It’s been five days. Nearly an entire week where a healing Stiles lay motionless in his bed, before he woke with icy blue eyes flashing in his direction.
Boyd is so relieved that his boyfriend is alive, breathing, that he misses the way the Pack takes a cautious step back. Only Boyd and Derek remain where they stood, when Stiles’ heart rate changed from a slumbering lull, to the rabbit fast pace they had all gotten used to.
“What? What is it?” Stiles asks, panic taking over his features when taking in Derek’s hard frown and Boyd’s confusion.
“Your eyes,” Erica starts, fidgeting by Isaac’s side. “They’re blue.”
Said eyes fade away to the colour of honey, as Stiles stares straight at Derek and the Alpha refusing to meet his gaze.
“What does that mean?” Scott says, looking between them. “Why aren’t they like ours?”
“I’m like you,” Stiles states, the panic he had dissolving to acceptance. “And Jackson. We’re all the same. I mean you and Jackson shouldn’t be, but I get it with me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Lydia snaps then, clearly fed up that there was a conversation being held that wasn’t inclusive. She might even be defensive for a silent Jackson by her side. “Stop talking over our heads!”
“Rest. Boyd will stay with you.” Derek nods at him and he automatically sits by Stiles’ side, their hands finding one another and linking together. “The rest of us will leave you two alone.”
Lydia huffs but obeys, the rest of the Pack following after her. Derek’s the last one out, but before he closes the door, he shoots Stiles a look that Boyd knows is his way of saying ‘We’ll talk later.’
He doesn’t pry. He knows he’ll be told soon. It still doesn’t soothe the burning sensation of not knowing.
“I’m really glad you’re okay.” He murmurs, placing a kiss on Stiles’ cheek. “You scared me for a few days.”
A nose nuzzles his before soft lips press against his own. “Me too.“
“I don’t know whether to punch your boyfriend or applaud him.” Erica says, a slight pout to her red painted lips. “It took us almost a month, before we could control ourselves from eating anyone who pissed us off and even longer than that, to Shift. And Stiles does both, in ten days.”
They’re both watching on from a fallen log, as Derek instructs Stiles how to dodge a swipe of claws with a swipe of his own, his voice even and low as he corrected Stiles’ stance.
Boyd’s a little amazed himself. He knew Stiles would pull through after being bitten. He had always known, - despite all the panicking - even when they were only acquaintances and him a newly bitten werewolf. There had been an inkling in the back of his mind, one that told him Stiles Stilinski was more capable than anyone else in becoming a werewolf.
The way Derek’s rumble of pride that echoes in his now healing chest from Stiles counterattack, proves Boyd’s seven year inkling correct.
Boyd had been unconscious when it happened, but from what he’s told by Derek and Stiles himself, the once human had everything under control.
Well, as far as under control as one can get with a fully grown, Shifted female Alpha werewolf standing above you, hell-bent in sinking her jaws into soft flesh and breakable bones.
It’s because of a slip in concentration on Stiles’ part, that leads to the rogue Alpha’s fangs sinking in around the ball of his right shoulder, his body flung back and forth as she shook him like a rag doll.
Derek, the cause of the slip in concentration, had charged the female from the left and knocked her off her paws, his own jaws wrapping around her throat in a final way that ended her reign of terror.
Boyd doesn’t remember much after jolting awake from being knocked out by her, but he’s pretty sure he’ll never rid Stiles’ screams of pain echoing in his ears or the Pack’s mournful cries at the thought of losing one of their own.
Boyd isn’t going to lie. He’s terrified. He knows that this is necessary, that to avoid fractures in the Pack, they have to re-establish their spot in deference now that there’s another wolf. Still doesn’t soothe his nerves of actually fighting his boyfriend.
As if sensing his trepidation, Stiles trots over and pokes him in the muzzle with his nose, a questioning whine in the back of his throat. Letting out a huff, Boyd delicately licks at Stiles’ muzzle, uses that as an excuse to rub his scent along the length of his body.
A nip at his ear and a happy chuff is Stiles’ silent way of telling him he’s overreacting. Maybe so, but he can’t be blamed. Knows the voice deep in his mind, that’s howling at how wrong it is to fight his boyfriend, is doing the same in Stiles’ head.
It takes them all by surprise when another furry body slams into Stiles from behind, making Boyd stumble forward with a startled growl, one that’s stopped by Derek’s sharp bark. He realises why when Stiles jumps back up to his paws, lips curled up over his fangs in Isaac’s direction.
Whereas Isaac’s fur coat was sandy coloured with patches of cream, Stiles’ fur was a deep brown, one that made his icy blue eyes pop strikingly against the colour. When Stiles and Derek finally explained why their and Jackson’s eyes weren’t the same as the rest of the Pack four days later, there had been a deafening silence save for Stiles’ racing heartbeat.
Boyd had been the first to move, collecting the new werewolf into his arms and hugging him tightly, his nose tucked into the curve of his throat.
“You’re not gonna blame my boyfriend for something he didn’t do.” He tells him, firmly, hating the nogitsune even more in that moment. “He was forced to do something he’d never willingly do in the first place, so I’ll fight you or anyone that says otherwise.”
Boyd feels the Pack surround he and Stiles into a massive hug, Jackson almost squirming in between them, their own voices murmuring their agreement with Boyd, Derek’s proud rumble the loudest.
No one had mentioned the way Stiles was more relaxed, less on edge after that night, but they were all very pleased at the ease behind his eyes and in his shoulders. The way he curled up with them more tightly when someone - usually Allison, while human, still loved being “surrounded by slumbering puppies” - initiated a pile on.
Boyd is brought back out of his memories just as Stiles pins Isaac to the forest floor, his jaws wrapped around the sandy wolf’s throat.
Derek lets out another sharp bark and Stiles removes his teeth away from Isaac’s flesh and steps to the side. His boyfriend sits on his haunches as the other wolf slinks over, whines softly before darting a lick over Stiles’ muzzle in submission.
Stiles’ fur puffs up in pride but he accepts it with a nuzzle, Isaac’s tail wagging happily.
Erica takes the same approach as Isaac, waits until after he’s away before pouncing onto Stiles. She lasts a bit longer than Isaac did, her attacking style fierce and strong. It’s not enough though. Stiles ends the fight with precise bites to the sinew webbing of Erica’s front left and back right leg, her golden fur matted with crimson as the wounds bleed out.
She lays on the forest floor, sides heaving as she pants, Stiles nosing at her cheek in worry. It’s all for nothing, they know, Erica herself included. It’s an easy wound to heal but no one faults Stiles for worrying. Even when he was human and knew they would be fine in minutes, he still worried.
She doesn’t submit as openly as Isaac had, but she does press her cheek against his lightly in accepted deference. Boyd feels the wolf inside his chest puff up in pride when Erica stands ten minutes later and shakes out her fur, nips at Stiles’ nose before prancing away to sit by Isaac.
Jackson’s only warning for Stiles is a low growl before they’re rolling around in a ball of fur and fangs, snarls and the sounds of snapping jaws rising in the air. Boyd whines softly when Jackson nearly pins Stiles to the ground, but ends up letting out a startled yelp, when his boyfriend gets his paws underneath him and kicks at Jackson’s belly and throws him off to the side. He doesn’t go far, manages to recover before Stiles does and snaps his fangs around the soft skin of his left side, tearing through the skin and maybe down to the ribs. An enraged snarl comes from Stiles, the only warning anyone gets as he twists his body and retaliates by catching Jackson’s throat in his jaws.
Unlike Isaac’s light blonde fur coat, Jackson’s was a few shades darker and a lot shaggier than anyone else that was a wolf, which made it so easy for Stiles to hold on, and despite the weight difference where Jackson was bulkier, Stiles still managed to shake him loose.
Boyd hears Lydia’s sharp intake of breathe, hears the stutter of her pulse when Stiles finally lets go and allows Jackson to sail across the clearing and into a tree. Everyone stares as he struggles to get to his paws before miserably sinking to the ground. The fight is stopped by Derek’s growl, one that both werewolves concede to, Stiles nudging Jackson lightly and letting out a startled sneeze when he gets a lick to the nose for his troubles.
Scott’s next, and this time no one surprise pounces on Stiles. They meet head on, only starting once when Derek gives the order with another growl, and honestly, it’s nothing like he expected.
Boyd thought it’d be playful, or at the very least, easy as they were best friends for sixteen years and official brothers for the past three. This however, was brutal, even more so than the first three combined.
There’s a brief moment where they both have a conversation that consists of some light barks, whines and paw stamping, before Stiles nods over at his friend and hunkers down with a snarl.
Scott charges first, an answering rumble in his chest just as he takes Stiles down. They scrabble to get back onto their paws, loud growls echoing through the trees.
“What’s – this isn’t like the other fights.” Allison says, stepping up to his left side. Her face is pinched with worry. “What are they doing?”
He leans against her side heavily, noses at her elbow before shaking his head, telling her silently, that he doesn’t know.
They both glance over at Derek, who sits on a stump that Stiles once claimed was his wolfy throne. His eyes are narrowed and calculating, but he doesn’t seem tense, like he should interfere.
Boyd almost does, when Scott snaps his jaws closed around Stiles’ hind paw and drags him to the forest floor, a high pitched whine tearing through Stiles’ maw. What keeps him by Allison’s side is Derek swinging his gaze over to him, eyes flaring up in warning.
“They’re gonna kill each other,” Lydia whispers from the other side, Jackson standing now, his tail stiff behind him. She’s watching with her mouth open, eyes widening as Stiles retaliates by clawing at Scott’s face, blood welling up in lines over the right side.
He knows they won’t, Derek will stop it before it gets anywhere near that point, but the idea of it still sends his heartbeat racing.
It all comes to a head, Stiles now limping on three paws, but managing to grab Scott around the nape of the neck before bodily throwing them to the ground, his boyfriend tightening his grip with a low snarl when Scott struggled from underneath him.
It’s a tense moment before Scott slumps over, and Boyd isn’t the only one that lets out a sigh of relief. He even sees Derek’s head shake out from its lowered position, like he was going to jump in and physically separate the two wolves if need be.
Stiles lets go of Scott’s nape, licks the fur back into place before limping a little to the side so the other wolf could get up. Scott pads towards him and noses at his bloody paw gently, tail beginning to wag when Stiles bats lightly at his face with his own tail.
He’s about to do the same when a rumble comes from Derek that makes him want to submit. He glances over at the Alpha and finds him watching with keen interest, before he's nodding to the centre of the circle where Stiles waits patiently.
It’s Boyd’s turn now.
Despite the fact that he doesn’t want to actually fight Stiles, he can’t help but catalog Stiles’ weakened state. He’s still struggling with standing on all four paws, he’s protecting his left side where Jackson had managed to dig his teeth into and to top it off, he’s tired from fighting four other wolves capable of doing major harm.
Still, Stiles lowers his snout to the floor and growls out a challenge, one that Boyd’s helpless to rise to. The fur lining his back stands on edge, his teeth sharper and his claws longer. He’s not sure whether it’s because he’s Derek’s Second, but for some reason the thought that someone else could take his place, had his instincts flaring up defensively, regardless of the fact that it was Stiles.
Stiles, who was rolling over to flash his belly up in submission, tail tucked between his hind legs and gaze dropped from his own, when Boyd charged forward. It took a moment to clear the haze that took over, repeated to himself that it was Stiles submitting, not another wolf that had to be enforced.
Standing above his boyfriend, Boyd snuffles at the bared skin of his underbelly, licking once before tracing a path up towards his throat, nuzzling into the warm fur before tilting his own head to the side. Stiles might think that he had to submit to him, most likely wanting to, but it was a two way street in that regard. He’d never use his rank over Stiles, they were equals. They were lovers.
The dark furred wolf chuffs happily, accept the deference with a nuzzle of his own.
Derek steps up beside Boyd, standing at his full weight above Stiles, a low growl echoing in his chest. He nearly nips at the wolf at his paws, because Stiles rolls his eyes up to the Alpha but stays where he is as Derek licks at Stiles’ belly.
He can almost hear Stiles’ voice telling Derek, “Yes, Der, you’re the big bad Sourwolf.”
He’s not sure why Stiles calls him that, even after all these years, but it never fails to make Derek glower fondly.
Everything is back to normal by the time they get back to the Hale house. All wounds are healed and there’s no hard feelings between the wolves as they bumble over one another or hip check someone to the ground before dashing off.
That is, for everyone but Boyd. He can’t get the fight between Stiles and Scott out of his head. The way they had fought one another was almost like a real fight, like they were going for the throat. So he asks Stiles, corners him on the couch and bluntly asks what that was all about.
“I asked Scott not to go easy on me.” He answers, without any hesitation.
“Why?” Boyd questions, eyebrows furrowed. “It was a lot more brutal than expected, especially because it’s you two.”
"Wanted to prove something to myself, I guess.” Stiles says, shrugging. “I also wanted Scott to finally let all those negative feelings out.”
“It’s my fault that Scott was bitten in the first place. If I hadn’t have dragged him out of his room at midnight, for some stupid, disrespectful scheme to find Laura’s body, he’d still be human. None of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t so careless.”
“Peter might have bitten someone else yeah, but who’s to say we weren’t always going to end up here, where we are?” Boyd says, pulling Stiles close. “Allison was literally born into the supernatural world. Her and Scott were meant to be in each other’s lives, whether or not if you pushed the ball or not. Besides, you’re the son of the Sheriff, there’s no way you could have kept away from all these unsolved "animal” attacks, before stumbling after Derek when you connected the dots.“
Stiles makes a face at the last bit. "Yeah, but –”
“We were always going to end up here,” Boyd interrupts him, smiling gently at him. He leans in and presses their mouths together, feeling content when Stiles lets out a soft sigh. “And I’m glad, I wouldn’t be who I am today if there was another life to live. I wouldn’t have our Pack, I wouldn’t have you. I’d probably be that guy in an office job, that no one knows their name or even if they speak.”
Stiles stares at him for a very long moment before he’s clambering into his lap, all long limbs and sharp elbows. It’s worth it though because he gets Stiles’ mouth slanted over his and a litany of “Oh, dude, I love you. I love you so much, you have no idea.”
“Pay up, Jackson! I told you Stiles would say it in April!”
There’s catcalls from the rest of the Pack, Erica’s smug grin, Isaac’s comments about being scarred, Scott’s happy cheers, Jackson sullenly handing two fifty dollar notes over to Lydia and Allison, and Derek bitching about Stiles’ shoes squeaking on his leather couches, but it’s perfect.