#derek pack

[magda-lennah]

[lyczekzuza]

Teen Wolf

[notformundanes]

[bloodwrit]

The cat was there the morning he walked into the crumbling husk of his family home for the first time in six years, the day he returned to Beacon Hills.

It was the very last thing he expected; the memories of everything he’d lost like a punch to the gut, yes, of course, the pungent smell of burnt; rotting wood he was prepared for.

But a chubby cat sitting on the fifth step from the bottom of the main staircase was so out of place he actually did a double take. It was ugly as hell, with one of those faces that looked like it’d been smashed in—it obviously didn’t have an owner because it was dirty and had crusted gunk in the corners of its eyes and mats along it’s back and sides. It smelled horrible, he noted with distaste, but below that stink was the undeniable scent of wolf saturated into the walls of the house—which meant predator. So why was this cat here? Surely it could smell it—but then that logical train of thought went out the window because the cat was plodding on pudgy paws down the steps and waddling over to him and rubbing against his leg.

He recoiled with a noise of disgruntled disgust, backing into the door so heavily that it rattled ominously on its hinges. He had never in his entire life had a cat do that to him—where was this felines faculties? It didn’t seem perturbed by the fact that he’d backed away, merely followed him on stubby legs to brush up against his jeans again. Since he was already pushed against the door he had nowhere else to go, so he just sort of stood there looking down at the blunt head now butting against his shoe.

Eventually he grunted and moved carefully around the offending creature, to prevent it from marking him, he assured himself, and not because of some other more sentimental reason. Derek Hale was many things, sentimental wasn’t one of them.  

*

The Cat and Derek forged an odd alliance throughout the next few months. Derek would occasionally scrub his fingers through its dirty fur or clean the crumbs out of its eyes with a tissue during the rare instances that he was at his home and the cat would provide a silent, warm, living distraction while he tried to sleep in this visceral nightmare of a house.

*

The night Derek became the Alpha, the night he killed his own uncle to obtain that power, Derek purposefully sought out the cat.

After all the noise and commotion going on in and around the Hale house, Derek wouldn’t be surprised if the cat had, finally, left.

Quietly he opened the rusted door knob into his ‘bedroom’ expecting it the be empty —but there was the cat, sleeping in a little loaf on his pillow.

Derek let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

*

When Derek and his new betas had to leave the Hale House, Derek took the cat with him.

He’d already thrown all of his meager luggage into the trunk of his Camaro and slammed it shut when he returned into the house, scooped the feline up under his arm and walked right back out.

Erica raised an eyebrow and smiled, Isaac looked slightly constipated and Boyd looked impassive as always.

“Don’t.” He warned as he slid into the front seat, setting the cat on his lap where it started to knead at his thigh “Now get in or you’re walking.”

*

 The cat became to Isaac, Erica and Boyd what it had become to Derek.

Something small and warm and alive that loved unconditionally—a description Derek never would have thought he’d associate with a cat of all things.

He’d seen Erica crying into its ruff after she’d had her seizure, seen Isaac attempt to brush out the mats in its fur without much success and he’d even seen Boyd walk around with the cat in his arms, muttering nonsense at it while it purred like a motor boat.

The cat was the only one allowed into Derek’s train car for more than a terse conversation.

*

When Derek was on relative speaking terms with Deaton, he decided it might be a good time to see about getting the cat groomed—at the very least those mats needed to be shaved off. After everything this flea bag had done for him, Derek figured it was only right.

It was worth the humiliation of showing up at the vets after closing with the cat in his arms.

After a couple of hours of shots, shampoos, sheers and clippers and a scheduled appointment to be spayed (Derek hadn’t known it was a girl up until that point) the cat was back in her ‘throne’ (a cheetah print pet bed that Erica had picked up a few months ago) in Derek’s train car, alternately licking at his betas’ fingers and her shaved belly.

“We should name her,” Erica said as she scratched her fingers under the cat’s chin “calling her cat is lame.”

Isaac and Boyd nodded empathetically.

Derek was silent for a minute until he cleared his throat and said “Laura. We’ll call her Laura.”

*

The next day Derek, Erica and his other two betas went to the local pet store and had a tag made in the shape of a heart (Erica’s insistence) while Boyd and Isaac scoped out some kitty chow.

And if Derek happened to surreptitiously slip a rhinestone studded collar into the basket to go with the newly minted tag, well, Erica wouldn’t tell a soul.