Chapter 8 - The Pack

Soon after, Minho and the two twins were all piled into Stiles's robin egg blue Jeep and were rumbling along the crowded, suburban streets toward a small animal clinic at an ungodly slow pace. The whole, excruciatingly lengthy trip (Aka Minho's first encounter with stoplights) the boy pondered why a bunch of teenagers would ever choose a boring vet's office as a place to meet. The teen had no earthly idea and actually laying eyes on the place did nothing to boost his enthusiasm.

Stiles pulled the rickety vehicle into a nearly empty parking lot in front of a small, lonesome building that only rose a little higher than the few trees lining the perimeter of the square little yard it sat in. The car spluttered to a whining halt over the cracked asphalt and came to rest halfway over a smudged, mostly rubbed away white line smeared across the black rock. The vet's looked to be about as uninteresting as a place could get.

Thomas hopped out first, popping open the rusty door of the vehicle and pressing his shoulder into the cool metal to push it open, the thing moving reluctantly with a stubborn groan. The teen stumbled out of the car the moment he got the crack wide enough to slip his slim body through and came to stand a few paces from the car, apparently unwilling to go any farther without company.

"Kinda reminds me of a spastic child's coloring book." Minho whispered to his friend as the boy pushed open his own practically unmoving door and came to stand beside the brunette.

"How so?" Thomas replied in a confused voice, apparently getting as much of a "welcome to boring as fuck town" vibe from the place as the wolf standing beside him.

"You know how they only color the first few pages before they get bored and leave the rest of the whole five dollar book their parents shoulda known better than to buy blank?" Minho elaborated with an unimpressed snort, earning a poorly muffled giggle from his companion as the Runner nodded in understanding.

"Yeah. Yeah. I know it looks like the lamest thing you've ever laid eyes on." Stiles scoffed empathetically as he too finally exited the vehicle and began strolling towards the front of the small building. "And, I'm not gonna lie, it kinda is but Deaton likes it that way so who am I to judge?" The boy elaborated as he approached the door of the office and the Gladers trailed cautiously after him, keeping a few paces behind in their reluctance.

"Who's Deaton?" Thomas questioned hesitantly just before Stiles could open the door, the other teen's fingers hanging still in the air as they hovered over the golden knob.

"A friend." Stiles merely answered after a moment of hesitation, looking unsure of how else to describe the man in question and giving the impression he himself didn't really know how to label the dude.

Yay. More uncertainty. Surprise, surprise. Minho was so shocked

"Oh." Thomas replied simply, leaning slightly against the boy beside him as if weighed down by the unreassuring words of his brother and Minho couldn't help but smile slightly at the thought of being the one Thomas trusted to support him.

Stiles pulled open the door before anything else could be said and the harsh scent of the sterilized, medical environment wooshed out to swamp Minho's senses, making the wolf want to recoil as he instead pushed himself forward, trying to be strong for Thomas.

"You're late." A gruff, unfortunately familiar voice declared and Derek Hale, king of the asshats, appeared in the doorway a moment later, reaching out a hand which Stiles took instantly and allowed himself to be pulled inside and into the muscled body of the Alpha.

"Dude, by like, five minutes tops!" Stiles protested as the Gladers finally followed him inside and Minho pulled the door shut behind him.

"Stiles, you were supposed to be here a half hour ago." Derek snorted grumpily, wearing a scowl that could kill but then his face softened as he ran a slow hand along the boy's neck, cupping the brunette's face with his fingers just brushing the teen's jaw bone to tilt his head upwards and Stiles leaned into the touch with a contented hum.

Scenting Minho's wolf supplied a word for the action as the boy let his dark eyes take in the scene in front of him, making sure to keep his body positioned slightly in front of Thomas until he was sure nothing existed in the space that may threaten his mate.

They were in a small room that looked much like one would expect it too, with a few tables set up towards the back and surplus amounts of modern medical equipment lining the walls and overflowing from marble counters. Machinery was installed here and there, overlooking the glistening metal tables and a few sparse doors lined the walls, indicative of other rooms existing in the complex.

However, unlike one would expect from your average clinic, there were a whole herd of highschool aged teenagers crowded into the room as well.

A girl with long, fire colored hair leaned against the back counter, barely sparing them a momentary glance before flicking her uninterested gaze back to her phone and beginning to type rapidly, her obviously false nails clicking loudly against the glass screen with each press of a button. A boy with dark, untamed hair cut short, but not too short that it couldn't be styled into an stylized sideways swoosh sat atop one of the metal tables but pushed himself off of it with a slight hop when the newcomers entered, wearing a welcoming smile. A lanky blond boy who looked friendly enough sat on a swivel chair in the far corner but pushed his feet off a nearby wall to send the chair wheeling backwards toward the new arrivals, spinning so he faced them as he went.

Aside from the teens, there was a dark skinned man who looked to be about in his thirties and had a kind sort of feel to him, with his soft smile and relaxed demeanor almost putting Minho at ease, probably would've if the boy weren't a traumatized lab rat that would sooner trust a literal snake.

"Scott McCall, captain of the lacrosse team and Stiles's best friend." The boy with dark hair introduced himself eagerly, apparently trying to give the new acquaintances some context as to who he actually was as he stuck out a hand for Minho to shake before passing it to Thomas as Stiles had done in the park the day before. It was obvious the guy was the leader of the group as the blond boy patiently waited for his introduction to be complete, wide, attentive eyes trained on Scott and the girl in the back had still failed to make a single gesture towards them.

"Minho, Keeper of the Runners." Minho introduced automatically and it wasn't until after the words left his mouth that he stopped to consider their truth and it hurt. It wasn't true anymore. There was no Maze. No Runners.

"Thomas, a Runner." Thomas interjected before Minho could open his mouth to take back the statement, the words feeling like a lie on the wolf's lips until his companion opened his mouth and brought the boy's unspoken clarification to a premature halt.

Minho turned his gaze toward his friend questioningly only to receive a simple shrug and a small smile in response but it was more than enough. Minho would gladly still consider himself a Keeper as long as Thomas wanted to be his to keep. He only needed one Runner.

"Isaac Lahey." The blond boy who'd been quiet up until then finally spoke up, rising from his chair to offer his own hand to each of the boy's before immediately plopping back down into his seat and swiveling around like a bored child whose parent was taking too long in the grocery store.

"And I guess that leaves you to be the infamous Deaton." Minho inquired of the man who was yet to speak but had begun walking towards them as all the exchanges took place.

"I wouldn't say infamous!" The man chuckled softly but nodded in confirmation of the boy's guess. "I run the Vet's office and try to act as a sorta counselor to this rowdy bunch here since I've known Scott for a long time." The man continued warmly, his voice smooth and comforting in its surety. "So, now that you're one of us, please come to me whenever you need help," Deaton explained fluidly, but then his gaze locked directly with Minho and turned intense for the briefest of moments. "Of any kind." The guy concluded meaningfully and in that moment Minho was certain this man knew his secret but somehow the wolf was unafraid.

"One of us? You barely know us." Thomas joked lightly but anyone would have to be a fool to miss the note of hope brimming in his voice and the warm, sweet smell of the dangerous emotion fogged Minho's senses to the point that he really wished Isaac would offer him that chair before the wolf collapsed like the weak kneed mess of emotions Thomas somehow turned him into - Maybe the brunette was supernatural and his only known power was annihilating Minho's ability to function like a normal human being.

"You're Stiles's twin brother, man." Scott snickered lightly as if that simple fact made up for years worth of bonding and trust building.

"I actually met you once when you were a baby but you were so young, you wouldn't remember me." Deaton added helpfully and Minho winced because, dude, Thomas didn't remember anything past a few months ago. (A few months? Had it really only been that long?)

Minho bit his lip uncertainly, suddenly feeling like a tag-along in the company of these people who were obviously more attached to their friend's twin than some random kid the brunette had decided to drag along. Thomas was family to their packmate, it was only natural that they'd accept the boy without hesitation, pure instinct overruling logical consideration.

Minho wasn't family. Minho wasn't pack. Why then did his oblivious wolf seem so drawn to these people he'd never even met as if they were his closest friends?

Thomas's lithe fingers brushed against Minho's hand and drew him out of his musings and into reality as the brunette moved them farther into the room, introductions dealt with and the time for them to stand awkwardly in the doorway like outsiders over. The slight whisper of a caress sent sparks over the Keeper's skin, his heart tugging in his chest at the contact as if yanked by fiber wire cords attached to the younger male and in that moment Minho felt the connection to the other kids standing around the room as if it were a tangible spider web weaving the occupants to him in a series of complex, overlapping threads that tied around the boy and kept him captive.

His mate's pack. His pack. It was that simple.

"Minho, could you come help me with something in that room over there?" Deaton asked abruptly, shooting the boy in question a meaningful look before smiling comfortingly and striding over to the nearest doorway without waiting for the teen to reply.

"Uh, sure." Minho stuttered out reluctantly, though it didn't look as though his reply much mattered, considering the vet had already disappeared into an adjacent room. The only explanation, aside from the guy being a mind reader that was, (Hey, Minho wasn't ruling anything out) was that Stiles must've contacted the man already and informed him of the wolf's lack of knowledge about literally anything aside from the best running techniques and how to let all your friends die at the hands of an evil government. Well, that and how to protect one small brunette boy; Minho was admittedly doing that pretty well and was quite proud of it, thank you very much.

Thomas looked startled at the unexpected occurrence, honey eyes widening and lithe body pressing closer to Minho momentarily as the boy began to move away to follow Mr. Mysterious into the Twilight Zone, as if the thought of being separated from the wolf made the younger boy uncomfortable.

"How many times do I gotta tell you? Quit worrying, Tomboy." Minho assured softly, squeezing the brunette's shoulder comfortingly and letting his hand linger on the boy for a moment longer than a straight friend probably would've but he decided no to worry about that at the moment, soothing his mate was more important than preserving his mask of ungayishness.

The acidic note of anxiety that had soured the Runner's honey scent lessened slightly at the contact and Minho finally let his hand fall away from the boy to turn and follow Deaton through the door he'd disappeared into moments ago, not really wanting to leave Thomas but desperately in need of someone who could tell him what the everloving fuck was going on with him and these weird urges to dry hump his best friend until they both came in their pants like the overeager teenagers they really were.

"Stiles tells me you've been having some problems." Deaton began as Minho entered the room because obviously modern day had some way for nosy brunettes to get a hold of mysterious all knowing men instantly. Great.

Minho pulled the door shut behind him and looked around to find himself in a room that was relatively empty, save for a large oak desk taking up most of the floor space and a few grey file cabinets lining the white painted walls of the tiny area - Absolutely nothing in the entire complex appeared noteworthy whatsoever.

"Yeah, I'd say so." Minho scoffed snarkily, not really meaning to sound like a total dick but so used to using sarcasm as a defense that it was only natural at this point. "If you consider wanting to rub myself against my best friend until he smells like me a problem that is." The wolf continued exasperatedly, running his hands uneasily through his dark hair as he spoke and leaving subtlety miles behind him, already too exhausted from hiding to do so any longer.

"Do you consider it a problem?" Deaton inquired evenly, keeping his voice devoid of emotion and smooth as silk as he examined Minho through intense eyes, as if trying to analyze the wolf with vision alone. Maybe he was some kind of gypsy mind reader, it's not like Mr. My Wolf Has Decided My Bestie Is Its One True Love would be surprised.

"I," Minho immediately opened his mouth to declare that yes, this was absolutely a huge fucking problem but the words wouldn't come out and the werewolf paused thoughtfully. Did he consider it a problem? The boy thought he did but then again... Maybe it was more the fact that there was no way in Earth, Heaven, Hell, or California that Thomas wanted that too.

"I don't know." Minho finally concluded dejectedly, feeling odd letting himself be so open with a man he knew nothing about but Deaton was his only shot at getting some actual information. Besides, the guy kinda reminded Minho of what a high school counselor might be like, he made the wolf want to talk.

"Uh huh." Deaton nodded in understanding, looking thoughtful yet lacking the medical detachedness the wicked scientists had always presented when evaluating their subjects. It made Minho feel like less of an experiment to be poked, prodded, and analyzed and more like a teenage boy with problems someone wanted to help him work out.

"Minho, do you know how werewolves choose mates?" Deaton began carefully, putting his hands together and rising from where he'd been leaning against the far wall to begin pacing around the small room instead, winding around a few boxes of unsorted papers as he went and nearly tripping over them more than once.

"Isn't it like, pre-determined? A soulmate kinda thing?" Minho questioned uncertainly, going solely off what hazey knowledge of fairy tales still existed in his stripped memory and trying to picture the stories he dimly remembered in his mind. It was odd, he remembered the tales themselves, but could not, for the life of him, begin to imagine what the person who read them to him might look like, couldn't even grasp what their voice had sounded like reading off those words from the storybooks of his youth.

"It starts out like that, yes, but just being genetically attracted to someone doesn't make you their mate." Deaton clarified empathetically, keeping his voice soft and kind to sooth the anxious werewolf shifting about uncomfortably at the topic. "Someone may be your true mate and be an unbearable person that you want nothing to do with." The guy went on evenly. "You have to actually love the person for who they are, not who your biology thinks they should be." Deaton declared quietly.

"Then they're your mate?" Minho inquired carefully, getting a nagging feeling that he should already know this but unable to connect the broken pieces of his destroyed memory this conversation began to prod at. The wolf was, however, able to conjure up a few images from the words leaving Deaton's mouth, just brief flashes of his absent history that stirred something deep in his core and sent waves of untold longing through his senses.

Hands pulling him into dark corridors when the scientists weren't watching.

Long fingers brushing against the sides of his face, featherlight against his cheek bones.

"No. They have to want you too." Deaton informed cautiously, looking as if he were trying to choose every word precisely.

Soft lips ghosting against his own, sending fire through his veins, volcanoes erupting in his skull.

Scientists pulling him away, ripping him from clawing fingers. Tears pouring from honey eyes and soft whispered promises spilling from pink lips.

"The bond must be sealed." Deaton finally finished, a note of finality to his words that sounded like someone driving the last nail through a coffin.

"I'll find you."

"Don't forget."

"Remember."

"Remember that I love you."

"You're telling me that Thomas and I were..." Minho began but trailed off, unable to find the right words. "Something before?" The wolf finally clarified in an uncharacteristically shaky voice, hating how vulnerable he sounded even to his own ears but he couldn't worry about any of that now. He'd promised. He'd promised he wouldn't forget and he had. When he'd told Thomas to remember that he loved him in Denver it had been his own fucking subconscious trying to remind Minho what a fucktard he was for forgetting.

Deaton merely nodded solemnly, assuring Minho that he was one hundred percent, entirely and completely totally fucked.

But that was okay because now Minho remembered.

Minho remembered that he loved Thomas and he would never forget again. He'd sooner die.