Actions

Work Header

The Hale Pack

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters. If I did, Sterek would be canon.

The Hale Pack: The Beginning

There was no denying that the Hale Pack was the most well respected Pack globally. Though not the most powerful, by far, in the beginning they were known for their kindness and diplomacy. For centuries, the Hale Pack has been blessed with good Alphas. Respected by all in their pack, along with the citizens of the town they protected, and all who met them. It seemed at one point in time that Talia Hale would be the last to operate in Beacon Hills. After a fire took her life, and the lives of most of her family, the Alpha power went to her eldest daughter, one of the few survivors. Laura Hale left soon after the tragedy with her only remaining brother. Their uncle was comatose in the hospital, so they couldn't take him with them. They packed up their few remaining belongings, gave the hospital staff specific instructions to follow regarding Peter's care, then left for New York City. An Alpha friend of their mother's had offered them a small portion of his territory to call their own until they were ready to return to their true home. Derek swore to himself and his sister that he would never go back, but his Alpha had other plans. It took six years for Laura to go back but she did it, Derek followed her a few days later.

And that is when the Hale Pack finally began to rebuild and eventually became something legendary.

It began shortly after the Alpha returned to her home. Two nights before the full moon, on the rural outskirts of a small California town called Beacon Hills, Police Officers and State Troopers gathered on a dirt road. At their sides, search dogs barked and whined as they pulled their leashes taut.

One by one, the Officers clicked on their flashlights, then glanced to the Sheriff for his signal. Finally, he gave a nod and seconds later, a dozen streaks of light tore through the shadowy woods.

A desperate search had begun…

Not far from those dense woods on that same night, a two-story home lay hidden under a canopy of trees. A gentle wind had drifted into the open window of an upstairs bedroom where two hands worked quickly to thread the laces on the head of a lacrosse stick.

The fingers worked fast and precise, expertly pulling each lace into a diamond mesh pattern. Knotting the last loop, sixteen year old Scott McCall stood with the re-threaded stick. Dressed in only a pair of athletic shorts, his lithe frame may have still had some filling out to do, but it was easy to see that he'd soon grow into a strikingly handsome young man, with deep black eyes designed to melt the hearts of hopeful young people.

Scooping a ball up from his bedroom floor, Scott gave the lacrosse stick a spin, testing his handiwork.

A moment later, the re-threaded stick landed next to a school backpack, while Scott pumped out a few chin-ups at the bar mounted in the doorway of his closet.
He worked through his evening routine, with a few additions to prepare for the first day back at school the following morning. He was almost prepared for bed when, toothbrush in his mouth, he reached for the window sill to pull it down. However, he stopped when he heard a noise. He tilted his head, so his ear was closer to the open window, to listen again. Under the whispering wind, he heard movement, a strange shuffling noise.

Less than a minute later, the door to the porch opened. Now armed with a baseball bat, Scott started moving toward the yard. Breath held tight, he moved cautiously off the porch steps.

The sound of movement stopped him cold. Holding still, he peered left and right as he white-knuckles the bat, ready to swing. When he reached the railing, before Scott even knew what was happening, a figure swung down, hurtling toward Scott, who hollered in terror as an upside down face appeared in front of him. When the person screamed back at him, he almost swung the bat before realizing who it is.

"Stiles, what the hell are you doing?" Scott demanded angrily, whilst gasping deeply for breath.

"You weren't answering your phone." Stiles answered, gesturing with his arms wildly. Feet caught in the trellis, Stiles hung in front of Scott. The sixteen year-old with boundless energy continued talking upside down, as if this were a perfectly normal way to have a conversation.

"Why do you have a bat?" He demanded incredulously, gesturing to the object wildly, causing himself to swing slightly.
Scott glanced at the bat in his hand then back at his best friend, "I thought you were a predator" was his defense, to which the elder boy rolled his eyes.

"A pre-" Stiles cut himself off with a shake of his head and slight scoff "Look I know it's late, but you gotta' hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even State Police."

"For what?" Scott asked feeling his curiosity begin to stir against his will, lowering the bat.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods." His voice carried a trace of excitement, there's a slight grin on his face as he reached up, or down from his perspective, and pulled himself free of the trellis, proceeding to land on his feet in front of Scott.

"A dead body?" Scott asked with a slightly confused look on his face, leaning over the railing to look down at his best friend.
Stiles stood full, leaning closer to the railing "No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body." He announced with his trademark sarcasm. The pale boy climbed up over the railing, onto the porch in front of Scott.

"You mean like murdered?" Scott inquired, brows furrowed as he tried to figure out why Stiles was so excited about the situation

Stiles stood with his hands on his hips. "Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl," He made a gesture with his left hand. "probably in her twenties." he repeated the gesture with his right hand.

"Hold on. If they found a body, what are they looking for now?" A seemingly ever-present confused look was glued to his face

"That's the best part." Stiles announced, gesturing wildly, barely able to contain his excitement "They only found half. We're Going."

A little later on, a beat-up jeep skidded to a halt just beyond the heavily wooded entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve. Stiles got out with a flashlight in hand. Scott following him.

"Are we seriously doing this?" Scott asked Stiles incredulously.

Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, Stiles replied "You're the one always bitchin' that nothing ever happens in this town." Before charging on to the hiking path.

Standing in place with a slight shrug, Scott informed the hyperactive boy,"I was trying to get a good night's sleep for practice tomorrow." Scott then proceeded to follow Stiles.

"Right, because sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort." Was the sarcastic response.

"No, because I'm playing this year." Scott insisted, "In fact, I'm making first line."

Stiles put a sarky cheer in his voice to respond "That's the spirit. Everyone should have a dream. even a pathetically unrealistic one."

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" Scott asked, deciding to ignore Stiles' previous comment

"Huh. I didn't even think about that."

"And what if whoever killed the girl is still out here?" Scott asked with little conviction

"Also something I didn't think about." Was the response.

"Comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail." Scott gasped out between breaths, whilst climbing a dirt hill. Scott's breath begins to shorten. "Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight."

Scott leant against a tree taking his inhaler out of his hoodie pocket, shaking it several times before following Stiles up the rest of the hill.

Stiles dropped to the ground quickly when he reached the top of said hill. Scott followed suit seconds later, when he noticed it too. Several law enforcement officers with flashlights and dogs scouring the woods.

Scott took a hit from his inhaler, when Stiles tried to get up and run forward. Scott just managed to pull him back down.

"Dude!" he whispered, forcing his inhaler back into his pocket. "If we go that way we'll run right into the search party, led by the sheriff. Also known as your dad! We're better off heading back."

Stiles went to protest when he heard his dad's voice call out to a deputy. He nodded before whispering "Fine, but you owe me big time!" Stiles hauled himself to his feet, then helped Scott up.

"For what? Savin' your ass?" Scott asked jokingly, playfully punching the lanky boy's shoulder.

Starting back, the friends tried to find their way out of the woods, when the flashlight started to flicker, before going out completely.

"Shit," Stiles stated squinting at the object in his hands willing it to work.

"Do you have any spare batteries?" Scott asked looking at his friend hopefully, who looked back at him like he was insane.

"Oh, yeah! I keep them in my pocket with my wilderness survival kit!" Stiles responded in his patented acerbic manner, flailing his arms around. "Let's just try to retrace our steps." So the best friends took off, but with each step it became increasingly difficult to see in the pitch black.

Stiles stops suddenly holding his arm out, forcing Scott to stop too. "Did you hear that?" There was a rustling among the trees. The pair held still and shared a nervous look.

Scott's breath tightening more from fear than asthma, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his inhaler again.

Before he could do anything more, there's an odd rumbling. The sound of sudden and ferocious movement increased in volume and velocity until a dozen deer came charging out of the darkness. The shock sent both boys tumbling to the ground and Scott's inhaler was flung away. The deer came soaring past them with the thunderous beat of hooves trampling the ground.

Then, once again, it was just the two best friends alone in the dark, Scott stood before crouched down, eyes scanning the leaf-covered ground in search of his inhaler. Pulling out his cell phone, he lit the display and guided the phone's light over the ground.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, staring at Scott like he's grown a second head.

"Looking for my inhaler." He snapped "I dropped it."

Without another word, Stiles joined Scott in his search. The pair didn't find Scott's inhaler but did manage to briefly illuminate a face. A pale, dead face, with glossed over, unseeing eyes peering up at them. The head was connected to half a body.

Crying out in shock, Scott lurched up, tripping on his own feet, and tumbled over Stiles, pulling the pale boy with him. Suddenly, they were propelled down a leaf-covered slope, rolling head over heels, hitting each other several times before they finally landed in a heap, on top of a pile of leaves. Groaning, Stiles and Scott both stood, wordlessly deciding to leave the inhaler for the night and get out of the woods.

Suddenly, a low growl kept them from moving. Stiles held his breath, he knew Scott was doing the same. Something crouched in the shadows right near Stiles. Something very large. Scott slowly began to turn around when something hurtled towards them. It pinned Scott first, there was a flash of red eyes and razor sharp teeth before Scott twisted forward, crying out.

"Scott!" Stiles leapt forward without thinking, determined to help his friend, which only drew the attention of the... thing to him. He stumbled backwards, landing on the ground with a thump. He held his arm in front of his face in a feeble attempt at self defense, as the red eyed creature lunged at him. The creature dug it's horribly sharp teeth into Stiles' thin arm so deep that Stiles thought it had bitten all the way through.

The creature ran away after that. Scott helped pull Stiles up by his uninjured arm before they rushed to get out of the woods.

Crashing out of the woods and into the road, Scott and Stiles whirled around simultaneously to face an oncoming car. The driver swerved, almost clipping Scott. Horn blaring, the car hurtled past.

Breathless, Scott backed away from the woods, pulling Stiles with him. With the world spinning around him, Scott pulled up his now torn hoodie, over a deep and vicious looking bite.

"Fuck, dude" Stiles gasps, looking at Scott's injury with deep concern in his whiskey eyes. "That looks really bad"

"Speak for yourself." Scott breathed out with a wince, staring at Stiles' right arm and watched as the blood flowed over his jacket sleeve and dripped to the ground. Before Stiles could reply, the pair froze at the strangest sound. The howling of a wolf.