#center stiles instead? because a lot of the moments either center stiles or scott

[bericas]

TOP DOGS WEEK (DAY 3) → FAVORITE BROTP DYNAMIC

we keep an eye on each other. okay?

[michael-yagoobian]

Illogical Reasoning Chapter 2: Classified

Here’s chapter 2! I hope y’all like it. Please leave a comment, it helps me out a lot! You can also find this fic on ao3, same name :) 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Summary: Nina and Will Holmes have lived in Beacon Hills, California, for a little over a year by the start of their sophomore year of high school. In their time in the small town, Beacon Hills has always been quiet and boring. On the first day of school, the lower half of a Jane Doe is found in the woods; a Jane Doe that only Nina and Will seem to believe was murdered. Per their mother Imogen’s pleas, the twins agree to stick to the sidelines and let the police do their job, but it’s hard to do when every new development drags them closer and closer to the center of this case.

“How can this medical examiner possibly believe it was an animal attack?” Nina demanded, frustrated by the most recent news to come out about the woman’s body cut in half. She was finally identified as Laura Hale, Derek Hale’s sister. And instead of murder, the medical examiner in San Francisco had deemed it an animal attack. As soon as the news had covered it that morning, Nina dragged Will out the door and to the police station.

The sheriff sighed, running his hand over his face. “Look, Nina, you and Will have given a lot of useful tips over the past year you’ve been here. But all evidence points to it being an animal attack and nothing more.”

Will’s nose scrunched up in disbelief. “What animal is capable of slicing a grown woman in half?”

Another long sigh. “Our medical examiner in Sacramento still isn’t sure. We found wolf fibers on the body—”

“There are no wolves in this part of California!” What was with these people and not knowing their own geography? “And they don’t hunt for sport! There were only bite marks found on her, not any pieces taken out. She was still fully intact except for the slicing part.”

Sheriff Stilinski stared at her for a beat. “That part wasn’t released to the public. Did Stiles tell you that?” No, but he’d indirectly confirmed it, and Nina decided to let that count as telling her. She nodded, and the sheriff closed his eyes. “So, what, you think Derek Hale did it after all?”

“Hardly,” Nina scoffed. “Why would he go through the trouble of cutting his own sister in half and only burying part of her if he’d been the one to kill her? That makes no sense.”

Stilinski leaned forward in his chair, letting his elbows rest on his desk. “Look, Kid, I hear you. It doesn’t seem right to me, either. But that’s what the medical examiner determined, and we don’t have anything else to go off of.”

At that moment, a deputy burst into the room, and Nina and Will noticed heightened activity in the rest of the precinct. “A man was attacked on one of the buses at Beacon Hills High School, Sir. He’s still alive, an ambulance is bringing him to the hospital now.”

Nina and Will shared a look before turning to the sheriff, who was now standing. “I have to go. Have a good day at sch— uh, just have a good day.”

~~~

Nina sat on the opposite side of Allison at the lunch table, which just so happened to be next to Stiles. He sent her an awkward smile which she didn’t return as she pulled a fifty dollar bill out of her pocket. “There,” She said, handing it to Scott.

Scott looked down at the money, then back at her. “What is this?”

“It’s your portion of what I won from the bets I placed on you,” She explained. “Twenty-five per goal, then triple that for the winning goal. All together I made one twenty-five.”

“Oh.” Scott stared at it for a second before pocketing the money. “Thanks.”

“Keep it up, and you’ll get more. I’ll add in some bets about you doing weird flips and shit.”

Everyone else sat down around them, Lydia on the other side of Scott and Danny on the other side of Stiles. At the head of the table was one of Jackson’s friends, until Jackson approached and demanded he move.

“How come you never ask Danny to get up?” He asked.

Danny smiled. “Because I don’t stare at his girlfriend’s coin slot.”

“Classy, Daniel.” Nina rolled her eyes and opened her lunch box.

“You know me,” Danny grinned over at her. “So, I heard it was some type of animal attack. Probably a cougar?”

Nina tutted, stabbing into her lunch with a fork. “Jackson, you’ve got to keep a closer eye on your mum.” Stiles snorted, being one of the few to dare laugh at a joke made at Jackson’s expense. Allison and Scott also appeared to find it funny, but they only smiled.

To Jackson’s credit, he didn’t dignify her comment with a response. “I heard mountain lion,” He said, ignoring her completely to respond to Danny.

“A cougar is a mountain lion,” Lydia corrected, busy opening a container of jello. She then looked up at Jackson and gave him her classic doe eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Nina scoffed. It looked like Lydia’s insistence on pretending to be dumber than Jackson extended itself to animal facts. “Look at us, learning our animals. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Who cares?” Jackson sneered. “The guy’s probably just some homeless tweaker who’s gonna die anyway.”

That was definitely one of the most abhorrent things he’s ever said. Nina glared at him. “Ah, yes. As we all know, only ‘homeless tweakers’ are capable of dying. For once in your life, can you at least pretend to be a human being?”

Before Jackson could respond, Stiles cut in with a livestream of the news, revealing the victim to be a man named Garrison Myers. Scott recognized him as his former bus driver.

“Can we talk about something a little more fun, please?” Lydia asked. “Like, oh, where are we going tomorrow night?” She looked at Scott and Allison, who only stared blankly back. “You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow night, right?”

Allison swallowed what she had been eating. “Um, we were thinking of what we were going to do…”

“Well, I am not sitting home again watching lacrosse videos, so if the four of us are going out, we are doing something fun. Nina, do you want to join?”

“I will cut off my hand with this fork right now,” Nina threatened, holding her fork above her wrist in order to convey that she did not want to join. Stiles leaned away, staring at her in shock.

It seemed that Scott and Allison were also less than thrilled. “Hanging out?” Scott repeated, turning to Allison. Stiles began shaking his head next to Nina. “Do you wanna hang out, like us… and them?”

“You can borrow my fork, if you’d like,” Nina offered. The dramatic threats against Nina’s own wellbeing were often the only thing Lydia listened to when it came to saying no. Maybe it would work if Allison or Scott tried it, but part of what made Nina unique was that she wasn’t afraid to follow through if it meant not having to interact with Jackson any more than strictly necessary.

Allison laughed hesitantly. “Uh, we’re fine, Nina. I think it sounds fun.” Allison obviously didn’t believe that, but Lydia didn’t care.

“You know what, Holmes, I agree with you for once. I would rather stab myself in the face with this fork,” Jackson nodded, holding up his own fork that Lydia batted away.

Nina’s brow rose in mock confusion. “Who told you that you could talk to me?”

“How about bowling?” Lydia gasped, also ignoring Nina at this point. “You love to bowl.”

Rolling her eyes again, Nina tuned out the rest of the verbal competition about bowling of all things.

~~~

The next night, Allison and Lydia were busy looking for something that Allison could wear to the double date while Nina did her homework on Allison’s bed. Each time the slink of a hanger slid out of the closet, Nina spared a glance, echoing Lydia’s sentiments of “dear god don’t wear that” and “please let me burn that for you.” It wasn’t until Lydia stood and took Allison’s place at the closet, picking out a black sparkly t-shirt that something adequate had been found. Still, Nina peered into the closet from her spot on the bed and spoke up. “Light pink, closer to the left.”

Lydia found what Nina was referring to and pulled it out, examining the shirt. It was a lot simpler than the rest of Allison’s closet, which was a bunch of garish patterns and prints. It looked like it would be more form fitting, with a square neckline and flowy sleeves. “I knew I kept you around for something,” Lydia replied, looking over at Nina with a smile.

“And here I thought it was my charming disposition.”

Without warning, the door opened, and Allison’s father stepped in, holding his coat.

“Dad, hello?” Allison said, staring at him expectantly.

Chris pulled on his coat, smiling at the three teenagers. It then faded at the look Allison was giving him. “Right, I’m sorry. I completely forgot to knock,” He apologized, gesturing back to the door.

Lydia fell back onto the bed in a seductive pose, right on Nina’s textbooks and papers. “Hi, Mister Argent,” She said cheerfully, propping her head up with her arm.

“Come on, now it’s going to be wrinkled,” Nina huffed.

Allison looked back at them, then Chris. “Dad, do you need something?”

“I wanted to tell you that you’ll be staying in tonight.”

Lydia deflated and frowned at Nina. “What?” Allison also deflated. “I’m going out with my friends tonight.”

“Not when some animal is out there attacking people,” Chris explained. Allison tried to protest, but he shushed her. “It’s out of my hands, there’s a curfew. No one’s allowed out past nine thirty pm. No more arguing, okay?”

Nina’s nose scrunched up as Chris left the room. “If that’s what your parents call arguing, they would have an aneurysm if they saw how my family communicates,” She snorted once the door shut.

Standing, Lydia faced Allison with a tight smile. “Someone’s Daddy’s Little Girl.”

“Sometimes,” Allison nodded, hugging herself. “But not tonight.” She pulled on her hat, going to the window and scoping the area below before opening it and climbing out. Nina and Lydia followed her to the window, but stayed inside.

“What are you doing?” Lydia demanded in a hushed whisper.

Rather than answering, Allison flipped off of the roof, landing on the ground below. “Eight years of gymnastics,” She smiled. “You coming?”

Lydia and Nina stared at each other in surprise, then looked back down at Allison. “We’ll take the stairs,” Lydia answered for the both of them.

After gathering their things, Lydia and Nina left the Argent residence, bidding farewell to Victoria on their way out. Allison met them near Lydia’s car, and thankfully for Nina, dissuaded Lydia from trying to rope her into going bowling with them after all.

~~~

When she arrived home, it took approximately two seconds for Will to call out her name. Nina sighed and went to his room, leaning against the doorframe. “What do you want? Hi, Isaac.”

Isaac Lahey offered Nina a small smile as he returned the greeting. He was still getting used to being at their apartment, where he wasn’t made to feel like a nuisance. It hadn’t taken long to learn the true nature of Isaac’s home life, when they had seen how he behaved around Coach Finstock. Back in their first year at Beacon Hills High School, Will had surprisingly gone out of his way to befriend the boy. The only thing that had stopped them or their mother from reporting Isaac’s situation to the police was his own insistence that he didn’t have any other family, and the American child ‘protection’ system was a nightmare. Their best bet was having Isaac over as often as possible, and the curfew was a handy new excuse.

At his desk, Will was typing out what looked like a case file before he slid his chair away from his desk, gesturing to his laptop. “Before he was a bus driver, Myers was an insurance investigator. I found his cases with the company he used to work for.”

“Odd choice in career change,” Nina mused, taking a closer look at the screen. Will had two windows open on his laptop, one with the case information, and the other with his own notes on everything he had gathered. Myers’ obituary, the insurance agency he’d previously worked for, the police files reported earlier that day, and the hospital records entailing his injuries… and death. Most recently updated only an hour prior, when Nina was at Allison’s. She’d never checked the news.

“Maybe he just really liked kids.”

Nina couldn’t tell if Isaac’s comment was a joke or not, but Will laughed. She scrolled through his history at the insurance company and looked back at Will. “His last case was the Hale house fire. If his obituary is accurate, he became a bus driver shortly after.” Ten years since his report on the fire, and nine years of being a school bus driver.

Will nodded. “So, also probably not an animal attack.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

Her brow furrowed. “It’s more in line with one, though,” Nina argued. She pulled up the police report of the attack and skimmed through it. “A seat was ripped from the back of the bus and appeared to be thrown to the front. A human can’t do that.”

“And an animal can?” He countered, brow raised. “Come on, Nini. You’re smarter than that.”

She scowled. He was right. When Nina was at work earlier that afternoon, Deaton had shown her the photographs that the sheriff left the day before, during the shift Scott had covered for her. Her boss explained that there could be a wolf in Beacon Hills after all, but that the injuries Myers sustained didn’t line up with a wolf attack. Nina was mostly just grumpy that she was wrong more than once that week. “So the police should be looking for a human being capable of ripping an entire bus seat from the five-inch screws holding it to thick metal,” Nina reiterated, hoping to gain back some of her dignity by making Will feel stupid.

It didn’t work, as he only shrugged. “We don’t know the quality of the metal or how many drugs the person might have been on.”

Finally having enough of being a fly on the wall, Isaac gave his two cents. “And, y’know, there’s that whole thing about being able to lift cars off of your child when in a crisis. The inhibitors in your brain that tell you something will cause you pain shut off.” Nina rolled her eyes, and Isaac stammered. “I mean, it’s also a far stretch to say that a human could have done that. A bear could be capable of doing that.”

“A bear capable of that strength can’t fit in a school bus,” Nina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Myers’ attacker is also a human, then. Probably the same person, if their angle is making the deaths look like animal attacks.” Isaac and Will both nodded. If it was the same person, their possible motive was getting rid of loose ends regarding the fire.

“It couldn’t be anyone that survived the fire, they would have no reason to murder both parties,” Will explained, taking his spot back in front of the computer as Nina stepped away.

Just as she was about to argue that it was way too early to make that assumption, the twins’ mother appeared in the doorway with a knock. “Isaac, John gave the okay for you to stay the weekend. Is there anything I can get for you?”

Isaac smiled at Imogen. “I’m alright, Miss Holmes.”

“Jen, Isaac. You know the drill by now.” She leaned against the doorframe and turned to Will and Nina, her eyes narrowing. “No,” She stated, pointing at the laptop.

Will held his hands out, swiveling his head around as he gave the other teenagers an innocent look. “What do you mean, no? I’m just sitting here—”

“No.” Jen rolled her eyes and entered the room, causing Will to move as she inspected the laptop. “You’re obvious, Darling. You almost got arrested the last time you did this.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what we’re doing is illegal?”

“Technically.”

“Not technically,” Jen corrected. “Fully illegal. You’re lucky the last case you did this for didn’t get thrown out because of you two!”

“It wasn’t because of us, it was because the police weren’t able to see the facts—”

“Yes, well, it’s very easy to obtain the facts when you don’t have to follow procedure, William. Inserting yourself into investigations is dangerous. If you don’t stop this, I’m going to confiscate your computer.”

“I can still use my phone.”

Jen placed her hands on her hips. “I’ll take that too, then.”

“Why?” Will lounged back in his chair as Nina and Isaac watched the interaction. “There’s a killer on the loose, keeping me and Nina in the dark isn’t going to keep us safe in any way. That’s why we’re here in the first place, isn’t it? To be safe?”

It was a sore subject for the entire family. When Jen’s brother Mycroft, the twins’ uncle, decided they were ‘unsafe’ in London and demanded they leave, he gave no explanation to anyone. He had gone as far as threatening Jen’s financial status and career, along with the twins’ future opportunities if she refused. He even had his own plans on where they would go, but Jen took them to Beacon Hills instead.

Jen sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You can keep doing your own research, but you can’t get involved. I don’t care if someone is getting murdered right in front of you, alright? That goes for all of you.”

As Jen stared pointedly at each teenager, they all agreed. Once she left the room, Will glared at Nina and Isaac. “Thanks for making me take her on by myself.”

“You didn’t stop talking long enough for either of us to step in,” Nina replied. She also left, quickly taking a moment to wish them goodnight. “Let me know if you find anything else that’s significant.”

Only Isaac replied, and Nina went to her own room to finish her homework for the night.

~~~

Nina’s migraines were bad enough to wake her up at two in the morning, and she wasn’t able to go back to sleep until an hour before her first university class. Because of that, she had decided to skip that morning. By the time her high school classes began, Nina was feeling well enough to attend. She had made it through her three classes before she found her migraine returning, as she walked down the hall with Lydia and Allison to their lockers. “Scott’s coming over?” Lydia asked, throwing Allison a teasing smirk.

“Tonight,” Allison answered with a shy smile. “We’re just studying together.”

“‘Just studying” never ends with just studying,” Lydia grinned. “It’s like… getting into a hot tub. Somebody eventually cops a feel.”

Allison looked between Nina and Lydia with wide eyes. “Wait, so what are you saying?”

Lydia paused on the stairs. “I’m just saying, you know, make sure he covers up.” When Allison only stared blankly, Lydia laughed. “Hello, Snow White! Do it with a condom!”

“Are you kidding? After one date?”

Lydia scoffed. “Don’t be a total prude. Give him a little taste.”

If rolling her eyes wouldn’t cause even more pain, Nina would have done so. “And that is reason three hundred and forty-nine as to why Lydia needs to break up with Jackson.”

Turning back, Lydia gave her a sardonic smile. “And that is reason three hundred and fifty as to why Nina has never had a boyfriend.”

“Reason three hundred and fifty-one is that boys are annoying,” Nina laughed. She turned to Allison, who appeared to be in her own head. “Allison, you don’t have to give him anything. Go at your own pace. Lydia is right about the condoms, though, if you do decide to go for it. And if Scott tries to pressure you or force anything, here’s how you can damage his windpipe in a way that isn’t fatal if he gets to the hospital on time.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Allison said with an awkward laugh, pushing Nina’s hands down as she got ready to demonstrate the self-defense move her uncle had taught her. She then pulled her hands back and looked around before speaking again in a low whisper. “But, um, how much is a “little taste?’”

As Lydia and Allison discussed the girl’s growing feelings for Scott, Nina felt the familiar sensation of an ice pick stabbing through her eye. Her eyes screwed shut, the sudden pain taking her breath away. That was all routine. What wasn’t normal, however, was the stench that filled her nose. It was almost enough to make her vomit. Nina covered her nose and mouth with her hand and looked at Allison and Lydia, who were staring back at her. “What is that smell?” She asked, the intensity of the smell and her migraine combining to bring tears to her eyes.

“What smell?” Allison asked, her brow furrowed as she reached out to touch Nina’s shoulder. “Are you feeling okay? Should we bring you to the nurse?”

“Yeah, Allison, she looks great,” Lydia snapped. She pulled out her phone and immediately began typing. “The nurse’s office will be closed by now. I’m telling Will that he has to drive home. Nina, do you have your medication on you?”

“I already took it earlier. Are you sure you don’t smell anything?”

“Like what?”

Sweat, blood, rotting plants and flesh. It smelled like death.

[heliads]

One Moves On Chapter Four: Crow Rock

Stiles Stilinski doesn’t know what to think when he’s taken by the Ghost Riders. He’s grateful to be joined by Y/N L/N, although when he finally escapes, no one seems to remember her at all.

previous / series masterlist / next

Now that he’s finished his research, Stiles isn’t sure what to do next. Does he drive over in a fit of glory and bad decision making, hope to find Y/N and pray she hasn’t left before he gets there? Does he risk traveling without a pack to one of the areas with the most supernatural activity other than Beacon Hills? 

In the end, Stiles decides to just go. Deliberating and hesitating won’t do him any good, not when Y/N is still out there, weaponless and with no idea where she is. Stiles spends a haphazard half hour running about his house, trying to put together supplies he might need for the trip, before finally stumbling over to his Jeep.

When he finally makes it out, keys clutched in his hand, Scott is waiting for him.

His best friend is leaning up against the driver’s side door, arms folded across his chest. Stiles’ steps falter. “You knew I was going?” Scott lifts a shoulder. “Your dad called me, said he was worried. We knew you’ve been concerned about Y/N, but we didn’t know that you would go this far. Where are you going, Stiles?”

Stiles holds up a hastily printed map. “Actually, I’m going to a town called Crow Rock. Good supernatural activity, and I followed the law of triangles-” Stiles’ voice dies off as he takes in the look on Scott’s face. “The law of triangles, which is a very reputable law from a very reputable manuscript which we all know about. Right. Well, I know how it sounds but trust me, it’s going to be alright.”

Scott sighs. “I want to believe you. Honestly, I do. But Y/N died months ago. You have to know that. I didn’t even know you cared this much about her. I’d call it grief, but you watched her die some time ago. She’s already buried.” Stiles frowns at him. “Is she? Where?” Scott fumbles for a moment. “Uh, in some cemetery.” Stiles presses his advantage. “Which cemetery? If we saw her buried, where is she?”

Scott’s brow furrows, and he stares at Stiles in bewilderment. “I can’t remember. I know where Allison and Aiden and all the others are buried, but I don’t know where she is.” Stiles throws his hands in the air. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t know because she isn’t dead. We never buried her so of course we can’t remember the cemetery. Scott, you have to believe me. She’s out there somewhere and I have to bring her back.”

Scott’s face softens. “You’re sure this will work? You know where to find her?” Stiles nods fervently. “I’ve done my research. Sometimes, people are pulled away from rifts by something called etheria. I was able to make it back safely from the Wild Hunt, but she wouldn’t. She’s not the first either- these victims, they call them etherials or something, have been disappearing for centuries. I’ve managed to track down another hotspot where she might be located and I think it’s my best shot at finding her.”

Scott nods once, then claps him on the shoulder. “I think you can do it.” Stiles looks up at him. “Really?” Scott smiles trustingly. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve put in a considerable amount of time for research. I think if anyone could track down an etherial who everyone else thinks is dead, it would be you.” Stiles grins. For some reason, hearing his best friend’s belief in him is enough to give Stiles a boost in confidence.

Scott steps away from the door of the Jeep, allowing Stiles access at last. “I just wanted to check with you before you go. To make sure you knew what you were doing.” He glances at the map, taking in the location of the hotspot. “There’s going to be a lot of supernatural trouble there. You sure you don’t want a backup group?” Stiles shakes his head, smiling. “I’m good, thank you. I think this is something I have to do by myself.”

Stiles climbs into the Jeep, giving himself a moment to think. This is it, the last moment before he sets off on his journey. He’s spent so much time preparing that it’s strange to think that this is his stepping off point, the last opportunity he has to back down and say that this is too dangerous, or that the chances are too great that he will fail.

Stiles turns on the ignition in a roar. Scott waves goodbye as the Jeep disappears down the road.

Stiles has only been driving for an hour or so before he notices a shift in the air. It’s not much, barely there, but yet something is not right. It’s like the atmosphere of the car has become quieter, even more silent than before. No one has entered or left the vehicle to warrant this silence, but it’s still enough to make Stiles feel slightly uneasy. He’d felt it a little when he was crossing over the boundary to Beacon Hills, a slight change in the energy as if by leaving he was passing through a barrier of some sort.

Stiles supposes it makes sense- you leave a hotspot, you might notice some change. Stiles doubts he would have noticed it had he not just been taken by the Wild Hunt or even gone without his temporary possession by the Nogitsune. He has a feeling that sensing this change in supernatural activity is an ability usually attributed to the supernatural, and the fact that he, a supposedly ordinary human, can sense it sets Stiles’ teeth on edge.

Stiles becomes aware of another change about fifteen minutes later. He sits up straighter in his seat, trying and failing to figure out what exactly is filling him with unease, and then he sees the sign. It’s faded, paint crumbling off of a metal backing. Even with the weathering of the sign, Stiles can still read the derelict letters: Welcome to Crow Rock. Stiles has made it at last.

The Jeep rumbles on, past the sign and onto the twisting roads. Scott, Lydia, and Malia had told him about visiting Canaan while he was still in the thrall of the Wild Hunt, and how the entire town had given off the uncanny, almost sinister energy of a ghost town. Stiles has no idea what it must have been like to walk those streets, but he has a suspicion that it would be pretty similar to how he feels right now, driving down the blocks and avenues in his truck.

Stiles has looked at images of Crow Rock from larger topographical maps, and realized that the town itself isn’t actually that big. He’d been happy then, thinking that maybe this was one instance of luck for himself and that it might not take as long to search the town for Y/N, but that hope is starting to wither away from him now. The town may be small, yes, with fewer hiding spots, but it also means fewer people to watch him. With fewer bystanders, the chance of supernaturals backing down from a public attack grows slimmer and slimmer with each mile Stiles travels within the town.

Stiles intended to drive to the center of town, where the hotspot of supernatural activity would most likely be the highest. However, as he goes he finds that certain roads are blocked off or congested with traffic that miraculously vanishes a few blocks down. He’s forced to take alternate routes, driving him on a convoluted path away from the entrance. It gives Stiles a sneaking suspicion that he’s being intentionally misrouted, that something is drawing him close.

Stiles has just taken a turn into a new street when he’s forced to come to an abrupt stop. A construction barricade has been laid across the road, orange and white paint signaling that he can travel no further. Stiles checks his rearview mirrors, ready to make a U-turn and get onto another road, when he freezes in place. A group of people is slowly spilling out into the road behind him, and they come to a stop at the main road, blocking off any chance of escape. They all consider Stiles with identical glares. This is not good.

Seeing as he can’t drive anywhere without mowing down this group of people, Stiles turns off the ignition and starts to climb down out of the Jeep. All of his instincts are screaming at him to stay in the car, to not give up the one piece of shelter he still has left, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. At least he’d be able to run on foot- if he remains in the Jeep, he’d just be a sitting duck.

Stiles walks away from the car, coming to a stop a few yards away from the group. One man steps forward, glaring at Stiles with an almost animal rage. “You should not have come here, human. You reek of enemy packs.” Most people would be smart and hold their tongues, choosing to live instead of delivering a supposedly witty retort. Stiles prefers to save his academic success for the tests in school.

“I think it’s kind of mean to go up to people and tell them they smell. I mean, I showered this morning, I can’t be that bad.” The man raises an eyebrow. “You are a human with a death wish, I see. It is not wise to pick a fight that you cannot win.” Stiles shrugs. “I’m just a tourist, man. I can see why your driving tours got such low reviews on Yelp.”

The man scoffs, the sound skidding deep in his throat like the roar of an engine. “I am quickly tiring of you. I will give you one minute to leave this town. If you are not gone by then, you will be dead.” Stiles shakes his head slowly. “I can’t do that. I’m here for someone.” The man roars at him, the sound echoing off of the buildings around them to culminate in a low din of noise. “Then you will die here instead.”

The man charges towards Stiles, claws already starting to extend from his fingers. Stiles takes one look at him and decides to do what he does best: run. He spins on his heels, dashing towards his Jeep with every ounce of energy still left in him. He’s almost there, one hand flung out towards the door, when a werewolf skids to a stop in front of him. It lets out a piercing howl, the sound of an animal about to attack.

Suddenly, a knife slams into its throat, and the wolf slumps sideways. Stiles’ head jerks up as he looks for his savior. A blur of flashing knives and running limbs appears out of nowhere, and a figure grabs the knife from the werewolf’s throat to throw it at another approaching wolf. Then the figure turns to Stiles, and he feels like he could dance with joy.

“Y/N?” She flashes him a grin. “Great to see you. Get in the Jeep.” Stiles doesn’t think twice, diving for the door and throwing himself in. Y/N climbs into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed just before a werewolf can slash her to ribbons. Stiles turns on the ignition, thanking everything holy and then some that the engine doesn’t fail him. He begins the turn to direct his car back towards the road, and then hesitates.

Y/N stares at him. “What are you waiting for? Do you enjoy being killed by enemy packs?” Stiles gestures towards the road. “The werewolves are blocking all the lanes!” Y/N’s eyes widen in something like incredulity. “Then run them over!” Stiles returns her startled gaze. “They’ll wreck my car!” Y/N grabs his hand, forcing it back onto the wheel. “If you stay here, they’ll wreck your car by dragging your dead body out of it and tearing it to shreds. Drive!”

A wolf howls nearby, raising his hand to slash at the metal body of the car. This is enough to motivate him, and Stiles slams a foot on the gas. The Jeep lurches forward, and the werewolves are forced to dive out of the way lest they get flattened by the wheels. The Jeep races around corners and through straightaways before they finally lose the enemy pack and the roads become deserted once more.

Stiles stares at the windshield unseeingly. His hands still shake from the close call. “You know, I don’t think I used my turn signal once during all of this.” There’s a quiet sound next to him, and for a second Stiles thinks that Y/N has started sobbing. Then he looks over and realizes that she’s doubled over in silent laughter. She manages to choke out two words. “Turn signal?”

Stiles stares at her for a second, then starts laughing too. Maybe it’s the thrill of yet another near death experience, or the rush of gratitude that he’s managed to find her at last, but all of a sudden every single thing in the world seems funny. He has to divert his attention back to the road in a jolt lest he run over a suicidal squirrel, which just makes them laugh even harder.

At last, they approach the sign announcing that they will shortly be leaving Crow Rock. Y/N’s laughter dies on her lips as she stares at the sign, then speaks abruptly. “Stop the car.” Stiles stares at her as she jumps out before the wheels have even stopped moving. He puts the car in park just a little bit beyond the sign, then leaps out after her. “What are you doing? Do you like the idea of being slashed to bits by the enemy packs?”

Y/N shakes her head, staring at him with quiet grief. “I can’t leave the town.” Stiles walks back over to her. “What are you talking about?” Y/N looks at him, and Stiles realizes that she doesn’t look afraid or even disappointed. Her face only holds a calm acceptance of a depressing fact. “I can’t leave. I’ve tried before, but the town won’t let me. Look.” She moves to step forward, past the ‘Leaving Crow Rock’ sign, but her feet refuse to budge. It’s as if she’s trying to walk into an invisible wall.

“I’ve tried to leave, ever since I showed up here, but I can’t. It’s like the same magic that brought me here intends on trapping me here forever.” Stiles’ eyes widen. “It’s the etheria. All those manuscripts talked about how people would be yanked away to other hotspots and never return. I thought they just meant that it was the olden days or whatever and that long of a distance was too far to travel without cars or something, but they literally meant that they couldn’t leave.”

Stiles shakes his head, unable to accept this. “I’m not giving up, not now. I’m not losing you again.” Y/N laughs quietly at that. The sound is bittersweet and tears at his heart. “I don’t think you have a choice, Stiles. There’s no way around this.” Stiles’ pulse is thundering in his veins. “No, I’m going to make a choice. Even if I have to do it all myself. No one is supposed to remember the etherials, but I remember you. We’re the exception, Y/N. I am not leaving you again.”

Out of some impulse, Stiles steps forward, wrapping his arms around Y/N and pulling her close. She stiffens for a second, then returns his embrace. After so many days of hearing everyone tell him that she was dead, that she didn’t exist, having her so close is like a dream or an impossibility. They stumble slightly as a strong wind hits them, shifting slightly but not letting go. Y/N gasps quietly, the sound torn away from her chest. Stiles looks at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Y/N shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know. I feel like-” Her eyes widen as she stares at the sign to Crow Rock, the sign that is now behind them. In that brief moment, when they’d moved to avoid the wind, they’d moved over the town barrier. It had just been mere inches, but it was enough. Y/N stares at him in awe. “How did that happen? It’s never happened before.”

Stiles can just smile at her, feeling relief crest over him like a wave. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re the exception. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think I’d like to go home.” She beams at him. “I think I’d like that a lot.” Stiles reaches out, wrapping his hand around hers to guide her back to the car. They’re together at last, and they can finally make their way back to where they belong.

one moves on tag list: @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​, @blahhhhhhhaaa​

[liliaeth]

“the chance of Liam becoming a true alpha is less than zero. He lost any chance of that happening the moment he tried to kill Scott, making his own choice to attack his alpha to save his girlfriend” Liam has every right to prioritize Hayden over Scott, the guy who assaulted him out of jealousy, kidnapped him, and bit him against his will. Also: Liam doesn’t need an obnoxious “true alpha” title to be relevant (unlike Scott.) He beat the crap out of Scott effortlessly despite being only a beta.

Little troll, you should know, before you start feeling in any way important, that the only reason I’m responding to you, is because right now I need a distraction. My father died three days ago, and we’re having his funeral in two days. Just to show you how meaningless you and your bullshit are to me

I know it’s hard for you to accept that Teen Wolf didn’t focus around your bland boring cliché white faves.

See if Teen Wolf had been your typical cliché show, it would have had a basic boring and bland lead like Stiles. The typical sarcastic asshole you see on every single show out there, who can be used as the bland self insert with no actual personality for viewers to have to give a fuck about.

That or the typical cliché dark broody anti hero, like say Derek, whom you also see on every single show out there.

That’s the usual combo. It’s cliché, it’s overdone, it’s boring as fuck. It’s pretty much the fast-food of fanfic. Like going to McDonalds. You know the food sucks, but it’s familiar, and you know just what you’re going to get every single time.

Instead Teen Wolf focused on a character who was different. Who wasn’t your typical cliché reckless hero throwing himself into fights without thinking. He wasn’t like Stiles, or Derek, or Liam... you know, the usual, the kind of hero, you get in every single show out there.

Instead they took the heart of the show, the kind one, the gentle one.The one who thinks before he acts, and tries to talk things out instead of getting into needless fights. Who encourages the others to think of solutions other than murder as their first option. The one who in most other shows is the moral center that everyone looks to for guidance and support, and made him the lead instead.

Scott was awkward, and flawed, but he grew, learned from his mistakes. Even if often his worst mistake was going along with Stiles bad ideas.

And unlike your usual lead, when he made a mistake he took responsibility for it.

When he accidentally hurt Liam, after being egged on by Stiles, he went to look him up in the hospital, because he knew he screwed up. Which lead to him saving Liam’s life, and unfortunately to having to bite Liam to keep him from falling. Unlike Peter, Scott didn’t abandon his newly bitten beta. Unlike Derek, he didn’t trick him into a situation where hunters would try and capture and/or kill him. Instead, he tried to keep him safe. Scott’s not the best at acting impulsively (that’s more Stiles’ thing), but he was trying to help Liam, and keep him from hurting anyone.

But after that screw up with introducing Liam to his new life, he didn’t give up on him. He tried to copy Derek’s method, the whole ‘we are brothers now’, because it was the only example he had. And when that non surprisingly didn’t work, he still kept trying. Not to control Liam, or to manipulate him, like Derek did to Scott, but in order to protect Liam, because he knew Liam needed it. Even if Liam didn’t yet know so.

He found his own way to help Liam, and for months after that, he spent training Liam, taking care of Liam, protecting Liam, supporting Liam, being there for Liam in a way that no one was there for Scott, when Scott needed it the most.

Not because Scott got anything out of it, but because unlike Derek, unlike Peter, Scott is a good Alpha, and he cares for others before himself.

I know you look at any excuse to denigrate Scott, because it pisses you off that the Latino hero of the show was a better person, and a better werewolf than your white faves. That Scott as a character was so much more interesting than your white faves, that the grand majority of teen wolf fics, feel they have to take Scott’s personality, and give it to Stiles, and/or Derek, in order to make their white faves even halfway interesting enough to write about

I know it pisses you off that Scott managed to become a True Alpha, a position he gained in part by standing up to Derek and Peter, a storyline that was not some ‘chosen one’ cliché, but was instead a step in his development, as part of his story of growing up. That Scott needed to learn to realize who he was as a person. That he didn’t have to become like Peter, or even like Derek.That he could be better than either of them.

Other people like @princeescaluswords have already written better meta on what it meant on Teen Wolf to be a True Alpha. And why there is no chance that Liam would ever become one.

In big part because he lacks both the virtue, the strength of character and force of will, that Scott displayed over and over.

Other people have already written better meta on how the only reasons Liam managed to win that fight were threefold.

1.Scott wasn’t fighting to kill, or even defeat Liam. He was trying to keep Liam from making the worst mistake of Liam’s life. Because he knew what it would do to Liam, if he managed to kill someone.

2. The supermoon, and how it affected Liam who gave in to it, vs Scott who was fighting it

3. Scott had been poisoned with wolfsbane by Theo.

All of which were made clear in canon.

Scott righteously could have killed Liam for that attack. He had every right to either kill or exile Liam, for that attempted murder, for leaving Scott vulnerable to Theo. But Scott didn’t do so, because he is a better person than that. Which is once again, part of what makes him a True Alpha.

the fact that he cares about others before himself. And often does so at expense of his own needs.

See, for all its flaws, Teen Wolf did something, a lot of shows refuse to do. It said that physical strength does not make you better than people. That just cause you can beat someone up, does not make you ‘the hero’, it does not make you right.

That killing is too black and white a solution, and that revenge is a cycle that will only end if you reach out your hand and try for other options.

Those are the lessons it taught through Scott McCall, and what makes him the hero and the lead of the show, and what made the show worth watching.

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day thirty-one

Prompt #31: “I trust you.”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall.

Words: 2218

Author’s Note: an underappreciated aspect of chess culture? games played for fun are called Skittles. set post 5B, Scott & Stiles take a break to play a game of chess, and wind up talking about a whole lot more than just a game. Gen fic, Scott & Stiles focus. Stiles POV.

>> j’adoube (i adjust)

Stiles tosses his pen in the air. Watches it flip, twice. Catches it, barely. Toss and repeat.

“Hey, Scott.”

Scott, who’s sitting across from him at the desk, just grunts without looking up. They’ve been going over scholarships together for the past three hours, and it’s the most mind-numbing use of a Saturday Stiles has had in a very long time.

Which, considering most of his Saturdays have been more of the terrifyingly bloody variety, is probably still preferable. But still.

“Scoooooooott.”

Scott flips to the next page. “Mm?”

Stiles throws his pen at him and smacks him squarely across the face.

“Ow, Stiles—what?”

Stiles flips over onto his stomach, triumphant to have finally gotten Scott’s full attention. “You wanna play a game?”

Scott puts his own pen down and leans back in the chair, stretching and popping in a way that suggests being hunched over for that long is unpleasant for even a werewolf. “What kind? Board game?”

Stiles grins.

Board games, to his mind, are sacrosanct.

Not necessarily because he loves them—given a free range of choices, he’d rather do just about anything else—but because it’s so easy for them to suck.

Yahtzee, Monopoly, Shoots and Ladders, Candy Land, Sorry, even Risk—there’s just too much luck involved for his taste. Draw randomized but predetermined cards, roll uncontrollable dice. And that’s not even touching the disaster that’s Life, where the only two choices that ever matter are college or career, kids or no kids.

Absolutely nothing about bite or no bite, or possession or no possession.

Or ‘betrayed by a monster that gets your best friend killed and your crush of five years committed to an asylum,’ but.

Either way, it’s a joke.

There are better board games. Clue or Scrabble, which still rely on the hand that’s dealt, but at least can be salvaged with enough knowledge and strategy.

But he has the best one in mind for today.

“Chess?”

Scott’s eyes light up with a competitive glint Stiles feels like he hasn’t seen in ages, and he knows he’s won.

“I could do a round or two,” Scott says.

“Oh, thank god—”

“But, then we have to get back to work on these.”

“Yep, uh-huh, absolutely,” Stiles says, rolling off the bed and hunting underneath it for his set.

He fully intends to bribe Scott into playing way more than that, but one thing at a time.

His fingers close over the wooden case and he draws it out, blowing a bit of dust off the top. He turns it over in his hands.

If board games are sacrosanct, then chess is the holy grail.

Most people don’t get the attraction, and he respects that. It takes a certain level of concentration to be good at chess, and considering how many strategy books he’s read on the topic—even if he rarely remembers them—he can beat a casual player without too much effort. Plus, most people prefer games that don’t require much thought, perfectly wiling to just roll their dice and move their mice.

Stiles respects that a lot less.

What he likes about chess is that it’s the one game that’s completely and totally winnable every time—with no variation from chance or random dealing. He might be outmatched, but he’s not outnumbered.

Every choice he makes is fully his own.

It’s the best game.

The only marginal difference is that white has a slight advantage, as it gets to go first, so as Stiles tosses the set onto the bed he says, “I can be black this time.”

Scott barely glances up from the scholarship he’s still worrying himself over. “Hm? No, that’s okay, I don’t mind. You can take white.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and flops onto the bed. “You’ve been black the past like, eight times we’ve played. You’re white this time.”

“Stiles, I really don’t care if you want it.”

It’s an innocuous statement, but Stiles’ temper flares because all he can hear is that Scott thinks he needs the advantage—even if it’s one that, statistically, barely even matters. “What, because you don’t think I can beat you otherwise?”

“What? No, Stiles, I—” Scott falls silent, and it’s enough to instantly cool Stiles’ frustration. “I just—never mind. I can be white.”

Stiles hesitates for a few beats, then turns the board and starts setting the pieces up so the white ones are facing Scott.

He pauses. He’s been trying to pay more attention to Scott lately, but it’s hard—Scott tends to fold pretty quickly on smaller issues, and he tends to—

Well.

Not.

“Then again,” he tries, “I guess it doesn’t really matter—”

“You asked me to play white, so I’ll play white.” Scott’s voice is flat. “You were right; we haven’t switched it up in a while, so it’s only fair. Just give me a sec to finish this.”

“…Okay.”

Stiles toys with the edge of the board as he waits for Scott to finish restacking the papers.

One of the reasons Stiles likes chess is because it makes for a surprisingly good Rorschach test, and he’s played it with every member of the pack at some point or another.

Liam’s not much of a challenge, mostly because he’s made it clear he doesn’t care. The one time they played, he’d started strong—aiming to capture more than aiming to secure—but his failure to consider long-term strategy had gotten him into trouble almost immediately. With Malia, she has a good concept of how to control the center of the board, and favors trap-based strategy, but her ability to pay attention to her opponent’s gameplay is usually her downfall. Lydia tends to focus on a bishop and pawn strategy, which works very well for her mostly because it infuriates Stiles—his own strategy relies heavily on a more spontaneous approach to movement, and her method thoroughly demarcates most of the board. That’s probably why he enjoys playing with Kira, whose strategy rotates every time they play—as soon as he’d introduced her to the game, she’d started binging chess tutorials at speeds that put his own research to shame.

He hasn’t had the chance to play with the new pack members, but he has his guesses as to how that will go. Mason will play circles around him, but be super nice about it. Hayden will either trounce him thoroughly if she cares, or lose terribly if she doesn’t, and there will be nothing in between. Corey… Corey will probably favor the knights, which will make him hard to beat on the front end, but almost impossible to lose to in the endgame.

But he can work with that. All of those strategies make sense; make it easier for him to understand and categorize them.

He looks down at the white and black pieces, standing silently in anticipation of the match.

He can’t think of any reason Scott would want to reject the advantage, unless it was just for his benefit, but he hadn’t appeared to be lying.

And now Scott probably won’t tell him because he’d snapped at him instead of just asking.

Stiles winces and rakes his hands through his hair.

It’s just a chess preference. It’s not like it matters.

Except it does, because everything between them feels so fragile after Theo.

Stiles’ thoughts are interrupted when Scott vaults onto the bed, accidentally knocking one of the pawns forward as the board lists to the side.

“Whoops,” Scott says. The tiniest of smirks appears on his face as he moves to fix it. “J’adoube.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to announce that that’s not your move when I can clearly see what just happened.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Scott says, adjusting the piece. “You’ve definitely called me out for less in the past.”

“You tried to change your mind after wrapping your whole hand around a bishop! How is that less?”

Scott shrugs, and Stiles is relieved he doesn’t seem to be bothered about the pieces anymore. “I’m just saying. Can’t be too careful.”

“A mindset I would normally endorse wholeheartedly, however.”

Scott laughs, then settles in cross-legged and stares down at the board, elbows resting on his knees and face furrowed in contemplation.

Stiles glances at Scott, then at board, then back at Scott again.

Scott doesn’t move.

Suddenly, it’s really bothering Stiles that despite having played with him more than anyone else, despite knowing him better than anyone else, Stiles still doesn’t understand why Scott plays the way he does.

It’s not that Scott’s exceptionally bad, or that Scott’s exceptionally good. It’s that he’s both.

When he plays with Stiles, he matches him step for step, pivoting his goals almost as quickly as Stiles does. But the few times Stiles’ seen Scott play with others, that ability seems to vanish—his level of competence almost directly mapped onto the level of the person he’s playing with, above or below where Stiles would expect it.

It doesn’t make sense, but that’s just Scott. Stiles had long since acknowledged that there were always going to be some things that didn’t make sense about his best friend.

That was before Theo. Before everything that was Scott & Stiles fell apart.

And also, Scott still hasn’t moved.

“Hey Scott?” Stiles waits until he glances up at him, chin still resting in his hands. “You gonna go, bud?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. He blinks down at the board. “There’s just… a lot of options.”

“Okay, right, that’s true,” Stiles says. “But it’s also just the first move.”

“Yeah.”

Scott reaches out and touches the pawn from before. He hovers there for a moment, then retracts his hand—the pawn still unmoved.

Stiles clears his throat.

“Really? You want me to—” Scott sighs. “J’adoube.”

“Technically, you’re supposed to say that before you touch it.”

“And technically, you said I didn’t have to say it earlier, so that one could count for the one I just did.”

“Bro,” Stiles says, because this is getting ridiculous. “Literally just move the pawn. Or a knight. Or any of the other pawns. There are zero other options.”

“I know, I know,” Scott says. “I just… what if I move this piece, and then you move like your knight or something, and it turns out I made the wrong move?”

Stiles squints at him. “It’s your move. Why would my move, which comes afterward, make yours wrong?”

“Because I have to stop your plan.”

“Right, but like.” Stiles tilts his head. “What about your plan?”

“That is my plan.”

Stiles’ brain short circuits, and he spins rapidly through every game he’s ever watched Scott play. “So—so wait. You mean every time you’re playing you’re just… trying to figure out your opponent’s plan? You’re not making one of your own?”

“I mean, kinda?” Scott reaches for the pawn again, then pauses before touching it. “J’adoube.”

“Yeah, whatever, just move the pawn,” Stiles says. “So earlier, it wasn’t about wanting me to have an advantage; you wanted black because… it’s to your advantage?”

Scott spins the pawn around in a slow circle, then lets go of it without moving its position. Again.

“I guess,” he says. “You like playing white better and I like black better, so it just… makes more sense to let us play the ones we actually prefer.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?”

Scott shrugs. “It just seemed like it was important to you, and I… I didn’t want to argue.” His eyes drop, and so does his voice. “I don’t want to argue with you anymore.”

Something clicks in Stiles’ mind. “J’adoube.”

“Uh,” Scott looks pointedly at the pieces, which are still unmoved, and his hands, which aren’t anywhere near them. “What?”

“‘I adjust,’” Stiles says. “That’s what you’ve been doing. Adjusting your plan to match mine, or—or anyone else.”

Scott picks at the edge of his sleeve. “And that’s bad?”

“Um.” Stiles hasn’t gotten that far. “No? I mean like, you’re clearly very good at it. You’ve definitely beat me enough times doing it.”

“I sense a ‘but.’”

“See, there you go, anticipating me again. You’re a pro.”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, okay, the point.” Stiles glances down at the chessboard—and then at the pile of scholarships, too. “Look, I’m just saying you gotta just take the shot sometimes. Or move the pawn. Whatever. My point is, it’s okay to make your own plans.”

Scott shifts a bit to look behind him at the paperwork, something both worried and hopeful in his expression.

“And then, y’know,” Stiles continues, “you can always adjust them later if you have to. But you don’t have to start out that way.”

Scott picks up the pawn and turns it about in his fingers. He bites his lip. “And… you trust this to work?”

“Nah, man.” Stiles settles back against the wall and nods towards the board. “It’s the first move; I have no idea how it’ll play out. But… I trust you enough to know that you can handle it if it doesn’t.”

Scott’s eyes get suspiciously bright, but Stiles doesn’t comment. “I trust you, too.”

(And, well.)

(If Stiles’ eyes get a little bright too, no one comments on that either.)

Scott moves the pawn to e4, and lets it go.

[sparkwhorunswithwolves]

1/3 Full offense, but you saying that Canon Scott is a toxic person and boyfriend is wrong and doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. Scott is the hero and moral center of the show. One of my favourite most 'Scott McCall' moment is when he says to Jackson “you've been around Alison for ages, you can't not like her.”

2/3 Like the idea of someone knowing her and deciding she wasn't at least likeable was insane to him. Scott's love is that pure, selfless and undeniable. Plus it shows he always looks for the good and humanity in others and uses compassion to drive his point instead of resorting to violence, gaslighting and intimidation to make people do what he wants like Derek Hale does.

3/3 He even believes that the guy who despises his guts and tried to steal his girlfriend has empathy and is worth saving, for God’s sake! Scott abhors killing not because he is shit at it or afraid to lose his true alpha status, but because he values each and every single life. If you don’t think that Scott McCall is a soft non-violent hero that deserves to be in a position of power, then you probably watched the show for all the wrong reasons (or you are a racist asshole, you choose)

If by all the wrong reasons you mean I only started watching it because it has one of the 3 canon adhd characters who I then obviously cared more for than anyone else, sure.

(okay no, but seriously, what the fuck are the wrong reasons? I'm genuinely curious, because I always thought that most of that was satire but apparently not?)

Okay, Allison, Derek, killing

Yes, Scott loves her, it's undeniable. If it weren't for werewolves/hunters they would make an adorable couple. But they just have so many issues in canon that I just don't get the romanticized first true love shit. This is not me saying Scott is the only one with that issue, I've said before that most major relationships especially in s1/2 are unhealthy at best or toxic and abusive at worst. Lydia and Jackson were a toxic mess in general, Stiles obsession with Lydia is creepy as fuck, blanket Derek is an ass, Jackson is using Allison. But it's shown as being bad, in a way that Scott Allison just isn't.

Scott is constantly lying to her, about werewolves, about her family, about her fucking mother. He literally tells her to go out with her stalker and implies to do whatever it takes so that they can keep seeing each other. He yells at her for not trusting him/telling him shit while doing the same thing.

It ~can be argued that it's the wolfsbane that made him creep on her in the shower, that it was the Darkness that made him throw Isaac against the wall twice, but it still leaves a sour taste in my mouth because it gets too close to excusing abusers for comfort.

I've written about forcing Derek to bite Gerard and my issues with s5 at length already (either in the anti or rewatching teen wolf s5 tag, have fun) so I'm not going to repeat myself too much.

But he's only showing compassion and nonviolent arguments when it suits him; he wants to kill Peter, Jackson, Gerard, he attacks the betas for daring to want the bite, he uses his werewolf strength to get (Stiles is the person I have concrete scenes in mind) to do what he wants, he mindfucks Corey (you know, the things that was bad and creepy when Peter and Derek did that to Scott and Jackson respectively?)

The entire thing with Liam mirrors Scott's relationship with Derek and Peter in s1. (no, really, and I mean this in the most non confrontational, you obviously want to talk about this way, send me another ask about how you would view s4 (and Liam trying to kill the alpha to safe his girlfriend in s5) from Liam's pov)

(also, no offense, but he's ridiculously bad at actually killing people)

But no, it's not. He's willing to kill Jackson as the kanima for hurting Allison, he planned to kill both Peter and Gerard, he (or someone, I'm still not sure what happened there) sent Peter to Eichen which I think we can all agree everyone knows is a lot worse than death.

He's just ~conveniently never the person to actually kill them, killing Peter was a group effort, Gerard, sadly, never fucking died, they let deuc kill Jennifer before telling him he's totally redeemed now (which, what?), the deadpool is disabled just in time so he doesn't have to kill nameless hunter #3, deuc goats Theo into killing the bb pack before Kira sends him to... Again what?

And it happens often enough to not be a coincidence but just doesn't go anywhere, because that kind of storyline works well with the villain, could have worked with his "it should have been me" speech, which then went nowhere.

[serendipitioussurvival]

This little Alpha of Mine

Another Steter au.. thing. enjoy~

Fem!Stiles/Peter Hale, Werecreature!Stiles

Half the population of Beacon Hills was overwhelmed with horror and pity when the Beacon County Sherrif’s office posted the missing person notice of one Maczysz ‘Max’ Stilinski. Her vehicle had been found in the parking lot of the Preserve lake with busted windows and blood coating the door and seats. Of course, the public didn’t know about the blood, Hale Pack had cleaned it up for John so there wouldn’t be any questions about why it looked more like a crime scene instead of a case of abduction. 

That isn’t to say that Hale pack was completely calm, either. All eight of them, plus a young Scott McCall, his mother, and Jeorek ‘John’ Stilinski were hit with multiple levels of frustration and worry that only grew to be more so with the more time that passed. The few tips the police department did get proved to be mostly duds and, after a week of her being gone with no credible lead, her case went cold. The deputies and police still looked for her, of course, they just weren’t expecting to find her alive. 

The pitying looks John got from work almost drove him to drink again, the knowledge that his daughter would come back from the grave just to kick his ass if he ever picked up the bottle again was the only thing that kept him from going back down that path. Scott, who had gotten into fights regularily when people said they were sorry for his loss, refused to believe that she was dead, never stopped looking. Hale Pack, too, had his back with this assessment, especially when Peter told them that they would be able to feel it if she were dead, through their pack bonds. 

It had also caused a burning shame at the realization that only Scott, Isaac, Vernon, and Peter had pack bonds with the eccentric Stilinski. It had caused a rift in the pack for a few days before everyone swore to be better when they found her. 

Sometimes that vow was what kept them all together. 

It was only because of the wards Max had put up around the old Hale house that he had been able to dodge the attack from Ennis, giving him just enough time for the rage and fury that had been bubbling under his skin for the past month of her disappearance to come to the surface in a vicious arch of claws that easily gouged out the tissue and muscle of his right shoulder, rendering it obsolete - at least for a few moments. 

They fought and fought until Ennis had his claws at Peter’s throat, sneering down at him in victory. 

The next instant he was on the ground screaming in fury and pain as a Fox / Coyote hybrid tore at the back of his neck with its teeth, platinum coat with russet furs scattered like a blush on its forehead and spine and black patches on its ears and in the center of its tail. It growled and gnawed until his spinal cord snapped and his screams had long since died, it continued after for good measure until his head was completely removed from his body. A fitting slow death for the murderous bastard if Peter did say so himself. 

He did not move when it turned its blood coated maw to him, licking at its chops with lowered ears as if it didn’t approve of the taste. Well, that bode(bade?) well for him, didn’t it?

Or so he thought until the hybrid approached him and gave a long lick to one of the healing wounds on his arm. He seized when an accompanying growl came from the door, a Coyote flashing brilliant blues in warning, jerking back only when his flashed back. 

“How incredibly unhygienic,” he mused, brow-raising when she huffed in amusement and licked at another one of his wounds across his chest, speeding the healing of his wounds. “And who is the Princess Charming to my oh so elegant Damsel in distress?” a low whine that time, accompanied by her ears pricking up at the various footsteps rushing towards them (from yards away but that only secured his theory further). She gave a single growl like yip at the Coyote at the door, nuzzled her nose against Peter’s neck, and promptly left out the back with her Coyote friend in tow. 

Something that interested him considering Fox’s weren’t pack animals. If she truly was a hybrid werefox/coyote then it would make sense as to why she was accompanied by a werecoyote, they tended to hunt in pairs and stay in family groups. She had understood him too and then scented him in a very intimate way. Regardless, she had saved his life - Max would’ve killed him if he died before finding her - and had lowered the threat of the Alpha pack that had made its way to Beacon Hills. 

He wasn’t expecting to see her again, but he did. 

Right as the second month passed after Max had gone missing Isaac and Scott had the great idea of forcing the Werecoyote to shift, thinking her a Malia Tate who had gone missing when she was eight or so with her little sister. He had found out too late, and thus was coming onto the scene of Isaac and the hybrid staring at one another, hunkered to the ground as if she were afraid with shrill whines leaving her maw. When Scott’s roar sounded through the forest her Alpha red’s flashed and a shrill howl left her. It wasn’t in challenge, it wasn’t even in answer, no it was released in grief at the loss of a pack member. 

“No, wait-!” he tried, but the moment he took a step forward she was bolting into the woods, disappearing just as a shirtless Scott cleared the tree lines, escorting a very unsteady teenage girl with his shirt on. Her nose rose in the air when the wind blew, whining low. “You’re an idiot,” Peter cursed Scott, then blinked when she rushed to him, stumbling slightly over her own feet, and buried her face into his bicep to try and smother herself in his scent. “You just broke a pack up, if you were going to do this to the one you should’ve done it to the other.” He didn’t bother to try and explain why she was relaxing at his smell - didn’t quite understand it either honestly - and didn’t even think when he wrapped his arm around her protectively. 

He didn’t know who either of them was but they had saved his life and that was something he wouldn’t forget. Not when they could be potential pack members, not when something was nagging at the back of his head about both of them. 

“The other one?” Scott questioned numbly, looking pained as the small victory was taken from him. “Isaac, what other one?” 

“There was another one, Scott, an Alpha. It uh, it looked like a Fox, coyote, wolf thing.” he was rubbing at his chest with a frown. “I don’t know about this one man, Peter’s right. She sounded so… sad.” Malia whimpered when she looked over the forest line, then buried deeper when she couldn’t catch sight of her den mate.  

When she was safely stowed away in the back of John’s police cruiser she immediately began trying to get to the picture of Max and John standing together smiling on his dash. Peter didn’t understand why until she began whimpering in earnest and trying to form words that she no longer remembered how to properly form. “Max,” it sounded like she was saying it around food in her mouth, but the name was there. “Maaaax.” her fingers wiggled through the little metal railings that separated the back and front of the police cruiser. 

“Of course,” Peter hissed, drawing together the points and small observations he had made along with his theories. “Max!” and then he was shedding his clothes and launching into the air, shifting so that he could chase after her faster than his two legs would carry him. He searched all night and all the next day but found no trace of her. The pack even joined him the next night, Derek having ‘appropriated’ the memory Malia had of Max. Derek actually trusted his uncle to view the memories he had seen, especially since it had to deal with Max. 

Turns out Malia had watched her face off against Kali - the one who had drug Max (she had a lot of cuts and smelled mostly of ozone and blood) through her window and presumably broke the others - and use her Spark to send rose vines through her Silent Hill style before, at last, it decapitated her and drug her body to the earth to serve as food for the Nemeton. Malia had padded forward to initially eat Max but had been surprised by the way she faltered against the ground, clutching at her abdomen with red-stained skin, a fresh bite in plain view on her forearm. She was rapidly smelling like not food and more like her kind, so she waited. 

Max had greeted the Werecoyote as her skin began to flush with fever. She told her briefly her name and how, if she were lucky, the bite would take and she’d get to be actual pack and wouldn’t die. Malia hadn’t understood, but Peter did, and so did Derek when he viewed the memory. It was their first clue in a long ass time-

It did nothing to alleviate the frustration, it only added to it actually. How could they not have thought that she would’ve been targeted by the Alpha pack, how could they not have assumed or thought about the fact that she could've been bitten or turned?

No, they didn’t see Max until she was saving Scott from the Darach who had tried to lunge at the newly appointed ‘True Alpha’, maw locked around her throat while her claws dug at her chest, trying for her heart. Deucalion and Peter were grateful for her savagery, were impressed by it, but Scott and Derek were too focused on the fact that she smelled like fury and grief. They were too focused that this was Max, that this was the smiling girl who was always cooking or baking for them, that was always comforting Erica and Vernon through their traumatic memories. This was the woman who was always scenting them, the one who had been the glue keeping them all together. 

“Max,” Peter breathed, chest rumbling comfortingly when she rubbed her head against his neck, ears and tail hanging low with her building nerves. 

“It seems,” Deucalion drawled as he crouched over the dead Darach, “that your friend is stuck in her shift.” he shoved his hand into the ragged flesh and tendon that Max had made of the Darach’s chest and ripped out her heart, then without so much as a secondary glance at the body, rolled the heart to the Hybrid. “If you eat that it will re-balance your energies and you’ll shift back.” 

“I could just force her shift, I’ve done it before.” Scott protested, not trusting the Alpha of Alpha’s. Peter dug his hand into the fur of her flank and soothed her pitched growls. If Peter was surprised when she actually shifted to lean more into him then he didn’t show it outwardly, no he was focusing mainly on the fact that her pack bond came into full strength when she did.

“It won’t work on Max like it did with Malia,” Peter told him, kneeling so that he was at eye level with her. “She shifted as she was dying, the last of her Spark most likely is the reason she even turned.” he picked up the heart and stilled Max when she took a threatening step forward at Scott when he growled at Peter. “It’s okay,” he soothed, taking the fact that Scott had actually retreated with a groan when her amber red/orange Alpha eyes flashed at him. “Max, eat this, okay?” 

It was only because it was him who had offered the heart to her that she was eating it, he knew this and it filled him with equal parts joy and smug arrogance. He was shrugging off his jacket and scarf the moment she finished eating, readying for when she shifted back and her inevitable nakedness. 

“Was it under your orders that Kali attacked Max?” If his answer was yes then Peter would kill him himself. 

“No,” a truth, “Kali regularly acted on her own, it does not surprise me that she met her end from one of her victims.” another truth, Scott flinched away. 

“She killed Kali?” it was said in pain and hurt - as if she had done so to personally slight the teenager. 

“Out of self-defense you idiot,” Peter hissed, eyes never leaving Max as she began scratching at her ears, whining low in her throat. “considering that she would’ve died if she were a human, I’d say it was completely justifiable. She killed Ennis too, saving my life, and that bitch over there saving your life.” 

“Then I’ve been trying to recruit the wrong wolves.” Deucalion murmured, sitting down with a heavy sigh so as to accept whatever fate befell him now. Honestly… he was ready for death, he had his sight back and with the death of his pack - whose bonds he couldn’t even feel them die through - his anger was dimmed. He no longer had a purpose, no longer had a plan. If he were being completely honest he was relieved. 

He joined them as they watched the hybrid shake and cry, lowering itself fully onto the floor with her body pressed as tight against Peter’s as she could get it. He was stunned when platinum fur receded into fair human skin dotted with moles and freckles like constellations. She was lanky, maybe five foot six at most, and had hair that reminded him of sunlight and laughter in a meadow that dropped to the middle of her back. She couldn’t be any older than eighteen, 

“Peter?” It was guttural and high pitched and it was perfect. Her hands shook when they reached for his face, trembling even when her fingertips ghosted over his scruff. She was naked and lying half on top of his lap but she was back, her whine and relief hit him full force when he sank his cheek into her palm, jacket covering up her naked skin from their prying eyes. “Peter!” and then she was launching into him, limbs at awkward angles as they scrambled to try and find purchase so she could press completely into him. “PeterPeterPeter.” she whined, burying her nose into his neck to drown herself in his scent. 

“I’ve got you, Max, I’m here.” he soothed, hefting her into his arms and against his chest to soothe both of them. He had gone so long without her that he had forgotten what it felt like to have her, forgotten her scent of Sandalwood and ozone, forgotten how her touch always sent warmth straight to his heart and relaxed him in ways he never thought possible. “I’m here.” he wasn’t going to let her go again, not after having lost her.

[bhaalpit]

hey boy, you make me want to write a song

Also available on ao3

-

It’s been literally six years since I posted a fanfic, and I've always wanted to be writer so we might as well START.

DISCLAIMER!!: The song that Derek “writes” in his head is actually a Thomas Rhett song that I modified the pronouns on bc I was too lazy to write an original song plz don’t hate me or sue me Mr. Rhett. In this AU Thomas Rhett doesn’t exist lmao.

-

He doesn’t want to be here. After an eight hour work day at the pool Derek is tired, still grimy even after a hasty shower, and just wants to sleep until he has to work again tomorrow. But, after bailing on their previous outing, his friends had successfully guilted him into coming out to what looks like an impromptu bonfire beach party.

He scoops up his grocery bag (case of cider, a three-quarters full bottle of vodka, a bag of chips), and pumps himself up for at least a few hours of social interaction before exiting his car. 

“Derek!” Shielding his eyes against the glare of the setting sun, just starting to dip below the lake’s horizon, Derek spots Erica waving frantically at him. He heads in the direction of the fire and scattered blankets, sand already between his toes and under his heels. “You came!” As soon as he’s within distance, Erica flings her arms around him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes good naturally, but hugs her back. His friends are pushy in just the right ways, and Derek loves them all fiercely. “Don’t chirp me about it or I’m leaving.”

“I’ll hug your legs if you try,” she threatens. “Try me, loser.”

Isaac comes up behind him, ducking under Erica’s reaching arms to take the bag from Derek. “Hey Der, nice to see you - Erica, watch it - lemme put these in the cooler.” After Erica has finished thoroughly annoying him, Derek extricates himself, grinning despite himself, and wanders over to where Boyd is lounging on a frayed serape blanket

“Hey man.” Boyd presses a wet can into his hand. “Still alive, I see.”

“Despite Erica’s attempts at smothering me.” He pops the can open, chugging the cheap, bitter beer. He grimaces, wishing he had had the forethought to refrigerate his cider beforehand.

“You love me.” Erica plops down into Boyd’s laugh and he wraps one arm around her waist while keeping his beer from spilling. He blows a raspberry into the back of her neck and she giggles, squirming away from him.

His chest swells with a bloom of affection as he watches the two of them tussel, expertly moving his beer around their flailing limbs. He takes another sip of beer and holds back a gag. “Ugh. Isaac, can you pass me a cider? You can have the rest of my beer.”

Isaac snorts. “Sure, man. The cider’s still room temperature though.”

“Anything is better than this. I’m literally begging you.”

Isaac snickers, but fetches a can out of the cooler. “Here, you big baby.” The cider is barely anything colder than when he brought it from home, but at least he won’t gag after every sip. Beer is nasty and no one will ever convince him otherwise. “Scott just texted me. They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”

 Derek is well into his second can of cider, loose limbed enough that he is slumped comfortably into Boyd’s side, when Scott and the others show up in a beat-up blue jeep and an old red convertible. They spill out, laughing and waving at them from the parking lot. It’s almost too dark to distinguish their figures from the darkness of the night settling around them.

As they approach, Derek recognizes almost everyone in the group, except for one broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped lanky boy with amber eyes, a ski-tipped nose, and a smattering of beauty marks. Although there is something vaguely familiar about his eyes, Derek is sure he hasn’t met him before. He would have remembered.

Feeling suddenly too warm and too big for his skin, Derek stumbles to his feet. It’s nearing the end of August, so the air is still heavy and thick as it settles around him. Derek rolls his shoulders, the fabric sticking slightly to his back.

The group of them finally reach the bonfire, and Derek waits for the introductions, stupidly. They’re a bunch of teenagers and twenty-somethings - no one does introductions, you either know someone or you fumble your way into knowing someone. The amber-eyed boy meets his gaze for a short moment before his eyes skitter away. Derek swallows, hard.

“-erek. Derek?” His head snaps up guiltily. Kira is wiggling her fingers in front of his face.

“Yes? Sorry, I zoned out for a second.” He has to physically stop his head from turning to follow the figure walking at the peripheral of his vision. 

Kira narrows her eyes, considering. “Hm. Distracted by something?”

He dangles his can of cider in front of her. “I am drunk ma’am.” He tilts the can up, frowning when nothing comes out. “And I am out of alcohol. Please excuse me.” He attempts to bow, and judging from her giggle, looks ridiculous for it. 

Also, the boy is by the cooler and Derek desperately needs to know his name. He tosses his can into the garbage bag, pinned into the sand with several large rocks, and heads toward the cooler. Scott is there, one tanned arm slung around the boy as they stand directly in his way. Derek would be annoyed if he wasn’t so smitten. 

“Hey.” Does his voice sound normal? Oh, God, he hopes he sounds cool. “Uh, could I get in there -?” He gestures to the two of them, hoping for the boy to slip in his name.

“Oh!” The amber-eyed boy jumps a little, shuffling away from Scott guiltily. “Sorry about that!”

Derek flashes a smile. “No worries.” He waits for a few beats, then turns to rifle through the mess of half melted ice. When he turns around with a wet can in his hand, the amber-eyed boy is digging his elbow into Scott’s stomach.

“Derek, this is Stiles!” Scott exclaims, suddenly and a bit too loudly. The other boy, Stiles, elbows him again, but turns to face Derek. “Uh, I realize you probably hadn’t met him. And, uh. Yeah.”

Pulse racing, Derek nods at Stiles in a hopefully-cool way. “Cool. Yeah, I don’t think we’ve met before? I’m Derek.”

Stiles smiles, a bit shyly. “I’m just here for the summer. Scott and I have been friends forever so he’s showing me around.” His fingers, wrapped around the neck of a brown bottle, are distracting. 

“Oh?” He shuffles closer, belatedly realizing that Scott is heading away from the two of them. “Where are you from?”

“Not far from here - I live over in the next county, but I lived here in Beacon Hills until I was, uh, ten. And then we moved.” He scratches the back of his neck, his face tight with what looks like discomfort. “But Scott and I stayed really good friends.”

Derek has a sudden, vivid flashback of a thin, waif-like child wearing a hoodie down to his knees with a bandaid across the bridge of his nose. Sitting in a hospital waiting room across from him. “I -  I think I remember you?” Stiles’ eyes widen. “Did you have a Mets sweatshirt when you were a kid?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” Stiles says quietly.

Dirty white sneakers, knobby knees, a packet of - “- Reese cups?” When Stiles smiles, his eyes crinkle. “I hadn’t thought about it in years. I think I forgot about it because - well.” Derek cuts himself off before he can put a complete damper on the conversation. “I just forgot, I guess.”

Stiles smiles, a little bit sadly and a lot in understanding. “You seemed so cool to ten year old me. I think you had a walkman and I was so jealous of you.”

Derek snorts, grasping at the new conversation thread in relief. “I was probably listening to Green Day or something equally ‘edgy’.”

“Definitely cooler than me, then.”

They’re interrupted by someone yelling “Derek!” He sighs, turning to see who’s yelling at him this time. It’s Isaac, brandishing - his guitar? Derek had left it in the backseat of his car, but clearly he had forgotten to lock it. “Come play some tunes, man!” Everyone by the fire turns to look at him, expectant.

Stiles makes a noise beside him. “You can play guitar?” Stiles asks. Then, under his breath, “of course you do.”

Derek shrugs, the back of his neck prickling with the sudden attention. “I’m alright, I guess. You coming?” He jerks his head over to the fire and Stiles nods frantically.

“Abso-lutely.”

He settles once he’s sitting down with the guitar under his hands, fingers lazily sweeping over the strings as he tunes the old thing. The guitar is old, gifted to him by his mother, but it’s well-made and will last Derek many, many more years.

“Any requests?” Derek asks, strumming a few chords. He starts to play Wonderwall with a shit-eating grin, Isaac flips him off, and Boyd gets up and starts dramatically walking away from the fire.

Kira snickers and offers “Van Morrison?”

“Brown-eyed girl it is,” he confirms, strumming a G chord, and then they’re in it. Derek might hate being the center of attention, but it’s different when he’s playing like this. With the flow of music under his fingertips, the singing voices cresting on either side of him, he feels a part of something. He’d never ever perform, but this? This warmth, sitting in a circle of familiar and not-yet-familiar faces, all of them suspended in this moment, together? He could do this forever.

Derek cycles through the usual fireside songs - Billy Joel, Fleetwood Mac, John Denver, Eagles, Tracy Chapman, Howie Day, Gavin DeGraw. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Derek catches Stiles’ gaze across the flames, his eyes luminous with the reflection of fire in them, and very nearly forgets to keep playing. And then Derek has to fight against the urge to start strumming an entirely different song, one about whiskey and smoke and stars and falling to his knees.

His fingers fumble on the fret and he hastily looks away, focusing on something safe - the fire, which reminds him of how it had looked reflected in Stiles’ eyes, so he looks at the sand instead. Dark blue in the shadow of the night sky, except for where the fire cuts across it in swaths of glowing orange.

After what feels like hours of playing, the energy of the circle has dipped and levelled out to something mellow and relaxed. Derek’s playing has mostly become background music to a number of side conversations, and at least one makeout session, so he starts strumming Closing Time before he puts his guitar away.

Someone snickers from beside him; Stiles has moved from across the fire to beside him. He was concentrating so hard on not staring at him that he somehow missed Stiles moving from his spot. “Very subtle,” Stiles says.

Derek grins over at him. Stiles is staring at his fretboard, his lashes dark against his cheek. “I’m glad someone appreciates my very subtle song choices.” Derek carefully packs his guitar up, considers leaving it on one of the unoccupied blankets, but decides to keep it on him. 

The night is so clear that the moon’s path is reflected on the rippling surface of the lake. The sky is dripping in stars and Derek desperately wants to walk along the shore of this moonlit lake, wants to hold Stiles hand while he does it because he is, apparently, the world’s sappiest twenty year old guy.

“You want to go for a walk?” Stiles asks. He’s already slipping out of his flip flops, chucking them carelessly over to the side, so he misses Derek’s (probably besotted) look in his direction.

“You read my mind.” Derek digs his toes past the warm sand into the cooler layer underneath. Stiles whoops and races for the shoreline, splashing into ankle-deep water. He is bathed in silver, splashing liquid moonlight everywhere. He looks like some kind of carefree, fae-like god, frolicking along the edges of a sea of stars.

Derek needs to stop writing song lyrics in his head and actually talk to the boy.

Guitar in tow, Derek follows suit and wades into the cold water. “Shit,” he swears, darting back out of the water. “It’s fucking freezing.” Stiles laughs at him as he sticks one toe back in the water.

“Didn’t you grow up here? Shouldn’t you be used to this?”

“I am a warm-blooded creature, thank you very much.” Derek gestures down the stretch of empty beach. “C’mon, I want to show you something.”

“Ooh, are you leading me to a secret hideout?” Stiles asks, excitedly.

“Well - no. But, it’s a close second.” This answer does nothing to deter Stiles’ enthusiasm as they splash along the quiet shore. After a few minutes, they come across Derek’s something - a small, hidden rocky cove out of sight of the rest of the beach. Most of the boulders here are wide and flat, perfect for lounging or sitting on. Derek leads them to a collection of rocks a little ways down, carefully setting his guitar case down and hopping up onto the rock next to it.

“Wow,” Stiles breathes, settling down next to him. “This is gorgeous, Derek.”

Derek is a cliche because he very nearly sighs out “yes,” in response while blatantly staring at Stiles. Instead, he forces himself to look at the scenery, which pales in comparison to the way the moonlight turns Stiles’ skin luminous and otherworldly. His skin is like the inverse of the sky stretched out above them; a pale, glowing canvas pricked with dark constellations.

“What song is that? I haven’t heard it before.”

Derek pauses mid-hum; he hadn’t realized he was humming anything. And then he realizes he’s humming the song that ‘s been writing itself in his head ever since he laid eyes on Stiles. Shit. “It’s original.”

Stiles raises his brows in appreciation. “You a songwriter as well?”

Derek shrugs, but can’t help the pleased grin that sneaks out. “I guess. It’s kinda unavoidable for me. Sometimes I just see someone - something, I mean - and I start mentally writing lyrics.”

Stiles hums, leaning back onto his hands. His legs, constant pendulums, keep shifting so that their knees knock together. Stiles pauses, letting his leg rest against Derek’s. “Will you sing me one?”

His guitar is in his lap before he’s even said the word “yes” out loud. He places his fingers against the fretboard, imagines places his fingers the same way against a set of ribs, a white throat, and begins to sing. He keeps his voice as low as possible, quiet and husky in the fragile not-quite-silence on this secluded strip of beach,

Hey boy, you make me wanna write a song

Sit you down, sing it to you all night long

I've had a melody in my head since you walked in here and knocked me dead

Yeah boy, you make me wanna write a song

And it goes like ooh, what I wouldn't do

To write my name on your heart, get you wrapped in my arms baby all around you

And it goes like hey, boy I'm blown away

Yeah it starts with a smile and it ends with an all night long slow kiss

Yeah it goes like this

Stiles’ eyes have gone a dark, molten amber; either due to being away from the campfire or something else, Derek doesn’t know. His hands are remarkably steady as he plays, despite his heart beating so hard it feels like it’s trying to leap out of his chest, directly into Stiles’ hands. Stiles has nice hands - long-fingered and strong-boned - and Derek thinks tt wouldn’t be so bad, probably, if that were to happen.

His thigh is burning through denim where Stiles is pressed close, no longer subtly brushing their knees together. When he’s finished strumming the last notes of the song, letting them fade into the sound of rolling waves, he decides it’s now or never. Gently setting the guitar aside, Derek leans forward to almost-whisper into Stiles’ ear.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you now?”

Stiles’ scrunches his nose up into a shy smile and he nods, swaying toward Derek.

Derek catches him behind the neck, thumb in front of one blushing ear, and rushes to meet him halfway in a bruising kiss. He’s just drunk enough that he feels loose and floaty, but not clumsy and sloppy. He’s clear-headed enough to feel the nerves and butterflies inside him roll into a low buzz of excitement as he leans into the kiss.

Stiles runs his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip, one hand sliding up into Derek’s hair and the other is warm on Derek’s thigh. He tugs gently, pulling Derek closer, and he moves into it. Kissing Stiles is like the waves sliding up on the shore, tugged by the moon’s gravity, except Derek is the water and Stiles is his moon.

When they separate to breathe and calm their racing hearts down, Derek keeps Stiles close with an arm settled around his waist. He looks breathtaking in the moonlight, with his hair unruly and his lips reddened, so Derek tells him. Stiles flushes, squirming a little, but beams at him. “Derek Hale, are you a romantic?” he teases.

“Only around you,” Derek replies honestly.

“Oh, you’re so unfair.” Stiles ducks his head down so blow a raspberry against Dereks’ throat in apparent retaliation. He kisses the same spot right after and Derek shivers.

“What?” Derek’s lost the thread of the conversation somehow.

“S’not fair that you’re hot and romantic and ernest about it,” Stiles explains. “You’re going to kill me.”

Oh. Derek smiles at him helplessly, shrugging his shoulders. He can’t think of anything funny to say back; his mind is writing lyrics again and he can’t focus on anything else. But before he let’s it run rampant, he has something very important to ask Stiles. He takes Stiles hand in his.

“Stiles, will you go out with me?”

That seems to startle a laugh out of Stiles, who appeases Derek’s offended look immediately. “Wait, wait, I’m not laughing at you, I just. You had your tongue down my throat five minutes ago and now you’re asking me out like a gentleman.”

“Well, I wanted to be clear that I, y’know, like you. Like in a date-you way not just in a this”, Derek motions between them, “way.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping a bit. He always messes things up somehow. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not!” Stiles holds their clasped hands up to his chest, speaking fiercely. “It’s really sweet, Derek. No one’s ever said that to me before, I was just caught off guard.” Any trace of the earlier teasing is gone, replaced by a very serious looking Stiles. “That was - you’re something else, Derek Hale. I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Oh.” Derek doesn’t know what else to do, so he just sits there while his cheeks heat up.

“And yes, by the way. I would love to go on a date with you.” Stiles smiles at him so softly that Derek wants to sing about sunlight and spring buds and early mornings. He doesn’t realize he’s started humming again, until Stiles asks him if he’s writing another song in his head. 

“Dammit,” he swears. “I can’t seem to help myself around you.”

Stiles looks impossibly fond and just kisses the corner of his mouth, asking, “will you play me another song?”

And Derek says, “always,” and he means it.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

There was no shortage of blame once all the children really got going, railing against him for all the crimes he committed. It was Scott who got the process started, as usual. Whining about how Peter ruined his life while ignoring all the things he’d gained, that he never would have had in the first place. Social status, a girlfriend, upcoming lacrosse star thanks to the enhanced abilities and curing of his asthma. 

Stiles at least was entertaining to listen to, he didn’t whine. His only problem was that he didn’t trust Peter, not that Peter blamed him. He respected Stiles for it, in fact. And Lydia, gorgeous, intelligent girl that she was, who knew that the only way to really get something from him was to strike a deal. 

The puppies only followed their alpha. Isaac, Boyd, Erica, they weren’t there for Peter’s reign of terror, as Stiles called it. But Scott hated him and Derek didn’t trust him and so they made the foolish attempt of trying to cut their fangs on him, thinking that they were safe. That they were protected. That Peter cared enough about the consequences not to lash out and cut any of their throats. The only reason he didn’t is because they weren’t worth the effort. And he didn’t want to ruin his favorite outfit. 

The only failed relationship Peter was truly regretful over is with Derek. His misguided nephew who was full of so much hatred and self-loathing that Peter couldn’t stand to be around him. Derek blamed him for Laura’s death—and Peter won’t deny that that was a mistake, a lapse in judgement—and so channeled all of his rage and grief into hating Peter, because then it meant he wouldn’t have to hate himself so much. Peter would repair that bond if he could, he and Derek were once close after all, but Derek won’t let him, and Peter doesn’t really care enough to try. 

Allison is predictable. She hates him because she is a hunter, and he is a werewolf. A known killer, unlike the puppies she plays with. And just as much as she hates him, she hates how she can’t kill him. The precious Code she so foolishly changed on a childish whim prevents her from it; afterall, Peter was only defending himself when he killed her dear aunt Kate in front of her. 

The only one who has any right to hating Peter over Kate’s death is her very own estranged son, who stands opposite Peter in the sad industrial space that functions as Derek’s kitchen. But the hunter has been silent throughout the argument that has raged for over fifteen minutes, his dark eyes watchful and calculating. 

“Do you have anything to add to this?” Peter asks in a bored drawl, cutting off the beginning of another of Scott’s rants and silencing the rest of the children. All eyes turn on the pair of them, Mitch leaning back against the kitchen island with his arms crossed casually over his chest, Peter in his customary place on the stairs. 

The only indication Mitch gives that he heard is a slight tilt of his head as he looks Peter over, a mean little smile quirking the corner of his mouth. 

“I did kill your mother. If anyone should have some complaint with me, I’d expect it to be you.” Peter doesn’t know why he feels the need to elaborate. Maybe because it makes Scott gasp in righteous indignation. Maybe to hear how Allison grinds her teeth together, because she would never defend Kate but it makes her seethe how casually Peter flaunts her death. Allison glances at her cousin, waiting to see how he 

Mitch only shrugs, like Peter admitted to breaking a plate and not an importantly family tie. It’s.... unsettling, the way Peter can never quite get a read on him. He doesn’t know what the hunter wants, what his motives are. He’s on the fringe, like Peter. Not a part of the pack, but not outside of it, either. A tangent. Ostensibly he’s here for Allison, and more generally for the wellbeing of the town, since it is a hunter’s responsibility to protect their territory, and he can’t do that if he doesn’t know what threats are presenting themselves. 

While there’s no doubt Mitch cares for Allison, and Mitch always deals with threats as they come, Peter doesn’t get the impression that either are his primary objective. 

Allison leaves Scott’s side to go stand with Mitch in defiance, two Argents presenting a unified front. Mitch says something to Allison in French that Peter hears but doesn’t understand, with an infuriating smirk that says he wasn’t meant to. Allison scowls but Mitch never looks away from him, a challenging look in his eye. 

Allison says something back and Mitch bumps their shoulders together, finally looking at her when he gives his soft reply. Reluctantly Allison leaves him, rejoining Scott and the others. She touches his arm and quietly says something to him, but Peter doesn’t bother to listen.

Soon, the pack are all clearing out, Stiles shouting something about pizza and videogames. Even Derek gets dragged along with them, only Mitch and Peter left alone in the loft. Peter watches Mitch warily. 

“You want everyone to hate you,” Mitch observes once a minute has passed, plenty of time for the children to have gotten out of earshot. 

“Now why would I want a thing like that?” Peter smoothly asks, standing up to his full height because sitting down has started to make him feel like he’s at a disadvantage. It doesn’t matter, Mitch is still several inches taller, but with the distance between them Peter doesn’t feel the disparity so acutely. Building pressure aches at his nail beds, reminding him he’s a killer. The scent of gunpowder and wolfsbane reminds him he’s in the presence of his only natural predator.

“You tell me.” Mitch uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on the edge of the counter instead. The position may look casual, his posture open rather than defensive. It also puts his hands closer to the gun Peter knows is tucked into the back of his waistband. “Although I have a theory.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You first.” 

“It comes naturally,” Peter says arily. “My cross to bear, I’m afraid.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do. But you know, lies of omission are still lies.”

“You would know all about that, I’m sure.” Mitch gives him a saccharine smile that makes the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up. Why does this one man get under his skin so easily? “What did you tell dear Allison?”

“Why do you want to know?” 

“Just curious.”

“Not knowing everything bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t it bother you?” Is that too much of an admission, Peter wonders.

“Nah, I don’t care that much about other people.” 

“Implying that I do.”

“I think you do, yeah.” 

“Why would I care about any of them?” Peter asks, bristling. “They are stupid, petulant children.”

“Then why haven’t you killed them yet?”

“I would assume you and the rest of your family are waiting for me to try, so you can take the opportunity to kill me. I don’t intend to give any of you the satisfaction.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t. Even the strongest alpha would be at a disadvantage against three hunters. I am merely a weak omega.”

“You’re a lot of things, Peter, but you aren’t weak. Not as much as you pretend to be, anyway, and we both know it.” 

“Do we?” 

“C’mon, Peter,” the hunter rolls his eyes, granting Peter a moment of reprieve from his heavy gaze, “you play it up way too much to be as weak as you say you are.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. None of this goes to show why you think I want my nephews strays to hate me.”

“There you go again, having to know everything,” Mitch says with a knowing smirk. Part of Peter wants to tear his throat out; Mitch was the one who maneuvered him into this position in the first place, dangling that assumption in front of him like a carrot that Peter couldn’t refuse. 

“Clearly you want me to know, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“I’m just waiting for you to tell me the truth.” 

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Not as much as you lie to yourself.” The comment catches Peter off-guard; Mitch has a habit of doing that, throwing him off his rhythm. He’s more observant than any human has a right to be. “I think you care about Derek, and to some degree the rest of the pack. Well, not Scott, but I’d bet my life you actually like Stiles and Lydia, and tolerate the rest.” 

“Is this part of your theory?”

“Yeah. Am I off the mark?”

“Yes. Quite.”

“Come on, Peter. I don’t have to be a werewolf to know that’s a lie.” 

“Just spit it out, already, Dr. Phil.”

“Fine. Hating you gives them a common enemy. History shows that when you have that, you’re more likely to ignore minor problems. Like, say, a guy breaks up with a girl and she starts dating his friend instead. Things like that can destroy a friendship.”

“Unless they have some greater evil to focus on,” Peter finishes for him. Mitch’s assumption hits a little too close to home. “I’m afraid you couldn’t be farther from the truth. I don’t have to put any effort into making Derek and his little friends hate me; they’re too self-centered and ungrateful to appreciate my help for what it is.” 

“Sure,” Mitch says, nodding along like he believes Peter, even though it’s clear he doesn’t. He pushes off from the counter and for a moment Peter thinks he’s going to attack, but the hunter makes like he’s going to leave. Peter feels the strange urge to call him back, but doesn’t. 

“I told Allison I wanted to talk to you alone,” Mitch says casually, halfway to the door. “She asked why, and I told her that it’s the only way you know how to be.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Peter replies, in lack of anything witty. Mitch gives a soft laugh, stopping at the door and glancing over his shoulder at Peter. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

It’s the first genuine show of emotion Mitch has directed at Peter. The smallest bit of vulnerability that amounts to nothing, a half-truth extended like an olive branch. 

“Why don’t you hate me for Kate?” Peter finds himself asking, not even conscious of the question until it’s already left his mouth. 

“You’ve already died for your sins, Peter. I would say you’ve suffered enough for a lifetime.” 

[petertingle-yipyip]

Truthfully - Stiles Stilinski

//Requested by @weweirdosclub: Hey can I get a stiles x reader where they're inlove with each other but they never tell one another cause they're afraid they'll ruin the friendship. And they go in a mission, the reader gets hurt pretty bad. And they confess to each other at the hospital. Then she came back to school and wore stiles' jersey for a match. And she gets kidnapped by the argents instead of stiles. And yeah just make it cute and ahh. Yeah. Thanks you//

//Warnings: Blood, violence. Pairings: Stiles x reader//

You sat at your usual table at lunch, not listening to any of the conversations your friends were having around you. Everything was a normal day in Beacon Hills, despite the impending doom that the Argents brought with them. Well, save for Allison. She was on your side, no matter what, which is partly why you and her got along so well.

“You’re staring.” Allison leaned over and whispered.

Your eyes snapped to hers and you realized you had been staring at Stiles, who sat at the far end of the other side of the table, ranting about something that had happened in Coach’s class. You weren’t surprised you were staring. You must’ve been staring at him from time to time since middle school.

“Right, my bad.” You shook your head slightly. “I don’t even notice when I am anymore... I need help.”

“No, you need to tell him.” She urged.

“Not a chance.” You shook your head violently. “I’m not gonna lose him as a friend cause I’m an idiot.”

“It might go really well, Y/N.” She reasoned.

“Nope.” You said with finality before gathering your things and standing. “I gotta go to the library. Catch you guys later.” You waved to your table and left before Allison could pressure you anymore.

You statement caught the attention of the spastic boy who owned your heart and he silently watched you go. His eyes were soft as he watched you, maybe even sad. His friend leaned over to snap him from his daze, similar to how Allison too you out of yours.

“Dude.” Scott said, shaking Stiles slightly. “You’re staring.”

“Dammit.” He mumbled, shaking his head slightly. “I gotta start the five year plan.” He nodded.

“You need to just tell her.” Lydia said plainly. “You’re a catch.” She winked.

That seemed to be the last normal day in over a week. People were turning against each other. Looks of distrust and suspicion were cast at everyone. There were no friends anymore, no alliances. Beacon Hills had turned into a free-for-all. Except for your friends. Your small group seemed to be the only constant left in town. So, naturally, Scott made it his duty to save the town.

“Tell me why we’re doing this again.” Stiles said to you quietly as you approached Derek’s front door.

“Cause Scott asked us to?” You replied, mildly confused.

“I mean why are we-” He gestured between you too aggressively. “-the ones that are going here-” He threw his hands towards Derek’s door. “-when he’s one of the major targets?” He explained.

“Cause Scott asked us to?” You tried. “Look, I don’t know why but I’d rather be here with you than alone, alright?”

Before he could answer, you knocked on the door. When it opened, you weren’t greeted by Derek or his sister, Cora. Instead you were greeted by the girl from the Alpha Pack.

“Son of a-” You began before she yanked both you in the loft by your arms.

You both tumbled to the floor and rolled through the few inches of water. She stepped over Stiles and went for you, yanking you to your feet by your throat. You felt the tips of her claws against either side of your neck, causing your body to tense. You knew you couldn’t win if you fought back. She would just kill you. You needed a plan.

Call Scott. You mouthed to Stiles, who looked at you with worried eyes.

“Who sent you?” She asked you, gripping tighter.

“I came for Derek.”  You managed. “I need his help.”

“With what? Did the alpha send you?” She questioned.

“Derek is the alpha.” You rolled your eyes slightly. “Where is he?”

She sighed and dropped her hold, allowing you to collapse on the floor. You coughed and gasped, holding up a hand to tell Stiles you were alright.

“You’re all morons.” She shook her head. “Where is Scott McCall?”

“What do you want with Scott?” You said, rising to your feet.

“To kill him.” She shrugged. “Now.. Where.. Is... He?” She stressed.

“Over my dead body.” You laughed.

“If you insist.” She smiled viciously, her claws suddenly digging into your chest. She twisted her hand before yanking it out. “I’ll find him myself.” She scoffed as she left, leaving you to die in the arms of the boy you loved.

You stood frozen but you felt every ounce of pain. It burned in your chest, rippling through every inch of your body. You felt the warmth of blood soaking through your shirt. Soon, your body dropped to your knees and numbly, your hands reached for the center of your chest. You fell to the side, and into Stiles.

“Y/N, please. Just hold on. Y/N, don’t, please.” Stiles pleaded, You saw the tears in his eyes.

“I- I love you, Stiles.” You gurgled, your own blood filling your lungs. “I should’ve- should’ve told you sooner... I’m sorry..” Once those words fell from your lips, your world went dark. Cold. You were suspended in a state of nothing. It lasted what felt like an eternity. There were vague sensations throughout your body, the coldness of the water that soaked your clothes and the hollow feeling in your veins. The pressure of someone’s arms carrying you. The pain throbbing in your chest.

“Y/N...” A voice rang through your ears. It was familiar and soft, broken even. “You can’t leave me, not after you tell me you love me. How is that fair?” He laughed slightly. “Please, you mean the world to me, Y/N. I need you.”

You willed your eyes to open and slowly, the lights above you made you squint. You felt a squeeze of your hand and as you tried to sit, the stitches in your chest grew tight and caused you to give in. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but not painful. Your IV dripped steadily, now the only sound in the room.

“Stiles?” You managed as you turned your head to him. “Hi.” You smiled slightly.

His head popped up from where it had been against the mattress. A soft smile graced his face, which had been red and puffy and you assumed it had been from crying. His eyes were red, watering still.

“Your alive.” He whispered. “I thought I-”

“You didn’t lose me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You nodded, assuring him you were okay. You squeezed his hand slightly.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asked, leaning in towards you. “At Derek’s loft?”

“What did I say?” You asked honestly. “It’s kinda fuzzy at the moment.”

“You said you loved me and you wished you had told me sooner.” He answered, his eyes kind.

“Oh shit.” You sighed heavily. “Of course I meant it, Stiles. I’ve been in love with you since middle school. I just never said anything because I thought you were in love with Lydia. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“Turns out I almost lost you.” He said carefully. “Y/N... I’m not in love with Lydia... Sure, I had a crush on her but it definitely didn’t feel the same as how I feel about you. I love you too, Y/N. More than I have ever loved anyone. When I saw you go down, I- I- I didn’t know what to do, alright? I wasn’t- I’m not ready to- to try and live without you because it’s just not-”

“Stiles, you don’t have to say anything else.” You shook your head. “I love you with my entire heart. I love everything about you, okay? You don’t have to worry about losing me.”

The door flew open and Sheriff Stilinski came inside quickly. He rushed to his son, kneeling to check him out. “I heard about what happened, are you alright, Son?” He said, the concern straining his voice.

“I’m fine, Dad.” He nodded. “I’m not the one who got hurt.”

“But he’s the reason I’m alive.” You filled in.

“I’m just so glad your both safe.” The sheriff sighed in relief.

Six months had passed since your brush with death. You were now sitting in the bleachers at school, Stiles jersey on your torso and a smile on your face. Allison, Lydia, and Kira sat around you as you all watched the lacrosse game. You had healed perfectly, save for the handful of scars. The attack was deep enough to kill, which seemed to be too deep to turn. So, you were still beautifully human. Delicate and reckless, but human. And you wouldn’t change it.

“You know, if you had told Stiles earlier, you could’ve been dating a long time ago...” Allison teased as your boyfriend shot you a wink from across the field.

“Alright, alright. I get it!” You laughed, nudging your best friend’s shoulder. “You were right. Happy?”

“Very.” She beamed.

“I left my phone in the car.” You whined after you had patted your pockets. “I’ll be back. I promised Stiles I’d get some good shots of him tonight.”

You hopped down the bleachers and headed to the parking lot. You quickly unlocked your door, pulled out your backpack, and found your phone in the front pocket. As you locked your car and turned to go back to the field, a bag was thrown over your head and you were yanked backwards.

“Let go of me!” You screamed. You kicked out, trying to throw your arms but whoever had you, pinned your arms behind your back. “Son of a bitch! Let go of me!”

“Wait.” A familiar male voice said. “Lift the hood.”

The hood was yanked away and you saw Chris Argent, Allison’s dad, standing in front of you. He sighed, placing a hand on his forehead in annoyance. 

“You grabbed his girlfriend. We need Stilinski.” Chris explained.

“Why?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “What do you need with Stiles?”

“Nothing, not anymore. Go back to the game... And don’t tell Allison?” He tried.

“Oh, I’m telling Allison.” You said, sticking your tongue out before running back to your friends. You knew you couldn’t tell her. Maybe she would believe you but it was more important to you that she didn’t hate her dad. So you kept it to yourself, considering you didn’t actually get hurt.

During the game, you talked with the girls and snapped action shots of Stiles. Granted, he wasn’t the best player on the field but he was cute so it balanced out. After the game, you all waited for the boys to come out of the locker room. 

“Hey Babe.” Stiles smiled widely as he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Oh, God. You stink!” You laughed. “Your hair is dripping in sweat.”

“Did you get the pictures you wanted?” He asked with a soft smile.

“I did.” You kissed him quickly. “I’ll show you back at your place.”

“Sounds great.” He took your hand and followed you to your car.

“But only after you shower!” You laughed again.

“Hmm. Wanna join me?” He winked as you both got into the car.

“You’re an idiot.” You chuckled. “But I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[writings-of-dumpy]

If Only - III

A/N: Like I said, a literal Disney Princess story complete with an overbearing queen

Riya couldn’t stop staring at the gawdy and obnoxious ring on her finger. She felt spoiled and ungrateful because of her opinions on her situation, and it made her want to scream and cry until her throat was sore. Looking at the ring, she knew that this was her life and there was no running from it. She couldn’t sleep, so she decided to go to the gardens to think. The moon was full tonight and illuminated every inch of the palace that faced it, which included the rose garden which was one of Riya’s favorite spots to get away from the craziness of her life.

After sitting there for a while, completely caught up in her head and feelings, she heard slow footsteps rounding the corner. She assumed a guard was passing by, but when whoever it was sat next to her, she looked up and saw a familiar face that she more than welcomed to be next to her.

“Stiles?” she asked the brunette sitting next to her with a concerned look on his face.

“You should be in bed, Riya… What’s wrong?” he asked her. She appreciated and was comforted by the familiar tone he took with her; he spoke to her like she was his friend for many years even though they had just met today.

“I could say the same about you, you know. We’re not like the owls, unfortunately; we’re supposed to sleep at night,” she said to him with a soft smile and a nod to the horned owl that had perched on the branches of a tree above them.

“You want to be an owl?” Stiles questioned with a small smile.

Riya shrugged once. “I’d like to be able to fly away sometimes.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, then spoke again, “You know, Scott’s not a bad guy. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now, but if it’s any consolation: Scott’s happy to be marrying you.”

Riya looked at him and searched his eyes for any sign of deception or manipulation. Instead what she found was concern, sincerity, and integrity. She smiled and took a deep breath in and let it out.

“Yeah, he seems like he’s a wonderful person. I should give him a better chance than I have been. After all, I can’t stop this wedding without major consequences that nobody likes,” she half-spoke to Stiles and half to herself.

“Did anyone ask you if you wanted to do this? I mean, it’s a big decision…” Stiles commented and leaned closer to her.

Riya shook her head and enjoyed the comfort he provided with his presence. “No. My stepmom just told me a couple weeks ago that the Prince of Beaconshire had agreed to marry me. Hell, I didn’t even know his name at that point.”

Stiles looked taken aback and placed his elbows on his thighs. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It really isn’t. But I guess it’s for the good of our kingdoms, so I’ll suffer in silence,” she sighed out and looked at her ring again.

“Scott chose you, you know,” Stiles told her and faced her once again from his position. She responded with a raised eyebrow and confused expression. Stiles nodded and continued, “There were about three kingdoms that wanted to form an alliance with us. All of them had very compelling political reasons with either inconsequential or nonexistent down sides. But he picked Drepanwood because of you. I suppose it was your stepmother who wrote the letter describing you, but when he read it, he was totally floored and picked you right away. I know this isn’t an ideal way to get to know someone, but I genuinely think that he wants to be happy with you.”

As he spoke, Riya searched his golden-brown eyes and found herself becoming lost in them. The fact that he was here and talking about how wonderful Scott is said mountains for his character. He spoke with conviction about his friend and Prince and made a compelling argument for Riya to give him a chance. The gut feeling she experienced when Stiles spoke, however, contradicted that effort.

“You know, Scott’s pretty lucky to have a friend like you who’s willing to come out and try to talk his difficult fiancée into giving him a chance,” Riya said with a soft laugh. “Whoever you end up with will be one lucky girl.”

Stiles’ cheeks flushed and he shook his head awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. “I’m not really in the position for that…”

Riya smiled and raised her eyebrows, “Well neither am I, but here I am with a boulder on my finger.”

Stiles laughed and Riya thought the world had stopped for a moment to listen to the bell-like sound coming from this man’s body. She watched his eyes close and his hand gently grip his chest as his body spasmed with the laughter. She couldn’t help but smile at his response to her hyperbole.

Once his laughter subsided, he looked at her and asked, “So how are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” Riya asked him.

“Well, you’re supposed to be in bed, but you’re out here instead. Are you alright?” he asked gently.

Riya shrugged. “Not really. But I don’t have a choice in the matter, so I had better start making the most of the situation if I don’t want to be miserable for the rest of my life...”

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry, I wish I could make you feel better.” Riya barely noticed the gentle and comforting rub Stiles gave to her arm as he spoke. Riya enjoyed his touch and when he pulled away, she looked up at him.

“Well why are you awake? You should be in bed too, you know. Are YOU alright?” Riya echoed his concern genuinely.

Stiles shrugged and stammered, “Um, yeah. I just have trouble sleeping in new places sometimes, but I’m all good.”

Riya nodded. “I’ve never had that problem. Mostly because I’ve never been anywhere.”

“You’ve never traveled?” Stiles asked her.

Riya shook her head.

Stiles let out a scoff and spoke under his breath just loud enough for Riya to hear, “I’d take you so many places—anywhere you’d like.”

Riya looked at him fondly and said nothing, then saw the man yawn. “Looks like it’s time to head back.”

Riya felt safe with Stiles and she also felt a fondness toward him that sent her blood running hot in her veins. She was betrothed to Scott, but somehow Stiles had her complete and undivided attention. She hoped that sleep would no longer ignore her as she crept back into bed and covered herself with the blanket.

Riya awoke to Lydia’s opening of her curtains.

“Rise and shine, princess! You have a big day today!” she chirped.

“You said that yesterday,” Riya groaned.

“Well, until you get married, you’re going to have lots of big days,” Lydia smiled and started setting out Riya’s day clothes. “Now, come on, you need some breakfast in you before the seamstress arrives.”

Riya simply groaned in response. She had slept quite well last night in spite of having trouble getting to that point, but she was mostly grumpy because her first thought this morning was not of her groom, but of his best friend. She had thought about the color of his eyes and how incredibly handsome he was while he was talking to her. She loved his smile and the way that he held himself upright after she had made an exaggeration.

Riya got out of bed and let her bare feet touch the chilly wood floor below her, then softly padded over to where Lydia was and looked at the dress she had picked for the day with a sigh.

“I’m going to assume you know what I have scheduled for today?” Riya asked with a slightly embarrassed look.

“When your Queen was going over it with you, I made mental notes of everything since I knew you were too zoned out and upset to listen. I mean, you had just gotten engaged after all. I can’t imagine I’d be able to pay attention to much of anything after I got engaged,” Lydia said with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Riya grabbed her dress and the half-corset she made the day before and went to change. “Things not going well with Sir Jordan?”

Riya heard Lydia sigh. “Well… They are, but we’ve been seeing each other for almost a year now… Am I not good wife material?”

Riya poked her head out and turned her back so Lydia could tie her in.

“Thank you. And you will make an incredible wife and mother if that’s what you want to be. You love him, right?”

Lydia nodded and smiled.

“Then tell him that you want to get married. After all, I’ve only just met my groom and we’re getting married in two weeks, so there’s no reason that the two of you shouldn’t be perfectly happy together,” Riya advised with a smile and a pat to Lydia’s arms.

“So, first you’ll go to your fitting, and then you, their majesties, and his highness will announce the engagement and invite the kingdoms to the ball at the end of the week. After the announcement, his highness has invited you to lunch with him,” Lydia rattled off, and Riya stopped her.

“Will Stiles be there?” she asked, which earned her a side-eye from Lydia.

“I believe so, why?” she asked, suspicious.

Riya blushed and bit her lip slightly, then hurried back behind the divider to slip her dress on.

“Then I want you to come too. If he’s bringing his best man, I’d like my maid of honor there,” Riya said and put her feet into her castle slippers. Once she reemerged from the divider, she saw Lydia’s eyes lit up and a smile larger than Riya had ever seen.

“You… want me to be in your wedding?” Lydia asked in a shocked tone.

Riya smiled and nodded. “You’re my best friend. You know I’d tie your corsets and do your laundry if you let me.”

Lydia teared up. “I know, but it isn’t proper for a princess to do a maid’s chores, as I’ve said before… Thank you so much, I’m so honored, your high—er, Riya.”

Riya smiled and hugged her friend tightly. “Now if you need me to knock some sense into that knight of yours, I will.”

Lydia smiled and laughed.

The pair walked down the steps and greeted the seamstress with Vera and Melissa standing close by. After the seamstress greeted Riya, the five of them convened to the gown room. Prominently displayed on a model in the center of the room was Vera’s wedding dress.

“What a lovely dress,” Melissa said and Vera smiled proudly. It seemed as though Riya was the only one who caught on to Melissa’s patronizing tone. Riya couldn’t help but agree; the dress was hideous.

“So, would you like to try it on, Riya? It will look gorgeous on you,” Vera offered and took the dress from the mannequin.

“Must I?” Riya asked and took the dress from her stepmother’s hands and went behind the partition with Lydia.

Lydia tied the corset of the dress and Riya looked in the mirror at herself. The large and bubbled out shoulders, chunky lace patterned sleeves, a skirt that was far too large and made her torso look disproportionate to the rest of her was enough to make Riya’s stone-faced façade break and she actively frowned in disgust.

“What do you think, Lydia?” Riya mumbled. Lydia said nothing, but shrugged and mimicked Riya’s facial expression.

“Well, given that I’m against this wedding I may as well be against what I have to wear to it, too,” Riya sighed to herself and Lydia and stepped out before her stepmother and mother-in-law to be.

“Oh, I was right! You look gorgeous!” Vera gushed and went over to her daughter to fawn over the dress from every angle. “This is the one! This is what you’ll get married in, dear!”

“Yay,” Riya let out with the most cynical sarcasm she could muster at the time. Melissa looked at Riya with a concerned frown, then turned to Vera.

“Now, not to offend you, of course, but maybe Riya should get a say on what she’s to get married in? I’m sure she’d be more comfortable in a gown of her own choosing, yes?” Melissa offered. Riya smiled at her offer, but knew how stubborn her Vera was.

“Oh, she loves it! She’s wanted to get married in my dress for ages, right dear?” Vera asked.

“Oh, you’re asking me… In that case, maybe we can alter the dress so that it’s more to my liking?” Riya suggested and looked at the seamstress.

Vera looked shocked and angry in spite of Riya never once mentioning marriage or anything of it in her life. “Fine! Completely throw my plans out the window! Here, let me just tear the dress up, is that what you’d like?! Would you prefer to get married in rags like a commoner?!”

Riya had seen her stepmother’s temper many times before, but she had never expected such a severe reaction to something so simple as a dress. Deciding that this wasn’t a battle that is so easily won with her stepmother, Riya decided to back down.

“Okay, okay! The dress doesn’t need to be altered, it’s just fine the way it is,” Riya ceded. Vera instantly calmed down and smiled.

“I knew you’d see it my way!” Vera said jovially. “Now, run along to the groom, seamstress! I told you we didn’t need you here!”

Melissa’s face crinkled in concern and sympathy, and Riya just shrugged her shoulders. Lydia helped Riya out of the god-awful wedding gown and back into the previous and now seemingly more gorgeous dress.

“I’m sorry, Riya… I had hoped that you might get your way with at least the dress,” Lydia muttered and patted Riya’s back.

The group then headed to address the kingdom. Riya saw that Scott, Leon, Stiles and Stefan had all been waiting by the balcony for the ladies to arrive and Riya’s eyes lit up upon seeing Stiles. He was wearing slightly more close-fitting attire today and Riya silently cursed herself for not averting her eyes right away. When their eyes met, Stiles smiled and bowed to her, and effectively the rest of the women who had just entered.

Scott approached Riya and her attention was taken from Stiles to the prince she was to marry.

“You look even more stunning than yesterday,” Scott commented with a kiss to her hand.

Riya stifled an eyeroll and instead nodded and smiled. “Thank you. You look handsome, too.”

“Shall we then?” Scott offered his arm to her and she took it. During her father’s announcement, Riya didn’t do much—her job was to stand there and look like a princess, a blushing bride waiting for her future to unfold and be dictated to her. She looked at Scott and decided to try to find one thing that she liked about him. She looked at his eyes: they were a deep brown color and she decided they were nice, but just beyond her gaze were eyes that glimmered in the sun a golden honey brown. She shook the thought of Stiles away and returned her attention to Scott’s face. It was practically flawless with the only exception being a noticeably uneven jawline. His smile was charming, and Riya decided that for today, she would focus on how she liked his smile. Doesn’t hold a candle to Stiles’, though… she thought to herself unconsciously.

After the announcement was made, the crowd cheered, and Riya saw a new liveliness in the people she was to rule one day. Scott turned to her and smiled. She smiled in return, remembering her promise to herself. Stiles’ voice and accolades of his friend echoed in Riya’s head as she looked at Scott.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” he asked her and rubbed the top of her hands with his thumbs.

Riya smiled and nodded, “Sure! I’m assuming your captain will be joining us?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” Scott said with a glance toward his friend.

“Not at all. Lydia will also be joining us,” Ria said and motioned for Lydia to stand next to her.

[24stiles920]

Alpha Pact

Teen Wolf Rewrite

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Warnings: Ages 16+, swearing, panic attack,

Words: 5293

A/N: Let me just say that I don’t condone kissing to end panic attacks, okay? I hate that they did that, but I wrote it anyway. Blah, blah. Hope you enjoy! 😊

Season 3A Masterlist

I watched as Stiles continued to smack Derek, trying to wake him up. He’d been at it for the last few minutes, smacking him so much that I’m sure his palm was going numb.

“DEREK?” Stiles yelled before smacking him again. “Derek, come on!”

He slapped him again, before pulling back his hand and forming a fist. He went to punch Derek in the face, when Derek woke up, grabbing Stiles’ fist to stop him.

Derek looked around the elevator frantically, probably looking for Ms. Blake.

“Where is she?” Derek grunted, not letting go of Stiles’ fist.

“Ms. Blake?” Stiles asked. “Gone with Scott’s mom.”

“She took her?” Derek asked, confused.

“Yeah, and if that’s not enough of a kick to the balls, Scott left with Deucalion, okay?” Stiles told Derek in an emotional and rushed voice. “So we gotta get you out of here. The police are coming right now, and we gotta get you the fuck out of here.”

Stiles started pulled Derek to his feet, when Derek spoke up, his face bewildered, “What about Cora?”

Once Derek was up and okay, he left, giving us both a nod.

Stiles and I congregated to the first floor, waiting for the police to arrive. We sat side by side in the waiting room, my feet in his lap, with him rubbing the skin of my leg with his thumb.

When the police arrived, the FBI came with them, scoping out the hospital. Stiles let out a large sigh, making me follow his sightline to see Agent Rafael McCall. Otherwise known as Scott’s asshole dad that abandoned him and Melissa.

“Oh, just perfect.” Stiles muttered to me. I nodded in agreement as Agent McCall walked over to us.

Agent McCall stood over us, making us look up at his towering figure.

“A Stilinski at the center of this whole mess.” Agent McCall spoke, his voice full of arrogance. “And a Stark. What a shocker. Think you two can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?”

“If you ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.” Stiles retorted.

Agent McCall grinned, looking away before turning back to us. “Where’s your dad, and why’s no one been able to contact him?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles said honestly. “I haven’t seen him in hours.”

“Is he drinking again?” Agent McCall asked without prompting.

Stiles sighed, “What do you mean, again? He never had to stop.”

“But he did have to slow down.” Agent McCall commented. “Is he drinking like he used to?”

“All right, how about this?” Stiles spat, his tone lowering as he got increasingly angry. “Next time I see him, I’ll give him a field sobriety test, okay? We’ll do the alphabet, start with ‘F’ and end with ‘U.’”

Agent McCall grinned, amused. “How about one of you just tell me what the hell happened here?”

“We don’t know what happened here.” I exhaled heavily. “We were stuck in the elevators the whole time.”

“You’re not the one who put the name on the doors, are you?” Agent McCall asked.

“What name?” Stiles asked, looking up at Agent McCall with a bewildered face.

Agent McCall gestured down the hall. Stiles and I got up, walking down the hallway to the elevators. The doors were closed and the name ‘Argent’ was painted on them in huge, red letters.

-

“The word is guardian, Allison.” Mr. Argent said as opened the door to their apartment. Stiles and I filled Allison and Mr. Argent in about their name being on the elevator doors. “More than anyone, you know that’s a role I haven’t exactly lived up to lately.”

“But she took Scott’s mother and Stiles’ father.” Allison objected as we followed Mr. Argent down the hall and into his office. “That’s not a coincidence.”

“Yeah, I’d also consider the fact that someone put your name up in large block letters on the elevator doors.” Stiles spoke up, standing in front of Mr. Argent’s desk. “That kind of felt like a warning to me.”

“I think it might be Morrell.” Allison said, putting her bow down on the desk. “She knows a lot more than she lets on, and she might even be trying to help us.”

“Well, she needs to get on that a lot faster, okay?” Stiles remarked. “Seeing as how the lunar eclipse is less than two fucking nights away.”

“Stiles, don’t give up hope.” Mr. Argent said as Stiles set down in a chair, pulling me onto his lap.

“They could already be dead.” Stiles muttered, a hand on his forehead.

“I don’t think so.” Mr. Argent disagreed. “There’s something about Jennifer’s tactics. It’s like she’s still positioning, still moving pieces into place.”

“And you’re one of them.” I spoke up, looking at him and Allison with serious eyes.

“Then let’s not wait around to see the next move.” Mr. Argent suggested. He pulled out the marked map of Beacon Hills. “Everything she’s done has been on a telluric current, so Melissa and the sheriff have to be somewhere on one of those currents, right?”

I nodded, getting off Stiles’ lap to walk over to the desk and look at the map. Stiles didn’t move, and Mr. Argent noticed.

“Stiles, if we’re going to find them, we need your help.” Mr. Argent reminded him.

“You seriously want to go after her?” Stiles asked Mr. Argent. “I mean, what if she just takes you like the others, huh? No offense, but what’s the difference between you and them?”

Mr. Argent pulled out a silver gun, putting ammo into the handle.

“I’m carrying a .45.” Mr. Argent said bluntly, holding up his gun. “Maybe she can heal from a shot to the leg and a few slashes to the face, but personally, I’d like to see how she holds up with half her skull blown off.”

Mr. Argent set his gun down and leaned against his desk. “We’ve got one priority right now, and that is to find Melissa and your dad. We’ve got a map and every clue we need to figure this out. The only thing we don’t have is time, which is why I need the three of you.”

Stiles sighed and looked up. “Where do we start?”

Mr. Argent took out his hand-held blue light and waved it over the map as Stiles stepped forward in between Allison and I.

“The place where the sacrifices have been committed have usually been different from where the bodies have been found.” Mr. Argent explained to the three of us. “I think the placement has to do with the strength of the current, so there’s the school,” He waved the light over the map where the school was located. “The animal clinic, the bank—”

“Wait a sec, she wouldn’t use the same place twice, would she?” Stiles interrupted Mr. Argent, thinking out loud and tapping his chin.

“Only if she didn’t succeed the first time.” Mr. Argent answered, his eyes wide with realization. He tapped the light against the map where the bank was located.

“Scott’s boss...” Allison trailed off.

“Deaton.” Mr. Argent nodded. “It was her only failure. That could mean something.”

“That’s just one place so far.” Stiles said, leaning against the desk. “We’re gonna need a lot more help.”

“What about Lydia?” I asked, thinking about the special ability that we seemed to have in common.

“Lydia?” Mr. Argent furrowed his eyebrows. “What can she do?”

“Uh, her and Y/N have sort of got a talent. They ended up finding a couple of the bodies, um, without actually looking for them.” Stiles explained.

Mr. Argent looked at me, asking, “I thought you were a scryer.”

“Part scryer.” I corrected him. “I guess I’m a banshee, too.”

Mr. Argent looked at me for a moment before shrugging and turning towards the cabinet that was against the left wall. He started pulling guns out of it, and handing them to Allison, one by one.

Allison got out her finger knives and Mr. Argent then placed a large machine gun on the desk, making Stiles mutter a, “Whoa.”

“I thought you guys were retired.” I commented, watching as Allison opened up her compact bow.

“Retired, yes. Defenseless, no.” Mr. Argent said, picking up another large gun. He looked up at Allison, Stiles, and I and held up his phone. “Make sure your phone’s on. If either of you hear from Scott, you let us know immediately.”

Stiles looked at his phone. “Yeah, I’m thinking that’s gonna be kind of unlikely.”

“All three of you, try to remember he’s just doing what he thinks is right.” Mr. Argent said, defending Scott.

Allison didn’t look at her dad, instead looking past him at the doorway. We all turned around to see the tall figure of Isaac looming.

“I can’t shoot a gun or use a crossbow, but…” He trailed off, whipping out his claws. “Well, I’m—I’m getting pretty good with these.”

-

Stiles and I stopped by the house before going to school so that we could change clothes. I felt seriously disgusting, so I took a shower, too. After getting dress in a high waisted plaid skirt, and a blue crop top, I stood in the bathroom, looking at the bruise around my neck that Ms. Blake put there with the garrote.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “I’ve covered up plenty of hickies before. A bruise like this is no problem.”

“You shouldn’t cover it up.” I heard Stiles say from behind me. I looked into the mirror, locking eyes with my soulmate.

“Why?” I breathed.

“Baby, Ms. Blake tried to strangle you, and you survived.” Stiles said, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “You don’t need to hide that.”

I smiled, realizing that he was right. I had nothing to be ashamed of.

“No.” I said, turning around and wrapping my arms around his middle. I laid my head against his chest, focusing on his rapid heartbeat. “No, I don’t.”

“Exactly.” Stiles smiled at me, brushing some wet hair out of my face.

“I love you, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.” I whispered against his chest, pressing my lips to his collarbone.

“I love you, too, Y/N Stark.” Stiles proclaimed, squeezing me tighter against him. “Now do your hair, because we still have to go talk to Lydia.”

“Okay.” I nodded, pulling away from him and turning around, picking up my hairbrush.

After putting my hair into a milkmaid braid, we drove to Lydia’s house, where she was recovering from a severe concussion.

“I don’t believe it.” Lydia shook her head in denial after we told her about Scott going with Deucalion. “Scott can’t really be with them. He can’t be.”

“You didn’t see the look on his face, though.” Stiles said. “It was…”

“Then what can we do?” Lydia said sternly. “I mean, I get that I’m some kind of, like, human Geiger counter for death, and Y/N is that and more, but…I don’t know how to turn it on and off yet. And I’m sure Y/N doesn’t either.”

I nodded my head in agreement. “All I know is that she tried to kill us because of…”

“Because of what?” Stiles asked, looking at me. I shook my head. “Hey, Y/N, what?”

“When she called us banshees, she was surprised by it.” I told him, noticing Lydia murmur an agreement. “What if that’s now why she tried to kill us?”

“Then why did she?” Stiles asked.

“That’s what we need to find out.” Lydia said firmly.

-

We arrived at school during second period, finding that most of the classes were watching movies and playing games to try to get their minds off all the recent murders of most of the teachers here.

We were walking down the stairs to the first floor when Lydia sighed in frustration.

“Aiden’s not texting me back.” She muttered, chucking her phone into her purse. She had been texting Aiden since we got to school, wondering about a plan, but it looks like she was getting no where with him.

“Okay, well, maybe we could just…” I trailed off, trying to think of a plan. “We could go over there and—”

I was cut off by Stiles’ phone chirping. Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it, his eyes widening in horror.

“What?” Lydia asked.

Stiles bit his lip, tears filling his eyes.

“Oh, God.” I breathed, stepping closer to him. “What is it now?”

Stiles pursed his lips, “It’s from Isaac. Jennifer, she t—she has Allison’s father. She took him. She’s got all three now.”

I looked down to see Stiles’ hand shaking as he put his phone back into his pocket.

“There’s still time.” Lydia assured him.

Stiles started breathing heavily, holding his finger up as he tried to catch his breath. His breathing was shaky and not stable at all, clueing me into the fact that he was having a panic attack.

“Stiles, you okay?” I asked, taking his hand in mine.

He pulled away, turning around.

“What is it?” Lydia asked frantically. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s having a panic attack.” I told her. Pushing my way to Stiles, I grabbed his arms. “Stiles, listen to me, okay? Count backwards from ten.”

Stiles visibly moved his mouth through all the numbers, but when he got to one, he shook his head, gasping for breath.

“Okay, okay.” I mumbled under my breath, looking around for a place to take him. The crowded hallway was probably not helping him any. I spotted the door to the locker room and it was like a light bulb went off in my head.

I grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled him to the locker room, not caring if Lydia came with us or not. Stiles threw his bad on the ground and collapsed next to a set of lockers, wheezing with the effort his anxiety was putting on his lungs.

“Okay.” I said, kneeling down in front of him. “Come on, come on.”

Stiles kept on gasping, grabbing my hands as he looked at me with terrified eyes.

“I know, baby.” I said, putting my hands on his cheeks, brushing my thumbs against the ruddy flesh. “I know.”

“Y/N.” He wheezed.

“Just try and think about something else, anything else.” I told him quickly.

“Like what?” He let out between gasps.

“Uh, happy things.” Lydia suggested. “Good things. Uh, friends, family.”

Stiles eyes narrowed and I looked to her, raising my voice as I said, “Not helping, Lydia!”

“Try and slow your breathing, Stiles.” I told him, bringing his focus back to me. “Remember when we were kids? And I broke my wrist using your skateboard? Remember how you coached me threw my breathing then?”

I felt my heart break at the struggle in Stiles’ eyes as he tried to slow his breathing. It wasn’t working, though, I could tell. I tried to think of other tactics, but none of what we used to do when his mom died would work right now.

“I can’t, Y/N.” Stiles started hyperventilating, probably scared out of his mind. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” I said, moving closer to him and cupping his cheeks again. “Shh, shh. Stiles, look at me.” I looked into his honey brown eyes, trying to convey all the love I had for him. “Shh, look at me. Shh, Stiles.”

His eyes begged me to do something, so I leaned forward, pressing my lips against his in a slow peck. His eyes stared at me in shock, until he eventually closed them, moving his lips against mine.

When his chest stopped heaving up and down, I took that as a sign that he wasn’t panicking anymore. I slowly pulled away, watching his reaction carefully.

“Ooh…” He breathed out shakily, looking at me with puppy dog eyes. “H-How’d you do that?”

“I-I, I read once that—holding your breath could stop a panic attack.” I answered him softly. “And when we kiss, you hold your breath. Plus, I knew the shock of it would—”

Stiles cut me off, capturing my lips with his. He groaned as I wrapped my arms around his neck and played with the hair on the back of his head. Our lips moved passionately together.

A throat being cleared snapped me out of the little bubble we had created. As I pulled away, Lydia smirked at me, sending me a wink. I rolled my eyes at her.

“That was really smart, babe.” Stiles said, giving me a small grin.

“If she was really smart, she would tell you to sign up for a few sessions with the guidance counselor.” Lydia spoke up teasingly.

Stiles let out a few shaky snickers before freezing.

“What?” I asked.

“Morrell.” Stiles stated, looking at me with serious eyes.

We quickly gathered our stuff and walked out of the locker room, heading to the guidance counselor’s office on the other side of the floor. When we crashed into Ms. Morrell’s office, there was a heavy-set girl sitting in the chair, waiting for Ms. Morrell. The girl looked familiar, but I couldn’t tell from where I knew her.

“Are you here for Ms. Morrell?” Stiles asked, looking at the girl.

“No, I thought this was gym class.” The girl stated sarcastically.

“Sweetheart,” Lydia snarled, twirling to face her. “We’re not in the mood for funny.”

I sighed, “Look, do you know where she is?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be waiting here for twenty minutes.” The girl said loudly. “So how about you three back out the door and wait your turn?”

“We’re not here for a session.” I told her.

“Well, I am.” The girl sassed. “And I’ve got some serious issues to work on.”

“Hey, wait, wait.” Stiles spoke up. “You’re Danielle. You’re Heather’s best friend.”

That’s where I knew her from. Heather’s party, when she watched her kiss Stiles.

“I was Heather’s best friend.” Danielle corrected him. “We’ve been working on that issue three times a week.”

“Hold on,” Lydia said, turning to Danielle. “Did you say Ms. Morrell’s twenty minutes late?”

“And I don’t know why either,” Danielle added. “She’s always on time.”

Lydia turned to Stiles and I, before speaking in a low tone, “I was seeing her at the beginning of the semester. She was never late.”

“Then she’s not late.” Stiles stated. “She’s missing.”

“What if we’re not the only ones who think she knows something?” I asked them.

Stiles looked at the file cabinet behind the desk and started towards it, saying, “Then I want to know what she knows.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to find her.” Stiles answered me, sifting through files.

“Those files are private.” Danielle barked.

“Yeah, she’s kind of right.” Lydia nodded.

Stiles grabbed a folder and pulled it out, squinting at the name. “There’s one with both of your names on it.”

Lydia and I exchanged glanced, thoroughly confused. Why would we have a joint folder?

“Let me see that.” I snapped, taking the folder from Stiles.

Opening the folder, there were dozens of papers in there. The common theme I saw as I drifted through each paper was the drawing of the tree that almost never left my mind.

“Wait, Y/N, that’s your drawing.” Stiles pointed out.

“I know.” I said, giving him a weird look. “It’s a tree.”

“Yeah, good too.” Danielle added.

“Thank you.” I smiled at her.

“No, Y/N, but that’s the same one.” Lydia said. “The same one I draw sometimes.”

“Same as what?” I asked, frustrated.

“The same one I always see you drawing in class and at home.” Stiles stood up from his kneeling position.

“It’s a tree.” I told him. “I like drawing trees.”

“No, but it’s the exact same one. Don’t you see? Give me your bag.” Stiles huffed, clearly getting frustrated with me. I handed him my leather satchel, filled with my notebooks and writing utensils.

He took the notebook from my bag and opened it, turning the pages to reveal a tree on each page, some different sizes.

“There, see?” We compared the tree in my notebook to the one in the folder. It was the exact same one.

“Okay, you can have my session.” Danielle declared. “You got bigger issues.”

I gasped as Stiles kept on flipping through the pages, showing tree after tree. “What the hell is this?”

Stiles then turned the notebook upside down, making the branches of the tree turn into the roots.

He gasped, “I know where they are.”

Stiles burst out of the guidance office and took my hand, pulling me along with him.

“It’s the nemeton.” Stiles told me and Lydia, who was following us curiously. “That’s where she’s keeping them. It has to be…”

“Stilinski! Stark!” Agent McCall called out to us from down the hall.

“Agh, fuck.” Stiles muttered.

As Agent McCall started walking towards us, Stiles turned to Lydia, “All right, look, go to Derek, okay? He and Peter, they’ve been there before, so they’ll know where it is. Tell them it’s the root cellar, all right? They’ll know.”

Lydia nodded and took off. Stiles and I turned around just in time to see Agent McCall towering over us. Jesus, this guy was tall.

“Did you know your dad’s car is in the school parking lot and has been since last night?” Agent McCall asked.

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s officially missing.” Agent McCall replied.

He ushered us into an empty classroom and told us to take a seat at the desks in front of the teacher’s desk.

“Stiles, why am I getting the feeling you know something that could help us find your dad?” Agent McCall stated.

“If I did, why would I not tell you?” Stiles asked.

“If it meant helping your dad, why wouldn’t you?” Agent McCall said, looking at Stiles intently.

Stiles perked up and I had a feeling he was about to burst out some rant that neither Agent McCall or I could understand.

“So, you’re asking me to tell you what I wouldn’t not tell you?” Stiles looked at Scott’s dad amused.

“First, I have no idea what you just said.” Agent McCall started. God, now I know where Scott got his brains from. “Second, how about you just help me help you?”

“Well, I don’t know how to help you help me tell you something that would help you if I don’t know it.” Stiles said, raising his eyebrows.

Agent McCall sighed, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“I don’t know anything, okay?” Stiles told the giant man. “And neither does Y/N. Can we just go?”

“Where are your other friends?” Agent McCall questioned him.

“You mean Scott?”

“I mean Scott.” Agent McCall nodded before going on, “I mean Isaac Lahey, Allison Argent, these twins, Ethan and Aiden. I’ve been told your whole little clique didn’t show up at school today.”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. “I don’t have a clique.”

“Stiles, come on.” Agent McCall sighed. “There’s a pretty disturbing amount of violent activity in this county in the last few months, several murders tied to this school. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s serious. And…hey.” He spoke up, getting our attention. “Your dad is missing.”

Stiles looked down, not saying anything.

Agent McCall tensed, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets. “Fine. But I don’t want you guys going home alone. Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?”

“They’re with me.” Dr. Deaton’s clear voice echoed through the empty classroom. I looked at him and sighed with relief.

-

Allison, Isaac, Stiles, Lydia, Dr. Deaton, and I all gathered at the animal clinic, discussing where the nemeton was. Lydia came back from Derek’s loft and reported that Derek and Peter had their memories of its location taken away by Talia Hale.

“It has to be on a telluric current,” Stiles said. “Or maybe even at the axis of two or where they all intersect.”

“We just know it’s where Derek took Paige to die.” I added, taking Stiles’ hand and squeezing it, hoping to cure his frustration.

“My dad and Gerard were there once.” Allison informed us. “But Gerard said it was years ago, and he couldn’t remember where it was. And my dad obviously isn’t here to tell us now.”

“Yeah, mine either.” Stiles mumbled.

“Then how do we find this place?” Isaac asked.

“There might be a way.” Dr. Deaton interjected. He turned around to face us. “But it’s dangerous and we’re gonna need Scott.”

Dr. Deaton, Stiles, and I drove out to the preserve to meet Scott, who had been with the alpha pact all day. We told him about the nemeton and the same time as he told us.

“How’d you guys find out?” Scott asked, looking surprised.

“Y/N.” Stiles told him, gesturing to me. “You?”

“Morrell.” Scott said. “None of the other alphas know where it is, either.”

“So if this works, are you gonna tell them?” I spoke up.

“I can’t stop Jennifer without them.” Scott declared, nodding his head.

“How about we concentrate on finding your parents first?” Dr. Deaton said, noticing the tension between Scott and Stiles and I.

“What’s the plan?”

“Essentially, you, Allison, and Stiles need to be surrogate sacrifices for your parents.” Dr. Deaton answered Scott’s question.

“We die for them?” Scott asked, shocked.

“But he can bring us back.” Stiles claimed. He looked to Dr. Deaton, doubting himself. “You can—you can bring us back, right?”

“You remember the part where I said it was dangerous?” Dr. Deaton reminded Stiles. He nodded. “If it goes right, the three of you will be dead for a few seconds, but there’s something else you need to think about. This is a dangerous thing for more reasons than one. You’ll be giving power back to the nemeton, a place that hasn’t had power for a long time. This kind of power is like a magnet. It attracts the supernatural, the kind of things that a family like the Argents can fill the pages of a bestiary with. It will draw them here, like a beacon.”

“Doesn’t sound any worse than anything we’ve already seen.” Stiles shrugged.

“You’d be surprised at what you have yet to see.” Dr. Deaton breathed.

“Is that it?” Scott wondered.

“No.” Dr. Deaton shook his head. “It’ll also have an effect on the three of you. You won’t be able to see it, but you’ll feel it every day for the rest of your lives. It’ll be a kind of a darkness around your heart, and permanent, like a scar.”

“Like a tattoo.” Scott whispered.

-

Lydia, Isaac, and I had the job of putting the bags of ice in the three large tubs. I was having déjà vu something serious, but I put it to the back of my mind. Instead my focus was on how Stiles was going to be dead for a couple of minutes. I didn’t know how I felt about this whole situation, but I knew I wasn’t going to stop him. This was for his dad. He didn’t want to lose him and I understood that. I understood more than anyone.

After the tubs were filled with herbs and ice, we all gathered together. I stood by Stiles, wrapping my arm around his waist and resting my head on his bicep.

“All right.” Dr. Deaton said, looking at Stiles. “What did you bring?”

“Um, I got my dad’s badge.” Stiles said, taking Noah’s crushed badge out of his sweatshirt pocket. “Jennifer kind of crushed it in her hand, so I tried hammering it out a bit. Still doesn’t look great.”

“Well, it doesn’t need to look good if it has meaning.” Dr. Deaton gave Stiles a small smile.

“Is that an actual silver bullet?” Isaac asked Allison, looking at the bullet in her hand.

She nodded. “My dad made it. It’s kind of a ceremonial thing. When one of us finished learning all the skills to be a hunter, we forge a silver bullet as a testament to the code.”

Dr. Deaton nodded before turning his head to Scott. “Scott?”

Scott held up his mom’s watch. “My dad got my mom this watch when she first got hired at the hospital. She used to say it was the only thing in their marriage that ever worked.”

“Okay.” Dr. Deaton said, catching everyone’s attention. “The three of you will get in. Lydia, Isaac, and Y/N will hold each of you down until you’re essentially…well, dead. But it’s not just someone to hole you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether.”

I squeezed Stiles’ hand, assuming that I was going with him. Lydia and Allison smiled at each other and Lydia went to go stand by her.

“Lydia…” Dr. Deaton said, catching her attention. “You go with Scott.”

Allison, Isaac, Scott, and Lydia exchanged looks.

“Are you sure?” Allison asked Dr. Deaton. “I mean, Scott and I both have to go under.”

Allison and Isaac looked at each other for a long time, making Scott’s expression fall.

Scott cleared his throat and nodded at Allison, saying, “It’s okay.”

Scott walked away, and Stiles and I followed him.

“You okay, Scotty?” I asked, putting my hand on his arm.

“Yeah.” Scott nodded, looking down at the floor.

“Okay, well, I just wanted to say that I love you.” I wrapped my arms around his middle. Scott laughed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Scott chuckled. “You’re my sister.”

“And you’re my brother.” I gave him a smile as I pulled away and turned to Stiles.

I pointed at the love of my life. “You, sir, I love you so, so, so much. So you better come back.”

Stiles grinned and grabbed my hand, pulling my body towards him. He placed some sweet kisses from my jaw trailing to my mouth, before placing a big, sloppy kiss on my lips.

“I love you, too, baby.” He cooed. “And with you as my emotional tether, how could I not come back?”

“We’re ready!” Dr. Deaton called for us to come out to the main exam room.

The boys took off their jackets and handed them to me to put with my purse. Together, the three of us walked out to where the tubs of water were waiting.

Allison was the first to move, putting her foot in the icy water and gasping. Stiles went next, but before he could move, he looked back at me for reassurance. I nodded, mouthing the words ‘I love you’ to him. That seemed to give him more confidence, stepping into the tub. Scott followed after him, clutching his mom’s watch.

Stiles shook with how cold the water was and when I came up behind him to put my shaky hands on his shoulders, he was shivering and gasping.

“By the way,” Stiles said to Scott. “If I don’t make it back and you do, you should probably know something. Your dad’s in town.”

With a nod from Deaton, Isaac, Lydia, and I pushed down on Allison, Scott, and Stiles, respectively, pushing their heads under the icy water.

A tear dripped from my face into the water below as I saw Stiles’ face. He was dead, and I didn’t know if he was coming back.

 Tag List

@julzdec @karamelcoveredolicity @thegirlalmighty01 @avadakedabitch @belleknows @supernaturallover2002  @dontstopxx @feelingsareharddd @brien-odylan  @shewritesshedraws @dylnobrien1911 @kaleyana @mad-hatter-021 @nikcentric @addietagglikesbands @seninjakitey @shayke-and-bake @southsiderepresent @screamxqueenx94 @lostinwonderland314 @multifandomtrash67 @caitsymichelle13 @barryallenplease 

[dragon-temeraire]

Come And Go With Me

I wrote a sciles werewolf convention fic for @liliaeth as part of the Stiles Rares event! (On AO3)

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“I’m perfect for this role, Derek,” Stiles says, glaring. “I’ve been Scott’s best friend forever, and I’m a great actor. No one will have any doubts about us.”

“Great acting, sure,” Derek says pointedly, while Scott looks between them with a confused expression. “But are you really going to be able to handle that level of contact? He’ll have to scent mark you pretty often, among other things, and—”

“Are you volunteering?” Stiles asks challengingly. “Do you want to play the role of Scott’s mate?”

“No, I just want to be sure—” Derek tries, but Stiles doesn’t let him finish before jumping in again.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists. “Scott, what do you think?”

“I’m not sure you guys are having the same conversation,” Scott says tentatively. “But I do know Stiles best, and I’d be most comfortable doing all the PDA with him,” he says to Derek. “I think it’d probably be the most believable.”

“Besides, no one else in the pack besides us is single. I really am the best option,” Stiles adds. “Though I still think it’s weird that Scott can’t go to this convention without a date.”

“It would be very unusual for an established alpha werewolf to be single,” Derek says. “It’s based on the old traditional idea that an unmated alpha effects pack stability in a negative way. It’s not true, but it persists anyway.”

“And I’m not going to make waves at my very first convention,” Scott says, glancing Stiles’ way.

Stiles raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m not going to make trouble. I’m just going to be your boring human boyfriend!”

Scott laughs, and slings an arm over Stiles’ shoulder. “I don’t think you could ever be boring,” he says, then glances Derek’s way. “Are we going to need to hold hands the whole time? Share clothes?”

“Flutter our eyelashes at each other?” Stiles adds, smirking.

Derek just gives a long-suffering sigh.

 *

 “Dude, what the hell?” Stiles hisses as soon as Derek’s inside the door. He leans out into the street, making sure no other werewolves are in sight, before turning back to glare at Derek. “What were you doing earlier? Were you just going to tell him how I feel—”

“You’ve been in love with him since before he turned,” Derek says sharply. “So I don’t think you’re the right person to go.”

“That should make me the best person to go! I’ll pass all the werewolf lie-detection tests because I’m actually in love with him,” Stiles snaps. “My actions will be more convincing if none of them are fake.”

“I’m just concerned,” Derek says, shoulders sagging. “Have you considered how difficult this is going to be for you?”

“I’ve lived a large part of my life in love with him,” Stiles says, aiming for casual but likely failing. “This won’t be any different than the usual.”

Derek raises his eyebrow. “Except that you’ll be sleeping in the same bed. And spending a lot of time close together, snuggling, holding hands, kissing—”

“I get it,” Stiles says before Derek can elaborate further. “But that might be all I get before he finds someone else amazing to date, so.”

“And what happens if he finds out? What if you two have a falling out at the convention?” Derek says, sounding tired. “What if he was only okay with it when it was fake? You have a week before you have to leave for the convention. Think it over, make your plans, and most of all be sure this is what you want.”

“And what happens if I decide not to go? I won’t let Scott go alone,” Stiles gets out, feeling like he’s trembling all over at just the idea of Scott rejecting him. He really can’t bear to think about it, no matter what Derek wants.

“Then I’d go with him,” Derek says. “I don’t love him the way you do, but I do love him.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, running a shaky hand over his face. “Thanks Derek.”

 *

 “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Scott asks, glancing away from the road for a moment.

It’s a nearly eight-hour drive to the convention, and Scott is taking the first shift behind the wheel. Stiles has supposedly been taking pictures of the vibrant wildflowers along the road, but has actually been sneaking just as many pictures of Scott, looking relaxed and content behind the wheel. He’d never admit it, but he’s definitely planning to print some of them and hang them in his dorm.

“Totally,” Stiles says, then watches Scott for a moment, wondering how much he’s going to push. “I’m just a little worried the other alphas will look down on you for having a human mate.”

“Derek said it’s not actually that uncommon,” Scott says, shrugging. “So it’ll be fine. I think Derek’s just happy I’m not dating Allison anymore.”

“Yeah, bringing a former hunter to a werewolf convention seems like a bad idea,” Stiles says, laughing a little. “You sure you’re okay with this whole charade? I know you hate lying to people.”

“It’s not a lie. I really do care about you, and I want you by my side,” Scott says with complete seriousness, and Stiles feels his traitorous heart flutter.

Scott glances over again, then takes a hand off the wheel and rests it on the center console, palm up.

“Wanting to get a little practice in?” Stiles jokes.

“Something like that,” Scott says easily. “You need to smell at least a little like me.”

“Dude, I’m wearing your jacket,” Stiles huffs. Still, he traces his fingers along the curve of Scott’s thumb and the flat of his palm before resting his hand in Scott’s.

“And you look great in it,” Scott says, smiling sunnily, and lightly squeezes Stiles’ hand.

 *

 Stiles whistles when they pull into the convention center parking lot. “Seems like werewolves tend to have money, huh? I bet this place has, like, a spa or something.”

“Well, we are using part of our summer break, we might as well enjoy it,” Scott says, shrugging. “I bet our room will be really nice, too.”

“Yeah, I’m super glad we’re not doing this during the semester. Can’t image my Biology professor would accept I had werewolf stuff to do as an excuse to miss class,” Stiles says, grabbing his bags out of the trunk.

“Probably not,” Scott agrees, automatically slinging half of Stiles’ stuff on his back.

Stiles considers it personal growth that he actually lets him do it.

“Hey, are there a lot of others here already?” Stiles asks curiously as they make their way toward the entrance. “Can you tell?”

Scott lifts his chin, seeming to take in their surroundings in seconds. “Not many yet. We’re kind of early.”

That’s proved when they walk in the door and there’s no line to check in. They get their name badges—Scott’s with a little wolf on it, Stiles’ with a moon on his—and room keys before shuffling into the atrium of the convention center.

It’s an airy, open space well-lit with skylights, and Stiles pauses for a moment to take it in. There’s a tall structure in the middle, made of wood and metal and rope, that dominates the space. It has balconies and little ledges sticking off it, along with a staircase running through the center, linking together what appear to be empty rooms. Stiles wonders for a long moment why there’s a weird, half-built house here, when he realizes what it actually is.

It’s a werewolf obstacle course.

A test.

Scott steps closer, leans his shoulder against Stiles’ and says, “Derek mentioned there’d be something like this. Apparently, they have a competition to see who can ring the bell first.”

“Bell?” Stiles says, eyes roving across beams and loops of rope. Scott points, and Stiles finally spots a tiny bell, hanging from a pole at the highest point of the structure. “Oh. Hey, how does Derek know all this stuff? He wasn’t an alpha for very long, and I know he didn’t slip away from Beacon Hills to attend a convention during that time, either.”

“He went with Laura once, about six months after the fire,” Scott says, resting a hand on Stiles’ lower back and guiding him toward the elevators. “Due to those circumstances, it was acceptable for a sibling to accompany her, rather than a mate.”

Stiles rubs a hand across his forehead, lets Scott push the button for their floor. “I didn’t realize. It had to be rough for him, dredging up all those memories. I’m glad he was able to help you, though,” he says, briefly resting against Scott.

“Me too,” Scott says, stepping through the doors and heading down the hallway. “And remembering what you lost isn’t always a bad thing. It reminds you to treat the future with care.”

Then Stiles has work hard to resist kissing Scott, who always tries to stay gentle and kind, even when the rest of the world isn’t.

“Whoa,” he says when Scott pushes open the door. It’s the biggest hotel room he’s ever seen—there’s an entire sitting area, filled with couches and a table and chairs, that takes up most of the space, and offset from that is the bedroom. Inside, there’s a dresser, a wardrobe, and only one king bed, of course.

Stiles knows werewolves are very tactile, so there’s no reason one wouldn’t want to sleep right next to their mate.  

He drops his stuff on an armchair, and immediately flops back on the bed, sprawling out. “This bed is so soft,” he sighs out happily, letting his eyes slide closed. “Makes all of this totally worth it.”

Scott laughs from somewhere close by, then Stiles feels the bed move as Scott climbs in. But he doesn’t lay down on the other side, he instead settles himself down carefully on top of Stiles, slotting his legs along Stiles’ and tucking his hands under his shoulders. “And you haven’t even been in the hot tub yet,” he says, nuzzling in against Stiles’ neck.

“True,” Stiles says, arms coming up around Scott and holding him close. Scott shifts a little, trying to get comfortable, and Stiles tries not to react. “Hey, let’s make a rule right now: we’re going to have to get close and personal this whole trip, so there will be no judgement for, uh, inappropriate reaction to stimulus. Okay?”

“Deal,” Scott says. “No judgement and no comments on…personal matters.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, sweeping a hand down Scott’s back. “You know, I’m glad that—if I have to spend part of my summer on werewolf business—at least I’m getting to spend it with you. I’ve been regretting us not going to the same college, I was really missing you last semester.”

“Me too,” Scott sighs. “But we’re not that far apart, maybe we can try visiting each other every few weekends.”

“That’d be good,” Stiles says, but he can’t help thinking, isn’t that something you’d do for someone you’re dating? He’s been tempted to tell people at school that Scott is his boyfriend, but he has a deep fear of that somehow getting back to Scott, so he doesn’t do it. He imagines it a lot, though.

Scott tucks his face more firmly against Stiles’ neck, like he’s settling in and planning to stay.

Stiles is completely fine with that.

 *

 That evening, the convention is more of a party than Stiles was expecting.

“I think you smell enough like me,” Scott had said when Stiles’ stomach rumbled. “We can head downstairs and have dinner.”

There are long rows of buffet tables set up, full of food that smells amazing, there’s music playing, and some of the werewolves are dancing in an open area of the ballroom instead of waiting in line. In one corner, there’s a pile of cushions and beanbags and pillows—Stiles as a moment of horror, imagining they have to be part of a werewolf orgy—but realizes werewolves also get lethargic after eating, and just want a comfortable place to sprawl out and socialize after a big meal.

Stiles ends up dancing in line while they wait to get food, until Scott pulls him close and holds him there, tight against his side. It’s supposedly to scent-mark him, but Stiles knows the truth. But he also doesn’t want to accidentally hit another alpha in the face and cause an incident, so he wraps his arms around Scott’s waist and tries to keep still.

To Stiles’ surprise, they don’t go back up to the room after they eat, but end up on one of the big cushions, Scott’s head in his lap. He supposes it’s a good time to talk, while everyone’s relaxed, but he mostly lets Scott handle that, sliding his fingers through Scott’s hair and only jumping into the conversation occasionally.

It’s late by the time they head back upstairs to their room, and by then Stiles is too tired to worry about sleeping next to Scott. They’d continued to have sleepovers through high school, but they’d stopped sleeping in the same bed, and Stiles isn’t sure what to expect now.

He brushes his teeth and changes into his pajamas before slipping under the covers, and when Scott joins him a few moments later, he whispers, “Just like when we were kids.”

“Maybe not just like that,” Stiles says sleepily, but thinks even back then, I was hoping one day you’d marry me. So not much has changed, after all.

“You’re right,” Scott says, throwing an arm over Stiles and pulling him close. “This is better.”

Stiles falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 *

 The next morning features Stiles waking up with an awkward erection, and he quickly sneaks into the bathroom to take care of it. True to his word, Scott doesn't say anything about it, but Stiles does wonder if Scott's in a similar situation. He refuses to let himself look when Scott finally gets out of bed.

After they’ve both showered, there’s breakfast and all the presentations and panels Stiles had expected there to be at the convention. It becomes apparent that, werewolf or not, some people just aren’t good at public speaking. There is a lot of interesting information, though, and Stiles taps a few things into his phone to make sure he doesn’t forget.

Scott ends up asking a couple of questions at one of the panels, and the alpha who answers seems disconcerted by Scott’s sunny smile and gentle demeanor, and Stiles tries not to laugh when he sees several others immediately begin to underestimate him.

That tends to work out in their favor, so Stiles doesn’t say anything about it. He does take Scott’s hand when he comes back, squeezing supportively.

After presentations about types of pack dynamics and best management styles is over, it’s time for lunch, and after that is the apparently mandatory lounging-around time. He’s just considering lying down next to Scott and taking a nap, when he notices a lot of the other werewolves getting up and heading down the hall.

“What’s going on?” he asks when Scott’s suddenly on his feet.

“They’re starting,” Scott answers, which isn’t really an answer at all, and holds out his hand to help Stiles up.

Stiles takes it and then doesn’t let go, twining his fingers with Scott’s and following along. He shouldn’t be surprised when they end up in the atrium, bright sunlight shining down on the compressed obstacle course, but somehow he still is.

There are already two alphas waiting at the base of it, and at an unheard—at least to Stiles—signal, they both leap forward and race to the top, taking different routes to get there. One wins handily, ringing the bell before the other alpha gets close, but no one in the crowd seems particularly impressed.

When they come down, the winner stands to the side, and the loser heads back into the crowd. Then two more alphas step up. This time they both take similar paths, and Stiles can hear their claws scraping against the wood as they try to shoulder each other out of the way. The intensity is much higher this time, with everyone practically holding their breath, and it comes to a head when the alphas land on a balcony at the same time.

There’s a scuffle, with growling and snarling and a painful-looking use of elbows and knees, and then one of the alphas goes flying over the low railing. He catches himself on one of the loops of rope, tries to pull himself back up, but it’s too late. The other alpha rings the bell victoriously.

It goes on like that, pairs of alphas competing to get to the top fastest, and Stiles keeps waiting for Scott to step forward, but he just keeps standing there, still hand-in-hand with Stiles.

Every now and then, when the pool of winners gets too large, the alpha running the event makes a group of four or five of them go at once, with only one victor at the end. The area around the structure has started to clear out, with all the losing alphas standing back toward the walls, and the number of alphas yet to go gradually dwindling.

It’s not until there are only two winning alphas left that Scott finally lets go of Stiles’ hand and steps forward. Stiles doesn’t have werewolf hearing, but he still catches a few mutters about true alphas and being fair and letting everyone else go first.

It’s the first time Stiles has really heard any reference to Scott’s status, and it makes him hope Scott doesn’t lose terribly. That’d be really embarrassing.

The three alphas line up, and Stiles finds himself swaying forward in anticipation, his whole body tense as he keeps his eyes trained on Scott.

All three suddenly leap forward, and the two other alphas make a grab for Scott, but he slips through their hands easily. He takes a different route than Stiles has ever seen, leaping into a “window” and then bounding up the staircase in the center before reemerging onto a narrow ledge.

Stiles thinks it’ll all be fine, but then one of the other alphas lands on the same ledge, and Stiles knows that Scott’s not going to shove anybody off, even if they won’t be hurt. Scott and the alpha stare each other down for a moment, then Scott backflips—dammit, Derek—off the ledge and onto a nearby balcony. He times it so that he leaves the ledge just as the other alpha is jumping for it, and his two competitors collide and go careening off the edge.

They both manage to catch themselves and claw their way back up, but it’s too late. Scott’s already leaping toward the bell, and in the absolute silence the chime is clear and distinct.

A cheer goes up as Scott lands almost directly in front of Stiles, and a surge of emotion and the roar of the crowd has Stiles darting forward, arms going around Scott’s shoulders as he kisses him fiercely, putting all his exhilaration and admiration and devotion into it, and Scott—

Scott kisses him back, but Stiles suddenly remembers that he’s probably just doing it for show, because he has to, and he hastily pulls away.

Scott just smiles at him like nothing unusual happened—unlike Stiles, who is probably giving away the charade of their relationship just by the reactions he’s having right now—and he’s suddenly aware of all the other werewolves crowding around, patting Scott on the back and shoulders and anywhere they can reach, talking excitedly and congratulating him.

Stiles takes the distraction as the opportunity it is, and slips carefully through the alphas—who pay him no mind, all their attention focused on Scott—and gets upstairs to the room as quickly as possible. He needs to be alone right now, needs to find a way to spin this, to make this okay.

He doesn’t think Derek’s dire predictions will come true, but he doesn’t want to risk it, either.

He’s pacing across the room, muttering to himself as his thoughts fly in all directions, his anxiety ramping up the more he considers that things might have already gone wrong, that Scott might be freaked out or angry because Stiles kissed—

“Dude, good work. That was an amazing fake kiss,” Scott says, bursting into the room just as Stiles is mid-pace and at the height of his stress about everything.

That’s his excuse for the words he blurts out, though he knows it’s at least in part because he’s just tired of pretending, tired of hiding how he feels.

“It wasn’t a fake kiss,” he snaps, and the look of shock on Scott’s face feels good for about a half-second before the regret comes flooding in.

“I—but that’s not possible,” Scott says, looking distraught. “You don’t—”

“You think I don’t know whether or not I’m in love with you? Because I’m pretty damn sure that I am, Scott,” Stiles cuts in, because he might as well put it all out there. “And what do you mean, not possible?”

“Your scent never changed,” Scott says, and his voice his soft, but he’s looking at Stiles with an intensity he’s never experienced before. “All this time, I kept hoping that it would, that it would be different when you were around me. But it never did. You smell just the same as you did when I was first turned, so I—”

Scott sounds disappointed, sad, but Stiles can’t help laughing a little. “Oh, man,” he says, closing the distance between them so he can rest his hands on Scott’s shoulders. “Your baseline was flawed. I was in love with you before you became a werewolf.” He lightly strokes his thumb along Scott’s jaw. “And you’re right, that never changed.”

Scott’s frown suddenly flips, once he processes what Stiles is saying, and he’s suddenly beaming at him, head tipping up in a clear invitation that Stiles is only too happy to take. He kisses Scott again, but it’s better this time, with both of them knowing that it’s real, that they mean it.

After a long while of kissing and touching and soft, encouraging sounds, Stiles’ fingers encounter something on Scott’s chest, under his shirt. “What’s this?” he asks, tapping it curiously.

“Oh! That’s what I came up here to tell you,” Scott says, a little sheepishly. He fishes his hand into the collar of his shirt, and pulls out a chain necklace for Stiles to see. There’s a howling wolf dangling from it, with a tiny red gem for the eye. “Since I won the challenge, I’m in charge of it next year. I get to design it however I want.”

“That’s awesome,” Stiles says, brushing his fingers over the little wolf before tucking it back into Scott’s shirt.

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d help me plan something,” Scott says. “And I was hoping you’d be here again, as my mate.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, tipping Scott’s face up so he can press his smile against Scott’s. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

(They spend the rest of the day in their hotel room, but that’s okay. Everyone just thinks Scott is celebrating his victory. Only Stiles knows that Scott is celebrating something else.)

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 23 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

LfaPtCH Tag

Please be aware that the groundwork for a potential Steter pairing is being laid. At this point it is a blink and miss it back and forth, but it will likely get more blatant as we get closer to the end. There was originally no pairing for this story and definitely no Sterek. If Steter actually occurs before the end, that tag and relationship will be added.

No edits again.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Derek jumps into the passenger seat of Stiles’ patrol cruiser. It still smells like hamburgers in here, and it makes his stomach growl. He waits patiently while Stiles climbs into the driver’s seat and buckles him in. He also rolls the window down for Derek to stick his head out.

They start out heading for the hospital, and Derek sniffs as best he can, searching for his sister’s scent.

“Isn’t Peter in jail?” he asks.

Stiles yells, swerving to the side of the road and putting the vehicle in park. “For the love of God, you can’t just do that!”

“Do what?” Derek shoots him a look of feigned innocence.

“Never mind,” Stiles mutters. “Do you have any clothes or do we have to make a stop somewhere?”

“Um…”

“Noted.” Stiles sighs. “Can you stay as a wolf? We can find clothes for you after we find your sister.”

Derek nods. It makes sense to remain as a wolf in case any hunters other than Kate followed him to Beacon Hills. And Stiles carting around a naked kid can’t be too good for his reputation. He shifts back and then whines because he smells Cora’s scent. Stiles turns into the hospital’s parking lot.

Derek whines again when Stiles slips a harness and leash on him after parking.

“Sorry, buddy, but you’re a K-9 unit today.” Stiles steps out and then gently tugs on the leash until Derek climbs over the center console and drops onto the hot pavement. He pads after Stiles, relishing in the cool grass as soon as they step off the pavement.

Cora’s scent wraps around him, and Derek follows his nose, veering left at the entrance, heading toward an alcove of artfully cultivated flowers.

He stops short when he catches scent of the person sitting next to Cora on a bench tucked under the spread of a nodding row of mottled purple hollyhocks.

“Deputy,” Peter calls warningly.

“Unless you have clothes for him, he stays as a wolf.”

Cora slides off the bench and approaches Derek as if he’s a wild animal instead of her brother. He sits back on his haunches, holding still as she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him.

“Listen, Peter, I didn’t come to arrest you,” Stiles says, annoyance wafting off his skin. “I’m just here to help locate Cora. Now that we’ve done that, we’re going to head out now.”

“Wait a minute, Deputy,” Peter says.

Stiles freezes, his heartbeat pumping loudly in his chest as his scent sours with sudden fear. “What?”

Peter stands up. He found clothes but they don’t fit, and the material sags as he moves. He hikes up the pants, hooking a thumb into the waistband to hold them up. “They are my family. Surely you wouldn’t take them away from their recovering uncle?”

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Cora whispers into Derek’s fur. Her apology sticks to him and he tries not to shake it off. he doesn’t believe that she’s truly sorry. Why would she say something like that if she didn’t believe it?

Derek looks up at Peter, wondering if he thinks Derek helped burn his house down and kill his family. Then, he realizes, if Peter had believed that at all, he would have already attacked Derek.

“Cora and I talked about her treatment of you,” Peter says to Derek, “and we agree that she was wrong and needs to apologize to you.”

“Which I did,” Cora points out, pulling away from Derek.

“Not sincerely,” Peter replies.

“How are you not in jail?” Stiles interrupts. “You confessed to murder.”

Peter spreads his hands. “Under duress, Deputy. And Kate was mauled by an animal. As you can see, Deputy, I am not an animal.”

Stiles’ lip curls in disgust before he shakes his head, the expression falling away easily. “Well, do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Why, Deputy,” Peter purrs, “is that a hint of concern I sense?”

Peter is mocking Stiles, but Stiles remains undeterred. Derek likes that about him.

“I would like to know that you are safe. Also, much as you probably don’t want to hear this, you will have to undergo a psychological evaluation.”

“Before what?” Peter asks, obviously amused.

“Well, I assume that you’ll want to seek guardianship of your niece and nephew.”

“I would.” Derek cocks his head at the wave of sorrow emanating from his uncle. “But I can’t come through the other side looking as if nothing happened. People will know that I’m not human, and the hunters will come back.”

Kate could come back? Derek whines, dropping low to the ground, hackles raising. On one level, he knows Kate is dead—he identified the body—but on a more visceral, animal level, panic is all he can think about. He whines again, panting, hunkering down as if that will protect him from the memory of Kate.

Peter freezes. “No, Derek, I’m sorry. There are no more hunters. I promise.” His words don’t register, and Derek keeps panting, hyperventilating. He’s going to get the remaining members of his family killed and his alpha has already rejected him, so he isn’t even a part of his pack anymore.

Two hands clamp down into his fur, digging into the ruff around his neck. Derek jerks upright, teeth gnashing, slobber running down his muzzle. He tries to break free from the hands, but they press him back to the ground, and suddenly Stiles’ body blankets his. His scent is a mix of worry and fear and something deeper, something that smells like coming home. Derek cocks his head. Why is Stiles worried? Does he think the hunters are coming back too?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Stiles says into Derek’s fur. He shifts slightly, moving so that he’s next to Derek. Stiles tugs at him until he lies down and then Stiles rolls him so that he’s curled around him again. “You’re okay. Everything is fine. No one is going to hurt you.”

Derek frowns, still heaving breaths, but already on the other side of his panic. Stiles isn’t worried about the hunters. He’s worried about Derek.

Peter kneels down, hovering a hand over Derek’s head until he dips his head, and then his uncle runs a hand over his head, scratching lightly behind his ears. “Derek, I promise you, no one is going to hurt you ever again.”

Between Stiles’ warmth at his back and his uncle’s truthful words, Derek slowly lets his guard back down and accepts their comfort.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

As soon as Derek stops shaking, Stiles gets him and Cora loaded up in the backseat of his cruiser. Peter stares at him with an intensity Stiles is sort of used to, being a cop and all.

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself, aware that all of them can hear him, can probably smell his decision before he consciously makes it. He opens the door so that Peter can climb in next to his niblings.

Peter had plenty of time to hurt or kill all of them and didn’t. So, either Peter is good or he isn’t seeking revenge right now.

Stiles glances in the rear view mirror, noticing that Peter has somehow squirmed between Derek and Cora and has an arm around each of them.

Derek is still in his wolf form, which is good because Stiles doesn’t need the repeated heart attack a naked kid in his cruiser would cause.

Stiles’ radio crackles, and he swears as he sees Peter’s ears twitch. He grabs it and steps out.

“Any updates on Cora Hale, Unit 5?”

“Cora Hale has been located and is currently en route back to her foster home.” Stiles glances at his car. All the Hales are listening, staring intently at him. It’s a bit unnerving. “Requesting an update on Peter Hale’s confession.”

“No-go,” Marie warns. “Inadmissible. Do not approach or engage.”

Too fucking late for that, Stiles thinks.

“Got it, Dispatch. Will touch base in one hour.” He hangs up his radio and turns so that he can lock eyes with Peter. “I don’t trust you around anyone. I don’t care that you’ll probably get away with it. Just know that I’m watching you, and the moment you slip up, I’ll be there to stop you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter leans forward. He smiles at Stiles and the only terrifying thing about it is how seductive it looks. “Promise? Better bring enough firepower to stop a werewolf.”

Stiles points at him, like his dad used to do to him, but Peter just smiles again, and Stiles swears he sees the tip of his tongue poke out. Oh, hell no. Stiles refuses to let Peter try to flirt his way out of a murder charge.

He’s faced down a lot in his time as an officer of the law. He’s probably encountered werewolves before and just didn’t know enough to realize it. Stiles isn’t even a stranger to having suspects flirt with him.

He sighs, climbing into the driver’s seat and cranking the ignition on. Erica will be glad to get her charges back, and Stiles will be glad to focus on other things, like Garrison Myers’ untimely death. Garrison Myers who died of an animal attack after being stabbed onto a tree.

Stiles glares at the road. Peter killed Garrison Myers. He’s positive. Myers was an arson investigator. He labeled the Hale house fire as accidental when it was definitely arson. Peter is killing the parties responsible for killing his family and abducting his nieces and nephew.

Well. That means Deaton is probably dead too. Stiles finds he’s not as upset about that as he probably should be. Deaton was enigmatic when Scott worked for him, and he was a bastard for what he helped orchestrate against the Hales.

“Should we see if we can order something to eat on the ride home?” Peter asks rather politely.

Stiles frowns. Is he still flirting? He glances in the rear view mirror, just a quick check. Cora is still curled into her uncle’s side, but Derek has pulled away, his head drooping. He still needs to be eating every few hours and remaining in his full-wolf shift is probably burning a lot of Calories, not to mention the fucking panic attack he just had. Yeah, they should definitely get him something to eat. Peter certainly has the caring uncle down pat.

“Yeah, any requests or is The Burger Joint okay?”

Derek perks up a little, letting out a little woof of approval.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, insincerely, Stiles thinks, “but I don’t have any money. I can’t pay you back.”

Stiles finds he doesn’t mind that at all. He shrugs. “No worries. I’m happy to help anyway I can.”

“Even if you’re planning on arresting our uncle?” Cora asks.

Damn werewolf hearing.

“He confessed to killing Kate Argent,” Stiles explains. “In front of a Sheriff’s Deputy and other witnesses. If, and it’s a very strong if, he isn’t arrested for that, then I will leave him alone.”

“And what if I don’t want you to leave me alone?” Peter asks.

Stiles nearly stomps on the brakes. What. The. Fuck. Why is Peter so insistent on flirting with him?

“Your father, once I’d healed enough for identification, would sit with me and tell me all about his son who was coming back to town and how he was going to pick up the investigation where he’d been forced to stop. And I’ll believe in you as long as it takes because your father has faith in you, and I have faith in your father. He was my sister’s emissary after all.”

“How’d Kate Argent die of an animal attack in a hospital equipped with security measures for their supernatural patients?” When Peter doesn’t answer, Stiles sighs. “Look, our interim sheriff pulled the hospital’s security cameras. What’s he going to find?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Peter answers tightly, jaw working like he’s chewing his lies. “I wasn’t there.”

No? Was that when you were attacking Lydia Martin?”

“Why can’t you accept that Kate was a bad person who should have been killed long before she abducted my nephew and killed my family? Why can’t you accept that sometimes an animal happens to kill people?”

“Are you an animal?”

Peter growls.

Stiles isn’t scared. “I don’t know if the responsible parties would have faced justice, but I do know that you shouldn’t have played your hand like that.”

“It took three years,” Peter says softly, “for my surviving family to come home. There’s nothing that can undo the hurt they suffered, but at least it won’t happen again.”

Stiles thinks he understands. If Lahey hadn’t been killed, he would have continued to cover up the murders and likely would have succeeded in pinning it all on Derek. And Kate? Someone like her can only be stopped by death.

He may not like it but Peter’s right: it can’t be undone, but it sure as shit isn’t going to happen again.

With a slightly lighter conscience, Stiles pulls into the drive-thru for The Burger Joint.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

[feelingsdusk-writes]

Runes and all kinds of things

Chapter 10

“Skurwiel!“ Stiles curses loudly as he shoots from his chair.

He runs to the closet, where he keeps his emergency stash of mountain ash. Some leaks out from the bag in his hurry, making Peter back off hastily, but the teen calls it before it can reach him. Without a word, Peter follows him downstairs and then towards the jeep, and Stiles frowns, filing that little detail for later. He hits speed dial as he climbs into the car. Scott hangs again.

“Skurwysyn!” he snarls through clenched teeth and hits another speed dial.

Stiles is halfway to the bank, Peter a silent presence on the passenger’s seat, when he starts questioning his own actions. Why the hell is he even doing this? Why is he rushing to the rescue? But just like with Jackson back in second grade, he doesn’t have a clue.

It’s not a secret that Stiles and Jackson have never been friends. In fact, their relationship has never ever even encroached the territory of tolerance, let alone cordiality. Stiles has always liked to say that he could spot the asshole in Jackson even in kindergarten. Scott always rolled his eyes at that one and accused him of exaggerating.

He sure as hell isn't exaggerating but it's true that they haven't always been so openly hostile towards each other. Back then, they used to try to stay out of each other’s ways at the very least. Oh, they clashed, of course, because Stiles, even before his mother’s decline, was never one to cater to anyone’s whims, and Jackson never took it well when things didn’t go his way.

And then The Event happened.

Ms. Marple, their teacher from second grade, still gives Stiles narrow-eyed looks over the rim of her glasses whenever they cross paths. No matter where they bump into each other, she will actually stop whatever she's doing to stare fixedly at Stiles and monitor what he's up to. She’s, what, like eighty years old now? And it's been almost ten years too! It was that bad.

As for Aaron McKinney, he still crosses the street when he spots Stiles or, if he can’t do that, he averts his eyes. Or if he hasn't noticed him and suddenly he raises his eyes and finds Stiles there, he will visibly flinch and subconsciously his eyes will look for an escape very obviously. It was that bad.

So the thing is that back then Aaron used to be a bully of the worst kind. He continuously went after the younger years and tormented them while the teachers turned a blind eye. One day, oh lil’ Jackson and Stiles were in the middle of one of their clashes, when the older boy went after Jackson because, quote, his whiny baby voice was pissing him off. When Jackson went down, Stiles reacted without thinking.

They had to take the three of them to the hospital that day. Aaron with a bad concussion and a broken leg, Stiles with a broken wrist and Jackson with a nearly shut closed black eye and with what they thought was a broken nose but wasn’t in the end.

Stiles’ father still uses the his face broke my wrist as a private joke at the station. Anderson, his dad’s partner at the time and now retired from the force, still cracks up every single time, just like the very first day Stiles chirped it at the hospital when Aaron’s father tried to pin all the blame on him. Rookies never get the myriad of puns it has generated over the years.

Jackson took offense upon being called the rescued princess in the situation by a classmate and tried to convey his displeasure to Stiles by stealing his best friend’s inhaler. Stiles took offense to that and made him regret it. Jackson’s nose ended up well and truly broken among other things and Stiles sprained the wrist that wasn't broken as well as earning himself a black eye. The feud of The Offended is a vicious circle still going strong nowadays.

But back to what's important about the story, to this day, he still doesn’t know why he rushed to Jackson’s rescue in the first place. And it seems that Stiles hasn't changed much in all these years, because he doesn't know why he's doing the same with the Dumb Alliance right now either.

Derek is a dick with a lot of baggage and self loathing that he inflicts on others as much as on himself; Isaac is following in his alpha’s footsteps nicely in terms of attitude and shitton of unresolved issues (plus the unwillingness to work on them); Scott has obviously cut his ties and moved on to the sunset of denial, self-assuredness and many other things that start with self; and don’t get him started on Boyd and Erica, both of whom left him to die, or that mystery woman he doesn’t know or care about. So why?

Everyone he cares for, directly or indirectly (because, admittedly, he doesn’t care about papa Argent at the moment beyond his association to Ally’s continued happiness), was safe and secure before he convened the cavalry. So why the hell? He doesn’t owe them a thing! Right now he has nothing to gain and everything to lose because the alphas aren’t inside the vault anymore, so he won’t even be eliminating a present threat or ensuring their safety down the road in any way. It’s utterly and irrevocably pointless.

Damn Scott for not picking up the fucking phone. Damn himself because he knows he would have if the situations were reversed. Because he’s smart enough to recognize that, with the situation as it is between them, he would only call in case of an emergency. Damn him because he still cares.

It’s obvious Scott doesn’t. And it wouldn’t be the first time he doesn’t pick up his phone when Stiles needs him to, to be honest. He hates to even consider it, but maybe that’s a sign of him having never really cared beyond the quid pro quo? And now that he has outlived his usefulness… He shakes his head. He doubts Scott is that calculating, it’s probably more a case of him being a self-centered shit and abusing their friendship… and Stiles being too stupidly loyal.

He hates himself quite a bit at the moment for letting Scott have that on him anyway. What was the saying? Fool him once, shame on them; fool him twice…

He should really step on the brakes and turn around.

He curses in polish and steps on the gas instead, turning to take a secondary street because he has known the police patrol’s schedule like the back of his hand since even before he hit thirteen and, rescue or not, he's not going to get caught speeding well beyond the limit and bring more filth onto his dad's reputation.

He curses again. His fury has been rising with every passing minute and his tattoos are swirling on his skin, matching his mood. Peter is eyeing him and the swirling ash with a mixture of fascination and hunger, Stiles’ laptop closed on his lap. The feed went dark the moment Derek and company entered the bank about two minutes ago, rendering their only advantage useless, so the alphas must have cut the electricity.

They screech to a halt in front of the bank almost at the same time as Allison’s exiting her father’s SUV. Chris nods at Stiles darkly as he takes his gun out, already looking around for any immediate threat. Maybe he’s still smarting from the verbal flaying Stiles gave him when the man tried the retired bullshit again, but Stiles doesn't really give a damn about the man's sensibilities. Peter, who was privy to the entire conversation, smirks at his side and Chris cocks his gun pointedly. Stiles wants to roll his eyes badly at the posturing.

When Allison takes the taser out to strap it to her waist, Chris takes it from her hands, ignoring her protests, and replaces it with another one. “Use this one,” he says gruffly. “It has more voltage than yours so don’t use it on a human unless you intend to kill, okay?”

“Really?” she inquires looking at it skeptically. It looks identical to the other one. “How much more?”

“More,” Chris deadpans.

“Eloquent,” Peter sniffs.

“You want me to elaborate? It works wonders with mutts, keeping them from transforming. If they are weakened it may even kill them. I'm open to doing demonstrations, if you're the type that needs visual expositions,” Chris insinuates with a sharp smile, eyes fixed on him.

Peter flashes him his fangs, opening his mouth to retaliate with something that will probably flay the hunter alive verbally and Stiles intervenes before things degenerate. He gets in the middle, facing Chris and with one hand on Peter’s chest.

“Oookay," he drags the word as he nods towards the entrance. "Let's move on the show, shall we? You can have your slumber party and declare your mutual love later.”

Stiles sends his ash through the cracks around the door first, just in case, even though Peter had been controlling the feed on the laptop the whole way in the car until it went dark and there was no sign of the alphas minutes ago. Peter doesn't detect any fresh scent (only lingering ones) or noise coming from the inside, but since Derek, Scott and everyone else is supposedly inside and he can't hear them either, it's not a reliable indicator.

Stiles tells him to keep paying attention anyway as he pushes on the door. Besides what little light comes from the outside, the bank is in complete darkness. Stiles has come prepared, though, so he turns on his flashlight, copied by Chris and Allison. They scope out the first floor quickly before advancing inside silently. It looks deserted, but Stiles expected that because they kept Erica, Boyd and the mystery girl in the vault below.

Stiles is the one that has been watching the feed the most, so he guides them towards the access to stairs that lead to the vault's floor. They provide cover for each other as they quickly cross through the darkened first floor. Nothing much remains save for the furniture but it's enough that anyone could use it as a hiding spot, so Stiles tries to direct his ash there as they advance. It's nerve-wracking but they make it to the door and the stairs without a hitch.

The vault's floor is definitely soundproofed like the files said, because the moment they open the door after the stairs, they get assaulted by the snarls and the sounds of a fight. A thundering crash echoes and they rush to the vault with Chris still covering their backs.

The vault is a little lighter but not by much, and what they can glimpse under the moonlight and the flashlights is horrible. Chris aims but Stiles stops him, backed by Allison. It would be almost impossible to tell them apart even under the proper lighting because everyone is wolfed out and moving at impossible speeds. They are even in number, but even at first glance Stiles can tell that Derek, Isaac and Scott are pulling their punches while their opponents are going for the kill, crazed out of their minds. A lot of blood is sprayed everywhere on the ground and covering them. Stiles shudders when his sneakered feet almost slip on it and only a timely catch from Peter saves him.

Stiles stops Allison and Peter with a hand in the air as he steps on something. He forcefully pulls Chris back, out of the way of a swiping claw and outside of the mountain ash line he’s found keeping them all together inside the vault. He ignores the man's snipped protests and studies the situation hastily, his mind going a mile a minute. There’s no way he can use it to trap the feral wolves, they’re moving faster than he can direct the ash to move at and he can’t even see properly. And if they shoot they’ll have the same problem. He suddenly gets an idea and whistles loudly. When shifted, a werewolf’s hearing capacity doubles after all.

“Get away from them!” he shouts when the action seems to halt momentarily. He empties his bag of mountain ash, commanding it to start spreading over the vault. “Push them together!”

“Get the hell out, Stiles!” Scott roars, fending off Erica.

Derek doesn’t even bother responding and keeps on fighting the mystery woman. He grabs her and tries to immobilize her against the wall. She snarls and pushes against him, sending him flying and into Scott, who manages to disentangle from him just in time to avoid Erica's claws to the face.

“Genius idea! Hadn’t thought of it!” Isaac snarks as he swipes at Boyd. He gets pushed to the ground and manages to roll away by a hair's breadth.

“Don’t be stupid, do as he says!” Allison shouts, getting his idea almost instantly. “Push them under the moonlight so he can see!”

“You brought Allison?!” Scott yells, getting distracted. Erica rakes her nails over his arm and he screams in pain. He grabs her and throws her against the wall. She snarls in pain and charges again.

Something snaps in Stiles at that and his temper ignites again. Well, let it not be said he didn’t try. And it’s not like it’s going to kill them in any case.

Probably not.

Okay, possibly not.

He mentally shrugs and stops Chris another time from taking a shot. He ignores the man’s menacing scowl and stops Peter from getting into it with the hunter too. Might as well get something out of this mess, he thinks. He’s been waiting for this epic pun since forever, after all, and what better moment than this? He just has to concentrate on keeping the amps controlled... He makes the ash of his own tattoos join the one in the air.

“Pikachu, thunder!” he crows almost vindictively when it's in place.

The vault lightens abruptly. They can’t even scream, it’s all very anticlimactic. The light is gone almost as fast as it came and they drop like sacks of potatoes where they stand, twitching pitifully on the ground.

Chris gapes, arms going lax to his sides; Allison eyes her bow and throwing knifes mournfully and, resigned, comments about the beautiful silvery blue the electricity had taken this time instead of the normal golden one; and Peter laughs his ass off delightedly at the slight smell of burned hair that permeates the air.

They end up having to call Deaton for medical assistance because Stiles still needs more practice and may have overdone it a little. Stiles doesn’t trust him, so he doesn’t tell him exactly how the situation they are in came to be, but he gets the feeling the druid knows anyway. He doesn’t like the way the man looks at him. Peter, Allison and, strangely, Chris seem to concur, because they don’t leave his side.

Peter can’t keep his eyes from the formerly mysterious woman, now the previously thought dead Cora Hale.

—

Later, after they finally get to Deaton's clinic, they settle in to wait for the werewolves to regain consciousness. Sitting on a chair feels like the best thing any of them has done in hours.

“If another hunter was in town,” Stiles mutters softly when Deaton finally leaves to rest for a bit, “would they tell you?”

“It’s the thing to do in another hunter’s territory,” Chris answers tiredly. It’s almost six in the morning they are still awake. “But it’s not always a sure thing,” he finally admits after a skeptical look from Stiles. “Why?”

“The mountain ash line.”

“I thought that was yours?” Allison asks through a yawn, making Stiles yawn too.

"I added mine to zap them all," Stiles explains as he shakes his head, "but there was already a line there keeping them trapped inside the vault."

“There’s someone else involved in this,” Chris sighs, tapping his fingers against his knee.

“Exactly,” Stiles nods, leaning back on his chair and trying to work out a kink in his neck.

“Rogue or not, no hunter would work with the likes of the alpha pack,” Chris points out frowning.

“More like the alpha pack would never work with hunters after what your daddy dearest did to their leader,“ Peter interjects snidely.

Stiles rubs his face and shares an exasperated look with Allison as they go at it again. None of the werewolves has even stirred yet, it's going to be a long wait. Both sigh in unison.

—

“Hi, dad!” Stiles chirps tiredly when he takes his father’s videocall, hours later but still painfully awake.

“Your school called,” John says as a greeting. “I told them you weren’t there because you had pulled your wound. Tell me it’s not actually that and that you’re just skipping so I can ground you and move on?“ he finishes drolly but with an edge of worry. He seems to be in some kind of diner having breakfast with Collins, if the decor and the other man’s audible snickers at his dad’s words are anything to go by. His father looks at Stiles' face closely and then turns to look to his right. “Get me another coffee, will you? I think I’m going to need it.“

“I didn’t pull the wound and I’m skipping,” Stiles answers dutifully, lips twitching.

“Stiles… “

“But,” he barrels on, “well…” And then, ascribing to the picture better than words adage, he turns the camera to show him the rest of the room. Chris nods tiredly from one corner, Allison is still asleep sprawled on one of the chairs beside her dad and Peter is as poised as ever, to his right. There's no hiding the blood on their clothes... And then there's the six unconscious shifted werewolves on the stretchers, three of whom are contained with mountain ash. “This kind of happened?“

John is speechless for a second. “Are you hurt? Any immediate danger?” Stiles denies both. “Where are you?”

“Deaton’s.”

“I assume you’re going to be there for a while?” He nods this time. “Collins is coming back. I’ll be back in two hours or so. I’ll bring you a change of clothes and something to eat, and then you can explain.“

“Can you bring enough for four? And pick something for Ally to wear too from her drawer? If you think you can handle the terrible vision of a girl’s undies?” He waggles his eyebrows for effect and John snorts.

“Brat. Can do. Call if anything happens, ok?“

“Ooookay,” he singsongs tiredly. “Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.“

—

Allison snorts herself awake adorably half an hour later and Stiles snickers, earning a dirty look from her. She feels observed and shifts her gaze. True enough, she finds herself under the intense scrutiny of Scott, who is, apparently, being checked by Deaton. She forces herself to ignore him to survey the room. From what she can see, none of the other werewolves have woken up yet. Sure enough he’s still watching her when she turns to look at her slumbering dad. She has to admit it’s a little creepy and that those cow eyes are getting on her nerves.

Then again, she’s certainly not feeling very tolerant at the moment, to be honest. She moves on the chair and grimaces at the sound she makes as she unsticks from it. Oh, what she would give for clean clothes… She doesn’t care about her appearance much per se, but she’s downright uncomfortable right now. She’s bloody from helping carry the werewolves to the SUV and tired from sleeping only a couple of hours, her neck and back unbelievably stiff and sore because of that.

“Ally,” Stiles draws her attention softly. “I have a bag with my lacrosse things in the trunk. They’re clean if you want them? I’ll change when my father gets here,“ he adds before she can protest.

“Oh my God,” she sighs gratefully. “Love you so much, ducky!” She adopts a falsetto voice and he cracks, throwing her his car keys as he mouths the term of endearment, incredulous. “Tell me you have some Ibuprofen too?”

“Glove box.”

She almost sprints to his jeep, the possibility of clean clothes almost too good to be true. Normally she wouldn’t care, but being on her period is making her feel extra filthy and uncomfortable.

Allison picks the sports bag from the trunk first, before going to get the ibuprofen. She gapes at what she finds. Beautiful, beautiful Stiles. In the glove box she finds a compact box filled with three tampons and Midol. She doesn’t even know why she is surprised. She snorts amused. He probably has researched the hell out of what a girl needs when on their period. It can’t have been especially pleasant for him, but by now she knows very well that he is the type of friend that commits to the end, not giving two shits about what people may think of him for that. She knows he used to keep an inhaler both in his glove box and on himself for Scott. She grins fondly. He probably hasn’t put a plastic bag with spare panties in the emergency kit because he thought it would be too forward and she wouldn’t like it. As if she wasn’t forward herself when she left tampons and the like in his house. She snorts.

Allison enters the clinic with a spring in her step and, when she passes Stiles, he’s sporting a hesitant expression that shows he's questioning whether he overstepped or not. It makes her want to rip a new one to anyone who ever ridiculed him for the way he is because what he has done is one of the sweetest things a friend has ever done for her. No friend has ever been this thoughtful, so she detours to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks, ducky,” she says with a playful smile. Killing two birds with one stone and all that, because God, does she love trolling people. Scott growls and she ignores him.

“You know I’d do anything for you, snuggleduck,” he answers in a saccharin tone. She almost cackles.

“Is it okay if I add some things to it?”

“Sure,” he grins delighted. “I have one in my school bag if you want to add to it too?”

She laughs happily and continues to the toilet. Beautiful, beautiful Stiles. If this is what karma is giving her after so much shit… Things are looking up, finally.

—

Almost an hour later, Stiles is gaping at the seer absurdity of the situation. Okay, he didn’t expect gratitude (after all, he did electrocute them all), but he certainly didn’t expect this level of open hostility.

Chris is decidedly unimpressed and Allison looks ready to murder someone. She has her taser out and, the moment he’s spotted it, Scott has backed off from the argument as if burned. Isaac has cleverly taken a page from his book too and is observing the proceedings from a corner, keeping a healthy distance between her taser and himself (it's really funny that he prefers to be closer to Peter or Chris than to her, to be honest). Peter is alternately goading and placating his nephew, very subtly keeping Stiles at least partially covered (don’t think he hasn’t noticed the positioning, though, because he has). Derek, as usual, is spewing crap from his mouth about humans and danger, among all the recriminations he's throwing at him about hurting his baby sister.

And then, in the middle of it, Derek does what he always does when he’s frustrated or doesn't know what to do: he tries to use brute force, or in this case, his alpha powers to end the discussion. He flashes his red eyes and, when it doesn’t work, he physically tries to get Peter out of the way along with a hurtful remark about family loyalty that makes Stiles cringe.

Now, it’s been a long, long sleepless night, so Stiles has been thinking a lot.

Peter can be smarmy, witty, sarcastic and trying on a good day, and a twisted cruel scheming bastard on his bad days. That, he knows. However, whatever happened between them or how difficult Peter may be, Stiles has never liked the way Derek takes out his frustrations on him. He doesn’t think that Derek’s a bad person per se, but in a way he’s like Scott, because he can’t acknowledge his part of the blame for what happened with Peter, as if his uncle killing Laura negates the fact that they abandoned a pack member when he needed them the most, leaving him unprotected and condemning him to become an omega trapped in his own mind.

Bottom line, Derek can’t berate anyone about family loyalty. More so if you take into account the missing Cora, whom they left behind too, unknowingly or not. And especially so because Stiles has seen the police reports and he can connect the dots. On the day of the fire, the rest of the family was drugged and there was evidence all over the place of Peter dragging them to the basement, where their emergency secret exit was. Peter tried to save them all, showing more than enough family loyalty.

And the fire may have twisted him, maybe damaged him, leaving but a shadow of what he was, but some things remain untouched and others have sharpened to a dangerous degree. Peter, as he’s been trying to prove to him since he got shot, can also be loyal and protective in his own vicious way.

Like Stiles.

He reacts without thinking and fries Derek again before he can manhandle Peter.

Well, he supposes the decision is made. And he never does anything by halves. He’s willing to give him a chance and if he betrays him… well, he’s killed him before, he can do it again.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?” Scott bellows wide-eyed and Isaac hovers, unsure of what to do.

“Back the hell off!” Stiles shouts as he reaches for Peter and pulls him out of a groaning Derek’s reach.

Derek snarls at Stiles. Peter, just for a nanosecond before he covers it, sports a shocked expression, as if he’s surprised about Stiles actually defending him, even if this is exactly what he’s been working to achieve. As if someone sticking by him is a novel occurrence. Stiles doesn’t like what it implies. The spark snarls back at Derek.

“What the hell is going on here?” John demands appearing at the door, Deaton a silent presence behind him.

🌚 Previous | Next 🐺

[dragon-temeraire]

Times Two

Summary: Stiles finally gets to talk to the alpha he’s been admiring, but it turns out he’s not an alpha at all.

Notes: I just love playing in the ABO universe and trying new things. (On AO3)

Even though they live in the same apartment building, Stiles has only ever seen him from a distance. Sometimes, when he opens his blinds first thing in the morning, he gets a glimpse of Hot Beard Guy starting his run, usually while wearing athletic shorts and a very tight shirt. And several times Stiles has seen him playing basketball with his—also ridiculously attractive—friends on the court behind their complex.

Those days, he’d really struggled to keep walking.

Stiles doesn’t like to be an omega stereotype, but sometimes he just can’t help being distracted a hot body. Hot everything, really.

And every now and then, while Stiles is carefully fitting his jeep into one of the the narrow parking spaces, he’ll see Hot Beard Guy grabbing groceries out of his gorgeous Camaro. He’s one of those people who likes to take everything in one trip, so Stiles will get a distractingly good view of his flexed biceps and the strong curve of his back.

So they’ve never been in close proximity, not once.

But Stiles is sure he’s the alpha of his dreams.

And he’s been very tempted to bribe the building manager just to find out this guy’s name, but he hasn’t sunk to that level. Yet.

The apartment building isn’t that big, they’ll have to run into each other at some point.

 *

 Stiles is a little flustered because he’s running late for work, and he keeps tapping his fingers irritably against his thigh because the damn elevator is taking forever. He doesn’t really have a choice, either—he lives on the eighth floor, and if he tries to run down that many flights of stairs he knows he’ll break his neck for sure.

The doors finally ding, and Stiles darts in without paying any attention, already texting his boss and letting her know that he’s probably going to be late.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, peripherally aware that there’s another person on the elevator with him. But when he takes a casual glance over he stiffens in surprise, because it’s him. It’s the hot alpha Stiles has been admiring from afar.

He obviously catches Stiles’ comical double-take, because he smiles and says, “Hi, I’m Derek. I think I’ve seen you around—”

It’s right then, when Stiles is finally completely focused, that the scent of him starts to register. And it’s wonderful, a little heady and sweet, but there’s something—

“You’re an omega,” he blurts before Derek even gets to finish his sentence.  

Derek’s face immediately shutters, and Stiles feels a sharp stab of regret.

“Yeah,” Derek says shortly, his mouth pulling down. “It’s never what people expect.”

Stiles has always considered himself a little far from the omega ideal: his shoulders are too broad, he’s lanky instead of lithe, and he’s never really had a soft, yielding personality. But Derek is shockingly far from the norm, to the point that he could easily pass for an alpha if he masked his scent.

Somehow, that’s weirdly appealing.

And considering that Stiles was attracted to him already, the fact that Derek’s an omega isn’t really throwing him off too much.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” he tries, but then the elevator doors are opening and Derek is gone.

Stiles stands there for a moment, feeling a little off-center, before he remembers that he’s late for work and sprints out to his jeep.

 *

 He feels bad about the elevator thing for a couple of days, then decides he’s going to do something about it. He knows Derek’s name now, so it’s easy enough to look him up in the mailroom directory.

Derek only lives a couple of floors above him, and Stiles is tempted to knock on his door and say something right then and there. But his mouth sometimes says things without his permission, so he figures a subtler way is better.

He writes out a note, trying to find a way to apologize for inadvertently targeting Derek’s insecurity. Then he asks if they can maybe finish the conversation they’d started, making it clear that he really is cool with Derek being an omega.

He signs his name and apartment number, then tapes the note to Derek’s door.

 *

 He doesn’t actually expect anything to come of it, so he tries not to be disappointed when nothing does.

So when there’s a knock on his door a week after he left the note, he just assumes its Scott and answers it without looking. And ends up stunned silent when the person on the other side of the door turns out to be Derek.

“Hi,” Derek says, giving him a cautious smile. “Can we try this again?”

Stiles just blinks at him for a second, because Derek looks better than ever and smells amazing, before he finds his voice. “Um, sure. You want to come in?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “And I feel like I should apologize, too.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, gesturing him toward the couch. He firmly believes that important conversations should be held on comfortable furniture.

“I overreacted that day. It’s just—I’m nobody’s ideal omega. I get weird looks and derisive comments a lot, so I’m kind of sensitive to the way people react to me.”

“I’ll admit I was surprised,” Stiles says, nodding. He gives Derek an encouraging smile. “So what were you going to say in the elevator? You know, before I interrupted you?”

“Oh, um. I was just going to say that I’d seen you around, and if you wanted to join us for a game of basketball sometime, that’d be cool,” Derek says, shrugging.

“I’m pretty clumsy,” Stiles says, laughing. “And the only sport I ever played much was lacrosse, but hey, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Derek grins. “Well, if that’s not your thing, then I usually hang out at the park on Saturdays. You’re welcome to join me.”

“I’d love to,” Stiles says. “But I feel like I should make something clear first.”

“What is it?” Derek asks, looking nervous.

“Well, I was happy to see you in that elevator that day, because I’d been wanting to ask you out,” Stiles says, matter of fact.

“But you thought I was an alpha, didn’t you?” Derek’s eyebrows go up. “That’s pretty bold.”

Stiles grins. “I’ve learned sometimes that you have to take risks. So yeah, I was going to go for it. But I was so surprised to find out you were an omega, I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“But you’re not interested anymore, right?” Derek says neutrally. “Now that you know we’re both omegas?”

“Um, no,” Stiles says. “I’m totally still interested.” He savors the look of surprise on Derek’s face. “I’d love to take you on a date.”

“Oh. I,” Derek starts, then trails off.

“It’s okay if you’re not interested in me, though,” Stiles says quickly. “I just wanted you to know.”

“I’m—I’m interested,” Derek gets out, flushing again. His scent is suddenly strong and inviting, and Stiles breathes it in eagerly. “It’s just that I’m, um, a traditional omega, so if you’re expecting—”

Stiles leans in close, smiling. “I’ve dated alphas who wanted me to fuck them, so I can assure you that it’s not a problem at all.” He winks. “But let’s maybe try that date, first.”

“I can be ready in ten minutes,” Derek says, grinning.

“Well, I can be ready in five,” Stiles jokes, but Derek curls a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss before he can say anything else.

“Five minutes to make out, and five minutes to get ready,” Derek bargains teasingly, then drags Stiles in again.

(They make out so long, they end up getting a pizza delivered instead.)