#Magic Stiles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sharksandsquirrelsandsnakes-ohmy · 18 days ago

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Stiles is Supernatural Crack

10. Road Trips Are the Best When You Don’t Have to Drive

And, with an epilogue longer than the first three chapters combined(11.6k words), our story comes to a close. It's been a fun ride, y'all, but this is it.

Derek kept a hand on Stiles’ back as they walked out of the train depot. Stiles looked at the full moon and grabbed his head. It was like an echo chamber of howling wolves. They wanted out. They hurt. They wanted to go home.

“Derek, we need to go. Now,” Stiles huffed, gritting his teeth as he trudged to the jeep.

Derek opened the jeep door to help Stiles in, telling him “we will. Need to stop at the loft and tell the others. We can—”

“No. Now, Derek,” Stiles said seriously. He glared at Derek as if it was his fault. He was breathing heavily, trying to suppress the anger and fear and sadness of the wolves in his head. “We are leaving now. I’ll call Scott but we are going,” Stiles said, getting in the jeep. He left no room for argument, closing the door behind him.

Derek rolled his eyes, biting back a growl. Stiles wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t himself. Derek didn’t like it. It was all wrong.

He got in the jeep and looked at Stiles. What he saw in Stiles’ face… it was like he wasn’t there. It wasn't like when he was possessed by the Nogitsune, not like someone else controlling him. No, Stiles looked vacant, like no one was there, like he gotten so into his head that he couldn't get back out. They didn’t have time to wait around or to argue with the pack about going. Stiles was struggling for control. He was fighting for his own mind, his own body, and didn't seem to be winning.

Derek had to help him. If he wanted Stiles back, they had to find a way to give the magic back to the wolves it was stolen from. The only way he knew how to help do that was to drive. he could drive and make sure Stiles was physically well but the mental and magic was up to him.Derek would have taken it all for Stiles if he could but he couldn't.

He started the jeep, his grip tight on the wheel. Derek huffed, getting them on the road. “Where are we going?”

“Sacramento.”

Derek nodded and started for the highway. There weren't many others out at this time of night but Derek felt like they were in a room full of people and completely alone all at once, the scents of the wolves in Stiles' head surrounding them. Emotions rolled off Stiles like waves in a storm. It was terrifying, not knowing what was going to happen. Derek couldn't help glancing at Stiles as he drove.

Stiles sat, looking absently at his hands as they drove. Tears trailed down his face, slow, and silent. He could feel the wolves in his head crying for their other halves, for their families, for their homes… They were hurting. Being away from where they belonged hurt. Some told their stories, called out names, or begged for comfort. They were old and young and in between. The youngest was only ten, a child who had half of them taken away without warning.

Seeing the tears rolling down Stiles’ face, Derek wanted more than anything to reach out to him. To pull over and hold him until the tears stopped but knew it wouldn't be better until Stiles was alone in his own mind again so Derek drove and he kept driving. He drove because it was the only thing he could do. He was relieved when Stiles fell into an uneasy sleep.

The sun was breaking the horizon when Stiles sat up, breaking out of sleep like he rose from the dead. “There. That one,” Stiles said, pointing at an exit.

Derek followed the directions as Stiles gave them but it didn’t sound like him. His tone and cadence were strange. He sounded like a different person and smelled… off. He was a flood of excitement as they got closer. Derek felt uneasy, the smell of multiple people filled the jeep again.

Derek parked in a lot near a bundle of houses. It looked like a summer camp with people– werewolves– running around. When the jeep parked in their space, everything stopped.

Derek reached across the front seat, grabbing Stiles. He didn’t need Stiles jumping out and accidentally starting a war. The pack moved closer and a low growl resonated in Derek’s throat. He might be on their territory but they were too close to. Too close to Stiles.

“Stay in the jeep,” Derek told Stiles, unbuckling his seat belt. “I’ll tell you when to get out.”

“I know their Emissary and their Alpha. We’re on good terms,” Stiles said, watching Derek. “I can help. I’m–”

“You are not an Emissary, Stiles! You don’t know how this works. I do,” Derek said seriously, sounding more harsh than he meant to. He turned off the jeep and set the key in Stiles' lap.

Stiles crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat. He rolled his eyes and looked out at the pack. Something in Stiles’ eyes changed, longing filled his eyes as he looked at them– the feelings of a torn spirit. Stiles came back to himself and swallowed the lump in his throat. Sympathy washed over him as he started out the windshield.

Derek stepped into his view, towards the pack, and Stiles couldn’t think. Before he thought not to, Stiles got out of the jeep and rushed to Derek’s side. He got a glare from Derek as he walked toward him.

Derek huffed a sigh, turning to hold a hand up to stop Stiles. “Stay behind me,” he said, more worry and exhaustion than anger. “Listen this time.” He turned back to the pack and gave a respectful nod to the alpha. “I’m Derek Hale, a beta in the McCall pack of Beacon Hills. This is Stiles Stilinski, the future Emissary of the McCall pack.”

“I am Alpha Julia of the Rosewood Pack. This is my Emissary Saffi,” she motioned to the smiling young woman next to her, “and we know who Stiles is,” the tall woman said. She gave her full attention to Stiles and smiled. She knew his work and trusted many pack issues to his care. “What are you doing here, dear?”

Stiles smiled back at her, a feeling of safety that wasn’t his rise in him. “It’s about Casey and Willow,” Stiles said softly, knowing it was hard to talk about.

The alpha frowned, her nose scrunching at the familiar scent coming off of Stiles. “They are in no state to answer questions and we know nothing we haven’t told you.”

“I know,” Stiles nodded, licking his lips. “I think I can help them. Can you take me to them?”

Derek’s arm was once again blocking Stiles from the other werewolves. “Take us. I need to stay with Stiles, you understand that.”

The alpha looked at her second, a silent conversation playing out, before she nodded. “That is acceptable but I will have two of my own stay with you. You understand,” she said and Derek nodded.

Two betas lead Derek and Stiles to a small house. The first room they entered was filled with medical supplies. As they walked down a hall, they stopped outside a door. When it opened, two people sat inside, looking almost catatonic. Stiles flinched, feeling two of the lost spirits howling with joy.

Stiles walked into the room and kneeled in front of the first person. He knew her name instantly. “Hi Willow, I’m Stiles,” he whispered, looking the girl over. She was lost, unable to focus on anything. “I think I know how to help you. Can I hold your hand?”

Stiles looked back at the betas that had escorted them in and got a nod. He looked back at Willow and carefully took the woman's hand. He could see her ripped spirit, the jagged edges of where part of her had been ripped away. She was half a person. Stiles could feel the wolf trying to get to her. It was clawing at him, trying to get to her. It screamed and cried and howled, longing for its other half. Stiles closed his eyes pushing at the wolf’s spirit, trying to return it where it belonged.

It was like an explosion of energy when the two halves found each other. Stiles was knocked back on his ass. Before he even opened his eyes, Derek was by his side. He looked at Willow. She was crying in joy, one of the beta holding her in their arms.

“Are you okay,” Derek asked, helping Stiles up.

“I'm fine. Is she,” Stiles asked, watching her. “Is she okay?”

Stiles looked at Derek and knew. Derek would help him. He’d walk with Stiles to the ends of the Earth. The only question was if he wanted to or had to. Stiles looked at Derek, looked beyond what even an alpha could see. He looked at Derek's spirit and found it entwined with his own. He couldn’t see where his ended and Derek’s started.

Stiles pulled out of Derek’s hold and shook his head. For a split second, Stiles saw hurt in his eyes that quickly returned to the cold demeanor Derek kept. He glanced at Willow, telling Derek he still had work to do.

He wanted to stay close to Stiles. He wanted to be next to him, he needed to, but Stiles… He pulled away from Derek. He needed space. He wanted Derek to back off.

He watched Stiles, silently cursing the universe for picking mates. Derek didn’t want to have a mate. It was exposing in every way, being impossibly attached to another person. It didn't feel like their feelings didn’t matter, as if the choices had been made from them.

Stiles approached slowly, knowing that two scared and confused werewolves could destroy their only hope of salvation if spooked. Now he wished Derek was at his back. Stiles looked past the nervous betas and into Willow’s eyes. They didn’t look empty or lost any more. She looked back at Stiles with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Can I see your hand,” Stiles asked gently, unsure what she’d be feeling.

Willow held her hand out to him and he took it in his. When he touched her hand, he lost his breath. He felt like he was watching a masterpiece form. Her spirit looked like a Kintsugi bowl, shattered to pieces and repaired with gold. The lines running through her torn spirit where she was putting herself back together. Even being newly returned, Stiles could see the girl was very strong, her spirit burned brighter and larger than any of the others.

Stiles let go of her hand with a smile. He could do this. He could help them. And if he could help them, he wouldn’t stop until he’d helped all of them.

Stiles moved to the other person, Casey. They were staring at the ceiling, no life to their eyes. He took their hand, focusing on the wolf spirit trying to rip its way out. This time he was ready. This time, the blast of magic didn’t knock him off his feet.

When Stiles looked up at Casey, it was beautiful. The same lines of repair ran through their spirit but another thing appeared too. Casey’s and Willow’s spirits were entangled like Stiles’ and Derek’s were. Stiles couldn’t stop smiling when the two felt each other’s presence. They were crying and holding each other. They whispered how they loved each other and never wanted to be apart again.

Stiles looked at them in awe. He wanted that. He glanced at Derek, seeing how tense and nervous he was. He looked back to how Casey's and Willow's spirits came together. Could he have that? Could he and Derek have really have that, too?

Stiles turned to look at Derek. He still had that same scowl set on his face but his eyes gave him away. Derek wanted that, too, just like Stiles. He wanted a love so strong it was an anchor in the real world. Even when they couldn’t keep going, they stayed together.

Stiles thought for a second he saw Derek’s spirit reaching for his even though he wasn’t touching him. He closed his eyes and felt the world tilt. It stopped, his body not hitting the floor like he thought. When he opened his eyes, he was looking right into Derek’s eyes. The world came into focus and he saw how tired and worried Derek truly looked. He held onto Stiles to keep him up right. He held Stiles close just to be sure he was safe.

A muttered conversation was had. At least, it sounded muttered. Stiles closed his eyes again. He was exhausted. His body felt like it weighed a ton. He was hungry too, but he needed sleep first. Stiles let himself give in, becoming dead weight in Derek’s arms.

He freaked out, lifting Stiles more so he wouldn’t fall. Derek leaned against the wall, carefully sitting down with Stiles held in his arms. He looked him over, seeing how pale and cold Stiles was. Derek whined deep in his throat, taking off his leather jacket to wrap around Stiles.

“Please,” Derek begged, “he gave all he had to help you. He needs sleep.”

One of the Betas shook their head. “That’s not for us to decide.”

“Then ask your alpha,” Derek growled, not happy with the silly pups they’d been left with.

One of the Betas left and Derek turned his attention back to Stiles. He pushed the hair off his forehead, trying to tell how badly Stiles had overdone it. He was still so cold. Derek’s eyes went wide, listening closely. He could have screamed in joy when he heard the steady beat of Stiles’ heart. He heaved a sigh, leaning his head on Stiles’ shoulder. Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles, holding him close to keep him warm.

Stiles woke up in a small bed. He was sweating from the warmth, the familiar weight of Derek’s wolf form pressed against his chest. He looked around, not recognizing where he was. He moved to rest a hand to Derek’s back, feeling safer knowing the wolf was nearby. Stiles blinked, looking at his arm in Derek’s leather jacket. He was wearing Derek’s jacket.

Derek seemed to feel Stiles wake up and looked up at him with sleepy eyes. Before Stiles could even ask, Derek growled softly at him. Stiles smiled, understanding what Derek was saying.

As soon as they were able to eat and get back on the road, Stiles made it their mission to help as many packs as fast as possible. Giving the power back was easy. It was draining and took a heavy toll on Stiles. He refused to stop until he was done.

Stiles charged his phone in the jeep as they drove to the next pack, cringing when it turned on. Derek glanced at him and Stiles held up the phone. “Scott. He called a few times.” By a few times he meant twelve. Derek nodded and Stiles groaned, calling Scott back.

As soon as he picked up, Scott yelled “where are you? Where’s Derek?”

Stiles cringed. “Hello, Scott. I’m doing great, really. Thanks for asking,” he said.

“Stiles,” Scott said frantically.

“We’re fine,” Stiles assured him, rubbing his face. “We left last night and I,” he sighed, “took Evander’s powers.”

“You did what,” Malia yelled, obviously having heard Stiles comment. “Do you want to go insane? You were already teetering on that line before!”

“Wait,” it was Kira’s voice this time, “does that make Stiles a Darach?”

“No! Not unless he did it for his own gain. He did it to someone,” Mason told her.

“Where are you now,” Scott asked Stiles.

“So, that’s the other half of it,” Stiles told Scott. “You know how werewolves had their powers stolen? Well, we’re returning them.”

Scott’s side of the line was full of loud arguing and overlapping yelling. Scott must have used the look because the pack quieted. “Where are you right now? I’m coming with you.”

Stiles hissed. “Oooh… I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Stiles!”

“I’ll text you updates,” Stiles said, talking over Scott. “Okay, I’m going to lose service so I’ll talk to you lat—” Stiles hung up in the middle of his sentence, earring a look of confused bewilderment from Derek. “What? He was never going to shut up!”

After they helped one pack, they’d get food or snacks for the road and move to the next pack unless Derek needed sleep. Stiles insisted on sleeping in the jeep while Derek drove to save time despite his protests. He only agreed to stop when he knew Derek was too tired to drive more.

They'd stop at a motel along the highway to rest. At first, Stiles tried to do more work on his phone while Derek rested but they quickly found that didn't work. Derek couldn't sleep if Stiles was up and pacing. He would make excuses about Stiles being loud or his phone being bright, anything to avoid the truth. When Stiles would finally agree to lay down, Derek would wander off to the bathroom and return in his wolf form. Stiles teased him about it the first few times, offering to make a pillow wall if that's what Derek really wanted. Derek would lie and tell him it was more comfortable like this. If Stiles knew it was a lie, he didn't push it. Even when Stiles laid in the bed with him, Derek found himself laying away until he knew Stiles had fallen asleep. He'd listen to Stiles' steady heart rate and his sleep mumbling. Eventually, the soft sound of Stiless peaceful sleep would lull Derek off himself.

Sometimes, Stiles would fine himself just looking at Derek as he drove. Stiles would watch how their spirits intertwinded and moved together. Sometimes they would end up stranded when the jeep broke down. Stiles made comments about how it was Derek’s fault because every time he got mad or they would argue, he’d push Roscoe too far. Two months later, they were ready to head to the last pack and Derek had basically rebuilt the Roscoe’s engine.

“Where’s the last pack,” Derek huffed. They had just gotten back into the jeep after changing clothes at a gas station.

“O-K,” Stiles said, looking at a map on his phone.

“That wasn’t something you can answer with an ‘okay’,” Derek grumbled.

“Not okay, OK as in Oklahoma,” Stiles told him.

Derek took a deep breath and glared at Stiles. “Sometimes I want to rip your throat out.”

“With your teeth,” Stiles mocked, knowing damned well he was safe. “I hope you feel like a dick when we get there,” he mumbled.

Derek rolled his eyes and started on the road. He listened carefully when Stiles turned to the GPS. Derek looked over, wanting to talk to Stiles, to find him retreating back in his mind to talk to the last of the wolf spirits. Derek sighed. This was going to be a long drive.

Derek saw Stiles’ face flick back to life as they crossed into New Mexico. He wanted to say something or crack a joke but that was more Stiles’ department, so he opted for silence.

Stiles looked out the window and then to Derek. “How long was I out,” he asked, not recognizing anything.

Derek hummed, “four hours, give or take.” He shrugged, glancing at Stiles. “Welcome to New Mexico.”

“Do you want to switch,” Stiles asked and Derek huffed a laugh.

He shook his head. “You are not driving when you can’t stay in the moment,” Derek said.

Stiles groaned but didn’t argue more. Actually, it was worse. Stiles started back up his never ending game of finding plates from all fifty states and rattling off fun facts about every state they see.

They were an hour away when Stiles' demeanor made the distinct change. He went from Stiles to a child’s excitement, then to an adult’s calm. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the former was the child Evander took the power from.

Stiles would return to control to at least answer a question. Derek had been very clear before with how uncomfortable he was asking the wolf spirits questions.

This pack would be the worst according to Stiles. It was a child and the alpha who had lost their powers. The pack that was left behind was a glorified orphanage. It was a place for children to go when their parents died and the pack couldn’t care for them.

Derek slowed, turning onto a long dirt driveway. The sides of the drive were fenced in, keeping the kids clear of the cars. As they drove it, they saw groups of kids running and playing outside. They were on the swings and playing tag. There were kids of all ages, some of the older ones stopped to watch them drive up.

Derek put the car in park and the front door opened. A nervous looking teen walked out with a crying baby on his hip. He walked to the gate as Derek and Stiles got out of the car.

“Who are you,” the teen asked, eyeing the two men.

This time, Derek deferred to Stiles, letting him take the lead. “This is Derek and I’m Stiles. We’re here to help your alpha,” Stiles told him. “She’s not well and neither is Andy, right?”

The teen’s apprehension was obvious. Stiles wanted to do something to gain his trust. It was like a flash of light when the small boy’s wolf spoke.

“They’re your family, your brother and mother…” Stiles mumbled. “Your name’s Garrett, right?”

The teen seemed to relax slightly but straighten up. He had been acting as Alpha. He knew he had to be the protector. “How do you know about that?”

“I helped Evander,” Stiles said and the teen froze. “I’ve been able to give all of the affected packs their powers back. I’m going to help yours, too.”

The teen, Garrett, looked behind himself and then opened the gate. “Okay,” he mumbled.

He led them into the house and took them up the stairs. He opened the door and let them in. “Momma doesn’t like when I let people in without permission. We do most of the dealing on the porch.”

“Derek,” Stiles whispered.

Derek knew what he was suggesting. He wanted Derek to go downstairs so it wouldn’t be as invasive on the pack missing their alpha. Derek shook his head, glancing at the lost alpha.

“I’ll be outside the door,” Derek relented, looking at Garrett and the baby. He didn’t like leaving Stiles with people they didn’t know but stepped out like he’d said.

Garrett shushed the baby, rocking to try to calm them. He looked frazzled, like he was on his last leg. “How are you going to help them,” he asked, letting the baby cry.

Stiles frowned, looking at the kid sympathetically but answered the question. “I’m an Emissary for a pack in northern California. It’s hard to explain but– in simplest form– the wolf half of them was taken and I can return it. That half of them have been using me to keep going. In a way, it’s like your mom and brother have been living in my head.”

“How?”

“It won’t look like much to you,” Stiles explained, sitting down next to the alpha. “I’ll take her hand like this,” he held her hand, “and then the magic moves from me to her. She’ll want you close when it happens.” Gerrett moved closer and Stiles turned to talk to her. “Hi Leanndra. I’m going to help you and your son. It’ll be better soon.”

Stiles closed his eyes, feeling the pull of the magic. He let it go, helping the two halves of the spirit return to each other. When he opened his eyes, he saw the woman light up in a beautiful pattern of gold and sky blue. Each spirit had their own color that fit them.

Leanndra came back with a huff. She opened her eyes and Stiles let go of her hand. Garrett attacked her, hugging his mom and crying. She seemed surprised for a moment but hugged her son back.

Stiles smiled at her and stood up. He looked around the room, seeing the little boy laying on the bed. He could see the care Garrett had taken to be sure they were okay. Stiles sat beside the child. His name was Andy.

“Hey buddy. I'm going to make it better, okay,” Stiles whispered, placing his hand on Andy’s arm. He looked at Leanndra and then at Andy.

He let go, pushing the magic into Andy. He watched as the two halves met, swirling around as they rejoined. He closed his eyes as the spirit burned brighter, forming the golden lines.

Andy slowly sat up and Stiles helped him up. “Your mom is right there,” he whispered, supporting the boy as he crawled closer to his mom at the end of the bed.

Leanndra scooped him up in her arms, holding the boys closer. She softly cooed at the still crying baby, his sobs turning to whimpers. She sighed, “oh Eli,” rubbing the side of the baby’s face.

Stiles looked at the door and then to the baby. “Do you want me to hold him,” he asked, keeping his distance.

Leandra and Andy both looked at Stiles. It was like they knew him. They did know him. They shared a head for the months it took to bring them back to their bodies. They knew him on an instinctual level, a way stronger than if they’d met in the traditional sense.

She looked at Stiles and then the baby. “Do you want to? He’s fussy. I can never get him completely settled,” Leanndra told him and Stiles nodded.

Garrett let Stiles take the baby. Stiles blinked hard, feeling magic pushing him to look at Eli’s spirit. It was a feeling he got anytime he touched someone now. Stiles held his breath, looking down at the small thing. He wasn’t used to babies but he knew the family would want to have their moment. Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and sighed.

“Hi Eli,” he whispered, rocking him like Garrett had.

Eli went from hiccuped whines to silence as he looked up at Stiles. He hummed a small noise of confusion and reached up for Stiles’ face. He grabbed at his shirt and giggled.

Stiles smiled down at the baby. “You aren’t fussy,” he whispered to Eli as if he understood. Stiles smiled, blinking back the rising pull of exhaustion. He’d done this enough to know and fight the feeling. Stiles sighed heavily and Eli went quiet. He could feel his mind begging him to look at the baby’s spirit but he knew it would make his tired state worse. “Uh, can– can Derek come in? I need…”

Leanndra looked at Stiles, then the door, and back to Stiles. “Of course,” she said, looking at Stiles as he grew weaker.

Derek was in the room and at Stiles’ side before anyone could say more. He wrapped an arm around him, keeping him up right. “Do you need to sit or a snack? Are you cold,” he asked, his mind running through the list of things.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. “Just not a hundred percent…” and Stiles felt better with Derek close. It didn’t need to be said and it never had been, they just knew.

In all his worry about Stiles, Derek never noticed the silent baby in his arms. Eli was looking up at Derek with big green eyes. He reached up for Derek, grabbing at his shirt. When Derek looked down at him, Eli squealed happily, a smile on his face.

Derek seemed confused, looking between Eli and Stiles. “You can barely hold yourself up, why do you have a baby,” he asked. “Give him here. You need to sit.”

“Derek, I’m fine,” Stiles told him, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to—” Stiles let himself slip into the comfort of his magic, looking at Derek’s spirit like he would in the jeep, and rapidly lost what little strength he had left.

Derek didn’t miss a beat, holding Eli to his chest with one arm and holding Stiles up right with the other. He slowly lowered them to the ground. “You’re an idiot,” He grumbled, holding Stiles to his side.

Stiles looked around them with wonder in his eyes.When he and Derek were close, their spirits’ became entangled in a mess of shades of red. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other started. But now Eli was there. His Spirit burned a deep fiery orange-red. His spirit slotted right in with Derek’s and Stiles’ like he was meant to be there, wrapping around them and tying them together.

Stiles looked at Leanndra, Garrett, and Andy. their spirits were slotted together just the same. They all held onto each other, lines of gold running across them. They stayed together, moving as one. It was only changed as Leanndra moved to help Stiles. Even then, her spirit left a trail back to her family.

Derek let out an unintentional growl when Leanndra came too close to them. He glared at her, holding Stiles closer. She moved back. She didn’t challenge the disregard of her authority. They might be on her territory but Stiles was Derek’s mate. Leanndra knew they were mates, she felt it the entire time her wolf was stuck in Stiles’ head. She knew that strong protective instinct respected no authority. She saw the way Derek held Stiles when he was tired and overworked from the inside. Derek would protect Stiles no matter what.

“Can I help,” Leanndra asked, watching the way Derek held Eli as close as Stiles– like he was protecting his family. “Food? Water? Sleep?” She looked behind her at the boys. She wouldn’t have them back without Stiles’ help. That was why she needed to help.

Eli whimpered in Derek’s arm, the tense feelings hanging in the room upsetting the baby. Stiles closed his eyes and forced the magic back. He placed a hand on Eli’s back next to Derek’s. The movement pulled Derek’s attention to Stiles again. He pulled him closer, looking over him for any signs of distress.

“I’m fine,” Stiles told him, smiling at the tense expression covering his face. “Hey Sourwolf, stop making that face.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffed, dropping his head on Stiles’ shoulder. “I hate you.”

Stiles leaned against his head and laughed. “No you don’t.”

It was palpable when the room relaxed. It was like a breath of relief rolled through the room. Even Eli was quiet. Derek moved Eli so he could see both Derek and Stiles. He seemed to relax and Stiles chuckled. Derek looked down at the baby and smiled. He started to play with the baby, tickling him and making him giggle. When he grabbed Derek’s finger, the man melted and Stiles really understood what he’d seen.

"Eli has not stopped or slowed down since I met him,” Leanndra said, looking at the three with a smile. They fit. “I'm not sure he's ever been quiet."

Derek’s smile grew and he looked up at her "Sounds familiar,” he turned to Stiles, “doesn't it, Stiles?"

Leanndra perked up at the comment, looking between them. “Do you have kids?”

Stiles turned to look at her with wide eyes. “What? Oh, no! Definitely not,” he sputtered quickly.

“You just described Stiles to a T,” Derek explained.

Leanndra nodded and Garrett jumped in, seeing what his mother did. “Have you two thought about adopting,” Garrett asked genuinely.

Stiles chuckled, “no. We’re not even dating.”

Leanndra looked at Stiles with wide eyes. "Nonsense,” she declared. “You must have been together a long time. My wolf could feel it. Your bond is so strong." She shook her head, not really believing Stiles.

“We’ve known each other for years. Since I was a sophomore in high school,” Stiles said.

Derek looked at Stiles in surprise. “We met before that,” he said, looking almost hurt that Stiles didn’t remember.

Stiles shook his head. “When?”

Derek licked his lips. “After the fire,” he whispered.

Stiles looked at him and shook his head. “I don’t—”

“We can talk about it later,” Derek said quickly and Stiles watched the tough facade cover Derek’s face.

“Let us feed you before you leave. It’s the least we can do,” Garrett said, looking to his mother for approval.

Leanndra stood up and wrapped an arm around her son. “He’s right. Why don’t you sleep too? You must be tired.”

They took them up on the offer– or Stiles did since Derek wasn’t talking. Stiles ate like he hadn’t eaten in years. He was starving. Derek tried to give his food to Stiles too and got a death stare telling him to eat.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep now,” Derek said at last, having only eaten half his plate.

Garrett took Derek to the room he’d set up for them. One bed, great. Derek laid down in the bed and tried to sleep.

Stiles sat at the table, watching the stairs that Derek had gone up. Was it really that important that he didn’t remember something that happened thirteen years ago? Thirteen years ago, Stiles’ mom was dying. She was delusional and thought Stiles was trying to kill her. Claudia’s disease was the only thing Stiles remembered from thirteen years ago– it was all he remembered until middle school and then he remembered his dad's drinking.

“He really loves you,” Leanndra whispered and Stiles huffed a laugh.

“He tolerates me,” Stiles muttered, picking at his food.

Leanndra frowned. “What makes you think that?”

Stiles looks at her and rolls his eyes. “You don’t know what I’ve done…” Memories of the past six years ran through his mind. Derek being framed for murder. The Nogitsune. Leaving Derek with the Darach. Kate attacking and kidnapping Derek multiple times. “I’ve been a shit friend, which makes me an even shittier partner. I don’t expect him to forgive me, let alone love me.”

“He did and he does,” Leanndra said softly.

Stiles chewed his lip and pushed his plate forward. “I think I’m going to head to bed too.”

Gerrett was coming back when Stiles was heading up so he took him to the room. Stiles waved goodnight to Eli and opened the door. Derek was lying on top of the blankets facing the wall. He sighed and walked over.

“Can we talk about it now,” Stiles asked, nervously looking at Derek. Stiles licked his lips and sighed. He’d start. “My mom was dying.” he shook his head. “I don’t remember much of anything other than that. The fire… it was right in the middle of all that. I just don’t…”

Stiles was fighting back tears when he felt the bed move. Stiles looked back and saw Derek looking at him. He sighed, laying down with Derek. He searched Derek’s face for any emotion to go off of.

“You hate me,” Stiles asked.

“No.”

“You should.”

“I can’t hate you, Stiles.”

“Will you tell me about it,” Stiles asked in a whisper.

“About what?”

“About the first time we met.”

Derek took a breath and licked his lips nervously. “After the fire, your dad brought me back to the station. They were waiting to figure out who I would go to while Laura was in the hospital. You were there, too.”

“Was I just too cute? Did I steal your heart,” Stiles teased.

“Stiles, you were eleven and I was fifteen.” Derek paused, pushing the hair off of Stiles’ forehead. “You were asleep on the couch when I first got there. Your dad let me sit in the dark office and he wrapped a blanket around me. He promised it would be okay and then he went to deal with other stuff.”

“What'd I say,” Stiles asked and Derek smirked.

“You were asleep.”

“Not for long, I bet,” Stiles wagered.

“Not for long,” Derek agreed. “You woke up and saw me sitting there. You called me weird for just sitting in the dark.”

“I didn't!”

“You did, “ Derek said seriously. “Then you asked if I wanted to color or read.”

“Whish one did you pick,” Stiles asked, having a pretty good guess.

“I let you pick. I actually wasn't much of a reader then,” Derek told him. “You gave me your copy of The Lightning Thief to read and you started drawing something in a notebook.”

“You read Percy Jackson?”

“Because of you,” Derek said with a nod. “It was the first series that I was really able to escape into.”

Stiles smiled, “So you love reading because—”

“Because of a nerdy little kid I met at the police station let me borrow his book.”

“I made you a nerd too,” Stiles told him. He took a hard breath and looked at Derek. “What do you want to do now?”

Derek thought about it. He looked at Stiles and a small smile pulled at his lips. “I want to rebuild Hale house. What do you want to do?”

Stiles bit his lip. “I need to learn to control my magic,” he said and Derek nodded. “I’m a danger to all of you and myself. I’ll tell Scott and… take off.” Derek scrunched his eyebrows at the statement. “I’ll travel to different packs and learn from the more experienced Emissaries.”

Derek hummed and thought. “We can do that.”

“What?”

“We can do that. We’ll take the same path we did getting here. We can stop and spend time with each of the packs on the way. You can learn from them that way.”

“What about Hale house,” Stiles asked. “You can’t not do what you want because of me…”

Derek sighed. “I’ll call the contractors and Peter or Malia or someone in the pack can handle the day to day. I’ll stay with you, making sure you don’t hit your head on a rock and die when you pass out.” Stiles chuckled and Derek smirked. “I know you. I can tell when you need to eat and when to check for when you over work yourself.”

“I could hurt you,” Stiles said, his smile falling.

“You haven’t and I don’t think you will,” Derek whispered.

Stiles nodded. “Okay. We’re going to travel together,” he smiled, leaning into Derek.

“What else is new,” Derek asked.

The next morning, Stiles found himself moving closer to the warm body behind him. He hummed, feeling Derek’s stubble rubbing against his head. The arm over his waist pulled him closer. They were slow to wake, finding warmth and comfort in each other. It was the sound of children that woke them at last. Stiles rolled over to hide against Derek.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, his voice gruff from sleep. “Stiles, we have to get up. We need to get on the road.”

Stiles huffed, slowly opening his eyes. He looked up at Derek quizzically.

“What,” Derek asked, not prepared for snarky comments so soon after waking up.

“This is the first time you didn’t go full wolf when you slept in a bed with me,” Stiles stated.

“What about when I had stitches?”

“So it's the first time you've done so without necessity,” Stiles corrected, “but it sounds nicer the first way.

He was right, though, and there would be many more nights after.

It took six months getting back to Beacon Hills. They stopped with each pack as Stiles learned from their Emissaries. At some point, they started dating but there really wasn’t a specific moment it happened. It was more of a gradual slide until they realized what they were doing.

Their trip back started with the pack of orphaned children. Derek found it hard to leave. They were all so sweet and small and lost. He felt just like them. He knew they couldn’t teach Stiles without an Emissary but Derek learned. He learned how good they both were with kids.

From the second pack, Stiles learned about herbs and animal communication.

It was a Native American pack that saw Stiles as one of them for returning the power that was taken from them. They stayed with them the longest as Stiles learned to identify plants and their uses.

Stiles and Derek were both in awe when they first arrived. The entire pack– bar a few young children– were able to fully shift into wolves. Their Emissary was able to easily understand the wolves and recognized every one thought. She told Stiles that each Emissary has a specific talent they excelled at and was amazed to see Stiles utilize many.

They spent many evenings laughing and talking as they ate. The pack would then go for a group run. They told Derek he could come with them when he felt comfortable. Derek stayed close to Stiles for the first few nights, joining the run when he knew Stiles was comfortable and safe.

When working one night Stiles' familiarity with the ability was brought up.

“You understand the wolves,” the pack Emissary asked him and Stiles smiled, laughing nervously.

“I can understand Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a shrug. “I don’t get your pack on the animal esp.” he laughed at his own joke.

The Emissary, Kateri laughed too but for other reasons. “That’s not the same,” she chuckled. “He’s your mate. That has its own thing going.”

“Oh shit,” Stiles said, laughing hysterically. “How does that work? Could you imagine,” Stiles huffed, his voice reaching Derek as he looked for him and drew him closer. Derek found himself relaxing at the sound of Stiles' voice. “Can you– can you imagine someone like me being with Derek,” Stiles asked as if it were hilarious. “Shit… Mates, soulmates. It’s magic and fun and stupid! What if you hate your mate?”

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on Derek. Stiles’ thought it was stupid. Someone like Stiles with Derek? What did that mean? He made himself walk away. Derek had really thought they were on the same wavelength about being mates when they decided to do all of this but he must have been wrong. Stiles didn’t want to be with him. He needed to run.

“What! Do you hate your mate,” the Emissary asked, completely bewildered.

“No! No, of course not,” Stiles said quickly, his face turning bright red. He thought about Derek, how he'd been there for Stiles every step of the way as he'd learned about his magic and how he planned to be with him as he kept learning and, “I actually think I might be in love with him,” he admitted. It was the first time he'd admitted it to anyone including himself.

“Oh, Stiles,” Kateri cooed. “It can be very scary to know you were meant to be with someone. It can feel like everything is out of your control and you don't have a choice, but I can promise that you will see why you're meant to be together.” Her tone was gentle as she explained to him, like she was soothing a child after a nightmare. “I've been around this pack since I was very very little and I have yet to see a set of mates who shouldn't have been. You and Derek, you're good friends?”

“I think so,” Stiles said nervously, as if it could be a trick question.

“Then you have nothing to fear,” Kateri said, placing her hand to Stiles’. “If it's too much to think of him being your mate as a romantic connection, then you can take comfort in knowing that all of the people I knew who had mates were the best of friends with them. Take a breath dear. You're already there.”

The night before they left, a huge party was held. They danced and sang and ate and ran and laughed and talked. Derek watched Stiles dance. He watched clumsy, awkward Stiles dance with his new friends. Derek smiled. Seeing Stiles so happy, looking free and unburdened, was a welcomed change from when they'd left Beacon Hills.

Stiles saw Derek sitting off to the side. “Come on, Sourwolf. A little fun won't kill you,” he teased, waving Derek over.

Derek just shook his head, staying firmly in place. Or, he did until Stiles walked over and took his hand. Then, Derek was following like a puppy as Stiles pulled him up to dance.

From the second pack, Derek learned even though he didn’t like it otherwise, he loved dancing with Stiles.

From the third pack, Stiles learned about water magic.

It was a blended pack. Two alphas, a born wolf and a turned wolf, had fallen in love and settled their mixed pack by an ocean bluff. Their Emissary was a nervous man who found the crashing waves and sea breeze a form of comfort. He showed Stiles how to move water like an extension of his own body. He showed him how to find a relaxed center in a noisy environment and how to soothe the bubbling of the magic inside.

While Stiles learned, the pack hounded Derek to tell them about his relationship with Stiles. They wanted to know how they met and when and where. How did they figure out they were mates and what would they do now? The little kids would jump on Derek and sit in his lap. He had a constant following begging for details.

“When did you meet Emissary Stiles,” a little girl asked, her eyes, as blue as the ocean, looked up at Derek expectantly.

“Well… his friend got turned into a werewolf. I was trying to help his friend,” Derek told them, “but Stiles is really stubborn and thought he could halp better than me.”

“But Emissary Stiles isn’t a werewolf,” one of the little boys declared. “How would he know about us?”

“That’s what I thought. He knew nothing about it,” Derek said with a tone of mock exasperation.

“Oh please, Sourwolf,” Stiles scoffed, walking over to Derek and his herd of followers. Stiles picked up one of the small kids, sitting her on his lap. “See, Derek is forgetting that figuring things out and learning secrets are what I do best.” The kids ‘oh’d and ‘ah'd about Stiles' addition, turning the tides of the story in his favor.

Stiles would smile and laugh when he saw Derek surrounded. The kids would mob him too and Stiles took the pups into his arms without a second thought. He’d jump in and change the story to make himself the hero or to add a dramatic flair he claimed Derek lacked. They were never alone and Derek found that that idea was growing on him.

From the third pack, Derek learned he enjoyed the noise and togetherness of Stiles and kids.

From the forth pack, Stiles learned about electric magic.

The grandfatherly Emissary taught Stiles to harness the power of a storm. He taught him useful magic and a few tricks for entertainment. The pack was made up of a lot of other people, including a Kitsune. The Emissary and Kitsune taught Stiles control over wild magic. Lightning was difficult to work with because of the discipline it required.

Derek saw Stiles practicing and stopped to watch him. He was focusing on holding a ball of electricity in the air in front of himself. Derek closed his eyes, trying to feel what Stiles felt, smelling for any sign of distress but he was calm. His emotions were level. His magic hummed at a balanced, steady frequency. As Stiles learned to control the magic, it didn’t feel nearly as overwhelming.

The Kitsune walked up beside Derek as he watched Stiles. The Kitsune explained how impressed they were with Stiles. He learned quickly and– though often scattered– how focused he became when learning.

From the forth pack, Derek learned Stiles could always surprise him.

From the fifth pack, Stiles learned about intentional magic.

The fifth pack they visited was… odd. They weren't like Derek and Stiles were used to, at least. None of the werewolves seemed interested in learning about the visiting pair. They didn't seem all that interested in members of their own pack, really. The best way to explain it was that they seemed more like neighbors than packmates. Everyone had their own lives that didn't necessarily require the others.

The Emissary, Ameila, was excited to see Stiles, though. She pulled him into her workshop as soon as they set their bags down in the cabin that had been made for them. Derek was not a fan of her. The way she grabbed Stiles' arm and just started to pull him away didn't sit well with him. If nothing else, she was immature.

Of course, she did teach Stiles some really interesting spells of intention. Many of them, you could hardly tell she was doing a spell. Most of them were silent. You had to focus, setting what you wanted in your head and sending that intention to the object of your desire.

It took two days for Stiles to get a spoon to stir a cup of water from thoughts alone, even when he made the accompanying physical guestures. He could help but compare himself to Ameila, who could make things float off the shelf and into her hands without words or movement.

When working one night while maybe, possibly, drinking a bit too much, Stiles and Ameila started talking about the other abilities he had gained from his wealth of power.

“You can understand bend water like the fucking Avatar,” Ameila said in amazement, the alcohol making everything more exciting than normal. “And the wolves! You said you could understand them in their full shift?”

“Not really,” Stiles laughed, his face rosey from the alcohol. “I can understand Derek. I can't even understand the other werew— well, Malia's a werecoyote but she full shifts too and I can't understand her. When I was learning from Kateri, she blew my skill out of the water. I guess I can understand Der because he's my mate, though.”

Ameila gasped, “oh my god, I didn't know! Uhg, that explains so much. That must be so freaky! I mean, he's a wolf and your mates? Is it, like, so intense when he kisses you? I heard it's all different with your mate.”

“Oh shit,” Stiles said, laughing hysterically. “Could you imagine,” Stiles huffed, his voice reaching outside the workshop.

Derek heard Stiles, he had been looking for him and he walked closer, listening to the conversation even if he shouldn't have. The sound of Stiles' voice was relaxing for him, hearing his rambling was soothing and he had admittedly been a little worried about him.

“Can you– can you imagine someone like me being with Derek like that,” Stiles asked, trying to laugh even as he wished it were true. “Shit… Mates, soulmates. It’s magic and fun and stupid! What if you hate your mate?”

“What! Do you hate your mate,” Amelia asked, completely bewildered in her drunken state.

Stiles giggled, looking up at the ceiling from his place on the floor. He shook his head, “no. No, I… I love him, actually. Not that he wants me, just the stupid mate magic or whatever…”

“Ooooohh,” she cooed, devolving into a laugh, “you love him.”

Stiles smiled up at the ceiling, knowing that at the end of the day Derek would be there when he went to bed and when he woke up. Hell, if he yelled, Derek would probably be there in seconds. “Ya,” he said wistfully, “I definitely love him…” Stiles sighed, finishing his drink. “That’s why I think he deserves better than me.”

Stiles heard Ameila tisk at him and she muttered in French. While Stiles was far from fluent, he was pretty sure she'd called him an idiot. “That man is so in love with you, it makes him look stupid! He’s ignored traditions so many times,” she said, shaking her head.

“That’s just Derek. He's not much for pleasantries,” Stiles laughed.

“No, it's about you,” she hummed. “I thought he might just be… himself—”

“Rude. You thought he was a rude asshat who didn't care about making a good impression,” Stiles said and sat up. Ameila hummed, considering the words. “you can say it. I thought he was when I saw him. I also thought he was a psychopathic murder.” Stiles looked at his empty bottle and leaned over to throw it away. “turns out that was his uncle.”

“Sorry,” Ameila said, pushing for details without saying so.

“Long story,” Stiles huffed, not adding more. “Point is, he doesn't exactly make a good first impression.”

Ameila sat back in her chair, trying to get past the crazy not-story with the alcohol clouding her brain. “I— No… He followed every convention, every tedious word and action perfectly, until you were involved. Like, uh, normally he wouldn’t go into the med rooms without our Alpha present but he’s rarely more than a few steps away from you. Hell, I'm shocked he's not here now,” she laughed, sipping her drink. “Oh! And the look he gave poor Marty for getting too close to you? He's still scared of him!”

“He has that effect,” Stiles snickered. “I wish I could say he’s all bark and no bite to put you at ease, but it'd be a lie.”

“He’s obsessed with you,” Ameila said, rolling her eyes and opening another drink for Stiles.

He shook his head at the drink. “I'm good,” he said and Ameila shrugged, setting it next to him.

“You have to tell me all about this prospective lover boy,” Amelia teased, opening another drink for herself.

Derek found himself wandering back to the Emissary’s workshop around midnight. Stiles had yet to come back to their room and, despite his confusion on where they stood, Derek couldn't sleep without him.

When Derek noticed that the shop's lights were off, he froze. His heart rate spiked. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit, where's Stiles? He was just here, he could still smell him. He could swear he was still here.

A squeaky screen door opened on a nearby house and someone stuck their head out. “Hey,” they called and Derek looked over at them. “You're Stiles' mate, ya? Nevermind, that was a stupid question. I can smell him on you from here. Come get him before he throws up on my couch.”

Derek hurried over to the house and followed the wolf into the house. Sure enough, there was Stiles laying on the couch, very drunk.

Derek sighed, patting Stiles's cheek to get him to wake up but he only hummed and leaned into Derek’s hand. “Idiot,” he mumbled to himself.

“Listen, I agreed to be responsible for that one,” the wolf who'd let Derek in said, pointing to Ameila, “but that one is all yours. Word of advice though, might keep an eye on him and the liquor. He can drink like an alcoholic.”

That one? Keep an eye on him? Did they think Stiles was a child? She was talking about him like he wasn't even a person and the way they talked about Ameila? What the hell did they mean, responsible for her?

“I don't need your advice,” Derek growled, carefully picking Stiles up and glaring heavily at the other wolf.

The wolf scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I was just making sure you know. Didn't mean nothing by it.”

Derek took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I'll take him back so he's not your problem anymore. And, by the way, His name is Stiles,” Derek grumbled and the other wolf shrugged, holding the doors open for Derek to carry Stiles out.

Derek was fuming as he walked Stiles back to their cabin. Who talks about another person like that in a serious tone? As a joke, maybe. Saying Stiles drank like an alcoholic? That was over the fucking line. You don't just say that shit! You just—

“Derek,” Stiles mumbled, opening his eyes tiredly, a slight slur to his words.

“It's me,” Derek answered, glancing at Stiles as he walked.

“You're warm,” Stiles hummed, leaning into Derek more.

How could someone see this as a burden? He knew what Stiles was like when he was drunk. He'd ramble about his favorite shows or his current hyperfixation. He talked without a filter and was about as graceful as a newborn baby deer, sure, but he wasn't trouble. If he felt sick, he'd lay down and eventually fall asleep just like he had. And the one time Stiles had thrown up from drinking, he felt like shit about it and tried to clean it up himself. How was he a problem?

And calling him an alcoholic? Stiles was fucking terrified of becoming an alcoholic. Derek had seen Stiles drunk a total of 5 times in the years he's known Stiles. That fucking asshole had known Stiles for, what, a week? Maybe two? Where did they get off saying Stiles was an alcoholic?

“Sorry you had to come get me,” Stiles mumbled, yawning. He wrinkled his nose. “Shit, is that me? I smell awful.”

“You smell like alcohol,” Derek mumbled, not disagreeing. Like alcohol and that fucking house.

“Fuck,” Stiles groaned, “I didn't… We were talking about magic and the wolves and mates and this whole mess and I didn't even realize..” Derek hummed in acknowledgement, listening to Stiles and, shit, he was being so nice about it. Stiles felt like shit. This was his fault. Derek must ave been so worried about him and, fuck, he must be pissed!

“I'm really sorry, Der. We were just venting about the crap half of the magic and then Ameila offered me a drink and we were talking about our packs and all the crap we've been through and then she asked about you… I don't know and being mates and it's all so much and, come on, you got stuck with me, out of all people! And everytime she got herself another, she got me one too andI said I was good but I guess I didn’t realize. I'm really sorry Der…”

Derek stopped, looking at Stiles seriously. “One more time. What happened,” he asked and Stiles's face went red.

“Do I have to?”

“You told her you were done and she kept giving you drinks,” Derek asked.

“Kind of? I guess,” Stiles rubbed his face, “I mean, ya. I didn't think they were that strong but maybe I was wrong.”

“Stiles, you said you were done?”

“Kind of? She asked if I wanted another and I said I was good.”

Derek gritted his teeth, He took a while to say anything else. Stiles was starting to think Derek was mad at him.

“You said you were done and she kept giving you more?”

“Ya, but I drank them. I should've stopped.”

“So should she,” Derek scoffed, bumping the door to their room open. “Why don't we head for the next pack tomorrow? you can sleep in the jeep if you still don't feel good.”

“I'm sorry,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek sighed, putting Stiles down to lean on the bed. He took a breath and looked at Stiles. He looked so upset, it made Derek's heart sche. He held Stiles’ face in his hands. “I'm not med at you,” he told him. “I'm not particularly happy with Emissay Ameila at the moment or that fucking asshole she lives with.”

“Sarah? She's a little rough around the edges but—”

“Stiles,” Derek said. “I don't really care who it was. You're upset, I'm slightly less pissed now, but, between the two of us, I think it's time we go. If you really want to stay… just know that it might feel like I'm glued to you.”

Stiles laughed, leaning into Derek's touch. “I don't think leaving early would be that bad,”

“Thank god,” Derk huffed. Fuck, he relly wanted to kiss Stiles. He was so close and that fucking smile. He looked so cute when he was tired… “You should probably take a shower,” Derek mumbled, stepping back from Stiles. He saw how Stiles’ shoulders sagged when Derk let go of him.

“Uh, ya. I should,” Stiles said, grabbing his clothes and headed for the bathroom.

From the fifth pack, Derek learned that they both might have been a little too trusting.

They both learned for each of the twenty-three packs they visited. Stiles learned about magic and Derek learned how much he didn’t know about Stiles. The more Derek learned about Stiles, the more he loved him.

As they drove across the state, Derek made a list of things he loved about Stiles. Stiles' smile could light up a room. His eyes were honey golden in the sun. He loved kids and kids loved him. He was a fast learner. He was polite and respectful. He asked so many interesting questions Derek would never have thought of. He was a horrible dancer but didn’t let it stop him from having fun. He would scream the lyrics of songs he really liked. He had a serious caffeine addiction that made him a sleepy mess in the morning. He focused on things he enjoyed like they were the only thing in the world. He noticed everything. He would yell in triumph when he gained a new skill. He would try any food once. He would say he would say he wouldn’t to do a task he hated the entire time he did it. He liked to complain but would freak out if you actually tried to accommodate his complaints. Stiles was amazing and irritating and stupid and a genius and Derek loved him. It wasn’t because they were mates and some cosmic force decided they needed each other. No, Derek had slowly fallen in love with Stiles.

From the twenty-third and final pack, Stiles learned about spirit vision– the ability to see the souls of others.

Saffi was the Emissary to teach Stiles about seeing the souls of others. It was almost fitting since she was the person who told Stiles that cloaking magic didn’t work on mates because she could see Stiles and Derek’s mate bond from a mile away.

A lot of time was spent watching the pack. Stiles was trying to learn to see souls without having physical contact with another person. He’d done it twice: one with Willow and Casey and once with Leanndra, Garrett and Andy.

Derek had been walking when he heard Stiles talking. “What do family bonds look like,” Stiles asked Saffi. Really, Derek should have kept moving but he found the lessons Stiles learned to be interesting.

Saffi smiled at him. “It’s very similar to a mate bond but the child’s, or children’s, soul is distinct from their parents. It still swirls and wraps around the others.”

“I saw one,” Stiles muttered, looking at Saffi. “Derek… When we were with this pack that takes in pups without family to care for them, he held this little boy.” Stiles smiled thinking about Eli. “I looked at Derek and his spirit and how it's attached to mine but I saw what you described. I got this feeling like he belonged with us…” Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“That’s amazing, Stiles,” Saffi told him with a huge smile. “Did you tell Derek?”

That was Derek’s cue to move along. He went on with his day, at least he tried to, but the conversation ran through his head on loop. He was supposed to have a family. A real one.

From the twenty-third pack, Derek learned that he was supposed to be a family with Stiles and Eli.

They drove into Beacon hills as the sun was going down. Derek drove to see the progress on the Hale house. He parked in front of the nearly completed house and smiled. It was perfect, just how he remembered.

Stiles woke up and glared against the jeep’s lights. He saw the Hale house and yawned. “Is it done?”

“Almost. They need to finish the plumbing,” Derek said, looking at Stiles and something clicked. He was head over heels in love with Stiles. "Marry me…"

Stiles looked at Derek, processing what he said. "What," was all he could manage.

"Marry me," Derek repeated and Stiles groaned, rubbing his face.

Stiles huffed a sigh and turned in his seat to look directly at Derek. "Derek, you're tired. You're going to wake up tomorrow and all of this will be a really embarrassing sleep deprived mistake," Stiles told him, more than sure he was right.

Derek shook his head. "I have never been more sure of something in my life," he mumbled.

Stiles wanted to scream. This wasn’t happening. Derek was not asking his to marry him in the jeep they had spent eight months driving around in. When he was finally about to open his mouth without screaming incoherently, Stiles told him "ask me in the morning when you haven't been driving for five hours straight."

Derek agreed and Stiles Melted into his seat. He could not do this. He was too tired. He wasn't able to sleep where he was comfortable. He wanted to collapse into the pile of werewolves and werecoyote and banshee and kitsune and humans. Stiles was bone tired.

They drove to the loft and stumbled in with bags of clothes and keepsakes they had acquired along the way. It was late. Stiles trudged up the stairs and into the room that had been turned into the designated cuddle pile room.

When he found the pack up and dressed, ready for a run, Stiles went off. “Oh Hell no! You aren’t doing any such thing,” Stiles yelled at the people blankly staring at him. “Every goddamned one of you better be in pjs and ready for a damn cuddle pile in an hour or I will show you what I’ve learned.”

Stiles glared at them, waiting for the surprise to wear off. When it did, Stiles was attacked by an onslaught of hugs and whining and mumbles that told his he better never leave them again.

Stiles got what he wanted. The entire pack was curled up in a pile, fast asleep. They made faces when Derek laid behind Stiles and wrapped an arm around his waist. There were probably more stares when Stiles rolled over and hid his face against Derek but he didn’t care.

Stiles woke up the next morning more well rested than he’d been since he left Beacon Hills. He smiled when he found a warm pot of coffee left by Lydia. He poured himself a cup and Sat down at the breakfast bar. Derek wasn’t far behind Stiles, but stopped to look for something before he walked down stairs to see Stiles.

Stiles looked at the stair when he heard Derek coming and grinned. "was I right or was I right," he asked, waiting for Derek to act all embarrassed about last night.

Instead, Derek stood behind him, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist. He kissed Stiles’ neck and held out a ring. "Marry me," he asked again.

~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~♡~○~

The jeep was parked at the edge of the Preserve. The passenger side door was open and Stiles leaned over the baby seat. He had already tied the sling to his front and the collection bag on his back.

“You’re going to help dada collect ingredients,” Stiles cooed at the baby and he giggled. “Ya,” Stiles said with a smile. He unbuckled the baby, tickling him. The baby giggled and Stiles laughed with him.

“Stiles,” a voice, Derek, called from behind him.

Stiles whipped around, grabbing an exploding pouch. He sighed when he saw Derek. “Hey Sourwolf. You scared me,” he said with a smile.

Derek looked at him skeptically, leaning to the side to see into the jeep. “Did you bring Eli out here?”

“What? No,” Stiles scoffed, blocking Derek’s view. “Why would I do that?”

Derek hummed, walking closer. Eli giggled, blowing spit bubbles, and Stiles had to stop himself from smiling. “Then whose baby is in the jeep,” Derek asked and Stiles didn’t answer. “Nothing to say?”

“Well,” Stiles sighed, turning to pull baby Eli out of his seat, “it would be a lot harder to explain bringing someone else’s baby out here.”

Derek hummed, kissing Stiles. He smiled when Eli grabbed his hand, trying to eat Derek’s finger. “Be careful, especially collecting the wolf’s bane.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I packed a cure just in case,” he said, slipping him into the baby sling. “That’s why bubby is facing dada, ya. So we don’t grab things,” Stiles smiled, kissing the top of Eli’s head. “Do you want to walk with us,” he asked Derek.

“They finished construction on the house so I want to finish painting Eli’s room today,” Derek hummed.

Stiles pulled Derek down for a kiss and smiled. “I think I won this whole dating thing. I got a boyfriend, a house, and a baby in one go.”

“It would be husband if you would say yes,” Derek said snarkily.

Stiles chuckled and Kissed Derek. “Then woo me! Make me want to be a Hale,” Stiles told him, walking off into the trees.

Derek smiled. He was definitely going to marry that man one day.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #magic stiles #spark stiles #magical stiles stilinski #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fandom #sterek fic #sterek fanfiction #sterek fandom #wolf derek #full shift derek

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christinesficrecs · 5 months ago

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Hi! I'm looking for a sterek fic where Stiles leaves BH and almost dies in the snow but a guy finds him and teaches him magic. Eventually Stiles goes back to BH. Thanks! This one has been driving me crazy.

Hey!

This is not what I thought it was. Sorry!

Does anyone else know this one?

Thank you everyone!! 🩷

Those Are The Days That Bind Us by s_a_m | 52.1K | Mature

His father wasn’t stupid. He was an officer of the law, trained to look for patterns. He confronted Stiles about werewolves and they shouted and Stiles tried to explain but his father was so, so, so mad, more mad than Stiles had ever seen him, ever in all his life and then his father looked at him and said,

“It’s like you’re not my son anymore.”

And Stiles broke.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #concernedowl #lost and found #magic stiles

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artaxlivs · 2 months ago

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Finally I'm getting my shit together and posting about this!

I picked out a moodboard created by @lalaithquetzallicaresi for the @sterekreversechallenges over the summer and was inspired to write a multiverse one shot that is nothing like I normally write. It was fun and challenging and I'm so glad her work pushed me out of my comfort zone. You should definitely check out her writing on Ao3.

Title: Are you a good friend of a bad friend?

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, the whole pack

Additional Tags: Bad friend Scott McCall, Good friend Scott McCall, multiple universes colliding, AU- canon divergence, Boyd and Erica live, magical Stiles Stilinski, Healing the Nemeton, Scott & Stiles friendship, Anchors, etc.

Rated M for violence / WC: 10,124

Summary: Stiles jumps universes to help the pack save their Stiles. His only obstacle? A Bad Friend version of his best friend.

You can check out "Are you a good friend or a bad friend?" on Ao3 and please let Lalaith know how much you love her moodboard.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #magic stiles #sterekreversechallenge2024 #scott mccall

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sadlyashortgirl · 5 months ago

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HELP ME FIND A FIC

This is what I can remember:

•A few people from the pack go out to the preserve and fight of a witch who threatens (if I remember correctly) a fea

•The fea’s parents allow the ones who saved their son to bring someone back from the dead

•the ones that get brought back from the dead were Laura Hale, Talia Hale, Claudia Stilinski, Erica Reyes, Allison Argent, Vernon Boyd and Dom (Peter Hale’s mate, forgot his last name. Made up character)

•Sterek fanfic, slowburn-ish

•The witch they killed was apart of a coven and the covens leader had a five year old daughter, Ana. Stiles and Derek end up taking care of her until the necklace she wears makes almost all the werewolf’s lose their powers. Ana was not in on her mothers plan

•there are three omegas who the witches sent to spy on The Hale pack for information so they know the pack’s weaknesses when they attack. Tue omegas end up helping The Hale pack instead

That’s how far I got before I lost the fic

(Sorry if I have any spelling mistakes)

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #Claudia Stilinski and Talia Hale friendship #the pack #teen wolf #claudia stilinski #talia hale #laura hale #allison argent #erica reyes #vernon boyd #Fanfic #magic stiles #Witches are annoying

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eevylynn · 1 year ago

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Spark Stiles that I doodled while watching TV tonight.

#myart #my art #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #spark stiles #magic stiles #teen wolf fanart #I haven’t played in this style in years #it was fun #and hella relaxing #omg I forgot how much I love it

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uselessgirl87 · 10 months ago

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Home Is Where the Spark Is - one-shot series (master post - Part 1 to Part 24) by Just Jim & Useless-girl

Back in the day JustJim and I had decided that we’re going to start a side collection of one-shots and drabbles related to our “Home Is Where the Spark Is” series. (After all, we needed a place where the extra smut, cuteness or emotions could go, which we couldn’t cram into our main story parts!)

Most of these can be read as standalones too, but to fully understand what’s going on, we recommend reading the main series first. Enjoy!

To read the one-shots on AO3, click HERE!

(Illustration by Useless-girl)

#derek hale #stiles stilinski #alpha derek hale #just jim #magic stiles #spark stiles #teen wolf #home is where the spark is #sterek #useless-girl #fanfiction #wallpaper #fanfiction illustration

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dropofbittersea · 11 months ago

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Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

#derek hale #sterek #stiles stilinski #fanfic #teen wolf #ao3 #multichapter #fake dating #fated mates #alpha!derek #alpha derek hale #magic!stiles #magic stiles #kid fic

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fuckyeahfanfictions · 6 months ago

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Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Isaac Lahey, Vernon Boyd, Lydia Martin, Sheriff Stilinski, Peter Hale, Allison Argent Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Buried Alive, Giants, Witches, Magic!Stiles Summary:

It takes a few years but eventually they manage to agree on something; Derek Hale is an asshole, and Stiles Stilinski is in love with him.

#sterek #jebiwonkenobi #ficrec #magic stiles

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ignorantof-time · 2 years ago

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Pale Skin, Fragile Bones… and Magic? By IgnorantofTime

Mature | 20k + words | Chapters 1/1

It was unusual, Stiles thought, for a stray wolf to attack without hesitation, especially when one of the opponents is an alpha. Omegas would normally run from the fight or submit to the alpha and win their trust in order to join its pack. What makes this one different and why did it attack?

A roar echoed through the trees, Scott and Isaac whip their heads round towards the sound. Stiles simply smiled with relief; the omega was already outnumbered but with Derek Hale now joining the fight, it had no chance.

****

Or the one where warlocks attack Beacon Hills, Stiles discovers his own abilities and the usual nonsense of the pack unfolds.

#sterek fanfic #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #magic stiles #allison and scott #scott mccall #allison argent #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #archive of our own

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allovertheplaceficrecs · 1 year ago

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It Takes Time (I'm Here Now) by kianspo

Stiles has been crushing on Derek since he was 11 years old. Everyone knows about it. Derek used to tease him about his crush, though not in a mean way. Stiles is someone who has always just been there, and Derek likes being around him, more and more as time goes by. He doesn't understand why until Stiles comes back from college. Has Derek taken too long to figure it out? Now that Stiles has a career and a steady boyfriend, is it too late for Derek to tell him how he feels? Derek might have left him alone, if he didn't hate Stiles's boyfriend quite so much...

Words: 59,348

the sweetest most painful 'what are you doing??' slow burn in the history of slow burns EVER

#teen wolf #teen wolf au #magic stiles #sterek #stiles/derek #59k words

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sharksandsquirrelsandsnakes-ohmy · 21 days ago

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Stiles is Supernatural Crack

4. Low Blood Sugar Grumpy Ass

Stiles didn’t know when but Scott had apparently let it slip to the pack that failing to learn to control the magic would drive Stiles crazy. Since that got out, Stiles had only been alone when he was in the bathroom and Malia had even tried to be a part of that.

Her defense was “what? I’ve seen you naked plenty of times before.”

Stiles stopped and turned around to face her. “Yes, before. As in before we broke up,” he affirmed and went to the bathroom, locking it to make sure they would at least make noise if they tried to walk in. If he were more petty, he could have mountain ashed the door.

It wasn’t all bad. Actually, sometimes it was really nice. He had his friends around more than ever.

Slowing, they stopped showing up everyday but it’s not like he expected them to stay with him every free second. Deaton had explained the ‘pull’ to him would decrease as they got used to the feeling, but it was still weird after having them there so much. They’d have pack nights once or twice a week. Lydia was helping him learn spells. He had a battery of snacks at hand anytime he looked even slightly paler than usual, which was a regular thing since he hadn’t spent much time outside lately. He could usually be found in his room, the kitchen or at Deaton’s.

Lydia was a rule follower when it came to learning magic or doing spells. She reinforced the lines Deaton set and tried to get Stiles to follow the book's order of spells. Spoiler alert: did not work. Like, ever. Stiles was always trying to push the limits of what he could do and Lydia was always having to feed his low blood sugar grumpy ass.

Stiles was on his bed reading from a book of healing spells. He heard someone coming up the stairs and looked up to see Lydia walking in with tea for the both of them. “Hey Lydia, what do you think of this?”

Lydia gave him the cup and took the spell book. She hummed, blowing on her tea to cool it before taking a drink. Lydia fidgeted with the edge of the page as she read. When she’d finished reading, she closed the book.

“I think we should get the idiots protection spells so we don’t need to bother with healing,” Lyida told him, putting the book on the desk across the room.

“Hey,” Stiles objected, “I was reading that.”

Lydia gave him a cold look and Stiles settled. “No healing spells, Stiles.”

Between Lydia and Deaton, Stiles had littered his house in protective spells to the point that they had removed the mountain ash. Of course, that meant that, more than once, Stiles had woken up with more people in his room than had been there when he fell asleep, but rarely the other way around. It was getting to the point that it was hard to tell which clothes belonged to who.

Most people were in and out because of jobs, school, and other wolfly-duties. Everyone except for Derek. He was a constant. He had no job and didn’t need one.

Lydia had so many college credits when they finished high school that, only four years later, she'd already earned a BS of Physics with a Business minor, a Ph.D. of Mathematics, and was currently working as… something she had to sign an NDA for. Scott had finished Veterinary school(barely, due to supernatural happenings) and was working with Deaton.

Stiles had actually been able to get a job that played to his very particular set of skills: researching the supernatural. Usually it was small things— helping families or individuals find new packs, finding out information about pack ties to land, the occasional Spark that needed a mentor to become a proper Emissary. He would sometimes get urgent requests about a rogue witch or kanima– those were his favorite cases but he was starting to appreciate emissary cases more now that he was learning himself. He found himself scrolling through pictures of teenage Sparks and their Mentor Emissary. It was strange, now. Most of the Emissaries were around Stiles’ age or a few years older. It made him feel like he was behind even though he’d just learned about his abilities.

Stiles sighed, chewing his lip. The small noise caught Derek’s attention. He was starting to gain an aptitude for guessing Stiles’ thought from noises, even without chemosignals.

“You are doing all you can. You can’t change the things in life that left you where you are,” Derek said, starting the mantra Stiles would repeat when he felt like he was falling behind. “You—”

“— are ahead of some and behind others. It doesn’t speak to my worth, just my experiences,” Stiles repeated with him. It had originally been something he'd told the freaked-out teen sparks he placed but he'd started applying it to himself too. He leaned back in the rolling chair and rubbed his face. “I need a nap,” Stiles muttered.

Stiles got up and walked over to the bed and Derek flicked the light switch off, still sat reading via werewolf vision. He tried to, at least. He kept finding his eyes wandering to Stiles.

Today was one of the times where the pack was busy. Scott, Lydia, Kira, Jackson, and Isaac had work. Ethan was out of town visiting family that Stiles had helped him get into contact with, but he would be back soon. Liam was cramming for a test with Mason. Malia was god knows where, hopefully not getting arrested.

That left Stiles in a cold bed, pretending he didn’t miss the warmth of his friends, and Derek, keeping his distance because he didn’t want to make Stiles uncomfortable. Stiles pretending didn’t do him any good, he reeked of loneliness.

Stiles shivered and Derek put his book aside. Derek stripped off his clothes, shifted into his full wolf form, and jumped in the bed.

Stiles lifted the blankets for him with a smile and covered them both. Stiles pulled the wolf close and ran his fingers through his fur. He sighed, moving as close as he could to take in the warmth.

Derek was happy he could be there for Stiles but he didn’t think Stiles wanted him, so he always shifted into a wolf so Stiles could pretend he was just a dog if he wanted to. He thought Stiles deserved to be happy, he just didn’t think he made Stiles happy. He wanted to be there, to help, but he feared it was just the Nemeton magic. Derek constantly wondered if he could trust his own feelings because of it. The Nemeton had made him feel safe, was this the same? No. he knew it wasn’t but the fear of admitting it… It was safer to say it was the Nemeton magic, nothing else.

“How are you so soft,” Stiles asked, the end of his sentence rising in a yawn. “I thought wolves had coarse hair. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing…”

Stiles yawned again, closing his eyes. He was trying to fall asleep as thoughts raced through his head. His wide range of thoughts made the room heavy with different chemosignals. It made Derek wonder what was going on in Stiles’ brain but, then again, did he really want to know?

He thought up as many suicide missions are he did successful plans, not to mention the number of times he’d been right about who the evil of the week had been. How much did he think about who it was? Who many suspects did he start with? What about when Stiles himself was the bad guy? It had to have destroyed him. How do you ever come back from that? Derek laid next to Stiles, thinking about what he had said to Deaton the night he got his power. Why wouldn’t Stiles tell them he was hurting so badly?

Three hours later Lydia showed up at the house and flopped down in the bed next to Stiles. An hour after her, Liam made himself cozy in the bed, so brain dead from studying someone should have called his time of death hours ago. Mason joined in reluctantly, knowing he’d be squished later. Then Scott, Kira, and Isaac made their way in, somehow managing to squeeze into the bed. Once again, Derek ended up on Stiles’ chest. It wasn’t long before Jackson showed, wiggling his way into the pile of bodies after a shitty day. Finally, Malia made an appearance and was sent to the shower before being allowed anywhere near the bed.

Stiles had been drifting in and out of sleep as his friends– his family– piled in the bed. It was ridiculous, the eight of them piled on a full size mattress. It seemed to be all elbows and knees as people moved but it was always the best sleep Stiles got. Even with so many of them, it was obvious they were one person short, like missing a limb. Lydia was in Ethan’s spot and Liam was in Lydia’s, which meant Mason was shoved into Liam’s place. Jackson was still, somehow, in his place. Malia was in Mason’s spot and Malia’s stop was empty! Because so many people weren’t in the usual spot, Kira kept getting elbowed by Malia so Scott switched her places. As much as Stiles loved Scott, he was not enjoying having Scott’s crotch shoved against his leg.

Ethan would get a kick out of knowing how much they needed him for group naps, Stiles would have to call him later.

“Hey guys,” Stiles huffed, having taken an elbow from Lydia to the side, “I hate to say it but this isn’t working.” Someone rolled over, hitting wolf-Derek, rolling him off Stiles to land heavily on Scott, who– in turn– tried to lay on his back and ended up half on top of Kira while also shoving her against the wall.

Scott groaned, pushing Derek back onto Stiles. “No joke,” he groaned.

“All right,” Kira said, pushing Scott off her, “the person on the bottom says ‘GET UP’!!!”

If they thought cramming people on the bed was a feat, getting them off was an encore. Multiple times, they were seconds away from toppling over and squishing each other on the floor. They managed to get everyone separated long enough to breathe, except Stiles who still had wolf- Derek firmly planted on his chest.

Stiles tried to move Derek. He managed to move the wolf about two inches before he gave up. “Jesus, Derek! You weigh more than I do,” Stiles grumbled.

Mason hummed and threw in, “full grown male wolves can weigh up to a hundred and eighty pounds.”

Liam groaned, sitting on the floor and rubbing his head. “Shut up! No more facts or my head will explode!”

“You do know who’s house you're at, right,” Lydia asked, from her place sitting at the edge of the bed. “Random facts are Stiles’ specialty.”

“I thought we were going to take a nap,” Liam said in an almost pitiful tone.

Isaac gave Liam a look, practicalling asking if he was being serious. He was perched on Stiles’ desk, his feet on the arm of the desk chair that Jackson had taken over. “You are so dramatic,” Isaac scoffed, pulling a cutie orange out of Stiles’ snack bucket.

“And you’re a bitch,” Liam quipped back. “What’s your point?”

“Point is I’m going to bend you like a pretzel,” Isaac said and Malia snorted a laugh.

“Oh my god, get a room,” Lydia groaned, earning disgusted looks brom Liam and Isaac.

There was a jumble of “what? gross!” and “him and me? Lydia!” followed by a lot of laughing throughout the room.

Stiles’ had no clue what was going on and just hoped there would be no more blood on his carpet. He was still trying to move wolf-Derek so he could sit up. Kira finally took pity on Stiles and helped him move Derek– growling the whole time– so he could sit up. Stiles shoved pillows behind himself to lean back on while still being mostly upright, there was no way he was going to be able to scoot up the bed with Derek’s growly ass still laying on him.

When he was finally able to, Stiles stretched and grabbed his phone. He tried to turn it on but his phone was completely dead. He looked around the room full of suspects. It was strange, they didn’t have a pack night or meeting so why were they all here? He decided it was unimportant.

“Dude, could you can it will the rottie-rumble bullshit,” Stiles scoffed, poking at Derek's exposed teeth. “Anyone know what time it is,” Stiles asked and Lydia unlocked her phone. She showed him the time and Stiles’ eyes went wide. “Shit! I was supposed to meet Deaton five minutes ago!”

This was apparently all it took for Derek to get up.

Stiles jumped out of bed and rushed to get ready. He was trying to pull socks on and started to topple. Isaac was closest and grabbed Stiles before he made a crash landing on the floor. In his haste, Stiles forgot his spell books– Lydia grabbed them– and his keys– Scott grabbed those– and his snack bag– which Derek grabbed. They all made it to the jeep at about the same time. Keys were given to Stiles, books went in the snack bag and Lydia got in the jeep with the bag.

Stiles heard the zipper of his snack bag open and Lydia sighed. “There is a single pack of fruit snacks in here,” Lydia said.

“Oh ya, I was meaning to refill it,” he muttered, preparing himself for a long next few hours.

“Stiles, this isn’t good! You could pass out or worse,” Lydia scolded.

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I just won’t push myself as much.”

Lydia scoffed and rolled her eyes. Lies. He never did anything less than one hundred percent. Knowing that, Lydia felt unprepared. She’d never deal with Stiles when he completely crashed. Scott and Derek were the ones who did that. When Stiles had started overworking himself, Lydia always had a snack bowl nearby that she could pull snacks from to throw at him. Lydia was fully confident she could force feed him until he came too, she just didn’t know if she’d be able to carry his dumbass back to the jeep were he to pass out.

They parked and jumped out of the jeep, a total of ten minutes late. She followed Stiles into the vet’s office and listened as Deaton gave him a backhanded lecture about being on time. It wasn’t going to have an effect, Stiles was never on time and not for a lack of trying. It was a time-blindness thing.

Deaton had Stiles working on defensive spells. In other words, he was throwing balls of paper at Stiles while he tried to make a magic shield to block them. They stopped when he managed to successfully block all of them and Stiles ate the last pack of gummies. When they started working again, Deaton offered some of the paper balls to Lydia under the guise that he might need to block two attackers at once.

Stiles got hit in the face with a lot of paper.

“Okay, stop it. I need a break,” Stiles said, managing to catch one of the paper balls and throw it back at Lydia.

“I’ll stop when you stop five in a row,” Lydia said, throwing two at once.

Stiles blocked one but the other hit him in the eye. “Fuck! Okay, stop.” he said more forcefully, one hand left up to block while the other covered his eye.

Paper balls were still being thrown, this time being aimed lower to hit him in the chest.

Stiles groaned in irritation. He stood up quickly. “FUCKING STOP!”

The lights blew, launching sparks, and the paper balls all went up in flames with his words. Lydia yelped, dropping the flaming paper and looking up at Stiles. She had been shocked when the paper caught fire but looking at Stiles sent fear through her.

Stiles– sweet, harmless Stiles– had pure white eyes. Heavy dark circle grew under his eyes in seconds. His pale skin was damp with sweat and he was visibly shaking. A sick smile was set on his lips. It seemed to quirk up into a smirk when Lydia looked at him fearfully. It was like facing the Nogitsune all over but worse. This actually was Stiles. Lydia felt herself scream and, as quickly as it started, it was gone.

Stiles looked at Lydia, lost. Then he started to fall. Lydia watched it all happen in slow motion. Stiles getting closer to the floor. The door burst open. The wolves staring. Derek shoving past them. Derek grabbing Stiles' arm. Stiles screaming in pain. Derek landing on the floor. The crunching of glass. Derek pulling Stiles into his lap.

Derek’s frantic voice brought Lydia back to reality, “what happened?”

Lydia shook her head, not sure of anything any more.

“It seems Mr Stilinski has a higher aptitude for magic than I previously realized,” Deaton said, rolling a chair over for Lydia, giving her time to breathe.

“What does that mean,” Scott asked from the door.

“Strong emotions strengthen magic. When those emotions rise at the same time as a serge of magical energy, the magic will act on emotion and not thought.” Deaton walked over to his desk and grabbed a juice box and an apple. “He was attempting to create a magical shield and lost control. He was angry and his magic acted on his feelings instead of thoughts.” He gave the juice to Derek, “see if you can get him to drink this.”

Stiles started to wake up and absently drank whatever was given to him.

He wasn’t aware of anything until after they were in the jeep and halfway to the home. He wasn’t even aware enough to realize he was in Derek’s lap as Lydia drove the jeep. Roscoe, as much as Stiles loved the jeep, did nothing to help Stiles’ nausea.

It was a regular occurrence that someone had to drive Stiles home after these little work sessions. Most of the time he was dead tired. On days where he forgot his snack bag or it was empty, he was shaky, dizzy, and had a pounding headache. When he had zero food after he’d done magic, he’d sweat through his shirt and still feel ice cold, his anxiety would skyrocket and get really bad brain fog.

Stiles had had days where he overdid it but this was the first time he passed out. He’d overdone it and was feeling the effects hardcore. He was shaky and dizzy and nauseous– he felt like throwing up everytime they turned or hit a bump. His head felt like it would explode from the migraine he had.

“I wanna die,” Stiles muttered, feeling like he’d been hit by ten tractor trailers all at once.

Lydia scoffed, trying to push down her own worry. “Then maybe you should have refilled the snack bag,” she tisked.

Stiles flinched when Derek growled behind him and damn did that hurt. Stiles’ breathing spiked from the pain of moving too quickly. Derek was still growling and Stiles found it… something– a thought he’d criticized himself for and overthink when he didn’t feel like throwing up all over everything.

“His magic lows have the same symptoms as Hypoglycemia,” Lydia told Derek, not taking her eyes off the road. “He’s lucky Deaton had juice for him or we’d be heading to the hospital again.”

“Just drive,” Derek grumbled, keeping his attention on Stiles.

He brushed the hair off Stiles's forehead, feeling how sweaty he was. He hated that he couldn't do anything to help. He hated that Stiles was suffering, even if it was caused by his own stupidity.

Derek carried him upstairs and laid Stiles in bed. He tucked him in and sat on the edge of the bed. Stiles was falling asleep. Every sign was there– the random comments, slowing heart rate, his nose scrunching as he started to dream– and Derek noticed each one.

No, it wasn’t just the Nemeton’s influence. He was falling for Stiles.

He pushed Stiles' hair out of his face and frowned. He used to think Stiles was just a skinny defenseless human but he was so much more. He was smart and funny and sarcastic and far from being defenseless. He was a spark, a future emissary, and very, very powerful.

Derek’s hand slipped away from Stiles and he stood up. He could hear the others. Scott, Isaac, Liam, and Lydia came up to Stiles' room.

Lydia laid down next to Stiles without hesitation. She was scared, had been since it happened, and having the bit of normalcy they’d created was comforting. Isaac and Liam bickered back and forth until Scott gave them a pointed glare, flashing his red eyes. They calmed down and played rock paper scissors to see who laid where. Liam won and took the opposite side of Stiles from Lydia. Isaac laid down with a huff but relaxed quickly in the warmth of his friends.

“Are you going to join us,” Scott asked. “There’s enough room so you don’t have to fully shift.” Derek didn’t answer and Scott frowned. “What’s up, man?”

“I’m going for a run,” Derek said, heading for the window. He watched the mountain ash line break for him and went out, not stopped to look again. He knew the line reformed behind him. Normally he'd look back just to see how amazing it was but he knew if he looked back, his heart would rip for leaving Stiles when he was ill.

He repeated to himself: Stiles doesn’t want you. You’re just a fill in. He doesn’t need you.

After writing this, I realized I basically had Stiles cast fireball in a small room full of his allies. ANYWAY…

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #lydia martin #scott mcall #alan deaton #teen wolf fanfiction #sterek fanfiction #spark stiles #magic stiles #wolf derek #full shift derek #liam dunbar #isaac lahey #fanfiction

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wilt3d-r0zes · 1 year ago

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Fic Name (and link): A Fox is a Wolf who sends Flowers Series: Teen Wolf Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Melissa McCall, The Nogitsune Pairings: N/A Trigger Warnings: Standard Season 3b TWs Important Tags: Spark/Magic Stiles Stilinski, Slow Updates, Season Rewrite Summary:

"Do not meddle more, Mieczysław. We will wait." The world tilts, the white fading into grey to black. His bed seems to reach up and yank him downwards until suddenly he’s screaming himself awake in the early hours of the morning. Or, The Nogitsune is not what it seems, and also sassy

Official Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/wilt3d_r0zes/a-fox-is-a-wolf-who-brings-flowers/

Official Acronym: FWSF

Official Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6mqurPYscPgQacj4VpKfeH

The key he found on his keyring fits into the chemistry door. It isn’t that he didn’t expect it, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t hopeful. Hopeful that maybe it’s just a coincidence, that maybe he got paint on his fingers and they got on the key sometime at the rave, or maybe someone tried to steal it with paint or chemicals on their fingers, and only managed to grab it but not take it.

But no, the chemistry closet door responds well to the mystery key on his keyring. He stares at the now cracked-open closet door. Surely not. There’s no way, maybe someone put it on his keyring somehow, somewhere, somewhen without him realizing, to frame him for it.

Right?

(He’s losing his mind again.)

He turns back to the blackboard, to the riddle still written in chalk for their teacher to wipe away the next morning. Stares at it in hopeful, frail denial and listens to his sneakers squeak on the tiled floors.

(He thought it was over.)

Picking up the chalk reveals just how shaky his hands really are, when it almost falls and shatters on the floor upon being picked up. His fingers don’t want to hold it like he’s telling them to, but he manages to write on the board anyways.

(He thought he was free.)

It’s the same handwriting.

…

Transition

He’s waking up in his bed.

He’s waking up in his bed?

Why is he in his bed?

He’s not in his bed.

Well, technically he’s in his bed, but when he looks up and explores the room with his eyes it’s that same weird all-white parking garage-esk room he remembers from the sacrifice they did to find their parents. His bed isn’t the only furniture in the 'room,' however. His desk is in the same spot it would be if he were in his room, except there’s someone sitting in the chair, reading through a book he doesn’t recognize.

The first thing he notices is that their head is wrapped in old, browning bandages with dried blood and dirt soaking through some of the less wrapped areas or the crevices. It fills him with an uncanny feeling of discomfort and fear that grips his heart and shakes it. Still, he looks around again before saying, "Hi?"

His voice cracks enough for him to wince and clear his throat. Logically, he knows this is a dream-- what else could it be? So it doesn't matter if he angers this weird creation of his subconscious. Yet, he's filled with a level of fear that feels disproportionate to Some Dude sitting on the other side of a non-existent room.

"Hello?" he calls again when he gets no response, the being at his desk slowly turning the page of an old book made up from tarnished leather and browning parchment, "Where am I?"

"Where dreams are made and come to die, clear or full will it be," he(? The voice is masculine, so is the build he can make out from around the chair and under the brown bomber jacket) rasps. Man. Stiles hates riddles.

“Uh, okay, that… makes no sense. Who are you?”

“Watagushi, na ke de wa nai.” He responds, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that that wasn't English. Considering the only other language Stiles knows is Polish, and it certainly isn't that either, he decides it's something made up by his brain-- or, maybe it was a language Stiles knows and was just muddled by the bandages, surely those go all around his face?

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, man," the human responds, sitting up full in his bed from where he'd barely propped himself on one arm.

“Kore wa wa re ran ogu tu na no cha.”

"Still not a language I know."

The man(?) turns another page in the book, and this time it creates a horrible, gut-wrenching ripping sound, that screams into Stiles's ears and drowns out the rest of the world regardless of the lacking sounds of life. When the page is carefully released, Stiles is left with ringing ears, “Not ‘Who are you?’, Mieczysław, ‘Who are we?’”

"What the hell was that?" he squawks, fumbling to get out of the bed. He can't move his legs, though, in what he assumes is dream logic. Somewhere in his brain he thinks it's because he's tangled in the blanket.

"We were getting too close." Mummy Man responds, voice growing no less raspy despite how much he's talking. Stiles almost wishes this is the kinda lucid dream he can control, just so he could summon a glass of water.

"Who's we?"

“We are us. I am we, you are we,” he sounds like he’s thinking, tilting his head to the side and looking up from the book, “We are meddling, we need to stop.”

Stiles stares. What? That makes no sense. Actually, that makes less than no sense, even his not-english-polish gibberish had made more sense than that. Yet, he's filled with fear at the statement. He thinks back to what he was doing just before this dream, the chalkboard, the chemistry closet--

This must be what's causing that. The part of his subconsious or brain or whatever that's doing that, killing people. Even if indirectly. He saying that he is Stiles, and that Stiles is meddling in his plans of murder.

"No!" Stiles yells, struck with a startling amount of indignant anger, "I'm not just gonna sit- sit idly by while you kill people!"

The Mummy Man turns slowly, an unnatural creak, not unlike the sound of a rusty door hinge, following the movement. He reveals his 'face', something obscured by bandages save for what can only pass as being described as a mouth. It's a gaping hole in the bandages, with teeth and tongue and black goop. Blood and black stain the bandages surrounding it, like he'd eaten something alive and not tried to clean himself up after. He doesn't even have any lips.

More fear surges through him, warring with the anger for a place in his actions.

"In due time, Mieczysław."

"You using my name is fucking weird, Mummy Man," Stiles snarls, drawn back into himself and pushed to the far side of the bed like the mere foot of extra distance will save him.

"Do not meddle more, Mieczysław. We will wait."

The world tilts, the white fading into grey to black. His bed seems to reach up and yank him downwards until suddenly he’s screaming himself awake in the early hours of the morning.

…

Silver finger

“Scott, hey!” Stiles skids to a stop, only to grab his best friend by the elbow and drag him down the hallway, free hand waving about as he starts talking, “Remember the key I was telling you about yesterday? Well, when we were at that rave I was talking to Caitlin– the girl who's girlfriend died recently– and when I pulled out the bottle opener I’ve got she saw the key and, apparently, it had phosphors on it- which means it glows in blacklight, right?- and then I asked why I would have phosphors on my key and she asked if I’d been handling chemicals and so that got me thinking about the chemistry closet,” he rambles, pushing open the chemistry classroom door and taking in a gasp of air, shaking out that same free hand, “And the fact that someone had to let Barrow in, and once I got here the key worked on the door and–.”

He wilts. The blackboard had been erased.

“It’s gone,” he knows he sounds unreasonably defeated, bumping his palms together anxiously before spinning on his heel from where he’d gotten halfway across the room, “Well, that’s fine, I still have the key and– what the hell?” The key’s gone from his keyring now. It makes him think back to that weird, stupid dream he had last night. Was that real? Did the other in his head really take action in getting him to stop meddling? “I had it. I had it, right here,” he holds his keyring up and shakes it for effect, the sound rattling almost painfully around his skull, “I swear to god, I had it here this morning.”

“The key you were talking about last night?” Scott has that very confused, lost puppy dog look on his face and in normal circumstances Stiles would laugh at how easy it is to compare his werewolf best friend to a puppy, but instead he’s starting to verge on a panic attack so he just keeps talking.

“Yes! Yeah, that, I showed it to you, didn’t I? Please tell me I showed it to you.”

Scott’s head shake makes his chest squeeze painfully, “No, you told me about it but… I never actually saw it.”

“I was here, Scott! And just a few hours ago I unlocked the chemistry closet door and there was Kira’s name in atomic numbers in my handwriting on the blackboard.”

“So… you unlocked the chemistry closet so Barrow could hide from the police, and then you wrote him a message telling him to kill Kira?” He sounds so beyond disbelieving and it’s not helping Stiles in feeling like any of this was real. He glances down at his hands, wanting to count his fingers in the way he’s started doing too many times for too many days. That’ll just make him look more nuts.

“I know how it sounds, Scott, but– but look at this!” he scrambles to pull the news report he brought with him for extra proof, hands beyond shaky and nearly ripping it on its violent trip out of the bag, “This is the news report that came out about Barrow when they caught him, okay? About the shrapnel bomb that he used. See this, see what he did? He put nuts, bolts, and screws, and then he hid the bomb and the detonator in a box that he wrapped as a birthday present. What does that sound like to you?”

“Coach… It sounds like the joke we played on Coach.”

“That was my idea, remember? That was my idea, that can’t be a coincidence, it can’t be.”

Scott winces, gesturing vaguely for Stiles to quiet down. The human blushes, not even realizing how loud he’d gotten in his growing panic, “I don’t want to tell you that you’re wrong, but I don’t think you’re trying to kill anybody either.”

“It was here,” he runs a hand through his hair and turned back towards the board, “It was all here.”

“Dude… are you feeling okay?”

(He’s losing his mind again, please, please, he thought he was better.)

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just… haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Why don’t you go home?” Stiles turns back around, confused, “Take a sick day?”

“...Yeah, yeah,” he sighs– again, “Yeah, maybe I will.”

(He thought it was over.)

…

“Well, Dr. Gardner’s not back until next week. Do you want to try and wait for one of the other Urgent Care doctors, or…?” Stiles shakes his head, pushing off from the desk and trying to keep from losing himself. He’d come here straight from the school, because he feels like he’s falling apart and some part of him urged to come here, “Stiles? Are you okay?”

His eyes sting with tears and he feels like there’s a dull knife sawing away at whatever is keeping him from going nuts and getting locked up in Eichan House. He brings a hand up to his chest and thumps it against his ribcage, like it’ll slow down his heart rate if he shows it how to work, “I guess, uhm,” thump, thump, thump, “I guess not really?

“Alright,” it’s the way that she says it that makes Stiles want to melt to the floor and cry, while simultaneously making him want to lash out at the way she sounds like she’s handling a feral cat, “Alright, kiddo, come with me.”

He feels like his limbs are going to fall out from under him while they walk through the halls until she stops outside a door, giving him the chance to shake out his hands and rock back on his heels.

She gestures for him to sit on the bed while she grabs a clipboard, “Can you tell me your symptoms?” she glances towards him, then back towards the papers on the clipboard. He’s rocking in place, arms crossed over his empty-feeling chest and flexing his hands to keep from freaking out.

“Blackouts,” he clears his throat and looks away, “But not for that long. Uhm, and sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid. Some really bad anxiety, too.”

“Panic attacks?”

“Yeah, a couple,” he breathes shakily and it feels like he’s electrocuted his heart in the way it races, “I also temporarily lost the ability to read but, uhm, that might’ve had more to do with the whole human sacrifice and- magic tree thing.”

Melissa is looking at him with an amused smile when he glances over at her and the paper she’s still writing on, “I seem to vaguely remember something like that, yes.” she looks back towards her paper when he doesn’t respond or react, “How many hours of sleep are you getting?”

“Eight.”

“A night?”

“In the last three days.”

He sees her turn to him with the kinda face he usually associates with him having done something wrong in his peripherals, but he’s looking down at his hands and counting on his fingers, cataloging all the times he woke up from nightmares and each night he stayed up until the sun rose only to pass out in class.

“Have you been feeling irritable?”

“Yeah, uhm, possibly to the point of homicide.”

“Inability to focus?”

“No, the adderall’s not working.”

“Impulsive behavior?”

“More than my usual? Hard to tell.”

“Vivid dreams during the day?”

He huffs nervously, “Okay, basically all of the above. Do you know what it is?”

(Please be something normal. Please.)

“I think so,” she turns away, setting the pen down with a deafeningly loud tap that reminds Stiles he’s been in sensory overload for the last twenty-four hours and it’s been slowly dragging him further into the pit of insanity.

He shakes his head, feels his brain rattle around, and then looks up towards Melissa and the needle in her hand, “What’s that?”

“Do you trust me?”

“When you’re not holding a needle.” and when his mind isn’t slipping through his fingers like old jell-o.

Still, he doesn’t stop her when she wipes his upper arm down with an alcohol wipe and sticks it into his skin, “It’s midazolam. A sedative.”

More panic tries to spark, his lungs quivering and his rocking resuming once she’s removed the needle and he can self-soothe again. What if this isn’t real? What if he’s hallucinating again and really he’s acting nuts and this is his hallucination telling him he’s being sedated? “Why are you giving me a sedative?”

“Because you, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man. You need rest, and you need it now.” she puts her arms on his shoulders, effectively stopping his rocking, “Lie down.”

He stares at her, because now it feels like reality is far away and nothing is quite real, like it’s taking years for everything to process while simultaneously not even taking a second, “How long’s it going to take to–,” she pushes him back and he falls with the light pressure, losing the ability to hold himself up with the sudden exhaustion that ripples over him, “Oh. Not long at all.”

“Get some rest, Stiles,” he hears, before reality slips between his fingers.

(Thanks, mom.)

…

It’s startlingly dark when he comes to, wide awake, in the hospital room however long later. The blinds are shut on all the windows but it’s still obvious the sun has set, leaving him in almost pitch black.

At least, it would’ve, but there seems to be a yellow-ish green light coming from somewhere in the room. There’re little specks of opaque something floating in the air, like how you'd see dust particles in a camera. His first thought is that maybe this is another dream, and it makes it that much harder to force himself to sit up.

Instead, he clenches his hands and counts them without looking at them.

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine- ten.)

He sits up.

On the folded heavy blanket at the foot of his bed, there’s a fox curled up. It’s not a real fox, no, it’s more like the shape of one made out of yellow-green neon lines. He furrows his brows at it, counting his fingers in the dark again.

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.)

It moves. One of its ears twitches. Once, twice, and then it slowly blinks its eyes open. There are two startlingly black dots where its iris and pupil should (probably) be, and they lock onto Stiles.

They stare at each other for a long moment in silence. The restless fidgeting and stimming that Stiles is almost always doing slows to a still while they stare at each other, completely unmoving.

Then it blinks, and its ear twitches again. It turns towards the door, pushing itself into a sitting position.

“They are coming.”

Stiles jolts, breaking out of his trance with a surge of panic, “Who?”

“We are in danger. We must not be caught.”

“Who’s we?”

“They are coming.”

Stiles looks towards the door, and counts his fingers again.

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.)

“What do you want me to do?”

It’s weird, the way he knows it's the fox speaking into his mind. The way he doesn’t feel confused or alarmed by this creature, like it’s something he’s gone through hundreds of times–

Something familiar.

“Do not let them touch us.”

“Who’s us?”

“We.”

The fox turns back to him and stares. The statement itself reminds Stiles of the dream - the one with the mummy man. The way he connected it to a potential part of him that aided the mass murderer– maybe it’s something more than that. Something supernatural.

Maybe that’s why there’s a fox here, in reality and not a dream, talking to him in his brain. That means the fox is talking about him, and not itself.

“How do I do that? Who are we talking about?”

“They will come out of the shadows.” the fox rasps into his brain, turning back towards the door, “Bide our time. He will help us.”

“Who’s he?”

“The wolf. He will hide us.”

Stiles looks back at the door, at the closed blinds that hide the light from the hallway. “Should I stay here?”

“There is only one exit.”

“That’s a no then, got it,” he pushes the blanket off himself, disturbing the fox into hopping onto the table by the foot of the bed. It leaps onto his shoulders as he passes by, startling him in the fact it seems to have a weight despite being nothing but a spirit-like creature.

The hallway is empty. Shockingly so, he remembers hospitals always being so overpopulated by nurses and doctors in every hallway. Yet, it’s silent. Not even the sounds of patients in the neighboring rooms reach his ears, and it draws unease into Stiles’s chest.

“Melissa?” he calls, as if she’ll suddenly appear from wherever it is she is. Possibly at home, maybe on the other side of the hospital. Of course, she doesn’t appear, leaving him alone in the hallway with a ghost fox on his shoulders.

He stays close to the wall, praying that the fox is watching his back because it’s going to drive him nuts to keep looking back and forth with the groggy remnants of sleep and a sedative still dragging him down.

Only the faint buzzing sound of fluorescent lights that he normally wouldn’t notice unless already in sensory overload is heard in the hallways. It’s almost funny, actually, how once you hit sensory overload your brain just collects more sensory input for you to notice. Why is that?

He pushes open a door and it brushes against the ground but doesn’t creak at the hinges like he expected it to. It feels like he’s in a horror movie when the double swinging door reveals a small, dark hallway.

“We should turn back.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Stiles backs up, letting the door swing shut, “If they come out of the shadows, does that mean we’re safe if we stay in the light?”

“Without shadow, there is no light.”

“Okay, then what’s the point of avoiding the creepy hallway?” he gestures behind himself toward the doors he’s actively walking away from. He’s moved away from the wall, now standing in the center and under the lights, hopefully giving him enough space to avoid whatever when it ‘comes from the shadows.’

(Why exactly is he following the instructions of a weird ghost fox that appeared after he woke up from a sedative?)

“More light means less shadows, it is harder to reach us in this light.”

“Got it,” he swings around a corner, pushing open another door and thankfully revealing a lit hallway. He makes it about four steps in before the fox on his shoulder pushes itself into a sitting position, ears perking up and mentally alerting Stiles to a threat.

“They found us.”

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he lowers his voice, turning in a slow circle and surveying the area. Nothing has appeared yet, but he can hear a quiet grumbling coming from the walls. When he squints at them, the shadows almost look like they’re shimmering. Something seems to tap, tap on the shadowed wall, and it ripples like when you throw a pebble into water.

A gloved – is that a glove? or is it bunched up skin? -- hand reaches out in a sharp, singular movement before halting just below the wrist. Stiles startles backwards, signaling him to turn around and see two more hands coming from the wall behind him.

“Shit. How likely am I to die if I run out the door?”

“The wolf is waiting.”

“Not very, then, awesome,” he stumbles over his shoeless feet, socks sliding on the tiled floors uselessly, but successfully makes it out of the creepy room and into the next hallway. He looks both ways, still seeing no nurses or doctors and being invited into an eerie silence punctuated by buzzing lights and growling walls. Internally, he feels a nudge, and turns on his heel toward the left.

He’s sprinted halfway down the hall when Scott turns the corner ahead of him, “Scott!” he shouts, sliding to a stop and looking back at the way he came to see a trio of black clad beings with swords and weird masks that he can’t make out the details of.

“Stiles! Mom said you were asleep!” Scott breaks into a jog, if his sped up footsteps have anything to say, before he appears in the side of Stiles’ vision.

“I woke up,” he flashes a grin.

“We do not have time for this.”

The creatures take a step forward, so he grabs Scott’s wrist to start dragging him away, “We should go!”

“No, wait,” Scott sounds startlingly calm for the actively approaching demons in front of him, “...Why are they after you?”

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