It's been many years since Gerard stole everything from him. Years that Deucalion has spent in an angry red haze, killing off his own kind to prevent them from returning the favor. It started when his own pack had turned on him in his weakest moment, and he'd had to kill them all just to survive. Afterwards, he'd wandered around half blind, miserable and unable to trust anyone for fear that someone would take the opportunity to finish what Gerard started. At one point, Deucalion had created a pack again, an alpha pack.
They'd been powerful, but far too power hungry. In the end he'd been glad that he'd never truly trusted any of them, because they'd turned on him just like his first pack. After eliminating them all, he became stronger than ever before, but he was lonelier as well. Tired, and world weary, he'd allowed himself to go feral, not wanting to suffer the pain of having his pack turn on him ever again. He was done with trying to lead, and resigned to going mad just so he wouldn't feel miserable anymore. He stayed in his full shift wolf form, roaming the woods as a lone red eyed wolf.
He would have stayed that way till the day he died, if he hadn't smelled an alluring wisp of what was undoubtedly his mate. For a moment in his half feral state, he pondered running away. Surely it would be better to run now, than to bear the pain of his mate turning on him. But then Deucalion realized that he didn't want to live in a world where even his mate would turn on him. No, if his mate wanted him dead, then he'd let them do the job others had failed to do.
He hoped that it wouldn't come to that, because he'd do whatever it took to please his mate. He'd do anything and everything to ensure that they would care for him in return. He'd murder every last person on earth if it meant that this creature that he had yet to lay eyes on would love him.
Inhaling deeply, he runs towards the source of the enticing aroma, shifting back to his human form for the first time in ages. Red eyes dilating with excitement, he dashes towards the musical thumping sound calling to him like a siren.
Stiles is always lonely now. So god damn lonely even though he's surrounded by people. Scott is supposed to be his best friend. He's supposed to be here with Stiles today, but he isn't. Scott has now failed their friendship like he's failed most of their classes. Failed with a capital F. Apparently sneaking off to see Allison is more important than helping Stiles make it through the worst day of the year.
Tugging his coat tighter in a useless attempt to stave off the cold, Stiles stares down at the two granite stones before him. Sniffling, he tries to hold back tears and fails. Stiles was young when he lost his mother to frontal temporal dimentia; a disease that took her slowly but surely away from him. She'd lost her mind to the sickness, and stopped being able to recognize her own son as it progressed.
It took months of seeing her in pain and slowly slipping into madness, before Stiles just couldn't take it anymore. He'd used a discarded needle to push air into her IV like he'd seen on TV, and watched with a mixture of guilt, grief and relief, as she finished fading. The doctors said she'd passed peacefully in the night. His dad hadn't ever said anything to Stiles afterwards, but somedays he'd look at Stiles strangely, and he wondered if his father knew what he'd done.
Stiles never found out, because at sixteen his dad died on the job. He'd gone to work, and just never come home. Stiles had thankfully been emancipated due to his age, inherited his house, and got a decent amount of money from his fathers passing. Enough to get him through high school and a fair amount of college since he'd graduated high school early.
Scott and Melissa were all he'd had left. Had, as in past tense, because now that It's Scott's senior year there are werewolf problems to deal with, and hunter girlfriends for Scott to angst and pine after. Obviously there isn't time for Scott to say so much as a hello or adieu whenever they see each other. Not that they do see much of each other. The only time he sees Scott anymore is during 'pack' meetings snice they don't go to scool together, but they don't even get to talk then because Isaac takes up all of Scott's miniscule attention span.
For fucks sake, it's Scott's senior year. They're both eighteen, but Scott still manages time and personal relationships like a two year old. Stiles is sick of it, but he has no one else. ...Had, no one else. After today he's sure that he doesn't even have Scott. To fill the huge amount of time he seems to have now, he's been sneaking books from Deaton's office. He always takes them back, (after he's amassed a huge quantity of notes) so he doesn't really feel bad about borrowing them.
He's learned a lot from them. Some very useful spells and a multitude of wards. He loves having the ability to be untraceable to his furry acquaintances and other supernatural beings when he feels like it. No scent, no heartbeat, nothing. A blank slate. It's kept him alive several times now. He wishes he'd known these things back when the Kanima was around. Maybe he could have escaped Gerard.
It's been months since then, and nothing's happened, but Stiles isn't letting his guard down. He's proud to say that both his house, and his person have been warded against pretty much everything. He doesn't have any spells on to muffle his scent or pulse at the moment, because he forgot to raise them before leaving the house, and he just isn't in the right mood to 'believe'. Stiles wonders idly if Erica and Boyd would have stayed if he'd known how to protect them, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Besides, even if they'd stuck around, they'd probably be ignoring him too.
Wiping his cold, wet face off, Stiles wishes that he could find someone who wouldn't ever leave him. A companion who would love him more than anyone else, and put him first. He'd kill for a person who would just ask him if he's alright after he's been kidnapped and beaten. A partner who would just trust him, and listen to him before going off half cocked on their own and listening to a creepy old man instead of him. Someone loyal.
Shivering from the cold, Stiles makes his way back to his jeep, resigned to going home to his empty house full of nothing but memories. Stiles is just begining to open the door to his car, when he feels hot, moist air against the back of his neck. Tensing, Stiles resigns himself to a painful end because he'd been stupid enough to leave home without his wards, and turns around.
"...Fuck," Stiles breathes. Bright red, unquestionably alpha eyes, stare at him from behind long matted hair and an equally scruffy beard. Stiles heart thumps in fear, even as his brain is overloaded by the fact that he is about to be killed by a dirty nude alpha hobo. Because that is the story of his life. Shaking from the cold and fear, Stiles tenses up further when the filthy alpha leans in- and nuzzles into the crook of his neck.
Because that's what's happening now. The crazy creepy hobo doesn't want to eat him, but to snuggle into his side.
Several uncomfortably silent moments of physical contact later, Stiles squirms and tries to get out of the strange situation he's found himself in.
"Um. So. Look, you seem very nice for a dirty hobo that I thought was going to eat me, but I am extremely uncomfortable with this arrangement, and, um, you're kind of getting- no ok you ARE getting dirt all over me. I would really prefer it if you could not do that, and maybe acted like a normal person, but I guess if this is the only alternative to you feasting on my liver, then you just have at it with the cuddling dude. Perhaps you heard that Stilinski's give the best hugs and had to affirm it for yourself, -but there will be no groping! I am a prude good sir, and we prudes do not make with the groping till at least the third date if you're lucky, but I'm shy, so that ship isn't gonna sail for awhile, so if you could please just stop it with the sniffing, and the touching, that'd be great," Stiles babbles to the strange man, who just blinks at him and whines. It's such a sad whimper that it crushes Stiles resolve to remove the crazy clingy alpha.
Well, almost crushes it, because this is a NAKED man snuggling him, and Stiles does not approve. Not in these circumstances anyway. Then again, the poor guy does seem crazy, and Derek said werewolves go Feral when they're pack less. It figures that he would find the feral alpha wolf, not the omega, which means serious complications if the dude feels bitey.
"So; questions. You're obviously feral, but can you understand what I'm saying? If so I would again ask that you kindly release the Stiles. I realize that this is a great thing that I ask of you because I am totally huggable, but I make it a point not to hug people before at least introducing myself, because that is rude. Not to say that you're rude, just that maybe you've forgotten some social niceties in your journey over the river and through the woods. ...I really hope you didn't go to grandmas house. Any-who, yay or nay on the understanding me front?" Stiles asks as he tries to wriggle away from the warm body that is attempting to, and succeeding in pulling him closer.
Another pitiful whimper from the scruffy alpha makes Stiles pause in his escape attempts. Slumping, Stiles realizes that the guys answer is probably in the negative, because the alpha clearly doesn't understand a single thing he's saying. Huffing, Stiles runs his fingers gently over the guys tangled mane in an attempt to soothe him like he would any other distressed creature. A low rumble vibrates against Stiles neck, making him tense up, expecting a bite or worse, until the alpha buts up against Stiles hand. Lips quirking with amusement, Stiles starts gently petting the guys filthy hair again, fighting the urge to coo and coddle the big guy like a distressed puppy.
Realizing that he isn't going to be able to just leave the feral guy here alone, Stiles wonders what he's supposed to do with him. He could let Derek and Scott know about the guy, then let them take care of it since it was wolfy business, but thinking of Scott makes his shoulders bunch up angrily, and Derek had left a bruise on Stiles shoulder the last time he'd slammed him into a wall, so Derek isn't in Stiles good graces either. He really doesn't want to talk to either of them, so telling Derek, or Scott is out of the question. Deaton also isn't an option because Stiles doesn't trust the guy further than he can throw him, so that leaves one option, and a frustrating question: how is he supposed to drag the stray he's picked up home?
Keeping one arm around the guy, Stiles finds it surprisingly easy to coax the alpha into his jeep and then drive to his house. It probably isn't a good idea to drag a feral alpha home, but Stiles decision making eight ball is missing, so he is relying on his gut, which is less reliable but sometimes right.
Taking his coat off, Stiles cautiously wraps it around the guys waist and when there isn't a negative reaction, drags him quickly into his home, hoping his neighbors don't see anything or get flashed. Continuing to tug his new companion along by said coat, (who seems strangely happy to be led around) Stiles takes him to the bathroom, and points at the shower.
"YOU. TAKE. SHOWER," Stiles states slowly, pointing repeatedly at the tub and then making scrubbing motions on himself. The man just blinks his pretty red eyes at Stiles. Slapping his face, Stiles realizes that if he doesn't want anymore dirt tracked through his home, then he is going have to do this himself. Taking a steadying breath, Stiles moves the guy around to where he's sitting in the tub, then starts the water.
One very uncomfortable hour later, he has a very clean scruffy man sitting on his bathroom floor, rumbling happily while Stiles fluffs his long hair dry with a towel.
"When you get your brain back? We-" Stiles says, gesturing between them, "Are never speaking of this again." Reaching under the sink, he pulls out a pair of scissors and a few different sized clippers to trim up the guys fluffy mane, then gets to work.
In the end, he has a VERY attractive man, sitting nude in front of him. Who knew that all that matted hair was hiding this? Flushing, Stiles swathes him in several towels to cover him up. Beautiful red eyes full of adoration, stay locked on him as he shuffles around putting things away and sweeping up the messy floor.
"Huh. Putting clothes on you may have been the easiest part of this whole frigging process," Stiles states, grinning at the big beautiful guy that he's barely managed to squeeze into some of his bigger pjs. Said man keeps pulling the shirt up, inhaling deeply and then making a happy rumbling noise, which, weird, but also adorable. "Uncomfortable, but easy," Stiles says, proud that he's wrangled an alpha into clothes. Then Stiles realizes that he's been ordering an alpha around all day... Doesn't that make him an alpha? Puffing up, Stiles grins, and pointing at big and beautiful, he says, "That's right big guy- I'm the alpha now!" He doesn't get a reaction, but Stiles takes the slow soulful blink to be an acknowledgement of his alpha hood.
"No!" Stiles says firmly as he pushes the alpha's grabby hands away from the cooking meat he is making for their dinner. "I don't care how crazy or feral or alpha you are, you are not eating raw meat in this house mister. Medium rare? Fine. Raw? No," Stiles says firmly, trying to remain stern to enforce this rule. There is no way he can just sit and watch the guy eat raw meat for dinner without vomiting. They are going to eat real food and that's that.
Red eyes stare him down, but Stiles stays strong, and when he's done they both enjoy a well rounded meal. Even though Stiles has to force feed big and beautiful the vegetables, and continually make him sit in a chair instead of hovering over Stiles shoulder, it's nice to have company. A small but growing part of Stiles hopes the man will stay even after he gets his marbles back.
"No. I don't care how pretty you turned out to be under all of that gunk, you are sleeping on the couch mister, and that's final," Stiles states, for the umpteenth time pointing at the couch. Confused wide eyes stare at him uncomprehendingly. Growling out of frustration, Stiles slinks off to his room, aware that he has a stubborn cuddly shadow behind him. It's definitely not cute or giving Stiles warm fuzzy feelings. "This is the only time I'm going to let you sleep on my bed. But this is not because I am a pushover, it is because I am a very kind soul despite all contrary evidence," Stiles says as he slips under the covers and holds them up for the big puppy.
"Oomph!" Stiles wheezes as the older male leaps onto him, then proceeds to move Stiles around until he's snuggled close, covering most of him with his larger body. For a moment Stiles is stiff. It's been so long since anyone's touched him in a friendly way... Its nice. Eyes watering, Stiles sniffs and clings back, hiding his face in the werewolf's neck. He'd needed this.
Deucalion rumbles happily his mate holds him close. He could die of happiness at this point. His mate hasn't abandoned him like he'd feared, nor has he once threatened to kill him or even smelled seriously angry. Instead, Stiles -as he's learned his mate's name is, has taken him into his den, gently groomed him, fed him, and now he is going to sleep wrapped up in Deucalion's arms. Deucalion is in heaven.
He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of Stiles kind touches and smiles. There is no way he'll ever leave his mate willingly. He'll die first. Or kill anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Snuffling the sweet scent that Stiles emanates, Deucalion drifts off to sleep peacefully for the first time in years.