Alpha. Beta. Bitch.

            “You smell different.”

            Stiles glanced up at Scott, cocking one eyebrow. “What d’you mean?” he asked, continuing to stir the pot of macaroni on the stove. Somehow, it was his turn to make dinner for the pack. Again.

            “Well… how do I put this?” Scott frowned deeply as he tried to think of a way to explain to Stiles his scent. “Derek explained it to me like this. Everyone has a base scent and a “pack” scent. Your base scent still smells like you, but your pack scent is different.”

            “How so?” Stiles asked, reaching for the colander so he could drain the water from the pasta.

            “Well typically… umm… Isaac, you wanna’ give this a try?” Scott looked helplessly at Isaac, who’d been chopping carrots obediently.

            Isaac sighed, pausing in his work to face Stiles. “Members of the pack all carry the pack’s scent,” he said as Stiles siphoned off the water from the pasta over the sink. “But when a member of the pack selects a mate, their scent changes to resemble that of their mate.”

            “What’s that got to do with me?” Stiles asked carefully. Surely they couldn’t tell what had happened between him and Derek purely by smell?

            “Your scent’s changed,” Scott jumped in helpfully. Isaac rolled his eyes and resumed his task of making a salad. “You smell… Derek-y.”

            “God damn it.” Stiles pulled his hands away from the sink as fast as he could to avoid splashing himself with boiling water. The macaroni pot landed in the sink, dumping a third of its contents down the drain while the rest of it was safe in the colander, which had—by some miracle—managed to stay upright. Stiles shook his hand, swearing like a demon as a welt started to form on his hand. “Do you have to launch stuff like that at me while I’m performing dangerous activities?” he yelped at Scott.

            “I got it,” Isaac said, snatching Stiles’ throbbing hand. Stiles felt the pain recede slightly. He could barely begin to understand why Isaac was always the first one to use his healing abilities on someone else. Maybe it was partially the fact that his father had abused him for years, but Isaac was also just a caring person. He’d been the one who’d benefitted from pack life more than any of the other members. Stiles could feel the roughness of Isaac’s skin from where he’d been cut and burned and bruised as the wolf siphoned away some of his pain. “Better?”

            Stiles nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He waited until Isaac released him before going to retrieve the surviving pasta. Scott still stood dumbly in the corner of the kitchen, his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. “Hey, dumbass,” Stiles called to him, waving a hand in front of Scott’s face. “Go get milk and butter from the fridge.”

            Scott’s eyes focused slightly. “Right. Yeah, I got it.” He retrieved the items Stiles had requested from the refrigerator and put them on the counter next to Stiles. “But you didn’t answer the question.”

            “You didn’t ask me a question, idiot,” Stiles reminded him, being careful to keep his eyes averted while he poured milk onto the pasta he’d returned to the pot. He was relieved—not for the first time—that the pack wasn’t picky about what they ate. Pasta that had touched the sink was just as edible as pasta that hadn’t. “And is now really the time?”

            “You smell like Derek,” Scott said as if it was the most scandalous thing he’d ever heard. “I think now’s a great time for that one to be answered.”