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[teenwolfsnippets]

All This Time

“Stiles, son, I’m so sorry.”

The rain pours down from the gray sky, the drops slipping over the silver casket. Three days ago he’d made the worst mistake of his life and someone else paid for it. As his black dress shoes sink into the mud today, he can’t help wondering what he’d been thinking. His father tentatively wraps an arm around his shoulders, hand squeezing his arm to try to comfort him. Tongue darting out to lick his lips, he sucks in a breath when he tastes salt. He hadn’t remembered shedding them, but tears have mixed with the steady downpour.

The pastor finishes his speech about what a wonderful kid Scott McCall had been even though he didn’t know the first thing about him. The crowd moves forward one by one to leave a rose on the casket. His best friend hated roses. Stiles stares at the pile, tempted to wipe them all off, but his father’s steady grip on him keeps him in place. He stares down at the white flower in his hand, fingers gently sliding over the soft petals. The first time Scott had smelled a Lily, he’d shoved his whole face into the middle, trying to get more of the aroma. He’d gotten the orange pollen all over his face and it took an entire hour to get it off.

Raising his gaze, he almost loses it when his eyes land on the petite brunette sobbing under her umbrella. His father drags him forward, but Stiles is terrified of facing her. Once at her side, the man hesitantly reaches out a hand to graze her arm. She turns to them and Stiles expects the worst . He expects her to shove them away, to scream at him that it’s all his fault, to tell him to leave.

Instead, with a loud cry, she falls into his father’s arms, clinging to him. Stiles swallows hard, unsure what to do. The man holds her up, arms wrapped around her, hand stroking her head to soothe her. Stiles turns away to stare at the casket, the words Scott McCall 1995-2011 glaring up at him. He wants to place his flower among the roses,but wonders if he’s even allowed. His best friend would still be alive had Stiles not dragged him out of the house that night.

A cold hand lightly grips his left and when he looks, he finds Melissa. Stiles is quick to lower his gaze, ashamed of himself. He shouldn’t even be here. He didn’t deserve to-

Surprisingly strong arms wrap around his shoulders, a gentle hand rubbing his back. More tears spilling down his face, he returns the embrace, tucking his face into her dark curls. He doesn’t know if this means she doesn’t blame him, if she’s trying to forgive him, if she’s simply acknowledging the fact that Stiles was her son’s best friend and feels obligated to comfort him.

She eventually pulls away and glances at the wilting lily in his hand. A wobbly smile comes to her face and she covers his hand to guide it onto the pile of roses. It takes him a full minute to be able to let go of it, but when he does, Melissa holds his hand tightly, moving in for an even firmer embrace. They hold each other for several minutes, his father tentatively joining, wrapping his arms around her from behind to embrace the both of them.

The rest of the crowd had moved out awhile ago, but the three of them and the pastor remain at the gravesite. His father tries to pull them away when the workers get ready to lower it into the ground, but Stiles’ feet are stuck. Melissa turns away with shaking shoulders, a hand over her mouth. She lets the Sheriff lead her away to the small limo they arrived in.

“Son,” he calls over the rain.

Stiles barely hears him, eyes transfixed on his friend disappearing into the ground. He knew he was gone, but the pain hadn’t fully registered until this moment. It tears through him now, the clenching of his stomach making him shrink in on himself. He doesn’t realize he’s wheezing until strong arms are holding him up and he’s being pressed against a steady chest.

“It’s going to be okay, Stiles. We’ll get through this, I promise,” his dad says.

On some level, Stiles knows he’s right, but it feels like he’s nine years old again watching his mother disappear. She lies around the corner under a weeping willow, her grave still covered with the sunflowers he brings every week.

It takes awhile for his breathing to steady, but when it does, he finally let’s the man pull him away. As he walks across the drenched lawn, a distant figure catches his attention. When he realizes who it is, his steps almost falter in their trek. Scott’s father glances at them briefly, but doesn’t greet them. Stiles wants to muster up the usual amount of hate he has for the man, but it’s dormant today. Though he’d been absent for much of Scott’s life, Stiles almost feels bad for him. That was still his son lying in the ground.

“Come on, kid,” his dad murmurs.

Inside the limo, he rests his head on the window and stares at the hole that is his friend’s new home.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Dark Side

Far out in the deserts of California, an RV rumbles down the trail at high speed. Derek Hale can barely breathe through the mask over his face, though he knows taking it off means death. Glancing to his right, he sees the boy’s head continues to lol to the side, his eyes closed behind the plastic. Glass tings and bangs in the back, urging him to look back as well.

The two bodies slip and slide on the wet poisonous floor. Derek pushes the vehicle faster, swerving to the left to get away from the edge of the cliff. The mask begins to fog up from his heavy breathing and he wants to blink as if to clear it, but his eyes are frozen open. His stomach flips as the RV’s tires leave the ground before bouncing back onto the dirt. Derek slams on the breaks, but the monstrosity continues to speed down the hill.

It comes to a stop as it crashes into a pit, throwing him against the steering wheel. The supposedly sturdy plastic of his mask cracks and he chokes as the toxic fumes leak in. Derek scrambles from the vehicle, coughing and ripping off the useless mask. Looking back to the RV, Derek grits his teeth. It’s stuck in a deep hole, fluids leaking out of it.

With a harsh grunt, Derek throws the mask in a fit of rage. This was not how any of this was supposed to go. This was going to be reported to his bosses and he and his partner were going to be killed.

Derek halts his meltdown as the wail of sirens reaches his ears. If the cops found him, he might as well just lay down in the middle of the road and wait to be run over. Either way, he is going to die. If it’s not his boss, then it’ll be the cops.

Rushing into action, he grabs his t-shirt off the mirror and slips it on. His pants are nowhere to be seen, which figures. Taking a deep breath, he jumps back into the RV and goes straight for the back cabinet. Derek pulls out his black bag of necessities before grabbing his wallet and cellphone from the glove compartment. He glances at the boy in the passenger’s seat, eyes darting over his mask. It looked to be intact. Derek considers carrying him out, but he can’t do that and do what he needs to do next.

He takes in gulps of air once he’s back outside, squinting at the blinding sun. The sirens are getting closer. As he climbs up on top of the vehicle, he takes out his phone and hits his first speed dial.

It rings and rings until the voicemail picks up. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. Still, he waits for the beep.

“Laura,” he chokes.

“I fucked up. I need you to know how sorry I am , for everything.”

He stops when his voice wavers. When he feels steady enough, he takes a breath and continues.

“Please make sure to watch over my baby girl. Don’t let Kate hurt her, okay? Tell Cora that she’s so much stronger than she thinks she is and that she doesn’t need me. There’s a good chance she’s going to find out about.. what we do. I hope what I’ve done doesn’t drag you down as well. When she does find out, please tell her that I will always be her Der-bear, no matter what.”

Derek takes another breath, glancing in the direction the sirens are coming from.

“I love you both.”

He hangs up without another word. As the sirens grow closer, Derek lies flat on top of the RV. He pulls out his loaded rifle and sets up the stands to keep it steady.

Derek waits.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Just Forget

“Has anyone heard from Derek?” Stiles asks.

Scott scoffs and glares at him.

“Why would I have heard from him? And really, who cares anyway?”

Stiles sighs as his friend slams his locker closed with unnecessary force. He can’t really blame him though. The last 2 years had been rough and their small group of friends had dwindled back to only the two of them, with Danny tagging along every once in a while.

Scott slumps against the wall, the depression still looming over him. The hunters were no longer a threat, but only because they had moved on to bigger things. Allison had joined some training camp over the summer and never came back. They knew she was alright, better than alright actually. Apparently she was a big time leader in the hunter world now, with her own soldiers under her and everything.

It was simply one more thing to make Stiles angry. Every day he wished to go back to that summer before sophomore year, before he dragged Scott into the woods looking for a dead body. To this day, he has no idea what the hell he’d been thinking.

Stiles quickly packs all those thoughts away and pats Scott on the shoulder.

“You’re right. No need to worry about anything more than school this year,” he says.

Scott gives him a weak smile and Stiles pushes him towards the classroom. They take their regular seats, trying to ignore the now empty ones across the room. Four empty seats for four missing friends.

Missing, Stiles muses to himself. Six feet under isn’t exactly missing.

Stiles cringes away from his own thoughts, but quickly covers it with a smile when Scott glances at him. At least he can take comfort in knowing that Lydia had made it out okay. Well, if you count being locked in a psychiatric ward okay.

The question he’d asked earlier is still buzzing around in his head. None of them had heard from the Alpha for weeks now. Once the dust settled in their little town, Derek had disappeared. Well, it’s not like any of them had actually tried looking for him. They were all stuck in that post-battle haze, just moving through the motions of regular life the best they could. Maybe Stiles should make an attempt to reach out to him. He knew Scott was never going to do it and Danny didn’t really know Derek.

So that left him, but he doesn’t know what he would even say if he found him.

There was so much death in his life. If there was a God, he was a sick bastard, toying with people like this. Stiles used to believe, he really did. Religion was something his mother had demanded they partake in and Stiles had been fine with it. Then she died and his faith had dimmed slightly, but he figured she was in heaven at least.

However, now, with everything that’s happened, Stiles no longer believed and couldn’t for the life of him remember why he ever had. The world was what people had made it, nothing more or less. A place where creatures tore each other apart without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Even Stiles himself had done things that his mother would be disgusted by.

The bell rings, but Stiles is suddenly too exhausted to move. Scott looks over at him with a frown and simply sits back down, bumping his shoulder.

“You take your Adderall today?” he asks.

Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“That must be it,” he says.

He grabs his ever-present pill bottle from his bag and swallows two of them. His third dose that day, but it’s not important.

“All better, buddy. Let’s get lunch,” he says, darting up.

Stiles shoves his sullen thoughts to the back of his mind and walks with his friend to the cafeteria. They no longer sit at their usual table, but under a shady tree out in the courtyard. Danny is already there, reading a book.

“Hey, Danny,” Scott greets, sitting down on the grass.

Stiles leans back against the tree, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. He knows if he eats, it will make him nauseous, so there isn’t any point.

The other boy only grunts, nodding his head in greeting. Danny doesn’t say much these days, but none of them really do, not even Stiles.

Stiles checks his phone for the tenth time this morning. He doesn’t know if he should text Derek. He doesn't even know if Derek still has a phone.

-haven’t heard from u in a while, just checking in

He sends the text before he can talk himself out of it. He wonders if it's too vague or impersonal. Then he wonders if it even matters.

Stiles fidgets restlessly, legs bouncing against the grass, hands shaking slightly. He probably shouldn’t have tripled his dosage, but it's too late now.

“Hey, you guys want to get out of here?” Danny asks, packing his stuff already.

Stiles doesn’t bother with an answer, simply standing and trudging after his friend. He idly wonders if Danny is actually a friend.

He immediately decides that no, he wasn’t. Stiles won’t let him be. Scott is his only friend and even that is too much.

“There’s a party at Greenburg’s tonight,” Danny mutters.

“Well hell, you know I’m in,” Stiles says.

Scott nods at his side, playfully wrapping an arm around Danny’s massive shoulders. Though Greenburg was a bit of a weirdo, he really knew how to throw a raging party.

They make their way back to Stiles’ place to get ready, not bothering to comment on how they bailed on almost an entire day of school. It’s not like anyone notices anymore.

“Stiles?!”

The boy grimaces as his dad slams the front door closed. So maybe someone still noticed.

“Yeah, up here Dad!” he calls.

This was a common occurrence over the last summer. Stiles royally fucking up and his father yelling until he was red in the face. Normally Stiles would be worried about his blood pressure, but he chose not to worry about anything these days. If the only way to hold himself together is to push everyone, including his father, to arm’s length, then that’s what he’ll have to do. A lump forms in his throat knowing how disappointed his mother would be by his coping mechanism.

His father barges in at that moment, thankfully pulling his thoughts back into the present. The man stands in the doorway for a good two minutes, huffing out his frustration. Once he’s calm enough, he glances at the other two boys in the room and sighs in defeat.

“Stiles, what happened?” he asks.

“Nothing,” he says with a shrug.

“Just felt like skipping,” he answers honestly.

His dad shakes his head in disbelief.

“Just felt like skipping,” he repeats slowly.

Stiles and Scott nod at him, while Danny continues to fiddle with his hair in front of the mirror.

“That’s the third time this week,” he says, arms crossed.

“Yes, I can count, thank you,” Stiles retorts, grinning.

The Sheriff sighs, fingers rubbing his forehead.

“Can I talk to you in the hall?” he asks.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply expects his son to follow, which he reluctantly does. Scott would still hear whatever it was, but the Sheriff still doesn’t know that.

“Kid, I need you to talk to me. Do we need to send you to the doctor again? I gotta tell you, you’re worrying me. You’re skipping class, you’re hardly ever home, I never see you eat, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how many times you’ve refilled your prescription this month alone,” he says.

Stiles stares at a stain on the wall, trying to formulate an appropriate answer. He’s never had a problem rambling at people until they leave, but he just doesn’t have the energy anymore.

“No, dad, I don’t need to see the doctor again. I promise I won’t miss any more classes, I’ve just been hanging out with friends, I ate an entire lasagna last night, and I lost that last bottle of Adderall,” he lies.

It’s robotic almost, lying to cover his problems so his father will stop worrying. When he glances back at him, he can tell the lie has fallen flat, but his dad simply sighs again and then glances over his son’s outfit.

“Going out?”

“Yeah, party at Greenburg’s,” Stiles says with a shrug.

The man simply stares, shoulders dragging in defeat.

“Curfew is midnight, do not drive drunk, do not take drugs, and for God’s sake do not let me find you vomiting your life away into the toilet when I come home again. I know it’s Friday, but don’t overdo it tonight, alright?” his dad asks, looking away dejectedly.

“Yeah, dad, hear you loud and clear. Guys, let’s go!” he calls, side-stepping around his father.

He then stomps his way outside to his jeep.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Betrayal

When they finally pulled up to the loft, Stiles was quietly freaking out over the ominous silence. The sky was still dark, but the storm had finally stopped since Jennifer was dead. The group slowly climbed from the jeep, listening to the wind whip through the alley.

“Do you hear anything?” he asks.

Scott and Isaac tilt their heads, making it really hard not to make a dog joke. They close their eyes, trying to concentrate.

“I don’t hear anything,” Isaac says.

Scott shakes his head as well.

“But,” Isaac adds. “I smell something.”

Stiles cringes, hoping it’s nothing bad like death, or blood, or any other bodily fluids for that matter. Scott’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. His eyes widen slightly and he glances at Isaac.

“Blood, right?”

Isaac nods.

“And death,” he mutters.

“Oh, good,” Stiles grumbles.

“All the things I didn’t want it to be.”

“Are you saying they’re dead?” Allison asks, eyes travelling to the top balcony.

They all fidget nervously at the possibility.

“Someone is,” Lydia whispers.

All attention snaps to her as her eyes glaze over.

“Wait, how can you tell? Is this part of the whole-?” Stiles trails off, gesturing at all of her basically.

“Um, Banshee thing?” he finishes lamely.

“I don’t know. I just know someone’s dead. More than one someone,” she says, biting her lip.

“You’re positive?” Scott asks.

She closes her eyes, brows furrowing in concentration, before she gives a shaky nod. Stiles watches the wolves steel themselves before turning and walking into the building. He and his fellow humans follow hesitantly. Stiles has seen his share of dead bodies. They all have. He’d really like it if people stopped getting killed, but he’s starting to get the idea that life will never be simple again. People are always going to keep getting killed.

Stiles doesn’t refocus again until they’re all trapped in the elevator as it rises to the top floor.

“What if whoever killed them is still up there?” he asks.

He also finds it ironic that it’s him asking that question now.

“Isaac and I will handle it,” Scott says, determined.

Isaac raises a brow, gaping at the Alpha.

“We will?”

In a rare moment of annoyance, Scott huffs and glares at him.

“Yes, we will. If it’s Derek who’s-” he stops when Isaac scowls.

“Or Cora,” he adds as a reminder.

“Who’s hurt, then we need to find out who did it and take them out. If they kil-, hurt them, then they’re still dangerous and need to be stopped. Okay?” he asks.

Though he asked for agreement, it was clear he wasn’t going to take any shit about it. Stiles fought back a grin at how much he’s changed. Scott is forever the hero, doing what he can to save people. He seriously admires that about him, but he’ll admit it worries him as well. This isn’t a story book or a movie. The hero doesn’t always win or come out alive in the end.

Isaac simply nods, clearly nervous about the Alpha’s change in mood. Scott still hasn’t brought out the commanding roar, which if he’s honest he’s glad about. He heard and witnessed Derek do it and it did strange things to him. Stiles would rather not have those conflicting feelings for his best friend.

The elevator door whooshes open and they stumble into the dark hallway. Shadows dance across the floor as the above lighting flickers. It has his heart racing and sweat beading at his temple. Scott pauses at the door, both wolves sniffing the air and grimacing.

“What? What is it?” Stiles asks.

Scott sighs and places his hand on the door before looking back to the group.

“No matter what we see in here, we can’t panic, alright? We can get through this together,” he says.

It wasn’t the most motivating speech ever, but it had them all nodding and looking-

Well, more panicked if he’s honest, but who cares. They couldn’t just keep standing in the hallway when their friends were either dying or dead on the other side of the door. Scott only hesitates for a second more before he slides the door open.

“Holy mother of-” Stiles chokes out.

“Oh my god,” Lydia whispers, voice wobbling.

The other three stand frozen, mouths agape, eyes round in fear. None of them can step into the room at first, completely terrified. Dark red covered most of the floor, dripped from the once gray bed sheets, and was splashed across the large windows. Moonlight streamed through a hole in the ceiling, sparkling on the broken glass that littered the floor.

[teenwolfsnippets]

A Bad Trip in An Even Worse Life

It's a slow night at the bar, when possibly the most beautiful male specimen walks through the door. Stiles gapes a little before Boyd, his coworker, slaps his shoulder to snap him out of it. Right, being professional, he can do this. The man takes a stool and Stiles greets him, trying not to stare too much.

"What can I get you?" he asks.

"Scotch, neat," he orders.

His voice is smooth and has Stiles' heart fluttering. The man's wearing a dark suit that hugs all his muscles nicely and his stubble is so perfectly groomed, Stiles wants to touch it, maybe lick it. That was not professional at all.

He quickly fixes the man's drink and totally doesn't check to see if he's wearing a wedding ring, which he isn't by the way. Which doesn't mean he's single and Stiles really needs to get back to work. Stiles wipes down the bar and can't help the occasional glance. The man is avidly watching the television above the bar and Stiles subtly moves closer.

"Giants fan?" he asks.

The man looks to him, frowning.

"I don't really follow football," he replies.

Stiles nods.

"I think there's a baseball game on," he offers.

The guy shrugs and he's not particularly chatty. Stiles changes the channel anyway and receives a nod as a thank you. Stiles watches him for the next twenty minutes and the man keeps looking at his watch.

"Want another?" he asks, holding the bottle up.

The guy sighs, looks at his watch again, and then nods.

"Waiting for someone?" Stiles pries.

"Yeah," is all the answer he gives.

Stiles should probably leave him alone, but he can’t help himself.

"You from around here?" he asks.

The man frowns, but seems to relax again after taking a sip of his drink.

"Yeah," he says again.

Stiles nods.

"Me too. I'm Stiles, by the way," he says.

A brow raises, which he's used to.

"Derek," the man grunts.

"So, Derek, is it business or pleasure tonight?"

"Business," he says, sipping his drink.

Stiles nods and is about to ask what he does, when the person he's been waiting for slides onto a stool. He almost drops his rag because he knows the guy.

"Stiles, how've you been?" Aidan asks.

He takes a breath and continues to wipe down the bar.

"I'm fine," he says, nodding politely.

Derek glances between them, still frowning. Of course Derek would work with this guy because that's how his life rolls.

"Can I get a drink?" Aidan asks.

Stiles smiles tightly.

"What would you like?"

"Whatever my friend here is having is fine," he replies.

Stiles glances at Derek, who's scowling so hard at the other guy it almost makes him laugh. He fixes the drink and can't help but glare at the wedding band on Aidan's finger. The guy was an ass, Stiles doesn't know what she sees in him.

"So, Derek, shall we?" he asks, pointing to a table a few feet away.

Derek huffs, but agrees.

"Oh and Stiles," Aidan calls, grinning.

Stile glares at him.

"Lydia says hi, by the way."

The glass he'd been holding thumps onto the counter and Aidan laughs. Stiles' heart is pounding and he really wants to punch this asshole in the face. He's instantly stepping around the bar, planning on doing exactly that, but Boyd holds him back. He sees Derek pulling Aidan away, who'd chuckled and taunted him to come at him. Stiles struggles for a minute, but Boyd is a mountain.

"It's not worth it, man, come on," he mutters.

Stiles and Aidan stare each other down until the former finally agrees that no, getting fired for punching this jerk isn't worth it. He backs off and his coworker tells him to cool off outside, which he does. Stiles seriously doesn’t know what Lydia sees in him. When he thinks about how this man is raising his kid-

Stiles shakes his head. She made it clear, the kid isn't his, whether that's biologically false or not. She's right though. After what happened, he doesn't deserve any rights over that child. Stiles pushes the thoughts away, counting his breathing like he'd been taught as a child. He's only out there for about ten minutes when he hears shouting from inside. Rushing back, he finds the two men in a heated argument, something about finances or fraud. Stiles can’t really follow it. What he does know is that by the end of it Aidan is in Derek's face, threatening someone named Cora and that's when Derek's fist goes flying. He gets in a few good punches before Aidan tackles him to the ground. Boyd jumps into the fray, pulling Aidan off the other. Stiles doesn't hesitate to intervene when Derek gets up for another attack, holding the man back. Derek surprisingly doesn't fight him and is visibly trying to calm down.

"If you ever go near her, I-" Derek starts.

"You'll what? What are you gonna do, Derek?" Aidan chuckles.

Stiles thinks he could do plenty, if the hard muscle he's feeling beneath Derek's sleeve is anything to go by. Derek does shake him off then, advancing on Aidan, but Boyd pulls him away and eventually shoves the guy right out the door.

Stiles glances at Derek and gently prods him to sit at the bar again and the man follows willingly. He scoops up some ice and wraps it in a dish towel.

Derek quirks a brow and Stiles says, “For your hand.”

He takes it after a few seconds, nodding a thank you.

“’Nother round?” Stiles offers.

The man sighs and glances at his watch.

“No, I should really get home,” he says, but doesn’t move to leave.

“Sorry about, you know, the fight,” he mumbles.

Stiles snorts and say, “Dude, don’t be sorry. You punched Aidan in the face. You are officially on my list of favorite people.”

Derek’s lips twitch in an almost smile, making Stiles full on grin.

“So, you a lawyer then?” he asks.

“No, I own the firm,” he replies.

“Huh,” Stiles says.

Derek nods and they’re quiet for a few minutes as Stiles cleans glasses.

“How do you know him?” Derek asks eventually.

Stiles fumbles the glass because he has no idea how to answer that.

“He, uh, well, it’s a long story,” he eventually stutters.

He looks away, not wanting to talk about it and Derek thankfully drops it. The guy takes out his wallet to pay, but Stiles tells him it’s on the house. It earns him another lip twitch and Stiles suddenly wonders what a real smile would look like.

“A tip then,” he says, sliding a bill across the counter.

Derek leaves after that and Stiles doesn’t watch him go because that would be unprofessional. He picks up the folded bill and almost chokes on air because he just got a hundred dollar tip. Not even the regulars tip that well. Derek has moved to number 3 on his list of favorite people, right after Scott and Allison.

Stiles lingers around the bar after closing and is surprised when Boyd starts chatting to him about some band they have in common. Though unexpected, it’s definitely welcome. He’d been working at this place for about 2 months and he and his new coworker really haven’t said much to each other. Apparently he’s lived in Beacon Hills his entire life, but he was home-schooled, which explains why they never met. They talk about simple things like movies, books, music, television shows, etc. After an hour there’s an awkward moment of silence and Boyd pulls out two beers, handing him one.

“No thanks,” he says, waving it off.

Boyd looks a little disappointed, making Stiles sigh and reach into his back pocket. He flips his 5 month chip onto the counter and awaits the inevitable, but Boyd surprises him again by simply nodding.

“Gotta face your problems sooner or later, right?” he murmurs.

Stiles huffs a laugh and nods in return. They part ways after that, going home to sleep after a long shift. His apartment is only a few blocks away, but he’s not stupid enough to walk it. Not in this neighborhood, not at night. He even runs across the parking lot to get to his jeep as fast as possible. There’s a chance he’s being a bit paranoid, but it’s better to be safe than sorry around here.

Derek doesn’t stop in for another week, leaving Stiles’ nights completely uneventful and boring. The night he does show, Stiles isn’t bashful about greeting him with a wide smile.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Release The Beast

“Mom, get in here, it’s about to start.”

His mom rushes in with a bowl of popcorn and two full glasses of Dr. Pepper.

“Alright. After we listen to the announcement, we should play monopoly,” she says, plopping down onto the couch.

“Again? We played that last year,” he says.

“Don’t whine. You love that game.”

Scott rolls his eyes and turns back to the television. He made the mistake of telling his mom that monopoly was an okay game and they’ve played it during every Purge since. He was six when he told her that. He doesn’t complain, however, when she snuggles closer and grabs his hand. Though Scott has never suffered a bad Purge, he knows his mother and father have. They don’t talk about it and he thinks it might’ve even been before he was born.

“Ready?” she asks, squeezing his hand.

He nods and squeezes back. The screen turns blue, the government sigil faded behind it, and the emergency alarm sounds.

**

Stiles paces back and forth, glancing out the window every few minutes. It was about to start and his father wasn’t home yet. He hasn’t cut it this close since-

The cruiser comes flying down the quiet street and into the driveway. Stiles flings open the front door, fingers twitching when his father doesn’t move fast enough for his liking.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Stop worrying so much, I had plenty of time,” the man says with a sigh.

Stiles grabs the front of his jacket and pulls him into the house, ignoring his spluttering protests.

“No, you didn’t. If you’d had enough time, you wouldn’t have been breaking every traffic law to get here,” Stiles grumbles.

He firmly shuts the door, snicks the lock on the doorknob, twists the three deadbolts into place, and then slides the chain across.

“Stiles-”

“Just help me lockdown,” he says.

His father sighs, but goes about checking all the windows and doors on the first floor, while Stiles does the same on the second floor. He knows he’s already checked everything, but you can never be too careful. On his way back to the living room, he double checks the front door before scouring the rest of the floor for any faulty areas. Or in case his dad missed something.

“Kid, everything’s locked up tight. Now, will you come sit down? I bought dinner,” he says.

He holds up a box of curly fries enticingly.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles mutters.

He follows his dad onto the couch and snags the remote. His dad always turns the volume up too high. If it’s too high, they won’t be able to hear if someone’s breaking in.

“Let’s get this over with,” the Sheriff says.

He places his weapon on the side table for easy access before bringing Stiles closer to his side, arm wrapped around him. Stiles tries to relax against him, knowing his father is trying to make him feel safe.

He never feels safe.

“This is not a test.”

No one is safe tonight.

**

“Get in the house, right now.”

Jackson frowns and holds back a heavy eye roll.

“Where the hell have you been?” his father asks.

“You know the rules. Home by 4 o’clock on The Annual Purge. We’re supposed to celebrate as a family.”

“I was with Lydia, calm down. Not like I was downtown or something.”

He tunes out his father as the man starts ranting about The Purge this and The Purge that. Jackson fully supported the holiday, he just didn’t see why he had to stay home and spend the night with his so-called ‘family’. He still couldn’t get over that little fact.

Adopted. Him, Jackson Whittemore, wasn’t actually a Whittemore. It was infuriating. Not to mention confusing. He didn’t know he was anymore.

“Jackson, aren’t you coming to watch with us?” his mother asks as he passes by.

“No,” he snaps.

The woman sighs, but doesn’t pester him further about it. She wasn’t even really his mother.

Jackson flops down onto his bed and turns his radio on, hoping to drown out the obnoxious noises of the dying poor people tonight.

“This is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of The Annual Purge, sanctioned by the U.S. Government.”

Scoffing, he turns it back off and puts in his earbuds. He was going to drown out the world even if it killed him.

**

Lydia slams her bedroom door, hoping the noise will signal to her parents that she was fed up with their stupidity. She presses her ear to it and groans when she can still hear them fighting. They were both being ridiculous. It was a holiday. At least Jackson’s parents understood that and wanted to spend some actual time with him.

Sitting down in front of her vanity, she scowls at the dark circles under her eyes. She quickly touches up her make-up and drags a brush through her hair.

In the mirror, she can see the screen of her television has already turned blue, the words scrolling up. She watches it for a moment, a flash of worry zapping through her. Her home is fully protected by state of the art equipment, but she’s heard stories of people using trucks to bring the walls down. It’s not like she was scared though. She had a fully stocked arsenal of chemicals needed to make a decent sized bomb stashed in her closet. Lydia was always prepared.

Downstairs, she can hear the plasma television drowning out her parents' raised voices.

“Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.”

**

“All your windows locked?”

“Always, dad,” Allison mutters, flipping through her magazine.

As usual, her father still strolls into the room and double checks them himself.

“I don’t know why you bother asking.”

“I just like to know you’re safe,” he says.

He then plops himself down on her bed and makes himself comfortable. Allison frowns at him and then also at her mother when she does the same.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re going to watch as a family tonight,” her mother says.

“You’re kidding,” Allison retorts.

At her mother’s harsh glare, the girl sighs, closes her magazine and sits back to endure tonights torture. She hated this stupid holiday.

“I know this holiday doesn’t make sense to you now, but you’ll understand when you’re older,” her mom says.

Allison makes a face at the back of her head and her father huffs beside her, nudging her with an elbow.

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.”

Allison sighs at the hypocrisy of it all.

**

Blades sharp and sheathed in his belt, Derek takes a moment to look out at the forest. She was out there somewhere, possibly even unarmed. He has no idea what the hell she’d been thinking, taking a trip this close to the Purge. A trip back to this awful town of all places.

With a heavy sigh, he switches on the beat-up radio. He has to fiddle with it to get the right frequency, but eventually the message is playing loud and clear. Derek doesn’t wait to hear the whole thing. The alarm will sound within a few minutes. He needs to be already searching for her by the time it begins. There’s a chance someone else has his sister in their sights and he can’t let her die. Laura is the only thing that keeps him going, keeps him sane.

“Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.”

His sister’s scream drowns out the rest of the message.

**

“Police, fire, and other emergency services will be unavailable until 7am, when the Purge concludes.”

The citizens of Beacon Hills lock their doors and close their curtains as The Annual Purge begins.

“Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn.”

Those who still stroll the streets are armed and ready to release the beast.

“May God be with you all.”

Shots are fired and screams can be heard as the siren blares. One woman’s scream in particular can be heard echoing through the trees of the preserve.

The citizens of Beacon Hills pretend not to hear her dying cries.

[teenwolfsnippets]

I feel like this is especially true now that it's over lmao

[teenwolfsnippets]

I Can Handle It

Stiles' eyes widen as Professor Finstock assigns his new partner. This cannot be happening.

He slowly looks over and grimaces when he finds green eyes boring holes into him. Again, this cannot be happening.

When class is dismissed, Stiles doesn't wait to chat with the guy, he quickly packs up his bag and darts into the hall. By the time he makes it to the cyber cafe, he's out of breath from the panicked running through the corridors.

"Dude, the hell is wrong with you?" Scott asks, brow raised.

Stiles points in the general direction of where he came and tries to wheeze out an explanation.

"Finstock…new partner…glaring…so dead…" he pants.

Scott just tilts his head while slowly chewing on his french fries. Stiles frowns at his friend's calm demeanor. There is absolutely zero reason to be calm right now. Stiles makes an indignant grunt and waves his arms before hissing out, "Finstock" again.

"Did he tell another story about his testicles?" Scott asks, cringing.

"Oh my god. No," Stiles says, slowly regaining his breath.

He sits opposite his friend and thumps his head onto the table.

"I am going to die. Tell my dad I loved him," he moans pathetically.

Scott snorts and nudges fries towards him. He gratefully takes the offered comfort and nibbles on it. The action has Scott's brows furrowing, realizing that Stiles is actually being serious.

"Whatever it is, it can't be that bad," he says.

"Finstock assigned new partners," he mutters, eyes glazed over.

"And how is this a bad thing? You were constantly complaining about Matt being a creeper, and a tool, and a douchebag, and a jackass, and-"

"Eyebrows of doom, Scott, doom," he groans.

Scott stops rambling, mouth falling slack.

"Oh," he whispers and then scrunches his face up in sympathy.

"You're right," he says after a while. "You're dead."

Stiles grumbles his frustrations to the table, fries all but forgotten.

Two days later, leather-wearing-stubbled-mcScary-face tracks him down in the courtyard, making Stiles almost drop his lunch.

"Where have you been?" the guy growls.

Stiles seriously doesn't even know his name. He's sure Finstock must have said it one time, but Stiles is the worst with names.

"Um, in class?" he offers, not sure what he's looking for.

The eyebrows-of-doom furrow into an even angrier stance and he's pretty sure he's about to be murdered, right here in the courtyard.

"We have a presentation to work on. Has that somehow slipped your mind?"

"I, uh, no, it hasn't-"

"Meet me in the library at seven," the guy snaps.

"But it's not due for 3 weeks," Stiles argues.

The possible-serial-killer glares at him before turning and stomping away.

"The library at 7. Do not be late," he calls over his shoulder.

Stiles gapes for a good thirty seconds before snapping his mouth shut. He's starting to wonder if it's too late to change courses.

[teenwolfsnippets]

I know you said no requests, but I was wondering if you were going to do more of Lunatic. I REALLY like what you posted and I was wondering if you have any more!

Yes, I do have a bit more written for that! I may post a part 2 soon, thank you for asking!

[teenwolfsnippets]

Revenge

“I considered hanging you upside down,” Stiles says. “But then I decided I wanted to be able to see your faces when I gutted you.”

A manic grin , his trademark, spreads across his face, making the man in front of him scowl. Leaning back, he slips his black gloves on, the soft fabric gliding effortlessly over his hand.

“Kid, you don’t want to do this.”

He stares down at his victim and laughs.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’d quite like to see your insides spill out onto the floor. It makes a pretty picture,” he retorts.

He then leans down, his face mere inches from the other man’s.

“But then again, I’m sure you know that. I’m sure, in your profession, you’ve seen plenty of bloody, dead bodies. I’m sure most of that blood has been spilled by your own hand.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips stretch even further, all of his teeth on clear display. Without another word, he leans back out of the man’s space, and strolls over to his box of toys. He rummages through his items for a moment before selecting one of his smallest blades. It wasn’t good for dramatic effect, but it took hours and let him get creative.

Stiles glances up, eyes darting between the two men.

“Question is, who’s first? You?” he asks, pointing the knife at the hunter.

His gaze slides to the left, the knife slowly following it.

“Or your little brother? Sammy, isn't it?”

“Don’t you dare touch him.”

He laughs, making the younger one cringe.

“Sweetheart, you have to stop making this so easy.”

Swiftly getting to his feet, he stalks around the tables and debris, slowly getting closer and closer to his victim. The man’s older brother thrashes against his restraints, but Stiles isn’t worried.

None of his victims have ever escaped.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Omega

Walking into his favorite coffee shop, Derek freezes in the doorway. There was another wolf nearby, somewhere in the café lounge. It was disrespectful to cross into his territory with no warning All of Beacon Hills was under his domain. Clearly, this wolf was either suicidal or looking for a fight. Derek calmly steps into the building and up to the counter. He places his order and lets his senses fan out as he waits.

The wolf’s presence wasn’t particularly strong. Maybe a lowly ranked beta or even an omega. The barista returns with his drink and instead of leaving like usual, he takes a seat at a corner table. Scanning over the room, he tries to pinpoint who it is. He glances at the guy with the fedora, but no, definitely not. It’s also not the elderly couple across from him either.

He lingers on a fairly muscular man to his right. Derek watches him, smells the air around him, but there’s not a single trace of wolf in him. The man packs up to leave, revealing a young brunette woman sitting at the table behind him.

She’s the wolf, no doubt about it. Now that he’s closer, her presence is a little stronger, but still weak. The woman is simply sipping a cappuccino and looking around, maybe waiting for someone. He will admit that she was very beautiful. Dark wavy hair reached past her shoulders, eyes so dark they were almost black, flawless fair skin. If he didn’t already view her as a possible threat, he may have been interested. However, she had crossed into his territory without permission and that had to be dealt with.

The woman tenses suddenly, eyes snapping in his direction. Her eyes flash a brilliant blue and she’s immediately up out of her chair and running for the exit. Derek quickly chases after her, running down the sidewalk and across the street. The wolf is fast, he’ll give her that. Unfortunately for her, there’s really no use in running from an Alpha on his own turf. Derek tracks her down within five minutes, grabbing her arm to make her stop.

She spins on him, faster than he can dodge, and punches him in the face. He stumbles slightly, but doesn’t release his grip on her. Growling lowly, he whips towards her, eyes flashing. When she sees the red, she immediately stops fighting and bares her neck in submission. Derek growls again, but takes a small step back, accepting her obedience.

“What do you want?” she asks.

Her voice is soft, but strong. If he weren’t so close, he wouldn’t have picked up on the fear flowing from her.

“I should be asking you that. You’re in my territory,” he says.

The woman’s heart stutters at that and she sighs, eyes closing.

“I didn’t know. Just let me go and I’ll leave,” she replies.

Derek tilts his head. He heard the lie or at least a partial one. She really didn’t know, but she’s not willing to leave as quickly as she says. Her docile attitude has him calming though, so he releases her arm. She opens her eyes, surprised.

“Get out as quickly as possible,” he orders.

The woman nods, but doesn’t move to leave. Derek sighs, realizing he has her pinned to the wall in fear. He steps out of her space and she eventually relaxes enough to move. The woman is running again before he can stop her, but he doesn’t chase her this time.

At least not at first.

Derek follows her scent through zigzags and confusing turns as she tries to throw him off. She’s good, but he’s better. He stays hidden in the shadows and listens to her shallow breathing as she reaches a small apartment building. He wonders how long she’s been here without him knowing. She slows to a walk before stopping and looking around. He cloaks his scent and hides further into the shadows. After a moment, she relaxes and enters the building. He listens carefully as she makes her way up four flights of stairs and unlocks a room. There are no other heartbeats, but he can smell at least one other wolf staying with her. She’s shuffling around the apartment, presumably packing her things.

Derek is about to leave, satisfied that he scared her off, when a black SUV pulls up to the building. Two men and two women step out of the vehicle. All human and all dressed for battle.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” the brunette woman asks.

Derek can hear the wolf’s heart stutter inside the apartment, fear potent enough for him to smell from outside.

“Oh, yeah, she’s inside,” one of the men chuckles.

There’s scrambling inside, the woman running from her apartment. He listens as she jumps out a hall window and rushes down the fire escape. The hunters storm into the front of the building, completely missing her as she makes her exit through the alley. Derek takes off after her, irritated that she’s brought new hunters into his territory.

He cuts her off at the street and she yelps, bumping into him.

“No, no, I’m leaving I swear!” she rushes.

“Why are they after you?”

“What?” she squeaks. “No one’s after me.”

Derek huffs and glares at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insists.

“You brought hunters into my territory,” he says.

She sighs and crosses her arms, that hidden strength rushing to the surface.

“Well, once I leave, they will too,” she says.

Derek wants to let her go, to tell her to leave, but something is telling him to help her. He never wants to help outsiders, but there was something different about her.

“I can help you,” he hears himself say.

She frowns, looking away from him.

“Why would you do that?”

Derek shrugs and says “I don’t like hunters.”

[teenwolfsnippets]

Fall Apart

"We're not here as a threat, I can promise you that," the man says.

Stiles doesn't believe him. He's a stranger, an intruder. This man and his people have invaded his space and they have weapons near his family. His finger tightens on the trigger, but a shifting behind him distracts him. Stiles snaps his head towards his mate, a clear warning to not disobey his rules. Their eyes lock and the wolf stops dead in his tracks. Stiles feels sick as he realizes he made an Alpha Werewolf back down. He made Derek, his mate, afraid of him.

Melissa, not seeing any of this, continues her conversation with the newbies.

"I believe that. If you need shelter or food, you and the children are welcome to stay with us. We're camped out just beyond those-" she begins, pointing to the forest.

"Melissa," Stiles snaps.

She flinches, making him regret it instantly, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. They didn't know these people. They could be dangerous. Stiles gently grabs her elbow to pull her away. She resists at first, but eventually lets him guide her back to Danny. Lydia fidgets at his side, glancing at him warily.

She sighs and says, "Stiles, maybe we should let them in."

He scowls until she looks away, letting the subject drop.

"Stiles-" Allison begins. "They have children with them."

"Oh, yes," Peter chimes in. "By all means, let complete strangers into our home. We don't all know how that works out."

He'd been speaking directly to Allison and her aunt's actions suddenly rang heavy in the air, like they haven't for at least 3 years.

"No one asked you," Allison snaps.

"I don't remember anyone asking your opinion either, Princess," he says.

She takes a threatening step forward and Stiles almost loses it when Derek places himself between them.

"That's enough," Derek barks.

Peter immediately backs off, but Allison just glares at Derek, bow tight in her grip.

"Don't tell me what to do, wolf," she says.

Derek looms over her, his wolves in the back instantly flanking him. The pack now looks completely unstable in front of strangers. Stiles is about to shout orders when Allison raises her weapon, an arrow trained at Derek's head. There are a few gasps from the new group, but all Stiles can hear is the ringing in his ears.

Stiles cocks his gun, raising it until his target sits right between her eyes.

"Drop it," he orders lowly.

She snorts at him, eyes still on Derek and not seeing the gun pointed at her head.

"I will shoot you, Allison," he says calmly.

That makes her startle slightly, finally looking over at him. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't lower her bow yet.

"You wouldn't."

"I think you know better than that," he replies.

Allison lets out a shaky breath and slowly releases the tension of her bow, letting it hang at her side. He drops his weapon to his side as well, eyes still locked on each other.

"Back to camp," he orders.

She huffs and stomps passed everyone. The rest slowly follow her, only Derek and Melissa lingering with Stiles. He turns to the new group, emotionless.

"I suggest you fix your vehicle quickly and leave," he says.

The man nods and Stiles turns to go. He motions for Derek to go ahead of him, which earns him an eye roll, but he feels better when the enemy is at his back and not Derek's. Stiles waits for Melissa to follow Derek ahead of him as well, but she continues to linger.

"Look," she sighs. "If anything happens and you need extra help, send the message with one of them," she says, nodding towards the Winchester group.

Dean offers a genuine small smile and nods in agreement, making Melissa sigh in relief. Again, Stiles takes her elbow and steers her forward. Halfway back to the forest, she rips free of his grip and marches on her own. That's fine, Stiles can be the bad guy. For a while anyway. Derek hadn't stopped and waited for him to catch up like he usually does, but Stiles tries to ignore it.

Once back at their small camp, all hell breaks loose, of course.

"What the hell was that, Stiles?" Allison yells. "How dare you threaten me!"

"No!" he shouts back. "How dare you threaten him! What the fuck were you thinking, attacking one of your own like that?"

"One of my own? Do you even hear yourself? We are human, Stiles, we are not pack."

"We were, but I guess that's changed, huh?"

Her eyes squint at him, frown firmly in place as she stalks away from him.

"Stiles," Melissa calls. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't," he says, not meeting her eyes.

She stomps right up to him, poking him in the chest.

"Listen here, boy, don't you ever treat me like that again. I was trying to be nice to those people, since you were clearly ready to open fire."

"I wasn't about to shoot them, Melissa," he says. "I viewed them as a threat, as you should have. We don't know them, we don't know what they're capable of."

"Clearly," Lydia butts in. "We didn't know what you were capable of."

Stiles glares at her, but she doesn't back down this time.

"I saw the look in your eye. You were going to shoot her all because she didn't obey you," she says.

"Even if that was the reason and you know damn well that it wasn't, she should have listened to my command regardless."

"Why? You're not our Alpha, Stiles," she snaps.

He looms over her, a move he's learned well from the true Alpha.

"No, I am not your Alpha, but you are the ones who put me in charge of the human half of this pack. As far as I know, that hasn't changed, therefore I demand some fucking respect when acting as your leader," he says.

They're both breathing hard from the anger, neither giving an inch.

"Perhaps we should make a few changes then. Maybe we rushed this, electing you as human leader," she says.

The girl then spins on her heel and walks away towards the river, following Allison's footsteps. He watches her go, not knowing what to say. If they wanted to replace him, then so be it. He never wanted the title in the first place. Stiles looks around at the rest of the group, who are staring some pretty deep holes into the ground. He skims over Derek, not wanting to see his expression and stomps further into the woods, away from camp. A major cool down was in order and that wasn't going to happen around his pack.

Mud squishes under his boots as he trudged through the forest. He lets his mind wander, safe to do so now that he's alone. There were reasons he'd acted the way he did. The issue with Melissa was complicated. He'd promised Scott that she would always be safe. He promised to keep her alive for as long as possible and if that meant being tough with her, then so be it. As for Allison, he didn't almost shoot her because she didn't obey him. That gun was aimed at her head because of the arrow aimed at his Alpha. She drew first and he reacted on instinct. He will admit, that over the past few months, he's gone a little downhill. He will even admit to himself that he's slowly but surely losing his sanity. It’s the end of the world. No one is sane anymore.

People died, they got lost, friends stabbed each other in the back. It’s the apocalypse. Stiles doesn’t know how you keep your sanity through all of that. Something had snapped in him a long time ago, but he never had the time to analyze it. He didn't really want to analyze it.

Stiles stopped, breathing hard, as everything he's buried comes rushing to the surface. He didn't cry out, didn't fall to the ground or scream at the sky, or curse God. The only thing to do was stay perfectly still until it was over. If his lungs constricted and his chest hurt, well, that was for him to know and only him. He began counting his breathing, like he'd been taught so many years ago. Breathe in, hold for 5, breath out, hold for 5. He repeated it 10 times until the black dots in his vision receded and the pain in his chest dulled to a mild piercing. A twig snapped behind him and he spun, pulling his gun and aiming.

"Fuck, Derek, don't do that!" he snaps

He quickly holsters his weapon, his previous work of counting completely undone by the heart attack he had.

"I almost shot you, what the hell are you doing?"

The burn in his chest returns forcefully, making him double over.

"Shit," he wheezes.

[teenwolfsnippets]

[teenwolfsnippets]

Submissions

Hi everyone! Just wanted to send out a quick reminder that I do accept submissions if anyone would like to post their own short stories! Please don't be shy! All teen wolf short stories are welcome!

[teenwolfsnippets]

Secrets

Since this short story has explicit content, you can find it on AO3 by clicking on the link below:

[teenwolfsnippets]

The Sitter

"Hey, kid," his dad calls

Stiles grunts at him as he continues to lie on the couch, playing his video game

"Stiles," the man sighs

He can’t tear his eyes from the TV, so his father plants himself in front of.

"Hey, whoa, not cool!" he gripes, hastily pausing it

His dad just scowls and folds his arms.

"What?"

"Have you even looked for a job today?" he asks.

"Yeah, totally. I didn’t find anything interesting in the paper. I’m gonna search online just as soon as I finish this level," Stiles lies

He’s perfectly content to sit on this couch forever to be honest.

"Isn’t that what you said yesterday?" his dad asks, frown deepening

Stiles shrugs, not seeing his point. The man sighs heavily, glare in full force

"That’s it. You’re going to take that sitter job Melissa found for you. No arguments."

"Dad, you can’t be serious," he whines.

"I said no arguments, Stiles. Either you take the job or you can go live with Scott," he says.

Stiles cringes at the mere idea. He tried living with Scott once before and only made it about a week. They may be best friends, but they were horrible, terrible roommates.

"Ugh, fine, I’ll take the stupid job," he groans.

His dad grins like the evil man he is and tosses a piece of paper at him.

"Call the number and tell them you’ll be delighted. It’s a full time sitter job. Good luck," he says, chuckling.

He then strolls out the door for another night shift. Stiles flops further onto the couch, bemoaning his terrible future. After about 20 minutes of that, he’s fully annoyed himself and finally looks at the paper. There’s only a father listed, a Mr. Hale. The info doesn’t say how many kids or what the hours are, just that the guy needs a full time sitter.

Before he lets the anxiety ramp up any further, he pulls out his phone and dials the number.

"What?" a gruff voice answers.

"Um, hello, my name is Stiles. I’m calling about the sitter job?" he asks.

"You’re the guy Melissa recommended?"

"Yes, I mean, yeah, that’s me," he stutters.

"Good. If you want the job, I expect you to be at my house by 7 tomorrow morning," he says.

Mr. Hale then rattles off an address and hangs up. Stiles frowns at the phone and then glances at the address he copied down. It was up by the nature preserve. He didn’t even know people lived up there. The guy still didn’t give him any more information, but at least it was a job.

The next morning, Stiles arrived right on time. He takes a few minutes to gape at the mansion standing in front of him. Seriously, it was like something out of a celebrity magazine. Yet it also had a homey feel to it.

He strolls up the cobblestone path, taking the stairs two a time, before finally ringing the bell. The click-clack of stiletto heels echoes through the door. A gorgeous blonde answers the door, making Stiles’ jaw drop. She was seriously a bomb-shell. This was so not what he was expecting. The woman is texting furiously on her phone and briefly glances at him before motioning him inside.

"My name is Erica. I’m Mr. Hale’s assistant," she explains, quickly walking through the foyer and into a bright kitchen.

"He had to be at the office early this morning, which is why he’s not here to greet you. The children are still sleeping, but he wants them all awake no later than 9 am," she says.

Yikes, that was harsh. Back when he was still in school, he slept until noon every day during the summer. Hell, he still sleeps that late now.

"This first week will be a trial run. Your hours will normally be from 7 in the morning to 7 at night, but they may change depending on Mr. Hale’s schedule. You work Monday through Friday, but may need to be called in on weekends as well. Will that be a problem?" she asks.

Those were some ridiculously long hours. At his hesitance, Erica turns to him and says, "It pays a hundred an hour."

"Deal."

Stiles didn’t even have to think about that one. That was 10 times what he was making at his past three jobs combined.

Erica nods, satisfied.

"There’s a list of acceptable daytime activities, along with a schedule for the little ones. There’s also a list of rules that should be followed by you and also the children. I sincerely advise you," she says, finally making direct eye contact. "To follow all rules and schedules the way Mr. Hale has written them."

"Right, of course," Stiles says, nodding a little frantically.

This was starting to make him even more nervous, but he did genuinely like kids, so, it couldn’t be that bad.

"If or when there are plans that involve driving one of the children somewhere, you are expected to use the car provided to you, which is in the garage. The keys are on the hook by the side door. Following me so far?" she asks, perfect blonde brow raised.

"Yes, got it," he replies.

"In case of emergencies that don’t immediately need the police, an ambulance, or the fire department, my number is on the fridge, along with Mr. Hale’s second assistant. Mr. Hale’s number is also listed, but do not call him without trying one of us first," she says.

"Now, for the children. Considering your background, I don’t see you being easily overwhelmed, but I should warn you that this won’t be an easy job."

"I’m good with kids. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it all," he says, nodding reassuringly.

Erica snorts, but lets it go.

"Their ages range from 1 to 12. Most of them are decent, but some are downright awful," she says, frowning.

"There is one major rule that you will not break if you want to keep this job," she says.

Erica waits, making sure he’s paying attention.

"Do not, under any circumstances, ask about their mothers."

Stiles frowns at that, already curious about the story, but the expression on her face tells him not to ask. He also didn’t miss how she said ‘mothers’ plural. He wonders briefly how many kids there are and how many mothers. Also, it doesn’t happen often that the father gets custody.

"What if the kids specifically ask about them?" he wonders.

"I highly doubt that will happen, but if they do, just give them a general answer and then leave a note about it on the counter for Mr. Hale," she says.

Erica seems to finally take a breath after that and looks him over.

"If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call me. You seem like a nice guy, but the sitter before you left in tears," she says.

With that ominous statement, she hurries out the front door, leaving him gaping in the kitchen.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Into The Fire

“Ladies and gentleman, this is the 75th year of The Hunger Games,” President Hooper announces.

Cheers erupt from the crowd, but are silenced a moment later when the president raises her hand.

“And it was written in the charter of the games, that every 25 years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising of The Capitol.”

Stiles obsessively picks at a loose thread on the couch as he listens. Another year, another game, another chance to watch someone he knows die in the arena. Four years ago, he thought this nightmare was over. He did what he was supposed to. His name was pulled, he entered the arena, he went through hell, and he won. It never really ended and it never will. He won his games, but then he became a mentor. He became the person that had to convince sponsors to keep his tributes alive. It worked one time and then the streak for District 12 ended harshly with the deaths of 4 other tributes.

Nausea rolls through him as he wonders whose names will be pulled this year. Maybe it will be one of the 18 year olds trying to support their families. Perhaps 14 year old trading homegrown fruit and veggies at the Hob. It could even be one of the 12 year old twins from the little sandwich shop down the street.

On the couch next to him, Scott’s hands are twisted tightly together in horrified anticipation. Neither of their names will be called this year as they won back-to-back games, but Stiles knows his friend is just as nervous. Leaning against the other armrest is another victor, who just happens to also be Scott’s mother. She won her game 26 years ago when her last opponent slipped down a hill and bashed his skull against a tree trunk. Melissa bites her nails as she watches. Behind them, standing with his arms crossed, is Stiles’ father. He is the only one in the room that had been spared the horrors of the games, but he also had to watch his wife slowly waste away and then his son compete in the arena all in the same year. This is the reason for the bottle on the table. The bottle of the only medicine his father uses to ease the pain.

“Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. Now, on this, the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the 3rd Quarter Quell.”

The crowd cheers loudly again as President Hooper beams in excitement.

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the 3rd Quarter Quell Games…”

Stiles leans forward, his heart pounding as he listens and watches. Something feels off, something about this speech is wrong. They’re planning something big, he can feel it.

“…we will be doing away with the traditional Reaping,” she says.

The cheers die down as The Capitol people wait eagerly for the new twist.

“This year’s Games will be known as the ultimate death match between our Victors!”

The crowd is silent in shock for a moment, but then erupts in the loudest cheer yet.

“Instead of 24 tributes, we will have 74 Victors in the arena. Let us find out who the true victor is among them!” she shouts excitedly and then laughs.

His body slowly, so slowly, goes cold as he takes in what he just heard. It’s not possible. They can’t do this. Heart hammering in his chest, Stiles’ breath locks up in his throat. He can’t do this, he shouldn’t have to do this, not again. The room is too small, President Hooper’s face too disturbing, and Stiles just needs to move, needs to get away, needs to get out.

Melissa lets out a small sob and covers her face.

Next to her Scott’s mouth flops open before he mutters a weak “What did she say?”

As Stiles runs for the door, he hears an enraged scream from his father and then that bottle smashing against the wall. He should go back, reassure his father that everything is alright, but he can’t. Stiles runs and runs, feet crunching in the snow, harsh breath turned to fog in the cold air.

As the realization sinks in all around Panem, there are cries of dismay, cries of rage, cries of outright terror, but the loudest and most robust are the cries of utter delight. The people of the Capitol will party tonight as they wait for their ever precious games to begin.

“Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor.”