w.o.l.v.e.s.
Because what's funnier than a pack of twenty-something werewolves living life in episodic narratives?
Episode 1: The One with the Moving Boxes (Part One)
It was just a typical Tuesday afternoon when Isaac Lahey wandered back into the McCall pack after four and half years of a mostly academic absence. Derek, Boyd, Stiles, and Lydia were all lounging in their usual spot at Laura Hale’s Bean There, Done That coffee house, discussing Derek’s latest possible fling.
“There’s nothing to tell. I just work with the guy.” Derek hated taking such a defensive tone with his friends, but he knew exactly where this conversation was going. He just hoped Laura wasn’t lurking somewhere.
“Um, you’re going out with him, Derek, there has to be some kind of screw loose,” Boyd smiled. And there it comes, the revisiting of Derek Hale’s List of Psychopath Ex-Lovers Who Have Tried to Kill Him or His Immediate Loved Ones.
“Vernon, be nice.” Stiles quipped from behind his oversized latte. Derek smelled peppermint, which meant Laura must’ve ordered the holiday flavors early this year. And that meant Stiles would be in a good mood. “So, Derek. How many misdemeanors does the guy have?”
“He’s not a supe, is he?” Lydia interjected mildly after a self-imposed ten minutes of silence. “You’re statistically more likely to consider it a serious date if he is someone that would be assimilated into the pack.”
“This is not a date,” Derek seethed. He wondered why he even brought it up when he knew this was where the group would take it. They didn’t really blame him for Kate, for Jennifer, or for that one guy he let cook them all dinner and they got food poisoning. He knew beneath all the snarky comments and the dredging up of the past, beneath the prodding and the poking, they cared. Maybe.
“If it’s not a date, then what is it?” Boyd asked. His eyes lingered somewhere behind Derek which meant Erica was fixing someone’s coffee and making eyes at Boyd.
Derek rolled his eyes and replied, “It’s two people going out for dinner.” Derek saw Stiles’ raised eyebrow and added, “And then no sex.”
Stiles laughed. “Sounds like a date to me.”
Lydia let out a soft, amused sigh and asked Stiles to share the weird dream he mentioned having. The pack kind of had to take his dreams seriously since he inadvertently prophesied the gargoyle infestation in the preserve two years before. Relieved to have the attention off of him, Derek watched Stiles divulge his latest subconscious soiree in Bette Midler’s kitchen with goblin Leo Dicaprio and warlock James Franco. It quickly turned into the two supernatural actors fighting over who Stiles would feed chocolate covered strawberries to first.
“You need to stop falling asleep with the TV on,” Lydia said. “Maybe you’ll have uninfluenced dreams.”
Before Stiles could reply, Scott rushed in and shook the rain off his back.
“Hey guys,” he frowned.
Stiles got up and helped Scott out of his jacket and then hung it up on the rack by the door. “Scott, where have you been?” he asked. “We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes. I’m glad we weren’t meeting you at the storage place, because it wouldn’t be the first time a group of werewolves were caught lurking outside Bob’s Storage. Remember Mosely’s Pack?”
Derek shuddered at the thought. “Can we not bring up the guy that tried to scalp me?”
“You did need a haircut,” Stiles winked.
“I’m sorry,” Scott sighed and fell onto the couch next to Derek. He looked awful. He smelled awful too. “It’s just, I can’t stop thinking about--”
“Allison,” Boyd interrupted. “We know.”
Lydia suddenly found something very interesting in the science magazine she had been fanning herself with.
Scott scrunched up his face. “I just...it’s not even just Allison. I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s been two weeks. I just...can’t really function. I put my watch on upside this morning and missed a consultation with Deaton.”
“Everything will get back to normal once we pick up your stuff and get you moved in,” Stiles said. “You’ll get settled in and then find your knight in shining armor.”
“Chivalry is dead” Scott groaned.
Boyd opened his mouth to add something but the door slammed open, stealing everyone’s attention as a giant mascot knight bolted in.
“Derek?” it called and turned its head around the coffee shop. “Derek!”
Derek stood up and sniffed the air. “Lahey?”
The knight used his gloved hands to push the oversized helmet up and off his shoulders, revealing a pale, disheveled blond head.
“Isaac!” Boyd exclaimed and rushed to hug his friend. “What--”
“Why in god’s name are you in a knight costume?” Derek asked. He was shocked to see his old beta, well, Scott’s old beta, technically. They hadn’t heard from Isaac since he went off to college on the east coast.
The tall blond frowned. “It’s good to see you, too, Derek.”
“Isaac, I think what Derek meant to ask was ‘is everything alright?’” Scott said. “Come sit down.”
“This suit makes sitting down kind of difficult,” Isaac explained. He looked around and said, “Let me change out of it.”
Ten minutes later, Isaac returned from the bathroom in his usual skinny jeans ensemble.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if you were wearing the scarf under the knight suit,” Derek muttered under his breath as Isaac sat between him and Scott. After sending back a cappuccino and asking for a “real italian cappuccino”, Isaac explained that after college he had come back to work with his dad as a swim coach in Lodi county but ended up wearing the school mascot costume at every swim meet. Finally, when the Stockton Knights came to meet against the Beacon Hills Cyclones, Isaac had seen his escape.
“I need to be part of a pack again,” Isaac said. “I can’t work for the man anymore.”
Stiles shifted in his armchair, “You mean your dad?”
Isaac pouted. “I got a degree in Nineteenth Century Russian Literature. I have talents that could be used.”
“For what?” Lydia chimed in. “Dramatic and unnecessary suicides?”