blankets as the sadness that she'd felt for so long since the implantation eased enough for the two of them to slip into a comforting slumber.

Chapter Text

"Do you think there's any way we can find out who all went missing during the invasion?" Reacher asked one day over lunch. Bliss blinked at him as she inhaled the steam from her tea and frowned slightly.

"Why?" she asked. Internally, she asked Allison, would you like that?

Reacher shrugged. Allison was indifferent.

"A few people that Stiles knew disappeared around that time," Reacher answered. "If they haven't been accounted for, maybe they're all together somewhere. It would give him peace of mind."

Bliss nodded and promised to look into it.

"How are other things?" she asked. Reacher rolled his eyes.

"I think one of my students has a romantic interest in me," he answered. Bliss blinked.

"Which one?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Does it matter? We have a Teacher-Student relationship. Anything more would be distracting and irresponsible on both our parts," he answered.

Plus, it was a dude, Stiles added. Reacher blinked, tilting his head.

Why would that matter?

Stiles was silent, surprised by the question, and after a few false starts he gave up on answering, falling into a deep and contemplative silence.

"Besides which, you're underage," Bliss added. Reacher blinked again and then smiled wryly.

"Right. That too," he replied. He often forgot that he'd been given a very young host. "I get confused about the life cycle of this species sometimes," he admitted. Of course, it didn't help that he was often pulled into conversations with fully grown associates who treated him no differently than if he'd been thirty-five instead of thirteen.

"It happens to the best of us," Bliss assured him, and he smiled.

"What about you? How's your family?" he asked. She sighed.

"They don't talk to me much anymore. We still have dinner, but it's…awkward. I keep wanting to ask them about their hosts. It's hard not to sometimes. And Allison is getting the worst of it. Not being able to talk to her mother and father," she said, shaking her head. Reacher looked sympathetic.

"Does she talk to you much?" he asked. Bliss looked down at her tea and blushed as she shook her head. Reacher sighed. "Do you mind if I…" he trailed off, leaving her unsure of quite what he wanted, but she trusted him, so she nodded. He reached over and put his hands around hers on the teacup. "Allison," he said, making her blink. "Allison, this is Stiles right now. Are you okay in there?"

Bliss felt a jolt, then curiosity, and swallowed hard as the consciousness she co-existed with focused fully on Reacher and his host.

"She's listening," Bliss told him. Reacher - no…Stiles - nodded.

"Listen, Allison, I know this must feel really screwed up, but it's okay, you know? I know it's hard not being able to tell your family that you're still here and that you love them, but I'm here, okay? I'm here, and you're here, and we're here together and that's insanely remarkable," Stiles said, squeezing their hands with a smile. "And we gotta be there for each other. I need you, Allison. As far as anyone knows, we're all that we've got," he added.

Okay, Allison said, and Bliss smiled.

"Okay, Stiles," she relayed, and Stiles grinned.

**

Their lives went on, unremarkable for the most part, and Bliss encouraged Reacher to make other friends, but between his calling and their lunches, Reacher rarely had the drive to go out and interact with other Souls. For one thing, he'd come to the conclusion after a few, brief conversations with his co-workers and with Fields that most Souls disdained of their hosts former existences. Few of them gave any indication - subtly or otherwise - that their hosts were still around, and Reacher couldn't imagine what would happen to him if people found out that Stiles was not only still alive but that Reacher wanted him that way. Stiles could imagine. His imaginings were more than enough to keep Reacher silent on the matter, and also made Reacher more reluctant to befriend any Souls other than Bliss. How could he be friends with anyone when he couldn't tell them Stiles was still alive?

He went to work and then went home, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays he went to Bliss's apartment and they had lunch and that was the only time that Reacher and Stiles could be themselves without censure. While he was at home, he spent most of the time in his room, unable to spend much time in Fields' presence without falling into Stiles' crushing depression. The boy missed his father. Truth to tell, Reacher couldn't help but miss him too.

He was in his room, curled up in his overlarge duvet with a tub of mint chocolate ice cream watching one of Stiles' old DVDs when the source of his sadness knocked gently on the door. He choked back a sigh and forced a wan smile on his face as he looked up at Fields.

"Hey," he said. Fields smiled back softly.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted. Stiles' heart twinged and stuttered and Reacher swallowed hard on a spoonful as an excuse to look away. "How've you been? I barely see you anymore," Fields went on, but his voice sounded forced. Reacher looked at him, studying his smile, his eyes. Suddenly he wondered if his absences hadn't affected Fields as much as seeing his father had affected Stiles. Even if the Sheriff were--

Don't.

--Fields would still have access to his memories. Would still see Stiles in Reacher's face. Would still be affected by the love of a father for his son. Reacher felt terrible for having hurt the other Soul this way, and he set the ice cream down.

What are you doing? Stiles asked, but he knew, and he tried to lock Reacher's muscles, but Reacher was determined this time, and didn't let Stiles stop him.

We all need this, Stiles,he chided gently, getting out of the bed and walking over to the former Sheriff. Fields tensed a little at the way Reacher threw his arms around him, but only for a moment, and then they were hugging each other as tightly as possible without danger of asphyxiation.

"I'm sorry," he said into Fields' chest. The older man sighed. "I didn't mean to be so distant. I just…Stiles' memories are so vivid. When we-when I look at you…" he broke off, worried he might have given too much away, but Fields relaxed into the hug and rubbed a hand over his back, the same way Stiles' dad used to.

"It's alright, Reacher. I know what you mean," he said. After a long moment they both pulled back from the hug and Fields smiled down at him before lightly chucking his chin. "Good to see you again, son," he said, ruffling Stiles' hair before turning and walking out. Reacher stared after him for a moment and then closed the door, leaning against it. His heart was pounding. Stiles' shock was ringing in his ears. The chin thing - Fields had never done that before. Son? Also new. He grabbed his phone and shot a text to Bliss, grabbing the ice cream and his shoes as he walked as calmly as he could to the car.

**

"Reacher, what--?"

"I think Stiles' father is still alive," Reacher blurted out as soon as the door was safely closed and locked behind him. Bliss stared at him.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Reacher sighed, rolling his eyes as he hung up his jacket and moved further into the apartment.

"No, of course I'm not sure. The only way to be sure is for Fields to say, 'hey, Reacher, as it turns out, your host's father is quite the chatty and judgmental fellow. Any tips on how to handle it'?" he said, gesturing expressively with his hands. Bliss snorted, following him into the kitchen, where she watched him pull out everything necessary for two cups of tea. She let him putter about as he babbled and then folded her hands together.

"Reacher," she said, pulling him out of his rant on the idiosyncrasies of Fields versus former Sheriff Stilinski. He looked at her, kettle in one hand, china teacups hanging off fingers of the other. "Do you think Stiles' father is alive, or do you just want him to be alive?" she asked him. He blinked.

"Oh, I definitely want that - no question - but I'm not over-analyzing his behavior to see things that I want to see, I promise," he replied. "Decaf?" he asked. She smiled softly.

"Left-hand cabinet," she directed. "If he is alive, how do you want to proceed?"

"I want to tell him," Reacher answered immediately. "About me, not about you. I'd never do that without your permission," he told her. She waved away his clarification.

"You don't think his job as a Seeker would be a problem?" she asked. The other soul hesitated, setting the temperature of the stove before looking chagrined and shaking his head.

"I keep forgetting Allison's whole family was implanted with Seekers," he said, surprising her.

"That's not--"

"It's okay, Bliss. I just feel guilty because - no, I don't think his calling will present a problem. If his calling meant that I could never tell him Stiles is still alive, then he wouldn't be able to indicate to me at all that his own host might still be conscious. He might even have already skipped to a new host, but he hasn't," he told her quietly. She studied him for a moment and then looked away, nodding once.

"If that's the case, then you should tell him. He's already risked exposure by hinting," she replied. Reacher stared at her. Something tickled at the back of his mind for a moment and then he tensed briefly before resting his weight on his elbows.

"We can never tell anyone else, can we?" he asked, rubbing his face. Bliss looked sympathetic. "This secret 'experiment' where we talk to our hosts - the fact that we're doing it in secret means that our species will think it's wrong, doesn't it?" he asked. 

"Yes, I think so," she replied, reaching her hand across the counter. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze, letting her comfort him. "But Reacher, I don't think it is wrong," she told him. "And I think there must be others out there who are going through the same thing. It's like…" she giggled suddenly. "It's like prohibition," she said, smiling. Reacher blinked at her. She shook her head. "You know, with the speak-easies and bootleggers, only our illegal cargo is our hosts' state-of-consciousness," she explained.

Reacher laughed.

**

Back at home, Fields was sitting at the dining room table, wearing reading glasses that he didn't need as he stared at a computer interface. He looked up when Reacher came in. The assessing once-over that he performed was so like Stiles' father that he almost laughed.

"You were out for a while," he said, and Reacher shrugged.

"I was with Bliss," he answered. Fields nodded.

"Your Comforter?" the Seeker asked.

"Well, she was my Comforter. Now she's just my friend," Reacher replied. Fields seemed satisfied with that.

"Good. It's good that you have friends. And how's your Calling?"

"Interesting. It's sometimes jarring that I'm treated with such respect, knowing that humans regarded age as a factor of intelligence. Stiles would not have been taken as seriously as they take my teachings," he offered, trying not to look like he was holding his breath. Fields smiled.

"Well, I wish I could sympathize, but the truth is that John would have made an admirable Seeker," he said with a wink. Reacher chuffed at the joke.

Well? he asked Stiles.

Tell him, Stiles replied. Reacher nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Fields," he started, before looking at his work-station. "Can I trust you with something?" he asked. Almost immediately, his heart started to pound. Trust was not a word that Souls used. Souls did not understand the concept of trust because they did not understand the concept of duplicity except in the abstract - that it existed elsewhere. For a moment, Fields only stared at him, but then he turned off his station and put his hand over Reacher's hand. When he spoke, his voice was low, and that alone eased the tension in the boy's shoulders.

"If what you have to say concerns your host, then let me assure you, Reacher; you can tell me anything without fear of reprisal or report, but I think I know what you're about to say," he said. Reacher gaped at him.

"You…you do," he said flatly, shocked. Fields' mouth ticked up at one corner.

"I believe so. I also believe that we're in the same situation," he added. In his mind, Stiles buzzed with hopeful excitement while trying to maintain an attitude of no-hopes-raised.

"Perhaps if you were more clear--"

"Stiles is conscious in your mind. You talk to him, and he talks back - not as an echo, but as a separate mind that you share space with," Fields told him, and Reacher heaved a giant sigh of relief.

"Yes. Yes, exactly. And you - with the Sheriff? With John?" he asked. Fields nodded.

"Yes," he answered. Reacher nodded.

"Okay," he said, and smiled. "Okay," he said again. Fields chuckled and he laughed. "Okay," he repeated joyfully and then stood, too happy to stay sitting. "Okay," he said, hugging Fields.

Hugging Stiles' father.

"Stiles says 'hi, dad'," he said, because even though Stiles was too ecstatic to really formulate words, Reacher knew that he would want to have said something. Fields laughs, and tears spring unexpectedly to Reacher's eyes.

"John says, 'hello, son'."

Chapter Text

Think of all the advances in computer graphics imaging that you guys could make, y'know, with all your superior stuff, Stiles said as Reacher gathered his portable station and his folder of notes. Reacher stifled a smile as the human picked up the conversation they'd been having earlier right where he left off. as though there hadn't been a three hour gap of after-lunch teaching. And I'm not saying you should use that to make the next Die Hard - although that would be freaking sweet - you could make stories about the other worlds that you've co-er…inhabited. I mean, memories aside, I've never seen a…oh. Dude, he's coming over again, Stiles said, and Reacher blinked, looking up to see Drifting Petals approaching his desk with an easy, warm smile that sat comfortable and wide on his handsome face. He was tall and dark and broad-shouldered, and unlike Reacher's previous suitor, he was close to Stiles' age. Drifting Petals' previous world had been the ocean planet that was home to the See-Weeds with their hundred arms, each ending in an eye. Apparently, his particular host had been near a small island, and one of the trees on that island was constantly shedding its petals into the ocean.

"That was a good lesson," Drift complimented, and Reacher smiled politely.

"Thank you. I'm glad that you enjoyed it," he replied. Drifting Petals tilted his head, the smile turning just the slightest bit wry.

"Well, I don't know about 'enjoy'. Humans were such blood-thirsty beings," he said, before shrugging. "But it was very informative," he added. Reacher nodded.

"I do my best."

Ugh.

Stiles…

"Maybe if you have some free time later, we could get coffee and talk about a less violent era of human history," Drifting Petals offered. Reacher blinked at him, startled by the offer, and dropped the leather briefcase that Fields had gotten for him for Stiles' birthday. He stuttered out an apology and set it back on his desk before looking at the other Soul, who was smiling hopefully at him.

"I…I'm not sure that would be appropriate," he finally said. Disappointment settled slowly on his student's face before being quickly replaced with acceptance. "It's just…you're my student. I wouldn't feel comfortable…and I'm only sixteen…physically speaking. I mean my birthday's next month, but…"

Why am I still talking?

Nervous habit. Which only happens…dude. Do you like him?

Reacher jerked a little at the question, but didn't answer because Drifting Petals was speaking again.

"Well, maybe when I'm no longer your student we can get that coffee," he said. Reacher stared at him, feeling oddly detached and observant of the way his skin tingled and the way his face felt hot and the way his heart beat unevenly in his chest.

"Maybe," he replied, to Petals and to Stiles, who assessed the Soul behind Reacher's eyes and gave an ambivalent noise.

You could do worse, I suppose, he said. Reacher looked down at his briefcase and closed his eyes so that if Drifting Petals looked back, he wouldn't see his teacher rolling his eyes and think it was directed at him. Sorry, man, Stiles apologized, but Reacher just shook his head.

It's fine, he replied, grabbing his briefcase and making sure he had everything before heading out to the parking lot to wait for Fields to pick them up.

"Reacher!" The soul jolted a little, looking around to see Bliss waving at him from the driver's seat of a sleek blue car. He grinned, running over.

"Whoa, Bliss. Nice ride," he said, using Stiles' words to convey his own wonder. "How'd you get it?" he asked.

"I passed my test. It wasn't hard," she replied, before leaning over and opening the passenger side door. "C'mon. I called Fields, told him I was picking you up to celebrate," she told him. He smiled, climbing in and shoving his bag into the back seat. "Let's go downtown," she suggested, and he nodded.

They parked by what used to be a record store. Well…it was still a record store, but mostly it had digital versions of all the songs that the records held, and since money didn't exist anymore, nobody was very interested in the records. Reacher picked up a couple for John and Fields and left them in the Jeep so he wouldn't have to carry them around.

Bliss pulled him into a small boutique and modeled a few shirts that she was interested in before picking the ones that Reacher said best suited her figure.

Mostly they just wandered, talking as freely as they could manage without moving too deeply into conversations about Stiles or Allison. Both humans of course offered their input, but Reacher and Bliss had - they noted with wry smiles - become adept in speaking a sort of code that only each other understood.

They were telling animated stories that they'd picked up on the watery planet of the See Weeds - utilizing as best they could the vocabulary of their present hosts - when a sudden, unexpected collision sent Reacher and someone else tumbling to the sidewalk.

"Reacher!" Bliss gasped, crouching down to help him. He groaned a little, putting a hand to his head and wincing when he saw his hand was scraped and bleeding.

"Ow," he muttered, looking at the person who'd knocked him over. Brown, unlit eyes met his and the breath rushed out of his lungs, along with the quietly uttered, "Scott!"

He stared at the shaggy brown hair, the soft, puppy brown eyes, the slightly uneven jaw. His heart wrenched in his chest, his lungs had trouble expanding, and there was a ringing in his ears as Bliss put her hand on his shoulder.

"Reacher," she urged gently, and he glanced at her, but couldn't keep his eyes off of the miracle in front of him for long. Stiles' memories and longing fed his own and he sat up, putting his trembling hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Sc--"

No! Call him something else, you'll give him away, Stiles snapped, and Reacher swallowed the name, nodding. But he couldn't think of a name. He dropped it altogether.

"I'm so sorry," he said instead, glancing around. He pushed himself to his feet and helped Scott up too, a pang of sadness striking him in the heart at the fear and suspicion in his best friend's eyes. "I wasn't looking where I was going," he said, brushing off the other boy's arms before biting his lip and squeezing Scott's shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Scott stared at him, eyebrows twitching downward in confusion before glancing at Bliss, who had coughed politely and was holding out his sunglasses. The free human sucked in a breath and snatched them back, shoving them over his eyes.

"You shouldn't rush," Bliss said quietly, drawing his attention again. She licked her lips and glanced around before leaning forward a little. "It's just, Souls don't rush. We don't have a reason to," she told him. He glanced between them, swallowing hard. Reacher reluctantly let go of his arm with a last, somewhat lame pat on the arm and folded his arms to keep himself from hugging the boy that Stiles hadn't seen in five years.

"I'm Reacher," he said, glancing at Bliss and lowering his voice. "I'm Stiles'…passenger," he introduced himself. Bliss tensed.

"Reacher, not here," she told him under her breath. He looked at her, wanting to argue. This was Scott. This was Stiles' best friend. If he couldn't give Stiles his best friend back after all that their species had taken away from him, what was the point of running into him in the first place. Almost immediately he thought of something, and nodded, looking back at Scott.

"I have to go take care of my hand, and I'm sure you have errands to attend to, but if you need anything, you can come to the house," he said. Scott leaned away from him slightly, but Reacher shook his head. "It's safe. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I swear," he said.

"Seekers," Bliss hissed quickly, gathering up the things that Reacher had dropped. Scott flinched, but Reacher grabbed his hand.

"Don't panic. Walk calmly. Pretend that you belong. I'll distract them. It's nice to meet you," he said, before taking his things from Bliss and walking past Scott. His heart was beating fast and loud and he could hear Stiles' whines of loss as they moved further and further away from a friend he'd long since assumed had been captured or killed.

We'll see him again, Reacher promised, and hoped that he wasn't lying. "Excuse me," he said to the Seekers. They hadn't yet seen Scott, and he held their full attention with his scraped hand. "Do you have a medical kit on you? I tripped and scraped my hand," he told them.

"Oh, that looks bad," said one of the Seekers, gently taking his arm and inspecting his wound.

"It doesn't hurt much, but I don't want to trail blood everywhere," he said. "It seems rude."

"We have something in our car," said the other Seeker, needlessly pointing out the extremely noticeable, sleek, white car that was parked down the street. Reacher nodded, following them, and Bliss went with them. As they cleaned and mended his wound, he looked back towards Scott, who was standing at the end of the street looking back at him. He was standing beside a black car that had pulled up with someone else who was also wearing dark sunglasses, someone that Reacher could only assume was another free human. The second human was looking at Scott and saying something, and Scott broke from Reacher's gaze to look at him before climbing into the car. The other human looked towards them, and Reacher turned back to the Seekers, putting a hand over his stomach to calm his thumping heart. Who was this strange human? Did he have to do with why Scott was still free?

They were gone by the time the Seekers had finished fixing him up, and he thanked them with a polite smile before walking with Bliss back towards her car. Once inside, Reacher put both hands over his stomach and his thoughts began tumbling out of his mouth.

"Oh my...Scott," he said, covering his mouth with one hand and grabbing the hand that Bliss extended to him, squeezing it as he tried to bring his breathing under control. He looked at her. "Scott. It was Scott. He's still alive," he told her, blinking away the bleariness of his eyes and realizing that he was crying.

**

Reacher and Bliss stared at the Stilinski household through the windshield as they pulled into the driveway and parked. They were silent for a long moment before Bliss turned to her friend.

"Do you think he'll come?" she asked. Reacher took a deep breath and sighed.

"No. Probably not. He probably thinks it's a trap. If he doesn't, whoever he's with certainly will," he replied sadly, rubbing his chest. He shook his head. "But at least he's alive," he added with a small smile. She smiled back at him encouragingly before looking back at the house.

"Are you going to tell Fields?" she asked. Reacher said nothing, turning his attention inwards.

Your call. He's your best friend, Reacher offered. Stiles was quiet for a long time, giving only a murky sense of guilt and loss.

Was my best friend, he muttered eventually. He said nothing else on the issue, and Reacher sighed, ignoring his depressed comment.

"Not tonight. Stiles is in shock. Found his best friend and lost him again in the same day. He needs time to grieve that," Reacher told her. Inside, there was a twitch of emotion, something that Reacher had long since translated into Stiles' mental way of slapping his arm. He ignored it. Stiles had this way of trying to hide his emotions that Reacher found counterproductive. Anyway, if Stiles hadn't wanted him to say anything, he could have stopped him, he'd done it before.

Bliss sighed.

"I understand. I hope we see your friend again, Stiles," she said. Reacher blinked at her, the corner of his mouth turning up.

"We?" he asked. Bliss colored for a moment before tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Allison thinks he's cute," she told him before pressing her lips together and blushing harder. "She didn't want me to tell you that. They're so secretive with each other," she said, shaking her head in confusion. Reacher nodded his understanding of her sentiment and smiled briefly before unbuckling his seatbelt. "Oh!" Bliss exclaimed, and he stopped, looking at her. "I completely forgot, but I found that list of suspected free humans that you wanted," she told him. He grinned.

"Excellent," he said, accepting the large expandable folder that she handed him. "Thanks, Bliss," he said. She nodded, patting him on the shoulder.

"Feel better, Stiles," she said to his host. Reacher nodded on his host's behalf and got out of the car, waving as she drove away.

Fields was barricaded in the dining room behind two screens and a small tower of paperwork and Reacher sighed, setting his folder down. He puttered around in the kitchen making dinner for a while and then took the folder up to his room, sitting down at his desk to examine the contents.

There was a master list of names and accompanying files, most of which were short - name, picture, medical analysis. Scott's was there, and Stiles ran his fingers over the old picture of ten year old Scott before looking at the rest of his file. His eyes came to rest on the part of the file where it noted his asthma.

Asthma.

Reacher's stomach lurched.

That must have been why he risked going into town. His asthma. He needed medicine for it. Reacher stared blankly at the file as he tried to calm a frantic, worried Stiles. Obviously Scott was still alive, so they must have found a way to care for his condition (whoever 'they' were). Still, Reacher had to promise Stiles that he'd get his hands on some of the asthma medicine that the Souls had engineered before the boy would calm down.

As they continued looking through the files, they saw some people they knew, and some they didn't, and Reacher sorted them into the appropriate piles on his desk. In total it looked as though there were fifty-six men women and children who'd all gone missing within the same, week-long period of time. Reacher was quietly impressed.

Opening the next file - marked: Talia Hale - Reacher was confused to find no picture, and no medical chart. Instead there was a description and a note next to her name that read: LT. He furrowed his brows and set it aside, reaching for the next file and again blinking when there was no picture. He checked the name - Laura Hale - and next to it (along with the mysterious 'LT') was the word 'deceased'. He frowned.

The next eight files were all the same - last name Hale, no picture, no medical chart, strange 'LT' label by their names - except for the last three.

David, Benjamin, and Marcus Hale.

They were the strangest files Reacher had ever read.

David's file gave his age as forty-seven, married to Talia Hale, but the picture (stated as last known photograph) was a cropped wedding photo. In the photo, he looked maybe thirty. His name also bore the 'LT' code.

Benjamin's 'latest' photograph had him at four years old, but he was eleven at the time of the invasion. 'LT' sat next to his name.

Marcus's file was different from his family's files in that they were the same as everyone else's. His last known photograph was days before the invasion. He had a medical file. He also had asthma (Stiles added a note to Reacher's mental checklist that he should get some Breathe for Marcus as well). There was no code next to his name.

Setting the files of the people he remembered in the drawer of his desk and the ones that he didn't recognize back in the expending folder that Bliss had given him, Reacher set the Hale files out on his desk and studied them.

Why wouldn't there be a picture?

What did LT mean?

Where were their medical records?

He picked up his seldom used phone and dialed Bliss, checking his watch to make sure that she'd had enough time to get home first.

"Reacher?" she asked, picking up on the fourth ring.

"Hey, Bliss," he said, looking at the files. "Did you look at them?" he asked.

"I did. I know which ones you're asking about. I don't know why they don't have pictures," she said. He sighed. "One of them has a sketch," she told him. He straightened up, looking back through the files. A sketch? It wasn't much - it would be a six year old sketch at least, but it was something.

"Which --oh, never mind, I've found it," Reacher told her. "Thanks. Lunch Thursday?"

"See you then," she replied before hanging up. He stared down at the sketch. It was six years old. His record indicated he'd been brought in for assaulting an officer of the law, and Reacher frowned. It was during the height of the invasion, but instead of being tagged for insertion, he'd been released without charge two days before Stiles and Reacher met. He was confused for two seconds before he saw the signature at the bottom belonged to Stiles' father. He huffed a small laugh at the coincidence and then turned his attention back to the sketch.

The jawline was softer in the sketch, and the eyebrows maybe weren't so bushy, but the scowl was the same, and he took a deep breath. This was definitely the man that Reacher had seen with Scott that day. The one herding him into the black car. Wherever he was, Scott was with Derek Hale.

**

"Are you alright? Were you seen?" Scott looked up at Talia Hale, who had become like a second mother to him, and bit his lip, not sure how to answer her.

"He ran into a couple of them," Derek told her, ignoring Scott's look of annoyed betrayal. "Literally. Him and another boy ate pavement because neither of them were looking where they were going," added Talia's oldest son. Talia tensed slightly, as did everyone in the underground hideout's small medical wing.

"Were you seen?" she asked again, to Scott, who sighed guiltily, shoulders slumping.

"Um…yeah, my sunglasses fell off," he muttered, before looking back up at them. Derek's shirt sleeves looked like they might burst from the tension in his arms, and David read the one word label of the medicine that Scott had gotten about ten times. "But…um…I'm not sure there's anything to worry about," he added hesitantly. Where she'd been leaning against the crude wooden counter that they'd fashioned, Cora stood and turned on him, eyes burning gold.

"Nothing to worry about?" she demanded.

"Cora," Talia said sternly. It was one word, directed at her daughter, but everyone in the room stood up a little straighter and reigned in whatever emotion was running highest.

Except Cora, who growled a little and walked out of the room, shouldering past Scott on the way. Scott watched her go, holding his arm, and then looked at the rest of them before dropping his eyes to the ground.

"Explain," Talia said, in a softer tone. He cleared his throat.

"Well…it was Stiles," he answered eventually. The tension immediately shifted to sadness, and not a little pity, and Scott looked at the way no one was looking at him except for Talia, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Scott, darling, it's not your friend anymore," she told him, putting a hand on his shoulder to ease the sting of her words.

"No, I…" he stopped and swallowed again. "I know. I know Stiles is dead," he said. He knew they heard the erratic thump of his heart, because he didn't know - he used to know that Stiles was dead, and he'd grieved over it and then he'd moved on, and then today happened - but no one said anything. "Except that Reacher--"

"Who?"

"Oh. The Soul, parasite, alien thingy," Scott answered. "Introduced himself. As Reacher. And he knew me," he told them.

"They get memories from--" Derek started.

"I know that," Scott snapped in frustration. "That's not what I'm saying."

"What are you saying?" Talia asked. Scott took a breath.

"I'm saying that when he saw me, it wasn't like he was looking at an escaped human, it was like he was...it was like he was looking at something he'd lost. Something he'd  lost personally. And he knew I wasn't an alien, and so did the girl--" Here Scott's heart gave another quick thump, Talia share a look with her husband that made Scott blush. "--and it didn't look like either of them cared," he barreled on. They all looked at each other, openly confused before looking at Scott, who nodded. "Right? And they were the ones who saw the Seekers coming and they were the ones who distracted the Seekers so that Derek and I could get to the car," he added.

"How do you know they were distracting the Seekers?"

"That's what Reacher said he'd do. And his hand was kinda scratched up from the fall. And neither of the Seekers looked at us," Scott answered. He ran back the entire encounter in his mind, lingering on Reacher's promise of safety at the Stilinski residence.

"Was there anything else?" Talia asked. Scott looked like he'd rather not say, but he knew that they'd be able to tell if he was lying, so he nodded slowly.

"He said if I needed anything I should come to his place, and that it was safe there," he told her dutifully. Everyone tensed. He knew that it was a no-go.

"Trap," Derek said. Scott pinched his lips together doubtfully. Talia arched an eyebrow.

"You don't think so?" she asked him. He hesitated before shrugging.

"I think he could have got us right then and there if he'd screamed for help," he answered. "And these Souls that we've seen. They're not good liars," he added. There were nods of acknowledgment around the small room, and then Talia nodded at Derek, who put his arm on Scott's shoulder and steered him out of the room.

"What do you think?" David asked, coming to stand beside his wife. She sighed.

"Trouble, maybe," she answered, looking down at her crossed arms with a frown. David nodded thoughtfully for a moment before tilting his head.

"Or maybe not," he offered. "Let's call a fact a fact, Tally, we could use all the help we can get," he told her. She sighed.

"I know that," she told him. She sounded uncertain. He frowned, resting his chin on her shoulder as he put his arms around her.

"You're the Alpha, my love. Whatever you decide, the rest of us will support you," he told her. Her smile was small, and troubled. She had about sixty men, women and children to care for. She needed help. She knew that this strange Soul was probably what they needed to keep out of his species' clutches.

They needed him.

She just didn't know if they could trust him.

**

For the next two weeks, Reacher kept his eyes open for even the slightest sign of Scott, hoping against hope that the other boy would reappear, allowing Stiles to reform his epic childhood 'bro-ship'. He waited for the brown-eyed boy to show up at the house, or by his car at the school, or at the Store or in town.

It was this extended awareness that allowed him to recognize that he was being watched. At the Store, a tall, blonde haired man watched him from behind stylish shades as he lounged beside an unassuming blue car, pretending to read a newspaper. At school, he glances through the window to see a young man in a leather jacket standing partially obscured by the Beacon Hills Preserve tree line, eyes trained on Reacher's classroom. Once or twice he stopped in his room, unable to shake the sensation of being watched, even though it was patently ridiculous. Where would they watch him from that they didn't risk being spotted by the Souls in the neighborhood?

He assumed that the people watching him were from the group of humans who had managed to elude capture during the invasion, and his inability to find their picture in the files of unaccounted for humans led him to the conclusion that they were probably Hales. The blonde haired man from the Store was most likely Peter, and the young man outside the school was either an older Benjamin or the unpictured James Hale, Talia's third born after Laura and Derek.

Thinking of Derek drew his eyes back to the sketch that he'd tacked up on the bulletin board over his personal station. He'd tacked it up there on impulse and left it there, ignoring Stiles' suggestive murmurs of approval, which he made whenever Reacher's eyes drifted from his work only to land on the single piece of paper. It wasn't like it happened very often. Not often enough that Reacher would have to get up and leave the room to clear his head or anything.

He'd only seen Derek once after running into Scott. He was at the school, giving a lecture on the introduction of western religion and its impact on eastern civilization, when he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He gave them a distracted scratch and ignored the sensation for a minute while he finished his sentence, using a glance at his prepared notes as an excuse to glance out the window.

Seeing Derek Hale in the flesh (albeit from a hundred yards away and through a pane of glass) provoked the most interesting and contradictory sensation of floating and falling, and Reacher's breath hitched in surprise before he fumbled his mini station, which fell to the ground with a loud clatter. He stammered apologies to his class as he stooped to pick it up. When he glanced out the window again, Derek was gone. Reacher spent the rest of the lesson in a state of disappointed agitation while Stiles quietly gave him knowing (mental) looks and sympathetic (mental) pats to his (cerebral) shoulder.

He was grateful for his lunches with Bliss, who knew all about his 'watchers' and wondered aloud if they were testing him.

"For what?" Reacher asked, succumbing to Stiles' whining and pulling the curly fries closer.

"To see if you're trustworthy, I would imagine," she replied from behind her hand, one cheek bulging with food. He blinked.

"Trustworthy enough to see Scott again?" he asked. She snorted - a mannerism of Allison's that she'd picked up - swallowing her food, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I think they probably have grander plans than your and Scott's play-dates in mind," she told him, a notion that had him frowning thoughtfully.

He had not seriously considered the possibility of them wanting anything from him, but now that Bliss had brought it up, it couldn't have been more obvious. He felt a little thick.

Did you know they might want my help?

Stiles hemmed and hawed a little before answering.

It might have crossed my mind, he answered, making Reacher roll his eyes.

It wasn't that he was opposed to the notion. In fact, four hours of contemplation later, he discovered he was not at all opposed to helping Derek Hale and his family with whatever they needed.

…

Within reason, of course.

He wasn't prepared to help stage the revolution of humankind.

At the moment.

He frowned.

Which wasn't to say that he couldn't do it. He would just need time.

Can you even hear what you're thinking? Stiles asked with a giddy laugh. Reacher shrugged him off. So you wanna help Derek? the boy asked.

Reacher felt his spine straighten defensively and picked at an imperfection in the seam of his jeans.

I want to help the free humans, yes, he answered, ignoring Stiles' snort at his transparent side-step. It's just down to making it clear that I'm willing, he added, shoulders slumping and cheeks burning from embarrassment at the howl of laughter that erupted from his host.

Chapter Text

Past

Oooh, the insect houses¸ Watcher whined, like a five year old that had just spotted the ice cream man turning onto his block. Lydia, let's go there, he pleaded. The eleven year old redhead examined her perfectly self-manicured nails and considered it while Watcher practically bounced on her cerebellum and clapped his tendrils.

If you like, she replied, looking up at her mother - now an alien whose previous body had been some sort of eight legged reptile. Her name was Dart, probably because that's how those aliens had moved. There'd been a lot of souls named Dart on that planet - the key had apparently been in noting the color and pattern of their scales.

"I'm going to see the insects," she told Dart, who looked down at her and smiled.

"Alright Watcher, please be careful," said her mother's parasite.

Except they weren't quite parasites.

Really the only thing about them that was parasitic was the way that they completely controlled your movements.

Or at least that's how it was for everyone else.

Lydia walked on her own two feet, watching the people as they streamed past, smoothing the new dress she'd gotten from the Store (there was only one store now, really. Brand names were so last species, apparently).

Once inside the insect house, she handed the reins over to Watcher, who made noises of delight with unconscious abandon as he ran from cage to cage, muttering facts that he'd picked up from Lydia's library of books and cataloging others that he made from observation alone. He stared in wonder at the video screens that held the pseudo-documentaries about the insects he was observing and bounced on Lydia's feet as he clapped her hands.

"Excuse me," said a meek voice, and Watcher blinked up at them, still beaming. A woman with curly dark brown hair was looking down at him, only she blinked when their eyes met, and from where she was currently relaxing in the passenger seat of her own brain, Lydia took notice. "Oh, I'm sorry," said the woman. "You were just so excited, I thought--" she cut herself off and shook her head. "You like insects?" she asked, smiling.

Lydia noticed that the smile was forced. Nervous. As though she had revealed something that she was afraid of being called out on.

Interesting, she said, nudging Watcher to keep her talking.

"It's my Calling. Nature studies. All nature, really - especially deep sea marinology - but insects are my favorite. Their perfect little communities and systems," he told the woman, who nodded uncertainly before her forehead cleared and her expression returned to the one of placid contentment that Lydia had come to expect of everyone who had become a host.

Watcher and the woman - Weaver, who was a Healer at what was previously Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital - talked for a few moments more while Lydia observed her critically, and then the woman walked away.

That was strange, he said, going back to his enjoyment of the intricacies of the insect genus.

Yes it was, Lydia said, and then remained silent while she puzzled through it.

After that, she began to notice other people acting strangely. Some wore nervous smiles as Weaver did. Some were twitchy as though they thought they were being watched. One was so disgruntled and abrasive that Lydia was surprised that he was even a host, and not some wild, free human--

Oh, she said, blinking down at the ice cream she'd gotten from a red-faced man that she was pretty sure used to teach at the high school.

What is it? Watcher asked, and she looked around casually, taking a few more licks of her fudge swirl. She'd mastered the art of appearing perfectly normal within the Soul community the same way she mastered Archaic Latin, so she kept just the right amount of any given expression on her face whenever she thought there was even the slightest possibility of people seeing her. Ironically it was Watcher's enthusiasm for his Calling that might have given them away as anything other than a Soul and his host body. He could easily be mistaken for a human.

Some of these hosts are awake, she told him. His emotions cycled through surprise and then alarm that jumped almost immediately to dismissal and then elation all under her watchful brain. She smiled a little more at his conclusion of satisfaction.

Watcher had never cared that she'd survived the implantation. In fact, he'd apparently had several hosts already that had done that, and he'd cherished their interactions dearly. It was how she'd had so much freedom. He let her have control whenever he felt that she wanted it or needed it, which meant that she was in control approximately ninety percent of the time.

How many?

I don't know.

Do you think it's just here? It is a small town. Everyone was pretty close, Watcher offered. Lydia tilted her head.

I need more data, she told him, running through a course of action in her head that included travel.

Watcher beamed.

**

We should wear different shoes, Watcher suggested, as Lydia struggled up the three flights to their New York apartment. She looked down at her dainty Mary-Janes, which had stencil cut-out hearts around the edges and made a noise of indifference to Watcher's words.

I like these, they're pretty, Lydia replied, pulling out her key and fitting it into the lock that was just a little below chest level. She closed the door behind her and locked it, instantly relaxing.
It hadn't taken much to convince Dart that Watcher's Calling would necessitate a change of scenery - perhaps a tour of the world, visiting such high traffic cities as Los Angeles, Seattle, Las Vegas, Austin, Chicago, Miami and New York (to name a few) and that was just within the Continental United States. There was Canada, South America, Africa, Europe, Asia, Australia, New Zealand (although really, Watcher just wanted to go there because he'd heard it was pretty).

So many places, all the time in the world.

She'd been gone for a year and a half. She wondered sometimes how her mom was doing, before bitterly recalling how there'd been no indication that her mother was even still present.

She tossed the keys into the bowl on the table and moved into the apartment to the kitchen.

Yes, Lydia, they're pretty, but they're going to kill us. Please can we wear sneakers tomorrow?  Watcher pleaded. Lydia sighed.

"Yes, alright," she replied, dragging out a few pots and pans so that she could make dinner. She always spoke aloud to him when they were alone. He liked the sound of her voice.

And pants? Your legs were really cold today and those couple of pairs of jeans were the only things you brought that are suitable for New York weather, he chided gently. She snorted.

"Yes, alright, you can dress me in boy clothes if you want," she conceded with a dramatic flip of her hair and a roll of her eyes.

Watcher felt hesitantly silent. Lydia blinked.

"Watcher?" she asked.

Do you mind? he blurted. There was an instant curl of anxious regret and she set the box of pasta she was holding down on the counter, sitting on the stool that she'd gotten to conquer the height issue of her versus the kitchen counters.

"Mind what?" she asked.

The…I'm a boy, he said. Lydia scoffed.

"Duh," she told him with a smile.

Well, not a boy, Souls don't have a biological gender. I just mean that I identify as a masculine-- Watcher babbled. If he'd been a human being, he would have been sweating and averting his eyes.

"Watcher, I get it," she told him. "It's okay," she added.

And you're a girl - obviously--

"Your powers of deduction continue to amaze me," she teased, but it was lighthearted and he barreled on, determined to finish what he was trying to say.

And I don't want to make you wear anything you're not comfortable with just because we have different genders, he finished. Lydia nodded.

"Noted. So we'll wear the sneakers and pants tomorrow and I'll wear a tank top under my blouse until we can find a suitable sweater at the Store," she told him turning back to the process of making ziti. There was a burst of affection like a warm hug around her heart and she smiled.

**

How about a fedora? Watcher suggested as they stood in the highly organized and varied hat section of the Store on Fifth Avenue. Lydia pressed her lips together and tilted her head.

How about an archer's cap? she countered, pulling a neutral colored one from the display and setting on her head artfully before turning to face the mirror. Less Justin Timberlake. More Robin Hood, she added, turning her head this way and that.

She'd put her hair way up in a tight bun which sat under the hat, giving her the appearance of short hair, and she'd worn as little makeup as possible, to give herself as gender neutral a look as was possible.

I like it. Do they have another in green?

No green. I look like a Christmas tree, she told him, removing the hat and setting it with their other purchases.

Blue then?

I have orange hair. Blue and orange are diametrically opposed.

And it probably looks awful on other people, but it just makes you look bold and beautiful, Watcher argued. Lydia smiled knowingly.

You smooth talker, she mock-grumbled, before picking up a cerulean archer's cap with a red feather in it.

At the end of the day, as well as observing over four hundred Souls to gather more data on the conscious host phenomenon, Lydia had obtained a modest wardrobe of masculine clothing for Watcher, including two suits, sneakers, suit shoes and boots, four binders to counter Lydia's budding bosom, and several shirts to go with the jeans that they already had (she'd also bought two pairs that were devoid of artistic embroidery or fake gems. One had green longitudinal stripes. He liked those the best).

How are we going to transport all of this? Watcher had asked when they'd wheeled their cart to the 'checkout' counter, and Lydia had tilted her head for a moment before turning and heading to the suitcases. She picked the pink set with the Hawaiian lei print, ignoring Watcher's amused chuckle.

She was thirteen, living in a world where everyone was controlled or inhabited by aliens, she was allowed to want the prettiest suitcase.

Can we stop at the aquarium after this? They've got otters. And cuttlefish.

**

Lydia groaned as the phone next to her bed rang, hand snaking out from under the heavy duvet and fumbling uncoordinatedly for the phone, which she knocked off the receiver. She ended up towing it towards her by the cord and clearing her throat, head still buried in pillows.

"mmhmm?"

"Hello, this is the seven-thirty wake-up call that you requested," said a soothing male voice on the other end of the phone. She took a breath and sighed.

"mmhmm," she replied.

"If you'd like, I can call back in half an hour," the voice offered.

"uh-uh," she sighed, yawning.

"Alright then, have a good morning," he told her. She nodded.

"Mhm," she answered, hanging up the phone and rubbing her eyes.

She stretched and yawned again, scratching her hands through her hair and sleepily blinking her eyes open. Watcher woke up with her, and she slumped back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

"How do we feel today?" she asked, letting him take over. He sat up, turning his head towards the closet. He was quiet for a long moment before looking down at his hands.

"Would you mind being a boy today?" he asked aloud. She snorted.

"You mean wear the jeans that make my ass look fantastic and the super-comfortable binder and the extra cute hat? The torture," she teased, standing up and making her way to the trunk full of boy clothes to select their outfit for the day.

**

"Bienvenue en Paris, jeune homme," the customs agent said, handing Lydia and Watcher their passport.

Lydia smiled smugly in the passenger seat of her brain while Watcher stretched happiness through from her head to her toes.

"Merci beaucoup," he said with a nod of his head.

**

Lydia kept her face calm and composed until she was behind the closed doors of her villa, and then she slumped against the door, kicking off her high heeled shoes and popping the clasp of her decorative belt, which clattered to the floor. She shuffled over to the bed and collapsed onto it, face first.

What a day, Watcher groaned in her head, just as exhausted as she was.

I want a bath, she muttered, too tired to even speak aloud. Her eyes were drifting shut.

Twenty countries in four years and we had to visit Greece in the summer. We could use a bath, he sighed. Lydia snorted her agreement - or tried to, only managing to expel more air through her nose than usual.

It means moving, she thought at him with distaste. He chuckled, gently taking control and pushing them up before shuffling zombie like in the direction of the master bath. Lydia didn't speak again until they slipped into the warm bath, the hot water working at their sore muscles while they leaned back against the cool ceramic of the claw-footed tub.

"Gooooood," Lydia sighed, closing her eyes. Watcher chuckled. "So what are the numbers up to?" she asked. Watcher turned his mind to their observances - hindered as they were by the heat.

It looks like seventy-three percent of Souls we've encountered have shown signs of Conscious Host Phenomenon, Watcher told her after a moment, and she smirked.

"Good. Let's assume that the actual percentage is equal to or greather than, and true everywhere of hosts with solid enough personalities before the conquest," she said, and Watcher indicated his acknowledgment. "True or false: both species would be better off for worldwide acknowledgment and acceptance of CHP," she posited. Watcher processed the query, leaving his thoughts open to her as he worked it through. Eventually, he offered a reluctant true that made her frown and blink her eyes open. "What's the problem?"

How do we introduce the possibility of acknowledgment and acceptance without being taken to a Healing center and 'reassigned'? The Seekers would likely view you as a corruptive influence and remove me from you, he said with a mental shudder. Lydia nodded.

"Well then we'll just have to change the way the Seekers look at humans, won't we?" she asked. He fell silent, confused.

How?

"By becoming a Seeker," she replied.

**

Present

Isaac hissed a curse under his breath as the laces of his beaten up tennis shoes snapped, sighing as he pulled the longer side through the holes to even up the length. One more thing to add to the list. He was mumbling under his breath, repeating speeches and mantras that didn't mean anything anymore in order to calm himself down before the raid.

He'd been going on the raids for almost a year. He was small, and fast, and squirrely, and it helped the Den get what they needed, especially since he had a talent for zeroing in on exactly what they were looking for. Peter even called him 'invaluable' once, ruffling his hair with a smug little smirk. Isaac knew he meant it because he didn't say anything bad afterwards.

A small smile tugged at Isaac's lips as he called back all the words of encouragement that Peter had given him over the six years that he'd been living there. How nice Peter's wife Ophelia was to him (she always gave him a portion of food that was just a little bit bigger than anyone else's). He stood up and grabbed his empty pack, turning to leave the small warren that he shared with his father.

Who was standing in the entrance, staring at him.

Isaac's heart stuttered, blood running cold, and he swallowed hard.

"Hey, dad," he said, voice cracking as the moisture left his mouth.

"You look like you're ready to go somewhere," Michael said, his expression neutral, but Isaac dropped his eyes to the ground, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"Yeah, I got picked to go on the Store raid," he said quietly, making sure to speak loud enough that his dad wouldn't accuse him of mumbling.

"Again?" his dad asked, the hint of suspicion threaded through his words, and Isaac did his best not to flinch.

"Um, yeah," he answered.

"You get picked a lot, Isaac."

Isaac looked up at his father and struggled to breathe normally.

"They say I'm good at it," he offered, as his dad stepped forward into the space. The room was small. Tiny. Enough for two bunks and two trunks and room to get around between them.

"You've been hanging around with them a lot too," Michael said, folding his arms and frowning disapprovingly. "You know they're not human," he told his son.

"Yes sir," Isaac replied.

"Getting awfully friendly with a bunch of animals, Isaac."

A burning coal of anger sparked inside of Isaac at the slur to the Hale family. Isaac liked them. They were nice to him.

"Just being polite, sir. Since they saved our lives and all," he answered.

He regretted it immediately when his father's eyes turned cold (not that they'd been anything other than lukewarm since the invasion).

"Are you talkin back to me?" he demanded, grabbing Isaac's wrist so quick that the boy flinched.

"I was just--"

"Shut up."

"Dad, don't--" he whimpered, trembling at the increased pressure his plea induced.

"Pardon me for interrupting," came a smooth, low voice from the entrance of their living space. Isaac didn't make a sound when his father released him, blood rushing back to his fingers leaving them tingling. Michael Lahey glared at Peter, who observed him calmly before looking at Isaac. "Almost time for the raid, Isaac," he told the young man, eyes drifting down to the wrist, not missing the way that Isaac shifted the hand so it was partially hidden by the bag he was holding.

"I wasn't done talking to my boy," Michael said, fury and contempt settling on his face. Peter tilted his head at the older human, completely unimpressed.

"Yes you were," he replied, letting his eyes slide into their otherworldly blue glow. Michael clenched his jaw tightly but said and did nothing. The glow died almost immediately when Peter turned to Isaac so that they were a softer blue. "They're waiting for you in the main tunnel. James wants to go over the plan one last time. You know how he gets," he said with a small shrug. Isaac nodded wordlessly, gripping his bag tightly and ducking his head as he brushed past the werewolf. Peter watched him go with a speculative frown.

"I don't like the way you're looking at my son, Hale," Michael sneered, only to shrink back in the face of Peter's twisted snarl, eyes glowing that furious blue, mouth full of fangs.

"I don't care what you like, Michael. You are a poisonous stain on our survival. Every one of us is necessary - especially the younger ones who will have to take over when we die. Isaac may very well end up being the last hope of free humanity but you are destroying him. Did you think we hadn't noticed? I thought it might be a fluke of frustration - an isolated incident - but it's clearly something darker and more sinister than that. I know darkness, Michael, you can't lie to me," Peter growled, staring the elder Lahey down until the man could only grind his teeth and clench his fists. "I won't allow it to continue. You will stop or I will make you stop. It's your choice," Peter threatened. Michael lifted his head at that.

"It's none of your business," he hissed, face tightened with impotent fury.

"My den, my business," Peter snapped back. "You're a guest here, Michael. Never forget that."

Michael smirked coldly, spine straightening.

"Yeah, and if you kick me out? And they make me one of those things? Don't you forget that I know how to get in here," he sneered. Peter looked unconcerned by Michael's assumption of leverage.

"I never said we'd make you leave, Michael," he replied. The former gravedigger relaxed, smugness settling on his face briefly before Peter grabbed him by the throat and pushed him into the dirt wall. Loose soil puffed out around him, making him choke while Peter stared at him unblinking. "If we decide that you're too much trouble to keep here, it will also mean that you're too much trouble to let live," he told the gasping, coughing human, tilting his head as the other man's eyes widened with fear. "You keep that in mind the next time you think about 'talking' to Isaac. And think about this too: this is a small den, and I have very sharp hearing. All of us 'animals' do," he said softly, releasing the man abruptly and watching him slide down, still coughing dirt from his lungs. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a raid to oversee," he said amiably, turning and walking away.

Chapter Text

Peter arrived in the main tunnel already in his raid clothes, observing his team. Scott and Erica were crowding Isaac, whose head was ducked in a submissive posture, but Peter ignored his instinct to scatter them away from the anxious human. For one thing, it would only scare the boy more, and for another, these two actually cared about him. Scott had barely left Isaac's side since James brought the two of them home from school all those years ago, and he could see the black veins racing up Erica's arm where she was taking the pain from Isaac's wrist. He let a small smile of approval cross his face and turned his attention to the others in their party.

Aside from Scott, Isaac, and Erica, Jackson was leaning by himself against one of the concrete walls, distancing himself from the others while hungrily observing their easy camaraderie, as usual. James and Danny were discussing the plan while mentally undressing each other, making Peter roll his eyes before looking at Derek, who was standing nearby, clearly intending to join their planned festivities.

"Derek," he said, tilting his head at his nephew, who arched an eyebrow.

"Uncle Peter?" he replied. Peter shook his head.

"Don't you have a Soul to surveil?" he asked, noting the exasperated roll of the boy's eyes and the muttered 'waste of time' before his eldest nephew shook his head and left.

"So, are we all clear on the plan?" James asked everyone as everyone made last minute checks of their raid equipment, and Isaac and his friends nodded while Jackson rolled his eyes.

"We've gone over it a hundred times, anyone who doesn't have the plan down by now is a retard," snapped the human, and everyone bristled except for Peter, who sighed.

"Jackson," he said, watching the human tense as he approached. "We've talked about that," he told the boy, who stared at him with a clenched jaw and wide eyes, swallowing hard before nodding jerkily, eyes on the floor. The human boy had lost his father to the invasion, only to find out later that the man hadn't even been his father to begin with, and on top of that, Talia had denied his petition for the bite, even as she granted his friend Daniel's request. It wasn't that Peter disagreed with Talia's decision - far from it - but the perceived slights of life had left Jackson a deeply wounded and deeply angry young man. This wasn't even taking into account the potent, acrid jealousy that spilled out of his pores whenever Danny and James laid eyes on each other, although Peter suspected that Jackson was as yet unaware of his own feelings concerning his best friend.

"Sorry," Jackson muttered. Peter smiled at him.

"Better. Alright, children, let's not dawdle," he instructed. "We've got a job to do."

Their postures changed immediately from lackadaisical to focused, and they fell into a loose formation that made the smile on Peter's face sharpen.

Everyone was assigned a duty within the den, but that was not only because there was so much to be done. People cooped up in an enclosed space - even one so large as the den had become - get restless, but give them a job to do and that restlessness can be abated.

Jackson joined the formation, standing between Danny and James, but the surly, resentful boy was now a man with purpose - focused, just like the others. Peter nodded, leading them out into the night.

Once outside each werewolf was paired with a human, in order for the group to cover ground more quickly. Erica carried Isaac, since they were the most comparable in mass (Isaac was losing weight all the time, even though his friends often gave him portions of their meals, claiming they couldn't finish. Peter made a note to grab a few protein bars for the boy). Danny carried Scott and James carried Jackson, leaving Peter free handed.

"Goggles," he ordered, and the three humans pulled the sleek, alien designed night vision goggles down over their eyes. They'd found them in the toy section on one of the previous raids.

They moved through the forest silent as shadows, disturbing nothing as they made their way to the forest's edge closest to the Store. It wasn't difficult from there to pass through the four quiet neighborhoods that lay between their territory and their target.

Danny neutralized the alarm system - a holdover from humanity that hadn't yet been upgraded - or perhaps they merely thought that upgrading was unnecessary - and they spilled into the store. Erica headed for the office to make sure no one had installed surveillance equipment since their last visit, while the others got to work. They all had lists that took them to different aisles. They could only take as much as they could carry, but with four werewolves, the haul would be significantly increased.

"Work quickly, children," Peter told them, heading off to fill his own list.

**

None of the others had reported the neighborhood as being overly patrolled or even particularly active after dark, but Derek still walked around the neighborhood once to make sure no one would be awake enough to take notice of him during his watch. Then he settled in at the tree line behind the Stilinski residence, watching the Soul that inhabited Scott's former best friend through his open window.

Derek could see the profile of the Soul - Reacher - who was hunched over a desk, chin resting in one hand as it stared at the alien version of a computer. Occasionally it shook its head and straightened up to type before returning to its previous, horrible posture.

I can already tell what a thrilling night this is going to be, Derek mused darkly, settling into the tree fork and thanking god for warm nights. He wondered how long the pack would keep risking discovery until they determined that they were wasting their time trying to figure out if the alien could be trusted.

Spoiler alert. No it couldn't.

Derek loved Scott like a brother, but the kid was deluding himself because he wanted his friend back and the Alpha was pandering to his delusions. Things at the den were fragile enough as it was - throwing an alien into the mix would only make things worse.

**

Reacher sighed, grading his ninth report and trying to ignore the restlessness that his host was leaking all over their shared consciousness. His leg had been quietly and steadily bouncing since the end of the second report, and even though Stiles respected that Reacher needed to finish what he was doing so as to remain a responsible instructor, he couldn't help the sighs of boredom and the noises of annoyed impatience that filtered into Reacher's brain.

Entertain yourself, Stiles, I'm almost done, Reacher told him distractedly, moving on to the next report. The bouncing stopped. The noises stopped. There was a brief moment of silence from his human that worried him, before the sudden swell of smug mischievousness made him blink and straighten. He pulled in a sharp breath through his nose when it was followed by a slow, lazy roll of heat low in his gut. What are you doing? he asked, blinking and trying to focus on his students' attempts to understand human history.

Entertaining myself, Stiles answered with an innocent tone that was immediately contradicted by a sharp twist of pleasure that widened Reacher's eyes and brought a blush to his cheeks.

Stiles, he started, forcing his features into an expression of admonishment even though Stiles couldn't see them. The human seemed unconcerned and not a little preoccupied.

Don't mind me, Stiles said, and Reacher just knew that he'd be smirking. Carry on, Reacher. I'll just be back here...thinking, he added.

Reacher's eyes darted up to the sketch of Derek hanging above his work station before he could stop himself, and Stiles hummed appreciatively before another unhurried bloom of heat had Reacher drawing a breath.

Stiles, come on, I'm busy, Reacher whined, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat as he tried to focus on the report he was reading. Stiles ignored him, sinking deeper into whatever fantasy he was spinning until Reacher felt warm all over, breaths coming deeper and heart beating louder. He stared unfocusedly at the screen and took in nothing but his body's reactions to Stiles' mental foreplay.

This was nothing new.

Stiles was a teenager. His hormones had been surging this way and that since he was twelve. When puberty hit and Stiles practically vibrated from need every twelve minutes, Reacher and Fields had discussed a protocol that ended with Fields handing him one of John's old ties to put on the door as a makeshift 'do not disturb' sign. Reacher had left it on the door for a month, not wanting to traumatize the Seeker with how often they had to masturbate just to satisfy Stiles' maturing body.

Reacher was just glad that his Calling as a teacher was interesting enough to keep Stiles' mind mostly off sex while he was at work. He did not want to have to explain to anyone why he was taking so many bathroom breaks. Souls were open-minded about the sexuality of their hosts, but some things deserved to remain private, especially considering the uniqueness of having an extra participant. A fussy, demanding, particular participant.

I'm not fussy. I know what I like. Put the tie on the door, Stiles told him. Reacher rolled his eyes and rubbed his face.

Stiles--

I want you to play with my ass, Stiles told him.

The surge of desire that made it temporarily difficult to breathe had nothing to do with Stiles, and Reacher closed all his documents, turning off the screen before almost falling out of his chair. He dug in the desk drawer for the old, burgundy tie, opening the door, swinging the tie onto the outside knob, closing and locking the door - all in less than ten seconds - before flopping back into the chair. He grabbed the bottle of lubricant he kept in his desk drawer next to the tie (one of several bottles secreted around the house), setting it in front of him before undoing his belt.

**

Derek tensed when Reacher suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes narrowing at the frantic way he dug through the drawer. He blinked at the sight of the tie, confused. The kid was wearing a tee shirt and skinny jeans - hardly compatible with the tie that he--

--hung on his doorknob, Christ.

Derek's ears burned and he couldn't help the furtive glance around to make sure no one was there to see how embarrassed he was getting. None of the others mentioned having to sit through something like this. He looked back in time to see the half-empty bottle of lube and rolled his eyes. Great. This was exactly how he wanted to spend his night. Watching some alien rub one out in a human body when he hadn't been able to get off without someone knowing about it for the last six years.

The rustle of fabric and the loud slide of a zipper drew his eyes back to the window, where he saw that the alien had pulled off its shirt. He was only about thirty feet away. For his eyes, that was nothing. It was like he was in the room, watching Reacher's cheeks and shoulders darken as he - it used its hosts hands to push its pants over his hips.

It's hips.

Fuck.

Derek looked away, focusing on the branches that hid him from view and not the sound of fingertips gliding over flesh that he could hear as clearly as if he were standing there. He did multiples in his head in hopes of distracting himself and got to the threes when a hitch of breath yanked his attention back to the room. Reacher was caressing his chest, biting his lip when his long, dexterous fingers brushed an erect nipple. What moisture remained in Derek's mouth evaporated.

It was gonna be a long night.

**

Peter ushered his scavengers out through the back door, listening hard for the approach of Seekers. The lengthened shadows cast by the wave of headlights had swept through the store almost thirty seconds ago, and he did a quick headcount. Scott, Danny, James, Jackson, Erica…

Isaac.

"Where's Isaac?" he hissed, and the others shared looks before the soft clink of glass drew Peter's attention back into the store. He bit back a curse, clenching his jaw.

"Danny," he said, and the young were nodded, stepping forward only to find Jackson's hand on his chest.

"No. I'll go. The bags are heavy, and we need the weres to haul them back to the den. I'll go," he said, making both Danny and James tense.

"Yeah, but you won't heal if they shoot you, dumbass," James snapped quietly. Jackson sneered at him.

"They're not gonna shoot me, dumbass, they want us alive, remember?" he snapped back. Peter shook his head.

"Enough, both of you. Jackson, give Danny your bag. Everyone else, back to the den; James, lead the way," he ordered.

"But--"

"Now!" Peter hissed, pulling Jackson into the store with him and blocking the door from closing.

"How many?" Jackson asked. Peter tilted his head, stilling for a moment before relaxing.

"Two," he said. The human nodded and the two of them made their way towards the back of the store where Isaac had wandered.

**

Isaac hurriedly grabbed another bottle of his father's favorite whiskey out of the previously locked cooler, trying to make room for it in the bag with his other things while figuring out how he was going to get it back to his father without anyone at the den seeing, as well as what he was going to tell Peter when the werewolf asked what had taken him so long. He knew Peter could hear a direct lie, so he had to think of something that wouldn't read as a direct lie. He wished he didn't have to - the thought of lying to Peter made him a little sick - but Peter wouldn't understand how much easier Isaac's life would be once he gave his dad the whiskey.

"Put your hands up."

Isaac jerked, dropping the bag as well as the bottle and flinching back against the cooler as it smashed against the floor. Bright lights were shining in his eyes and he squeezed them closed, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, panic strangling the scream in his throat.

Seekers! God, how could he be so stupid!?

"Please do not run. We want to help you," said the one on the left, and Isaac sobbed, shrinking away from their touch. They were gonna put one in him, and it was going to kill him and lead them back to the den and his father and Peter. They were all going to die because of him.

"Excuse me."

Both Seekers whipped around at the sudden unexpected voice, only to have their guns yanked out of their hands and turned in their direction in a move so synchronized that somewhere, metaphorical judges wept.

"Thank you," Peter said with a wide grin. "Now if you would be so kind as to move over there," he said, nodding his head off to the left. The Seekers, no longer in possession of the upper hand, went quietly, and Jackson darted forward, grabbing Isaac's bag.

"C'mon," he urged quietly, and Isaac scrambled after him. Conscious of the fact that Souls learned quickly, Jackson paused at the door and made sure no one was out there waiting for them before pushing Isaac ahead of him on their designated route to the den. Peter caught up with them easily, but said nothing until they were at least a hundred meters inside the forest, where they stopped to rest. Peter wasn't nearly as winded as they were, and he let them suck in enough air to calm their lungs before turning to Jackson.

"Jackson, the bag," he said, and Isaac flinched like he was going to grab for it, but Jackson was out of reach and handing it over, so he only watched in horrified embarrassment as Peter reached in and pulled out the bottle of whiskey. Jackson shook his head, groaning his annoyance.

"Booze? All that so you could get a buzz on?" he huffed breathlessly. Isaac shrank in on himself, but Peter spoke up from where he was still looking at the bottle.

"Jackson," he said, quietly. The older teen cut off without another word, giving Peter his attention. No one went against Peter when he used his quiet voice - no one human, anyway. "You know your way back to the den from here?" he asked. The brash young man glanced between him and Isaac before sighing and shaking his head again.

"Yeah," he said, taking Peter's bag and Isaac's bag.

"The gun," Peter added, and Jackson handed it over reluctantly.

As far as they knew, the guns could have trackers in it. Why risk it?

Jackson went off at a more relaxed pace, and Peter waited until they could no longer hear his heartbeat to move closer and sit beside Isaac.

"Isaac, I'm not angry," he said. Isaac looked at him.

"You're not?" he asked warily. His father often said that.

"No, and you're not going to be punished, either," the werewolf added. Isaac's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not?"

"No. I understand why you did this."

"You do." Isaac's tone indicated that there was no possible way Peter could understand.

"You think that if your father is drunk, he won't hit you as much or as badly," Peter said baldly. Isaac looked away, blinking sharply, and said nothing, but that wasn't necessary. They both knew by the rise in Isaac's heart rate and the way the smell of shame filled the night air between them. "And you might be right, but it might also make it worse. It's not a risk worth taking," he said, setting the bottle down and placing the gun next to it. For a moment they existed in companionable if slightly awkward silence. "Are you worried he'll hurt you once we're back?" Peter asked. Isaac felt his heart stutter in his chest at the mention of the possibility, and Peter sighed through his nose without waiting for an answer. "Well, Elfrick's been making noise about you sleeping over, so you won't have to worry about it tonight," he said.

"You---" Isaac bit his tongue, but Peter only arched an eyebrow and waited until Isaac couldn't hold his silence anymore. "You don't have to be so nice," he said.

Peter laughed.

It was a loud laugh that made Isaac jump, and he quickly brought down into a chuckle, but his smile stayed broad, and he shook his head slowly at the boy.

"Isaac," he said with a sigh. "You've known me for six years. I'm not a nice man," he said. Isaac's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to protest. "I'm just a different brand of evil than your father," he added, choking whatever protest the young man was about to make. He wasn't surprised to see the fear that sprouted in Isaac's eyes. He was surprised to see it dim just as quickly. It made him smile again, amused. "Come along, Isaac, it's time we were getting back," he said. Isaac nodded, following him without a word.

**

"We left just as the Seekers showed up and split up once we reached the woods," Peter told Talia, casually leaning against the table. When they'd got back to the den, they'd found the rest of the raiding party waiting a short ways away from the den entrance, claiming that they didn't want to risk someone seeing more than one group of people in the same spot. It was a flimsy excuse for staying behind to make sure Peter and Isaac were okay, but it allowed Peter to let them know he'd be doing all the talking when they reported to Talia.

He was the only one who could tell the lies that needed to be told.

Talia watched him throughout the report, throwing occasional glances towards Isaac, who was taking slow, steady breaths and trying not to exist.

"Is that everything?"

"That's the gist of it. I could go into more detail if you like, perhaps delve into my thought process on the priority of duffel packing--"

"Peter," she said admonishingly, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. "Thank you, you may go," she said to the kids, who scampered off. Peter shared a look with Isaac, who bit his lip and nodded before going out after Scott. Peter nodded to himself and looked at his sister.

"Something has to be done about Michael," he told her, all amusement drained from his face. She sighed.

"Peter, our community is small, and they trust us because they need us, but if we arbitrarily--" she started, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Arbitrary?" he said, cutting her off as he straightened from a casual lean. He tilted his head. "How is it arbitrary? He's hurting Isaac," he told her. She shook her head.

"No one's come to me about it," she told him. He set his jaw.

"I'm coming to you about it," he said, raising his voice. She straightened her posture and stared him down.

"You're a wolf. Like it or not, Peter, I can't do anything about this until a human comes to me and asks me to take care of it. I'm your Alpha, not theirs," she reminded him. He looked down at the table, fuming for a moment, before taking a breath and letting his features school themselves into something sly.

"You could be," he said, and she sighed at him dismissively, shaking her head.

"Peter, I've told you. I'm not going to give sixty people the Bite. It's an abuse of power and it's impractical. Where would we keep them on full moons? We have a hard enough time with Erica, Danny and Cora," she said, before bracing her elbows on the table so that she could look up at her brother. "I'm sorry. The moment I can do something, I will, I promise you," she told him. He stared at her for a long moment before nodding and looking away.

"I know," he replied, sighing. "I have to go tell my sons they've invited Isaac to sleep in their room tonight," he told her, and she nodded, patting his hand.

Out in the hall he was ambushed.

Growling and snarling and making an unnecessary amount of noise, a small juvenile wolf charged at him from one end of the hall, and he blinked, preparing to brace himself before he registered the sound of claws on concrete behind him as well. The wolf charging him head on leapt for Peter's chest, lips pulled back from its fangs in a deadly snarl, while the wolf sneaking up behind him dove for his ankles.

Peter let the momentum of the first wolf carry into the backflip he did, taking his feet out of the line of fire, and he barely landed on his feet before falling to his knees, roughly pinning the wolf cub to the floor an biting its neck.

When the second wolf managed to turn around (big mistake attacking him on concrete, where paws could slip and claws couldn't grip), he was standing in the hallway with the first wolf dangling by the nape of its neck between Peter's teeth and gnawing ineffectively at his shoulder. His growl filled the hallway, and the second pup bared its teeth at him before charging and jumping up, disregarding the way it's brother had whined and started to squirm.

Peter went down with a grunt, teeth parting enough to free the first wolf, and it rolled out of his grasp, barking and grabbing his jacketed wrist in its teeth, pulling at him while he held off the other one with his other hand in its chest fur. They growled and barked and snapped their teeth at him. One of them jumped on his chest, forcing the air out of him with a surprised 'oof!' before he gave a breathless sort of chuckle.

"Oh, for the love of Mike," huffed an exasperated voice behind them.

The three of them froze, the fight over, and the wolves looked up at the newcomer, licking their chops and wagging their lowering tails a little. Peter tilted his head back to look at the tall, Amazonian brunette who stood over them with her hands on her hips.

"Hi, honey," he said, and Ophelia Hale snorted at him, unimpressed.

"Could you be a little louder? I don't think the other half of California heard you rough housing," she said, eyebrow arched. He grinned. She rolled her eyes. "Corbin, Elfrick, put your clothes back on," she ordered, and the two wolf-cubs slunk away, pressing their noses to her calves as they passed. Peter watched them go with a smug grin.

"They're getting better at that. One of these days they really will catch me unawares," he told her. She gave him a flat stare.

"You're all morons. Honestly, how many children am I raising here? Because I could have sworn I only had Ben and the twins, but the count still comes up 'four' every time," she told him before offering him a hand, which he accepted. Once he was on his feet, he didn't let go of her hand, pulling her closer. "How was the raid, husband?" she asked, ignoring the way he was reeling her closer but letting him sniff delicately at her neck.

"Minimal problems. How was waiting, wife?" he asked. She shrugged a shoulder.

"About as exciting as you'd expect with one egghead who's read everything we have already and two bored five year old boys," she replied. He smirked, winding a hand around the back of her neck and pulling her into a passionate kiss. She leaned into him with a sigh, snagging a belt loop on his jeans. "Heard there was some kerfuffle," she said against his lips as the kiss ended, pressing their foreheads together. He smirked.

"Worried?" he teased.

"Yes," she answered, and he blinked before getting a look at her face of pure innocence. "About the kids," she added sassily, and he feigned a wounded expression before shrugging, more serious as he slipped his arm around her and turned back towards their earthen den.

"You don't mind if the boys have Isaac spend the night, do you?" he asked, and she arched an eyebrow.

"As long as Isaac realizes that it's up in the air whether he'll wake up next to two wolves or two naked boys, I don't mind. Is this about--" she started, and he nodded. She sighed. "And Talia?"

"Has her hands tied with politics," he replied. She nodded.

"Want me to kill him?" she asked, and he smiled at the utter sincerity in her voice and in her face, stopping to press her against a nearby wall and kiss her again.

**

Derek was in hell.

He was leaning hard against the tree trunk, trying everything he could to focus on something other than what was happening in the room thirty feet right in front of him. He tried recalling one of the books he'd read, but could never summon up more than a blurb before the soft cries and gasps pulled his eyes away from the branches like magnets. He tried closing his eyes, but that just made it worse - amplifying the sounds, the smells - and his pants were becoming uncomfortably tight, but shifting his weight would move the tree and --

Oh, god, he was reaching for the lube.

Derek dug his nails into the tree trunk, swallowing hard as he watched Reacher pour a generous amount of clear, viscous liquid onto his own stomach before swiping his fingers through it.

**

Reacher was panting and shaking by the time Stiles instructed him to get his fingers wet, and he felt a shiver of anticipation as the room temperature liquid splashed onto his heated skin. He licked his lips as he slid his slick fingers down behind his heavy balls, shivering again when his fingers rubbed against his hole.

Not yet, Stiles said as Reacher started to push in, and the Soul huffed his displeasure, but kept the fingers out, rewarded by a burst of satisfaction from his human host. Just rub over it. I like feeling how they catch the edges, he instructed. And keep stroking us with the other hand. Get it wet. Yeah, he sighed when Reacher swiped some of the lube off of his stomach with his left hand and went back to slowly pumping their dick. He squeezed his hand a little tighter with the lube, and the sensation of warm, wet pressure around his dick made him groan, hips jerking. It was good, so good, but he wanted more. The fingers of his other hand started to rub more purposefully. Not yet, Stiles repeated. Reacher whined.

"Please," he begged, gasping at the sudden stab of pleasure this provoked.

Oh god. Alright. Just one, Stiles relented, sounding breathless himself. Reacher groaned, pressing gently at first and then more firmly, thanking deities that he didn't really believe in for Stiles' long fingers. He found a familiar rhythm between rocking forward into his fist and backwards onto that finger, and didn't hesitate when Stiles distractedly told him to add another, almost beyond taking instruction from his host as he mindlessly hunted down his own release.

I wonder how Derek's fingers would feel, Stiles wondered idly as Reacher's fingers brushed his prostate.

Reacher came with shocked jolt and fell out of his computer chair, lying on the floor as he shuddered through the dual sensations of climax and cold wood flooring and stared blindly at the ceiling.

What.

Don't tell me you hadn't thought of it, Stiles scoffed, before letting out a giddy chuckle. That was awesome, though. We should totally explore our sensitivity to the thought of moody, dark haired guys with stubble, he added. Reacher rolled his eyes, still lying on the floor.

My work… he started lamely, but Stiles could see he'd already given up on that.

Kick off your pants and get on the bed. Round two. I've got some fantasies I want to throw at you, the teen told him. He sighed, but did as he was told, unaware of the frustrated werewolf that was pinching the bridge of his nose and blushing furiously as he adjusted himself in the tree outside Stiles' window.

Chapter Text

Isaac grunted at the sudden cold spot that pressed against his neck, swatting sleepily at the source and receiving a sub-vocal grumble in return. The noise woke him up a little and he blinked his eyes open. Corbin was the one sticking his cold, wolfy nose into Isaac's neck. He could tell because Elfrick's stripe-tipped ears were ticking his chin. He smiled into his pillow, turning his head and scrunching his face at the sudden swipe of tongue at his jaw.

"Ew," he said, wriggling his shoulders. Corbin huffed, sitting up and yawning before shifting into his human form.

"Time 's it?" the five year old asked, sprawling over Isaac and his brother. Isaac shook his head.

"Time for you to put on pants," he muttered, poking the kid and getting a stifled squeal that woke Elfrick. Those stripe tipped ears twitched and the wolf cub sneezed himself awake before hopping to his feet and pinning his naked human brother, teeth gentle as he mouthed a shoulder, tail wagging. Corbin whined - less like a wolf and more like a beleaguered five year old who just wanted to sleep. Isaac chuckled and then laughed when Elfrick turned his morning energy on the older human. He pounced, and the two of them fell off the bed onto the small walk space. Corbin stole the blankets and rolled up in them so he was completely covered before going back to sleep.

Elfrick was a morning person.

Corbin not so much.

Isaac and Elfrick wrestled a little, both of them grinning at the end, and then Isaac stood up, trying to be careful as he brushed dirt off of himself. Elfrick was less careful, giving his fur coat an enthusiastic shake, sending dirt particles everywhere. Isaac turned his head so none would get in his eyes before shaking his head, checking his watch, and looking down at the wolf.

"Breakfast?" he asked, and Elfrick's ears went up. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his tail started wagging. Isaac nodded. "Then you should change and put clothes on," he suggested. Elfrick snorted, but he was already shifting to his bipedal form. Isaac turned and surveyed the lump of blankets that was Corbin. "Corbin," he said. The lump grunted. "Breakfast. Come on, buddy. Time to get up," he said, reaching over to pull the blankets away. Corbin curled up into a ball and whined again. "C'mon, buddy, you know if you don't get up you'll miss out on the best of the breakfast," he said.

"Ugh!"

Corbin muttered and grumbled to himself, but crawled out from underneath the blankets and snatched the clothes his brother was throwing at him. They walked down to the large, open area dining room, where they joined the line for breakfast. Everyone was doled out equal portions of everything, which - today - was oatmeal with baked apples, a sausage, one pancake as big around as a coffee can, and a spoonful of scrambled eggs on toast. There was a small buffet for condiments and additional toppings, but you weren't supposed to take a lot because there were sixty other people, and it needed to make it around. Still, it was a good sized breakfast. The twins got handed off at the table, James having already fixed their plates.

"Thanks," Isaac said to Derek as the Eldest Hale child heaped a slightly fuller-than-usual scoop of eggs onto his plate. Derek nodded.

"Eat up," he said. Isaac turned to look for a place to eat and hesitated when he saw his father sitting at his normal table, watching him. There was an empty chair across from him. His heart tightened in his chest and the air seemed thinner.

"Hey, Isaac!" Scott called from across the dining room, and the boy twitched, looking over. Scott and Erica were sitting at their table across the room from his father, waving him over. He relaxed slightly, but looked over at his father again. His dad studied him for a moment before looking away dismissively. Isaac knew it was a trap. He knew it was. He still turned and went to sit between Scott and Erica, letting his fear slip away in their presence.

"Hey," he said, rolling his buttered pancake around the sausage link and eating it one handed.

"Hey, man. Check it out, Jackson grabbed a one-minute mystery thing. Erica's gotten like, five already," Scott gushed as he scraped what was left of his breakfast onto Isaac's plate. The curly-headed teen blushed.

"Dude, don't give me all your food," he protested. Scott shrugged.

"I don't eat a lot in the mornings anyway and I think they gave me extra," he said, before turning the page in his book. Isaac knew he was lying. He'd seen Scott eat twice what was on his tray and still be hungry after. Isaac blushed, wondering if Doctor Deaton had said anything about his last physical. The Doc had mentioned that Isaac was losing weight, but Isaac didn't think he would have told anyone about it. Isaac had started wearing oversized shirts to cover it, and he ate all of his meals so people wouldn't worry. It wasn't his fault he got a nervous stomach sometimes.

He listened to Scott and Erica solve mysteries out of a book for a while, laughing when Scott's solutions were outlandish and convoluted and way off the mark. He put in his own thoughts where appropriate and forgot for a little while that they lived in a hole because aliens walked the Earth.

"So I got the TV room for tonight," Erica told them, and they both perked up. The Hales had a generator that they used for the lights in the den. And they had a TV but there was a waiting list. It was so everyone could have a fair amount of time on it. And even if everyone got the TV for a whole day, there were only about sixty of them. Two months wasn't that long, not to mention all the times you'd get invited to watch whatever someone else was watching. They even had a couple game consoles (internet disabled, of course). "And one of the guys on the disposal warehouse raid teams found a bunch of DVDs and stuff. I thought we'd see if they got anything good tonight. I've got it for four whole hours," she said. Scott and Isaac grinned. "The last four hours. I figure we could just camp out in the TV room. Sleeping bags and cushions. What do you say boys? Sleep-over at my place?" she asked, grinning. Scott lunged forward and hugged her, pinning Isaac between them.

"You are the best Erica ever to Erica!" he cooed happily. Erica chuckled, hugging back. Isaac blushed, patting them both awkwardly on the shoulder before grabbing his empty tray. Both of them got to their feet and followed him to the tray return. "So what are you going to do today, Isaac," Scott asked. Isaac shrugged self-consciously. As far as he knew, he wasn't scheduled for any duties that day.

"I don't know. Maybe read?" he answered, looking at his friends. They looked doubtful, knowing that he'd already read everything in the Den.

"Ophelia's picking out people to follow that Reacher guy around, you could always volunteer," Erica offered. Isaac frowned, looking down at the ground.

"I was seen, Erica. You know I can't go out again," he told her. His stomach churned with guilt. He shouldn't have risked it. It was so stupid.

"Oh shut up. Those guys were way more focused on Peter than they were on you, and Peter almost never goes out during the day. I wouldn't worry about it. C'mon, let's go sign you up," Erica said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. He let her pull him along, even though his heart beat sickly in his chest. Scott bounced along beside them, full of energy.

"I'll sign up too. I can be your driver," he said with a smile. Instead of putting a smile on the face of the boy who'd been his best friend for the last six years, Scott's words made Isaac's shoulders hunch more while bringing a flush of unhappy color to his cheeks.

"Or I could be your driver, and then you could see Reacher again," he replied, not looking at his friend. Scott blinked, then looked uncomfortable.

"No, dude, that's not why--"

"It's okay, Scott," Isaac said, trying to diffuse the situation. Scott set his crooked jaw.

"No, Isaac, that's not what I was saying man," he insisted. Isaac glanced at him. "Look, I just wanted to get you out of the Den for a while, that's all," he said. Erica glanced around, the motion casual as can be except for how Scott copied her. Isaac looked between them and then flushed with embarrassment.

"Guys, c'mon," he whined quietly. Erica snorted.

"Your dad's a dick, Isaac. Can you blame us for not wanting you to be around him?" she asked bluntly. He shrugged.

"It's not that bad," he lied. She stared at him and shook her head.

"Doesn't matter, you're signing up," she told him. He expected her to grab his arm or drop a hand on his shoulder. She was a physical person - it wouldn't have been the first time, but she just slung her arm across both shoulders and left it hanging loose, still holding him, but not in her usual, demanding, intimidating way. Isaac was simultaneously relieved, touched, and insulted. He wasn't some delicate flower. Still, he let himself be dragged around the Den, through the ever-growing tunnels, to the concrete - pre-invasion structure that the Hales had built to keep their newly turned or of-age wolves safely away from the fragile humans on full moons.

One of those was a leisure room now.

They had to ask a couple of times where Ophelia was, since she was in charge of assigning the outside teams their potentially fatal duties. She didn't have an office, but even if she had one, she wouldn't have been in it. Ophelia didn't believe in sitting around (no one did, nowadays, but Ophelia less than most). When they finally found her, she was finishing up an argument with Talia about the ventilation system she'd been talking about needing for the last couple of weeks. Talia remained adamant that if they took things that were specifically for air ventilation, then people would look for places that needed ventilation and it wouldn't take the Argent Seekers long to figure out that the Den was underground. Ophelia continued to insist that what they had was only barely functional and they couldn't drill air-holes without risking the integrity of the entire system.

Scott, Isaac, and Erica watched the argument end in a stalemate - as it usually did - and then waited for Ophelia to notice them. It didn't take long. She'd already known they were there.

Werewolf hearing and all.

"What can I do for you, kids?" she asked, eyeing them critically. They all automatically tilted their heads so that the sides of their throats were exposed. Erica had told them it was a sign of respect, and they'd just fallen into the habit of doing it, especially if the werewolf they were talking to was upset about something. Ophelia glanced at the three bared throats and sighed, posture loosening.

"Isaac's here to sign up for Reacher watch," Scott told her, bouncing a little in his enthusiasm and then coughing a little. Isaac reached into his pocket for the make-shift inhaler that Deaton had made but Scott always forgot to carry, handing it to him. It apparently tasted awful, if the face Scott made was anything to go on, but it was effective, so he suffered in not-exactly-silence. "Urgh," he groaned, shuddering as the medicine opened his congested lungs.

"Is that so?" Ophelia asked, arching an eyebrow at Erica, who averted her eyes instantly. Her smile was small and playful as she darted glances back to the senior she-wolf. Ophelia snorted, shaking her head before waving Isaac into the room. "Just him," she said, when Erica and Scott started to follow him. They glanced at each other, watching Isaac concernedly before reluctantly retreating to the hall. Isaac shuffled his feet, looking at the floor. "Hey, kiddo. The kids were really glad you could sleep over," she told him, and he blinked up at her, shoulders losing some of their tension.

"It wasn't a problem," he replied, shrugging. She chuckled.

"C'mon, Isaac, you know how hard it is to keep those boys in one place for more than a minute while they're awake. Not that you aren't more to us than a glorified baby-sitter, but they really like listening to your stories," she told him. He blushed, uncomfortable with the praise. "So, Reacher-watch, hm?" she asked. He shrugged again.

"It was Scott's idea," he mumbled. She snorted.

"I figured. Still, it's not a bad idea," she told him. He blinked, opening his mouth to protest - to argue that he'd been seen, so didn't that mean going out would be dangerous for a while? He only caught himself as the words were working their way up his throat, but it didn't matter. Ophelia was already ahead of him. "You don't have to worry about slipping up, Isaac. Peter told me what happened," she told him. His face burned and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Relax, kiddo," she said, shaking her head. "There weren't any cameras in the store and from Peter's account, you had your arms up, surrender like. There's a good probability that they didn't get a good look at you. And it's sunny out. Perfect excuse to wear a baseball cap and shades," she told him.

"But if they catch me…" he said, stopping to take a breath with tighter lungs.

"They're not going to," said a voice from the door and Isaac turned to see Cora leaning there, arms folded, scowl firmly affixed. Ophelia snorted again.

"They'll catch on to you before they catch on to Isaac, sourpuss," the older wolf replied. Cora narrowed her eyes.

"That's why I'm the driver. I wouldn't want to be out in the sea of body-snatchers anyway," she said with a sniff. "Frankly I don't know why we're doing this. It's just another alien," she added with a growl. Ophelia looked at her. Her expression didn't change, but the tension in the room ratcheted up until - at Isaac's choked off noise of discomfort - Cora lowered her eyes and tilted her head, baring her throat even as she ground her teeth.

"It's not for you to question the Alpha's orders, Cora," Ophelia said to her niece. Cora set her jaw and lifted one hand to study her nails.

"That would have been Laura's job, right?" she asked snidely. Isaac took several steps to his left to clear both wolves' lines of sight, flinching at the snarl that left Ophelia's throat. Cora remained where she was, throat still bared even as she seethed. Her aunt fumed at her, nostrils flaring angrily.

"Tell James he's taking Isaac out," she ordered, and Cora lifted her head, ready to protest. "Cora," Ophelia snapped, and the teen wolf clenched her fists.

"Fine," she snapped back, storming off. Ophelia watched her go and took a few deep breaths, reaching up to scratch her forehead before dragging her hand through her hair. Isaac stayed where he was and tried to breathe shallowly, keeping his eyes downcast when Ophelia finally looked at him.

"Sorry about that, kiddo," she said, the anger leeched out of her voice. He glanced up at her, a quick, darting glance to gauge her mood, eyes not lingering enough to be considered disrespectful. Ophelia relaxed a little more at his submissive posture, shaking her head at her own burst of anger at her niece. She shouldn't have lost her cool like that - not around Isaac. The kid was too used to angry adults. "Hey," she said, holding out her hand. He looked at it, aborting his instinct to take it automatically. "It's okay, c'mere," she said softly, and he carefully approached. She made sure to move slowly so he could catalog her every move as she put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before moving her hand to the back of his neck. He relaxed instantly, leaning into her touch. She smiled.

Isaac had spent a lot of time over the last six years observing and interacting with werewolves, and he was a quick study. He knew this was a sign of comfort and acceptance, and his submission to the gesture was easier and more natural than the stiff, fearful air of compliance that he put on around his father. She pulled him into a hug, burying her nose in his curly hair and giving him a motherly nuzzle when he hugged her back a little desperately.

They stayed there for a moment, hugging, and then she ruffled his hair, drawing a shy smile.

"So," she said, patting his curls. "Reacher-watch, hm?" she asked again. The smile grew and he ducked his head. "C'mon, let's find you some street-clothes," she told him, arm around his shoulder as she dragged him off.

**

James glanced over at Isaac as he pulled up to a parking space, doing exactly speed limit and watching out for pedestrians.

"You ready?" he asked, and Isaac glanced at him before looking back out the window.

"Are you sure he's out here?" the boy asked in return. James nodded.

"Danny was watching his house this morning and apparently he passed his driver's test, so he told the Seeker he lives with that he was going to drive downtown and walk around," James told him. Isaac nodded, and then took a deep breath to calm himself.

"See you in a couple hours," he said, before opening the door and stepping out into the sunlight.

There were people everywhere, smiling and talking to each other. Everyone spoke quietly and calmly, as if there were no reason to raise their voices - no reason to get excited about anything. Isaac scratched the back of his neck to hide a shiver and started scanning the crowd for the strange Soul that Ophelia had shown him a picture of.

He was surprisingly easy to spot. He was standing in front of a bookstore, struggling with a large box of books. He smiled sheepishly at a couple that stopped to help him, laughing a little at his ambitious undertaking and thanking them effusively after they helped him load it into a pale blue Jeep. Isaac watched for a moment and then followed him down the street, pretending to be interested in a couple of the other stores. He lingered at a flower stand for a moment when Reacher turned and headed into a music store, smelling a bright blue flower that he'd never seen before smiling at the lady behind the counter and following his target.

It took him a few seconds to adjust to the dimmer setting, and he blinked a few times, heart rate climbing at his temporary blindness. He looked around, catching the level eye of the man behind the counter and blushing before moving into the store to make himself look busy. The selection of records was enormous, and there were only twenty or so people in the store. Some of them were looking at the musical instruments along the back wall. One was studying a violin, but there were so many different kinds of instruments and it sort of blew Isaac's mind when he hadn't heard more than snatches of music in six years. A soft, instrumental piece was playing over the store's speakers and it tickled the back of his mind - so familiar and yet so foreign. It took him a long time to realize that he was standing motionless in the store, just staring at everything. His skin flushed hotly and for a moment there was burning anger that quickly gave way to deep, deep loss. His breaths were shaky, and he gripped the corner of one table, blinking away sudden moisture in his eyes.

He'd known - of course he'd known - that they had come and taken away everything, but it wasn't until this moment that he realized that they'd kept on taking it - continued to enjoy all the things that he and the others had gone without for so long. He hated them. He feared them. He envied them.

"Oh, hey, you're already here," said a voice beside him, startling him so badly that he jumped. "Oops, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. We're still on for that coffee, right?"

Isaac stared. It was Reacher, standing very close and smiling earnestly at Isaac as if they were old friends. His shortish hair swooped forward a little over his forehead, and his eyes held that obvious ring of light that warned of an inner presence. He didn't know Isaac - couldn't - and even if the alien had mistaken him for someone, he would have realized by now, yet he still stood there, patiently expectant.

"Um…yeah," he said. Reacher beamed.

"Great! There's this place down the street that does really good coffee," he said. Isaac tried to keep his tension unnoticed as Reacher gently took his arm and steered him towards the door. He could have gotten away easily - Reacher wasn't holding him that tightly - but that would mean drawing attention to himself, and after the Store…Isaac couldn't take that chance, and he let his heart scream inside his chest as he let the alien lead him into uncertainty.

Outside, Reacher let go of him, casually looking around before gesturing to the cross-walk. "Sorry about scaring you," he said as they walked down the not-terribly-crowded street. "It's just…the inventory clerk was paying you too much attention," Reacher told him. Isaac blinked, swallowing hard.

"H-he was?"

Reacher nodded, corner of his mouth twitching into a placatory smile.

"To be fair, you sort of stuck out. I'm Reacher, by the way. You probably knew that," he said. Isaac shrugged. "I've never seen you before, though," he added, and Isaac's eyebrows darted together.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Reacher shrugged.

"I mean I've kind of noticed a lot of people in sunglasses following me - not that sunglasses are inherently suspicious, it's just the same people always wearing sunglasses - but you're new. Unless you're just way more stealthy - stealthier? Although, judging by our meeting, I'm guessing not so much," Reacher answered. Isaac blinked at his babble and then threw a glance around the street surrounding them.

"You knew about that?"

"It wasn't hard to suss out. After running into Scott that day, I've kind of been on the lookout, hoping to see him again," Reacher explained, opening the door of the coffee shop for Isaac. They kept quiet for a while as Reacher ordered their coffees, Isaac deferring to his experience with the beverage, and then found an isolated table in the outdoor café where they could talk quietly without being overheard. "So what can I call you?" Reacher asked when they were seated.

"Um…my name's Isaac," said the human, sipping his coffee. He couldn't help the small groan of pleasure that escaped. He hadn't ever had coffee before. There had been that time they'd managed to grab a couple cartons of coffee flavored ice cream, but this… He blushed at the pleased grin on Reacher's face.

"I meant your Soul name," he said in a voice full of kind laughter. Isaac blinked.

"Soul name?" he asked, stomach sinking. He hadn't thought of that. Had anyone at the Den thought of that?

"You do have one…" Reacher said, though he sounded uncertain, and when Isaac became fascinated with the container that his coffee had come in, the alien's eyebrows twitched upwards in surprise. "You have to…In order to avoid suspicion," he went on. Isaac blushed.

"Uh…"

Reacher glanced around and then studied his newfound acquaintance, drumming something offbeat on the table with his fingers.

"Well, Isaac's a nice name, but you should have something I can call you in public if I ever see you again - or, y'know, if someone asks," said Reacher. Isaac's hunched his shoulders a bit, feeling exposed and stupid, but Reacher only pursed his lips thoughtfully as he considered the matter. "How about…Fostered in the Southern Magma Pools. Dragon world. Call you Foster for short," he suggested. Isaac blinked at him.

"Are all your names like that?" he asked quietly; curiously.

"Most. We like names that tell a story. On the planet of the See-weeds, I was One Hundred and One, because I had an extra eye-stalk," the Soul answered with a grin. Isaac smiled too, stifling a strange laugh. He didn't know what Reacher was talking about, but his smile was infectious. "So I take it none of your friends have public names either," Reacher went on, and Isaac shook his head, sipping his coffee. "Well, I'll see what I can come up with," he offered.

"Why?" Isaac blurted out. Reacher blinked.

"Why what?"

"Why would you do that? Why did you help me? Why did you help…" shaded eyes flitted around the open air. "…Scott?" Isaac asked. Reacher studied his iced coffee for a moment, fiddling with the condensation on the outside of the plastic cup.

"I-my host…Stiles was friends with Scott," he said. Isaac stared at him, tension leaking slowly out of his shoulders. "And…I've been through his memories. They're real to me. I feel like I know him. Like…like he was my best friend, too," he offered with a sad smile. "And I miss him," he added, clearing his throat and sipping his coffee. "How is he, by the way?"

He asked it casually, as if he weren't dying to know. Isaac took a sip of his own, hot coffee, and tried to ignore the weird feeling that was starting in his stomach.

"He's…Scott. Happy most of the time, despite everything. He still…he misses his mom. And…other people," he answered, hesitantly meeting Reacher's hopeful gaze. He felt that weird feeling in his stomach turn into a vague pain in his chest at the thought of Reacher and Scott meeting - becoming friends (friends again?) - but he ignored it.

"I could find out about her. Get him a picture maybe," Reacher offered. Isaac imagined Scott holding a picture of his mother and nodded, looking down at his hands. "And what about you? Is there anyone you need me to find, or--"

"No," Isaac said, closing his eyes. Reacher hesitated, then nodded and said nothing. They finished their coffee quietly and then left, walking down the street. Isaac stopped as they were going past the bookstore and stared into it longingly. They'd long since read everything that the Hales' had to offer. Most of them knew far more than they liked about the supernatural world that they hadn't known they were living in. Reacher stopped, glanced between him and the store and then chuckled, herding him into the store amidst quietly voiced protests.

"Back so soon, Reacher?" asked a calm woman's voice. Reacher smiled.

"Not for me this time. My friend Foster just got to town and is looking for some new reading material. You don't mind, do you Garden?" asked the Soul as Isaac stood there, trying to look as though he belonged while his palms grew clammy and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Garden just smiled and shook her head like an older sister over her mischievous brother.

"Please yourself," she said, gesturing into the store before returning to her sweeping.

Reacher pulled Isaac into the book-laden stacks.

"We're gonna get caught," Isaac whispered, but Reacher shook his head.

"No we're not. Barely anyone comes in here. Well, some of the younger Souls get curious, but mostly it's just history students trying to understand humans from the written perspective. Sadly for most, this is a collection of everything that's wrong with humans. Lucky for us, that means this place is a goldmine," the alien explained quietly before gesturing around. "So what's your pleasure? Fantasy? Horror? Romance?" he asked with that infectious grin that pulled at the corners of Isaac's lips too.

**

They were there for hours before hauling out another box load of books, both of them grinning and giggling like middle-schoolers as they maneuvered it into Reacher's Jeep.

"So where can I drop you?" Reacher asked as they climbed in. Isaac considered his options and glanced at the box.

"There's a cotton mill," he started and Reacher nodded. As he started the car, Isaac looked around at the old and faded interior of the Jeep. It wasn't as well-maintained as the cars that the Hales had…acquired. "Nice car," he said politely. Reacher snorted, smirking at his passenger's attempts to be impressed.

"She belonged to Stiles' mother," he said, the smile fading on his face at her mention. "It had been in the garage since she…since she passed," he said with a sigh and a fond stroke of the steering wheel. Isaac watched him and nodded sympathetically.

"My mom died when I was four," he said quietly as they pulled up to a red light. They sat there for a still moment, and then Reacher hesitantly reached over and set his hand on Isaac's arm. He didn't say anything, and his hand was only there for a moment before he pulled away and responded to the light turning green. It should have made Isaac's skin crawl, the way it did when the others had found out about Isaac's mom. It should have made him want to do a tuck and roll into traffic just to escape. Instead, the alien's quiet empathy filled Isaac with a soft, anxious warmth. He relaxed into his seat, looking out the window as Reacher drove him to his rendezvous.

The sun was just beginning to set when they got there, and Reacher looked around as he parked just out of sight of the main road. He and Isaac wrestled the human's box of books out of the back seat and set it on the hood as they waited for Isaac's ride home. They settled on the bumper and talked about whatever crossed their minds. Isaac mostly asked about Reacher. Reacher mostly asked about Scott and the others - if they needed anything. If they wanted anything.

"Why do you want to help us?" Isaac asked him, and he bit his lip, looking down at his fingers.

"I like it here. Stiles' memories make it seem…well, I like it here," he answered, shrugging because he knew his answer was inadequate. Isaac didn't get to question him further, though, because the sound of an engine had them looking up, and then shielding their eyes against the headlights of a black car. It looked like a Seeker's car, and Isaac's heart almost exploded before he realized that it was James and he sighed.

James did not look relieved.

"What's going on," he demanded flatly, throwing looks at Reacher, who waved and then made no movements at all. Isaac looked guiltily at the Soul before turning to James, tilting his head to show his neck. James sighed at him. "Isaac, what's going on?" he asked, a little more calmly than before.

"Um…James, this is Reacher," he mumbled, gesturing. "Reacher, James."

"Hi," Reacher said. "I gave Isaac a lift. Hope that's okay," he added, looking at the large box on the hood. James barely acknowledged it, too busy scowling and trying to figure out if Reacher was a threat that needed to be eliminated.

"James, it's okay," Isaac said quietly, and James pressed his lips together. "I…I almost got caught. Reacher made it seem like we knew each other so that no one would suspect anything," he explained. James Hale blinked, eyebrows rising up in worry on his head, and he stepped forward, putting a hand on Isaac's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Isaac blushed, nodding. James nodded, pulling him into a short hug before looking at Reacher. The Soul was watching them with open and honest curiosity and a small smile. "Thank you," James said. He seemed surprised by the words, color rising into his cheeks.

"It was nothing," he said dismissively, before standing. Now James looked at the box, nodding to it as he stepped back from Isaac, keeping one hand on the back of his neck to comfort them both.

"What's in the box?" he asked. Reacher smiled.

"Books," he answered, chuckling at James' shock. "Yeah, Isaac told me you guys had run through all of what you had, so we picked out a couple more," he added, moving aside so that James could look inside. The older boy scoffed.

"A couple - there's like fifty books in here," he said.

"And we can always get more later. Honestly, those books are just sitting there, gathering dust, it'd be a shame if no one but me was reading them," Reacher replied. James stared at him. After a moment, the alien shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "You want help getting it to your car?" he asked. At this, James snorted.

"Not necessary," he answered. Reacher frowned as the older boy went to get a grip on the box.

"Are you sure? It's kind of he-"

Reacher cut off when James lifted the box, turned, and walked easily back to the car, shifting the box only slightly in order to open the back door. Reacher's eyebrows said hey to his hairline before slowly descending to their normal position, and he turned to Isaac, who looked quietly amused.

"He's really strong," Reacher commented. Isaac chuckled. "So, I guess this so long for now, huh?" he asked, shaking himself out of his amazed stupor. Isaac nodded, kicking the dirt. "It was nice to meet you. Y'know, actually talk to one of you guys instead of just spotting you watching me," he said.

"And you're pretty cool for a body-snatcher," Isaac replied.

Lots of people wouldn't have noticed the twitch in Reacher's eyebrows or the way he dropped his eyes, or the way his shoulders tightened as if against some invisible blow.

Isaac wasn't lots of people. He noticed, but he said nothing about the split second of hurt in Reacher's eyes before James returned. James was looking at Reacher funny too.

"Maybe I'll see you again," Reacher said, and there was no missing the hope in those words as he turned raised eyebrows to James. James looked him over and tilted his head appraisingly.

"Maybe you will," he replied, before looking at Isaac, who nodded and started walking towards the car. He'd barely taken three steps before Reacher jolted.

"Oh! Wait, wait, I almost forgot," he blurted, before pulling open his Jeep's door and rummaging around in the backseat. It was almost comical the way his lower half was hanging out, leg occasionally kicking as he reached for something. Eventually he came up with a significantly smaller box than before, and he let out a relieved sigh as he handed it over. "For Scott," he said. James arched an eyebrow and Isaac moved closer.

"What is it?" he asked. Reacher grinned.

"Scott has asthma," he said, and James scoffed.

"So?"

"So he won't after this," Reacher told him. They both blinked, staring at Reacher in surprise and disbelief. "There's instructions in the box. It'll work for anyone else who's got respiratory issues," he added. "I went and picked some up a couple days after we ran into each other. I was hoping I'd run into him again or something," he explained.

"You just carried it around with you on the off chance you'd see Scott again?" James asked. Reacher waved a hand vaguely.

"Or someone that could get it to him, yeah," he answered.

"Didn't you just get your car today?" Isaac asked, recalling James' earlier words. Reacher blinked.

"Um yeah, but Fields said I should make sure I had the important things in there in case I needed them, so I --how'd you know I got my car today?" he asked. Isaac looked sheepishly at James, who didn't even flinch at the question.

"We've been watching you," he answered. Reacher stared at him for two seconds and then his face flooded with color.

"Ha," he laughed, but the tripping of his heart spelled panic not humor, and James arched an eyebrow. "Like during the day, right?" he asked, smile too forced.

"It's not twenty-four seven," James replied, and Reacher nodded once slowly, looking relieved. "But we do have night shifts," he added. Reacher froze, and then covered his face.

"Oh," he said weakly, ears reddening. James furrowed his eyebrows at Reacher's embarrassment for a moment before his expression cleared and he snorted. Reacher looked mortified. "I don't…I don't suppose Friday and Saturday were surveillance free nights?" he asked imploringly. James shook his head, a smile growing on his face. Isaac looked just as horrified as Reacher did. "Right. Okay," Reacher started, looking anywhere but at the two of them. "Right," he said again, blinking at the ground before shaking his head and turning to get in his car. James choked his laugh and herded Isaac to their own getaway vehicle so that Reacher could escape and suffer his embarrassment in peace.

Chapter Text

"And you're pretty cool for a body-snatcher," Isaac replied.

The words hung in his ears like poison and he tried to shove down the hurt that he felt while Stiles mentally soothed the sting.

He doesn't know, he said, and Reacher lowered his eyes before looking towards James.

I know, he replied. Stiles fluttered uneasily in the mental space they shared, unsure of how to comfort without being a distraction. He focused on the warmth and love produced by a hug, and this helped until Isaac and James started to leave.

Breathe, Stiles said, and Reacher took a slow breath in as he slid his hands into his pockets. No, Reacher, the Breathe for Scott!

"Oh! Wait, wait, I almost forgot," Reacher blurted aloud. He rooted around in the surprisingly cluttered backseat of the Jeep, awkwardly sprawled over the collapsed front seat until he found the little brown box with the three canisters. The sigh of relief he gave when he handed it over to James was for Stiles, who hung lighter in his mind, worry lifting from both of them. Scott would be good now.

"What is it?" James asked, eyebrows furrowed suspiciously.

"Scott has asthma," Reacher said, and James scoffed. It was old information, and Reacher knew it would be.

"So?"

"So he won't after this."

The surprise on their faces, disbelief slowly shifting into hopeful awe, was gratifying, and Reacher couldn't help the way he bounced on his toes happily, or the gangly, euphoric bob of his head as he explained about the instructions and how there should be enough for everyone.

"You just carried it around with you on the off chance you'd see Scott again?" James asked incredulously. Reacher shrugged, waving a hand dismissively.

"Or someone that could get it to him, yeah," he answered. It wasn't a big deal. People might be confused why he had so much, but it wouldn't have occurred to them that it was their business to ask, so it's not like having it was a danger.

"Didn't you just get your car today?" Isaac asked, and Reacher blinked at the question. Because yes, he had just gotten his car that day.

He had taken the test the day before after Stiles had devoured the entire driver's manual in one sitting. It hadn't been particularly interesting - the book - but watching Stiles catalog the useful information and archive the rest of it so intricately had been fascinating, as usual. And after he had passed the driver's test, Fields and John had given Stiles and Reacher the old blue Jeep that had been sitting in the garage since before the invasion. There'd been hugging and some tears that Stiles insisted on describing as 'manly', although why he had to attribute a gender to emotion was beyond Reacher.

What was more confusing was how James and Isaac knew about him getting the Jeep only recently.

"How'd you know I got my car today?" he asked. Isaac's cheeks darkened slightly while James looked him over once.

"We've been watching you," he answered directly. The ringing in Reacher's ears was a reaction that surprised him, as was Stiles' sudden burst of horrified panic.

Ohmigod. What.

The brief exclamation was followed by a split second burst of memory - a reminder of just what they'd been doing over the last couple of days.

"Ha!" the laugh burst out of him by itself, seeming to surprise the humans, but he was too busy falling into the miasma of Stiles' potential humiliation to do anything more than barrel on with, "Like during the day, right?"

"It's not twenty-four seven," James assured him, and there was a rush of relief akin to cool water sliding down a parched throat in summer. "But we do night shifts," James added.

OH MY GOD. I feel violated. Ask who it was. NO. Never mind, oh my god, I don't want to know. Oh my god. Oh my GOD.

Reacher put his hand over his face, his hot, red face, guts tying themselves in knots of embarrassment as James confirmed that there had been someone watching the house both of the previous nights. Stiles kept up a running commentary, random pleas to deities no longer openly worshipped and self-comforting comments about being owed a dinner. Reacher tried to salvage the situation, only to find that the words that he and Stiles so casually wielded on a daily basis had failed him. He did the only sensible thing and retreated. His face did not stop burning until he'd gotten to the house.

**

"Tali and Dave agreed to watch the kids tonight," Ophelia said as she looked over the plans for the next tunnel and checked over the duty roster for the next week. Peter hmmed his acknowledgment as he sorted through the inventoried supplies to determine their next great need. With sixty people, they were always running low on something. Ophelia glanced at him, noted his brow furrowed deep in thought and smirked briefly before schooling her expression into something bland and turning back to her work. "Not for nothing but I was thinking of tying you up later," she said, using the same casual tone as before. Peter's pen ripped a line through the top three sheets of paper like she'd just jabbed him with a pin and he blinked three times at nothing before relaxing with a fond grin.

"Mmm, that takes me back to that night we made the twins," he told her.

"Do you guys mind not?" Derek asked, looking between the two of them with a severely creeped out expression on his face. Ophelia and Peter snickered quietly before all three of them lifted their heads.

"Isaac's back," Ophelia said, frowning.

"He's only been out for a few hours," replied Derek. They all raised their eyebrows when James came into the room, sans Isaac. James looked at all of them and held up his hands.

"He's using the bathroom, he'll be here in a minute," he said.

"What happened?" Peter asked.

"Nothing bad. In fact, maybe something good. Is mom around?" he asked. Derek set down his clipboard and stood up.

"I'll go get her," he said, while his aunt and uncle straightened their paperwork and completely failed not to worry about their favorite human when Talia and Derek returned before Isaac. Still, he showed up a few minutes later, glancing around at everyone who was standing there. He looked flushed.

"What's going on?" Talia asked.

"Isaac met Reacher," James said. Isaac hunched his shoulders under the sudden and intense scrutiny of almost every werewolf in the room, practically craning his neck to show respect.

"What happened?" Talia asked, dropping her tone from high alert to gentle questioning. Isaac bit his lip for a moment.

"I followed him into a music store," he started, shrugging. "Guess I wasn't ready for how...not different it was. I think they were playing something from the Who on the speaker." He shrugged again. "Anyway, I just kind of stood there. Reacher came over and pretended we knew each other so that the check out guy wouldn't call the Seekers on me," he told them. Peter and Ophelia shared a look before Peter's lips pulled into an approving smirk.

"Maybe I'm just biased, but I like this Reacher pup," he said to his sister, who arched an eyebrow at him.

"Not now, Peter," she said offhandedly, looking back at Isaac. "Go on. Did you talk to him?" she encouraged. Isaac nodded.

"We had coffee," he said. Ophelia winced sympathetically.

"Well that explains the lengthy bathroom visit," she said, to his blush. "Quite the system shock, coffee. What'd you guys talk about over coffee?"

"He was nice. He knows we've been following him places. He seemed okay with it," Isaac said with a shrug.

"Well we know he hasn't reported us to the Seekers, then," Peter said, nodding. "I wonder why," he added with a thoughtful frown.

"He's been hoping to see Scott again," Isaac answered, before looking at James. "Actually, he gave us something for Scott's asthma," he added. Everyone looked at James, who nodded.

"I dropped it off with Deaton so he could give it a look, but it looks like the same canisters they have in the first aid kits we've found," he told them. "And there's new books, too. Apparently the only Souls who read our old stuff are history students."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Reacher and Isaac packed about fifty books into a box and no one said boo," James replied with a shrug. Peter looked at Ophelia.

"Should keep Ben busy for a couple days," he told her. She snorted.

"Peter," Talia chided. Peter ducked his head. Talia was very focused. "Anything else?" she asked Isaac, who nodded.

"He was surprised we didn't have 'in public' names, in case anyone asked or tried to talk to us. He's coming up with a list, since he's more familiar with the way they name things. I have mine - it's kind of weird," he said. Talia arched an eyebrow. "It's, uh, 'Fostered in the Southern Magma Pools'. Apparently it's from the 'Dragon' planet, whatever that means," he said. Derek snorted.

"Makes you wonder what 'Reacher' is short for," he muttered. Isaac looked at him for a moment, biting his lip, but said nothing for a moment before looking at Talia.

"Who was watching the house this morning?" he asked hesitantly. Talia looked at Ophelia, who was already flipping through the duty roster.

"Danny was," she told him. James glanced at Isaac before leaning out into the hall and whistling sharply. Ever since Danny had become a werewolf, he liked testing his hearing the most. Whistling was how he and James got each others' attention when they weren't in the same part of the Den. Danny also like dog puns. Isaac wasn't sure how much the others appreciated that. In any case, Danny strolled up a few moments later, grinning, and then looked around at the assembled Hales.

"What's up?" he asked, tilting his head slightly in respectful deference to Talia, who nodded to Isaac.

"You watched Reacher's house this morning?" Isaac asked. Danny nodded.

"Sure. When he got his Jeep," the young werewolf confirmed. "Why?"

"How'd he react?"

"In the weirdest way. They both got real emotional about it. I couldn't see why, it was just a Jeep. Not even a new Jeep; the thing smelled old," Danny answered. Isaac nodded.

"I know why," he said, sighing. "It belonged to Stiles' mother," he told them. There was a blank silence in the room while everyone took that in, and Isaac scratched his cheek, brain chasing itself in circles. There was something...

"I don't understand," Derek said, frowning. "Why would it care?" he asked. Isaac bit his lip again and looked at Talia, who took a breath.

"Let's not worry about that right now. What I'm concerned about is what this will mean for the Den," she said. Peter straightened.

"I'll tell you what it means - no more night shopping. Reacher's a Soul - he can stroll right in whenever he wants and take whatever he wants," he said. Derek scowled.

"Sure, just hand over a list of all the things we desperately need in order to survive - I'm sure that won't come back to bite us," he countered. Peter rolled his eyes.

"My nephew, ever the pessimist," he teased.

"Yeah, because you're such an optimist," Derek snapped. Peter put on a face of mock consideration.

"Actually I'm more of an opportunist," he replied, to Talia and Derek's glare. James and Danny looked at each other as Peter, his wife, his sister and her son all started debating what to do about what Isaac had told them and James nodded, signaling Ophelia before pulling Isaac out of the room.

"So I'm given to understand that Scott and Erica are hogging the TV room tonight," James said, and Isaac blinked.

"Um…" he said, but James just chuckled.

"Don't worry about it. There's still some time before you guys can pig out on mindless nineties television, though. Why don't you go see Deaton about that stuff for Scott," he suggested. Isaac nodded, heading off, and James turned to Danny, who tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked. James grinned.

"I thought I'd take you to this sweet little piece of nowhere that I know about and see if I can make a hickey stick, " he replied. Danny smiled back.

**

Scott was already in Deaton's 'office' when Isaac strolled in, as was Erica, who lounged by the door, wearing the leather jacket that she'd found three raids back. She'd made a big deal about making sure everyone knew it was hers, licking the lapels where people could see. She cared for it more than most people cared for their children, a thought that made Isaac's smirk of amusement twist wryly.

"Hey guys," he said, and Scott beamed at him.

"Dude. Is this stuff for real?" he asked, and Isaac smiled back.

"I don't know, man. I hope so," he replied, smiling at Erica too. The blonde werewolf pushed off the wall and strode into his space, ignoring the flinch that had been psychologically installed by his father and sniffing at him noisily, pushing her face into the spot on his arm where Reacher had touched him.

"So that's what he smells like," she said, consideringly. Scott perked up.

"You can smell Stiles?" he asked. She arched an eyebrow.

"I can smell Reacher," she told him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Reacher who's in Stiles' body," Scott replied. "Which means he's using the same organs, which means his skin is emitting the same pheromones, which means he smells like Stiles," he went on. Erica stared at him.

"What'd you do, read your elementary school science book?" she asked. He rolled his eyes.

"I can't help it. It was literally the only thing I hadn't read yet," he moaned, dropping his head into the cradle of his arms. From where he was analyzing the medicine that Isaac had brought back, Deaton only arched an eyebrow and shook his head fondly. Isaac chuckled at the pout on his best friend's face and shrugged.

"Well I picked up some new stuff, so--"

"You what?" Scott asked, head popping up, jack-in-the-box style. Isaac blushed, shrugging again.

"Yeah, Reacher said that Souls don't really read any of our stuff so it was just sitting in the bookstore. He helped me carry some out," he told them. Scott grinned.

"Dude, that's awesome. How many?" he asked.

"Uh, I don't know. About fifty, I think. Paperbacks, but some of them are parts of a series, and I think some novelized movies, or something," Isaac told them.

"Oh, man, I can't wait til they start circulating," Erica said, and both Scott and Isaac nodded before looking at Deaton, who had straightened up from his microscope and test tubes. Isaac didn't know a whole lot about Deaton, other than he made sure everyone was healthy enough given their living situation. He kind of thought the man might have been a mad scientist in a previous life, though.

"What's the word, doc?" Erica asked, containing her raging hope behind a slick smirk. "Clean lungs for Scotty?"

"As far as I can tell, this medicine is on the level. But Scott," he said, turning his serious face on the boy. "I want you to understand, this might not work. My understanding of the aliens' medicine is limited. It might be a trick," he said. Isaac didn't say anything, looking down at the table as he scratched the back of his neck, but Deaton looked at him, eyebrows rising. "You disagree Isaac?" he asked. Isaac blinked up at him.

"What? No, I didn't--" he started, but Deaton held up a hand.

"It's alright, Isaac. But you scratched the back of your neck. You do that when you disagree with something," Deaton told him. Isaac's face burned as he wondered who else knew that about him - if his father knew that about him.

"I…just…don't think Reacher would go to all that trouble just to poison Scott. Besides, if he was gonna use poison, wouldn't he use something that would affect all of us?" he said. Scott nodded along with Isaac's reasoning, looking back at Deaton.

"I trust Isaac's judgment. I mean if anyone was going to get evil vibes off of Reacher, it was gonna be Isaac," he said, smiling warmly at his friend. Deaton conceded the point with an uncomfortable nod and then looked at the instructions that came in the box.

"Well, then, all you need to do is take a deep breath after I spray and hold it for ten seconds," he told Scott, who nodded.

"Like an inhaler," he said. Deaton shrugged.

"Pretty much, except you don't stick the end of this in your mouth," he replied. "Ready?"

Scott nodded, Deaton sprayed a fine mist of the medicine in front of Scott's face and he breathed as much of it in as he could before holding his breath. After ten seconds he let it out and looked around at everyone, who was watching him like he was either going to die or bust out some sick moves. He took a breath to laugh and blinked.

"Whoa," he said, standing. Erica was at his side instantly.

"What is it? Are you dying? Should we call Talia?" she asked, rapidfire, only to stop when Scott laughed.

"No, Erica. I can breathe. I haven't been able to breathe this good since my inhaler ran out six years ago," he told her, laughing. He took another deep breath and then almost fell over, still giggling. Deaton helped him sit and shook his head, holding up a hand to quiet the formerly asthmatic's friends.

"He's getting more oxygen to his lungs. It's going to make him…a little intoxicated. The good news is, the medicine works," he told them. Scott grinned.

"How often do I need to use it?" he asked, and Deaton shook his head.

"Never. It's supposed to cure you permanently," the doc said. Scott beamed.

"Awesome."

**

Lydia sat patiently in the cushioned chair in the warm office of the eight people to whom her petition had been assigned. When it came to Souls, big decisions were made by committees of five to ten. No one was technically in charge. It was a sort of communal independence. They were all working towards the same goal so they all just went about, doing their own things, and only the outlandish means were given special consideration.

Like changing your Calling from nature studies to Seeker, Watcher said. She arched an eyebrow in silent agreement and then looked at the door when it opened.

"Watcher. Thank you for waiting," said a sternly structured, dark skinned woman with gentle eyes and a warm smile.

"Not at all," Lydia replied easily. "I understood that you would need time to process my request." The committee shared significant glances and an older man steepled his fingers. Politician, she told Watcher, and he scoffed at her.

"It's highly unusual, you understand," he said. She nodded.

"I do."

"Your previous Calling is hardly compatible with the tasks of a Seeker," he went on, and she arched an eyebrow.

"On the contrary. My Calling was to study the ecosystems of animals of varying phylum and their interactions with each other. Humans are hardly different than the chimps or the lions that I studied in Africa, even if they are sentient," she countered. He blinked at her. "They're social creatures. You never hear of rogue humans but that they travel in herds or packs," she explained. He glanced at the others and she barely kept a smug smile off of her lips, keeping her expression vaguely happy and kind, like all Souls should be.

"Of course the majority of our concern lies with your disposition," started a boy, barely able to rest his elbows on the table. His host couldn't be more than six or seven. A true Soul - no host left. Lydia still thought he was adorable. "Being a Seeker would require you to carry and practice with a weapon. You're a gentle Soul, Watcher. Are you sure you want to become a…a soldier?" he asked, his opinion clear on his face.

Lydia smiled in a calculatedly depreciative way and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking demurely at them from beneath her lashes.

"Begging the pardon of the committee, but we've been upon this planet for almost eleven years now, and there are still pockets of humanity hiding from us across the globe. If the current methods are proving ineffective, perhaps it's time for a gentle approach," she offered.

The surprise and intrigue on the faces of the committee and the way they turned their chairs towards each other to deliberate her words filled Lydia with satisfaction.

Gotcha.

Chapter Text

"Shit," Peter cursed quietly, checking his list and standing in the Den's main storage room. He looked around, shifting a few things out of the way before checking his list again. He sighed, leaving that room and turning towards the house. He listened carefully before walking up the stairs into the main house, where his wife was sweeping a week's worth of dust out of the kitchen. She didn't look up when he walked in, absorbed in her task. She did things like this when there were slow days. It helped curb the frustration brought on by the near constant arguments between her and Talia about the stale, slowly poisoning air that they were breathing underground, even with the multiple exits.

"What's up?" she asked when she finished sweeping and dumped the dustpan's load into the trash. Peter took a breath.

"We've had a miscalculation. We're low on a couple of things that we shouldn't be low on," he told her. She sighed, rolling her eyes and then rubbing her forehead. "Hygiene supplies mostly. There are a couple of food items that we can do without for a couple of days, but we're almost out of bottled water," he said. "I'm gonna have to make an emergency run," he added. She shook her head.

"So close to the last one," she said, and he nodded, acknowledging the risk. "Who are you gonna take with you?"

"Danny and James. They're the best at carrying heavy loads long distance aside from you and David, who we can't risk, and Derek, who won't go along if I have to default to plan B," he answered, grabbing an apple from dish on the counter. It was wax, but it gave his hands something to do other than touch his wife. They were discussing serious business. If he got his hands on her, all he would be able to think about would be the bedroom upstairs that she'd probably already aired out. She snorted at him, not at all fooled, and he grinned down at the faux fruit before turning his mind back to the problem at hand.

"Plan B, huh?" she asked. He shrugged. "Talia won't be pleased," she told him. He spread his hands.

"Which is why I didn't discuss it with her. But it's the best way. Ever since the invasion, she's been cautious - and that's not a bad thing - but when is another opportunity like this going to fall into our laps?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"No, I hear you. I'm just reminding you of the shit-storm you're gonna face if Plan B comes through," she told him. He groaned with a roll of his eyes at the thought of how much throat exposure he was going to have to give his sister before she calmed down enough for him to bring around to his way of thinking. "And you're right about Derek. That boy is especially touchy about...'Plan B'," she said, a speculative smirk playing at her lips. Peter studied her for a minute and then chuckled. "When are you leaving?"

"About three hours after sunset," he told her. "The store will be closed by then. Hopefully we can get in and get out without any trouble."

"Alright. While you're there, pick up some plants," she told him. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"I wasn't aware that you had acquired a set of green thumbs," he said teasingly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, setting her jaw. It was common knowledge in the Hale house that if you wanted a plant to live, you didn't let Ophelia anywhere near it.

"Ha, ha, mister. And maybe I haven't, but as long as Talia's being overly cautious, they're the only air filtration system that we can get that won't immediately ring any alarm bells," she told him. He smirked, tilting his head as he let his gaze wander.

"Lucky me, my wife's a genius," he said. She scoffed.

"Flatter all you like, we both have work to do," she told him, arms folded. He mock pouted, setting the wax apple down on the counter and stepping towards his wife, who observed his approach with one firmly arched eyebrow and a faintly amused smirk.

"But wife, I have at least two hours before I have to make preparations," he told her, setting his hands on either side of her on the counter as he blinked up at her. She could easily step away if she really wanted to. Peter was no lightweight, but he preferred his subtle strategies to his Amazonian queen's direct approach. He was the strategic brain to her cunning brawn. She shook her head at him.

"I bet you think you're so smooth, husband," she said. He smirked.

"As smooth as the silk sheets on our bed," he replied. She scoffed, but her posture became looser, more relaxed, and she unfolded her arms.

"I suppose I could spare an hour or so to entertain you," she said. He reveled in the shocked zing of passion that her words sent through him. He had not expected her to budge from her stance on their responsibilities. His mouth watered. She grinned wildly before catching his slack mouth in a searing kiss, grabbing the front of his shirt and turning them so he was pressed against the counter and swallowing the moan that spilled into her mouth.

Peter's hands were not idle, pulling at the tucked in hem of Ophelia's shirt as she carefully undid the buttons of his. There was a time when they would have just shredded each others' clothes by now, but that had passed soon after the invasion.

"We gonna move this upstairs or what?" Ophelia asked impatiently, pressing her hips forward suggestively as she pressed teeth to his jaw. As intended, this provoked a low, hungry growl, and Peter's hands dragged down her back, over her ass to her thighs so he could hitch them up and around his waist. His steps were only slightly unsteady as he carried her up the stairs, never looking away from the love of his life. It still took them several minutes to reach their room, pausing against the occasional bare expanse of wall to neck like horny teenagers.

Peter kicked the door closed behind them but didn't bother to check and make sure it shut completely, too focused on getting to the bed so that he could properly defrock his wife. He kissed every bit of skin that she revealed and was disappointed when he remembered that he didn't have the luxury of taking his time the way he wanted. He liked to tease and tempt, and perhaps it was the wolf in him but the pursuit of an orgasm was just as thrilling to him as the chase for woodland prey.

Ophelia let him touch and kiss and mouth and grope, sighing and grinning and moaning under his skillful ministrations until she burned for more, reaching down to where he was settled between her thighs and pulling him up the length of her body into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. She groaned at the taste of herself on his mouth and reached between them, snapping the button on his jeans and shoving them down his thighs before rolling them over on the bed. Peter looked up at her, wide-eyed and adoring and still somehow managing to look smug under it all, until she sank down onto him in one easy, practiced move. He gripped her hips bruisingly, eyes rolling up under his eyelids as his hips stuttered upwards, and she smirked, licking her lips as she gripped his forearms and set a brutal, passionate pace, fueled by his harsh breaths, cut off curses and the low, desperate whines that never quite left his throat.

Her orgasm was no sharp thing; a slow, lazy roll of pleasure shuddering up her spine that nonetheless made the rhythm of her hips stutter, and Peter clutched her tightly as she reclined against him, thrusting a half a dozen more times before catching his own blissful climax. He buried his face in Ophelia's shoulder, breathing her in, savoring the moment.

They kissed lazily for a while, and Ophelia leaned up on one elbow, looking down at him with a playfully smug smirk.

"Are you sufficiently entertained, husband?" she asked conversationally, only minimally betrayed by the shortness of her breath. Peter laughed happily and pulled her in for another kiss.

**

After lounging for as long as they could get away with, they put their clothes back on and headed down to the Den's shower room. The Den had its own water supply, but it was lake-fed, and not fit for more than brief showers, even filtered. Several attempts had been made over the years to filter it better, none were long lasting. And so, smelling vaguely of lake tempered by lavender bath soap, Peter went to inform his nephew and his nephew's lover that they would be making an unexpected run to the Store.

"Hey, Uncle Peter," James said, and Peter ignored the way both of their noses wrinkled briefly. It was an unavoidable side-effect of being a werewolf that unless the entire top layer of skin was scrubbed off, other werewolves were going to be able to sniff out any recent amorous activities, whether they wanted to or not. Anyways, it wasn't as if he was blind to the fact that they disappeared into dark corners at any given moment.

"I hope you boys didn't have plans this evening," he told them, watching their posture straighten into reserved concern. They glanced at each other before looking back at Peter, who sighed. "There was a miscalculation, and we're low on a few things. This isn't a full party raid - just the three of us. I want to keep it quiet so there isn't any fuss," he told them, and they nodded, sinking back into an outwardly casual stance.

"When should we meet you?" Danny asked. Peter nodded his approval.

"Two and a half hours after sunset. I have to let the Alpha know and make preparations," he said. He hesitated for a moment after turning to leave and looked back at them. "How's Isaac?" he asked.

"Good. He's been keeping a close eye on Scott. Barely left the kid's side since he took that 'Breathe' stuff," James said, looking his uncle in the eye. Peter nodded again.

"It's nice that he's so attentive to his friends," he said, and left. Danny sighed, looking at James.

"How long do you think we can keep Isaac away from his father?" he asked, and James shook his head.

"Not nearly long enough," he replied bitterly before looking around. "Let's go get our stuff ready," he said. Danny scoffed.

"Our stuff's already ready. It's never un-ready," he protested, although a look at James' face told him that James was talking about something else altogether, and he straightened. "You know, you're right - it never hurts to double-check," he agreed eagerly, and James chuckled.

**

"Dammit."

Peter, James, and Danny watch from a discreet distance as two Seekers casually walk the perimeter of the Store, talking to each other in a somewhat animate fashion while still maintaining an alert awareness of their surroundings. They're armed (though their guns are securely strapped into their holsters and even Peter's eyes aren't good enough to tell, but he suspects that the leather of the strap isn't cracked or worn in any way), and Peter sighs, looking at his small squad and shaking his head.

"Alright, come on," he said, and they shrank into the darkness, but instead of turning towards the woods, Peter lead them further into the suburban territory.

"Where are we going?" James asked, keeping his voice low. Peter didn't look at either of them.

"I love my sister, but unless we want to find out what sixty people slowly dying of thirst is like, I'm implementing a desperate measure that isn't quite as desperate as she seems to think," he said. When they got there, Danny made a small noise of surprised recognition and Peter arched an eyebrow, but Danny didn't look conflicted, he just nodded a little to himself like he'd just figured out a puzzle.

"Who's on duty tonight?" he asked. Danny huffed, smirking.

"Supposed to be me," he replied. Peter nodded, jerking his head towards a tree.

"Shin up there and see if he's in," he said.

It was nothing to haul himself up the side of the Stilinski home once he was given the all clear, slipping the latch from the outside and climbing gracefully and silently into the room of their potential ally, who was downstairs making dinner for the former Sheriff. While he waited, he took advantage of his superior eyesight and investigated his surroundings. The first things that he noticed where the posters on the walls that had obviously not been moved in some time, and the framed photo of a young woman with a bright smile and playful, dark colored eyes that he assumed to be the boy's mother.

Clothes were hung and folded neatly, but for every button-down professionally bland shirt, there was a ridiculous comic book hero or sloganed t-shirt; heavily worn, almost threadbare - well past the stage when a normal person would have discarded or replaced it - yet there they were, like some treasured keepsake.

The more Peter looked around the room, the more he saw a boy's room, instead of the room of an alien pretending to be a boy.

At last he came to the desk - the most alien setting in a room that was surprisingly human - and he spared little time on the featureless computer appliance before directing his attention to the wall, where the first thing his eyes beheld was a sketch of his nephew. He blinked. It was years younger than Derek's current, somewhat rugged appearance, but the eyes and the cheeks and the jaw line were unmistakable, and Peter arched an eyebrow at the place it held. Pinned front and center at the bottom of the old-fashioned corkboard, where one could easily find it simply by raising their eyes from the computer screen, and with nothing covering even the blank edges of the paper, marking its importance.

Interesting. He couldn't wait to tell Ophelia and see what she made of it. He smirked.

Footsteps on the stairs and the sound of Reacher saying good-night to the Seeker that inhabited his host's father brought him back to why he'd come and he stepped behind the door, out of immediate sight of the boy, who walked in and flipped on the light. Peter gave his eyes a second to adjust - more than ample time, as Reacher had not even noticed him.

He did notice the open window if the confused murmur was any indication, and Peter cleared his throat, watching the boy jerk like a shocked bunny.

"Holy…" he blurted, sucking in a breath instead of finishing his epithet. Peter arched an eyebrow, closing the door completely and stepping completely into view.

"I'd appreciate it if we could keep our voices lowered. It wouldn't do for the Seeker who lives here to become concerned enough to investigate," he said, and Reacher eyed him warily.

"O…kay?" he said, and Peter sighed.

"Reacher, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I've come to ask for your help," he added when Reacher wasn't immediately put at ease by his reassurance.

"Help with what?"

"We're low on water," Peter told him, knowing that Talia would not approve and hearing Derek's condemnations in his head. It didn't matter. If Reacher's rescue of Isaac hadn't sealed the deal, the picture of Derek would have. No teenager of any species was going to blow even the slightest chance to ogle the object of their affections.

As he suspected, Reacher instantly relaxed from 'afraid for his life' to 'concerned about the lives of others'.

"How low is low?" he asked.

"We have enough to last us a day - two if we ration it. I don't know how we got so low in the first place. Out of all the things we watch carefully, the amount of drinkable water we have is very high on the list," Peter said, and Reacher nodded understandingly before an awkward expression crossed his face.

"I…not that I condone…thievery, but…" he started, and Peter scoffed.

"That was Plan A," he admitted, and Reacher arched an eyebrow. "But it appears we're no longer welcome at our usual grocery outlet," he explained. Reacher sighed, nodding.

"But I'm a Soul," he guessed, and Peter shrugged. "Alright. How much do you need?" he asked. Peter blinked, looking at the Soul appraisingly. Even though he had come asking for help, and even with Isaac's endorsement, he had not expected the alien to be so willing. Or that his willingness did not immediately raise red flags. He didn't seem duplicitous - a mindset Peter was more than familiar with - he seemed earnest. It was baffling.

"At least sixty gallons," he said, watching Reacher's eyes widen. "That should hold us for a while," he added. It wouldn't, but it might hold them for long enough for Peter to come up with an alternate plan. Reacher blew out a heavy sigh, obviously wondering how he was going to explain the need for so much water.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"For now the water is the most important thing," Peter told him. He nodded.

"Alright. I...I suppose I could always say I'm using it for something class related," Reacher offered. "I'll go tomorrow morning. And, um…where should I…deliver it? Do I just bring it back here, or - I'm not asking where you're hiding," he blurted, but Peter scoffed.

"I never assumed you were," he said, watching the Soul relax. "Do you know where the Hale house is?" he asked, not bothering with the pretense that Reacher was ignorant of their identities. He clearly knew who Derek was. Reacher's cheeks darkened and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Um…yes," he answered, and Peter nodded.

"Take it there. The front door will be unlocked. Leave it all in the foyer," Peter told him before becoming serious. "I don't think I have to threaten you, Reacher. You seem - for whatever reason - genuine in your desire to help us," he said. Reacher nodded.

"I am," he replied. There wasn't the slightest change in his heart rate and Peter allowed himself a small smile.

"Good. But, old habits and all, so if you betray us, I will have to kill you," he said. Reacher blinked at him, swallowed hard and forced a nervous laugh that Peter was surprised to find endearing. He smiled tightly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Peter said, before brushing past him and slipping nimbly out the window.

**

The street was silent but for the electric buzz of the streetlamp on the corner of the abandoned housing complex, and no one was present to witness the lithe, muscular shape darting from an alley across the way, the street lamp revealing a young man with close cropped hair. No one was there to see the way he vaulted easily over the bolted chain-link fence. He huddled in the darkness near the chain holding the fence shut for a moment, looking around to see if he'd been noticed before breaking the lock but not the chain. He undid the chain quickly and pulled one section of the fence open before saying softly into the darkness, "It's open, come on," so softly it didn't carry much farther than his lips.

And yet, from across the street, eight dirty, haggard people darted from the mouth of the alley, one of them carrying another over his shoulder. The first stood aside for the others and then quickly but quietly put the chain back the way it was so that no one would notice it was broken before following the others into the abandoned apartments.

"Where?" asked the one carrying the body once they were inside. He was the carbon copy of the fence-jumper, who looked them all over and then nodded to the stairs.

"Tenth floor. It's higher than the other buildings around us, We'll be able to move around without anyone spotting us. Gimme the stiff, Ethan, you've been carrying him since last county," he said, but Ethan just shifted the weight, not looking at his brother as he murmured, "I've got it, Aiden."
Aiden watched him head up the stairs and counted heads as everyone passed, relaxing marginally when the number came up right. They all trudged up nine flights, and Aiden pulled open the first door they came across, which opened into a loft. The group took a moment to indulge their awe before moving inside to stake out places to sleep.

"Alright, once you've got your territory sorted, we've got work to do. Mika, take the generator and see if you can't hook it in to this loft's power. And see if you can figure out the water situation," Aiden said, before looking over at his brother, who was carrying the last member of their little group up the spiral staircase. "Joe, see what you can do about blacking out those windows," Aiden added before following his brother.

Apparently there were actual rooms upstairs. Ethan gently eased the body off his shoulder, wincing at the groan that was muffled by a makeshift gag. Aiden narrowed his eyes as Ethan drew away some of his pain but said nothing, and Ethan glanced at his twin before pulling the gag out of their prisoner's mouth, the blindfold from over his eyes.

Eyes that held a faintly glowing circle of light.

Chapter Text

I won't help you find any more of them, said the voice behind his eyes, and Fractal Focus curbed his sigh as he sifted through disturbance reports in search of a pattern. He was not alone to openly react to his host's insistences. Stop going through my memories, Fractal, I'm not going to help you, the human added gruffly.

I'm trying to do my job, he replied, trying not to outwardly bristle at the mental scoff

You don't even like your job, not that I blame you, Camden snapped back. Fractal tried again not to sigh, and pointedly didn't agree.

Cam, listen to me. I'm a Seeker. Out of my entire race I and others like me are the most confrontational of our kind. We've been together for almost seven years. Have I ever killed anyone?

Are we counting all the people who didn't volunteer to be hosts? The question is snide and petty, and there's practically no heat behind it, because for all that Camden Lahey is against the means by which Souls take hosts, he and Fractal have had a pretty smooth relationship. As it is, Fractal lets the question slide. He's never even drawn his weapon. He's never struck anyone that he's ever brought in - and with Camden Lahey, ex-special forces, he's acutely aware of how effective his strikes would be. His words are his weapon of choice. Calm hosts make for smoother implanting.

Fractal's implanting, on the other hand, had not been smooth.

There was a story floating around now about Wanderer - and even thinking her name gives him a little thrill. He knows two Souls who've been to four planets, but Earth was Wanderer's ninth. This was only Fractal's second world. His first had been unpleasant and brief (by the standards of that planet) and he preferred not to think of the skittering, oily minded inhabitants that served as hosts there. He called it the Dark World. That was not its name.

Before their arrival (and during the early stages of their slow takeover), several of the countries had been engaged in some pointless skirmish. Camden had been wounded, and - if the Souls had not come to this planet - would have died. His 'last memories' were brutal - filled with rage and fear and pain. It had taken weeks for Fractal to feel safe enough interacting with other Souls, weeks longer for the feeling of constant danger to fade. When Camden had reemerged…

Well.

Perhaps Fractal had not been as surprised as he should have been.

There were still more weeks of back and forth arguing between the two over the morality of using human beings as vehicles without their permission. Camden liked to argue. He'd wanted to be a lawyer and joined the military to pay for schooling. He believed in helping his fellow man, and his despair at every human life lost during the invasion had prompted Fractal Focus to become the gentlest Seeker of his cadre. He also had the highest rate of 'conversion' in his area and he wasn't sure if he should be proud or not.

"Fractal," said another Soul, and he lifted his head, blinking pale blue eyes and shaking his bangs out of his face. He hadn't cut his hair since taking Camden for a host. It was back in a ponytail most of the time. Standing in front of him, another Seeker named Frozen Microbubbles, previously of the mist planet, and he smiled at her politely. "The new Soul is showing signs of stirring," he said, and Fractal nodded, saving his work and closing is station.

His latest capture.

A werewolf.

Camden had been shocked to discover that werewolves were real. Fractal not so much. To him they were just another type of human. He'd brought in ten over the years. More than anyone else. Omegas all of them, but since their conversion, those ten had formed their own pack and were - as far as he and Camden were aware - much happier for it. Two were artists. One was an architect. None of them wanted to be Seekers, and Fractal couldn't lie about his disappointment. Even Camden (long since over the initial shock) had considered what it would be like, partnered with a werewolf. The circumstances he imagined were vastly different - they were cops instead of 'alien bounty hunters' - but were no less satisfying than Fractal's thoughts.

He walked a little faster than usual as he made his way down to the insertion floor.

The newest wolf was an Alpha. Fractal had never brought in an Alpha before, and it hadn't been an easy task. No words would sway him, but Fractal had refused to shoot him. He used the SKV dart instead. Synthetic Kanima Venom - it didn't last as long as the real thing, but it was long enough for Fractal to get close enough to dose him with aerosol Sleep. Enough to keep a normal person unconscious for days. Fractal had been worried about the insertion. He hoped they gave the Alpha a strong Soul.

And what if he's like me? Camden asked as they stepped out of the elevator. Fractal frowned minutely, tilting his head as the vague impressions of what Camden meant by 'like me' passed through his mind. Stubborn. Non-compliant. Troublemaker.

Then I hope they enjoy each other's company as much as I enjoy yours, he replied. He didn't like the way that Camden saw himself.

The 'operating bay' was nearly empty, holding only two other Seekers, the Healer and his assistant aside from the werewolf on the table. He was opening his eyes, looking dimly at the ceiling, and Fractal moved closer.

"Hello," said the Healer, smiling comfortingly at the Soul who blinked back at him. "Are you feeling well?" he asked, placing a gentle hand on the prone body's arm.

"I…yes, I think so," said the Soul, but from where he was standing, Fractal Focus felt something dig at the base of his spine - something cold and uncertain, and he shivered, unfolding his arms and unconsciously moving his thumb over the leather strap of his holster.

"What is your name?" asked the Healer, and the Soul stared at him for a long moment, eyes growing wider, face paling visibly before he jolted upwards on the bed and grabbed the Healer by the shoulders.

"No. No! His name is Ennis. He runs with Deucalion. The Blind Wolf. They want--they're taking--packs all over. Beacon Hills--no, no, no --the twins--" he stammered wildly, gasping desperately. His eyes were unfocused - he couldn't see the agony on the Healer's face or the way his fingers were sprouting claws that dug into the Healer's body. Fractal Focus unsnapped the holster guard. Two similar snaps followed, and the werewolf turned his head, zeroing in on Fractal. His eyes flashed red and his mouth was full of fangs.

Dive left.

They were less words than transferred instinct, but Fractal was diving left, rolling out of it with gun in hand two seconds ahead of the Healer's lifeless body hitting the floor, and he fired two rounds into the chest of the charging Alpha, scared for his life. The shots meant nothing, and Fractal scrambled backwards to avoid a vicious swipe of lethal claws before the light went out of Ennis's eyes and he crumpled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. Fractal froze, stomach curling in dread as he darted forward, pulling Ennis onto his back. Blood dripped out of his ears and nose. His eyes were open but he saw nothing, and a wordless cry of panic fell out of Fractal's mouth as he scrambled for the Healer's tools.

"Get me a pod, now!" he shouted, shoving Ennis's body onto its front and dragging the laser scalpel across the back of his neck before tossing it aside. Blood gushed out of the careless wound and Fractal gritted his teeth, digging his fingers in and waiting. "Come on, little one," he urged quietly, vaguely aware of the Healer's student at his side. His breath rushed out of him in relief when the tiny bundle of bloodied but still glowing tendrils spilled hesitantly into his hand. He cupped it gently and moved it into the open pod. The Healer in training took the pod away and Fractal watched her go for a moment before turning back to the corpse in front of him. He could only imagine the panic that the Soul had felt - the sheer, mind-numbing terror that had prompted it to pull in on itself while still attached to Ennis's brain, shredding it like so much tissue paper. How strong Ennis must have been - how great his rage. Fractal sighed, shaking his head, and closed those blank, unseeing eyes.

"He was too strong," said one of the other Seekers, previously of the Spider planet. Her name was Linear Progression of an Abstract Thought. She'd been the Spider's version of a philosopher before deciding to travel to Earth to become a Seeker. Camden called her Spockrates.

"Apparently," he said quietly. She observed him for a moment.

"I'll call for a disposal team," she told him. Fractal shook his head.

"I brought him in. I'll take care of it. Help me get him onto a gurney," he replied. Together with her partner, they managed to get him onto one of the mobile transport gurneys, and Fractal crossed his arms over his chest, covering him with a sheet to provide some small measure of dignity.

"I will have someone bring a transport to the loading bay for you," Line said, and Fractal nodded his thanks.

He grabbed control from a Soul, Camden said, quietly distressed. Fractal nodded. The elevator was empty aside from him and Ennis, who could tell no one his secrets. That could have been so much worse, he added. Fractal took a breath and let it out slowly, leaning against the back wall as he watched the numbers count down to the loading bay sub level. Do you wish we hadn't seen him?

Yes, Fractal replied , looking down at the floor and scuffing his shoe against the paneling.

Camden said nothing as Ennis was loaded into the medical transportation vehicle, and offered no opinions when Fractal personally drove the dead Alpha to the cemetery, busy replaying everything that Ennis's frightened Soul had sputtered before having control of its body wrenched away. The groundskeeper let him in and Fractal - knowing Camden's experiences with the work - told her that he would personally tend to the wolf's burial.

There was no coffin, no fancy ceremony, no human ritual in the work. The only thing human in it was the old fashioned means by which it was done. He left the excavator where it was parked and grabbed a shovel instead, rolling up his sleeves before going to work. He was aware of time passing only vaguely, in the sense that it must have, but he hadn't kept track. He only knew that by the time he had dug a hole deep and even enough, his shirt was soaked with sweat and he was breathing heavily, and the moon was higher in the sky than when he'd started. The air was quiet as he hauled himself out of the grave. He took a moment to rest and then went to the transport to take care of the body. He laid Ennis on the ground beside the grave, uncovering his face. He probably should have put Ennis in a proper burial sheath instead of using the operating room's good sheets, but he dismissed the thought as it occurred to him. They had more sheets.

"I'm sorry," he said, tilting his head. "You deserved better than this. I wish I hadn't seen you, or that you'd gotten away. Whatever faith you had - if you believed in an afterlife - I hope you've found peace," he said, nodding once firmly. He wrapped the sheet more securely around the Alpha and carefully rolled him into the grave so that he would land face up before grabbing the shovel again. In his mind, Camden recited what he could remember of the words that countless priests and pastors had said over burials in the past, and Fractal shoveled dirt into the grave.

Beacon Hills, Camden said after a long stretch of silence.

Yes, Fractal replied, remembering the way his mouth had gone dry at the mention of his host's hometown.

Isaac's there, Camden added, not exactly pointed, but not subtle either. Fractal shook his head.

We checked, remember? Your brother went missing days before the assimilation of Beacon Hills was completed, the Soul reminded him. Camden gave the cerebral version of a shrug.

That just means he's a free human somewhere, he reasoned. Fractal didn't answer, considering his long and successful Calling as a Seeker, and Camden's growing distaste for the work, and his own disappointment in the way he'd handled his last 'catch'. He sighed, patting down the grave.

I'll get us a transfer in the morning, he said.

"Quite an interesting ceremony," said a voice to his right, and he whipped around, hand curling tighter around the handle of the shovel instinctually. Standing nearby, four people - four werewolves - watched him with a smug superiority that was underscored by the wary set of their shoulders, the presence of claws and teeth. A woman, Identical twin boys, and an older gentleman - the only one not ready to claw out his throat at a moment's notice - who was wearing tinted glasses in the middle of the night and holding a cane. Fractal's mouth was dry again. "I wasn't aware you aliens were so fond of manual labor - reports are that you have every convenience. Do you not have coffins?" asked the blind wolf.

"Coffins interfere with the natural process of decay and fertilization. They don't make sense anyway - all your burial rituals talk about returning to the earth and then you put the remains in hermetically sealed containers so that they can't return to the earth," Fractal said, eyes darting from wolf to wolf. They didn't exactly stand the way a pack should. If the Blind wolf (Deucalian, Camden whispered) was their Alpha, then they should stand behind and close to either side so they flanked him - simultaneously guarding his back and ceding to his authority over them - but that's not how they stood. They were in an evenly spaced line, aside from the twins, who stood close together, shoulder's touching. The woman and the twins were far enough apart from Deucalion that if the blind wolf decided to attack either of them, one would have a chance to get away and the other would have a head start.

"Yes, we're quite the contradictory species, aren't we. Tell me: are you going to mark his grave in any way or does the fact that he'll be nothing but dust in a few years negate the need for such trivial traditions?" Deucalion asked sharply.

Alphas, Camden hissed. They're all Alphas!

Fractal tried not to swallow with a dry mouth, and the slight uptick in the corner of the woman's mouth told him that they'd all heard the sudden change in his heartbeat.

"Ennis's name will go on the plaque that we place here. When he's fully decomposed and the plot is ready for reuse, the next occupant's name will go under his on the plaque," he explained. One of the twins blinked thoughtfully, but Deucalion was sighing.

"Oh dear," he said. Three sets of eyes began to glow. "You know his name."

"Let me kill him," the woman growled. Deucalion hummed thoughtfully, and Fractal began taking deep, even breaths.

"Now, Kali, I know you and Ennis were close, but think clearly for a moment. If we kill him now, we won't be able to find out how much Ennis told them," he said. His tone reminded Camden of his father after his mother died, and Fractal shivered but kept breathing.

"Ennis didn't tell us anything. The Soul tried to, but Ennis was…very strong-willed," he said. Deucalion's smile was falsely warm.

"Then we shall have to find out what the Soul told you," he said, looking towards Kali.

"Duke," said one of the twins, drawing everyone's attention. "Give him to us. Kali will kill him the first time he gives her an excuse and then we won't learn anything," he said.

What should I do?

Tell them what they want to know. We can't fight them off. The only thing we can do is submit and hope they let us live, Camden told him. Fractal tried not to let his frustration with that show, forcing himself to remain as still as possible when Deucalion gave the twins the nod, and didn't resist when the twins approached, posture menacing. There was a fist flying towards his face before he could flinch and then there was nothing.

**

The interrogation was unpleasant, but nothing that Camden hadn't endured before - rough handling and a few punches. Fractal had never been so scared in his life, not even when he'd woken up convinced he was still torn apart by a crude explosive. Not even when he'd started exhibiting symptoms of PTSD.

"Listen, my bro's just gonna beat on you some more if you don't tell us everything," said one of the twins with a smirk. He wore a faded green shirt, and he looked over at his brother (in a black shirt) who was flexing his hands into and out of fists as he eyeballed Fractal. The Soul took in a stuffy breath, turned his head, and spat the blood that oozed from between his teeth onto the ground before looking back at the green shirted twin.

"It might help if you asked a question," he replied dryly. In his head, Camden was simultaneously proud and chagrined. Green shirt just smirked.

"Tell us everything Ennis said before you killed him," said the black shirted twin. Fractal pulled up the memory with a shudder.

"When the Soul first awoke, the Healer asked if he was alright, and he answered that he thought he was," Fractal started, and Black Shirt narrowed his eyes, snarling.

"Skip the pleasantries," he snapped.

"Those were the pleasantries," Fractal replied grimly. Green shirt frowned, eyebrows dipping inward.

"What do you mean?"

"The Healer asked his name, but I don't think he heard. He looked panicked. He sat up and grabbed the healer and started talking very quickly," he said.

"Saying what?" Green shirt asked encouragingly, leaning forward and focusing intently.

"He said that his host's name was Ennis and that he ran with Deucalion, the blind wolf. Something about other packs being taken. He mentioned Beacon Hills and something about 'the twins' - I assume that's you," he said with an arched eyebrow. Neither of them responded, and Fractal was surprised when Green Shirt stood and the two of them moved a short distance away, speaking in hushed, hurried voices. After a moment, Black Shirt left - presumably to tell Deucalion whatever it was that they had gleaned from Fractal's 'interrogation'.

They could have just asked. I want to live, I would have just told them, he told Camden, feeling around his sore jaw with his tongue.

How do they know that? Camden asked in return, even though he was just as annoyed.

"Did he say anything else?" Green Shirt asked, and Fractal shook his head.

"He was frantically trying to relay the information of a resistant host. I don't think he even realized what was happening, but his claws had come out and he was hurting--he killed the Healer. I unsnapped my holster guard. It drew his attention. He didn't say anything after that, he just attacked," Fractal explained. Green shirt nodded, not looking surprised at all.

"And you shot him," he guessed, voice flat. Fractal's nod was short and remorseful. "You killed him," he added unnecessarily. The Soul recalled the way Ennis's eyes rolled into his head and the trails of blood coming from his nose.

"He died, yes," Fractal replied, looking down at the ground. The wolf got that puzzled look on his face again and opened his mouth to say something before looking the way his twin had gone. He was coming back, looking grim.

"We're leaving," Black Shirt said roughly. Green shirt looked surprised.

"Now? What about him?"

"Duke said whatever. You wanna kill it or can I?"

Fractal had trouble breathing for a moment, light-headed and cold at the thought that his moment of death was upon him, but Green Shirt was scowling.

"Are you kidding me? This is the first time we've gotten our hands on a Soul that Duke or Kali or Ennis haven't outright killed or given the bite."

"So?"

"So, he's a Seeker. We can learn how they operate, where they patrol, how they'd react," Green Shirt argued. Fractal stared at him, confused, wary, but strangely hopeful. Something was going on here - something he didn't understand.

"React? To what?"

"To whatever. Think about it, Aiden. Think of what he could do for us."

Black Shirt - Aiden - pulled a face and scowled at his brother.

"Right now I'm more thinking of what it could do to us," he said. Green Shirt arched an eyebrow, looked back at Fractal, who blushed hotly under the patronizing gaze, and then looked back at his brother.

"Really? What's he gonna do? Wriggle at us?" he asked. Aiden's mouth twitched despite himself and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine, whatever, Bleeding Heart. I'm not carrying it. And I'm not explaining it to the others, either. Duke says we're splitting up. Him and Kali are heading to Home base, we're heading to Beacon Hills, and we're taking the 'fugees with us," the angry twin told him. Green Shirt made a face, but it was mild, and didn't seem to be directed at either him or these 'others' that Aiden had mentioned. Aiden started to leave and then turned back around, scowling again. " If that thing gets us caught, or tries to get us caught, or if I think it's trying to get us caught, I'll kill it," he snapped. Green Shirt didn't say anything in return as his brother walked away muttering to himself, turning and looking at Fractal.

"You heard him. Better behave," he said. Fractal didn't reply, half expecting the wolf to burst out laughing, say he was kidding and tear his throat out. Green Shirt sighed. "I'm gonna blindfold you now," he said with a short nod, and the Soul sighed back, closing his eyes.

Beacon Hills, he said to Camden, who snorted back, bemused by life's machinations.

Yeah, the human replied.

**

"What are you doing? What's going on?" demanded a brusque female voice as Ethan and Aiden entered a small clearing in a tightly packed copse of trees.

"Relax, June," Aiden growled, but June did not relax as instructed.

"Who is that? Ethan. Is that a Soul? Are you crazy?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch. There was a low growl followed by a brief silence, and then Aiden was speaking again.

"Ennis is dead. We traced his scent to the cemetery and we found this one burying him. Apparently he got caught, and the thing they put inside him said some things, so we're moving out. As for the Soul, we're keeping it. It's not just any old Soul, it's a Seeker. It has information - information we need. It's not a guest, it's not a member of the 'team', it is our prisoner. And as long as it does what it's told-" Fractal tilted his head towards Aiden to indicate that he was aware this part was directed at him. "-then we won't kill it til it's outlived its usefulness, understand?"

There were a few grumbles and muttered curses, but no one stood in opposition.

"I thought you weren't gonna explain it to them," Ethan said, amusement in his tone.

"Shut up," Aiden shot back, but with far less anger than Fractal had assumed was the norm. "They listen to me better anyway," he added. Ethan made an affronted noise and did something (presumably shoved his brother) that drove his shoulder into the Soul's stomach. He did his best to stifle the noise, but it must not have worked, because then Ethan was setting him on his feet, which was twice as disorienting somehow. Camden paid close attention to the springiness of the ground under his feet, and the way that the wind was blowing, but Fractal felt so lost.

"You'll walk unless we need to move fast. We stop for rest breaks every two hours or so," Ethan told him. He nodded.

We can do that, he said to Camden, who recalled his early days of military service.

Oh, definitely. Walk in the park, the human replied, but he was somewhat subdued.

At least we're going 'home', Fractal offered. Camden sighed.

If they don't kill us before we get there, he said.

The first day was the hardest - getting into the rhythm of walking blindfolded, Ethan's arm sometimes growing so tight that he lost circulation. He remembered his arm going numb at some point and turning to say, "You're going to have to amputate that arm soon," in the snippiest voice he'd ever heard come out of his own mouth, but it worked, because the pressure lessened and blood came rushing back into place, making him groan quietly when the pins and needles attacked his flesh.
Other than that and the seven threats to his life that were made to Ethan (no one spoke to him directly except Ethan), the day was uneventful.

When they stopped to sleep for the night, that's when Camden was truly present. Ethan settled him against a tree and settled near him. And it didn't matter that Ethan had postponed his death, Fractal spent most of the night straining to hear everything around him, wondering if the rustling was some rabbit or if someone had come for him in the night.

He didn't remember passing out, only jerking awake in the morning with Ethan's hand on his shoulder, biting back a yelp of surprise. And then the day repeated.

The only times he was allowed to remove his blindfold or have free range of motion with his hands was when they stopped to use 'the facilities' - meaning a bush or tree that wasn't too near where they were resting. They used an old shirt to bind his hands, which was good, because they weren't as secure as handcuffs, or at least, that's what Camden said. It had taken Fractal a moment to pick up that his host had been talking about escape, and once he did, he was embarrassed to realize that escape had never crossed his mind. He'd spent most of the day in silent contemplation of that, wondering why getting free and running away and making it back to civilization hadn't consumed the lion's share of his thoughts. The only answer he could come up with was Beacon Hills.

It was on the fourth day, when Ethan ordered one of the others - Joe - to take the Soul for a 'walk' and the Soul had obediently offered his arm for the 'changing of the guard' that he realized he wasn't afraid.

Well…

He was afraid that one of them might decide to kill him, of course he was. But it was an ever present background concern rather than the mind-numbing terror or certainty that it should have been. He should have been trembling and quaking by now, consumed by the thought of his (surely) imminent demise.

He wasn't.

He wasn't afraid of any of them. Not Angry Aiden or Fears-For-Her-Children June or Very Quiet Joe.

Is this you? he asked Camden as he took care of his bodily needs, but his host just snorted.

Not remotely. Oh, I could take them - easily - as long as it wasn't either of the twins, so I'm sure there's some comfort that you're finding in that, even though you'd never lift a finger to hurt them. No, if I weren't here, you'd be trying to make friendly conversation - probably swap recipes with June or talk electronics with Ollie. How did you ever become a Seeker - you have all the guile of a baby giraffe, Camden replied. Fractal blushed, wiping his hands on his jeans and turning to Joe, ready to have his wrists tied back together.

Joe grunted and looped the fabric around the Soul's wrists as fast as possible, and he started to tie it, but Fractal made a noise of disbelief and Joe glared at him, but Fractal was just staring at him.

"What?" Joe snapped, his glare forbidding. Fractal Focus shook his head.

"That's--You're supposed to make sure I don't get free," he said. Joe narrowed his eyes.

"So?"

Fractal scoffed, and then did the only thing that he could think of to show Joe the error of his ways.

He straightened his hands flat together and pulled his wrists apart. The t-shirt fell right off his hands. Joe reached for his gun, but Fractal picked up the t-shirt, shaking it out after untying the very loose knot and holding it back out to Joe, who was staring.

Jesus Christ, Fractal, Camden cursed mildly, and with a smile in his words. Fractal ignored him.

"Here. You should do a handcuff knot. I think it's long enough," Fractal said. Joe blinked at him.

"A han…what?" he demanded, confused and incredulous. Fractal blinked back at him for a moment and then sighed awkwardly.

"Um…here. You hold these two ends," he said, holding out the ends of the two sleeves before eying the actual shirt portion. "I…guess we can just roll that up," he muttered, doing so as soon as Joe was holding the shirt. He tried to make it as thin as possible, thinking of them as padded cuffs. "Okay," he said, looking at Joe. "Now, pay attention. You make two loops, like this," he said, grabbing the shirt overhand and twisting his hands so that the loops crossed over his hands. "Make sure you twist the two loops in the same direction. And then you pull the inside of the loops through each other," he said. It took some minor acrobatics since he was doing it himself, and he kept looking at Joe to see if he was getting it. Joe was staring at his hands with intense concentration. It would have been nothing to knock him down, take his gun, and run away. "And this makes the loops of the handcuffs, see?" he asked, putting his wrists through the proper, finished loops. "Pull to tighten," he instructed, and Joe did so. Fractal flexed his wrists to make sure they wouldn't chafe (much), and nodded. "You can wrap the ends around the middle, and make sure to put the regular knot between my forearms, so that I can't twist my hands to get it," he instructed.

"Hey," said a voice, and they both looked up to see one of the twins (Camden scrutinized the wolf for a moment and told him it was Aiden) stalking towards them. "What's taking so long?" he demanded. Joe started to draw back, but Fractal moved his hands closer in a silent encouragement, and he returned to the task, blushing furiously.

Embarrassed maybe?

I can teach him more knots if he wants.

That's not why, Fractal, oh my god.

Fractal frowned slightly.

Stop laughing at me.

He looked back at Aiden, who was waiting for an answer.

"Joe doesn't know how to tie a person up," he said after a cautious glance at Joe. Aiden stared at him, blinking the same way Joe had done.

"And you're teaching him?" Aiden demanded, and Fractal glanced between them, sighing in frustration and shrugging.

"It's just a handcuff knot. What's the big deal?" he asked. Aiden shared a look with Joe and then shook his head.

"Whatever, get a move on," he ordered, turning around and walking away, shaking his head. Fractal looked back at Joe, who tied a double knot. Then he looked at Fractal, scowling, but expectant. Fractal twisted his hands testingly and bent his hands back and forth before nodding.

"It'll do for now. I can teach you other knots later, if you want," he said. Joe's scowl took on an uncomfortably constipated look and he grabbed the other shirt (the cleaner one). Fractal closed his eyes and waited for a moment. When nothing happened, he blinked them open and looked at Joe, who looked him over for a moment before sighing, muttering to himself, and grabbing Fractal's arm, hauling him back towards camp without blindfolding him.

This is how he got his first look at the rest of the group.

There was a dark-haired woman hovering over four kids, two with similar coloring, one with creamy pale skin, a million freckles, and blonde hair, and a red-headed boy that reminded Camden of a book series he'd once read. Over by Ethan and Aiden, a tanned, dark haired man a little older than Joe (he guessed) was keeping a hawk's eye on a boy no older than seven. Fractal blinked at the sight of so young a human. The rest wore grim faces and when they looked at him, there was no small amount of fear and hatred. The boy was so incongruent, smiling and humming softly to himself in nonsense harmony that made sense only to him.

Nothing stopped when he returned, Joe's arm firm around his bicep, but there was a slight pause - he suspected that it was mostly because he wasn't blindfolded. Joe put him over by Ethan, who glanced at him, noted his eyes, glanced at Joe, and said nothing.

They moved twenty to twenty-five miles a day, stopping now and again to refill their water bottles from public water fountains when no one was around. Someone was always watching him, but as the days went by, they were less and less vigilant.

"Hey," said the red-headed kid one day, kicking his shoe when they stopped for food and water. Fractal blinked up at him. "What was his name?" he asked. Fractal blinked at him for another moment before realizing that the kid was talking about his host.

"His name's Camden," he replied, surprised that anyone had even thought to ask.

"Camden what?" the kid asked.

"Camden Lahey," he answered. Camden stopped him from asking why, and the kid stared at him expectantly for a long time before making a face like Fractal had just spoiled some joke he was making.

"Guess that's what we'll put on your tombstone," he said snidely. Fractal stared at him for a moment and then tilted his head. He guess he should have expected it, but the idle joke-threat annoyed him (it annoyed Camden too, but for different reasons).

"Son, if you kill me, you'll leave me for the scavengers. There won't be a tombstone. That was a very poorly thought out joke," he said dryly, blinking sedately as he watched the boy's face turn as red as his hair. Behind Fractal, there were a few surprised snorts and Ethan chuckled.

"Go sit down, Ollie," Ethan ordered lightly, and the boy did so, but not before rolling his eyes. Fractal looked around at the others, who seemed split about whether to be amused and whether to frown on principle. He looked at Ethan, who smirked and offered him a wink.

The days went on. He was tied less and less, even though the attitudes of his fellow travelers didn't change much. After a week, Aiden didn't tie up his hands after his morning 'walk', instead handing him a knapsack half full of food and two large water bottles.

"From now on you carry your own food and water," Aiden said gruffly while Fractal blinked. The Soul reacted as though Aiden had given him a gift instead of implied he was a burden, thanking the grumpy twin. Aiden stared at him, muttered something dismissive and walked back to the group without pushing Fractal ahead of him.

They didn't tie him up at all after that unless more than half of them had to leave to get food.

On one such occasion, when June and her daughter Mika had been left behind to keep an eye on Fractal and the young boy, whose name was Robert. He was playing with a small airplane, making low 'vrooming' noises. June and Mika where restlessly waiting for the others to return. As such they were only keeping half an eye on Robert, who, deciding he was tired of playing airplane, dropped himself into Fractal's unoccupied lap, curled up against the Soul's chest, stuck his thumb in his mouth and went to sleep. Fractal blinked, and did nothing for a moment, looking towards the others. When neither of them objected (they threw him a look, shook their heads and looked back the way the others had gone), he put the bound hands that he'd been resting behind his head around the boy and went back to doing nothing.

He didn't realize that he'd fallen asleep until Ethan gave his shoulder a sharp slap, and he instinctively pulled Robert closer as he snapped his eyes open, surveying his surroundings. It took him half a second to see who it was and relax. Ethan looked at him strangely, but said nothing. Charles, the man who usually watched Robert, stalked over, pulled Robert out of Fractal's arms, and walked away without a word. He wasn't a fan, and even the two weeks that the Soul had been among them without doing them harm hadn't made a difference.

Life went on. They got nearer and nearer to their destination.

Robert took a liking to Fractal. He was the first person to speak to him in a way that was neither a threat nor an order.

They had just refilled the water bottles, and were getting ready to move on. Fractal was making sure his pack was correctly organized when he felt a presence on the edge of his vision. He looked up, smiling slightly when he saw it was Robert. The little boy often had nothing to do when they were packing up like this. Charlie (the one who watched him and didn't like Fractal) carried his food for him. At first, the amount of attention he paid the boy made Fractal think he was the child's father, or other older relative, even though they didn't really look alike, but Ethan had told him that Charlie had found Robert wandering around by himself and had just picked him up and brought him along. Robert had been upset by something his parents had done or not done and had run away from home, the way children do. Except that when he'd gotten hungry and come back, his parents hadn't been there.

"Your eyes are pretty," Robert told him, standing there, and Fractal blinked at the compliment, mouth falling open in surprise before a ridiculous rush of delight made him duck his head and smile.

"Thank you, Robert," he replied, looking back at the boy.

"My mommy has a crystal that's pretty like that. She hangs it in the window to catch the rainbows," the child went on. Fractal nodded at the comparison between prismatic crystals and the subtle reflective glow behind Camden's blue, blue eyes.

"Do my eyes catch rainbows?" he asked. Robert nodded happily.

"Sometimes," he answered, smiling. Fractal smiled back.

"Robert," Charlie said, and Fractal jolted a little. Charlie didn't speak very often, and his voice was deeper than one might expect. It startled him every time. Robert wasn't startled, though, just looked up at the giant man who'd taken care of him and blinked expectantly. Charlie frowned, holding out his hand, but Robert pouted.

"His turn to carry me," Robert said, pointing a stubby finger at Fractal. Charlie looked stunned and then furious, glaring at Fractal, who blinked back at him and shrugged helplessly. It was true the group took turns carrying Robert, but until now, Fractal hadn't been included in the rotation. Charlie snorted, taking a step towards Robert, who folded his arms and sat on the ground, pouting more furiously and taking deep breaths, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Charlie, back off," Aiden barked, swinging a heavy pack on his shoulders. Charlie stopped, gaping at Aiden suspiciously, but Aiden just shook his head and rolled his eyes. "The parasite can carry the kid for a while. You know he's just gonna talk the thing's ear off anyway," the co-Alpha added. Charlie scowled, but didn't argue, turning away. Fractal looked up at Aiden, who snorted. "Good luck with the brat," he said, slapping Ethan lightly on the shoulder. "Alright, folks, let's get a move on, we've got at least ten miles to make before lunch," he announced. Fractal stood up and shouldered his pack before looking down at Robert, who was holding up his arms and making grabbing gestures with his hands. He only hesitated for a moment before leaning down and hoisting the child up into a comfortable carry.

"What's your name?" Robert asked as soon as they were walking. There were a couple of muffled laughs around him and he looked at them for a moment before turning back to Robert.

"Fractal Focus," he replied. Robert scrunched up his face.

"That's a weird name," the boy told him. Inside his head, Camden laughed.

"I suppose it is," Fractal replied mildly.

"What's your other name?" Robert asked. Fractal blinked.

"You mean my host?" he asked, looking at the others for guidance. No one met his eyes except Ethan, who shrugged. Helpful.

"Uh-huh."

"His name is Camden," Fractal replied. A couple of the others stiffened, and Ethan regarded him carefully before making a small noise of not-unhappy surprise. Fractal ignored him in favor of an even more scrunched up face from Robert.

"That's a weird name too," the boy told him. He chuckled.

"Well the difference between me and Camden is that he didn't pick his name, his father gave it to him. He would have preferred something like Dashiel or Simon," Fractal told him.

"Why didn't your daddy give you a name?" Robert asked, suddenly concerned. Fractal winced, trying to think.

Just tell him the truth, Camden said.

I don't think he'll understand. He's only a child, Fractal replied.

Kids are smarter than you think, Camden countered, and Fractal looked back at Robert.

"I don't have a father. My people don't have families in the way that yours do," he answered, boiling it down to the simplest terms that he could. Robert furrowed his tiny brow.

"Why?" he asked.

"We look much different from you. We're tiny. We're kind of like…" he thought for a moment. "Well, kind of like bees, only we don't look like that either. Most of us can't have kids," he said. Robert thought about that for a long, quiet moment that made some of the others look over.

"If you can't have kids, how can there be more of you?" the boy asked.

"Well, most of us can't have kids, but the ones who can, they're like the queen bee of a hive - do you know about bees?" Fractal asked, and Robert nodded. "Right, so you have a lot of us that can't have kids, and then a small percentage that can, and those that can - when they do - they have a lot of kids all at once," he explained. Robert's eyes got big and round.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice filled with awe and uncertainty. Fractal hesitated, not sure how to respond to that without telling a small child that in order to reproduce, his kind's 'Mothers' had to basically commit suicide.

Just say yes, he doesn't need details, Camden counseled.

"Um, yes. I'm afraid it hurts a lot," he answered. Robert was quiet for a long time.

"Have you been to other planets?" he asked. Fractal sighed in a mix of chagrin and relief and smiled wryly at the boy.

"Yes, one," he answered.

"Only one? I thought you guys had conquered half a dozen," Ollie said off to his right, and Fractal jolted a little, gaping at his sudden audience.

"Uh…" he said, looking over at Ethan and Aiden. Ethan had moved closer to listen. Aiden was also listening, but pretending not to be, and Fractal considered them all for a moment before looking back at Ollie. "We have." He didn't bother to argue with the word Ollie had used for it. 'invaded', 'conquered', 'settled' - it was all semantics in the end. "But there are...well, there are trillions of us. Just because we've...settled other planets doesn't mean that we've all been to all of them in the same way a lot of humans have never lived on all the continents you settled. Most of us only travel to one or two before we settle, and then we just live out the rest of our lives on that one planet," he said.

"How long do you live?" Ethan asked. Fractal blinked.

"I don't understand the question," he replied honestly. Eyebrows went up and Aiden scoffed, shaking his head.

"Well how old are you, using Earth's years as a measuring stick?" Ethan rephrased. Fractal furrowed his brow and looked at the ground as they walked, trying to convert and calculate his stay on the Dark World.

"The last planet I lived on was approximately as far away from its sun as Neptune is from yours," he said, before falling silent again and shaking his head occasionally. "They didn't exactly measure time the same way, but I think I was there for…two…two hundred and fifty seasons?" he said.

Is that right?

How the hell should I know? Camden scoffed fondly. Fractal scratched the back of his neck, chagrined, and returned to his calculations.

"Two hundred and fifty years?" Ollie gaped. Fractal looked at him.

"Seasons. There are about six seasons in their year, so I lived there for…"

"Forty-one years."

The group turned their eyes to June's daughter Mika, who shrugged.

"What? I like math," she told them. Fractal smiled.

"Right. And one revolution around their sun took about six thousand 'days'," he told her. She snorted.

"That's almost a hundred and sixty five years," she told everyone, who turned and looked at a mildly blushing Fractal.

"Yes, well, I was given a host that had already lived through most of their life cycle," he said modestly. More eyebrows. More blushing.

"He's six thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five years old," Mika announced after a moment's computation.

"Well," Fractal said shrugging one shoulder. "Not counting the time I spent traveling here in a cryo-tank or the six and a half years I've had with Camden," he corrected mildly. "I hadn't yet heard of you when I left, so it was at least a decade ago," he said.

"You're almost seven thousand years old," Joe said, incredulously. Fractal fidgeted uncomfortably and shifted Robert to his other side.

"You make me sound ancient. I wouldn't even be considered an adolescent by my race's standards," he said, looking pained by their stunned silence. "Can we talk about something else?" he asked.

"What was your last planet like?" June asked. He winced.

"I didn't like it there," he told them. They looked mildly surprised and very intrigued.

"Why not?" asked Gwen, the blonde girl with the freckles.

"The inhabitants were...well, it's hard to explain. They weren't violent - in fact they were incredibly passive," he said, frowning. "It was the easiest colonization we'd ever orchestrated, there was virtually no resistance."

"What, you didn't like that it wasn't a challenge?" Charlie asked darkly. Fractal didn't rise to whatever bait he thought he was laying, shaking his head with tightly pressed lips.

"It wasn't that. We thought that because they were passive, it meant they were peaceful," he tried to explain. "They were passive, but it was...it was the way a pitcher plant is passive," he said, looking around to see if they understood and licking his lips nervously when he saw their confusion. "A pitcher plant is sort of a kissing cousin to a Venus flytrap. It doesn't move, just emits these tempting pheromones for ants and other insects, and they go into the deep mouth and get trapped and eaten," he told them.

"You took a planet of passive aggressive plants?" Ollie asked. Fractal scoffed, smirking wryly.

"Actually, physically speaking, they had more in common with the bugs, but yes, essentially. Their minds were...oily. Slippery but aggressive. They were very much less about community and more about manipulating circumstances to their advantage. It wasn't pleasant. Not many of my people stayed there more than one life cycle," he said, shivering at the thought of it.

"Why didn't you leave sooner?" Robert asked.

Fractal stopped walking, gaping at the little boy and feeling his heart pound in a way it only did when he thought someone from the group was going to change their minds and kill him. The others stopped too and he glanced at them all nervously before resuming his steady stroll.

"It's not-we don't...it's not something my people do," he said quietly, unable to meet anyone's eye at the moment.

As unpleasant as the minds of the Dark World inhabitant's were, Fractal had been unable to even consider the possibility of skipping for very long. He was quiet for a long time and the others seemed to sense how uncomfortable the subject made him, remaining quiet as well.

Except for Robert.

"What are the other planets?" he asked when five minutes of silence had begun to bore him.

Fractal laughed at the way his guileless curiosity immediately eased the Soul's darkened mood and began talking about the planets his people had settled.

Chapter Text

Trouble caught up to them just a week later. They'd just hit Tennessee. Fractal spent the trek telling the others about the twenty-six planets (Ollie's estimate of half a dozen had just been so wrong) that his kind had settled, They liked the stories about the Bats of the Singing world, and Robert liked the lizard planet, but he liked all sorts of crawly things. Everyone asked questions, he answered them as best he could.

It passed the time between stops.

They stopped looking at him with suspicion after a while.

Ollie and Gwen started setting their packs next to his when they stopped for the night. This was usually followed by Bron and Mika looking to June for permission, rushing over to join their friends when their mom shook her head and waved dismissively. Robert wanted to be carried by Fractal more and more, and only Ethan stepping in and saying it wasn't fair to make Fractal carry him all the time stopped the Soul from becoming the boy's number one mode of transportation.

Everyone smiled more. Everyone relaxed more (or as much as they could, given the circumstances).

Everyone except Charlie.

Charlie who still glared at Fractal whenever they were near each other. Charlie who gritted his teeth whenever Robert made grabby hands at the Soul. Charlie who made crass comments that Fractal tried to ignore.

Charlie who'd tried to kill Fractal.

The group only had two guns between them - Joe carried one that they'd had before, and June carried the other, Fractal's service pistol. Charlie had waited until Joe had gone to use the facilities to grab the gun right out of June's makeshift holster, and she was on him almost immediately - not waiting to see what he'd do with the weapon. It gave Ethan and Aiden enough warning to get involved. Aiden went for Charlie, and Ethan tackled Fractal, who had tried to simultaneously step forward and take care of the problem, and shrink back in terror.

"What is the matter with you, Charlie?" Aiden demanded, yanking the gun away from the human, and Charlie bared his teeth right back at the werewolf.

"It's an alien, Aiden. It's the enemy. And you're all sitting around here laughing and telling stories with it like it's your goddamn frat brother!" Charlie shouted. Robert started crying, and Gwen picked him up, holding him close as she and the others watched Charlie lose his shit. "You think it wants to be here? You think it's happy to chum around in the dirt and leaves with us 'hosts'? No. No, it's gonna wait. It's gonna wait, and it's gonna try to get back to them, and it's going to bring other Seekers down on our asses. As long as it's alive, it's a threat to us," he hissed, hot breaths steaming in gusts against the cool night air. Aiden sighed, tilting his head back towards his brother and looking at June and the kids. The five of them were staring at Charlie with wary suspicion - a look not much different than the one they'd cast at Fractal when the twins had brought him into the group. Robert wasn't looking at anyone, face buried in Gwen's shoulder. Aiden huffed, looking back at Charlie.

"You try that again, I'll tear your throat out," he said. Charlie gaped at him.

"You can't be serious! Think of the kids - think of Robbie--"

"You think I'm not?" Aiden challenged. "Look at them," he ordered, eyes glowing red. "It's not the Seeker they're afraid of, Charlie, it's you. The Seeker hasn't tried to kill any of us. He hasn't tried to escape or shout or anything that would have given our position away - not like you're doing, right now," he snapped. "This isn't a discussion, because this isn't a democracy. We're the Alphas - you do what we say."

Charlie sneered in response and Ethan tensed beside Fractal, a growl starting in his throat.

"Oh, what, are we your ’pack'?" Charlie asked snidely. Aiden stared him down.

"Yes," he replied in a flat voice. The growl cut off in Ethan's throat abruptly, and he blinked for a minute before ducking his head with a smile. "You don't like it, you can leave. No one will stop you," Aiden added. Fractal glanced between them briefly before looking back at Charlie, who was scowling, but backed down. Aiden held the gun out to June, grip-first. "Keep a better eye on that, June," he advised mildly, and she nodded. "Everybody back on your feet, I'm not comfortable staying here after a noise like that. Ollie, go make sure Joe hasn't fallen down a well or something, will you?"

"Yes, Alpha," Ollie said, drawing both werewolves' eyes as he hurried off to get their wayward pack member. Ethan helped Fractal to his feet and pulled him along as he approached his brother.

"Pack?" he asked, quietly, happily, and Aiden glanced at him before looking at the ties of his knapsack. He didn't say anything for a moment.

"Maybe the things we want aren't that different, Ethan," he answered. Ethan looked surprised.

"But Duke and Kali," he started, stopping when Aiden sighed.

"I only helped them because I was grateful," he said, glancing at Fractal and begrudging his existence in close proximity before looking at the others and lowering his voice. "Just because he helped us escape a bad situation doesn't mean I wanna throw my hat into the ring of world domination and virtual genocide, okay? And it's not like he's gonna win," Aiden said - mostly to ease the shock on Fractal's face. Fractal gaped.

"Worl--"

"Later," Ethan told him, and he nodded vaguely, even as his stomach churned.

"Anyway, the way I figure it, we don't owe him anything anymore. We'll get to Beacon Hills, find the resistance there, tell them what we can and wait it out," Aiden finished, throwing his backpack on his shoulder. Ethan smirked.

"With our pack," he said, eyes gleaming. Aiden sighed, smiling fondly at his brother.

"Yeah. With our pack," he answered. "Come on, we better get moving. We're already tired and I want to be at least five miles away from here after this," he said.

The five extra miles were especially exhausting after having expected to be finished walking for the night, and when Aiden pulled them all to a stop, they barely set their packs down and established sleeping areas before curling up for the night. Ethan and Aiden slept on either side of Fractal like guards, arms folded, their shoulders overlapping his so that he felt enveloped in their higher than normal body heat. He was too tired to be curious about it, falling asleep almost immediately. He didn't wake up until Aiden did and stood up, jostling his arm and leaving half of his body suddenly chilled.

"Oh, fuck," Aiden said. Fractal's eyes were open, and he could feel Camden surge to awareness in his head as he and Ethan sat up at virtually the same time, looking up at the other Alpha. Aiden was looking around the campsite, panicked and furious. "Charlie's gone," he said. Ethan wrinkled his nose in frustration and a distinct lack of worry, but Fractal was still looking at Aiden, who froze suddenly and then scrambled over towards where June and the others were sleeping. At first it looked like Gwen had rolled apart from the others and kicked off her blanket, but then Aiden turned her head and Fractal saw a splash of red on her temple. "And Robbie. He took Robbie--fuck!" Aiden said frantically. Fractal's heart leapt into his throat as he looked back at Gwen, who was bleeding sluggishly from the bump on her head, and was paler than she should have been. Camden offered small assurances, assessing the girl's condition from a distance.

"Everyone up," Aiden ordered, and the others came awake, sluggishly at first before panic sent adrenaline rushing through their systems.

"Gwen!" Bron yelped, scrambling over to her and cursing as he pulled his blanket over her. "She's fucking freezing! What happened?" he asked, looking up at the twins.

"Charlie took Robbie. Gwen must have tried to stop him - damn it!" Aiden hissed. Ethan put a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll find them. It'll be fine," he said soothingly, before June cursed.

"Shit, he took the gun, too," she told them, scowling furiously, and Aiden pressed his lips together, blowing a sigh out through his nose.

"Alright. We gotta find him. June, you stay here with the kids. Joe, with Ethan. You go that way, I'll go this way, try to sniff out his trail," Aiden said. Ethan and Joe nodded. Fractal stood up.

"I'll go with you," he said to Aiden. Everyone sort of hesitated, but Fractal shook his head. "It's not a trick. It's not a trap. I won't run unless you're leading me. I want to help find Robbie. Frankly, no offense, I couldn't give less of a crap about Charlie, but if my people catch them…" Fractal licked his lips and shook his head again. "You need every eye you've got," he said. Aiden studied him for a moment before nodding.

"If we're not back in half an hour, move out and we'll catch up with you at the next stop," he ordered, looking at Ethan. His brother nodded grimly and the two search parties headed out.

"How well does Charlie know the lay of the land?" Fractal asked as they moved.

"No idea. We didn't exactly swap life stories. For all I know, he could be a forest ranger," Aiden told him. Fractal glanced at him.

"Maybe we should do the story swapping thing, then," he suggested, and the Alpha snorted.

"Duly noted."

"Anyway, he can't have gone far," Fractal said.

"How do you figure?"

"We were all exhausted last night - Charlie too. He wouldn't have made it far before needing to rest, which means he took him within the last couple of hours. No more than two - Gwen's cold, but she's not dead," he explained. Aiden threw him a look.

"Where are you getting all this?" he demanded as they hurried through the forest. Fractal sighed.

"Camden was a special forces officer before…well, before," he answered. Aiden snorted.

"Of course he was," he said, stopping to take a few exploratory sniffs of the area. "Tell me something - could you have escaped this whole time?" Aiden asked, looking him dead in the eye. Fractal shrugged, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Probably. I mean...I wouldn't have gotten very far unless I got the gun away from June and shot you and your brother, which - no," he said, shuddering at the thought. "But…yeah, I could have gotten free," he said honestly. Aiden shook his head.

"Un-freakin-believable," he muttered, before freezing. "Wait. I've got something,"

What is it boy? Camden asked, making Fractal blink.

Are the dog jokes really appropriate? he scolded.

You're tensed up like wire. You're gonna snap before you find him, Camden countered. Fractal relaxed slightly, looking back at Aiden who concentrated for a second before his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Got you. It's this way," he said, and then they were running again.

It wasn't long before Aiden pulled up short, shoulders tense as he gritted his teeth. He threw a hand out to catch Fractal's arm, pulling him to a stop and then pulling him down into a crouch so they were hidden. There was noise ahead of them - people talking. They crept forward to see, and found themselves on the edge of a gated community. There were two Seeker's cars, a few uneven lumps under sheets and a whole lot of suspiciously red fluid. Fractal's stomach lurched and he turned his head, hand over his mouth. Aiden glanced at him and then looked back at the scene.

"Can you hear?" Fractal asked shakily.

Bodies. Those are bodies, he lamented to Camden, trembling.

"Yeah. Idiot tried to steal a car," Aiden said. Fractal shook his head, not quite looking towards the noise he could hear. He swallowed hard.

"Anything about..."

"Nothing. I can't hear his heartbeat…" Aiden clenched his hands. Fractal turned to Camden.

What can we do? he asked. Camden was focused. Assessing the situation. He had a plan. He told it to Fractal, who considered it carefully and then sighed and looked at Aiden, who arched an eyebrow at the noise.

"I have an idea," he said, before wincing at Aiden's tensing shoulders. "You're not going to like it," he added. Aiden narrowed his eyes.

"Does it involve you going over there?" Aiden asked perceptively. Fractal nodded. "You're right. I don't like it," he said, looking towards the Seekers and the bodies. He turned back towards Fractal, annoyed. "Tell me anyway," he ordered.

"Robbie's only six. There are lots of Souls whose hosts had children that young or younger who didn't have them implanted with a Soul, and some Souls have had babies that haven't been implanted yet. The only reason they would take Robbie to be implanted is if no one spoke up as his parent or guardian," he explained quickly and quietly. "I'll go down there. I'll say that Robbie and I were camping, and that a wild human came out of nowhere and knocked me out, and when I came to, he and Robbie were both gone," he said. "They'll believe me. Souls don't have a reason to think that another Soul would lie to them," he added. Aiden looked back at the Seekers and licked his lips.

"What about the 'knocked you out' part? Aren't they going to be suspicious that you don't have a wound?" he asked. Fractal winced but stood his ground (so to speak).

"Wounds can be manufactured," he said. Aiden's eyebrows went up, and his eyes flickered over Fractal's pale but determined face for a moment, quietly impressed.

"What about after? If you manage to get Robbie out of there sans parasite?" Aiden said. Fractal nodded, ignoring the small twist of hurt that appeared every time someone in the group called him a parasite.

"Once I have Robert, they'll just let me walk out. I don't need to tell them where I'm going. One of them might offer me a ride - if they do, I'll tell them to bring me back here because the Campsite isn't off a main road. I won't expect you to wait for me here, especially not if you think they're going to see you. I can find my way back to where we were. If you're not waiting for me there, I'll just track you until we catch up," he said. Aiden sighed, swallowing hard, and turned to face him.

"Swear. Right now, swear that this isn't a trick," he ordered. Fractal looked him in the eye.

"I swear, the only thing I want to do is save Robbie and bring him back to the pack," he said. Aiden listened hard, and after a moment the line of his shoulders dropped. His glare softened into a bemused stare and he shook his head.

"You're the weirdest alien I've ever met," he said. Fractal shrugged.

"I was gonna get a transfer to Beacon Hills anyway," he replied.

"Yeah?"

"My host grew up there."

"Oh, nice. Okay, how do I 'wound' you?"

**

"Help! Help, please," Fractal said, using the pain from the cut on his head where Aiden had dragged his claw in an irregular line and the soreness of his arm where the Alpha had hit him to fuel his performance as he staggered out of the woods towards the Seekers, who looked surprised but concerned.

"Oh my goodness," said one, as they both rushed to help him.

"Please," he said, buckling his knees as they approached.

"It's alright, now--"

"Please, my son," he gasped as they helped him to their car.

"Just relax, we've got you now," said a soothing voice. "Ooh, that's a nasty bump. Spiral, get the emergency kit," the voice said after a moment. Fractal caught sight of the bodies and gagged, turning his head. He moaned for Robbie, his son, while they tended to his wounds. They sprayed something near his hyperventilating mouth and he instantly relaxed, looking up at the other Seekers.

Or, I guess just 'the Seekers'. I'm not a Seeker anymore, he mused to Camden.

Was wondering when you'd catch on, his host replied.

"My son," he said, much more composedly. "Please, my son was taken," he said. The Seekers looked at each other.

"What happened?"

"We were camping in the forest. We'd just settled down and there was a noise. I went to check--" he looked up at the Seeker who was spraying something from a small canister on his wound and then back to the others. "It was a human. It--I think it struck me. When I woke up, he and Robbie were gone," he said, eyes drifting back towards the sheets.

"The human did have a boy with him," said the Seeker who had been attending to Fractal's head wound. Fractal stood up.

"Is he alright? Was he hurt? Was he scared?" he demanded, brow furrowing. The Seeker gently took his arms in hand.

"He's fine," the Seeker insisted, before tilting his head. "We were surprised that he was human, but the other one clearly didn't care for him. We knew he must have been kidnapped from somewhere. We're just glad you were able to find us so quickly."

"I…Please, what happened?" he asked. The Seekers instantly and simultaneously shuddered, but Fractal's stomach was strangely steady. They must have used 'Calm'. He was glad, it would keep his mind clear and keep him from losing his lunch. He needed to know.

"We think Robbie was fighting back, distracting him. The human stumbled into this cul de sac, where these Souls were preparing for a neighborhood function. He killed three Souls and attempted to hurt your son before taking his own life - please, your son is fine. A Healer took him to the hospital to be cared for until his parents could be located," she told him.

"Take me there. Please. Right now. I need to see him. Please," Fractal insisted. The Seekers nodded and the one called Spiral led Fractal to her car. "Thank you," he told her. She smiled at him. In the car, he lapsed into silence, absently gnawing on a dirty fingernail.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm...yes, just worried," he answered quietly. She smiled softly.

"I know how you feel. I have children of my own," she said. He nodded.

"I'm glad he's alright," he said, putting a hand to his chest when it tightened. The feeling was vague - held at bay by the Calm. "I'm sorry if I concerned you. I...these emotions..."

"Yes, they're certainly much different than the placid See-Weeds or the Bats," she said conversationally. The trip was brief, and once they were in front of the hospital, Fractal barely waited for her to park before climbing out and walking quickly inside, making a bee-line to the front desk. Thankfully the Seeker matched his pace, sensing his urgency. He let her speak to the Soul behind the desk, barely able to keep from bursting in and demanding to see Robert.

They didn't make him wait. They took him directly to the room where Robert was being treated. Fractal's heart beat faster and faster as they approached. This was the point at which everything could go wrong. What if Robert talked? He was a smart kid, but he was also very open and friendly. It wasn't hard to imagine him spilling his entire life story, including the fact that he was with a party of human vagrants, plus one Soul. And thinking that filled his stomach with guilty rocks. These were his people that he was lying to. People who had been nothing but kind and generous to him - who didn't deserve his deceptions. He'd lied without even thinking about it--

We did think about it. When Charles took Robbie. Would you rather tell the truth or save Robbie? Camden demanded hotly, and he shook his head, scratching the back of his neck as they arrived and went inside. Robbie was sitting on the bed, arms around the knees pulled up to his chest, shoulders hunched to protect him from the world. The Soul looking after him looked up at them with a vaguely apologetic expression and Fractal's chest loosened considerably.

"Robbie," he said, moving forward. Robbie's head popped up and he blinked when he saw Fractal, but unfolded from his defensive posture when the familiar Soul approached, eagerly launching himself into a hug. Fractal held him close, relaxing further at the reassurance of his safety. "I'm so glad you're alright, son," he said, and Robbie nodded, squeezing him back.

"He wasn't too badly hurt. A little dirty, but perfectly fine now," said the Healer, eying Fractal's similar state of uncleanliness on the edge of politeness. Fractal pretended not to notice.

"We were camping," he offered, not really looking up from where he was hugging Robbie.

"Hm. Well, I'd say just get him home and cleaned up and the whole thing will be all behind you," she offered. He nodded, turning to go. Then he stopped, thinking suddenly of Gwen as he turned back, forcing an abashed look onto his face.

"Um, if you don't mind, may I have a bottle or two of Heal for home? Robbie likes to climb trees, and then jump out of them," he said. She snorted, looking at the human boy with something that was like the politer kissing cousin to disapproval before nodding.

"Of course. You should take some Clean and other supplies, too," she said. Her voice set his skin on edge. It took ten minutes to get everything together and extend the necessary gratitude before he could leave, and - as he'd suspected - Spiral offered him a ride. Fractal told her about the campsite not being on the main road and how if she took him back to where they met he could find it from there. She had been a little uncertain about taking the boy back to a place where people had been killed, but Fractal had been able to persuade her that it was for the best. Luckily, by the time they returned, the bodies had been taken away, and one of the neighbors was spraying the red stains off of the streets. Fractal only let Robbie out of his arms for the drive back to the scene of the crime. And he said good-bye to the Seeker before walking as calmly as he could into the forest.

His heart was on the verge of hypertensive shock almost the whole time, afraid that at any moment, the Seekers would realize that he lied - that he was helping wild humans.

"Are you alright, Robbie?" he asked quietly, once they were away from prying ears.

"I'm okay," Robbie muttered. Fractal nodded, relieved. "Charlie's dead," the boy added, and Fractal swallowed a lump of sympathetic sadness. Maybe his feelings for Charlie weren't exactly warm, but that didn't mean that Robbie loved the man any less. "Were you scared?" Robbie asked, voice tremulous and high.

"Yeah. Yeah, we were all very scared, Robbie," Fractal replied, smoothing a hand over Robbie's back when the child hugged him a little tighter.

Aiden wasn't waiting for them at the edge of the forest, but then, Fractal had told the Alpha that he wouldn't expect that. He moved on as quickly as he could with Robbie on his hip, walking unerringly along the path that he and Aiden had traveled, thanks to Camden's incredible spatial recall.

"Where's everyone?" Robbie asked as they walked.

"Waiting for us," Fractal replied.

"Didn't they come too?"

Fractal hesitated, looking for the right words.

"June had to stay with the kids. we didn't know which way you'd gone, so Ethan and Joe went one way, and Aiden and I went this way. We had to split up, though. Aiden couldn't come with me to the hospital," he explained after a moment. Robbie accepted that answer as he accepted all the other answers Fractal had given him over the course of the last week and a half, quietly contemplating the implications while Fractal traversed the relatively dense forest.

"Are you my daddy now?" Robbie asked after a moment. Fractal slipped on a loose root and managed to fall on his back instead of crushing Robbie in his shock at the question.

"Ow! What?" he asked, gently setting the equally surprised boy down before making sure that his ankle wasn't more than twisted. Robbie looked distressed.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted, but Fractal shook his head.

"No, no, Robbie, it's alright. I was just surprised by the question, that's all," he said, gently flexing his ankle and breathing a sigh of relief when it wasn't too sore - unlike his back, where he'd landed on that root. He thought uncharitable things at it while Camden snorted.

Stop abusing my body, the human chided lightly. Fractal scoffed back and looked at Robbie, who looked…apprehensive.

"Why do you ask?"

Robbie shrugged.

"You called me son," he replied.

Oh, geez. This kid is like a Disney movie, Camden said, alarmed by the speed with which their shared heart melted in the face of the child's shyly hopeful expression.

I like Disney, Fractal told his host before ruffling the boy's hair.

"I'm very fond of you, Robbie. If I could sign adoption papers for you, I would," he answered. Robbie's face lit up, and he hugged his knees. Fractal let that fond warmth fill his chest for a moment before standing up again. "We have to get back to the others, though, so that everyone knows you're alright," he said, reminding himself as well as his new...what…ward? Son? He was hesitant to label their connection, even as he turned and let Robbie climb up onto his back, arms curled loosely around Fractal's neck.

Ethan and Joe were back at the camp, and Fractal smiled at them, only tensing slightly as they invaded his space, knowing that they'd want to reassure themselves that Robbie was alright. He had to keep himself from tripping again when Ethan pulled them both into a relieved hug, sniffing them both and rubbing his cheek first against Robbie's shoulder and then against the back of Fractal's head. Humans were a tactile species - werewolves even more so - and Fractal tried to contain his blush, but it was more physical contact than he was used to from these wild humans. And after a moment, Joe just laughed and joined in, so that they were all hugging. Fractal felt a little awkward being the only one that wasn't turned into the hug. It sort of felt like they were all hugging him.

Shut up and enjoy it, loser, Camden said to his inner musings. Fractal relaxed slightly.

Oh be quiet, he snapped lightly.

"Where's Aiden?" he asked after a long, warm, huggy moment had passed.

"He went ahead to find the others. He wants to make sure they have an early warning system before we just walk into camp, that way they don't scream or anything," Ethan replied. The hug broke up slowly, and neither of them tried to remove Robbie from Fractal's back as they all started moving, Ethan leading the way. "Why'd you guys split up? What happened? Where's Charlie?" the Alpha asked, and Fractal took a steadying breath so he could tell them the story.

Joe got a little edgy at the notion that Fractal had just walked into town and picked Robbie up from the hospital like it was daycare, but Ethan was calm about it, which helped curb Joe's worries that Seekers were about to descend on their position at any moment. They both cursed quietly at the news that Charlie had shot himself, but the atmosphere was suddenly lighter, and Fractal shook his head at the paradox of being saddened by a person's death while being relieved that his knowledge could no longer hurt them.

"How'd you feel about it?" Ethan asked when he stopped talking, and Fractal blinked.

"About what?" he replied.

"Lying to your own kind," Ethan clarified. Fractal's heart twitched in his chest and he looked down at the ground.

"Conflicted, but...if I had to do it again, I would," he answered. Ethan studied him for a moment and nodded thoughtfully.

"Fractal's 'dopting me," Robbie said sleepily, cheek mushed against the Soul's shoulder. Fractal looked at his closed eyes over his shoulder and shifted the boy around to his front (with Ethan's help) so that he could make sure Robbie didn't fall off mid slumber.

"Is that right?" Joe asked, eyebrows raised. Fractal shrugged self-consciously.

"He...he's had a shock. I came to his rescue. He'll change his mind tomorrow," he said unconvincingly, and Ethan snorted while Joe skeptically muttered, 'uh-huh', making the Soul blush.

Stop putting yourself down, Camden said, annoyance filling his tone. That kid is over the moon about you--

About us, Fractal interrupted, feeling Camden's self doubt and finding it just as annoying as Camden found his.

Whatever. The point is, he adores you - us, fine - and we adore him. And unless your people suddenly stop implanting humans willy-nilly, this is as good and as formal as the situation gets. Congratulations, it's a boy, Camden told him. Fractal stifled a snort before it could escape.

I don't know anything about raising a child. The Pitcher Bugs laid eggs and that was the literal extent of the parenting situation, he said. Camden shrugged helplessly inside his brain.

I had a little brother, and it's only sort of like raising a kid. Look, Fractal, all I know is that the only person in our group who has any experience with parenting is June. Maybe you should ask her for some pointers, Camden suggested.

Fractal digested that thought as they walked.

No one was surprised when Fractal and the others walked into camp twenty minutes after everyone else had stopped to rest and wait. Everyone but June and Bronwyn got up from where Gwen was still unconscious, crowding around Robbie. They were quiet once they realized he was sleeping, and Fractal handed him off to Mika, walking over to June

"I brought something for Gwen," he said when she looked up at him, and she pressed her lips together worryingly but didn't stop him as he opened his small satchel. He sprayed the small cut with Clean to kill the bacteria and then poured just a little bit of the Heal onto it. The sharp breath that June sucked in at the sight of the wound visibly mending itself drew his attention, but he turned back to Gwen, who was stirring.

"Nnn," she groaned, and June muscled Fractal aside, taking the girl's hand and smoothing her hair back. Fractal let himself be moved, putting the medicines back in the satchel.

"What was that stuff?" Bron asked. Fractal shrugged.

"Clean. Heal. I've also got Seal, Smooth, Calm, Sleep, Awake, No Pain, Cool for fevers and something called Mend. I suspect that's for broken bones," he answered. They looked at him, and he listened to Camden laugh at their confusion for a moment before shrugging. "I'll explain later," he promised. Instantly their attention turned back to Gwen, who was opening her eyes.

"Wha…?" she started muzzily. Fractal dug in the satchel for the Awake. "Mom?" Gwen asked plaintively, and June blinked down at her, at a loss. This time, Fractal was the one who gently nudged her out of the way, calling on the field medic classes that Camden had taken in the military.

"Gwen," he said, calmly. "Can you hear me?" he asked. She groaned in response, and he held up the canister. "Breathe in deeply, Gwen, can you do that?" he instructed, spraying a fine mist above her face. She pulled in a deep breath, and then another, and her eyes cleared, one hand coming up to her head.

"I…ugh. My head hurts," she told them, blinking up at them. Fractal dug in his satchel again. She looked at him, blinking some more at his proximity, and then looked at June. "What happened?" she asked as Fractal came up with another small silver container. This one had a lid and contained wafer thin sheets of what looked like paper.

"Here, let this dissolve on your tongue," he said gently, and the gentle authority of his voice made her do as he said, opening her mouth and letting him deposit one square of the strange paper on her tongue. He watched her carefully until she blinked in surprise. "How do you feel?" he asked. She sat up, looking around at them.

"Better. Fantastic. What was that stuff?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Pain reliever," he answered. "Should last for about an hour or so," he told her.

"So what happened?" she asked.

"Charlie took Robbie - apparently you tried to stop him," June told her, and she lurched to her feet.

"Is he alright?" she demanded shrilly.

"Gwen, relax," Aiden said, moving over to her and putting a hand on her arm. She blinked at him. "You've been unconscious for the whole thing. Robbie's fine. He's right over there," he said, pointing to where Mika was sitting with a sleeping Robbie. Gwen relaxed.

"And Charlie?"

"Dead," Aiden answered. Gwen thought about that, looked over at Robbie, and then nodded.

"Good," she replied vindictively, making Fractal blink.

**

Once the story of Charlie's death and Robbie's rescue had been discussed, Aiden instituted Fractal's 'story-swap' idea, which was how he found out that June had been a restaurant chef and Mika had been accepted to MIT on a full ride scholarship. Joe used to repair boats. Bronwyn could pick locks and Gwen inherited her dad's old van with the shag carpeting in the back, even though she hadn't been old enough to drive it.

They learned how Ethan and Aiden became Alphas, and a little of what Deucalion intended to do about the whole alien invasion, a story that was prefaced by Aiden taking Robbie for a walk. Fractal was glad for that once Aiden's story was over.

And the sensational nature of their freedom from their previous pack combined with the knowledge that Deucalion had planned to give them all the Bite whether they wanted it or not made the revelation of Camden's mental awareness and previous occupation much less disquieting to the pack.

Robbie stopped asking to be carried from site to site, walking beside Fractal, holding his hand as often as his attention span allowed. He still asked questions, but they were limited to whatever he could gasp out between labored breaths. He also resisted attempts by Fractal to carry him, unless he was exhausted.

They were approaching summer, and it left everyone sweaty and hot by the time they stopped at midday. Fractal tried not to think of how uncomfortable he was, but he hadn't had a change of clothing in over a week. He reached back to adjust his ponytail and made a face at how grimy his hair was.

"May I make a suggestion?" he asked, drawing everyone's attention.

"Go for it," Ethan replied easily, taking a sip of his lukewarm water.

"Why don't we just sleep in a motel tonight?" he asked. His words were met with scattered laughs filled with bitterness.

"Just like that?" June asked, hip cocked, hand planted, eyebrow firmly arched. Fractal blinked at her, his expression contrarily open and earnest.

"Yes," he answered, and she scoffed, but the eyebrow declined and the hand slipped off her hip.

"What do you mean?" Aiden asked. Fractal turned to him.

"I mean, I could walk up to the front desk, get two rooms, and we could split them between us. They wouldn't think anything of it. We could all have showers, We could wash our clothes," he said. Aiden's suspicion wavered in the face of the temptations of civilization.

"How would you explain it?" Ethan asked. Fractal shrugged.

"If anyone asks, we're trekking across the country for kicks," he answered, before tilting his head. "Although, in the future, it would be easier if we acquired some sort of transportation," he added. Aiden and Ethan shared a look before Aiden sighed and nodded at Joe.

"Get the map," he said, looking at the small strap around his wrist. It was a pedometer. It was how they marked their progress every day.

They determined that the closest inn to their location was actually a villa, and spent the rest of the day talking up the delights of warm beds and hot showers and a kitchen where they could eat an actual meal, which brought up the subject of shopping, because of course they would have to shop for some things. And the need they'd have for a vehicle to transport everything in. Fractal didn't volunteer this time - just waited for them to come to the natural conclusion that his services would be required.

"Alright, so the lot should be across the street. You know what to do?" Ethan asked, and Fractal nodded. He'd gotten what Camden called the Seeker-mobile from a place like this. It wasn't as difficult as some of them may have remembered.

"I'll get a van. Should be big enough for all of us," he assured the Alpha, who nodded.

"Get some air fresheners too," he suggested, wrinkling his nose. Fractal stifled most of his smile at the joke, nodding as he headed across the street, the anxiety of the pack a palpable presence in the back of his mind.

It took all of ten minutes to get the car. Ten minutes further to get to the villa and sign into a two story, four bedroom, four bathroom place with two fold out couches and a gigantic water heater. June donned sunglasses and helped Fractal do the shopping for dinner and shower supplies and new clothes ("Your name will be Flowers Under Heavy Rain, and I'll be Melody of the Sunless," he'd told her, to some disbelief but no objection).

The others reacted to their return the way castles did to returning heroes. June's kids absconded with the 'before dinner' snacks and Fractal took Robbie upstairs for a bath, dumping the boy's well-soiled clothes outside for one of the others to take to the laundry room. He washed Robbie's hair as thoroughly as he could, making sure to get behind the ears, and made sure that his new responsibility (he still wasn't comfortable calling Robbie his son. He assumed that comfort would come in time) cleaned the rest of himself adequately before wrapping the child ("How old are you, Robbie?" -- "Almost eight.") in a thick, plush towel. His new clothes were only slightly too big - nothing he wouldn't rapidly grow into or that a belt couldn't fix. He loved his new shoes, and decided he would wear them for the rest of the night. That lasted about twelve minutes.

Fractal took a quick but luxurious shower, focusing most of it on the bramble that was his hair and shuddering at the brown water in the bottom of the tub.

Ten minutes after intensely scrubbing shampoo and conditioner into his hair, the rest of him cleaner in thirty seconds than it had been in thirty days, Fractal stood at the bathroom sink, scowling into the mirror as he tried to brush the kinks out of his hair. It wasn't the first time that he or Camden had cursed his curly locks, and it looked like it wouldn't be the last (only with less cursing on Fractal's part. Unless you counted the decidedly PG oaths that he uttered that Camden had told him made him sound like a fussy Hobbit). He was trying not to wince as he pulled the brush free of his knots, standing there with only his towel around his waist when the door opened. He blinked, flinching a little in surprise, and turned to see June with an equally shocked expression on her face. They stared at each other for a second and Fractal blinked some more when her eyes slipped down from his face until they got to the towel and then she jerked them away.

"Oh. Geez, sorry. I thought you'd be dressed by now," she muttered, cheeks darkening as she turned to go.

"No, wait," Fractal said, surprising himself, and she hesitated, turning back towards him but not quite looking at him. He stared at her for a moment, wondering why he'd stopped her in the first place, and then his eyes landed on her hair.

Her long, wavy, tangle-free hair.

"June, could you help me?" he asked, and she looked at him. He held his brush out, shrugging helplessly. She looked at it, and then at his hair (barely dried at all but still managing to puff out in every direction), and snorted, instantly going from 'startled intruder' to 'very clearly a mom' in less than a second. She took a seat on the lid of the toilet and gestured to the floor.

"Sit. Let me see what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into," she told him. He nodded, sitting cross-legged in front of her. She made a brief inspection and then scoffed. "Haven't you ever brushed wet hair before? You have to start from the bottom," she told him, shaking her head. She scooped up his curls in on hand and began lightly brushing at the ends while Fractal blinked at the opposite wall. His shoulders where her fingers had brushed skin were tingling, and he swallowed an apprehensive lump when June started humming softly under her breath. His heart was beating suspiciously faster.

Don't act like you don't know what that means, Fractal. You've toured through my memories enough, Camden scoffed lightly. Fractal's cheeks felt warm and he looked down at the ground, moving his head as little as possible.

What do I do about it? he asked, feeling that tingle again when the back of her hand touched his neck.

Uh, enjoy it? Camden asked, giving the strongest possible impression that he was raising a judgmental eyebrow at his Soul. Fractal barely held back a sigh.

Enjoy my unrequited crush on a human who's only barely come to trust me? Fractal frowned bitterly, but was distracted from falling into a mope by June's fingers dragging lightly through his hair, which appeared to be far less snarled than when Fractal had attempted the same thing.

Dude, I know you're not up on the whole 'human courtship rituals' thing, Camden started, focusing their hearing on the easy, lazy tone of June's humming. But June digs you.

Fractal's heart started beating a little faster and his cheeks burned again.

I don't think--

Offer to help with dinner, Camden ordered.

Why? June used to work in a restaurant, she doesn't need my help.

Dude, I'm trying to do you a favor. Ask if you can help with dinner, Camden told him. He cleared his throat. The humming stopped and June's fingers stuttered as they combed through his hair.

"Do you--I--That is--" he stammered, blushing more furiously.

Oh my god, seriously?

"Do you mind if I help with dinner?" Fractal asked, sure that his shoulders were as red as his hair. June was quiet for a moment, fingers still weaving in and out of his curls, but in a contemplative manner. Finally, June put a hand on his shoulder and handed him the brush over the other.

"As long as you don't get offended when I turn into a slave driver," she told him with a light pat. He blinked and then smiled at the military parallel Camden drew in his head.

"Nothing I haven't endured before," he replied in what he hoped was a playful tone. "Should I call you chef or drill sergeant when you give orders?" he asked. She snorted, leaving so he could put some clothes on, and he tried not to smile too much, but sometimes he caught himself in the middle of a grin and blushed.

Dinner had been a far less perilous affair than June had led him to believe. She did give orders, but the meal she was cooking had been a fairly simple dish - she hadn't wanted to shock their colons with something too rich, being that there were ten of them and only four bathrooms. Bron and Mika watched from the dining room as Fractal and June worked side by side, barely speaking except to discuss the next step of June's mental recipe.

He almost cut off a thumb when she put her hand on his back to move past him, and couldn't stop the blood from rushing to his ears when she clucked her tongue at him, put her hands on his over the knife, and 'instructed' him on the proper way to hold and cut onions.

Wow. June's got some serious game, Camden said when she'd moved on, only the color in her cheeks giving any indication that her 'lesson' was more than just a lesson. Fractal took a few, hopefully silent breaths to calm his fluttering heart and turned his attention back to the onion.

When it was all done, Bron and Mika were suspiciously helpful with setting the table, and Fractal found himself ushered into the seat directly next to June by her children, who had lousy poker faces. The fact that they manufactured his furthered proximity to their mother made Fractal anxious.

No, no, no, this is good. Her kids are obviously okay with this, Camden told him.

What if they're just studying how I react? Like mice in a laboratory maze? Fractal replied.

Don't be so suspicious. Not everything that humans do have some insidious ulterior motive. Maybe they just want their mom to be happy, Camden insisted, giving Fractal pause.

With me?

Why not with you? It's not like she's made a great effort to be close to Joe or Aiden.

Or Ethan, Fractal added, to be fair to the other twin. Camden snorted.

Dude, what show have you been watching? Ethan's gay. Or bi. Either way, he likes guys, the human told him. Fractal blinked.

"Good dinner, mom," Mika said, between forkfuls.

"Chew your food. Jesus, you're gonna make yourself sick," June replied.

"It is delicious," Fractal offered, before looking at Robbie, who was looking between him and June and narrowing his eyes. "What do you think, Robbie?" he asked. The almost-eight year old shrugged, not answering as he shoveled a mounded spoonful of rice and chopped sausage into his mouth. Fractal smiled.

They stayed the night, and the next night too, and they took another shower before leaving. Fractal drove, because Ethan almost got them pulled over going two miles over the speed limit.

At the next stop, they picked up sleeping bags and air mattresses and stayed in two adjoining motel rooms. Fractal ended up sharing one of the beds with Robbie and June. He woke up at some point while it was still dark outside with his arm over her waist, and Robbie curled up on the other side of her. Fractal muttered sleepy apologies only to break off in fuzzy-headed confusion when she told him to shut up, wrapped her arms around him and used his chest as a pillow before going back to sleep. He wasn't exactly awake to start with, and it only took him a moment or two to fall back asleep. When he woke up again, everyone else was already up, June was packing her stuff, and Robbie was sitting at the foot of the bed reading one of the books that Fractal had gotten him (a series of short stories, firsthand accounts of life on other planets. He loved it). Fractal would have thought it was all a dream if it weren't for the considering look that June threw him when he offered her a tentative, 'good morning'.

After he'd showered and dressed and returned to the main room, she had herded him over to one of the chairs and accepted no protests as she brushed and braided his hair.

They kept moving. They got the generator in Arkansas, and the portable space heater pods in Oklahoma, for those rare times when they would squat in an abandoned cabin or trailer. June figured out how to heat a tray with them and made them coffee every morning.

They kept moving. At one of the rest stops on the highway (unattended, and therefore giving the humans the freedom to wander around as they saw fit), Bron sidled up to where Fractal was studying the snack machine. He was hungry, but not 'meal' hungry. Really he just wanted something to chew on for the distraction it promised.

"Do you like her?" Bron asked pointedly, and Fractal blinked, looking at him. The expression on Bron's face was all business, calculating and expectant, and Fractal blushed, looking back at the machine.

So much for a distraction.

"Yes," he answered honestly, heart fluttering at the thought. Bron folded his arms, looking him up and down appraisingly.

"Our dad was an asshole," the kid said, surprising Fractal with both the assertion and his language. "He left because after we were born, she wasn't what he wanted," he added. Fractal frowned at the thought, clenching his hands.

"Sounds like your father was an idiot," he answered before he could stop himself. Bron raised both eyebrows, watching the blush race up Fractal's neck to his cheeks and nodded.

"Yup. She could do worse than you," he said. Apparently that was that, because he left.

When next they stopped for the night, Mika was the one who handled the desk clerk, and Fractal found himself sharing a room with only June, while the others took two rooms several doors down. June didn't seem to mind, even though Fractal was a little flustered by the implications that her kids were trying to 'help'. He stumbled through an apology that June stopped dead in its tracks by kissing him.

"Uh…" he said dumbly a few moments after the kiss had ended. June chuckled.

"You all think you're so subtle, but the truth is you're really not," she told him. He blushed.

"I didn't want to assume…" he started, and she tilted her head.

"So don't assume," she replied, tucking his hair behind his ears. "I like you. You like me. Our kids are okay with it, and we have this whole room to ourselves for the next twelve hours," she told him. He gaped, suddenly afraid his heart was going to burst with how hard it was pounding.

Damn. I like her, Camden said with a laugh. Fractal let his human's happy amusement creep onto his face, ducking his head and smiling.

Good. Me too, he replied, looking back at June's expectant expression.

"I...um...I'd like to kiss you again. I was a little stunned the first time," he said. June grinned.

**

Fractal suffered the knowing snickers and gentle ribbing with a good natured smile, only blushing a little bit in the face of Ethan and Aiden's smug, shark-like grins. They only quit when June brushed them off in her no-nonsense way, calling shotgun.

They kept traveling, getting closer and closer to California - to Beacon Hills - and Fractal felt...better. Felt lighter than he had in the six years that he'd been on Earth. Robbie started calling him 'dad', and his heart melted just a little bit whenever he heard it. He and June spent most of their time talking - dreaming, mostly, of a less complicated world, in which she would run a restaurant like she used to, and Fractal would teach, maybe, or run an animal shelter.

It was weird how the circumstances - being captured by humans and toted across the country - had led to such an odd state of contentment.

Maybe it had made him complacent.

Maybe it had made them all a little careless.

The feeling of contentment and belonging evaporated like smoke near the Nevada-California border. It was early in the morning, Fractal had woken up and found the other side of the bed empty. He sighed, but got up. The other bed was empty too, so everyone must have been downstairs already. He dressed and shuffled down the stairs, frowning in confusion when he saw everyone waiting in the living room. They looked up at him and Bron frowned, eyes piercing and angry where he was holding Robbie on his lap.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"June's not here," Ethan said tersely. Fractal blinked, eyebrows twitching downward as he looked at them all.

"I don't understand," he said, looking to Bron for answers. The boy's anger stuttered at the sight of Fractal's obvious confusion and then sank into a sadness that made Fractal's stomach lurch. "I don't understand what's happening," he told them, gripping the railing.

"She was gone when we woke up," Ollie said from where he was sitting next to Mika, letting her clutch his hand. Fractal stared, trying to ignore the chill that raced up his spine.

"How long?" he asked.

It's fine. She went for a walk. She likes walks. She even said she missed the days before the car, he told Camden, who remained silent.

"Almost two hours now," Joe said, before Ethan and Aiden turned towards the window.

"Shut up, I hear something," Aiden growled quietly. Everything was extremely still until Ethan cursed, and then everyone was crowding around the window.

June was standing outside, a little bit down the sidewalk, holding a paper bag.

Standing with her were two Seekers.

Fractal must have made a noise, because Robbie was hugging him suddenly, and he hugged his son back, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrible scene unfolding before him, watching as the Seeker's suspicion won out over June's even manner and the way Fractal had taught them to act around other Souls.

"I…" he said, swallowing. "I have to…"

June. Not June, please.

What do I do? Camden, what do I do? he pleaded, closing his eyes against the anguish he could sense from his host.

"Have to what, Fractal," Aiden asked quietly. Fractal blinked his eyes back open, looking at the Alphas as his host advised him from within.

"I…we have an idea," he said, shaking his head as he moved Robbie gently to one side.

"Can you save her?" Mika asked, and Fractal swallowed, shaking his head.

"No. It's too late. If I'd woken up sooner…"

If they'd woken you up sooner, Camden hissed, and he shushed his angry human.

"But, I...something. I might be able to help her," he offered.

"Help her what? What can you do if you can't get her away from those two?" hissed Ollie. Fractal looked at Ethan and Aiden.

"I might be able to help her stay alive," he said. The Alphas shared a look and then looked outside, where one of the Seekers had grabbed June's wrist and she was struggling to break free, bag dropping from her hand.

"Do it. Now. Go," Ethan hissed. Fractal hurried to the door and took a deep breath before schooling his features into something resembling warm and friendly.

"Hide," he told the others, before opening the door and stepping outside.

The three of them looked surprised to see him, and more surprised to watch him approach with a gentle smile.

"Good morning," he offered. June stopped struggling, gaping at him, and he smiled at her before looking at the others, who searched his eyes before blinking and sharing a confused glance.

"Sir, you might want to go back inside. This human was walking down your street in broad daylight. There might be more, it isn't safe," said the one on the left, and older man with salt and pepper hair. Fractal gave a falsely amused chuckle.

"June?" he said, giving them pause again. "June's not dangerous, she's just hungry," he told them. They stared at him. They checked his eyes again.

"You know this human?" the other Seeker asked - a younger, dark-skinned woman with green eyes. Fractal nodded.

"She...Well, she started stealing food from me about six months ago. I didn't mind, really - except for the lock I had to replace. I thought about reporting it, but," he shrugged, scuffing the ground with his bare feet. "I live by myself. There hadn't been any reports of assault, and she only ever took food, so I started leaving the back door unlocked," he told them. June had stopped struggling altogether, catching on to the idea that Fractal had a plan. The Seekers were still staring, a touch of horror in their gaping expressions.

"She's human," the older Seeker told him. Fractal shrugged.

"So are we, now," he answered, stunning them both. "Anyway, I started leaving little notes, and then she started answering back, and then we had a very awkward dinner that turned into regular, not so awkward dinners. She loves to cook. She's really quite charming, once you get her to open up," he said, looking at June with a fond smile that she returned, the edges drooping a little. "She's not...she's not violent," he told them. "You don't have to take her," he told them, letting his concern show. The Seekers looked between him and June and the younger one looked conflicted, but the older one's eyes hardened.

"Yes we do," he said, before his voice softened into a not unkind tone. "It's the law," he told Fractal, who swallowed.

"I see. In that case, do you mind if I say good-bye?" he asked. The older Seeker started to object, but the younger one put a hand on his arm, catching his eye. There was a moment of silent conversation and then the older one nodded gruffly.

"We'll be right over there," said the younger Seeker to Fractal before turning to June. "Please don't try to run, you'll only make things difficult for your friend," she said, before letting go and herding her partner a few steps away to give June and Fractal some privacy. June let Fractal pull her into a tight hug, burying her face in his shaggy morning hair.

"When do we run?" she asked quietly, and he barely held back a sob.

"We can't," he replied regretfully. She pulled back a little, looking into his face, seeing his loss and sadness there, and a small sound fell out of her mouth. He swallowed hard.

"But I…"

"June, listen," he said quietly. "Until now, Souls have been mostly unsuspicious. If we ran - even if we could ensure the safety of the pack, which we can't - we would become the equivalent of wanted persons. Our pictures would be posted from coast to coast far more efficiently than your law enforcement could have managed," he told her, and she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling, nodding at his logic. "What did you even leave the house for?" he asked. She gave a sad little laugh.

"It's Bron's birthday," she told him, and he glanced towards the bag that she'd been carrying. He sighed, nodding even as he wanted to argue that one yearly celebration hadn't been worth her liberty. The Seekers looked over at them and he took a breath, looking at June and holding her by the shoulders.

"Alright listen. Whoever they give you, they're going to be afraid," he told her, and she frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you surviving. Camden is still alive and I've had six lively years with him as my host. If he could do it while not being conscious of the fact that an alien presence had taken over his body, then you can do it too, and you'll be much better equipped than he was," he told her firmly. She swallowed hard but nodded. "They'll be afraid. They will. It might seem stupid to you that something that could control your every function would be afraid of you, but it's the truth. They're going to be afraid, so be gentle. They won't understand, so you'll have to teach them. Be patient. Be kind," he said, wiping away her tears as they fell and leaving his unacknowledged. "I'm so sorry that I can't do better than this," he told her.

"I know," she replied.

"Think of your kids. Think of the pack. Think of everything that you love and that you'll miss. Don't be afraid. If your Soul is anything like me, then it won't be able to help loving you," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, sure, now you say it," she muttered. He smiled briefly. "You better kiss me good-bye. I'm not leaving without it, I'm not," she told him fiercely, and he nodded, drawing her in and pressing his trembling lips to hers. A touch so loving, and before it had set his whole being ablaze, but now it was as if he could feel both of their hearts crumbling.

So this is heartbreak.

Sucks, don't it?

He pressed their foreheads together when their lips parted.

"Come and find us when you can," he told her.

"Take care of my kids."

"I promise."

He stood there while they pulled her away, not bothering to hide his tears. He stood there until they were out of sight, and then he gingerly picked up the bag that June had dropped, and carried it inside. The others were in there, but he barely paid them any mind as he passed them, sat at the kitchen table, dropped his face into his folded arms and wept.

He must have fallen unconscious at some point, and when he woke, it was to the somewhat unsurprising discovery that he'd been bound and blindfolded. He was also sitting on dirt leaning up against a rough surface that he guessed was a tree.

"We had a vote while you were out," Ethan told him, and he said nothing. "Me, Aiden, and Bron voted that there was nothing that you could have done," he said, the words like knives in Fractal's chest, reminding him exactly what he couldn't have done. "Everyone else except Robbie thinks you were waiting for something like this to happen since you and June hooked up," the Alpha said. "Nobody counted Robbie's vote because the kid would stand by you through a hurricane," he added. "Normally I would have just said, 'I'm the Alpha', but it looked like they would riot. They're just mad. They'll come back around. 'til then we're apparently back to the 'tying you up' stage," he said. Fractal nodded.

"If it makes them feel better," he said. Ethan snorted.

"We also ditched the van, so we're back to walking, and Mika has demanded that we gag you anytime we're near civilization," the Alpha said.

"Who's gonna carry Robbie when he gets tired?" Fractal asked.

"I will," Ethan told him. He nodded.

"Come on, we're about to head out," Aiden said from nearby. "Only a hundred miles to Beacon Hills."

Chapter Text

Fractal blinked up at Ethan and Aiden, squinting against even the soft moonlight after being blind for so long.

"Where are we?" he asked. Ethan shrugged.

"Some abandoned apartment complex," he answered. Fractal nodded, wincing as Ethan used his claws to cut his hands free and rubbing his chafed wrists. Ethan started to rise, but Fractal grabbed his hands.

"Ethan," he said, swallowing to curb the pleading in his voice. "Anything yet?" he asked. Ethan licked his lips and shook his head.

"Not yet," he answered, and Fractal nodded, letting him go and leaning back against the wall. They looked up when Aiden made a noise and Fractal smiled sadly when he saw Robbie pushing past his Alpha's knee, walking over and setting himself down in Fractal's lap. Fractal wrapped his arms around the boy and smiled softly.

Robbie's faith in Fractal had been unwavering. He'd almost thrown a screaming fit when Gwen had tried to tell him that Fractal wasn't his daddy anymore. Bron had told her to mind her own business before Aiden had stepped in and calmed everything down.

Ethan and Aiden watched them for a second and then went downstairs to check on the others.

"The others are mean," Robbie said, tired and sulky. Fractal shook his head, stroking his hands over Robbie's hair.

"They're just upset," he reasoned. "They don't mean anything by it, not really," he said.

"Then why do they say mean things?"

"Because they miss June," he answered, swallowing at the sound of her name. Robbie looked up at him.

"Do you miss her, dad?"

Fractal took a breath to fight back the crushing wave of despair that he felt whenever June was brought up in conversation, nodding.

"Yes, Robbie. I miss her very much," he answered, blinking back tears.

"Then aren't you mad?"

"No, honey, I'm just sad," he answered. "Hush now, get some rest," he said, humming something he'd heard from June once. He could only remember a couple of notes, but he hummed them over and over, the broken refrain of a lost lullaby.

**

Reacher watched the window for a long time after Peter Hale's dramatic exit, and eventually he stuck his head out to see if anyone was around. He couldn't see anyone, and he pulled back inside, closing his window and pulling the drapes too. He took a moment to think about what had just happened and bit his lip against the grin that threatened.

He needed to be cool. He needed to be calm.

You need to call Bliss and Allison to let them know we won't be coming over tomorrow for lunch, Stiles reminded him, and he jumped a little before nodding and going to the phone. He checked the time as a reflex while pressing her speed dial shortcut.

**

Bliss looked up from her late dinner when the phone rang and arched an eyebrow before answering.

"Bliss," she said. There was a chuckle on the other end.

"I like how you do that. Like, it's your name, but it also sounds like you're wishing bliss on your caller," he said. She smiled.

"Hello, Reacher," she said, before looking at her oven's digital time display. "It's pretty late," she added.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted to let you know I won't be able to make our lunch tomorrow," he said. She frowned concernedly.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Oh, everything's fine. I'm just doing an errand for some friends," he told her. She blinked.

I guess they finally okayed him, Allison said. Bliss nodded.

"Alright. I should go visit my family anyway; it's been a while since I went over there," she told him. He made a noise that was part sympathy, part pity.

"Sorry," he said, meaning that he was sorry their lunch couldn't be used as an excuse to put it off. She shrugged.

"It's alright. I miss my father," she said, because even though they knew that their phones probably weren't tapped, they didn't know that the phones certainly weren't tapped.

"Cool. Well, maybe I'll stop by in the afternoon. We'll drink that tea that you like," he offered. She nodded.

"I would like that," she said. They exchanged farewells and Bliss hung up. She looked down at her dinner and sighed, eating a little more even though she'd lost her appetite.

You don't have to. I know it makes you uncomfortable, Allison said, even though Bliss could feel her longing.

Of course I do. They're still your family.

We don't even know if my family is still in there, Allison said, sighing. Bliss shook her head.

"Alright, enough. Of course we don't know if they're still in there. But even if they're not, they have the memory of being your family, and you miss them - don't deny it," Bliss snapped, raising a finger as Allison started to protest. "So I will get over my discomfort and go visit the Seekers, and we will have brunch, and I will make egg custard because it's your father's favorite, and that's final," Bliss told her, stunning her by speaking aloud. She let Allison digest this and then nodded once when she felt the tentative curl of pleased and happy affection from her host. "Right. Now, where'd I put that recipe?"

**

Twas a night like any other, and all through the Den, not a creature was stirring….

Derek sighed heavily and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head and trying to sleep. Everyone else was already out for the night, except whoever was on guard duty and whoever was assigned to watch-- he groaned in frustration and rolled over back onto his other side, gritting his teeth.

That stupid alien. It was going to get them all in trouble, he just knew it. It would be better for everyone if they all just went back to the way things were and put Reacher out of their minds.

He wished he could start by putting it out of his mind.

Pale, creamy skin dotted with moles. Flushed cheeks, slack mouth, spit shiny lips. A breathy gasp.

"Please."

Derek huffed a growl of frustration and tried to smother himself with his pillow. He was not doing this. He was not entertaining these thoughts - not about some alien using a boy's body - Stiles' body - without his permission. Of course, thinking that sparked off a whole new train of thought about using Stiles' body with his permission. His enthusiastic and continuous permission.

"Please. Oh, please. Derek," whispered the phantom of Stiles in his mind, and he bit back a curse, flushing from his shoulders to his hair as his already insistent erection gave a twitch. He wavered for a whole ten seconds before sliding his hand down his chest into his sleeping pants, shivering at the first touch and biting his lip against a groan when he flashed back to that night in the tree, watching Reacher (No, he told himself. Watching Stiles) and imagined it was his hand on Rea--Stiles' cock, putting that expression of hungry rapture on his face. Imagined spreading Stiles out on a real bed with actual sheets and putting his hands all over that creamy skin. His hips stuttered a little as he imagined/remembered the way Stiles' head was thrown back in his pleasure, throat fully exposed.

He bit his lips and came silently, muscles twitching, heart pounding. He wiped his hand on a dirty shirt and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow to hide how red it was and clenching his fists in frustration at how not relaxed he was after coming. It was a little worse now, even.

He did eventually fall asleep, but he slept fitfully, and raised his head in a narrow-eyed glare at Cora when she stuck her head into his little alcove and gave a sharp whistle by way of alarm clock. She scoffed.

"Geez, bro, you look like shit," she told him. He growled at her and she ducked back out, calling over her shoulder, "Better hurry and get some breakfast, you're scheduled for surveillance."

He thought about that for a moment, thought about the night before, and muffled a short groan in his pillow before pushing himself up and grabbing a clean-ish pair of pants. He'd be changing into something cleaner in the main Den closet, where they kept all their outer wear for their surface-side missions.

Derek hurried through breakfast, trying to keep his mind empty and not really succeeding, before going to see his aunt, who was standing next to his uncle, both of them looking over several important looking sheets of paper. He cleared his throat.

"Hey Derek. You'll be watching Reacher today," Ophelia told him casually, and he stared at her, saying nothing and trying not to let his heart overreact. After a moment she looked up at him and he studied her for a moment, but her expression gave nothing away until she arched an eye and said, "Problem?" with that cocky little half-smirk that Peter did all the time. The one that Peter was doing now.

Derek rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Where is he?" he asked.

"All reports indicate he's still at home. We're a couple hours ahead of the topside world when it comes to sleep so you have time to take a shower and pick some decent clothing," she told him.

She made it sound like he was meeting Reacher on a date, and he scowled, blushing as he left. He thought of the last time he'd watched Reacher. He thought of the night before. He made a face and went to the cafeteria.

He was looking for James or Marcus, but he saw Cora first and sat down next to her.

"Switch duties with me," he ordered her, and she snorted.

"No," she answered automatically, to his scowl. "Wait," she said a second later, when he started to get up to find a more reliable sibling. He paused and glared at her. "What are you scheduled for?"

"Reacher watch," he replied, and she snorted again.

"Not much of a switch. I'm watching his friend, Bliss," she said, glancing at Scott when he visibly perked up at her name. Derek didn't notice.

"That's fine. Just switch with me," he told her. She sighed.

"Dude, avoidance isn't the answer," she said. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"What."

Cora rolled her eyes at him.

"If you like the dude, you like the dude, it's not a big deal," she said. Derek's face took on a look of vague horror, heart stuttering at the implication, and she scoffed. "Whatever. Fine. I'll switch with you. You want the full report on your-"

"No," Derek said roughly, getting up and storming off. Cora watched him go and shook her head. Scott sat down in front of her, followed by Isaac and Erica.

"Derek likes Stiles?" Scott asked, dismissing all hope of pretense. Cora shrugged.

"I dunno, I just like messing with him," she replied. "Besides, it's not like it could…y'know, work or anything. Your bro's an alien now," she told him. He colored a little and set his adorably crooked jaw.

"So?" he asked challengingly. Cora looked at him a little pityingly. It's not like it was some great secret that Scott was pining over a girl he'd met for thirty seconds - her hair, her skin, her smile, her eyes - so the fact that he was defending his alien bro's potential for romance was as see-through as cellophane.

"Whatever dude. I gotta go shower and get ready to follow your bro around for the day. Do you want the full report?" she asked. and he nodded, unfazed by her sarcasm. She snorted and carried her tray back to the front of the room.

**

Reacher opened his eyes at the sound of the soft and persistently mellow tone coming from his alarm clock. He sat up, terminated the alarm noise, and threw his covers off, lips pulling into an excited smile as he bounced across the room to Stiles' closet and began leafing through his almost identical work shirts and the staggering amount of plaid and comic book shirts that had caught Stiles' eye at the Store over the years.

You're humming, Stiles grumbled, performing the mental equivalent of rolling over and pulling the sheet over his head. Reacher grinned.

I'm excited, he replied, finding their not so battered, long sleeve shirt depicting a parody of the evolution of man from ape, to upright man, to hunched over computer nerd, and picking his grey striped zip-up hoodie to wear with it. He set them on the bed and went to his dresser, flipping through his pants selection.

Dude, it's just a store run. How can you be so excited about going to the Store? Stiles complained. Reacher shrugged, selecting a pair of medium dark blue jeans with a slight artificial fade pattern. You act like you're going on a date, Stiles teased, before huffing sourly. Not that I know what that's actually like, he muttered. Reacher smiled again, humming some more and heading off to the shower.

What if Derek's there? Don't you want to look your best? he asked, and Stiles perked up, interested in the proceedings at last.

He's not gonna be there - no one's gonna be there. And does this mean we're done pretending we aren't doing this so we can see Derek more? he asked with a sleepy yawn. Reacher snorted, running the water to the right temperature.

Maybe he won't stand at the door and greet us, but he might be watching, you never know. And I never said that getting closer to Derek wasn't a positive reason to help them, but you make it seem like it's the only reason, Reacher replied. Stiles smirked in his head.

I'm seventeen. I'm filled with hormones. Let me tell you, if the situation was reversed - if Derek were a host and I were part of the human…resistance or whatever - I would totally compromise the safety of the group just to get closer to Soul Derek. What was that name we came up with for him? Crystal Blue Water in the Endless Opal Desert? Mmmm, I'd like to get a taste of--

Stiles, Reacher admonished, even as his cheeks darkened. I wish you wouldn't be so crass. I'm sure there's more to Derek than what he looks like, the Soul said nervously. Stiles sighed.

Of course there is, dude, but until we know what that 'more' is, all I have to go on is how he looks. We don't even know what he sounds like. Why build the whole thing up without facts? That's an endeavor doomed to disappointment. But here's what I can tell you based on the two times we've seen him; are you ready?

Reacher frowned apprehensively and then blushed as several studies and old wives' tales about the shoulder to waist ratio, approximate size of Derek's biceps and some email that had gone around about penis length being determined by the length of one's thumb scrolled across his mind. His hands froze where they were, mid-scrub and he blinked at the suppositions and conclusions that Stiles had drawn from all of this information.

"How do you even know half of this stuff?" he blurted aloud, startled, and Stiles laughed happily.

Dude, sometimes you fall asleep before I do, and the internet is a font of information. You gonna do something about that?

Stiles was of course talking about the erection induced by his barrage of visuals of what Derek might look like naked. Reacher's hands twitched and he blinked a few times, licking his lips.

I…I'm not sure that's appropriate. I feel like I'm invading his privacy somehow, he told his human, who snorted.

Reacher, it's not wrong to fantasize about something or someone that you want in a sexual manner as long as it doesn't cause you to act inappropriately around the person or thing, you know that. Now come on, man, Stiles pleaded, tempting him with an image of him and Derek in that very shower.

There was an unlikely amount of lather...everywhere…

Reacher swallowed hard and his hand drifted haltingly downwards.

Atta boy, Stiles grinned.

**

Cora wrinkled her nose and turned her attention towards the other occupant of the house, wishing - not for the first time - that she'd brought a book, or something else to do so she didn't have to think about some boy jerking it in the shower. His verbal question to no one confused her, and it set her skin on edge a little. It definitely sounded like he was talking to someone else and not to himself, but there was no one else in the house with either of them. She shook her head, put it aside and tuned in on the downstairs.

The Seeker was in the kitchen, looking through the fridge and mumbling about health food and having clean arteries for six years and how much he wanted real bacon. Cora's mouth twisted a little at the memory of the few times they'd had bacon at the Den. There'd almost been a fistfight between Jackson and one of the other kids - Greenberg - because one of them had taken an extra slice more than the allotted two slices. She sighed as silently as possible and shook her head.

"De…Derek."

Cora straightened up abruptly where she was perched in the tree with the clearest line of sight into Reacher's bedroom, ignoring the sudden rustle of disturbed leaves and gaping at the open door leading to the hallway.

"No way," she said, before glancing sharply around, but no one was on the street to hear her exclamation of surprise. She hadn't been very loud, and none of the direct neighbors had their window open - not like Reacher did. She kept gaping, until a shivery moan made her blink and avert her ears, blushing furiously.

Did he not know he was being monitored? No - according to James, Isaac had said he knew, but if he knew he was being watched, then how could he…do that…so freely? It was like he thought that werewolves couldn't hear through a wooden door and a shower or something. It was like…Cora's eyes widened and she blinked several times.

"No way," she whispered, the corners of her mouth drawing up into a devious grin.

It was like he didn't know they were werewolves.

Oh, man. This is gonna be good, she told herself, already organizing her blackmail material by worth and desired items. There was a startled sounding moan filled with garbled words and the sound of a thump and she bit her lip against the laugh that wanted to crow out of her when the Seeker made a concerned noise before yelling up, "Reacher? You alright?"

"Fine! Fine, dad, I'm fine," Reacher shouted back in a high, panicked voice before lowering it considerably and whining, "Mother of monkey feathers, my tailbone!"

She was going to dislocate a rib from not laughing at this point.

"Oh my god, you curse like a Disney character," she said quietly to no one, mentally adding it to the blackmail list.

After Reacher left the house (carrying a manila envelope that she eyed warily), Cora slipped out of the tree and moved down three houses before getting into the car that she'd taken from the shed/garage. She slipped on the shades in the cup holder and thanked the powers that be for the sunny morning and made sure to drive as close to speed limit as possible without cruise control. She drove under, just to be safe. She parked relatively close to the blue Jeep (the only one of its kind), and made sure no one was near her before switching to the passenger side, so that it looked like she was waiting for someone to come out with the shopping. Technically she was.

**

Reacher strolled into the Store and smiled at the Souls who looked up from their inventory scanners before grabbing a platform truck and moving down the aisles. He had his own list for the house to get as well, so that just grabbing sixty gallons of water wouldn't stand out.

He stopped by the meat section and stared at the selections of bacon (all the choicest cuts for consumption, and then the less particular cuts for recipes that called for more fat than meat).

Sixty Gallons.

He shook his head and sighed, nudging Stiles so that they could combine their brainpower. Two heads and all (the inaccuracy of the proverb where it concerned him and Stiles made Reacher smile and he amended it to 'two minds').

You know, Peter made it seem like sixty gallons would keep sixty people watered for a while. I don't think he knows that we know how many people he's protecting, Stiles said, and Reacher arched an eyebrow.

Agreed, he said, before frowning down at his list. Bacon was on the list.

It always was, and he almost never bought the real stuff. A vestige from the old life. Stiles' mother, Claudia, would often complain about John's cholesterol, and it was something that Stiles clung to even though John's cholesterol had long since been a thing of the past. It was Stiles' haven of normalcy in times of stress (Reacher suspected that it was the same for John, which was why the older man never tried to bring bacon home on his own).

Stiles sighed.

Might as well, he said, and Reacher considered the choices more carefully before picking up a packet and carrying it to the deli.

"Excuse me," he said politely, and the soul behind the counter smiled at him. "I have other shopping to attend to. Would you hold this for me?" he asked.

"Of course. What's the name?"

"Reacher."

"Please come back when you're ready."

Reacher moved on.

So sixty gallons isn't enough, he said to Stiles, who hummed thoughtfully.

No, not nearly, the human replied. Reacher frowned.

What do we do? Keep getting them water? he asked. Stiles was silent for a while as they walked up and down the aisles, before pulling them both up short in the hygiene aisle, right next to the toilet paper. Reacher blinked, then colored slightly and cleared his throat.

Come on, man, if they're running low on water, they have to be running low on other things.

It isn't right to assume, Stiles, the Soul chided, even as he put two 48 roll packs on the flat, six-wheeled cart.

Well, you know what they say, better to have it and not need it. Besides, they'll need it eventually. Maybe get some air fresheners too, he suggested. Reacher tried not to wrinkle his nose in public. Shopping went on like that for a while - going around the entire, warehouse sized Store with Stiles stopping him randomly so he can pick up - among other things - chocolate, pens, paper, and two of the newest computer tablets that had recently come out. Finally, though, when the only things left to get were the perishables on Stiles' home list and the water for Peter, Reacher tentatively proposed that they ask one of the Store workers for help.

Stiles let Reacher see as his mind worked the possible lies they would have to feed the Store associate to keep their free human friends' secret.

Okay, I think the best thing to do is to be as honest as we can with our lies, Stiles said, and Reacher snorted aloud. Thankfully no one was in that aisle with him, though he blushed as he threw furtive glances around. Yeah, I get it. But let's evaluate what we know. They live underground, Stiles said.

That was something they'd figured out very quickly. There were only so many places where you could hide sixty people, and those choices were growing slimmer every day what with the Souls' propensity for reusing and recycling everything up to and including empty buildings and spaces. Underground was the only 'feasible' real estate for long term use by a large number of people. He and Bliss had spent hours one day trying to figure out exactly where, determining that they most likely lived under the Beacon Hills Preserve, which was huge, and the Souls had no plans for development there.

Alright, but how do we use that?

Stiles hesitated.

Do you trust me? he asked. Reacher didn't even blink.

Of course I do, he answered. He felt a burst of affection from his host and smiled.

Lemme drive for a minute, Stiles said.

This was something they'd toyed with in the past, and had been discussing in the car on the way to the Store. Reacher glanced around and then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Very, very carefully, he concentrated on retracting the filament thin attachments that governed conscious motor control without doing damage to the brain. He felt it when Stiles grabbed the cart for balance. Felt it when he no longer controlled what his body was doing. Scrambled not to reattach out of panic. Scrambled not to retract everything.

Reacher? You okay in there? Stiles thought louder than he usually did, their heart thrumming with contradictory panic and excitement. The adrenaline made their breaths hitch.

I'm...I'm okay, Reacher told him.

He was not okay. Stiles' snort was mental.

Just breathe with me, dude, he said, taking deep, calming breaths and smiling as he looked around with his eyes. Eventually, Reacher's panic subsided. This was alright. This was good. Stiles' happiness at his newly discovered pseudo-freedom quelled Reacher's flight instinct until he was floating on endorphins. They just breathed for a moment.

What's the plan? Reacher asked. Stiles nodded, looking around, and pushed the platform truck to the end of the aisle, quickly spotting the Store's deep blue vests and parking before walking calmly over.

"Excuse me," Stiles said, his voice only slightly different from Reacher's polite interjection. He sounded just a little enthusiastic. Nothing suspicious. The Store associate turned to him with a smile - happy to be of service. "I was wondering if you might help me," Stiles said.

"Of course," the associate said, turning to face him fully.

"Great. A friend of mine is doing an experiment concerning biospheres and subterranean cultivation," Stiles said, the lie tripping naturally out of his mouth. Reacher was awed.

Inventive, he said. Stiles preened.

Thanks, he replied.

"That's ambitious of them," the associate said, and Stiles nodded.

"He's very focused. He hopes to publish a paper on it and perhaps apply it to overcrowded planets," the human said, to the other Soul's surprised but supportive nod. "Anyway, I mentioned I'd be interested in helping in my free time, and one of the problems we've encountered is renewable sources of water. Of course he'd be setting up near an underground spring or well, but there might not be that in some areas, so we'd need something that our theoretical dwellers could take with them that would keep them from dehydration," he explained. The associate considered the matter thoughtfully and scratched his face.

"Have you tried our hardware department? It's adjacent to the garden section," he said. Stiles tilted his head slightly.

"Will they have something for this?" he asked. The Store associate smiled warmly.

"Let's go find out," he offered. Stiles smiled back.

They walked calmly through the Store, through the garden--

("What sort of a biosphere is your friend constructing?"

"Subterranean farm. He's got some cattle and chickens already for milk and eggs waiting for the environment to be big enough and sustainable," Stiles answered easily, constructing the lie as every second passed by.

"He'll need some methane filters and oxygen producers, then," the associate suggested. Stiles smirked.

"My very thought," he said.)

-- into the hardware section, which seemed like a whole second warehouse. Stiles and the associate (Snow Dust) talked and discussed the hypothetical ecosystem of the large underground tunnel cave, talking about lighting that won't heat up the space dramatically because no wind means an enclosed environment will eventually be close to body temperature anyway - theoretically. They talked about how different kinds of plants gave off different levels of oxygen.

"How long is your friend planning to live underground?" the associate asked.

"Long term. He's talking about spending this lifetime on the subterranean project, just to be sure that it's indefinitely sustainable," Stiles said. The sales associate nodded but looked concerned.

"Won't you miss him? Your friend?" he asked. Stiles hesitated for a moment and then shrugged.

"I'm thinking of going with him. Otherwise, of course I'll miss him, but I'll see him in the next life. We both like this planet very much. Plus, he's thinking of doing a deep sea bio-bubble next. Can't miss that," he said with a charming smile. Snow Dust seemed happier for this knowledge.

Eventually they found someone who could help them get what they were looking for.

It looked like a water dispenser - the kind seen in offices, with the five gallon jugs attached - but larger, and with a top section that was sleek and dark and attached to the jug so that the jug had two ends.

"How does it work?" Stiles asked, studying it.

"I'll show you our personal model," said the second associate (Yellow Hind Ridge, from the lizard planet) happily. "It's in the break room."

Apparently, all anyone had to do was open the top hatch, pour in about three glasses of water, operate the faucet as though you were getting yourself some (like you do). The machine sampled some of the water as it flowed into the cup and manufactured more, because science. The more you used it, the more it would produce.

Makes sense to me, Reacher said. Stiles smiled.

Course it does, he answered, nodding to the helpful Store workers.

"This is excellent. Just what my friend needs. How much water will it produce per day?" he asked. They shrugged.

"It could fill the jug five times a day if you emptied it all as soon as it was full," said the second one. Stiles chuckled at the thought and Yellow blushed. "We had a slow day," he explained. Stiles laughed, tickled.

"And how long will it last?" he asked. The two associates considered the question and shrugged.

"As long as it didn't fall from a great height or get crushed by something, I'd say indefinitely," Yellow replied.

What do you think? he asked Reacher.

The different Stores are similarly stocked. If it breaks we can always get them a new one, the Soul offered. Stiles nodded his agreement.

"Well that's settled then. I'll take one. I might come back for a second one, though, for the livestock," he told them. Reacher internally voiced his approval at Stiles' opening to return.

"We'll have one brought to your vehicle," Yellow said, and Stiles thought of the Jeep.

"Ooh. Do you guys have a cart or a trailer I could look at? I don't think this and my other items will all fit in my Jeep," he said. They nodded agreeably and helped him pick out a cart to tow his purchases.

Stiles eventually went back to the cart and moved it to an empty aisle before holding it for balance.

Thanks for letting me drive, dude, he said. Reacher gratefully reattached, taking a deep breath once he was in control again and rolling his head back on his shoulders. I know how uncomfortable that made you, dude. Seriously, thanks, Stiles told him. Reacher smiled.

It wasn't so bad. Maybe we'll do it again sometime. Soon. At tea? he offered. Stiles wavered. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

Let's let you recover first. Maybe tomorrow, he said. The Soul had to duck his head and smile.

I'm so fond of you, he said. Stiles gave the impression of blushing.

Love you too, man.

**

Derek stared sourly out of the tinted windows of his black Camaro at the quaint looking house on East Maple Avenue. He sighed boredly for the third time in ten minutes as he listened to the Soul inside putter around humming to herself. She was in the kitchen making something, but none of the windows or doors were open so it could have been a soufflé for all he knew. There was music playing softly - some top forties playlist from before the invasion. He'd thought it was weird at first, but now it was just annoying. Her name was Bliss. Apparently she was some kind of therapist for Souls who'd just taken hosts.

She'd had two, forty-five minute appointments that morning - one from a Soul in a teenaged body wanting to know if the bodily urges were normal (Derek had snorted at that), and one was an older woman who wanted to discuss a couple disturbing dreams about being separate from her host and her host trying to strangle her. Bliss had actually sounded quite concerned and had asked more about her hosts' previous life. Derek rolled his eyes at the way the woman had gone on - starting from childhood and talking on and on. Bliss had been forced to interrupt her at one point and tell her that her time was up, but suggested that the Soul maybe take up an activity that her host had previously enjoyed. Something about sense memory, cognitive dissonance and some other bullshit that Derek had tuned out.

He looked up from where he was drumming on his thigh when the front door opened and she emerged, dressed in a pastel sundress and carrying a container full of (he sniffed what air drifted in through the sliver of space he had rolled his window down) egg custard. His stomach growled, he rolled his eyes.

The alien made sure that the custard was secure in the back seat of her compact before closing the door and hesitating. Her shoulders slumped for a moment while a frown came over her face but after a moment, she shook her head sharply, took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, flipped back her hair, and got into the car. Derek arched an eyebrow but waited until she was halfway down the block to follow.

She was almost the only other car on the road - following her was easy - and he was able to stay within a believable distance the entire time. Finally he watched her pull into the driveway of a house and he slowed down to catch the number of the house as he passed.

His heart started to pound and his mouth dried up and he struggled to breathe normally when he saw the house. He jerked his eyes forward to stop himself from running into a parked car and drove away as quickly as he could.

Argent.

She was at the Argent's house.

She was an Argent.

Kate.

She was related to Kate.

He turned onto the main road and drove to the Preserve,

If Reacher was friends with an Argent, then they were all in very serious danger. He had to warn everyone. He had to get them to break off all ties with the alien. His stomach was twisting on itself like someone had dropped a mentos in there after he'd drunk a glass of diet coke. He swallowed with a dry throat and prayed he could make it to the woods before the urge to vomit overwhelmed him.

How had no one seen it? How could they have missed it?

**

Cora watched as Reacher parked in the empty lot of an abandoned church and rolled the passenger side window down a little so that she could listen in.

"Alright," he said to himself, getting out of the Jeep and going to the trailer. He spent a minute or two separating the things in the trailer according to no system that she could place. He put some things in his Jeep and some things were left in the trailer, including - she arched her eyebrow as she studied it from afar - a long somewhat slender package.

She'd watched two of the Souls from the Store drag the small trailer over to Reacher's Jeep, wondering what it was, and what Reacher would need it for. It was in a simple looking brown cardboard box with tiny, precise writing on the 'front' near the top.

"Maybe I should write them instructions," Reacher muttered to himself, staring at the box. After a moment, he nodded and went back to the Jeep, digging in his glove box for a moment before pulling out a battered notebook and a pen.

In the car, Cora blinked. Write who instructions? Write them instructions? Did Reacher buy them stuff? Why would he do that? How did he think he was going to deliver it? She sat up a little straighter and leaned forward on the center console, completely focused on his actions.

He spent a minute or so writing something, glancing at the box every now and then before writing something else. Finally he gave a satisfied sort of grunt and looked at what he'd written. "Alright, water tank. Top lifts up, pour in accompanying gallon of water, replace top. Toggle water dispenser into on position for five to ten seconds or until water fills a glass. Water will be sampled by mechanism and produced in top section to fill jug. Jug is about -" he eyeballed it. "-five to seven gallons. Dispenser will produce twenty-five to thirty-five gallons a day," he finished, stopping to consider and completely unaware of the jaw-dropping effect his words were having on Cora.
He'd bought them a water dispenser.

Reacher had gone out and bought them a self-filling, never ending water dispenser.

Cora blinked, closed her mouth, and sat back in her seat, hands gripping the steering wheel of the two year old, brandless car. This complete stranger - this alien - had not only seen Scott and then let him go, rescued Isaac from notice and then escorted him to safety, and concealed his knowledge of the existence of free humans in Beacon Hills, but he had voluntarily bought something for them that would diminish their need to risk their own safety. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat and shook her head, looking back at him with wonder.

She wondered what he was going to do with it. Where he was going to leave it. How he was going to let them know that he'd obtained something so infinitely precious for them. She thought about how he knew he was being watched and nodded. Yes. She would follow him to where he was going to leave it and then take it back to the Den herself. Good. This was a good thing. Peter was right (not that she'd ever tell him that). And afterwards, she thought she would maybe drop by his house and hug him or something. She made a face and blushed furiously, wiping at her damp eyes. Maybe the emotions would pass by the time it was all set up and working, and she'd be spared the embarrassment of expressing herself.

She watched him attach the notes to the box and go through several other items, muttering to himself as he went. Candy. Pens. Paper. Coloring books. Toys. Gadgets. Games. When he opened the packaging for two flat tablet computers and started going through activating them and disabling all the GPS functions, Cora kinda wanted to kiss him. Sure he was attracted to her brother, but Derek didn't seem to like him all that much and it would definitely be his major loss. She wondered if Reacher was strictly gay or maybe open to a little bi/hetero action. She couldn't stop smiling. She couldn't stop crying.

There were no tissues in the car. She was going to ruin her shirt sleeves.

All in all, it took about fifteen minutes, and then he looked towards the Jeep and muttered that he should get the bacon for his dad into the fridge before it spoiled. Then he wondered if 'they' had someplace to keep perishables and went on to himself about getting them some sort of a ice machine and a cooler.

"Geez, Reach, no wonder everyone likes you," Cora said, rolling her eyes, wiping them again and shaking her head. She laughed a little at how resistant she'd been whenever the discussion turned towards Reacher. What an idiot she'd been. They could've been having nice things all this time if she'd just bothered to listen. She waited about ten seconds after he'd pulled out of the parking lot to follow him, keeping her eye on the speed limit while her heart raced happily in her chest.

Maybe this morning she'd been sarcastic about Scott's alien bro, but she was definitely in his camp now.

Chapter Text

"She's an Argent," Derek said, bursting into the room where his mother, father, aunt and uncle were having some sort of a meeting. James had tried to stop him from going in, but whatever they were doing could wait - this was more important.

"Derek," his father started, but Derek shook her head.

"She's an Argent, dad. She's not just an alien, she's born and bred to kill us," he snapped frantically, trying to make them understand.

"Who?"

"Bliss! Or whoever it is that she's controlling. You don't understand, we're all in danger," he insisted hysterically.

"What were you doing watching Bliss? I thought I assigned you to watch Reacher," his aunt told him. The name sent hot anger flaming up inside Derek, and his stomach rolled against the conflicting hot and cold of fury and panic.

"I don-- what? I don't care about that - are you listening?"

"Derek, calm down," Talia said. He stared at her.

"No," he said, appalled, and the room grew uncomfortably quiet. "No, I will not calm down - why are you so calm? The girl who is best friends with the alien that you're thinking of letting into our Den is related to the people who most in the world want to see us dead. How do we know he hasn't told her all about us? Huh? How do we know he isn't reporting to them? We have to do something. We have to…fight. Leave. We have to do something!" he babbled, fighting for breath. His hands were shaking. He clenched them. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and flinched, but it was only James, staring at him with concerned eyes. Derek looked away from him.

The room was quiet. Ophelia was sharing a silent conversation with Peter, both of them looking...guilty...about something, and Derek's father was standing next to his mother, who was studying Derek carefully.

"Derek," she started, and he swallowed hard. "We already knew that Bliss's host was an Argent," she said. His heart stuttered in his chest and he stared at her.

"What?" he asked weakly, looking around the room.

"It's why you were never assigned to watch her after we began investigating Reacher," she said, kindly. He saw the sympathy and understanding in her eyes and struggled for his next breath.

She couldn't know. She couldn't possibly. He'd been so careful - so stupidly, perfectly careful. It didn't matter what he told himself, his nostrils filled with a perfume that wasn't really there and his shoulders shook with the effort not to run away screaming.

"Ophelia, do we have any ashwaganda tea left?" Talia asked, and her sister-in-law bared her throat respectfully.

"I'll ask Deaton," she said, making sure not to invade Derek's space as she left.

"I have some things to check on," David said, heart skipping with the lie as he too left the room, hooking James around the back of the neck and dragging his younger son with him so that it was just Talia, Derek and Peter left in the room. Peter said nothing, looking down at the makeshift table and shuffling through some distressed, almost disintegrating papers that they'd recycled. Talia closed her eyes, sighed, and looked at her brother.

"Peter," she said, fixing him with an unamused expression when he looked up with mock interest and surprise. "Leave," she ordered. He nodded, looking assessingly at his nephew as he passed. When he had left the room, Talia gestured to one of the fold out chairs that littered the walls of the room. "Take a seat," she told Derek. He hesitated.

"Mom," he started, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Derek," she interrupted, eyes slowly bleeding from brown to red. " Sit down," she ordered. He swallowed hard and grabbed a chair, not bothering to drag out the proceedings by sitting where he stood. He put his chair near hers and sat in it, keeping his eyes on the ground as his heart pounded in his chest. Talia turned her chair to face her son and sat with her elbows resting on her knees.

There was a long moment where neither of them said anything, and the longer the silence went, the more Derek's fear and panic filled the room until Talia turned her head away from it and sighed.

"Derek, I know what she did to you," she said, looking back at him. She watched the hairs on the back of his hands stand on end, watched his jaw clench, watched him try to hide the sudden tremble of his body by shifting his weight and shook her head sourly.

"You..." Derek clenched his jaw too late to stop himself and folded and unfolded his arms for a tense moment, finally settling for folding them and looking at the table. "You know?"

"Yes, darling, I do," she told him. He listened carefully and then sucked in a breath when her heartbeat stayed steady.

"How did...How? I was..." so careful. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. Talia's expression didn't change. No pity entered her eyes as she continued to look at her son's ashen face.

"Oh, my darling," she said, reaching out and gently running her hand through his hair. "There are only so many times you can change your brand of body wash before I send my spies to find out why," she told him. His laugh was sickly and brief.

"Peter?" he asked, blinking back moisture. Talia's mouth twisted wryly.

"Peter," she confirmed. He looked away, jaw clenching, eyebrows twitching downward as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"You never said anything," he said quickly, breath hitching as he darted glances at her. She nodded, looking at the ground.

"I know," she answered. "I...I suppose I was afraid," she told him. He stared.

"Of what?"

"Of losing you. I was afraid if I confronted you with what I knew at the time…" she broke off with a shrug. "You were so infatuated - I knew you would get defensive and go running to her if I tried to tell you who and what she was, and I was afraid that she would hurt you then," she told him. He looked away, nodding. She probably would have. "And after the invasion, when you learned the truth, I was afraid I would lose your love if I came to you with what I knew too soon. I was sure that eventually, you would come to me," she said, small, rueful smile on her face. "That was my fault. I waited too long for this," she said. He swallowed again, and his breath hitched as his composure broke, tears spilling from his eyes. He heard wicked laughter in his ears and choked on air, trembling.

"I'm s…I'm sorry, mom," he whimpered, but she shook her head, pulling him forward into a hug.

"Not your fault, my darling," she told him, kissing his forehead and holding him close.

**

Reacher had - at Stiles' suggestion - foregone the technological simplicity of typing an address into his tablet or station and picked up a map of the preserve, which had all the old homesteads and private residential homes marked (there were only three). He glanced at it occasionally as he drove slowly along the woodland path, but mostly he admired the scenery. It was beautiful out here in the woods.

Peaceful.

It lifted a weight inside him.

There's no one to hide from out here, is why, Stiles told him, and he smiled.

Just the squirrels and sixty free humans, Reacher replied, making his host laugh.

It wasn't a long drive - about twenty minutes. He glanced at the backseat at the bacon and his mouth twisted a little.

Spray it with Clean, it'll be fine, Stiles said dismissively. Reacher snorted.

I'm not sure that's how it works, Reacher said, and Stiles shrugged.

Works on scrapes and cuts, why not bacon?

Finally they cleared some trees and the house came into view. It was a lovely place - two stories, fairly big, and Reacher reminded himself that Talia and David had raised five children, as well as housing her brother and his family.

"Nice house," he commented aloud as he pulled up and turned the car in a circle so that the trailer end was closest to the house.

**

Cora had slowed down as she watched Reacher turn onto the road leading into the Preserve, equal parts confusion and trepidation making her heart speed in her chest. She had driven past the turn off, gone down a ways, turned around and followed him, mind churning. Why was he going onto the preserve? Had he figured out where they were? Had someone told him? Isaac? Scott?

She bit her lips as she followed his tire tracks, taking deep, calming breaths and pulling her car off to one side of the road as she realized that he had driven all the way up to the house. She cut the engine and half-heartedly pulled some branches over the car before sneaking quickly and quietly up to the tree line, watching as Reacher climbed out of his car.

He looked around the space with an awed and appreciative expression, and her worry eased somewhat, even as she watched him like a hawk. He muttered to himself about unloading and the easiest way to get the dispenser up the front steps before separating the trailer from the Jeep altogether and nodding. He looked around, and spotted the shed.

"Right. Yes. Perfect. I'll leave the trailer in the shed, and I'll leave a note with the other stuff to check the shed, yes, good," he said to himself, and Cora shook her head, but breathed a silent sigh of relief.

I wonder if I should just help him. She tilted her head and studied him, worrying her lower lip as she weighed her options.

**

Ophelia returned with a banged up, old teapot and a couple plastic cups, blinking when Derek was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Derek?" she asked Talia, who smiled softly as her brother's wife set the tea down.

"Getting changed. There's an opening in the leisure room, we're going to go watch old movies and cry, so he's putting on something he can wallow in," she told him. Ophelia nodded with an appreciative smirk.

"What about you? Where are your wallowing clothes?" she asked. Talia smirked.

"I was waiting for you so I could ask you to take the tea to the leisure room before getting out my old sweats and Rolling Stones tee-shirt," she answered. Ophelia nodded again.

"Of course. I'm sorry about all this, it's probably my fault," she told her Alpha, who frowned, confused.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I--"

They both cut off at the sound of an engine coming from over their heads. Talia glanced up, frowning when it sounded closer to the house than usual.

If it was Cora, then why wasn't she parking in the shed? There was muffled movement followed by an unfamiliar voice and she stood up, staring at the ceiling with alarm and then at her sister-in-law with suspicion when the tall, dark and beautiful wolf cursed.

"Ophelia, what did you do?" Talia demanded, and Ophelia looked guilty before the sound of running feet and a low growl made both of their stomachs twist.

"Derek," Talia hissed fearfully, racing after him with Ophelia right behind her.

**

Reacher had carried almost everything to the front porch, leaving the dispenser in the trailer so he could tow it to the shed himself afterwards. Now he was just standing there, awkwardly, hands itching, unaccountably uncomfortable.

I feel like I should knock, he confessed to Stiles, whose snort was a little forced.

No, man…I mean…Peter said to put the stuff in the foyer, the human said, but even he sounded unsure. His knuckles itched to knock and his throat was tightening against the urge to announce himself politely.

We're not trespassing. We were invited, Stiles said firmly with a decisive mental nod that bolstered Reacher's own confidence. He nodded too, an outward show of his confidence in Stiles' words, and reached for the door handle.

He jumped as if electrocuted when the handle jerked out of his hands, door swinging violently inward and revealing a haggard looking Derek Hale. A shapeless sound of surprised concern fell out of Reacher's mouth at the redness in Derek's puffy eyes and grim set of his mouth.

"You."

The word was injected with as much spite and venom as Reacher had ever heard, and his spine turned to ice. He took a staggered step backward, tripping on the stairs and grunting as he hit the dirt before pushing himself up. Derek closed the space between them easily, even as Reacher scrambled to get away, emergency sirens blaring in the fear center of Stiles' brain, their shared stomach curling.

A wordless cry of alarmed protest was all that Reacher could manage between the moment he realized that he'd backed into the trailer and the moment that Derek's hands circled his throat. Derek's eyes were narrowed, and Reacher wasn't exactly in the best state to focus on anything, but he thought Derek was also crying. He was distracted by the lack of air and the way that Derek's eyes turned a bright, burning blue. He pulled uselessly at Derek's wrists while he struggled for the air denied him by Derek's large, strong hands. Tears ran out of his eyes and he sent fearful apologies to his host as his lungs began burning.

"Derek! Derek, stop!" roared a voice through the ringing in Reacher's ears.

Suddenly the hands were wrenched from his throat and he could breathe. He flopped back against the trailer and then slid gracelessly against the ground, wheezing and coughing and hoping that Derek hadn't squeezed hard enough for his rescue to be worthless. Panic seared up his spine at the sound of a roar and he forced his eyes open to see what was happening. He pressed himself back as far as he could into the 'protection' of the trailer.

Peter - presumably the one who pulled Derek off of Reacher - was standing between the two of them, his back to Reacher, protecting him from Derek, who had sprouted claws and fangs and more facial hair than normal and was roaring at Peter, who snarled back just as loudly. Derek charged, and Peter countered, and the two of them started fighting right there, less than ten feet away from Reacher, who still couldn't breathe right.

Derek wasn't so much fighting Peter as fighting to get past him.

Fighting to get to Reacher, who was getting more and more light-headed by the moment.

Suddenly another body obscured his view of the fight, and he jerked, bringing one arm up to shield himself, but the body turned, and he saw a girl. She grabbed his arm without a word, pulling him up and away from the fight, her arm around his waist as she guided him to the driver's side of the Jeep.

"Come on, come on," she said hurriedly, digging in his pocket for the keys.

"'sunlo'ed," he croaked, and she nodded, yanking open the door and shoving him inside with the keys in his hand before aiming a vicious kick at Derek's face where the feral beast he'd become had clawed his way towards them. Reacher didn't waste time. He jammed in the key, turned it hard, threw the car into gear and roared recklessly away. He didn't slow down until he was clear of the preserve and he could find a quiet, unobserved place to park, think about what had happened, and sob helplessly against the steering wheel.

**

"Derek!" Cora yelled at him, eyes flashing beta yellow. He snarled at her. She kicked him again. "Derek, quit it!"

A thunderous roar filled the air and everyone flinched like a gun had gone off. Derek went from snarling to whimpering in the blink of an eye, flipping onto his back. Cora dropped into a crouch, turning her head away as the roar of her Alpha rang in her head and demanded her submission. Even Peter hung his head, returning to his outwardly human face.

Talia stood at the top of the front steps, glaring at all of them with blood red eyes, shoulders heaving with every breath, fangs visible. There was blood on the ground, and slashes of the color lingered on both Peter and Derek, though their skin was no longer broken. Peter wiped a stripe from his cheek and assessed his trembling nephew.

"Enough, all of you," she said grimly. Derek shuddered.

"He came to the house," he whined. "He knows where we are."

"Well he does now," Peter growled angrily. Talia's eyes snapped to her brother.

"Explain," she snapped. He flinched.

"We were running low on water," he told her, making her blink. "Dangerously low. I told him to leave it in the foyer. I didn't tell him about the Den, I only acknowledged what he already knew, which is that this house used to be ours," he explained, and she bared her teeth, sucking in a breath and clenching her hands into fists, growling.

"You spoke to him? Without my consent - without even telling me?" she demanded. He snorted, raising her hackles and the corner of her lip.

"Not that it matters, now. Derek's probably scared him off for good - that's the last time he's likely to help us at all," he grumbled with a sharp look at his nephew, who averted his eyes. Talia's growl was sharper and Peter looked up at his sister.

"Dammit, Peter, that doesn't matter. You put this entire pack at risk - we don't even know that we can trust that boy--"

"Yes we can."

All eyes turned to Cora. She took a breath and stood up, looking at her mother and not lowering her gaze.

"We can trust him," she said. The others were silent. Derek was staring at his sister in hurt horror - his sister who had always been on his side when he had dismissed the idea of help from outsiders. How could she change her mind so easily? Peter eyed his niece assessingly, intrigued by her sudden reversal of opinion. Talia held her gaze for a long, tense moment, tilting her head with surprised curiosity when Cora steadfastly held her ground.

"Explain," Talia said, still sharply, but with a lessened edge that meant she was willing to hear her daughter out. Cora nodded, pointing at the box in the trailer.

"He brought us a never-ending water supply," she told her mother, who could not hide her blink of shock, or the raised eyebrows, or the way her jaw dropped.

"What?"

Cora went to the box and pulled off a folded up piece of paper that had been taped on, walking over and handing it to her mother. Talia unfolded it, eyes scanning it. Ophelia stepped closer to read it over her shoulder. Talia's eyes jerked up to Cora, who nodded.

"He's not a spy. He didn't have to bring us this. However much water Peter sent him for, he could have just done that and no more, but he didn't. He brought us something that we need that we'll never have to leave the Den for again. Half the time we leave the Den it's to replenish our water supply - he literally cut our risk in half," Cora said. "And he doesn't just want to help us," she added, prompting her mother's eyebrow. She grabbed one of the paper bags that littered the front porch, drawing everyone's attention to their presence. Reaching inside she pulled out three king-sized chocolate bars. "He definitely wants to be friends with us - you don't buy chocolate for someone you're just helping out," she said. Talia nodded, rubbing her hand over her face as she stood down from red alert.

"You mean he wanted to be friends with us," Peter said. Talia shot him a dirty look as the others all started to speak up at once.

"Alright," she said abruptly, holding up her hands. Everyone shut up. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, here's what's going to happen. First, we're going to bring everything inside, and do something with that trailer," she told them.

"Reacher was gonna put it in the shed because he couldn't lift the box himself," Cora told her. She nodded.

"Good. Do that then," she ordered. Cora looked at Ophelia, who nodded, and the two of them moved towards the trailer. Talia looked at Peter and Derek.

"You two are going to go apologize to Reacher," she said, raising her hand when Derek started to protest. "Not right now. I'm sure he needs time to calm down, and so do you. You and I are going to watch old movies and cry, and then you and Peter will go and apologize for both of your behaviors," she said, turning her glare on Peter, who looked mildly affronted.

"I didn't try to strangle him," her brother said. She narrowed her eyes.

"You sent him into a potentially explosive situation and no one on either side had the correct information. You put him in danger, Peter, and you will apologize," she told him. He considered that, cleared his throat and nodded, turning his head to one side so his neck was exposed. Talia snorted. "Shut up, you don't mean it. You never do when you think you're right," she sneered. He had the decency to look guilty about it and shrugged one shoulder.

"But sister, I'm right so very often," he said. Talia rolled her eyes and shook her head. Derek stood up and said nothing as he helped his sister move the box while Ophelia towed the trailer towards the shed. Once the kids were inside, Peter looked at his sister, forehead dipping in concern.

"I thought you two had hugged it out," he said quietly. She glared at him.

"Don't be stupid, Peter. You can't fix a trauma like that. And even if you could, you can't do it with one hug," she snapped, turning and heading inside.

**

Werewolves, Stiles said as Reacher drove numbly through town. They weren't going home. Not yet. They needed a place where they could calm down. A place where they could freak out. They needed a safe place.

They were heading to Bliss's house.

Werewolves, Stiles said again, and Reacher shuddered.

Yes, Stiles, werewolves, he snapped, and Stiles instantly sent him conciliatory, comforting thoughts. Reacher sighed. I'm...I'm sorry, he said, shaking his head.

Fuck that, dude, we almost died. Get angry, Stiles advised in reply. Reacher blinked several times, hands clenching on the wheel, but managed to keep his driving steady as he pulled into Bliss's driveway. She was home. Good. He walked as steadily and slowly as he could manage, swallowing against a throat that felt like crushed glass when she opened the door to greet him. Her smile faded quickly into shock and horror and she ushered him inside.

He let her tend to his bruises with the supplies from her standard Comforter's medical kit and then sat him down in the living room, drawing the blinds and dimming the lights the way she did for her distressed patients. He let himself start crying again after that. The story spilled out of him in bits and pieces and she stopped him only once after he'd said that he bought groceries for his house. She went out to the Jeep and brought them all in, putting what needed to be kept cold in her fridge before letting him continue.

There was a bit of a pause when he described them shifting into a half-feral state and she was only mildly surprised instead of horrified.

"I just told you they're werewolves - why aren't you surprised?" he asked, looking suddenly betrayed. Bliss blushed, horribly embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry, Reacher. It never occurred to me. I just assumed that you knew. The Seekers know, and you live with Fields - I thought that he might have told you," she said. He digested that slowly, nodding as he sipped the tea she'd made him. "Allison's parents were Hunters, before. Spires of Prismatic Light told me about it after we were all implanted," she said, referring to the Soul that had taken Allison's father for a host. Her eyes slid to one side, a sign that she and Allison were talking, and then she blushed, looking slightly guilty. "Allison says that it might be our fault that you were attacked," she told him. He blinked.

"What? Your fault? How could it possibly be your fault that Derek tried to strangle me?" he asked dismissively. She shrugged.

"Our family are werewolf hunters, his family are werewolves, and we're best friends. Surely if they're watching you they're watching me, and I went to the house this morning," she told him. He puzzled that through and made a face.

"This is all getting very complicated," he said with a sigh before another sob caught him and he fought it back, swallowing hard and shaking his head. "I just want to help," he said, voice small. He stared at his teacup for a while. He sniffed after a moment. "Stiles thinks I should get angry because I almost died," he said, and she watched him blink back more tears. "But when I try, I just feel worse," he added with a sigh.

They sat there, drinking tea. After a moment, Bliss's forehead wrinkled.

"I thought you got the okay from them," she said. Reacher sighed.

"So did I. Peter came to my house - well, to my room...told me they needed something. Asked me to get it for them. I said okay, he told me where to leave it."

Bliss considered this.

Peter's not the Alpha, Allison said, drawing on what Spires had told Bliss, not knowing that Allison was listening. Bliss blinked.

What are you saying?

Dad…Spires said that Talia was the Alpha. What if Peter didn't get permission? What if he went to Stiles behind her back?

Why would he do that?

Well...I don't know, but it's the only thing that I can think of that makes sense, Allison replied. Bliss nodded, relaying Allison's suppositions for Reacher, who made another face and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"When did my life become so complicated?" he asked aloud of no one. Bliss didn't answer.

"I have a guest bedroom, if you don't want to go home tonight," she offered. He considered it and then rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't matter. They know where you live too," he said. "Besides. I have to get the bacon home. Gonna have some delicious, fatty, salty, artery clogging meat with some other, equally unhealthy, heart attack inducing food and try to forget that today ever happened," he added with a ghost of a smile. Bliss huffed.

"I'll help you carry groceries to the car," she told him. He nodded his thanks.

**

Twelve hours later, Peter and Derek were standing at the tree line behind Stiles' house, and Derek looked like he'd rather swallow glass than do what he was about to do. Reacher was in his room, reading a book from the sounds of his resting heart rate and the occasional flip of paper. The Seeker's car wasn't in the driveway. Peter looked over at Derek assessingly and arched an eyebrow.

"I'll go first," he said, drawing Derek's attention. "Only, I think it would probably make Reacher scream for help if you went first," he added, making Derek roll his eyes.

"Fine," he gritted out, and Peter smirked before checking the coast. He darted forward and lightly jumped up onto the low, porch roof that wrapped around the from side of the house and ended under Reacher's window. It wasn't locked, and he slid it up easily, stepping through. Reacher jerked, book falling out of his hand and off the bed, followed by Reacher. Peter held up a hand when Reacher scrambled to his feet, holding the book as though he couldn't decide if it was a shield or a weapon.

"Reacher," Peter started, and the Soul made a distressed noise, darting a glance at the door. Peter sighed. "Just -" he darted forward to keep Reacher from running out of the room, still holding up one hand. "Just relax. We're not here to hurt you," he said firmly, and Reacher backed up towards the other side of the room, the book - Peter almost laughed when he saw the title "History of Lycanthropy" - clutched against his chest.

"We?" he asked, voice breaking. Peter sighed, wincing a little.

"Calm down, you're going to give yourself a heart attack," he said. Reacher frowned.

"That's an old wives' tale - who's we?" he asked, but by the stammer of his heart, he already knew and it was making him anxious.

"Are you calm?" Peter asked. Reacher stared at him.

"No I'm not calm. Are you high?" he snapped back, making Peter blink in shock. Apparently though, Reacher had shocked himself because he bit his lip firmly and turned red in the face.

Peter snorted after a moment, looking around the room and seeing that the sketch of Derek was still there. Reacher followed his gaze and then twitched uncomfortably for a moment, caught between the desire to snatch the picture off the board and his inability to bring himself any closer to Peter than he currently was. Peter opened his mouth to say something but then Derek was climbing through the window. Peter suspected that Reacher wasn't aware of the low, whining noise he'd made, low in his throat like he could smother it, so he didn't react to it. Derek on the other hand, looked up at the sound, locked eyes with Reacher and then very dramatically--

--tripped and fell on his face.

He hit the floor with a bitten curse, pushing himself up and not looking at either of them as he brushed himself off. Peter was doing his best not to laugh, and Reacher was just staring at Derek. The look on his face was flabbergasted. His gast was flabbered. This was the ferocious beast that had tried to kill him that morning.

This graceless feline of a man who was affecting an air of 'that never happened' was the one who had wrapped his hands around Reacher's throat and tried to kill two birds with one squeeze.

The Soul clearly didn't know what to think, but he wasn't as frightened as he had been twenty seconds ago, so Peter accepted the victory, picked up the ball, and took charge of the situation.

"Alright. So there are a few things we need to discuss, then," he said. He looked over at the computer station, pulled out the chair, turned it towards the room and gestured for Derek to sit. Derek looked at the chair and his cheek twitched. Peter blinked at his reaction, eyebrow arching, but Derek said nothing, ducking his head as he passed his uncle and sat gingerly in the chair like it would give him tetanus. Peter frowned, but turned back at Reacher, momentarily stymied by the sight of the boy turning red again. The older Hale looked speculatively at the way neither of them would look at the other and made a mental note to tell his wife about this later. "First, a question," he said, shaking off his intrigue at their strange behavior. "How much do you know about our family?" he asked. Reacher blinked, looking at Peter.

"Um," he said, glancing lightning quick at Derek before scratching the back of his neck. "A lot? Family members' names and such?" he offered.

"How?" Derek demanded, before gritting his teeth under Peter's glare. Reacher flushed.

"I asked Bliss if she could get me a list of everyone who went missing around the time of the invasion and any files that might exist about them. It's, uh...it's how I knew you needed more water than you said you did," he answered. Peter stared at him for a moment and then shifted his weight.

"Huh." He was impressed by the young man's ingenuity. "Well, in any case, you know that Talia is the head of our household - our Alpha," he said. Reacher blinked at the information and Peter hesitated. "You didn't know?"

"I knew she was older than you, but I didn't know about werewolves until…well," he said, clearing his throat and rubbing the side of it. Peter glanced at Derek, who was sitting very still in the computer chair, staring at Reacher's neck with a blank expression and red-tinged ears. He thought about how delighted his wife would be to know that Reacher and Derek were obviously sublimating an intense attraction to one another - Derek more so than Reacher, who just seemed awkward about everything.

"I see," he said, rubbing his forehead a little. "Well, in any case, Talia is our Alpha, and - while she had not yet made a decision to trust you - our water situation was dire, so I went behind her back and came to you," he said. Reacher stared at him for a second, just blinking. "In fact, I didn't tell anyone about it, even after I'd told you to leave the water in the foyer," he added with a slight wince. "I apologize for that. I hadn't realized that other forces might conspire to complicate such a simple endeavor," he said. Reacher shrugged nervously.

"Oh. Well," he said, clearing his throat. "It…could happen to anyone?" he offered unsurely. Peter tilted his head and then gave a smirk that seemed fond as he shook his head.

"I'm sure," he replied, before looking at Derek. There was an awkward moment of silence before Peter reached out and cuffed his nephew, who scowled and stared at Reacher's feet.

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you. I promise not to try and kill you again," he said shortly and sourly, and Reacher huffed a little.

"Well that's comforting, thank you," he muttered, hugging the book a little tighter. Derek looked up at him and graced him with a nasty grin full of teeth.

"Without reason," he added, low and threateningly. Reacher's eyes widened and he swallowed audibly. Peter rolled his eyes.

"You're not helping," he told his nephew.

"W-w-why--why did you try to kill me?" Reacher stammered, clearing his throat and licking his lips nervously. Derek's grin stuttered and he returned to looking morosely at the floor. Peter sighed.

"My nephew was under the impression that you were a spy with superiors to report back to," Peter said, and Reacher blinked, chancing a quick glance at Derek's quietly furious face before turning back to the calmer wolf.

"Be…cause of Fields?" he asked, confusion evident in his tone. "You guys already knew about him," he argued. Derek started to growl, but Peter cleared his throat and the younger Hale subsided.

"Your friend. The girl--"

"Bliss? What about her?"

"Her family are Hunters - or, should I say her former family," Peter explained.

"Oh." Reacher blinked. Then he gaped and blinked some more. "Oh! You-- that's-- oh. You think Bliss--? No!" he insisted. "Seriously? You freaked out because of that? That's-- I thought you guys have been following me," he said. Peter arched an eyebrow.

"We have, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well weren't you listening when I visited Bliss - with, apparently, your superhuman hearing powers or whatever?"

Peter huffed at Reacher's description of their abilities.

"Her apartment's walls are suspiciously thick. It made listening difficult," Peter informed him. Reacher sighed, but nodded.

"Look, Bliss and I have been friends since about four months after my implanting," he said, cutting off and blinking at the low growl that Derek gave. Peter looked at him too, and it stopped after a moment. Peter motioned for the Soul to continue. Reacher gave Derek a confused look for a moment and then shook his head. "I trust her," he said. The wolves looked unimpressed with his endorsement.

"So? People lie," Derek said grimly. Reacher sighed again and rubbed his face for a moment.

"You don't understand. Before coming to this planet, the word trust wouldn't have meant anything because the word deception didn't mean anything. There was nothing a Soul did that he wouldn't happily tell his neighbor - or a total stranger - if asked. Me saying that I trust Bliss specifically is a big deal," he said, before glancing at the window. The sound of a car door closing made them all still, and Reacher groaned slightly before looking around. He took an aborted step towards his desk, making a wordless noise of unease before steeling himself and carefully approaching. "I, um...need to…" he stammered unsteadily.

Peter watched with growing amusement (under the ever-present concern of discovery) as Derek stared intensely at Reacher, eyes never leaving the Soul as he approached and finally laid his hand on the drawer next to the chair. At this point, he hesitated, glancing at the two of them, but Peter was far too amused to bother with courtesy, and Derek seemed determined to make Reacher as uncomfortable as possible, so they both watched the tips of his ears burn as he opened the drawer and pulled out a red tie. Peter barely managed to turn his laugh into a cough at the way Derek - closer and better able to see into the drawer, turned as red as Reacher's ears and looked away from the...more personal items that Peter barely got a glimpse of before the boy hurriedly closed it.

No wonder Reacher got so awkward about Derek sitting in that chair. Peter half expected Derek to leap out of it like it had bitten him, and tilted his head curiously when his nephew only blushed and too-casually studied his own hands and shifting slightly in place.

Reacher opened the door and hung the tie on the hall-side knob, closing it again quietly.

"Reacher, I'm home," Fields called, and Reacher held up a hand to the wolves, who waited expectantly. There was silence downstairs, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs that stopped at the top because Reacher's door was visible from the stairs. There was a small noise of awkward realization from Reacher's guardian and then the footsteps retreated to the first floor. Reacher sighed quietly and lowered his hand.

"Why do you trust Bliss specifically?" Peter asked quietly, and Reacher pressed his lips together while maintaining Peter's gaze to tell the wolf in the clearest possible silence that Reacher did not trust him. Derek's eyes narrowed, but Peter huffed slightly in amusement. "Then why tell us that you trusting her is important?"

"Because she trusts me too. Because if I was reporting back to her so she could report back to her Hunter/Seeker family - who she's barely on speaking terms with, by the way - then they would have made a move on you three weeks ago," Reacher answered. Both wolves tensed, but Reacher shook his head. "There isn't a secret I have that Bliss doesn't share, and vice versa. After running into Scott together, we talked about you guys a lot. We figured out your hiding place a while ago," he told them.

"How?"

"A number of factors, really, but…you smell like dirt," Reacher answered, before shrugging. "Deep dirt. Not topsoil. And not grass or plants, either," he said. He set his book down on his desk and took a seat on the edge of his bed.

"And your friend Bliss knows all of this?" Peter asked, glancing at Derek briefly. Reacher shrugged again.

"Bliss knows what I know. If she were reporting to her host's former family, They would have already tried to capture you all," he said, looking between them. "You can trust her too, you know," he said. Derek snorted, mouth twisting sourly, and Peter glanced at him before offering Reacher a political smile.

"We'll take that into consideration," he said. Reacher's nose wrinkled briefly. "Well then, I think this went well," Peter said, looking between them. A flare of mischief curled the corner of his mouth up into a smirk and he clasped his hands behind his back. "Perhaps we should cement our newly mended friendship," he offered, drawing warily furrowed eyebrows from both boys. "Group hug?" he offered with mock hopeful eyebrows. There was a strangled noise of panic from Reacher and Derek stood up, crossing to the window without a word and slipping out into the night. Peter watched him go and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing outright. "Perhaps not," he commented mildly, throwing a grin at Reacher, who shook his head and then jolted a little.

"Oh, wait," he said, getting up and going around his bed to grab a manila envelope that hung off the edge of his bookshelf. "I meant to leave this for you guys earlier, but, uh...I got distracted," he said, clearing his throat as he handed Peter the envelope. The older Hale glanced at it and looked expectantly at Reacher. "It's the list of names you can use in public, along with what planet they're most likely from and a couple notes about species..." he said, shrugging. Peter huffed.

"Yes, Isaac mentioned you were working on this," he said. Reacher shrugged again, gesturing meaninglessly.

"It's nothing. How is he?" he asked, pulling a smile to Peter's face.

"He is doing well. As is Scott, who I'm sure would tell you how grateful he is for the cure to his asthma," the older man said. Reacher nodded, blushing happily. Peter looked towards the window at an impatient growl from Derek, already waiting for his uncle from the tree line. "I have to go. My nephew is so impatient," he said. Reacher bobbed his head, waving awkwardly.

Once Peter was gone, Reacher went to his window, closing it, locking it, and closing the blinds. He stared at it for a moment before unlocking it, and then shook his head with a frustrated huff as he locked it again, turning back to his room in general as he ran his hand over his hair.

What do you think?

I'm still trying to get over the fact that he sat in the chair, Stiles replied honestly. Reacher closed his eyes and sighed, flopping back onto their bed and scrubbing his hands over his face.

You're so inappropriate, Reacher said.

At least I'm consistent?

He tried to kill us, he reminded his host, who made a contemplative noise.

He promised not to do that again, the teenager reasoned.

'People lie', Reacher countered, quoting the wolf in question. Stiles was silent for a moment and grew uncomfortable.

That felt like the voice of experience, he offered tentatively. The notion was vaguely upsetting, and Reacher frowned before sitting up and changing the subject.

Time to make dinner, he said.

Oh, sure, bribe me with bacon, Stiles said, letting the matter drop for the moment.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Reacher woke up with a jolt and stared in panic at his silent alarm clock (showing him a time far later than he usually woke) before realizing that his students were on a mandatory break and there wouldn't be any school for the next week. He sighed, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow, but now that he was awake, his mind drifted back to the previous night and swirled with supposition and theory about the mystery that was Derek Hale. After a few minutes of fruitlessly attempting to drift back into unconsciousness, Stiles rumbled something about leftover bacon and Reacher grunted, but got to his feet and shuffled downstairs.

He glanced around for Fields, but the Seeker wasn't there, and his Station was tucked in the corner of the dining/kitchen area atop the filing cabinet (not strictly necessary now that almost everything was paperless, but Fields and John liked to have things they could hold and look at while they were working). Reacher glanced into the front yard and confirmed that the Seeker-mobile was missing before going to the kitchen proper, where he found a note on the fridge.

-Meeting a newly transferred Seeker, back after lunch.
-Dad

Reacher smiled softly and looked around, smile fading as his eyes landed on the patch of backyard that he could see through the kitchen door.

Who was on duty this morning? Were they even watching him, now that they had ascertained his good intentions? He let his mind wander and frowned, going to the door and sticking his head out into the backyard. He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean anything, and he checked the houses on either side of him before clearing his throat.

"My dad's not here, and I have extra bacon," he said, leaving the offer implied and the back door open as he turned and went to the fridge. There were two pieces missing from the leftover bacon and Reacher shook his head in tandem with Stiles' exasperation before deciding that chopped up in scrambled eggs was the best way to go. There was a noise at the door, and he turned to see a girl about his age with wild and curly blonde hair and dark brown eyes, watching him warily, hand on the doorknob. He blinked at her for a moment and then offered a friendly smile. "One egg or two?" he asked. Her nose wrinkled up.

"Ugh, no eggs. I've had scrambled eggs for breakfast for the last two years and I've had about all I can take," she said, and he nodded with a huff of amusement, putting them back in the fridge.

"I could crumble the bacon over a salad," he offered instead. She shrugged.

"That works," she replied, stepping inside and closing the door. She bobbed her head once instead of offering her hand to shake. "I'm Erica," she told him. He nodded.

"Nice to meet you," he replied. She studied him, but apparently didn't find anything objectionable, because her posture relaxed and she nodded.

"Yeah. You too," she said, before leaning against the dining room table. "So what's the deal with you and Derek?" she asked, watching him jerk and drop the knife he was holding with a wicked smirk.

**

Lydia smiled minutely as she took in the sights and sounds of her hometown, the smile growing slightly as she took in a deep breath. Technically it smelled pretty much the same as anywhere else, but she couldn't help associating special significance.

"Watcher?" asked an older man, and she turned, recognizing the former Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

"Seeker Burning Fields, I presume?" she said, holding out her hand. He smiled, shaking it warmly, and she studied him for a moment. His body language indicated someone who was open and honest, with only the slightest apprehension and low-level anxiety that she'd noticed in all those Souls whose hosts were still aware. She smiled at him.

Ally, she told Watcher, who agreed happily.

"Are we meeting the others somewhere?" she asked, and he nodded, the smile in his eyes slightly strained. Ah. He didn't think highly of the others, then. Interesting.

"There's a small café nearby where we're meeting them. Have you eaten?" he asked. She shook her head, and he nodded. "Well, they do an excellent breakfast there," he told her. She smiled again. The Souls valued perfection in most things, but even with their competency augmenting their hosts' natural talents, there was still a disparity in talents when it came to food.

There were four others at the café when they arrived, and they all stood to greet their newest member. One of them, a tall man with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes, smile warmly, while the others eyed her critically. Lydia kept her expression curious as she assessed them in return.

"Hello," said the eldest of the group, a man with white hair and a crooked smile. Lydia inclined her head politely. "Oh, where are our manners. My name is Gerard," he said. Her eyebrow ticked up, but she said nothing. "And these are my...children - my son, Spires of Prismatic Light and his wife, Whistler," he said, gesturing to the tall man with blue eyes and the imperious redheaded woman at his side.

"Hello," she said, politely holding out her hand to shake. They both did, their smiles genuine, if wary. Lydia made her observations to Watcher, who also studied them closely and quietly remarked upon the positive things he noticed.

"And this is my daughter, Silver Singer," Gerard said, smile broadening as he put his hand on the shoulder of the blond woman and gave it a squeeze. The tone of his voice had changed as well. Before he might have been introducing strangers or acquaintances. When he said Silver Singer's name, his voice held a pride that hadn't been there when he'd spoken of the others. A quick glance in their direction caught the tightness that showed around their eyes, and the way their smiles were stretched - forced.

"Hello, nice to meet you," Lydia said to Silver Singer, as expected. Silver Singer's smile was as crooked as her father's, and more than a little smug.

"Likewise, I'm sure," she said. Fields pulled out a chair for Lydia and the young woman beamed up at him graciously as she settled into it.

Let's play a game called 'Spot the allies', she said to Watcher, who focused himself in her mind as they all looked at the menu and decided what they'd have.

Silver Singer was tall and blonde and lovely to look at. She was witty and personable. But the more she talked, the more Lydia could spot the edge under her smile. Her expression never wandered far from the border of smug superiority - neither did her father's - though they did slip back into 'perfectly friendly' whenever Spires or Whistler started to get uncomfortable.

"So, how do you like Earth so far, Watcher?" Fields asked when their food arrived. Lydia smiled.

"It's definitely interesting. All the different ecosystems, and yet they're not so very dissimilar from any of the other planets we've settled. It's fascinating," she said, letting the wonder that Watcher felt for their home sparkle in her eyes. Whistler frowned contemplatively.

"How long ago did you arrive?" she asked. Lydia blinked innocently.

"Six years," she answered honestly. They blinked.

"I don't understand. We were told a new Seeker was arriving," Spires said, smiling hesitantly. She dipped her head and affected a self-conscious smile.

"I petitioned to change my Calling," she told them. More blinking. Spires looked interested, Whistler looked confused. Gerard and Silver studied her calculatingly in a way that made her spine itch to shiver. "I studied micro-environments and marine biology," she told them. Silver snorted.

"Bugs and fish?" she asked. Lydia nodded shyly.

"Also animal behavior, specifically regarding family groups," she added with a self-effacing shrug.

"Didn't you enjoy your Calling?" Fields asked. Lydia looked surprised by the question.

"Oh, of course. But everywhere I went, there were free human sightings and everything would lock up for a while whenever that happened, and it was all terribly distracting," she answered. Spires arched an eyebrow.

"You became a Seeker because the wild humans were interfering with your Calling?" he asked incredulously. She tilted her head.

"I became a Seeker because free humans were interfering with my Calling. I doubt they're wild, except where we've forced them to become so," she said casually, sipping her coffee in the ensuing silence. She glanced around the table, focusing on Whistler and Spires. Spires was pushing his food around on his plate, jaw clenched, and Whistler was focused single-mindedly on her food as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

"Oh, trust me, honey, some of them are plenty wild," Silver scoffed, with an 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' grin that made Watcher cringe and that Lydia arched an eyebrow at.

"Oh, you mean the werewolves?" she asked casually.

For all that Souls in general didn't keep secrets, it wasn't as if everything was announced, so the presence of werewolves was still largely unknown. She speared a piece of hard-boiled egg and smeared some dressing on it, chewing it with relish at the sharp looks she was getting from Gerard and his relations, as well as Fields' quietly speculative expression.

"Have you already been briefed?" Spires asked. Lydia shook her head.

"No. But I read a lot, and when I was in Tokyo, I met a young woman who ran a tea shop, and her host was a werewolf. Her name was Petrichor. She used her senses to combine the best herbs and spices for her teas. She seemed quite civilized to me," she replied.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Silver said, her smile quite a bit sharper than it had been a moment previous. Lydia blinked at her, and the older Soul smirked. "There was a case not that long ago in Georgia where a werewolf host snatched control back from a Soul. It killed a Healer - they had to put it down," she said, sounding far too pleased with the outcome. "They're all killers, you know. It's not their fault, but it's what they are, and humans aren't much better," she added, her tone too sympathetic to be sincere. Lydia looked down at her salad and frowned.

"How unfortunate," she said. "But that was an Alpha, and his Soul was the one who...stopped him from hurting anyone else," she added, pretending to contemplate the situation before tilting her head. "The wolf I met was a beta, and she'd never killed anyone, and if that's the case then humans can't be so bad."

"How do you know she never killed anyone?" Silver asked, eyebrow arched haughtily. Lydia returned her expression with one of easy superiority and batted her eyelashes twice.

"Petrichor told me so," she answered. There was no inflection, no stress, no hint that this was anything other than a statement of fact, but Lydia could see on Silver's face the moment she realized that she couldn't say anything to disagree without implying, inferring, or flat out saying that a Soul would lie. About anything. Because Souls don't lie.

I don't like her. And I don't like her father, Lydia told Watcher, who grew nervous.

Perhaps they're only over-zealous about their previous occupation, he offered. She considered them carefully.

No. She's far too calculating. Too arrogant. She's either being suppressed or manipulated by her host somehow. Same for creepy grandpa over there, she said, as Fields, Spires and Whistler steered the conversation back towards bringing their newest Seeker up to date with the happenings in Beacon Hills.

What...Lydia, I don't want to hurt anyone, he said, earnestly. She tucked her hair behind her ear, a comforting gesture.

I know. I know you don't, Watcher, that's why I'm going to take care of everything, she told him. It didn't reassure him, but he didn't argue, and she returned her full attention to the breakfast.

**

"There's nothing going on with me and Derek," Reacher said, studying Erica's lackadaisical posture as she leaned against the kitchen counter. She snorted.

"Oh. Sure. Right," she said, her tone at odds with her words. Reacher narrowed his eyes at her. "Nothing at all. You betcha," she went on, and he sighed.

"You don't mean any of what you just said, and they were all words of agreement," he said, and she smirked.

"That's right," she said. He rolled his eyes, picking up the knife and carrying it to the sink to wash it. "So, you and Derek--"

"Erica, there's nothing going on," he insisted, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yesterday, Derek tried to kill you, and today you're offering me bacon," she said, staring at him pointedly when he stilled in the act of wiping the knife dry. He turned hesitantly. She hummed knowingly. "Yeah, nothing going on there at all," she said. He sighed.

"What does one thing have to do with the other? You're not Derek," he argued. She grinned.

"Can't help but wonder what you'd offer me if I was," she shot back. He fidgeted, looking away as his neck turned red. "Aw, you're adorable," she said.

"Derek was startled by my presence because Peter didn't tell anyone that he'd asked for my help in procuring extra water, or that he'd told me to leave it in the foyer of the Hale house. His reaction was..." he winced, hand coming up to touch the side of his neck. "…extreme, but understandable," he said, pulling lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese out of the fridge and grabbing a few mushrooms from the pantry. Erica snorted.

"Bullshit," she said, making him blink and turn to stare. "The only excuse for trying to kill someone is that they were trying to kill you first. Were you trying to kill us, Reacher?" she asked. He recoiled from the question.

"No. Of course not," he replied instantly, before turning back to the process of making them food, lips pressed together tightly at the thought of hurting her, Derek, Peter or the others. Erica smirked smugly.

"Then whatever internal drama Derek was enacting is bullshit. We should punish him," she told him, eyebrows dancing upwards once suggestively. Reacher stopped, frozen in the act of chopping the lettuce. Punish?

"No," he said firmly. Erica made a noise of triumph.

"You like him," she accused. He said nothing.

Help.

She's got a point.

Traitor.

"I...I don't dislike him," he said, before shaking his head. "But I also don't know him," he added pointedly. Erica's noise of sudden understanding made his shoulders hunch. He focused on chopping up the salad ingredients, dividing the lettuce equally into the bowls, and looked over at Erica when she went to the sink and started washing her hands.

"So you just think he's hot," she guessed. Reacher sighed.

"I think he's interesting, and yes, part of that is based on his appearance," he admitted. She nodded, looking satisfied with herself. He scowled. "Do you interrogate everyone this way?" he asked. She smirked.

"Only my friends," she replied, grabbing the cheese and the grater and standing next to him at the counter. She grated over the bowls that he'd filled with lettuce, and he stared at her for a moment before hesitantly returning to his own preparations.

"Friends?" he asked quietly after a long while, and she smirked again.

"If you think you can handle that," she replied.

**

Lydia had not endured a more strenuous breakfast since that time in Chicago when a dishwasher accidentally set a retro diner's kitchen on fire. She'd never had to navigate a landmine before, and though she was equal to the task, the proverbial check could not have come fast enough for her liking. How did she like her host? What did she think of the free human situation? Had she heard about Wanderer? (That part was only vaguely enjoyable for the thrill Watcher got from the name and the stories he told her quietly during the conversation.) Was she sure she was up to the challenge of being a Seeker after having grown comfortable with bugs and fish?

If she hadn't been completely conscious of what the other Seekers would perceive from the action, she would have spat on the table she was so mad. Instead she delivered a backhanded compliment in the sweetest, most endearingly earnest tones, so that uncertain frowns met her soft, honest smile.

At the meal's conclusion, she all but jumped on Fields' offer to drive her to the apartment where she'd be staying until she could settle in more permanently.

The car was quiet as they pulled out of the parking lot, and Lydia watched the Argent Seekers drive away with narrowed eyes. She waited until Fields had stopped at a red light to speak up.

"So how long has your host been conscious?" she asked.

The spasm that wracked his body at her question would definitely have crashed the car if they'd been in motion, and she bit her lip to squash a smile while he gripped the steering wheel and shot furtive glances at his passenger.

"I-what?" he blurted, and she scoffed.

"Don't be so alarmed, Sheriff," she said, relaxing back into her seat. "And don't worry, I won't tell," she added.

"You think I--"

"Oh," Lydia interrupted with a Cheshire cat grin. "Oh, I know your host is still conscious," she told him. "It's the way you take that extra split second to react to things, like you're consulting with the voice in your ear," she added with a shrug and a sniff, bringing her hand up so she could inspect her nails for some invisible flaw. "We all do it. Unavoidable, really."

She tilted her head, rubbing her thumb over a perfect pinky nail and looking out the window for a moment before turning back to Fields, who was watching the road and his speed and furrowing his eyebrows.

"We," he said carefully, pulling the string that could very well lead to his doom. Lydia beamed.

"Yes. Us and others like us. I should probably clarify at this time that my name is Lydia Martin, and that Watcher lets me have control whenever I want," she explained. He blinked a few times before sighing. He flicked on his blinker with a little more force than necessary and checked his blind spot before changing lanes so that he could pull into her apartment complex. "Would you like to come in for tea?" she asked him innocently when he parked. He studied her for a moment, gnawing the inside of his cheek before sighing again.

"I think I probably should," he replied.

**

"So you gonna ask me?" Erica asked spearing a forkful of lettuce and bacon. Reacher blinked at her for a moment and then straightened guiltily, mouth forming a silent 'oh' before he winced.

"How's Scott? And Isaac?" he asked, and she chewed thoughtfully, looking him over.

"Isaac too, huh?" she said, one eyebrow twitching upwards. Reacher shrugged helplessly and Erica smiled. "They're both fine. They ask about you a lot," she told him. He blinked again, looking down at his salad to hide a light blush.

"In what way?" he asked. His breakfast guest huffed.

"'Is anyone signed up to watch Reacher?' 'What did Reacher do today?' 'Are we letting Reacher help us yet?'" she relayed, and he tried not to smile to enthusiastically. "They really liked the chocolate, by the way, and they've decided they're going to collaborate on a comic. Isaac's really good at stories, and Scott's not bad with a pen, so," she shrugged one shoulder.

Dude, that's awesome.

Yes, I agree.

"I'll see if I can find better paper stock for them," he offered, and she surprised him with a snort, shaking her head with a grin.

"Man, I don't know how Talia could ever have had doubts about you," she said.

"I just want to help," he said, hunching his shoulders and poking restlessly at his salad. Erica nodded.

"Yeah, I know. And Cora can't stop singing your praises. Thanks for the tablets, by the way," she told him, before rolling her eyes at the way he fidgeted. "Are you going to do this self-effacing thing in front of everyone? Because that's a little embarrassing. You're allowed to acknowledge your awesomeness, you know," she told him. He huffed a laugh, mouth picking up in a smile. She nodded again. "There you go. Was that so hard?" she asked.

The smile melted into a concerned frown, and he shrugged.

"I don't want to seem...arrogant. I just--"

"Want to help. Yeah. Isaac told me. And I'm all for it. And I can't imagine Talia would turn down the help, what with the gesture of goodwill you brought us," she said. "I've used it. It's nice. No weird aftertaste, just water," she said, with a satisfied smile. He smiled too.

"I'm glad. I can get a second one if you need it," Reacher offered. Erica chuckled.

"Slow down, Turbo. Talia's still having the superfluous meeting with a couple of the more well-respected humans to make sure they accept that you're on our side," she told him. "Then I imagine someone will be along with quite a large shopping list," she added. "Anyway. Scott misses you. Or. Well, he misses Stiles," she said, watching him as she fished a piece of bacon out of her bowl and munched on it. The fork had stilled briefly and his heart had faltered in his chest for a moment in a way that she found most interesting. As was the way his eyes darted quickly from side to side. She watched him for a moment and then tilted her head. "Sorry, did I pick a nerve or something?" she asked. He looked surprised, and interestingly, guilty.

"What? No. I..." he cleared his throat. "Scott misses his friend. I can understand that," he said quietly. Erica narrowed her eyes at him and watched him pick at his food until he cleared his throat. "I'd be glad to see him again as well. Stiles' memories of him are nice," he said.

"How does that work?" she asked. He stared at her.

"Excuse me?"

"You. In Stiles' body. You just...have all his memories?" she asked him. In his head, Stiles' wary apprehension made the hairs on the back of their neck stand up.

"Yes," he answered. She nodded.

"So do you like, feel his feelings, too?" she asked. "Like if Stiles liked the color red, does that mean that you like the color red?" she clarified when he only stared at her. He blinked.

"I...Souls don't really think about things like that," he said carefully. Except he did, and he was Soul. In fact, he and Stiles had discussed the matter extensively only two days after becoming acquainted, and it had taken them a number of months to ascertain that while their tastes were similar, they were by no means one hundred percent compatible. Erica narrowed her eyes at him.

"Lie," she said. He blinked.

"Pardon?"

"Your heartbeat. It spiked. You lied," she told him. He stared at her for a moment before blinking and leaning back in his chair.

"You're a werewolf," he said, and she smirked at him, popping her eyebrows cheekily.

"And you lied. Interesting thing to lie about. Not considering whether you would like something just because your host would have liked the thing," she said, stopping her pre-deduction spiel to stare at him when his heart jittered after the words 'would have'. "Would have liked the thing," she said again. His heart went crazy. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Oh my god, no way," she said loudly. Reacher winced.

"Stop, shh," he said, waving a hand at her.

"He's alive?" she demanded, and he scratched the back of his neck.

"No?" he replied awkwardly, before sighing and shaking his head. "Erica, you can't tell anyone," he told her. She snorted.

"Fuck that, I'm gonna tell everyone," she told him. His heart did that cha-cha-cha beat again

"No, Erica," he insisted, but she wasn't listening.

"This is great. Scott's gonna be psyched. You don't even know. Is he there right now? Is he talking? What's he saying?" she asked, excitedly. He sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

"He's saying, 'please shut up so I can tell you how bad an idea this is'," Reacher moaned. She rolled her eyes, because lie.

"Oh, come on, this is fantastic. How can you not want people to know?" she asked. He stared at her, shoulders slumped miserably.

"If you tell Scott that Stiles is still alive in my head, he might be happy for a little while, but then he's going to ask about his mother," he told her.

Erica's smile dropped like it had never been in the blink of an eye. Reacher raised his eyebrows pointedly and she slumped back in her chair, mouth twisting unpleasantly.

"Aw, crap," she muttered. Reacher nodded.

"I've seen her a few times over the years - she did my physical once - but I don't know if she's sharing her body with a Soul or if it's just a Soul. Not to mention the fact that Derek thinks he only attacked a Soul yesterday, instead of a Soul and the human being that carries it. And maybe the werewolves will be able to tell that I'm telling the truth when I say that Stiles has been alive the whole time, but your group isn't all werewolves, is it?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"You're right, the humans would be skeptical even if the Hales said you were on the level," she said. At his curious expression, she sighed. "Human/werewolf tensions have started to rise. The werewolves are all tiptoeing because the humans think the werewolves are putting themselves up in positions of authority. It's stupid, but it's happening," she told him. He sighed. She rolled her eyes. "This sucks," she said. He huffed. They sat in disappointed silence for a moment before she looked back at him and then kicked his foot lightly under the table. "You never answered my question," she told him.

"Which one?" he asked.

"Do you like things because Stiles likes them or do you like things because you like them?" she asked. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Are all werewolves this tenacious?" he asked, frustratedly running a hand through his hair. She aimed her best deadpan expression at him.

"I'm part bulldog," she told him. He snorted and then looked slightly chagrined by it. She burst into laughter and then grinned at him. "Come on. I'm just going to keep asking," she told him.

"I...our tastes are similar," he said. Her grin became satisfied. Smug even. He glared at her. "I don't think I'm going to survive being your friend," he told her sourly. She shrugged.

"You'll do fine," she assured him.

**

Fields sat in his cruiser, staring at his hands on the steering wheel, still parked in the apartment complex where Lydia Martin and her Soul Watcher lived.

Free humans.

And Souls.

Living together side by side.

Her plan was ambitious, that was for certain.

This changes some things, John told him, and his eyebrow twitched as he acknowledged his host's statement. What are we going to tell Reacher and Stiles? he asked. Fields blinked, glancing around the parking lot before pulling his seatbelt on and starting the car.

Nothing. Not yet. I...John, I can't even... Fields shook his head and turned his attention to the drive home.

We have to tell them something, John insisted, and Fields sighed.

Stiles and Reacher have enough to worry about with the trouble they're putting themselves in just by helping his new friends. Engineering a social revolution would be biting off more than he can chew, Fields admonished.

Okay, sure, but--

No, I know what you're going to say, but even if we just let him know, he'd want to help, you know he would, Fields countered. The sudden quiet in his head rang of annoyance and his host grudgingly conceded the argument with a sigh. They both fell into a contemplative silence, and Fields turned his thoughts to the group of free humans.

Much as Fields and John loved Stiles and Reacher, neither the soul nor his host were what one would call excellent liars. The constant distraction and the way Reacher muttered to himself in the house - how his interest in his Calling had dropped off dramatically since the day Bliss had called to say she and Reacher were going into town to celebrate her getting a car. Fields had been passing by the open door of Reacher's room when he saw the expanded file. At first he had sighed, sure that Reacher had forgotten something that he needed in order to teach his class, until he'd glanced at his son's cork board and saw the sketch.

That was the moment that Fields and John knew Reacher and Stiles were getting themselves involved with the free humans. At first he'd panicked, sure. It had taken several long minutes for John to talk him down - to tell him that the Hales - long suspected to be the founders of the free human resistance in Beacon Hills - had been upstanding, law-abiding citizens. Long minutes explaining that even knowing now that they were werewolves didn't change his opinion of them - in fact he was more impressed by their standing in the community given what they had to deal with in terms of the richer, more established families like the Martins. Long minutes of John assuring him that Reacher and Stiles could handle themselves. Maybe Reacher was as gentle as Fields thought, but Stiles had more than enough steel in his spine for the both of them.

In the end Fields had done nothing about it except keep an eye on Reacher's comings and goings. When Reacher announced out of the blue that he was going shopping one morning - on a Sunday and not on his usual Monday-after-school - Fields had only barely kept in his exasperation at their lack of subtlety. And the next day when Fields had come home from the Sheriff's station (they still called it that), he'd heard voices coming from Reacher's room. The tie on the door had deterred him from confirming his suspicions that Reacher was conversing with free humans in his room (what if he was actually with someone for whom the tie would have its intended meaning? Fields had no intention of mortifying his son by walking in on him and his…girlfriend? Boyfriend? His someone). Afterwards, Reacher had been subdued - vague-faced as he fried up a bacon and rice dish for dinner. Fields had bitten his tongue and asked no questions. Reacher and Stiles would come to them when they were ready and Fields wouldn't force him to talk about it.

Eventually he would have to. With what young, ambitious Lydia was planning, the talk was inevitable - her plans directly affected the people that Reacher was trying so hard to keep secret.

But for now it could wait.

He pulled into the driveway and went inside, finding Reacher in the kitchen starting the dishwasher. He looked flushed, nervous, and couldn't keep from shooting a glance at the back door. Fields sighed internally and put on a cheerfully oblivious face and ruffled his son's hair.

Chapter Text

Poison is probably best, Lydia said as she pulled a white dress from the rack and held it up to herself in the mirror nearby. Something that leaves the system quickly and mimics a heart attack, she added, putting the dress back and looking through the others.

Lydia, Watcher started hesitantly, and she let a quiet sigh slip through her nose.

I know, Watcher, but this is the only way. He's trouble. So is his daughter. I can't very well go to a committee of Souls and tell them that a human has somehow hijacked a Soul - or that a Soul might be in cahoots with a human who once delighted in killing other humans, she explained, arching an eyebrow when Watcher made noises of protest. They killed werewolves for a living and by the look on their faces, they loved their jobs too much, she insisted. Watcher could find nothing to say to argue the point, because he'd seen it too.

Lydia moved their cart over to the boy's section and picked up a couple new shirts, a new, longer, masculine jacket that matched the one she'd picked up in the girl's section, and a new pair of boots.

Do we have to kill him?

If I thought there was a way to convince them to support the grand scheme that didn't make me feel like I was shaking hands with the devil, or even a minor demon, then I would take it, but... she shook her head slightly, ever wary of their public surroundings. They can't even understand and accept the difference in the subspecies of humans, there's no way they'd support humans and Souls living together as anything other than hosts, she assured him. I'm not fond of the idea. I'm just more prepared to carry it out, she added softly when his silence lasted for more than a minute. The phantom sensation of someone holding her hand made her smile and she turned towards the exit. And none of this 'we' nonsense. I'd never make you do anything violent. You don't have to watch either, she told him. The sensation returned, more firmly.

I'd never let you go through that alone, he replied.

**

Aiden watched the others pick at the wrappers of their last remaining rations and looked out the window. It wasn't quite dark yet, but there hadn't exactly been a lot of food left and they'd split it all evenly. Mika had made ugly noises about splitting it eight ways instead of nine, but Ethan had growled her down. They needed food, and he hadn't had time to scope out the nearby Store.

"I'm going out," he told Ethan, who blinked at him.

"Where?" he asked. Aiden grabbed his jacket.

"There's a fast food joint a couple blocks down. It'll last us for tonight and I'll figure out something to do in the morning," the older twin answered. Ethan stood as his brother started for the door.

"Aiden," he said quietly, glancing at the others. "Send Fractal," he suggested. Aiden sighed.

"And have a rebellion on our hands?" he asked.

"It's been weeks. They know it's not his fault," Ethan replied, rolling his eyes.

"Do they? They know that June and Fractal started dating and almost immediately after that, she got captured by the Soul police. I know," he said, holding up a hand when Ethan started to protest. "I know it's a bullshit excuse, but they needed someone to blame. And if we were a well-fed group of human and werewolf rebels, I would tell them to get over it and ask Fractal if he wouldn't mind getting us all a cartload of burgers, but we're not. That's the last of the food and it's not enough," he said, watching Ethan's eyes slide away in frustration. "Right now they're tired and hungry and hurting and if I try to send Fractal someone might try to kill him," he said. Ethan nodded.

"Yeah. Alright, I get it," the younger twin said, sighing before looking at his brother. "Just be careful, alright?" he said. Aiden snorted.

"I'm always careful," he scoffed.

**

If we kill Gerard, what about his Soul? Watcher asked, as he and Lydia walked home, arms laden with bags from the Store. Their apartment wasn’t very far away, and Lydia's heels were only two inches, and they didn't have a car yet anyway, so they walked.

Send it to a planet very, very far away, she replied. Perhaps to the Singing World or the Planet of the Mists. That's a couple centuries round trip, she told him. He was quietly relieved, and she tilted her head. I wasn't going to kill them both, Watcher, she chided. His chagrin rolled unsteadily through their stomach.

I...I knew that. I did, he apologized. I just wish it wasn't necessary at all, he added. She sighed.

I know. And I'm sorry that it is. I would have liked to be able to say to the twenty person committee that I'm sure they'll call for this that my social revolution was a bloodless one, but... she took a breath, looking around at the quiet street and stopping for a moment to set her bags down and stretch her arms. But there are always going to be people - of any species - who will vehemently oppose something that they don't understand without even giving it proper consideration. I suspect that's how Gerard ended up a werewolf hunter. You heard him and his daughter. 'werewolves are bad. kill them all' is hardly the attitude of someone who'd support inter-species unity, she reasoned.

So we kill him? Watcher asked.

And his daughter, I suspect, Lydia confirmed with a weary sigh. But I have hopes for the other two. They looked like they had thought being invaded by aliens would mean they wouldn't have to kill werewolves anymore - or that's how I read it. I still can't tell if their hosts are conscious, she said.

Watcher said nothing, quietly stewing in the back of her mind. He didn't close himself off from her - she could still hear what he was thinking - but he didn't actively engage her, and she sighed, picking up her bags and continuing the trek back to their apartment.

**

Aiden cursed as he ducked down a side-street, jumping a chain link fence and stumbling to his knees on the other side with one hand clutching his side.

Stupid, stupid...

He pushed himself up and kept running.

He hadn't been natural enough. Maybe his smile had shown too much teeth.

Maybe June sold us out.

No. He pushed that away. Never.

She would never...

He stumbled as the burn of wolfsbane spread through his side, his shoulder hitting a wall as he staggered, and he took a moment to breathe.

Can't go back to the loft.

Run.

Hide.

The Pack.

Ethan.

He choked the whine in his throat and tried to figure out what had given him away - what he'd said or done to tip off the lady at the counter that he wasn't just some Soul who wanted enough chicken to feed a small army. (What had he told her? Party? Family gathering?)

Did he curse?

Maybe he cursed.

Fuck that was a bad habit.

He pushed himself off the wall and made himself keep going.

The Seekers had come in acting like two people just wanting chicken for dinner, but Aiden could smell the wolfsbane in their pistols. He'd panicked, tried to leave. Didn't respond to the lady when she told him he'd forgotten his meal. The Seekers had chased him.

They'd seemed surprised.

He stopped, leaning against another patch of wall and then dropping into a crouch as the glare of headlights swept the alley.

Fuck.

Fuck he'd screwed it up.

They hadn't been tipped. He hadn't been found out.

They just wanted some chicken.

He wanted to laugh and cry and punch himself in the goddamn face. Instead he gritted his teeth, waited for the headlights to pass and forced himself to keep going.

He turned the corner and froze.

And so did the Soul he'd almost run into.

**

Lydia jolted to a halt at the sight of the body emerging from the alleyway, jaw clenching against a scream as she took in all the details. Man, six inches taller than her, fit, well muscled.

Bleeding.

That fact held most of her attention and the two of them stood there, breathing in the tense air and sizing each other up.

"If you scream, I'll kill you," he said, breathing labored. She blinked, and then tilted her head.

"You look like you can barely walk," she told him, eyebrows rising. He blinked back at her in surprise before scowling, and her lips parted in equal surprise when his eyes began to glow red. "Ah," she said, turning her attention inwards for a moment.

A chance to make contact with free humans, she told Watcher, who squealed fearfully.

He's a werewolf. An Alpha werewolf. Are you crazy? the Soul demanded. She huffed slightly and looked back at the bleeding werewolf.

Have to start somewhere, and I do like a challenge, she replied before glancing towards the sound of sirens. He glanced that way too, very briefly, before returning his laser-focused attention to her. She was flattered that he considered her that much of a threat. She looked him up and down and hummed thoughtfully before looking through her bags.

"Right," she said, pulling out the long black coat she'd gotten for Watcher. She threw it to him. He caught it. "Put that on," she told him. He stared. Another siren sounded - closer - and he glanced towards it before looking back at her arched eyebrow. He pulled it on gingerly, keeping his eye on her as she approached. He snarled when she reached for him, but she snorted right in his face.

"You got a death wish?" he demanded in a low growl as she reached again for the lapels of the jacket. She sighed.

"You've got about thirty seconds to get it through your thick skull that I'm trying to help you evade capture. Now, you can hurt me or kill me or whatever it is you're threatening, but you'll never get away if you do, and while being a host is lovely if you have the right Soul, somehow I think it's not for you," she said, watching him blink and straightening the lapels on the jacket before smoothing the shoulders as she spoke. "Or, you can take half these bags, put your arm around me, and walk slowly with me to my apartment as if you and I were more intimately acquainted than virtual strangers, and I'll see what I can do about your injuries. I might even feed you when we get there, if you're a gentleman," she told him, buttoning the front of the jacket to hide the blood on his torso. He stared at her, eyed the bag handles she was holding out for him, and then growled in frustration before taking them. She smiled smugly, turning so that she stood directly next to his injured side and slipping her hand around his waist and into the pocket of the jacket, adding to the illusion of intimacy. His arm around her shoulders was tense, but she made no comment.

"What's your name?" he asked sullenly as they slowly strolled towards her apartment.

"Lydia. What's yours?"

"Mind your business," he muttered back. She scoffed.

"Touchy," she said, lips parting in a smile. "Duck your head towards me. We're supposed to be lovers," she reminded him, and he put his nose in her hair, lips hovering by her ear.

"This close, I could easily rip out your throat," he warned her as one of the Seeker's cars drove slowly down the street. She smelled like peaches and rain.

"That would be very conspicuous," she told him, turning her head the slightest towards him so that her face shielded his from view. The Seeker's car passed and they kept walking.

"How much farther?" he asked through gritted teeth, and she nodded to the street ahead.

"Four hundred feet, give or take," she replied. "Think you can make it?"

"Shut up and walk," he growled back.

Charming, Watcher muttered. Lydia smirked, gently resting her head on the werewolf's uninjured shoulder. He tensed, but didn't say anything. Instead he turned so his mouth and nose were obscured by her hair, giving the illusion of an affectionate nuzzle as his subvocal growl vibrated through her skull. She sighed, but managed to make it sound happy.

"I'm just up here," she told him, steering them towards the front steps of her apartment. "I'm up two flights of stairs," she warned him, and he nodded.

They staggered up the flights together, and Lydia was grateful that no one opened their doors to see who it was - that might have been awkward to explain - and through Lydia's door. Once it was shut, the werewolf tried to disengage, but Lydia tutted at him and steered him over to the couch, where he dropped gratefully.

"Alright, jacket and shirt off," Lydia ordered. For a moment, the werewolf didn't move, only staring at her with slightly furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"You're injured. Jacket. Shirt. Off," she repeated, hands on hips as she looked unconcernedly down at him. He snorted, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead and the growing pain in his side.

"Are you somehow the boss of me?" he asked.

"Are you somehow under the impression that you're in control of this situation?" she shot back, eyebrow arching. He blinked, surprised by her forthright demeanor. "You're a werewolf and you've been shot. Soon the wolfsbane will make its way to your heart and you'll die an awful and extremely messy death. Take off the jacket - that I ruined just to get you to safety - and your shirt, and let me save your life," she ordered. He growled at her, eyes bleeding red, only to cut off at a particularly vicious stab of pain in his chest. He spent the next few seconds trying to breathe and then struggled with the jacket.

**

Aiden watched the strange Soul return with a small satchel and narrowed his eyes as she dumped them all on the table in front of him. The jacket and his shirt were in a pile on the floor and she glanced at them before returning to her work.

"What is all that?" he asked. She made a distracted sort of noise.

"Tools of the trade. Emergency kit, really - Well, one of them," she said, lining them all up and then lifting the first one. "This one's called No Pain. It's a pain reliever," she told him.

"Drugs don't work on werewolves," he sneered. She rolled her eyes.

"Human drugs don't. Anyway, this is non-habit forming. Just take one, because I hear that wolfsbane rejection gets nasty without it," she told him, holding out a wafer thin piece of what looked like rice paper. The throbbing ache of wolfsbane reminded him that he didn't have any other options and he took it. It dissolved on his tongue almost instantly. Just as quickly the ache in his chest receded into nothingness and he blinked at her.

"That's--" he started, before grabbing her wrist as she moved another vial towards him. She flinched, before sighing and rolling her eyes.

"Are you done? Because the No Pain isn't curing you, it's just keeping you from being in agony. This is called Clean. It's a disinfectant. And to avoid unwanted future grabbing, next you'll be breathing in Detoxify, which will expel the wolfsbane," she said.

"Why should I trust you?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Lots of reasons. Firstly, I could have given you away easily, even if I did believe that you'd kill me for it. I didn't because I didn't want to. Also, it's in my best interest to help you live, because I'm trying to make contact with free humans," she told him. He blinked, looking her up and down.

"Is your host alive?" he asked. She smirked.

"Sweetheart, I am the host," she told him. "Watcher's a laid back kind of a Soul, let's me walk and talk and do pretty much whatever I want. Now. You gonna let me stop you from spewing black vomit on my couch or what?" she asked. He scrutinized her carefully and then relaxed, leaning back and resting his arms along the back of his couch. He still watched her like a hawk, but let her spray his wound, and obediently breathed in the mist she sprayed towards his face.

"Huh," he said, licking his lips where the mist clung. Lydia wasn't listening. She was picking up an old, discolored plastic bowl. "Taste like grapefru-unggh!"

Lydia moved the bowl towards him as he hunched forward, and he grabbed onto it gratefully, black gunk spewing from his mouth. It didn't hurt. His abdominal muscles didn't ache with the contracting of his stomach. His throat didn't burn from the toxic bile. He couldn't even really taste it. It was like an insistent pushing between his shoulders that kept him hunched over and vomiting black, wolfsbane tainted sick.

After a moment he became aware that Lydia had moved to the seat beside him and was rubbing his back in small, comforting circles.

"Don--ugh..." he breathed through what would have been harsh dry heaves and glared at her from the corner of his eye. "Don' touch me," he tried to growl, spitting black into the bowl.

"Shhh," Lydia said, ignoring him. "Just get it all out," she said soothingly, moving from circles to long sweeps of her hand, firm but comforting. Aiden rolled his eyes but didn't contest it, breathing through his mouth to avoid smelling what had just come out of him.

Finally his stomach settled, and Aiden set the bowl on the table in front of him, arching an eyebrow at the tissues that Lydia was holding out to him but saying nothing as he took a couple and wiped at his face.

"There. All better," she said with a smirk, picking up the bowl and walking away. She poured it all down the toilet and flushed, setting the bowl in the sink. She turned the water on and left it that way as she came back into the living room. "Hungry?" she asked. He snorted into his tissues, shaking his head.

"I can't stay here. I have to get back to--" he stopped, jerking his head and looking mortified for half a second before his face went utterly blank. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"I figured you weren't alone, you know. You can't be an Alpha if you don't have a pack," she told him. He stared at her and said nothing. She shrugged, cleaning up. "Fine. No food. Shower? Fresh clothes? I think I might have something that'll fit you," she said, looking him over. He arched an eyebrow at that.

"You gonna give me your boyfriend's clothes?" he asked. She snorted.

"I'm currently unattached. You want the shirt or not?" she replied.

**

What do you think? Lydia asked while Aiden took advantage of her offer for a shower.

He's...well...he seems concerned, Watcher replied, and Lydia nodded her agreement.

Not about us. Or being in a Soul's home. And jumping to the conclusion that I'm conscious - he knows someone with CHS already, she said. We can use that.

But what was he doing out in the first place? What was so important that he'd risk being seen? Being captured? Watcher asked. Lydia arched an eyebrow.

Something his pack needed, no doubt, she replied.

...Food?

That'd be my guess. We should help him out, Lydia said.

Agreed. How much food, though?

Well how about we order some and if it's wrong he'll tell us. He's a werewolf, he can hear us through the shower, Lydia told him, picking up her cell phone. She arched an eyebrow at the sight of an alert and opened it, eyes scanning. It was a notice of a wild werewolf that had tried to obtain a large quantity of food from a chicken joint a couple blocks away. She eyed the amount of food listed, did some calculations in her head, and then dialed.

"Yes, hello. Is it too late to order?" she asked, affecting a meek persona. "Oh good. I, um...well, it's kind of a large order, is that okay?" she asked. At the other Soul's assurances, Lydia gave a small fist pump and grinned. "Great. Okay, here's what I need," she started.

**

Aiden stared at Lydia hard for a long moment after he emerged from the bathroom, showered, dried, and dressed in a long sleeved shirt with a slanted button seam at the neck. She was leaning against the wall with her jacket on, spinning her keys around boredly.

"How'd you know how much food to get?" he asked tensely. She tilted her head.

"I got an alert that you tried to get three family sized chicken meals," she answered. He scowled.

"What is there some kind of a...twitter for human sightings?" he asked. She snorted.

"No. It was a Seeker's all points bulletin. I'm supposed to be on the lookout," she told him.

The speed with which he crossed the room and got his hand around her neck overrode her cool, unaffected air and made her shudder, arms coming up against his chest. He wasn't squeezing…yet...but he was growling in her face, eyes and fangs shifted.

"You're a Seeker?" he hissed, and she gritted her teeth, breathing hard for a moment before craning her head to one side. Aiden blinked, caught off guard by the show of submission from a human. Even his own pack didn't do that. Well.

Except for Fractal.

And Robbie, who picked it up from Fractal.

He eased back, putting his fangs away but keeping his hand around her throat.

"Explain," he ordered.

"Becoming a Seeker was the easiest way I could think of to locate and make contact with free human cells. I have no intention of harming any free humans," she told him. He waited. Aside from the start he'd given her, her heart beat steady, and her scent didn't change. He sighed, stepping back and watching her rub her neck.

"Why do you want to contact humans at all?" he asked.

"Because seventy-nine percent of Souls are harboring a conscious host," she told him. His head rocked back and he blinked. "Yes. Surprising. And we can't go on with the current state of things. The Seekers are getting desperate. In some areas they've started talking about the probability of wild humans being too violent to be hosts," she went on.

"What does that--"

"It means they'll just kill any human they come across that doesn't have a Soul," she told him bluntly, watching him process that.

"And what is it you think you're going to do about it?" he asked.

"Change things. If I can do this right, I can change the way that this planet - perhaps all our planets - handle their implantations," she told him.

"Change it how?"

"Hosts and free humans living together openly. Humans having the right to choose whether or not to be implanted, and what kind of Soul they'd like if they choose implantation," she said.

"Who would choose that?" he asked. She shrugged.

"I don't know. That's not the point. The point is having the option instead of it being mandatory," she replied. He was silent, and she looked at her watch. "Anyway, we have an order to pick up. Let's go," she said.

"Are we just going to walk?" he asked. She snorted.

"Don't be dense. I know you heard me order a car," she said.

**

Ethan paced in the small room where Fractal and Robbie were resting. Robbie was reading his book. Fractal was watching Ethan pace.

"Are you worried?" he asked. Ethan shook his head in frustration.

"He should have been back by now," he said, clenching and unclenching his hands. Fractal bit his lip, glancing at Robbie.

"Ethan, look," Fractal said softly. "Aiden can take care of himself," he assured the frustrated Alpha. Ethan sighed.

"I know. But he's my brother," he said, slumping against the wall and sliding down to sit next to the Soul. He reached out and ruffled Robbie's hair, smiling slightly at the way the boy leaned into the touch. "I worry," he said. Fractal nodded.

"Me too," he replied. Ethan looked at him for a moment and then nudged him.

"Hey, you've got a brother, right? Or Camden does, I mean," he said. Fractal nodded. "Tell me about him. I need something to think about that isn't Aiden in horrible danger."

"His name's Isaac. He's about ten years younger than Camden," Fractal started, smiling at Ethan's arched eyebrow. "Yeah, he was a bit of a surprise for my - for Camden's folks. He's uh...small, curly hair. Big blue eyes. Cute like a puppy," he added. His smile drooped a little as he recalled Camden's time at home after his mother had died. "He...he rubs dad the wrong way sometimes," he said, eyebrows furrowing, mouth twisting with worry.

I never heard about dad getting implanted either. Maybe he did something stupid and got shot. Maybe he's not with Isaac, Camden said. He didn't really believe it though and it tightened Fractal's mouth.

"Fractal?" Ethan asked, and the Soul blinked at him.

"What? Sorry," he said, blushing furiously and looking down at the floor.

"You alright? Your heart went a little crazy there for a sec," Ethan said. Fractal shook his head.

"I'm alright. Just a little worried about Isaac, is all," he offered. The Alpha nodded, putting his hand on the Soul's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

"Don't worry. If he's in Beacon Hills, we'll find him," he said. They shared hopeful smiles, but the moment was broken when Ethan's eyes snapped to the window. He stood, crossing the room and peering down into the street below. "I don't believe it," he said, sounding equal parts disgusted, annoyed, and relieved.

"What is it?" he asked. Ethan grinned at him.

**

"You sure no one's going to report you for this?" Aiden asked, and she scoffed.

"With Seeker tags on the car? Not likely," she replied, shifting her grip on the box she was carrying. They slipped into the building and Aiden relaxed a little.

"Alright, I don't think anyone saw us," he said. She nodded. "Elevator doesn't work. We're ten flights up. Can you make it?" he asked, arching his eyebrow at her heels.

"I'll race you," she offered smartly, starting up the stairs without him. He watched her go for about half a staircase and shook his head with a smirk. In about two leaps he was in front of her, and his boxes didn't so much as wobble. She stuck her tongue out at him. "Cheat," she sniffed. His laugh echoed in the stairwell and he shook his head again as he turned to walk with her.

As they drew nearer to the floor that Aiden's pack occupied, he put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

"Let me go first," he said. She shrugged.

"You're the Alpha," she replied breathily.

He blinked, startled by the sound and the sudden visceral twist in his gut that it provoked. He drew a tentative breath in through his nose and swallowed hard.

She smelled…

"Something the matter?" she asked. He stopped, looking at the shorter distance between them and stepping away, swallowing hard.

"Nope," he lied."Stay here," he said, moving up the last half a stairwell and not flinching when Ethan pulled the door open.

He looked at his brother, the boxes, ducked his head into the hall to look at Lydia, and then looked at his brother again, pulling in a deep breath through his nose. Aiden pulled back his upper lip in a sneer at the laughter in his brother's eyes as he said, "You stink."

"Shut up," Aiden snapped lightly before glancing at Lydia. "She's safe," he said, and Ethan shrugged.

"Cool," he said, before leaning away from the door. "Dust off your clothes and make yourselves presentable. We've got a guest," he said. Aiden rolled his eyes.

"Idiot," he hissed, pushing the boxes into Ethan's hands and moving past his grinning brother into the loft to greet the warily gathering humans. Ethan leaned into the hallway and beckoned Lydia, who arched an eyebrow and shifted the box before tossing her hair back. Ethan's grin pulled a little wider at her regal bearing and shook his head, biting his lip against a laugh as he closed the door behind her. He set the boxes down in their skeleton of a kitchen.

There were a few unpleasant and loud noises from the humans and Aiden growled loudly. Lydia blinked at the noise but didn't startle otherwise, and Ethan scoffed, drawing everyone's attention. He straightened, clearing his throat.

"I'll go get Robbie and Fractal," he said, and Aiden nodded before turning back to the others.

"I'm only going to say this once. Get over it. What happened to June wasn't Fractal's fault - it never was. I let you have your tantrum but that's over now, got it?" he demanded. There was a discontented silence from the group, but Bron glanced around and spoke up.

"Yes, Alpha," he replied strongly, pointedly, and the others murmured similar replies.

"Good. Now back up. We brought food," he said. As one they looked at Lydia, assessing, scrutinizing, judging, but she just glanced around and walked over to a built in kitchen counter, leaving her back open and exposed. Aiden took two steps to his right to keep himself between her and his pack, folding his arms. Clatter on the staircase drew everyone's attention to Robbie, Fractal and Ethan, who were joining them.

"Who's the newbie?" Ollie asked looking her over with a sour expression. Aiden bared his teeth at the boy.

"Her name's Lydia. Her Soul's name is Watcher. And you all better be nice to them, because if it wasn't for them, this place would be crawling with Seekers by now. She's the only reason I didn't die of wolfsbane poisoning or become a host myself. So you will all treat her with respect," he ordered, watching them straighten and look at the redheaded woman with new, more subdued expressions. Mumbled 'yes, Alpha's rumbled through the small crowd, and she looked up from where she was pulling sub sandwich after sub sandwich out of the box, looking curiously at the Alpha and biting her lip at his praise. Fractal patted Robbie on the head and told him to stay with Ethan as he walked over to the new Soul.

"Hello," he said. She looked him over and then made a noise of recognition.

"You're a Soul," she said, before nodding to herself. "That actually explains a lot. Nice to meet you," she said. He smiled in return.

"Nice to meet you too. Thank you for the food. We ran out today," he said. She nodded.

"I figured that's what made your friend risk capture. What I don't understand is why he didn't just send you - other than the fact that you're dressed like a hobo, no one would have looked twice at you," she said. He blinked at the rough assessment, looking down at his dirt and sweat stained clothes and blushing self consciously before licking his lips.

"I...well, I..." he started, looking towards Aiden. Instead, it was Ethan who spoke up.

"One of our pack-members became a host - we assume," he said. "The others had a tough time dealing. They blamed Fractal," he added, glancing at the group when someone made a noise of protest. His wide grin dared them to contradict his words. Lydia observed this and then looked at Fractal before snorting.

"I have opinions about that, but I’m still new here, so I'll just let it pass," she said, before glancing at Fractal. "For now. Alrighty then, I've got twenty subs here, all different kinds. Bare bones with separate sides so you can add your own stuff. Sauce packets, salt, pepper. There's bottled water, plates, forks and knives. I brought a cooling unit for leftovers, since I don't think your fridge works," she said to everyone. "I think that's everything," she said, checking all three boxes. She grabbed a sub of her own and opened it, pulling small boxes of lettuce and sliced tomatoes and things out of one of the other boxes. Aiden watched her for a while and then nodded to his pack, who all moved hesitantly forward.

Except for Robbie.

Robbie bounced his way over to Lydia and threw his arms around her waist.

"Thanks for the food," he said, looking up at her. She smiled. "You're pretty," he added, and she laughed.

"Thanks."

**

Lydia checked her watch after finishing half of her sandwich.

"Well, I've got things to do in the morning," she said to the Alpha - the one that she'd rescued (someone mentioned his name was Aiden). "I should get going."

He wrapped up his sandwich and tossed it to his brother, who smirked at him through a mouthful of food. Lydia arched an eyebrow at their interaction as Aiden stood up and dusted off his jeans.

"I'll walk you down," he said, starting towards the door. Lydia watched him for a moment and looked at Ethan, who looked away pointedly.

So Aiden is flirting with us, Lydia said, getting up and wrapping her own sandwich up to take home.

Um...I think he's just flirting with you, actually, Watcher told her, and she tilted her head as she joined Aiden at the door.

Interesting, she replied, considering the situation as she and Aiden walked down the stairs together. After about a stair and a half, Aiden stopped her.

"I can get you down quicker than this," he said, smirking a little. "Trust me?"

Lydia arched an eyebrow.

"Trust? Not yet. Intrigued? A little," she replied, stepping closer. Aiden pulled her closer and swept her into a bridal carry, smirking again at her surprised exclamation.

"Hold on tight," he said. Unnecessarily, as she was already digging her nails into his shoulders. He jumped over the handrail to the next flight of stairs, effortlessly bounding down the stairwell while Lydia stifled a scream in her throat, unable to close her eyes.

On the last staircase, he launched himself into a forward flip that forced a cry of surprise out of his passenger. He set her on her feet, but kept his hands on her waist as she leaned against him for support. When she looked at him, he seemed smug, and she huffed a sigh at him, straightening up and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Aiden," she said, watching his expression become a little eager. "Look, you're cute, in a…" she looked him over and set her jaw at the way he preened under inspection. "muscle-y, athletic sort of way," she told him, to his smirk. "But I'm in the beginning of orchestrating a social revolution, and I don't have time for the politics of a relationship at this time," she finished. He blinked.

"What, really?" he asked, shocked. She raised both of her eyebrows and set her hands on her hips.

"Really," she confirmed. His shoulders sagged a little and he folded his arms.

"Not even a casual sex relationship?" he asked. She scoffed, and ignored that her cheeks were burning, because that was Watcher's reaction to his blunt offer.

"Oh please, we both know that casual sex never ends up being that casual," she countered, and he had the decency to concede the point before scuffing his shoe against the old, faded, dirty tiles.

"Well...alright then, I guess, but…" he looked her over appreciatively and shook his head. "Let me know when you're up for it," he said. She smirked.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," she replied, turning and stalking out the door.

Are you sure? He seems to really like you, Watcher said.

But it's not just me in here, is it? Anyone who wants to be with me has to accept you too, or there's no point, she told him, checking to make sure the coast was clear as she climbed into her car.

Chapter Text

"He apologized to me," Reacher said, staring up at the ceiling of Bliss's living room. She arched an eyebrow but said nothing and a few moments later, his head shifted to one side. "Well...Peter apologized to me. And then he smacked Derek in the head to make Derek apologize to me," he amended.

"So he didn't really mean it?" she asked. Reacher scrunched his face uncomfortably.

"It was more like he was embarrassed that he had to apologize in the first place. I believe he was sincere, if not enthusiastic," he answered, sighing before sitting up. "In any case, one bad reaction hasn't changed my mind about helping them," he added.

"I never thought it would," she replied easily, with a smile. "And how's teaching going?" she asked. He waved dismissively.

"We're on a mandatory break before test week," he answered. "I met another one yesterday morning," he told her, and she hid her smile at his single-minded focus behind her teacup. "Her name's Erica. She's blonde, curly hair, pretty. Kind of..."

Rude? Nosy? Mean?

"...Persistent," Reacher said.

Tch. You're too nice, Stiles teased.

"She knows Stiles is still alive," he added uncomfortably.

(In his mind he rushed for the thousandth time to tell Stiles unnecessarily that his discomfort wasn't over the boy's continued existence. Stiles replied with his usual dismissive snort.)

"How'd she find out?" Bliss asked.

"Apparently they can hear the changes in your heart when you're being dishonest," he said, shaking his head. "I asked her not to tell anyone, but..." Reacher looked down at his hands. "Well, Scott hasn't snuck into my bedroom window and tackled me, so I assume she hasn't..." he trailed off to thoughts of his host's childhood friend, only to blink back to reality a few moments later, smiling sheepishly at Bliss. She looked at him fondly. "Oh, I told them they could trust you too. They didn't look too sure, but I'm sure they'll come around. They can hardly refuse the help," he said.

Bliss looked torn between pride that Reacher had recommended her to the free humans and chagrin at the knowledge of the reason they wouldn't readily trust her.

"Allison and I would be glad to help in whatever way we can," she told him, smiling at his smile. "When will you see them again?" she asked. He sighed.

"I don't know, actually. It's kind of a 'don't call them, they'll call me,' thing," he admitted, before tilting his head. "Now there's a thought. I could get them a phone. That way they wouldn't have to risk coming all the way to my house if they need something. I'll save it for my next shopping trip," he decided, nodding his head with a small, pleased smile.

"You're going back to the Store? So soon?" she asked, and he stopped, staring at her.

"You don't think I should?"

"Well, you did get a lot of stuff last time - and that was just the things that you had when you came to my house after. If you go back so soon and get even more stuff, it could be noticed," she told him. He stared at her and then shook his head.

"You're right. All those things I got - I can't go back for food and things for at least another month. What if they need something between now and then?" he asked. Bliss was silent for a moment and then licked her lips.

"Well," she said, tilting her head and tucking her long hair behind one ear. Reacher looked at her. She was blushing nervously. "Allison has an idea," she told him.

"What is it?" Reacher asked.

"There are two other Stores in Beacon Hills. You could alternate between the three. The only problem is, of course, people who know you noticing you going to three different Stores when there's one that's the optimum distance from your house. You could go to Stores in other towns, though. There are seven other small towns around Beacon Hills that all have sizeable Stores, and presumably no Souls that know you," she offered. He stared at her in wonder.

"That...is brilliant. Thank you, Allison. This is good. This is helpful. I am going to tell them about this, and I'm going to tell them it was your idea. Show them for thinking you're untrustworthy." He muttered the last bit, but loudly, and Bliss blushed a little at his enthusiasm.

They talked for a while longer - Bliss had made small repairs to the tenuous connection that had frayed between her and the Souls that controlled Allison's mother and father, for which Reacher was happy - and then Reacher went home. He worked for an hour (as he'd planned, amid the noisy protests of Stiles, who wanted to look at maps of where the other Stores were) on his lesson plan for when school started up the following week. He spent a little time after that with Fields, the two of them talking about their respective days (with Reacher leaving out anything that had to do with the humans).

"There's a new Seeker in town," Fields told him, and Reacher blinked while Stiles groaned.

Another one?

"Oh?" Reacher asked curiously. Fields nodded.

"Name's Watcher. His host is about Stiles' age. Red hair. Cute as a button. Used to have a Calling in Nature Studies," Fields went on, scratching his cheek and staring into the distance briefly as he described her.

"Used to? What changed?"

"Apparently he thought being a Seeker would be more challenging," Fields replied. Reacher blinked and then tilted his head.

"Is it?" he asked. Fields snorted.

"Not really. No one breaks the law around here except for the humans, and we haven't been able to catch them for six years," the Seeker replied. "He seems confident he'll be able to bring an end to the problem, though," he added. Reacher tried not to tense up and wondered how he was ever going to deal with this new Seeker if they ever met.

"He sounds nice," he lied unconvincingly. Fields leveled a fatherly, unimpressed look at him before getting up and ruffling his hair.

"I have to get some work done, so I'm going in to the office, alright?" he said. Reacher nodded.

"Have a productive day, dad," he said, to Fields' chuckle.

Great. Another Seeker. We'll have to tell the Pack about him, Stiles said, and Reacher nodded again, scratching his forehead as he got up and wandered upstairs.

We will, as soon as we figure out where the nearby towns are so we can work out a rotating shopping schedule, Reacher told him, closing the door to his room and going to his bookcase. He had several up to date maps. He mumbled to himself as he spread them out on the bed and made notations in his head.

We need an invisible marker, Stiles told him. He blinked. You know, the kind where the ink only shows up under an ultraviolet light, the boy said. Reacher nodded at the presented visual.

I'll pick one up the next time we're out, he said, before tilting his head. And I want to go back to our Store to talk to Snow Dust, the attendant, Reacher added.

For the plants and things he was talking about? Okay, sure. We can do that and still go to the other Stores, Stiles said.

The more they talked, the more the plan began to take solid form, and Reacher looked impatiently out of the window at the busy neighborhood. Everyone was out planting and gardening and trimming the yard. There was no way for him to signal his watcher so that he could relay the plan. And they were stuck in whatever tree they were--

Let's go for a walk, Stiles said, interrupting his frustration.

Pardon? he asked, blinking. Stiles sighed.

Reacher. Let's go for a walk. In the woods. Behind our house? he said pointedly.

"Oh!" Reacher blurted, before laughing and nodding. He grabbed the map and threw it in a small bag, pulling on his sneakers. Downstairs he hesitated.

Maybe I should bring an offering, he suggested.

What are you, a high priest? What for?

It's polite to bring some sort of food thing when you drop in unexpectedly, Reacher scolded lightly. Stiles made a noise of consideration.

I think there's some chips in the cupboard, he said. Reacher grabbed that and two water bottles before walking out the back door and heading straight for the back fence.

"Good afternoon, Reacher!" called one of his neighbors, and Reacher smiled politely.

"Chimes with the Eastern Sun, good afternoon," he replied.

"Where are you off to?"

"Just for a walk."

"In the woods?" Chimes threw the woods a look of concern, but Reacher shrugged and smiled.

"I like it in there. It's quiet. Peaceful. Plus I can feed the squirrels," he replied with a small laugh. Chimes smiled back, his worries alleviated.

"Alright, well have a good time," he called, before going back to watering his plants. Reacher walked out through the back fence and into the woods with a jaunty whistle.

About a hundred feet or so into the woods, out of sight of his house and his neighbor's houses, Reacher found a large-ish stump where a tree had once been cut down. Nearby was a rock large enough to use as a seat, and he smiled, opening his bag to set everything up. He put the map on the stump, holding it down with some weights that he'd brought from the house. He put the two water bottles on opposite sides of the stump and the bag of chips in the middle (on the map) closest to where his guest would presumably sit. Then he sat on the rock and waited.

Before too long, he heard a noise, and he straightened, some nervousness creeping in at the possibility that the person making that noise would not be one of the free humans (or werewolves) but a Seeker demanding to know who he was meeting with. Stiles rapidly came up with several lies they could tell that would explain what he was doing, who he was planning to meet with and what they were going to do, but then Reacher sighed in relief at the sight of the young man who had picked up Isaac the day they'd met.

"James," he said in greeting. The werewolf arched an eyebrow and eyed the small 'table' that the Soul had set up.

"Reacher," the wolf replied. Reacher smiled. "What's up?"

"Some things we need to discuss. Solutions to a few problems I hadn't foreseen," Reacher answered, and James blinked, but came closer and sat on the edge of the stump, picking up the water bottle next to him.

"What problems?" he asked.

"Well there are sixty or so free humans, and sixty people consume a lot of food," Reacher started, before looking James up and down. "I did a little research on werewolves, and the consensus seems to be that they eat more food than a regular human, so that's a lot of food, which means a lot of trips to the Store," he said. James grimaced, catching Reacher's drift.

"A lot of noticeable trips to the Store," he said, and Reacher nodded.

"Right, but Bliss said that there were a lot of small towns surrounding Beacon Hills that also have Stores, so if we go to those Stores, we can make regular trips without anyone being the wiser. I figure we put a month between return trips to any of the particular Stores, maybe two, with seven maybe eight stores - that's at least one trip a week," Reacher told him. James looked impressed.

"This was Bliss's idea?" he asked, forehead pulling downward in the middle. Reacher looked at him and set his jaw.

"Yes. It was. Please tell them that when you report back," he said, and James' forehead cleared.

"You want her to get credit so we'll trust her," he guessed. Reacher sighed.

"I want her to get credit because it was her idea and I want you to understand that she can be trusted. I get that there's some sort of...bad history between your family and her family, but that bad history wasn't between your family and Allison. Allison was never told about any of that. She's innocent of their crimes," he said. James nodded.

"Alright. I'll tell them that. I can't promise they won't be cautious, though," he said. Reacher shrugged uncomfortably and took a drink from his own water bottle. "What else?"

"Communication. I'm going to pick up a pair of phones for us to communicate with. It'll be easier for both of us. You can contact me when you need me, and I won't have to wonder how or when I'm going to talk to you next," Reacher said. James nodded thoughtfully before looking at the bag of chips. He arched an eyebrow at Reacher, who gave an encouraging wave, and the werewolf opened up the bag, munching happily on the potato chips.

"Are these baked?"

"No, but we use a different sort of oil so it's less unhealthy," Reacher answered. James nodded.

"So this phone. No GPS?"

"Just like the tablets," Reacher assured him. James nodded.

"Thanks for that, by the way. My little cousin's kind of an egghead and he really likes the puzzle games that you guys have," the older boy said. Reacher smiled.

"I'm glad," he said. James smiled back.

"So what else?"

"Shopping trips, cell phone, well, I'm going to have to go back and talk to Snow Dust about--"

"Who?" James demanded, suddenly alert. Reacher blinked at him. Then winced.

"I didn't tell anyone about you, but I needed to make up a story, and I thought it would be most helpful if it was close to the truth," Reacher explained. James gaped, but Reacher held up his hands. "I told him that a friend of mine was doing an experiment involving subterranean environments for cultivation and colonization, as a solution for overcrowded planets," he said. James stared at him. Reacher winced again. "Please don't be angry. It was the only way I could think of that would let me go back and ask questions that dealt with living underground without raising any suspicion," he said quietly. James looked him over and sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm gonna have to tell my mom about this," he said, and Reacher nodded sadly. James shook his head again. "What do you need to talk to him about?"

Reacher chewed his lip hesitantly for a moment.

"Well. The last time we discussed it, I had told him that my friend intended his underground environment to be a small subterranean farm with some chickens and some cows. Snow Dust said that I should probably get air filters, or plant things that would make oxygen out of methane, as well as the necessary plants for cattle consumption. I can tell him I special ordered the hay, but I'd like to go back and talk to him about which plants he thinks would be best," Reacher explained. For a moment, James was quiet. Then he nodded.

"The air has been getting a little thin," he said. Reacher's eyes widened a little in alarm.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked. James scoffed, shaking his head as a smile grew on his face.

"It's fine, Reacher, just - every once in a while we have to open all the exit doors and let the bad air out. Mom and Ophelia - that's Peter's wife - argue every once in a while about ventilation systems, but..."

"Then we should get on this plant thing as soon as possible," Reacher said. James held up a hand, but his suspicion was gone.

"Slow down, Reacher. First I have to report back. Then my mom - my Alpha - will discuss things with her lieutenants and decide what to do. We'll probably take you up on that shopping idea--"

"Bliss's shopping idea," Reacher inserted firmly. James nodded with a smirk.

"--Bliss's shopping idea, and the plant thing, although I'll tell you right now, the fact that you discussed underground environments with someone is gonna make people uncomfortable. Then, once we have a plan, we'll get back to you. So leave your window open tonight," he said. Reacher nodded. "Anything else?" James asked.

"Just that...I'm grateful that you'd still accept my help after...the misunderstanding," the Soul offered. James stared at him again, longer this time, and then carefully set the bag of chips on the stump.

"Stand up a minute, Reacher," he said, and Reacher did so, confused. "Don't be alarmed, but I'm going to hug you," he said. Reacher blinked, and then James was hugging him. He was uncomfortably tense for a moment before bringing his arms up around James' back. James was soft, and his arms around Reacher created this pocket of comfortable, soothing warmth. He smelled good. After a moment, James rubbed his cheek against the side of Reacher's head, and Stiles told him that James was scenting him and Reacher felt a rush of confused emotion that made him blink rapidly.

You didn't scent strangers.

You didn't scent outsiders.

He swallowed a growing lump and hesitantly smoothed his hands over James shoulders, drawing a pleased sounding noise out of the werewolf.

"So my brother's kind of an moron, y'know?" he said after a moment, and Reacher blinked at his shoulder for a moment before pulling gently back.

"What do you mean?" he asked. James smirked, shaking his head.

"He's got issues," he said, shrugging. "And he isn't great with dealing with those issues. Don't let him push you around, though. He'll come around," he told Reacher, who didn't understand but who nodded hesitantly anyway before glancing towards the house.

"I should go. I'll leave my window open," he said. James nodded, grabbing the map and the water bottle. He took the chips too, but that just made Reacher smile as he turned and walked back home. He smiled at his neighbors as he used his fence's back gate and went straight into his house, locking the door behind him. He barely made it up to his room before stopping to lean against the door.

He...he... Reacher shook his head, swallowing hard as heat rushed up into his face, settling under his cheeks and behind his eyes.

He basically just welcomed you into his Pack. Yeah, Stiles said, and that rush of confused emotion hit him again, and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, burying his face in his folded arms.

It was just James. It's not as if we've been accepted by the whole pack, or by the Alpha. He was probably just doing it to apologize for Derek trying to kill us, but...

Dude. The fact that he trusted you enough to let you into his personal bubble and put his arms around you - leaving his back entirely vulnerable to attack - is a big. deal. Go ahead. Be touched and freak out. It's a totally reasonable reaction, Stiles said. Reacher swallowed hard and brought a shaking hand up to his wet eyes.

Your mom used to hug you like that, Reacher said.

Stiles fell silent, and Reacher could feel the bittersweet pain of lost love leech into his own emotional crisis before his host started to tug at the reins of his body. Reacher let him have control, pulled back from being in charge and watched as Stiles wordlessly rose and went to their closet. He pulled down a sealed plastic bag, opening it to reveal a large comforter - pale blue with china flowers on it. Stiles pulled it out of the plastic, burying his face in it and breathing in deeply the faint smell of the last imbedded scent markers of his mother.

He made a duvet nest on his bed for them, and they wallowed in it, hugging a pillow and crying.

**

They spent almost the rest of the day like that, until the sun started to go down. Neither of them wanted one of the Pack to see them like that, so they reluctantly packed away the comforter before taking a shower. When he got out, Fields and John had come home, so Reacher made dinner.

Burning Fields had many times told Sheriff Stilinski that his name had come from his last world, which was the fire world - where the dragons lived - and not in fact because he was fond of setting fields on fire, but the Sheriff was adamant in his belief that Fields would set the house ablaze if he used the stove.

Or looked at the stove.

Or went into the kitchen (unless it was near the fridge)

Stiles thought it was hilarious. Reacher thought it was a bit funny himself.

Maybe we should tell him, Reacher offered as they ate and laughed together. They talked about Reacher's work at the school and Fields' work at the former Sheriff's office (mostly paperwork and reading reports and giving his opinions on certain happenings).

What, now? Stiles asked.

Why not?

How about because the humans are just starting to trust us and we don't need to go testing that trust by telling a Seeker about our association with free humans, Stiles replied.

Reacher didn't argue that Fields was completely trustworthy, because Stiles already knew that, and anyway Reacher understood what he meant. It wasn't their trust that Fields would have to win.

"Reacher?"

The young Soul jerked a little, startled out of his silent contemplation and blinking at Fields, who stifled a smile of amusement.

"Sorry. Thinking," Reacher said, blushing. Fields chuckled.

"I asked if you've made any friends. Other than Bliss, who is a fine Soul," the Seeker asked. Reacher pursed his lips as his thoughts went to the free humans.

"Uh," he said before smiling weakly. "A couple? " he answered. Fields grinned.

"Good. Maybe you could bring them over some time. We'll have dinner," the Seeker said.

Ohboy.

"Sure. Only, maybe not for a little bit. They're..." Reacher thought quickly. "…students. I wouldn't want to look like I'm playing favorites," he said. "So it may have to wait until the end of the school year," he lied. Fields nodded slowly at his explanation.

"Alright, well, whenever you're ready. I'd love to meet your friends, Reacher," he said. Reacher nodded.

"Yeah. Okay, dad," he said, before looking down at his food. He'd eaten almost everything on his plate, so he excused himself and went up to his room, closing the door gently before leaning his head against it and groaning. "Man," he whined, shaking his head slowly before turning with a sigh so that his back was against the door as he stared at the ceiling.

Then Reacher dropped his eyes to the room in general and suffered a brief spasming seizure at the sight of Derek Hale leaning against the wall beside his open window. He barely contained a scream at the werewolf's unexpected presence, letting out a shaky whine instead as he grabbed his chest over his heart and tried to convince it to slow down.

"A little warning next time?" he hissed, throwing a look at his door and shaking his head. He grabbed the tie from his desk drawer, which was mostly empty except for the article in question, and slipped it on the door's outside knob before turning back to Derek, who hadn't moved and was arching an eyebrow at him. Reacher took a moment, and a deep breath, and remembered that James had said someone would come talk to him.

He just hadn't known it would be Derek.

He glanced around his room.

He maybe would have cleaned up a little if he'd known.

"So how'd it go?" he asked, clearing his throat as he fiddled with his hands. Derek rolled his eyes.

"The Alpha would like you to know that she appreciates your assistance and your resourcefulness," Derek said, unfolding his arms and pulling a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and tossing it onto Reacher's desk. "That's the list of things we need. She also doesn't want you to go alone," he said. Reacher picked up the list and unfolded it, discovering that it was two sheets of paper, not one, and he nodded as he scanned it briefly.

"Do I get to choose who goes with me?" he asked, looking up at Derek, who folded his arms again as he looked Reacher up and down, his features seemingly set to permanently angry.

"Depends who you pick," he answered.

"Scott," Reacher said, ignoring Stiles' quick and mischievous Derek.

"No," Derek replied, eyebrows pulling down. Reacher frowned.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Scott's only been out a couple of times, and he has trouble blending in," Derek answered, glaring at Reacher like that was his fault. Reacher sighed, thinking of who else he'd met before smiling.

"Isaac," he said, nodding to himself. Isaac was a sweet boy - a little shy at first, but he would make the journey enjoyable.

"No," Derek said firmly, a scowl dominating his features. Reacher deflated a little.

"Why--"

"Because I said so. Pick someone else," snapped the wolf, keeping his voice low. Reacher blinked at his gruffness and studied him for a moment before nodding slowly.

Maybe he's just protective of Isaac, he said to Stiles, who made a noise of agreement.

Makes sense. I mean, shit, I feel protective of the guy, his host said, and Reacher nodded again.

"I...well, I guess…" he started, thinking of who else he'd met of the group. He didn't think he could ask after Erica without Derek demanding how he knew her - that would be awkward - but…

Dude, just ask Derek to go with us, Stiles told him. Reacher blushed and Derek arched an eyebrow.

I cannot - at this moment - think of a more awkward situation than sitting in a car with Derek for an extended period of time in complete silence, Reacher replied, and Stiles ceded the point.

"That girl...the one who was at the house when you-- after I dropped off the water tank," he said, blushing further. Derek stared at him for a long moment, blinking.

"Cora," he said, and Reacher blinked back at him.

"Oh, she was your sister? I'm, uh...sorry she had to kick you," he said. Derek didn't seem to hear that part.

"You want Cora to go with you," he said. Reacher shrugged.

"I don't know that many of you. Aside from them it's just the werewolves that have come to my house and James. Your uncle is...off-putting," he said, drawing a snort from Derek. "And I didn't think you'd want to go--"

"I don't," Derek replied quickly, making Reacher stop and blink.

Wow. Dick. 

"Right," Reacher said flatly, looking down at the list in his hands. His fingers had crinkled the paper slightly and he forced them to uncurl, watching them tremble slightly while his heart beat sickly in his chest. "But Cora seemed nice, for all that I only met her for three seconds," he said, swallowing a lump of hurt before clearing his throat. "It's difficult to judge the character of a person when you're concerned that your windpipe may have permanently collapsed," he said sharply.

The atmosphere in the room tensed considerably, and he clenched his jaw as he looked up at Derek, whose jaw was likewise clenched tightly.

"Was that all?" Reacher asked. Derek looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon.

"All for me. You got anything?" he snapped back.

All at once Reacher remembered what his father had told him that morning and he blinked, temper evaporating.

"Aw, brussel sprouts, I forgot," he said, mostly to himself.

Do you mind not 'cursing' in front of the guy we're trying to impress? And here, I use the word cursing even though that is not what you're doing, Stiles replied. Reacher ignored him.

"Forgot what?" Derek growled, and Reacher glared at him.

"Stop that, it's--" Hot. "--annoying," he said before shaking his head (mostly at Stiles). "There's a new Seeker in town is all. His name's Watcher. That's all I know right now, but I can get my dad to introduce us, maybe find out if he knows anything or if he's just another transfer," he offered.

"Why didn't you tell James earlier?" Derek demanded, and Reacher stared at him.

Probably because you were freaking out over being hugged, Stiles offered helpfully.

"I got distracted," he answered, to Derek's growl.

"Distracted by what?" the wolf demanded, and Reacher sighed heavily.

"None of your business," he snapped, voice raised in frustration. He grunted when Derek was suddenly pushing him against the door of his room.

"Keep your voice down or the Seeker will hear," Derek ordered gruffly.

James' words from earlier - Don't let him push you around - echoed suddenly in his head, and he set his jaw.

"Yes, or maybe he'll hear that you just shoved me into my door," he hissed, pushing at Derek's hands on his arms. When they didn't move, he looked up at Derek, who wasn't listening anymore. He was staring at Reacher, nostrils flaring. Reacher froze.

"Why do you smell like my brother," Derek said. In their head, Stiles was quietly impressed that Derek had turned a question into a statement.

"I...he hugged me," Reacher said, watching a muscle in Derek's cheek twitch for a moment.

"What. Why."

How does he do that?

Stiles, please...

"I...expressed my gratitude for being allowed to continue helping your group," he said, blinking and looking down at where Derek's hands were no longer gripping his shoulders. Instead they were swiping up and down his arms, and he arched an eyebrow.

Well this is interesting, Stiles said, as the hands swept up and started petting his shoulders.

No kidding, Reacher replied, before going very still. Derek's hands were around his throat again. There was a second - jam-packed with terror and panic - where Reacher feared that Derek was going to kill him now that the two of them were alone.

Except the hands didn't squeeze. They just rubbed gently over his skin.

What is he...is he scenting us now? What's going on here?

Reacher's eyes jerked up to Derek's face, which was mostly expressionless, except where his eyes were laser-focused on what his hands were doing. There was also a low rumble coming from the back of Derek's throat - a sort of disgruntled, mumbling growl as Derek's hands rubbed over Reacher's neck without squeezing and then slid up over his jaw, cheek, and temple into his hair. Reacher succumbed briefly to the pleasant sensation of someone petting his hair before forcing his eyes back open to stare at Derek.

Derek tilted his head as he kept touching Reacher, nostrils flaring again, and his eyebrows straightened from their near permanent furrow, apparently satisfied with whatever it was he'd accomplished. Then his eyes met Reacher's and he froze, hands buried in younger boy's mussed up hair. Reacher blinked at him, slowly raising his own eyebrows and hoping he wasn't as blushing as furiously as he suspected he was.

That muscle in Derek's rapidly reddening cheek twitched hard and he jerked his hands back, turning to leave without explanation.

There was a sudden sting in Reacher's cheek and he flinched, touching his cheek lightly and making a small, surprised noise when his finger came away with a thin smear of blood. He looked over at Derek, who had stopped at the window, staring at his curled hands. From where he was, Reacher could see claws slowly recede into human fingernails and he blinked.

What just happened?

Not sure, Stiles replied, stymied, but neither of them had much time to contemplate. Derek turned reluctantly back towards them, eyes on the scratch on Reacher's cheek.

"I…it's just a scratch," he said, but Derek was moving towards him, and he just stood there, not really sure what he was supposed to do.

His squawk of surprise was muffled by Derek's palm when the werewolf grabbed him by the face, but again he wasn't given time to analyze or react because Derek was--

Licking our face, he's licking our face! Yes! This is so awesome, Stiles crowed, and Reacher tried to ignore him, but it was difficult when Derek's face was so close to his - and having a tongue rasping over what was essentially a papercut should have been gross, but it most definitely wasn’t - in fact, Reacher would have been inclined to agree with Stiles about the level of 'awesome' in the situation, if only Derek hadn't tried to kill them the day before yesterday.

The day before yesterday.

Derek pulled back after a moment, looking once again vaguely satisfied before dropping his hand, turning, and fleeing out the window, leaving Reacher slightly stunned against his bedroom door with a wet cheek, a flushed face, and a host who was gleefully ignoring all factors but the fact that Derek had gotten close enough to them to lick their face.

The bewildered and slightly unsettled Soul reached up and touched his cheek, blinking when there was no sting, only a faint dampness.

Confused, he left his room, startling both himself and his father who had come upstairs to retire for the night. They stared at each other and Reacher tried to make his face as blank as possible, but by the way his father's eyes skipped over his appearance as if unsure which part of him was the most worthy of attention, he must have looked a mess.

"Son, I think it's best we both pretend this never happened," his father said eventually, and Reacher nodded slowly, hesitantly, before gradually edging past his father to the bathroom.

He closed the door with a wince and then turned to the bathroom mirror.

"Oh my," he blurted, staring wide-eyed at his reflection.

His hair was uneven, sticking up on one side, flattened on the other. His shirt-sleeves were similarly uneven, and his collar was popped up on one side, and had been dragged about. Combined with the redness of his cheeks--

We look wrecked, Stiles said gleefully. Reacher rolled his eyes.

And how do we explain how our - how the other 'participant' - got in and out of the house without Dad noticing? he asked, frustrated by Stiles constant insistence in finding the silver lining of all of their interactions with Derek. Stiles laughed.

Dude, I'm pretty sure dad's never going to bring this up again.

Chapter Text

"Cora," Derek said, storming into the cafeteria/lounge where Cora was drinking a glass of water and reading. She raised an eyebrow at his deeper than usual scowl and the way his arms were folded and his hands were tightly clenched fists. "You're going with Reacher out of town tomorrow," he said, and she blinked.

"What? Me? Why me?" she asked. His jaw tensed and part of his lip twitched in an aborted sneer that also surprised her.

"He asked for you," he replied.

"Ohhh," she said, nodding slowly as she took in his continually sinking mood. She rolled her eyes. "Well you can hardly blame me for that. You're the one that tried to kill him," she snapped.

"Shut up," he muttered. "He's going out of town. You'll need that trailer he brought," he added. She took a deep breath and sighed and then stopped and stood up, sniffing again. She could smell Reacher in the room. She looked at Derek, saw his tension and the way he was rubbing his fingers over his knuckles and gaped.

"What'd you do, hug him?" she asked incredulously. She couldn't believe it. She was aware that her brother was pretty emotionally crippled by whatever had happened to him before the invasion, but she didn't think it was so bad that he'd go from trying to kill a guy to hugging him in a three day span. Derek scowled, but then James spoke up.

"I hugged him. You must be smelling me," James said, swaggering into the room. Cora took a quick sniff and snorted, wrinkling her nose.

"I most certainly am not," she assured him, before blinking. "Wait. You hugged Reacher? Why?" she asked. James sniffed at his shirt, smirking sheepishly at the overpowering smell of Daniel Mahealani's jealousy before shrugging.

"Because he's adorable," he answered. "Kid just wants to help out. It's like it's the only thing he wants in the world, even after--" his eyes cut to Derek, who looked away sourly. "--what happened," James finished. Cora nodded her concession that Reacher was all kinds of cute. "Plus he looks like a teddy bear someone dropped in the mud. Seriously, his sad eyes could give Isaac a run for his money," he added. Then he looked at Derek and gave a sniff. "Oh," he said, grinning.

"Shut up," Derek muttered.

"So did you guys kiss and make up?" James asked with a grin. Derek narrowed his eyes at his brother, glared at his sister, said nothing, and walked away. Cora and James shared a look and shook their heads before Cora shrugged.

"I'll just ask Reacher tomorrow," she said. James smirked. They both looked up when Erica came in, trailed by Scott and Isaac, who looked a little confused.

"Hey, Cora. Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked. Cora glanced at James, who shrugged, and Erica made a considering noise. "James too, actually. Somewhere...y'know, private?" she said.

**

Reacher slept fitfully that night, and at six am, he gave up on getting any more broken, restless sleep, trudging downstairs for a cup of the coffee that he'd graciously allowed his father to continue drinking. Fields arched an eyebrow at them as they sat down with their coffee, but Reacher just sighed.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled blearily, sipping the rich, blend of sweet cream and bitter coffee. John and Fields looked them over and sighed before picking up a card and dropping it in front of Reacher. The half-awake Soul blinked at it for a moment and picked it up. It was an appointment card for a Soul named Still Deep Waters. "What's this?"

"I made you an appointment for tomorrow so you can take your maturity test," the Seeker answered. Reacher nearly choked on his coffee.

"M-my---Dad, I don't--"

"Reacher, come on, I saw what I saw, okay?" Fields said - or maybe John was speaking. Either prospect was frightening. Reacher cringed. "And the law is the law, and I'm supposed to uphold it. How can I do that if my son won't comply with some of it's more basic tenets?" he asked. Reacher blushed, looking down at his coffee.

The maturity test had been established very early on after the invasion had been completed. All of the hosts they'd had before - even the more advanced species - had no imposed chronological age for mating, meaning that once physical maturity arrived, they could go off and couple and have children of their own according to their wants or instincts. That didn't mean there were no restrictions. Some had restrictions based on physical merits, others on an intellect basis, but humans were the first ones who had come up with a restriction based on age. The questions were designed to test an individual's understanding of the complexity of physical and/or romantic relationships and to make sure they would handle such relationships responsibly. Some of the Souls with younger hosts (who would no doubt fail the exam) called it 'the sex-test'.

"Yeah," he said, picking up the card. "Sorry," he added, blushing.

We didn't even do anything, he complained to Stiles.

Ooh, but if we passed the test, then we could, the host countered. Reacher averted a sigh by drinking his coffee.

"It's fine. I understand that - at your host's age - it's perfectly natural to want to be close to someone," Fields said. Reacher froze, staring at his coffee.

Uh...

Who's watching the house? Reacher asked.

Oh god, please not Derek.

"Dad," he started, but Fields held up a hand.

"No, I know, just...don't invite her - or him, I'm not judging - over again until you've taken your test. If he or she needs to take the test, make sure that they do so - also before they come over again," the Seeker went on. "I'd also appreciate it if you didn't make them climb in through your window when the door works perfectly fine," he added. Reacher jumped to his feet, snatching up the card with his appointment information on it. 

"Yes. Okay. I will. Do that. Thanks. That’s…good talk. I, um...I actually have plans for today, and I should go get...ready for that. But I will..." he gestured vaguely, card in hand. "Definitely do...that...what you said." He cleared his throat and grabbed his coffee. "Bye," he said, and walked swiftly away.

Well that was mortifying, Stiles offered as Reacher shut the door of his room and dropped his head against it.

No kidding, Reacher replied dryly.

About half an hour later, Fields called up that he was going to work at the office that day, and Reacher yelled back his usual 'have a productive day' before listening to the car pull out of the driveway.

Once he was gone, Reacher pulled out the list again and checked it over. At the top was the time at which his 'supervisor' would arrive for the shopping excursion, and he checked his watch. He had some time. He took a shower and dressed in some comfortable jeans with an old t-shirt and his plaid over shirt. It was supposed to be warmer today, but it was good to have a back-up in case the weather changed. He called down to the Store to make sure Snow Dust was working that day.

He was gathering up everything he would need (the list, his wallet, his keys), when he heard a noise, and when he walked out of the house, Cora was hooking the trailer that he'd left at the Hale House to Reacher's jeep.

"Oh," he said, and she looked up, smirking at him. He didn't know why, but the smirk made him wary. "Hey," he said with a small wave as she finished and stood, brushing her hands off on her jeans.

"Hey," she replied with that same smirk. She went around to the passenger side and he climbed into the driver's seat. She waited until they were both buckled up before speaking. "And how's Stiles this morning?" she asked him impishly.

He jerked, blinking at the window for a moment before gaping at her with wide open eyes. She grinned, and he sighed, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings so that his forehead thunked against his steering wheel.

"Erica," he muttered sourly. Cora chuckled.

"Yeah, she told me. That reminds me, though. We'll have to make a stop," she told him. He frowned.

"Where?" he asked.

"Not too far. Only about a mile down the road," she said.

What's there?

Nothing. I don't get it.

"Why?" he asked, and she smirked.

"You'll see," she replied mysteriously.

**

"Park here," she told him, and he glanced around for the non-existent traffic before doing as he was told. When the car was parked, she reached over and pulled his keys out of the ignition. "Come on," she said. Reacher started to protest, but she was already out of the car, and he growled in frustration before following her.

"C--, what's going on?" he asked, barely stopping himself from using her real name. She smirked at him, and then gave a low whistle through her teeth. He blinked, opening his mouth to question her further before the sound of a snapping twig grabbed his attention. He turned quickly, heart thumping as progressively dangerous scenarios wrote themselves in his head.

Except it was none of those things.

It was Scott and Isaac.

Reacher gaped. Stiles squealed. Scott grinned, and Isaac smiled shyly.

"Come on," Cora hissed, waving them over. They dashed from the woods to the Jeep, hovering nervously and watching Reacher, who still couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Sc--" He stopped himself and shook his head, remembering the names he'd suggested for them. "Razor, Foster, what are you guys doing here? De--Crystal said I couldn't bring you along," he said. Scott snickered and Cora looked delighted.

"I'm gonna tell him you called him that. He's been way sour about the name, forcing everyone to call him Blue. And don't worry about names, there's no one around," she told him.

"Erica told us," Isaac said, and Reacher flinched, looking at Scott, who shrugged.

"Yeah, she told us about that too. Don't worry. I mean...we can find out later or something. But Stiles…I'm just really happy, y'know?" he said.

For the love of god, Reacher, hug him, Stiles blurted, and Reacher was powerless to do anything but obey, snagging Scott's shirt and pulling him in for a rough hug that pushed the breath out of both of them. Scott didn't protest at all, pulling Reacher and Stiles closer - both of them hugging as hard as they could until it became too uncomfortable not to pull away.

"Stiles is very happy to see you again, and so am I," Reacher told him in a hoarse voice that made him clear his throat, and Scott smiled before both of them wiped their eyes.

"Yeah, man, me too. Guess we got a lot to catch up on," he said. Reacher nodded, looking at the others. "Oh! You've met Isaac, right? He's the best," Scott said, pulling Isaac closer. The young blonde looked uncomfortable, but Reacher just smiled and pulled him into a hug the same as Scott, whose laugh sounded wet but happy.

"Of course I've met Isaac. I heard you guys are doing a comic together," he said, feeling Isaac hesitantly relax into the hug.

"Alright, this is touching and all, but we've gotta go before someone notices that these two are out of the Den. Derek's already gonna be pissed when we get back, might as well have our fun and beg forgiveness later," she said, patting the Jeep's hood. Reacher and Isaac separated and Reacher folded his seat forward for him and Scott who scrambled in with quiet but excited giggles.

"Tell us everything," Cora told him as soon as they were back on the road. Reacher nodded.

"About me and Stiles?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yeah. How long has he been around?" Scott asked, and Reacher nodded.

"Almost the whole time," he told them, to their surprise. "I believe he was...unconscious for about an hour and fifteen minutes, the time it takes to check out and get from the hospital to the house. And then he was very, very loud," he said, and they all chuckled. "It was a rough couple of days at first. I...I admit I wasn't exactly helpful. I've never had a host...stay...before," he told them. They absorbed this information with quiet looks between them and then Isaac leaned forward.

"Where else have you been?" he asked. Reacher relaxed a little.

"There's an ocean planet where the dominant species are these fields of aquatic plants - we call them the See-Weeds, because at the end of every limb is an eye. I've been there. There's a world with large bats that sing the most exquisite songs - I've been there too. And the Spider planet - it's all math there. Very linear. I didn't like it as much as the other places, but it was still fascinating," he told them.

"That's so cool," Scott said, and Isaac nodded, eyes wide and dazed as he pictured what it could be like. "What about...Bliss?" Scott asked, blushing slightly when Reacher caught his look in the mirror. Reacher smiled.

"She'll be pleased to know that you asked after her," Reacher told him, and he sat up straighter.

"Really?" he asked. Reacher nodded, laughing.

"Well, I might as well tell you that her host, Allison, is still alive. So, for that matter, is Stiles' father, John," he said. "But you can't tell anyone I told you. I'm really not supposed to be spreading that around. I'm breaking a confidence, here," he said, throwing meaningful looks at all of them. They all nodded, although Cora looked less concerned than the others. She was busy staring at Reacher, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.

"You smell like my brother," she said, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. Reacher blinked, cheeks coloring slowly.

"Oh?" he asked, not remotely convincing them of his innocent curiosity. "Well, um...James did hug me, so..."

"Uh-huh," Cora said, tilting her head. "Which is why you smell like Derek," she said. Isaac and Scott jumped, then leaned forward.

"Really?"

"Do you like him?"

"Are you guys secretly dating?"

"Did you guys kiss?"

"What?" Reacher blurted, blushing furiously and hunching forward over the wheel a little. He made sure he was going two miles under the speed limit still and sighed. "No, we didn't kiss, and we're not dating - secretly or otherwise. He doesn't actually like me, you know," he said.

"He's all over your face," Cora argued and he rolled his eyes.

"Please don't say things like that, Stiles' imagination runs towards the gutter," he replied. Stiles cackled in agreement while Scott and Isaac simultaneously cringed and laughed. Cora snickered.

"So what happened?" she asked. He glanced at her and shook his head.

"He smelled that James hugged me and then he started rubbing his hands where James had touched me," he answered. Cora gave a triumphant 'Ha!' and Isaac whistled playfully while Scott said, "You go, bro!" Reacher blushed, but smiled at their mild teasing.

"So Stiles has been there the whole time?" Scott asked after a moment, steering the conversation away from Derek. Reacher relaxed, nodding.

"Yes. He's been a good friend and companion these last six years. I didn't feel comfortable getting close to anyone who I couldn't tell about Stiles, so it's just been me and Bliss - and Stiles' father," he explained.

"Wow, that must have sucked," Cora said. Reacher shrugged.

"I didn't mind so terribly. Stiles was the one that suffered. I'm...well, I'm a bit mild for him sometimes," he admitted.

What? Dude, shut up, you are not.

"Stiles, of course, protests, but I can always tell when he's bored," Reacher added. Stiles huffed at him and grumbled something about misinterpretations, but Scott just laughed.

"He was like that when we were kids. I don't think he's bored, I think his brain is just miles ahead of what's going on," he said, patting Reacher's shoulder. Isaac started to say something, but his attention was drawn to the fact that they were pulling into the Beacon Hills Store, and he tensed.

"We're going here?" he asked as Reacher parked. The Soul blinked at him.

"Um, no... I'm only stopping by to ask an associate about some plants for your hideout," he said. Isaac studied him for a moment and nodded, but stared tersely at the building as if it were going to attack them. Reacher glanced between him and it and furrowed his brow in concern. "You don't have to come in. I can take care of it," he offered.

"I'll go in with you," Cora said, and Reacher shrugged.

"If you like," he replied before looking at Scott, who glanced at Isaac's pale face.

"I'm gonna stay out here," he said, shrugging. "Isaac was almost seen here, so he's a little..." he shrugged again and Reacher nodded.

"We'll be back in about twenty minutes," he replied.

He and Cora walked slowly, casually to the Store entrance, and Reacher glanced around.

"Do you remember your name?" he asked.

"Colors of Silence," she replied surely. He nodded.

"Planet?"

"Singing World," she answered, and he nodded again.

Inside the Store, Reacher looked around for a moment and then went to the nearest unoccupied cashier.

"Excuse me, I was informed that Snow Dust was working today?" he asked, and the cashier smiled, nodding.

"Of course. He was informed of your call. He's waiting for you in the garden," he said. Reacher smiled back and thanked him, walking casually with Cora through the Store. She looked around assessingly while keeping her expression bland, hiding her eyes with a stylish pair of shades. They didn't cover her eyes exactly. Reacher thought it was more like a psychological tactic. 'I'm wearing shades, but they don't cover my eyes, therefore I can't possibly be a free human masquerading as a Soul'.

Probably Peter's idea.

Snow Dust was waiting for them in the garden, and he smiled when he saw them.

"Reacher, lovely to see you again," he greeted, and Reacher smiled back. "And who's your friend?" the associate asked. Cora smiled, extending a hand.

"Colors of Silence, lovely to meet you," she said politely, and Snow Dust nodded, shaking her hand before turning back to Reacher.

"I'm glad you came in today, I wanted to show you something," he said, leading them over to a small bench. He picked up a coffee can sized chrome canister and presented it to Reacher, who arched an eyebrow. "I special ordered it after our conversation about your friend's experiment," he said.

"What is it?" Reacher asked, holding the can. It was filled with something that shifted when Reacher shook it.

"It's a hybrid, an offshoot of a member of the moss family. I forget the name, but it's a very efficient oxygen producer. I was thinking about what you said, and if you sprinkled it around, it could double as a nice, sort of carpet. And it would spread of course - think of how pretty that would be," Snow Dust said. Reacher looked at Cora, who was nodding impressively.

"What about other plants? Doesn't moss monopolize soil nutrients?" she asked. Reacher blinked but tried not to look too surprised. Of course the humans would have considered plants as oxygen producers, it's only natural for them to have done research on it.

"Actually this kind of moss is very plant friendly, and carries nutrients that other plants could use to thrive. I think they're developing it for areas with over-worked fields," he replied. Cora and Reacher looked suitably impressed, to Snow Dust's obvious pleasure. They ended up talking for another five minutes about plants that complimented the moss. They walked out of the store with two canisters and fifteen packets of seeds and bulbs to be planted. Reacher also took the opportunity to tell Snow Dust that they would need the trailer for the foreseeable future and did he mind terribly? Snow Dust, of course, did not, and assured Reacher and Silence that he would mark the trailer down as 'purchased' rather than 'on loan'.

Reacher was glad that Snow Dust hadn't thought to ask about Cora's involvement in the process. He was fairly sure that Stiles could have presented him with a passable excuse in the moment, but the fewer lies he had to tell anyone about what he was doing, the longer he could do it without anyone catching him in a lie.

Once they were away from the Store and on the road leading out of Beacon Hills, Isaac finally relaxed, and Reacher began coaching them on how to pass for Souls in the next town over. It was a little difficult for him. Even though he harbored a human consciousness, he'd never felt threatened by other Souls the way that these free humans did. Internally, Reacher found their fear laughable. A Soul's reaction to attack would likely be to freeze, or to curl up into a ball. A normal Soul would never even consider defending themselves or even fighting back.

Still, he tried to give them the best tips he could. Reminded them - though of course, they had already figured out - that there was no money anymore so they didn't need to worry about paying. Warned them against swears or references to violent actions. Made sure they understood that Souls were not naturally suspicious, so there was no need to behave as though someone was going to discover them at any moment. Made them start using their Soul names in the car, to get them used to saying them and responding to them.

Then they went into the Store.

It was a little awkward at first, but Cora fixed that quickly by asking Reacher a question about one of his previous homes. Scott and Isaac listened eagerly as Reacher told stories about the Singing World. About trying to fly too soon and falling out of the tree where his brood mother had set up their nest. About hitting almost every branch on the way down and climbing back up. The stories shifted between them, with 'Razor' telling the story of his 'host' Scott before he was implanted, and his mishaps in the last few years. Cora remained mostly quiet, making sure no one became too blatant with their stories, clearing her throat when they got too close to speaking openly.

Reacher also told them things he'd heard around town when he'd gone out - things that they wouldn't know about, and probably didn't care about, but were perfectly safe to say.

"Hey," Scott said, glancing around before looking at Reacher. "What are these?" he asked, picking up a small box. Reacher glanced at the box and scoffed.

"Privacy screens," he replied, wandering over and leaving their cart parked by the flashlights and batteries. Scott blinked at him and then looked at the picture on the box, which showed four small spheres. He blinked again as the others came over to check it out.

"What?" he asked, confused. Reacher smiled with a huff, taking the box and turning it over to the back.

"See, you take these and you place a couple on either side of a doorway, and if your windows are all closed, it makes it so no one can hear what's going on in your room. Of course, you can't hear out of it, either, but it's nice for when you want a moment alone," he said.

Isaac, Scott, and Cora's eyebrows shot up and they shared significant looks before grabbing two extra boxes and settling them on the cart. Reacher watched them and shook his head with a smile.

After that they were eager to explore, but Reacher made sure that they attended to the things on the list, feeling quite like a pre-invasion kindergarten teacher as he called for them to stay in sight and not to run (making sure to use their 'code names' at all times).

There were no perishable items on the list, so they lingered in the clothing aisle, enjoying the freedom of being able to try on new clothes like regular people. Cora talked Reacher into a series of casual shirts that were more fitted to him than his usual, 'Stiles approved' apparel, and he managed to find one in a fetching blue color that made Cora snicker for some reason.

They were mostly quiet through the check out process, smiling sheepishly at the inventory clerk without offering an explanation as he brought his portable scanner around and scanned every barcode he could find. They smiled and laughed and joked as they loaded everything into the trailer. Isaac offered to roll the pallet cart back into the Store. Cora and Scott had puffed up proudly at how relaxed their friend was, but still kept an eye on his progress.

They stopped for lunch at a take-out place, and then parked in an empty parking lot so they could eat and joke around without disturbing anyone or being overheard.

It was the best time that Reacher and Stiles had had in a while, and his cheeks hurt a little from smiling, but he endured, listening to tales of Scott and Isaac's hijinks.

He did notice that Isaac would duck his head whenever his dad was mentioned. Also Scott's smile would dim and Cora would roll her eyes. It made something in Reacher's stomach clench and Stiles would make an uncomfortable noise. These moments were brief, but they lingered in Reacher's mind.

"Man," Scott said, sighing as Cora came back from dumping their trash. "Think we're in trouble yet?" he asked Isaac, who blushed, smile slipping into a worried frown.

"We should get back regardless. Face the music," Cora told them. There were grumbles from the boys, Reacher included, but they all climbed into the Jeep and Reacher turned towards Beacon Hills.

"I'm glad you and Stiles are cool," Scott said when the silence had stretched on for five minutes. Reacher smiled softly at Stiles responding, Me too.

"I'm glad you weren't lonely without him," Reacher replied. Scott glanced at Isaac, who was leaning against him, using his shoulder for a pillow, and smiled.

"Yeah, me too. I mean, I was sad that he wasn't there, but...I get the feeling things were supposed to be this way," he said.

Isaac woke up after they pulled off the road onto the Preserve, and they were all jittery with nerves and the knowledge that they were all in big, big trouble, which is why it made no sense that Reacher was biting his lip against a laugh. At the sound of a strained breath, he glanced over and saw that Cora was fighting one too and he huffed, which set Isaac and Scott off in the backseat. Reacher clutched the steering wheel and tried to stifle his own laughs, unable to stop a few giggles that broke free.

"Why are we laughing?" he asked between ragged breaths. Cora shook her head but Scott tried to reign it in long enough to answer.

"Man, we're gonna be so busted," he said before falling against Isaac, who was quietly cackling as tears streaked his face.

"Derek's gonna be pissed," Cora whined, her laugh like a sob. Reacher groaned, imagining Derek's wrath, which didn't stop him from snickering. Even Stiles joined in with a few confused chuckles.

Reacher pulled to a stop in the front yard and turned to his hysterical friends.

"Okay," he said, and lost a minute when this innocuous word set off another round of laughter. "Okay, shh, shh," he said again. "Just be cool," he said, unhelpfully. Someone's ragged breath became a snort and they all lost it. Reacher could barely see through his tears as he put the car in park and pulled the keys out, trying to take steadying breaths as he opened his door. Cora fell out of her door, werewolf reflexes no help at all against hysterical laughter. Isaac stumbled over her and fell to the ground with a dull, 'ow' that set off a fresh wave of giggles.

Reacher grabbed his stomach because he was starting to get a muscle cramp from laughing, and looked towards the front door of the Hale house as it opened, revealing a livid Talia, and a sourly scowling Derek. The sight should have sobered him.

Instead he stammered out a weak and wavering, 'oh no', ending in a breathless giggle that made Cora snort. "Guys, shh, come on," he whined, still laughing himself and holding himself up with one hand on the Jeep.

Suddenly Scott - who hadn't noticed Talia and Derek (and now Peter and Ophelia) - jumped onto Reacher's back. Reacher tumbled forward into the dirt with a startled squawk and then followed Stiles' memories of similar events in the past, reaching back and clawing his hand into Scott's side. The boy jerked away from his hands with a shriek of laughter and in seconds, Reacher had Scott at his mercy, one arm pinned beneath his knee, leaving him vulnerable to tickling.

A loud growl that made their teeth vibrate shocked Reacher and Scott out of their impromptu wrestling session, and they scrambled to their feet, bowing to some instinct that told them to line up before the angry Alpha. Reacher pulled Scott by his arm and grunted softly when he bumped into Cora in his hurry, causing Scott to run into him. His grunt made Scott snicker and Isaac shushed them, but it was too late. They ducked their heads, but it was more to avoid looking at each other and breaking into more laughter than in deference to the scowling Hale matriarch.

Talia looked at all of them - heads bowed, shoulders hunched, chests occasionally spasming as they suppressed laughter. None of them were doing a particularly good job at it either, and she arched an eyebrow.

"Well," she started, and Cora squeaked. The chorus of 'shh' she got was shaky with amusement, and she rolled her eyes at the chuckle that came from behind her, glaring over her shoulder at her brother, who shrugged. "Scott, we'll talk later. Isaac, your father wants to speak to you," she told him.

More effective than a gunshot, her words sucked the good humor out of the air and Reacher, Scott and Cora turned to look at Isaac, who was staring up at Talia with wide eyes and a pale face. Talia took a deep breath and let it out slowly at the way Isaac swallowed hard.

"You'll talk to him first, and then you and I will talk afterwards. I've already discussed that with him," she said gently.

"Yes, Alpha," he said quietly, voice grim as he lowered his eyes and started into the house. Scott turned and pulled Reacher into a hug that he quickly returned before scampering after Isaac with a quick nod to Talia. Reacher bit his lip and watched them go with a worried frown.

Dude, I'm getting a really bad vibe from that, Stiles said, and Reacher agreed.

"Cora," Talia started, her voice much angrier than when she'd addressed them at first. Reacher ducked his head and fidgeted.

Jeez. Now that's a mom voice, Stiles said, cringing.

"Mom, I--"

"Don't even try to pass one of your excuses off on me, young lady," Talia snapped.

"No excuses," Cora snapped defensively. "But you're gonna ask why so let me tell you before you bite my head off," she added, sullenly folding her arms. Talia let her eyes shift.

"It better be a damn good reason," the Alpha intoned gravely.

"I did it because Scott and Stiles hadn't seen each other in six years," Cora said frankly. Reacher jolted.

"Cora," he yelped, but she made a face.

"What? It wasn't like you were gonna be able to hide it or anything," she said dismissively.

"But I--"

"Stop. Both of you, zip it," Talia snapped, and Reacher dropped his eyes, gritting his teeth and swallowing audibly. "What do you mean Scott and Stiles?" she asked, shaking her head. "Stiles is dead - no offense, Reacher," she said to him. He shrugged. Cora arched an eyebrow.

"Is he? You sure? Have you asked?" Cora shot back, eyebrows raised pointedly. Talia hesitated, looking at Reacher, who shoved his hands in his pockets and was trying to be as still as possible.

"Reacher," Talia said, and he looked up at her hesitantly. She narrowed her eyes, anger shifting into disbelief. "Is Stiles still alive?" she asked. He hesitated.

What do I do?

Might as well spill it, dude, the cat's pretty much out of the bag at this point, Stiles said, and Reacher winced.

"Um...yes?" he replied uncomfortably. Talia blinked and then narrowed her eyes.

"For how long?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Six years?" he answered, shooting a glare at Cora's smug face.

"Why didn't you just tell us that?" Talia sighed exasperatedly. Reacher sagged.

"I didn't want you to think I was just saying that in order to gain your trust, and because it would complicate things," he answered. Peter snorted.

"You obviously didn't know about werewolves being able to hear heartbeats," he said. Reacher rolled his eyes.

"Until three days ago, I didn't know about werewolves," he muttered. Talia sighed again.

"Alright, enough," she said, shifting her weight and planting her hands on her hips. She looked at Cora, who tried to look contrite and smug at the same time. "You're grounded," Talia told her, and Cora gaped.

"But I--"

"But nothing. You took Scott and Isaac out of the Den without asking or telling anyone, and caused a six hour panic. It's good that you were trying to do something nice for a friend, Cora, but the rules are there to protect us, and you don't get to flout them because you think you know better," the Alpha stated. "Now, you're going to help Reacher, Derek, and Peter unload the supplies and then you're going to be on maintenance and construction until I think you've paid for your petty crimes," she added. Cora groaned, folding her arms while Peter muttered that he hadn't done anything and didn't deserved to be punished.

"Ugh, fine," Cora muttered. "Worth it," she added, nudging Reacher, who had to quickly bite his lip against a pleased smile. Talia looked him over, narrowing her eyes.

"Reacher, in the future when my children try to do something stupid, do your best to stop them," she instructed, and he nodded sharply.

"Yes, Alpha," he said respectfully.

Cora made a weird, choking noise next to him and there was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind Talia, but the Alpha in question tilted her head, studied Reacher for a moment, and then hummed thoughtfully.

"We'll see," she said, turning and walking away. Reacher blinked, eyebrows dipping in mild confusion before his eyes landed on and then skated away from a scowling Derek. He looked at Cora instead, who was studying him the way her mom had. "What?" he asked. Her eyebrows popped up.

"Do you know what you just did there?" she asked.

What did we just do? Reacher asked, staring blankly at Cora.

As far as I know we were being respectfully frightened of the Head Bitch In Charge, Stiles told him. He grimaced slightly at the crass language and shrugged self-consciously.

"I was respectful?" he offered. Cora sighed, looking up at the sky for a moment before shaking her head and throwing her arm over his shoulder. She turned then towards the car and started walking towards the trailer, closing the driver's side door as they reached it.

"Reacher. You're adorable," she told him. He blinked at her assessment, and then poked her in the side so that she vacated his personal bubble with a surprised grunt.

"You just petitioned to join our pack." Derek growled behind him, and he jumped a little, turning to gape up at the surly werewolf.

"I…huh?" he asked. Derek scowled, brushing roughly past him and grabbing things carelessly from the trailer. He didn't answer Reacher's ineloquent query.

"You referred to Talia as your Alpha," Peter said, smirking at his nephew as he sauntered over. Reacher blinked again.

"I referred to her as an Alpha," he countered. Peter snorted.

"You said it the same way some children say 'yes, mom'," the older wolf explained, grabbing a couple of the larger boxes full of cookware. "If you just meant to be respectful, you should have tagged her last name on the end. That's how you talk to Alphas that are not of your pack."

Reacher digested that information, and Stiles listened attentively.

"Don't worry," Peter said after a moment. "I'll tell her you just meant respect. She'll understand," he assured the Soul, turning and heading towards the house. Stiles immediately objected and Reacher cleared his throat.

"Uh, wait," he said. Peter stopped, half-turning to favor Reacher with an expectant eyebrow. "Is…Are Scott and Isaac a part of your pack?" he asked, fiddling with his fingers. Peter smiled.

"They are. Or they may as well be," he answered.

"Then, uh...I wouldn't mind if you...didn't tell her," he said. Peter smirked, dipping his head in acknowledgement and heading into the house.

"Aw. You wanna join our family," Cora cooed teasingly, throwing her arms around his shoulders from behind and rubbing her cheek against him. She laughed at his squawk and licked his cheek.

The same cheek Derek licked.

Eugh, cooties! Stiles protested, and Reacher jerked his head away from her.

"What are you doing?" he yelped, shrugging her off lightly and wiping his cheek with a blushing grimace. She smirked.

"Messing with my brother," she replied. He gaped at her, utterly lost, but she just kept smirking as she grabbed things from the trailer and carried them into the house. Reacher sighed, shaking his head as he followed suit.

Chapter Text

"I hope I didn't get you guys into trouble," Reacher said, as he and Cora unhooked the emptied trailer. It was decided that the trailer would be stored in the Hales' shed when not in use for Reacher's shopping trips.

Cora smirked.

"Don't sweat it, Reach, you didn't do anything. We're perfectly capable of getting ourselves into trouble," she said, winking. Reacher smiled back. "Anyway, this is the most fun we've had in a long time, so," she shrugged. Reacher's chuckle cut short at the sight of movement in his periphery and he turned to blink at Derek. The older Hale stared at Reacher for a moment - more specifically his cheek - and then turned an acid glare on Cora before grabbing the arm of the trailer and lifting it easily. Cora and Reacher moved back as he turned and towed the trailer to the shed.

Mmm, Stiles hummed in his head as they watched Derek go. Muscles.

Reacher didn't have it in him to disagree.

"I'd better go," he said reluctantly, dragging his eyes back to Cora, who looked back at him with a smug smirk. He blushed but said nothing about it. "You have the phone?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"I gave it to mom. She'll call when we need something," she said. He nodded.

"It's got my and Bliss' numbers programmed in, but I used a fake name, so you don't have to worry about it showing up on my phone log," he told her.

"Cool. Oh, and Scott wanted me to give you this," she said, handing him a folded up piece of paper. Reacher took it with hesitant curiosity, blinking when unfolding it revealed a quick and cartoonish sketch of Stiles and Derek with a heart around them. Under it was handwriting (presumably Isaac's, though Reacher doesn't have a recent sample of Scott's to judge by) that said, 'Operation: Help Reacher and Stiles woo Derek is a go'. He blushed, folding it back up and putting it in his pocket.

"Please don't let them help me," he said to Cora, who nodded.

"Don't worry, I got your back," she told him, holding out her fist. He blinked.

You're supposed to touch your fist to hers, Stiles explained. He did so, smiling at the pleased and amused expression this put on Cora's face before turning and heading for his car.

**

Derek parked the trailer in the shed behind the SUV and stood there for a moment, leaning against the sturdy vehicle.

He'd been so prepared for Reacher to have betrayed them - even if it was in so small a matter as not listening to him when he'd said that Reacher couldn't take Scott and Isaac on his shopping trip. He'd asked for both of them, Derek had said no, and then the next morning they were missing. He'd spent the morning with a churning stomach, caught between his worry over Scott and Isaac, and his anger at Reacher for disregarding his warnings about Scott's inability to blend in with Souls.

And then, when they'd shown up...

He closed his eyes, jaw clenching.

He hadn't seen Scott or Isaac that happy in a long time.

He'd been confused at first - the thought that they had been drugged with something that made them goofy had briefly crossed his mind before he looked at Reacher, who was hunched over grabbing his stomach, tears coming out the corners of his eyes as he laughed too. Derek hadn't known what to do with that, so he'd just stood there, drinking in the sound of his laughter, the sight of his joy.

Reacher and Scott playing in the dirt like a couple of cubs...

Finding out that Stiles was still alive - had been alive the whole time. Part of him was relieved - grateful even. Stiles had been enough of an influence to this Soul that it now wanted to help them because of Scott. The rest of him felt guilty for lusting after a body that Stiles had no control over.

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, trying to figure out what he was going to do. Cora was right, after all - it wasn't like anything could happen. It was a sad comfort to take, knowing that he shouldn't worry about it because it was impossible.

"Derek?"

His head snapped up and he blinked at his sister, who looked him over.

"What?" he asked, clearing his throat when it cracked. She frowned.

"You okay?" she asked. He scowled.

"Fine," he lied, pushing off of the car and stalking out of the shed back towards the house.

**

Reacher stared at the nondescript building through the Jeep's windshield for a long moment and sighed. All the good feelings that he'd built up the day before by hanging out with Scott and Isaac and Cora had vanished on the car ride over. Now he was just filled with dread.

All the Souls who administered the Maturity tests were Comforters - therapists - which meant they were experienced with human behaviors.

It meant they could spot lies, even though they weren't trained specifically to look for them because Souls don't lie.

What if he said something?

What if he let the secret slip and endangered the Pack?

Well sitting out here isn't going to do anything. Might as well go in and get it over with, Stiles urged, and he took a breath before unbuckling his seatbelt and flailing his long limbs out of the Jeep.

The inside of the building was as nondescript as the outside, to Reacher's displeasure.

Do they think white is a calming color or something? Stiles asked, and Reacher shook his head slightly, walking to the front desk, where a young woman sat, also dressed almost completely in white.

"Hello. Do you have an appointment?" she asked. Reacher nodded.

"Yes. With Still Deep Waters, for nine o'clock," he offered. She checked her station before smiling brightly.

"She's available now. Just down that hallway, through the open door," the lady told him. He nodded, taking another breath as he went where he was directed. There were many doors lining the halls, but as indicated, only one was open, and he stepped cautiously through it, looking around.

The room was very sparsely furnished - two chairs sat opposite each other, a desk in one corner, and a few plants. Very sparsely furnished. In one of the chairs was a woman, crisply dressed from neck to ankle in black. Her hair was straight and hung down to her shoulders, and she looked at him with an expression that was at once assessing, open, honest, and condescending.

"Hello," she said calmly. She didn't have a notepad or a portable station or a tablet to take notes on and he glanced around self-consciously.

"Hey," he replied. "I'm Reacher," he said. She nodded.

"Yes you are," she replied. He blinked at her for a moment. 

"So, do I just sit?" he asked, and she nodded with a small, amused smile.

The chair was comfortable.

Mostly.

They both sat quietly, and Reacher looked at her after a moment, expecting that she would start or ask him a question or something, but she just sat there, studying him, and after a moment he cleared his throat.

"So…how does this work?" he asked. Still Deep Waters' smile was slight, and - Reacher couldn't help but think - a little mocking.

"Well, first I think we should discuss why your father made this appointment and not you," she said. He winced.

Ugh, Stiles groaned.

"He thinks I'm in a relationship," he told her. She arched an eyebrow.

"Are you?" she asked frankly.

Only if face licking and snarking count as a relationship, Stiles supplied, adding to Reacher's blush.

"No, I'm not," he replied tersely.

"Then why would he think that you are?"

Reacher took a breath and sighed, looking away from her so that he could think. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to compromise Derek or the others.

"I...well, I met someone - a werewolf. New, I think. I only met him about a week ago. He, uh...scent marked me. I think. I'm not sure why. He hasn't given me any indication he even likes me," he said, frowning contemplatively.

"He?" she asked. He blinked at her for a moment, unsure of what exactly she was asking.

"Yeah," he replied after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly before shrugging.

"And why wouldn't he like you?" she asked. He scoffed.

"I'm loud. I talk a lot. I'm told I can be grating," he answered.

Plus there's that whole thing where he thought I was dead in here, and that you were a spy for the Seekers, and he's kinda prejudiced against Souls in general, Stiles added.

Yes, Stiles, thank you for that, he replied. Stiles laughed awkwardly.

Sorry.

I get my grating-ness from you, you know that, right?

Shut up.

"Reacher?"

The young Soul jerked upright in his chair and blinked at Still Deep Waters, who was tilting her head, studying him. He smiled nervously.

"Sorry. I was just...thinking," he said.

"So you're not in a relationship with this...werewolf?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Um, no," he said.

"Are you in a relationship with anyone else?"

"Not unless you count platonic friendships," he replied. She tilted her head again.

"You could have refused to take this test if there wasn't a need," she reminded him. He sighed.

"I bow to the parental pressures of guilt and embarrassment," he confessed. For the first time, her smile was genuine and friendly, and he returned it.

"Well, there's no law against taking it for no reason. Let's get started," she said. He took a breath and nodded.

**

Well that was not at all grueling and invasive, Stiles groaned as Reacher made his way to the Jeep and then slumped forward against the steering wheel.

The questions are designed to make sure that the applicant understands the concepts of consent, coercion, manipulation, and some of the less standard dynamics of relationships, he explained.

Yeah, no, I got that. What with the questions about bondage and safe-words, sexual dynamics and that extremely detailed list of known sexual practices. Also the lecture about how it was perfectly normal not to want sex all the time was kind of a giveaway.

Okay. That part was exhausting, Reacher agreed.

They both started violently at the sharp knock on the window, head bouncing against the headrest before they blinked owlishly at the person on the other side of the glass.

A petit, redheaded boy with large green eyes and a jaunty archer's cap was arching an extremely judgmental eyebrow at them. He blinked some more. That seemed to be working for him today.

"You gonna open the door or what?" he asked. His voice was soft. His tone was kind of condescending.

More blinking, but at least Reacher marshaled enough brain power to roll down his window. The other boy scoffed slightly.

"That's a start, I suppose," he said. Reacher narrowed his eyes.

"Do I know you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice polite. Just because he was caught off guard was no reason to be rude.

Oh, jeez, Stiles moaned.

"I'm sure the Seeker you live with has mentioned me to you. I'm Watcher, the new transfer," he introduced himself. Reacher's lips parted a little in surprise.

"Oh. Hi. Pleased to meet you," he said. Watcher smiled, tilting his head at the greeting before walking around the Jeep and opening the passenger door. Reacher's eyebrows parked near his hairline and he stared at his new acquaintance as the boy settled into the seat and buckled up. There was a moment of silence and then he turned to look expectantly at Reacher, whose eyebrows dropped into a low, confused furrow.

"Do I know you?" he asked again, more intently. "You seem really familiar with my space, and I feel like we must have met before," he said. The boy chuckled.

"Oh, we have. The coffee place on Levania has excellent and secluded outdoor tables," he said to Reacher with a meaningful look. Reacher blinked at him for a moment, hesitating before reaching for his keys.

Do you think he knows?

Fields would have told us if he knew, Stiles reassured his Soul.

The drive to the coffee shop and the ensuing acquisition of beverages was virtually silent.

"How do I know you?" Reacher asked as soon as they were sitting down.

"My host pushed your host into a puddle once," Watcher said. Reacher blinked, and Stiles started.

"Lydia?!" Reacher blurted, before snapping his teeth shut and blushing. He glanced around, but the few people who had glanced their way didn't remain interested for long. When he turned back, Watcher was smirking.

"Subtle," he said.

She said.

Wait.

"But you're..." he started, before trailing off, because he had no way to finish that sentence, he couldn't even believe who he was looking at. "Wow, you were scrawny back then," he said instead, and instantly wanted to slap himself. Lydia laughed. "I mean she was…you know what, I'm just gonna stop myself there," he said, shutting himself up with a gulp of his iced coffee drink.

"And you're still a gangly pile of limbs that talks a lot," she replied cheekily. He waited for her…him…err…

"What's your pronoun?" he asked, not wanting to stumble around it in his thoughts all day.

"Masculine today," he replied easily. He blinked at that, considered the implications and then nodded.

"Nice," he said, his tone congratulatory. Watcher snorted indelicately.

"So I take it neither you nor Stiles have had any conflicting issues?" he asked, as if it were casual conversation etiquette to discuss your aberrationally active host. Reacher took a sip of his drink to buy more time. Then he looked down and fidgeted with his napkin.

"I don't know what you mean," he said.

Oh my god, could you be a worse liar?

"Reacher, please. I assure you that I'm quite adept by now at telling just whose hosts are still actively participating," Watcher said. Reacher stared at him for a long moment while he casually sipped his drink.

"So what happens now?" he asked. Watcher arched an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are the Seekers coming to remove me and put me into a new host, or…"

He literally could not think of a worse punishment than being separated from Stiles by anything other than natural, old age causes.

Aw, thanks man.

Oh please, you know that's how I feel, he thought back.

Sure, but it's nice to hear you say it every now and again.

Watcher rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm not turning you in, dummy," he hissed quietly, and Reacher blinked before finally coming to the only conclusion available.

"Oh," he said, and Watcher nodded. "Oh. Well that's a relief," he said, relaxing back into his seat before jolting a little. The phone in his pocket was buzzing. He pulled it out. He had a text from Atticus Finch.

-Where are you?--

He quickly texted back his location and then slipped the phone back in his pocket, meeting Watcher's curious eyebrow with a sheepish smile.

"Friend of mine," he replied. Watcher nodded. "So…" he glanced around again. "Lydia," he went on. Watcher chuckled.

"Yeah. Watcher and I just kind of…gelled," he said, and Reacher blinked.

"Oh. Wait. What? Lydia?" he asked quietly. The apparently gender fluid redhead smirked and nodded. "You're in control right now?"

"I'm in control a lot. Watcher is not a demanding Soul by nature. Definitely not as uptight about host control as some Souls I've met, I can tell you," he said.

"That must be nice for you. From what I remember, you were very fond of being in charge," Reacher said. Lydia hummed nostalgically with a smirk.

"Yes, it is very nice," he said, stopping to take another sip of his cold, complicated, coffee drink. "It certainly helped me acclimate to the changes in the world," he added. Reacher nodded slowly, remembering those first, awkward days and the compromises that had been struck.

"I used to tell him stories. About the other worlds I'd visited. I also watched his DVDs when he wanted," Reacher confessed. Lydia smiled.

"I'm glad he's okay. I heard that things were rougher for him, after," he said, not bothering to elaborate on what he meant, aware of how unnecessary it was.

"Yeah. That's...we haven't talked about it a lot...He has bad days still…" Reacher started, but Stiles' sudden defensive 'hey' cut him off and he looked down at his drink. Lydia nodded sympathetically and looked away for a moment.

"But, we're not here to talk about that," he said after a moment, delicately sipping his drink.

"We're not?"

"No. I've been gathering intelligence the last couple of years. Now I'm trying to build a network of trustworthy individuals so that I can begin the next phase of my plan," Lydia told him. He blinked.

"What plan?" he asked.

He never got an answer.

A jarring scrape of metal on concrete brought his attention around to Erica, who was dragging a chair closer. She sat backwards in it, arms folded over the top. Her grin was more like a smirk and she winked at Reacher as she stole a sip of his coffee. He made a noise in the back of his throat as Stiles whined about cooties again.

Where was your fear of cooties when Derek was licking our face? Reacher demanded annoyedly. Stiles snorted.

Uh, we want him to lick us, thank you very much.

"Hey, Reacher," Erica said, turning towards Lydia and giving the redhead a cool once over. "Who's your friend?" she asked. Reacher half expected Lydia to snort at the borderline edge of unfriendliness in Erica's question, but his face was schooled into a politely open expression that betrayed none of the quick-witted sass underneath.

"This is Watcher," Reacher said, and Lydia smiled amiably.

"And what's your name?" he asked Erica, who smiled back.

"Stalks Bending," Erica replied easily. Reacher tried not to be obvious about his sigh of relief, wiping the straw that Erica had molested before taking a sip. "Whatcha talkin about?" she asked. Reacher blinked at her stupidly for a second.

"I'm newly arrived, but our hosts used to know each other," Lydia explained, and Erica arched an eyebrow in surprise before glancing at Reacher.

"Really?" she asked. He nodded, shrugging. "Cool. Did you go to school together or something?"

"Yes, and when they were six, Lydia pushed Stiles into a puddle. I forget why," Reacher said, looking at Lydia, who huffed, a smile splitting his face.

"You had just told her she looked like the sun and you wanted to pick flowers for her to braid into her hair so they could grow into a crown," he said. Reacher blushed in the face of Stiles crippling, chagrined embarrassment.

Oh my god, I remember that now, he hissed, and Reacher laughed nervously.

"Right. I remember now. Sorry about that," he said. Lydia shrugged, still smiling.

"I wouldn't worry about it. She almost immediately went and demanded that Jackson do that very thing," he replied. Reacher laughed some more, and even Erica joined in. A shadow fell across their table, and they all looked up, laughs tapering off at the sight of the dark-skinned giant that hovered over them.

"Pardon my intrusion," said Drifting Petals, and Reacher's heart gave a startled, guilty kick as he remembered the momentary flirtation they had shared.

"Not at all," he said, straightening and ignoring the confused expression on Erica's face. "Drifting Petals. I wasn't expecting to see you…here," he said inelegantly.

"Oh, I know. Only I saw that you were here and I thought I would take this opportunity to remind you that the end of term is two weeks away. I was hoping we could schedule that coffee date," he said.

Reacher's stomach sank and he felt an uncomfortable flush creeping up his neck. The hairs on his arms stood up and he winced.

Wow, Stiles said, breaking the silence of the moment and the tension of feeling Lydia, and Drift's eyes on him. Erica wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Drifting Petals. This is, like, super awkward.

No kidding, Reacher replied sourly before clearing his throat.

"I…I'm terribly sorry, Drift, but I...well, I met someone, and…" he started, thinking of Derek, and the others, and how dating someone would only add unnecessary complications. But mostly thinking of Derek. Realization spread across the larger Soul's face and shifted into disappointment before acknowledgment finally settled.

"I understand. How unfortunate for me. I guess it wasn't meant to be," he said. He smiled gently at the table's other occupants before nodding agreeably to Reacher, who nodded back. "I'll see you at school, then, professor," he said, turning to go. Another horrendous screeching noise made Reacher blink and he looked at Erica, who barely caught herself from stumbling as she scrambled to stand. Drifting Petals stopped and turned back, looking at her curiously. She blushed a little, and then cleared her throat.

"Uh, hi," she said, uncharacteristically shy before shaking off whatever had staggered her and smiling. She held out her hand. "I'm Stalks Bending," she said. He hesitated for a moment, but took her hand, studying her as they shook. "And, uh...I'm free for coffee now," she told him.

Reacher gaped.

Lydia's eyebrow popped upwards.

Stiles laughed.

Get it, girlfriend! he cheered.

Drifting Petals blinked in surprise, but then smiled slowly and nodded, still holding her hand.

"That sounds lovely," he replied. Reacher raised both eyebrows as she glanced back at them, and she winked.

"Catch you guys later," she said, following Drifting Petals into the coffee shop.

Reacher watched them go, quietly transfixed about the thing that had just happened before his eyes and then turned to face forward, blinking at his drink.

"Huh," he said.

"Your little human friend is going to get herself into trouble," Lydia told him, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. Reacher jerked a little, almost overturning his drink and barely saving it from falling off the table. Then he stared wide-eyed at Lydia, who was casually sipping his drink. Reacher's heart pounded against his chest in a way he was sure was unhealthy, but just as Lydia had calmly brought up the fact of Stiles' continued existence, he showed no indication that Erica's completely human (Almost completely human, Stiles corrected him) status was cause for concern or even worthy of reporting. It was reassuring as much as it was confusing.

What is it about today? he asked Stiles, who scoffed, giving the impression of shaking his head.

Must be Thursday, the boy replied.

"Stalks will be fine," Reacher told her, despite the growing list in his head of all the things that she could say that could go horribly, horribly wrong. Lydia arched an eyebrow at him, and he raised his own back in response. "She'll be fine," he insisted, to himself and to his new friend.

Eh. Let's start with acquaintance and go from there, Stiles countered.

"If you insist. Anyway, I understand why you'd feel that way," Lydia said, leaning back and folding one knee over the other as he folded his arms. Reacher stared at him cautiously.

"You do?" he asked. Lydia shrugged one shoulder.

"We're both very protective of the people we care for," he said, locking his eyes meaningfully on Reacher's. He stared, lips parting in surprise, and Lydia allowed himself a small smile, picking up his drink and turning his attention to the crowd.

Did she - he, sorry…did he just insinuate that he's got a group of humans too? Stiles asked. Reacher picked up his drink and mangled the straw back into something that could be drunk through, buying time to come up with an answer.

I think he did.

Could be a trick.

Could be. Maybe. I don't know, Reacher said, shaking his head. He jolted again when his phone buzzed.

"Terracotta!" he hissed, drawing a snort from his companion that he ignored, pulling out his phone. He relaxed when he saw it was Bliss, answering. "Hey."

"Hey, Reacher. Listen, I have a lunch with my family tomorrow," she told him. He looked at his watch and nodded.

"So we won't be having lunch tomorrow," he finished, and she hummed.

"No, sorry. But I was thinking we could have it today instead. If you want," she offered. He smiled.

"That sounds good. I'm actually with someone right now," he started. Lydia sat up.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Oh, it's my friend, Bliss. She wants to have lunch today," he told the redhead, who smiled.

"Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea. I'll come too," he said. Reacher hesitated.

"Uh," he started, running through the politest versions of 'No' that he could think of. This was his personal time with Bliss, where the two of them could speak freely without having to worry about anyone overhearing and turning them in. Reacher still wasn't sure he could trust Watcher, or Lydia, or whatever he was calling himself.

"After all, there are things we all need to discuss," Lydia added, and Reacher sagged a little. Right. Bliss would want to know that he'd found another person whose host was still hanging around.

"I...I'll be there shortly, Bliss," he told her, and she acknowledged him before hanging up.

This should be interesting, Stiles said, quietly nervous and watching Lydia whenever Reacher's eyes were on him.

No kidding, Reacher replied glumly.

What about Erica? Stiles asked as Reacher and Lydia stood and took care of their trash. Reacher turned towards the coffee shop. He could see her and Drifting Petals inside, talking and smiling. Their hands were still touching. He cleared his throat. Her eyes darted up.

"I'm going to Bliss' house," he told her, and she nodded, waving. Drifting Petals also looked up and offered a friendly wave before he and Erica turned back to their conversation. Beneath the table, their feet were very close to touching.

Good for her, Stiles said, inwardly proud for no reason at all, and a little jealous at her skill. Reacher nodded and then turned to Lydia, who was already settling himself into the passenger seat of his Jeep.

Chapter Text

It was worse than he could possibly imagine.

Sitting at Bliss and Allison's kitchen counter, staring at the disconcerting sight before him, keeping as still as possible to prevent catching their attention, Reacher was forced to look at not only his life, but also his choices.

They liked each other.

Once they'd gotten over the initial, awkward introduction, Lydia had recounted the tale of how in their collective youth he had pushed Stiles into a puddle, a story that had at least earned Bliss' amused curiosity. This followed by Lydia's revelation of her and Watcher's unique relationship, leading to Bliss allowing Allison to have control for the first time in years. The more they talked, the more common ground they found, the more Reacher's stomach sank to the floor. It was a nightmare, and he didn't even know why he was so upset by their fostering friendship. Wasn't it a good thing that Lydia and Allison were growing so close so quickly?

Stiles had quickly pointed out that Reacher was jealous. For that matter so was Stiles. They, Bliss, and Allison had only had each other until this point. Lydia was stepping on their turf - the turf in question being friendship with Bliss and Allison. Once Reacher realized Stiles was right, he became even more uncomfortable, guilty over his own possessiveness towards Bliss's time and friendship. Of course she should have other friends. It was only natural, given how long they'd gone without - and even better, a friend who shared their situation, albeit uniquely. The whole thing made Reacher even more uncomfortable, and it didn't help that he didn't have much to contribute to their topic of conversation.

"Ooh, tell me about Paris. I was there once when I was younger, but I barely remember it," Allison cooed, and Lydia smirked, preening under the attention that their hostess was paying him.

"Everything is still just as lovely. All the shops are still there - the independently owned ones, anyway. And the big shops that became Stores have individually decorated their original locations. The French have not given up their sense of style or decadence, it's," he sighed happily. "Heaven for anyone with an eye for fashion. The food is still divine, especially the pastries. We should go there," he said. Allison bit her lip and let her eyes drift up as she imagined it.

"That sounds amazing. Reacher will come with us, won't you Reacher?" Allison asked, pleading with her eyes. Reacher's lips parted silently as he fumbled for an answer.

Oh hell no. A global shopping trip? I'd rather have Derek read his personal list of our faults, Stiles told him in no uncertain terms. Reacher licked his lips.

"I would, but Stiles says we're too busy with the goings on in Beacon Hills," he told them at last. Allison hid her smile behind a sleeve, but Lydia snorted.

"Oh please. You're such a horrible liar," he teased, sharing his smirk with Allison, who giggled.

This is freaking me out, Stiles told him. He silently agreed.

He briefly contemplated texting Erica to come over and save him, but Stiles had presented him with a vivid image of Erica and Allison and Lydia sitting around a table, laughing and chatting happily while he cried in a corner and he had shuddered. All three of them had strong, if disparate personalities. It would not have gone well for him.

"He's right though," Lydia finally said with a sigh. "There is far too much going on that demands our attention." The redhead straightened and folded his arms, sitting imperiously tall on the stool at Allison's counter. "So tell me about your humans," he said. Reacher tensed in his seat and the friendly smile on Allison's face faded into a confused and concerned frown. Neither of them said anything. Lydia sighed and rolled his eyebrows. "Alright, I'll start," he said, making the others blink. "My group is two Alpha werewolves, seven humans, and one Soul," he listed.

"You're helping a group of free humans?" Bliss asked. Reacher could tell it was Bliss by the lowered and breathy tones of her voice. Bliss always seemed more tentative, even at her most confident. It was a serene strength; understated. Stiles had quietly marked it an advantage for reasons that neither of them really understood. Sometimes Stiles just had to categorize everything. Reacher let him. It hurt their brain less.

"Of course I am. It's the whole reason I became a Seeker. Now, what about you?"

"Well, we--" Bliss started, but Reacher cleared his throat, and she stopped, studying him for a moment and then nodding.

"If we were helping a group of free humans, and I'm not saying that we are, but if we were, I would be obliged to alert them that you inquired about them, and get permission to discuss them with you," he told her. He was absolutely certain that this is the action that Mrs. Hale, his Alpha (sort of, maybe), would want him to take. Lydia seemed annoyed by that, but nodded.

"Fine then. You're probably right. I probably would have consulted with my humans too, if that didn't take so terribly long," he admitted. Reacher shrugged.

"They're taking all of the risk, Lydia. It's only right they get to make the decisions," he said, pausing a moment before adding, "hypothetically speaking," at Stiles' urging. Lydia snorted, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth as he reached across the counter and patted Reacher's hand.

"Of course," he said.

**

"Hey," Erica said, settling next to Derek at his otherwise empty cafeteria table and opening a bag of chips that Reacher had brought them on his last shopping trip. He glanced at her, nostrils flaring slightly. It was a subconscious thing, all the wolves did when they encountered each other - gathering data by scent.

"You smell like coffee," he said, looking back at the table. She nodded.

"Ran into Reacher and his friend at the coffee shop on Levania," she told him. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah? And how's Bliss doin'?" he asked, jaw clenching on her name. Erica's lips twitched, but she pulled her features into a neutral, casual expression.

"Not her. The new one," she said. He blinked, staring at the tabletop for a moment before lifting his head to stare at her, face blank, eyes intensely focused.

"What 'new one'," he said. She scoffed.

"You really should look into getting your question marks fixed," she told him. He scowled.

"Erica," he started, but she waved him off dismissively.

"Name's Watcher," she told him. He relaxed slightly, recalling how Reacher had said he would try to find out more about the new Seeker in town (right after icily commenting on how he'd almost died at Derek's hands).

"Oh. Him," Derek said. Erica hummed slightly, tilting her head.

"Not exactly," she replied. He frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Dressed like a boy, smelled like a girl, which could mean any number of things," she told him. "Very pretty, in either case. Personable, too," she added.

He stared at her. In his head he could see Reacher and the faceless Seeker sitting closely together, laughing and smiling, and his stomach clenched tightly at the image. his teeth clenched tightly too and his canines started to itch. A sudden stab of pain alerted him to the fact that his claws had punctured the skin of his palms. Erica didn't seem to notice.

"She or he, or whatever, seemed real keen to spend more time with Reacher," she told him, munching on her flavored potato chips. "Even invited himself along when Bliss called to see if Reacher wanted to have lunch," she reported. "I wouldn't be surprised if he started tagging along on the shopping trips, to be honest," she said after a moment.

Derek didn't notice the irregular beat that marked Erica's lie, standing abruptly and marching away. Erica watched him walk away with pursed lips before looking down at her chips with a smirk.

Boys, she thought, shaking her head. Across the room, Scott and Isaac had watched the whole thing happen, and they ducked their heads together with conspiratorial smiles when she winked.

**

The new Seeker was a threat. That was the only reason he cared.

That's what Derek told himself as he restlessly stalked the earthen tunnels that the last free humans and werewolves of Beacon Hills called 'home'. The Seeker spending more time with Reacher increased the chances of the Den being discovered.

Turning a corner, he found himself approaching Peter's wife, Ophelia, who glanced up at him briefly, only to stop and take in his terse expression more fully. She frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked. He clenched his jaw.

"Reacher met with the new Seeker today," he said. Ophelia immediately became less concerned, in a way that set Derek's teeth on edge.

"Yes. So Erica told me," she replied, looking him over expectantly. Derek tried not to grind his teeth at the speculative look in her eye.

"He'll need to be debriefed," he said. She huffed a laugh at him and shook her head.

"What is this, the military?" she scoffed. He scowled, folding his arms, and she sighed. "Well in any case, someone's going to have to tell him that he's been officially welcomed into the Den," she said. Derek blinked at her, face relaxing out of the scowl into something more hesitant. "Talia spoke to the human reps and the vote passed - six to one," she told him. They both rolled their eyes. They knew who the 'one' had been. "I was going to have Cora deliver the message, seeing as her and Reacher had built a rapport, but she's been grounded and I haven't been able to find James or Danny for the last hour--" Derek snorted. "--so I guess that means it's up to you," she said. He stopped, cheek twitching as his arms fell out of their defensive fold and hung at his side.

"Me," he said, and she shrugged.

"I could ask Erica if it makes you uncomfortable," she started.

"No," he said quickly, mentally kicking himself at the interested eyebrow she arched. "No, it's fine," he said, more calmly. She nodded, continuing on her way and leaving him standing in the tunnel. He took a deep breath and tried to quell the sudden surge of restlessness he felt. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Before the invasion, when he felt like this he would go running through the Preserve, satisfying his urge for movement. Here there was nowhere to run, and the Preserve was no longer safe. He concentrated on breathing, leaning against the wall and pressing a hand against his stomach. It was only apprehension. After today, Reacher could show up to the Den at any time. Their secrecy would be fully compromised - more fragile than before. The thought of regularly seeing Reacher in the Den made his chest feel tight and he shook his head, frowning. It was hours until sunset - hours until it would be dark enough to safely travel all the way to Reacher's house to get the whole thing over with.

He headed to the entertainment room, where Jackson was playing Halo. He glanced up when Derek walked in, but said nothing, even as Derek dropped onto the sofa. They sat there, the room silent aside from the sound effects and scripted narrative of the video game. Derek had his arms folded tightly over his chest. Jackson glanced over at him during a cut-scene, taking in his tense posture.

"You sick of this game yet?" Jackson asked. Derek snorted.

"Entirely," he replied, making no move to leave. Jackson sighed.

"It's better with more players," the human boy replied tiredly. Derek looked over at him. Danny and Jackson had been best friends since forever. And among the werewolves it was no secret that - despite a brief period during puberty where Jackson lusted after nearly everyone in and out of his age group - Jackson had fixed his affections onto Danny. Even with Danny 'dating' James (or whatever they called it) Jackson had shown no interest in anyone else, romantically.

Derek rolled his eyes and leaned forward, snagging one of the extra controllers from the table in front of them. Jackson glanced at him and then exited out of the main game to start a multi-player match.

"Red or blue?" Jackson asked.

"What the fuck ever, man," Derek sighed. Jackson smirked.

"So who pissed in your cereal?" the boy asked. Derek wrinkled his nose.

"Gross."

"Yes. But you look like you tasted something awful," Jackson told him. He shook his head.

"I'm going to see Reacher later," he answered, as the game dropped them into bases on opposite sides of a box canyon.

"You like him?"

Derek blinked, staring at Jackson without answering, and the younger boy looked over after a minute before turning back to the game.

"What the hell makes you ask that?" he demanded, but Jackson didn't really answer.

"If you like him, you should do something about it," he said, expression flat as he manipulated his digital avatar. "Before someone else gets there first," he added. Derek looked away, back at the screen, mechanically selecting weapons and marking out his strategy.

"You mean like James and Danny?" he asked, defensively. He blinked when, moments later, his avatar fell to the ground, killed by Jackson's sniper shot.

"Dude. What are you talking about? I was talking about your little alien boyfriend," Jackson snapped. Derek gritted his teeth and said nothing.

It's quite a feat to spend an entire multiplayer match passive-aggressively killing your opponent for bringing up sensitive subjects when the point of the match is to kill each other, but they both managed it, and neither of them spoke for the rest of the game.

**

"So how was your day?" Fields asked as he and Reacher sat down for dinner. Reacher had made low-fat chicken tacos with a homemade mango salsa.

"Exhausting," Reacher replied, smearing a thin layer of sour cream on his tortilla and passing the container to his father before reaching for the lettuce. He made a face at the giant glob that Fields plopped onto the tortilla, and the older Soul rolled his eyes before dividing the large amount between the two tortillas on his plate. Fields looked back at Reacher with an arched eyebrow that asked, 'happy now?' and Reacher scoffed.

"How'd your test go?" Fields asked. Reacher and Stiles groaned in unison.

"It was awkward and invasive. Is it ever not?" he replied. Fields, remorseless in his enjoyment of Reacher's suffering, chuckled as he took a bite of his taco. "Yeah, go ahead. Laugh. You never have to go through it," he muttered bitterly.

"Well, next time be more discreet about who you have up in your bedroom, unsupervised," Fields told him. He sighed.

"I didn't -- it wasn't--oh, never mind," he said, scowling at his taco. Fields snorted.

"What about afterwards? You were gone all day," he said. Reacher shrugged.

"Met Watcher. He showed up at the facility," he said. Fields winced. Reacher blinked. "What?"

"I...may have mentioned that you were taking your test today," he said. Reacher stared at him. "What? I didn't know he'd actually show up," he said with a defensive shrug. Reacher just sighed.

"Well maybe you just didn't remember Lydia," he said. Fields hesitated, his eyes sliding to one side as he and John searched their memories. Finally he huffed.

"You mean that little redhead girl that you couldn't stop talking about when you were six?" he asked with a smirk. Reacher blushed.

"Shut up," he said mildly.

"Okay, it makes a lot more sense now. Are she and Watcher…"

"Like us? Not exactly. Lydia seems to be in charge most of the time - like that's really a surprise," he said, and they both scoffed. Lydia had always been very sure of herself and not content with anything less than a leadership position in most situations.

When she was six.

"But her and Watcher have a good relationship, so that's good. Bliss likes her. That's good too," he said, even as he and Stiles tried to ignore their lingering jealousy.

"That is good. Bliss doesn't really have anyone other than us, does she?" Fields said after a moment, looking thoughtful.

She has Allison's family... Reacher offered tentatively to Stiles, who scoffed.

Not really. Not as far as we know, he replied.

"You should invite her over more often," Fields told him, and he nodded.

"I'll do that. She has a lunch with her family tomorrow, but we can have her over this weekend maybe? That reminds me, the last week of the school term starts after that. I have to finish evaluating all those essays on early American conflicts," he said with a sigh. Fields looked at his timepiece and raised his eyebrows.

"You've had a whole week for that," he reminded his son, who squirmed in his seat, thinking of all the free human-related activities he'd crammed into one week.

"I know. I know. Don't worry, the papers will get the attention they deserve," Reacher promised. Fields nodded. The rest of dinner was passed in pockets of silence broken by mini conversations about Fields' work and gossip about their neighbors. Apparently Chimes with the Eastern Sun was letting his dog out of the yard every morning with the express purpose of retrieving the furry and enthusiastic monster from the yard across the street, which belonged to a pretty young Soul who went by Pamela. Of course, he did this fairly early in the morning, so the fact that she always emerged from her house in response to the dog's energetic barking and digging, and remained outside in Chime's company long after the appropriate apologies had been made, amiably chatting about whatever Chimes managed to come up with, was a suggestive indication that she'd probably be open to conversations for which the dog wouldn't be an intermediary. Reacher and Fields shook their head at the whole thing with amused smiles.

After dinner, they cleared the table together and loaded the dishwasher, and then Fields went into the living room with a book while Reacher excused himself to his room.

Long day, Stiles said, as tired as Reacher was. Reacher nodded.

Very long, he agreed, heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He trudged towards his room, thinking only of the bed and the pillows and blankets upon it.

He barely managed to contain his shock when opening the door and turning on the light revealed Derek Hale.

**

The room was dark when Derek arrived at the house (checking as always to make sure that no one on the street was watching). He slipped quickly and quietly into Reacher's bedroom through the window and closed the blinds before letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He'd been in the room before, but he hadn't really been focusing on anything. He'd been concentrating on not focusing, because the thing that he wanted to focus on was infuriating and complicated and completely terrifying. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he thought back to that night when Peter had dragged him along to apologize to Reacher.

Derek hadn't really taken in any of the details of his attack on Reacher, so thrown into blind panic, that afterwards he could not have said for sure what color Reacher's eyes had been. So climbing through the boy's window, hearing the low whine of discomfort/panic and looking up...That was the first time that Derek had really seen Reacher up close. Up close was better and worse than the previous glimpses from a distance or that night's surveillance in the tree. Better because now he had a clearer picture of the boy who was changing all of their lives. Worse, because that picture wouldn't leave his head.

With every passing interaction, it was becoming easier and easier to conjure those details - the curve of his jaw, the exact shade of his eyes, the width of his shoulders, his hands, the frenetic energy that seemed to infuse his entire being.

His scent.

Derek scowled, heaving a deep sigh heard by no one as he moved silently into the room, surveying everything. He was so mad at himself for what he'd done; putting his scent over James' - marking Reacher in that way. The Soul clearly had not understood what he was doing - a fact that made justifying it to himself that much easier. He hadn't been able to get Reacher's scent off his hands for hours. He hadn't tried very hard.

Reacher was downstairs talking to Fields about his neighbors and eating. It was possible that he'd be down there for a while. Derek glanced at the bookcase, but there wasn't enough light for even him to read by, and he cast his eyes about for something to do while he waited.

That's when he saw the sketch.

Dark as it was, he didn't recognize it at first. It was just a random drawing above the boy's computer, tacked to some sort of bulletin board. Stepping closer helped to make the image clearer and he stared until he realized that he was staring at himself. He blinked.

He remembered that sketch. It had been just after Laura's death. He'd tried to get into the morgue to see her for himself. He hadn't been able to believe what his mother had told him about how she'd died. When the invasion had begun and they were paranoid about anyone discovering the Den, everyone who had gone out of it had carried with them a capsule - hidden somewhere on their person that they could get to easily in case of capture. Derek had refused to believe that Laura would choose the capsule over escape. She was stronger, faster, smarter than he or his siblings. He looked up to her.

When the officer had come to remove him, he had shrugged the man off, not wanting to leave his sister's side. Only, he was a werewolf, so his shrug nearly threw the officer across the room. Backup was called. Derek was arrested and dragged down to the police station. He hadn't taken his capsule with him. He'd realized that if the aliens decided they wanted him, he would have to hurt or kill several people just to escape. Even knowing this was the race that had made Laura take her own life rather than fight, the prospect of hurting any of them had filled him with dread, not anticipation.

They couldn't take his photograph. His eyes prevented the photos from developing normally, his face obscured by the lens flare. They'd brought in a sketch artist instead.

There'd been an older officer there. He had kind eyes. After hearing the official report he'd come and talked to Derek about grief, and about second chances. And then he'd let Derek go.

He stared at the picture of his younger self, and its place of importance over the area where Reacher worked. His cheek twitched and he looked down at the computer chair. And where he did...other things. He glanced at the drawer, curling his hands into not-quite-fists to keep from opening it. There wasn't anything in there anyway, except for the tie that Reacher used to signal that he was...busy. He'd moved whatever was in there before. Derek looked back at the picture.
Downstairs, Reacher was excusing himself, and Derek glanced at the door before turning back to the sketch. How long had it been there? Why was it there? Anyone who came into the room could see it - although, from the Den's surveillance, that was a small, small number of people.

Reacher was coming up the stairs. Derek should sit or something. He settled himself into the computer chair and folded his hands together, staring at the floor as the door opened and blinking as the light came on. Reacher's heart rate shot up like a flock of startled birds and he made a noise in his throat like a strangled scream. Derek looked at him, cataloguing the shock that faded into frustrated annoyance and embarrassment. The werewolf reached over on impulse and opened the desk drawer, pulling out the dark red tie and tossing it to the recovering Soul, who hung it on the outside knob and gently closed the door.

**

Reacher ran several iterations of 'what are you doing here' through his head before finally settling on, "To what do I owe this unexpected honor?" and even that sounded petty and sarcastic enough that he turned to hide a wince. He went to his bed and sat cross-legged on it to try and find a more agreeable attitude, but the truth was that Derek wound Reacher and Stiles up in a rollercoaster of conflicting emotion and some of it was spilling out of his mouth.

"Erica said you met with Watcher today," Derek said calmly, and Reacher took a breath, nodding slowly. Of course.

"Yeah. I actually have news on that front," he sighed. Derek blinked, eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise and expectation. "Apparently he's like me. He's protecting a group of free humans. And," he gestured towards Derek with one hand. "Werewolves. And there's apparently a Soul in the group too," he went on. Derek frowned.

"He just... told you this?" he asked. Reacher shrugged.

"Apparently he thinks we should 'combine forces'. He asked about the humans I was protecting. I told him I could neither confirm nor deny your existence, but-" he shrugged. "--he knows you exist. I was going to tell...Mrs. Hale about it. What do I call her?" he asked suddenly, screwing up his face and looking to one side for a moment. "Do I call her Mrs. Hale or Talia or Alpha or ma'am or...what?" he asked. Derek rolled his eyes.

"She prefers Talia. You're not actually pack or her kid," he said. Reacher stared at him for a moment, heart twisting sharply in his chest when Derek only raised an eyebrow. Reacher's eyes dropped to the floor. Stiles was fuming impotently in his head while Reacher tried not to dwell on how casually Derek had excluded him from something that Reacher hadn't even known he'd wanted.

"Yet," he said. Derek blinked.

"'Scuze me?"

"Not actually pack...yet," the Soul said, eyes still on the floor.

Derek seemed to stop without having actually been moving in the first place, and after a moment, he replied with an awkward, "Right." that made Reacher's chest seem smaller.

Asshole, Stiles muttered. Reacher cleared his throat.

"Anyway, I figured I would leave it up to Talia whether or not to trust Watcher and Lydia. Bliss likes her, but..." he shrugged. "Bliss likes everyone."

Derek nodded, saying nothing. The silence between them lingered, devolving into a choking awkwardness that made Reacher want to clear his throat on principle. He resisted, looking down at his hands for as long as he could stand before hesitantly raising his eyes to look at Derek.

Who was staring back at him. The tension in the air shifted to something else and Reacher fought any kind of reaction, analyzing Derek's expression. He didn't get very far. Derek seemed to realize what he was doing and shifted in the chair, sighing.

"You're supposed to come to the Den tomorrow," he said, and Reacher blinked.

"To the..." he started, before tilting his head.

"The Den. It's...you've been officially invited to meet everyone," the wolf explained, and Reacher straightened slowly.

"Oh. Wow. That...that's a big step," he said. Derek shrugged. "Thanks," he added. Derek, whose eyes had wandered away, snapped back to Reacher, eyebrows twitching downward in confusion.

"It wasn't my decision," he said. Reacher huffed.

"I never thought it was," he replied, rolling his eyes slightly as he looked away, scratching an itch on his cheek. He didn't catch the way Derek's nostrils twitched, or the way the corner of his mouth pulled down. But then he was staring when Derek suddenly stood and dashed across the room to his closet. He barely shut the door in time to be out of sight when Fields knocked hesitantly on the door. Reacher jolted, but then took a deep breath and moved to the still slightly spinning chair, turning to face his station, which he turned on. "Come in," he called, thankful that his station had only been sleeping and that he'd been in the middle of evaluating his students' work. Fields opened the door slowly and cautiously stuck his head in before relaxing at the sight of Reacher at his station.

"Hey, kiddo. I have to go in to the office for a while," he said. Reacher looked at him.

"What for?" he asked. Fields sighed.

"Human sighting," he said. Reacher tensed. It took everything in him not to shoot a panicked look at his closet.

"Where?"

"Downtown. It's probably nothing. We still get these every now and then," he said. Reacher relaxed a little bit but still bit his lip and nodded.

"Well, alright then. Be safe," he said. Fields nodded.

"Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours," he promised. Reacher nodded. Fields left and Reacher sat quietly, staring at the door and tracking his father's progress through the house. The squeaky step, the loose floorboard in the living room. The door. The car. He jumped a little when Derek opened his closet door, but stood up, meeting Derek in the middle of the room.

"I have to--" Derek started, and Reacher nodded emphatically, gesturing meaninglessly.

"Yeah, go, make sure everyone's--"

"Safe. Yeah. We shouldn't have anyone out there--"

"Right. It's probably Watcher's group," Reacher assured him, and he nodded, still frowning.

"Right," he said, and they stood there.

"Right," Reacher said again. "Still. To be safe," he went on, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. Derek looked at him and frowned some more, but he didn't seem angry, just confused.

"Right." Neither of them moved for a long moment, to Stiles' glee, and then Reacher stepped aside, fighting a blush and losing. Derek blinked, shook his head and headed for the window. "Right," he muttered to himself, planting a hand on the windowsill and propping a foot up.

Suddenly he paused. He didn't move for a long time and then he sighed, sounding frustrated as he stepped back and turned around to face Reacher. The Soul raised his eyebrows expectantly and Derek rolled his eyes.

"You smell like her," he said. Reacher blinked, taken aback by the non sequitur.

"What? Like who?"

"The--Watcher," Derek said.

"Oh. It's...Watcher was a he today," Reacher corrected mildly, still not sure why they were talking about the new complication.

"Him. Her. Whatever. You smell like baby powder and lilac. It's...unpleasant," Derek said. Reacher stared at him, tilting his head to one side as frustration creeped up on him.

"Well thank you for telling me that I offend your delicate sensibilities, Derek," he started, but Derek snorted, crossing the room purposefully. Reacher instantly became less frustrated and more wary, backing away from the advancing werewolf "What are you--"

"I told you," Derek said, trapping Reacher against the door that he'd backed into. "You smell like a stranger," he went on. Reacher jumped a little at the hand on his chest, opening his mouth in wordless, awkward protest as Derek started sweeping his hands across Reacher's collarbone and shoulders. He pushed up the boy's sleeves and touched as much skin as he could, paying special attention to Reacher's hand where Watcher had patted him. Then, like last time, his hands went up, rubbing over Reacher's neck and his face and into his hair before Derek appeared to be satisfied.

Okay, I'm not gonna lie, this kinda makes up for his horrible people skills, Stiles offered, and Reacher barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, because Derek would have thought it was directed at him.

"Better?" he asked, slightly breathless from the manhandling. Derek sniffed the air around him for a moment and Reacher had half a second to remember that werewolves could pick up all sorts of smells before Derek grunted his approval, turned around and disappeared into the night. Reacher sighed, letting his head fall against the door with a small thump, then gave a wordless cry of alarm, running to the window. "Wait!" he hissed, sticking his head out into the night air. Derek was at the edge of the roof, looking back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "What time do I show up tomorrow?" he asked.

"Whenever you wake up," Derek answered, before jumping off the roof, running across the back yard, jumping the fence and sprinting into the forest. Reacher watched him go and nodded. He pulled back into the room, running a hand through his hair. After a moment, he stopped, slowly bringing his hand to his face and lightly sniffing to see if he could pick up Derek's scent.

There was something. Barely there to his human nose, but there was something to the scent that wasn't his shampoo, and he swallowed at the unexpected flutter in his stomach.

I like where this is going, Stiles said, and Reacher nodded vaguely, looking down at his hand. Then he remembered what James said and frowned, sticking his head out the window again.

"Whoever's watching: go away," he said, before closing the window, locking it, and adjusting the blinds.

Chapter Text

Aiden scowled down at the murky water, tinged pink from the blood on his hands, and tightened his jaw when the small phone that Lydia had given them rang quietly from the upstairs.

"Don't worry about it," Ethan muttered next to him, and he growled, frustrated.

"I just killed a person. You think she's going to just - what…look the other way?" he snapped. Ethan rolled his eyes, then turned them towards the ceiling as Fractal answered the phone.

"Hello?" he asked, and Aiden's hands slowed as he strained to hear the voice on the other end of the phone. Beside him, his brother was doing the same.

"Is everyone alright?" Lydia demanded. She wasn’t lowering her voice, she must have been home alone.

"What? Everyone's fine, why do you ask?" Fractal said. Lydia sighed.

"Put Aiden on, please," she said. The 'please' seemed to be tacked on the end as a matter of habit. It put a short-lived smirk on Aiden's face. It wasn't a request, it was a politely phrased command. Fractal made affirming noises and then gently shuffled to his feet to avoid waking Robbie before making his way downstairs, glancing around for his Alpha. When he saw Aiden, he froze, and then - phone quite forgotten - made a noise of distress and hurried over.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?" he demanded, pushing and pulling at Aiden's shoulders until he could turn the werewolf in order to get a better look at him. Aiden rolled his eyes, but Ethan smirked, plucking the phone out of Fractal's hand and leaving his brother to be fussed over by the ex-Special Forces Seeker.

"Hey, Lydia. It's Ethan. Aiden's fine, but there was a situation," he said.

"No kidding," she replied, deadpan. A short, low laugh huffed out of him with a smirk and he shook his head. "What happened?"

"A rogue wolf tried to take Aiden's status," he said shortly, the memory of it driving the smirk off his face. There was silence on the other end of the line. Ethan arched an eyebrow.

"I'm coming over," she told him shortly. He blinked.

"That's really not--"

"I'm coming over. Do you need anything?" she asked him.

"Some dinner'd be nice," he replied automatically, and then blinked at the phone when she hung up abruptly. "Wow," he said, turning to Aiden, who was staring apprehensively at the phone. "Bro. Your girlfriend's kind of scary," he said. Aiden rolled his eyes.

"Not my girlfriend," he muttered, unable to really glare his brother down with Fractal scrubbing at his hands and clucking at him. Ethan snorted.

"Yeah, okay," he replied.

**

Lydia, Watcher started, as Lydia stormed around the apartment, fussing over the specificities of a particular outfit to wear to the Loft. Lydia, calm down.

"I am calm," she growled unconvincingly. Watcher was quiet for a moment, and Lydia turned to stomp over to the laundry basket for a specific shirt when she suddenly stopped walking in the middle of the room. She blinked, looking down at her legs in total shock for a moment before scowling. Watcher had never just taken control away from her before. "I am calm," she insisted, putting her hands on the hips that Watcher had taken control of.

No you're not. You're not and you're in no condition to drive either, he told her firmly. She took a number of deep breaths that did nothing to ease the panic they could feel growing in their chest, and he took control of her hands too, reaching up and stroking them through her long hair. He gently scratched her scalp and stroked her hair and petted her neck and shoulders until her heartrate was something approaching normal, and then he gently nudged her into the passenger seat of her brain, taking deeper, more regulated breaths

"Aiden is fine. I'm going to go out, get dinner for them, drive to the Loft, and show you that. You need time to rest anyway," he told her, and she grumbled something insulting, but it was half-hearted and he ignored it, turning towards the closet. "Anyway, it's time they met me," he added, sorting through the left side of the closet for something that Lydia deemed 'decent'.

They'd been having a bubble bath when their phone had gone off with a Seeker alert, and they'd both ignored it at first, wanting to wind down from the long but satisfying day. Watcher had dutifully reminded Lydia that they were supposed to be on top of things in case their humans needed them after only a few more moments. And then when they saw the report of a wild human, the air became too thin. Lydia's hand shook once - a fine tremor, only barely noticeable - before she charged into her game face, because crying and hyperventilating wasn't going to accomplish anything.

Watcher dressed himself in a professional looking button-up shirt and vest, with appropriate slacks, belt, and shoes. He slid in front of Lydia's mirror and brushed her hair before expertly pinning it up into a haloing braid. He picked the derby to wear over it before taking a deep, centering breath.

They decided on take-away Italian and drove to the small, family owned place that Lydia remembered from her birthday before her father was taken as a Host.

Watcher made sure that he wasn't followed and parked in a shadowed alley before heading into the Loft. The elevator was still inoperable, so Watcher started up the stairs, smiling nervously when he heard someone coming down to meet him.

"Hey. Here, let me get that," Ethan said, hurrying down to take the large box of food out of Watcher's hands. He settled it securely in his arms and turned to say something that died on his tongue as he took in Watcher's appearance. The Soul shifted his weight self-consciously as Ethan blinked mutely, delicate hands meeting in front of a noticeably flatter chest, fiddling anxiously with his perfectly manicured fingers.

Ethan didn't say anything for a long moment, looking Watcher over carefully from head to foot.

"You look different," he said finally, squinting slightly as he looked at the hat. "You do something with your hair?" he asked. Lydia snorted at Watcher's confusion and explained the joke. Instantly, most of the tension drained out of Watcher's shoulders and he smiled shyly.

"I...Lydia was very upset by her conversation with you. She was in no condition to drive," he explained, and Ethan blinked again before shifting the box and holding out one hand.

"Watcher, right?" he asked as the Soul accepted the offered appendage. "Nice to meet you," the werewolf said, giving Watcher's hand a squeeze.

It was completely inappropriate, the way Watcher's heart stuttered in response to such a standard greeting, and he swallowed hard as a blush rose to his cheeks.

"I…yes. Thank you," he blurted, and wanted to run away and hide. Ethan's expression was bemused, the corner of his mouth pulling up, and then he released Watcher's hand, nodding his head up the stairs as he shifted the box again.

"C'mon. Everyone's waiting," he said, and Watcher nodded, looking down at the steps with wide, embarrassed eyes as he followed Ethan up.

You okay? Lydia asked, and he clenched his hands to keep from covering his cheeks.

I…fine, he replied, shaking his head a little and trying to slow his heartbeat.

"You okay?" Ethan asked only a few moments later, and Watcher's head shot up.

"What? I wasn't--Nothing," he stammered hastily, blushing again and pressing his lips tightly together at the raised eyebrows Ethan responded with. He took a breath. "I'm fine. I was talking with Lydia," he said. Ethan considered that for a moment and nodded slowly.

"Ookay then," he said. "So, do you mind if I ask a question?" he asked, eyes traveling quickly over Watcher, who glanced down at himself before shrugging.

"I don't mind," he replied. Ethan nodded again.

"You smell like a girl. Are you a girl?" he asked. Watcher ducked his head, smiling at the blunt phrasing.

"Lydia is. I'm not," he replied. Ethan blinked, stopping on the landing and turning to stare at Watcher, who did his best not to fidget under the surprised scrutiny.

"How does that even work?" the wolf asked. Watcher shrugged again.

"I...it just does?" he replied unsurely. "Sometimes we dress like me, and sometimes we dress like her," he added. Ethan took that in and tilted his head.

"Yeah, but you don't..." he stopped, glancing away for a second before shrugging himself. "You don't have the right ... y'know ... equipment," he said. Watcher huffed.

"Gender doesn't have anything to do with biology," he replied with a contained smirk of amusement. The wolf looked intrigued, before glancing up towards the loft with a wince.

"Ooh. We better get up there," he said with a sheepish grin. "I can hear stomachs growling all the way down here. Wanna get them fed before they start a riot," he said, and Watcher nodded, following him up the stairs.

In the loft, Watcher glanced around at all the wary but curious faces and then zeroed in on Aiden for Lydia's sake, showing him that he was in one piece. In his chest, something that had been slowly tightening since the phone call loosened. Aiden's eyes took in Watcher's appearance, echoing Ethan's surprise to a lesser extent. He'd probably heard the whole conversation.

"Nice hat," he said after a moment, and Watcher grinned.

"Lydia picked it," the soul replied. Aiden nodded. They watched Ethan carry the food to the counter and Watcher carefully approached the Alpha. "What happened? Ethan said there was another wolf?" he asked. Aiden shook his head.

"He won't be the last. Listen. I need to talk to you and Lydia alone for a minute," he said, and Watcher blinked, but nodded, following the Alpha up the stairs while Ethan started pulling cartons out of the box. They went to a small room with a ratty mattress on it. Lydia immediately started a mental shopping list that included a mattress and decent sheets. Fractal looked up from where he was reading with Robbie, who waved cheerfully at Watcher.

"Oh," Fractal said, looking at Watcher. There was mild confusion that cleared quickly. "Hello, Watcher," he said with a pleased smile.

"Hello, Fractal," Watcher replied politely. Aiden nodded to them.

"There's food downstairs," he told them, and Robbie clambered up, little stomach growling. Fractal chuckled and followed him, but not without throwing a questioning look at Aiden. The Alpha responded with nod of reassurance. He closed the door behind them. "There's another pack in Beacon Hills," he said to Watcher when they were alone. The Soul blinked.

"Oh. I know," he replied. Aiden blinked.

"You know," the wolf repeated. Watcher nodded.

"You mean the Hales, don't you?" he asked. Aiden blinked again.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Souls keep accurate records. There's a record of humans - and werewolves - who went missing around the time of settlement," the Soul explained. Aiden nodded. Watcher shrugged. "It helps that they have a Soul of their own helping them," he added.

"They do?" he asked. Watcher nodded, glancing around the room for a place to sit. There wasn't one that was very clean, so he continued standing.

"He's neither confirming nor denying at this stage. Apparently, he's going to ask if it's alright that we know they exist," he said.

"We need to talk to them," Aiden said. Watcher tilted his head, frowning curiously.

"About what?"

"Deucalion."

Maybe it was the way Aiden said it - flatly, voice cracking near the end, jaw clenched - but the name sent a shiver of dread down Watcher's spine and he swallowed.

"Who's that?" he asked, mouth a little dry. Aiden sighed.

"He's an Alpha - The Alpha. He's...it's hard to explain," he said. Watcher shrugged.

"I don't have anywhere to be," he replied. Aiden nodded slowly, folding his arms as he gathered his thoughts. Finally he took a breath and looked back at Watcher.

He looks sad, Watcher said to Lydia, who was watching Aiden intently.

He's about to tell us something violent and he thinks we won't like him after, she replied with a dismissive scoff.

"Ten years ago, my brother and I were in a tight spot," the Alpha started, and Watcher's eyebrow jumped up, but he said nothing. "We were part of a pack, but...you know the different classifications of werewolves, right?" he asked.

"Alpha, Beta, Omega. Leader, follower, pariah," Watcher replied succinctly. Aiden huffed.

"That's mostly right. Omega actually has two meanings: pariah or punching bag. An Omega in a pack eats last, gets last pick of sleeping arrangements, gets blamed for as much as the others can get away with, and gets punished - for breathing, pretty much. It's like being in an abusive relationship with the whole pack, but especially with the Alpha," he said. The muscles in his arms bulged where his muscles were clenching and unclenching nervously. "My brother and I were pack Omegas. It...was bad," he said flatly, looking away. Watcher said nothing, quietly mortified by the horrors that his and Lydia's imaginations were supplying. Reading between his words of vague abuse and feeling his heart twist at the imaginings of what Aiden and Ethan must have gone through. "About a year before the invasion, Deucalion found us - him and Ennis. He took an interest in us."

Watcher blinked.

"Why?" he asked. Aiden shrugged.

"Ethan and I are twins. I mean, just that isn't anything to write home about, but born-wolf twins are...special. Ethan and I could...merge. Be a stronger wolf together than we were apart," he said. Watcher's eyebrows rose. Lydia made a noise of impressed intrigue. "Deucalion took us under his wing. Taught us how to control it - how to merge whenever we wanted. He told us he wanted us in his pack."

"How does that work if you were already part of a pack?" Watcher asked. Aiden sighed, shaking his head.

"For normal packs it's easy. You just leave. If you're on good terms with your Alpha, you might talk to them about it first, but it's not like there's a court involved. Anyway, it wasn't that simple. Deucalion's an Alpha, but so is Ennis. Deucalion wanted a pack that was made entirely of Alpha's, and there were specific requirements for joining up," he said. Watcher stared for a moment before dropping his eyes, heart beating fast at Aiden's implications. "We had to become Alphas," he said, and Watcher closed his eyes, bracing himself. There were only three ways to become an Alpha; being born that way, founding a pack where everyone ceded to your authority, or killing an Alpha and taking their power. They both looked up when the door opened, but Aiden was less surprised than Watcher to see Ethan walk in carrying two plates, one of which he handed to Aiden.

"We also had to kill our old pack and our emissary," he said abruptly. Aiden scowled at him as Watcher gaped.

"Ethan," he hissed, but Ethan just rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

"What? You were stalling. Now they know," the other Alpha said, looking over at Watcher, who was blinking steadily, heart beating uneasily as he processed this information.

"You..." he started, swallowing hard. "You killed them?"

"They were evil, Watcher. It wasn't just the things they did to me and Aiden. They were everything that Hunters think all werewolves are," Ethan said. "They were ruthless, almost mindless at times - barely human. They killed indiscriminately and they hurt people for fun," he added grimly. Watcher looked down at the floor, folding his arms, and Aiden growled softly at his brother.

"You're scaring him," he said. Ethan looked away, taking a breath. Aiden turned back to Watcher. "It's not an excuse. It's just how it was. And yeah. We killed them. And we were merged at the time, which is why we're both Alphas," he explained softly. Watcher nodded, because he had been wondering, but he didn't look up from the floor, still trying to calm his racing heart.

"So you joined Deucalion, then?" he asked, desperate to move the conversation along.

"Yeah," Ethan scoffed. "Course, we didn't figure out he wasn't all there until later," he said. Aiden rolled his eyes, nodding his agreement. Watcher blinked again, frowning slightly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking up.

"After the invasion, he started talking about fighting back. We thought it was just frustrated talk until he started kidnapping souls and giving them the bite," Aiden said. Watcher started, arms falling limp to his side in shock. Aiden shook his head. "We never bit anyone, but...well," he fiddled with the plate in his hands. "It was our job to bring them candidates," he said, glancing at the door. Watcher glanced towards the door as well and then gaped at the Alphas, who looked pained.

"Fractal and the others?" he asked, and Aiden shook his head.

"Just the others. We went out of our way to try and pick people we thought could handle it, especially since Deucalion almost never explained what was happening to his...victims. The ones who had a Soul..." he looked down at the plate of food he hadn't touched at all and set it on the rickety table next to him. "Eight out of ten of them would just suddenly die just as the change was coming upon them," he said. Watcher shuddered, gritting his teeth against the surge of bile in his throat. It sounded like Aiden didn't understand what had happened, but Watcher knew. He had explained it once to Lydia, who had shuddered and spent the day in bed. "So when we came across June and the others, it was like fate. They didn't have Souls, so we figured they'd be okay. Of course, by that time, we'd figured out that Deucalion was bug-nuts, but we didn't know what to do about it," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"He wanted to create a werewolf army and start taking back cities. He was talking about starting a war, one where being taken prisoner meant becoming a werewolf and joining up whether you wanted to or not," he said.

"Wants to create a werewolf army. I doubt he's given that up," Ethan corrected. Aiden nodded.

"And he's going to start it here," Aiden said. Watcher frowned.

"Why?" he asked. The brothers looked at each other and then Ethan sighed.

"We don't know."

"Something about this being 'the place where it all began'. He was never really specific, and we didn't ask," Aiden told them. "We were on our way back to the Cave when Ennis got captured," he said.

"By Fractal," Ethan interjected shaking his head as a small smirk appeared on his face. Aiden huffed, nodding.

"Yeah. I wouldn't have called that. Ennis was like, twice Fractal's size, but..." Aiden shrugged. "And then Ennis was in custody for about four hours before we tracked his scent to a graveyard. That's when we met Fractal. It's also when we split off from Deucalion. He ordered us to go to our secondary hide-out to set up and wait for him. And he ordered us to turn June and the others. Even Fractal, if we wanted to keep him. We decided not to turn them. And we decided not to go to the hideout. We came here instead, so we could warn the Hales," he said.

"What do the Hales have to do with it?" Watcher asked.

"They have a powerful Alpha. Deucalion wants her. Not just in his pack - he wants her for his mate," Ethan answered.

Talia Hale is the Alpha of the Hale pack, isn't she? Watcher asked Lydia, whose anger was boiling closer and closer to the surface.

Yes. She's also married with four living children, she replied. Watcher wrinkled his nose.

"Talia Hale is already married," he said. Aiden snorted.

"Deucalion knows that. He doesn't care."

Watcher fought a gag and put a hand to his mouth.

"Sorry," he said after a moment, hand trembling, face pale. Ethan shook his head.

"Don't be. We get it. That's part of why we came to warn them."

"I'll see what I can do. It might take a little while," Watcher said. "Do we have a time frame?" he asked. Aiden shook his head.

"That might have been the first scout or the fifth. We're not sure. There wasn't a whole lot of conversation before he tried to rip my throat out with his teeth," Aiden replied. Watcher nodded, sighing.

"I guess we'll just have to hope for the best, then," he said, before turning his attention inwards. Are you satisfied that he isn't hurt?

You're not particularly good at smarmy, Lydia replied with a sniff. And yes. I'm satisfied that he's not about to drop dead, she added, sounding as if she didn't actually care, even though Watcher knew otherwise. He nodded.

Do you want to talk to him? he asked. Lydia sighed.

No, she muttered. Watcher blinked, but didn't question it, looking back at the others. They were looking back at him, and he stood there quietly for a moment, the atmosphere growing more and more awkward as each second passed.

"I...should probably go, then," he said finally, and Aiden nodded, picking up the previously abandoned plate of food and leaving the room without a word. Watcher's eyebrows rose and he stared at the door for a moment before turning to Ethan, who was also looking at the door, his expression speculative. Then he shook his head and nodded to Watcher.

"I'll see you out," he said. Watcher did his best not to blush and left the room with Ethan following behind. The humans were spread out over the loft, most of them sticking to a cleaner looking section by the blacked out windows while Fractal, Robbie, and a young man lingered by the 'kitchen' counter. Their quiet but enthusiastic conversations paused at Watcher's reemergence from the floor above, only to resume almost immediately. Watcher didn't pause to become involved, although the prospect of talking to the only Soul who regularly interacted with humans and wasn't put off by Lydia's directness was incredibly tempting.

The walk down nine flights of stairs was long and awkward. Watcher was intensely aware of Ethan's presence and proximity the entire time, and he could feel his hands starting to shake. At one point, he thought he felt Ethan's breath on the back of his neck and he missed the next step completely, stumbling forward and grabbing the railing with a squawk. When he regained his balance, Ethan was right next to him, one hand on his arm, one hand on his hip.

"Are you okay?" Ethan asked, eyebrows raised in concern. Watcher blushed.

"I--yes, fine, thank you. I...I don't know what happened. I was suddenly very nervous," he said, shaking his head and adjusting his hat. Ethan's bemused smirk from earlier returned.

"Yeah, I know," he said, and Watcher blinked at him. "Your heart was going wild," he added, and Watcher blushed so hard it must have looked like a sudden, splotchy sunburn. "There are seven more flights. You sure you can make it?" he asked. Watcher's mind was suddenly filled with the memory of Aiden holding Lydia in his arms as he flipped and leapt wildly down the stairwell and he swallowed hard, lookng down at the stairs as he took a deep breath.

"Yes, I can make it," he said, smiling reassuringly at Ethan before turning and walking on.

Oh, come on. What was that? Lydia scoffed.

What was what? Watcher asked, trying to focus on putting one step in front of the other. He was still very aware of Ethan, who was much closer than before - probably in order to prevent any other stumbles.

You were reacting. To Ethan, Lydia told him, a grin implied with her tone. He blushed again, ducking his head slightly.

I know. I'm sorry, Lydia, I didn't mean to, he said. Lydia said nothing for a moment, but he could feel her abject confusion.

What? What are you talking about? she asked. Watcher tilted his head.

Well, you like Aiden, so... he trailed off meaningfully as they turned down another flight of stairs.

So what? she replied, before making a noise halfway between surprise and annoyance. Watcher...you can't seriously believe that, after all we've been through together, I would have a problem with you being attracted to someone, she scolded.

But how would it work? You and Aiden...me and Ethan? Look, it's not a problem. I can ignore it, Watcher promised. Lydia snorted.

Well it's a problem for me, Watch, she snapped, making him duck his head. You and I share a body, but we are two separate people with separate needs, and it is okay for us to want to satisfy those needs with two different people.

Watcher snorted, glancing at Ethan, who raised an eyebrow. Watcher shook his head and tapped his temple. Ethan tilted his head, obviously intrigued, but didn't say anything.

Okay. Yes. I get it. They're twins, so maybe not that different physically. Still not the same person, otherwise you would have been as into Aiden as I am, she said. He shrugged. This is why I didn't want to just jump into a thing with him, you know. I knew eventually we'd have to discuss you developing an attraction for someone. And we don't have time for it now, what with this...'Deucalion' situation, she said. First let's figure out how to get Reacher and his humans to trust us, and how to deal with the Seekers who want to capture them all, and how to stop a massive werewolf/Soul war, and then we can figure out how we want to tell the wonder twins that sharing is caring, she told him. He stifled a smile, blushing as he nodded.

Alright, he answered. She hummed satisfactorily.

Good. Seriously, I was gonna break out the emotions if you'd kept arguing, she told him playfully.

Heavens forefend, he replied with a smirk.

WE'RE SOOOOULMAAAATES!! she keened dramatically. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LUUUUURRRVE YOOOOOUUUUU!?!?!

Watcher laughed out loud.

Chapter Text

James didn't often regret being paired with Danny to do anything, but usually it was something that held his interest or required his concentration more than organizing and accounting the inventory that Reacher had brought them. He tried not to glance over at the other wolf every four seconds, but he'd already had to correct his own sorting three times. His only consolation was that Danny was in just as bad a way as he was - skin flushed, heart racing - although that really just made him even more distracting. James tried to force himself to concentrate on his work, but it was torture when Danny smelled so good.

He must have made some kind of a noise, because Danny's head turned in his direction so fast that a normal human might have injured themselves. There was a moment of quiet while they stared at each other and held very still, before Danny pounced. James barely had enough time to turn and drop his inventory list before staggering back with his arms full of enthusiastic boyfriend, their faces fused at the lips like Danny was out of breath and James was his oxygen tank. Luckily, James was near the end of the section he'd been 'sorting', so the momentum Danny carried with him only pushed them back about three feet or so into the wall, which almost dislodged Danny's legs from around James' waist until the older boy flipped them around so Danny's back was pressed against the wall.

Hands were everywhere. Lips were everywhere. They were both aroused, but only about half-hard, because they'd already gone a round before breakfast.

And after breakfast.

And that was after spending the night together.

"God," James moaned as Danny sucked a monstrous hickey into his neck."This is getting ridiculous," he gasped. Anyone else would probably have gotten offended and stormed off, but Danny just lazily rolled his hips against James' for the friction while James worked his hand into the back of Danny's sweatpants. Danny had a nice ass. James liked it.

"Totally," Danny replied, tugging at James' shirt as he went in for a series of quick kisses. "What is this? Four?"

"Yeah," James answered, pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it behind him. "This can't be just a teenager thing," he said. Danny chuckled, sliding his legs down from James' hips so he could get at his boyfriend's chest.

"Or a werewolf thing," he added, before dragging his tongue around a nipple and grinning at the shudder and muffled grunt that it provoked.

He'd been warned about how werewolves had increased stamina. Still, he hadn't thought it would be nearly this bad. None of the other wolves seemed to be this…active.

"God, I just want you all the time," James groaned, scratching lightly at Danny's back. The Hawaiian boy's huff of laughter raised goosebumps where it hit.

"I can tell," he replied smartly before rubbing his face over James' stomach.

"Hey!" snapped a voice from the door of the storage room. They both jumped, losing their balance. James fell on his ass, cursing, and Danny managed to brace himself against the wall as they looked towards the door. Ophelia marched in, hands on hips and not caring one little bit about their half-clothed state. "Really?" she snapped as James snatched up his shirt. "Come on, guys - we keep food in here. That's just unsanitary. You've got rooms for a reason, you know," she went on.

"Yes, ma'am," James replied. Danny had a sheepish grin on his face that Ophelia narrowed her eyes at before rolling them and shaking her head.

"Alright. Go on, get out of here. I'll take care of this," she said. They grinned, taking off down the hall. She shook her head again, picking up James' discarded inventory sheet.

"Well we've already messed up my bunk," James said, and Danny snickered. "Guess we'll have to go to yours," he suggested. Danny groaned.

"Can't. I share with Jackson, remember?" Danny said with a small whine. They paused in an empty corridor and kissed for a moment while the itch of desire graduated into a low burn.

Every six months or so, the Den members reassigned their rooms, but Danny and Jackson had shared a room ever since they'd turned fourteen. It was impossible to forget, since they even smelled a little bit like each other. Vaguely James thought he ought to be jealous that all the time that Danny wasn't spending with James was spent with Jackson, but of all the squabbles that James and Danny had ever had, Danny hanging out with Jackson never made the list. And they both knew - even if they never talked about it - how Jackson felt about Danny; how whenever Danny was around, Jackson smelled like desire and frustration and lately, sadness. They didn't talk about it because it was rude to hold someone's pheromones against them.

"He's got work, remember? He complained at breakfast how he's going to be working on the tunnel gang all day," James said, and Danny scoffed. "We'll hang an air filter in there, after," he added, fingers playing with the vee of Danny's hips. The other boy bit his lip before groaning and shaking his head.

"You're a bad influence," he said with a smirk before grabbing James hand and leading him down to the room he shared with Jackson.

The hole that served as a door was covered by a translucent shower curtain with rubber ducks on it, and James chuckled at it as Danny swept it to one side, ducking his head in. James had picked it out. Jackson had wanted to sneak back into his house and get one of the rugs that his mom had got from some trip to some country, but Talia hadn't allowed it. James had offered him the cute rubber duckies as a joke. He's still not exactly sure why Jackson had actually agreed to it.

Danny pulled him inside and he started for a moment, looking towards the 'door'. He couldn't hear anything outside the room. It was like the whole Den stopped existing.

"What the--"

"Don't worry. Jackson got these from Scott," Danny said, pointing down at the floor. On either side of the door were a small, round sphere with a pulsing white light. "They make a privacy screen," he said as he toed off his shoes and put them off to one side of the door. "No one can hear in, so we can be as loud as we want," he added, and James arched an eyebrow before grinning.

"Awesome," he said, kicking off his own shoes more carelessly, turning and pressing a series of kisses into Danny's neck moving them onto the area rug that Jackson had made it his mission to get so he could pretend their floor wasn't made of dirt. "So where were we?" James asked. Danny sighed, tilting his head back.

"We were about to figure out what kind of quickie this is going to be," he replied, moving his hands under James' shirt, over his flat, hard stomach. James hummed thoughtfully, nipping playfully at the skin just under his boyfriend's jaw.

"Not gonna lie, Danny. I was kinda hoping you'd fuck me into the mattress," he said, fingers hooked in the waist of Danny's pants. He grinned at Danny's full-body shiver, and the way his eyes glazed over for a moment.

"Fuck," Danny said, blinking rapidly and licking his lips. "Yeah. Okay. I can do that. I think I have some lube in here, somewhere," he added, pressing a quick kiss to James' lips before turning and tearing the lid off of his plastic tub of belongings. James flopped down onto the mattress behind him, stretching out and taking off his shirt. He nestled into the sheets, turning his head into the pillow and taking a few deep breaths, one hand trailing slow passes up and down his chest, the other sliding up under the pillow to cradle it against his head, drawing in the scent.

After a moment of rummaging and mumbling, there was a small noise of triumph and then Danny joined him on the mattress with an almost empty bottle of lubricant. At some point he'd also ditched his shirt.

"Gonna have to add lube to the next shopping list," he harrumphed, and James chuckled, picturing in his head how red-faced Reacher was going to get when he read the next list.

"I'm sure it was gonna come up sooner or later. We're not the only couple here, you know," James replied, dragging his fingers through Danny's hair as the younger boy leaned down to kiss him. His hands slid down Danny's back as their bodies fit together, settling on his boyfriend's ass under the sweatpants, making the young Hawaiian laugh.

"Jeez, even when I'm the top you're obsessed with my ass," Danny snickered.

"Can't help it. It's a nice ass," James replied, grinning unabashedly as he gave it a light slap. Danny was right. It was one of the reasons that Danny didn't top much, the other being that Danny lost almost all of his normally patient attitude when he was on top.

Lazy passionate kisses quickly gave way to Danny nuzzling James' neck and shoulders while his hands moved over James' chest, his mouth following his hands' path down James' body, leaving quickly healing hickeys in his wake. In no time at all, Danny was tugging at the sweats at James' hips and the older wolf smirked, lifting his hips and sighing happily at the sense of freedom he felt when Danny tossed his sweats to one side. He stretched shamelessly, reaching his arms up and folding them under the pillow cradling his head before smiling up at Danny, who shook his head and smiled fondly, grabbing the lube and tucking the room temperature bottle against his hip. He yelped, his elevated temperature making the bottle seem chilly. Danny laughed, and James kicked half-heartedly at his ankle, scowling.

"Tease," he grumbled. Danny laughed again.

"I'm a tease? You're the one putting on a show," he scoffed, shaking his head again as he opened the lube and drizzled some onto his fingers. James smirked.

"You like it when I put on a show," he said smugly. Danny snorted.

"Never said I didn't," he replied. James opened his mouth to say something that got completely lost on the short trip from his brain to his mouth when Danny rubbed slick fingers right up against his hole. At the same time, he leaned down and licked a broad strip up the underside of James' cock, making the wolf twitch hard, breath leaving him in a rush. He shivered at the chill against sensitive skin when Danny huffed a laugh and pressed one finger in, slowly twisting his wrist in a corkscrew.

"Jesus, Danny," James gasped, taking deep breaths as Danny worked him open. He bit down on a groan when Danny leaned down and slowly dragged his tongue over the head of James' cock, and then around the edges of his foreskin, all while working a second finger into his ass. Practiced fingers brushed lightly against James' prostate, just enough to send a rush of tingling heat up through his chest and make his breath stutter. He lifted his head to look down at his boyfriend, who lifted his head to grin smugly. James huffed out a sigh that hitched into a moan when Danny stopped playing around and wrapped his lips around the head of James' cock. He dropped his head back into the pillow and bit his lip, taking deep breaths and trying not to thrust the way Danny's skillful ministrations made him want to.

Soon there was another finger, and he shivered at the noticeable stretch, turning his head into the pillow and breathing through the dull burn that didn't quite edge out the warm, wet pleasure that encased his dick. Almost ready. Almost there. He whined a little, shivering at the responding chuckle.

"Fuck. Danny, come on," he panted, hissing when Danny lifted his head, James' cock slipping free of his mouth with a dirty little 'pop'.

"You sure?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. The calmly delivered question made him seem totally in control, but James could hear his rocketing heartbeat and smell the sweat on his skin. "I only just got a third finger into you," he added, twisting his wrist to illustrate and sending a shock of pleasure up James' spine that bowed his back and locked his jaw for a moment. His hands came out from under the pillow and fisted the sheets. A smile slunk onto Danny's face. "I mean. You'll be a little tight, won't you?" he asked. James huffed at his smiling face and tried to organize words into an intelligible sentence while Danny fingers rubbed rhythmically over his prostate.

"I... you... just… would you…" he stammered, gasping and writhing helplessly. Danny laughed a little and finally relented, moving his fingers away from that tiny bundle of nerves and going back to stretching his boyfriend. James panted up at him, trying to scowl. "Asshole," he said. It was supposed to come out as a growl, but it just sounded paradoxically fond. Danny laughed again, louder, and leaned forward, kissing him.

"I'm sorry," Danny said sweetly. James scoffed.

"Liar," he replied, cupping the back of Danny's neck and kissing him deeply while his other hand skated down Danny's chest and into the pants he was still wearing. He swallowed Danny's choked off whine and stroked him firmly. Danny went stock-still, fingers occasionally twitching where they were still hooked in James' ass, eyes unfocused, mouth slack against James', just breathing in stilted little huffs. James smirked, licked Danny's mouth, and leaned back, pulling his hand out of Danny's pants and grinning at the noise of protest that dropped out of Danny's mouth before the younger wolf swallowed hard. "You gonna fuck me now?" James asked. Danny's eyes snapped into focus and he blinked at James for a moment before his playful grin snapped back into place.

"Yep," he replied, pulling his fingers out gently and pushing James until he rolled over. James smiled, drawing his knees up under himself as Danny pushed down and kicked out of his sweats and boxers. There was a small click of a bottle cap, and the smooth wet sound of Danny applying lube to himself, and then one of Danny's hands on his hip, steadying James as he used his other hand to line himself up.

They both moaned as Danny pressed gently but firmly into James' ass, and Danny giggled a little when the head of his cock finally made it through the stretched and relaxed ring of muscle. In his head he imagined the sound a cork makes when it pops out of a bottle of champagne.

"Fuck, no giggling," James groaned, skin flushed as his shoulders trembled, and Danny bit his lip, rocking slowly back and forth with a smooth roll of his hips, sliding a little deeper on every forward roll until their hips met, and they moaned again. Danny paused then to catch his breath and look down at James, who was reclined forward, nuzzling into the pillow and making a low, steady noise of contentment, halfway between a groan and a purr. Danny smiled down at him fondly before setting his knees a little further apart. James turned his head so his profile was visible and smirked.

"Ready?" Danny asked, raising one eyebrow. James grinned.

"Fuck yeah," he said, and Danny laughed before rolling his hips back easily and then thrusting sharply back in, turning James' cheeky grin into an open-mouthed moan. He did that again and again, setting a steady rhythm. He repeated anything that made James moan particularly loud and grinned at whatever made him curse. He shivered pleasantly occasionally, but kept his focus on James, the way he always did when he was on top. His own pleasure was like background noise. He watched James turn into a shivering, moaning mess under him and smirked, leaning down to press heated kisses into heated skin. The shift in posture pressed his dick right into James' prostate, and the boy whined, high and breathy as his fingers dug into the sheets.

"You close?" Danny asked curiously. James groaned.

"Only every time we're in the same room," he gritted out. "Fuck. Fuck! Yeah," he added. Danny grinned. "You?"

"Yeah. Your ass is amazing," Danny praised. James shivered. "Want me to slow down?"

"Excuse you? No. I believe I told you to fuck me into the mattress," James snapped half-heartedly. Danny grinned again.

"I can do that," he replied, before leaning back and getting a firmer grip on James' hips. Briefly, he thanked whoever was responsible for werewolves in the first place. He'd been a pretty athletic guy when he was human, but he didn't think he'd ever have been able to keep up with James if he hadn't got the bite. He sometimes wondered what would have happened if they'd dated while he was human, not that it mattered, because they didn't get together until that first time they were in the same room together after he'd been turned.

After about half a minute of hard thrusting, James started to squirm, trying to push himself up a little to get a hand on himself, and Danny shuddered hard, cursing as he changed the angle of his thrusts as best he could to catch James' prostate more. He loved it when James got desperate to come.

I did that. It wasn't so much a thought as a flare of possessive pride, and he cursed again when James shuddered and came, muscles clenching around him and dragging his own orgasm out of him. His hips stuttered to a stop and he stayed still for a moment, just breathing and shaking and waiting for his vision to come back. Slowly he unwrapped his fingers from where they'd dug into James' hips, bruises fading with ever second and pulled out gently before letting himself pitch forward onto the bed next to James, who chuckled. Danny shuffled a little closer and draped an arm over his boyfriend, who sighed, perfectly content to be the 'little spoon'.

They laid there for a while, basking, and Danny sighed happily as he rubbed his face against James' sweaty shoulder.

"You know," he started, smirking a little. "At some point, we're probably going to have to talk about the fact that we ended up having sex in Jackson's bed," he said, smirk growing slightly as James went still in his arms. "Again," he added amusedly.

"Shit," James muttered, lifting his head and looking around before dropping his head back and groaning. "That's like the third time this week."

**

The next morning, Reacher groaned in the face of his alarm clock, burying his face in his pillow and leaving it there for several minutes before finally reaching out and swatting the insistent device into silence. He forced open his bleary, glazed, sleep encrusted eyes and stretched gingerly.

We overdid it... he told his host, rolling his eyes at the tired but satisfied sigh that answered.

Overdid it? You can't overdo fun, Reacher, Stiles answered, sleepily satisfied. Reacher pushed himself up onto weak and wobbly elbows and felt his cheek twitch in time with the twinging in his lower back.

Apparently, you can. Ugh, I'm still exhausted. And we're supposed to go to the Den today, he reminded Stiles, who drifted further towards consciousness at the mention.

We should maybe take a shower, then. Otherwise, things could get awkward, the human suggested gleefully, reminding his Soul that werewolves had a keen sense of smell, as did some regular humans. Reacher rolled his eyes with a beet red face and levered himself up into a sitting position, wincing when he irritated some still tender muscles. His legs wobbled like liquid sacks full of water and he swayed over to the door. He grabbed the robe that was hanging beside it, throwing an assessing look to the sheets that he'd kicked off the bed the previous night, before simply falling asleep naked.

Dude, we'll wash 'em later, Stiles said, and Reacher tilted his head.

Yeah, but dad checks the room sometimes, and he still thinks--

Oh my god, Stiles blurted with a laugh that Reacher didn't share. Yeah. Okay. Grab those. We don't need dad thinking we've done the do with some mysterious stranger, 'specially after he told us to use the front door 'next time', the human said gleefully. Reacher tied his robe closed and gathered up the soiled sheets.

There was no sign of Fields and John downstairs, so Reacher was able to throw the sheets into the washing machine without incident.

He took the longest shower in the history of water heaters, skin a little raw when he finally finished, but smelling pleasantly of orange blossoms instead of sweat and semen, so hopefully none of the werewolves would laugh at him. He was finally going to meet the people he was protecting. He straightened up in the mirror and gave a little smirk of pride around his toothbrush. He was a little excited. A little proud. A little nervous.

Don't be nervous. Seriously. We're in, okay?

We're in with the Hales. Well, most of them, Reacher said, shrugging at Stiles scoff of annoyance when Reacher thought of Derek's attitude. There are fifty other people whose opinions are unknown, the Soul replied, rinsing the toothpaste out of his mouth and returning to his bedroom to pick something to wear.

He picked something that he wouldn't mind getting dirty, given the conditions he was likely to encounter with a group that lived underground, and after he pulled his shirt on over his head, his eyes fell on his station, reminding him that he still had about twelve essays to read and evaluate. He tilted his head, but assured himself that he probably would only be at the Den for a few hours and he could read a couple more after that. He would definitely have time to read them all before having to pass them back when the last two weeks of term started.

He texted Bliss to say he was going over to Finch's house (Atticus Finch being the name that he'd chosen for the Hales in his and Bliss's phones), and to have a good lunch with her family.

He tried not to think too much on the ride over, worried he would psych himself out. He was buoyed by the thought of seeing Scott and Isaac and Cora again, even though he knew that Cora was grounded. He wondered how they were doing with their comic now that they had access to some decent paper. He followed that train of thought until he got to the actual Hale house and saw that Peter, Isaac, and Scott where sitting on the front porch. Scott and Isaac got up to come over as he parked in the front yard. They were both wearing patchy brown and grey sweats and simple t-shirts with similar brown patches. As they got closer, Reacher was able to see that the brown patches were dirt, and that there was a light dusting of it almost all over.

"Hey Reacher," Scott said, with a smile that grew into a grin. "Hey, Stiles," he added. Reacher grinned back.

"Hey Scott," he replied for himself and his host.

"You'll have to park in the shed," Isaac said. He looked pale, and his smile was a little strained. Scott obviously noticed too, because he put an arm around his friend and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before nodding to Reacher.

"We'll go open the doors for you," Scott said, pulling Isaac along with him. Reacher looked over at Peter, who got up as the boys moved off, stepping down from the porch just far enough to keep them in sight. He wasn't sure why that bothered him so much, and he tried to put it out of his mind as he pulled the Jeep up to the shed.

Inside was a small fleet of cars of every shape and size and Reacher gaped for a moment before closing his mouth. Of course. This would be how they got around town without being noticed. He parked next to a large black SUV, slipped lankily out of the Jeep, and let Scott nearly tackle him with an enthusiastic hug.

"Isn't this great?" Scott asked, holding Reacher at arm's length and buzzing with excitement. Isaac leaned hesitantly against the side of the Jeep, watching them. His smile was still strained. "You can come to the Den whenever you want now. Isaac, Stiles, you, me-- we could hang out all the time!"

Reacher grinned at his friend's enthusiasm, a small chuckle escaping as he put a hand on Scott's arm.

"Well, we can as soon as the school term is over," he said. Scott blinked, but then blushed.

"Oh, right. You're still in school," he agreed, and Stiles laughed as Reacher smiled sheepishly, understanding that Scott thought that he still attended a school as understood by humans.

"Actually, I teach," he corrected lightly. Scott gaped, and Isaac's smile became less strained.

"You teach?" Scott asked, gaping. "That's so cool. What do you teach?"

"Human history," Reacher said. He was not prepared for the grin that split both Scott's and Isaac's faces, or the snort from Peter, who had wandered over and was leaning against the shed's doorway. He looked between them and raised his eyebrows. "Uh...I'm confused. You used to hate history," he said to Scott, who chuckled.

"Oh, believe me. He still hates history," Isaac said.

"Yeah, but Derek loves history," Scott added, waggling his eyebrows. Reacher straightened, a blush rising on his cheeks as he cleared his throat and smoothed down his shirt nervously.

"I don't...that's…uh," he stammered, glancing at Peter, who snorted again.

"Please," the older wolf said simply, shaking his head. Reacher swallowed hard while Stiles laughed happily.

"So," he said, looking back at Scott and Isaac. "I know the Den's underground, so I brought clothes I didn't mind getting dirty," he said, changing the subject and ignoring the knowing looks on his friends' faces.

"Oh, don't worry, we all wear, like, sweatpants and stuff. It's like an underground pajama party all the time," Scott told him, looking down at his own attire. Reacher nodded.

"That makes sense," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "So, uh...how...I mean, is there a blindfold, or..." he asked, awkward. Scott snorted.

"Nah. Come on," he said, patting Reacher on the back and heading off with Isaac. Reacher followed behind, and Peter brought up the rear. Scott led the way into the house, and Reacher hesitated on the threshold, shivering as he remembered the last time he'd stood at the front door. Scott and Isaac looked back at him with curious concern and he licked his lips, stepping through the door slowly and looking around.

The foyer was small and mainly contained hooks for jackets and umbrellas and keys, and a small shoe rack , but it opened up immediately into a grand staircase with a rich, red carpet up the middle. To is right was a spacious living room with all dark wood cabinets and furniture behind sliding doors that were partially closed. On his left was a dining room with a large arch that led - he suspected - to the kitchen. On either side of the staircase was a hall leading back to more areas of the house, and he ogled at everything. After seven years, it should have been dusty, but everything was as fresh as it would have been if people still lived there.

Technically, they do, offered Stiles, and Reacher nodded mutely in agreement.

"Nice, right? We don't get to come up here, much. Y'know, in case someone comes to check this place out," Scott said from the dining room doorway.

"That's understandable. Though, if someone did come to check it out, they would wonder how it was kept so clean," he replied. Behind him, Peter chuckled as he shut the front door.

"That'd be my wife, Ophelia," he said. Reacher blinked at him. "She cleans when she has things on her mind," he added with a shrug.

"Come on," Scott said, bouncing excitedly. Reacher smiled, following the eager young man into the kitchen, where Isaac was waiting and staring at the pantry door. His smile had slipped, and he looked anxious about something, but he tried to mask it when Reacher and Scott walked in. It took Reacher back two days previous, when he was standing with the others in front of Talia and she told Isaac that his dad wanted to speak to him. He shot a questioning glance at Scott whose smile dipped a little, but the brown-eyed boy just shrugged, walking over to stand at Isaac's side, their arms touching. Reacher looked at Peter, whose placid face revealed nothing.

"So," Reacher said awkwardly, rubbing the pockets of his old jeans. "Now that we're gathered in the kitchen…" he said, looking around.

This extremely awesome kitchen that I want to make pasta in, Stiles added, making Reacher nod again as he tried to count the cabinets.

He failed.

Scott and Isaac smiled at his attempts to lighten the mood, and Peter opened the pantry door, which revealed a set of stairs leading down. Reacher blinked. In his mind, Stiles squealed.

"Is that a cellar pantry? That is so awesome," Reacher blurted, and didn't even wait for the others to answer, dashing down the steps with an excited squawking laugh. Scott would later tell him that he, Isaac, and Peter were so shocked by his reaction that they just stood there in the kitchen for several seconds, wondering what had just happened. But in the moment, Reacher and Stiles were too thrilled by the notion of a room sized pantry to care.

Half of it was actually a wine cellar, and Reacher took a moment to appreciate that before turning to the food side of the room, which was (understandably) empty, but furnished with shelves and nooks and drawers and cabinets and a hand-carved wooden spice rack that made him rub at his mouth to make sure he wasn't drooling.

"Reacher?" Peter asked as he, Scott, and Isaac joined him downstairs, bemused by Reacher's excitement about a room for food. Reacher whirled around, startled by their 'sudden' presence and embarrassed that he'd forgotten about them. Before he could say anything, one of the shelves swung forward, like a secret passage bookcase in Clue, and Talia emerged with several other people that Reacher didn't recognize.

"Trouble?" one of them asked Peter, who snorted. Even Talia looked annoyed by the question.

"No. He got excited by the pantry," Peter answered. All eyes turned to Reacher, who flushed under the attention.

"You have a garlic hook. For hanging strings of garlic - and an onion hanger. We just have one of those jars that you put individual bulbs into and space on a shelf that gets onion paper everywhere," he said, eyes helplessly wide with envy. There was utter silence as they all stared at him for a moment and then Peter shook his head, smiling smugly.

"Behold, our conqueror," he said, voice brimming with delighted sarcasm. "Isn't he fearsome."

Reacher blinked at him, cheeks burning as he gritted his teeth together in an effort to keep himself from blurting out anything that would further embarrass him or Stiles. Scott was trying to muffle his snickers and failing, and even Isaac was smiling softly at how unthreatening Reacher was. Talia arched an eyebrow but the corner of her mouth was peeling up also and she looked at the others.

"Terrifying," she said blandly. A couple of the others snickered, but one of them scowled, folding his arms. She turned back to Reacher. "Reacher, this is our impromptu community council," she told him, and he looked at them all, offering a silent and awkward wave.

An older lady who somehow managed to make look sweats and a tee-shirt look prim and proper stepped forward, holding out a hand.

"Connie Whittemore," she introduced herself, giving him a firm handshake and a smile.

"Mrs. Whittemore," he greeted politely. She scoffed.

"So proper. Call me Connie," she told him. He nodded.

One by one they introduced themselves. There were a couple deputies in the group, a veterinarian, a few high school teachers, a nurse, and some directed their questions to Stiles. Reacher didn't let that upset him, relaying Stiles' answers with only the barest of pauses, head tilted to one side to indicate he was communicating with his host. The last person, who had hung back watching the others welcome Reacher and Stiles with a face of barely contained disgust, was an older man, thin and haggard. In his head, the friendly curiosity that emanated from Stiles withered and died, replaced by wary aversion.

"This is Michael Lahey," Talia said, tone polite but not warm. Reacher glanced at her and then smiled hesitantly at the older man.

"Nice to meet you, sir, I--"

"Stay away from my son," Mr. Lahey told him brusquely. His tone turned Reacher's spine to ice and made him blink, the flush from earlier threatening to resurface.

"What...I don't under--"

"Stay away from Isaac. What's to understand? I don't want him hanging around some dirty parasite," the human spat. Reacher's breath hitched at the insult, and Stiles went from passive dislike to active revulsion.

"Dad--" Isaac started to protest, but his father just glared at him and he fell silent. Stiles blood started to boil.

Okay, this guy's a dick, he said heatedly. Mind if I step in?

Reacher hesitated, glancing at the others. The humans who hung by the secret entrance to the den looked unhappy, mumbling amongst themselves. Scott looked furious. Peter and Talia seemed to be waiting - maybe to see how he would deal with Mr. Lahey's hostility - but what made up his mind was looking at Isaac. The boy was hunched in on himself, shoulders up to his ears, and hidden partially by Scott, who stood in a defensive stance, protecting the other boy from his own father. The 'cop's-kid' intuition that Stiles often lent Reacher took all the previous interactions, fit them together into the right conclusion, and filled him with a deepening disgust and rage that scared him.

He looked back at Mr. Lahey, taking a deep breath.

"My host has something to say," he told them, ignoring the eyebrows that went up in the suddenly silent crowd and the sneer on Mr. Lahey's face. He closed his eyes and detached the necessary connections.

"I don't give a damn about some stupid--"

"Shut up," said Stiles, opening his eyes. Mr. Lahey's head snapped back in shock for a moment before his face twisted in a snarl. He opened his mouth, but Stiles stood up straighter. "Don't talk. I'm talking. First of all, Reacher's too polite to say this, but we don't like you. Aside from a couple misunderstandings, everyone else has been pretty cool to us, but this whole attitude you've got going on? That's unacceptable. We're Isaac's friends, not yours, so the person who gets to decide whether I spend time with Isaac is Isaac. Secondly, in case there was some confusion, we're helping you out because we want to. We have no idea what will happen to us if we get found out, because as far as we know, this has never been done before. So I don't care if you like us, but you will respect us, because you need us," Stiles told him, never breaking eye contact.

"Are you threatening us?" Lahey growled. Behind Stiles' face, Reacher was strangely unruffled by the human's anger.

Hard to be scared of a human when you've almost been killed by a werewolf, Stiles told him, still looking coolly at Isaac's father.

"I don't have to threaten them. They know what's up. And I'm not threatening you. I'm telling you how it is because you remind me of a schoolyard bully, or any of the police cases that made my dad open a bottle when I was a kid - he was the sheriff, FYI. You target the vulnerable, and you make them your victim. And now I know that Isaac is your target, so I'm going to make him in-vulnerable," he said. He looked at Talia and hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Scott, whose eyes were wide, filled with awe, and looking at Stiles like he was a superhero. At Stiles hesitant glance, Scott tilted his head to one side, glancing pointedly at the Alpha, and Stiles nodded, turning back and mimicking Scott's gesture, baring his throat to Talia. She smirked approvingly.

"Yes, Stiles?" she asked.

"Reacher would never do this, because he's a good person," he said, and she arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "I want to impose a condition. This man clearly doesn't have Isaac's best interests at heart, and frankly, I'm afraid of what he'll do to Isaac," he said. Lahey sneered.

"I'm his father," he snapped defensively. Stiles looked him up and down, unimpressed.

"That just makes it worse, dude," he replied, looking back at Talia. "I don't want him spending unsupervised time with Isaac," he said.

"You can't do that. You don't have any authority here," Michael hissed.

"No he doesn't," Talia said, her face still passively intrigued by Reacher and his host. "But I do. And they do," she said, nodding to the other humans, who were studying the former gravedigger warily.

"Well?" Michael snapped. They shared a few glances with each other and then Connie looked at Talia.

"We've been doing a lot better since Reacher started helping. And Stiles," she added with a charmed wink at the boy. He smiled at her show of support.

"Well I guess that's settled, then," Talia said. Michael seethed, turning back to Stiles.

"You," he started.

"Save it," Stiles interrupted. "I also want Isaac to be around people who'll protect him, so this guy can't corner him," he added. "Do you share a room with him?" he asked Michael. "Isaac?" he asked, when Michael didn't answer.

"Stiles, you don't have to--"

"Scott?"

"Yeah, they share a room," Scott answered immediately. Stiles nodded.

"Not anymore," he said to Talia, who huffed, but nodded.

"Anything else?" she asked. Stiles ducked his head, smiling sheepishly at the realization that he'd just given an order to an Alpha werewolf. She could just as easily have ignored him or shot him down.

Best not to push it, he said to Reacher, who agreed.

"Nope. That about covers it," he said aloud.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Michael demanded, nearly foaming at the mouth. "You think you can waltz in here and start making demands? You're just a delivery boy. Isaac, let's go," he snapped, turning to leave. The other adults parted before him, more than willing to let him pass, but he only took two steps before realizing that Isaac wasn't behind him. He turned to glare at the boy, who hovered by Scott's side, glancing between Stiles, his father, Talia, and Peter before finally settling on staring at the floor in front of him. "Isaac," his father snapped, and the boy flinched a little, but didn't move, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath.

"I...think I'll stay here," he said. His voice wasn't strong, and he was visibly shaking, but he didn't move, and he grabbed Scott's hand like a life raft when the boy offered it. "I'll..." he glanced at Stiles again, clearing his throat. "I'll come get my stuff later," he added. Stiles nodded, looking back at Michael. There was silence as the older man tossed him a look that bordered on murderous before he turned and walked away. The silence continued, and Stiles took a deep breath, waiting to feel relieved at his success, and only finding assurance that he'd applied a temporary patch to a long term problem.

Still, we helped a little bit, Reacher reminded him. You did. I could never have been so...abrupt, he amended sheepishly. Stiles glanced around at the adults before looking at Scott and Isaac. Scott was vibrating with excitement. Isaac looked sick.

"Dude," Scott breathed, patting Isaac on the shoulder before dashing over and throwing his arms around Stiles, who laughed, hugging him back. "That was awesome!" he said.

"Very impressive," Talia added, her gaze assessing.

"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said. She huffed again, not answering as she looked at Scott.

"Scott, you can show your friend around the Den today. Make sure to drop by the new tunnels so Marcus can talk to him," she said. Scott nodded, baring his throat respectfully (Stiles followed suit), and she turned, making her way back into the Den. 

Chapter Text

"Bold move," Peter said, as Scott bounced and danced, celebrating Isaac's liberation from the clutches of his father. Stiles looked at the older man and shrugged.

"I don't like bullies," he said. Peter smirked.

"Me neither," he replied, ruffling his hand through Stiles' hair as he passed on the way into the Den. Stiles and Reacher puffed up a little proudly and shared Scott's rapturous smile before turning to Isaac, who looked a little pale. And he was still shaking, and he was starting to wring his hands.

Oh god.

"Scott," he said, grabbing his friend by the arm and dragging him over to Isaac. As soon as Scott saw him, his smile disappeared, and the two of them stood close to Isaac, but did their best not to crowd him as his breaths started to come in gasps.

"Isaac? Isaac, man, can you hear me?" Scott said, gently reaching forward. Stiles started to stop him - all his early panic attacks had involved violent flailing whenever anyone tried to hold him or touch him - but Isaac grabbed at Scott's hand like a lifeline as he sank to his knees, curling in on himself. Making himself the smallest target. Scott knelt with him, with Stiles crouched beside Scott.

"Just breathe, Isaac," Stiles said, taking large, exaggerated breaths. "Come on, man, everything will be okay," he told the panicking boy, before glancing at Scott. "Has he had these before?" he asked, before continuing to pantomime breathing. Isaac looked like he was trying to breathe along, but he was crying and clawing at his chest. Scott gritted his teeth.

"Yeah," he replied. His hand was white where Isaac was practically crushing it.

"Is there anything you normally do that calms him down?" Stiles asked. Scott hesitated, biting his lip.

"Um…sort of. We...I mean, usually Erica sings to him," he said. "I can't sing," he added a few beats later. Stiles patted him on the shoulder.

"I know, buddy. I know. What does she sing?" he asked.

"That song. From Dreamcatcher," Scott answered. Stiles nodded, scooting across so that he was close to Isaac's other side, but not touching him. He cleared his throat.

"I feel so bad, I got a woorried mind. I'm so lonesome all of the time. Since I left my baby behind o-on Blue Bayou," he sang gently. He made sure his voice stayed soft, and he kept his focus entirely on Isaac, who stared at him through teary eyes. Stiles stopped occasionally to take a deep breath, which prompted Isaac to do the same. Scott started rubbing his arm, scooting just a little bit closer, and Stiles kept singing, watching Isaac's breaths become less and less labored. When he held out his hand, Isaac grabbed onto it.

Stiles sang the song three times through, letting Isaac latch onto him in a desperate hug the last time through, running his fingers through Isaac's hair while Scott rubbed his back.

"Dude," Scott said with a smaller smile. Stiles blinked at him. "That was even more awesome than what you did with Isaac's dad," he said. Stiles scoffed.

"He's gonna be so mad," Isaac said, voice small. Stiles shushed him.

"It doesn't matter," he said soothingly. "Everything's going to be alright."

"Yeah, man. No one's going to let you get hurt, man," Scott said. "You can move into my room. I don't mind sharing," he added. Stiles nodded.

"Worst case scenario, you can come stay at my place for a while," he said. Isaac tensed up in his arms, lifting his head to stare at Stiles, who kept running his fingers through Isaac's hair.

"I can?" he asked. Stiles nodded. "What about the Seeker?"

"He's got my dad, remember? I wouldn't tell him if you didn't want. You could stay in my room while he was in the house, but he wouldn't turn you in. He'd help," he said confidently.

They stayed there for a while until Isaac had calmed down completely, and then assured the boy that there was nothing to be embarrassed about as Scott led the way into the Den, through the secret passage--

Awesome.

Very.

--and down a small flight of stairs into a bunker-like structure with harsh, halogen lighting.

The first room was a basic rectangular shape, impressively large and made almost entirely of concrete. There were long rows of horizontal poles at one end that were holding an enormous amount of clothing on hangers and cubby shelves that held a seemingly endless supply of pants and things.
There were four tubs with wooden shutters that were being used as scrub-boards, and clotheslines in front of fans. At the other end were makeshift stalls with large tubs in the bottoms of each one, and strainers suspended above them.

"Shower stalls," Scott explained, and Stiles nodded, studying them for a moment. Reacher took note of their design and made noises about an upgrade.

"I think I'm going to need to take notes," he muttered, mostly to himself. Scott smirked at him. They moved on.

Through the short, connective hallway was a longer hallway, and lining one side, a series of walled off rooms with iron bars for doors. Stiles raised his eyebrows and looked at Scott and Isaac. Isaac looked amused, his smile still shaky from the panic attack.

"They used to be werewolf panic rooms - well," he shrugged, pointing to one that was right to the left of the connecting hall. "That one still is, but it only gets used when things are really tense, and only for the younger wolves. The rest of them are like...offices and stuff. And they knocked down the walls between two of them to turn 'em into a leisure room," he added with a grin and an eyebrow-waggle. He pushed open an iron barred door and let Stiles and Isaac pass through first.

It was a pretty spacious room, with two large televisions and two large couches with several smaller chairs and bean bags smattered around the room. There were shelves and bins of movies and games on one end, and books on the other. Stiles smiled when he saw the box of books that he'd helped Isaac pick out crammed in a corner.

"This is nice. Do you guys have like movie nights and stuff?" he asked. Scott shrugged.

"Not enough chairs. We have a sign-up sheet for time in the room, and we can get about eight people in here, depending on what they're doing, before it gets loud enough that we're worried someone will hear," he said, before looking up as another boy about their age walked into the room. He was tall and blond and athletic, with a squarish jaw and a bitter scowl in place. He looked up as he walked in, and the scowl momentarily lifted, replaced with wary confusion.

"What's the deal?" he asked Scott, who puffed right up, throwing his arm around Stiles' shoulders.

"This is Stiles and Reacher," Scott introduced, and Jackson's eyebrows went up as he looked at Stiles. Scott gestured at the new arrival. "This is Jackson. He's alright," Scott said with a shrug. Stiles scoffed, shaking his head at his friend's assessment. Jackson snorted.

"I'm fucking honored," he replied crassly. Reacher cringed inwardly, but Stiles hadn't heard another person curse in a while, so he just grinned.

"Hell yeah, you should be," he replied cockily. Jackson blinked at his language. "Stiles. I'm 'driving' at the moment. Reacher says hi," he said, shrugging. "He's more polite than I am," he added. Jackson snorted again, but this time he was smiling. Then he saw Isaac, and the smile slipped into a frown of concerned anger at the sight of Isaac's still puffy eyes and subdued demeanor.

"What happened to Isaac?" he asked, looking at Scott, who grinned.

"Oh, man. You should have seen it," he said, his arm slipping away from Stiles' shoulders so he could gesture as he relayed the (mildly embellished) story of how Stiles had put Isaac under his protection. At the end of it, while he looked skeptical as to the integrity of Scott's story, Jackson's assessing gaze contained grains of respect and approval, and he announced his decision that he would tag along with them around the Den instead of hanging out by himself in the leisure room.

They exited the way Jackson had come in, which was through a hole that had been made in the concrete wall, and down a set of earthen stairs.

How deep do you think we are? he asked Reacher, looking up as they came to the end of the stairs and judging the ceiling to be about eight feet.

Two foot crawlspace under the house. The stairs to the pantry were about twenty feet, that's eighteen, short stairs - probably five feet - that's twenty-three. Those dirt stairs were more like seven feet, so thirty feet for the floor that we're walking on. I estimate twenty-two feet of dirt and rock and tree-root between us and open sky, Reacher said, sounding only vaguely uncomfortable. Stiles nodded, looking to his left to see a large hole with dimly lit bulbs tacked loosely into the dirt.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Escape route," Scott replied, tone disinterested. Stiles nodded.

"Sometimes the raiders use them as backdoors," Isaac offered, and Stiles nodded again.

"Cool," he replied. "Secret tunnels. Only...well, not secret for you, I guess," he added with a goofy smile. Scott smiled back, but Jackson rolled his eyes.

To their right was a line of dirt pillars leading into an open space with tables, benches and chairs, and Stiles wandered casually over, observing the pillars, which were lightly carved, although some of the carvings had been brushed away with loose dirt. In the large room was a smattering of people, some of whom had noticed Stiles and Reacher and were staring at them. Derek was one of them. Stiles tried not to look suspicious, and for all his lecherous comments to Reacher, he did his best not to look like he was feeling Derek up with his eyes. He didn't think it would go over well.

He did wave, though. Derek snorted and looked down at his food.

"This is the cafeteria," Isaac said, and Jackson snorted.

"Yeah. Man, it was a bitch getting all those tables," he said. Scott scowled.

"You didn't do anything. We were ten," he said, shaking his head. Jackson scowled back, cheeks flushed, and Stiles smiled at their brotherly banter, looking at Isaac. Scott casually nudged him with his elbow and nodded on, and Stiles followed, walking next to Isaac with his thumbs tucked into his pockets. He struggled to find a question that wasn't some iteration of 'are you okay?' because he knew that Isaac wasn't, for all that he was currently upright and walking.

Maybe we should have waited until we were alone with Talia, he said to Reacher, who flitted in the back of his mind (I don't flit), wringing his tendrils (That's not a-- what? I don't do that) in a concerned and motherly fashion (you're annoying).

No sense worrying about something we can't change, Reacher replied, and Stiles arched an eyebrow briefly as he conceded the point. He brushed his arm against Isaac's, smiling warmly at the boy when he looked up. Isaac smiled back and Stiles bent his elbow out. The smile remained, and was accompanied by a scoff, but Isaac linked his arm with Stiles as they followed Scott and Jackson.

"This is the hotel," Jackson said, gesturing. Stiles looked around curiously, and saw that the entire area had been hollowed out in a way that created rows of artificial den holes.

"Is this why they call it a Den?" he asked, and Scott beamed.

"Isn't it great?"

"How long did this take?" Stiles asked. Scott shrugged.

"Couple months?"

"Almost a year," Jackson corrected. "Slow going because of tree roots and softer soil," he added when Stiles looked at him. They all looked up and Jackson shuddered like the ceiling was going to cave in at any moment. "Don't poke the ceiling," he added sourly. Stiles scoffed, but nodded. "Anyway, there are only about thirty rooms or so. It's a double-up situation until Marcus can finish up the new section," he added.

"Marcus," Stiles said. "Hale? Derek's brother?" he asked. Jackson nodded.

"Yeah him. Mostly we call him 'Mole', though. He's been on the construction team almost the entire time we've been down here," he said. Scott rolled his eyes at Jackson's dismissive attitude, looking back at Stiles.

"He wanted to be an architect," Scott told him. Reacher made noises of approval and Stiles nodded.

"Looks like he got his wish," he said. Jackson snorted.

"Yeah, not much choice in the matter. Sixty people stuck in a hallway not built for living, and Marcus was the only one who knew anything at all about construction. And we had to be quiet about breaking down concrete and dumping all the dirt we dug out because if we were caught it was parasite city. It kind of put a damper on Marcus' enthusiasm, but only at first. Now he's thrilled to be able to put all his theories into practice," Jackson complained. Stiles responded with a tight-lipped smile.

"Well I'm glad we could help," he said. Jackson tensed a little and glanced back at him, cheeks darkening under a fine layer of dirt dust. He didn't apologize, though, just huffed.

"Whatever," he muttered. Scott snorted, smirking as they walked on. They passed four rows of 'rooms', not counting the ones that lined the dirt wall to their left, and another large hole that Isaac quietly informed him was another escape tunnel.

Beyond the rooms was another huge, open area that Reacher and Stiles could instantly see was for games, exercise and fun. There were weights and things, a volleyball net, and a basketball hoop.

"Nice," Stiles said, and the other boys all nodded.

"Yeah. Derek wanted a baseball thing, or a batting cage or something, and McCall here wanted a lacrosse thing, but they both ended up being too complicated," Jackson said.

"Even though the lacrosse field could have been used for soccer and football too," Scott muttered, rolling his eyes. Stiles snickered. Then he straightened.

"Oh, that reminds me. How did that Breathe work out for you?" he asked Scott, who went from grumpy to elated in half a second flat.

"Great!" he said with a grin. "I don't have to worry about anything now. Thanks, man," he said, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. Stiles smiled.

"Well, y'know," he said, dismissively bashful. "It was Reacher, really," he said. Scott grinned.

"Thanks, Reach," the boy said.

"We should go see Marcus," Isaac said. Everyone turned to him, and he shrugged. "Talia said Reacher would need to speak to him," he added. Stiles smiled, nudging Isaac and nodding so the boy would see it was okay he'd spoken up.

"Isaac's right," he added. Jackson nodded.

"Alright, sure. I'm on his team today, I can take you to him," he said, gesturing to the large wall that Stiles had assumed was the 'end' of the Den. Now that he looked he could see there was a hole in the wall. Beside it were a collection of masks and goggles, and the boys all grabbed a set, Scott handing Stiles goggles and a mask.

"It's pretty dusty in there. You don't want to breathe that stuff in. You'll be spitting mud for a week," he said. Stiles grimaced, settling the equipment over his face.

Through the 'door' was a long, wide corridor, and Stiles arched an eyebrow, because it was wider than most of the walkways he'd seen in the Den. Isaac watched him peer curiously down either end and nudged his arm.

"It's a work tunnel. It's how they get the dirt out," he said, pointing to the line of wheelbarrows that were stacked against the wall. Stiles nodded.

Jackson led them through a few turns, past teams of people who were carefully excavating with small tools.

"More rooms?" he asked. Jackson's snort was muffled.

"God, I hope so," he said, before they finally came to another open space. They had to step up a little, and the ground was much softer in that space, almost like it'd been raked loose. "Hey, Mole," Jackson called, and a lanky, dark haired boy jerked his head up from whatever he was looking at.

"I've told you not to call me that, Whittemore," he said, but it was absent, like a routine once established and then repeated automatically. His eyes set upon Stiles and he abandoned his work, stepping carefully across the loose dirt. "You must be Reacher," he said. And Stiles nodded.

"That's us. Actually it's Stiles right now. Do you need Reacher? Cause I can fish him out," he said. Marcus held out his hand and they shook as they spoke.

"Actually yes. It's nice to meet you and all, but if you don't mind, I need Reacher," Marcus told him. Stiles smirked behind his mask, nodding.

"Alright, one sec," he said, closing his eyes.

The floor's all yours, dude, he said, and Reacher gently reattached the tendrils that would give him complete control.

He took a breath and opened his eyes.

Thank you, he told his host.

"Hello, Marcus, nice to meet you," he said. Marcus nodded.

"The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you," he replied, before looking up at the others. "You guys can stick around if you want, but this'll probably take a while. Jackson, I thought you were taking your break. Didn't you have the leisure room scheduled?" he asked, eyebrows dipping down in confusion. Jackson arched an eyebrow.

"And miss the opportunity to watch you geek out about dirt?" he replied snarkily. Marcus glared at him, unimpressed, but didn't reply, looking back at the others. Scott clapped Reacher on the shoulder.

"We'll see you in a bit," he said, and Reacher nodded. "Lunch is in an hour, Marcus," Scott said. Marcus looked at his watch and nodded absently.

"Yeah, okay, " he said, before gesturing Reacher over to his work bench.

Wow, this guy is focused, Stiles said. Reacher nodded.

"So, James told me about the ruse you used in order to get the water tank," Marcus said, and Reacher blushed.

"It was Stiles' idea," he deflected. Marcus glanced at him.

"Well it was a good one. It got me thinking that maybe that was something we could actually do. And Cora told me about everything that the plant guy told her about the moss. Plant friendly moss. That could be extremely helpful to what I've been planning the last couple days," he said. Reacher looked down at his sketched out plans. It was a four by four grid. In one was written 'lettuce', in another was 'radishes'. Reacher looked up at him.

"You're setting up an underground garden," he said. Marcus nodded, eyes crinkling up at the corners. "That's genius. If you give me a list of plants, I'll definitely get them for you. And if you want I can do some research about nutrient rich plants," he said. Marcus chuckled.

"I think Cora's already on it, thanks to those tablets," the wolf said. Reacher nodded. "And there's something else. Come on," he said, leaving those plans and trudging out of the garden room. He led Reacher down another hall, and they passed more areas that were being hollowed out. People with hardhats and schematics. They seemed to go around a large curve before crossing through a small entry way. The room was huge - larger than the cafeteria and the commons combined, and in the center, a large hole lined with stone. It was shallow, only about eight feet down, and a bucket brigade of sorts was baling out dirt from the bottom.

"Whoa," Reacher said, wide-eyed. Everyone looked up at the echo and then went back to work. Marcus nodded.

"We were going to make another play room, or a movie theater or something, but we noticed that some of the ground was hard stone instead of dirt, so we started to dig it out - didn't want anyone tripping over it. Only, the more we dug, the more stone there was. We think it goes all the way around. We'll clean out all the dirt to be sure, but...I'm thinking bath-house," he said.

"Ingenious," Reacher said. He and Stiles were having a rapid-fire discussion that spilled out into actual words. "You'll need a water filter. Some way to heat the water. And these walls will have to be sprayed with the moss to keep them from getting too heavy or too wet. In fact, if the moss is all connected, the vapor from the heated water could hydrate the moss, which shares its water all along the root system--"

"Yo, Adrian, gimme your notebook, I need to take notes," Marcus called.

**

"How's work?" Bliss asked Spires and Whistler as they sat around the kitchen table eating turkey club sandwiches. The lunch so far had been mostly quiet and awkward, and she did what she could to liven it up. Whistler smiled at the question.

"Things have been going very well lately," she replied. Silver Singer gave an odd sort of laugh.

"Sure, if by well you mean that there haven't been any further sightings of wild humans since we doubled patrol on the Store," she said, shaking her head with a smirk.

"For a Seeker, that is going very well," said Gerard at the head of the table. Singer looked at him, the smirk dropping off her face, and he looked placidly back at her with a small smile. Singer straightened, picking up her sandwich with a small frown. "They've likely died of starvation by now," he added. Bliss blinked at him, jaw stopping mid-chew. Spires sighed quietly while Whistler looked sharply at Gerard.

"That's a harsh thing to say in front of Bliss," she told him, and he dipped his head in concession.

"I do apologize," he said.

He doesn't sound very sincere, Allison said, dread building a knot at the base of her spine. Bliss swallowed her mouthful of sandwich and took a drink of her water.

No, he really doesn't, she replied, as Spires looked up and offered Bliss a strained smile.

"And what about you? How has your work been?" he asked. She brightened.

"It's been wonderful. Mostly people come to me for advice about romance now that the world is pretty settled. It's lovely. I get to hear about all the ways that people are falling in love," she said.

That was Allison's favorite part, too. Now that they had accepted each other, Allison offered just as much advice as Bliss could come up with. It helped that they were both hopelessly romantic.

"Aw, that's sweet, kiddo," Singer said with a sweet grin. "But what about you? You got a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?" she asked, smirking at the last suggestion as though it would be scandalous. Bliss's eyebrows dipped a little in confusion before considering the question with a blush.

"I don't, yet," she said.

"Well what about this Reacher guy that hangs around?" Singer asked, making Bliss blink. "He's a real cutie. Brown eyes, nice hair. Not to mention those shoulders," she said. Her appreciation of Reacher's physique made Allison uneasy. Bliss wrinkled up her nose, her laughter nothing more than a forced exhalation.

"Reacher? Ew, no. He's like a brother to me," she said, still grinning.

"Aw, too bad. But you should bring him over anyway," Singer said. Bliss blinked again. "I mean, you've known him for years, but we haven't even met him yet," she added when the others looked at her too.

"That's because it's not necessary for Bliss to parade her friends in front of us for our approval," Spires said, his smile slight, and not kind. His eyes were hard as they looked at Singer. "She's allowed to have a life outside of us," he added, before nodding at Bliss, who smiled softly. "After all, the four of us have lives that don't concern her," he added, somewhat pointedly.

Allison's attention sharpened.

Souls don't usually use innuendo, do they? she asked. Bliss took a bite of her sandwich to buy time to think about it.

Well, it's true we don't say everything that we're thinking, but no, not usually, the Soul replied, watching Singer roll her eyes and say nothing. At the head of the table, Gerard was studying Bliss.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said. Whistler and Spires turned their heads to stare, frozen in their seats, and Bliss blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she asked. He tilted his head.

"Come now, Bliss. You're a sharp girl. And listening to the lovelorn woes of Souls who haven't gotten used to the wildly contrary nature of human hosts can't be very mentally stimulating," he said. Bliss straightened, taking a deep, stabilizing breath as Allison bristled defensively at the condescension in her grandfather's tone. "I think a change in Calling might suit you better," he said.

"Gerard," Spires started, but Bliss cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Gerard, but I'm perfectly comfortable in my chosen Calling. And pardon my bluntness, but I find navigating the emotional seas of my patients' 'lovelorn woes' to be much more mentally stimulating than a Calling that thinks it has to provide weapons to solve its problems," she said firmly, maintaining eye contact. He arched an eyebrow. She arched her own right back before turning to the Souls that inhabited Allison's parents. "I'm terribly sorry, but I've just remembered that I have an appointment in twenty minutes and I'd like to be prepared," she said with a kind smile. Whistler blinked, immediately spotting Bliss's obvious lie, but Spires' smile was soft and proud.

"Yes, of course. I'll see you to the door," he told her. She nodded, rising to her feet and forcing herself to move calmly when all she wanted to do was run away. At the door, Spires stood quietly while Bliss put her shoes on, and she sighed.

"I was rude," she said, pressing her lips together. Spires shook his head.

"No, you were resolute," he corrected her, putting his hands on her shoulders when she stood. "He had no right to suggest what he did, but you handled it well. I'm proud of you," he told her. She took a sudden breath, chest tight in the face of his words. She swallowed hard.

"I...I insulted your Calling," she insisted. He scoffed, shaking his head again.

"No, you're right about that, too. Seekers are aggressive, and we use weapons. It's not wrong that you think it's distasteful. I do too," he replied. She stared, and he shrugged. "But I do what needs to be done, and I don't take pleasure in it," he added. She nodded. They looked at each other for a moment and then, bending to the keening need from Allison, she stepped forward and hugged Spires, who folded his arms around her immediately, pressing a loving kiss to the top of her head.

Back at her apartment, Bliss ran a hot bath and tried to soak away her and Allison's troubles before climbing into her softest pajamas and curling up in her bed. She was exhausted, the way she always was when she returned from a 'family' meal. She stared at the ceiling for a while, replaying the meal in her head and picking apart every aspect of it, trying to pinpoint some moment to act as proof that Chris or Victoria were still present, still aware. It was something that no Soul on any other planet would think to do, and a brief swell of pity for the Souls on Earth who didn't know they related to her situation made her close her eyes and just breathe.

Bliss. I don't want to be alone just now, Allison said. Bliss sighed.

I could call Reacher, she offered, and Allison considered it before tentatively offering a mental image of Lydia, who was new, and shiny, and fun - and had apparently spotted Stiles' and Allison's awareness a mile away.

Bliss picked up the phone, grateful that the Seeker had boldly inputted his number into her phone without asking.

**

"I really think we should talk about this," Danny said, pulling the sheets off of his own bed to put on Jackson's while James bundled up the ones they'd soiled. James sighed.

"Yeah, probably," he agreed reluctantly. Danny nodded, and the two of them wrestled the fitted sheet onto Jackson's mattress. "Where do we start?" the older wolf asked. Danny quietly tucked in a corner and tilted his head.

"What made you choose this mattress?" he asked, looking at James.

"I wasn't exactly paying attention to the mattress," James started, flustered and defensive. Danny straightened up, turning to him.

"Hey. Stop that. I'm not accusing you of anything, there's no need to be defensive," he said. His voice was soothing, and so was the hand he put on James' arm.

"You're right," he said, shaking his head and looking at the mattress. "I don't know. I guess...it just...smelled good," he answered, shrugging and frowning at the floor. Danny tilted his head, looking at the pillow that James had been snuffling and nuzzling throughout their tryst. He glanced at James and then picked up the pillow, giving it a sniff. A low murmur of surprise rolled out of his throat at how right James was about the smell. It was tantalizing - a combination of James and Jackson's scent - and it made him want to roll around on it. He looked up after a moment of burying his nose in the pillowcase to see James' mouth quirking up into a smile. He blushed, but drew in another sniff before setting the pillow down and fluffing it.

"You're right. It smells good. Really good. Like a mix of you and Jackson," he said. James blinked.

"I thought it smelled like you," the older wolf said. Danny raised his eyebrows.

"So it smells like all three of us?"

The moment he said it, he felt something twist in his stomach, like someone had loosed a lone, molten butterfly in there, and James obviously felt it too, blush rising on his cheeks. Danny took a seat on Jackson's bed and patted the mattress next to him until James sat too.

"I'm not mad, you know," Danny said, and James looked at him. Danny shrugged. "If you were worried about that. You looked like you were worried about that," he added. James sighed, shrugging one shoulder.

"I didn't know this was a thing," he said. Danny nodded.

"Me either," he replied. "But let's think about it. Apparently, Jackson is a factor in some of our recent behavior," he said. James blinked at him. Danny shrugged. "Well, it's kind of obvious, now that we have the pillow. It's like the key piece of evidence. The smell of it turned you on and ramped you up, and the main part of that smell was Jackson," he said. James scowled, looking down at the floor.

"Yeah, I get it. I'm sorry, alright? I'll try not to--"

"Dude," Danny interrupted, laughing a little as he shook his head. James blinked at him with raised eyebrows. "Stop that. Seriously. He smells good to me too, alright? Seriously, I kind of want to roll around in his bed right now," he said. James' shoulders released some tension and he looked tentatively curious.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And if we're both cool with it, then there's nothing to apologize for, okay?" he asked. James hesitated, nodding eventually. Danny snorted. "Look at it this way, James. There are werewolves and aliens - two guys in a relationship being attracted to a third party isn't exactly very high on the 'shit to freak out about' list," he explained. James snorted, but he relaxed, and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "But yeah, I think this explains some things," Danny went on. "You know, he's the one who woke us up this morning," he said. James tilted his head, calling back that morning when he'd woken up, curled around Danny, and watched Jackson stumble his way through borrowing a book that Danny said he'd lend without actually looking in their direction. Jackson's whole face had been pink, teeth gritted.

"And we sat with him at breakfast," James added.

"And he was there when Ophelia was giving us our assignment," Danny said, nodding.

"We have sex whenever we're around Jackson?" James asked, eyebrow raised. Danny snorted.

"Well, we get horny, anyway," he replied. "And Jackson is definitely a factor. He's got nice pheromones," he added. James frowned.

"So what is this, then...are we...I mean...I'm not sure I want to compete with you for Jackson. I'll lose," James said bluntly. Danny snorted, shaking his head.

"You're dumb. I have a dumb boyfriend. This is a tragedy," he replied, still smirking as James looked affronted and confused. "Idiot, this isn't a love triangle," he added. James stared at him expectantly. "Seriously, James. Less love triangles, more threesomes," he said.

James blinked.

James stared.

James' eyes started to glaze over.

James' cheeks turned red.

"Oh," James said,

Danny grinned.

**

"Hey," said a voice.

Go back to the shower page. Tank, hoses, suction pump, Stiles said, and Reacher did, scribbling hurriedly in near unreadable shorthand before flipping forward to the notes on the bath hall/underground pool. The ground around the pool would have to be dusted with the moss too, so that the splashed up water wouldn't make it too muddy or slick.

"Hey," said the voice again.

"Do you think you can get more of this?" Marcus asked him, holding up the moss. Reacher looked up at him.

"No problem. How much?"

"Guys, seriously."

"If you get four more canisters, I think we can spread it throughout the Den. Maybe even provide a sort of mossy carpeting for the bedrooms," Marcus said. Reacher nodded.

"I'll mark it down," Reacher said, flipping through the loose pile of papers in front of him to scribble down more notes.

His mask was hanging down around his neck, and his goggles were on his forehead, out of the way. They'd kept rubbing against his nose and making his cheeks sweat, and the moisture buildup had made it difficult to see.

Behind him there was a subtle crinkle of plastic followed by an unnecessarily loud crunch, and both Reacher and Marcus straightened before turning to look at Cora, who was staring back at them with a placid, unimpressed look on her face. Reacher's eyes zeroed in on the chips and his stomach chose that moment to give an audible gurgle. Cora's jaw froze for a moment before she smirked.

"It's lunchtime, guys. It's been lunchtime for half an hour," she told them, and Marcus groaned, looking at his watch.

Reacher looked from the bag back to Cora, who arched an eyebrow. He flushed.

"Hey, Cora. How've you been?" he said sheepishly. She snorted.

"Dirty. Dusty. Uncomfortable. Hug me anyway, fool," she scoffed, and he grinned, moving forward and letting her pull him into a full-bodied hug. She ruffled his hair and they both made faces at the dust that drifted out of it."Dude, you've been here an hour," she said, and he shrugged. "C'mon. Scott and Isaac have eaten already, but some of the others are still there," she told him. He nodded.

"Scott and Isaac aren't there?" he asked as they walked. She smirked.

"Nope. They grabbed Erica and Derek and they're grabbing Isaac's stuff from his room," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "Heard what you did. That was cool, man. Super cool," she said. Reacher's mouth twisted.

"I...Stiles was very angry when we realized what was going on," he said quietly. Cora watched him for a moment.

"What about you?" she asked. He blinked at her. She shrugged. "Were you angry?"

Reacher swallowed and looked at his hands.

"Angrier than I'd like to think about," he confessed. She shook her head.

"Yeah, well… I wouldn't worry your pretty little head about it too much. Michael has that effect on everyone," she told him. "So there's a place to scrub up before we eat. I mean, 'dirt don't hurt' and all, but still…"

They led him back to the room with the shower stalls and showed him how they used small tubs full of water to scrub their hands and arms and faces before eating, and then they went to get some food into their empty and complaining stomachs.

Everyone stopped and looked up when they walked in, and almost immediately began talking again in hushed whispers with darted glances in Reacher's direction. Reacher blushed, turning his attention to the food available.

It looked like salad was the fare of the day, and he assembled a small one (consulting Marcus on portion sizes), topping it with an avocado dressing.

"Hey, listen," Marcus said as Reacher stood at the end of the 'line'. "Cora and I have to go fill in our parents on our construction progress. Will you be okay here on your own?" he asked. Reacher blinked, turning to see if he recognized anyone. James was sitting at an already full table, but movement in his periphery turned his head in time to see someone leaving a table that now consisted only of Jackson. Reacher waved his arm until Jackson looked at him.

The older boy looked at him, looked at his tray, looked at his hopeful expression, and rolled his eyes, but he nodded, and Reacher smiled.

"Yeah, I'll be alright," he told Marcus. Cora patted him on the back and the two of them walked away as Reacher made his way over to Jackson's table. "Thanks," he said as he sat down. Jackson shrugged dismissively.

"Whatever man," Jackson said, turning his attention to another table. Reacher followed his gaze and found himself watching James and an attractive, tanned boy with a vaguely familiar smile laugh and chat with everyone at their crowded table. They were just sitting there - it wasn't like they were in each other's laps or anything - but they gave off such a couple's vibe that Reacher looked at Jackson, who was staring sourly at the two of them. He looked again, closer, and determined that he was actually only staring at the boy sitting next to James.

"Who's he?" Reacher asked. Jackson looked startled, turning to stare at him.

"What?" he said, shaking his head before looking down at his tray and poking at his salad.

"The boy. Sitting by James," Reacher clarified. Jackson scowled a little before his face leveled out and he shook his head.

"That's Danny. He's my best friend," he said. Reacher nodded.

Yeeeeeaaaah. That's not how you look at a best friend, Stiles said. Reacher tilted his head.

What do you mean?

Well look, Stiles said, and Reacher glanced at Jackson to find that the boy was once again staring at the distant table. That's not 'I miss my buddy, I wish he'd come talk to me', that's 'I wish I could tell him how I feel', Stiles explained, and Reacher was forced to agree. He spent a moment of quiet contemplation munching on his salad and then looked at Jackson again.

"Do you love him?" he asked, quietly. Jackson froze, swinging his head around to stare at Reacher.

"What."

Wow, he must take lessons from Derek, Stiles muttered. Reacher barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at Stiles' sass.

"Do you? I won't tell, promise. I'm just...curious," he said. Jackson swallowed hard and worked his jaw for a long, quiet moment before turning back to his salad.

"It doesn't matter," he said finally.

That's a yes, Stiles translated. There was a certain glee that entered his voice whenever he heard about other peoples' lives - especially their love lives. Reacher suspected his need to meddle in other peoples' affairs was compensation for his isolation, but he still did his best to carry out Stiles' plans. He listened to Stiles' suggestions, looking over at the other table and noting curiously how James and Danny's eyes flicked occasionally over to their table (no…over to Jackson) and then looked back at the blond human.

"Maybe you should kiss someone," he said.

Jackson choked on his water.

"What," he croaked, and Reacher winced, reaching over to rub awkwardly at Jackson's back until he could clear his throat.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, backing off when Jackson shouldered his arm away. "I just...you know. That's how humans do. To make each other jealous. Isn't that how it goes?" he asked. Jackson stared at him for a few seconds and then rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Despite all that, though, the corner of his mouth ticked up.

"You volunteering?" he asked. Reacher wrinkled his nose.

"I'm...flattered, but I'm already interested in someone else. Plus - no offense - but you're not really my type," he said. Jackson smirked.

"Reacher, please," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "I'm everyone's type," he said, capping his self-assured statement with a wink. Reacher chuckled, glad to have salvaged the situation, and they both looked up when two shadows crossed their table.

"Hey guys, mind if we join you?" asked the boy that Jackson had been staring at - Danny. Jackson blinked up at them.

"Uh, no," he answered, blinking some more when Danny smiled brightly and set his tray down immediately to Jackson's left. James moved to his right, setting his tray down in the tiny space between Jackson and Reacher.

"Hey, Reach, you mind moving down a little?" James asked with a sharp grin. Reacher looked up at him, glanced at where Danny was stealing one of the olives from Jackson's salad, and shook his head.

"Not at all," he replied, sliding down the bench so that James could bracket Jackson's right side.

"Danny, don't steal the boy's olives. Here," James said, nudging a couple olives from his own tray onto Jackson's while the blonde boy stared at him. James shrugged. "I don't like 'em. I only get 'em cause Danny steals 'em," he said.

Reacher watched them throughout lunch, with Stiles in his brain offering commentary on the way James and Danny had so effortlessly staked their claim on the lone human. He patted himself on the back for his accomplishment and Reacher held back a snort.

'Your' accomplishment?

Dude. Werewolf hearing. There is no way - in this enclosed space, even with the sound dampening properties of dirt - that James didn't hear us suggest that Jackson kiss someone else to make Danny jealous. And now, here they are, Stiles said, indicating where Danny and James were raptly listening to Jackson talking about his shift on the construction crew.

You couldn't have known they'd react that way, Reacher admonished, and Stiles conceded the point.

You're right. It was just a hunch. But I'm glad it turned out okay, the boy replied.

**

Scott and Derek carried Isaac's trunk out into the dirt corridor outside of Michael's room while Erica hovered at Isaac's side.

"You want to check your stuff?" Erica asked him, and he shook his head mutely, even as he wondered which of his possessions his father had stolen in order to punish him for his act of disrespect. She curbed her sigh but nodded. "Come on. You and Scott take your trunk to Scott's room while Derek and I get your bed," she told him. He nodded, leaving quietly with Scott while the boy chattered cheerfully about how awesome it was that they were going to be roommates.

Michael watched, arms folded, sneer waxing and waning, as the two of them carried out the box springs and the mattress together, blankets thrown over Derek's shoulder, pillow firmly wedged between Erica's ample bosom and the mattress. As they maneuvered a turn, Peter sauntered casually around another corner, observing the whole proceeding with a subtly smug smile. Michael scowled at him.

"You must be so pleased with yourself, breaking up a family like this, using that parasite as your pawn," he sneered. Peter considered the accusation and tilted his head, lips pursed, before shrugging.

"I'm not displeased," he offered, before leveling a knowing, blue-eyed stare at the former gravedigger. "And it's not as if you and Isaac were a terribly cohesive family unit," he added coolly. Michael scowled harder.

"You stole my son from me," he hissed. Peter clucked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Michael," he said, stepping forward into the man's space. "You practically gift-wrapped him for me," he said, before turning and walking away.

Chapter Text

Okay. Tried to make this as big as possible so you could see all the detail, because wow, it turned out tiny.

sheesh.

Anyway, I made up a key, so here we go.

* werewolf panic room
**alternative exits with lots of turnarounds and dead ends in case of emergency discovery by aliens
***food/supplies storage
red O - make out spots ;)

1 - Michael's room
2 - Scott's room
3 - Jackson and Danny's room
4 - James' room
5 - Peter and Ophelia's room
6 - Corbin and Elfrick's room
7 - Ben and Marcus's room
8 - Cora and Erica's room
9 - Talia and David's room
10 - Derek's room
11 - laundry room/shower stalls/clothes depot
12 - pantry/wine cellar/secret entrance
13 - leisure room
14 - makeshift offices, meeting rooms, and classrooms
15 - cafeteria (there are tables in there, but you can't really see them, which sucks because I spent a lot of time on that. How much time? Too much time, apparently)
16 - the commons area, with the basketball hoop and the weights and the volleyball/badmitten court
17 - Bath House (Under construction)

There will probably be updates of this picture.

[post preview - o.o' you're gonna have to scroll to the side, my lovelies. Sorry]

Chapter Text

Reacher and Stiles finished their lunch and left Jackson, James, and Danny to their (in Jackson's case, somewhat confused) flirtations, getting up to go look for Scott. He tried the leisure room first, and was on his way towards the commons when a low growl behind him made him stop. It sent a shiver up his spine and he turned slowly to see two small wolves standing twenty feet away.

Don't run, Stiles said, as his legs tensed just for that purpose. We don't know our way around and anyway they're probably faster, he added. Reacher swallowed hard.

Do you think the Hales know? Maybe they just wandered in through one of the tunnels, Reacher replied. Stiles had no answers for him, but it didn't matter, because the wolves lowered their heads with teeth baring snarls and then charged him. He let out a startled cry as he staggered back a few short steps before tripping, and then they were there. One of them was standing on his chest , muzzle at his throat, which vibrated from the force of its low growl. The other was to his left, growling directly into his ear. Reacher's heart was on the verge of arrhythmia and he was trying not to cry or wet himself when a voice cut over the growls.

"Hey, leave him alone! What's the matter with you two?" it demanded roughly. The wolves immediately stopped growling, straightening up. The one on his chest sat down, bottom thumping down onto Reacher's stomach and making him grunt. He stared at them in confusion, and then flinched a little at the shadow that crossed him from over his head. It was a boy, about his age with dark skin and familiar blue eyes. He looked down at Reacher and shook his head. "You can push him off. They're not gonna hurt you," he said. Reacher gaped.

"They were...they were going to kill me!" he countered. The boy snorted, casually pushing the wolf off of Reacher with his foot. It went with a lolling tongue, flopping into its brother, who also fell down. The two immediately began wrestling and Reacher scrambled a little bit away, staring.

"Nah. You just don't know how to 'play'," the boy said, holding out his hand. Reacher took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "I'm Ben," he said, shaking Reacher's hand where he was still holding onto it. Reacher nodded, remembering his file. Ben nodded to the wolves, who had stood up and were looking at him. "That's Corbin and Elfrick," he added to the Soul before looking at the wolves. "Mom's gonna beat your asses; you know you're not supposed to play with people who don't know how," he told them. Their ears drooped and they took off down the hall like someone had tied firecrackers to their tails. Reacher blinked, turning a face of abject confusion to Ben, who scoffed. "It's a dubious honor, but it means they like you. My brothers like their wolf skins better than their human ones," he said. Reacher's eyebrows shot up.

"Brothers."

"Yeah," Ben said, rolling his eyes with a slight smile. "Anyway, thanks for the tablet. I'd been bored lately, and your math is pretty challenging," he said. Reacher nodded.

"Sure. No problem," he said automatically, still a little unsettled by what had just happened. Ben started to leave, stopping in his tracks after two steps and tilting his head.

"Oh," he said, turning back to Reacher. "Apparently Aunt Talia wants to talk to you," he said. Reacher blinked, and then nodded, falling into step next to Ben. He was still a little shaken by his encounter with what apparently were not two wild wolves, but young werewolves.

"Can you all do that?" he asked, making vague (and probably offensive) fang and claw gestures. Ben just snorted.

"Nah. I mean. Aunt Talia can. And Laura--" he cut off and bit his lip, looking vaguely surprised by his mention of his dead cousin. He glanced at Reacher and quickly cleared his throat. "Cora used to, when she was a kid. Dad does a halfway thing - looks more like the Lon Chaney wolfman, though," he said. Reacher nodded.

Ben led him out to one of the makeshift offices that had once been (in Scott's words) werewolf panic rooms, where Talia and Peter were waiting with a few other people. Derek was there too, and Reacher did his best to ignore Stiles' low whistle as he turned to Talia. He tilted his head to one side, exposing his throat the way Scott had indicated earlier to Stiles. Talia looked pleased.

"Marcus has filled me in on all the adjustments you want to make for the Den. It's quite impressive," she said. Reacher straightened self-consciously, plucking uselessly at his dirt-splotched shirt.

"I..." he faltered, unsure of what to do with her praise. "I just want to help, Alpha," he said. Talia dipped her head in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on her features. Behind her, the statuesque woman standing next to Peter dipped her head towards him and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'adorable'. Reacher's ears turned red.

"Yes, I know. And we all appreciate the help, believe me," Talia told him. "I especially appreciate your assistance with Isaac's situation," she added. Reacher hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment.

"If you don't mind my asking, how long has Isaac's situation been...a situation?" he asked. Talia's sigh was weary.

"We suspect it's been a situation since before the invasion, but we've only been absolutely sure of it for about a year," she told him plainly. He blinked. Stared. Gaped as he contemplated the horrors that Isaac had suffered in a place that was meant to be a safe haven for humans in a world run by aliens.

For a year.

Even Stiles didn't have words.

"I..." He shook his head. "I don't know how to respond to that," he said honestly.

"Anger is common," Peter replied, his expression neutral as he observed Reacher. Talia shot a peeved look at her brother before turning back to Reacher.

"I would have put a stop to it when we found out, but it was...complicated," she told him. He stared at her, only dropping his eyes from hers after a moment when it occurred to him that he could be misinterpreted as challenging her. He was quiet for a long time, eyes moving side to side as he conversed with his host. Finally he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"We don't understand," he said. "Meaning no disrespect, Alpha, but a child's life was in serious jeopardy, what was so complicated about that?" he asked. Peter barked out a laugh and then sidled up to his sister.

"I really do like him, sister. Please, can we keep him? Please?" he begged, grinning. Talia huffed, elbowing him in the side gently.

"At the time, it was to avoid being seen as a tyrant. Even though this is technically still my land, I didn't want the extra hassle of the people who live here wondering if I was going to impose laws on them at any given time, or punishments if those laws were broken. There was a committee that we formed almost immediately during the invasion, and it consisted of myself, my husband, and adults from the human community, one of whom was Michael. We didn't - we still don't - have any procedures for what to do if the decision we're making has to do with the reprimanding of someone who's already on the council," she said. "I felt it would be better to wait until a non-wolf--" here she threw a look at her brother, who returned it with an expression that was completely unapologetic. "--came to me and complained about Michael's behavior towards Isaac. Honestly, I thought it would have happened much sooner," she told him, shaking her head. Stiles muttered about case files where the abuse victims actually shielded their abusers, or how abusers were particularly adept at fooling everyone, including sometimes their victim. Reacher shivered.

"I understand," he said, and he knew that everyone heard the tic in his heartbeat that made those words a lie. Talia's smile was tight but accepting and she nodded.

"Right. Now, Derek told me that your Seeker friend is also harboring a group of free humans, and that they're seeking some sort of an alliance with us?" she said, moving the meeting along. Reacher nodded, more confident in the new course of conversation.

"Yes. She said it was seven humans, another Soul and two Alpha werewolves," he reported. Talia blinked.

"Two Alphas?" she asked. He nodded, brow creasing with concern.

"Is that unusual?" he asked. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, tapping her fingers against one arm.

"It's not common," she replied.

"I'm more interested in the Soul, personally," said the woman standing next to Peter.

Must be his wife, Ophelia, Stiles told him. Reacher glanced at Ben and nodded thoughtfully.

"We didn't talk much about the other group. Lydia was asking about you, but I didn't think you'd want me telling random Souls - much less a Seeker - that you existed," he answered. Talia tilted her head, eyebrow perked in concession of the point.

"See if you can find out more about them before we make a decision. Names if possible, I want to know more before I just open my doors to them," she said. He nodded. "And since we won't be able to discuss that particular topic for a while, let's move on to your suggested changes," she said, picking up a loose pile of papers that Stiles recognized as the ones he'd been scribbling on.

They talked for hours about everything that was planned. The showers, the clothes washing station, the garden and the adjacent store rooms, the plans for the bath house, the moss distribution system that Marcus and Reacher had come up with. It was a two step process, where one person would puncture the walls and rake the floors of the Den and someone would go along behind with a pressure-sprayer full of moss seed (and a safety mask).

They talked until Reacher's phone beeped, indicating he had a message. When he looked at it, he blinked, taken aback, because it was his dad wondering if he was coming home for dinner.

"Oh my...I have to go. What time is--I have to go," he stammered, blushing. He groaned inwardly, because he hadn't left himself any time to finish reading the essays. The others looked vaguely amused, except for Derek, who was clenching his jaw and looking at the floor over his folded arms. Reacher ignored his twinge of frustration, turning to the others as they filed past him, touching his arms, his shoulders. Talia's husband David ruffled his hair, as did Peter, and Ophelia cupped her hand over the nape of his neck, giving it a light squeeze. Derek's shoulder brushed his on the way out. It might have been an accident, except for the way his arm dragged along Reacher's. Reacher watched him go, but he didn't look back. At last, Talia looked him over and nodded.

"You want to be Pack?" she asked him. He blinked at her, mouth gaping before he snapped it shut and nodded. "Because I heard what you told Cora and Peter after the first time you called me Alpha," she told him. He winced.

"But they explained it. And I still call you Alpha," he countered. She smirked, nodding.

"Alright then," she said, walking over. He bit his lip when she came within arm's reach, eyes averted respectfully, tilting his head submissively. She huffed, pulling him into a hug and rubbing her cheek against his jaw. It was a brief moment, but Reacher and Stiles were still stunned. They were being hugged by Derek's mom.

The word 'mom' hung on his brain like it'd been snagged on a nail, and he had to force himself to breathe normally as he hugged her back. It was like with James, only ten times worse, and Stiles was being very quiet and that frightened him more than anything.

She pulled away and cupped his cheek for a moment, smiling, before returning to the table to continue assessing their work.

"I believe Derek is waiting to walk you to your car," she told him, and he started, putting a hand to his chest over his rapidly pounding heart. He nodded without speaking and turned, his steps surprisingly steady for the emotional turmoil he was suffering.

Derek was indeed waiting for him just outside the door, ever present scowl flickering at the overwhelmed expression on Reacher's face. Reacher tried to calm himself, smoothing his dirty shirt and scratching at the back of his neck as he headed towards the Den exit. Only, apparently he turned the wrong way because Derek reached out and grabbed his arm, turning him around and then walking very closely next to him without saying a word.

**
Derek had ground his teeth all throughout the meeting with Reacher, desperate not to let himself relax into the scent of Stiles and Pack and PackStiles. It didn't help that he was so enthusiastic about helping out in the Den, or so protective of Isaac. When Peter had amusedly begged Talia to let them keep Reacher (like some kind of stray cat), Derek had barely been able to suppress his whine of agreement. And Derek could see the excitement - smell it, practically - when an idea would come to Reacher in mid-sentence. His mouth would open and words would just fall out of it, sometimes jumbling in their rush to be heard.

Derek ignored the way his family would occasionally glance at him. He wasn't usually this 'shy' about offering up his opinions or reservations. Although truthfully, he had no reservations or objections to any of what Reacher was suggesting. Nothing he was suggesting was more radical than anything they'd already done, but it would still drastically improve their standard of living.

Or maybe it was the way Derek fluctuated between smelling like he wanted to punch something and smelling like he wanted to tear all of Reacher's clothes off.

Yeah, that was probably the reason.

Damn it.

When Reacher's phone went off and reminded him of the time, Derek was relieved and disappointed that he would be leaving. And then Cora nudged him on the way out, her elbow brushing against Reacher's so casually it was as if they hadn't only met six days ago. Derek stared, and then gritted his teeth when Ben squeezed Reacher's shoulder on the way out. He glanced at his mom, but she seemed pleased with what was happening, and his stomach flipped a little. Pack - they were scenting him so he'd be Pack.

He'd already known that Reacher was going to be around the Den a lot more now that he'd been given an official welcome, but there was 'make yourself at home' and then there was Pack. He moved forward at his mother's questioning glance. Instinct wanted to wrap Reacher up in a hug and bury his face in that pale, mole-dotted neck, but the last time he'd listened to instinct…

He let his arm brush against Reacher's arm, straightening his fingers to prolong the contact, and didn't look back as he left the room. He stopped right outside, one hand on the concrete wall, and took a breath, sighing slowly.

"I'll walk him out," he said quietly, looking at the floor as he turned and leaned his back against the wall, folding his arms. His thumb rubbed unconsciously at a spot on his bicep where he and Reacher had touched. He listened to Talia welcome Reacher into the Pack, and the way Reacher's heart became suddenly irregular - surging and subsiding - like his own body didn't know whether he was happy or sad. He frowned, and then looked at the Soul as he staggered out of the room. He looked like someone had just told him he had cancer. Lost. Confused. He turned and started walking, but in the wrong direction, and Derek stopped him, forehead furrowing in concern. He prodded Reacher in the right direction and then stayed close by as they walked, confused by the boy's sudden emotional reaction. He'd wanted to be Pack, didn't he? He'd even said so. Why did he look like his life was over?

They were going up the pantry stairs when Reacher staggered, only avoiding a trip back down because of Derek's reflexes, and the wolf growled in frustration, holding on to Reacher's arms as the Soul steadied himself on the step below Derek.

(Who didn't notice the way his thumbs swept slowly back and forth.)

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded. Reacher swallowed hard and took a breath, looking up at Derek, who froze at the sight of tears bunching up in Reacher's long eyelashes.

"It's..." he stopped, swallowing again and clearing his throat. "It's been a long time since a mom hugged us," he said, dropping his eyes to look at Derek's shirt.
Derek blinked as his stomach sank, mouth drying up. He stood there for a long moment, and then didn't resist when Reacher sagged forward and buried his face in the wolf's chest. He stared down at the distraught alien with confused, furrowed eyebrows and a mouth parted for questions that never came. His hands weren't as unsure as he was about this development, sweeping up and down Reacher's back as the boy breathed shakily into the dirty t-shirt he was mashing his face against. Derek took a breath to steady himself and twitched his nose before looking down at Reacher's hair, where he could smell his father and uncle's hands. He lowered his head, rubbing his cheeks against the shaggy, slightly dusty hair, overlaying the other scents with his own. He didn't question this action. His hands moved over Reacher until he had covered up almost everywhere that his family had touched the Soul. The longer Reacher stayed huddled against his chest, the looser his shoulders became and the more relaxed he became.

He was cupping the back of Reacher's neck, a rumble of contentment beginning in his chest, when Reacher sniffled and started to pull back. The scent of wet salt drifted between them and the tension that had eased out of Derek's shoulders in the last couple of minutes snapped back when Reacher looked up at him. the early evening light that filtered down the pantry stairwell from the kitchen windows reflected off of Reacher's eyes, throwing rainbow colored shards of light onto the walls around them and Derek's chest twinged inwards as he stepped aside and jerked his thumb up the stairwell, heart racing suddenly.

"The Seeker's waiting," he said gruffly, ignoring the bewildered frustration that Reacher tried to hide as he started back up the stairs. Reacher didn't trip again. His over-awed moment was over. Derek walked along behind him until they got to the Jeep, and then Reacher turned to face him. Frustration still tightened the corners of his mouth, making his eyes sharper than usual. He smelled like frustration, and he smelled a little like Derek, and the wolf was having a hard time just standing there staring at that spot on Reacher's jaw where his mother had touched him. Reacher stared at him for a moment and then sighed, turning to leave. Derek clenched his hands into fists to keep himself still and watched Reacher back up and then drive away.

**

Jackson was frustrated.

Danny and James wouldn't leave him alone.

Not that he minded that Danny wanted to hang out with him, but Christ, James just would not go away. Jackson had suggested a game of cribbage back at his and Danny's room, and James had just smiled and said, 'I'll play the winner'.

And it's not like Jackson was an idiot. He figured out that James probably heard what he and Reacher were talking about. That must have been why he was acting the way he was, like he thought Jackson might jump Danny the second the two of them were out of his sight. Jackson clenched his jaw at the thought that James didn't trust Danny enough to leave him alone with his best friend - or that he didn't think Jackson could control himself. Fuck him, seriously.

(The thought that Danny was also a werewolf and could have heard him talking made him uncomfortable and confused, but he shrugged it off, rationalizing that Danny may not have been paying attention.)

And then there was the way they jostled his shoulders and generally invaded his personal space - and he was used to Danny being there, best friend since birth and all - but every time James nudged him or passed a hand over his back or pressed against Jackson's side when he was reaching around to pester Danny, Jackson's skin prickled and he fought the urge to shrug the werewolf off. It wouldn't work anyway.

Back in the room he shared with Danny, Jackson immediately snorted away the smell of pine, rolling his eyes at how obvious it was that they'd had sex in there. Danny grabbed the cribbage board out of his footlocker and a deck of cards that weren't too messed up by the dirt they lived in, and settled at the head of Jackson's bed (which he was silently grateful for. He did not want to have to worry if he was sitting in the wet spot, thank you very much). Jackson got comfortable sitting cross-legged across from him and then hunched his shoulders, looking at James.

Who was sitting next to him.

James Hale was sitting next to Jackson, one leg curled casually under him, propped up on one arm so that he was just close enough to Jackson that they were sharing body heat. It was the closest that they'd ever gotten to each other when they weren't on raids. He looked comfortable, totally unbothered by the fact that he was two inches from cuddling with Jackson, and it made Jackson's skin crawl.

"Personal space, Hale," he said, gruffly, eyes narrowed. James blinked, eyebrows raising as he looked at Jackson's mulish face, and then he smiled sheepishly, backing up.

"Right. Sorry. Oh, actually - I'm gonna go get some water. You guys want some?" he asked, glancing between Danny and Jackson with raised eyebrows. Danny grinned.

"Yeah. Grab some for Jackson, too," he said. James nodded, patting Jackson on the shoulder before getting up and leaving. Jackson shook his head.

"Your boyfriend's a creeper," he told his friend, trying not to let his bitterness seep into his tone. Danny snorted at him, idly shuffling the cards.

"He's trying to be nice to you," he replied, raising a judgmental eyebrow. Jackson scoffed.

"Why?" he asked, bewildered. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Because you're important to me, and because he likes you, dumbass," he replied. Jackson laughed.

"He- yeah. He likes me. Okay, Danny. Sure," scoffed the blond, shaking his head. Danny stopped shuffling, holding the cards loosely in one hand as he studied his best friend curiously.

"Why wouldn't James like you?" he asked. The question sent a shock of cold through Jackson, who could recall the exact moment he looked at Danny and fell in love, as well as the crushing disappointment when he could see the same thing happen between James and Danny. He looked at his friend but didn't say anything. He couldn't think of anything to say. It didn't seem to matter, though, because Danny blushed, ducking his head. "Oh, that," he said. Jackson's cheeks burned, and he looked away. He'd been told that werewolves had better senses, especially smell, so he'd always suspected that his friend could smell how he felt, but it was one thing to suspect and another to be told that Danny had known all along. "I wouldn't worry about it," Danny said lightly. Jackson rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Sure. What's to worry about, right?" he asked. There was no hiding the bitterness this time, and Jackson expected Danny to become uncomfortable and change the subject, but his friend just sighed.

"You know, I kind of get why this took so long, now," Danny said, mostly to himself, and Jackson blinked, lifting his head to question the other boy. Who had set the cards aside and leaned forward, braced with his hands on Jackson's knees. The blond jerked a little at the contact, and the way it sent little rushes of heat up his spine, and then went totally still, eyebrows frozen up near his hairline because Danny was pressing his lips, soft and sweet, against Jackson's mouth, which was unresponsive in his shock. Danny pulled back a little with another sigh, sweeter this time, and licked his lips. "Apparently I have a thing for boys who are incredibly dense," he said conversationally, before kissing Jackson again.

The human hesitated briefly, thinking - paradoxically - of James' apparently founded paranoia that Jackson and Danny were going to start making out the moment he left, but Jackson was fairly self aware. Danny had always been a better person than Jackson ever would be, and if he was fine with kissing Jackson behind James' back, then Jackson never stood a chance.

The hand that a better person would have used to push Danny back so they could explain why what they were doing was a very bad thing ended up buried in Danny's hair, drawing a sigh of appreciation from the boy. Danny deepened their kiss as he advanced, gently pressing Jackson back into the mattress and covering him like a blanket. Jackson's heart was thudding heavily, happily in his chest, and now he could feel Danny's thudding back like some sort of organic duet.

"Oh, good," said James from the doorway, kicking off his shoes. Panic shot cold through Jackson's chest and killed the warmth that had been growing there as he scrambled off the bed. James stood there, three small water bottles in hand, looking at Jackson with mild surprise in his eyes, and Jackson suddenly hated both of them. Danny didn't look surprised at all at James' sudden return, remaining lounged on the bed, watching Jackson. Had they planned this? Were they making fun of him? A slew of things he could have said stayed locked in Jackson's throat - all of them defensive and ugly and defamatory to Danny. Saying them would damage their friendship, and even though it looked like Danny had set him up, their friendship was something Jackson never wanted to lose."He looks angry," James said with a frown, shaking his head at Danny. "Why does he look angry?"

"I tried to do the slow explanation, but it was depressing, so I thought I'd be direct. You're both dumb. It's kind of tragic," Danny replied. James looked exasperated, snorting at the 'dumb' comment before studying a bristling Jackson for a moment and sighing.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," James said. He passed the water bottles to Danny, who sat up and transferred them to the small, handmade table they shared with an excited smile. Then he turned back to Jackson, who had remained silent. "Direct approach it is," he said. Jackson flinched when James's hand darted towards his face, blinked when the hand clasped the back of his neck, hauling him forward, and then his whole body jolted in shock, sucking a sharp breath in through his nose, when James kissed him.

It was nothing like Danny's kisses, which were soft and sweet and slow, letting Jackson adapt to the fact that Danny was kissing him at all. James' kisses were hot, hard, deep, fast, and the contrast left Jackson's head spinning. He lifted his hands to push James away, and got confused when his fingers ended up curled in James' shirt instead. James only pulled back from the kiss when Jackson started having trouble breathing, and he stood there, one hand still clasped to the back of Jackson's neck, licking his lips as he stared at Jackson's flushed face and wide, startled and confused blue eyes.

"Wow," James said, the lowered timbre of his voice making Jackson shiver unexpectedly. "Yeah. Yes. Okay. We are definitely going to have to push these beds together or someone's going to fall off when we sleep," he said, looking at Danny, who nodded and rose from the bed. Jackson just stood there, staring at the both of them, eyebrows twitching downward in confusion. James huffed, squeezing the back of his neck gently before herding him over to the bed where Danny'd been lounging. Jackson sat down, still utterly lost, and watched as Danny and James quickly and efficiently moved everything around so they could lift up Danny's bed like it was nothing and set it down directly next to Jackson's, making one large bed out of two mattresses. They moved the footlockers to the side of the bed, and then gave everything a satisfied once over before nodding to each other and climbing back on the bed.

"What's going on?" Jackson asked, swallowing hard and clearing his throat when his voice creaked. Danny and James settled themselves on either side of him, almost touching. Danny gave him an apologetic, sheepish smile.

"So it turns out James and I were kind of blinded by old society's 'two to a couple' rule and we totally missed the part where we're both insanely attracted to you," Danny said bluntly. Jackson blinked. Anger rushed up and was overthrown by confusion and Jackson shook his head.

"You started dating because you're hot for me?" he asked, scowling. Danny snorted.

"No. We love each other," James said, making Jackson jump when his voice came from very near Jackson's shoulder. "It just took us a while to realize we wanted you too," he added, dragging his nose against Jackson's skin. "You smell really good," he mumbled, only somewhat off-topic. Jackson gaped.

"It's like this, Jay," Danny said, putting his hand on Jackson's face, making him pay attention. "You're my best friend and I've loved you forever. It just took me this long to realize the love thing wasn't exactly platonic. And James does like you," he said, raising his eyebrows. James tensed where he was nuzzling Jackson's neck, lifting his head.

"You thought I didn't like you?" he asked. There was a hint of disbelief and a thread of guilt in his tone that made Jackson turn his head, staring at the dark haired wolf. James blinked at whatever expression was on Jackson's face and a low, canine whine escaped his throat before James kissed him again. Strong arms wrapped around his chest and pressed him down into the mattress.

Jackson clutched at James' shirt with one hand while the other flailed for Danny (for help. Jesus Christ he was going to suffocate from the way James kissed him). Danny caught his hand, but instead of pulling him free like a good friend should, he buried his face in Jackson's palm and nibbled gently at his wrist. His mouth parted in shock and James swallowed his whimper while licking the inside of his mouth.

"I thought you didn't like me," James told him breathily when they finally parted, dropping kisses on Jackson's face like they did this all the time - nuzzling him. Scenting him. Jackson tried to scowl. It came out confused.

"I don't," he squeaked, but his heart jumped, he knew it did, and a huge grin exploded onto both of the werewolves' faces. Jackson's scowl was more genuine the second time.

"Can I touch you?" James asked, eyes wide and pleading. Jackson heard the twilight zone music in his head and he stared at James, who raised his eyebrows, one hand rubbing small circles on Jackson's stomach over his shirt. "Please?"

"What? I don't…" Jackson looked at Danny, who was sitting comfortably beside them, still holding Jackson's hand, eyes also pleading.

"Please?" Danny asked, and Jackson stared wordlessly for a moment before rolling his eyes, a blush staining his cheeks.

"Jesus Christ, fine," he said, like his heart wasn't pounding in his chest at the way their faces lit up. They grinned in the face of his supposed exasperation and pulled off their shirts before reaching for him.

**

The light was still on in Reacher's room when Derek arrived a few hours later, bearing a new shopping list that his parents, aunt, and uncle had put together. The window was cracked to let in the cooling night air, and listening hard, Derek could hear a steady heartbeat and slow, deep breathing. He jumped lightly onto the low roof, checking to make sure that no one was watching the house before sliding the window up and slipping noiselessly inside. He glanced towards the bed, but it was empty, and he blinked, turning his head towards the computer desk.

Reacher was asleep in his chair, head nestled in the pillow of his folded arms in front of a computer screen full of word documents. Derek stared at him for a moment and shook his head. He pulled the list out of his pocket and set it on the bedside table, turning back to the window. He took a small step towards it before looking back at the sleeping Soul. He looked at the door, which was closed, and extended his senses past the steady, lulling beat of Reacher's heart. The Seeker was asleep downstairs on the couch, snoring lightly while a baseball game played on television. Derek looked back at Reacher. He scratched the back of his neck and sighed quietly, flipping back the corner of the bed's comforter.

Quietly and carefully, he approached the Soul, setting his hand on Reacher's shoulder, freezing at the deep breath that Reacher took before sinking deeper into sleep with a contented sound. Derek stared for a moment before scowling and shaking his head. Carefully he managed to sit Reacher up in his chair so that he could lift the boy up and carry him the short distance to his bed, gritting his teeth and withstanding the sleepy nuzzle of his collarbone and the soft puff of breath against his skin.

Once Reacher was settled, Derek turned back to the computer, to see if he could figure out how to shut it down. It was open on several documents, and he hesitated when his eyes crossed over a familiar name. His eyes scanned the current page and he blinked when he realized he was reading someone's essay. His hand hesitated where it was directing the pointer to the exit button, and he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, looking over his shoulder at Reacher. He recalled watching Reacher through the glass windows of the old high school, standing at the front of the room. Recalled one of the others mentioning that Reacher taught something.

History, apparently. One of the essays was on the Spanish American War. One was on the Trail of Tears. The dates at the top were a week old. Derek's brow furrowed as he looked for some kind of archive icon.

It was stupid, what he was doing. He didn't even know why, but he found the file folder with all the essays and read through a few that Reacher had finished grading so he knew what to look for. There were only twelve left unevaluated. He looked around for some paper to write on, his eyes catching for a moment on the six year old sketch that remained tacked above Reacher's computer. He ignored the flip in his chest and grabbed a nearby notebook and pen, settling in to read.

Chapter Text

"I'd like to thank you for putting such effort into your essays," Reacher said, watching his students read the feedback on their stations. "I know it can be difficult to read about our hosts' systematic problems in regards to their unchecked aggression towards each other - much less, write about it - but these essays were very thorough and I'm proud of all of you," he added. Some smiles met his words. Others still were scouring through their returned essays. "Now, this is the last day you all will see me until next semester. Once you've finished reading through your essay evaluations, you will receive your first testing packet on your desk stations. Please be as thorough with these packets as you were with your essays," he said, before smiling widely. "It's been a pleasure teaching you all. I hope to see you next semester," he said. A couple of students waved and said good-bye before turning to their stations. Drifting Petals rose from his desk and walked over.

"Reacher," he greeted and Reacher smiled easily.

"Drifting Petals, how can I help you?" he asked. The other Soul looked a little sheepish, holding out a small notebook.

"I was wondering if you could give this to Stalks Bending the next time you see her," he said. Reacher blinked. "She didn't give me her cell number, or I would have called her directly," he added. Reacher nodded slowly, taking the notebook.

"I will deliver this as soon as possible," he promised. Drifting Petals smiled.

"Thanks. See you next semester," the tall Soul said. Reacher nodded, waving as Drifting Petals returned to his seat and then gathering his things and going to his office to pack up everything for the semester.

You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I'm going to miss school, Stiles said. Reacher smiled to himself and slid a gel timer into his briefcase.

Me too, he replied.

Yeah, well, that's a given. You're a teacher. You're almost not complete without a student, Stiles said offhandedly. Reacher batted his eyes so that Stiles could feel it.

I'll always have you, Stiles, he said. Stiles scoffed.

You're not funny, he snapped lightly.

Yes I am, don't lie, Reacher said, just as lightly. Anyway, don't worry about it. We'll have plenty to do at the Den, especially with all the projects that Marcus has planned, he added.

It was impossible to hide from Stiles the way his heart fluttered, or the blush that rose on his cheeks, thinking of the Den. Thinking of a certain, dark haired, kaleidoscope eyed wolf who smelled of fresh earth, salt, and leather.

Thinking of how that's what his chair smelled like the morning after their emotional moment.

Neither Stiles nor Reacher could remember crawling into bed after slogging through four incredibly detailed, if distant, essays. He'd had four to go, he'd been thinking of putting on a pot of coffee or fishing out a bottle of Alert that he was pretty sure was empty, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up with his face pressed into his pillow, and the essays had been completely evaluated, leaving his entire weekend free for his planned dinner with Bliss, Allison, John, and Fields, as well as the shopping trip for project supplies that he'd taken with Scott and Isaac (this time with Talia's permission).

One of his notebooks had been sitting beside his station, with almost eight pages of notes, critiques, corrections and comments about the last four essays in clear, concise handwriting that Reacher had stared at for far too long.

He should bake cookies.

Totally, agreed Stiles. You know they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach - I bet that goes double for werewolves.

I don't know what kind of cookies he likes. I don't really know anything about him, Reacher argued, closing his briefcase slowly, thoughtful frown on his face.

You know he likes history and that he loves his family, and that he thinks we smell good, and we think he smells good, and that he makes our heart do the tango. We can learn the rest as we go, Stiles replied. Reacher blushed, self-consciously checking out the window to see if anyone was watching the school - although it had been some time since he'd noticed anyone following him. Because they trust you now. Duh, Stiles explained. This is a good thing.

I agree, Reacher said, even though he sort of missed the glimpses of free humans about town. Now that he knew what good people they were (he thought of the incident with Michael and Isaac and contained a wince as he added 'mostly' to that assessment) he had hoped their interactions would extend beyond the Den as they had that day with Erica.

The day she'd met Drifting Petals. Reacher glanced back towards his classroom and his lips pressed together into a worrisome frown. He hoped Drifting Petals didn't feel too let down when Erica didn't show up for any future outings.

Because, of course, that would put the Den in danger of discovery.

He thought about Erica's attitude, and the times when she'd defied what was logical and safe because she thought it was stupid.

He frowned some more.

**

Reacher went home and had lunch with Fields before heading out to the Den. He wanted to see Scott and Isaac again, and maybe have a less awkward word with Derek, whom he hadn't seen over the weekend.

Well, he saw Scott and Isaac, anyway. They hung out for a very brief moment before Marcus arrived and ushered him into the 'Plan-Cave', to start scheduling the moss distribution. They wanted to do sections at a time, to let people have time to move their things out of their rooms temporarily. They were going to do the rooms first, and the hallways after, because it looked like the only place people would be able to move to was the hallways. And he wanted to leave the moss seed undisturbed for at least thirty-six hours (ideally seventy-two, but Reacher couldn't imagine people giving up their privacy for three whole days).

At lunch, Reacher was too mentally exhausted to remember that he wanted to ask Scott and Isaac about their comic. Ben was there, and he wanted to discuss some of the Souls' mathematical principles, but Reacher wasn't an expert, so Ben went away disappointed and then came back and asked about online forum security so that he could read online discussions by Soul mathematicians. Reacher made a note to look into it.

Corbin and Elfrick also came to see him - in their human skins - shepherded by their mother, who stood over them with folded arms and an arched eyebrow as they hung their heads and apologized for jumping on him. Reacher had to fight a tender noise at their sheer adorableness. Stiles made it for him. He forgave them (obviously), and they hugged him before rushing off, tugging at their clothes. Ophelia had rolled her eyes, throwing up her hands in surrender as she trailed after them.

He and Cora had been teamed together to start the moss-spraying in the garden, both of them armed with a small plastic tank and a handle to pressurize the spray wands. He found it ironic that these devices had once been used to spray weed killer.

"Marcus has really been going to town lately," Cora told him, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah?" he asked. He hadn't really noticed any difference in Marcus's behavior, but then Cora had known him longer.

"Yeah. Like, ever since we got your help, he's just been in 'go' mode," she said. "I think he's been sleeping in the bath-house," she added with a considering expression and pursed lips. Reacher chuckled. "Oh, and apparently Jackson's with James and Danny now," she added. Reacher beamed.

"Good for him," he said with a nod.

"Yeah, maybe now he'll stop being such a grump," she replied.

When they finished spraying the garden, they moved to the Commons area, and started spraying down the ground behind themselves, until it was time for Reacher to return home for the night and eat dinner and spend time with his father. Everyone said good-bye to him except for Derek, who silently walked him to his car. He seemed tense and Reacher looked at him oddly a few times, especially at the way he balled his hands into fists occasionally. At the Jeep, when Derek just stared at him, Reacher tilted his head and consulted Stiles.

He looks constipated. Like emotionally. Which James said that he was. Maybe he wants to scent us again and just doesn't know how to ask, Stiles suggested. Reacher nodded slowly and then dusted off his arms a little bit before stepping into Derek's space. His posture wasn't threatening, and he kept his expression neutral, with only shades of expectation, but after a moment of intense staring, Derek's hands unfolded and started moving over whatever skin was available to him. At the end of it, Reacher was breathless and flushed and trying not to think of all the ways this could go, stepping away from a considerably less tense, if not completely relaxed Derek and climbing awkwardly into his Jeep.

The next day followed a similar pattern, only broken by his lunch date with Watcher to attempt to extract information about her Pack. It even ended with Derek's strangely intense scenting that he apparently felt disinclined to explain. Reacher felt a little guilty about how physically excited he usually got afterwards. Stiles was less guilty, rapturously crafting rambling, disjointed poetry about everything that had to do with the way Derek looked, sounded and smelled when he was scenting them.

He didn't go to the Den the next day. He had plans with Fields, and then lunch with Bliss, but he talked to Scott and Isaac in the morning over the phone, so that was nice. He forgot to ask about their comic again, but it was good to hear their voices, and how excited they were to share a room.

I think they're dating, Stiles said after they'd hung up. Reacher blinked in surprise.

"What, really?" he asked, thinking back over the conversation. It hadn't sounded particularly like Scott and Isaac were dating.

They sounded like a couple moving into their new apartment and discovering the nooks and crannies. I mean, it's adorable, don't get me wrong. I was just commenting, Stiles replied as they tidied up their room. Their eyes drifted to the sketch and Reacher absent-mindedly made another in a long list of notes to himself that they should maybe try to sketch a newer picture of their very strange...acquaintance/Packmate.

"I hope they're taking things carefully," he said with offhanded concern. Stiles made a noise that was part agreement, part protest.

Scott's a good guy. It doesn't take more than three seconds to tell that six years hasn't changed him much. He'll be good to Isaac, if that's what they are, he said, before shrugging. He might need a reminder now and then, though. Sometimes he gets absorbed, the human added. Reacher nodded and then frowned. 

"What about Bliss?" he asked, thinking of how Scott had tried to subtly inquire after her, or the times when he'd perked up at the mention of her name. Stiles hummed thoughtfully.

Well, like I said, I only think he and Scott are dating. I could totally be wrong about that. But if I'm not, I think it'll be interesting to see how the three of them fit together,  the host said. Reacher rolled his eyes. 

"Are you treating our friends like a social experiment? That's awful," he chided. Stiles scoffed.

It's only awful if I take notes,  he teased.

**

Silver Singer sighed as she drove three miles under the limit towards her niece's house. Her brother and her father were doing that thing where they weren't quite arguing - because Souls didn't argue - which meant they weren't speaking to each other unless it was necessary.

Spires didn't believe that Bliss was suited for the post of Seeker, but Gerard was adamant that she was made of sterner stuff than fitted a Comforter. And now, with Watcher, they knew that it was possible for such Calling changes to be made, and Gerard was more insistent than ever. Singer didn't disagree with her father, she just didn't understand why it was so necessary for Bliss to become a Seeker. He had Singer, he had Spires, and he even had Whistler.

Singer kept her expression pleasant the way she'd been trained, bending her mind towards how she was going to convince her niece. Because she might not completely agree with her father's decisions, but she was a loyal daughter and she would do what he asked, especially since Chris-- since Spires was so unwilling to help. Someone had to protect the foundation of their family, after all.

**

Bliss and Reacher ate their lunch in unusual silence, both of them lost in the events of the last few days, but even with everything he had to consider, he took notice of his friend's silence, tilting his head.

"So what happened?" he asked, drawing her startled and confused attention.

"What?" she asked, and he smiled softly. "We're both being very quiet today. Stuff on our minds. We already know about my predicament, but you're not usually this quiet," he said. She sighed.

"My family wants me to - well, no, that's not accurate," she said, shaking her head. "My grandfather wants me to give up being a Comforter and become a Seeker instead," she told him. He stared, eyebrows rising and mouth falling open. She nodded, rolling her eyes a little. "Neither Allison nor I are comfortable with that, and we let him know, but it just feels...off. There's something going on in my - in Allison's family home, and it's just..." she trailed off with a sigh. "I think our grandfather might still be present. Our aunt, too, but it's still so hard to get a read on our parents," she said. Reacher smiled a little at Bliss's subconscious inclusion of herself in Allison's family. He was glad they'd found their rhythm, but the smile was short-lived as he bent his mind to the questions she posed.

Gerard was the patriarch of a family of werewolf hunters and - now - of alien police officers. His job was to bring in free humans for implantation (which was the best case scenario), but his mission was to exterminate supernatural threats. If Bliss became a Seeker, Gerard would have enough reason to stick his nose into her life, making it very difficult for Reacher to confide in Bliss about the goings on of the Den, and Reacher wasn't sure that he could do this without Bliss's friendship as an anchor. He frowned, because that was putting far too much on his friend's shoulders.

"What about you?" Bliss asked suddenly, making him jump, and he gaped at her for a moment.

"What?" he asked. She smiled.

"How are things with the Den?" she asked. He scoffed.

"I talk about the Den all the time. We should talk about the Gerard thing," he deflected easily, and she sighed.

"Reacher, I love hearing about the Den. It takes me away from my own problems. Please?" she asked. He considered her for a moment and then leaned back in his seat.

"I got accepted into the pack," he told her, and her eyes widened before a smile burst onto her face.

"That's wonderful," she told him, reaching across the small table and putting her hand on his. He smiled.

"Yeah, it kind of is. And everybody's great," he said, chest twinging a little as Stiles mentally excluded Michael from the generalization. "Being with Scott again is great for Stiles. Oh," he said, straightening in surprise and then grinning. "He asked about you," he said. "Only once so far, but I've been able to spot a few times after that where he was maybe thinking about asking about you," he added, and she blushed, ducking her head and putting one hand near her mouth the way she did when she was pleased. "And the others have all been pretty accommodating, considering everything," he said, before his pleasant smile dipped into a consternated frown.

Bliss studied him for a few seconds and then tilted her head.

"What about Derek?" she asked. Reacher's immediate reaction was to lean back in his chair, heave a frustrated sigh and roll his eyes up to the ceiling. Bliss hid her smile.

"He's so confusing. I mean, I've proved that I have the Den's best interests at heart, I'm part of the pack, but he's been...he avoids me almost constantly - and then he..." Reacher shook his head, thoughts turning back to the strange and thorough scentings that could have been indicative of attraction if Derek hadn't already made it clear that he was averse to Reacher's existence. Reacher looked back at Bliss. "He finished my essay evaluations last week," he told her, and she blinked. He shrugged. "I tried to get them done after my first official visit to the Den, but it had been a long, eventful day - I was only able to get about half of what was left before falling asleep, and then they were done by morning. I know it was him - Scott asked me what we'd talked about for so long, because apparently, Talia had sent him with the new shopping list and he didn't come back until four in the morning. Scott thinks we're sleeping together, which is ridiculous because Derek..." he waved dismissively to illustrate how little he thought Derek was interested in sleeping with him. "Plus I don't even know if I passed my maturity test," he added with another sigh and a head-shake. "And I thought maybe the essay thing was some sort of peace offering, but now the only time he comes near me is when I'm leaving," he added.

"What does he do when you're leaving?" Bliss asked. Reacher shifted in his chair.

"He...walks me to my car," he mumbled. Bliss didn't have trouble deciphering his muttered words, if the small chuckle was anything to go by.

They both jolted at the sound of the doorbell, straightening in their seats and staring at the door. They shared a quiet but concerned look before Bliss rose to see who was at her front door.

**

Singer took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she pulled into the driveway behind Bliss's dark green compact. Parked next to it was a light blue Jeep that had seen better decades, and Singer frowned at it for a moment before recognizing it as belonging to Reacher, Bliss' friend. She sat for a moment, studying the Jeep and thinking about Bliss' refusal to invite Reacher to meet her family. Quietly she exited her vehicle and closed the door, glancing casually around the street as she walked to the front door.

She was careful to make as little noise as possible as she opened the front door, peeking in before swinging it silently open. There were voices coming from the kitchen beyond the spacious living room.

"He finished my essay evaluations last week," a voice was saying - Reacher obviously, unless someone else was there. "I tried to get them done after my first official visit to the Den--" Singer's eyes widened in shock before her mouth stretched into a grin, heart racing in excitement. The Den. A name for the free human hideout that had fallen from the lips of an early human raiding party that had almost been caught. The 'Den'. How appropriate, considering wolves lived among them. Singer and her father had been searching for six years for any trace of the Den, searching nearly every inch of the Preserve around the Hale House and in abandoned industrial areas, but now here…here was a Soul who had been there. Who had seen it.

Here was a Soul who could lead them right into the Den and end their six year failure. And Singer was going to be the one who delivered him to her father.

She was envisioning scenarios as he talked, until a name shattered her focus and brought her back to the present.

"Scott thinks we're sleeping together, which is ridiculous because Derek…"

Singer stared at nothing, lips pursed as she lost herself in the memory of plans shattered by the invasion, of disappointment, deep and burning, at the loss of such a sweetly planned victory. She imagined what Derek would look like in the present. She imagined the look on his face seeing her again. She let her pursed lips spread into a wide, anticipatory grin as she left the house and closed the door silently behind her.

She went to the car, in the trunk, and opened the small toolbox that sat there. in the bottom was a small container, and she opened it. Several small, digital devices lay within, and she selected one, humming slightly to herself. She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, closing the trunk lid quietly and approaching Reacher's Jeep. She secured the little bug to the far back of the Jeep's cargo space, making sure it was hidden and taking a moment to savor her moment before turning and walking back to the front door. She knocked this time, still smiling.

All she had to do now was wait.

Chapter Text

Lydia hummed slightly to himself as he walked into the loft, not out of breath as he normally was, because someone had fixed the elevator, which meant that he hadn't had to walk up nine flights of stairs. It had also meant that the furniture he'd arranged to have delivered to a nearby location were installed and arranged with considerably greater ease. The loft was now peppered with curtains that demarcated sleeping areas, as well as the small privacy devices that left everyone blissfully ignorant of their neighbors' nighttime activities.

Everyone had thanked him for that. He had accepted those thanks graciously. Mostly.

He greeted everyone brightly as he climbed the steps leading to Fractal's room. It was much cleaner now, and properly furnished with a full-sized bed. There was also a hammock, which was where Robbie preferred to sleep. Fractal was sitting at a small desk Lydia had procured for him at his request, writing in a small journal. He looked up as Lydia entered and smiled pleasantly, although sadness stretched the faint wrinkles that started at the corners of his eyes.

"Hello," he said. Lydia nodded.

"Good afternoon," he replied. He was wearing a pair of comfortable jeans, hiking boots, and a light sweater with thumbholes. His hair was tucked up under a pageboy's hat. "Have you given some thought to what we discussed?" he asked. Fractal sighed.

On one of Lydia's previous visits, she'd brought up - quite plainly and in front of everyone so as to not be accused later of conspiracy - the obvious advantages of having Fractal re-enter society. There had been many arguments, the most obvious being that Fractal might be recognized by the Seekers, since he used to be one. And it was possible that someone had posted a missing person's report on the Seeker's server, but Lydia had heard them tell stories of their time traveling, and the help that Fractal provided until the unfortunate loss of Bron and Mika's mother. She had pointed out that the only difference in this case would be that his interactions would be for a longer period of time.

There were many arguments - some were childish, such as Mika's insistence that he might still turn on them, have them all implanted like her mother. These were dismissed (as was Mika, who spent the rest of the debate in the hallway). Some were only mildly problematic, such as what would happen to Robbie. Fractal was now Robbie's 'father', so of course, Robbie would live wherever Fractal was living. And it wasn't such a stretch for Souls to understand that Robbie was still human. This was a thing that was happening everywhere - young children yet to be implanted. If Lydia had her way, they would stay that way unless they were otherwise inclined. Some were still under discussion, such as where the rest of them would stay while Fractal was out reaping the benefits of living in the 'real world'. As far as Lydia was concerned, that was an Alpha's decision. To them it largely depended on where Fractal would live. If it was in a crowded area, they would probably stay in the loft. If it was a quiet rural area, they might move in with Fractal and Robbie.

In the end, Ethan and Aiden agreed that it would be for the best if Fractal returned to society, although it would probably be safer for everyone if he didn't return to the position of Seeker. Fractal had agreed. He had also agreed to change his name, and craft a new identity, so that no one from Georgia came looking. It was unlikely - after all this time, they probably thought he was dead - but best not to take chances.

Looking at Lydia now, Fractal had to admit to himself that he'd already known what name he was going to take. He would leave the rest in the hands of his capable friend's hands.

"My name will be Melody of the Sunless," he said. The Seeker nodded thoughtfully.

"The Singing World?" he asked. Fractal (Melody. Might as well get used to the name now, Camden whispered) nodded. He knew that Lydia didn't know the significance. Possibly none of the others would, but he turned his mind back to a wary shopping excursion and smiled, looking back down at his journal.

Lydia let him be, making a note about his new name and the possible backstories that could be crafted with it. There was also the matter of Robert, who might also need to change his name. These matters swirled around in his head, leading him to almost miss the fact that Aiden was standing at the foot of the spiral staircase, waiting for him.

"Hey," he said, looking up at the strawberry blonde, who smiled back.

"Hello," the Seeker replied. Aiden looked him over briefly, the way he always did when Lydia or Watcher visited the loft. It was a curious appraisal, the way one might consider a jigsaw once the pieces were turned onto the table. "So the not-dating thing," he started, and Lydia snorted indelicately, moving past him into the kitchen. The fridge was cleaned out and - while not operating on the non-existent electricity of the loft - chilled, allowing them to store foods, including yoghurt, which Lydia ate more than anyone else (except maybe Robbie).

"I'm still not dating you," he told the Alpha easily. Aiden scoffed.

"No, I get that," he replied, leaning against the counter and aborting the polite decline of an offered yoghurt when he saw that it was chocolate. Aiden was a sucker for chocolate. "I just wanted to know if your gender-swap thing was one of the reasons behind it," he said, licking the yoghurt off the cellophane lid and dropping it in the trash. Lydia looked at him, delicately doing the same.

"Gender-swap thing," he repeated, savoring a spoonful of creamy strawberry culture before tilting his head. "You mean how I'm a woman but Watcher's a man? That gender-swap thing?" he asked. Aiden flushed a little at his faux pas and nodded. "It's a factor, I won't lie, but it's not exactly a reason," he answered.

"Good. Because I accept it, you know," he said. Lydia arched an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying it's not a factor in the way I..." he hesitated in a very telling way and then poked at his yoghurt with his spoon. "In the way I feel about you," he added. Lydia studied him, quietly enjoying his snack as he considered the Alpha.

"Well, that's good to know," he said, expression neutral when Aiden looked up. "I do hope Watcher's potential lovers are that considerate," he added, to his Soul's chagrin. Aiden blinked. Said nothing, blinked some more, and then stood from where he was leaning and walked away, leaving his yoghurt on the counter.

Lydia, Watcher sighed, but Lydia continued to enjoy his yoghurt.

What?

I get what you were trying to do there, but you can be so incredibly crass sometimes, Watcher told him crossly. Lydia ignored his guilt and the urge to apologize to Aiden, finishing his yoghurt.

If he can't understand that someday you will fall in love with someone who isn't him, then he has no business trying to start anything with me. That isn't fair to you, the human insisted. Watcher groaned.

What about what's fair to Aiden, Lydia? You…I know you're big on plans coming together, but you cannot plan for every eventuality of a relationship. It's mathematically impossible.

Improbable, Lydia insisted.

Shush. It might cause you pain to be with Aiden now only for problems to arise should I wish a relationship of my own someday, but that doesn't mean you should avoid happiness in the attempt to avoid pain, he lectured. You just hurt someone who admitted to having feelings for you. You should apologize.

Lydia set his yoghurt on the counter next to Aiden's and folded his arms, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He was spared having to explain his illogical refusal to do as Watcher asked by the approach of one of the humans.

"Hey," he said, and Lydia looked at him. He was tall (although everyone was tall compared to Lydia), with dark eyes and deeply tanned skin.

"Hey, Bron," Lydia replied, turning to face him, grateful for the distraction. Watcher's annoyance as he forebodingly warned his host that their discussion wasn't over bristled under their skin. "What can I help you with?"

"Can you find out what happened to my mom?" he asked. Lydia blinked. "We kind of expected her to find us by now. But she hasn't," he added, looking down at his hands and setting his jaw. "Do your people have a registry or something? Of people who get...implanted?"

Lydia hesitated. There were records, of course, but the records were usually in regards to the Soul, not the host. Incredibly prejudicial on their part - an unintentional side-effect of having supplanted the minds of sentient hosts everywhere. When the host no longer existed, there was no need for documentation.

"I can check," he said, nodding. "There's no guarantee, but I'll do my best. I need more information, though. It would be helpful to know where she was detained, when, and the names or descriptions of the Seekers that detained her," he added. Bron didn't say anything for a long moment, staring at Lydia with an almost blank expression before tilting his head.

"You should talk to Fractal. He was there when the Seekers took her away. He could tell you what they looked like," he said. Lydia blinked, but Bron didn't clarify, giving the Soul and his host the time and place of his mother's capture before moving back to the rest of the group. If Lydia wasn't on a schedule, he would have gone back upstairs to ask Fractal - to ask Melody - about their captured packmate. Instead, he made a mental note, called out to say he was off to work and bemusedly watched Ethan hurriedly end a conversation with the fair haired Gwendolyn and then offer to escort Lydia to the lobby.

"So…" Ethan said, halfway through the elevator ride. Lydia looked towards the ceiling of the car. "What you said to my brother," he added.

"Watcher's already scolded me," Lydia told him. He blinked and then scoffed, lips stretching into a smile.

"Well good, but that's not what I was going to say," he replied. Lydia arched an eyebrow at him. "I was going to ask...is Watcher not attracted to Aiden?"

Lydia sighed.

"Nope. He's fond of Aiden, but there's no particular desire to jump his bones," the redhead answered. Ethan nodded slowly and thoughtfully, swaying slightly towards him, nostril flaring barely noticeable in the dim elevator light. Lydia blinked.

"Did you just--" he started, and Ethan ducked his head, smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said, glancing up at the redhead through his lashes. Lydia regarded him for a moment, scoffed, and shook his head.

"Alphas," he muttered teasingly. Ethan grinned.

**

Watching Derek's retreating back as he walked into the Den, Reacher barely stifled a sigh and turned his attention to the quick and affectionate hugs that he was receiving from Scott and Isaac.

"Dude, Marcus wants to show you the 'you-know' before everyone gets in and wrecks it," Scott said, bouncing on his feet. Isaac was similarly excited, and Reacher grinned with a small chuckle, waving to Talia before letting them drag him off.

It'd been a hard couple of weeks, getting everything they needed to get the bath-house operational. Complications had arisen about the source of the water, and the slight nook in the bottom of the basin that everyone had worried would be some sort of tunnel to another rocky formation (or worse, just a hole), even the heating element. It was finally finished. It was full of water, ready for use, cleaning system installed and operational. The Den even had four extra water dispensers.

His and Derek's...interactions...continued to be stilted and awkward and ended with a confusing amount of contact - at least, it had, until two days previous. Reacher was still kicking himself over it, because now Derek was avoiding him.

It'd been a long day of working on the bath house with Marcus and his team (mostly monitoring the water levels and cleaning out the surrounding area to keep as much dirt as they could from getting into the water. There'd been a lot of sweeping, and it'd looked ridiculous with how lush the moss had grown in - like sweeping a carpet). Derek had walked him out after his shower, up to his Jeep, and began scenting him - as Reacher had come to expect.

Only when Derek got to his face, Reacher had leaned into the touch, rubbing his cheek into Derek's hand and sighing. Derek had frozen instantly, eyes wide, face otherwise blank, and then he'd turned and stiffly walked away.

And now he was avoiding Reacher.

This is such BS, Stiles muttered, even as he pulled up a subconscious image reel of Derek's ass as he walked away. The dude has horrible communication skills. We're going to have to get him alone somehow, the boy suggested. It was immediately followed by a directionless query as to how far werewolf hearing extended.

I'm open to suggestions, Reacher said, but the discussion was tabled as they reached their destination.

The bath house was amazing. The entire edge of the rocky pool had been cut and smoothed so that no one would hurt themselves, with stairs at one end, and an artificial shallow end for the kids and those that couldn't swim well (that had been such a pain to acquire) branching off of that. The green moss, dotted with little purple flowers that released a light scent of vanilla covered the floor around the pool as well as four feet up the wall, where they branched into whorls and spirals before eventually meeting up again on the ceiling. That wouldn't last very long, what with the virility of the moss, but it was pretty. The water was lightly steaming, and it looked so inviting. Reacher wished he'd brought his swim suit.

(Stiles immediately countered with an image of them and Derek skinny-dipping that was as ridiculous in scenario as it was unlikely in reality.

Moonlight, Stiles? Really? From where, exactly?

Shut up, it's my dream, there can be moonlight if I want.)

There was a moment of silence as Reacher's mind drifted towards Stiles' daydream --

(HA!

Shut up, I never said it wasn't a good dream)

--but then Marcus was furrowing his eyebrows and giving Reacher a confused look, so he snapped out of it and looked at them all.

"This is great. I can't wait for everyone to get to use it," he told them with a wide grin that Scott and Isaac enthusiastically returned.

They chatted a little while about the giant bathtub and the small shower stalls that lined one side (jury-rigged to two of their extra water dispensers) for pre-cleaning before leaving the area. Marcus went to check on the garden, while Scott, Isaac and Reacher made their way back into the Den proper.

The lunchtime selections had gotten a lot better since Reacher started making regular shopping trips, and the soft sound of violin music (Mrs. Whittemore was picked to choose the lunchtime music) was a pleasant undertone to the BLT clubs that the lunch crew had thrown together.

The boys sat with Cora, James, Danny, Jackson (who looked exhausted, and also like he was having some trouble sitting), and Erica (who was fidgeting slightly and looking at her watch). Come to think of it, she was almost never around anymore, ever since he'd delivered Drifting Petals' note, but he was distracted from asking her about it when James made a disgusted noise and used his paper towel to mop up a spot of mess on the table.

"We should add table-cloths to the list," he said casually, and Reacher nodded, pulling out a small notebook and jotting down '5 Tablecloths, 5x9, 5 tablecloths, 5" circular'.

"Any particular color or material?" he asked, only slightly joking.

"Ooh, red and white checks," Cora teased, but the suggestion made Reacher blink, his mind suddenly filled with an image of people laughing and talking, drenched in sunshine and the smell of the outdoors.

"Picnic," he said aloud, making Cora snort.

"Yes, that was the joke," she told him, and he blinked at her.

"No. An actual picnic. Outside," he said. Around the room, conversation among those with superior hearing ceased, and James and Cora shared a look.

"Never happen," James said, but he frowned. It was clear the idea appealed to him.

"Why not?" Reacher asked.

"Seeker patrols. They still roll through here on a random basis," Jackson muttered from where his head was resting on the table. Danny rubbed his back and he grunted.

"Sure, okay, but we have me now, and I have Bliss. She could easily find out if anyone's going to be out here on a given day. Say tomorrow. Or next week. And we could take only a couple of tables for the food, and then blankets to sit on, and if there's trouble we'll just vanish back into the Den," Reacher said. He wasn't even looking at them anymore, he was running scenarios with Stiles in his head. Beside him, Scott gave a laugh that was more like a groan.

"Oh man, that's the same look he used to have right before we both got into so much trouble," he said, grinning. Reacher flushed, but didn't take back his suggestion. He wanted it, and these people deserved it. They'd been living underground for six years, they deserved a moment of sunshine now and then.

"I'm for it," Erica said suddenly, and everyone looked at her, but she shrugged. "He's right. We've got a woman on the inside."

"It's not our decision," James told her, before looking towards the cafeteria entrance. Reacher looked too, knowing that just beyond the pillars and around a corner, Talia Hale, his Alpha, was in one of their many meeting rooms, attending to Pack or Den business. He nodded to the rest of them, clapped Scott on the shoulder, ruffled Isaac's hair and set off with half of his sandwich. The group immediately divided the rest of his food, with Scott loudly claiming the tomatoes because no one wanted to fight Cora and Erica for the bacon.

He finished his sandwich on the way to the meeting hall, making sure his face and teeth were free of crumbs as he checked in each room. Spotting Talia talking to her husband, he hovered uncertainly, waving when she looked up. The Alpha smiled in amusement as she gestured him in. He stepped forward, one hand folded over the other's knuckles as he assembled his thoughts into a coherent argument for the picnic.

"I think it's a good idea," Talia told him, and he stopped, blinking rapidly as his words scattered.

"You do?" he asked. She huffed, smiling.

"We've been cooped up down here for a long time. Only going out during raids or dangerous shopping excursions? A little sunshine could do a world of good, especially if it's followed by the opening of the bath house," she told him, and he nodded. "And your friend Bliss could come in handy, you're right. If she can find out the Seekers' schedule, it will go a long way towards making the experience more relaxing," she added.

"I'll talk to her," he said, and she nodded, studying him for a moment. "And I can, I mean..." he shrugged. "I could make something. Help with preparations," he offered. She nodded slowly and then exchanged a silent conversation with her husband, who went to the door, crouching. He fiddled with something and then nodded to Talia, who leaned against the table. Reacher glanced between them.

"It's come to my attention that you have designs on my oldest son," she said to Reacher. A burst of frenetic cold suffused his chest and he glanced towards the door, swallowing hard and quickly calculating the distance between their location and the cafeteria and how Talia had been able to hear them talking about a picnic, and wondering where Derek was, and oh god, oh god-- "Reacher," Talia said, and he swallowed hard, staring at her with wide eyes. "No one can hear us," she assured him. He blinked, looked at the door, and caught the familiar soft pulse of white light on the floor by the entryway. He sagged in relief and put a hand over his chest, face reddening.

"Geez, kid, you look like you're about to have a heart attack," David told him, and he took a breath, looking at them. They were studying him, and he twitched nervously.

"So," Talia said, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Derek," she started, and Reacher blushed, swallowing again compulsively.

"He's uh...'designs' is kind of...he's…" Reacher trailed off, heart beating fast. He cleared his throats. "I would like to be friends with him," he said. Talia raised an eyebrow.

"Just friends?" she asked. Reacher blushed.

Oh my god, I think this is more embarrassing than the sex test, Stiles told him.

"If that's all he's comfortable with," Reacher replied. Talia and David looked at each other, each raising an eyebrow, but they looked pleased by Reacher's response, so he took a breath and took a chance. "To that end, I wonder if you might help me," he said, drawing their attention.

"In what way?"

"Well, it would help if I could talk to him for more than three seconds," he replied. "But he's...avoiding me," he added unhappily. Talia hummed thoughtfully, her lips twitching as she tried not to smirk. Reacher's eyebrows dipped down at her amusement, but he didn't get a chance to ask about it.

"Derek is usually in charge of portioning the food so everyone gets an even share. Maybe he'll need assistance during the picnic," David suggested to his wife, who tilted her head.

"We do tend to stagger our meal schedules so that not everyone eats at the same time," she agreed. "Sixty people all wanting to eat...he'll most definitely need an assistant," she said, looking at Reacher, who took a breath and nodded.

"I will do my best," he told them. "Thank you."

Talia's smirk was bewildering and unsettling.

"Not at all, Reacher. Thank you," she replied.

Chapter Text

Bliss was ecstatic at the thought of the Den having a picnic for the first time in half a decade, even going so far as to suggest menu items, the two of them creating shopping lists just for the picnic. She agreed to do everything she could to find out about Seeker patrols from her father, while Reacher considered the stealthiest ways to get the information from Fields without letting either him or John know that they were actively concealing free humans from the Seeker patrols.

He stayed away from the Den for a few days, helping his father around the house and texting with Cora for updates on how everything was going. She complained about the drills, but noted that everything was going pretty smoothly. The Denmates were pretty adept at picking up and hiding. He texted her the shopping list, and she'd come back with a 'gaping face' emoticon that had made him chuckle. He returned once with a massive load of groceries and stayed to help unload everything. He didn't see Derek at all. 

Bliss had several lunches with her mother and father, and then reported all she had learned about their rotating schedule to Reacher, who reported it to Talia. The date was set for the picnic. Reacher was excited - both to see the Den inhabitants relaxing outside (even for a short while), and for his opportunity to clear the air with Derek and forge some kind of relationship that didn't have to do with attempted murder and confusing physical contact.

His Jeep's alternator gave out on his way home from Bliss's one afternoon, so he had it towed to the shop and stopped by Beacon Hills' one rental place so that he could get over to the Den to help with preparations.

"Different car?" Talia asked, and he shrugged.

"Jeep's in the shop. I'll get it back tomorrow," he replied. "How's it going here?" he asked. Talia straightened proudly.

"Well, aside from the complaints at the number of drills we're running, most of the food is prepared, the tables are stashed handily in the pantry, the blankets and plates and things are also there. I suppose all that's left to do is see if tomorrow will provide suitable weather," she replied. He chuckled, nodding. "Thank your friend for us. Knowing that no one is going to show up and try to catch us in the open is a huge relief," she added.
Struck by the sudden realization that Bliss would not be at the picnic, Reacher blinked, and then blushed, suddenly annoyed with his and Stiles' own assumptions. Of course she wouldn't be at the picnic. No one trusted her the way they trusted him. Her host was an Argent.

"Alpha," he said, in a quiet, submissively entreating tone. She arched an eyebrow. "If we extended Bliss an invitation, then you could thank her yourself. I'm sure it would mean more if it came from you directly," he added, certain of the truth in his words. Bliss would still be happy to have the Alpha's thanks, but it would elate her to hear those thanks first hand.

Talia was quiet for a moment and then sighed.

"I'm not gonna lie, Reacher, she's done a lot for us, and I wouldn't be opposed to meeting her," she said, holding up a hand when his hopeful eyes met hers. "But," she continued. "As an Alpha I have to consider the safety of everyone - not just the Den. If she was wrong, or if she was misled and we are discovered or ambushed tomorrow, your friend will be in danger - not just from angry Denizens, but from your people too. They will want to know why she is helping free humans, and I have no idea what they will do to her if that happens," she told him. He hesitated, arguments forming on his tongue before imagining it. Bliss in a dimly lit room surrounded by other Souls, all patiently asking questions and soothingly assuring her that she is not in trouble, that they just want answers, and that when they're done, they will transfer her to a less troublesome host and have her current one destroyed. His mouth went dry as he followed it up with an image of the same thing happening to him. Them assuring him that Stiles wouldn't be a burden any longer, that he would no longer be bothered by the human's corruptive influence. He shivered.

"I understand," he replied. Talia nodded, and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence that was broken by a chirping from Reacher's phone. He fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open, blinking at the message.

"My dad wants to have dinner tonight," he told her, and she nodded, patting his shoulder. "I guess I'll see you all tomorrow?" he asked. She nodded again, smiling. Reacher glanced around for a moment, half-expecting Derek to show up in order to escort him to the Jeep for another confusing round of almost-cuddling. Talia's face held amusement as he looked back at her and he blushed. "So, um…" he ran a hand over the top of his shaggy head. "Where's Derek?"

Talia's grin made Reacher more than a little apprehensive.

"He's currently indisposed," she replied.

**

Derek bit his pillow as he came, muffling his low, long moan out of habit, even though the privacy screen devices that Reacher had been supplying them with meant that no one could hear him. He lazily stroked himself through the orgasm, shoulders shaking, and looked up at the dirt ceiling of his room, cheeks burning with shame.

That damned Soul.

Things had been fine. Things had been manageable, and then it had gone and…

Derek sighed, a harsh quick exhalation, and shoved the towel he'd laid down to catch the mess off the bed onto the floor, roughly tugging up his sweats and glowering up at the patch of brown that the moss on his walls was slowly crawling up to claim.

Scenting the boy had kept his wolf calmed somewhat - compensating for the gnawing claustrophobia it'd felt ever since the invasion. Putting his scent on that boy had all but eliminated the sense of being restrained, and he had felt that part of himself that was closest to nature pause and take stock of the boy. After he'd left and returned to the Den, that sense of being caged had returned, but slowly, and he'd been so frustrated, prowling the dirt halls of the Den until well after everyone else had gone to sleep.

Returning to tell Reacher the news that he and Stiles had been welcomed into the Den, his wolf had been on edge the entire time, bristling at the edge of tension that thickened the air. Smelling that delicately perfumed skin on the boy's hand hadn't helped at all, and he snorted bitterly at how he'd tried to leave without appeasing his frustrations. Putting his hands on that skin, feeling that heartbeat under his palms, hearing the softly hitching breaths, breathing in that warm, clean scent. He hadn't been capable of passing up the opportunity to put his own scent on that skin - especially where the outsider had touched him.

Reacher in the Den, being touched and scented by his family, and all Derek had wanted was to push him against the wall and ravage his skin until Derek's was the only scent left there. And then tears. Tears that tore holes in Derek's chest, making him want to pull Reacher closer and kiss the tears away and promise that nothing would ever hurt again. The intensity of it had shocked him. He'd run away. The last time something like that had happened...

Only...it hadn't been like that before. Not really. With K-- with her -- everything had been fast and physical and had left him confused and wanting, half-horny all the time with no time for rational thought. This was...watching Reacher laugh with his brothers and sisters, heart clenching in his chest as it filled with warmth that lasted for hours. Smelling the sweat and satisfaction of a hard day's work and letting his mind spin a fairy-tale where the two of them could relax in the claw-foot tub upstairs.

He'd followed Reacher every day the boy had been at the Den, trying to ignore the claw of guilt at how creepy he was being - how unhealthy his level of obsession would be viewed as by outside eyes. And when the time came for Reacher to leave, he followed the boy to his Jeep and indulged in what was quickly becoming a guilty pleasure.

Until Reacher...

Derek rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth and sitting up, jaw set as he glared at the ruined towel.

It had played a million times in his head.

Smoothing his hand over Reacher's cheek. The sigh that dropped from the boy's plush mouth as he leaned into the touch, eyes drooping shut as if Derek's touch were all he wanted out of life in that moment.
Guilt ripped at Derek's heart as he thought of Stiles.

Stiles who was just a prisoner to a being that was using his body. And sure, maybe they were friends, and maybe Reacher let him out every now and then, but that didn't mean that Stiles was okay with Reacher using his body for...what were they even doing? Dancing around an issue Derek wasn't even ready to put a name on. He scowled, going to the small basin and washing his dirty hands and stomach before pulling on a shirt and grabbing an 'air cleanser' from his footlocker. He set it by the bed and left the room, searching for a distraction.

He hadn't touched Reacher...touched Stiles in days. His wolf was restless almost all the time, moreso at the sight of their human...their Soul...their something. He snorted to himself and headed down to the commons to work off his frustration with the exercise equipment.

**

The day of the picnic dawned bright and clear and everyone was giddy with anticipation.

Except Reacher, whose stomach was tying itself in knots as he mentally rehearsed conversation starters and imagined all the ways his day as Derek's food assistant could go horribly wrong.

Man, you are a basket case today, Stiles told him, amusement ringing in his tone. Reacher would have glared, but it would only have looked as though he were glaring at nothing. Besides, Souls didn't glare.

Fields had dropped him off at the mechanic's shop, where a very nice young man had helped him get a new alternator and even fixed an oil leak. He'd commented on squeaky brake-pads, and had offered to do a search for a compatible type. When they'd left, Stiles had made a halfway stunned comment about how much of an ass that guy had been to Scott and Stiles in grade school.

They were at Bliss's house, putting all the dishes that Reacher had prepared separately for the picnic in the back of his Jeep while he thanked her for letting him keep it in her fridge.

"No problem. I might have snuck some of the potato salad, though," she told him, blinking big brown eyes at him. He clucked at her, but he was smiling.

"Wish you could come. Talia said she'd like to meet you," he told her. She shrugged, struggling to keep the smile on her face.

"It's alright, Reacher," she told him. He rolled his eyes at her stiff upper lip.

"It's really not, but she's right. If things go bad, you could be hurt," he told her. She rolled her eyes.

"And what about you? You won't be hurt?" she asked. He blinked.

"Well, I'm...I'm pack," he replied. marveling at how the explanation was simultaneously simple and complex and how he hadn't understood it only a few weeks ago, and Bliss wouldn't understand it now because she wasn't Pack.

Yet, Stiles interjected, and Reacher agreed, because they were determined for Bliss to be accepted by their Alpha.

Bliss offered him raised eyebrows and he shrugged.

"It's complicated, but I'll be fine," he told her. She nodded, though he could sense her unhappiness before she shook it off and shrugged one shoulder.

"It's just as well," she told him. "I'm supposed to be having lunch with my family today. I've been getting on very well with Spires and Whistler," she said. He nodded encouragingly.

"Good, good," he replied. They hugged. "Have a good time," he said. She nodded.

"You too. Have fun talking to Derek," she said with a grin. He blushed but nodded, getting in the Jeep and heading towards the Hale House.

As though they were awaiting his arrival, the moment Reacher was parked, the picnic began, Denizens pouring out of the kitchen with blankets and utensils and plates. Three long tables for the food were produced and set up, and the younger Denizens that Reacher had made friends with helped him carry his surprise libations from the Jeep to the tables. The surprise and delight at his extra dishes made him grin, and he turned his smile towards Derek, who was glaring at the addition fiercely. The smile stalled on his face.

"I...was this okay?" he asked, and Derek looked at him, eyes narrowing for a second before he gritted his teeth.

"I'm trying to figure out how to fit them with what's already planned," he replied gruffly. Reacher nodded slowly, somewhat relieved. He probably should have told Derek at least, so that the food items were accounted for on the table space available. He nodded and squared his shoulders.

"Well the upside down cakes can go one on either end, and there are enough tubs of potato salad that they can rest beside each of the entrees," he offered. Derek grunted, which was apparently a concession, because that's exactly how they were arranged. Once everything was to their liking, and with people still setting up their respective blankets, Talia approached the table, her expression approving.

"Nicely done, you two," she said. Reacher beamed at the praise, and even Derek grudgingly puffed up a little. "Now, before everyone descends on the feast, I suggest you wash your hands and put on some gloves," she said. Reacher nodded, but Derek stared at her.

"What," he said, and Talia looked at him.

"Reacher volunteered to be your assistant today, since we'll be catering to the entire Den instead of staggered groups. In fact, once they're done stuffing their faces, I've conscripted Erica and Cora to assist as well," she told him.

Reacher snuck a glance at Derek's face as he scrubbed his hands in the arranged wash-up bowl, assessing it's stillness, interrupted only by a subtle clenching of the jaw and the tick near his eye.

"Fine," he said, brusquely. Reacher turned back to his own hands and frowned.

This was a bad idea. He hates us, Reacher said. Stiles snorted.

Sure, that's why he was rubbing all up on us for like a week and a half, the boy replied. Reacher blushed, wiping his hands and moving away from the bowl as Derek approached and washed his own hands in a much less careful manner. Reacher held back a defeated sigh as he put on the gloves and went back to standing behind the tables. Come on, Reacher, don't wimp out on me now, Stiles pleaded.

I don't think I can...I just wanted to… The Soul sighed, biting his lip as Derek stood at the other end of the food-line from him, a whole table between them.

He's never going to change that attitude if we don't speak up, Stiles urged. Reacher fixed a smile to his face as the Denizens approached.

I'll find a way to talk to him when there aren't people around. I don't want him to feel pressured, he insisted. Stiles sighed heavily and said nothing.

**

"He's there," Singer said, not looking up as Gerard entered the basement. She was staring at the screen of her locater, wicked grin of triumph in place. "He's been there for an hour," she told him.

"Twice in three days," Gerard said, frowning slightly. "Hardly concrete evidence," he said, before arching an eyebrow. "Where was he yesterday?" he asked. Singer shook her head.

"No idea. His Jeep was in the shop yesterday. He could have been anywhere," she replied. He hummed.

"Including at the nest, cavorting with humans. Well, we'll find out for sure very shortly, won't we?" he asked, nodding finally. Singer beamed at him.

"We got 'em, dad," she said, beaming. His smirk was unkind.

"Only six years late," he replied, knocking the smile down a little. He studied her for a moment. "No matter, I know you did your best," he said. She gritted her teeth. "Time to finish what we started all those years ago. This is a momentous occasion. Perhaps we should have a witness," he said. She looked up at him.

"Chris won't--"

"Spires--" he emphasized, glaring meaningfully at her before the kind, fatherly smile returned. "--was not who I had in mind. The new Seeker needs to witness a capture - needs to see what these brutish...humans will do to avoid capture," he told her. She smirked again, but it was strained. "Why don't you give her a call?"

"Of course. I'm assuming we don't need to tell her that we followed a Soul to get to the humans?" she asked, only somewhat sarcastic. He chuckled.

"She'll be made aware of Reacher's involvement with a nest of humans soon enough, and then it won't really matter how we found them, only that we did. She'll never need to know about the tracking device," he assured her. She nodded, reaching for her phone while Gerard carefully selected the gear they would need for the raid.

At the top of the stairs, Bliss' heart was pounding in her chest and she fought to keep her breaths quiet as she swallowed hard and slowly backed away, stopping the door from closing noisily and then hurrying to the front door, lunch forgotten.

She couldn't believe… How could they… When did…

Oh god, Allison gasped. The picnic. They'll be in the open. We have to warn them, she said, even as Bliss carefully closed the front door and hurried to her car. She was on the road in seconds, on the way to the Hale house. She didn't have her cell phone on her

Stupid, stupid, she admonished herself, struggling to obey the speed limit.

She had to make it in time.

**

Reacher was just psyching himself up to start a hopefully casual conversation with Derek about exchanging recipes for the graham cracker cake (after noting - in a way that did not at all involve creepily watching Derek from the corner of his eyes - how much Derek enjoyed the chocolate strawberry upside down cake, eyes closed as he savored every bite) when the werewolf in question froze, his head turning sharply towards the front of the house. Reacher hesitated, turning to Erica, and blinking when he noted that she too was frozen, her expression tense. In fact, every werewolf - and some of the humans - were staring at the house.

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Car," Erica said, and his heart seized before he took a breath.

"Okay, don't panic. Bliss said there'd be no patrols. This could be anything," he said, looking at Talia. She stood up and moved along the groups, who stood and began to gather their things, holding as much as they could in one hand while grabbing the corners of their blankets in the other. Ready to move, but not yet bolting. She looked at Reacher and nodded towards the house. He nodded, pulling off the gloves and the apron that Scott had presented him with as a joke.

By that time, he could hear the car pulling up to a sudden halt on the gravel in front of the supposedly abandoned house. The slamming of car doors and hurried steps up the porch before frantic banging on the door.

"Reacher!"

The soul jerked and then scooted around the side of the house post-haste, staring in disbelief at the harried Soul who was banging on the front door, hair wild, eyes wilder.

"Reacher!"

"Bliss, what--?" he said, startling her, and she jerked to the side for a moment, staring at him, before running down the porch steps to where he stood, grabbing his arms. He gaped. He'd never seen her run before.

"Reacher, they're coming," she blurted. He blinked.

"Who? What are you--"

"I went to the house. I was there for lunch, and Spires and Whistler weren't around, but I heard voices, in the basement, and I heard Gerard and Singer say they were tracking you. They-- Where's your Jeep?" she demanded. He blinked, turning his head towards the shed where he always parked. She shook him slightly. "Reacher, they put a tracker in your Jeep," she exclaimed.

His blood became ice and he flinched before grabbing her arm and towing her along behind him as he ran to the backyard.

Everyone was already in motion, and Reacher weaved through the crowd of organized, panicking humans until he got to Talia, who was giving orders calmly and in a normal voice while the werewolves directed traffic.

"You heard," Reacher said, and Talia nodded, looking at Bliss, who immediately dropped her eyes. "It's too late for me to leave, they obviously know I'm here," he told her, and she nodded, looking sad.

"When will they be here?" she asked, but Bliss was prevented from answering by the sudden blaring ringtone of Reacher's phone. He looked at the caller ID and blinked.

"Watcher," he said, answering. "Hello?"

"Reacher, I don't know what you're doing, but I just got a call from Singer inviting me on a free human raid on the Preserve. You need to warn your friends," came the worry-clipped tones of their newest ally. Reacher sighed, running a hand over his hair before stopping. He glanced at Talia and then narrowed his eyes.

"They invited you along?" he asked.

"That is what I just said," Lydia huffed.

"I'm at-- I'm with them, the humans. I'm with them right now, the Argents apparently stuck a tracker in my Jeep," he told her. She hesitated.

"They don't know that I know you," she replied, sounding surprised. He swayed from one foot to the other for a moment, Stiles working his brain, churning out ideas as the seconds passed.

"It should stay that way," he told her.

"Agreed. They're on their way here. ETA ten minutes on the inside," she replied, and hung up.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay," he muttered, before looking up. Turning his head this way and that, he finally located Peter over by the kitchen door. "Peter, I need a map of the Hale property, preferably something with boundary lines on it," he said. Peter glanced up and nodded shortly while Bliss stood there looking uncomfortable.

"What are you doing?" Talia asked, and he took a quick breath.

"I have a plan," he told her, and she snorted at the uptick of his heartbeat. He winced. "I have two-fifths of a plan," he amended, and she rolled her eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asked. She regarded him for a moment and then nodded. "Good, cause I kind of need permission to 'purchase' your house," he replied.

**

Bliss stood there awkwardly in the presence of the Alpha, heart beating fast in response to stress and awe and then blinked, flinching a little when two boys suddenly materialized at her side.

"Hi," said one of them, all floppy brown hair, wide grin and blushing cheeks. Scott. Bliss smiled hesitantly.

"Hello," she answered. He grinned wider before throwing his arm around the shoulders of the other boy.

"This is Isaac. Isaac, this is Bliss," he introduced, and Bliss looked at the other boy, all wild curls and cautious blue eyes that only held hers for a moment.

"Nice to meet you," she told him with a small, nervous curtsey. He nodded.

"Scott, Isaac, no time for flirting," snapped a dark haired girl as she passed, grabbing things quickly. Scott blushed. Isaac's eyes widened. Bliss shrugged off the flippancy of the girl's comment and stepped forward.

"How can I help?" Bliss asked, and the girl stopped, eyeing her up and down for a moment before giving a small noise of grudging approval.

"Grab some chairs. Time is freedom, folks, let's get a move on," she said.

**

Everyone was inside and downstairs in record time, the food stored away in the cold room and the tables folded up and casually stored against a wall as everyone made their way to the emergency exits and hovered there. James and Danny stayed behind with Cora, Erica and Talia to oversee the clean-up of the kitchen, erasing any traces of footprints leading to the cellar-pantry door. Peter and Ophelia were giving Bliss and Reacher the rundown of the property while Derek parked Bliss' car more properly and then backed Reacher's Jeep out of the shed to park it next to Bliss'.

They had moments. They spent it memorizing their cover story.

They were sitting on the steps of the front porch, eating some picnic fare that Scott and Isaac had brought up for them (an excuse for Stiles' long lost brother to make puppy eyes at the strange alien girl who had saved them all.

I guess Scott and Isaac aren't a thing, then, Stiles commented, only slightly disappointed.

Guess not, Reacher replied as they hurried inside. It wasn't long before the two Souls could hear the sound of an engine.

"Reacher," Bliss started, but he reached over and put his hand on hers.

"Everything is going to be fine," he assured her. She took a breath and nodded, and he was glad she couldn't hear the tripping of his heart, or smell the nauseating anxiety that would have choked a werewolf.

Everything is going to be fine, Stiles repeated, far more confidently than Reacher had. Reacher held onto that confidence as the sleek black car pulled into the yard, sending a chill up his spine.

He glanced at Bliss. She was delicately chewing on a mouthful of food and pretending to look curiously at the Seeker's vehicle. Reacher followed her lead, tasting nothing and feeling sick as the door of the car opened

Here we go, he said.

Chapter Text

Reacher and Bliss watched as her aunt climbed out of the driver's seat, a tall, lithe blonde, wearing all but the jacket of the customary Seeker's uniform. She saw the both of them and smirked. Reacher blinked, looking at Bliss curiously. Bliss was affecting the best curiously confused expression she could as an older gentleman - Gerard, presumably, Stiles offered - climbed out of the passenger seat. He was also smiling triumphantly, and it looked cold. Out of the backseat climbed Lydia, wearing her own version of the Seeker's uniform, with a black, knee-length lolita skirt and boots to accompany her tailored shirt, tie, and vest.

They were all armed.

"Singer," Bliss said, glancing between her aunt and her grandfather. "Gerard?"

"Well," Gerard said, still smiling that awful smile. "This is an interesting turn of events," he said. The two Souls, hearts beating wildly against their chests, blinked in mild bewilderment.

"What do you mean?" he asked. His voice was miraculously steady, and his expression didn't waver at the unimpressed expression that crossed his face.

"What do you mean, Gerard?" asked Lydia, arching a prim eyebrow at him. "You told me this would be a raid on free humans, not two Souls," she added. Reacher and Bliss both straightened.

"Free humans?" Reacher asked, squirming a little as though the idea of free humans disturbed him. He leaned closer to Bliss, who mirrored his actions as she looked around.

"As if you didn't know," Singer snorted, receiving a sharp look from her father and an arched eyebrow from Lydia. Reacher gaped at her, because an innocent Soul would have been shocked at such an insinuation. And Stiles flooded his mind with inappropriate images in order to make him blush.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he squeaked. Looking at her father, jaw clenched against his silent censure, Singer said nothing. Gerard turned to the two of them and smiled confidingly.

"Not to alarm you," he said, eyes sharply studying their reactions. Reacher wondered briefly if he would have picked up on those cues if he hadn't spent so much time with free humans, and looked at Bliss, who only expressed confusion at his cold calculation. "But there might be a nest of humans nearby," he said. Bliss gasped. Reacher blinked a few times.

"Nearby? Nearby where?" he asked. His tone held both disbelief and concern. Gerard narrowed his eyes and didn't answer immediately.

"Do you mind if I ask what you two are doing all the way out here, on the Preserve?" he asked. Reacher blinked, and then blushed (again with assistance from Stiles, who was far to gleeful about it), setting his food down and picking up the paperwork and official blueprint scrolls that Peter had given them to help their cover story.

"I came to look at the house," he told them, before gesturing at Bliss. "Bliss came because we're friends, and I didn't want to come alone - I needed a second opinion," he added, and Bliss nodded, patting him on the arm. He smiled at her, taking comfort in the brief touch.

"Look at the house - what for?" Singer asked bluntly, glancing up at the hulking - apparently run-down manor. Reacher looked up at it and smiled, obviously far more taken with the façade of a house in disrepair than the Seeker.

"It's an interesting piece of the town's history, and it's just sitting here, all alone, with no one left to care for it," he answered, looking at them. "Something this beautiful shouldn't be left to rot in obscurity," he added with a small, self-deprecating shrug. Singer blinked, mouth falling open in shock.

"You want to buy it?" she bleated. Gerard's smile dropped from his face and was replaced by a sharp scowl.

"Singer," he said, and she looked at him. "Comport yourself or wait in the car," he said. She stared at him, face flushed with indignation as she gritted her teeth. Reacher glanced between the two of them, something tickling the back of his mind. There was something off about their behavior.

"Buy...? It's my intention to obtain the deed, but since the original owners are..." he shrugged uncomfortably. "Not around, my choice of actions are limited," he said. "For now I'm only surveying the property," he told them. Gerard arched an eyebrow.

"On whose authority? I believe you need a Seeker's approval to walk around on unclaimed property," he said. Reacher's eyebrows dipped down, and his heart beat very quickly.

"Well," he said, blinking a few times. "Burning Fields was the one who gave me approval. I'm surprised you didn't know," he added, tilting his head. Lydia arched an eyebrow.

"That he gave you official approval?" she asked. He shook his head.

"That he's my father," he answered, before gesturing meaninglessly. "Or, well, that his host was my host's father," he amended with a conspiratorial headshake at Bliss, who hummed, nodding thoughtfully.

"Oh, well then, this matter is simple," Gerard said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Reacher's stomach twisted at the sight of it and he set the blueprints down. "We'll just call him up and ask him."

"Sure," Reacher said, even as Stiles started to freak out.

Oh god, oh god, Stiles babbled. Reacher tried to calm him, but he could see that Bliss and Allison were just as worried, and he just hoped that no one in the Den decided that two dead Seekers was better than being caught.

"We've got this," he said under his breath, hoping they could hear him. "Don't get involved, we've got this," he said again, disguising his mouth movements by rubbing his nose.

"Fields," Gerard greeted warmly, and Reacher could barely hear his father's reply on the other end. "Oh, not too bad, not too bad. Listen, I've just come across your son at the abandoned Hale estate claiming that he's intent on obtaining the deed," Gerard said with a smile as he zeroed in on Reacher. The soul took a drink of water and maintained eye contact, attempting to look only mildly interested in the proceedings. Something Fields said made Gerard's smile fall a notch and he looked away, towards the phone. "He says that you approved his request to wander the grounds," he added. His eyes narrowed at Fields' reply and his smile became polite acceptance, behind which - Reacher could see in his eyes - hid furious disappointment. Reacher's heart started to pound for a different reason entirely. "I see. Yes, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to see the paperwork...If it's no trouble to you...see you soon, then," Gerard said, before hanging up. He eyed Reacher critically.

"See?" he asked, because Gerard's disappointment could only mean that Fields had backed his story. Fields - who as far as Reacher knew hadn't even been aware that Reacher was connected in even the slightest way with the Hale manor - had completely backed his claim of starting the process of owning it. Stiles' heart was light and giddy at the prospect.

"Yes, I think I do," Gerard said. "You don't mind if we look around, do you?" he asked. Reacher shrugged.

"It's not mine yet," he replied. "I don't have a key, so I can't let you inside or anything, but feel free to wander the grounds. It's a lovely place. Haven't happened on any humans, or anything," he offered. Gerard didn't quite grunt dismissively at him, nodding to Singer, who moved with purpose towards the front door. Reacher and Bliss parted to let her pass, and she tried the door, which was locked, just as Reacher said it would be. She backed up a step.

"Singer," Gerard said warningly, and she hesitated in the act of lifting her foot before gritting her teeth and moving back down the stairs. Lydia spared Reacher and Bliss the barest of speculative glances before following Gerard around the side of the house. Reacher marveled at the consistency of her act. If he didn't know better, he would think they'd never met before. Reacher and Bliss continued to eat, and he struck up a conversation about what to do with the dead Rhododendrons in front of the porch, as well as the beds they were in. He and Bliss were debating the merits of carnations versus lilies with the Seekers returned, Gerard and Singer disappointed, Lydia looking mildly annoyed that her time had been wasted.

"Well, it appears we've engaged in a fool's errand," Gerard said amiably, though the tightness of his smile betrayed him. He looked at Bliss, his eyes narrowing somewhat as he looked between them. "This is the friend you never introduced to us?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Reacher, this is my grandfather," she said, she made the same dismissive gesture that Reacher had after calling Fields his father, and Reacher nodded understandingly. From the corner of his eye he watched Singer huff, injured by the casual dismissal of familial ties. "Gerard, and my aunt, Silver Singer," she introduced.

"Pleasure to meet you," Reacher replied dutifully, with a nod

Ugh, Stiles shuddered.

Lydia glanced between Singer and Gerard and rolled her eyes before affecting a pleasant expression and politely clearing her throat.

"And I'm Watcher," she said, with a pleasant nod of her head. Gerard looked mildly startled and the smile came back.

"Oh, yes, forgive my poor manners," he said with a small, apologetic bow of his head. Lydia waved it off, inspecting her fingernails.

"Well, since there are no free humans here," she said, holstering her gun and snapping the guard in place. "Perhaps we should take our leave," she suggested. Gerard nodded.

"Yes, I have to go see Fields and look over your paperwork," he said, looking at Reacher, who nodded. stuffing his face with food to avoid saying anything incriminating. Gerard narrowed his eyes slightly and then smiled again. "Sorry for intruding," he offered insincerely. Reacher shrugged.

"Not at all," Bliss replied coolly, before tilting her head. "You know, I've been giving some thought to your proposal," she told him, and he perked up.

"You're changing Callings?" he asked. She hummed, reaching up to scratch the side of her neck, just under her ear.

"I think you're right. Comforter was a fulfilling endeavor, but Souls are adjusting faster and faster to the world around them, and I think a change is in order," she told him. Reacher blinked at her. This wasn't part of the plan.

"That's wonderful news," Gerard said with a wide grin. She nodded.

"I'm thinking Botany," she told him, watching the grin freeze and then shatter by degrees. Reacher took a drink of his water and looked away, fighting the urge to laugh uproariously. "Thanks for the advice, grandfather," she told him with a smile.

Reacher waited until they had left and were out of sight to give in to the burst of laughter that had been trapped in his throat, wiping his mouth as the water that was expelled with his laugh splattered his shirt and pants. Bliss wrinkled her nose, biting her lip against a smile.

"Oh my gosh, that was awesome," he said, and Bliss blushed modestly, ducking her head. "Did he want you to be a Seeker?" he asked, and she nodded, the smile becoming a roll of the eyes. "You're amazing," he gushed.

"I agree," Talia said, opening the front door. They looked at her, Bliss demurely averting her gaze from the Alpha, who observed the girl critically. "I don't think it's wise to provoke Gerard. Even if he's a Soul now, he's still dangerous," she said critically. Reacher blinked a little, wanting to protest on his friend's behalf, but then Talia tilted her head and smirked. "But it was very, very satisfying to smell the man's bitter disappointment," she added. Bliss looked up at her, eyes wide and hopeful. She took a breath.

"Thank you, Alpha," she said, and Reacher held his breath, as he could see Bliss was doing. Talia blinked at Bliss's blatant petition, purposeful where Reacher's had been accidental, and huffed and shook her head, a smile once more claiming her face.

"Why not? One more can't hurt," she replied. "Scott will be pleased," she noted, eying the color that darkened Bliss' cheeks. She looked at Reacher. "You should call your father. From the sound of that call, he's been preparing for something like this. You haven't been as careful as you thought - that or your father is more perceptive than you give him credit," she said. He winced, nodding.

"Yes, Alpha," he replied, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone. He pointed over to the Jeep and she nodded. The wolves would be able to hear what he was saying, but it gave the appearance of privacy. As he walked away, Talia turned to Bliss and extended her hand. Reacher smirked, recalling his own acceptance into the pack. It probably wouldn't be quite as intense for Bliss, though. He shook his head and dialed his home phone number.

The phone rang once against his ear.

"Reacher," Fields answered, sounding calm. Reacher winced.

"Heeeey, dad," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. His father hummed expectantly. "So...I've been looking at the Hale house," he said, grimacing. Fields sighed.

"We'll have that talk when you get here," he said, the order heavily implied.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"But stay away for a little bit. I think you know, but Gerard is coming over. I don't know when he'll arrive, and I don't know how long he'll stay. I assume you have accommodations?" he said. Reacher pursed his lips and looked towards the house, where Talia nodded once. Reacher put his hands together in thanks.

"Yeah, I'm covered," he answered. Fields sighed again.

"Look, not for nothing, but I took that sketch down in case they get nosy. And I hid that file you keep leaving out. Be more subtle, kid," his dad advised. Reacher scrubbed his hand over his hair and didn't glance towards the door as the back of his neck grew red.

"Yup," he said. "See you at home. Love you bye," he added before hanging up. When he got back up to the porch, he glanced quickly away from Talia's eyebrow, lips stretched into a nervous grin. "Well, at least we know he can be trusted?" he asked, wincing at the low snort that came from behind Talia.

"Clearly," the Alpha replied. "Seeing as he's obviously known for quite some time that you've been helping a 'nest' of free humans, and has not only turned a blind eye, but is actively covering it up."

A bloom of pride emanated from Stiles, carrying over to Reacher and straightening his shoulders. He nodded, smiling fondly.

"He's pretty awesome," he replied.

"Now, let's talk real estate," she said."You'll be living in the house from now on," she said. It wasn't an assumption, or a question, or a guess, it was an order, and Reacher blinked a few times before ducking his head.

"If that's not too much trouble," he said. She hummed speculatively.

"How much trouble it is remains to be seen. Peter will see to your arrangements," she said, looking at Peter, who was eying Reacher and stroking his chin with his fingers.

"None of the rooms are particularly 'in use', but I suppose the room with the green carpet would suit Reacher," he said. Ophelia snorted, quickly turning away to hide her grin. Peter's mouth ticked up at the corner in amusement. Talia was much better at controlling her expression. Reacher narrowed his eyes as he glanced suspiciously between them. "Bliss will have Laura's room, of course," Peter added.

Both Souls jolted. Talia only rolled her eyes.

"Agreed. The kids won't like it, but there's little we can do about that," she replied.

"Whoa," Reacher said mildly

"What?" Bliss blurted. The wolves looked at them.

"If Kate and Gerard have not bugged your house by the time you get home, I will be very, very surprised," Talia told her. She gaped.

"He wouldn't--" she protested, but Peter scoffed, a condescendingly sympathetic smile on his face.

"My dear, Gerard was a ruthless and cunning Hunter who used many underhanded tactics to achieve his goals. He seems to have lost neither his edge nor his fervor and he has been waiting six years for something to deliver us into his hands. He won't hesitate to use you to get to us," he said. Bliss paled. Reacher scratched the back of his head and felt the tickle of some connection not-yet-made spread. He was missing something. Something important.

Talia observed Bliss' uncertainty and discomfort and reached out to pull her closer, running a hand over her hair to comfort her.

"Don't worry, we're going to protect you," she said with a comforting squeeze to Bliss' shoulder. "Both of you," she added, looking at Reacher. He ducked his head, a pleased blush coloring his neck as he smiled. "Well, so much for the picnic, but there's still a lot of food left over," she said, looking around at them all. Peter and Ophelia turned and headed back inside, and Talia looked down at Bliss. "My dear, would you like to--"

"Yes," Bliss blurted, eyes wide, before blushing hard at her own impatience and dropping her eyes. "I mean, yes please, Alpha," she said in a more subdued voice. Talia snorted.

"Alright then, let's go eat," she said, heading into her house with her arm still around Bliss' shoulders. Reacher brought up the rear, grabbing his and Bliss' debris along with the map.

**

"Sorry we brought you out for nothing," Gerard said to Lydia as they pulled up to her apartment. Lydia shook her head.

"Oh, not at all, I thought the entire experience was quite educational," she assured him with a charming smile. He smiled back. She tried not to let it show that her skin was crawling."I hope I'll be invited on more raids in the future," she added. He gave a thoughtful hum at her enthusiasm and nodded.

"You just might be," he replied. In the driver's seat, Singer was gritting her teeth and gripping the steering wheel. Lydia climbed out of the car and waved to them as they drove away, waiting until they were out of sight to go inside, and waiting until she was inside to drop the smile and scowl.

That was a close call. It hadn't been smart of Reacher to drop Fields' name like that. It put Fields in the Argents' sights, and if the former sheriff hadn't loved his son so much - or been so clever as to have covered a few eventualities - it might have been the end of everything for Reacher and the humans. She paced the floor, letting the minutes pass as she assessed the plan she'd put into place the day she'd met Gerard.

"It's time," she said quietly, stopping in the middle of her kitchen and waiting for Watcher's reply.

I trust you, Watcher told her. She smiled humorlessly and nodded, reaching for her phone. She dialed a nameless number.

"Hello?" asked a young voice after a few rings. Lydia smiled.

"Hi, Robbie, it's Lydia, is your dad there?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Robbie replied, and Lydia listened to some awkward phone shifting before it cleared and Fra--Melody said hello. Lydia's smile shrank.

"Melody, it's Lydia. I need you, Ethan and Aiden for something important. It's dangerous. I'll be there in twenty minutes," she said.

**

Reacher sat in the driveway of his house, gathering his strength to go inside and face his father.

After the incident with Gerard, Bliss was welcomed pretty much completely. Word had spread (mostly by Scott and Isaac's doing, but also from some of the wolves, who were quite impressed and inclined to trust Reacher's assessment of her) of Bliss' heroic deed of overhearing the information and rushing to inform Reacher and the others instead of standing idly by.

As usual, the only person who objected was Michael, but he was paid very little mind.

Reacher had planned to spend some time showing Bliss around and finally introducing her to all his new friends, but he was pre-empted by Scott, who was excited to see the umber-haired Soul again, and monopolized her time (along with Isaac, who - after Michael's fit over Bliss - neither Bliss nor Scott would let wander off).

Reacher smiled at the thought of today's eventfulness and then looked up at the house, smile sliding into an apprehensive frown. Stiles' dad had saved their bacon, no doubt about it, but how pissed was he that they were helping free humans behind his back?

It'll be okay, Reacher said firmly, nodding his head. He loves us, he added.

Of course he loves us, that's why he covered for us. It doesn't mean he's not going to punish us, the human replied. Reacher sighed, then straightened with a deep breath and climbed out of the car.

Whatever it is, the Den is worth it, he asserted. Stiles only hesitated the briefest of moments before agreeing with a sigh.

Reacher walked into the house, but despite his statement to Stiles, as soon as they were inside, he darted glances around nervously, trying to spot Fields before the Seeker could spot them. He ignored Stiles' snort.

"In the kitchen," Fields called out and Reacher winced before pulling himself together and moving to where his father could see them.

Fields (or possibly John) was cooking.

There were fries, and bacon, and at the moment, Fields (or possibly John) was frying up hamburger patties. From where he was standing, he could see that the cheese was the gourmet kind that Stiles was fond of, and that the tomatoes were fresh and just ripe. There was a brand new bottle of Sriracha sauce on the counter and Reacher could feel his mouth watering.

This was Stiles' favorite burger.

"Are those curly fries?" he asked, only a little faintly, and swallowing hard to control his saliva. Fields (actually, probably John) chuckled.

"Well, it's not every day my son obtains ownership of a house," the man (definitely John) replied, and Reacher looked up at him. The older Stilinski glanced over his shoulder at Reacher's struck expression and scoffed. "Over on the table," he said, and Reacher turned his head. There was a stack of paper on the table that he moved towards, perusing the top sheet before blinking.

According to the paper, the only thing standing between him and owning the Hale House was his signature on the dotted line. His heart leapt into his throat and he sat down before his legs could give out, pulling the papers closer and looking through them. There were some dating back almost a month. He set the pile down and looked up at Fields as the Soul set a perfectly assembled burger and a side of curly fries in front of Reacher with a can of Orange Crush.

"How long have you known?" he asked, but John shook his head.

"No, no, first we eat. Then paperwork, and then we can talk," the Seeker insisted. Reacher considered arguing, but Stiles' low whine of hunger stopped him, and even though he had already eaten, Reacher relished the first bite of Stiles' favorite burger. "Good?" John asked, and Reacher nodded enthusiastically, losing himself in a dinner that felt suspiciously like a reward.

When they'd eaten as much as they could and saved the rest in the fridge for later, they sat back down at the table and Reacher signed the last of the paperwork. He noted his signature on a few of the earlier sheets, and wondered how long Fields and John had been forging it.

"So how long have you known?" Reacher asked, and John scoffed.

"Kid, you may have forgotten, but I used to be Sheriff, and Seeker work isn't that different. Your behavior changed that day that Bliss said she was taking you downtown to celebrate getting her license," he said, and Reacher sagged a little. "I've known about the free humans about as long," he added with a shrug. Reacher stared at him - his easy posture, his lackadaisical attitude.

"Aren't you angry?" he asked. John sighed.

"A little, at first, sure, but..." he shrugged again. "It wasn't so much that you were helping free humans. I was-- we were just scared what would happen to both of you if you got caught. After I figured that out, the simplest solution seemed to be; don't let you get caught," he said. Reacher stared at him and then nodded, wiping his face tiredly. John put his hand on Reacher's shoulder. "I mean, let's be honest here. If it had been Stiles' mother out there, living freely if under threat, and I had found out and had the power to help her?" he said, shaking his head. "I can't say I wouldn't have done exactly the same thing you two are doing," he said.

"How'd you know about the house?" Reacher asked, swallowing a lump that was building in Stiles' throat at the mention of his mother. John snorted.

"That it's where the humans are hiding or that you would lie about trying to own it?" he asked. Reacher shrugged, gesturing vaguely. "Well, it doesn't take a genius to know the Hales are involved," he said with a pointed look at Reacher, who struggled not to blush and was not helped at all by Stiles' memories of Derek's hands on their skin or Derek's tongue on their cheek. "And knowing their supernatural secret, it's not a stretch to think they'd have someplace on their property where they could hide in case unfavorable parties discovered them," the Seeker continued. Reacher nodded. "And the only legal excuse for being at the Hale house so often is if you're looking to purchase or obtain the property. I had paperwork drawn up weeks ago," he said.

"And now I own a house."

"And now you own a house," John agreed with a small smirk and a sage nod.

"Are you going to move in with me?" Reacher asked, making the Seeker blink. "Talia--I mean, Mrs. Hale...she wouldn't mind. I'd have to ask first, but--" he started. John sighed, holding up a hand.

"Can't, kiddo," he said. Reacher stared at him, but he shook his head. "I'm a Seeker. Not that it means you or they can't trust us, but if Fields and I moved into the house, it would give Gerard all the excuse he needs to visit under the pretense of 'Seeker business'."

Reacher's heart sank, knowing that John was absolutely right.

"I'll help you move your stuff though. I want to meet Mrs. Hale, if it's alright with her," he said. Reacher nodded.

"I'll let her know," he replied.

"Good. Now. Let's talk about Derek Hale," John said, his expression shrewd and appraising as he studied his son. Reacher tensed, keeping his arms very still to avoid folding them defensively.

"Why?" he asked sharply before clearing his throat. John's eyes narrowed. "Why would we…I mean…" he ended with an ambivalent shrug.

"How about because his six year old police sketch has been hanging over your computer for the last few weeks and you're going to be living in his house soon?" John replied, arching his eyebrows. Reacher cleared his throat a little and shrugged. John snorted. "Kid, relax. Your maturity results will be out soon, and after that, if you pass there's nothing I can do to stop you pursuing a boy who is six years older than you," he said. Reacher winced.

"Uh..."

"So can I assume then that Derek was the one who made it look like you'd just walked through a hurricane that night?" the Seeker asked. Reacher scoffed, but his blush gave him away. John snorted again.

"Okay, yes? But it wasn't...we didn't...it wasn't a sex thing," the younger Soul said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Really?" John asked, unconvinced. Reacher sighed.

"Look, you know about werewolves, obviously. Do you know about pack behaviors?" he asked. John shrugged.

"Some."

"What about 'scenting'," Reacher asked. John tilted his head, eyeing his kid. "It's a means by which the pack members make sure they all smell like each other to outsiders. 'This one's in my pack, back off', that kind of thing," he added. John nodded slowly.

"And you're in the pack?" he asked. Reacher nodded. "How'd that happen?"

"By accident, mostly," Reacher replied honestly. John's scoff gave way to a huff of chuckles and he shook his head.

"Only you, kid," he said. Reacher shrugged. "So does scenting always end up with you looking like you've made out for an hour?" he asked. Reacher blushed again.

"Um...no. Derek's just...uh…thorough?" he said.

That makes it sound like he touches us everywhere, Stiles said, imagining that very concept. Reacher blushed.

"Less restrained?" he amended.

No, dude, that makes him seem wild and dangerous, Stiles said.

"I don't really know how to describe it," the Soul finally said. John's 'mm-hmm' was entirely too judgmental for their liking. "You know, I think we're done here. Thanks for not forbidding me to help, I'd hate to have to go behind your back like that--" Another snort. "--thanks for being so prepared and observant, and thanks for helping me get my first house. I'm gonna go smother myself with a pillow," he said. John chuckled.

"Reacher," John said, when they had one foot on the stairs. "I'm proud of you. Both of you. This is a brave thing you're doing," the Seeker told them.

Oh geez, it's the 'proud father'. I...I can't even. I'ma cry. Run, Stiles said, and Reacher blinked back the tears in question, heart in his throat as he croaked out a thanks and hurried up the stairs.

**

Reacher was only upstairs for ten minutes when John got a call from Lydia.

"Seeker Fields," he said into the phone when he picked up.

"John, it's Lydia. I have a plan regarding Gerard," she said. He frowned.

"Lydia, be careful. Gerard is--"

"Don't worry, I have covered every eventuality," she told him surely. He sighed.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"There's going to be a human sighting in half an hour. I need to be partnered with Gerard for this to work," she told him. The hairs on the back of his neck right over his faded implantation scar began to rise. "I need you to convince Singer to go with you to the train depot," she told him.

The train depot was across town from the bank, at least twenty blocks away.

"What are you planning?" he asked. She sighed.

"Trust me, John, the less you know, the better."

**

"I'm surprised," Gerard said as they pulled up to the bank. Lydia jolted, having grown used to the silence, and then blinked instead of scowling, turning to look at Gerard.

"About what?" she asked in her soft voice. Gerard tilted his head.

"About you requesting to be partnered with me. I thought Singer would be more your preference. She's more your age, better able to keep up," he listed. Lydia adopted a bashful and apologetic smile.

"Impulsive, impatient, not given to instruction in a new situation?" she added, and he chuckled.

"Perhaps," he agreed. Lydia bit her lip.

"Besides, I don't think she cares for me," she added. He arched an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"I think she believes I'm trying to replace her," Lydia said, adopting genuine concern about Singer's more than apparent dislike for her. Gerard hummed for a moment before tilting his head.

"Well, she'll just have to get used to it. I've taught her everything I can, maybe it's time for a fresh student," he offered. Lydia did her best to incorporate the proper measures of constrained excitement into her demeanor, but it was difficult when her stomach was heaving from side to side just being in the same car as someone so decidedly evil.

"I'm eager to learn from someone so experienced," she told him.

"Then let's get to it. Now remember, humans are tricky creatures. They've already heard the car pull up, but they may still be in there, attempting to hide until we've given up. Be vigilant, and always have your gun in your hand," he told her, his expression turning sharp and hungry. Lydia nodded, and they stepped out of the car.

She'd changed out of her skirt into functional jeans for the 'sighting'. She called them 'plain-clothes'. Gerard had thought it was clever. Singer had looked like she'd sucked on a lemon.

They moved slowly into the bank past the doors that had been ripped off their hinges. They didn't speak, communicating through hand signals. The first floor area was undisturbed, but thanks to the fact that the building had been closed long enough for dust to layer every surface, Gerard was able to spot the footprints leading to the second floor. He motioned for Lydia to stay on the first floor and search while he took the second floor, and she nodded, moving further into the bank.

**

Gerard moved further up the stairs, smirking at the thought of how this hunt was going to end.

With the witness reports, there was no doubt in his mind they were hunting werewolves. And with his naïve companion, it wouldn't take much to convince her that there was nothing he could have done to save them.

They rushed him, he would say, and he's an old man. He would not believably have held his own. He would have died if he hadn't shot them. And one thing had not changed with age; he was an excellent shot.

He was just grinning at the thought of the kill when he smelled a puff of vanilla. Drowsiness hit him almost immediately, and he raised his gun as his eyelids fluttered closed.

**

"Sst! Lydia!" Aiden hissed, and the Seeker gave up the pretense of searching the downstairs area, carefully stepping back through her own prints and then into Gerard's as she hurried up the stairs, where Ethan and Aiden were holding the Seeker upright.

"Do we have everything?" she asked, getting straight to business.

"Right here," said a voice to one side, and she turned to see Melody, who was panting slightly. She looked him over. He shook his head. "I'm alright. I'm just not used to the physical exertion," he replied. She nodded, gesturing to the old man and stepping aside. Melody sighed and opened the kit.

In it was a towel, a scalpel, some medicines, sterile gloves and a cryo-pod. He draped the towel securely between Gerard's skin and the neck of his suit and Aiden opened the old man's mouth so that the former Seeker could drop a wafer of No Pain onto his tongue. He waited ten seconds and then steadily made the first incision.

Lydia looked away. She'd known what would be involved. She felt little remorse for her actions, but she wanted to spare Watcher the sight of seeing one of his own kind so brutally extracted, with no sense of dignity or--

"Lydia," Melody said. He sounded panicked. She looked. His hand was bloody, and empty, and so was the cryo-pod in his hand.

"What is it?" she asked, stomach sinking. Melody's breaths were quick, and his eyes were wide.

"There is no Soul in this body."

Chapter Text

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"What?" Aiden demanded.

"No, that can't be right," Ethan said, agreeing with his brother.

Lydia felt sick. Her head was spinning. She took a breath. It tasted like copper.

"Quiet," she hissed as they started to argue in louder voices, and threw her shoulders back, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she focused on what needed to be done. "Nothing's changed except that we don't need to worry about smuggling a Soul out to a depot. Melody, seal him up. Make sure you use enough Smooth," she said, and Melody nodded, lips pressed in a tight line, face pale.

Close your eyes, Watcher, Lydia said, taking a few breaths.

You don't need to do this alone, he said, but she could feel his unease, his desire to turn away, and she looked at the boys.

I'm not alone. You don't need to see this, she said. Her hand closed into a loose fist against her will and she looked down at it, the way her thumb curled lightly over her fingers and stroked soothingly. She smiled slightly and then shivered as Watcher retreated from her mind. She flexed her hands a couple of times and took a deep breath, returning her attention to Melody's ministrations.

When he was done, he carefully packed away the bloody towel, knife, and gloves. Then he took hold of Gerard's left side while Aiden moved over to Lydia. He swept her up in his arms and leapt over the upstairs banister, to the approximate spot where she'd been standing when they'd subdued Gerard.

"Ready?" Ethan called, quietly. Aiden nodded.

"Ready," he replied, glancing at Lydia. "You shouldn't watch this," he said. She glanced up at the area that she'd been preparing for weeks and nodded, turning away.

After interacting with Gerard and determining that he would be in the way of any plans to unite two species that for all intents and purposes were at war, Lydia had determined that the only way for her plan to come together is if Gerard's death were an accident. She'd investigated a number of ways to engineer an accident, most of which were traceable back to her, even if the Soul who investigated would have to be far more tenacious about an apparent accident than Souls usually were in order to do so. She couldn't rule out the possibility that Singer would be given the investigation.

If she even was Silver Singer.

Lydia put it out of her mind.

She'd been coming to the abandoned bank for weeks, with an aging spray. They were used for a number of things, mostly deconstructive in nature. It was far more efficient to age the infrastructure of a building than to set off an explosive, and it also made for easier clean up if the bits were brittle, requiring far less effort to break down. She'd sprayed several areas, seemingly at random to support the notion that even something as sturdily built as Beacon Hills First National could fall to pieces.

She wasn't watching, but she heard everything. Ethan punching the floor of the upstairs walkway right where she'd marked it with a pile of dust. The enormous crack as the tile, wood and drywall gave way. The crash as it fell against the elaborate marble floor of the bank's first floor.

She felt sick again.

She hadn't heard from Watcher in only a few short minutes - had told him to detach himself from her eyes, from her immediate conscious thoughts, and she already wanted to reach out, wanted to invite Watcher back into her head, but she couldn't let him see this. He was gentle, and she was hard, and that was why they worked. She was sharp enough to fight the battles he couldn't, and he was soft enough to ease her worried mind afterwards. She couldn't damage him this way. They would no longer work if he became as hard - as cold - as she was.

"Is it done?" she asked, not looking, and there was quiet for a moment before the tension in the air suddenly released - like all the wires in a piano snapping at once.

"It's done," Aiden said. Lydia swallowed hard, heart beating sickly in her chest.

She was officially a murderer.

"If it's done, you need to leave. He will have been trying to catch you, and you need to escape now," she told him, and he nodded, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing it once, before nodding to the others, who booked it for the far end of the wrap-around balcony. Near the corner, by the back door, they both jumped over the side, Melody rolling perfectly to dispel inertia while Ethan just absorbed the impact like the werewolf he was. The three of them bolted out the door into the night, and Lydia gathered up her growing panic at the situation, and her lack of contact with Watcher, putting her walkie-talkie to her mouth.

"He-help…" her voice was weak and she shook her head, taking a deeper breath. "...Seeker down! Beacon Hills First National. Gerard is down, I need medical assistance at my location," she reported shakily, scrambling over the fallen granite and putting her fingers on his bloody throat to lend verisimilitude to what she would later tell the other Seekers. There was no pulse - just the broken body of an old man who would no longer cause any harm. "He's--he's...he's not breathing. I can't find a pulse, I-- I think he's dead," she reported frantically into the communicator. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes were blurring with tears as they stared at Gerard's blood on her hands. It was getting hard to breathe.

She didn't care about him.

She didn't care.

Why was she crying?

**

Fields and Singer were the first people on the scene. They must have broken all the speed limits to get there - run all the red lights. Singer stopped short at the sight of Lydia's pale, tear-streaked face, and the way she was rocking back and forth. Her gun was lying uselessly ten feet away, where she'd dropped it, because she would have if someone had been dying only ten feet away from her. The blond seemed shocked, and her chest caved a little as the breath left her before she gritted her teeth and stalked forward. Fields was staring at Lydia, approaching slowly and putting his hand on her arm. She flinched, looking at him as though she were just now registering their presence.

Fields issued quiet orders into his shoulder mic for someone to bring in the shock blankets. He spoke to the redhead softly, asking no questions as Singer fell slowly to her knees beside her father's body and stared, horrified. Fields carefully coaxed Lydia up and out of the bank, over to the waiting ambulance, slipping the blanket around her shoulders as the medic met them halfway. He watched her stare into nothing in the back of the ambulance for about ten minutes before Singer came storming out of the bank, face twisted with rage. Fields frowned.

"What happened?" Singer demanded, fists clenched, and the hair on the back of Fields' neck rose. Something wasn't right. Lydia didn't seem to hear her, and Singer took a step forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "What happened?!" she demanded. Fields jerked, then stepped forward and grabbed Singer's arm.

"That's enough! What's the matter with you, Singer?" he snapped. She unhanded Lydia and shook him off, looking away and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself.

"I'm..." she shook her head and looked back at him, much calmer. His eyebrows twitched downwards as he studied her. "I'm sorry. I got a little caught up. My host...her father…" she swallowed hard and looked away, fists clenching. Fields sighed, nodding.

"I understand. Take a breath," he advised. She nodded, looking at Lydia, whose eyes were clearer, if still brimming over with tears. "Watcher," he said, and she looked at him. His voice was soft. "What happened?"

She closed her eyes, seeming to fight for composure before following Fields' advice to Singer and taking a breath.

"We went into the bank. We were quiet. We used hand signals," she started. Her voice was small, broken by the wetness in her throat. She swallowed it down and continued. "In the main foyer, Gerard motioned for me to search the main floor while he moved upstairs to the left side of the balcony," she explained. Singer narrowed her eyes.

"You split up?" she said. Lydia and Fields looked at her.

"Is that unusual?" she asked confusedly. Singer's jaw clenched but she said nothing and Fields looked back at Lydia.

"What happened next?"

"I was checking behind desks. Gerard assumed they would try to hide until we'd passed them by. Something ran past me. Surprised me. I turned around. There--there was this huge bang. I thought I'd pulled the trigger, but there was no smoke, and then the floor was shaking, and there was dust everywhere, and when I turned around…" she broke off, face crumpling, tears falling. "He was lying there. Just lying there," she said, breaking off.

"Did you get a look at the attacker?" Singer asked. The other two Seekers looked at her.

"Attacker?" Lydia asked dumbly.

"You said something attacked you," Singer reminded her in a soothing voice. Lydia looked confused.

"No. No, I'm not hurt," she said, looking down at her hands, where remnants of Gerard's blood still remained. Her hands started to shake again and she clenched them.

"She said something ran past her. Sounds like they were more interested in escaping than attacking," Fields admonished lightly. Singer didn't sneer, but it was close.

"I guess we'll see after the autopsy," she said, but there was something about her eyes. Someone called Fields' name and he turned towards someone with a clipboard, asking him to sign off on some things. By the time he turned back, Singer was already turning and walking into the Bank, back towards her father. Fields looked at Lydia, who was staring at her hands and sniffling occasionally.

"Do you want us to take her to the care center?" asked one of the medics. Fields glanced back at the young human pretending to be a Seeker. He knew what had probably happened tonight. What Lydia wasn't telling the others. He could tell the others that it was only shock, but he knew better.

"Yeah, you go ahead and do that. There's a Healer there, Weaver. If she's on duty, I think she'd be best," he told the medic, nodding at Lydia when the young woman lifted her head to look at him. She studied him for a moment and then nodded back, head dropping down like it was too heavy to hold up. He sighed. The medic nodded, making a note.

"I'll call ahead and make sure she's notified," he said. Fields nodded.

**

Reacher couldn't sleep.

He kept replaying the near miss with Gerard and Singer in his head, trying to figure out what it was that had struck him as wrong about the whole thing. It bothered him. It bothered Stiles. The two of them stared up at the ceiling above their bed, head pillowed by a folded arm, and puzzled at the Souls' odd behaviors.

Singer had been confrontational - the most confrontational Soul he'd ever met. It seemed like the whole time she'd been censoring hersel--no. No, Gerard had been censoring her. Reacher's eyebrows pulled together at the memory of Gerard's admonishments, which were in themselves barely contained bursts of disapproval and anger. It was so un-Soul-like.

Realization shot through him and he jerked into a sitting position, blood rushing to his face as his eyes widened. He knew now what it was that had bothered him about Gerard.

It was his eyes.

They were cold - distant where a Soul's eyes were brimming with warmth and near constant empathy. So off-putting, so unlike a Soul that Reacher had never held his gaze for long. He shivered at the implication.

Dude, what are you thinking? That's impossible, Stiles told him, and he shuddered, pulling his knees up to his chest.

It's not. Erica and Scott and Isaac and Cora get away with it all the time, he told his human, who scoffed.

Okay, fine, but that's for a day, max. You're talking about fooling the world for six years.

Peter did say he was wily and unscrupulous, Reacher reminded Stiles.

The conversation was cut short by the sound of a door opening and closing, and he blinked, getting out of bed and going to the stairs. Fields was home. He looked exhausted, and he barely managed a tired smile for Reacher when their eyes met. The back of Reacher's neck tingled unpleasantly.

"What happened?" he asked. Fields sighed.

"Gerard is dead," he said simply. Reacher sucked in a breath and just as suddenly let it out in a sigh. The tension in his shoulders eased and he blushed, furious at his own relief over the death of a sentient being.

"When? How?" he asked. Fields shook his head.

"There was an accident at the bank. Part of the floor collapsed. He was killed instantly," he said. Instantly, Reacher's thoughts turned to Bliss, who was probably hearing the news as they spoke. He turned and started back upstairs.

"Reacher?" Fields asked. He shook his head.

"Bliss is going to need me very soon," he said, and Fields took a deep breath, sympathy showing on his face as he nodded. Reacher went back to the room he shared with Stiles and searched for a new pair of pants. He grabbed his phone as an afterthought and texted the Den before getting into his Jeep and pulling out of the driveway.

It was going to be a long night.

**

It was all over town by noon the next day: Seeker tragically falls to his death in pursuit of unknown free humans. Death attributed to structural instability. A no-fault death.

Exactly as Lydia had planned.

She watched the news report from her hospital bed, studying the news anchor's genuine sadness over the loss of a fellow Soul. Her cheek twitched as she thought about that.

He didn't have a Soul, she told Watcher. He didn't respond. He didn't know how to. That's how he was able to do all those things and… I just don't know how. How did he fool all those people; his own family - me?

He had a scar, Watcher commented idly, not really bending his mind to the problem. Occasionally, memories of the event would reach him before Lydia could turn them aside, and he was shaken. Lydia shook her head, picking at her hospital blanket idly.

There's more to being a Soul than a scar, she said, frowning as she smoothed her hand over the blanket, stopping herself from fidgeting. She turned off the television and turned her head to look out the window.

She was startled some time later by a knock on the door and blinked at the sight of Bliss and Reacher. Bliss had flowers, and Reacher held a bear, manually waving its fabricated paw at her with a tentative, awkward smile. She looked at them for a moment, swallowing past the lump that sprang up in her throat as she nodded, and they slipped into her room. Reacher said something to someone outside and then closed the door behind him as Bliss put the flowers in the window. Reacher perched himself on the foot of her bed, letting Bliss take the only chair.

"You okay?" Reacher asked, and Lydia only barely managed to avoid biting her lip as she looked down at the bed and squeezed Bliss' hand.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your grandfather," she said to Allison after a moment. Bliss studied her for a moment and shared a look with Reacher, who licked his lips, setting the bear beside Lydia's knees.

"You know," he said, hesitating slightly before shaking his head. "When I heard what happened to Gerard, the first thing I felt was relief," he said, drawing her incredulous green eyes. She shot an alarmed glance at Bliss, whose blushing cheeks and averted eyes told Lydia how she agreed with what Reacher was saying. "I mean, then I felt sick, because..." he gestured meaninglessly to convey how sad the situation was supposed to be. "But...yesterday he was inches from catching some of the last free humans in Beacon Hills," he said. His face changed briefly as Lydia watched. At first his eyes were haunted with what could have been, but then they hardened, and so did his jaw. It was over as quickly as it happened, but Lydia understood completely. "So what happened," he said with a significant look to the redheaded Seeker. She tried to control her breathing, but there was no way he missed the widening of her eyes. "We...the four of us," he said indicating Bliss and himself. "We think it was maybe for the best," he said, with tight eyes and a strained smile.

Lydia blinked, looking at Bliss, whose eyes were wet with unshed tears even as she nodded.

"It was an accident," she said. Her voice was small. She hated it. Reacher put his hand over Bliss and Lydia's and nodded solemnly.

"Of course it was," he told her.

"We would never…" Bliss said, voice thick but steady. Lydia looked at her. "…ever suggest otherwise," Bliss told her, not breaking eye contact. "To anyone," she added, nodding. Lydia glanced between them and swallowed hard, nodding.

"I didn't...I didn't think it would be this way," she said, tears that she thought she'd stopped for good spilling out of her eyes. Bliss and Reacher scooted closer to her to offer their comfort.

They stayed with her for an hour, until she felt more stable, capable of returning to her apartment. The department had given her a few weeks to recover from her shock, and Reacher promised to speak to his humans on her behalf. He was confident that they would speak to her when she had recovered from her unexpected emotional upheaval. It was no small thing, after all; taking a life. No matter how despicable that life might be.

Chapter Text

This is it. Now don't panic. They can smell fear. Play it cool, Reach, and remember, no plan of attack survives the first engagement with the enemy, Stiles said as they pulled up to the Hale house. Reacher gave a confused little chuckle as he parked and turned off the ignition.

What are you talking about? It's just dad meeting our Alpha, he said, shaking his head at his human as he climbed out of the car.

Yeah, and guess who else, Stiles grumbled. Reacher's thoughts turned to Derek and Stiles gave an affirmative hum. There was a momentary uneasiness that passed quickly as he turned to watch the truck that Fields had borrowed from a neighbor rumble up the lengthy driveway. He smiled.

It was finally happening.

He was moving into the Hale house. His heart gave a flutter of excitement and he smoothed down his shirt to keep from doing a spastic little dance. John parked next to the Jeep and climbed out, looking around. Fields had thought it best that John meet with the Hales instead of a Soul, as part of putting their best foot forward.

"I thought Bliss was going to meet us?" he asked, walking over to stand by Reacher.

"She is," Reacher nodded, gesturing off-handedly. "Later. She's sitting with a committee now to establish her change of Calling," he explained. John's eyebrows rose and he nodded at the reminder.

"Right. Botany," he replied, looking up at the house. After a moment he whistled. "You don't think small, do you," he said. Reacher dipped his head, shrugging one shoulder before patting Fields on the back and nodding to the house.

"C'mon," he said, starting for the porch stairs. "They're probably all waiting," he added. Behind him, John made an uneasy noise.

"No pressure," he murmured dryly.

Reacher had gotten the key that morning, and he gleefully used it to open the probably already unlocked door, only flinching a little at the sudden appearance of bodies before he was being forcefully lifted off the ground by a whooping Scott.

"Dude!" Scott crowed, setting him down and grabbing his arms. He was bouncing a little in his excitement. "Welcome home!"

Reacher chuckled, looking over at his father, who was shaking his head.

"Geez, kid, you haven't changed at all," he said to Scott, who grinned at him.

"Hey, Sheriff," he greeted, hugging him too. John ruffled his hair. Reacher looked to the doorway, where Isaac was hovering, and waved.

"Dad, this is Isaac," Reacher said, drawing Fields' attention. "Isaac, this is my father, John, and his Soul, Burning Fields," he added. Isaac waved. John tilted his head.

"You're that Lahey kid who used to 'fall out of trees'," he said. Reacher could practically hear the finger quotes in his father's voice, and he blinked. "You look better now. No trees to climb here?" he asked, his voice heavy with meaning. Isaac blushed, ducking his head. Scott furrowed his eyebrows, looking between the three of them.

"Are you guys talking about Isaac's dad?" he asked bluntly. Reacher rubbed his face to cover his mouth against a laugh. Scott wasn't big on metaphors or prevarication. John snorted. "'Cause Reacher and Stiles already took care of it," Scott added. John arched an eyebrow at Reacher, who shrugged. The former Sheriff considered the possible implications of Scott's statement and then nodded once.

"Good," he said simply, reaching out to ruffle Reacher's hair too. "Well," he added, looking at the others. "We should probably get inside and not keep everyone else waiting."

"Right," Reacher said, turning to go inside. Scott glanced around the yard, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Bliss not coming today?" he asked. He attempted to keep his tone neutral, as if people five miles away couldn't see how disappointed he was that Bliss wasn't already there. Isaac ducked his head a little and rubbed his nose to hide his smirk.

"She'll be by later, Scott, she had some errands," Reacher replied before shaking his head and hooking his arm around his friend's shoulders. Scott grinned back happily, his arm around Reacher's waist, other hand snagging Isaac on the way past. John followed them into the house, and then into the library. He watched them all tilt their heads to almost the exact same angle, greeting the dark haired woman seated in a wing-back armchair by the unlit fireplace with a respectful, 'Alpha'. She smiled fondly at them as they took seats on the couch.

Aside from the woman - Talia Hale, who hadn't changed a bit in six years, John noted - and her husband, also present were her brother Peter and his wife Ophelia. The Seeker nodded his head to all of them before addressing their leader.

"Ma'am," he said. She inclined her head slightly.

"Sheriff," she replied. His smile was a little wry. "You were very prepared for the phone call from Gerard Argent," she commented with an arched eyebrow and a scrutinizing stare. John huffed slightly and shook his head.

"My son is not subtle, Mrs. Hale," he said with a mostly straight face. Reacher gaped indignantly, folding his arms at the low chuckle that passed around the room. "Don't get me wrong - he'd never reveal a secret that wasn't his to reveal, but he was out of practice in the beginning. Reacher's influence," the former Sheriff said with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

"As a Soul, do you think anyone else has noticed his unsubtle patterns of behavior?" Talia asked. John shook his head.

"I only noticed because I was looking for something, and I was only looking for signs that my son was still alive," John told her, making her and everyone in the room blink. John shrugged. "Fields thought it would be best if I took this meeting. He's a little...shy," he added in response to their surprise. Talia nodded. Her husband David, who was leaning on the back of the chair, tilted his head.

"What do you make of Gerard Argent's death?" he asked. John sighed.

"His death was as fully investigated as any other. They determined that the structure of the building was unsound and collapsed. His death was an accident," John said.

Seconds after the words left his mouth the werewolves in the room shared a glance of surprise - surprise that was triggered by the sudden uptick of John's heartbeat, indicating a falsehood.

"An accident?" Talia asked, and John nodded solemnly.

"That's what the file says," he told them.

"I don't suppose you'd be comfortable telling us who engineered this...'accident'," Peter said, and John glanced at him for a moment before shaking his head.

"Not at thi--"

"Her name's Lydia," Reacher said, drawing their attention. John gaped at him, but Reacher shrugged. "Her Soul's name is Watcher, they're the new Seeker I was telling you about, the one who asked about an alliance," he added. John blinked.

"Alliance?" he asked.

"Yes," Talia replied, expression deeply contemplative. "Apparently she's attached herself to another wolf-pack that's recently arrived. She approached Reacher about joining forces to ensure the safety of both packs," the Alpha said. John's eyebrows dipped towards the middle of his face.

"There's a second pack?" he asked Reacher, who nodded.

"The human sightings downtown. That's them, not us," the brown eyed Soul replied. John nodded, filing that information away.

"I knew that Lydia was still there, but I didn't know about the rest of it, and I only suspected about her involvement with Gerard. I didn't have any proof and investigating further would only draw attention to her survival of implantation. He was unpleasant, but I'm not sure why she would risk such an action," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

"I believe I do," Talia said, drawing the human's surprised gaze. "In his most recent attempt to locate and eliminate my pack, Gerard planted a tracking device in Reacher's Jeep," she told him. John blinked, glancing at Reacher, who blushed, looking down at the floor. Scott and Isaac were rubbing his back and muttering about 'not your fault' and 'couldn't have known, dude'. John looked back at Talia. "We'd arranged to have a picnic - Reacher's idea. He was very insistent that we all have a day where we could stand in the sun without having to worry about Seeker's patrolling the area. He even enlisted the aid of his friend, Bliss, who assured us that no patrols were scheduled for that day," she explained. John took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he and Fields filled in the rest of the story.

"But with the tracking device, Gerard knew that Reacher was at the house so he went to raid the property," he said, shaking his head and sighing.

"Yes. And he called Ms. Lydia," Peter said. John blinked again.

"Lydia was there?" he asked, looking back at Reacher.

"Apparently Gerard wanted a witness for his triumph and his daughter Kate - or whatever she's calling herself now - wasn't good enough. He called Lydia. Lydia called Reacher. Between her and Bliss, who'd been so lucky as to overhear her grandfather's plans, we were able to avoid capture," Peter said.

"That's probably when Lydia decided that Gerard had to go," Reacher offered. The wolves considered this briefly, and Peter nodded his agreement and approval.

"Reacher, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps tomorrow after you've moved in all your things, set up a lunch with our new Seeker friend and arrange a meeting between her Alpha and myself. I think it's time we had that chat," Talia said. Reacher nodded.

"Yes, Alpha," he replied.

"For now though, you should get started. Peter," she said, and her brother nodded before stepping towards the door.

"Let me show you your new room, Reacher," he said, with a smirk of amusement that made the Soul narrow his eyes slightly, even as he got up and gave his dad a pat on the arm before following. Scott and Isaac trailed after him, both barely containing gleeful grins, and Reacher shook his head at their enthusiasm.

You know, we told Lydia that we'd never tell anyone about what she'd done, Stiles told him uncomfortably. Reacher's eyebrows dipped in concern.

We meant other Souls. Not our Alpha, the Soul replied, and Stiles was quiet for a moment before conceding the fact that they never would have kept this information from their Alpha, or at least, not for very long.

His room was up the stairs and at the end of a long hallway on the left, behind a heavy looking dark wood door with an ornate bronze handle.

The carpet was lush and dark green and the walls had been decorated with the silhouettes of trees so that it appeared he was standing in the clearing of a forest, and he gaped for a moment at how lovely it was before moving deeper into the room. Free hanging shelves full of books lined every possible space of the walls that they could, leaving space only for a massive dresser, a small computer desk, and a modest entertainment system that was aligned perfectly with the king sized bed.

"Wow," Reacher said, echoing his host's amazement.

There were two doors at opposite corners of the room. One led to a sizeable closet, and the other to a full bathroom with a claw-foot tub.

"Wow," he said again, ignoring his friends' snickers.

"We moved most of the original owner's possessions out so there'd be room for your things," Peter told him, and he paused, ducking his head out of the bathroom.

"Who was the original owner?" he asked curiously. "This wasn't Talia's room, was it?" he asked, wide-eyed. Peter pursed his lips.

"No, this isn't the master bedroom," he assured the young human. Reacher gaped. If this decadent space was just another room, he couldn't imagine how opulent the Master bedroom was. Peter chuckled. "Now, let's get down to the business of transporting your things, shall we?" the older wolf said with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous tilt of the mouth. Reacher narrowed his eyes again, but followed them out to his Jeep.

Cora and Erica were already out there, pulling out boxes and things and chatting casually about going through Reacher's stuff - a plan that Reacher put an end to quickly, taking the box with his most personal possessions upstairs himself and shoving it into the closet, despite Stiles' insistence that this would just let the girls know exactly which box to snoop in.

They'd stopped for lunch when Bliss finally arrived in a small moving van, apologizing for the delay. Reacher responded by making her a sandwich, turkey club with light mayonnaise lettuce, tomatoes and a thin slice of provolone.

After the lunch break, Scott and Isaac went to help Bliss unpack her things from the van, much to Reacher and Stiles' amusement. John and Fields had gone down to the Den with Talia and the rest of the adults, to meet with the Denizens and assure them of his intentions.

Eventually, Cora and Erica joined Scott and Isaac in Bliss' new room (equally as decadent as Reacher's with a navy blue carpet and the walls painted like the forest at night. There were silhouettes of a wolf pack howling at the full moon on the South wall - gorgeous), leaving Reacher to unpack his meager belongings alone. He didn't mind, humming tunelessly as he found places for all his things.

He felt a little guilty about moving his things into someone else's space, and did his best to only move things when he had to. He did nothing about the bed, since it already had sheets and a comforter - and anyway his own bed at home was a full - not even a queen - so his sheets wouldn't have fit on it anyway. He only moved the computer because Stations were more advanced and he had no issues with creating a separate account for whoever had this room before him (it had taken a while for him to realize that Peter had never actually answered his question). He had no doubt that there'd be enough space for the contents of the old computer.

The bathroom cabinet was cleaned out, half the things thrown away due to age, so there was enough room for his things to rest alongside those of the original owner, his on the left, his predecessor's on the right. He did the same with the dresser and the closet.

He was hanging up his clothes when he found out whose bedroom he'd been given.

When he'd packed his closet clothes, he'd just put them as neatly as he could into a box - hangers and all - and laid them on his new bed for easy hanging. He was returning to the bed to grab a handful of hangers when he realized there was someone standing in the room with him, and he blinked, glancing over.

Derek.

Derek was standing in the room, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes that Reacher was sure he mirrored. A rush of heat flooded his cheeks when he realized why Derek would be in this particular room, especially given that he'd been avoiding Reacher for days.

"Oh," he said, inadequately summing up the entire situation in one syllable. Derek blinked and then scowled, sighing as though Reacher were the single greatest annoyance of his life.

"I came up to get a book," he said, turning his surly face towards one of the many shelves. Reacher nodded.

"Okay, well, I haven't moved any of them," he said. Derek nodded silently, and Reacher just stood there, holding an armful of clothing and keeping still. Maybe he thought that moving would startle Derek, and the wolf would run away like he did before.

Derek perused the shelves for a long moment before grabbing a book. He stood there, holding it in his hands and not moving before looking at Reacher and then at the bed.

"You're not gonna change the sheets?" he asked. Reacher shrugged.

"I don't have anything that fits a king," the Soul replied, before realizing that maybe Derek would be bothered by someone putting their scent all over his things. He blushed at his insensitivity. "Oh, I could change them if you want. I don't have to use yours, I'm sure the Store has something--"

"It's fine," Derek interrupted gruffly, turning to go. "Do what you want," he threw over his shoulder. Reacher stared at the door for a long time and then looked down at the bed.

No, Stiles said, and Reacher blinked.

He looked really uncomfortable, the Soul argued, but Stiles was unsympathetic.

Too bad. Don't change the sheets.

Why not? Reacher asked - but he knew, and Stiles snorted at him.

Cause it smells like him, and this is as close as we're gonna get unless he pulls his head out of his ass, the boy answered anyway, making Reacher blush more.

**

Bliss woke up the next morning with a werewolf on her chest.

"Ohmigod!"

A chuckle slipped out of the body that hovered over her as she tried to flail away before realizing that it was the blonde-haired wolf she'd met at the picnic - Erica - who grinned when her surprised fear shifted into exasperated annoyance.

"It's eight. Everyone's up already and Reacher made coffee," she said. Bliss stared at her for a moment, heart slowing as her body recognized the lack of immediate danger.

"I can see that," she replied waspishly, but Erica just chuckled again.

"Oh, I haven't had any," the blonde replied, before bouncing off of Allison's bed and prancing over to the door. "I'm a morning person," she told the Soul with a wink and a kiss before disappearing into the hallway. Bliss huffed incredulously before shaking her head and pulling the covers back. She looked around her new room, which was mostly the way she'd found it still. From Cora and Erica she'd learned that this had been Laura's room. The eldest daughter had been caught by a Seeker patrol and had chosen death over implantation.

After learning that, Bliss had been very careful about moving anything that had once belonged to the eldest Hale child. In fact she was hesitant to move anything at all, wary of disturbing precious memories, until Mrs. Hale had come in to help her settle. The Alpha had been very understanding of Bliss' desire to leave Laura's memory untouched, but had insisted that the memory would survive beyond the alteration of a room. Still, Bliss hadn't changed much. Laura's various school sports trophies remained on their shelves, her posters adorned the walls. The Hales had already taken her clothes and her family photos away, and almost nothing in the bathroom could be salvaged.

She sighed, getting up to change.

She didn't plan to spend much time in the room anyway.

She pulled on an old, paint spattered shirt, and a pair of navy sweatpants, dithering between sandals or bare feet.

Hardwood floors; it might be summer, but they're still gonna be hella cold, Allison told her, and her eyebrows jumped a little at the thought before she nodded, grabbing a pair of slip on shoes. Don't worry so much, her host chided gently. This is gonna work out.

I really want it to, Bliss replied as she shuffled into the kitchen. Reacher looked up as she entered and beamed, already fixing a cup of her preferred blend of tea while Scott and Isaac watched carefully.

"Morning sunshine," Reacher said brightly. Bliss huffed at him, making grabby hands for her tea. He chuckled as he handed it over. They sat at the kitchen table, sharing a moment of silence and caffeine while Scott and Isaac hovered nearby. Scott was eager to talk to Bliss and Allison - about anything, really - and was quietly psyching himself up as he waited for Bliss to reach a state of maximum alertness. "Excited?" Reacher asked. Bliss shrugged, sipping her tea.

"I'll do my best," she replied. Reacher nodded.

"Well don't worry, because Cora and Marcus are in charge of the flora projects, and they'll help you," he told her. Scott perked up.

"We'll help too," he interjected, gesturing to himself and to Isaac, who was blinking at him skeptically. "Isaac and me," he added, in case she'd missed the gesture. Reacher snorted.

"You mean you'll hover and monopolize her time with flirtatious conversation," he commented. Scott blushed a little at the chuckle that tripped out of Isaac before the boy could stop himself. Bliss blushed too, delaying having to answer by taking a sip of tea.

"I will not. Plants. It's serious business," Scott insisted, with a stern look at Isaac.

"Oh, well then," Reacher said, holding up a hand in mock capitulation to Scott's 'rationale'.

"Scott, do you even know anything about plants?" Isaac asked softly, making his friend blush a little more and duck his head.

He's adorable, Bliss whined to Allison, who agreed.

He's like a puppy. So cute, she cooed, and Bliss lifted her head.

"It's okay, Scott, I don't know much about plants either," she said, and Scott lifted his head, blinking at her when she blushed. "We could learn together, if you want," she offered. Reacher blinked too, and then hid his smile behind his coffee cup while Scott enthusiastically agreed that this was a phenomenal idea.

"Right well, Cora and Erica are waiting downstairs to give you the grand tour," Reacher told her, watching her straighten in her seat, clearly excited. "Yeah, I know you were disappointed we missed out on that last time," he said with a nod, referring to the aftermath of the ruined picnic. Grateful to be saved, but bitter about the short-lived excursion outside, everyone had congregated in the main eating area, doing their best to have a cheerful time in spite of the setback. Afterwards, many of them had wandered off to do their own thing, and nobody, not even Reacher, had thought to show Bliss around.

Not that she blamed them.

Now, though, she was going to see more of the Den than the entrance, the Office Hall, and the cafeteria, and she finished her tea quickly before nodding to Reacher and standing.

"I guess I'll get right to work, then," she said, and her friend nodded with a fond smile while Scott beamed happily and Isaac stood by, silently amused by his friend's enthusiasm.

Reacher took his coffee cup with him as he led the way down the pantry stairs to the Den's secret entrance, waving to a few of the Denizens as they washed the outside clothes - in four large machines instead of a bucket and improvised washboards, thanks to the water services provided by the reactivation of utilities that Reacher brought with him.

Cora and Erica were waiting for them in the leisure room, next to the flower wreathed entrance to the main Den. Erica was in actual clothes, something the Denizens could now do if they wished, since they didn't have to worry about getting dirt on everything.

Reacher smiled at Bliss' continued awe of the Den's structure and beauty. Her tour would be very different from Reacher's which ended with him having to brush a surprising amount of dirt off of his person. The Den that Bliss would see was replete with soft green moss along the floor and 'walls', looking more like an underground garden or a secret world than a hole in the ground where desperate people lived. The air was clean and smelled faintly like dew, and it was much brighter, now that Reacher had supplied them with portable generators to power lights. He also got them the lights.

Once Cora and Erica had said their good mornings, Reacher excused himself, clapping Scott on the back as he mentioned his previous engagement with Watcher and then leaving Bliss to the others' tender mercies.

**

Cora and the gang had shown Bliss everything up to the bath-house when Erica suddenly glanced around.

"Right, well," she said, straightening her clothes and futzing with her hair. Scott frowned.

"What's up with you?" he asked. Erica smirked.

"I've got a date," she said, smugly. The boys gaped, and Cora rolled her eyes, but Bliss blinked.

"A date? With whom?" she asked. Erica nodded, her leer slipping into a besotted grin.

"With Drifting Petals," she sighed.

"You've got a date with a Soul?!" Scott exclaimed, and both Cora and Erica loudly shushed him, mildly startling Bliss.

"Please, Scott, do not try to tell me that you are against the dating of Souls," Erica told him with an arched eyebrow and a significant, obvious glance at Bliss, who blushed and bit her lip. Scott blushed too, folding his arms defensively.

"That's different. We know her," he protested, and Erica rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well I know Petals. Besides. It's not like he knows what I am. Give me some credit," she sniffed. "Now. I'll be gone for at least five hours, so Cora's in charge of my alibi," she said, waving an encompassing finger in their direction. "'Cause ya'll can't lie worth a damn," she told them. Bliss wrinkled her nose, but didn't argue. "How do I look?" she asked Cora, who gave her a once over.

"Like someone on the hunt for the D," the brunette replied. Erica put on a face of mock-scandal that made Bliss smile in spite of the potential danger.

"Excuse me, I'm way more respectful of Petals than that," she huffed, and Cora shrugged.

"Someone who's respectfully on the hunt for the D?"

"Shut up," Erica snapped lightly before nodding at the rest of them. "Alright, see you later," she said, before slipping out one of the side tunnels towards daylight.

Cora shook her head.

"Aren't you worried?" Bliss asked. Cora considered her and then shrugged.

"It's not like explaining the dangers that she's already aware of will help at all. She'll still go out there and meet with him. But she's been doing it for weeks, so it's hard to get worked up about it anymore," Cora replied. The watch that Reacher had got her on his last shopping trip beeped and she looked at it. "And now, if you'll excuse me, my allotted time in the leisure room just started, so I'm going to go watch some M*A*S*H. Marcus should be around shortly. Scott and Isaac know their way around til then. Have fun," she said, patting Isaac lightly on the shoulder before leaving them in surprised and somewhat bashful silence.

"So…" Scott started, shrugging his shoulders and playing with the hems of his sleeves. "…Botany," he said, smiling enthusiastically at Bliss. She bit her lip against a grin as Isaac stifled a laugh.

**

Bliss enjoyed her short time with Scott and Isaac before Marcus arrived and the focus shifted to the botanical aspects and requirements of the Den. True to his word, Scott was attentive and asked questions. Even Isaac, who would otherwise have been twiddling his thumbs, was involved in the proceedings. They worked hard, even though it was mostly planning and research, until lunchtime, when they joined the others in the main cafeteria.

Lunch was roasted chicken and mashed potatoes with asparagus tips or brown sugar glazed baby carrots, and the atmosphere was light with the happiness of the denizens. Bliss was wondering how Reacher had gotten enough chicken to feed sixty people - several of whom were werewolves - when Scott set his food aside, the tips of his ears reddening.

"So, Bliss, you were a…a comforter?" he asked, and she nodded, taking a sip of her water. "Do you...I mean, do you still do that?" he asked. She frowned slightly in concern.

"I could. Nothing would stop me. Why? Do you have a problem?" she asked seriously. He bit his lip at her earnestness.

"Kinda," he said. Isaac watched him, chewing slowly as he tried to figure out his friend's 'plan'. "See, I like this girl," Scott started, and Isaac muffled a snort, going back to his meal. "She's smart, and sweet, and, y'know, pretty," he told her, ducking his head when she started to blush. He was having a hard time containing his smile. "And I'd kind of like to ask her out on a date, see. There's not much to do, but we could like, take a walk? The girl and me," he clarified, and Bliss nodded, putting on a serious expression even as her heart fluttered in her chest. "There's a tiny complication. Well, I mean, actually, it's kind of big. See, she-" he paused for a moment, hesitation slipping into panic before clearing as he found words to continue his vague explanation of the 'problem'. "She has this friend," he said, nodding. Isaac slowly shook his head and swirled his buttered mashed potatoes into a creamy mess. "And they're together like all the time, and they share a lot - maybe everything - and it's really cool how close they are, but I don't know if she - if the friend - even likes me at all," Scott said, eyebrows furrowing as the worry he'd been keeping under wraps seeped through. Bliss watched him with softly surprised eyes. "And if we went on a walk - this girl and me - then her friend would go too? And I was just wondering if there was a way to tell if the friend would be...y'know, interested, in that. With me," he finished. Bliss considered the question carefully.

"You could ask," she offered. "The friend. If she's always around this girl you like, then you could just ask her," she said. Scott blinked, opening his mouth twice before licking his lips and swallowing.

"H-hey, Allison? Do you maybe wanna go on a walk with me and Bliss if Bliss says yes?" he asked.

Ugh, he's so adorable, Allison groaned happily.

Bliss smiled.

"She'd be happy to, Scott," Bliss told him. "And so would I."

"Great!" Scott beamed, looking at Isaac happily. Suddenly the grin fell away, and he turned back to Bliss. "Oh! And Isaac has to come with us," he said seriously, making the Soul blink. Isaac blushed.

"Scott, I don't-" Isaac started, but Scott set his crooked jaw.

"No, bro. I swore I'd protect you, man, remember?" he insisted, one hand on Isaac's arm.

Bliss turned her most sincere expression to the young, curly haired man and nodded earnestly.

After meeting Mr. Lahey - who had made it clear that he was against her presence in the Den - Reacher had explained to her in hushed tones what had been transpiring between father and son, and Bliss had been stunned. Allison had been angry, and more than a little vengeful, so there was no regret to adding Isaac to the tentatively named date between Bliss, Allison, and Scott.

"We don't mind," she told him, speaking for herself and Allison. Isaac hunched his shoulders and munched on his roll but finally nodded, easing the tension that had been seeping into the air.

"Alright, okay," he mumbled, blushing despite his apparent reluctance as Scott ruffled his hair.

The date would have to wait, of course, until Bliss had settled into her new Calling, but of course, with the hearing of wolves, and the tendency for gossip to spread in such a small community, it wasn't long until someone came to ask her about her former work. It was so normal - people coming to her, asking questions. Sometimes questions on how to deal with the mental obstacles of the Den - claustrophobia, boredom, restlessness - and other times, with personal problems; the kind that Bliss had defended to her late grandfather.

She had a room in the Den, walls carpeted in climbing ivy and speckled with the occasional lily (it had been labeled 'daycare' in the plans, but since no one was currently pregnant, Talia had okayed it for Bliss' use).

Jackson had come in one day. She assumed it was about his relationship with Danny and James, but since all the boy did was open his mouth, blush furiously and then leave, Bliss couldn't be sure.

Talia hadn't come to see her yet - not as a patient, anyway - but Bliss assumed it was only a matter of time. People in positions of authority tended to bear the largest burdens, and if this was what Bliss could do as a part of the Pack, well then, she would do her best.

And if Bliss had expected Talia to come see her at some nebulous point, then it had to be said that the person she least expected to see ever was Derek.

She'd just finished up a session with Mrs. Whittemore, who desperately missed a husband that she hadn't even wanted to marry, originally. Apparently, theirs had been a political marriage at the time, something that blossomed into warmth later on. It had clearly been a long time since she'd talked to anyone about it, and Bliss was glad to be of service.

It wasn't as though there was a line outside her door (rather her time was partitioned on a calendar in the main cafeteria, on a bulletin board that someone had fashioned out of old panels from the shed. She had days when she was a Botanist, and days when she was a Comforter, because she believed in devoting her attention to her tasks, and it didn't seem appropriate to listen to someone's personal issues while planning the position of the roses).

Derek hadn't been on the list, as far as Bliss was aware, and his presence startled her at first. They'd stared at each other, Derek's intensely brooding eyebrows (Reacher's description of them had been one hundred percent accurate) and Bliss' warily wide eyes and apprehensively tense shoulders, before the werewolf had stepped past her into her 'office'. She'd blinked before straightening and making sure the privacy screen was in place properly. She wanted to straighten herself - she was rumpled from letting Mrs. Whittemore cry into her shoulder - but she refrained, walking over to the chair across from where Derek was sitting.

"So, is that what you do?" he asked, looking over at the doorway that Bliss had walked Connie to. "Is that what this is? You're the shoulder to cry on?"

Blinking twice at the callous description of her Calling and tamping down on her immediate, defensive reply, Bliss studied her new patient. He was sitting on the armchair (Bliss had several pieces of therapeutic furniture for her patients to sit on. Some people preferred to sit on a couch facing each other, others preferred clinical detachment), with one leg folded in front of him and the other knee pulled up to his chest, presenting the image of a child pulling into a ball to protect himself.

"If that's what's needed," she answered after a moment. "Mostly I help people unburden themselves. Then I do my best to make their burden a little lighter or easier to bear," she explained. Shoulders tense and jaw set, Derek Hale looked her over and nodded once.

"How does it work?"

"Well, first you tell me why you're here today, and then we talk about it," Bliss told him. He rolled his neck on his shoulders, unimpressed with her words.

"Well, I'm stuck in a dirt maze with my family so we don't all become an alien's meat-suit - no offense," he said. Bliss said nothing. He'd meant offense, but he'd meant it reflexively. 'Misery loves company', was the Earth saying, and if your partner wasn't miserable, you could always hurt them till they were. "One of my friends is afraid of his father, but we can't do anything about it because kicking him out would be the same as turning ourselves in," he went on, scowl deepening. Finally he glared at Bliss, who fought to keep his gaze as she swallowed hard on the fury she saw there. "And there's a stranger in my sister's room," he said flatly. His voice broke near the end, but he didn't acknowledge it, and she took a breath, choosing her words carefully while Allison watched, at a loss.

"Laura was your older sister?" Bliss asked. Derek snorted, but the fury faded when the sincerity in Bliss' eyes never wavered. He nodded, looking down at his sweatpants. "Tell me about her," she said. Derek stopped, blinking once before looking up at Bliss with a blank face. "You brought her up, it seems like you really want to talk about her."

There was a long moment of silence before Derek spoke again.

"She could turn into a full wolf when she was nine," he said. A smile broke his face for a second before he seemed to realize it, and he shook his head. "She used to pick on me all the time - snap at my heels, chase me around the house. Called me names," he mumbled the last bit, frowning at a spot by Bliss' foot.

"Like what?" she asked. Derek shrugged, not answering, but after a look at the Soul's innocently curious face, he rolled his eyes.

"Like...Der-bear. Eyebrows McFurrow. Bushy-brow. Eye-bro," he answered, scowling at the smothered laugh that eked out of the Comforter. He looked down at his hands. "She was calling me Sourwolf lately," he confessed quietly, before looking embarrassed that he'd said anything at all.

"Why Sourwolf?"

Derek sighed, leaning into the back of the chair.

"My birthday was coming up. She wanted me to be happier about it," he replied. Bliss nodded.

"This was during the invasion?" she asked understandingly. He shrugged. She nodded.

"I haven't really moved any of her things," she told him, drawing his attention. "When I found out, I was very conscious of the effect it could have. The last thing I'd want to do is destroy any memories that you might--"

"It doesn't matter," he said abruptly, making her blink. His shoulders were tense again, barely touching the back cushion of the chair. "She's dead, and her scent's been gone for years," he went on, face hard and blank again. Bliss didn't wince. She'd mis-stepped, but the only thing she could do was get back on track. And it looked like the only way to do that was to face it head on.

"How did she die?" she asked.

"She was captured and--"

"No. Sorry, I knew that part of it. I guess what I was asking was why did she die? What was she doing before she was captured?" she asked him. He stared at her, his eyes furious, blank, and devastated by turns.

"She was..." he clenched his jaw, shifting his weight in the chair. He looked like he was going to flee. "It was my birthday. We didn't have...she was getting a cake. A small one. She did something. Said something. And they took her," he said. He was angry again, and glaring at her, but she could see she was just a substitute target.

"Do you blame me for what happened to her?" she asked him. He blinked, the fury draining away into honest surprise.

"What? No. You were like ten," he said, and she ducked her head briefly in amusement at his estimate of her age before nodding.

"Are you mad at me for taking Laura's room?" she asked. He shifted uncomfortably.

"No. It's just a room," he insisted, jaw so tense rocks would break against it.

"You're just mad that she's gone, then?" she asked, knowing that wasn't the full answer.

Derek went from uncomfortable to furious in the blink of an eye, and from sitting to heading for the door just as fast. Bliss blinked, sucking in a surprised breath.

"You loved her a lot," she said simply, watching it stop him in his tracks. He looked appalled by her words.

"Of course I did, she was my sister," he snapped, and she shook her head.

"But you loved her more than your other siblings," she clarified, and he relaxed. Or, well, he was less tense. "She was older than you, and she could turn into a full wolf, you said," she went on, watching him stand facing mostly away from her.

"She was supposed to be the next Alpha," he said. He sounded like he'd been crying for hours. "She was already three when I was born. She knew more than me," he said.

"You looked up to her?"

"We all did," he protested, and Bliss stood.

"But you were her Der-bear. She was your favorite, but it sounds like you were hers, too," the Soul told him, not missing the way his shoulders heaved with a shudder, or the way his eyes closed as if against a physical blow. "And then she was gone," she said. His breath exploded out of him and he folded his arms, gritting his teeth and tucking his chin into his chest to protect his vulnerable throat. "And there were things you wanted to say that you never got to, weren't there," she said.

At this, Derek lifted his head and stared at her, wounded eyes searching for something - a trap, maybe - and when he didn't find it, his shoulders sagged, and he nodded. Bliss nodded too.

"Why don't you tell her?" she offered. "Why don't you say what you've been wanting to say all this time?"

"Just like that?" he demanded, his voice wet, eyes shining and lost. Bliss shook her head.

"It won't stop the hurt, it'll just stop more hurt from building up," she told him honestly. He stared at her without speaking for a long moment.

"I...I miss her," he started, hesitant. Bliss nodded encouragingly. "I think about her almost all the time," he admitted. "I miss her names, and I miss her gross nail polish and I miss her stupid football obsession," he went on, shoulders unspooling the more he talked. A tear spilled from one eye and he sniffed. "I miss the way she'd leave her clothes all over the floor, and her stupid birthday pranks, and I miss the way she snooped in my stuff and stole my clothes, and I miss her ugly donkey laughter and I hate her," he stopped abruptly, sucking in a breath, and Bliss could only stare at the way the tears fell from his eyes - a waterfall bursting from a rusted tap. And even if he wanted to stop, he couldn't. "I hate her so much, because she left us. She didn't just die, she put a fucking pill in her mouth and left us behind. And I know why, and I know she was drugged, and I know - I know all the reasons that what she did was the only thing to do, but I still fucking hate her, and I can't stop - I can't stop!"

Derek's breaths were ragged now and his hands were dragging through his hair as Bliss watched. She didn't approach him. He wasn't receptive to touch. He wanted it - needed to be wrapped in a hug so strong and fierce it would chase his demons away - but he would fight it at first, and Bliss knew she would be damaged by that.

"Why did she do that?" he demanded, not really seeing Bliss even as he threw the question at her. "How could she risk what she did for something so stupid? I told her - I told her that I didn't want a fucking cake, and she didn't listen to me - she never listens to me. And now she's gone, and she'll never fucking listen again! What am I supposed to do? Because I have to be Alpha now, when mom--and that wasn't how it was supposed to be! I'd be a terrible Alpha! Laura was supposed to be Alpha, so what am I supposed to do? I don't know what to do, and Laura isn't here to tell me," he said, winding down into shuddering breaths and broken sobs.

Carefully Bliss moved forward until she was standing directly in front of him, raising her hands to gently cup his face and brush away his tears.

"I didn't know her, but if she was half the Alpha that you thought she'd be, then she would want me to tell you how sorry she is that she wasn't there for you," she told him softly, not letting him pull away or hide his face. His lips trembled miserably. "She'd want you to know that you are not alone - that there are people here who care for you, and will help you however they can. Just because you'll be Alpha someday doesn't mean that you have to bear that burden alone," she said, looking him in the eyes, making sure he saw that she meant every word. He made a small, lost noise, and lurched forward, hiding his face in her shoulder as he pulled her into a desperate, crushing hug. She endured it as best she could, rubbing her hands over his shoulders and making soft, comforting nonsense noises as she blinked back tears of her own.

Chapter Text

Lydia paced the space of her living room in slow, controlled circuits, soft lips turned down into a hard frown that occasionally opened into a grimace as she rolled her eyes. Watcher was quiet, but Lydia knew that it was because of what had happened at the loft the night before, and not because of Lydia's current agitation.

It'd gone well - Lydia and Watcher's welcome had been much warmer than previous visits, although she suspected that had to do with her planning the elimination of a threat to their freedom, a notion that Watcher had trouble coming to terms with. It was hard for him to imagine anyone was grateful for someone actively planning the death of someone else.

Aiden had lingered at the edge of their space, arms folded as he paced and prowled and never really lost his focus on them, even as the members of his pack engaged him. Watcher blamed himself - he was 'driving' that day, but Lydia hadn't felt up to interacting with anyone just yet. And because his brother was being unreasonably taciturn, Ethan had filled the silence, never quite monopolizing Watcher's time. Asking questions about the changes made to society after the colonization, stories that he'd heard about the other planets, questions about Origin - pretty much anything to keep Watcher's mind off of the ordeal with Gerard. And the more they talked, the more Watcher had loosened his shoulders. Lydia had felt him relax more in that brief moment than he had before in all the times they had gone to the loft.

And then the hair.

The troublesome lock of hair at their temple that was just long enough to hang down, but not long enough to be held by the ponytail or braid that Lydia put their hair in. And Watcher had tucked it behind his ear, as they both did when it bothered them. A reflex. A habit.

Only Ethan's eyes had zeroed in on Watcher's hand, and the enthusiastic smile had stuttered off of his face, and the good mood slipped away as he'd glanced between them and Aiden and not so casually stepped away from them. Lydia narrowed her eyes again as it played in her head over and over, tucking the traitorous strand back into place behind her ear.

Like you were a leper, she hissed venomously, working her jaw as her cheeks grew hot.

It's okay, Lydia--

"No, Watcher," she said aloud, a sharp, jagged noise. She stopped pacing, hands clenched, eyes closed. She took a breath, let it out slowly and rolled her shoulders. "It's not okay," she said, more calmly. She opened her eyes, blinking when she caught sight of the mirror that hung on the short side of a thick wall that divided the kitchen from the living room. She eyed her hair critically and made a decision that drew a gasp of shock and mild alarm from Watcher. Lydia nodded once and grabbed her jacket from where she'd thrown it at a chair.

She was going to make it okay.

Across town, Aiden looked up from his frozen yogurt when his twin gave a sudden and intense shiver, a groan of discomfort forcing its way out of his throat. He furrowed his brows at the blink of confusion that followed.

"What's with you?" he asked, and Ethan waited for a second before frowning and shaking his head.

"Don't know. Just…got that chill, y'know?" he said, considering his brother for a moment before shrugging and going back to his book.

**

Soul fashion was kind of drab, in Erica's opinion. Lots of neutral colors. People wearing the same clothes that their hosts had worn and never really branching out into anything new. The fashion industry - so far as Erica was aware of it - had become far more accommodating to people of all sizes and shapes, but their color palette and design range had shrunk in comparison.

Still, she worked with what she had, and she made it look damn good.

The soft brown leather pants fit smoothly and comfortably, almost caressing her skin as she walked, instead of pinching because her thighs weren't toothpicks. The muted, airy green shirt was held in place by a short, half-vest that accented her cleavage while maintaining her ability to breathe. Over that she wore the leather jacket she'd borrowed from Cora's closet. She would have preferred it to be black, but the dark brown was more complimentary to the pants. The heeled boots were simple and slouchy and perfect (shoes - while similarly limiting in color except in rare instances - maintained their diverse range of styles, a fact that Erica was most appreciative of).

Drifting Petals was waiting for her outside the coffee shop where they'd met, just as they'd arranged, and she checked herself out in a slightly reflective window as she passed before smiling at him.

"Hey," he said, and her heart gave a wild flutter.

"Hey yourself," she replied with a grin, threading her arm into his when he offered and walking beside him in gleeful anticipation of the things he had planned.

**

Lydia turned her head this way and that, critically assessing her reflection from every angle possible while the stylist held another mirror that let her see the back of her head as well. The stylist looked nervous that her customer wouldn't be satisfied, but after a moment, Lydia smiled triumphantly, leaning back in the chair.

"Excellent work, Spinner," she praised as the other Soul attended some final details and cleaned up any stray hairs.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, I do," Lydia replied, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a devious smile as she looked at her watch. "Are we almost finished? I have lunch with a friend in half an hour," she inquired politely, and Spinner made agreeable noises as she rubbed something soft that smelled like strawberries into the redhead's scalp.

Watcher was a barely maintained ball of equal parts glee, anticipation, anxiety, and trepidation in the back of her mind, and she reassured him occasionally that everything would turn out for the best.

I can't believe you did it, Watcher said as soon as they were in the car, away from prying ears. Lydia shrugged lightly.

"He watches you and then shies away at the mention of my name," Lydia argued, checking traffic and pulling out onto the street. "Laughs at your jokes - timid as they are - and then skulks off whenever Aiden walks too close by. If he can't see you as a separate person after this, then he doesn't deserve you," she added, lifting her chin imperiously as she drove back to their apartment to change.

Reacher was tracing the condensation on his ice water onto the tabletop when she arrived, his expression slightly downcast in a way that drew Watcher's attention away - momentarily - from his thoughts about Ethan.

"What's wrong?" Lydia asked, sliding elegantly into her seat across from him. His eyes jerked up from his morose contemplations and he opened his mouth but nothing came out. Instead his eyes grew almost impossibly wide and he stared at her, gaping. She preened, turning her head so he could see more of her new style.

"What..."was all that Reacher could force out, eyebrows furrowing in abject bewilderment. He shook his head, glanced around to see if anyone else was as flabbergasted as him, and then stared at her again. "What," he said again, with feeling. Lydia scoffed.

"Don't get so excited," she teased, making him blink. "It's just hair," she added. He blinked again, harder.

"That's...true…?" he managed eventually, though by the look on his face, Stiles was having a hard time coming to grips with Lydia's new image. She chuckled.

"And anyway, we have more important things to discuss, don't we?" she reminded him. This seemed to knock him free of his fascination, and he blinked, shaking his head a little and closing his mouth.

"Right," he said, shooting a last, bewildered look at her hair before glancing around. "My Alpha says it's time for a conversation," he told her, and she arched an eyebrow. He shrugged uncomfortably, a blush coloring his cheeks as he looked down at the table in front of her. "She...uh, she knows," he added, wincing apologetically. Lydia sighed.

"Yes, I figured you would tell her," she told him. His eyebrows rose again and he blinked.

"You did?" he blurted. She scoffed.

"She's your Alpha," she replied matter-of-factly. He considered that and then nodded. "So then, we should discuss details," she told him. "For instance, where will we be having this conversation?" she asked. He hesitated. She huffed slightly. "I mean, it would hardly be ideal to transport your Alpha all the way to our Den, or vice versa, simply for a conversation," she said.

"No, you're right - I hadn't considered that," he agreed. She hummed, taking a sip of the complimentary water.

"It'll have to be neutral ground," she told him.

"How 'bout the school?"

The suggestion must have surprised him because he blinked as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but Lydia considered it. It wasn't very far outside Hale territory, but it had advantages.

"Term is over, no one will be there, except maybe the janitorial staff," Reacher went on. Lydia tilted her head contemplatively.

"Privacy would be ideal," she agreed. "Also, there should probably be some ground rules. Wouldn't want one side to feel that the other had an advantage over the other."

"No, of course. I mean, I'm sure we can trust each other," Reacher said, and Lydia arched an eyebrow.

"As do I, but these are werewolves, and they don't have the benefit of a Soul," she reminded him. He rolled his eyes a little, conceding the point before absent-mindedly tapping the tabletop.

"One Alpha each," he suggested, eyebrows raised, and Lydia inclined her head.

"Fair enough. Plus two pack members," she offered. He considered that and shrugged, nodding. "Oh, plus us," she added, and he snorted.

"Well, duh," he replied dismissively, making her smirk.

"Good. Well that was easy. So, how've you been?" she asked, and he blinked at the question. Something sour flickered on his face before he shrugged, fiddling with the condensation of the glass he hadn't drunk from yet. Lydia scoffed. "Oh, there's a look that screams of complication," she said, and he hesitated, eyes widening as he looked at her again.

"What?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"The look on your face just now," she replied. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"What look? There wasn't a look," he lied. She stared at him.

"Fascinating," she said, shaking her head. He blinked.

"What?"

"When lives don't depend on it, you are a horrible liar," she replied, and then laughed when he rolled his eyes, the sour look returning to his face. "Look, you're going to tell me, okay? You know it, I know it. You might as well just spill," she told him. He sighed, going back to playing with the condensation that was making a small ring on his coaster.

"Where do I even start?" he asked. She arched an eyebrow.

"How about with whatever was making you frown so much before I sat down and shone a light on y our miserable existence?" she asked teasingly. He snorted, a grin breaking over his face that drew a smile to Lydia's lips. "That's better. So what is it? Girl trouble?" she asked. He rolled his eyes and blushed, and she looked him over before smirking. "Boy trouble then?" she amended. He blushed more and didn't answer. She drew her water closer and rested her elbows on the table, placing her chin on her interlaced fingers. "I'm all ears."

**

"This is great," Erica said happily as she and Drifting Petals walked along the street amidst bright lights and softly drifting music. He smiled down at where she was slowly eating her ice cream cone. "I haven't been to a fair in years," she admitted. He nodded.

"Me either," he replied, content to keep their slow strolling pace as they passed food stalls, taking in the delicious aromas that wafted together into the street. He watched her take in all the sights and sounds, a soft, fond smile on his face that grew slightly when her eyes widened in excitement.

"Oooh, games!" she said, bouncing slightly. He let her pull him along to the row of carnival-esque games, not really interested in what they had to offer. He just smiled along with the excitement that she was visibly trying to curb to something milder. As they got closer, her excitement turned to confusion, and she glanced down the line of game booths before looking at Petals. "What happened to the water-guns?" she asked. There was a brief moment of almost fear that crossed her face before she could cover it. He pretended not to notice.

"They were shaped like guns, the workers thought it might be too violent for the kids," he explained easily. She sighed.

"I always thought it taught hand-eye coordination," she muttered. He nodded thoughtfully.

"They still have the ring toss. And the basket game. bean bag toss, bottles," he said. She looked up at the mention of bottles, and he raised his eyebrows.

"They still have the game where you throw a ball and try to knock down bottles?" she asked, clearly skeptical that this was less violent than water-pistols. He nodded. She considered this briefly and then nodded.

"You want me to win you something?" he asked, heart beating warmly in his chest when she scoffed and tossed her hair back.

"What if I want to win you something?" she replied haughtily. He huffed a laugh.

"A trophy from my strong lady?" he teased. Her eyes lit up and she smirked, pulling him down the line of booths in search of bottles, ready to face that challenge. He let her.

**

"Are you sure that's everything?" Ethan asked, arching an eyebrow at Gwen and Ollie, who were arguing about everything they'd need in order to make a proper beef stew. They looked at each other and consulted their improvised lists in the glare of the afternoon sun through the window panels that they hadn't blacked out.

"Pretty sure," Gwen said. Ollie nodded. Ethan snorted at their tentative affirmation, looking down at his extensive list. He cocked his ear towards the door at the sound of footsteps, hearing boots instead of heels and smiled a little at the thought of Watcher coming for a visit. He nodded to the kids and turned towards the door. "Hey, Watcher," he said as the door opened. "Got a pretty big list for you today. The kids wanna make some stew for the pa---" Ethan stopped, jaw hanging open, clipboard slipping through his lax fingers as he stared at the Soul. Watcher didn't say anything, blushing lightly at Ethan's obvious shock and reaching up to toy nervously with his hair.
Of which there was a noticeable, significant deficit.

The long, meticulously styled locks that Lydia wore with pride were gone, leaving a short, meticulously styled page-cut in its place. The sides were short, with the top styled up for volume. Ethan stared, eyes wide, words deserting him. Watcher blushed some more and coughed delicately.

"You're staring," he said, ducking his head. Ethan blinked twice and nodded.

"Uh, yeah I am," he replied, closing the distance and putting his hand on Watcher's head, feeling for himself how short - how real the haircut was. "Jeez, Watch, is Lydia okay with this?" he asked, chest twinging in sympathy for the human's loss. Watcher's face now closely matched his hair as he leaned into Ethan's hand and smiled shyly.

"It was her idea," he answered. Ethan blinked, noting a similar rush of heat up his neck to his own cheeks and ears.

"Well, it...it looks great," he said, hand sliding down cup the back of Watcher's neck, heart skipping several beats in time with the hitch in Watcher's breath.

A low growl set the hairs on both their necks on end and Ethan yanked his hand back, gut clenching at how wrong the action felt. He turned to look at Aiden, whose eyes were glowing red. Watcher took a step back, shoulders hunching, and Ethan glanced at him before baring his teeth at his brother.

"Stop it, you're scaring him," he said. Aiden glared at him, working his jaw, trying to find words to fit his fury, his sense of betrayal. But behind Ethan, Watcher stopped cowering, took a breath, and stood up tall, his expression transforming from awkward uncertainty to flat annoyance.

"Stop it both of you," he snapped, and they looked at him.

Or rather, her, because it was definitely Lydia standing there now.

She looked between both of them and rolled her eyes.

"Alright, we need to talk. Upstairs. Now," she said, stalking over to the stairs in question and climbing them imperiously with the implicit expectation that she would be followed without complaint. The twin Alphas watched her go and looked at each other for a long moment before doing exactly that. Melody was leaving his room with Robbie in tow, Lydia holding the door open as she glared at a wall. His eyebrows parked at his hairline as he shot inquiring glances at his Alphas, but they just shook their heads and filed past Lydia into the room. She closed the door behind them, surprisingly gentle about it.

"Sit," she ordered. Aiden bristled.

"We're not dogs," he snapped, and she gaped at him.

"Yes, I know, but you know who else gets ordered to sit? Stupid boys. Now sit," she snapped. Ethan sank into a seated position on the corner of Robbie's bed, never feeling more like a bad dog with his tail between his legs than at that moment. For a second he was an Omega again, but looking at Lydia, the feeling faded quickly. Neither of them could ever be as bad a master as his former Alpha had been.

Aiden sat more slowly, his face stuck in a scowl as he refused to look at her. She rolled her eyes and took a breath.

"Okay, I'm going to put all my cards on the table, and you're both going to keep quiet until I'm done. This is a once in a lifetime emotional moment and I will not repeat it," she told them. Their eyebrows went up. They glanced at each other. Aiden's scowl was softened by confusion. They looked at Lydia. They said nothing and waited. After a moment she sighed. "In spite of the fact that I have several irons in the fire that demand my full concentration, I find myself more and more distracted by thoughts of Aiden, leading me to the conclusion that I would find a relationship with him fulfilling in many ways," she said.

Aiden scoffed, opening his mouth to rebut, only to find her arching an eyebrow at him. He closed his mouth. She cleared her throat and looked away, and both of their eyebrows rose at the sight of the blush that claimed her cheeks.

"However, as much as Watcher's view of Aiden could be classified as 'fond', he finds himself emotionally, mentally, romantically, and physically attracted to Ethan," she said, shrugging once. "This is the reason I refused to initiate a relationship with Aiden. I can't be in a relationship that would limit Watcher's romantic inclinations,"

"You and Watcher are in love with two different people?" Aiden asked. She sighed again.

"That is what I said. We share the same body, but we're two different people. The fact is that he and I have different needs when it comes to relationships. Watcher requires intimacy, and I require passion, and while it's possible to find those qualities in the same person, I made the decision a long time ago that if Watcher wanted someone that I didn't, I would let him pursue that person freely," she said.

"How does that work?" Aiden asked, confused and clearly not all that accepting of the concept. Ethan though, was smiling quietly down at his hands, his ears an endearing shade of red.

"It's called sharing," Lydia replied, glancing at Ethan and arching an eyebrow. "What are you smiling about?" she asked. He looked up at her and shrugged, still helplessly grinning.

"Watcher's in love with me?" he asked, smile growing wider. Lydia blinked, blushing a little further and then scoffing, shaking her head.

"Is that all you care about?" she demanded. He shrugged.

"It's all I care about right now," he answered. She huffed.

"Well don't get excited. Neither of us is entering a relationship with either of you until we get this mess straightened out," she said. He nodded easily, looking at Aiden, who was scowling.

"Why'd you cut your hair?" the older twin asked. Lydia studied him for a moment, hands on her hips.

"Because Ethan was confused about how to handle Watcher, and it was causing some consternation," she replied honestly. "I saved my hair, I'm having them made into extensions so I can have long hair when I'm me and short hair when I'm Watcher," she added. He studied her.

"So we could tell you apart," he said, some of the tension leaking out of him. She shrugged one shoulder. "So we could separate you," he added. She arched an eyebrow.

"Is it working?" she asked. Aiden rolled his eyes, standing up.

"No," he answered, walking past her to the door. "You still smell the same," he added, before walking out into the hall. Lydia watched him go and scowled, folding her arms. Ethan was biting his lip to keep the grin off of his face, and she narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before sighing and walking after Aiden. Ethan quietly rose from the bed and followed, lower lip still firmly between his teeth even as his cheeks dimpled happily.

Downstairs, Aiden was dismissing the pack from the main loft with a sharp 'go play in the yard', meaning one of the other apartments. The only one who was still present was Melody, who was hesitating to leave, eyes darting between the wolves and Lydia (and Lydia's hair). He was holding a book - an obvious attempt to appear uninterested that would have worked better if he were paying it any attention whatsoever. Lydia watched Aiden pace and waited, keeping calm for Watcher's sake. Eventually Aiden stopped pacing and turned to face her.

"Why doesn't Watcher just get a new host?" he asked gruffly, obviously trying to keep his bitter jealousy in check and failing somewhat. Melody dropped his book, gaping at his Alpha with wide, stricken eyes. Lydia's reaction was much more composed but no less apprehensive, closing her eyes and clenching her fists slightly before taking a shivery breath.

"No!" Melody blurted before anyone could say anything. The Alphas both looked at him, blinking at his embarrassed but steadfast blush before looking back at Lydia, who hadn't disputed the former Seeker's denial. She looked paler than a moment ago, and her heart was pounding.

"Why not?" Aiden asked, suddenly worried. Lydia sighed.

"It's not that it's life-threatening or anything like that. There's a social taboo against 'skipping', but even if there wasn't, I doubt it would be the solution you're obviously hoping for," she replied, gesturing off handedly. "For starters, this theoretical other body would be difficult to procure, I'm sure you'd agree," she said. Aiden snorted and folded his arms grumpily. "But it's not just that," she added, shaking her head and reaching up to tuck hair behind her ear, an old gesture that was meaningless now. She ignored that she'd done it. "I'm used to having Watcher in my ear. Literally. If he were removed, there would be psychological backlash. For both of us," she explained. Aiden frowned in concern as he considered what that might mean. Ethan frowned, too, swaying closer as if yearning to offer comfort. There was a moment of silence and then Ethan blinked at the way she sucked in her cheek - an alternative for biting her lip, since it was frequently covered in gloss.

"There's something else, though, isn't there?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," she replied reluctantly. She didn't say anything for a moment, but then squared her shoulders and straightened her spine, fixing the 'take no shit' expression on her face that Ethan had come to recognize as a shield. "The other thing is that: for all that I would find a relationship with Aiden rewarding - and I would, on many levels - the fact is that I love Watcher. He's...well, not to sound trite, but he's my soulmate," she said, watching all expression drain from Aiden's face. Ethan was close enough to catch a whiff of the sad disappointment that wafted from Lydia's pores before she could redirect her focus. "This means that even if we found another host and Watcher and I could overcome our crippling aversion to the notion of skipping - even though we would be free to establish relationships with both of you independently of each other, you would both still have to share, because I would absolutely have sex with Watcher," she said, lifting her chin. "Without shame or reservation," she added haughtily. Her eyes darted up and to the left for a moment and she smirked. "And Watcher agrees," she added with a toss of her head that would have flipped hair if it'd still been there. Ethan smiled, charmed by the action of habit.

Aiden was still staring, his focus intense but expressionless. It was starting to get awkward, and Ethan shifted his weight to his other leg. Lydia took a short breath and nodded as though something had been decided.

"Anyway, that's not what we came to talk about," she said, her tone determined but slightly flat. "Talia Hale has agreed to speak with you," she told them. The atmosphere shifted dramatically from emotional distress to panic mixed with relief. Deucalion, the ever-looming threat - they knew he was close, they just didn't know how close. They needed to form this alliance if either of their packs had a chance of surviving.

"When? Where?"

"It'll be at the school, tomorrow or the day after. Reacher will text me with their schedule as soon as he's discussed it with his Alpha," she answered. Aiden pulled on his Leader face.

"What's the arrangement?" he asked.

"One Alpha and two pack members each, with accompanying Souls. That'll be Reacher and myself, obviously," she told them, and Aiden glanced at Melody, who shrugged.

"She's right. She's out there, Reacher's out there. I don't know the situation like I used to," he said in response to the look. Aiden nodded, but Lydia didn't miss the reluctance of it. Ethan ducked his head and said nothing, waiting for his brother to decide.

"I went out last time," Aiden finally said, in a somewhat disgruntled tone. Ethan snorted, smirking at his brother's attempt to lighten the mood. "Take Bron and Gwen with you. Bron's bright, he'll have good ideas, and Gwen--" he started, throwing a look towards the door. Ethan nodded.

"Gwen's already in everyone's business," the younger twin finished. Lydia arched an eyebrow until the audible exchange of a snicker and a sharp 'shh!' from behind the door. Her blush was mild and gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

"Good," she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I'll let Reacher know. Keep your phone on you, I'll be in touch with the rest of the details," she told them. She didn't make a move towards the door until she'd made eye contact with both of them to make sure they understood, but it didn't matter. Ethan could spot bolting prey in any form (although in this case, it was more like a retreating predator. Lydia would be no one's prey).

"We'll be ready," he assured her, and she nodded once before walking with projected calm and purpose towards the door, unsurprised to find half of the pack behind it when it was opened. The grocery list lay forgotten on the loft floor where Ethan had dropped it.

**

"This was such a great night," Erica sighed, walking down the street towards where she'd met Petals for the date. He kept one hand in his pocket, his elbow warm from the weight of her hand. His other arm was secure around a large teddy bear with a jewel green ribbon. He looked down at her dreamy smile and blushed.

"It doesn't have to end here," he said. She blinked at his abashed forwardness before her smile spread into a grin.

"Why Drifting Petals, I do believe you just invited me back to your place," she said playfully, giving his arm a squeeze so that he'd know it was alright. He ducked his head, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"You believe correctly," he replied. She bit her lip, stopping on the sidewalk and turning to face him completely when he stopped too. His eyes were curious. Her smile was sly.

"Whatever shall we do when we get there?" she asked, delighted by the way his eyes dilated, and the sweet hot smell of desire that wafted gently from him.

"Whatever you want," he answered honestly, pulling his hand out of his pocket and gently pulling on her sleeve so that he could catch her hand in his. She blushed at the gentleness of it, swaying towards him.

"A cup of coffee might be nice," she said. He smiled again, stroking his thumb over hers.

"My car's this way," he said, nodding down the block.

The car ride was mostly quiet, Erica humming something soft and vague while Petals drove. The bear buckled up safely in the backseat (Erica's not-quite aborted giggle as she watched him make sure the belt was secure). Apparently he lived in a small house by himself, near the ice-rink. It was cozy inside, and he hung up their jackets as she looked around, taking it all in.

"Nice place," she said, thinking about home before everything. She didn't miss it - not exactly - but she couldn't help but imagine the life she could have had in a place like this. She looked at Petals, who was nodding as he looked around at a place he'd seen a thousand times, trying to see it anew through the eyes of his guest. She smiled up at him. He looked back at her, the two of them quiet for a long moment as the atmosphere drifted into something heavier.

"Would you like that coffee now?" he asked, eyes never leaving her face. Her heart thumped twice and she almost laughed at the notion of telling Ophelia that coffee was still used as a euphemism for messing around.

"Definitely," she replied, fighting the urge to smile big and wide as he slowly moved into her space, ducking his head down to lay a gentle kiss on her lips. It was soft, and sweet, and so perfect she thought she might swoon like a harlequin novel heroine, knees knocking at the way their mouths fit together. After a long moment, he pulled away slightly, and she licked her lips.

"That's good coffee, Petals," she said. He nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, voice a little deeper than before. "More?" he asked, fingers gently resting on her hip, tentative but hopeful. She could hear his heart beating wildly in his chest and it gave her courage. She nodded, reaching up to cup his face.

"Sounds good to me," she said, pretending to be bold as she kissed him first this time. His soft noise of surprise thrilled her, but not as much as the hand that settled fully on her hip before sliding around to her back to pull her closer. Her arms were around his broad, broad shoulders, her toes pushing with all their might to give her that extra inch.

They kissed like that for a moment, until Petals guided her over to the couch, conscious of the strain on Erica's feet. They removed their shoes before going back to kissing.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Petals asked, brushing his fingers through her hair as she nuzzled lazily against his cheek, lost in the scent of his contented desire.

"Go for it," she replied, giving his skin an idle lick and smiling at his shiver.

"What's your name?" he asked. She hesitated, eyes blinking open in surprise as the heat of the moment faded into something foreboding. She tried to play it off with a smirk, but too long a moment had already passed.

"Stalks Bending," she reminded him. "Did you forget already or something?" she asked. He shook his head, brushing a thumb over her cheek before gently taking one of her hands in his. He looked at their hands as he spoke, darting shy glances towards her face.

"No, I mean...what's your real name?"

Chapter Text

For a long time - maybe forever - there was silence while Petals stared down at his hand and Stalks' hand, projecting a calm, non-threatening aura as he waited patiently for her reaction. Their hands were still entwined, and he gave the back of hers a soothing stroke before blinking because he was no longer holding her hand and she was across the room. He blinked once slowly and looked at her, expectant and hopeful.

She darted glances about his living room like they were being watched, and then turned back to him, eyes angry and fearful.

"Is this the part where the Seekers come to take me away?" she demanded, fists clenching and unclenching. Petals blinked, trying to ignore the cold curl of hurt that briefly circled his heart. She didn't have a Soul. She couldn't know how guileless they were. He shook his head.

"No," he answered softly. "No one's coming. I haven't called anyone about you," he told her. Her eyes narrowed, dropping to his chest briefly before widening with a blink. The tension in her shoulders eased to his curious confusion, and she folded her arms, looking him over more appraisingly.

"Why not?" she asked, setting her jaw defensively while he sat very still and watched her. "Isn't that what a good little Soul's supposed to do with a...someone like me?" she asked. He sighed.

"I won't lie to you," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "I thought about it," he started, shrugging with helpless apology when her jaw tightened. "I figured you out pretty early on. It wasn't particularly difficult - you stand out, it's one of the things I..." his smile stuttered into something sad at her unflinching, determined suspicion and he looked down at his hands. "I thought, 'what a lively host she'd make'," he told her before shaking his head. "But I changed my mind. It didn't take long," he added. Stalks heaved a quick, frustrated sigh.

"Why, though?" she demanded. He shrugged, looking up at her with sad and hopeful brown eyes. The hope was dimming by the second.

"Because there are things about you that I like that are wholly human. Because there was no guarantee that the Soul you were implanted with would return my affections. Because I didn't want to change you. Because there was no guarantee you'd survive, and I couldn't..." he shook his head, big hands clenching as he took a deep breath. "I couldn't go through that again," he said, swallowing hard. Something like surprise flickered in the young human's eyes, followed swiftly by loss.

"Your host isn't still in there?" she asked him. He lowered his eyes from hers, looking down at his hands.

"He...Boyd was here at first, but..." he shook his head once. "He was very sad all the time. He'd just lost his sister. There was trouble at school. He just...he didn't…" He swallowed hard and blinked back tears at the loss of his host. It was such a shame they hadn't come sooner - for Boyd's sake. His memories before his sister's death were warm and bright, full of laughter and love. The Boyd he'd met was a brittle broken thing, and Petals' presence had turned his will to live into hourglass sand. No matter how the soul had tried to keep him present, Boyd had slowly drifted into silence and then into nothingness.

There was a long silence between them as he reigned in his sadness, and when he looked up at her, most of her defensive posture had relaxed. She was studying him intently.

"You're not gonna turn me in?" she asked, and he shook his head. She flexed her shoulders, rotating her jaw. "So then why tell me that you know?" she asked. He blinked.

"Because I want you to stay," he replied frankly. His tone indicated that this should be an obvious fact. "I wanted you to know that I know and that I want you to stay," he added in a softer tone. She blinked at him many times, and he would have thought her composed if not for the sudden flush of red that crawled up her neck to her ears. "You don't have to - obviously - if it makes you uncomfortable," he told her. Carefully, watching her the entire time to make sure she didn't spook - he rose from the couch. He moved slowly around the side of the coffee table that was furthest from the door so as not to block her retreat. He let her track his every move and stood far enough away so that she was out of his reach when he held out his hand. She stared at him for a moment, looking from his face to his hand and back before turning away and running a shaking hand over her hair. There was a pang of disappointment, sharp and painful in his chest, when she started walking away, but it disappeared a moment later when he realized that she was just pacing, and he watched her, pulling his hand back to his side. There were a lot of deep breaths and semi-furtive glances in his direction before she set her jaw and turned back towards him.

"I'm a werewolf," she told him bluntly. He blinked, taking in the way she was completely focused on his reaction to this bit of news. Her shoulders were tense again and her nails were almost digging in to her arms she was so tense. This was clearly a revelation of importance to her, which ruled out any kind of 'test' she might have concocted to discover the limits of his affections. Not a standard test, at any rate.

"Can I see?" he asked, looking her over briefly before taking in the surprise on her face.

"What, you don't care?" she replied, shocked. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Have you been a werewolf the whole time we've known each other?" he asked, and she blinked.

'Well, yeah, but--"

"Then why would it change how I feel about you?" he asked. She stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He waited patiently. She closed her mouth, swallowed once and then took a breath before clearing her throat.

"So, uh...my name's Erica," she told him. He smiled.

"Erica," he repeated, and held out his hand again.

This time she took it.

**

It was about three in the morning when Peter - who napped at regular intervals in order to maintain maximum alertness and awareness of his surroundings - interrupted his usual patrol of the Den and took the south passage towards the outside, naturally soft footsteps muffled further by the ever spreading moss that had been sprayed down the various routes of escape. From the far end he could hear distracted humming - the kind that one engaged in during idle daydreams.

Erica's absence had not escaped his notice - nor had it escaped his wife's - but they'd said nothing of it to Talia, hoping (foolishly, it seemed), that the excitement of slipping out into the 'real world' would exhaust itself and that Erica would grow bored with it. From the sound of the dreamy sigh that caught his ears, the excitement would not wear off for quite some time, and he rolled his eyes because now he had to make a decision.

Did he expose Erica's dalliance and risk the teenager's ire or enable her and risk Talia's eventual wrath? Because there was no doubt in his mind that Talia would eventually find out - the secret was far too juicy to keep forever. Neither prospect was particularly appealing. Talia might use her Alpha voice and yell and use her disappointment and fear-for-others as a potent weapon, but Peter wasn't made of stone - the prospect of making Erica cry over the loss of her beau wilted his stomach.

He saw her before she saw him (as was often the case, he found), and he took the extra moment to study what he could of her appearance.

Her clothes were composed, but the swing in her hips and the messy ponytail her hair had been pulled into told him that Erica had found someone to relieve her of that 'pesky' virginity that teenagers always seemed to care so much about. The smile that never seemed to fade entirely and the dreamy haze of her eyes told him that it had been particularly satisfying for her. The bounce in her step told him that she couldn't wait to see her mystery boy again. He sighed audibly. There'd be no keeping them apart without creating some sort of modern day Romeo/Juliet scenario that he had no interest in seeing played out.

His sigh reached her ears and she stopped dead, smile shattering into a trapped grimace as her eyes zeroed in on him. He made a small show of looking her over before leveling a look comprised mainly of judgment.

"My dear Erica, I sincerely hope he's worth all the groveling you're going to have to do when our Alpha finds out," he told her. She shifted her weight and folded her arms.

"You gonna tell on me?" she asked defiantly. Peter snorted.

"Give me some credit, please. If I were going to, I would have already. This is the fifth time you've snuck out to see him," the older werewolf replied. She blinked, but relaxed, walking over when he gestured grandly back towards the Den.

"Known the whole time, huh?" she asked, only slightly chagrined. The dreamy smile was already slipping back into place. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm smarter than your average bear," he replied dryly. She snorted a laugh. His smile was fond, and brief. "Now for the formalities," he told her, and she blinked before a look of vague horror replaced her grin. He held up a hand to forestall her complaints. "Please. I'm not your father, and therefore I have no say over or interest in your little..." he made an all-encompassing gesture. "...activities. I have three questions to ask and an obligatory threat to make, so if we could just get through this with as little groaning as possible, we'll both be better off," he told her. She rolled her eyes but straightened her shoulders and nodded.

"Alrighty then," she replied.

"Was he good to you?" he asked, and her face exploded into a self-satisfied grin the likes of which he'd only ever seen before on his wife. He arched an eyebrow. "Good then," he said before she could open her mouth. She giggled. He rolled his eyes. "Did you use protection?" he asked her next, and she nodded dutifully.

"Petals was very well stocked with a variety of--"

"Erica," Peter chided gently, and her grin returned, accompanied by a biting of lips.

"Yes, we used protection," she answered. He nodded.

"Now, with the obligatory understanding that I, under no circumstances, endorse this dalliance which could be the end of this small rebellion, I will need to know when you plan to see him again, so that I might make the necessary excuses for your prolonged absences," he told her, and she stopped, staring at him. He sighed. "You're going to see him again - you know it, I know it, and anyone else who knows about it probably knows it as well, but my sister - bless her busy soul - appears not to know of it. Noting your absence and not being able to explain it away will only eat at the concentration that she requires in order to run this small army," he explained to her. She looked appropriately abashed and he shook his head. "So, when are you two planning to have your next tryst?" he asked. Erica sighed.

"Wednesday, probably. In the afternoon sometime," she answered. He nodded.

"That will give me a few days to come up with your cover. Now to the threat," he said, smiling in a way that made Erica shiver. "If he hurts you, or threatens to hurt you, or implies that he may be thinking of hurting you, Erica, I will feed him his own entrails before I rip out his heart," he told her. His smile was cold, but his eyes held the kindest sincerity, and Erica stared at him for a moment before stepping forward and hugging him. He blinked, but returned the embrace, leaving his arm around her shoulder as she left her arm around his waist.

"You know you're the best kind of uncle, right?" she asked. He said nothing about the touched waver of her voice, sighing instead.

"I know. It's a terrible burden," he replied, smiling when she giggled.

**

Cora blinked her eyes open when her ears caught the sound of shuffling in her room, and she lifted her head to see Erica kicking off her boots and hanging up her jacket. She yawned, scrubbing her hand over her face as she sat up.

"Ha'd ih hah?" she asked mid yawn, stretching sleepily. Erica huffed at her, but didn't answer, and then Cora tensed up when she breathed in the smell that Erica had brought in the room with her. "Oh. My. God, you totally had sex, didn't you?" she hissed. Erica grinned at her and fell dramatically backwards onto her mattress. Cora rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I hate you," she muttered, flopping back herself with a sour twist of lips.

"Jealous?" Erica teased. Cora snorted.

"Uh, yes? Are you like, completely noseblind or something? I can't believe you haven't smelled the insane amount of sex hormone emanating from my bed, or my clothes, or me," she snapped. Erica laughed.

"Oh, but I have. I just thought it was more polite not to say anything," she replied. Cora snorted, but a smirk was already claiming her face. She sat up again.

"So how was it?" she asked. Erica sighed, putting her hands on her face to cover her burning cheeks.

"His hands, Cora," she said, straining not to giggle or keen. "His hands," she repeated, with feeling. Cora huffed. After a moment though, Erica sat up, her expression suddenly and completely serious. She looked at the door, but the privacy screen was still in place. "He knows," she told her friend. Cora gaped, but Erica held up his hand. "Apparently he's known for a while," she added, and Cora closed her mouth with a soft click of teeth.

"How long is a while?" she asked, concerned. Erica spread her hands helplessly.

"Long enough to decide that he was totally fine having a free-willed werewolf girlfriend," the blonde answered. Cora's eyes widened.

"He knows about that too?" she asked incredulously. Erica rolled her eyes, sighing uncomfortably.

"Okay, the werewolf bit was me," she confessed, embarrassed. Cora stared flatly at her.

"Really?" she asked, tone laden with judgment. Erica shrugged.

"He was being all...confession-y. And adorable. It's..he…unf," she said. Cora snorted.

"You were held hostage by your burning loins, got it," the brunette replied. Erica bit her lip against a grin and failed.

"Kinda, yeah," she admitted. "Anyway, Peter knows, and as long as I don't endanger the Den, he's down to cover for me," she added. Cora shrugged.

"Well yeah. Uncle Pete's awesome," she replied, sniffing to indicate superiority and then snorting at the smell. "Seriously, though. You reek," she said. Erica grinned. Cora rolled her eyes.

**

Reacher let Stiles distract him as he drove carefully down the street towards the high school with two werewolves and Isaac in his Jeep. He wasn't so nervous about having Talia or Isaac in his Jeep, but when he'd told Talia that the arrangement only allowed two other pack members (excluding his automatic self), she had automatically volunteered Derek.

Derek who was sitting in the seat directly behind Reacher and Stiles.

Derek who he'd had to push the seat all the way forward for, just so the lean but muscled werewolf could get into the backseat.

Derek who he'd had to hold the seat forward for, watching him squeeze into the car - an image that would forever haunt his wet dreams.

He swallowed hard for the fourth time in ten minutes.

"Do you need a drink of water?" Talia asked politely. He jolted slightly, willing himself not to jerk the wheel as he threw a half-mortified glance in her direction.

"Uh…" he started, throat crackling in the middle. He cleared it and blushed. "I'll get one when we arrive, it's fine," he muttered, hands clenching on the wheel. He glanced in the rear view mirror in time to catch Derek looking away, as well as Isaac hiding a good-natured smirk behind one hand.

Thankfully it wasn't too much longer until they were pulling into the employee parking lot of the emptied school. Reacher parked near the door, taking note of the car parked by itself near the street and wondering if Lydia and her werewolves were already inside. Reacher climbed out of the Jeep, shuffling his keys to find the right one to open the side door, and paused at a grunted, 'hey'.

Turning back he found Derek staring at him from the backseat, eyebrows furrowed in a scowl, and he blinked, blushing lightly.

"Right, sorry," he said, stepping forward to get ahold of the ancient seat's headrest. Derek huffed and rolled his eyes but began the process of climbing out of the backseat. He climbed out the way he climbed in - headfirst - and used the door and the roof to pull out his legs. Reacher concentrated on breathing normally as Derek set himself back on his feet, looking down at the Soul he'd inadvertently crowded against the driver's side door. Reacher waited for him to move away, to grunt his annoyance or make a comment about the seat or something, but Derek just stood there, staring down at him, and he just stood there, staring back, and his cheeks were starting to get red, despite his efforts. It's possible that his nostrils flared slightly in an attempt to catch the scent of the werewolf in front of him. He kind of hoped that Derek didn't notice, or if he did that he thought it was just nerves.

He smells like sweaty heaven, Stiles groaned. Reacher's heart skipped over the next couple of beats at the thought of burying his nose in Derek's chest. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and didn't dare break eye contact with Derek for longer than it took to blink.

"We should be getting inside," Talia said after a moment of silence, making Reacher jump. Derek turned and walked away like he hadn't just been staring into Stiles' and Reacher's eyes for a solid thirty seconds. It was the closest they'd been to each other in days and Reacher had to take a second to compose himself before closing the Jeep's door and leading the others into the building.

As he suspected, no one was around, not even janitorial staff, who cleaned the school from top to bottom once a week, and he led his pack up the stairs to his classroom. Lydia and her pack were already there, waiting outside. Immediately the other Alpha straightened, and his eyes began to glow a vivid red. Reacher glanced at Talia, noting the appearance of her own glowing red eyes, and furrowed his eyebrows in concern. He glanced at Lydia, who discreetly shook her head, glanced once more between the two packs and pulled out his keys to unlock the door.

"Um, wait here, please, I want to draw the blinds and make sure no one can see us," he said, looking to make sure both Alphas acknowledged his request - neither of them taking their eyes off of each other - before heading in and going to the wall of windows.

Dude, Stiles said, as Reacher climbed up on the window ledge to reach the blinds control. That was kind of a moment, he said. Reacher blushed, watching the blinds slowly descend the window until they were resting on the sill. Stiles chuckled in his head as he moved on to the next set of blinds. I meant the two Alphas meeting each other, but yeah, the thing with Derek, that was kind of super amazing and I want that to happen more, he added. Reacher frowned, disregarding Stiles comment about Derek to Stiles' stifled disappointment, and turning his thoughts to the two Alphas who were probably still staring each other down.

Is this a problem? Is it going to be a problem? he asked worriedly, trying not to visualize the two Alphas fighting to the death in the middle of his classroom. Trying not to imagine himself or Lydia caught in the middle of it. Stiles scoffed dismissively.

Talia would never put us in danger like that - either of us. She knows what Lyds has done to help us, he said, making Reacher blush in shame for even having worried. Buuuut, if it did happen, maybe Derek would dive in and rescue us, y'know? Maybe he'd carry us to safety in his arms. I bet he has strong arms. Maybe he'd stare at us again, all intense-like and then make out with us in the heat of the moment, Stiles went on, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. Reacher barely stifled a burst of laughter into a huff of air, putting his hand over his mouth.

You're awful, he said, practically laughing in his head. Stiles beamed.

I know it, he replied proudly.

As soon as Reacher had let down the last blind, he hopped down from the sill and went to the door, looking out to see that the two Alphas had not yet looked away from each other. He glanced between them again and turned to Lydia, who shrugged. He rolled his eyes slightly and cleared his throat.

"The blinds are down, no one should be able to see in now," he said, and Talia made a gesture without looking away from Lydia's Alpha. Derek and Isaac moved into the room first while Reacher watched with confused, arched eyebrows. That is, until Derek snagged his collar on the way in, moving him bodily away from the door and over to one side of the room. Reacher resisted the urge to squawk and protest, letting Derek move him where he was needed, heart pounding when Derek prodded him to lean against his desk and then stood almost directly next to him. Isaac stood on Reacher's other side, offering the Soul a sheepish shrug and a glance at the broody werewolf. Reacher shook his head and watched the other pack file in.

The representative pack members weren't that much older than Stiles and Lydia. There was a deeply tanned (or maybe just dark skinned? It was difficult to imagine either of them spending much time outside in the sun) boy with black hair pulled back into a tight braid, and a pale, freckled girl with blonde hair. They both stared at him, Derek, and Isaac with open curiosity that was cut off by the Alphas entering the room. They stood on their respective sides, not leaning or sitting, and for a long time neither of them spoke. Reacher glanced at Lydia, but where the redhead was usually the first to jump in and take charge, this time, she seemed more than content to wait until someone else started the conversation, inspecting her nails and then brushing some imaginary fuzz off of her pressed pants.

Dude. Short hair. I think that must be Watcher, Stiles interjected, and Reacher blinked, assessing his counterpart before quietly agreeing and adjusting his pronouns.

"How long have you been in town?" Talia asked. If the other Alpha was perturbed by the lack of introductions, he didn't show it.

"A little over a month," he answered.

"And how long have you known about us?" she asked. He tilted his head.

"Years," he replied. Talia didn't blink, but from her sudden scrutiny of the other Alpha's features, she was more than likely trying to place his face in her memories. He shook his head. "We've never met. I heard about you from the reason that we're here right now," he told her. She arched an expectant eyebrow. The other Alpha's face grew grim. "Deucalion," he said.

Talia closed her eyes and drew in a breath to sigh, jaw tight. Reacher furrowed his eyebrows, confused at the way a name he'd never heard before could send such a shiver down his spine. He looked at Derek, who glanced down at him and shook his head. Isaac was similarly in the dark.

"I'm not gonna lie, I hoped he would be dead by now," Talia said, startling the present members of her pack. The other Alpha tilted his head in a way that indicated he agreed with her. "How do you know Deucalion?" she asked. He sighed.

"He saved my brother and me from a bad situation, and then he used our gratitude to leverage our loyalty," the wolf replied, folding his arms and leaning against the desk behind him. He scowled at the floor, grinding his teeth for a moment before looking at her. "That's in the past," he added flatly. She looked him over.

"Apparently," she replied.

"I'm Ethan. Carver. Sorry, not used to using my last name, it's just been 'Ethan' for so long," he said, indicating his pack. "This is Bronwyn, Gwendolyn, and Watcher." They waved where appropriate and Talia nodded.

"Talia Hale," she said briefly. "This is Isaac, My son Derek, and Reacher."

Derek didn't wave. He was scrutinizing each of the other pack members - possibly for weaknesses - and his eyes lingered longest on the Alpha, jaw tightening. Reacher furrowed his eyebrows and nudged him. Staring at an Alpha was bad. Derek glanced at him, then went back to staring at the others. Reacher rubbed his forehead.

"Alright," Talia said, all business, and fully focused. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, tell me about Deucalion," she said. Ethan nodded.

"He's coming here," he told her. She blinked, tensing and causing the others to tense.

"When," she demanded. Absently, Stiles commented on Derek inheriting his lack of question marks from his mother, but they were both too busy worrying about threats to the pack to linger on the humor of the moment.

"Don't know. Could be next week. Could be a year from now. All we know is that he's coming, and he's coming to start a war," he told her.

"A war? With whom?" Reacher blurted, wincing as everyone glanced at him.

"Your entire race," Ethan answered, looking right at Reacher before turning back to Talia. "He's lost it. Or maybe he never had it. But he's deadly serious," he told her. She snorted.

"When is he not," she replied. He conceded that with a shrug. "Go on," she said.

"Deucalion thinks he can win back the planet by turning enough people into werewolves - it's war by attrition. You get captured? You get the bite. There's no option to back out - as far as he's concerned, the only good Soul is one that has fangs that he can control," he said. Talia sighed, shaking her head.

"And he's starting with Beacon Hills," she said. Not a guess. Not a question. Ethan tilted his head.

"Yeah, but he wouldn't tell us why," he replied.

"Most likely because this is where he lost his sight," she told him. He stood, mouth gaping as he glanced at his pack.

"Wait, he wasn't always blind?" he asked, confused. Talia shook her head.

"There was a time when Deucalion sought peace between Wolves and Hunters," she told him. He snorted. Derek tensed, but Talia just huffed and nodded. "Yes, that was before a Hunter by the name of Gerard engineered a meeting and killed his own men to make it look like a wolf attack and blinded Deucalion with wolfsbane," she added. He winced.

"Jeez," he said, before glancing at Watcher, who was staring at the ground. His disgust shifted into concern and he reached out to touch the Soul's arm. Watcher blinked, lifting his head and looking at his Alpha with surprise before nodding that he was okay. Ethan turned back to Talia.

"So he's here for revenge then?" she asked. He winced.

"Not exactly," he replied. "He's also here for you," he told her. She raised both eyebrows.

"Here for my what?"

"Deucalion talked about you. He's obsessed. Thinks you two would be the perfect power couple to rule the world," he told her. She considered that for a moment, expression unchanging.

"And I suppose the fact that I'm married--"

"--means jack-all to him, you're right," Ethan said. "Duke's screws are all loose up there."

"Well then," Talia said, her tone dry as dust. "We'd best think quickly. Tell me everything,"

"Alright. Deucalion's at the top but he's got two lieutenants," he said, before stopping himself. "Sorry, he had two lieutenants. One of them died a few months ago," he said.

"Pack squabble?" Talia asked. He shook his head.

"He got taken and implanted," he corrected. Eyebrows went up around the room.

"So the Souls know about Deucalion's plans?" Reacher asked hopefully. Ethan shook his head.

"The Soul they gave him wasn't ready to handle an Alpha werewolf. Ennis managed to get control back for a moment or two, but then he died," Ethan said, frowning slightly. Talia arched an eyebrow, but Reacher's heart thudded sickly with dread.

"Just died? Was he shot? Seekers do carry wolfsbane bullets," Talia said to Ethan, sparing Reacher a momentary glance. Ethan shook his head.

"Melody wouldn't tell us - that's our other Soul, he's the one who managed to capture Ennis. At first we thought that that's exactly what happened - Melody did say he shot Ennis to try to stop him from doing more harm - but the way he said it made me think it wasn't the bullets that killed him," he said. "Plus when we recovered his body, there wasn't enough of an indication of poisoning, just some blood coming from his nose and eyes," he said.

Watcher shivered and Reacher flinched.

I would never do that to you, Reacher reflexively told Stiles, heart pounding, stomach heaving from the thought. The shiver of dread raced up and down his spine even as Stiles hurriedly replied, I know, man. I know.

"You know what happened?" Ethan asked, glancing between the two Souls, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "How? You weren't even there," he said.

Watcher shook his head, hugging himself protectively with a hand over his mouth, to Ethan's evident confusion and worry, and Talia turned to Reacher, who gripped the edge of his desk and swallowed hard.

"Reacher," she said softly, and he ducked his head before taking a breath.

"The thing you have to understand is," he started, voice dry and cracking. "We're very small. We can't survive outside of hosts on any planet we've ever been to except for Origin - at least not for very long - and we're very fragile. You could crush us in your hand," he said, swallowing again before looking up at Derek, who was unreadable with the way he was staring at them. Reacher looked at Talia instead and licked his lips. "Only, we're not in your hands, we're in your heads. We're...Our physical bodies are like a ribbon with thousands of thin, wire-like tendrils. We fit ourselves between the hemispheres and the tendrils stretch until we're connected to all the parts of the brain." He stopped, dropping his eyes to the floor and taking a breath. He was pale just at the thought of it. "We have exactly one defense. More often than not, it kills the Soul along with the Host," he said quietly.

"You shred the brain," Isaac breathed, and Reacher hunched his shoulders, gritting his teeth.

"Like tissue paper," he confirmed, feeling sick.

"Jesus," Bronwyn muttered, crossing himself. Gwen was sickly pale next to him, and she grabbed his hand.

"It's a last resort," Watcher said, shakily. "It's not something we would do if there were any other alternative - any. We don't even like to think about it if we don't have to," he added. Talia studied Reacher for a long moment before nodding and looking back at Ethan.

"The other lieutenant?" she prompted. He jerked his attention back to her and blinked for a moment before nodding.

"Kali," he started and she made a noise of concern.

"Another Alpha," she said. He nodded.

"Deucalion wanted to make a whole pack of Alphas. It was him, Kali, Ennis, my brother, and me, before Ennis died and Aiden and I left," he said.

"Leaving Kali and Deucalion in charge of his army?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Deucalion only really trusts Kali - she'd been with him the longest, aside from Ennis. After the...'recruits'…were given the bite, Kali would move them somewhere that Aiden and I didn't know about. All we know is how many were captured, but some didn't make it very far past the bite. Some of them just…" he stopped suddenly; taking a breath to replace the one that rushed out of him like something had hit him in the stomach. He looked at Watcher for a long moment and then wiped his hand over his face, swallowing hard. "Some of them would just die," he said, grinding his teeth. "We never knew why - they didn't reject the bite, they'd just be dead. I guess we know why now," he said. Reacher shuddered, gripping the hand that Isaac offered and blinking back tears at the thought of so many of his brothers and sisters trapped and finding no way out other than to kill themselves and their hosts.

Derek shifted beside him and he looked at the wolf to find that he'd slid closer and unfolded his arms, his posture mirroring Reacher's so that their arms were touching from shoulder to hand. Reacher wished the moment weren't too traumatizing so that he and Stiles could enjoy the fact that Derek was once again physically touching them. As it was he accepted the comfort and stared at the floor, trying not to imagine the hopelessness his fellow Souls must have felt in that moment.

"As far as I know," Ethan went on, shaking himself back into the present. "Kali and Deucalion have an army about fifty strong, but Aiden and I have been gone for months, so you should assume that number has at least tripled," he said. "Mostly Souls, but there were some free humans we came across too, and they're almost all wolves now," he added.

"Does he have a plan?" Talia asked. Ethan arched an eyebrow and she nodded. "He always has a plan," she muttered. "What's he planning? Do you know?" she asked.

"He's going to go after the citizens," he told her. She blinked, posture uncertain for a moment before letting out an enormous, frustrated sigh and rubbing her entire face. "He knows that Beacon Hills is your territory, and he's banking on you feeling protective of the people here - all of the people, not just your pack," Ethan said. She scoffed.

"He's right," she said. Isaac, Reacher, and Derek all turned their heads to look at her, varying expressions of surprise on their faces. She shrugged. "These are people I've known almost all my life. Just because they're inhabited by aliens doesn't change that," she said, before shaking her head. "So his plan is to draw me out, then," she said. Ethan nodded. "What a charming proposal he has planned. Either I do as he says or he'll turn Beacon Hills into a wasteland," she sneered. Ethan shook his head.

"It's not that simple," he told her. She arched an eyebrow. He looked extremely uncomfortable, folding his arms in front of him and scowling at the floor for a moment. "Look, you obviously know Kali and Ennis," Ethan said, and she nodded.

"They were both in town with their packs the week that Deucalion lost his sight," she replied. He huffed slightly.

"Do you know what happened to their packs?" he asked her. She shrugged dismissively, opening her mouth before hesitating. She blinked, and then blanched.

"He wants me to kill my pack?" she demanded, gritting her teeth. Icy shock shuddered up Reacher's spine as Ethan nodded grimly.

"Just like Kali and Ennis did. Like my brother and I did," the other Alpha said. "It's the only way to exist in an Alpha Pack, according to Deucalion." His mouth pulled to one side briefly in distaste.

Reacher looked at Isaac, and then Derek, and wondered how anyone could expect Talia to butcher her own family.

"How did you and your brother break away?" Talia asked. He shrugged.

"He has a place in Colorado. After Ennis, he told us to go there, but Aiden and I had already decided that world domination wasn't our gig. And we knew that you were here, so here's where we came instead," Ethan answered. Talia hummed quietly.

"He'll know by now that you've betrayed him," she said. He shrugged, affecting a nonchalant posture even though his jaw was tight.

"Probably," he replied. "But it doesn't matter. He's already sent scouts into the area. We need to have a plan. Hell, we need ten plans - you know he does," he said with a scoff of annoyance. Talia studied him for a moment.

"We," she repeated. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Our pack is small, but we know what's up. We'd be valuable in the fight - and there will be a fight," he added. Talia glanced at his present pack members.

"How many in your pack?" she asked.

"Ten, total. You?"

"Sixty-one."

Ethan's eyebrows went up slightly before he nodded, impressed.

"Should be an interesting fight, then," he said.

"I'll discuss it with my lieutenants and we'll get back to you," Talia said, promising nothing. Ethan stifled his annoyance and glanced at Watcher, folding his arms. The Soul reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of folded up paper, taking three steps towards the Hale pack and stopping in what amounted to neutral territory. Reacher stood to retrieve the paper, only to stop and stare at Derek's hand on his wrist, eyebrows raised in surprise and mouth falling open at the intense scrutiny that Derek was leveling at the other Soul. Reacher glanced at Watcher, who seemed at first taken aback by Derek's glare and then curious, glancing between him and Reacher, who flushed and pulled his hand out of Derek's grasp. He stepped forward and accepted the paper, which had a phone number written on it in crisp, neat handwriting. He glanced at Watcher, who was already stepping back, and turned, handing the paper to his Alpha.

"You can reach us at that number when you're done discussing. Do it fast, we don't know what his time-table is," Ethan replied. Talia arched an eyebrow, tucking the paper into her pocket and nodding.

They didn't waste time afterwards with deciding who'd leave first and whether they should back out slowly so as not to cede any sort of authority to each other. Talia swept out of the room with purpose and Reacher jolted at her speed, jogging a few steps to catch up with her as Isaac and Derek followed. He turned to throw a friendly wave at Watcher, only to crash into Derek with a yelp. The wolf growled, grabbed his shoulder, and pushed him ahead so that his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum when he flailed for balance.

"Wait!" Watcher called out from behind them, and they all stopped, swinging around to watch the approaching Soul. He was a little red in the face, skirting Derek's narrowed eyes as he cleared his throat and addressed Alpha Hale. "I meant to say - sorry - but you should start doing raids again," he said breathily. He was rubbing his fingers against the respective palms of his hands - Lydia's sense of poise and posture preventing him from hunching and folding his arms protectively, but still needing the reassurance.

"Raids? Why?" Isaac asked.

"If you don't strike out for supplies anymore, the Seekers will wonder why," Watcher answered. "They might not immediately jump to the conclusion that you're getting help from someone, but they'll keep worrying about it," he explained. Talia sighed, rubbing her forehead even as she nodded.

"Thank you," she said, and Watcher blinked before blushing a deeper scarlet.

"Um...you're welcome," he said, biting his lip as he glanced at the others before turning and heading back to his pack. Reacher watched him go with a fond smile that stuttered when he glanced at Derek, who looked more sour than ever. Reacher's shoulders sagged in annoyed confusion and he turned to Isaac, who had sucked his whole lower lip into his mouth to keep from grinning.

"C'mon," Talia said, drawing all of their attention. "We've got a lot to tell the others," she told them, turning and heading out to the car.

Chapter Text

The car was silent all the way through town, each Pack member lost in their own thoughts about everything that'd been revealed during the meeting. Ethan stared out the window, absently smoothing his thumb over his lower lip as he composed his report to his brother, occasionally glancing at Watcher. The Soul was also troubled, licking his lips every now and then and swallowing, though his features remained bland and unbothered. It was smart, what he'd told the other Pack about raiding, even though it had startled Ethan that he'd run after them to say it. He'd been staring at the floor when the others had walked out first, and had seemed startled at their absence.

In the backseat, Bron and Gwen were holding hands and not looking at each other, their silent comfort the only connection between them. He could practically see the fear they had for June.

Ethan sighed and they all looked at him.

"I don't want the others to know about...what actually happened to Ennis," he told them. What might have happened to June, was not a signal he wanted his brain to complete, but it was there in the forefront of his thoughts anyway.

"Why?" Gwen asked, eyes narrowed, and Ethan turned to look at her.

"Because Mika wouldn't be prepared to hear it. She'd lash out, probably at Melody or Watcher, and that's not helpful, especially with what's coming," he said, looking at Bron. The quiet, worried boy nodded along with his words, eyes on the seat in front of him, and Ethan reached back to give his knee a squeeze before glancing at the rest of them. "We don't need to tell them much, this was mostly us relaying information to the other pack. Their pack is big, and they're prepared to consider our alliance," he told them, waiting for them to acknowledge his directive before turning back in his seat and looking at Watcher. "You okay?" he asked. The redhead looked mildly surprised by his concern and then smiled faintly.

"I'm fine," he assured his Alpha before turning his eyes back to the road. Ethan watched him for a long moment but said nothing.

**

The car was silent on the way back to the Den, with everyone considering everything they'd learned from the Other Alpha. Talia chewed absently on her cuticles as she stared out at the road on the way to the preserve. In the driver's seat, Reacher and Stiles' heart was beating quite fast, rising and falling mostly in time with his glances in the mirror that he obviously hoped no one would catch. And perhaps Derek didn't, but Talia prided herself on her observational skills.

Derek was staring at the seat in front of him with hawk-like focus. Reacher probably thought that Derek was trying to kill him with his eyes alone, but honestly, she couldn't blame him. Her eldest son had always been intense. Thoughts of her son led to thoughts of her family led to thoughts of her husband and she frowned before taking a deep breath.

"I don't want any of you to mention Deucalion's interest in me to anyone," she said into the quiet space of the car, drawing all eyes to her (Reacher's almost immediately darted back to the road for safety, but his concern was notably obvious).

"Why?" Derek asked, forehead pulling down in confusion. Talia sighed at the question and the traces of obstinance it held and looked at him.  

"Because I love your father, and I would rather not see him ripped to pieces because he foolishly chose to challenge a pretender to his earned position," she told him frankly. Derek scowled. Talia narrowed her eyes. "Don't give me that look. Your father is a great scholar, and a good wolf, but he's not a fighter. Deucalion would destroy him," she said sternly, before turning back around in her seat so no one would see the worry in her eyes. "I'm not going to let something as stupid as pride take my husband from me," she added, setting her jaw. No one said anything, and after a moment she looked at them all. "Am I clear?" she asked.

"Yes, Alpha," the car chorused, although Derek's was mumbled reluctantly.

The rest of the trip was silent and uncomfortable, and Talia resisted the urge to sigh again, looking out the window as they pulled onto the road leading to the house

**

At the loft, Ethan told the others to go on ahead and held Watcher back with a gentle hand on one arm, waiting until the others were out of earshot to look at the Soul.

"Are you okay?" he asked, watching the Soul blink with surprise before scoffing slightly with a forced smile and shyly averted eyes.

"I told you, I’m fine," he answered, and Ethan raised his eyebrows.

"I know what you said, Watch, and I also know what a lie sounds like," he said softly, watching the boy blush. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but," he shrugged, withdrawing his hand and shoving it in his pocket. "I just...y'know, I care," he offered. Watcher looked at him, blinking once or twice as he studied the Alpha before his shoulders relaxed and he smiled softly.

"I know. Thank you. I was...rattled. I hadn't -- you'd said you'd collected people for Deucalion, but I never thought of what--" he stopped, pressing his lips together and folding his arms. He was quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment, and then swallowed, clearing his throat. "How many?" he asked

Ethan flinched.

"Watcher, I don't--"

"I need to know how many of my--"

"Watch, listen," Ethan said, gently holding Watcher's shoulders. "Knowing how many of them died isn't going to help you. You think it will, but it won't," he told his Soul, sighing when Watcher set his petite jaw. "Do you think I don't remember every single person that Aiden and I killed?" he asked softly, eyebrows raised to make it clear he had a point. Watcher blinked, uncertain, but said nothing, and Ethan shook his head. "It doesn't help me sleep at night. It just keeps me awake," he offered.

After a moment, Watcher sighed, but nodded, and Ethan released him, stepping back to a respectful distance and rubbing his fingers against his palms.

"C'mon," he said, nodding to the stairs. "We have to go tell Aiden what's up."

They walked up the stairs in silence, and gave Aiden and Melody their report standing apart, drawing more than a couple glances from the other Soul and Alpha.  At least until Ethan got to the part where each pack member was introduced.

"Wait, wait!" Melody interrupted, rising from his comfortable slouch against the wall. "Did you say Isaac?" he asked. His voice was small, tentatively hopeful and apprehensive. Ethan blinked.

"Small, curly hair, big blue eyes, cute like a puppy," the Alpha recited abruptly, mouth dropping open. "Oh my god, Mel - that was Camden's brother!"

**

Shuffling into the Den, Talia sighed and rubbed at her forehead before tilting her head, going still as she listened to the Den. It took seconds for her to assess what she heard and determine that everything was as it should be, and she looked at the others, pleased when she discovered that Derek had been listening too.

"Derek and I will report to Peter, Ophelia, and David," she told them, putting her hand on Reacher's shoulder. "I believe that Scott is impatiently waiting for you to deliver his friend back safely," she said, glancing at a furiously blushing Isaac. Reacher nodded, brushing his arm playfully against Isaac's and getting a small smile in return.  Talia looked at them all again and nodded, turning to head down the row of storage rooms and office space.  Reacher waved as they went and then looked at Isaac, letting him take the lead into the lush little haven that the Free Humans of Beacon Hills called home.

Scott and Bliss were in the cafeteria, listlessly sitting at one of the tables and staring off into space. Scott had his arms folded with his chin propped on them, and Bliss was deep in contemplation of the mossy wall with one hand lazily tangling in Scott's hair. Reacher frowned in concern that dissipated quickly when their heads turned comically fast in response to the sound of Isaac putting his hands in his pockets. Their faces lit up, and they jumped to their feet, rushing over and stopping four feet away, waiting for Isaac's shoulders to unhunch before stepping closer and putting their hands on his arms. Reacher watched Isaac's ears turn red in response to the attention and his heart thrummed in response to Stiles' sudden excitement.

You think--? he asked his host as Scott and Bliss and Isaac beamed at each other.

Oh my god, I do, I do, thisissoawesome!! Stiles blurted ecstatically, making Reacher bite his lip before patting Isaac on the back and moving to the table.

"How'd it go?" Scott asked, when they were all seated with Bliss and Scott on either side of Isaac. Reacher bit back his giddy smile and shrugged.

"We're going to have trouble sometime soon, but nothing that we need to worry about until Talia says so," he assured them, and Scott's eyebrows dipped a little as his smile faded into a worried frown, but it disappeared quickly enough. "What about you guys? Did you have a good day?" he asked.

"We worked in the garden for a while, and we had lunch," Bliss replied, and Scott nodded before smirking.

"Watched James and Danny do their weird mating dance with Jackson," he teased, making Bliss blush. Reacher snorted as his and Isaac's cheeks darkened.

"How's that going?" the Soul asked curiously. Bliss' eyebrows went up a little skeptically, and Scott rolled his eyes.

"It's Jackson, so…" he replied. Reacher thought about Jackson's awkwardness when James and Danny had joined them for lunch that day and ducked his head to smile. "I think he might not realize how gone on him they are--Oh!" he grinned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. When he opened it, there was a drawing of Jackson with blinders on while Danny and James stood on either side of him with hearts in their eyes. Reacher grinned while Stiles laughed, and Isaac tilted his head to scrutinize the art, a soft smile on his face.

"That's really great," Reacher replied, before looking up at Scott and Isaac. "That reminds me; I've been meaning to ask about this comic that you're working on," he said with a smile that faded at the edges as both Scott and Isaac sighed. Bliss put her arms around Isaac's shoulder to rub Scott's back with sympathetic eyes and Reacher frowned. "What's going on?" he asked. Neither boy said anything, Scott picking at the edges of the picture he'd shown to Reacher while Isaac hunched and tried to make himself smaller. Bliss looked between them and sighed, leaning towards Reacher.

"After Isaac moved in to Scott's room, they went through his footlocker and the comic wasn't there," she told him. He furrowed his eyebrows for the half a second that it took for Stiles to groan with disgust and mutter, Michael. He sighed too, rolling his eyes at the now familiar sting of annoyed anger that came associated with thoughts of Isaac's father.

"He took the comic?" he guessed. Isaac hunched his shoulders.

"Probably," he muttered. Scott and Bliss shared a quick glance that seemed to communicate a great deal before Bliss gently ran her fingers through Isaac's hair and Scott put his hand on Isaac's back. The boy's ears flushed red, but his shoulders hunched less and he tilted his head a little towards Bliss, who bit her lip on a smile.

What do we do? Reacher asked Stiles, watching Bliss and Scott care for Isaac. Stiles was quiet for a moment.

We gotta get it back for them, the boy said determinedly. Reacher tilted his head.

How?

Well...probably gonna need some information about Michael's footlocker, Stiles replied, sketching out his plan on Reacher's mind. Reacher blinked at the suggestion, but then licked his lips and nodded. He was already helping renegade humans - what was a little thievery compared to that?

"Isaac," Reacher started hesitantly, biting his lip and glancing around the room. His three friends looked up at his hesitation and he drummed his fingertips lightly on the table. "Where would he keep it?"

"Why?" Isaac asked immediately and loudly. The other three flinched and looked around the deserted cafeteria, but there was no one there or walking by, so they returned to their conversation.

"He wasn't supposed to keep anything," Reacher told him, and Isaac shook his head.

"Reacher, you can't--"

"Why not? What's he going to do about it? Admit that he kept something of yours in order to punish you for being rescued?" Scott asked, and Reacher pointed at him with a significant glance at Isaac, who huffed in frustration.

"He'll get mad," the curly haired boy insisted. Bliss took his hand, letting him squeeze it tightly.

"He can't hurt you," she told him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"That's right, he can't," Scott told him. Reacher nodded along, kicking his feet out lightly to nudge his feet affectionately.

"And if he tries, he's gonna have to go through the rest of us," Reacher said. Isaac looked up at him hopefully, teeth dug firmly into his lip before ducking his head. He cleared his throat a little.

"It's got a lock on it," he said quietly.

"His footlocker?" Scott asked, before looking at Reacher. "He's right. Michael has an old-school footlocker, one with an actual lock. A lot of us just have plastic bins," he said. Reacher nodded.

"Combination or key?" he asked. Isaac glanced at him.

"Key. He keeps it on him, though," Isaac said, shaking his head.

Remember that time when we were ten? Stiles asked with a mischievous thrill. Reacher nodded, smile pulling his face.

"That won't be a problem," he assured Isaac before looking at the others. "Someone's going to have to keep him busy though," he told them. Bliss bit her lip and then glanced at all of them.

"I think I know what to do," she said, drawing their attention. "Go wait in my office, I'll be right there," she said quietly, and they nodded, sharing curious glances as they left the cafeteria. Scott and Isaac threw concerned looks over their shoulders when Bliss headed off in the opposite direction, but did as she'd said and went to the small, ivy covered room that Bliss used for her sessions.

**

Bliss walked at a steady, casual pace through the green halls of the Den, down to the garden, where Cora was scheduled to work. Erica was there too, spending a rare day inside the Den so nobody would know she was sneaking off to spend time with Drifting Petals.

Also there was Michael, who was stabbing the dirt viciously with a little shovel and not even caring if the lines were straight or not. She ignored him, walking over to the two girls she'd been getting to know.

"Hello," she said pleasantly, and Erica looked up from her work, smiling widely, shooting a whistle at Cora, who was deeply focused on a tablet and the progression of cultivation.

"Hey, Cora - Bliss is here," Erica said, and Cora glanced up with a distracted smile.

"Sup, Bliss?" Cora asked, still majorly focused on her tablet. Bliss smoothed her shirt and picked invisible lint off of her pants.

Start out casual, Allison advised. They'll catch on, they're smart.

"Reacher and Isaac are back from their trip outside the Den, so Scott is hanging out with them right now," Bliss reported. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Michael's shovel hesitate for a heavy second before hitting the dirt, half as hard as before, inspiring a burst of smug superiority from Allison. Erica didn't look over, but she glanced at Cora, who was suddenly less interested in her tablet than before, eyes darting to and away from Michael before settling on Bliss.

"How'd it go?" Cora asked, her curiosity having nothing to do with the question she asked.

They said it went well, but you're confused about something you might have misinterpreted, Allison said, and Bliss licked her lips as she considered Cora.

"They said it went...well," she said, hoping there was just enough hesitance in her tone for them - and Michael - to pick up on. Cora frowned. So did Erica.

"But?" Erica prompted.

The lie based on truth. Reacher said Derek and Talia went to talk to Peter and Ophelia. Make it sound more serious than it is, Allison coached gently.

"Well, Reacher said that Talia and Derek are talking to Peter and Ophelia about something, and I thought...well it seemed..." Bliss hesitated, lips pressing together in feigned concern. Off to the side, Michael wasn't even pretending to work. Bliss took a breath, fists clenching. "They'd tell us, right?" she implored to Cora, who blinked, but went along with the show after a glance at Erica. "They'd tell us if something were...wrong?"

There was a curse, and the sound of a shovel hitting the dirt, and then Michael was storming out of the garden, brushing roughly past Bliss, who watched him go and then looked at Cora and Erica. The wolves watched him go and then turned expectant eyebrows to their Soul-friend.

"So now that we've played along, you gonna fill us in?" Erica asked quietly. Bliss nodded quickly, smiling with shy pride and gratitude at her friends.

"Yes, but later. I'm afraid this is time sensitive. Thank you," she told them both before brushing off her arm where Michael had bumped her and heading out of the garden. He went left, on the straightest path towards Talia's office on the other end of the Den, so Bliss went right and took the long way around the bath house at a sprint.

Good job, Allison praised, and Bliss smiled a little wider.

At the entrance of the tunnel that the Den was using to ship out old dirt, Bliss paused, checking to see if Michael was still in sight, but she caught a glimpse of him heading down the side of the 'hotel' farthest from her office and she let out a quiet breath of relief before dashing out and sprinting over to the ivy covered doorway.

Inside, Reacher, Scott, and Isaac all jumped at her sudden entrance, and she stopped to lean against her chair before licking her lips and looking up at Reacher, nodding.

"He's on his way to demand an explanation from Talia about what happened on the outing today. I don't know how much time you'll have," she said, and Reacher nodded, grabbing several paper clips from the container on Bliss's small desk.

"Alright, you guys keep an eye on the situation - if you get Peter within earshot, tell him to stall Michael," Reacher said, patting Scott on the back before heading out.

His heart pounded in his ears as he made his way as casually as possible through the recreation area to Michael's room, and he scratched his face as he glanced around for witnesses before ducking into the room Michael once shared with Isaac.

Wow, Michael sure seems to miss him, Stiles muttered acidly.

Michael had turned his bed sideways and moved it out from the wall slightly, so that there was no room for a second bed anywhere, especially with his footlocker resting easily against the wall across from the foot of the bed. There was a small bookshelf as well that looked like it had been taken from the Den's leisure room, and it was packed full of books in a way that Reacher was fairly sure was not allowed. He was also pretty sure that some of those books were ones Isaac had mentioned wanting to read. He shook his head in disgust and turned to the foot-locker, bending the paperclips into the proper shape for working with.

**

Peter narrowed his eyes as he watched Michael rant about secrecy and the apparent superiority that werewolves perceived themselves to have, according to Michael's paranoid mind. From what he could deduce, Michael had overheard Bliss telling Cora and Erica that Talia was embroiled in a secret meeting with her closest advisors to concoct some secret machination to the detriment of the Den's human contingent, or some such nonsense.

Bliss could only have found out from Isaac or Reacher, and since Isaac was not the type to simply volunteer information, Peter had to assume that Reacher was the one who told her. That was hardly surprising. It wasn't as if Talia forbade him from telling his closest friends that they might soon be embroiled in a war for the town they'd grown up in. But Michael mentioned nothing about Alphas or another Pack, so Bliss must not have mentioned it. Peter tilted his head, still studying the scowling human rather than tune in to what he was actually saying, doubtlessly paranoid and unimportant as it was. Bliss must have mentioned only just enough to set Michael off.

Why, though?

What possible purpose could she have to send Michael screaming into a private meeting where Talia was trying to come up with the safest possible method of foiling Deucalion's evil plot?

Unless she needed him out of the way. The thought gave him pause and he picked at it for a moment before clearing his throat. Talia looked at him. Michael seethed at him. He arched an eyebrow at Michael and then looked at his sister.

"This sounds serious," he said, internally cackling at the knowledge that everyone except for Michael had heard his heart blip with a lie. "Michael is deeply concerned. We should assemble the council. They have a right to know," he said to Talia, who stifled a sigh because she was familiar with the look in her brother's eyes. She shook her head at him, not in refusal, but in annoyance, and he smiled cheerfully. "I'll just go and get them, then," he offered, before turning and walking out of the room. Before he crossed the barrier of the room and became deaf to its happenings, he heard his wife snort, and he smirked.

At the end of the hall, three flighty heartbeats revealed Bliss, Scott, and Isaac, and he walked calmly towards them, turning the corner as if they weren't there before stopping and turning to face them. His expression was expectant, and Isaac swallowed hard, but Scott didn't seem bothered.

"Michael's dad stole our comic, and Reacher's getting it back, but we need you to stall Michael," he said, and Bliss nodded. Peter took a breath and let it out with a soft, 'ah' of puzzle pieces suddenly falling in place.

"You deliberately fed Michael the vaguest possible information so that he would come demand more of us in person," he said to Bliss, who blushed, shrugging apologetically. Peter clicked his tongue. "You are both clever and adorable, and I approve of your mildly devious ploy," he praised, making her blink and blush further. "Well, I have just suggested convening the entire council, which means I'll have to go and collect them, which will certainly take a few minutes at least," he offered. Scott beamed while Isaac looked shyly grateful. Peter hummed thoughtfully and then turned and strolled sedately away in his quest to take as long as possible gathering the six other humans that made up the council.

**

Reacher smiled at the triumphant satisfaction that bloomed in Stiles at the sound of a click and the loosening of the lock in his hand, and he quickly removed it, setting it aside as he lifted the lid and looked into Michael's footlocker.

It was mostly clothes. There was a small, almost empty bottle of alcohol, sitting next to a tin of mints and a bottle of mouthwash, and Reacher wrinkled his nose at the sight of it before turning his attention to his search.

The clothes were by no means neatly folded, so he felt no sense of delicacy as he rummaged around.

In the bottom, there were two manila envelopes, and he grabbed them both, letting the clothes fall back into chaotic disarray indistinguishable from when he'd started. He set the envelopes aside and searched again, but these were the only papers inside. He closed the lid and checked around the back at Stiles urging, in case something was taped to the side, but there was nothing, so Reacher quickly made sure everything looked the same as it had before he'd started, and then locked the footlocker again.

He shoved the envelopes under his shirt and ducked his head out to make sure no one was around before strolling casually out into the mossy hall, making a deliberately slow bee-line for the room that Scott and Isaac shared. Inside, he gave the room a quick once over and then secreted the large envelopes between the box springs and mattress of one of the beds, making sure it didn't look like anything had been forcefully stuffed there before leaving the room and walking much more normally through the cafeteria to where he suspected his friends would be.

They were leaning nervously against the wall just around the corner from the long line of offices and empty former 'full moon' chambers, occasionally glancing around the corner before returning to their tense silence and folded arms. He whistled softly and they all looked up, eyes questioning. He winked, nodding back towards Scott's room, and they all noticeably relaxed, following him.

They shuffled as casually as they could into Scott and Isaac's room, breathing a sigh of relief as they crossed through the privacy shield. Scott arranged the curtain so that no one could see in and then looked at Reacher, who crossed to the bed where he'd stashed the envelopes, pulling them from their hiding place and handing them to Isaac. He grinned in elation for two seconds before taking in the confusion on Isaac and Scott's face as they opened both envelopes.

"Did...Are these not it? They were the only papers I could find," he said, frowning concernedly. Isaac looked at him.

"Uh, no. It's...well, this is the comic stuff," Scott said, holding up the thicker envelope. Reacher blinked, glancing at Bliss, who shrugged.

"What's the other one?" he asked, moving closer so that he could read over Isaac's shoulder.

Isaac pulled a thin, manila folder out of the envelope and opened it.

The papers inside were medical in nature, and old - at least six years old.

"Whoa," Reacher murmured, subdued.

What is Michael doing with medical papers? Stiles asked, and Reacher didn't answer, eyes scanning the page.

"This is for a blood test," Scott said, and they looked at him. He blinked, and then scoffed. "Hello, my mother's a nurse," he reminded them, and they said nothing, looking awkwardly back at the papers.

Abruptly, Reacher recalled that he'd been asked to get pictures of Mrs. McCall, and he scolded himself for forgetting such a simple task.

"Oh, man," Scott said suddenly, mouth hanging open, eyes wide as he stared at the paper.

"What?" Bliss asked, and Scott's face twitched as he looked around at all of them. He looked extremely uncomfortable.

"I don't...it's been a long time since I--I could be reading this wrong," he told them, backing away slightly and holding his hands up. Reacher and Bliss both raised their eyebrows at Scott's behavior, but Isaac didn't react. Isaac was still staring at the paper, and after a long moment, he sighed, shoulders sagging as he let his arms fall to his side.

"You're not," he said quietly. Reacher glanced at him and then looked back at Scott, who was looking at Isaac, sad little frown on his face as his shoulders slumped.

What's happening? Why are they sad? Stiles asked in alarm, and Reacher felt his throat tighten in response to Stiles' alarm.

"What's--" he started, but Scott looked at the floor, and Isaac didn't say anything immediately.

"It's a paternity test," Isaac eventually said, taking a deep breath and working his jaw as he gathered his thoughts. "Michael Lahey submitted two blood samples for comparison - his and mine," he said, looking at Scott's sympathetic eyes briefly before handing the envelope to Reacher, who took it automatically, still staring at Isaac as his heart started pounding. Isaac took another breath and sat down on the bed closest to him. He looked down at his hands, face curiously blank.

Reacher watched him and then opened the file at Stiles' urging. Quick brown eyes flicked through the file until they caught on a box near the bottom.

Results: Negative match.

"It didn't match," Isaac said, announcing what Reacher had just read. He looked up at his stunned friends. "He's not my father."

Chapter Text

Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. The room briefly mirrored their perception of the rest of the Den - deafening silence. Finally, Bliss cleared her throat, stepping forward and sitting beside Isaac. She reached for his hand, hovering her own slightly in case her touch was unwanted, but Isaac turned his over so that they could lace their fingers together. Reacher sat on the opposite bed, and Scott slunk guiltily closer to sit on Isaac's opposite side.

"So, what do we do?" Bliss asked quietly. Reacher sat up a little straighter.

"Well, first things first, we're going to have to put this back before he notices it's gone," he said, closing the file and scooping up the envelope that had been discarded in their curiosity. Heart beating wildly, he did his best to be quick about it. Some time had already elapsed between getting the file and this conversation, and while he didn't think the meeting would be over that quickly, who knew how long Talia would be able to maintain her patience in the face of Michael's belligerent sneering.

He gasped lightly when the rough edge of the file caught his finger, slicing it, and he grimaced at the cut for a moment, sticking the digit in his mouth to clear away the blood. He was more careful about the file as he put it back in the envelope and then closed it. After a moment's pause, he fished in his pocket and pulled out the bent paperclips, nodding in satisfaction before looking at his friends.

"Scott, you watch the meeting hall, I'll put this back," he said, and Scott nodded, looking reassuringly at Isaac, who was staring at the floor.

Scott followed Reacher out of the room and Reacher sighed.

"This file is almost nine years old," he said, and Scott nodded, frowning.

"Yeah, he said, the two of them sharing a look of bleak understanding.

Michael had known about his lack of a biological connection to Isaac for three years before the planet had been settled by Reacher's people. The two boys cast worried glances towards the door of the room they'd just left and then pressed the knuckles of one hand together for luck before splitting up and heading about their urgent business.

**

"Well," Connie Whittemore said, taking a breath as she folded her arms and leaned against the nearest counter. "That's all very awful," she understated. There were several snorts and Deaton ducked his head to smile. Connie said nothing for a moment and then straightened up and cleared her throat. "Okay, so what's the plan?" she asked decisively. Harris scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"The plan to stop a hoard of werewolves led by the werewolf version of the Devil?" he asked snidely. Connie sniffed at him, looking down at him from their equal heights.

"I'm assuming that sarcasm about the problem is not considered a practical solution to the problem," she replied tartly before looking over at the Hales. "I'm also assuming that we're planning to stand and fight," she said, standing straight and looking Talia in the eye. The matriarch of the Hale clan looked the older woman over, a proud smirk pulling at her mouth.

"Fight? What, are you stupid?" Michael demanded incredulously. Several rolling eyes turned towards him. "There are hundreds of them, and only a couple dozen of us. That's suicide. We should run," he insisted. From Talia's side came a snort, and Michael turned, glaring at David.

"And go where?" David asked, eyebrows raised. "We're fugitives, Mike. It's not like anyone would give us sanctuary, so...what? We leave the safety and security of the Den and risk losing members to implantation, suicide, or Deucalion - because he will follow us," said the Alpha's husband. Michael scowled at him.

"Yeah? And why is that?" he asked accusingly. Talia shook her head.

"The only thing this has to do with us is that we're here and he wants us to join his army; simply saying 'no thank you' is not an option. Turning tail and running away are likewise not options. His war will start here, but it won't end here, and it will catch up to us wherever we go. Would you rather face a hundred werewolves with our current numbers or a thousand with half that?" she asked him. He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he looked away. Talia looked at the rest of them. "There are defenses that can be prepared. Deucalion's army is comprised of werewolves - only werewolves. Believe it or not, the odds are in our favor because of it," she told them, nodding to Deaton, who inclined his head and stepped forward to give the council a primer in how to incapacitate werewolves.

**

Reacher slipped out of Michael's room, sucking his still sluggishly bleeding finger. He'd given most of his Heal to Deaton and the rest of it was in his emergency kit, so he'd have to go to the meeting. He considered just going to Deaton's infirmary and doing it himself, but despite the fact that he'd provided it, it felt a little like stealing. Besides, Deaton liked to keep very accurate records of the medical supplies in case there was an emergency. His shoulders loosened with relief as he walked down the mossy hall, blissfully unaware of the small red stains that dotted the back of the medical file.

He made his way back to the front hall of the Den and waited until the meeting had broken up to approach Deaton, weathering Michael's acid glare as Deaton directed him to use a drop of Heal while he spoke with the Hales in private.

What a douche, Stiles grumbled in the face of Michael's death-ray eyes, but Reacher was still on edge about the personal theft and invasion of privacy he'd just committed (even in the name of friendship), to appreciate it. His heart didn't calm itself until he had returned to Scott's room, where his friends were going through the few sketched pages and the crumpled pages containing the story they'd cobbled together. Instead it twinged at the devastation that Isaac was hiding for their sake.

**

Kate stared at the topographical map of the preserve, perched against the basement table. The scrunchy holding her hair in place had slipped, but she paid it no mind, absently ejecting and loading a clip into her service pistol. It'd been days since the funeral. Days since someone had taken her father from her. She'd done the tests herself - the building was structurally unsound - but with the technology that the Souls possessed, that instability could easily have been manufactured.

He'd been murdered. There was no doubt in her mind. Not that she could say as much to the Souls. It'd taken all her faculties to make sure her father was never autopsied or that they never attempted to remove the Soul from him. But now, days later, she was piecing it together.

The redhead. She was in on it; her and that boy - maybe the thing inside Allison, too. They'd both been at the rundown Hale House - 'buying it'. She sneered at the map.

"Should've burned it down when I had the chance."

Arson investigation had come a long way since then. It would never pass for an accident nowadays.

They couldn't have done it alone - even if they were aliens, they were still just kids. There'd been humans sighted. Free humans. Maybe werewolves. Kate's lip curled at the thought. All this time, quietly building a case around suspicions - double-checking. Triple checking.

"What a waste, old man."

They should have just gone in like exterminators when they had the chance! She slammed the clip into the gun and stood up, tucking it back into its holster.

"Time to finish what you started, dad," she said to herself, glaring at the map. "Time to do what you couldn't."

**

"This is excellent work," Bliss commended, looking through the pages that were laid out on one of the cafeteria tables. Isaac ducked his head a little, flushing at the praise but still glancing around in discomfort at being out in the open with his pilfered goods.

It had taken some convincing to bring Isaac's work to the cafeteria to look out, the room he shared with Scott not being large enough to properly lay them out. Bliss had promised to bring them a board to pin the pages on the next time she went out, and Scott had beamed at her. Isaac had watched for his father the entire way to the tables, manila envelope clutched to his chest while Scott, Reacher, and Bliss escorted him there like secret service.

"Are you telling the story of Beacon Hills' settlement?" Bliss asked, glancing at Reacher before looking at Scott and Isaac. The boys shrugged, sharing a look.

"It's the only story we have to tell," Isaac replied. Bliss considered that and nodded.

"You could ask Lydia a little more about the Settling procedures. It would probably give your story greater detail and more emotionally resonate with its readers," she offered. Reacher, Scott, and Isaac all chuckled at that, and she blinked for a moment before blushing. "Right," she added sheepishly.

No one was going to read it.

It was never going to be published.

"Still, it's not a bad idea," Reacher offered. Scott nodded.

"Sure. I mean, we can really only write one side of what happened, but..." he shrugged.

"Well," Reacher started, blinking. "I can tell you what happened for Stiles and I," he offered. "John and Fields could give accounts, Bliss, Watcher," he added. Scott's eyebrows arched up and he looked down at his and Isaac's work, pulling a sheet of paper scribbled with notes out and clicking his pen.

"What's this?"

Everyone looked up as Danny, James, and Jackson came over, bearing small snacks to hold them until dinner time.

"Scott and Isaac are telling the story of Beacon Hills from their perspective," Bliss answered, and they all looked interested, taking seats at the table and peering at the half-finished pages.

"Oh, this is that comic thing you started forever ago," Jackson said, not noticing the way Isaac flinched and looked around. "I thought you gave up on it," he said. Scott shrugged.

"Just got busy with other things, is all," he lied smoothly, while Bliss put her hand on Isaac's back and rubbed in a slow, soothing circle. James and Danny shared a look while Jackson remained oblivious. Then James looked at the pages too, and smiled with a surprised little noise.

"Oh, this is that day I invited you over, when we brought you guys to the house," he said, pulling one page closer.

"Yeah man," Scott said with an uneven grin. "Most important day of our childhood," he added, shrugging sheepishly. "I mean, how often does a Hale invite kids from school home with him? We were popular for the rest of the day," Scott told him, glancing at Isaac, who was smiling in fond reminiscence of how many people had expressed their envy that James Hale had invited him and Isaac to play video games.

"I'm just glad you guys agreed. Glad I could grab Danny and Jackson too," James replied, before looking around. "Hey, Cora, Derek, come look at this," he called. Isaac tensed, but Scott held his hand under the table, and Bliss' hand never left his back, so he swallowed his fear as the other Hale siblings approached, hovering over Reacher's shoulders. Reacher tried not to react to Derek's presence, but his cheeks were already burning, and his chest felt oddly tight with the pounding of his heart.

It wasn't long before they'd drawn a small crowd, and with all the perspectives offered, Scott's notes had trailed onto the back of his sheet of paper. Even Isaac was eventually drawn into the conversation, as the co-creator, and he ended up with a sheet of notes himself, jotting down descriptions from peoples' memories about the day they'd discovered aliens existed and that they'd taken over loved ones. Occasionally someone would look at Bliss or Reacher, especially after relating the despair they'd felt, but Reacher and Bliss could only sympathize with them, offering their hosts' perspectives as well.

The crowd that gathered was thick, people jostling for the best position to hear or contribute to the conversation.

Which meant that no one noticed when Michael walked in.

And no one noticed when he left.

**

Michael marched to the hole in the wall he was forced to call his 'room' and went directly to his footlocker, pulling the key from around his neck and jamming it into the lock on his footlocker. He tossed the lock, key and all, over his shoulder, wrenching up the lid and glaring with a sour twist in his lip into the box that held his worldly belongings.

The few articles of clothing he managed to reclaim from the 'communal closet' were haphazardly scattered in the locker, and he shoved them first to one side, and then the other, until he exposed the wooden bottom, where a single manila envelope lay. Michael snatched it up, pushing the clothes around some more before gritting his teeth at the absence of the second envelope. He must have gotten it somehow, the little bastard, he thought viciously, looking at the only envelope his footlocker now held.

Mouth twisting with disgust, he opened it, pulling the file partially out. He froze, eyes caught on the small, red smudges on the file that hadn't been there before. It looked like a fingerprint. He touched it, and it smeared, still tacky. His eyebrows furrowed, only to smooth a moment later, lip curling at the memory of Reacher coming into the meeting to talk to Deaton, finger bleeding, saying he'd caught it on the rough edge of a table.

Fury filled his chest. He flung the file away, mind racing as fire filled his lungs. That little freak! That fucking parasite! First it took Isaac away, and now it--Why couldn't it just mind it's own fucking business?! He took a breath and looked at the footlocker, trying to figure out how Reacher had gotten in, but instead, his eyes caught on the neck of the bottle that was stashed inside, and he sneered, grabbing it. He briefly imagined smashing it over the little alien's head, hand tightening on the glass neck. Instead he stood, kicking his footlocker closed and making sure the coast was clear before ducking out of his room and down the tunnel leading out of the Den.

**

Bliss looked around at the crowd that had gathered, their interest in Scott and Isaac's comic dissolving naturally into an easy, story-time atmosphere. It was nice to see everyone having a nice time. She was so lost in everyone else's contentedness that it startled her when her watch beeped at her. Scott and Isaac looked at her, and she smiled sheepishly.

"You'll have to excuse Allison and I," she told them with a small shrug and a reassuring pat where her hand was still resting on Isaac's back. "I have an appointment," she told them. Their faces cleared with understanding, and Scott nodded, still holding Isaac's hand under the table.

"Oh yeah. Cool," he said, smiling crookedly. "I got this," he told her. She nodded with a soft, reassuring smile at Isaac, who blushed at the attention, also nodding to assure her that he'd be fine. She stood up from the table, her spot almost instantly taken by Cora, and smoothed her hands over her clothes for a second before heading towards the door. As she walked, she let her eyes drift over to Derek, who watched her go discreetly and gave her a small nod to let her know that he'd be on his way in a minute. Her responding nod was as small as she could make it before she left the cafeteria and walked casually to her office. She was so glad that Derek had agreed to continued sessions with her.

I'm glad you were able to convince him. He needs this so badly, Allison said, and Bliss hummed thoughtfully in response.

I'm glad too. We made such excellent progress last time, she replied, turning her mind towards Derek, and away from the unpleasant revelations that Isaac had endured. Allison made sympathetic noises, but didn't comment, knowing that her Soul wanted to give Derek the full attention that he deserved from his Comforter.

Bliss spent the moments alone waiting for Derek by straightening up her office, and when Derek ducked in through the vines covering the doorway, she offered him a warm smile and encouraged him to sit so they could begin, politely ignoring his lingering embarrassment over the situation and sitting across from him.

"What would you like to talk about today?" she asked.

Derek took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and began talking.

**

Michael stalked sullenly through the forest, scowling at the world around him and taking periodic drinks from the bottle he'd carried out of the Den. He muttered to himself occasionally, spiteful things about Isaac, about Reacher, about Talia. He didn't know how long he'd been walking before he stopped. He had nowhere to go. He couldn't go into town, not without being...and eventually he'd have to turn around and go back.

Go back to a son who'd betrayed him for animals.

Go back to people who'd welcomed their conquerors with open arms.

Go back to a hole in the ground that people ignored because some parasite had come and made it pretty.

He went to take another drink from the bottle, but the bottle was empty, and he snarled, turning and hurling the bottle against a nearby tree before starting to continue on.

Not looking where he was going, his ankle hit a downed branch, and he tripped tipsily, falling to the leaf covered ground with an angry curse. He swiped angrily, futilely at the leaves around him as he sat up, and then gritted his teeth when he felt his hand hit glass, thinking he'd somehow struck a piece of the bottle he'd just thrown. Then he stopped, muddled brain reminding him that he'd thrown it in the other direction. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the ground where he'd swiped his hand. A handful of leaves didn't quite cover the neck of a bottle that lay there, and he blinked stupidly before reaching out to grab it.

As he leaned closer, his eyes caught on a glint of metal through forest debris, and he paused, confused but drunkenly curious. He brushed away the leaves and twigs, uncovering the rest of the bottle - the unbroken, unopened bottle of whiskey - and the dirty but unrusted barrel of a nine millimeter pistol.

Chapter Text

"Has anyone seen Michael?"

The question rolled through the cafeteria, spreading silence out like a wave from the source.

Marcus Hale stood in one of the archways of the room, looking around with irritated confusion, and Reacher felt something uneasy settle in his and Stiles' stomach. He looked at Isaac, whose good mood - which had slowly built up over the last little while and had maintained significant elevation for the last half hour or so - had evaporated like mist in the face of the question. Looking around at the mounting confusion and concern on everyone else's faces, the unease in Reacher's gut formed into a knot. No one had seen Michael since the meeting with Talia, was the consensus. That had been hours ago.

"What's going on?"

Talia walked calmly into view from around the corner, having heard the question and the following discomfited silence, and Marcus looked at her, frowning from the uneasy looks on everyone's faces.

"Michael was supposed to take a shift in the garden today and he never showed up," he reported, and Talia heaved a small sigh before looking around the cafeteria. She didn't say anything, but then, she didn't have to. Reacher, Scott, the present Hales, and most of the other werewolves were already getting up and moving towards her, with Isaac following along, looking sick.

"Spread out, search the Den. Scott, Isaac, I want you here where I can see you," she said, before glancing around. "Where's Bliss?" she asked.

"She had an appointment," Reacher replied automatically. Talia tensed and then swept past everyone down the hall, startling everyone, but Reacher, Scott, and Isaac scurried after her.

"What's wrong?" Reacher asked, and Talia shook her head.

"Michael has complained many times, but he has never gone missing before. And he has never been particularly subtle about his dislike of you and your people, Reacher," she answered, turning down a hall towards what Reacher abruptly realized was Bliss' office. He paled. So did Scott and Isaac.

"You think he hurt her?" Isaac asked fearfully. Talia didn't answer, sweeping into Bliss' office with them right behind her. Bliss and Derek were too startled by the sudden intrusion to notice how relieved Talia was to see them.

"Mom, what--?" Derek started, blushing hard, embarrassed to have been caught talking to his therapist.

"I apologize for the intrusion," Talia told both of them, but by then Derek had seen her tense posture and forgotten his embarrassment, standing up.

"What's wrong?" he asked, raising Bliss' eyebrows, and the Alpha sighed.

"Michael Lahey is missing. No one has seen him in over an hour. We're searching the Den," she told him before looking at Bliss, who blinked. "But I wanted to make sure everyone was alright first," she added. Bliss blinked again, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Derek glanced at Isaac's pale face and the way he was practically hiding behind Scott and clenched his jaw.

"I'm going to kill him," he said. Talia rolled her eyes.

"Let's not make any hasty decisions. It's possible that he may actually be in some kind of distress. You and James search the east tunnel, make sure he's not passed out somewhere, drunk on something that he snuck into the Den somehow," she told him, and he nodded, squeezing Isaac on the shoulder as he passed. Talia glanced around at the others. "I think it would be best if we waited in my office while the Den is searched," she told them, and they nodded, Bliss moving over to walk with Isaac and Scott, while Reacher walked beside Talia.

"What do we do if we don't find him in the Den?" he asked quietly. Talia shook her head.

"We'll have to conduct a search of the surrounding forest and hope he hasn't gotten too close to town," she told him. He shivered.

"Would it help if I called my dad?" he asked.

"Michael's already been gone an hour, who knows how far he could have gotten by now. We may need your father as a back-up plan if Michael is caught, much as I would hate to put him that position," she said, before sighing and rolling her eyes. "Michael could not have picked a worse time to wander off," she said. Reacher frowned.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Watcher's Alpha called about ten minutes ago and asked if it would be alright for he, his brother, and his other Soul, Melody, to come to the Den, and being that we have an alliance, I saw no harm in it, but now Michael has run off, and if he meets them in the forest first--" she trailed off, shaking her head. "It's not the sort of impression I want them to have of our Den," she told him, and he nodded.

"Don't worry, we'll find him," he offered.

I almost hope we don't. I mean seriously. Fuck that guy, Stiles seethed. Reacher schooled his expression into one of neutrality so that it didn't look like he was scowling at his Alpha.

Stiles, he scolded. The human was unrepentant. You know what will happen if he gets caught by Seekers, Reacher added, and Stiles sighed as they all filed into Talia's office, grudgingly admitting that Reacher was right.

They waited, more and more anxious as the minutes passed, with Reacher texting his dad about the situation and about what might be required of him; promising to keep him updated.

Ten minutes later, Derek and James stalked into the office, shoulders tense, faces stern, and Talia sighed when they shook their heads.

"Get all the wolves together except for Cora and Ben. They can watch the twins while we search. Someone needs to find Marcus and tell him he's in charge until we get back. Hopefully we can find Michael before he does irreparable damage to our safety," she said. They all followed her out of the office, James peeling off to get the wolves and alert Marcus to his temporary leadership. Everyone else followed Talia up the stairs and into the house, Reacher sharing concerned looks with Bliss, Scott, and Isaac.

**

Cora and Ben found Corbin and Elfrick in the bath house, splashing around in the shallow portion of the 'indoor pool'. Glancing around and finding that they were completely by themselves, she scowled.

"What are you guys doing?! You know you're not supposed to be in here without supervision!" she snapped, and the cubs looked up at her, glancing at each other before looking between her and Ben.

"We're not alone, you're here," Corbin said. Cora rolled her eyes.

"Well we weren't here five seconds ago, were we?" she asked. Elfrick was still looking at Ben, who hadn't said anything. Frowning, the wolf cub climbed out of the shallow pool and scrambled over to his older brother, attaching himself to Ben's leg. Cora rolled her eyes, but said nothing about the affection Elfrick was displaying for Ben. Ben was upset, and the kid could tell. "Aaaand you're naked. Of course you are. Where are your clothes?" she asked, exasperated. Corbin shrugged.

"Don' like 'em," he answered, watching Elfrick hug Ben's leg, Ben dropping a hand to his twin's head in comfort. "Why is Benny sad?" he asked Cora, who glanced at Ben for an answer and huffed at his indifferent looking shrug.

"We can't find Isaac's dad, and everyone's worried. So do us a favor and chill for the next hour or so, so our parents can concentrate on him, not us," she requested. He stared at her for a long moment, before his face screwed up.

"Isaac's dad is icky," he said, looking back at his twin and older brother. After a moment of fidgeting, he got up and climbed out of the pool too. Cora cast around for a towel to dry him with as he wandered over and attached himself to Ben's other leg.

"I'm fine, guys," Ben said, smiling fondly down at his brothers, who hadn't budged from their seemingly inborn attitude that actions worked better than words. Cora sighed.

"I guess it was bath night recently; no towels. I'll go see if I can find some," she said, arching an eyebrow at him. He nodded, watching his cousin walk away. Almost as soon as she was gone, his father walked in from the opposite side. Ben turned his head, taking in the calculated ease of his father's posture, the focus in his eyes, the degree of his smile - showing just the slightest bit of teeth - and blinked, lowering his eyes to the floor.

His father had put up with Michael for six years, and he was finally at his limit.

Corbin and Elfrick lifted their heads and grinned adoringly at their father, whose eyes softened the slightest bit, a huff of amusement falling from his mouth at their casual nudity.

"I have to go deal with a problem," their father said, looking at the three of them before looking at Ben, who nodded dutifully. "Anyone who wants to help would be more than welcome," he added. Ben looked down at his brothers, whose faces were filled with innocent confusion because they didn't know enough about the world to understand subtext or a meaningful glance. That was why Peter was talking to Ben, who nodded. Peter inclined his head in acknowledgment before leaving. Ben listened to him go and then knelt down, gently dislodging his brothers so that he could look them in the eye.

"You wanna play a game?" he asked them, watching their eyes light up and wondering if maybe he should feel a little bit more concerned about what was about to happen than he did.

**

"We'll have to form search parties," Talia was saying as they filed out onto the front lawn, more people joining as the seconds passed. Isaac cleared his throat.

"Who do I go with?" he asked. Everyone turned to gape at him, and he looked down at the ground, cheeks flaming at the attention.

"He's not going," Reacher said, appalled at the idea and looking at Talia for support. She stared at Isaac for a moment before looking at Peter, who had just joined the proceedings with Ophelia, and David in tow.

"No, he's not. I'm sorry, Isaac, I know you want to help your father, but this is best left to those of us fast enough to catch him, and physically capable of hauling him back if necessary," she told him, gently but firmly. Isaac swallowed, nodding without a word as Danny, Jackson, and James preceded Erica and Ben out of the house and onto the lawn.

"What's going on?"Jackson asked, looking around at everyone. "Isn't this kind of stupidly dangerous; us all being outside like this?" he asked. James and Danny arched their eyebrows at his sass. Talia, confused and suspicious eyes on Ben, started to say something before blinking and turning towards the edge of the forest that started ten yards from the house. Scott turned to Jackson, oblivious to how every werewolf present had followed Talia's lead, some of their nostrils twitching.

"Isaac's dad is missing, didn't you hear?" Scott asked. Jackson blinked, and then scrunched up his face.

"No, I heard, but I mean, dude, he's right over there," the boy said.

They turned and looked, watching as Michael Lahey walked unsteadily towards them, an open bottle of whiskey in one hand.

Reacher frowned, confused.

Where'd he get the alcohol? Stiles asked, but Reacher shook his head absently, at a loss. Behind him, Isaac had gone pale and was breathing funny.

"Michael," Talia greeted warily. He sneered at her.

"Talia," he replied with a mockery of respect that had the other wolves growling, a low noise that sent a shiver racing up Reacher's spine. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked, slurring his words. Talia assessed him calmly.

"We were worried when we found you missing. I see you found something to drink," she observed, and he gave a huff of humorless laughter as he took another swallow from the bottle and then wiped his mouth on his arm. "Did you make a trip to town, Michael?" she asked calmly. He sneered again.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Talia. If I'd 'gone to town'. If I'd 'compromised' the 'safety' of your little...burrow," he spat. "It'd be just the excuse you needed, wouldn't it? What, you couldn't get your pet alien to come up with something for you?" he snapped, glaring at Reacher.

"I don't mind if you go to town, Michael, as long as you weren't noticed," Talia told him in an even voice, eyes still on him. His lip curled up in the face of the implied question and ignored her, taking another, sullen drink. "Michael, were you noticed?" Talia asked directly. Michael rolled his eyes, raising the hair on the back of everyone's neck.

"Y'know, I am getting sick and tired of answering to you, Mrs. Hale," he sneered. The growls took on a more dangerous edge. Isaac made a small noise and darted forward.

"Dad!" he cried, ignoring the startled protests of his friends and evading the grabbing hands of his Pack as he approached his drunk, enraged father. Michael's bloodshot eyes narrowed on him, and he shivered but shook it off. This was nothing he hadn't dealt with before.

Behind him, Derek started forward, only to be stopped by Reacher's hand on his wrist. The worried look on Reacher's face stopped the wolf from snapping at him. Reacher didn't want him to not interfere, the Soul was just more afraid of what would happen to Isaac if he did.

"Dad, please. Everyone's scared. No one's mad - they were just worried because they couldn't find you. Please don't do this. Let's just go back inside and we can--"

The bottle cracked against the side of his head and knocked him into the car parked on the front lawn. Everyone stared in shock as he slumped to the ground beside it and didn't move. From where she was standing beside Scott, Bliss let out a soft sound of shocked concern, clutching his arm.

"Shut up, you piece of -- you were never my son," Michael rasped, sneering. A collective hiss of shock ran through the crowd and low growls once again filled the air.

"You son of a bitch!" Jackson yelled, stalking forward amidst reluctant protests from Danny and James. Michael's sneer became a near feral snarl and his hand dipped behind his back for a brief second before a sharp CRACK! exploded in the air around them, and Jackson fell back into the stunned but careful arms of his alarmed boyfriends, clutching his stomach. The rest of them stared at the gun in Michael's hands. He turned a nasty grin on the rest of them. Reacher shivered and stepped closer to Derek, who'd done the same in order to put himself in front of the rogue Soul.

"See the problem with you people; you have no sense of pride. You let yourself be led around by a bunch of animals. And if that wasn't bad enough, you let the things that took away our homes and forced us to live in the dirt walk around like they own the place," he slurred, swaying slightly and abandoning his sneer to giggle manically for a moment. "Well, things are about to cha--"

His rant - and possible homicidal rampage - was interrupted by small but impossibly strong jaws clamping onto his leg, severing his Achilles tendon. He screamed and everyone ducked as his hand spasmed, pulling the trigger and thankfully only hitting a window of the house. The noise covered a low growl, and Reacher barely registered a small shape zipping by his leg before a juvenile wolf tackled Michael in the chest.

Michael dropped the gun on his way down and the one who'd bit his ankle grabbed it in bloodied jaws, carrying it away, dropping it carelessly, and then returning to growl in Michael's face, snapping any time he moved or tried to fend them off.

Once he was disarmed, Scott and Bliss moved quickly to Isaac's side, and Bliss stopped Scott from shaking him, doing her best to assess the damage by sight alone, face pale, eyes wet. James and Danny eased Jackson down to the ground, gripping his hands and looking at his shirt where it was soaking with blood.

"Boys."

The one word from Peter - cold and calm - drew Reacher's attention, and he shivered as he watched the Alpha's brother approach the prone man. The wolves - the twins - didn't stop growling, but they retreated to their father's side, and Michael scowled up at him as he pushed himself to his feet, hobbling on one foot and swaying dangerously.

Stiles shivered inside his mind.

Close your eyes, Reacher, he said. Reacher blinked.

Why? What--

"I don't want your help, you filthy mu--"

Reacher didn't have time to turn away, barely realized what was going to happen until it had already happened, and he took a shaky breath, turning away from the sight of Michael's throat torn open by Peter's taloned hand. He tried not to focus on the wet, sucking gurgle as his stomach heaved and threatened to empty itself, or the sound of a body hitting the ground. Fortunately, the late Mr. Lahey had provided a fair number of distractions.

"Isaac? Isaac, come on, buddy. C'mon, man," Scott was pleading, one hand on Isaac's chest while Bliss gently felt for a pulse. Peter was standing over them, staring at Isaac with an expression of quiet fury mixed with fear and a hand still occasionally dripping blood. Talia joined them, eyeing her brother before gently nudging Bliss to one side.

"Scott, get Deaton!" she ordered. Scott turned and scrambled frantically towards the house without hesitation, and Reacher watched him go before turning to where James and Danny were hovering over Jackson. "How bad is it?" Talia snapped to her son, who looked down at his lover, pale and shaken.

"I, uh…" he hesitantly pulled up the bottom of Jackson's shirt, grimacing at how it stuck to his skin. "God...it's…it's not good," he said shakily, hesitating before putting his hand over the wound. He flinched when Jackson cried out. Reacher turned to Derek, who was also pale. In fact he looked like he might be about to throw up. Reacher was ready to join him, but he took courage from Stiles' rage and peerless ability to focus through chaos.

"Derek, go get the emergency kit out of the Jeep, it's under the front passenger seat," Reacher said shakily. He took two steps towards Jackson before realizing that Derek hadn't moved, and he blinked at the lack of response before reaching out and shoving the wolf's arm. Derek grunted, shrugging off his hand automatically before glaring at him. Reacher ignored his annoyance. "Emergency kit. Front passenger seat," Reacher repeated. Derek blinked, and then he was gone. The Soul dropped to his knees at Jackson's side, next to Danny, who was holding Jackson's hand and gritting his teeth.

"Here," Derek said a moment later, holding out the box, and Reacher recovered from his flinch of surprise, opening the box and pulling out a few vials.

"Jackson, can you hear me?" he asked, looking at the boy, who was wide eyed and scared, tears flowing from his eyes. He managed a small nod, and Reacher nodded back. "Don't be scared. You're going to be fine," he said firmly. "I need you to let this dissolve on your tongue. It'll take the pain away," he added, holding up a small vial. The way Jackson's mouth opened, tongue extended as far as it would go, would have been comical under other circumstances. Reacher quickly dropped the paper thin dose of No Pain onto the boy's tongue before picking up another bottle and uncapping it as the injured human sagged back with a heavy sigh.

"What's that?" Danny asked, and Reacher glanced up at him and James, who were both watching his actions with an intense and wary scrutiny that Reacher hadn't had cast in his direction by anyone but Michael since the moment he joined the Pack.

They want to make sure Jackson's okay, that's all, Stiles told him, and he held up the canister. It had a spray nozzle.

"It's called Clean," he said as he sprayed the jagged entrance of the wound. "It'll make sure he doesn't get an infection from an outside source," he explained, before grabbing the next vial. "And this is Inner Clean," he told them as he poured a thin stream of the clear syrupy liquid into the wound. "It'll take care of any internal septic consequence."

"You got tweezers in that kit?" Derek asked gruffly, and Reacher looked up at him. His jaw was set, and he was still pale, but he was focused now. Reacher arched an eyebrow. "There was no exit wound; the bullet's still in there," Derek told him. Reacher blinked for a moment and swallowed hard before looking down at Jackson. He was still crying, still scared. Only his pain was gone, not the danger.

The guns are meant to incapacitate, not to kill, he muttered inanely in his head.

No tweezers dude. You're gonna have to-- Stiles said, shaking him back into focus.

I know. But even though he knew it was necessary, he swallowed a growing lump in his throat.

Want me to?

No, I got it, Reacher told his host, picking up the can of Clean and spraying both of his hands.

"Jackson, this is going to get a bit gruesome, but don't worry, it won't hurt a bit," Reacher told Jackson with a weak smile.

Gritting his teeth, he dug his fingers as gently as he could into Jackson's wound.

Jackson's surprised cries at the sight of someone's fingers in his gut did nothing to disguise the distressed groan of discomfort that forced its way out of Reacher's throat. James and Danny both flinched before turning to Jackson, pressing their shoulders together and doing their best to shield Reacher's actions from Jackson's sight - to keep him from watching his own impromptu surgery.

"It's okay, Jacks, it's okay," James said, and the blonde boy whimpered.

"His hand.." He grit out through his teeth, sucking in breaths. "He's…"

"Don't think about it. You're gonna be fine," Danny told him, smoothing a hand over the blonde's sweaty forehead.

Reacher's teeth were on the verge of cracking when his fingers touched something small and foreign in the soft squish of Jackson's internal organs, and he carefully gripped it between his first and middle fingers before slowly extracting it. His fingers were covered in blood, and he tightened his throat, widening his lips into a parody of a grin to keep himself from vomiting on his friend as he dropped the bullet to one side and wiped his trembling fingers on his jeans. He grabbed the Heal and poured a generous amount into the wound, dropping the bottle haphazardly before pushing the edges of the wound together. He Sealed it, wiping away as much blood as he could before using the Smooth to make the scar almost invisible.

"Alright." His voice was strained through his frozen grimace and he cleared his throat, hoping it wouldn't upset his stomach. "He'll be fine now, he just needs rest. Might want to see if Deaton has any 'Calm' though, in case he goes into shock," he told them. James and Danny looked at where they were distracting their wounded lover and then down at his stomach, where - aside from the blood - there was no sign that anything had happened to the boy. Then they looked at Reacher, who was turning a little green and was taking deep breaths to try and dispel everything that was upsetting his composure. After brief glance at Derek, who was staring at the Soul like they'd never met, and a silent conversation between the two of them, Danny leaned down to press a loving kiss into Jackson's forehead before turning to deal with Reacher. James pulled Jackson's arm over his shoulders, tucked the boy's body into his chest and easily lifted him into a bridal carry, moving towards the house.

"Where's Danny?" Jackson muttered into his neck, eyes already fluttering closed. James made quieting noises.

"Reacher's going to throw up, and Danny's going to make sure he's alright," he said. Jackson, drowsy from the ordeal and fighting for consciousness, made a noise of concern on the Soul's behalf that made James smile fondly. "Don’t worry, Jacks," he said, rubbing his cheek against the boy's temple, heart beating wildly from relief, worry, and only mildly abated terror. "Everything's going to be fine, now."

He stepped aside to let Deaton and Scott hurry past - though the former veterinarian hesitated long enough for James to shake his head, letting him know that his assistance wasn't necessary. Deaton followed Scott out into the front yard, assessing the situation. There were two small and irregular pools of blood in the dirt that Derek was kneeling beside, but his attention was trained on the nearby tree-line. Following his gaze, Deaton found Danny rubbing his hand over Reacher's back while the Soul retched. One of the hands Reacher was using to brace against the tree was bloody, and he arched an eyebrow before turning his attention to the scene. He blinked once at the sight of Michael's corpse and his eyes went immediately to Peter, whose hand was also bloody - though Deaton suspected for different reasons. The blond wolf was staring down at something that his Alpha and several other people were gathered around, and Deaton made his way over. He took a steadying breath when he saw it was Isaac, kneeling down to assess the damage.

He took note of Bliss and Scott holding Isaac's hands, but focused on the task of determining whether or not Isaac was seriously harmed. His searching revealed no physical injury until he got to Isaac's head and noticed a significant, ugly purple bruise at his temple. He turned to Talia.

"He needs the Bite," he told her, shocking everyone.

"Deaton, I can't just--"

"He's bleeding internally. Bruises don't just form like this so quickly - he's bleeding into his brain. We have moments. The Bite could save him--" Deaton started.

"It could kill him. Isn't there anything--"

"Not in time," Deaton told her.

"Do it. Please," Bliss said, staring pleadingly at her Alpha, who looked between her, a fearfully nodding Scott, and Deaton and sighed with a rueful nod.

"Alright, move aside," she murmured, shuffling forward on her knees and picking up Isaac's arm. There was a small popping shift and then she opened her mouth, fangs revealed in their full for barely a moment before she buried them in Isaac's arm, eyes glowing red. There was something like a collective sigh around them. Deaton watched carefully, even as he dug through his bag for something to slow the bleeding, even a little. Enough to give the Bite time to work.

"We should get him inside. He'll need time to heal," he said, before looking at Talia. "You might have to break one of his fingers to get it started," he added. Bliss flinched at his words and Scott puffed up protectively. Talia winced, hesitant to hurt a boy who'd already suffered so much. Peter was silent, but he stepped forward, and without a word he set his hands on Isaac's arm, wrenching quickly. There was an audible Snap! and Bliss made a noise of startled revulsion before she scrambled away to retch in the grass. Scott's 'What the hell, Peter!?' went unheeded as the beta stepped back, eyes focused eagle-like on Isaac. Deaton watched him for a moment before turning to Talia, who had already pulled Isaac into her arms, scowling at her brother. They were going to have words later. Loud words.

"Someone will need to take care of this mess," she said to him, teeth set in displeasure. Peter held her angry gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes and nodding.

"Yes, Alpha," he said, his tone subdued and obedient. Talia's cheek twitched and she turned, striding towards the house while being gentle with her charge. Scott watched her go from where he was rubbing Bliss' back, licking his lips nervously as he glanced between his girlfriend and the boy they'd both been protecting. After a moment, the brunette was able to get herself under control, wiping her face and spitting the sourness from her mouth. She looked up at him, nodding, and let him pull her to her feet so they could both go wait and see whether Isaac would be alright.

Erica and Ben were already inside, playing fetch for their Alpha, who was doing her best to make Isaac comfortable on the couch. Derek was still kneeling next to the site of Jackson's minor surgery, but after a moment, he stood and walked over to where Reacher was dry heaving. He and Danny shared a look before the younger wolf nodded and headed into the house to check on Jackson, leaving Reacher alone with Derek, who placed a tentative hand on the Soul's back, rubbing in small circles.

Peter and Ophelia watched everyone leave aside from the mildly traumatized Soul and his new minder and turned to the corpse lying on the lawn.

"Boys, go inside and wash up," Ophelia ordered. The two young wolves cocked their heads at her and looked at Peter before turning and trotting back up to the house, jostling and snapping playfully at each other as they went. There was still blood on their fur. Peter glanced at his wife before looking back down at the body with a mild frown that did nothing to hide the way his jaw was clenched.

"Arms or legs?" he asked in a light, almost playful tone. Ophelia snorted, hauling the body up and over her shoulder, ignoring the blood that dripped out of it and down the back of her pant-legs. Peter blinked, but said nothing and started to follow her into the woods. After about two steps he stopped, turning back. With a sigh, he went back to collect the gun and the bottle of whiskey that Michael had dropped before trailing after his wife.

Chapter Text

Kate watched the whole thing unfold dispassionately, eyebrow twitching for a moment when Peter tore the drunk's throat out. She dwelled briefly on the waste of it. 'Michael' had good instincts. Bad timing, the brains of a particularly dim bird, and the planning abilities of a tapeworm, but he certainly got what was up with werewolves.

The gunshots would be a problem. They were deep in the preserve, but gunshots echoed. Sound carried. Oh well. She'd deal with that too, after she dealt with this...nest of critters. Maybe she could tell the others that's how she found them. That she'd been coming out to the Hale house to visit her niece, Bliss. She'd been there before. Maybe Bliss called her for reassurance. Maybe Bliss wanted her to make sure about the lack of free humans. Except (gasp) there were free humans. And they outnumbered her. She feared for her life. She feared for Bliss' life, and for Reacher's too. She shot the humans in self-defense and the defense of others. It was just too bad that the humans had somehow gotten their hands on a gun themselves. Poor Bliss. Poor Reacher.

She constructed the scene in her head, lips pulling into triumphant smirk as Reacher finally stopped heaving, smiling shakily up at Derek. Derek looked him over and then took his hand back, shoving it in a pocket and muttering something about the house. Reacher nodded, heading up the lawn quickly with a single, shuddering glance at the spot where he'd stuck his fingers in the blonde kid's bullet wound. Kate arched an eyebrow. She had to say, she never would have thought he'd had the guts. But there they were. Pungently residing at the base of a tree not fourteen meters away.

All she had to do was wait for Peter and his wife to come back from disposing of his kill. She wondered if he was going to eat part of the corpse. Spoils of the kill and all that. She wondered if the fact that Michael was a drunk affected the taste of the meat.

**

Ophelia sneered down at Michael's corpse, at the permanent surprise etched onto his features.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer fella," she said dismissively, looking at her husband. Peter was scowling down at Michael, his jaw clenched, his hands curling in and out of fists. Ophelia frowned in concern, neck hairs rising at the hot scent of rage that was pouring off of him. "Peter?"

Instead of answering her, Peter slammed his fist into a tree, and Ophelia jerked back before looking up at the tree he'd hit, which was groaning. Grabbing Peter by the back of his jacket, she hauled him out of the way of the splintering trunk. Luckily, the tree fell the other way, but Ophelia still gaped at it before turning to stare incredulously at her husband, who had collapsed from rage into despair.

"Peter, what--?"

"It's my fault," he said, voice shaky as he sank to his knees and took a deep, trembling breath. "Isaac's hurt, Jackson's hurt, and it's all my fucking fault," he snarled. Ophelia blinked and said nothing, crouching down with a confused frown. "The whiskey. The gun - I can't believe I...they've been there for weeks! How could I have forgotten?"

Comprehension smoothed Ophelia's forehead as she recalled the night of the near disastrous raid that had preceded letting Reacher into their lives and she sighed, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder. He was trembling. She shook her head.

"My love," she started, calmly assuring him of her continued love and loyalty. "Contrary to your personal perception, you cannot control or predict every last thread of chaos in the world," she told him, and he hissed in an unhappy breath at her statement. She didn't apologize - she barely reacted. "And as you likewise cannot change what has already happened, we'll just have to look on the bright side," she told him, lifting her head when - after a moment of complete stillness - he turned towards her, eyes burning blue.

"Bright side?" he asked, his voice deceptively steady in the face of his fury. She held his gaze, making no threatening moves, but not backing down either. "Jackson was shot and would have died if Reacher hadn't been so prepared as to have an emergency kit. Isaac was given the Bite - without consent - in order to keep him from bleeding out into his own brain - tell me, wife," he hissed, teeth bared, fangs slightly peaked. "What 'bright side'?" he demanded coldly. She arched an eyebrow.

"They're both going to live, Isaac is closer to being ours, and husband, Deucalion coming to kill us all presents you and I with an opportunity to achieve our ultimate goal without having to resort to fratricide," she told him calmly, watching the fury leech out of him until finally he took a breath, rolling his pale, human blue eyes. She leaned forward and he turned so that her forehead landed on his shoulder near his neck, accepting her solidarity and comfort.

"I would very much like not to kill my sister," he admitted with a sigh.

"I know," she replied. He shook his head after a moment, looking down at his hands; at the traces of blood still on them.

"I should never have put him in this position," he chided himself, disgusted. Ophelia sighed.

"Peter, you put him in this position when you fucked his mom seventeen years ago because you were getting cold feet about our wedding," she told him. His cheek twinged in his customary fleeting guilt, but his wife and mate only nuzzled into his shoulder. "Too late to do anything about it now. We'll just have to roll with the punches, as usual," she said. He nodded, turning his head and resting it against hers.

"I don't deserve you," he told her plainly. It wasn't some emotional confession of inadequacy, only the cold hard truth. Ophelia snorted.

"If that were true, I would never have chosen you," she told him, taking his bloody hand and kissing his knuckles before smirking at him with iron-smudged lips.

**

Talia frowned as she leaned in the doorway of the main sitting room. Isaac was laid out on the couch, with Scott and Bliss sitting beside him on the coffee table watching pensively for signs of change. Their hands were clasped tightly, each offering the other silent support as they awaited the fate of their companion. Deaton had been keeping a close eye on him, encouraged by the fact that he wasn't dead yet, concerned by the lack of visible improvement. The emissary had gone downstairs to get something from the Den and to check up on Jackson. The twins had briefly investigated their teenage friend's condition, but Talia had shooed her nephews gently away, frustrated by the reminder that her brother had trained them to attack people by presenting it as a game.

The silence in the room was so heavy that everyone jumped when it was shattered by a sharp trilling. Talia cursed before grabbing the phone from her pocket. She'd gotten a message from one of the Carver Alphas. They were almost to the house and wanted to know if they had anything to do with the gunshots that they'd heard only moments ago - if they needed assistance. Talia quickly typed out a message that the situation had been resolved and that it was safe for them to approach, that she would explain when they arrived.

"The Carver Alphas will be here shortly," she announced evenly to the deathly quiet room, looking towards the door as Derek followed a pale, shaky Reacher into the house. Reacher headed for the nearest bathroom, but Derek lingered uneasily in the doorway of the sitting room with his mother. He looked from Isaac to her, but she only gave a light shrug, and he nodded.

Ben shot them a glance as he passed them on the way out to the yard, eyes not rising above their knees, and Talia took a slow breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Derek glanced between them but said nothing, watching through the front door as Ben grabbed the hose and turned the water on, washing away the pools of blood that had already started to sink into the ground.

They looked up briefly at the groaning sound of a falling tree, and Derek blinked for a moment before just shifting his weight and turning his attention back to Isaac. After a moment or two, Reacher joined them, going over to put a hand on Scott's shoulder in solidarity.

It wasn't long before the sound of a car pulling up drew their attention. Scott and Bliss were only momentarily interested, but Reacher and Derek both looked apprehensively in the direction of the noise. Talia took a deep breath and went to the door. Derek and Reacher joined her, watching them park and climb out of the car. Reacher made a vague noise of interest when he realized that the Carver Alphas were identical twins, before watching as one of them opened the backdoor and helped a fourth person out of the backseat. Eyebrows raised at the doorway at the blindfold and the bound wrists, but then Lydia climbed out of the other side, making eye contact with Reacher and giving a little shrug and eye roll that made it clear it wasn't her idea.

The blindfolded Soul (Must be Melody, Stiles provided) stood there while the Alpha closed the door, head turning, wrists chafing slightly against the rope like he wasn't used to it, and then squawked when he was effortlessly hoisted over one shoulder.

"Really?!" he bleated, face burning, doing his best not to flail. The alpha snorted.

"Shaddup," he replied playfully, walking unconcernedly up the stairs and into the house with a respectful nod to Talia.

"Smells like you had some trouble," he remarked, and she conceded the point.

"Resolved, thankfully," she replied, and he nodded, setting his cargo down so that he was leaning against a wall, able to orient himself without falling over.

"I'm Aiden, by the way," he said, holding out his hand to her and smiling with a closed mouth when she shook it firmly. Ethan and Lydia followed shortly, nodding to Reacher and Derek. Derek's return nod was a little stiff, but she seemed not to notice, looking past him into the sitting room.

"What's--" she started, but then Peter and Ophelia were sweeping into the door.

"I see we have visitors," Peter said, with a toned down version of his salesman smile. Ethan and Aiden both turned to him, noses twitching at the scent of blood.

There was no time to ask about it, though.

From outside, a vague but alarming exclamation of surprise from Ben preceded a thump, as though he'd fallen over, followed by everyone's eyes turning to the small round, blinking object that had been thrown in through the front door. Lydia tensed.

"Shut you---!" was all she managed before the orb emitted a blinding burst of light and a deafening screech of noise that had everyone clapping hands over their ears.

Blindly, Reacher grabbed for Derek's arm, blinking through pained tears at the vaguely human shape that walked through the door. They were holding their arm out, and people were falling over. His heart was pounding. Aside from that, Stiles' panicked babble, and a persistent ringing, he couldn't hear anything, and he struggled to see through eyes that wanted nothing more than to shut themselves against the pain of light. He had to get out of there. He had to get Derek out of there. He grabbed Derek's arm tighter, trying to pull him away, trying to push Derek behind him. The shape turned towards them. Something stung the back of his neck and it was suddenly so hard to move. He tried anyway, pushing Derek back, shielding him. Derek spasmed under his hands and went suddenly limp. He and Reacher went down in a heap, and Reacher groaned in discomfort at the way his forehead bounced off Derek's chin, before his face was mashed against Derek's shoulder.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't move!

**

"What's going on?" Erica asked, and Cora shushed her, both her and Deaton's eyes on the dirt ceiling. Nearly everyone had heard the high pitched whine - the wolves had physically winced at the frequency, muffled as it was by dirt.

"We're under attack," Cora told her. Erica blanched and then headed for the door, but Cora grabbed her arm while Deaton stood passively by.

"What are you doing, we have to go up there!"

"We have no idea what's going on or who's involved. What we have to do right now is think of the good of the Pack. Our Alpha is compromised." There was a moment of deathly silence while Cora took a deep, not particularly helpful breath. The right of Alpha hadn't been passed - she would feel it if it happened - but that didn't mean her mother wasn't dead or about to die. It didn't mean that Derek - her mother's successor with Laura out of the picture - wasn't dead or about to die. "We have to consider evacuating. Get everyone ready, move them to the tunnel entrances. I want them ready to run the moment I give the signal," she ordered.

"That's bullshit!" Erica snapped, eyes blazing.

"She's right," Deaton said, and they looked at him. "Erica, your Alpha would want you to think of the Pack first, you know that," he told her. Erica hesitated briefly before turning away with a curse to do what she was told. Cora looked at Deaton, who put a hand on her arm before going after Erica to help with the potential evacuation. Cora stayed by the door, listening with a lump in her throat, hoping sickly she wasn't about to become her brother's successor.

**

Kate smiled down at the paralyzed wolves and Souls before ejecting the clip of her tranq gun and counting the darts. She had about half a clip left in case some of them started to regain sensation. Synthetic Kanima venom wasn't nearly as effective or long lasting as the real thing, but then the real thing was so terribly hard to come by nowadays.

She looked up at a small sound as she re-inserted the clip and tilted her head at the two targets she'd missed. They were sitting on the coffee table across from the couch, just staring at her, horrified, and she hummed thoughtfully at the terror in the eyes of the parasite operating her niece before lifting the gun and expending two darts to control the situation. She was mildly interested by the quick reactions of the boy, who'd tried to pull 'Bliss' out of harm's way but just ended up pulling both of them into the space between the couch and the table, so that they were awkwardly sitting against the couch, both of them trying to move, but unable to work their own limbs.

She took the sonic earplugs out of her ears, slipping them into a pocket as she retrieved the sonic light grenade, which went into the same pocket. She wouldn't have to wait long for the others to regain their hearing or their sight, and then she could get started. And while she waited, she might as well catalog what she'd caught.

She started by going outside and grabbing the one she'd taken down first, dragging him up the front steps and leaving him half in the door because she really only needed him to be visible so she could keep an eye on him.

Aside from the newcomers - she sneered at Watcher, who was staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and swallowing occasionally, but otherwise breathing steadily - she'd captured Talia, her brother and his wife, Derek, Reacher, Bliss, and some boy she didn't recognize - probably one of the free humans.

The thing that tickled her most, though, was Reacher, covering Derek like a blanket.

What a picture. So cute she wanted to vomit.

They were starting to get their sight and hearing back, she could tell by all the hesitant noises they were making, followed by the names they called to assure themselves that everyone was still alive.

"What do you want?" demanded the dark-haired matriarch of the Hale Clan from where she was nervelessly sprawled against the doorway of the sitting room. Kate snorted.

"As if you don't know what I want, Talia," she sneered, holstering her gun.

**

At the sound of her voice, Reacher's eyes widened, while Derek's breathing became ragged and strained and he gritted his teeth. 

"Singer?!"  Reacher asked incredulously, drawing a mean smile across her face.

"Aw, Derek," Singer taunted, crouching beside his and Reacher's prone body. She smirked cruelly at their awkward position. "You made a friend," she said, mocking approval in her tone. "How surprising, and he must really like you, too," she told him, smirk widening. "You should've seen the way he jumped to protect you when the flash-bang went off, like a baby secret service agent." She clucked her tongue. "Adorable," she cooed with an exaggerated pout.

Reacher's face was steadily burning red at her words, and he kept his eyes turned away from Derek's face. Singer watched him blush and gasped in mock surprise.

"He blushes. Protective and embarrassed by it? Someone's got a cruu-uush," she said in a sing-song voice before chuckling. "And why wouldn't you, really? I mean, he was a cutie six years ago, but now," she sighed, licking her lips as she looked down at Derek. "Now he's all grown up, isn't he? I can see the appeal." She smirked again, running her hand over Reacher's hair. He gritted his teeth in unison with Stiles' disgust and then gasped out a cry of pain when she lifted his head by his hair. He wanted to bat her away, but his arms wouldn't move and he groaned, wincing and trying to turn his head away when she put her mouth near his ear. "Do you wonder, little boy?" she asked, her voice almost sincere in its curiosity. "Do you wonder what he looks like? What he tastes like?" she asked. Reacher blinked at the questions, eyes widening in shock before horror twisted his mouth.

Because he did wonder those things - they consumed a significant portion of his thoughts - but it was never something that Derek was supposed to know about. His blush intensified and he gritted his teeth, desperately trying to move so he could stop Singer from talking. She chuckled at his immobility.

"Would you like me to tell you?" she purred. Heart jolting in his chest, Reacher's eyes snapped to Derek, whose eyes were closed, his face pale - almost bloodless. There was a tear falling from the corner of one eye. Singer's huff of laughter sent a chill down Reacher's spine, where it clashed with the molten anger that Stiles was feeling. "Would you like me to tell you the sounds he makes? The things he says when he's stupid from pleasure?"

Stiles' anger seared up Reacher's spine at her implication and he clenched his jaw so tight it might have broken if he hadn't given in to the acid spewing from Stiles' mind.

"You shut your stupid, lying, whore mouth, you psychotic bitch!" he spat roughly, teeth grinding from the vitriol. There was an instant silence in the room, and Derek's eyes snapped open, locking on the furious scowl that twisted Reacher's face - the way his nostrils flared from the force of the breaths that rushed in and out through them. In the silence, someone let out a strangled laugh. Singer looked shocked for half a second before a grin split her lips unpleasantly. She let go of Reacher's hair and his head dropped back down onto Derek's chest, making both of them grunt.

"Oh, Derek," she taunted, standing up and tilting her head at him, coy smile twisting into something nasty. "He's got a bit of a mouth on him, doesn't he? I can see why you'd like him," she teased. She pretended to look thoughtful for a moment and then grinned again. "Pro tip, kiddo. He likes his blowjobs sloppy," she told Reacher, laughing at the growls that instantly filled the room. One of those growls was Reacher.

"Kate," Lydia said, once again bringing a ringing silence. The Seeker broke off her wicked laughter and turned to sneer at the prone redhead, teeth gritted. "It is Kate, isn't it?" Lydia asked, staring at the ceiling.

"It's Singer," the Seeker replied with an edge in her tone, and Lydia hummed speculatively.

"I don't think it is," she replied, before scoffing. "In fact, I don't think it ever was. It wasn't just Gerard, was it? It wasn't just Gerard who was never implanted with a Soul," Lydia said.

The blonde Seeker stared at Lydia for a long moment before smirking.

"Huh. You are a sharp one, aren't you?" she said.

Kate said.

"Oh my god," Bliss said, and Kate snorted.

"No gods here, sweetie," she replied. "Just monsters. And me," she added, sneering bitterly before looking back at Lydia, eyes calculating.

"How is that possible?" Scott asked, and Kate mock pouted at him.

"How do you think? Souls are so stupid and trusting - all you gotta do is act sweet and innocent, and honey," she smiled meanly. "I've been doing that for years. Just ask Derek."

"You stay away from my son," Talia growled, and Kate snickered.

"Little late for that," she quipped. "Anyway, I’m not here for him. Not really," she said, looking around at the prone bodies. "No, I want the ones who killed my father," she told them. Her voice grew flat, cracking near the end of the sentence as her face transformed from something wicked to something hard and merciless. The tension in the room ratcheted up as the silence fell thick and heavy. "Aw, nothing to say? Too bad. Cause see, I only want the ones who took my father from me, but if no one's gonna speak up about it, I've got no problem doing a little pest control till I get what I want," she said, taking a deep breath and faking a contemplative sigh as she drew her sidearm and switched the magazine from tranquilizers to bullets. The snap as she slapped the magazine in place chilled Reacher's blood. "Now where should I start? With puppy eyes here, or with sleeping beauty?" she asked.

"Don't you fucking touch him!" Peter snarled, while Reacher managed to get out a smushed, 'Scott!'

"Ooh, that got your attention," Kate scoffed. "You must really care about this kid. I mean, after all, you've already killed for him," she said, studying Peter and Ophelia, who were glaring death at her through eerily glowing ice blue eyes. "I'd put those eyes away, you know. I feel a little threatened, who knows how I could react," she told them with an arched eyebrow. "Might accidentally shoot your little bundle of curls, and then where would we be?" She stared at them pointedly, not intimidated in the slightest by their low growls. They didn't back down. She shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, raising her gun.

"No!"

Bliss, who had fallen in a heap in front of the couch where Isaac was sleeping, craned her neck as far as she could, doing her paralyzed best to put herself between Isaac and a bullet. Kate arched an eyebrow.

"No, me!" Bliss said. Scott made a noise of distress and gritted his teeth, trying to move, trying to protect Bliss. "Please. Don’t hurt Isaac," she begged, tears streaming down her face as she stared at Allison's aunt. "Please, Kate, don't. If-if you have to shoot someone, I volunteer, just don't hurt Isaac, please," she pleaded. Kate stared at her, tilting her head in silent assessment before she pointed the gun away, folding her arms and resting her chin on the back of her gun hand.

"Well, isn't this an interesting development," she said. Her mouth pursed calculatingly. "You know, I think I've changed my mind," she said suddenly. Instead of relief, the tension rose. "He's a real cutie. How old is he? Seventeen?" she asked. Derek's breath stuttered and became suddenly labored.

"Don't," he rasped. Kate arched an eyebrow but ignored him.

"I think I'll keep him," she told the room in general.

Everyone began to struggle, hopelessly fighting the paralysis that gripped them, but Kate ignored them, approaching the couch. She nudged Bliss aside with her boot, causing the Soul to slump over against Scott with a muffled yelp of pain, and set her knee on the couch, looking down at Isaac with a smirk.

**

From where Aiden had pushed him to the ground, Camden took a deep breath and let his mind go quiet.

Close your eyes, Melody, he said, and felt the silence from his Soul as it detached from his brain, leaving him in control. This was nothing they'd ever practiced, but his muscles were not atrophied. As long as he didn't over think it, they would do as they were told.

It was nothing to slip his bonds - they'd been there to show trust, not to restrain him. He hadn't been hit with a dart, so he hadn't been paralyzed, but he'd recognized the advantage of remaining still. And with his blindfold, it had even appeared that he'd been knocked unconscious. He'd quietly worked the blindfold up so that his eyes were already adjusted to the light. He'd been waiting - waiting for the right moment, waiting for the signal from Aiden, who'd seen he wasn't paralyzed. Who'd given the briefest of nods when they'd made eye contact. But there was no need of a signal.

The time was now.

Isaac was here.

Isaac was in danger.

Camden turned his head, assessing the situation.

The target's focus was almost entirely on the boy on the couch. Her gun was in her hand, but that hand was bracing her weight on the couch as she gently cupped Isaac's face to turn it to the light.

Camden rose to his feet and was across the room in the span of three heartbeats.

She saw him from her periphery and leaned back, lifting her gun to fire, but he was already there. The gun was out of her hands and across the hall. Camden backed up a step in the process - the act of disposing of the weapon allowed time for one hand to dip towards her belt - where the Kanima hand-darts were kept. Camden jammed the straightened fingers of his off-hand into her shoulder. He didn't watch the darts slip from her nerveless fingers, already dodging a wild punch. It threw her off balance, and he yanked on her arm, using her momentum to pull her into a headlock.

There was a brief struggle, a loud snap, and then silence.

Chapter Text

The air rang with silence for a series of heartbeats, reactions delayed by shock for some, and by dread for those who couldn’t turn their heads to see.

For what seemed like an hour but was most likely a handful of seconds, the new Soul stood over Kate’s lifeless body before drawing in a ragged breath, turning unsteadily away, and staggering with a distressed noise towards the front door. Ben grunted when the Soul tripped over him, and there were several soft thumps as though someone were tripping down wooden stairs before the paralyzed occupants of the foyer and sitting room wrinkled their noses at the sound of retching.

Except for Reacher.

Reacher was looking at Kate.

Reacher was looking into Kate’s cold, dead eyes as she looked right back at him. With a shudder that didn’t translate to the rest of his body, he closed his eyes.

It didn’t help.

Scott was talking to Bliss, telling her to close her eyes, telling her not to look, while Bliss stared too at the lifeless body of her host’s aunt.

“S-sorry. I’m so sorry,” she was saying, over and over as tears fell from her eyes. It wasn’t clear who she was talking to, but Reacher thought it might be Allison, and he wished he could close his ears too, sympathetic tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Can anyone move yet?” Lydia asked, staring at the ceiling. There was the sound of universal effort among them before Ben spoke up.

“I can move my fingers” he reported. Lydia made a noise of speculation.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer then,” she replied, before frowning, eyes turning as far as they could towards the front door. “Melody?” she asked. There was a long moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

The voice was rough – not just from recent gastro-intestinal upset. Rough in a way that Melody would do everything in his power to prevent from showing in his voice. Lydia blinked.

“Camden? Are you alright?” she asked.

“...Gimme a minute,” he answered, and she arched an eyebrow.

“That’s fair,” she replied, her pounding heart hidden only from those who could not hear it.

It was an agonizing handful of minutes before they were able to pull themselves to their feet, unsteady on watery limbs and holding onto the walls, but upright. Scott pulled Bliss into a hug and held her, rubbing her back. Reacher pushed himself off of Derek and opted for just lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He felt sick, but there was nothing left in his stomach to expel, and he fought back the gagging as his stomach rolled. Derek sat up but otherwise didn’t move, puffy, tear-reddened eyes staring straight ahead at nothing.

“I...apologize. This is hardly the introduction I wanted you to have of our Den,” Talia said to the Carver Alphas, who were rubbing the feeling back into their arms. They scoffed, shaking their heads in a humorless laugh.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aiden dismissed, and Talia nodded gratefully.

“Ben, go tell Cora she can stand down,” she told her nephew, and he nodded, walking carefully away. Lydia went outside to comfort her friend, who was sitting on the bottom step of the porch, breathing. Peter and Ophelia were standing almost in the same space, holding onto each other, reassuring each other of their continued survival even as their eyes never left the corpse of Kate Argent. When their strength had fully returned, they stepped forward. Peter grabbed the corpse and hauled it over his shoulder, heading out the door. Ophelia stayed, going over to the couch to sit next to Isaac’s sleeping form – holding his hand while she comforted Scott and Bliss.

“Now that this...unpleasantness is over with,” Talia was saying to her fellow Alphas. “Perhaps we can go downstairs and you can tell us what you’re here for. I assume there’s an update on the Deucalion situation?” she asked. Aidan and Ethan shared a glance.

“Actually, we’re here for him,” Ethan said, nodding towards the Soul they’d brought – the one who’d dispatched Kate with an alarming and unsettling ease. The one who was sitting with his head in his hands on the porch steps, smelling of distress and tears. Talia looked at him, and then back at the other Alphas, eyebrows raised in surprise and confusion. Ethan rolled his shoulders to dispel the tension that being attacked by a Hunter had provoked. “His host’s name is Camden Lahey,” he explained. Talia took a shocked breath, looking towards the couch to her newest beta. Bliss and Scott had raised their heads at the name, looking from their unconscious friend to the new Alphas, who nodded. “I didn’t realize it at our meeting, or I would have said something there; sorry,” Ethan said, but Talia gave a dismissive, distracted wave.

“No,” she said, chewing her lip. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry their reunion had to be so...” she said, and they huffed, nodding.

“What happened?” Aidan asked, and Talia sighed, rolling her eyes.

“One of our denizens,” she started, acknowledging their strained smirk at the pun that had become commonplace throughout the Den. “Was dissatisfied with the way things are, existing here. He was especially unhappy about werewolves and Souls. He was also an alcoholic, and a bully, and Isaac’s father,” she explained. Their eyebrows shot towards their hairline and they looked in unison towards Camden, who hadn’t heard Talia’s hushed tones. Talia glanced towards him too, before sighing again. “He attacked Isaac and another of our...group – that was the shooting you heard. We defended ourselves, and I was forced to administer the Bite to save Isaac’s life,” she confided, before shaking her head.

Aidan scoffed, nudging his brother, who arched an eyebrow.

“Charlie,” was all that Aidan said, and his brother made an almost identical scoffing noise, rolling his eyes before turning back to Talia.

“We’ve been there,” he told her. She nodded, obviously curious, but refraining from asking as Lydia led Camden back into the house, his eyes dry, but red.

“Ma’am,” he greeted respectfully. Talia nodded.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…Camden?” she guessed, and he nodded. She nodded in return, glancing at the Carver Alphas for permission that they granted with a nod before putting her hand on Camden’s shoulder. “Would you like to sit with your brother?” she asked. The tall human blinked several times, breath catching in his chest as he nodded, and she ignored his emotional upheaval, guiding him into the living room. Ophelia moved down on the couch, pulling Isaac’s feet into her lap so that Camden could sit by his brother and hold his hand.

“Hey, Camden,” Scott said, and Camden looked down at him, searching for recognition. “I’m Scott. McCall. I, uh...I’m sort of Isaac’s best friend,” he said, sniffling. “And this is Bliss. And Allison. They’re both there,” he said. Bliss waved, swallowing her distress, tears still leaking from her eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Camden said in a subdued voice, turning back to Isaac.

The color had returned to Isaac’s face. The bruise that had darkened his temple was fading. His pulse, Talia could hear, was strong and steady. She sent silent thanks into the ether that he’d survived the Bite, even as chagrin made her shake her head.

“Hey,” Aidan said, drawing her attention. He spread his hands, a gesture of peace. “You did what you had to,” he told her. The Alpha in her bristled. This was her territory, and he had no right to judge her leadership. She ignored it. She wasn’t an animal. This was an ally, and he was offering her support – support she desperately needed right at that moment. Talia nodded, before frowning again and shaking her head.

“This is unsafe,” she said. They blinked. “Every time you travel from your Den to ours is a chance that someone might unravel all that we have separately strived to safeguard,” she told them, and they rolled their eyes but didn’t disagree.

“They could move in.”

All conscious eyes turned towards Reacher, who hadn’t spoken or moved since feeling had returned to his limbs, and was therefore still lying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, trying to forget Kate’s cold, dead, accusing eyes.

“Reacher,” Ophelia started, a reprimand in her tone – because that was an Alpha’s decision – but Talia tilted her head, arms folded as she considered the turbulent Soul.

“Yes, well, drastic as that offer is...he’s not wrong,” Talia said, looking at the Carver Alphas, whose eyebrows were fully arched. Talia shrugged. “We have an alliance. Our forces would be stronger together than apart. Our position is hidden and defensible, and we have plenty of room,” she offered.

“Three Alphas under one roof?” Aidan scoffed, incredulous. Talia conceded the concern with a delicately arched eyebrow of her own, but didn’t withdraw the offer.

“I don’t doubt there’ll be friction,” she said. Camden gave a dry laugh, and Reacher’s giggle was slightly unstable. Talia ignored them. “But we can’t afford to be separate, running messages back and forth – even phone data can be intercepted. We need to unite. Unless you believe that your location can accommodate nearly seventy people, I believe we should unite here,” she offered. Ethan and Aidan shared a look – a communication consisting of facial tics and expressions that they’d developed for silent, twin communication. Ethan sniffed and arched his eyebrows. Aidan’s cheek twitched and he rolled his head lightly. Ethan turned and looked at Lydia who shrugged.

“It makes sense,” was all she offered. Ethan looked at Camden, who was clutching his brother’s hand with a look of haunted desperation in his eyes. Ethan looked back at Aidan.

“Mika,” he said, and Aidan made a face.

“She’ll deal,” he replied before nodding at Talia. “We’re in,” he told her. She nodded.

“I’ll inform the council. We’ll have to arrange short term accommodations for your people until we’ve finished hollowing out new quarters. We should do this as quickly as possible, but...” she glanced at the sitting room. Ethan nodded.

“We’ll do it tomorrow,” he said. She nodded.

“Derek, help Reacher to his room, he needs to lay down. Scott, I think Isaac would be more comfortable in his own room when he wakes up – show Camden where that is,” she ordered. Scott and Bliss stood up, still holding onto each other as Camden carefully lifted his baby brother into his arms. Derek pulled Reacher to his feet, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he guided him to the staircase. Talia waited for them to leave before looking at Lydia and the Carver Alphas and gesturing across the hall. “Right this way,” she said, following the same path Scott and Bliss had led Camden.

**

Derek helped Reacher up the stairs, guiding him down the hall to his room, neither of them speaking – Reacher barely reacting to input – and led him to sit on the bed, where Reacher stared at nothing. After a moment’s hesitation, Derek stripped off Reacher’s outer shirt, the button up he never buttoned up, and then knelt to pull off the boy’s socks and shoes before pushing him to lay down and covering him with a blanket. Reacher shivered and curled into a ball, one hand coming up to clutch the pillow as he stared at the opposite wall.

Derek stood there for a long moment; lost in his own inner turmoil.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known Kate was still technically alive, but seeing her again...he shuddered. And then the things that she’d said – reminding him in the worst way that it’d all been a lie; a ploy to get at his family...

But then Reacher’s words, all vitriolic hatred that he’d never heard from the Soul...

He watched Reacher for a moment before turning to leave. His eyes caught on a flash of light, and he hesitated, looking at the bedside table where the flash had come from. He glanced at the windows, the tv, thinking maybe a reflection, but his eyes fell on the small table again and the little light on Reacher’s phone – which he’d put on the charger that morning because he kept forgetting to at night – blinked, indicating a message received.

Derek picked up the phone, lighting the display.

Three missed calls and four texts, all from the same number. As Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, another text came in.

Stiles, please answer. Please.

It was from John.

Derek sat on the bed, staring at the text. He unlocked the phone and scrolled through the messages. John had heard the gunshot because his neighborhood was on the border of the Preserve. Derek closed his eyes and sighed. John had been texting and calling his son for twenty minutes. He tapped the call-back button, putting the phone to his ear.

It rang once.

“Stiles?!” John demanded.

“Is fine,” Derek answered, swallowing hard at the near sob of relief that John let out. Behind him, Reacher tensed, but did nothing.

“What. Happened.” John demanded.

“Michael. And then Kate.” He tasted bile in his mouth. “Singer. She wasn’t a Soul. She was biding her time. It’s been dealt with,” Derek reported. John was taking deep breaths on his end of the line.

“Where are Stiles and Reacher?” he asked.

“Lying down. He’s a little out of it. He wasn’t hurt, it was just...a lot,” Derek explained.

His hands were trembling. His heart was pounding.

“And everyone’s okay?” John asked.

“Everyone’s fine,” Derek said dutifully, swallowing hard. “Do you want to come see Reacher and Stiles?” he offered. John’s hesitation said that he wanted to but wouldn’t.

“I have to make sure no one comes to investigate,” he said. “I’ll be by later,” he added.

“I’ll let the Alpha know,” Derek told him.

John hung up.

Derek hung up. He lowered his hand from his ear. The phone fell from his fingers. It was a labor to breathe.

He jolted at the hand on his back, turning wide, wet eyes to Reacher, who wasn’t looking at him, but was tugging on the back of his shirt. The Soul was still staring at the wall, but there was a wet spot on the pillow, and tears had gathered on the bridge of his nose. He tugged again, and Derek – tired, scared, lost – let himself be pulled down until he and the Soul were clutching each other, both silently shaking in the aftermath of terror.

Chapter Text

Opening his eyes in the lazy, quiet stillness of the pushed-together mattresses he shared with James and Danny, there was a moment – staring at the moss that covered the ceiling and the little button flowers that dotted throughout – where it was just a normal day. He was going to get up, kiss his boyfriends, maybe fool around a little, shower, and then go to work.

Crack!

Jackson jerked upwards at the phantom sound, a cry choked by the bile blocking his throat, hand clutching his stomach as his eyes spun wildly around the small space until they landed on James, who was just coming in through the door, a bottle of water in his hand. James looked at the way Jackson was sucking in quick, panicked lungfuls of air, and sat on the side of the bed – close, but not crowding; worried, but not wanting to smother.