Chapter Text
It was getting closer.
He knew he shouldn’t be watching. He knew he shouldn’t be ratcheting up his own anxiety, that this was doing literally nothing for him, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know. Some part of him was desperate to be kept informed, and realistically, with how things were going, being prepared wasn’t a bad thing.
Still, it was getting closer, and that was making him anxious. It hadn’t spread past Mississippi the last time he’d checked, but now it was well into Arkansas and parts of Missouri and Iowa, along with the neighbouring states. That was bad, because it felt like it hadn’t taken any time at all for it to move that far over.
California might have been at the edge of the country, but if it started moving into Arizona, it would hit California in no time. That wasn’t good.
He didn’t even know what the fuck was happening, if he was honest. Sure, there had always been scuffles and little fights here and there, but the world in general had been pretty good about the whole, ‘you stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine’ deal ever since the Supernatural War a few years ago.
Given how old he’d been, he didn’t actually remember it, but it was recent enough that he’d been alive when it had happened. Maybe three or four years old? He remembered that the United States tried really hard to stay out of it, for the most part, but they always inevitably got dragged into things, even when they didn’t want to be.
Thankfully this war had been short, unlike the World Wars that had previously occurred. Only a year and a half before a truce had been called. After all, while humans in general may have outnumbered the Supernatural, the lines were starting to blur between who was on what side until it was more about the Supernatural creatures who weren’t human enough on the Supernatural side, and Supernatural creatures who were just human enough on the human side.
It was stupid to wage war against the Supernatural when half of their people were on the human side. Besides, the world wasn’t exactly doing well on the whole resources and pollution thing, so war was only going to exacerbate the problem. It was better to call a truce, separate everyone in such a way that they could all be happy—or relatively happy, at any rate—and move on.
And it worked for them. It had worked for them since. Even here, in Beacon Hills, it had been working for years. Sure, they had the odd hiccup, but for the most part, smooth sailing. It was actually kind of nice, because they could live peacefully with their Supernatural counterparts.
Or well, the Werewolves, at any rate. Anything considered to be of the Were strain governed one half of town, and everyone else governed the other. There had been some conflicts over the years, mostly because people argued about the split of some spaces near the border, but no one had ever died. It was working for them.
Honestly, he got sad when he thought about it sometimes. It was history repeating itself, except with Supernaturals. Not racism, but speciesism. Segregation of what was considered ‘lesser’ or ‘different,’ and he hated that.
The Supernaturals he knew on this side of the border were all pretty cool and normal. Sure, the Werewolves had their own weird little idiosyncrasies, but like, so did everyone else? For example, he blew into cups before using them. Always. He had no reason to, except that it was a cup, and he had to blow into it to make sure he could pour something into it.
How was that different from the weird customs the wolves had? Maybe they also blew into cups, who knew?!
Well, Werewolves and their town messengers, but that aside, for the most part, he was sure their customs weren’t as weird as everyone always speculated. He felt like it’d be kind of cool to learn more about them, except he also wasn’t suicidal and Werewolves were dangerous animals parading around as humans—or so his teachers said. His dad sang a different tune, so he tried not to be too judgmental, but it was hard when he saw his teachers more than his dad.
Not like he could look anything up, considering their ISPs blocked Werewolf sites, and he’d have to go to a non-segregated city to find books on them. He was always kind of tempted, but he also didn’t really have the time, especially not now, having just started his senior year.
He had bigger things to worry about. Like university.
And the war.
“What are you doing, ugly?”
Stiles Stilinski winced when he got smacked hard across the back of the head, one of his best friends falling into the seat beside him and kicking at his chair, like he wanted to make him fall over.
“Just watching the news,” Stiles admitted, closing out of the app he had on his phone and pocketing it. “I was curious about how far the war had spread.”
“Why are you watching that shit?” Matthew Daehler snorted and kicked at his chair again. “You know even if the war hits California, it won’t come here. We’re fucking Beacon Hills, man. Nothing happens in this shithole.”
Stiles shrugged, because while he didn’t necessarily disagree with Matt, it wasn’t impossible for the war to end up hitting them in some fashion. Just because they were a relatively small town didn’t mean they were immune to the effects of war. They were only three hours out from Sacramento, so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
He wished there was more information on it, but unfortunately, it was kind of a big question mark. A few months ago, there was just this big thing that happened in New York, and suddenly everyone was at each other’s throats. The White House had tried to put a stop to it, but before anyone knew what had happened, suddenly there was all-out war. It had stayed on the east coast of the country for the most part at first, and then slowly but surely, it began to creep its way west, every new state hit joining in. Each state was adamant they weren’t going to get involved in the fighting, but as soon as the war reached it, everyone went back on their word.
It wasn’t anywhere near California yet, but at the speed of its movement, he knew it wouldn’t be long.
Stiles wanted them to stay out of it. He kept hoping it would just stop, that the White House’s actions of sending out the national guard and Supernatural division would be enough and it would all be over, but so far, no dice.
He didn’t want to live through a second Supernatural War. Once in a lifetime was enough, even if he couldn’t remember it. He remembered the devastation, because he’s grown up seeing the after-effects. They really couldn’t handle a second one, so in a way, he was glad the other countries were staying out of it for the moment.
Just America being America, or whatever. That was probably what they thought.
“I was thinking of going out to the old abandoned train station to take some pictures,” Matt said, snapping Stiles out of his musings. “Come with me, I need a second set of hands.”
“Sorry, I’m going to lacrosse tryouts with Scott.”
Matt snorted so hard Stiles was surprised he didn’t hurt himself. “Like that asthmatic loser is ever gonna make it onto the team.”
“Shouldn’t you be at tryouts?” Stiles asked instead of commenting on his insult towards his best friend, Scott McCall. It was more trouble than it was worth letting Matt rile him up, he’d become immune to him a long time ago.
Sometimes, he didn’t even know why they were friends, Matt was kind of an asshole. And not one of those assholes who pretended to be a dick on the surface, but was actually a marshmallow underneath. Matt was just a dick, through and through.
Proximity, Stiles assumed. Beacon Hills wasn’t a big place, and everyone kind of knew everyone. People couldn’t get picky about their friends, and unfortunately for Stiles, while he had great ones like Scott and Danny Mahealani, he also had shit ones like Matt.
It was senior year though, so he really only had to put up with the guy for one more year. Once school was over, he was planning on leaving this place to go somewhere else for university.
Provided he got a scholarship, since his dad was kind of lacking in funds. But that was okay, if he had to delay school for a year to save up money, he would do it. Better than riding off his rich family’s coattails, like Matt.
“Coach would never cut me,” Matt insisted, waving a dismissive hand at Stiles. “I’m basically the only person who’s any good in this dumb place.”
“Oh yeah, you’re the best,” Stiles said sarcastically, slouching in his seat when the teacher walked in for their next class.
Matt kicked his chair again, this time a bit more aggressively, and Stiles almost fell off it. He managed to catch himself at the last second, but he glared over at Matt, who just laughed unrepentantly and leaned back in his seat, ready to basically zone out all lesson and grab Stiles’ notes later. It was what he always did.
He’d probably regret it when he saw how disorganized this lesson’s notes were. Stiles hadn’t been able to focus very much—well, ever, but less than usual today—because his mind kept wandering back to the news.
He hated that no one knew what had started the war, and no one knew how it was spreading like it was. Even people who were involved in the fighting admitted they didn’t know what happened, but they weren’t going to back down and admit defeat. It was almost like once the fighting started, no one wanted to let the other side win in case the reason behind it all was valid, so they kept fighting for a cause they didn’t even remember.
It was dumb. Stiles hated people, they were all fucking morons. Why couldn’t they all just get along?
The day felt endless, as they often did when his mind was elsewhere, but eventually the final bell rang and Stiles went to shove his bag into his locker. Matt tried again to convince him to ditch Scott, but he refused, and got called a ‘fucking loser fuckface,’ because Matt was classy that way.
Heading to the locker room, Stiles found Scott changing out and looking a little nervous. Danny, bless him, was trying to make him feel better by insisting coach would at least let him be a benchwarmer this year. It was their last year of high school, and while coach Finstock was a bit of a nut, he was also pretty nice.
“You ready?” Stiles asked with a grin, slapping his friend on his bare shoulder, since he was still in the process of changing out.
“I feel like I’m gonna puke.”
“Don’t puke, coach hates it when people puke,” Stiles reminded him, grabbing his own gear and beginning to change out into his sportswear. He wasn’t really interested in lacrosse, he was more of a track and baseball kind of guy, but they didn’t have a baseball team and track didn’t start up until later in the month, so he figured he could kill time sucking at lacrosse.
He had excellent hand-eye coordination, but for some reason it didn’t translate to a lacrosse stick. A baseball bat, sure, he could homerun them every time—well, not every time, but a lot—but for some reason, the lacrosse stick was different.
Either way, he had nothing to lose, and he was there for moral support anyway.
Once they were changed out and heading for the door, Stiles passed his lacrosse stick over to Scott and motioned for him to go on ahead.
“I’m just gonna grab an energy drink from the vending machine, I’ll meet you out there in a second.”
“Sure.” Scott looked a little green. That didn’t bode well, considering the freshmen looked less concerned than his friend did.
Scott really was his own worst enemy.
Patting him on the shoulder again, Stiles turned and jogged back through the locker room towards the exit into the gym. The doors leading back into the corridor were only a few steps to the left from the entrance to the locker room, so it didn’t take him long to head out that way and round the bend towards where the vending machines were.
Flattening out the crumpled five dollar bill he’d grabbed from his jeans, he slid it into the slot, having to fight with the machine for a good fifteen seconds to get the damn thing to actually accept it. When it finally did, he hit the appropriate buttons to get a Monster Energy drink. His change clinked into the coin return in quarters—because vending machines were the devil—and he bent down to grab it.
Then he waited for the thunk of his drink, and heard nothing.
“Oh, come on!” he insisted, slapping the side of the machine. “Come on, don’t do this, I just want my drink.”
The machine did not respond to his pleas, because it was an asshole, clearly.
Sighing and bracing his hands on the front of the stupid thing, Stiles debated for a few seconds before straightening. He looked around himself, down both corridors to make sure they were deserted, and tilted his head to see if he could hear anyone in the vicinity.
Feeling confident he was alone, he raised one hand slightly, trying not to make it obvious in case someone did come around a corner unexpectedly, clenched it into a fist, and yanked back hard like he was doing a weird kind of fist-pump. He believed with every fibre of his being that this machine wanted him to get his drink. He’d paid for it and everything.
His stomach clenched at the action, tightening uncomfortably, but there was the distinct ‘thunk’ sound of a drink falling into the collection area and Stiles bent down to grab his can of what was probably illegal chemicals masquerading as an energy drink.
Popping the tab, he turned to head back for the gym and locker room so he could make his way outside, drinking down a few swallows of the energy drink while he walked.
Pushing through the gym doors once more, he headed for the locker room, ready to cheer Scott on for his spot on the team, even if he did end up just being a benchwarmer.
Stiles was seven years old when he first did magic. He’d made a chocolate bar zoom across the room after his mother told him he couldn’t have candy before bed, and had then promptly burst into tears at the realization that he wasn’t fully human. His little kid brain thought that being any form of Supernatural meant he had to go live out in the woods with the animal Supernaturals.
It had taken his parents a really long time to calm him down, and insist that it was fine, he was okay, no one would take him anywhere and he definitely didn’t have to go live in the woods. He was one of the human Supernaturals. One of the ones that people would accept.
His dad had explained it as the split being between those who were considered contributing members of society, and those who weren’t. He’d said it kind of hatefully, like he thought it was ridiculous, but his father had always been a kind man. He didn’t like the split in Beacon Hills, because his oldest and closest friend growing up was a Werewolf and he’d never known. His dad believed that forcing the border caused more problems than anything else, but it wasn’t his call.
Still, Stiles had been terrified his parents wouldn’t love him anymore, that they’d send him away, and he’d have to go eat raw rabbit and howl at the moon like the Werewolves did. He didn’t want to live with them, he wanted to stay here, with his parents, and Scott, and Danny, and Matt.
And he did. He would. Because his Supernatural ability was just magic. The town vet Alan Deaton was a Druid, which was also a form of magic, and he got along just fine with everyone else. So there was no reason for Stiles to worry about being magic, because it was the normal kind of Supernatural. The one that was acceptable in society as opposed to turning into a wild animal and ripping people apart for sport.
Not that the Werewolves did that! His father was very adamant that this was just fearmongering and the Werewolves were just as civilized as everyone else. Like the rest of humanity, there were good people, and bad people. Werewolves could be good or bad, same as everyone else.
Still, while magic was acceptable, because it was useful and could make people’s lives easier, it still had a lot of stigma associated with it. On top of that, Stiles would be the only magic user in town aside from Deaton, and he was barely considered a magic user because of what being a Druid entailed.
Technically speaking, Druids could be taught, because it was all about theory and herbs and shit. So his acceptance and lack of general speciesism stemmed from the fact that, technically speaking, he was human.
Stiles wasn’t. He was magic, and thus Supernatural, no matter how much he cried about it.
They’d left town for two weeks when Stiles’ magic had begun to manifest so he could get tested somewhere outside Beacon Hills. The official story was his mother was getting treatment for her frontotemporal dementia somewhere better suited to care for her, but the reality was that his parents wanted to find a place well outside their hometown to have him tested to avoid any of this coming out in town.
After a few tests and some random spells attempted, it was determined he was something called a Spark. Fairly rare, but not unheard of. Very powerful though, one of the top tier spellcasters out there. The biggest thing about Stiles was that he came from a small town where magic wasn’t exactly running wild. Big cities had many magic users, and for the most part, society liked having them around.
Beacon Hills was small, and the community was very judgmental. He wasn’t particularly happy to be someone who could do magic, and it wasn’t like he had a trainer or anything. His parents couldn’t afford to get him a teacher, but the doctor they saw was really nice and helpful. There were a lot of free sites for people to learn magic, and while there was only one free Spark site, the doctor gave them a whole bunch of different sites he could learn the basics from.
Apparently Sparks, being both fairly rare and very powerful, didn’t have a lot of resources available. Nothing public, at any rate. No one ever talked about why, but Stiles figured it was because the government liked keeping tabs on the rarer types of Supernaturals. Usually a Spark could get full, free training if they went to a special government facility, a sort of “camp,” and immediately joined the Supernatural taskforce after graduation. While Stiles didn’t know if he’d ever been eligible, given his young age at the time, he was glad when his parents just brought him home after all the testing was done. The websites he’d gotten, while not Spark-centric, were good enough.
All magic was fundamentally the same at its core, it just differed on what people could do based on what they were. So once he got the basics down, he could use the Spark site to learn how to control his own specific abilities a bit better. He would never fully control them without proper training, especially as a Spark since it was so rare and specialized—and powerful, people didn’t like powerful individuals out in the public like that—but it was enough for him to not explode a car or something by accident. That was a thing he could do, apparently.
And really, there were a lot of sites at his disposal that were relatively cheap, so after Stiles grew up a bit more and got a part-time job handing out flyers outside the grocery store when he was twelve, he used the money he earned to get subscriptions to a few of them.
He always had to be really careful, because Scott and Matt were nosey and would just invite themselves over and use his computer whenever they felt like it. He was always conscious not to save any bookmarks, and to clear his history. He knew Danny would be able to find anything Stiles tried to hide, because he was really good with computers, but unlike Scott and Matt, Danny actually respected Stiles’ privacy and never invited himself over to snoop on his computer.
Still, it had been a stressful childhood up until he’d mostly gotten the whole magic thing under control. He still had a subscription to one site that he’d found particularly helpful growing up, but he didn’t really need it anymore. It was mostly just in case, since he had a premium membership and didn’t want to lose out on the perks and start all over again. Besides, he never knew when he might need to review something.
Magic wasn’t really part of his everyday life. When his mom had passed away when he was nine, he and his dad had sat down a while afterwards to talk about his powers. Stiles always felt like it was an attempt to distract them both from their grief, and he much preferred the talking over his dad drinking himself unconscious like he often had back then.
While his dad promised his little nine year old self that people wouldn’t treat him any differently than they did now if they found out about him, he thought it might be best for Stiles not to advertise his abilities. After all, some people had ulterior motives, and Stiles was weird enough without bullies trying to trick him into doing things for them.
Stiles wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t think his dad meant it like that. Especially since moving up into high school meant there was a huge divide between the ‘cool’ kids and the ‘losers.’ Thankfully, he fell somewhere in the middle. He wasn’t cool by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t a loser either, which meant he was mostly left alone.
And now that he was a senior, it was even better because he was top of the food chain. They didn’t have many popular people in their grade, but he felt that was more because they were all lazy and didn’t have the energy to form cliques. None of them were Werewolves, that was basically where the line was drawn.
Which made sense, considering the border.
Still, Stiles hadn’t told anyone about his magic. He knew he could tell Scott and he’d be totally cool with it, but Scott wasn’t exactly the best at keeping secrets. Danny wouldn’t tell anyone, and while he’d also be cool with it, Stiles worried about Scott finding out and then being hurt that Danny knew and he didn’t.
Matt was a hard pass. Stiles knew exactly how that would go over.
His friend would either immediately demand things from him, or he would be a total dick and start treating him like garbage for being a ‘lesser’ human. It was exactly what he’d done with Lydia Martin, Goddess extraordinaire in their grade.
Matt had always had a crush on her, and when it came out that she was a Banshee, a lot of people were hesitant around her. Unsure, weirded out, scared. Her closest friends stuck by her, and of course Stiles, Scott and Danny didn’t have a problem with her—Stiles may have had a crush on her back then, so that helped—but Matt had been downright awful.
He’d tried to insist she should go out with him, because no one else would want to date a freak, nevermind that Lydia still had boys lined up around the block regardless of her being a Banshee, and when she continued to turn him down, he’d started calling her a freak of nature and a death-bringer and all kinds of other horrible things.
Lydia wasn’t affected by it, because she was Lydia, but Stiles had seen how Matt had been treating her and knew that no matter what, if there was one person in his life he didn’t want to tell about being a Spark, it was definitely Matt.
And so, Stiles was a Spark. A Supernatural in a world where Supernaturals weren’t exactly welcome, though still human enough to at least live comfortably within society. Still, he was counting down the days to when he could leave this small town and go somewhere else.
Somewhere bigger, with more magic users and spellcasters. Somewhere where people wouldn’t even give him a second look if he levitated his dinner because he was too lazy to walk to the counter and pick it up. Somewhere they’d decided not to segregate, where he could meet Werewolves and Kitsunes and find out more about them.
But with the war... Well, Stiles just had to hope that by the time he graduated high school, the worst of it would be over.
He just had to hope that, eventually, everyone would just fucking get along.
Stiles tapped a random rhythm on his steering wheel while driving home, somewhat pleased with himself for having helped Scott join the lacrosse team. He only took credit for it because he made sure to suck as much as possible to make Scott look good.
He’d felt pretty damn slick until Finstock had taken him aside when tryouts were over to remind him he was well aware that Stiles knew how to run without tripping over his own feet. Which made sense, considering Stiles was their fastest runner on the track team.
Things he forgot in the face of bro-ship. Thankfully coach was a nice guy and just let Stiles look like an ass so Scott would get a spot on the team. Whether or not he’d play was another story, but at least there was now the distinct possibility.
Turning the corner towards home, he slowed when he saw a black SUV parked across the street from his place. His dad’s cruiser was still there, suggesting he hadn’t left for work yet, and Stiles wondered what was going on. His dad was late. If he was on the evening shift, he should’ve been gone by now.
He didn’t worry about it, since his dad being the sheriff meant he could probably excuse his own tardiness, and turned to park in the driveway like he always did. Turning off the engine, he flipped his keys in one hand, grabbed his bag off the passenger seat, and climbed out of the Jeep. He’d only just slammed the door, bag over his shoulder, when the front door opened.
“Hey pops,” he called, starting for the front porch, but paused at the look on his dad’s face.
He looked pissed, but not at Stiles. It was that kind of expression that was a mix of stressed beyond all reason and pissed like nobody’s business. Stiles had seen it a few times in his life, and it never boded well.
“Wait in the car,” his dad said, pointing at the Jeep, a man in a suit having followed his dad out onto the porch, looking frustrated.
“What’s—”
“Wait in the car!”
“Okay.” Stiles held up both hands in surrender. “I’m going, jeez.”
Turning on his heel, Stiles walked back the two steps to the Jeep and opened the driver’s side door again, tossing his bag back in and climbing behind the wheel. He shut the door, and turned to look at his dad, the man’s eyes locked on him.
The suit was staring at him too, but when the sheriff turned back to him, he shifted to block his line of sight. Stiles didn’t know what they were talking about, but his dad was clearly agitated. He’d have cracked his window to listen in, except his dad had like, spidey-senses or something and would definitely know and rip him a new one.
It was bad enough Stiles listened in on some of his work calls, this seemed a little higher up than that. He wondered if it was related to the war, and tried not to let anxiety eat away at his insides over it.
Eventually, the suit moved past his dad and headed down the porch steps, looking annoyed, but undeterred. His dad followed, moving to the side slightly, headed closer to where Stiles was, like he was worried about the suit changing course.
He didn’t. He just walked to the black SUV at the curb, motioned something to the driver Stiles hadn’t even noticed while getting into the passenger seat, and shut his door. They were gone in seconds, Stiles watching the car disappear down the street before cocking an eyebrow at his dad.
He looked tired. Stiles hated that he looked tired.
The sheriff waved one hand, motioning for him to get out, and Stiles opened his door again, grabbing for his bag and jumping down once more, shutting the door behind himself.
“Everything okay?” he asked, approaching his old man.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said, reaching out to grip one of Stiles’ shoulders tightly for a second, then wrapping an arm around him and patting his back, the two of them heading for the porch steps.
“Yeah, seemed real unimportant,” Stiles said dryly, rolling his eyes. “Just say it’s about the war, dad. It’s not like it’s a secret shit’s going south.”
“Nothing’s going south,” he insisted, opening the front door and motioning Stiles in first before following. “Everything is under control.”
“Right,” Stiles said, not believing that for a second.
It was about the war, even if his dad wouldn’t admit it to him. Stiles wasn’t an idiot, but he wasn’t going to push, either. Why the suit had come all the way to Beacon Hills to talk about the war with a small town sheriff, Stiles didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to stress about it. Some things he wouldn’t get answers on, no matter how annoying he was.
“You’re late for work, by the way.”
“Yes, I’m aware, thank you.” His dad gave him a look. “You gonna be okay for dinner?”
“Might go out with Scott and Danny, actually. Celebrate Scott making the lacrosse team.”
“That right? Good for him. What about track? You try out yet?”
Stiles waved one hand at him. “That’s not until two weeks from now. Don’t worry, the second I’m back on the team, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Good.” His dad checked his watch, the two of them having moved into the kitchen. “I should head out. Be careful tonight, all right?”
“Just tonight? I can manage that for one night, as long as it means not being careful tomorrow,” Stiles said with a grin.
“Cute,” the sheriff said, giving him a look. “Don’t stay out too late, it’s a school night.”
“Yes sir.” Stiles saluted him. “Have a good shift.”
“Yup.” His dad nodded once, but he hesitated before turning away, like he was worried about something. Stiles cocked an eyebrow, but the sheriff just turned without another word and left the house moments later.
Stiles went to find his dad’s badly hidden chip stash to munch on something salty while pulling out his phone to text Scott. He was hungry, and wanted to have dinner sooner rather than later.
By the time he left the house to meet up with his friends, he’d forgotten about the black SUV.
“Hey, did you hear about last night?”
Stiles glanced up from the doodling he’d been doing instead of his actual homework, which was theoretically what study hall was supposed to be about. In his defence, he always got his work done, so did it really matter if it was at the absolute last second? No. No it didn’t. If he would rather sit there doodling with his mind wandering in a million different directions, that was his prerogative, so long as his homework got done eventually.
“What about last night?” Stiles asked, ignoring the fact that he knew Scott was supposed to be in Biology right now and was instead sitting across from him in the library.
“There were wolves on our side of the border,” he said, voice lowering. “I heard Natalie telling Benson about it a few minutes ago, apparently her brother is the one who caught them and sent them back to their side of the fence.”
“Natalie is full of shit and trying to flirt,” Stiles informed Scott, returning his gaze to his doodling. Here he’d been expecting some juicy gossip, and instead was getting second-hand lies.
Unfortunate.
“Are you sure?” Scott frowned.
“Yes, Scott.” Stiles sighed explosively, looking back up at him. “Because my dad would’ve gotten a call if someone had broken the law, and Natalie’s brother works at the front desk, he’s not out on patrol, and he’s definitely not someone who’d be able to order wolves back onto their side of the border.”
Scott was silent for a moment while he thought, likely because he could see where Stiles was coming from. After all, it wasn’t like the wolves had never crossed into their territory before. Every time they did, Sheriff Stilinski got a call, and it was usually the more powerful cops who ended up persuading the wolves back where they belonged. It helped that their leader—whatever the weird title was—and his dad had a fairly good relationship. She always made sure the wolves were reprimanded and apologized.
To be fair, Stiles’ dad always had to do the same when some idiots from their side hopped over for a few seconds. It was one of those things people did. Dares, rights of passage, pledges, that sort of thing. Who could get the furthest into wolf territory before freaking out and bailing.
Stiles was a troublemaker by nature, but he’d personally never done the whole ‘who’s dumb enough to break the law?’ thing. Half of the reason was out of respect for his dad, and the other half was because he didn’t want to get grounded for the rest of eternity. If he did something like that and his dad found out, Stiles was literally going to be locked in his room without his computer or television, and would only be let out for school and the occasional bathroom break.
Okay, maybe he was exaggerating, his dad wasn’t a tyrant, but man would he be pissed.
And besides, Stiles didn’t see the point in the whole thing. The wolves were dangerous, and fucking weird. They did weird things. And the full moon nights were the worst because the whole town echoed with their howls and it made it hard to sleep. No one complained though, because realistically, while they all liked to think they could hold their own against the Werewolves on the other side of the border in Beacon Hills, they were Werewolves.
Super-strength, super-speed, super-hearing. They were basically Superman, now that Stiles thought about it. They might not have been invulnerable like him, but they healed quickly, or so he’d been told. That’d be a useful thing to have. He was kind of jealous.
He’d gotten a black eye once when he was a kid when someone threw a baseball he hadn’t managed to catch, and he’d looked like a fucking raccoon for days. Not to mention the pain. It must be nice being a Werewolf, in some respects.
Still, Stiles was perfectly happy being a regular old human.
Or—a Spark anyway. Better than a Werewolf! Man those guys were weird.
Stiles was back to his doodling while Scott pondered what he’d said. He’d have to be careful, if he stuck around too long, the teacher was going to know he was just skipping out on class and hadn’t actually gone to the bathroom, or whatever. It looked like his friend was about to get up and leave when someone else appeared right at Stiles’ elbow and he jumped, turning.
“Mrs. Finch sent me to check on you, though why she sent me, I have no idea.” Lydia Martin, Goddess of all Goddesses, was standing beside Stiles, her hair perfectly curled and make-up on point. She was truly stunning, and Stiles had always had a bit of a crush on her.
A bit of a big crush on her, but he’d gotten over that a few years ago when it became clear it was never going to happen. Besides, they were kind of sort of turning into friends now, and he didn’t want her to start looking at him like a bug under her shoe again.
“Probably because you can afford to spend time out of class without missing out on anything important. You’re smart.” Stiles shrugged. “Don’t need the smartest person in class to stick around.”
“Cute,” Lydia said sarcastically, but at least the smile she sent his way was genuine. She glanced back at Scott. “Come on, before we both get in trouble.”
Scott sighed and levered himself out of his seat, but before he got any further than that, Lydia turned her attention to Stiles again.
“By the way, you need to tell your creepy friend to back the fuck off. He’s starting to legitimately harass Allison for a date.”
“What?” Scott demanded, sounding distressed.
Great, now Scott was going to be insufferable all evening. He’d had a crush on Allison since the third grade, but had never worked up the nerve to ask her out. They hung out with her sometimes, because she and Danny were friends, but Scott had never actually gotten around to growing a pair. Stiles firmly believed the moron was waiting for her to ask him out, but she probably barely even knew he existed.
No offense to his friend, but he wasn’t exactly oozing with charisma. He was cute though, so it wasn’t impossible, just highly unlikely.
“I don’t know why you think I have any control over Matt,” Stiles said, ignoring Scott’s distressed sounds.
“Aren’t you friends with that asshole?” Lydia asked, her voice a bit less kind than it had been a moment before. “Surely you have some pull with him. Make him back off, before I kill him. And killing him wouldn’t bode well for me, since I’d probably give myself away.” She motioned her face absently and Stiles couldn’t help the small laugh.
“What, you think you’d scream about his death while murdering him?”
“Probably. I still don’t have a great handle on this whole Banshee thing.” She sounded frustrated now, like she wished there was more information out there for her to look up. Stiles could relate, because while he probably had more as a Spark, it wasn’t like everything was free and readily available. They both had to work with what they had, even if Lydia didn’t know he was in the same boat as her.
“I think you’re doing okay,” Stiles insisted, offering her a smile.
The corners of her lips turned up, but nothing more. She schooled her features quickly, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. “Careful or I’ll think you’re not quite over that crush you claim to no longer have.”
“I can still think you’re doing okay without having a crush,” Stiles argued. “Though you do look beautiful today, as always. Is that a new top?”
Lydia rolled her eyes and motioned for Scott to hurry up and follow, then walked out of the library without another word. Scott followed behind her quickly, beginning to pepper her with questions about what Matt was doing and if he needed to save Allison.
Which was laughable, because Allison came from a family of ex-Hunters. They’d renounced their Hunter status a while back when Allison’s aunt went batshit crazy and started going around killing Supernatural kids. Her family were now kind of like hired contractors who dealt with capturing the worst of the worst Supernatural beings that were above what the police could handle, so Stiles was sure Allison would manage against one horny teenage boy.
Returning to his doodles, he spent the rest of his free time trying to make the patterns make sense while his mind wandered. It often did, because things were boring in this small, little town. The most exciting thing that ever happened was HarvestFest at the end of October, but that was still a ways away. School had only just started back up a week ago, so he had time until then.
When the bell finally rang, Stiles stretched and scratched at his neck idly, staring down at his hard work for the past hour. He should be an artist or something, weren’t people basically just throwing random trash together, waggling their fingers, and going ‘art!’ these days anyway? If people spent thousands upon thousands of dollars to get a pile of broken bottles put in their museum as ‘modern art,’ he could probably get away with selling his doodles too.
He just had to give it some kind of fancy name, like ‘inner turmoil of a bored teenage boy’ or something.
“Stiles!”
His knees hit the underside of the table so hard that it actually jerked off the floor slightly, and he turned to see Scott again. Seriously, his friend needed to go a few minutes without seeing him, it was turning into a bit of a dependency thing.
“Jesus, Scott. What the hell, that actually hurt.” He rubbed at both his knees, annoyed, and thought about how convenient being a Werewolf would be right now. The pain would already be gone. Instead, he was stuck with aching knees for the next hour, at least.
“You have to help me!”
That gave Stiles pause and he narrowed his eyes at Scott. Shit, that look on his face was bad, what did he do? “Help you how?”
“There you are.”
Oh God, what had Scott done now?
Matt wandered into the library, slapping Stiles hard in the back before falling into the seat beside him, looking particularly thrilled while grinning up at Scott menacingly.
Fuck, seriously, what had Scott done now? Why was it he always got himself into these stupid, horrible messes, and Stiles had to get him out of them? Just because he and Matt were friends didn’t mean the guy was nice to him.
Realistically, Matt wasn’t anyone’s friend, he was kind of a dick.
When Stiles noticed more people approaching, he groaned internally. It looked like the whole lacrosse team was there, Danny giving Stiles an exasperated look, which definitely didn’t bode well.
Because Scott had actually made it onto the team—whether or not that was coach showing him pity was irrelevant—it meant he and Matt were going to be around one another more often since Matt was the captain. And without Stiles there to keep Matt’s attention, Scott was kind of an easy target.
“So I was thinking,” Matt said, reaching out for Stiles’ book and pulling it closer to look at his doodles, then flipping through the pages as if to see what else of interest there was. “It’s Friday. We’re all here and ready to go. We should just do it today. Head out to grab some food together, hang out until it gets dark, and then get going. What do you think, Scotty?”
Matt’s expression when he looked back up at Scott was menacing, and Stiles groaned internally again because, seriously, what had Scott done?
“Tonight’s not a good night,” Scott said breathlessly, and Stiles eyed him, worried he might have an asthma attack. “I have to get my homework done before tomorrow, since I have work, and my mom needs me to drop by later with her dinner, and—”
“Scott,” Matt cut off, leaning closer and pushing Stiles’ book aside. It fell off the table, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Or more likely, he didn’t care.
“You’re not chickening out, are you? You were making a lot of big promises a second ago, acting all macho and manly,” he sneered the last word, like Scott was anything but, “but was that all it was? An act? Are you gonna back out now?”
Scott shifted uncomfortably, and Stiles noticed him casting him almost desperate looks.
For fuck’s sake.
“Someone wanna fill me in?” Stiles asked, turning to Matt. “I’m feeling a little left out of the conversation.”
“Scott stormed up to my locker acting all big and scary after last period,” Matt said, eyes on Scott while he spoke to Stiles, a malicious smirk still on his face. “He told me to stay away from Allison, because she wasn’t interested. As if he’d know, no one’s been interested in him his entire life, except your gay ass.”
Stiles didn’t rise to the bait, because he’d long ago learned to ignore Matt’s jabs. They weren’t very good, and besides, everyone knew Stiles was bisexual, and had never once been in love with Scott, so it wasn’t a particularly creative slam.
“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Stiles offered with a shrug. “You remember she’s won like, eighteen archery competitions in the past four years, right? If you’re not careful, she’ll shoot you in the leg or something and then you won’t be able to hold up the entire lacrosse team all on your own.”
Matt’s expression tightened a bit, like he recognized Stiles was insulting him, but half the team didn’t notice and calling attention to it would have them realize Stiles was better at the whole insults thing. Matt needed to be the very best at everything, it came with being a grade A douchebag.
“Either way, your little pet agreed to a deal with me. I’ll leave Allison alone, and even argue to let him play a game or two against our weaker opponents, and all he has to do is carve his initials into the Nemeton, and take a picture as proof.”
Really, this was Stiles’ own fault. He should’ve known better than to think about the border earlier. He felt like he’d magicked this stupid deal into existence. He wished the Spark websites gave him more details on his abilities, because he really wondered whether or not that was a thing Sparks could do. Turn thoughts into reality. He’d just been thinking about how much his dad would murder him and now here he was, faced with a dilemma.
The Nemeton was a large tree set out deep in the Preserve of Beacon Hills. According to historical texts, it was meant to be a tree of deep power, amplifying the magic in the air around their town. Since there weren’t any magic users in Beacon Hills barring Alan Deaton and Stiles himself, there wasn’t much known about the properties of the tree.
Besides, it was across the border well into Werewolf territory, and while the border hadn’t always existed, it was still one of those places that was sacred to the wolves so people tended to steer clear of it.
Carving initials into the tree wasn’t a new thing though. People had been doing it for years, because whenever dares or anything came up about the border, that was the goal. The Nemeton.
People never made it that far, because it was so far in and way too dangerous to attempt that, but they usually carved their initials on the tree they reached to show how far they’d gone. Most people who made deals or dares about the Nemeton across the border always honoured whatever the outcome was even if people didn’t reach the tree. Crossing the border itself was a huge deal, and anyone who did it automatically earned respect.
Stiles knew Matt wouldn’t be like that. If Scott didn’t reach the tree itself, Matt would just pursue Allison harder, and make Scott’s time on the team miserable.
Why the fuck was Scott so damn stupid sometimes?
“Come on, man. The Nemeton?” Stiles asked with a scoff. “That whole crossing the border thing is so old now, everyone does it. It’s basically boring, at this point. Besides, he has asthma, and if something happens to him because you told him to go further into the Preserve than anyone’s ever made it, you can kiss all those sports scholarships goodbye.”
Matt didn’t look concerned, probably because the second he’d found Scott beside Stiles, he knew what would end up happening.
Unfortunately for Stiles, he knew too. Because God dammit, Scott.
“You’re right. You’re right, it’s dangerous. Little Scotty might have a heart attack and die out in those woods from fear alone, nevermind his asthma means he won’t be able to run away. He’s not much of a runner, is he?”
Oh no. Dammit, Scott!
“But you are, aren’t you?” Matt grinned. “Star athlete and all that. Best guy we’ve got on the track team in Beacon Hills. How many medals you have? Four?”
“Nine, but who’s counting besides my dad?” Stiles offered Matt a condescending smile. “How many medals do you have?”
“Must be a real good runner.”
He was sure Matt intended for his answer to be a neat side-step, hoping no one would notice he failed to respond, but of course Danny noticed and snorted, which meant everyone else noticed and started to laugh.
Matt didn’t appreciate that, cutting a glare at the rest of the team. After all, it wasn’t his fault their lacrosse team hadn’t ever made it to finals. Or semi-finals. Or quarter-finals.
Their lacrosse team kind of sucked, Stiles had no idea why Scott was interested, but oh well.
“Get to the point, some of us have actual Friday night plans,” Stiles insisted. He already knew what was coming, and he was tired of Matt dragging this out in an attempt to make like he was the coolest guy around.
He wasn’t. Stiles was his friend, he knew he wasn’t.
“I’m feeling generous,” Matt said with a shrug. “I know how well you run. I know you’re not a chickenshit like McCall is. I actually think you might make it to the Nemeton. So I’m willing to alter the deal.” He reached out to poke Stiles in the forehead, malicious smirk back in place. “If you make it to the Nemeton, carve your initials into the tree, and come back alive, I’ll honour the agreement. I’ll leave Allison alone so McCall can fap into his pillow at night thinking he has a chance, and I’ll make sure coach puts him in a few games so he can actually feel like he’s part of the team.”
“Why am I involved at all?”
“We’re all friends here, right?” Matt shrugged, still looking pleased. “What are friends for if not to be shits to each other?”
“I don’t think you understand the concept of friendship very well,” Danny advised from his spot near the back of the crowd of people.
Matt waved his words off, still staring at Stiles. “So? What’ll it be, Stiles? You gonna stick up for Scotty-wotty? Or you gonna be a chickenshit just like he is?”
Dammit all to hell, Scott! Stiles didn’t want to get grounded for the rest of eternity, but he also knew Matt was going to make Allison’s life miserable. And also Scott’s, given he was team captain and all.
And then Stiles would hear about it from all sides. Lydia would snap at him about it, Allison would complain about it, Scott would whine about it, Matt would gloat about it, and he’d be stuck in the middle hoping to only have to hang out with Danny until graduation.
At least Danny wasn’t a whiner or complainer or a gloater. Danny was a good person, so really, no one wanted to be mean to him.
Fuck, this was the fucking worst, Scott owed him so big for this!
Turning to said individual, Stiles pointed a finger in his face. “If I die doing this for your fucking libido, you’re the one stuck telling my dad. Remember that.”
He should’ve felt gratified at how pale Scott got at the reminder that someone would need to inform the sheriff, but he didn’t.
He really didn’t.
God.
Fucking.
Dammit.
If the diner was going to be Stiles’ last meal ever, he was going to make it count, so he went all out. Burger, fries, milkshake, pie. The whole shebang. He had to make sure dinner was early enough that the food didn’t sit heavy in his stomach when he inevitably had to run for his life, so he ate before the rest of the group did. They mostly hung out and chatted in a few of the booths with drinks and appetizers. Stiles just chowed down and then sat there letting his stomach settle while everyone else finally ordered their meals.
The last thing he needed was to stop and puke while being chased by a bloodthirsty Werewolf. Wasn’t like he could just hold up one hand in a “Wait just one second, let me vomit for a bit” way and be let off the hook.
Scott kept trying to apologize to him, but he wasn’t really interested in his apologies right now. Of all the stupid things...
He’d told him to let it go! Allison was a big girl, and Lydia had specifically asked Stiles to handle it. Stiles could’ve handled it! He’d have found a way to handle it without having to put his life in danger or break the law.
Was it sad he was more afraid of his father than the Werewolves right now? Seriously, his dad was going to be so pissed! Danny kept reminding him of that, like he was trying to talk him out of it, and really, Stiles wanted to be talked out of it.
He wanted to just tell Scott he’d dug his own grave and now he had to lie in it. Either he did it and died, or he backed out and his life sucked.
The problem was, scared as he knew Scott would be, he’d choose the former. He’d go into the Preserve, try and make it to the Nemeton, and promptly get mauled by wild animals because he’d run for two minutes and then need his puffer.
Good friends didn’t let their friends die because they were idiots. So, here Stiles was, stuck in a dilemma.
“This is a terrible idea,” Danny reminded him for the umpteenth time that evening while he drove them towards the Preserve. Stiles had left the Jeep at the diner, because it was pretty obvious and he didn’t need his dad or any of the deputies seeing his car going towards the woods.
Not to say there were only the woods in this direction, but he’d told his dad he had plans tonight and not to wait up, and seeing as the only thing in this direction barring the woods was the road leading out of town, his dad would be suspicious regardless of which path he thought Stiles was pursuing. Better for the more nondescript cars to make it into the Preserve.
“Stiles, I am so sorry,” Scott insisted from the back seat, leaning forward. “Seriously, I’m just—I’m so stupid! I’m sorry!”
“Next time someone asks me to handle something,” Stiles said, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, “let me fucking handle it.”
“I know, I know.” Scott bowed his head and brought out the big guns.
The puppy dog eyes.
Normally they worked well, but Stiles was too pissed right this second and they weren’t holding as much power over him as usual. He just faced forward again and slouched in his seat, watching the taillights in front of them bounce in the darkness.
There weren’t any streetlights on the road leading through the Preserve. It made sense since it was one of the back roads out of town that very few people used—there was a nicer, brightly lit road a few miles east—and the entrance to where the border between their territory and the wolves’ started. The Werewolves could see in the dark, so they didn’t need to worry about things like lights. How primitive. How positively medieval.
It didn’t take long for the line of cars to slow and come to a stop by the edge of the Preserve. It used to be a fairly popular, well-travelled tourist destination before the war when Stiles was a kid, so there were a bunch of places for people to park. Little lots for people to leave their cars and take the trails. Stiles had never been in the Preserve before—understandably—but everyone knew where the easiest path to the Nemeton was. It used to be fairly popular, even if the tree itself was underwhelming.
Stiles had seen pictures. It was just an overly large tree. He thought it might be some kind of weird willow tree missing a few of the leaves, but didn’t know if that was what it just looked like, or if it suffering from being left on its own for so long. Still, the pictures were kind of disappointing.
Once the six cars of teens had parked in the lot, Danny being the fourth to enter it, Stiles let out a slow exhale and climbed out of the car, his two friends following suit. Matt was in the first car to have entered the lot, a flashy sports car that probably cost more than Stiles’ house. He’d gotten into three accidents since his parents had given it to him and didn’t seem to give two shits.
Must be nice having money. Stiles wouldn’t know, his Jeep was being held together by duct tape and love. In his defence, it used to belong to his mother, who’d gotten it as a teenager, so it was fairly old. He wasn’t willing to let it go though, he’d drive that thing into the ground.
Hopefully not like, him in the ground. As in dead. Because he didn’t exactly like the prospect of being dead.
Most of the freshmen on the team had bailed, too scared of getting in trouble or being mauled by wild animals, so it was mostly the other three grades who’d stuck around for this. Stiles noticed not all of the people present were on the lacrosse team, so news of his stupidity had probably spread. He didn’t see Lydia or Allison, but he knew Danny had probably texted them about the level of idiocy he was about to migrate to.
He couldn’t wait to see what his tombstone said. “Here lies Mieczyslaw Stilinski, who was too stupid to just let his friend die for making a dumb deal.”
Man, his dad was going to be pissed.
“You can still back out, you know,” Danny reminded him, moving up beside him and handing him a flashlight. Bless him, Stiles hadn’t even thought of that. He’d been planning on using his phone, but that would probably be a bad idea. It was already at half-battery, so it’d have died relatively quickly.
“Yeah, well, just make sure dad picks the right Star Wars theme for my funeral,” Stiles muttered.
“If there’s enough left of you to bury,” Danny said, then let out what could only be described as an exasperated sigh.
“Stiles, I’m sorry,” Scott insisted again.
“It’s fine, Scotty,” Stiles lied, punching him in the shoulder. “Just tell my dad my death was super heroic and epic, all right?”
Scott didn’t seem to find that funny, but Stiles didn’t worry about it and just headed over to the edge of the lot where Matt and a few others were waiting on him. They all looked excited, though a few seemed a bit nervous. Greenberg was biting his nails like a cartoon character, he was going so damn fast.
“Ready?” Matt asked.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Stiles said, climbing over the chain that connected two posts together, stopping cars from moving further. He could see the large sign up ahead that boasted the edge of the border, warning people not to proceed past it and that doing so was a criminal offence.
Taking in a slow inhale, Stiles let it out through parted lips, but when he took a step forward, someone grabbed his arm.
He turned, expecting to see Scott, but was surprised to find Matt gripping at his shirt. He actually looked—not remorseful, but maybe slightly nervous.
“Try not to die, okay? School would be boring without you.”
“Thanks,” Stiles muttered, because if Matt was really worried about him, he wouldn’t be making him do this to begin with.
Once his arm was freed, he faced forward again, had to steel himself once more, then moved forward. It was eerily silent in the woods. He could hear the engines of the cars running behind him, their lights illuminating the entrance to the trees, but beyond that he heard nothing. No rustling leaves, no hooting owls, no little animals rushing from burrow to burrow, nothing.
It was fucking scary.
Pausing at the sign, Stiles stared up at it, reading the words over and over again to himself.
Territory border. Do not cross. Fine $10,000 and up to two years jail time.
He was eighteen now. He would be tried as an adult if he got caught. No one had ever actually been arrested or fined, because it wasn’t like no one knew about kids doing this on dares, but it was probably supposed to stop and make people think twice before proceeding.
But that was kind of the crux of it. Everyone who had done this was just a kid. They’d been caught before, on both sides. No one was arrested or fined, because they were all minors. They were just sufficiently yelled at by their parents, reprimanded by the sheriff, and told never to do it again.
That wasn’t going to be the case for Stiles, because he wasn’t a minor anymore. As of this past April, he was officially an adult, and would be charged as an adult if he got caught. But—it wasn’t like no one had ever done this before, right? Like, he was sure other adults had done it on nights of drunken tomfoolery?
And besides, there were messengers! They crossed the border all the time! Sure, they had paperwork allowing it, that was literally their jobs, but still! Wasn’t it technically also crossing the border and a criminal offence?
Trying not to dwell on it too much, Stiles let out a slow breath and stepped over the invisible line. Nothing happened, not that he expected it to.
Okay, so maybe he’d thought a Werewolf would be right there ready to tear his throat out, but no one needed to know that!
Taking a few more steps past the sign, everything remained still and silent, and he forced himself to move forward slowly. He could see the back of another sign less than a few feet away, and when he reached it, he turned to read it and saw it said the same thing.
Made sense, the rules applied on both sides. If their side had punishments for breaking the law, it stood to reason the Werewolf side would, too. He wondered if the wolves had their own jail. Or maybe their ‘jailtime’ was like... being shoved into a coffin or something and buried in the woods for two years.
Unlikely, he was fairly certain they needed to eat like everyone else, but he didn’t know, okay! Werewolves were kind of a taboo topic at school, and websites had locks on them for non-Weres. It was all kept very separate since the first war because Stiles guessed they didn’t want people to know how to harm them. He was sure the wolves had similar locks on their side.
If they had internet. Did Werewolves use internet?
“Hurry up, Stiles!”
He jumped, turning to shush at Matt angrily. Was he trying to get him killed?
Probably. Asshole. Why were they even friends?
Were they even friends?! What kind of friend sent their other friend into Werewolf territory because they were salty about a girl?
To be fair, what kind of moron willingly walked into Werewolf territory to save another friend because of a girl? Seriously, after this whole thing, if anyone deserved to date Allison, it was him!
Facing forward again, Stiles moved slowly through the trees, and waited until the lights from the cars faded before turning on the flashlight. He wasn’t very far in, but still enough that his heart was pounding like crazy. And it was dark, even with his small light. Wolves could see in the dark, they could literally be stalking him right now!
Shrugging the feeling off, he winced as he continued forward. The ground was wet here, like it had recently rained.
Or it was pooling blood.
Stiles immediately aimed the flashlight downward, but it was just regular mud. Maybe there was a spring or something nearby that he hadn’t noticed, whatever.
He started to take another step, then paused.
Werewolves had good senses of smell. He was probably reeking human all over the place, or at least bodywash, but maybe if he–if he masked it somehow, he could move ahead undetected. Or at least be harder to find, if nothing else.
Considering it for a moment, Stiles stuck the end of the small flashlight between his teeth and bent down, scooping up mud in both hands and beginning to slather it along his jeans. He didn’t want to completely coat himself, but he still rubbed a bunch of mud along his arms and the front of his shirt. Getting the back was harder, but he did his best, wiping the residue off on his neck before shaking his hands out and grabbing the flashlight again.
Okay, so he felt a bit better now. He could do this. He could totally do this. Nothing to be worried or scared about, all good.
Continuing forward and being mindful to keep his bearings, he could hear movement every now and then in the trees, but nothing concerning. Sounded more like squirrels or moles or something, not some big, raging animal coming to make his insides become his outsides.
He knew he was on the right track to the Nemeton when he caught sight of the initials on the trees. There weren’t that many at first, just one or two on random trees he passed, but soon they started getting more and more frequent. One tree had seven initials, people evidently feeling like that was as far as they could ever get. About five feet after that, there was another tree with twelve initials.
Stiles honestly wondered if anyone had made it out as far as the Nemeton. Considering that was the goal here, he was about to find out, whether he wanted to or not.
So far so good on the Werewolf front. It wasn’t a full moon tonight, and maybe this area was like, the furthest from their—nest? Den? Whatever Werewolves lived in.
It was easy to tell when the people started chickening out with the distance from the lot, because the initials became less frequent and further apart. After walking for almost ten minutes without seeing a new one, Stiles was willing to bet he was now the furthest anyone had ever gotten. The last initials he’d seen belonged to a JP, and that had been a ways back.
Tightening his grip on the flashlight, he wondered if he’d actually make it all the way to the Nemeton and back without any problems. Wouldn’t that be anti-climactic? Imagine all the wolves were actually gone, and the messengers passing through were sworn to secrecy. That would be hilarious, if not very The Village of it all.
Actually, now he wondered if maybe that was the idea. There was a small community living in the woods who knew nothing of the outside world and were just being kept in the dark about everything, thinking people still had to like, churn butter and use lanterns for light and stuff. That would be nuts, but also kind of hilarious because Stiles would probably have a mental break over being so terrified of people who didn’t know what sneakers were.
Thinking about how stupid this whole thing would be if that was true was making Stiles feel a little less nervous about it all, so he kept that up while he walked. Every now and then he would hear a scuttle that would startle ten years off his lifespan, but until he heard something that sounded decidedly bigger than a fucking field mouse, he wasn’t going to worry about it.
He had to have been walking for a good half hour by the time he started to feel the buzz. He’d been wondering if maybe he’d gotten lost—which would suck, because how did one call for help while lost in the woods that were illegal to trespass into?—but the air had definitely shifted. The hairs on his arms were rising on end, and his heart was starting to beat a bit faster in his chest.
The air felt... charged. It smelled like ozone, the way it did right before and after a big storm. He felt like his head was full of cotton all of a sudden and he shook it, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand and moving forward.
When he broke through a group of trees, he froze, eyes widening and lips parting in shock.
He was pretty sure he’d just found the Nemeton, but it looked... not like the Nemeton. He’d seen the pictures, and while the pictures made it look like some huge, impressive-looking tree, it was still kind of lame. Like, just a regular old tree. This was...
Well, it was definitely not like the pictures. He wondered if that was intentional. Were people tyring to dissuade others from coming here or something because this was—amazing, actually.
The tree was huge, like the pictures promised, but while it looked dank and old and kind of like a boring old tree in photos, this tree in front of him was insane. It seemed to be glowing, actually. The area around him was lit up in such a way that he could actually comfortably see. He didn’t even need the flashlight anymore, so he turned it off and tucked it into his pocket, eyes still on the tree.
It didn’t have any leaves, but even as he stood there staring, the branches seemed to be growing longer and longer, like they were reaching out towards him, and the area hummed and buzzed with magic.
He’d never felt anything like this before. It was like the tree was just seeping into him, coating him in a comfortable blanket and keeping him warm and safe in a tight embrace. There was no way he was carving anything into this tree. It was... sacred. It was special.
He would carve initials into another closer tree though, and he was definitely taking a picture of this thing, because what? This tree was amazing, and insane.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, eyes still on the awesome tree, he aimed it at the glowing, monstrous thing and took a picture. It didn’t do the original justice, but it was all he could do. He moved further into the clearing, still staring in awe, and when he was a few feet away, he felt like it was calling him. Beckoning him forward.
He didn’t even question how insane that sounded in his own head. The tree beckoning him, what the fuck was he smoking? He didn’t care though, he just moved forward as instructed, one hand reaching out. When he was close enough to touch it, he hesitated, but the warmth he felt at being so close to it, and the safety it seemed to provide, made it difficult to resist.
Stiles placed his palm on the tree and instantly felt a rush of—something. He didn’t know. It was like in movies when people’s third eye suddenly opened and they got a rush of images and indescribable power. That was what touching the tree felt like. He didn’t really see anything, like his rush of images was just a black screen, but he felt his arm burn like something was sliding up it towards his chest, and when it finally reached his heart, he jerked away from the tree, stumbling slightly and gasping, clutching at his shirt above where the feeling had been.
It didn’t hurt, it was just—a lot. Intense. He didn’t know what was going on, this was kind of uncharted territory for him.
Glancing back up at the tree, he saw it glowing even brighter, almost difficult to look at, now. He turned away, but he didn’t want to leave. He felt like every question he’d ever had—and even some he didn’t—could be answered by this glowing, timeless tree. He didn’t know why he felt like that, but he did. It was like the tree was alive.
Okay, yes, the tree was alive because trees were living things, but this one felt... he didn’t even know how to describe it. It felt sentient. It was weird. And creepy. And awesome.
Mostly weird though.
He was so enthralled with the tree that it took him a second to register the snap of branches to his left. When it finally did, he whipped his head in that direction, because it sounded like something bigger than a field mouse was moving through the trees. It wasn’t too close, at least not yet, and seemed to be moving fairly slowly. Maybe it was like, a possum or something?
Wishful thinking, but Stiles had overstayed his welcome. He’d found the Nemeton, he had a picture, he’d carve his initials into a random tree to prove he’d made it this far since Matt wouldn’t believe a photo—because he was an asshole—and he’d go.
Turning back the way he’d come, Stiles severely hoped he remembered the right section of identical trees he’d passed through and moved quickly and silently back that way. Grabbing his keys from his pocket, because he was dumb and forgot to bring some kind of knife, he quickly scratched his initials into the bark, then stood back to take a picture with the Nemeton in the background.
He wasn’t carving his initials into the fucking Nemeton, and if Matt argued that it didn’t count, Stiles was going to make sure this entire conversation happened in front of the whole fucking school because that would be bullshit. Stiles was the first person to make it this far into the fucking woods. He’d touched the damn thing! He just wasn’t willing to carve letters into the bark and like, get thrown out of the Preserve by some weird lightning magic that exploded out of the tree for his transgression or something.
The picture wasn’t great, but it showed the Nemeton and his initials, at any rate, so he pocketed his phone and turned to hurry back the way he’d come, feeling his heart beginning to pound in his chest again. The tree had kind of—calmed him down a bit. He’d felt his heart going, but not out of fear.
Now? Now it was fear. He was scared. Something big was moving not far from him, and if it was a Werewolf, they had much better hearing so even if he tried to be sneaky, he wasn’t going to escape this unnoticed.
He moved slowly at first, trying for quiet, but when it became clear the big thing was coming closer, he decided moving a bit faster with some noise was probably the better call. No point in being quiet if it made him slow and the thing could hear him anyway.
God, please let it not be a Werewolf! He was willing to take a bear, he’d have more of a chance against a bear! Or even like, a coyote? A mountain lion? He really didn’t want to try and escape from a Werewolf.
He was only about seven or eight minutes past where the Nemeton was, on his way back towards the lot—why was it so far?!—when he heard loud noises behind him. Feet pounding against the earth, something big and angry crashing through the underbrush, and low growls.
Okay, yup, time to run. Fuck being quiet, he was screwed.
Stiles immediately broke out into a sprint, struggling to dodge around trees since the bouncing light of his flashlight made it difficult to really tell where he was going. He got hit in the face a few times with random branches, but tried to mostly keep his eyes shut as much as possible to avoid losing one. That would suck, if he got hit in the eye with one of those tiny branches. Those things were sharp.
He recognized losing an eye was the least of his worries right now, but at least freaking out about the trees was helping with the absolute debilitating panic at the idea that he was being chased right now.
And he was being chased. He knew he was. He could hear them, right behind him. Snarling, snapping their teeth, running faster than anyone on two legs had the right to be running!
When he heard a roar literally right behind him, he let out a shout and flailed his arms while running to the side, dodging a body that had flown through the trees to tackle him.
“Jesus shit!” Stiles shouted, hearing something else still right on his heels. Fuck, there were two of them, at least. Oh fuck, oh shit, oh sweet baby Jesus!
Letting out another shout, he ducked in time to avoid something crashing into him from the side, having seen out of the corner of his eye when the Werewolf leapt at a tree and used it to kind of gain some height in its attempt to tackle Stiles.
He dropped the flashlight, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t helping him much anyway, and he didn’t have time to look for it. He just scrambled back to his feet when his attempted duck had almost knocked him on his ass and used the closest tree to whip himself around its trunk.
Fuck, he was all turned around now, he had no idea where he was going. Which way was the lot?!
He slipped on some leaves and felt air rush over his head, realizing one of the Werewolves had just swiped at him. If his foot hadn’t slipped, he’d have gotten his damn brains knocked out.
Letting out another shouted curse, he dodged to the side when he finally found his footing, raced around another tree, and tried to weave and dodge his way through the darkness. It was impossible to see, but there was just enough light from the moon overhead to make out the shapes of the trees. The wolves? Not so much.
Probably explained why he basically ran right into one, bouncing off a hard chest and landing on his back with a harsh exhale and a groan. He started to scramble backwards, but gold eyes that shone through the darkness were locked on him before leaping, and he knew he was going to die.
Bringing both hands up to cover his face, he clenched his eyes shut and cursed Scott’s stupid dick to high heaven. He did not want to die here tonight. In fact, he would give anything to not die here tonight, and have this stupid, dumb Werewolf just go away. He couldn’t believe this was happening!
He could not believe it! And he was ready to meet his inevitable end when he felt a tug in his gut. It always happened when he used magic, but he didn’t really have a spell in mind in his panic, so he had no idea why he felt the usual pull he got.
He knew why a second later when a pulse of energy erupted out of his hands, and he heard the Werewolf explode through a tree. It let out a startled and pained yelp, the other Werewolf with him letting out a loud roar of outrage, but it didn’t have time to do anything.
The tree Stiles had slammed the Werewolf through didn’t even groan before toppling over, Stiles rolling quickly in what he hoped was the right direction to avoid getting crushed. Once it landed with an earth-shaking boom, the Werewolf still on its feet seemed to think its friend was more important, because it didn’t come towards Stiles, instead moving quickly to the fallen Werewolf who was whining and spitting very human-sounding curses.
Stiles didn’t stop to think, or thank anyone for his luck. He just rolled onto his stomach, shoved himself to his feet, and ran.
He didn’t hear anyone following him, but there was a loud, distressed howl from behind him, and he knew that wolves would be swarming in minutes, if not seconds. He had to get out of here, he had to get the fuck out of here!
His heart was trying to relocate itself in his throat, his lungs burned with the need for oxygen, and his entire body ached. He honestly thought he was going to die in here. They’d never find his body. The wolves would feast on his insides and he would be nothing more than bones they could bury as an offering to the Nemeton.
Danny was right, there wouldn’t be enough of him left for a funeral!
He was going to haunt the shit out of Scott for this!
Just when he was positive he wouldn’t make it out of the Preserve alive, he saw a light to his left through the trees. He didn’t even stop to think about it, he just turned instantly and raced in that direction. He almost ran into a fucking sign, but if there was a sign, it meant there was the border, and when he saw a second sign, he knew he’d made it.
He was out, he was safe!
Stiles exploded out of the trees, stumbling slightly, and almost ran right into a moving car before he managed to skid to a halt as it sped past.
He turned to watch it disappear, gasping for air while the red taillights got further and further away. He wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but when another car approached and he turned his head, he wished he had the energy to curse because it was a police cruiser.
Because of course it was. Of course it was a police cruiser, coming towards him slowly, while he stood on the edge of the road right beyond the trees with his hands on his knees, sweat coating his entire body, and feeling like he couldn’t inhale enough oxygen no matter how hard he tried.
He supposed the car he’d just seen had been one of the six that had driven out to the Preserve. It was probably Danny, actually. Stiles knew he’d have waited until the absolute last moment before leaving. Fuck, he needed to make sure Danny knew he wasn’t dead, or else he’d call his dad!
Since the cruiser pulling up didn’t belong to his dad.
It stopped right beside Stiles, who was still bent over and gasping for air, and the passenger-side window rolled down.
Oh fuck, this was just perfect! Of all the cops that could’ve shown up, it had to be this one. He was so screwed. His dad was going to know about this in a fucking heartbeat.
“Stiles,” Jordan Parrish said, staring out at him.
Still bent over, Stiles raised one hand in greeting, still struggling to inhale enough oxygen into his lungs. “Hey. Hi.” He seriously felt like he was going to black out, there were dots dancing in front of his eyes. “Hey Parrish. Hi.”
Jesus Christ, he was dying, he had to be, this was the worst. God, death by Werewolf probably wasn’t as bad as this, he couldn’t seem to inhale enough oxygen, this sucked.
He managed to stand unsteadily so he wasn’t hunched over, wincing while he continued to breathe hard, one hand gripping at a stitch in his side.
“Hey,” Parrish said slowly. Not suspiciously, just confused. That was good, at least. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”
“Me? Fine, yeah.” Stiles waved his free hand absently. “Good. Awesome.” Oh God, he needed to sit down. Standing was hard. He bent back over, hands on his knees while he continued to suck air into his lungs. “I feel like I’m gonna puke.” He brought one hand to his mouth, praying to just not puke. It felt like it was coming up his throat, but he forced it back down. Puking would be bad. No puking.
“Stiles?” Parrish asked, and he heard the officer step out of his car, moving around it until he was standing beside him, one hand reaching out to grip his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Good, great, never better.” Do not throw up. Do not throw up! He’d done that once, after a race. Run so hard and fast that as soon as he crossed the finish line he’d just doubled over and vomited all over the end of the field. It hadn’t been his finest moment, but at least he’d won.
“Just, you know, out for a run. Training. All that stuff.”
“I think you went a little hard. Also you’re covered in dirt.” Parrish had to know. He was a cop, he wasn’t stupid. He had to know what had just happened, but bless him, it seemed like he was trying to give Stiles an out.
That, or he was waiting for Stiles to come clean.
Not a fucking chance!
“Yeah, I just—fell. I fell. Also, I am definitely gonna puke.” He covered his mouth again, forcing the bile back down. He was pretty sure he’d never run so fast in his entire fucking life.
Parrish stood beside him for a few minutes, still gripping his shoulder while Stiles struggled to at least calm his breathing somewhat to the point where he didn’t feel ready to vomit at the slightest movement.
When he was sure he could stand properly without throwing up on Parrish, he straightened, shifting to clutch at the stitch he still had in his side, and turned to wince at the cop. “Hey. Hi. How’s it going? What are you up to?”
“My job?” Parrish offered, giving him an almost exasperated look.
“Cool. Awesome. Great.” Stiles twisted to look down the road the way the cruiser had come, then behind him where the Preserve was, silent and still. The howling had long ago stopped, and he didn’t hear anything coming for him from behind, so he was probably fine.
Still breathing hard and squinting slightly in an attempt to catch his breath, he waved Parrish off while looking around. How was he going to get a ride out of here if everyone had left? Unless anyone had stayed behind? “Hey uh, have you—” Wait, if he asked if Parrish had seen anyone, it suggested he’d been doing things he shouldn’t have been, not to mention if anyone had stayed behind, it was Danny, and he wouldn’t do him dirty like that. “You know what, never mind. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You’re sure what is fine?” Parrish asked, arching an eyebrow and crossing his arms. Uh oh, he was going all cop now. He’d learned that pose from the best of the best, after all.
“Nothing, all good. Don’t worry about it. Hey man, keep up the good work.” Stiles slapped him in the arm and motioned him with his free hand, other still clutching the stitch in his side while he walked backwards towards town. “You’re amazing, we love you, keep it up.”
“Stiles,” Parrish said, using The Tone. God, how had he learned so much from his dad? Unfair. Unfair, Stiles said! “Get in the car.”
“You know what, because I just ran a veritable marathon, I think I’m gonna need a ride back to town. Mind if I?” He motioned the passenger side, as if this whole thing of him getting driven back to town was his idea. “Cool, thanks.”
Climbing in, he could see Parrish doing a full body sigh outside before he rubbed his face and moved back around the car.
Stiles waited for him to enter, but he kept his eyes on the trees he’d exploded out of, watching for any glowing eyes or sharp fangs or whatever. Hopefully the mud had masked enough of his scent that they wouldn’t be able to pick it up too much. Could wolves track him from a car? Like, if they came out this far looking for him, would his scent end at the car door and then disappear? Or would it continue to permeate the air even through the vehicle and leave a cloud behind him for them to follow?
He tried not to dwell on it, staring down at his hands instead as Parrish eased back onto the road.
He didn’t know what he’d done, because that magic had been... not different, but unexpected. He didn’t really know a lot of spells, but he’d still never blasted anyone through a tree before.
In his defence, he didn’t usually make a habit of exploding people through trees, so...
When Parrish picked up the radio to say the party happening out by the Preserve was a false alarm, Stiles winced because that meant that he definitely knew Stiles hadn’t just been out for a midnight run. It was kind of hit or miss whether or not he’d tell his dad though.
Parrish was a cop, and a brown-noser, but he was also a human being. He knew that if it came out that he’d broken the law, his dad wouldn’t be able to afford the fine, and it would be a huge thing if the sheriff’s kid was caught doing something nobody was supposed to be doing.
He slid further down in his seat, feeling guilty, and told Parrish where the Jeep was when he asked about his ride home. This was the worst.
When the cruiser pulled up beside the Jeep and Parrish turned off the car, Stiles winced and turned to glance at him, somewhat nervously.
“Are you gonna tell dad?”
Sighing, Parrish leaned back in his seat, one hand still on the wheel and eyed Stiles critically.
“I think your dad has enough to worry about right now without knowing his kid crossed the border. Do it again, and I’ll arrest you myself.”
“Noted,” Stiles muttered with another wince, because that was fair.
They sat in silence for a long while, Stiles still needing to calm himself down a little bit before he drove home. His hands were still shaking and he literally couldn’t believe he was still alive.
Shit, he needed to text Danny before things went south and he did something crazy. Like call his dad.
“How far in did you get?” Parrish asked when Stiles had just shifted to open the door.
“What?” he asked, startled.
“The Preserve. How far in did you get? Did you beat my record?”
Stiles blinked at him, then did a full body jerk before whipping around to face him entirely, mouth hanging open. “Holy shit, you’re JP! Of course! You went into the Preserve! But you’re a cop!”
“I wasn’t born an adult, you know,” Parrish said dryly.
“Yeah but, you’re like, so honest. Follow all the rules and everything.”
Parrish shrugged. “There was a girl I was trying to impress. No one’s ever actually made it to the Nemeton, so as far as I know, I went the furthest. That was many years ago though, and based on your reaction, you saw my initials so you beat me out.” Parrish smiled slightly. “How much further did you get?”
Stiles pulled his phone out, ignoring the panicked texts from Scott and the two from Danny, and went to his photos. He opened the one of his initials on the tree with the Nemeton in the background and turned the phone around.
It was Parrish’s turn to do a full body jerk, mouth opening in shock while he reached out for the phone.
“You made it all the way to the tree? Are you serious?” He stared at the picture, completely stunned, and while Stiles knew he shouldn’t feel so damn proud about it, considering he had broken the law, it felt kind of badass to see Parrish look so awed. “I shouldn’t feel as impressed as I do right now, but even I didn’t make it that far.” Parrish handed the phone back, Stiles taking it.
“Is it supposed to look like that?” Stiles asked.
“Like what?”
“You know, all glowy and mystical.”
Parrish shrugged. “No one’s seen it outside pictures online, and those are from before the first war. Maybe having only wolves around has helped it along or something.”
Stiles hummed, looking down at the picture just as another panicked text from Scott came through. Right, he needed to sort that out.
“Thanks for the ride. And the uh, you know.” He motioned absently. “Not telling my dad about this.”
“About what?” Parrish asked, and Stiles nodded his understanding before climbing out of the cruiser. Parrish waited for him to get into the Jeep before turning the car back on and driving off. Stiles didn’t start his own, instead opening his messages to make sure nobody called the cops.
He didn’t think Matt would, but he texted him as well, just in case. Danny and Scott expressed relief at the fact that he wasn’t dead, and while Matt seemed glad to hear he hadn’t kicked the bucket, he wasn’t thrilled to learn Stiles had reached the Nemeton.
[Matt]
pics or it didn’t happen
[Stiles]
that’s why I took a pic asswipe
Stiles didn’t trust him not to blackmail him with a copy of the picture, so he said he’d show him tomorrow when they hung out, and pocketed his phone. When he went to grab the wheel, sticking his key in the ignition, he once again stared down at his hand, wondering what the fuck had happened.
His magic had gone a little crazy there. Sure, he was supposedly powerful, but power usually came with practice and Stiles didn’t exactly practice very often. A part of him wondered if maybe it was the Nemeton enhancing his abilities, but that seemed crazy. The tree belonged to the wolves, no way would it help Stiles.
Shaking the feeling off, he started the Jeep and pulled out of the diner parking lot, turning around to head home, and looking forward to never setting foot in the Preserve ever again.
Scott wanted to take him to breakfast as a thank you for almost dying, and also partly in celebration of him not dying. Matt also wanted to tag along for the proof part of Stiles’ claim, but Stiles knew better than to trust his friend. He texted a bunch of the guys on the lacrosse team, and asked Danny to text the ones whose numbers he didn’t have.
By the time he and Scott showed up at the diner, most of the people who’d driven out to the Preserve with them the night before were there, excited to hear about Stiles’ adventure. He didn’t mention the Werewolf encounter, mostly because he couldn’t explain how he’d escaped—fast or not, no human could outrun a Werewolf—but also because he was trying not to think about it too much.
Predictably, when Stiles showed the picture, Matt was adamant it didn’t count because he hadn’t carved the initials into the tree itself. Stiles didn’t even have to argue, because Greenberg—surprisingly, of all his saviours—jumped in to say that Matt was being too specific. The point of the initials was to prove Stiles had reached the tree, and he clearly had based on the picture.
Then Matt had tried to insist it was photoshopped, and Danny confirmed that it wasn’t. Then Matt just tried to throw a temper tantrum and the rest of the team looked like they weren’t very impressed with their captain. Thankfully, after that little display, Matt conceded defeat and muttered that he’d leave Allison alone and Scott could play a few games against teams that sucked worse than theirs did.
All in all, Stiles felt pretty good about himself. Reached the tree, hadn’t gotten mauled, hadn’t gotten arrested, got to make Matt look like an ass in front of the whole team. Things were good!
And to top it all off, he got a free breakfast, and who said no to free pancakes? Nobody, because pancakes with hashbrowns and sausages were delicious.
He had a lot of homework to do since he’d basically ignored it all during study hall so he didn’t linger for too long. Danny said he was glad Stiles wasn’t dead on his way out, and Stiles just grinned and offered him a wave, exiting the diner and moving towards his Jeep. He was still reeling a bit from the insanity of the previous night, and every now and then, his heart would randomly start pounding double-time in his chest.
It was residuals of his fear. Little stabs of panic that hit him at the thought of the wolves sneaking out of the woods at night and coming to find him. He really hoped his scent wasn’t super unique and the mud and sweat from the previous night had masked it somewhat.
Though probably not the sweat, if anything, that had likely helped make his scent more potent.
Oh God, he was going to get mauled by animals in the night!
“No one is going to maul you!” Stiles insisted to himself loudly, waiting at a red light and forcing himself to remain calm. “You’re not dead yet, and if they were going to come for you, they’d have come last night.”
Except would they have? Realistically, wouldn’t it have made more sense for them to like... wait? To talk things out, plan everything, and then launch an attack later? Clearly he’d done something worse than just cross the border, or they wouldn’t have attacked him like that. Then again, he didn’t know if other people would’ve gotten attacked, if only they’d been found. No one had made it out as far as he had, so maybe the wolves would’ve gone after anyone if only they’d made it that far.
Everyone else, Parrish included apparently, had chickened out a good fifteen minutes out from the Nemeton. Maybe it was because Stiles had been in the Preserve long enough to be caught that he’d almost gotten killed.
Whatever, he was fine. He lived on the complete opposite end of town from the woods, way further than the Nemeton was from the border he’d used. They couldn’t reach him easily, especially since they wouldn’t have the cover of trees out here. Just lots of shops and houses. There was no way they could get to him.
When he turned onto the street leading to his house, he noticed his dad’s cruiser parked on the curb, along with another across the street. That didn’t bode well, since he knew his dad wasn’t supposed to be home for a few hours yet, but when he pulled into the driveway and Tara just smiled and waved at him from her cruiser, he waved back and didn’t worry about it too much. If she’d been there to arrest him, she wouldn’t have been smiling and waving like that.
Moving up the porch steps, Stiles opened the door and kicked his shoes off at the entrance, seeing his dad sitting at the kitchen table down the long corridor.
“Hey pops, you’re home early. Hope you had a good shift. I’ve got tons of homework, so I’m heading up to do that. Let me know what you want for dinner later.”
Just as Stiles moved to head up the stairs to his room, he paused when his dad spoke.
Uh oh, he’d used The Tone.
“Stiles.”
Glancing over at his dad, said individual didn’t even turn to look at him. He just held up one hand, and used his index finger to motion him over. Uh oh, had Parrish decided he was more of a brown-noser than a good bro? Had he told his dad? Oh God, should Stiles start running? He was a fast runner, he could outrun his dad. Probably Tara, too.
He was too cute for jail!
Wincing and rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Stiles slowly made his way towards the kitchen, trying not to look as guilty as he felt. When he crossed the threshold, his eyes shifted to the person sitting across the table from his father. He hadn’t realized the man wasn’t alone.
He didn’t recognize the woman, but she was stunning. Long black hair, kind brown eyes, and a sort of elegance to her that Stiles had never seen before. She looked so... regal. Like some kind of Queen. It was actually a little disorienting seeing someone so perfectly put together in his tiny little kitchen, drinking coffee out of a chipped mug that said “#1 Dad” on it.
She smiled at him kindly, eyes inspecting every inch of his face before going down the length of his body and back up. It was a very calculated look, and Stiles didn’t know how to feel about it.
“Have a seat, son.”
Stiles glanced back at his dad, who still wasn’t looking at him. Oh man, he was pissed. Stiles was kind of glad this lady was here, because it meant he wasn’t going to get yelled at right away. The second she left, abso-fucking-lutely, but he had a bit of time yet.
Obeying his dad, Stiles moved around behind him to take a seat in his usual chair on his left, pulling it out with a bit of a screech and then falling into it. Everything was very quiet, and he felt like the atmosphere was charged.
He rubbed his hands on his jeans, glancing back and forth between his dad and the woman across from him. His dad was staring at her, arms crossed and looking sour—not at her, clearly at Stiles—but the woman was still smiling kindly at him, eying him with interest.
Finally, after a few minutes of uncomfortable shifting under her scrutinizing gaze, she inclined her head slightly, and spoke.
“Hello Stiles.” Her voice was incredibly soothing. It kind of matched her overall appearance. Someone who was born to lead, and not only looked the part, but sounded it as well. He kind of liked her voice.
“Hi,” he said after an awkwardly long pause. He really hoped he got some answers soon on what was going on, because the longer he sat there, the more nervous he got.
“It’s nice to finally meet you after all this time. My name is Talia Hale.”
Hale. Stiles recognized that name. Why did he recognize that name? It sounded so familiar, like an itch at the back of his brain, and he squinted internally while he thought, trying to place it, brain flipping through pages and pages of useless nonsense pertaining to school before it finally clicked.
Oh fuck.
Michael Johnston had been his dad’s best friend growing up. A Werewolf. And this Werewolf friend of his had married the like, leader person of the Werewolves—whatever their equivalent of a mayor was, Stiles supposed. It was tradition for the spouse to take the last name of the leader of the wolves, so last Stiles had heard, his dad’s friend was now called Michael Hale.
So if Michael Hale was a Werewolf, and had married a woman who was in charge of all the Werewolves, then that meant this woman was the person in charge of all the Werewolves and he was well and truly royally fucked.
She was still smiling at him pleasantly, hands folded around the ridiculous mug and waiting for him to say something. He didn’t know what she was waiting for, but felt like this was kind of mean. Was she waiting for him to throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness?
Sadly, she wasn’t as scary as the person whose forgiveness he would be begging for.
Turning to his dad, he slapped both hands lightly on his thighs and licked his lips. “So. Dad. There’s uh, something I’ve been meaning to tell you—”
“Stiles,” he cut in, eyes shifting to him for the briefest of moments. Oh yeah, he was beyond pissed. He was like, murder-his-son-and-bury-him-in-the-basement levels of pissed. And he was a cop, too. A damn good one. He could probably get away with murder if he really wanted to.
“Right, yup.” Stiles mimed zipping his lips and winced, shifting his gaze back to Talia. She just looked amused, which he didn’t really appreciate. Did she not realize that she’d basically just set up filicide?
“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more.
“You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?”
“It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.”
Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes.
“I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”
Talia let out a small laugh at his sincere apology, which he didn’t appreciate very much, but understood when she spoke, her words calming him instantly.
“You’re not the first from your side to cross into our territory. We understand it is something that happens on occasion. And you are not the only guilty party. Werewolves know how to have fun too.” She winked at him. “We’ve had a fair few of our own crossing onto this side of the border as well. Children being children, isn’t that right, sheriff?” She turned to level his father with her kind smile and he grumbled something under his breath.
It sounded suspiciously like annoyance that she was trying to make like Stiles’ actions weren’t a big deal. If the leader of the wolves wasn’t concerned about what he’d done, how could his dad get mad about it? Stiles knew he still would though, but at least he didn’t feel as worried as he had a few moments ago about his insides being used for the wolves’ next meal.
“I do need to apologize for what happened,” Talia said, turning back to Stiles. “While we’ve had many cross onto our land, I think it’s fair to say you’re the first who ever caught a patrol off-guard. I sincerely apologize for the aggressiveness of my Betas. They aren’t usually so confrontational, but you happened to startle them.”
Stiles almost choked on his own saliva, motioning himself incredulously. “I startled them?! Me? I start—okay. Really? Did I like, grow some extra muscles since I last looked in the mirror? How the hell did I startle a bunch of Werewolves?!”
“Stiles,” his dad said in warning, probably because he was moving into the realm of rudeness.
But seriously! In what universe was he meant to believe that he startled a bunch of Werewolves?! He was a teeny, tiny little human with easily shreddable skin and fragile bones, and the Werewolves were scared of him?! They’d chased him through the damn woods! He thought he was going to die! His life flashed before his eyes!
He’d legitimately made plans to haunt Scott for the rest of his life! That was how convinced he was that he was going to die! And now this lady was here apologizing that her Betas—whatever the fuck that meant—were aggressive, but it was his own fault because he’d startled them?
That was literal bullshit, she was making fun of him now, and that was rude and unappreciated.
“Perhaps I should explain,” Talia said, still looking a bit amused. “You have to understand that it isn’t easy to sneak up on a Werewolf. Most people who’ve entered the Preserve with the intention of nearing the Nemeton have never made it further than halfway. Some lost their nerve and turned back, but others who’ve made it that far always got a warning that we were aware of their presence. At the first hint of a snarl, people always turn and head back the way they’d come.” She was eying him with interest again, one perfect eyebrow arching slightly. “You made it all the way to the tree.”
He could feel his dad’s gaze on him, but Stiles didn’t look at him. He knew his dad had questions, like whether or not he’d used his magic, but he wasn’t going to answer anything right now. Besides, he hadn’t used his magic. Just good old brainpower, that was all.
“You were at the Nemeton, and then you turned to head back as the patrol was nearing you. You crossed into our territory, you made your way to the tree, and then turned to head back completely undetected until that very last moment. You did all of this extremely easily, and for us, someone who can do that is a threat. They reacted poorly, thinking they needed to ensure you weren’t planning anything malicious. They should have returned to notify me of what had happened, but they were worried someone like you would be able to cause irreparable damage to the Pack as a whole. That you would be someone formidable, and able to defend yourself easily. And you did, didn’t you?”
Uh oh, this was dangerous territory now. Red alert, abort mission! Abort, abort!
He tried for nonchalant when he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. After all, in his defence, he’d almost made it out of there with his legs alone, so really, he shouldn’t worry. It was fine, everything was fine, no one knew what he’d done.
It was dark, and the wolves had been moving quickly, and they probably didn’t—maybe it was just like, a really well-aimed kick to the gut and adrenaline had given him that extra boost. Like when mothers lift cars off their babies. He was a mother lifting a car off his baby.
In this case, the mother was him, and the car was a Werewolf. No big.
“I ran,” Stiles said, shrugging one shoulder and going for almost bored. “I’m a fast runner.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. My Betas were impressed you were able to outrun them for so long. But the tree at the edge of the Preserve suggests your ability to run quickly isn’t the only reason you managed to escape.”
Seriously, was she trying to get him murdered? Because his dad’s head had whipped in his direction and he could practically feel the lasers his eyes had turned into burning through his skull.
Fuck. She knew. Regardless of what had happened, what he could’ve pretended had happened, even if he argued about the whole adrenaline thing, at the end of the day, there wasn’t really anything he could’ve done that would’ve given him enough strength to explode a Werewolf right through a tree.
Really, the wolf was lucky it was so damn resilient, because if Stiles had been the one thrown through a tree, he was pretty sure he would break long before the fucking tree did.
Inhaling deeply, Stiles closed his eyes for a second, steeled himself, opened them, and turned to his dad. “So. Dad. There’s uh, something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“God dammit, Stiles.” And just like that, his dad crumpled. His entire frame sagged, both hands came up to rub at his face, and he suddenly looked much, much older than he truly was. Stiles felt guilt gnawing away at his insides the second he saw him react.
Because if the wolves knew, it wouldn’t be long before it came out on this side, too.
Stiles Stilinski wasn’t human. He was magic. He was a Supernatural.
Just like Lydia the Banshee. Just like Parrish the Hellhound. Just like Deaton the Druid.
They had Supernaturals in their tiny little town, but they also didn’t have a lot of them. Now everyone would know the number had gone up by one, because despite how hard his dad had tried to keep it hidden, despite how long it had been since he’d found out, Stiles had gone into the Preserve, and exploded a Werewolf through a tree using magic.
Stiles avoided looking at his dad then, because clearly he was disappointed in him for, not only having broken the literal law, but also for exposing himself after they’d both worked so hard for years to keep his magic under wraps. He was almost done school, almost out of this place, almost safe from exposure. But one little tromp through the woods, and it all came crashing down.
“I’m sorry, John,” Talia said softly, and it sounded like she meant it, too. Like she knew what this kind of exposure was going to do for someone like Stiles in a town this small. “Were the situation not so dire, I would have sworn my Betas to secrecy after discovering it was your son, and we wouldn’t be speaking of this. I wish we didn’t have to speak of this, but I am sure you recognize the danger we are all in.”
Frowning at her, Stiles managed to speak before his dad regained his voice. “Danger? What danger?”
“The war,” she said seriously. “The one that is ravaging our country. I do not believe it is a true Supernatural war. I believe there is something darker, more sinister at work. It is coming closer, infecting everyone and everything in its path. Soon, it will reach us here, and just as in many other states, there will be countless loss of life. I would like to find a way to stop that from happening.”
“How?” his dad asked on a grunt. He’d gone back to crossing his arms, but he still looked pissed. And disappointed. And worried.
And scared.
Scared about what this meant for Stiles now.
“Magic has many forms,” Talia explained. “We may be Werewolves, but we have some knowledge of the different kinds that exist. Based on what Stiles was able to do with minimal effort, I would hazzard he is a very powerful spellcaster type. A Warlock or a Sorcerer.”
She paused there, likely waiting for confirmation. Stiles shot a look at his dad, who was staring right back before he sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, looking more and more exhausted by the second.
“He’s a Spark.”
Talia’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked like someone had just slapped her. “That is—unexpected. Sparks are not very common.”
“Yeah,” his dad said, looking over at him briefly. “So I’ve been told.”
“So your power manifests as a form of belief.” Talia said, looking thoughtful. “That makes Sparks very powerful.”
“They’re classified as the top tier of spellcasters,” his dad admitted, seeming to admit defeat. She knew, it was too late to back out now. “We had to register him with the government, because someone like him could cause a catastrophic event.”
Stiles’ gaze shifted to his dad at those words, because he’d only vaguely been aware of that growing up. He’d always been told his powers were impressive, and that if he ever got proper training for his abilities, he would be formidable. It was one of the main reasons his dad didn’t want anyone to know about him, because he was worried about people using him.
He’d never heard of a Spark causing a catastrophic event, though.
He’d read in his training, of course, that Sparks were a class of their own in the magic user category, but despite everything he’d learned and all the sites he knew existed, honestly learning his abilities and honing them to perfection was near impossible. There weren’t enough resources available, not free ones, anyway.
Though he also knew the paid ones didn’t give much detail, either. He’d subscribed to a few of them, after all. The cheaper ones, but they were still good sites. Good enough to help him, but not enough to give him everything he needed to fully master his abilities. But maybe that was the point.
After all, Stiles knew about the government program for Sparks. When his parents had registered him, he didn’t know if they would’ve been told about it at the time, given he was only seven. But what if they had? What if the government had tried to convince them to enroll him in that special camp or whatever so that Stiles could get proper training to help improve and hone his abilities? Maybe his parents had been asked, and had both immediately said no and taken him home.
It wasn’t a secret the government wanted to keep powerful beings under their thumb, and it was something Stiles had always suspected about Sparks given they were the only ones who had a special “camp” they could attend. What if that was specifically because Sparks were so powerful, and this would ensure if the government wanted something done, it was done their way? After all, if he didn’t have a handle on his powers, didn’t understand them, he couldn’t actually use them. Sure, he could do a few things without any trouble, but there were a lot of other things that he couldn’t.
That was probably intentional. They wanted to ensure that if someone as powerful as him didn’t join the program with the government, he would never learn the extent of his powers. He knew that they already had some Sparks, he’d seen them on the news, trying to help during the war, but if anything they seemed to be doing the most damage. The news never showed what the carnage looked like, but he knew one of the Sparks was mowing down people by the hundreds, having switched sides part-way through the fighting. Apparently the other Spark was trying to stop him, and Stiles had to wonder how much training he would need to get to that level.
He didn’t want to be at that level. He was happy at the lower tier he was at right now, because it was less terrifying.
“This is better than I was expecting,” Talia admitted. “I had been hoping for a Warlock after hearing what you’d done, but a Spark is going to increase our chances.”
“Chances of what?” Stiles asked cautiously.
“Keeping whatever evil is controlling the war out of Beacon Hills.” She focussed on his father again. “I know things are different than they were when we were children. Michael often spoke very highly of you, and I know you to be a good, honest man. This is why I thought it best to speak to you first, not only because it involves your son, but because I need someone who is understanding to lead this conversation.”
“I’m listening.”
“So can I go, or—?” Stiles motioned towards the door with both pointer fingers, wanting to get a head start on escaping the wrath of his father, but when said man turned to give him a look, Stiles pressed his lips together, mimed zipping them again, and sat still.
Well, as still as he could sit, anyway. He wasn’t exactly the best at staying motionless.
“I don’t know much about Spark magic, I’ll admit, but given his abilities, there are likely means for him to fortify the borders. The entire border, not just this half. All of Beacon County. While unlikely someone at his level will be able to fully stop the war from crossing onto our land, he can at least slow it down and possibly even help stall it when it finally reaches our borders. In exchange for his assistance in protecting both sides of the border, I’m willing to extend the reach of the patrols, as well. We often have many groups of wolves patrolling the outer areas in an attempt to ensure we are not caught off-guard. We could widen this reach to include your side as well.”
Stiles would be lying if the approaching war hadn’t been on everyone’s minds lately. Maybe a bit less for someone like Matt, who could just hop on a plane to Bali or something and wait out the bloodbath. But for people like him and his dad, Scott, Danny, all of them, the war was very, very real. And it was getting closer by the day.
The last time he’d checked, the fighting had completely overrun Mississippi and moved into parts of Arkansas and Missouri, slowly but surely making its way west. Before long, the whole country was going to be at war.
Both Canada and Mexico had closed off their borders, worried about the spread of it, like some kind of disease. If what Talia was saying was true, and this was some kind of unknown evil sewing dissent and causing this chaos and death by the thousands, then maybe they weren’t wrong in stopping anyone from coming in or out.
Stiles glanced at his dad, and he could tell he was thinking about it. On the one hand, he knew his dad wanted to protect him. Keep him safe. Make sure no one used him and his abilities like he was just a tool. On the other hand, having Werewolves patrolling the area would be beneficial. They were stronger, faster, and had a larger range when it came to hearing and seeing things.
In addition, if they were to form this temporary truce, it meant that maybe, slowly but surely, they could go back to being one town again. Maybe Beacon County’s split could be dissolved and everyone could just learn to get along. It wasn’t impossible, given it had been like that once upon a time—back when his dad was younger, so not that long ago, but still, guy was old.
It seemed to take his dad a long time to finally come to a decision, but he eventually said, “I can’t make that call. I’d need to speak to the mayor.”
“Of course,” Talia said, inclining her head slightly. “I would never suggest you strong-arm the decision, I merely wanted to speak to you first as a courtesy. Michael has always said good things, and even if he hadn’t, this is your son. We haven’t heard talk of a Spark, or a magic user in general, on our side of the border. A Banshee, a Hellhound, and others we’ve heard whispers of, but the Spark was new. I didn’t want to speak to the mayor without first speaking to the spellcaster’s family.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Talia smiled brightly at him, still looking like a fucking Queen, and took another sip of her coffee. “I should be getting back, there is much to discuss on our side as well. Thank you very much for your time, John. And your hospitality. It was a pleasure seeing you again, and I do hope I have the chance to speak to you again soon.”
His dad stood with a grunt and held out his hand, shaking Talia’s across the table and saying it was great to see her as well. He motioned for Stiles to stay with an angry jab in his direction, then led Talia to the door, presumably so she could be driven back to the border. It explained why Tara was there, at any rate. She’d probably been asked to come by since Stiles was going to be getting the lecture of a lifetime.
He heard faint murmurs at the door, his dad saying farewell once more, and when the door shut, Stiles slid further down in his seat, hoping against hope that he could outrun his dad if the guy decided he could probably get away with murder.
Seriously, of all the people to ever get caught crossing into Werewolf territory, why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been like, Parrish or something? Why him?!
His dad wandered back into the kitchen moments later, standing at the door and crossing his arms, seeming almost taller than usual all of a sudden, but that may have just been Stiles’ attempt to slide off his chair onto the floor so he could hide under the table.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other, Stiles feeling more and more uncomfortable the longer the silence stretched. That was probably his dad’s intention, the guy knew how to unnerve him. Came with having to get answers out of his rebellious kid for eighteen years.
Finally, he said, “There better be a damn good explanation for this.”
“There is!” Stiles insisted, flailing one hand. “There is the best explanation ever! See, there’s this girl Scott likes—”
“Stop.” His dad held up one hand and Stiles snapped his mouth shut. With a heavy sigh, the sheriff’s other hand moved to rub at his face, like he was trying in vain to find patience. “If you’re about to tell me this was because of a girl, Stiles—”
“It wasn’t! It was for Scott!” He sat up a bit more in his chair. “Matt told him he had to go carve his initials in the Nemeton, and if he did, then he’d stop being a dick to Allison. But Scott has asthma and can’t run really fast, and also isn’t exactly the best in fight or flight situations, he kind of just freezes up, it’s actually super inconvenient because it’s why he can’t play lacrosse very well. Like, he’s good at catching and throwing the ball in practice, but as soon as there’s another player barrelling towards him, he—”
“Stiles.”
Right. The Nemeton.
“Anyway, Scott agreed, but again, not the best runner in the world and also knew he’d never make it, so he came to find me, and Matt followed, and it was this like, huge thing, and we ended up agreeing that I would do it instead of Scott so that he didn’t die. So I did. It was for friendship, dad. Scott was gonna die!”
“You broke the law, Stiles,” his dad insisted. “You may have done it for a noble reason, but Scott shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.”
“That’s what I said,” Stiles agreed, pointing at him. “I specifically said he shouldn’t have made such a dumb deal.”
“You don’t get to talk right now,” his dad snapped, pointing back angrily. “You get to sit there and listen. Stiles, what were you thinking?! You’re eighteen! If you’d gotten caught, you’d have been arrested!”
Probably not the best time to admit he had gotten caught, but it was cool, it was fine. Parrish hadn’t ratted him out yet, and doing so now would only mean his dad knew his own deputy had omitted information so it was best not to rat out Parrish, either.
“And you used magic! The wolves know you can do magic! And now I need to figure out how to tell the mayor we’ve had someone with your magic type in our town this whole time!”
Stiles winced when his dad rubbed at his face again. He hadn’t actually considered what that conversation would be like. His dad would basically have to admit that he’d been lying this entire time about having a magic user under his roof. And once this got out...
Scott was going to be hurt. Danny too. Matt would... be a dick. Stiles’ entire senior year was about to be flipped on its head, and it was all because of Scott’s boner for Allison. Awesome. He was so fucking stupid, why had he done this?
“It was for Scott, dad,” he said quietly. “Scott was gonna try, I know it. And if I barely outran the wolves, he wouldn’t have.”
“He wouldn’t have made it to the tree, Stiles. The wolves wouldn’t have chased him because they wouldn’t have felt threatened by him!”
“With good reason, he isn’t exactly the scary type. Too adorable.”
His father cut him a scathing look and Stiles winced, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to have enough of his guilt showing on his face, because with another sigh, his dad rubbed at his mouth, something he often did when he was nervous or worried, and then he moved back to the table. He took a seat, looking like he was trying to calm himself down, and folded his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Stiles,” he said, very carefully, “what you did has consequences, and we’re just lucky that Talia came to see me first out of respect. Had this been anyone else, they’d have gone to the mayor directly, and we would have a bigger problem on our hands. Jesus, Stiles. For a girl?”
“She’s really cute?” Stiles offered.
“Stiles, there are rules for a reason,” his dad reminded him.
“I know! It’s not like I tried to break the rules! It wasn’t intentional!” His dad gave him a look and, yeah, okay. Crossing the border and going all the way to the Nemeton couldn’t exactly be classified as unintentional. “Okay, it was a little intentional, but like, it’s fine, right? She’s not mad, I’m still in one piece. No one got hurt.”
That earned him raised eyebrows and Stiles groaned internally.
“Okay, yeah, that one Werewolf got hurt, but he’s fine, right? Like, he’s a Werewolf, the pain barely registered, it’s like nothing ever happened. He slept it off, it’s all good. I mean, all I did was go to the Nemeton and come back. I didn’t think any harm would come from it!”
“Stiles, you used magic.”
He really wished his dad would stop saying his name so much. He only ever did that when he was particularly angry. Like that time Stiles had stolen a police van as a dare and almost gotten his dad fired.
Not his finest moment. Neither was this, but he’d honestly thought he’d gotten away with it once Parrish confirmed he wouldn’t tell his dad about this whole thing. To find out the wolves were the ones to screw him over? That just sucked.
He’d have rather they come to eat his innards in the night, at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with the crushing disappointment he could feel rolling off his dad in waves. He really was the worst kid sometimes.
“I mean, I kind of didn’t have a choice,” Stiles insisted, scratching awkwardly at his arm. “It was that, or get mauled by a bunch of wild animals.”
“They’re not wild, or animals,” his dad corrected.
“You know what I mean.” Stiles flapped one hand at his dad, who just sighed and rubbed at his face with both hands again. He really did look like he was getting old, and Stiles was sure it was his fault. “Dad, I’m sorry.”
With another sigh, the man let his hands slide off his face, then reached out to grab at Stiles’ shoulder, tugging him closer to give him a one-armed hug.
“I know, son. I just wish you’d stop making stupid decisions like this.” He released him and stood with a groan, grabbing his empty mug and making his way towards the coffee machine. “So, what do you want to do?”
Stiles frowned. “Do?”
“About this.” His dad poured himself more coffee, then replaced the pot before turning to lean back against the counter, sipping at the drink. “I’m going to have to speak to the mayor regardless, but how hard I push for this depends on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the one being impacted. Once I speak to the mayor, it’s going to come out. What you are, what you can do. I can probably talk about the situation without naming names if I don’t push too hard, but if you’re in agreement and think it might not be a bad idea to do what Talia said, see if you can use magic to create a kind of protective bubble while her wolves patrol the area, then I’m going to have to push a bit harder and he’ll want to know who the Spark is.”
Right. Once it was out, everyone was going to know. It wasn’t like Stiles disappearing into the Preserve was going to go unnoticed, and even if he lied and said he was one of the new messengers, he was positive word would get out. Danny’s mother worked in the mayor’s office, and Matt’s cousin owned the bistro right next door to it. All it would take was one person saying something and everyone would know.
Disadvantage of a small town.
“Think on it,” his dad said when the silence stretched for too long. “Let me know by Monday.”
“Okay.” In a way, he wanted to say no. He’d caused enough trouble without exposing himself and making life worse for his dad for having kept him a secret.
But on the other hand... the war was coming closer. And what Talia had said was concerning him. She seemed to believe this wasn’t just the folly of man, people attacking each other because that was just what they did. She seemed fairly confident that this was something worse, something more sinister. And if that was the case, they would really need to stand together to make sure it didn’t bulldoze their little town.
Besides, he’d seen how the divide had affected his dad. When his mother had died, Michael Hale had called every day to check in on him, even though it honestly hadn’t done much good given his dad had been hitting the bottle pretty hard back then. And then Michael Hale had died, and his dad had buried himself in work.
He hadn’t even been allowed to go to the funeral. Not because Talia hadn’t offered, but because the mayor had insisted his dad was too ‘chummy’ with the Werewolves. Different mayor than the one now, real douche, no one was surprised when he didn’t get re-elected.
Stiles had seen how much his dad missed being able to see his oldest friend, and had missed out on the final years of his life with him. And Talia seemed nice, so really, this whole divide thing was stupid. If Stiles had the opportunity to stop other people from missing out on time with people they’d once known and cared about, he wanted to help do that.
Protect the town, break down the barriers, make new friends. Anyone had to be better than fucking Matt, honestly.
Still... as much as his dad insisted the Werewolves were good people, Stiles had grown up in a society where they weren’t. They were animals, and dangerous, and just... too far removed from humans to live alongside them. But Talia hadn’t seemed that way.
The two wolves chasing him through the Preserve yes, but not Talia. And Stiles had been trespassing, though he’d never believe he’d fucking startled them because that was ridiculous.
Maybe this could be a good thing though. Get the two sides back on even ground, try and figure this whole thing out, protect each other.
He didn’t know, that was probably too much to hope for. He’d think on it, like his dad said. He had until Monday to sort this out, so he’d decide before then and let him know. He just honestly didn’t know which option his dad would prefer, because both seemed like a bad call.
“I need to head back to work. Probably be working late today.” The sheriff finished the coffee he had, then set the mug in the sink, rearranging his belt on his hips and turning to Stiles. “You gonna be okay for dinner?”
“Yeah, we’ve got some leftover spaghetti sauce in the freezer, I’ll just have that.”
“Sounds good.” He patted his pockets, then straightened his shirt while heading for the kitchen door. “Have a good night, kiddo.”
“Hey dad?” When he turned at the door, Stiles offered him an apologetic wince. “I really am sorry, you know. For what I did. And once it happened, and I used the magic, I should’ve been honest with you. I should’ve told you. I guess I just—figured it would put you in an uncomfortable position, knowing your kid broke the law.”
The sheriff nodded slowly, patting the door jamb. He was probably thinking about the fact that Stiles didn’t often tell him things. Not important things, at any rate. Which was true, but this was kind of different. If he could do it over again, Stiles felt like he’d have admitted the truth the second time around.
“I’m always going to be a dad first and a cop second,” his dad said.
Stiles nodded in understanding. “I’ll talk to you next time.”
“There better not be a next time,” he warned and Stiles nodded again. “By the way, you’re grounded.”
“Yeah, I uh, I figured that out for myself.” He offered his old man a small smile and tapped his temple. “I’m smart that way.”
“Considering some of the decisions you make, smart is debatable.”
“Harsh,” Stiles insisted, but his dad just smiled, wished him a good night, and headed for the door. When he heard it shut behind him, Stiles slumped in his seat and covered his face with his hands, letting out a loud, angry sound.
The next time Scott decided to make a deal he couldn’t honour, Stiles was going to force him to take it back or deal with the damn consequences.
Because it wasn’t fair that Stiles had to deal with Scott’s consequences.
Being a good friend sucked.
Making a decision of this magnitude was hard, because Stiles spent basically all weekend agonizing over the pros and cons. In the end, he sat down with his dad and they talked it all out, and while his dad didn’t make the decision for him, the more they spoke, the easier it was for Stiles to figure out which one was best.
At the end of the day, they needed the town to be whole instead of divided like this, otherwise they weren’t going to survive the worst of whatever was coming. While it might not specifically hit Beacon Hills at all, the possibility seemed high given how things were going across the rest of the country.
Stiles felt sick all day Monday, knowing his dad had gone to see the mayor. He didn’t think his identity would come out unless the mayor agreed to it, but he was a pretty decent person and if it meant extra protection all around, then he was probably going to go for it.
He kept waiting for people to know, to find out, to look at him different, but Monday came and went with nothing out of the ordinary at school. Scott still waxed poetic about Allison, Danny still gave as good as he got and was an overall cool dude, and Matt was still sulking and being overly obnoxious due to his loss over the weekend.
When he got home Monday afternoon, his dad told him that the mayor had agreed, and Talia Hale was coming by again tomorrow with the Werewolf mayor to talk over the terms. Stiles would be at school, but his dad offered to pull him out so he could be present for it. He insisted it was fine and the sheriff could be his voice in the meeting because he knew his dad would do whatever was right. He trusted him, he was his dad.
Waking up Tuesday morning, he’d been hoping everything would remain the same. After all, his dad had only just told the mayor the previous day about Stiles, so he thought he’d have a few days, at least, before news spread.
He was wrong.
The second he parked his Jeep on Tuesday morning and climbed out, he noticed a group of juniors huddled around a car, whispering to each other while staring at him. He pulled his bag onto his shoulder, watching them while he headed for the door, but he really didn’t think it was possible for them to have found out less than twenty-four hours later. His dad’s meeting had been in the afternoon the previous day, so there was no way that everyone knew already.
Entering the school, it was clear everyone knew.
He’d always thought those scenes in movies where someone stepped into a crowded area and everyone went silent was an exaggeration, but the second he pushed through the doors, everyone in the vicinity immediately went quiet. And when their neighbours found out why they went quiet, they followed suit.
Everyone present in the corridor was just... staring at him.
Stiles shifted his weight uncomfortably, pulling his strap higher onto his shoulder, and started walking down the corridor. People’s eyes followed him, and he’d honestly never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life.
He was the kind of person who liked being noticed. He’d grown up kind of on his own, due to his mother’s early passing and his father’s attempts to keep bills paid, a roof over their heads and food on the table, so he didn’t get a lot of attention. He knew a lot of the things he did and said were an unintentional call for attention sometimes, but he’d never so badly wished to be invisible before.
Whispers started once he’d passed people, everyone confirming that it was him. He was the sheriff’s kid. The magic user. The spellcaster.
He hurried to homeroom without bothering to stop at his locker. He didn’t need anything right this second, and he kind of wanted some more armour before braving that.
Then again, homeroom meant Scott and Danny, and a part of him died at little at the thought that maybe they would be reacting the same way. Immediate silence when he walked in and quiet whispers once he sat down.
He hoped not.
Once he walked into homeroom, a few people were there, and predictably they all clammed up at the sight of him, staring unashamedly. He offered them a tight smile, bag sliding off his shoulder, and took a seat at his usual spot, feeling like his heart was going to pound right out of his chest.
Every time someone new walked in, they stopped to stare at him before hurrying to their desks, whispering quietly with their neighbours. He clenched his hands into fists, hoping against hope that his friends wouldn’t react that way.
The first one to walk in was Danny, and he paused at the sight of him. It made Stiles’ heart sink, but just as quickly, his friend smiled and walked over to him, taking a seat beside him like he always did.
“Hey. I honestly wasn’t sure you’d be here today. Considering.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly. “Look man, I’m really sorry—”
Danny held one hand up to stop him, then used the same one to wave his words away.
“It’s your business, not mine. You didn’t have to share, and honestly, no one should’ve taken that away from you. The shitty part of living in a small town.” He reached out to punch him lightly. “You’re still you, magic or not.”
“Thanks Danny.” He felt intense relief at the knowledge that he hadn’t lost him for the omission, but he wasn’t someone he was concerned about.
It was when Scott walked in that he got nervous. Because he felt like this could go one of two ways: Scott would be upset but understanding, or Scott would be upset and not at all understanding.
Thankfully, it was the former, and while he pouted on his way over, sitting down in the empty spot on Stiles’ other side, he still said good morning.
“Hey,” Stiles offered.
“You could’ve told me, you know,” Scott insisted, turning his deadly weapon of puppy dog eyes in his direction.
“None of our business,” Danny insisted over Stiles, flipping through what looked like his chemistry notes. “It’s a personal thing, and we have no reason to know it if he doesn’t wanna tell us.”
Stiles could tell Scott wanted to insist, “But still!” though it was hard to argue with logic like Danny’s, so he settled for pouting and slouching in his seat.
So far so good.
Matt wasn’t in the same homeroom as them thankfully, but Stiles knew he’d see him sooner or later, so he just had to prepare himself for a fucking awful time. He knew without a shadow of a doubt Matt was going to treat him like shit over this, the same way he’d treated Lydia like shit.
When the bell rang and the teacher walked in to call roll, she paused on Stiles’ name to look up at him for an exceptionally long time before continuing. It made him feel like his dad was right, like everyone was looking at him wondering how they could earn his trust so they could start asking for favours.
He didn’t know if his dad had admitted he was a Spark, specifically, but any kind of magic user in this town was liable to be harassed for favours.
When he made it to first period, which was Economics with Finstock, he felt a bit relieved when the man didn’t react any differently. He probably didn’t find Stiles any more interesting today than yesterday unless his powers meant they’d actually manage to win a game, for once. He probably figured if that was the case, Stiles would’ve joined the lacrosse team in freshman year and actually done it.
Taking a seat near the middle like always, he tried not to react when Matt walked into the room. His eyes scanned the people who’d already taken their seats, zeroed in on Stiles, and walked right up to him, as if he didn’t sit in the same damn chair every time they had this class together.
“So,” Matt said, rather loudly. “Guess this explains a lot about the Nemeton, huh? You’re a freak, so the wolves likely didn’t even notice you in their midst. Hard to decipher one freak from another, huh?”
“Leave him alone, Daehler,” Greenberg insisted from the seat on Stiles’ right, but Matt ignored him.
“That’s why you’re so good at track, right? Been cheating this whole time? Using magic to better your odds?”
“I don’t need to cheat to be good at something,” Stiles snapped, feeling his defences rising. He’d known this was coming. Matt was an asshole, and a terrible friend, so he didn’t know why it was surprising, but it somehow still was. It still hurt having someone he’d known his entire life treat him as something different because he’d suddenly discovered he could do magic.
“But we’ll never know now, will we?” Matt asked, sneering down at him. “All those things you ever succeeded at, were they really you, or your magic?”
Before Stiles could feel even worse about himself, a voice spoke up loudly from behind him.
“Excuse me, you’re in the road. This is a freaks only area, so you should move somewhere else before you catch something.”
Stiles’ eyebrows shot up and Matt whipped around to find Lydia standing there, waiting for him to move so she could take the seat beside Stiles that Matt was blocking. She offered him a cutting smile, holding her books in one hand and head tilted slightly, as if daring him to start something with her.
Finstock seemed to find this interesting, because he just sat on his desk and watched without doing anything. Par for the course with Finstock really, but at least he came through clutch when shit was really going down.
Like that one time the other team cornered one of his players and started beating on him, Finstock broke a few noses when he showed up, it was kind of epic. Stiles was sad to have missed it. He ended up in jail for two weeks, but when he’d been released he’d insisted it had been worth it.
“I’m sorry, are you having problems understanding me?” Lydia’s smile was cold, it gave Stiles goosebumps. “I know my vocabulary is superior to yours, but I’d have hoped you’d at least understand when someone is telling you to fuck off without actually having to say it.”
When she went to move past him, one of the other guys in the class yanked Matt out of her way, because Lydia was still a Goddess deserving of respect, and Matt hadn’t shown her any since she came out as a Banshee.
She took a seat beside Stiles, crossing her legs and flipping open her book, pulling her pen from the spine where she’d tucked it. Allison sat on her other side, looking kind of pleased about this development.
Matt had shrugged off their classmate, glaring at Lydia before levelling it on Stiles a moment later. Like Stiles being a spellcaster was something he’d asked for, like it was his fault.
“Whatever. You freaks deserve each other.”
“Mm hm, bye,” Lydia informed him, not even bothering to look up at him.
Matt scowled, but finally moved away to sit somewhere else. Lydia had taken the seat he usually occupied, but he’d made it fairly clear he wasn’t interested in being friends with Stiles anymore. And even if he was, Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted an asshole like him around anyway.
Guess Matt would have to bum notes off someone else going forward. That, or actually start taking his own.
“All right, that was an exciting start to the day.” Finstock clapped his hands loudly, chewing gum obnoxiously like always while pushing away from his desk. “Could’ve used a bit more action, but I’ll take what I can get.”
When he turned to the board and began sprouting off things Stiles wasn’t really paying attention to, he glanced at Lydia who was dutifully ignoring him, hair having tumbled over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
She didn’t say anything, but he saw the corners of her lips twitch up into a smile.
If nothing else, at least she was right. The freaks had to stick together, and he’d always been really supportive of her when she’d gone public about her being a Banshee. She was probably returning the favour, especially since being found out hadn’t exactly been his choice.
Besides, this worked out well. He needed new friends anyway, and while he knew he and Lydia were far from being actual friends, he felt like he had more of a chance making friendly with her than with any of the Werewolves he was soon going to be spending time with.
He wasn’t looking forward to hearing how that meeting went when he got home. It was going to be a really, really weird couple of months.
TBC...