Part 5: Mieczyslaw
Teen Wolf : Multishot
Stiles Stilinski x Reader
Word Count: 13k
Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, fainting
Request: This just came from my own head 😊
A/N: A little more history of the Reader in this one - I honestly love her family's backstory
Part 4: Ollie's Catnip
Part 5: Mieczyslaw {You Are Here}
Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar
The hospital was quiet that evening. You were assigned to the long-term care floor and spent long hours updating patient files and making your rounds. Checking vitals, refilling water bottles, adjusting patients with bed sores, and administering medication at the right times.
It was the perfect distraction. You would be missing the lacrosse game that night, missing the first game with Scott being co-captain and Stiles being first line.
You’d be missing Andrew and his dimpled grin.
Instead of focusing on that the rest of the night, you call Lydia who had texted you an SOS.
“What do you mean you’re done?”
“I mean, he sent me a pathetic text asking for his house key back. The loser is so down in the dumps that he doesn’t think he deserves me, which is right, of course.”
You hold the phone with your shoulder and start typing notes into a patient file, “I’m sorry, Lyds. Breakups suck.”
“He’s become such an asshole recently. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. But good riddance. I needed to climb the social food chain anyway. He’s been lacking in the lacrosse category.”
“Sounds like you’re handling it surprisingly well.”
“I’m completely over him. Only took a few minutes… seconds actually.”
You smile, “Yeah, you barely sound upset over it.”
She can hear your sarcasm, “Did you hear that Allison is still going to the game? Her dad and aunt are going too.”
“That’s weird,” you frown, “I wonder why.” With the Argents being hunters… you wonder how much they know about the number of werewolves in town.
“You’re still on shift tonight?”
“Yes, right where I want to be. The perfect excuse to miss the game.” You upload another patient file and wave to another night nurse leaving for her break. It was just you and one other nurse on the floor – a redhead named Jennifer.
“Anything exciting happening?” she asks in a huff, upset that the attention was no longer on her dilemma.
“Nope, I’m working the long-term floor. Everyone here is mostly in recovery or stuck in their beds. It’s usually pretty quiet at night, which is why there’s less staff.”
“Fascinating,” Lydia says quickly, “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m going to sit with Allison and scope out my next boyfriend.” She laughs before adding, “Don’t worry, Andrew is off the table.”
You scoff, “Yeah, thanks. Have fun.” And you slide your phone back into your scrubs pocket.
The next half hour was relatively quiet, just two call buttons going off. The rest of your time was spent making your rounds and completing chores. That is until a pair of sneakers comes walking down the hallway.
“Yeah, I said I can’t find her.”
You stand to confront the foreign male voice that was definitely intruding past visiting hours, only to find Stiles on the phone. He was getting snippy with whoever he was talking to, “Hey, listen here wolfman – the only reason I’m harboring your fugitive ass is because you saved (Y/N)’s life last full moon, got it? I don’t owe you any more favors.”
“What the hell?” you say, catching his attention, “Don’t you have a lacrosse game to get to, hotshot?”
In a few seconds you can see a range of emotions flickering through his face: confusion, happiness, worry, and something in the way he looks at your scrubs. “Hi, (Y/N).”
You walk around the nurses station and fold your arms, “Care to answer my question?”
He gives you a goofy side smile, “You’re talking to me.”
“Yes, Stiles,” you fight the immediate grin that wants to envelop your face. “What are you doing here?”
He leans into the phone for a second, “Uh… is there a Jennifer working here?”
“She’s the on call nurse tonight, why?” you pop a hip, arms still tightly crossed.
“What about Melissa?” he asks, walking down the hall and to a room. He speaks to the phone again, “Yeah, well, he’s not here either.”
“Who are you talking to?” you ask exasperatedly, “Stiles, you can’t be here past visiting hours. Would you please…”
“He’s not here. He’s gone, Derek.”
Your jaw drops, “The fugitive you’re harboring is Derek?”
He looks to you, “Yeah, the rest of the town doesn’t know he’s innocent because it’s actually a psycho Alpha werewolf that’s killing everyone,” he says to you. “You sure Melissa isn’t here?”
You hold your hands up, “I’m not answering anymore of your questions until you tell me what’s going on.”
Suddenly you can hear the frantic voice of Derek over the phone and Stiles has a look of instant terror. It sets you on edge when a mysterious man stands at the corner of the hall; it was as if he had appeared out of thin air.
Half his face is covered in burn scars and after a second thought you realize that it’s Peter Hale – the long-term resident of the floor. Your eyes widen at the sight of him standing without his wheelchair and Stiles takes a few steps in your direction.
“You must be Stiles,” Peter says in an eerily calm tone. He’s barely smiling as he nods in your direction, “Hello, (Y/N). It’s nice to finally be able to speak to you.”
Stiles drops his hand holding the phone, walking back until he feels you near him. He reaches behind him and takes hold of your arm. Your instinct is to press yourself closer into his back, “Is that…?”
“He’s the Alpha,” Stiles mutters, whipping his head to the side at the newcomer.
“Jennifer!” you say, “We have a situation with…”
The redheaded nurse holds her head high, “Shut up!”
Your mouth clamps shut – how many people are in on this? Stiles, in his usual fashion, can’t stay quiet for long.
“You and… him? You’re his… and he’s the…” Stiles is shielding you with his body at this point. “Oh my god, we’re gonna die. We’re gonna die.”
You jab a finger into his spine, silencing him. “This is not how I’m supposed to die.”
But with an elbow to the face, Jennifer falls to the floor and Derek takes her place. You forget momentarily how tall, dark, and handsome he is. Peter speaks again with that same calm, menacing tone.
“That’s not nice. She’s my nurse.”
You start to pull Stiles against you, taking you both behind the nurses station.
“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people.”
Peter makes his way over, “You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?”
A growl ripples from Derek’s throat, fangs appearing from his open mouth. Blue eyes glowing with strange power, he bounds for the attack. You’re paralyzed at seeing the action up close.
“Holy shi…”
Stiles drags you to the floor, doggy-paddling across the tile like a swimmer. You army crawl beside him as Peter and Derek start to throw each other against the hospital walls. Bits of plaster and plastic side railing break away easily.
“Okay,” you say, coughing as you breathe in some plaster dust, “I believe you now. I really believe you.”
“Is that why you haven’t been talking to me or Scott?” Stiles yells over the growling werewolves. “Scott could have easily proven werewolves existed if you just asked him to show himself.”
They continue their sliding movements across the station and to the next hall, the sound of breaking glass loud behind you. “No, I stopped talking to you because I needed a break after hearing the truth. It’s a lot to think about when you realize the whole freaking town has lore in supernatural entities that aren’t just make believe… they’re actual fucking werewolves!” You swipe an arm across the tile and shove his legs out of the way to reach his side. “I needed time to cope with the sudden shift in what I knew to be reality.”
“Understandable,” he pants, tongue sticking out, “I just wish we could’ve helped you cope instead of you just shutting us out.”
“Like I said… I wasn’t really thinking!”
“And of course it was the same night as Scott forcing a kiss on you and trying to kill you in your own home…”
“Shut the hell up, Stilinski! Bigger problems at hand!” The werewolves were moving to a different patient room to continue their fight. You gesture to the end of the hall, “The emergency exit is there. We just have to get there and down the stairs. We can call 911 when we’re outside.”
Stiles agrees, watching you with a different panic, “How’s your heart?”
“If anything happens we’re in a hospital,” you say frankly, “Come on.” You lead the way as the fighting becomes quieter.
Stiles admires you from behind, standing to run the last few feet. You slam into the door and guide the way down the many flights of stairs. Stiles is jumping whole steps and crashing into the walls.
Your lungs start to fight for breath by the time you reach the bottom, Stiles tripping over the last step and falling to his knees beside you.
“Does… Does the Alpha have control…” you pant, holding a stitch in your side, “… over Derek?”
Stiles breathes dramatically, his face scrunching up in a funny way. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He might be forcing Derek onto his side right now with some crazy alpha mind control.”
You stumble toward the exit, shoving it open to a gust of chilly night air. You lean against the hospital wall, hands on your hips. Stiles follows, pulling out his car keys.
“Can you make it to the jeep?”
“If I say no would you carry me?”
He shrugs, pulling a face, “No promises. I could probably swing a piggy-back ride.”
“Yeah, no thanks,” you say, bending down to put your head between your knees. It was routine when you were out of breath and starting to feel lightheaded. Your hands lay flat on the concrete, your mind focusing on how cold and gritty it feels under your fingers. You listen to the crickets and the wind whistling through trees. You smell the honey sweet rain from Stiles.
A large warm hand spreads against your back, rubbing up and down your spine.
You feel the air flood your lungs, “Have you called the police yet?”
“I told them there was a possible break-in and a nurse got knocked out,” he says, “They’ll be here soon.”
You take a few deep breaths, soothed by Stiles’ hand. “I have to wait for the police.” You sit up and Stiles retreats a few feet. The action makes you consider him for a few seconds. “I’m not mad at you or Scott. I just… I needed some distance while I tried to figure things out.”
There’s a bob in Stiles’ throat, “And… have you figured things out?”
You screw up your lips in thought, “I need to talk to Scott first.”
Stiles nods vigorously, hope lighting his eyes. “Yeah, yeah – for sure. Let’s go find him now, I’m sure the lacrosse game is almost over.”
A flash of pity is in your face, “You missed your first game.”
“Yeah, well…” he waves a hand, extending it to help you to your feet. “I had a couple more important things to tackle tonight.”
“Won’t your dad be disappointed?”
“Maybe a little,” he shrugs, walking to the passenger side of the jeep, “But if the pinkeye epidemic continues then I’m still first line for the time being!”
You giggle, sliding into the jeep, “I’ll pray for the conjunctivitis.” With the heater still broken, you’re grateful you chose a long-sleeve undershirt for your scrubs. It took a few minutes for you to call your boss and explain the situation.
The police were on their way, and you were meant to stay to give a witness statement. It would also have been irresponsible to leave your patients in their time of need. Choosing to wait in the jeep was just common sense seeing as there were two werewolves having a row upstairs.
“Do you think Derek is okay?” you look out the window.
Stiles was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, “He’s fine. Peter will probably try to get him under his control.”
“Then what?”
“He’ll keep trying to get Scott into his pack.” Stiles leans more against the door to get a better look at you. “So we have some catching up to do.”
“Like what?” you smile.
He frowns, picking at his fingers, “I don’t know… like how Jackson broke up with Lydia.”
“Yeah,” you grimace, “Lydia only just told me about the breakup tonight.”
Stiles blows air between his lips, “Jackson always has another agenda. He’s been black mailing Scott because he wants the werewolf bite.”
“You’re kidding,” you say, “How did he find out about the supernatural?”
“I don’t know! He hasn’t been talking to anyone, not even Danny.”
You lean against the door to match Stiles’ stance, “Well, I know Lydia has said he’s never been the same since Scott outperformed him. He’s been slipping ever since.” You rub at your eyes, “He doesn’t talk to me much, and now it’s awkward between him and Lydia.”
“There’s also the news that the Argents know about a second beta werewolf.” At your look of confusion, he continues, “They know there’s an alpha and they know about Derek. They’ve realized that there’s a second werewolf and they’re trying to figure out who it is.”
“They being Allison’s dad and aunt?”
Stiles nods, “They have been scouting ever since – they think it might be a teenager.”
Your head perks up, “Lydia said Allison’s family was going to be at the game tonight. I bet they’re looking for clues as to who could be the other werewolf.”
“Let’s just hope they don’t suspect Scott.”
Stiles continues to pick at his nails, looking at them instead of you. “I’ve also heard that you might be going on a date with a certain potential lacrosse boyfriend…?”
You fight a smile, “Andrew asked me out.”
“And you said?”
“Yes!” you laugh, “I’ve been waiting for him to ask since I started working with Coach on the lacrosse field.” You miss the bitterness in Stiles’ face; he was trying to hide it with his downcast gaze.
A police siren could be heard down the highway. Stiles clears his throat, “Is he going to ask you to the winter formal?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug, tickled at the thought, “But that’s still a couple weeks away.”
“Do you want him to?” Stiles finally looks at you, straining to keep the hurt he feels at bay. The tightness of his chest was smothered by the boiling jealousy in his stomach. He hates the way you sound doting on Andrew. And he hates himself for being jealous over something he shouldn’t be mad about.
You made your choice and Andrew is a good guy.
“I’m not sure. He doesn’t know about my heart and a formal dance would be prime time for it to give out.” You take a deep breath, “I’d rather not spoil an evening like that.”
Stiles nods and considers you, “I guess you just need to go with someone that knows how to calm you. That way you don’t need to worry.”
It was suddenly tense for a few seconds while the police cars come closer to the hospital. You put a hand on the door handle and say, “You should probably get out of here so your dad doesn’t overhear why you might not be at the game. Police radios, you know…”
“Right,” Stiles says, “Let me know if anything comes up. I’m going to find Scott and tell him about our newly identified alpha.”
~~~
The next few days felt a little less hostile as the friend group settles into a new norm. Jackson is still moseying up to Allison, who is still apologizing on behalf of Scott for the impromptu kissing. You console her in that Scott wasn’t himself that day.
Allison was also venturing into new hobbies to keep her mind off things. She had taken to practicing archery in the woods, sometimes taking you or Lydia with her.
Jackson was talking in angry whispers to Scott and Stiles more often. You know it has something to do with seeking the werewolf curse.
As for yourself, you were working on your science project implanting E.coli in varying meats and cooking them, swabbing each as you go and putting samples in petri dishes. They were currently incubating in the chemistry lab while you walk down the hall with Andrew.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” you say, eyeing the way Andrew held your books for you.
“Hey, now we’re going to state,” he says, “You can come to that game.”
You smile, almost to English, “I’ll bring my pom-poms and megaphone.”
Andrew laughs, handing back your books for class, “I won’t say no to a little cheerleading outfit.” He winks at you and a warm blush envelops both your faces.
“I’ll see you later,” you say.
Walking into class you’re quick to notice Scott and Stiles staring at you (Stiles with a little more of a frown). You choose to sit in front of Scott, taking any opportunity for Allison to be near him.
“(Y/N)…” he starts with hesitance, “Stiles told me you’re talking again.”
You don’t turn around at first, “And?”
He leans forward across the desk, and you can hear his whisper over your shoulder. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to apologize to you this last week and… nothing seems good enough. After you avoided me and everything, I thought I lost my chance.” He sighs and you can feel it in your hair. “(Y/N), I am so so sorry. I’m sorry for attacking you – I’m sorry for forcing a kiss on you – I’m sorry for scaring you – and I’m sorry for trying to kill you.”
Very slowly you pivot in your chair to look at him.
Those puppy-dog eyes were back full force. Those were Scott’s eyes – not the dark, menacing look they had on the full moon. You knew the difference was night and day. The real Scott McCall would never do those things if he was in full control.
“I feel terrible,” he continues, afraid at your persistent silence. “I’m an awful friend and I should have told you the truth sooner. Maybe you would have been more prepared for the full moon like Stiles.”
You blink, “Have you apologized to Allison?”
“Well, I tried…” he scratches at his shaggy head, adding to his puppy-dog look. “She was shooting arrows in the forest with Lydia yesterday… and I needed to return a necklace of hers.”
“You mean you were stalking her?”
“The details are a little foggy,” he says quickly, “I might’ve scared her and she tazed me.”
Stiles snorts from beside Scott and you have to stop yourself from losing your composure. “She’s picked up a few things since breaking up with you.”
“I noticed,” he says lowly. “Anyway, I tried to apologize, and I think it got to her a little. She’s still mad, but I think she might forgive me eventually.”
“I told you,” you say with a slight smile. It gives Scott hope.
“And what about you?” his dark brown eyes are wide with anxiety.
You share a look with Stiles, who shrugs. “I forgive you.”
Scott sighs, his head falling into his arms on the desk. “Thank god. I promise, (Y/N), I didn’t mean to do any of those things. The full moon had me wired and it was like something else was controlling my body.”
“It’s okay, Scott. I did a lot of thinking while taking a break.” You look between Scott and Stiles as the tardy bell rings. “And I don’t think I can be involved with all this werewolf stuff.”
Stiles is nearly out of his chair with how he reacts. “What do you mean?” his desk squeaks terribly against the tile floor.
“I mean, I’d like to still be friends with you guys…”
An awful needle like puncture was screwing its way through Stiles’ chest. Friends.
“… but I don’t really want to be included in any werewolf business or late night investigations or almost being killed – which has happened to me about three times now since starting school.”
“Werewolf business is a very regular part of my life,” Scott says with a disbelieving laugh.
You nod, “I get it, I just mean I’d love to hang out or go to a party sometime, but I can’t be involved with anything else related to the alpha situation.”
Stiles was having trouble swallowing as Scott continues, “Like it or not, (Y/N) – you’re kind of a part of my pack. The pack that the Alpha wants me to get rid of.”
“Then… I’m resigning from the pack,” you shrug half-heartedly.
Stiles’ jaw nearly hits the floor as the teacher snaps at the three of you for talking. There is about three minutes of quiet as the teacher explains the upcoming book report that you’ve already finished on Sense and Sensibility.
After that you receive a group text from both Scott and Stiles.
Stiles: You’re just unfriending the pack?!
(Y/N): Can’t I do that and still be friendly?
Stiles: No
Scott: Of course you can. We just don’t get why
You raise your hand and share what stance you took on the book report requirements. You wrote an analytical piece on the personalities of two sisters: Elenor being all sense and Marianne being all sensibility.
The teacher looks pleased and asks for more volunteers. You’re now covered to keep texting.
(Y/N): Tell you later
Scott: Ok
Stiles: Tell us now
You tuck your phone away and feel it buzz with a few more messages before going quiet. You don’t mean for it to be such a shock. You just knew that the more stress you had the more likely you’d have a fainting episode with your heart condition. That would lead to more heart damage and an end that you want to prolong as much as possible.
Being surrounded by high stress werewolf situations was going to be the death of you.
You are quick to leave the classroom at the bell and the boys weren’t far behind.
“Hey,” Stiles grabs your shoulder, slowing you down. “Explain.”
Scott holds his backpack straps, awkward but less demanding on hearing your explanation.
“It’s not a good idea for me to be around a lot of stress,” you sigh, “You know… because of my heart.”
Both boys purse their lips and share a look. Scott is quiet when he asks, “Because you have a tachee-heart?”
You and Stiles both say, “Tachycardia?” You laugh and continue, “Yes. My heartbeat is already irregular and if I do anything to add to it… it’s bad news bears.”
“Care to expand on what these bad news bears are?” Stiles asks irritably.
“That’s a talk for another day,” you say quickly, leading the way to your next class. “Just know that the more my heart struggles the worse off I’ll be.”
“But we can help you,” Stiles says, pressing into your shoulder as you all walk down the hallway. “We can calm you down if that happens.” I can calm you down.
You sigh, “Not always. It can be random and persistent.” You stop outside the door of your next class. “This isn’t me saying we can’t be friends, just… I want to avoid any werewolfy scenarios that might involve near death and/or general terror.”
You leave Scott and Stiles to contemplate out in the hallway. Shoulders sagging, Scott groans, “This werewolf thing is ruining my life.”
“Yeah, and mine.” Stiles broods at the classroom door, taking a second to realize what he said and turning to the mild anger on Scott’s face. “What? I’m the best friend – I am legally bound to whatever misery you experience.”
“All the new friends I’ve made are literally being pushed away because of this curse,” Scott rubs hard at his face, “And it’s ruined my love life, not to mention my lifespan. Hunters are basically knocking down my front door!”
“Yeah, it’s really putting a damper on my love life too.” Stiles mumbles to himself, “I really thought I had a shot with her.”
Scott shoves his friend, “Even after all her talk about Andrew?”
Stiles scowls, “That’s just a silly crush.”
“And what she feels for you is… what exactly?”
“Hidden feelings that I will unlock one day for her to realize that I am the perfect guy for her…” he licks his lips, wincing, “… despite the clumsiness, sarcasm, and general idiocy.”
Scott laughs, “Yeah, she’s really missing out.”
“Hey!” he rams into Scott as they walk towards their next class. “I really like her, Scott. Like… I like her, like her.”
“I know, Loverboy.”
“She’s all I can think about, and I know I’m just a pathetic friend of hers, but I’m hopeless, Scott! Completely hopeless.”
Scott gives him a look, “Are you sure you’re not stalking her?”
“In a broad sense of the term,” Stiles shrugs, “I’ve never felt this comfortable around a girl before. I’ve never felt this way about any girl.”
“You’ve got it bad,” Scott sighs, “I know the feeling well.”
~~~
You walk through the aisles of computers to sit near the back beside a hunched figure. He keeps his head down even as you watch his eyes dart to see who you are. If anything it makes him more shy, his shoulders drawing in as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible.
You sling your backpack onto the ground and ignore the random text Stiles sent you about the history of the male circumcision. He was always sending you the most out-of-pocket things.
“Hey,” you smile at the quiet boy, “My name’s (Y/N)…” He turns his head a little more and you instantly recognize him as one of the benchwarmers on the lacrosse team, “… and you’re Isaac, right?”
His blue eyes seem to warm at your recognition, “Yeah, Isaac Lahey,” he clears his throat, “I uh…”
“You play lacrosse!” your smile widens, “I didn’t realize we had computer science together.”
“Play is a strong word,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I sort of keep to myself.”
You lean on your elbow, considering him as he fidgets under your gaze. “I think the last time we talked was when I was passing out permission slips for that spring retreat Coach was talking about.”
Isaac nods his head, still bowing like he was trying to hide behind his computer screen. “I don’t talk much.”
“You didn’t bring back your permission slip if I remember correctly.”
“No,” he clears his throat again, finding it hard to swallow. “My dad needs me to stay home.”
“Even for just a weekend?” your brows knit.
He licks his lips, “He needs help at work and… I’m the only one around to do it.”
“Shame,” you mutter, “I’d like to have seen you there. Maybe we could’ve roasted marshmallows together and tossed Coach’s whistle in the lake.”
His lips upturn a little more, “You’re going on the retreat?”
“I don’t think the Coach can survive without me,” you stifle a laugh, “Besides I’m the only one who knows anything about the retreat. He probably couldn’t drive a single one of you up there.” You nudge your arm into his, “You should ask your dad again, see if he’ll change his mind.”
Isaac has an emotion you can’t gauge flash across his eyes. “Maybe.” He nods and hides that smile you’re trying to pull out of him. “I wouldn’t mind messing with Coach, though.”
“We could hide his energy drinks or put dye in his toothpaste,” you muse, “Make his teeth blue for a day.”
“Or we could put a squirrel in his cabin,” Isaac says with a little more enthusiasm, “Or maybe we could hide his shaving kit and see what kind of beard he can grow.”
You snort, “I bet it’s as white as an old mans.”
“It’s because all us kids give him gray hairs,” Isaac laughs, smiling wide.
You laugh along, suddenly struck with his change of demeanor. “You have a great smile, Isaac,” you say, “It looks good on you.”
A rush of red fills his cheeks, unable to stop smiling now. He isn’t hunched behind his computer anymore, “Thank you.”
The teacher was about ready to throttle you two for giggling over her talking. You nudge Isaac again with your arm, putting a finger to your lips.
~~~
The next day you’re being dropped off at the Argent residence for a ‘family dinner.’ Allison has been complaining about how often her dad talks about meeting you. It was odd not having met them – almost every parent in town knew who you were.
That was the consequence of a small town with two working parents in the emergency fields. Most adults knew that they had to leave at the drop of a dime if your heart was ever in trouble.
Hence the anxiety making your fingers pull on your sleeves.
“(Y/N)!” Allison greets, pulling you into a hug, “I’m so sorry for this,” she whispers.
You whisper back, “Don’t be.” But a flash of fear crosses your face when the door widens to reveal a blue-eyed, middle-aged man. “Mr. Argent?”
“(Y/N),” he extends a hand, eyes never blinking as he probes you, “We finally meet.” He shakes your hand firmly, “My wife and daughter have only had good things to say.”
And my friends have told me about your penchant for shooting arrows at teenage boys. “Nice to meet you.” You follow the family inside and to the dining room. “I hope you don’t mind…”
In your free hand was a small container of peanut butter brownies you had made earlier that day. Chris Argent looks pleased when he inspects the contents, “How wonderful – you didn’t have to.”
“I know,” you say, handing the dessert to Allison to plate. The Argents were able to provide for themselves, plus extra.
Living on the other side of town, the Argent residence was much more lavish than what you were used to. It created a very unfortunate divide between the teenagers. An invisible line that was rarely mentioned, but nonetheless present.
Over in these neighborhoods, Lydia, Allison, and Jackson lived with rich crown moldings, nice cars, high ceilings, and antique furniture. More in the valley, you, Stiles, and Scott lived in modest homes with hand-me-down items and a small growing pile of bills.
With one check you bet the Argents could take away your family’s medical debt.
“Your home is lovely as always,” you say, admiring the chandelier in the dining room. “And dinner smells amazing.”
“Not my doing,” a dirty blonde says with a crisp laugh. A near forced laugh as her less piercing blue eyes meet yours. She assesses you with something a little colder than Chris. “Hello, I’m Kate, and I have no talent for cooking.”
You give a wave across the table, instantly wary of her. Allison pops up beside you, “That’s my aunt I told you about.” She looks to Kate as she sits, “(Y/N) is an amazing cook.”
Kate nods, still scrutinizing you with her gaze. “What else are you good at, (Y/N)?”
“Reading,” you say instantly, sharing a laugh with Allison. “I keep to myself mostly.”
With the table set, the Argent family sits to enjoy the meal. Victoria Argent, whom you’ve met the few times you’ve been out with Allison, sat with her husband.
“So, (Y/N), tell us a little more about yourself,” Chris says, spearing asparagus with his fork. “You’re close with our daughter but we know almost nothing about you.”
You try to swallow your roast chicken quickly as Allison scolds her father. “I told you not to interrogate her,” she leans closer to you, “He doesn’t really have a ‘pleasant conversation’ option in his vernacular.”
“It’s alright,” you say with a wave, grabbing a nice cloth napkin to dab at your mouth. “My parents like to know who I’m friends with too.”
“You know Scott and Jackson, correct?” Kate digs into her chicken with a knife.
“Yes, we’re all friends. I also am a teacher assistant for Coach Finstock, so I see them at lacrosse a lot.”
Chris considers you, “But you weren’t at the last lacrosse game?”
“No, I work at the hospital as a medical assistant and I picked up a shift that night,” you take a sip of your water. How much information was too much information to give?
Kate tilts her head in your direction, “Wasn’t there a break-in at the hospital that night?”
You nod slowly, “Yeah, someone got into an altercation past visiting hours. I don’t know who but when I went to investigate the noise, there was a lot of broken glass and cracks in the walls. Thank goodness none of the patients were harmed.”
Chris takes his time cutting his meal into pieces, “That sounds terrible. What did you do?”
“I called the police, checked on my residents, and ran outside to meet the cops.” You take a small bite of food, “They didn’t find anything besides the damage.”
“Cameras?” Kate questions.
You shake your head, “My co-workers said that they had been damaged as well. Wiped clean or lost… I don’t know exactly.”
Chris seems satisfied for the time being, “Well, I’m glad you got out safely, whatever it was.”
Kate, on the other hand, seems to perk with interest, “I hear you’ve had a run-in with danger a couple times this year.” At your look of confusion, she nods toward your collar. “The attack on the video store, I mean.” She barely moves a centimeter as she stares you down, “Allison told me you had gotten clawed pretty bad.”
You spot the wince in Allison’s brow. “I did get attacked that night,” you wipe at your mouth again. “It was pretty bad for a while, infected and everything. But I’m okay now.”
Kate was persistent, “Must have left a pretty gnarly scar.” Her eyebrows lift as if expecting you to reveal your shoulder. She was scolded by her niece.
“It’s still a little pink, but that’ll go away with time,” you say as nonchalantly as possible. “I’d say it makes me look a little cooler than I am.” You shift the collar of your shirt an inch to reveal the tail end of three massive claw marks, another curling around your arm. It was your turn to gauge the reaction of the Argents.
Chris and Kate share a look and you clear your throat in response. Are you making yourself a possible werewolf suspect?
“And what do you guys do for work?” you say, steering the conversation off yourself. “Allison says that you’re a weapons dealer?”
Chris pours himself more water, “That’s right. We have quite the collection if you’re interested.”
You shake your head quickly, “I’m not really built for that. I enjoy my books and my lazy cat sleeping in my lap as I read.”
He nods, hopefully in a sign of respect. “That’s why Kate is here. She deals in weaponry as well – a very skilled hunter.”
She raises her glass, “The art of the kill. I needed my brother’s expertise on a few pieces for my latest hunt.”
“What do you hunt?” you say innocently.
“Big game predators,” she says, cold eyes locked on you. “Cougars, bears, wolves.”
You almost smirk. These people are hiding in plain sight.
“My mom is a buyer for a store in San Fransico,” Allison steers the conversation even more. “Right, mom?”
Victoria, already done with her meal and leaning back in her chair, replies, “Yes, it’s a charming little boutique. I also teach math at a boarding school for boys on the side.”
You nod, “Why math?”
“Strategy,” she says flatly. “Equations and probabilities. I enjoy the art of stratagem.”
That was slightly off putting as well. Did these people know how to be subtle? How had Allison gone this long without knowing her family history?
“And your parents are…?” Victoria continues.
You smile, “My mom works behind the desk at the police station – taking and directing calls. My dad works at the firehouse.”
“You must hear everything that goes on around here,” Chris smirks.
“Only when I ask,” you say, “And that’s considering nothing wild has happened in Beacon Hills for years…”
Kate leans back in her chair as well, crossing her arms in contemplation. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
“Yes,” you say, pushing your plate away, “Almost since birth.”
“Where did you live before?” Chris asks.
He might be intimidating, but you enjoy talking to him much more than Kate. “My parents lived in Palo Alto when I was born. We had a nice house and my mom worked security at Stanford University. My dad actually met her at the San Francisco Bay. He was a lifeguard before he was a firefighter, and he watched the swimmers at Keller Beach and Berkeley Marina.” You smile a sweet smile, “She kept coming back to those places to see him… even pretended to drown once for a kiss.”
“Must be a fan of The Sandlot,” Allison snickers, enjoying hearing you talk more than her family.
“So why make the move to Beacon Hills?” Kate asks, arms still tightly wound.
Your smile falls a little, “I was born with a congenital heart defect. The medical bills and surgeries became too much… and we had to downgrade.”
Allison puts a hand on your leg beneath the table. Chris sends a piercing look to his sister and mutters, “I’m sorry, (Y/N) – I didn’t know you were sick.”
“Still am,” you say with mock cheerfulness, holding your water glass with two hands to give yourself something to focus on. “Heart problems are persistent. We try to keep it as discreet as possible.”
He nods, looking at you with a different air of likeness. “It sounds like you have a wonderful family.”
“I do,” you say fast, “Thank you.”
They move on to the brownies you brought as a means to change the subject. Victoria hums her appreciation, “These are delicious, did you put caramel in here too?”
“Caramel is one of the greatest inventions of all time and deserves to be incorporated into as many sweets as possible,” you laugh, “Of course I put caramel in them.”
The table laughs as you eat, feeling a little stripped bare after revealing so much about yourself. As Allison said, it did feel more like an interrogation rather than a pleasant family meal. You were quick to text the boys as you leave the residence.
“My place in ten minutes. I have an Argent update.” You smile as you add, “… and leftover brownies.”
Allison was kind enough to drive you home, apologizing the entire way. “My dad wasn’t as brazen as usual, but my aunt Kate?” she rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe how much she was grilling you.”
“You have a protective family,” you shrug, “So do I.”
“Your parents have a good reason to be extra protective of you,” she retorts, “My family is just nosy and suspicious and… I don’t know, my aunt and dad have been a little tense with each other this visit. They usually get along so well.”
“How much longer is your aunt staying here?” you ask, holding your container of leftover brownies.
Allison knits her brow in thought, “I’m not sure. She says she’s getting ready for another big hunt and just needs supplies and my dad’s advice. But I don’t know… sometimes I feel like she isn’t telling me everything.”
You thank Allison for the ride and the invitation to dinner. You promise to give her an update on your date with Andrew that weekend, and she drives off. Entering your house was a breath of fresh air.
Oliver trots to your side, his furry underbelly swaying side to side before you scoop him up and kiss his head. He purrs instantly.
“How was dinner?” your mom asks, sitting at the dining table with little potted plants in front of her. She was trying to grow herbs from seeds and the lavender was not doing so well.
“It was fine,” you kick off your shoes, “Her family is a little interrogative.”
Tom walks in with his usual cola, no doubt with a few ounces of whiskey poured in. “I knew they were a little tense, especially after that Chris guy shot the mountain lion at parent teacher conferences.”
You scratch under Ollie’s chin, “It was still nice, but I would watch out for that Kate Argent. She scares me a little.” You sit at the table and watch your mom preen the little sprouts of eucalyptus and rosemary. “Oh, I also invited Scott and Stiles over, if that’s okay.”
Tom folds his arms, making them look massive beneath his firehouse flannel. “I thought you liked that Andrew guy.”
“I can like a guy and be friends with other guys, dad,” you snicker, “I’m just going to take my medicine real quick, will you send them up when they get here?”
Your mom waves you off, adding some water to her seedlings, “Leave me one of those brownies, would you?”
A minute later, and having taken all your prescription meds, there’s a howling laugh coming from downstairs. You move to the foot of the stairs to see Stiles beaming and your dad wiping his eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Tom says, “Stilinski here was just telling me about a police fiasco with a red tricycle and a klepto.”
You look puzzled as Stiles scratches at the back of his head, “Yeah, I might’ve stolen some already stolen items from evidence when I was a kid. I was the prime suspect for about three days with all the stuff in my possession.”
“And at five years old,” your dad laughs, downing his drink.
“I really wanted the tricycle!” Stiles retorts, “It was my first bike.”
Tom shakes his head, “Learning to pedal on stolen property.”
Scott pulls on his friend, “It was nice talking to you guys.”
“Of course, sweetie,” your mom says, “Now not too late, you still have school tomorrow.”
Walking up the stairs (Stiles tripping over at least two of the steps) you lead the boys into your room, Oliver already on your bed.
“Hey, buddy…” Stiles gets on his knees and crawls to the edge of the bed, “How’s the fuzz ball?”
Ollie perks his ears and blinks slowly at Stiles, bowing his head for a pet. Though upon Scott’s arrival, the cat sets his ears back and hisses.
“What the…” you mutter, watching your cat growl low in his throat and dart to leave the bedroom. “He’s never acted like that before.”
Scott looks guilty, “Well, I am part dog and… I did break into your house as a werewolf not too long ago.”
Your lips make a thin line, “Right. Cats and dogs don’t always get along.” You walk to your bed, flicking at Stiles’ head as you sit down, “Do you guys want a brownie? They’re leftover from my dinner with the Argents.”
Stiles’ greedy fingers dive for the plastic container while Scott shoves his hands in his pockets. “You had dinner at their house?”
You relay some of the conversation you had. The mysterious penchant for weapons and hunting big game predators. The interrogative questions on the hospital break-in and your involvement with Scott and Jackson. The request to see the claw marks on your shoulder.
“Do they think you might be the second beta too?” Scott asks with a tense line between his eyebrows. Stiles was too busy eating his third brownie.
“Maybe… do they think a scratch could turn you?”
“That’s what Derek said,” Scott swallows hard, “He told us a deep enough alpha scratch might give you the curse. The Argents might have the same theory.” He smacks his forehead, “Which is why they’re suspicious of Jackson. He has those claw marks in his neck from Derek.”
You frown, “And they don’t know they’re from Derek and not the Alpha.”
“But they do know your scars are from the Alpha,” Scott mutters worriedly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they do a follow-up on you.”
“But after I told them about my heart condition, they seemed to back off. At least Chris did.”
You relay the conversation that you had about your parents meeting in Palo Alto and the move to Beacon Hills because of your heart. You remember the likeness Chris Argent had in his voice as he expressed his apologies for your sickness.
“If you’re sick then you couldn’t have the curse,” Scott mumbles, picking at his chin. “Werewolves heal really fast unless the wound is supernatural too.”
Stiles is licking his fingers when he suddenly blurts, “Do you think if you were a werewolf your heart would be cured?”
You shrug, finding the amount of brownie left on Stiles’ face amusing. “I don’t really want to find out. Anyway, I knew you guys would probably want to know.”
“Still not keen on all this werewolf business?” Stiles asks.
“I’m just trying to protect myself.” You sit on the bed, Stiles on the ground and leaning against the mattress. He’s looking up at you with his brown eyes, fizzing with warmth like cola and whiskey. “It’s not that I don’t want to investigate with you guys. I just worry what it’ll do to my heart.”
You laugh and point at your own face, “You’ve got chocolate all over your mouth.”
Stiles is quick to rub his mouth across his shirt sleeves, “Those brownies were just too damn good.” There was still a smudge at the corner of his lips.
“Maybe if you swallowed between bites…” you move your fingers to his face, lifting his chin to look up at you. He’s frozen as you move your thumb to the corner of his mouth and wipe down and under his bottom lip.
Eyes wide and imploring as they look up at you. He’s all sweet innocence and deeply adoring as you touch his mouth. The brown of his eyes was melting into the sticky sweet sap color, like warm honey in the sunlight.
You pull your hand away and suck the chocolate off the pad of your thumb, “… but thank you for the compliment. I’m not as much of a baker.”
Scott was trying to keep a smile off his face as his hand hovered near his crinkled nose. He was smelling something that was flying off Stiles like a firework set aflame. The poor boy was squirming in his spot on the ground, crossing his legs and keeping his hands over his lap.
“How was Allison?” Scott changes the subject.
You look up, now ignoring the sappy eyes gazing from below. “She was fine – maybe a little embarrassed about her family. It was strange knowing the motive behind her family’s questions but seeing none of it register with her.”
“I have a feeling she’ll find out soon enough.”
“Me too,” you stand, “For now she’s releasing a lot of her stress through archery and training with her aunt.”
Scott shivers, “Scary.”
You nod, walking to the door and hearing Stiles scramble to his feet. “I’ll see you guys at school tomorrow?”
Getting into the jeep was uncomfortable, Stiles pulling at his jeans. Scott was laughing at him before too long, “Dude, you should have seen your face. You really are hopeless.”
Stiles groans, slamming his forehead into the steering wheel, “She touched me and every thought just flew out of my head.”
“I could smell it off you,” Scott grimaces, “Just awful lovey-dovey sex hormones, even without the full moon I could smell it.”
Stiles sat straight, making the jeep wiggle side to side. He had a ruddy red mark on his forehead. “Did you smell anything from (Y/N)?”
Scott clamps his mouth shut before shaking his head. “I could hear her uneven heartbeat, but that’s nothing new.”
In a dramatic turn of events, Stiles slumps in his seat and puts the car in drive. “I need to figure out a way to tell her.”
“Tell her your feelings?” Scott gaps, “What about the possibility of utterly crushing humiliation? Not to mention ruining what friendships we still have.”
“Thanks for adding to the anxiety, Scott,” he grumbles, “I just… I can’t help thinking about how I am with her. I have never been able to just talk about my mom to anyone… but with her it’s easy. I’ve never brought a girl over to my house before… but with (Y/N) it was a no brainer. I’ve never been so equally terrified and comfortable with a girl. And with her heart…”
“You’re like an anchor for her,” Scott says quietly, all teasing aside. “You can calm her.”
Stiles puts one hand over his cropped hair, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.”
“You know the difference between you and Andrew Wickstrom, Stiles?”
He snorts, “He’s maybe four inches taller than me, has perfect curly hair, and is way better at lacrosse than I am.”
“He asked (Y/N) out,” Scott says, “You just need to ask her out.”
~~~
Friday night was all excitement and butterflies as you walk around a strip mall with Andrew. The white fairy lights turn on when the sun sets, and you’re left walking on cobblestones and eating ice cream.
You were laughing at the ridiculous training regime that Coach was making the boys do in preparation for the state game.
“What is the benefit of running laps to the classroom and out to the field?”
“Coach makes us carry his stuff too and from his office,” Andrew mocks, “He makes it sound like an exercise, but really he just wants us to fetch his granola bars and energy drinks.”
You laugh again, “That sounds about right. How do you feel about the game?”
“Since switching to goalie it’s been hard figuring the plays out. But I think I’ve got the hang of it now.” He offers to throw away your empty ice cream cup and spoon.
The night so far had entailed a dinner at a little café outside the mall before looking in some of the stores for new summertime clothes. Andrew bought an outfit for you, shorts with little revealing tears in them and a strappy top that shows your scars way more than you’re used to.
You love that Andrew doesn’t question you about them.
Next was a stop at an ice cream parlor, taste testing different flavors before picking your favorites. The pair of you now walking around as the moon comes out, the trees adorned with white fairy lights.
You were walking so close to each other that you kept bumping arms. “Next time I want to show you my favorite antique shop downtown. It has some of the coolest things from every time period, and it’s connected to an old bookshop – one of the ones with tall ladders and a second floor just like in…”
“There’s going to be a next time?” Andrew says, sounding a little giddy. He was looking at you with pink dusting his cheeks.
You blush, “Is that alright?”
In reply, Andrew locks your fingers between his. “Very alright.” You stroll down the next street of cool fairy light, squeezing each other’s hands. “What were you saying about the old bookstore before I rudely interrupted you?”
You brush hair behind your ears, “Oh, just that it reminds me of the old bookstore from Beauty and the Beast… the one from her town.”
“You’re a fan of Disney?”
“Always,” you laugh, “With movies like The Princess and the Frog and The Emperor’s New Groove… how could you not be?”
Andrew snickers, “It’s because of Naveen, isn’t it?”
“Ah, Prince Naveen,” you groan, “You got me there.”
“Got to be honest though… Treasure Planet might be the best one yet.”
You pull on his arm, “I haven’t watched that in ages!”
Andrew side eyes you as his dimples come out, “So old antique shop and then movie night?”
You’re giddy at the thought of another date, “Sounds perfect.” You wander the streets just talking and laughing for another half hour before he offers to drive you home.
He holds your hand atop your lap the whole way.
Walking to your door, porchlight on as your parents wait for your return, you thank Andrew for a lovely evening.
“It’s nice after all the chaos the town’s been in the last month.”
He nods, “I had a really nice time with you, (Y/N).” He hands you the shopping bag with your new summer outfit, “I’ll text you a time for the next one.”
You smile wide as he takes a step closer, “I had fun too.” He was leaning down to your height, your chin rising to meet him.
In a quick mind-boggling moment, Andrew presses his lips to yours. He pulls away just an inch to see your reaction before moving further.
At your slight smile he leans in for more, kissing you more firmly and cupping your cheek. A sudden warmth blooms up your chest and into your face – and a beeping comes from your watch.
You break away suddenly, “God, sorry…” you cover the watch face with your hand. “Parents are waiting.”
Andrew licks his lips, all smiles as he says goodbye, “I’ll see you on Monday.”
You slip inside and find your mom pruning a more successful chamomile plant at the dining table, no doubt planning to make tea with it. “Hello, honey…” she smirks, “Had a nice time?”
Checking your watch, you take a deep breath, your chest tight from something a little more than your racing heart. “The best.”
You had no idea that Stiles was burrowed beneath his blankets in bed, his phone lighting up his face is somber blue light. He watches the alert of your heart rate die down and knows in his gut that you probably had an exciting goodnight kiss on your date.
It sticks him with an ache he can’t shake for the rest of the night.
~~~
The weekend came with an invitation from Stiles in the most untoward manner. You were working on term projects for history and math when there was a sharp rapping on the window. Turning around you see Stiles waving on the roof.
Already smiling, you go to unlock the window and help him open it, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask you something.”
“And your phone is…?”
He shrugs, “More of a boring gesture than this.”
“And not coming to the door…?”
He screws his face up in a comical expression, “Again, this is a more interesting entrance.” And with a graceful slip of the hand, he falls forward through the window and crashes to the ground, “Ow!”
You grimace, hearing the floorboards squeak in the hall, “Shit, Stiles my parents will kill me if they knew you were sneaking up our roof!” In a frantic waving of your hands you shove him under your bed.
He does his now famous doggy-paddling across the hardwood floor.
“(Y/N), sweetie?” your mom calls as she enters your bedroom, “Oh – what was that noise? I thought you must’ve fainted and fell.”
You put your hands behind your back, looking around and finding Ollie still snoozing on the history textbook on your desk. He was so unbothered and not at all helpful. “Um… I dropped my math workbook,” you say quickly, “It’s pretty thick.”
Your mom looks to your hands to see the workbook and raises her eyebrows in question.
Choking on your words you look around and find the evidence on your bed covers, “See! I just picked it up when you walked in.”
Angela shakes her head, “Studying must be getting to you. Maybe you should take a break.”
You nod vigorously and thank your mother, closing your door and finding Stiles already trying to pull himself out from under your bed. His tongue was sticking out as he struggles.
“That was close,” you laugh, sitting on the floor with him, “Who knew you’d be such mischief.”
Stiles snaps his eyes to yours and flounders in his words, “I… you – did you…”
Your knees are inches away as you give him a quizzical look, “What?”
“My m-, my mom used to call me mischief.” His voice was quiet and wondering as he says it. He looks at you with a kind of awe; a freckle of sadness making his eyes glassy.
You suddenly feel warm, maybe from embarrassment – maybe from empathy. You couldn’t imagine a life without your mother. “A very fitting name for someone so mischievous.”
He chuckles, his smile subconscious, “That’s not the only reason she called me that. Um… I uh – my name isn’t actually Stiles.”
“I knew it,” you smirk.
“I actually have a polish name – my grandpa’s name. And it’s really hard to pronounce, so I’d pretty much stop at saying mischief cause that was as close as I could get.”
You raise your eyebrows, all curiosity, “And this name is…?”
He looks shy as he mumbles, “Mieczyslaw.”
“Mitchy-slav?”
He becomes shier as he repeats, “Yeah, Mieczyslaw. You can imagine why a young impressionable child would choose to go by something a little easier.”
You look at him fondly, “I like it. I like learning things about you.” You stand, taking his hand to pull him up, “Now what was the thing you wanted to ask me?”
“I wanted to know if you’d come hangout at my place tonight and meet my dad.”
“I already know your dad, Stiles.”
“Yeah, on a professional basis,” he mocks, “But… but you’ve never seen him without the badge on.”
You agree to come over that night and say you’ll bring a treat, which immediately strikes interest in Stiles. You plan accordingly, cooking all Saturday evening and dishing it in traveling containers. Placing them in a large take-out bag, you drive with your dad to the Stilinski bachelor pad.
You hope your gesture is kindly met.
“(Y/N)!” Stiles says with as much enthusiasm as one seeing someone for the first time in weeks. He’s awkward as he thinks of another way to greet you and is grateful when you go in for a hug. “Something smells delicious.”
You lift the large bag, “I told you I’d bring something.”
He leads you to the kitchen and you see Noah Stilinski looking over case files at the dining table. He looks stressed and wary until he spots you in the doorway.
“Ah, hello (Y/N). It’s nice to see you outside of the station…” he stands up, “… and outside of an ambulance.”
You laugh, going in for a hug that he wasn’t expecting, but loving it nonetheless. He holds you for a second longer as you say, “It’s about time.” He smells of whiskey. You gesture to the food in your bag, “I brought us dinner.”
“Oh my god,” Noah deadpans, “You spoil us.” He frantically tries to shuffle his case files into an orderly fashion, “I’m sorry it’s such a mess.” He moves his full whiskey glass and goes to put the decanter away.
“It’s okay,” you start to help, catching words like ‘murder’ and ‘Hale House.’ Stiles ran for some plates and forks. “There’s not always warning when Stiles makes plans.” You wonder how drunk the sheriff already is – the case must really be getting to him.
Noah chuckles, “You really know my son, then.” He seems awkward without the authority of his badge – like any other suburban dad. “He didn’t tell me you were bringing anything. Wait… did you cook that?” he points to your bag of containers.
“Yeah,” you say, helping Stiles set the table, “My specialty.”
Noah shakes his head, “I haven’t had a homecooked meal in…”
“Years,” Stiles snorts, “(Y/N) is the real deal, dad. Whatever she made will change your life.”
“He eats some chicken and rice and suddenly I’m a three-star Michelin chef.”
Stiles chortles, “Don’t forget those brownies. I’ll never be the same.”
You laugh as the boys sit down and you reveal the dinner you brought. A bowl of spicy Italian sausage, a plate of sliced garlic bread, and a dish of homemade mac and cheese topped with chopped parsley and green onion.
It was very quiet for the first few minutes, you placing a slice of garlic bread on each plate and ladling the cheesy noodles on top like an open-faced slider. You end with placing a few pieces of sausage on the side and passing the plates to the boys.
Stiles still can’t find the words as his dad says, “Did um…” he clears his throat. “Did Stiles tell you…”
You nod, feeling a presence there like nothing you had ever experienced before. “He said it was one of her signature dishes – a favorite of his.” You look to Stiles beside you and notice something glistening in his eyes.
You let them soak in the thoughtfulness of the gesture – what it actually signifies for them – and you start to eat on your own. Though it didn’t bring up any childhood memories of motherly love that it would for Stiles… it was still delicious.
“You’re right,” you say softly, “Like a fancy kids meal.”
Noah starts to chuckle, sniffing as he clears the emotion from his throat. He’s next to start eating his meal and the way he savors each bite is compliment enough. You wait for Stiles to start, very conscious of his quietness.
Stiles was never quiet.
He picks up the garlic bread laden with mac and cheese and takes a bite. He giggles like a schoolboy, “Wow.” He closes his eyes and you feel inclined to put your hand on his. Beneath the table, you wrap your fingers around his against his leg.
You rub your thumb in circles around his knuckles, watching him open his eyes and see tears there. “How is it?”
He sniffs, looking at you with wet eyes, “Like I remember.” He wipes at his face as you smile.
The rest of the meal continues with small talk and fond memories bringing up laughter. The sheriff finishes his whiskey and seems full and tired. Stiles keeps eating until there were no leftovers in sight.
He was now staring at the files of paperwork on the current Derek Hale case. You catch his eye and stand to wash dishes, “You finished, sheriff?”
“Oh no, I’ve got it,” Stiles slips out of his chair and takes the plates from your hands, “You just sit down, I’ll clean up.”
You smile to yourself as the sheriff looks more work wary, leaning on his hand and rubbing at his temples. “You bring out the best in him,” he says quietly, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him willingly wash a dish before.”
“He’s sweet,” you say. Realizing too late that that was another thing Mrs. Stilinski used to say all the time.
Noah nods, a little red in the cheeks from the alcohol, “He is. She always said so.”
You had a feeling the sheriff didn’t talk about his wife very much. “You seem a little put out.”
“It’s just this case,” he rubs hard at his face, “I’ve been staring at it for weeks and I know they’re all connected, but there’s something missing.”
“What are all connected?” you ask.
He points a finger at you, “I shouldn’t be telling you.”
“You know I’m not going to say anything, sheriff,” you say candidly, “I’m a hermit that makes very good mac and cheese in my spare time.”
He chuckles deep in his throat, quieter the drunker he is. “The thing is… the bus driver that got killed, he was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire.” He pulls on a paper with his fingertips, sliding it across the table.
You read it sideways as it moves. “’Terminated under suspicion of fraud.’”
“The video store clerk who got his throat slashed, he’s a convicted felon, history of arson. Two others in the woods… they had priors all over their records, including…”
“Arson…” you say to yourself. The true crime fan within you was a little tickled. It sounds like all the victims had something to do with the house fire six years ago. You look over your shoulder to see Stiles standing in the doorway. He had soapy water soaking the front of his shirt.
He puts a finger to his lips and listens.
“There’s just so many questions…” You don’t stop him for fear that he’ll register all that he’s telling you. “If Derek wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire, then why start with his sister? I mean, she had nothing to do with it. And why make it look like some kind of animal did it?”
You shake your head. It must be killing Stiles to know the real reason behind some of these things and not being able to share. He was protecting his dad from the supernatural. Just like how he was trying to protect you from it.
“You know the instances of wild animal reports were up 70% over the past few months? It’s like they’re going crazy and running out of the woods. I don’t know.” He hand a palm to his forehead, already dozing off.
You feel a little guilty as you lean in your chair.
“Hey, sheriff, can I ask you a favor?”
“Anything, sweetheart…”
You smile warmly as Stiles leans his head against the archway. “Would you be willing to call my parents and tell them I’m staying the night? It’s late and I don’t want to worry them. Stiles and I have some work to catch up on… our chemistry project and stuff. Now would be a really good time to get it done.”
The sheriff had a dopey smile on his face as he looks at you. He considers you while Stiles is having a heart attack in the kitchen.
“Sure thing,” he says, fumbling for his phone, “I know your parents worry about you.”
“It’ll sound better coming from you,” you say kindly, “Thank you, sheriff. And thank you for letting me stay.”
He scratches at his head as you stand, already dialing your mom’s number, “Hey, Angela. No, no – she’s fine. We’re taking good care of her… hey, listen. The kids want to work on some projects, and I wanted to offer to let her stay the night.” He rubs at his tired eyes, “Sure, sure… of course. It’s just late and I know Tom is at the firehouse tonight so… yeah, sure thing. We’ve got plenty of room. Yep, thanks Angela. Sure, bye bye.”
You’re walking towards Stiles with a stupid grin on your face, “Let’s go talk.”
“Night dad!” Stiles yells instantly, still in awe that you were able to pull that off.
Noah waves them off, “Don’t stay up too late.”
You pull Stiles’ hand and go upstairs. “I can’t believe that worked.” You find the bathroom but wait for Stiles to show you his room.
“Um… one second,” he holds up a finger and tells you to stay put. He rummages like a madman in his bedroom, knocking things over and slamming things shut. You picture mounds of clothes and old plates of food being shoved into the closet.
He’s breathing heavy when he opens the door again, “Okay, you can come in.” He holds open the door and you walk in to find a queen bed with ruffled blue sheets, a desk on the other side with bulletin boards hanging on the wall. One of the smaller ones had a blanket thrown over it.
You wonder how much decluttering Stiles did because it was still very messy. Papers, sticky notes, and red string were everywhere. “Cozy.”
He looks nervous, playing with his fingers and watching your expression, “I don’t… ha…” he fidgets with his soapy shirt, “I’ve never had a girl in my room before.”
You take a bow, “I’m honored.” You sit on the edge of his bed, “What your dad is investigating…”
“Derek… I know,” he sits at his desk chair. “He’s so close to figuring it all out. He just doesn’t know about the Alpha.”
“Was it bad of me to egg him on while he’s so clearly drunk?”
“No, I would’ve done the same thing.”
“Exactly,” you deadpan, smiling. “If the Alpha is killing people responsible for the fire, then Derek siding with him at the hospital…”
“… is probably because he wants people to pay for the fire as well.”
You rub your legs down to your knees, “And the Alpha just wants to become powerful again in his revenge.”
Stiles was tapping his fingers against the desk, “So was there any other reason why you wanted to stay the night? Because I know for a fact you already finished our chemistry project and it’s incubating in the lab right now.”
“Well, there have been a couple things I wanted to talk to you about.” You sit cross legged on the mattress and say, “Coach has been talking to me about Scott failing his classes.”
“Big surprise,” Stiles scoffs, “The guy thinks he can be some werewolf savior and graduate high school at the same time.”
You wince, “Finstock made a deal with the office. Scott can’t go to the winter formal.”
“Because he’s failing?” Stiles gawks.
“They wanted to kick him off the team, but Coach said… some strange things… and made the dance agreement.” You tilt your head to the side, “Are you still planning on going?”
Stiles spins around in his chair, fumbling over his words, “Um, er – yeah, technically. I was s-still planning on it. Why… might I ask?”
You sigh, “Allison will need someone to ask her out.”
He was caught off guard, “I’m sorry, what? Me ask Allison to the dance.”
“It makes sense!” you say, “With Scott’s savior complex he’s going to want everyone under supervision in case the Alpha decides to take us out one at a time.”
There was a hesitance in the way Stiles kept spinning around in the chair. He seems grumpy, “Why can’t Jackson ask her?”
“You don’t want to go with Allison?’
“Well, I…” he was biting his lips, “I don’t know. Are you going?”
“I think Andrew is going to ask me on our next date.”
Stiles bangs a foot against the desk and nearly slips out of the chair, “A second date? Already?”
You smile, going a little red, “We had a good time and… we may or may not have kissed.”
A horrible sinking feeling enters Stiles’ stomach. His heart clenches painfully and the sudden desire to hurt Wickstrom came on hard and fast. “And… you liked it.”
“It was a nice change of pace from my usual,” you try to hide your smile, “I haven’t been kissed in a while.”
Stiles waves his hands around, “Woah, woah, woah… you’ve been kissed before? I thought you were a hermit that made mac and cheese.”
“And I have the occasional neighbor boy kiss me,” you laugh, “There was Easton from down the street when I was thirteen and then Adam who was visiting from San Fransico over the summer when I was fifteen. Not to mention, nimrod, that Scott kissed me just the other week.”
“Oh my god,” he wipes a hand across his face, “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Get people to kiss you?”
You squint your eyes, folding your arms, “Are you telling me you’ve never been kissed?”
Stiles squirms in his chair, swinging it back and forth. “Maybe.”
“Ah, Stiles!” you bounce on his bed, “That’s so sweet.”
He groans, “Don’t tell me it’s sweet. It freaking sucks. All of my friends are getting their jollies off and I am left here in the dust with the driest lips this side of the valley.” His arms hang limp at his sides, “Is it nice?”
You giggle, “It can be. I think it only ever is when you kiss someone you like. It’s just… god, it’s hard to explain.” But Stiles was leaning in like the most attentive student. “There’s something really vulnerable about it, which leaves you wide open to feel anything and everything. You’re scared to death of course, especially with someone you like. But the bliss you feel after doing it is like nothing else.”
Stiles purses his lips, “Is that how the Andrew kiss went?”
“Almost.”
That raises his eyebrows, “I thought you really liked him.”
“I do, but I kind of have this new rule since the summer with Adam from San Fransico,” you hold up a hand, “I can’t date seriously. I can’t get too involved with any guy. So I’ll have to tell Andrew to stop eventually if this keeps going well.”
Stiles frowns, a punch to the gut, “Why can’t you date seriously?”
“Personal choice.”
“Because of what?” You smile and he groans, “Let me guess, it’s another story for another day.”
You use a finger gun on him, “Precisely, you’re catching on.” But the smile starts to dip from your face as you look at him. You lick your lips and say, “How about this. If you don’t have your first kiss by junior year… I’ll kiss you.”
The chair creaks as Stiles nearly falls from it, feet kicking out, “What!?”
“I’ll kiss you. We’ll make a kiss pact. I don’t want you getting too far into high school without having been kissed. The first one is always nerve-wracking anyway. It probably won’t be as meaningful as getting surprised with it by someone you really like, but it might be the next best thing.”
Stiles was losing his marbles, little fireworks exploding behind his eyes and falling like sparklers into his chest. “Okay.”
You smile at his goofy expression, “Now, can I borrow those sweats again? And maybe a t-shirt?”
He was still looking at you with sparklers in his eyes, “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” He went to rummage through his dresser.
A few minutes later you were both in pajamas, having taken turns to use the bathroom to brush your teeth – you just using toothpaste and your finger – and standing in Stiles’ bedroom. You had dark sweats and an oversized shirt. With how broad Stiles’ shoulders were, the shirt hung low on your frame.
His throat was bobbing when he saw you standing there, pillows and blankets on the ground. “You good?”
You yawn, “Yep.” You meet him at the makeshift nest on the ground and nudge him, “Move please.”
“Oh, no this is for me,” he says, “You get the bed.” Standing so close to each other, you have to look up at him.
“I’m the guest, Stiles. You use your bed and I’ll count the dust bunnies under the bed.” You smile at the deep frown on his face.
He shakes his head, “Not gonna happen.”
“Fine,” you say, crawling onto his bed, “We can share.”
He chokes on his spit and starts coughing, “Share the bed?”
“Is that okay?” you look at him innocently.
That look combined with you wearing his clothes was sending him over the edge. His stomach was full of butterflies tickling the tightness in his ribcage. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. In one night he had a girl in his room, said girl promised to kiss him, and now wanted to share a bed with him.
“Um… I kind of sleep in the middle of the mattress. I don’t want you to wake up to me invading your personal space.”
You laugh, “That’s fine, I can just shove you away.”
He nods, but is lost for words, going to turn off the light while you get comfortable. He’s back in the darkness and hesitates, “Are you su…”
“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already buried in his woodsy honey scented sheets. You feel the mattress dip as he finds his pillow. His knee knocks into your leg, and he apologizes. He shuffles down further and pulls up the blanket, rubbing his arm against yours, and he apologizes again.
“It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”
He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling as you cuddle further into your pillow, blanket tucked under your chin. “Goodnight,” you mumble.
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).” In the dark of his bedroom and the warm, calm presence of you beside him, it gave him a sense of ease. He takes a deep breath and says, “Thank you for the dinner today. It… meant a lot.”
You hum in reply, “You’re welcome.”
The last thing he remembers is turning on his side to face you already asleep. Your mouth was a little open and the pillow was squashing your cheek. Your hair was wild behind you and the shirt you borrowed was low enough that he could see the scar above your heart. You look more beautiful than ever laying there.
He wanted to know what you were holding back. He wanted to know what he had to do to give you the same feelings he was having.
And with thoughts of you looking beautiful in his bed, he fell asleep too.
~~~
Hours later you wake groggily to a still dark room. Stiles was standing and pulling his shoes on, phone in his hand. You groan and shift the covers closer to your body.
“Where are you going?” you ask half-asleep.
Stiles freezes at your words, “Uh… werewolf business. You can just stay here…” he walks over to your nearly asleep figure, “I’ll come back later.”
You don’t reply and he thinks you’re already back to sleep. It makes him smile. He bends down to tuck the covers a little tighter around you and… he hesitates, looking at your face. He swallows hard and leans down to place a kiss to your head.
“Sweet dreams.”
~~~
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