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Terry, or Terezia, was Talia's sister. She'd become a rather prominent real estate agent for multi-million dollar homes and travelled showing and selling those homes. She refused to ever come home, save Christmas. After the fire, and after Laura took Derek, Peter, and Peter's family from the Hale house, she'd left her own horde with Talia to care for.

Terry was easy to keep track of, and often travelled with a bevy of assistants and designers. She didn't have a long term partner, instead opting to produce progeny on the whim of the moment. Which. Fascinatingly enough, meant that her tiny horde ranged in color from the palest porcelain to the deepest obsidian. Types, she did not have, it seemed.

The sound of bacon hitting cast iron roused Stiles from his musing.

Isaiah was still staring, their vomitous curls frizzing out about their head.

"Yep." Stiles nodded, finally responding to the kid.

"You wanna see my Pokemon cards?" Isaiah asked, hands twisting in the loose panel of their small white button down, creasing it. Stiles heard the ironic snorts from Isaiah's siblings. But something struck Stiles low in the gut, he recognized that burning gaze. Because it had been so similar to his own. So similar to his mothers.

He took a sharp inhale. He felt frazzled, exhausted, on edge. The sound of Talia moving in the kitchen drew his attention

"Hey, Mama bear." Stiles looked over at Talia as she finished pulling toast from the industrial sized toaster. Thing had, like, 10 slots for bread. "Mind if I abscond with this small child?"

A wave of a spatula was the only response Stiles got.

"Sure Squirtle, let's go." Stiles stood from the stool. Isaiah's eyes got impossibly larger and a grin split their face. They reached for Stile's hand, tugging incessantly on it for Stiles to follow them.

The house was huge. Impossibly large. More of a compound than it had been before the fire, with concrete and steel as it's foundation and not wood and plaster. Objectively, Stiles knew that the design came from a world renowned architectural firm. He'd been the one to realize they backed up all their files onto an unsecure off site drop box server.

It had been a veritable gold mine of floor plans and project proposals.

The firm had been chosen by Terry. The notes from the initial meeting were simple, be secure, be big, and be secure. The glass had been the most expensive aspect of the home. Huge custom sheets flown in from a small family owned company in Germany. But they were bullet proof, hurricane proof, UV blocking, and an entire laundry list of other things. Their insulation rating was through the roof.

He'd expected the house to feel cold. Institutional with all the concrete the plans had called for. Instead? Huge swathes of the walls were taken up with enormous abstract canvases. The paintings must have been done by the pack, because he'd never seen art activity being bought or delivered. Warm and cool themed splashes of color broke up the grey, with an absolutely obscene number of rugs.

Vacuuming, or beating them out, must be an insane chore.

"Uncle Peter sends me boxes." Isaiah was prattling on and Stiles looked down to focus on the kid as they walked through the wide halls.

"Oh?" Stiles thought back, there hadn't been any activity from Peter's accounts. They'd been stagnant for a year by now. "Has he sent you any of the new Pokemon?"

"Yea!" Isaiah grinned. "I got all of the pretty cards."

Stiles made an impressed noise and knew he'd have to look more carefully at the tracking numbers coming into the Hale house. Maybe take another gander at the 'sent from' addresses. Watching Peter was always a mix of exciting and fearful, because he was the riskiest member of the Hale pack. His redundancies and fail safes on any online account had been ridiculous, up until the man had attempted to completely wipe himself.

Stiles listened absently as Isaiah babbled on.

It was a soothing lilt.

The anxiety that had been teetering on the edge of breaking took a step back. His hands no longer felt trapped by his sides. Normally, when he was alone, he could fidget and flap. Scott had even gotten used to it and didn't bat an eye when Stiles flittered his hands or arms about.

It had been exhausting to restrain himself in public. But the babbling kid was soothing those incessant nerves that constantly wished to fire off. It felt like he could relax his guard somewhat.

Stiles took a deep breath and his shoulders dropped some.

"This is my room." Isaiah said proudly, pushing on a wooden door that extended all the way to the ceiling. Talk about fucking swanky. A frosted glass cut out extended the length of the door so the occupant could see if someone was standing outside of it.

Inside was covered in a thick blanket of toys and clothes.

Cleaning? Who even is she?

"Doesn't it smell the best?" Isaiah stared up at him, an excited wiggle vibrating their small frame.

"I'm a human, remember little Litten?" Stiles shrugged. "I can only scent kids and toys and markers right now."

"Oh." Isaiah's face fell, only to brighten once again. "I'll tell you what it smells like!"

They went around the room, hand in hand, Pokemon cards forgotten. Isaiah would pick up each item and explain very slowly what it smelled like. Which. Was an interesting experience.

"You know how when you're done crying and your Alpha picks you up and you nuzzle into her neck?" Isaiah said, voice and face intent. They were holding a small elephant stuffie, a little worn at the seams from being loved on hard. "It's like that. Ok?"

"Oooooh!" Stiles nodded seriously. "When you say it that way, it makes so much more sense, wow. I really feel like I can almost smell it. You're good at this."

"Really?!" Isaiah looked excited, hopeful.

"Yeppers." Stiles bit his lips to keep from smiling and nodded even more seriously.

A knock at the door and Talia opened it.

"Breakfast is ready." She said, looking between the two. Stiles was squatted down and Isaiah stood in the V of his knees. One little arm curled up so that their small hand was resting on Stile's cheek. Stiles kept one hand on the kid's back to brace them. The kid had a tendency to get excited and flail as they were describing scents.

Stiles knew that it was an incredibly intimate looking moment, and could feel his cheeks flush. He hadn't been expecting the kid to be so tactile, and had merely accepted the touches. It had felt good.

Fucking werewolves.

"Nnnn." Isaiah said, turning fully into Stiles and wrapping both arms around the teen's neck. Stiles stared at Talia for a moment before she sighed and wiped a hand down her face.

"The brat wants to be picked up." Her voice belied the intense affection she was feeling. Stiles snorted and picked the kid up. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Stiles smoothed his hands down the kid's back as he set them on his hip, stepping carefully over and around the mess that littered the floor. Isaiah kept their arms locked around Stiles neck, faces pressed together.

"Uh." Stiles looked at Talia. The pup was scenting him, and scenting him hard. Reading and experiencing were two vastly different experiences. She just sighed and ran a hand over the kid's shoulders.

"Out of all the leeches that could've latched to you." She mumbled thoughtfully, before shaking her head. She would ignore what the pup was doing, it seemed. "Come on."

Well, if she wasn't going to make a big deal out of the happy noises coming from the kit, neither would he. All he had to do was treat this like his father. Or his mother. Or Scott. Stare forward, breathe, and accept the situation. He could deal with the mental repercussions later. Stiles sucked on his teeth and adjusted Isaiah's weight a little.

"I didn't get to see your Pokemon cards." Stiles said to break the silence as they walked down the hallway.

"Awwww." Isaiah grumbled, looking back at the room wistfully. "You can see them after school."

"Well, young padawan," Stiles started, fully intending to explain that he might not be here when the kid returned from school, before Isaiah interrupted.

"What's that?" Isaiah interrupted swiftly, sharply. Of course. They had the same fire hot curiosity that Stiles did.

"A padawan is an apprentice, or student, of a Jedi." Stiles explained clearly. They'd made it back to the kitchen. Talia moved behind the island and began washing the dishes. The bar was lined with plates of partially eaten breakfast sandwiches.

"Isaiah, you were supposed to set out the napkins." One of the siblings grumbled before Isaiah could ask what a Jedi was. Farah, Stiles guessed. He hadn't seen a good photo of the kids in a long time. Lycanthropes and photography didn't mix very well.

"But I had to show-" Isaiah looked to Stiles. "What's your name?"

He heard Talia's undignified snort and grinned cheekily at the pup.

"Stiles. Nice to meet you." Stiles said.

"That's a good name." Isaiah said seriously before turning back to Farah. "Yea. Sss Tiles. I showed him my smells."

Farah snorted and glared at Stiles.

"That's stupid, humans can't smell anything. They're nose dumb." Farah, it seemed, did not like the Stiles.

"Farah." Talia said, not looking up, but her tone was clear. Farah wrinkled her nose, then stuck out her tongue. Stiles stuck his out back before depositing Isaiah and picking up the sandwich. The rest of the kids had inhaled theirs already. Isaiah's was deconstructed and they ate each piece individually before moving on to another.

It was a simple, but absolutely monstrously large, breakfast sandwich. Meat, egg, cheese, and toast. With some mayo and hot sauce. Delicious. Stiles inhaled it. The kids were relaxed and bickering back and forth around him.

The experience was so outside of his own reality, he had nothing to compare it to.

"You keep smelling scared." Isaiah said, petting one hand down Stiles arm. "You don't gotta, Alpha is here. It's ok."

Stiles let out a strained chuckle before dropping his head into his hand.

"Yea?" Stiles said, voice stringy. The events of the evening on top of missing doses of his medication were catching up to him. "Tell me, oh wondrous Cosmog, how could you tell?"

The wryness of his tone was lost on the child and they seriously considered their words.

"When I smell it it makes my chest ache. Here. I don't like that. It feels like when Hagan thought that mom wasn't coming back." Stiles' eyebrows rose high and he glanced over to Talia who was regarding the two of them. "So don't worry. It's ok."

Stiles wanted to cackle. How was he going to explain this one. How do you explain severe anxiety to a child?

Instead of cackling? He nodded seriously back.

"Well. My fear gauge is broken." He looked Isaiah in the eyes. Going with the simplest explanation in the world. "You know how when you turn on the water faucet and try to block the water from coming out but instead it sprays everywhere? It's like that."

"Just turn the faucet off." Isaiah nodded back sagely.

"The handle broke off." Stiles shrugged.

"Mom says you should find a hot plumber who knows how to lay pipe for problems like that." Isaiah's words were so flamboyantly off the cuff, Stiles choked on his own spit.

"Isaiah!" Talia's face was the picture of aghast surprise.

"What?"

"Just." Talia looked at the clock. "Never mind, plates in the dishwasher and then we're loading up."

Like dutiful little soldiers they all lined up and carefully placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Stiles included. Then they scurried off down the hallways to grab their school supplies.

"Do you think a plumber would fix my broken faucet?" Stiles said, a grin plastered on his face as he watched the kids scurry off. "Should I call 1-800-LAY-PIPE?"

"Don't even think about it. Jailbait." Talia said, leaning hipshot against one of the counters. "Terry's an absolute heathen."

Stiles hummed a noncommittal noise.

"I need to drive the kids in to school. As it seems you will be taking up space here for the foreseeable future, call your father and let him know that I've hired you on as an after school babysitter." Talia said, words reasonable.

"Ooooh." Stiles swung his head to look at Talia. "Trust me with the deliciously tender children do you?"

"Stiles." She said flatly and greatly put upon.

Stiles giggled.

"For today, you can sleep in the room we shoved your friend into, he'll be fine until I get back. The change is taking him easily. I checked on him while you were with Isaiah, it seems the full moon is helping more than hindering." She waved a hand. "If you poke around the house, I will smell it. So please don't. Kitchen is free range for you to feed yourself. The others will be waking in a few hours but they shouldn't bother you."

The 'others' were the adults that still lived in the Hale house, finding more comfort living with their Alpha rather than separately. One of the wings was given over completely to family units. Most of their kids were still too young to go to school yet.

Wolves liked to have a home or den before settling down and popping out kids. Terry, as always, was the exception to that instinct. Most of the families in that wing had only formed recently and started popping kids out in the last couple of years. There was an entire folder of encrypted .txt files saved to a very well hidden flash drive that listed all their birthdates and parents. Wolves, bred like rabbits.

"It's so cultish." Stiles said, the white button down shirts filtering back into the room.

"Don't call my pack a cult." Talia said tiredly.

"I mean, if the shoe fits." Stiles shrugged before holding up a hand and ticking points off on his fingers. "A relatively small group of people who holds a singular person in high, almost reverent regard. Secluded from the outside world in the middle of a forest. A pooled source of money controlled by only a select few."

Talia growled and Stiles sniggered, ducking his face away from the annoyed expression.

"You're my favorite cult, though." Stiles said, barely restraining his laughter. "If I had to choose one, the Hale Pact Cult would win out every time."

It was at that point Talia chose the simplest method of dealing with a Stiles. Ignoring the problem. She took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils and glaring at him before completely disregarding his existence. Stiles followed them to the front porch and waved jauntily as they loaded up in a large 15 passenger van, backed out, and drove down the driveway.

Which left Stiles alone.

His shoulders shivered.

He dropped his hand and tipped his head back on a huge sigh. Fuck was he tired. He couldn't have a single ounce of shame about his emotional reactions around wolves. Talia had known that he'd been a blustering facsimile of bravado, at least she'd be gracious in her allowance of the obvious lie. But little Isaiah, with a nose too smart for its own good, had shocked him.

He could deal with most situations like he dealt with his father, accept the situation as it is and break down about it afterward. He was exhausted, and his mind was jittering back and forth across every facet and interaction. They were just piling up.

He'd have to get better at deflection. And fast.

The house echoed back his loneliness when he walked back inside. It bounced off the walls and ricocheted into his skin at sharp angles. Such a strange reality he found himself in now. He took a steadying breath and thumbed open his phone, calling his dad.

The voicemail was full and he sighed, dropping the phone from his ear.

His dad had been better the past year. Listening and seeing Stiles. But as a cop, he didn't have the luxury to answer his phone whenever he wanted. Situational Awareness and all that. It left an aching feeling, that felt similar to the lonely echo of the room, that lodged in his stomach.

So he texted instead:

Your voicemail is full. Couldn't sleep, got a call from Talia. Babysitting her hellions after they get done with school.

With that he locked the phone and made his way into the guest room that Scott laid in. Scott's face was flushed and sweating. Stiles laid a cool hand against his cheek and was rewarded with a low whine. Poor pup.

It was Tuesday morning. The camping trip had been set up for the Juniors to be gone from Monday to Friday. Now that he and Scott were back from the hell hole of that forest, they were given a day of grace before being expected back in school to hang out with a couple teachers until the rest of the class came back.

Because why cancel a trip just because one or two kids were mauled in the woods?

Stiles sighed. Looking about the room Talia had placed them in to try and distract from that singular thought process. It looked barren compared to Isaiahs, but that made sense, suddenly.

If a wolf were to crash here, there was little to hold the scent other than the mattress and bed clothes. With a humming appreciation, Stiles stood and explored the bathroom. Clean and sleek, like the rest of the house. White towels hung on the wall racks and packages of toothbrushes and single use toothpaste greeted him when he opened the cupboards.

They were lined up neatly alongside travel bottles of unscented shampoo, conditioner, and bars of soap. There was a small caddy that held glass bottles labeled 'cleaner, disinfectant, glass spray' along with microfibre cloths. When he unscrewed and scented the bottles they smelled like various mixtures including plain white vinegar and rubbing alcohol. It was so interesting how the wolves dealt with cleaning scents.

Stiles caught his reflection in the mirror and almost recoiled. He still had the blood on him from Scott a few hours earlier. He had hugged a child like that? Talia had let him? His face bore several minor abrasions from branches. But he'd mostly come out of the experience unscathed.

A wave of guilt had him turning from the mirror with burning hot eyes.

His hands jittered haltingly in the air.

It felt like when a coke bottle is shaken up and then suddenly opened. The events, the meeting, everything felt like incessant vibrations to stir him up. But he'd had to keep a cap on it. Now, alone in a silent room, there was nothing to brace himself against.

He fell apart quietly, his body jerking and shaking. Odd ripples that moved through him in lurching ways, leaving behind exhaustion and fear in its wake. It made him feel out of control of himself. He clutched at his neck trying to still his hands, it never worked. His lips were bitten raw, now. The metallic bloom on his tongue, solidifying. He didn't want to stand there crusted in the blood of his best friend.

Stiles stumbled out of the bathroom and searched through the drawers and closet.

A pair of sweats with the tags still on and thick cotton socks became his treasures.

Thank god for rich people's hospitality.

He made it jerkily back to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Scott hadn't roused. He hoped that it would be a long time before he did. Time enough for Stiles to get himself back under control.

The water pressure was perfect.

The unscented soaps were… Unnerving.

He was so used to smelling like something when he showered, that the blank absence of smells threw him. He didn't think he used an abnormal amount of perfumed products. Looking into the shadows of the supernatural had lent him to lean more in the direction of subtle scents to begin with. Without them he almost felt naked. It was such a weird experience. Like a shield had been stripped away.

His skin now smelled… blank. Wet?

Stiles wondered what a wolf would smell. A lick of warm curiosity flickered in his chest and he huffed. The sweats smelled like the cedar drawers they'd been kept in. The morning with Isaiah suddenly made him want to walk around with the cute little bugger and compare notes on the different smells they found.

Stiles left his clothes in a pile and hung up the towel to dry.

Scott was still asleep on top of the covers. With a sigh Stiles checked the time on his phone, turned it off, and dropped it on the nightstand. Then, he crawled into the bed. At first he felt too keyed up to even close his eyes. He was worried about the withdrawal symptoms of not taking his medication on top of the discordant, disorganized, jumble his brain would become when he woke up.

He wasn't used to sleeping next to someone, didn't like the feeling. The innate discomfort made it difficult, but eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. Dozing half heartedly between long stretches of silence, when his mind actually settled enough to rest some.